Author: Martian Joe

Perhaps not in total snow fall, but in movement. This storm blew in heavy from the east; the snow was ‘falling’ vertically for several hours, filling in every hole, crevice and crack.

It has in fact been challenging, moving out here into the wilderness. Most folks I met last Summer and Fall all were surprised, and some worried, that I was intending to winter this remotely, access being what it is. I was not worried. I knew where, how, and with what means I grew up, and I knew what I could and could not manage in regards to cold, weather, access, remoteness, self care and the like; in many ways, I have been practicing for this for decades.

My largest challenge here, the one I walked in with, is mostly contained within the three or so pounds of matter floating about my skull. Within this I carry it all. The successes, the failures, the childishness, the wins, the losses, the gains, the growth, and the promise of a brighter tomorrow.

A year ago today was a landmark day that resulted in my arrival here. I was formulating a plan, working towards a future I thought would sustain me for the rest of my days. A year ago today, that plan shifted. I lost the track I thought I was going to ride into the sunset, the plan I thought would fulfill me for decades, even though it was still a plan in progress.

Sometimes change happens whether we want it to or not. Sometimes change happens because it is good for us, even though we think that it is not. Sometimes change happens and we cannot control it, it seems. We could have, but when some buckets tip over, the years long rising of the grains of sand go from unnoticed to a spilt pile of failure, collected over time. We must pay attention to any place in our lives where we are leaking such grains. Check your buckets, empty them, and surely learn how to patch the holes. Do not let them tip over. Some buckets, when they tip over, shatter.

If one tips and breaks, you will need to start over and build a new plan. That is the lesson for the day. A year in the life that meant this new path is what it is, and the old path, although prevalent in thought and feeling, steeped with pain and loss, must become one that stops getting tended, along with every notion of ever walking upon it again.

The most recent storm has blown through. The sky is blue, the power grid is absorbing, and the wind is shifting the snow, yet again. It was a lovely storm, a quiet weekend, and today is a site to behold. The snow is only on reprieve; another foot predicted for tomorrow night.

I managed to leave the mountain this week; did some paperwork at the county, mailed some documents, and like a moment of magic, entered a City Market produce section. I’ve not seen that much green, rich, recently live plant life in a couple of months. It was more impressive than driving a new truck on smooth, floating paved roads, seeing power lines strung everywhere, or the nervous, anxious drivers, riding my ass, when 68 in a 65 simply wasn’t fast enough. I got out, I saw the world, and I was quite pleased to get back to my own form of reality.

There are fresh greens in the house, both for me and my neighbor who is spending more time up here. Fresh food feels gift like, as he stated, even though he paid for everything he received; perhaps we all need a bit less access, a bit less overwhelming consumption, a bit less free reign to every bounty imaginable. We seem unhappy as a nation, discontent, displeased, lost. There is so much abundance in our world, and from my perspective, nothing to seem unhappy about as such. Everything is within reach, it just takes the resources to acquire it.

I will wait here for Spring. A winter storm warning has been issued, but moves with the coming change in the weather. There are still snow drifts several feet high, even though, eight miles away, there is not a lick of snow to be found. I am in no hurry for the melt, but ready for the shift nonetheless. Spring brings new life, new optimism, new smells, and new baby creatures. There is much to enjoy about the forthcoming shifts to witness here in slower than normal motion.

The temperature peaked at forty seven degrees yesterday. It was lovely. The snow is visibly dropping in height, there is finally sufficient moisture for snow balls, and the smells in the air are shifting as the cold weather loses its grip. Sunday here on my little mountain top was a near perfect day.

Alas, it is short lived, and Spring is only a teasing this early into the month of March. A new storm should land here on Thursday or so this week, predicting from 18 inches upwards, so if we factor that by four or five as in the past? We stand the chance to get a real dumping of fresh powder through the weekend.

Plans move forward for Spring, regardless. I have hand drawn images of the forthcoming greenhouse, both the foundation and the roof, and am in the process of turning them into real drawings. Based upon much reading, and a season on this mountain top with the relentless winds and constantly drifting snow, it seems more realistic to design one that fits the environment, versus assuming another’s design will suffice.

I need two heat sources for the building throughout the winter. I need a cooling system for the summer. Both of these must be accomplished in such a way that they do not consume any power, nor require a steady supply of fuel to maintain, so much investigation was done. Satisfied to have answers for both, architectural diagrams are the next logical step. Growing my own food is no longer only a desire; in this shifting world in which we live, it is becoming a survival tool, not just comfort for the long, snowy, lovely winters out here in the wild.

The snow is starting to melt, temperatures rising above the freezing point this month, for the first time since late Fall. The snow is starting to form into snowballs when pressed, and the shift in the landscape is becoming noticeable. Wind, however, remains the most prevalent factor, more so than snow. Some ridges get blown bare, whilst others get the migration landing normally, steadily, regularly increasing the snow totals.

My yard is several feet deep in places; the house and out buildings do wonders for the building up of snow drifts. Snow fencing might help, but when the snow blows in many directions, often at once, just where does one place such fencing? Maybe I need a dome like that cheesy Stephen King novel (is that redundant now?). At least it would block the relentless wind.

Much is slowing down, having spent a month now, working for no one, often not even myself. I am settling into my skin, and planning just what might be next. I am in need of a task to occupy the Self, and such triggers are turning on again, now that work is nil. It will sort itself out, the path, however, is not yet determined.