Author: Martian Joe

The snow changed the landscape this week, but it also finally quieted the ranch in a way it has not been still since late last Spring. Barely no one is about, no one is moving. It is the stillness I was seeking and was ready to return after the busy and full summer months amidst this community.

There is a lot of darkness in the changes we face as we now live in a world of masks, needles, propaganda and outright confusion for many folks. One aspect it has changed, and for the better, is the work from home paradigm. I have worked as such full time since 2009, but it is now the norm, not the exception as it once was when fighting for such a privilege back in the day.

Having decided to return to the consulting world, one no longer needs to job hunt. I ticked a box on my work profile, and voila. Recruiters started calling and the the opportunities began to flow. Amidst all the solitude and isolation, I managed to have five first round interviews this week, all full time remote, all with no needle requirements.

A firm offer landed last night, and three round two interviews are in queue for today. In this one aspect of life, such a disaster has made remote work easier and more in tune to the needs of a man such as myself. Living off grid with a near mystical fiber optic internet connection? It sure feels like the right place at the right time.

The new year blew in the first real snow storm of the winter. It dallied, it teased, it was nearly a half day late of when the flurries were predicted and for much of the day the ranch walked the line between sunshine and impending change.

About seven inches landed up here in the back of the ranch, but the drifts are over a foot deep. It was a calm, quiet, still snowfall, but the winds of winter here soon returned to normalcy. The ranch is nearly white, save for tall grasses and sage patches not yet buried, but the shift to a white landscape is notable, and quite welcome for January.

I have had several requests to report on road conditions, how Moon Bug is doing in the cold and fresh powder, which roads and routes might be open, etc… At the moment, I haven’t a clue, nor do I want one. Not really snowed in, but two miles from a vehicle besides Moon Bug means the winter isolation is starting to return. I have no interest in leaving such a moment and am reveling in the solitude and stillness.

May you enjoy your own beverage, or a former Soviet Republic of Eastern European descent, to use the parlance of our times.

December 2021 is far different, in far many ways, than was December 2020.

A year ago I was mired in deep snow, depending upon Moon Bug to get on or off this mountain. Today, the Jeep sits in the driveway, the world the color of my dog; mostly gold with patches of white. The old boy is hard to see at dusk and dawn as such. Addled as he is, he never goes out alone anymore. I once lost a dog to a mountain lion, a similarly abled dog, and I believe they sense such shifts in animal stability.

A year ago I was sitting here, deep in both snow and internal conflict. Fully employed for thirteen years in a job that gave me stomach aches. Still gives me stomach aches when I discuss it in consulting interviews. I sat here on someone else’s furniture, sleeping in someone else’s bed, sort of sliding into an existence as a place to be, but abstracted from being my own.

I am nesting this year. With help from a friend there are now twenty five plants in here with me. There is furniture, wall hangings, art work, arrangements, a friend’s gong, all of my choosing. There is a home here now, my home, shaped, molded, and nestled into the winter experience I wish to experience, not just a place to be. A place to think and plan just what might come next year.

May your year end well for you. May you map out what you wish for the next year. May you be so lucky to experience something that requires no map; you only need a map if you are lost or do not know where you are going, after all.

It has been still here in the ranch. One light from the distances of Tahmoush was shining last night, the only other visible light besides myself. There is another I am aware of a few miles away, but other than that, it was a still, quiet, peaceful holiday weekend. No traffic, no movement save for my own body, and no sounds other than that of the real world. A gift to awaken to on a national holiday, it was.

Today the winds have returned, but they no longer have the intimidation factor. Having survived the blitz of a couple weeks back, this seems ever so mild in comparison, weather alerts and all. There is a new plan for the wall and it should be executed soon, so all is feeling good amidst wind storm three.

I must leave the ranch tomorrow so shall venture out a couple hours early, chainsaw with extra fuel and oil in tow. The last two trips required such; I am sure the burnt hill mess I cleared ten trees upon thus far may have dropped another few. But if I don’t clear them adequately now they will mess with Moon Bug when the snow arrives, hiding their jutting, angling, poking edges. Firewood collection for next season will begin once the finger heals, if the snow stays away; the roads are literally littered with it.

It has been the topic of the week, last week’s wind that was. A trip to the post office, the convenience store or the hemp store all yielded the same. Wide eyed stories of who was where when and while. Fear of losing roofs, walls. The mobile home several times rolled on 159, thankfully unoccupied. Trees down, and I saw another splinted finger at a stop sign, but that could be coincidence.

The commissary was out of gap sealer, whereas many discovered what my tenant has; houses leak, notably when the wind howls like a lonely coyote.

Elk season is here! Not for the hunters, but for the passive viewers such as myself. Two days in a row were herds in the Brophy/Gray Place meadows, running, playing and feeding. My weekend guest had to wait for a steady flow to cross the road upon her departure.

Elk have sensed the stillness and that the hunters have left, it would seem. I see movement again as the day breaks this fine morning.