Ch 4: Life goes on

Woe is me

After realizing that things had gotten as bad as they were going to get that first day, I felt guilt.  Jackson maintained a surprising level of sanity as we scavenged the coolers to eat everything we could before it went bad.  Too hot in the camper, we sat outside on beach chairs eating soggy cheese sandwiches.  I felt guilty and irresponsible for letting this happen.  As Byron likes to say, we let the 7 P’s bite us in the ass. (Proper Planning and Preparation Prevents Piss Poor Performance) Jackson was suffering the consequences.  Forced to deal with hardship brought about by our lack of forethought, he would certainly be permanently damaged by this experience and unable to function as a productive member of society…

Get a grip

“Bish, get a grip”, I heard the sassy voice inside my head bellow.  “First of all, look at this kid, he’s having an epic adventure.  Unlike you(me), he is a sane and resilient human and is not having a meltdown.  He is not curled up in the corner muttering incoherently.” 

In fact, he was perched on top of the shipping container temporarily storing our belongings during the house build.  A pirate in the crow’s nest of his ship as an angry sea tossed him around (angry sea metaphor, being a manifestation of my own insanity).  He was checking out the property with a pair of binoculars, a kid surveying the candy store.

Lemons into lemonade.  This could be a really good thing for him.  Not only would he be able to get his fill of adventure, but he was also going to see some hardship.  And, before you turn me over to the authorities, let me explain.  Something else occurred to me at that moment.  We had worked exceptionally hard, as most parents do, to ensure Jackson had a hardship-free childhood.  Byron and I, like many parents, wanted our son to want for nothing.  While we also tried to be mindful about not spoiling him, it hadn’t really occurred to us that eliminating hardship from his life was akin to leaving the egg salad out in the sun all day. 

There comes a point in time where everyone (ok, some people) realizes that without hardship or unpleasantness, there is no joy or happiness in life.  If there is no context, we are typically unable to understand and appreciate the truly good stuff in life.  Am I right?  I had known that for a while, yet it hadn’t sunken in fully with respect to Jackson until that moment.  As a parent, I had been pretty unwilling to let him suffer at all.  Sorry, buddy. **I took out a slingshot and shot him off the shipping container.**  Fairytale over. 

**I did not really shoot my son. This was an edit added by my hilarious and talented editor/sister-in-law Kelley. I thought it was too funny to omit.

Something about waking up the day after you thought the world would end is so energizing and renewing.  A big orange-red ball rose in the east and that made everything ok.  Shit was really real, but it now seemed like we could handle it.  We were going to need a much bigger shovel…probably a backhoe, but we could handle it.

Did someone say hardship?

We began to form a routine of sorts, which we now refer to as the “homestead hustle”.  Of course, I realize that functional homesteads probably have a much more efficient and productive hustle.  Maybe survival scramble is a more appropriate description of what we do here.

Byron engineered a pump system to get water into the RV and we bought a new power cord. We could finally hook the RV up to the generator!  Once we had power to and water in the RV, we each enjoyed a short and refreshing shower-like experience. 

The fridges were finally cooling. (it still took us a couple of days to figure out all of the adorable quirks associated with these RV fridges).  We started sorting and unpacking some of our stuff as the air conditioner groaned laboriously, ensuring we knew how hard it was working to provide us the meager 5-degree temperature difference between the inside and outside of the camper.  Things were looking up.

The grind

The Homestead Hustle begins with filling the generator with gas and starting it up so that Byron can begin his day of remote work via the internet.  How do we get internet out here you ask?  Lemme just first say, if you’re reading this, you need to send a little gratitude out into the universe right now for that automagical Wi-Fi that flows like honey from the current bush in your back yard!  Having no access to utilities at this juncture, our only internet comes via cellular signal.  A signal which is gasping for breath on its very best day. 

“No problem”, the Best Buy Geek squad guy says.  “All you need is this $500 signal booster.  My buddy lives out that way and he says this thing completely solves his internet problems.  You just turn it on and point it at the nearest cell tower.  Done.”

“Shoot, what could be easier?” we thought.  That’s a lot of money, but super worth it to have internet and cell service. 

By now you know that isn’t how this really goes. 

