Schierly Living

Moving on to the ranch was my first experience with an HOA. Within five or six weeks of my arrival (still settling, still arranging, still unpacking) my neighbors complained to the HOA about me; the HOA process began early on in regards to making sure the new guy knew there were many rules to follow. Where is the HOA’s accountability to the owners, new or otherwise? That is the topic of today’s thought.

Choosing to move here was not an easy decision, for the aforementioned reason of the HOA itself. I am not one to be told what color I can paint what building, what vehicle might sit in what location, etc.; each HOA is a unique animal unto itself. The tipping factor, for this man to sign and thus relocate, was a combination of this fabulous location itself, coupled with being a gated community, such that anyone wandering about our fair lands also has passed our security screening.

We have cameras at the entry points. We have an LPR system. We have special locks. We have keys. We have gates. Giving up a touch of freedom for security? It seemed like a fair trade.

But we do not have security here, we have the illusion of security. We have had at least two notable incidents where we could not ascertain the license plate of the perpetrator. (We have been told that if we have not provided license plates to the HOA in advance, they wouldn’t be able to track the vehicles even if plate numbers were captured.) We have poachers wandering about, freely. We have had an incident of the wind shifting the camera out of site of the gate so we could not follow a matter. We have folks bringing in large back hoe type equipment scraping and altering our roads. We have had someone remove and steal our railroad gate padlock, with nary an image of who, or when the transgression occurred. Since then, at least three weeks now, the gate is simply swinging wide open, with no replacement lock yet available. Security? We don’t need no stinkin’ security!

We pay for this security we do not get. We trade freedoms where neighbors can complain about what our lot might look like, but management seems not to care if strangers wander in, explore, and maybe visit our storage facility, about a half mile away. Owners have stored a few hundred thousand dollars worth of equipment here under the guise of it being behind a locked gate. Nearly all of them are gone for the winter and trust that this gate is locked, protecting their property. I have a nearly new truck sitting down there, eight miles from home, with no ability to see it, and the gate intended to protect it swings wide open for weeks now; the management company has no spare lock on hand, but has placed an order.

Two nights in the past week I have seen an array of snow machines wandering about the northwest end of the park, riding the ranges, zipping around this wonderful land. I do not think they belong here. I do not think they live here. I wish we could get our gate locked, such a fundamental, ridiculous breach of security. A breach we should have had a spare lock on hand to resolve.

(Hey, Mr. Burns – how about a gate latch so the gates would at least stay closed, if not locked? Could we maybe trouble you for a damned latch?)

I went out of the park this weekend in pursuit of fresh organic produce and a few dozen more eggs. Fifteen days sans humans was the last stint here, but I would really like to settle in for a couple of months, and simply not leave. This weekend’s food collection makes this quite realistic. It is an adventure to get out, and civilization, such as it is, masks, lack of eye contact, and a touch of human coldness everywhere… there is not much to miss. I would rather watch the elk, the coyote, and the relentlessly migrating snow.

Here is some footage from inside as Moon Bug takes me out, and then back in to the park. There has been much snow reporting as of late, but whereas I might sit still for a month or two, this is the last such focused content for a spell. (You may wish to hit mute, it’s just machine noise and the cab heater. )

We have the first snowflake. Now let’s build a blizzard. – Douglas Adams

I am used to monitoring for storms, as oft noted, but it is for the usual that one is accustomed. How much snow will fall? When will the snow land? Will the snow be heavy and wet bonding to everything? Will it be icy? Pure fluff? Snow fall totals here are irrelevant; it is the wind that determines one’s totals, and has little to do with what actually falls upon your property.

After the prior storm, notably it was eighteen inches of fresh fluff, the drifts on the top of Powers and Schierl gained height daily, topping out at over five feet. Winds blew and blew and posted videos of migrating snow did not reveal that Powers was there destination, but it surely was a dropping point.

Most recently, I went to bed, settled now our most recent storm was over. Seven inches of fresh (un-bonded) powder landed during the storm, and by bed time, the walk ways were clear to the solar shed, the garage, and of course, the wood pile. Seven inches of fluff was not a big deal, but by the time my head hit the pillow, the wind was howling so what relocation might occur, I did not know.

I awoke yesterday to new drifts, but no new snow except what was transferred here by the wind. The yard, bare in places, now gone in others with drifts several feet deep. One drift circles two full sides of the cabin, whipping around the home all night long.

I may be here for a while; not only is Schierl Road buried in drifts, much like my home, the road bank blocked passage, creating a drop. At the moment, one side of the road is about three feet higher than the other, not fit for a track machine.

We might think it is part of what makes us human to take advantage. To study, examine, analyze and pick an opportunity that suits our needs and to utilize it, fully, to keep us dry, safe, warm, or mobile. At times I wonder what is us, the thinking us, and what just is.

All life seems to follow this tendency. The pack rats have discovered my wood piles make excellent, dry little houses to build nests within. The mice continually try to invade my warm inviting home amidst the snow, sleet and blistering winds. (One little bugger crawled up behind the wood stove for a nap, out of reach, but not out of sight.) There are rabbits living under the wood piles, safe from predators and weather. Something rodent-esque is enjoying the covered deck’s depths, mostly free from snow.

Most recently, the elk have realized that navigating the park is far easier on our packed machine tracks, and they are now traveling up and down Schierl as we humans like to do. No longer muscling up the four foot drifts, they are moving in herds upon a road that mostly holds them too, above this powdery fluff.

Footage of snow migration, moving across the valley to the south west.

It was relentless for many hours, and for long into the night.