Author: Martian Joe

The weather has taken a turn over the weekend. It blew in heavy, fast, and is hanging low, but the wildfire smoke has drifted into our region. We must both be heartfelt for those in peril and reminded to feel lucky that this year we have been wet, oh so wet with rain, that we are still mostly green, still laden with wildflowers, and still moist almost daily. The grasses are turning to seed, it is true, but many more flowers are alive than expected still. I found mushrooms in the forest over the weekend. This too was unexpected but makes the haze seem okay in the comparison.

It is a mild post today, me firmly removing myself from my little soapbox upon this site. I worry still, but it is a troubling conceptual shift that seems to needle me most. The shift in expression, freedom, liberty, acquiescence… a unique shift, but we will focus upon our real world. A friend reminded me of that just this morning. I am, she is, we are, in the real world. We see nature daily. We watch the stars unimpeded by artificial light. We rarely hear traffic, save for the construction workers, and life is real here. Connected. Involved. Necessary to pay attention to your environment. Necessary to adapt in many ways versus the human arrogance of molding the world to its will.

Yes, this is the real world. It is now for me and shall be for many years to come.

It was recently pointed out to me that I had used a cheesy Irish pop band’s album title to name my refrigerator, so I decided it would be okay to use an old 1960’s movie title for today’s post. I am fast approaching the one year anniversary in this new wilderness I call home, and my timing was quite lucky indeed. I am not referring to the recent influx of humans or the recent insane elevation in property valuations but more so what is going on in the real world that most of you live in.

I take great care to avoid much of what is happening out there, and I am not one to often spout a particular stance, but, my friends, the times they are a-changing. It has recently been suggested in the main stream press, simply for a personal, moral, health-based life decision I have chosen to make, that I should be banned from concerts, schools, shops, hospitals, and even grocery stores. It has been suggested that, simply for this personal decision I made, I am “killing people“, I am risking children and the future of humanity itself. I am now selfish, ‘less intelligent’, so says our leader, and the very reason the pandemic still exists. Yesterday I saw footage of a man polling the public in which the majority concurred with his satirical premise that those who feel as do I should be arrested, jailed, and stripped of their freedoms. In what world is that normal think?

I am curious why the me-too movement fell silent in regards to one owning their body. I am curious where the abortion activists (my body, my decision) have gone. I am curious where the HIPPA activists have gone. I am curious where those that oppose medical records being stored in public clouds have gone. I am curious why, a man at my age, fitness level and overall well being should subject himself to an experiment in which he chose not to be part of. It is a mass hysteria forming. A mad, mad, mad, mad world indeed.

To state that one should be denied access to food, clothing and medical care for a personal decision on what they choose to put into their own body?

Do you sense the absurdity in the previous sentence?

It was a fun, unique and interesting weekend in regards to getting to know my friends and neighbors, as well as moving items about the ranch. Many times people call it generosity out here, but sometimes we are also cleaning up after ourselves in the process.

I have a neighbor that has generously offered me piles of firewood, cut, split, and stacked, only needing to be relocated to my home. Alas, much of this is simply too long to fit in my stove, and the effort to chainsaw every stick of firewood makes it seem impractical to continue with such. I offered this longer wood I’d collected to a neighbor whom has a larger stove that can eat the ready-cut wood, so I shuffled a load over to his house this week. Another neighbor noticed this, and offered appropriate length wood that needs be split, but is less labor over all, so I shuffled a different pile home.

In the process of talking and sharing as such, a bed relocated from one house to another, drill presses were relocated, and men helped me load my trailer with wood upon the return drive. Some people got stuff, some people relieved themselves of stuff, some people got heat, but everyone appeared to go home happy with the shuffling. We shared, we exchanged, we bonded, and we helped each other. It feels how life should be. It is how I would like life to continue to be in our little oasis.

I will admit, at first thought the title of this post had a different connotation for me a decade or two ago, but alas, last night in the ranch it was a rain storm. Not just a rain storm, but a deep, slow, darkly brewing mess that rose from the east, simmering for hours before unleashing a torrent.

A neighbor texted me from New Mexico and asked about rain. I scoffed, showers, nothing heavy, but the darkness as such was already brewing further east. It seemed such a mess to be in the Spanish Peaks, so a shower or two transpired our way but the day seemed normal and yard work continued.

When the rains began? They came in earnest, in full force, seemingly with a vengeance and we took a heavy, heavy pounding. Lightening, thunder, hail, and driving, beating rain. The gutter over the walkway on the deck was spewing out water four inches thick, looking light white water with the froth and velocity.

It was driving, but a marvel to watch. I have had an enigmatic roof leak that finally is resolved and for the first time since my arrival, it was safe, dry and warm inside to watch the carnage outside. In the middle of the overnight electric trucks were in the ranch to tend to wires behind the back side of Powers Road. I’ll have to see if my wired neighbors are fairing okay today.

Aging occurs to us all, but currently the old fridge has taken that phrase to a new level. That is all I call the old beast now: rattle and hum. It is quiet here, still in the mornings whereas I rise before daylight, before the birds, even before the old hound these days, but oh, rattle and hum is here, is she ever. A nice knock in the compressor and a double rattle in the freezer. It is time she goes away, kicking and banging amidst all the stillness.

The old boy is showing his age now. I am sure I am too, but this fellow has the on set of old age upon him. He sleeps, naps, dozes, and that’s all before breakfast. He has had a good run, part of my larger pack, and he deserves a restful retirement.

I feel the onset too… It is time to leave old things behind. Time to try the new that itches the spirit. Time to remind ourselves how precious life is. How terribly long death is. We need to pay attention, enjoy what is in front of us, and make the best of it the best we can. We need to experience it all, live it, and not forget how fleeting it all can be.

The old boy will be with me until the end. I promised him that since the day I got him – a full life, a relaxed, exercised existence, and a home until the end. Even after the end… this old boy will always be with me.