Reality bites

Once the box was unpacked, we were looking at 50+ feet of cables, several components, and a lengthy instruction manual.  Much lengthier than one would expect to find accompanying a simple point and turn on gadget.  Turns out what was actually required included connecting and placing all components in the correct orientations and appropriate spacing.  Followed by placing the antenna outside the camper through the window, atop a 20-foot pole, 50 feet away.  

Jackson was voluntold to climb a ladder and turn the pole a specific number of degrees. And then he waited motionless in the wicked midday sun while Byron tested upload and download speeds.  This process was repeated approximately 97 times before we found the best possible signal.  The best signal, but somehow not quite the miraculous resolution we had hoped for and perhaps been led to expect.  However, it was good enough. We could have decent phone conversations and internet speeds. Most importantly, it was good enough to prevent Byron from being fired from his paying gig.  At least not due to lack of internet anyway.

Back to the hustle: The next task of the day involves filling the fresh water tank with our new pump system so that dishwashing and showering can happen.  Then, I jump in the Acadia and run to town to refill the water and gas cans and buy food for the day’s meals before racing back to the “farm”. Rinse and repeat as necessary.  At this point, we seem to expend a surprising amount of energy racing like hamsters on a wheel and much less time “working” than we had envisioned. 

Heigh-ho, Heigh-ho

Work for us at this point is somewhat calamitous in itself.  Being recent ex-suburbanites, we arrived bearing all of the requisite suburban survival tools and implements including electric lawn mower, weed eater, chain saw, and hedge trimmers, pruning shears, weed puller, shovel, rake, etc., etc.  You get the idea.  Imagine Jackson’s chagrin when commissioned with refining 20 acres of brush and weeds with an electric weed eater and lawnmower.  Corded no less. 

I joined in the effort with my shovel, trying to dig out every bramble bush I ran into; a hopeless, yet remarkably satisfying pursuit.  In the evenings Byron hacked out paths with the scythe we had purchased at the local hardware store.

After a few days of hacking away at the thorny jungle, the land presented us with an unexpected gift.  Several dozen long-forgotten round bales of hay scattered throughout the building site and camper site began to take form.  We assume that the logging company had scattered them in an effort to mitigate the erosion of the soil as they repeatedly drove large equipment in and out removing all of the trees.  While they were probably very successful at doing this, these bales have since taken on a life of their own.

 

Several years old, the bales have decomposed into the ground. In other words, rolling them out of the way without heavy equipment isn’t an option.  Within each of them lies a complex and bustling web of life; house centipedes (cool but a little creepy), Tigrosa georgicola (a behemoth sized species of wolf spider), Hercules beetles (totally cool), toads, snakes, earthworms, fungus, mold, rats, rabbits, and the list goes on.  On top of all of this, the bale ecosystems are securely concealed within thick masses of angry bramble bushes. Furthermore, they are encased in an interminable tangle of baling twine and netting.  The folks in charge at the ADX Florence, a supermax prison, could for sure learn a thing or two about security from this little horror show.

Hard work has never killed anyone..yet.

It goes without saying that all of these bales and the surrounding brambles have to go before any building can take place.  And, without any heavy equipment at our disposal, the whole shebang has to be disassembled by hand.  Being as I am currently not otherwise employed, guess who gets that job?  Yep.  Each day, I set out in my rain boots and dust mask, pitchfork in one hand, weed eater in the other, to tame the wild beast that is our land.   

One fork full of rotten, moldy, dusty hay at a time, is heaped into my little blue wheelbarrow and carted off.  I became unstoppable.  Piling hay impossibly high and propelling the wheelbarrow forward over the ruts, rocks, holes, and the like, without dumping the whole thing over became my art.  Just like a page out of a Dr. Seuss book, the pile teetered and tottered without hitting the ground.  Eventually.  The learning curve involved a whole bunch of swearing, spilled hay, stomping, and javelin style heaving of the pitchfork.  But that’s neither here nor there.  Byron jumps in on the weekends just to make me look bad.  Easily moving more of that hay in an hour than I typically manage in 3.  He’s a showoff. 

And the clouds parted

 After a few days of feverish and likely humorous activity on the farm, our kind (and probably very curious) neighbor from across the road paid a visit.  After chatting with Byron for a while and getting the 411 on our implausible situation, he generously offered us the use of his own well to fill our water jugs.  This simple gesture would save us miles and hours of driving every week. 

