Day: February 12, 2015

I love my town of Cambridge more all the time. I love going to Joan’s to get my hair cut, to my little gym, to my friend Scott’s wonderful Round House Cafe,  seeing Heather at the Bead Store, Connie at the book store, Bridget and Margaret at the pharmacy, David at Hubbard Hall, Corey and Kim at the Food Co-op, George in his art gallery, Jack in his antique palace,   Bryan at the hardware store, and there is no better place in the world I know of to spend a cold and stormy winter night than at the Bog, a bar and hamburger haven on the edge of town.

The bar is a true roadhouse, there are all sorts of people in there, some of them tough and hard-looking, lots of families with kids. I have always seen the Bog as a very friendly place, a very warm place, it has so much character and the hamburgers are as good as hamburgers get to be. There’s a huge wood stove in back and a pool table, there is a long bar with people talking into the night – Kelly was tending bar and waiting at tables last night, she gets everything done efficiently and warmly, she graciously agreed to let me take her photo by the pool tables. She is the spirit of the place in many ways.

I have lived in lots of places, cities and suburbs – 15 in all – but never really felt I have come home before, and that is what I feel in Cambridge, that I have come home. This gift has come late to me, and perhaps this is why I appreciate it so much. Here, I am finding community and connection. And perhaps most of all, acceptance. I can’t say everyone likes me or approves of me, but I can say that almost everyone accepts me. It is good to be known.

There are lots of outsiders here, lots of people living outside of the tent. Here, nobody cares if I wears jeans every day with blue shirts, or if I am strange and moody. Most of them are as strange and moody as me.  Here when I ask to take somebody’s photo, they just say yes, they never ask me what for, or gussy up or look at ease. Like Kelly, they say, here I am, do your thing.

I think Cambridge was what much of America used to be, a place where people struggle to get by, and always offer a hand to others struggling to get by. A place of strong-willed and independent people, but loyal people, they do not forget  good turn, or a bad one. A couple in town just lost their home – and their dog – to a fire and the whole town is scrambling to raise money for them. I am where I need to be.

This weekend, when the temperature plunges well below zero and the winds are shrieking over the hills, you may well find Maria and me at the bog, hugging that wood stove, joking with Kelly. Can I get mashed potatoes instead of french fries, I asked? “You bet,” she said.

Liam decided he would come out of the barn and try and eat the donkey’s grain, I told Red to keep him there. The two of them got into a good stand-off and Liam butted Red a bit with his head, Red responded by nipping his nose and pulling some wool off of his side. The two touched noses for a bit, yes you will get back in the barn Red insisted, and yes, Liam did get back in the barn.

We figured out two weeks ago that we had about a month’s worth of seasoned firewood left for our two wood stoves, and the winter was so cold and relentless that we would almost surely need more. We have already used more wood than we used all last winter.

It is possible to get fresh-cut firewood on short notice, but not easy to get seasoned firewood, which burns more cleanly and evenly. The wood stoves have been astonishingly good at keeping the farmhouse warm and the oil bills down. It is a good kind of heat. We load up the wood carts once a day and the fires run day and night in this kind of cold. We burn them hot for at least an hour a day to keep the creosote from building up. The furnace is only on for an hour or so a day, usually in the morning, and then again at night, kept on low temperatures to keep the pipes from freezing, a constant possibility in bitter cold with wind.

It took me a couple of hours – and the recommendations of some friends – to find seasoned firewood from a dealer in nearby White Creek. In the Fall, he fills a barn with firewood and waits for the calls to come in if it’s a tough winter. He charges $250 a cord, about 30 per cent more than we pay for firewood in the Spring – I do not blame him – that we order in May and leave out during the summer to season.  A smart businessman, he said he only has 40 cords left, they are going fast. I might get another if we can find a place to stack it.

We got the wood delivery today, it is good dry wood, it started snowing and we rushed out to get a tarp on it. We will scramble to get it stacked and under cover tomorrow before the Saturday/Sunday storm expected to hit here (not a blizzard.) This is a challenging winter, we have to work steadily to keep up with it – shoveling, raking the roof, keeping the stoves going, using the furnace as a back up and the infra-red heaters in between, monitoring the firewood. Vince Vecchio comes by with his plow truck to keep the driveway open. The farm is a next of paths and tunnels.

We finally got some heated blankets – there is no heat at all on the second floor where the bedroom is –  but it takes some learning to make sure you don’t end up rotating like a boiled egg in the middle of the night. The blankets really work, the plan is to put them on high, then turn them off when you get into bed.

We are good on hay, we have 20 bales left, that ought to get us to April, when the grass will start to come-up. I have a back-up hay supplier if the winter goes on longer than expected and we need some more.

There is no season as demanding here as winter, we plan for it all year, and rarely plan as thoroughly as is necessary. The weather is no longer predictable.

The cold coming this weekend is supposed to be intense, another challenge. Hopefully our frost-free water line will hold up; – 20 is not what it is used to, it will be a test. We have most of the snow off of the roof, we will have to rake it again on Sunday, I don’t think we have to worry about the roof. The dogs will only be out for a few minutes at a time, and I might curtail  Red’s work, I’ll keep an eye on how he is holding his paws.

We will be graining the sheep and the donkeys daily for energy and making sure they have proper shelter  from the punishing 50 mile per hour winds and frigid temperatures and lots of fresh hay. The winds could also bring power lines down and damage the farmhouse or barn roof. Nothing much we can do to prepare for that, except the obvious candles and batteries and stored water. The Dystopians like to get their guns and salted meat out for a long haul, I doubt we will be more than a few hours from food.

Spring cannot be too far off, we learn to look through to the other side. I see it, it is showing up in the sun and light already. That’s my motto. Be prepared, but not too prepared. Look ahead.

Fear,

keeps the Left-Right game going,

and then hate,

follows fear,

and then ignorance,

close behind it’s cousins.

The Left-RIght game will make you blind,

it keeps stealing all your curiosity,

your ability to listen,

to know,

to grow,

to think,

it keeps stealing all of the wealth,

in your mind, which shrinks and shrivels

in the Left-Right game,

it fattens the pundits and the politicians,

vampire people who need the Left And The Right,

they are imbecile makers,

with no thinking skills,

they can hide behind the labels,

they stick on you, and suck your mind,

they need the drones of the Left,

and the drones of the Right,  to survive,

and fatten themselves up,

at your expense, they need us to be at one another’s

throats, so they can be important.

Are there only two ways to look at the world?,

dear people, why do you wish to stick

such demeaning tags on your head,

in your beautiful mind, a message to the world

that you have given up on thought?

Dear ones, I beg you to wise up,

Think for yourself,

keep the treasures in your head,

for you.

This weekend marks the return of Superstorm “Pickles,” he is criss-crossing the Northern States to drop seven different storms at different times on different places. He is also bringing what the Weather Channel calls perhaps the coldest weather in world history for late February for people like us, living where we live. Puzzling, since they are calling for – 11 temperatures, but we have often had – 30 up here, not pleasant, but not exactly a catastrophe either.  I am prepared, I got some Hot Chocolate (more cheese puffs) and will maybe put some booties on Red tomorrow.

In the meantime, Red dug an amazing tunnel all the way around the pasture and up to the Pole Barn, where he can give the sheep a good stare-down. I think he might put up an igloo in his spare time.