Author: Martian Joe

It was a bizarre weekend here on the mountain top. Many folks are visiting and returning, and a young man in an older white Tacoma with stripes on it needs to slow down climbing these hills. That boys drives way, way too fast and traversed the Schierl hill by my house three times in less than an hour. If I see him again, I shall surely speak to the lad. Please let me know if you happen to recognize him from my description. He is a danger out here.

The weather, however, started Saturday with a windy, dusty, mud filled rain the covered everything it passed. Every window, and the house itself, is coated. Company arrives this weekend, so there is much clean up to do . Dusty rain was a new experience for me, and I am curious if such is common down here.

Sunday things changed again, awakening in a fog, but one outside, not within. Humidity was at 97%, moisture was visibly blowing by, and the temperatures hovered about 32 degrees. Over the course of the day, the icy fog built up to the point where I went out with a stepladder and broom, freeing some trees before they toppled and snapped.

Here is a close up view of the ice building up on individual pine needles.

The Month of May began with winter wishing to push a final attempt. The day after I relocated all my vehicles back up to the homestead, we got another burst of snow, a few new inches up here on the mountain top. Day broke with an ethereal feel.

The snow is already gone. The sun now relentlessly rising higher every day and the temperatures are readily returning to Spring. Aspens are budding here several weeks earlier than the county I lived in for twenty years, and that is a much welcome sight. I cannot express that enough; six to eight weeks less winter than my last home? That can make a man smile.

One snow drift, however, remains. North side, devoid of sun most of the day, and evidence of what once was.

The snow is vanishing, even in the dark, shadowy stretches of most roads now. The temperatures remain above freezing overnight, and hit nearly sixty five yesterday. This formerly dry, unbonded, constantly migrating snow is being driven straight into the ground. I was glad for it, but do not miss it and relish in its departure.

Save for the upper edges of Schierl Road above Rees and the top back side of Powers, the park is fully navigable. As of yesterday, the Jeep, the truck, and Moon Bug are all back at the homestead, no longer needing to be scattered about the park at given access points.

Deer have returned, hummingbirds are in the air, turkeys are wandering about, ptarmigans are strutting and seeking mates, baby rabbits are joining their parents on morning outings, and there is much to revel in here. Aspens are budding, insects are crawling, and yes, the ROUSs have returned in glorious fashion.

Having been idle, save for moving snow, trekking upon snow, and making snow paths for the dog to navigate the property, it has been still here. Devoid of humans, most animals too settled in for the winter, and quiet was plentiful.

Friday night the Kuehler cabin lit up in full display. Tom and Katy were at the cabin, and Andy soon followed. In one calm evening, with coyotes howling upon the still night, the moon in near full display, the population in the park seemingly doubled.

Saturday we moved the fire truck from the storage area to the Kuehler property so that maintenance can be done – fluids, inspection, testing, and ensuring the truck is ready for any needs. We soon need to find another central location to store it this year as well.

Saturday night was socializing; five men standing around their machines and catching up over the long winter. I am still meeting new folks too, so life is returning to summer normal, it would seem.

Sunday I took the tracks off Moon Bug, perhaps a week or two early, but we shall see. Kevin returned to upper Schierl to check on his new build, and movement of vehicles was visible in the lower end of the park near dusk. Eric is up on Flavin now, so we surely are increasing in population quite steadily.

Many emails, texts, and phone calls this week and last. Lots of folks are curious about the state of the roads, access to their unique parcel, access to the ranch overall. Many are returning, planning to return, and life will shift here again quite soon.

I met a lot of people last year, far more than I would have imagined, and enjoyed them all, but I have grown quite used to how quiet this place is during the winter. No motorized traffic, no foot traffic, barely any wildlife. This place sits still during the winter, and I very much like it.

From the railroad gate, one can drive straight up Merlot to Borman to Kline back to Merlot to Schierl. From Schierl, one can go south to the Geiser cabin, or north to at least Flavin. Nordman is open from the Schierl side and is quite dry and mud free.

I am wandering the ranch now, so if you wish to know about your lot, let me know. I’ll venture your way on my next outing.

There are many out there for which the phrase ‘blood is thicker than water’ makes much sense. One of my closest friends has had a great, normal, adjusted childhood with nothing but fond, loving memories of her family. Overseas and distant, but still tightly bound to her heart.

As an adult child of an alcoholic parent (on one side) and an abusive parent (on the other), my experience was less normal than my friend’s. Normal is something I believe I am still only beginning to understand what it truly means. She is a good woman, a trustworthy friend, and honest with me all the time. It is a joy to experience such honesty and reality with my friend.

Families are our genetic mix, the bowl of soup from which we were spawned, but not necessarily beings we share much in common with, save for said genetics. I have had mentors in my life that helped mold and shape me and become the man I am today. Men that were nothing like my father; men that were strong, capable, successful, adept. In my twenties, Peter guided me as my father should have and without Peter, I would not have been able to retire in my early fifties. His advice was the best career advice I ever received.

Dotty was recovering from radiation treatments for cancer when I met her. True, genuine, honest and real, even amidst her own struggles. Before her death, she had become a better mother to me than the woman that raised me. She offered love, kindness, compassion and understanding on more levels than I can recall. She will always be in my heart.

My first friend on the ranch here reminded me, when I described being lucky to be here, that no, it was not luck. I earned this place. I worked for it. Scrapped, sacrificed and sold my time for it. It is mine from hard work, effort and steadfast determination to hunt until I found my own slice of happiness upon this land.

The luck, my true luck, is the people I am now calling friends out here. My community. We are a community because we need to be. We look out for each other for they look out for us. We care because we all know we are here for the same reason – our love of this patch of land. We can bond over such, protect such, treat each other kindly as such, and as lucky as I am to know these people, I can happily report that I am not related to any of them.