Later that week that same angel appeared upon his trusty John Deer descending from the heavens.  He spent a good hour clearing brush around our camper and around the hay bales, as well as a path through the property.  This was a huge leg up for our little circus.  We could now walk to the port-o-potty without hopping over brambles.  We could walk about the property without an offensive of ticks clambering up our legs.  Most importantly, we caught a glimpse of something which had thus far eluded us, yet we so longed for.  Progress.

Life finds a way

The sun was rising and setting each day as expected.  Things were happening, albeit nearly imperceptible things at a creeping pace, but things nonetheless.  Standards went down and thresholds went up.  I have been fascinated (and horrified) by my ability to suddenly normalize things like wearing the same clothes multiple days in a row or showering only every third day.  I was forced to loosen my grip on control and cleanliness as my camper carpeting quickly took on a red hue as the beautiful red dirt/mud outside found its way inside.  There were muddy dog prints on my comforter.  We all share a toilet, which is basically in the bedroom, which is basically in the kitchen.  

For a person such as myself with a considerable degree of OCD (self-diagnosed) an “adventure” like this one can only end one of two ways.  In the best-case scenario, I learn to cope with my need for control, use it for good, and live a more balanced life.  The other, more likely scenario is that I start pulling my hair out in chunks, feeding breadcrumbs to the mice, and making clothing out of the massive mountain of baling twine we are collecting as we clean up the property. 

As I really hope to make the first scenario the prevailing one, I have done a few things to lighten the assault on my psyche.  First, we ordered gravel to cover up the majority of the mud in the driveway and around the camper.  Second, I fashioned a patchwork of rugs in the camper to protect the carpet as much as possible.  Who puts carpet in an RV anyway?? 

Blessing in disguise?

Also, it turned out that the hay which seemed initially to be a curse has actually been a blessing of sorts.  The stuff that wasn’t gross and moldy ended up providing a fine cover for all of the muddy spots around the camper further alleviating the mud problem.  Most of the rest of the hay is slowly finding its way out onto the property.  Our thought is that it might provide a beneficial boost of organic material and forage seeds for the future pastures and gardens as it breaks down.  We are also using some of it to start our first batch of compost.  Winnning!

Roscoe has finally accepted that this is his new home and that we did not bring him out here to abandon him in the country, as per his worst nightmares.  That has greatly reduced his anxiety and his pathological need to jump all over the bed after splashing madly about in every mud puddle within 100 yards of the camper.

I’ve also  increased the frequency of laundromat visits ensuring that the distressingly dirty, quickly accumulating pile of laundry no longer affects my sleep.  While far from perfection, these simple things provide a bit of comfort and the faintest illusion of control.  I may be learning a little bit about patience and flexibility out here.  At least this is what I tell myself, repeatedly, as a mantra of sorts.

Cheesy Wonder Years wrap up

This has been and continues to be an exceptionally stressful experience, but seeing the misty sunrises and brilliant sunsets, hearing a whip-poor-will for the first time while bathing in the water trough outside in the moonlight is, well…priceless.  Ok, so that moonlight bathing thing is all Byron.  But still priceless!  These are the reasons we did this.  To have peace and quiet and our own wide-open space.  To have the ability to build a self-sufficient life, and the freedom to scream obscenities down the valley while throwing garden tools, without disturbing your neighbors.  We’re not disturbing you, right Janet and Steve?? 

The thing that one has to keep in mind when all of this starts to become too much is that nobody sells their house, packs up, and moves into an RV off the grid in the country expecting to maintain the same sense of normalcy and regularity.  After all, if that stuff was so great, you wouldn’t have wanted to give it up in the first place!

But Seriously…about those hay bales!

This would normally be where I link to an informational type post relating to my blog post, that would hopefully be helpful or at least interesting to read.  I had a hard time coming up with a topic related to this post that might be helpful in any way.  So instead, I decided to have a nerd session about all of the cool critters that I have come across while deconstructing the hay bale fortresses.  Read on if you dare click here!  Seriously, I did say it was going to be a nerd session.  If you know me well or read my ‘about me’ page, you already know that I am a geek and none of this should be shocking to you.  If not, I advise you to go back and read it.  🙂

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