Author: Martian Joe

I have the second largest storm of the year in the forecast now. Four inches Friday, and maybe an inch on Saturday. Unlike last year, I am ready. Ready in action, supplies, stores, and compared to last year, fully in mental faculty. It is not as simple, or arrogant, as ‘been there, done that’, it is a feeling of understanding. Knowing what it means to be here, experience, listen, watch, learn. I am anxious for another opportunity.

The pass to the house is in shadowy tall trees. One more storm like the last and that pass won’t be navigable with truck or jeep, so I shall relocate them and hike the ranch one day after my consulting duties.

Moon Bug is dusty from the waiting and my spirit is starting to itch for the white. Two nights grilling in shorts and t-shirts, however? A very nice way for December to have begun.

Last year at this time I was fully Moon Bug dependent to get up the three nearest passes to get access in or out of the ranch. This year the six inches of Thanksgiving snow has melted off, with temperatures expected to be in the fifties today. The hunters are gone. Even those longing to stay are gone; everyone is hunkering down for the winter that hasn’t started yet. It is quiet here. Peaceful. Yet it far more remote.

I took the dog to a vet yesterday, traveling to and from the house in the truck. Moon Bug sits idle, only running to keep the battery topped off; she doesn’t move. Such as this place is, the snow is gone nearly everywhere except for Schierl Road itself, still slick in spots. The first few miles escaped the Spring Fire so shade is prevalent for much of this stretch.

The remoteness is real, and I drove just a bit more cautiously as a result. The dog was with me, and he walks yards now, not miles, so he must get home. My Jeep is parked down at the access gate, prepared for the snow that is not even in the ten day forecast. Nearly everyone I know has gone elsewhere and hunkered down. It is remote, these eight miles from pavement which is twelve miles from town.

A man and his dog. We will be cautious and pay attention, but we will thrive in the remoteness as well. The silence. The space. The gift that is the ranch.

It has been an interesting week in the ranch. I returned to the consulting world after a three month hiatus as a wandering man. I have been resettling from my recent revelations, and some interesting changes have occurred.

The consulting? Fully detached. I can now plug in, look around, consider, perform, suggest, guide, document, but I can fully disconnect when the clock says X. The work will be there tomorrow. It is a problem that needs solving, but it is not my problem and never will be my problem. It is one of the top five largest companies in the country, so regardless of what I may or may not do, they will be fine, they will survive, and they can readily find another to fill my niche, were it required.

Other than the few hours required on the work screen, life has been different. Disconnected from the outside world. It is music now, with no visuals and notably, no lyrics. No news. No talk shows. No podcasts…. no input other than my own. It is providing clarity I have lacked for some time.

We can lose ourselves in others’ input, whether it be a network conceived idea or the ranting of a man on the net. It is someone else’s idea. These ideas are crafted, formulated, written, produced, broadcast. And yes, I get to ingest it if I choose, but nothing about it, absolutely nothing, is mine. I am a passive recipient to their thoughts, ideas, beliefs, whims, sense of humor or angst. Nothing is mine.

At the moment, amidst the silliness, insanity, shift that is the shift that it is…. another moment to give thanks to the ranch. I know no other place like this. I can reformulate my thoughts on my own, as I need, without the expressions, positive or negative, from anyone else.

I give thanks to the universe for letting me find this place. For letting me experience this place. Happy Thanksgiving to you all. Note that for which you are thankful, and celebrate it.

Resetting one’s sense of self, and resetting one’s place in reality, can feel transcendent as recently noted. What a gift this ranch is not only for such, but when reality reveals we now live in a culture that is nothing but a Monty Python sketch.

Social reality isn’t all it’s cracked up to be these days. I shall focus upon the sanity of nature and this ranch.

It has taken a year to complete and absorb, but I share for reference.