Talkin' 'bout Our Generation

If there is one bit of advice on homesteading which will run consistently through these journals, it is: "Do it as soon as you can, while you still have energy and ambition. AND patience. I no longer possess the patience which was needed to restore intricate, delicate antiques or vehicles. It is simply gone. I don't know if it is solely the erosive effect of time itself or if it is a complex weave of experiences which drove it away. Perhaps having to start over again from nearly nothing so many times has exhausted a finite supply of patience. But, take my word for it, it is a necessary attribute for a life in the middle of nowhere. It helps you tackle a problem and keep on going without draining essential energy.

The other valuable asset you will need is a familiarity with every system which affects your quality of life there. We are marginally suited in that respect but probably better than most folks. Unless you find a property with an existing, fairly maintenance free home, you will be ever strained and challenged. The greater distance to town or the more miles off pavement, the less likely you will be able to call in professional help. When you are 2 or more hours in from pavement, you realize that you cannot throw up your arms in surrender and call a repairman, not unless you have unlimited financial resources.

So ... on Saturday night, I was on the computer after Mark went to bed when I heard an uneven woowoppaty of the generator and saw the corresponding light show. I grabbed the lantern and dashed outside to kill the engine but I knew that I had just broken one of my most stringent rules - Do Not run engines out of fuel! From my own experiences, doing so will allow water, rust and crud to flow out of the tank and clog things you don't want to deal with. I went to bed with that thought on my mind.

On Sunday morning, I awoke to the raucous rattle and exhaust call of the bigger generator, the one we only run to power my table saw. It took a moment to shake off the night's last groggy hold before I realized that this confirmed my last thoughts of the evening before - Mark could not start the Honda 3000EU generator. Here comes that vital element of patience into play. I laid there a few moments longer, going over the likely components to address and I dreaded the prospects deeply. A long time ago, I used to tear down my motorcycle every winter ... just because. Now I resent having to so much as change oil. Jade. An oil-soaked jade.

We held a quick conference, consulted the owner's manual, and decided that Mark would continue working on the addition and that I would see if I could do anything to resurrect the generator. It sits in the snug metal 'doghouse' at the end of the addition project and I was soon sitting in a sideways knot on the dusty floor. Gack ... that's right ... metric! Not like either of us have a vast selection of metric tools around but, several times throughout the morning, we managed to come up with the right sizes after considerable scrounging. Then I realized that everything had been efficiently jammed into this housing and that my hands are about a size and a half too big to be anything but clumsy. I removed the air filter and removed the sludge trap hidden behind it. I found some light residue but nothing I considered a problem with fuel flow. Put everything back ... still no fire up. Sigh ... surely NOT the carb? No, I'd rather check the plug than deal with that. Still nothing. No, not the carb, please ... let's throw in a little starter fluid down the hole. Nothing.

No, not the carb PLEASE. I retreated back into the Rat and took a coffee break, trying to work up the heart to attack the carb. Okay, let's do it. Once I got myself twisted back down into position, Mark was marvelous about finding any new items needed, like a tin can of gas to clean off the main and needle jets which I dropped into the dirt no less that a half dozen times before my hands and screwdriver jammed through the access hatch could reinstall them. Patience, not! Right about then, my right hip let me know that it had taken quite enough abuse and I hurled myself out of the doghouse to roll around on the ground looking for any escape from the pain. I eventually crawled back in and finished up. NOTHING! Patience, that elusive virtue. It is a vital antidote to despair and I had little by then.

By now, the sun had roasted both of us to near exhaustion so we called it a day. Normally we retreat inside and fire up the evap cooler. Ohhh ... that's right, the gen-er-a-tor is-NOT-working. So we sit there sweating, looking over the trouble-shooting section, following the yes or no arrows right down to the last box "You are an idiot - take it to your dealer". This would mean an unplanned run to town and at least two days without electricity, possibly a week or more plus an extra retrieval trip. No lights, no cooling, no computer, no e-mails, no blog. Glum, glum, glum rained down over Mudville. We filled up the new lanterns with equal parts kerosene and despair in preparation for nightfall and fell back to the living room.

Complete resignation seeped in around the edges of the gloom and drained what was left of us so we both sat silently for a time, our thoughts only vaguely connecting with reality.

"Wait!" I startled Mark with that exclamation and he sat forward. I had calmed down enough to remember my next rule of mechanics, one which I had learned from observation plus the hard way. 'Problems may coincidentally develop which have absolutely nothing to do with the first and obvious culprit.' "Mark!!! Tell me ... does that oil warming light normally flicker when you crank it over?" I have had many eccentric vehicles over the years that have lights which flicker benignly during start-up but, HEY, I am grasping desperately for straws by now. "Gee ... I never noticed one way or the other." "Okay, let's get desperate here then ... would you please top up the oil and check the housing for level?" Off he went with hesitant hope while I raced to prep supper before dark. "VROOM!" Yes, yes, yes - we both nearly danced around the Rat, another problem vanquished in the waning daylight. But don't dare dance with too much abandon for there will likely be new problems tomorrow.

Ol' Potty Pen Goin' for the Big 'R' Rating

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Today's photo? Just another back yard view. Know what's even better? For as far as you can see in that photo, there's not another house or person to be found. How cool is that?

..........................................Click image to enlarge

Okay, so maybe I am just barely old school enough that I just can't quite put some things down in text without thinking "What would Mum say?!". I've read through a lot of blogs that I stumble upon and wonder if they are orphans without family or any fetter of dignity. This is not a piety claim here. I have worked in more non-traditional non-female-friendly jobs than not; phone plant construction, carpentry, mechanics, motor trade - whatever it took to survive ever so marginally. I can make a roughneck blush, I will admit that. But, somehow, I just can't bring myself to put in text that which I reserve for moments like slamming my thumb in a brain-dead stray hammer whack moment.

So ... it was quite amusing to have my blog assessed by movie standards at:
http://mingle2.com/blog-rating

I plugged mine in: I'm PG-13 (Parents Strongly Cautioned, Some material may be inappropriate for children under 13). Moi? Guilty as sentenced according to the movie ratings however. My transgressions were as follows: the words ('Hell' appears 5 times) and ('Zombie' appears once). Whooo ... am I trashy-mouthed or what? I guess I don't consider Hell a naughty word - for me, it's just a place where, hopefully, complete jerks go when they fall off the perch for the last time. At least I like to think so. I even think we should promote the possibility of some eternal fork-poking Karma a little more. It doesn't appear that we have much to lose in that respect. Now, as to 'Zombie' - you've got me there ... completely. I kinda liked those '60s zombie movies that we endured at the drive-in as an excuse to not stay home on a Friday or Saturday night. Again, what do I know? - I'm out of the loop and out here in the boonies. Maybe that's a good thing.

After the events of today, however, I might just go for that big rating upgrade. I guess I really am becoming a crotchety and impatient old fart. Don't wander too far away since I will be posting that rant/tale in the next couple of days. Did anyone say homesteading wasn't a challenge? If so, please send me their URLs, okay?
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Mountains Out of Ant Hills

This is a tread-water offering while Mark and I fine tune the last elements of the Rat Water Works. 'Fine tune', in this case, is a euphemism for banging our heads against the wall and screeching as we solve one problem, only to have another appear, then another and another - like playing Whack-a-Mole. We'll have to take a few more whacks before showing you the final lay-out. It's starting to look good though!

Click on image for larger view

This photo shows one of our neighborhood red ant hills last Fall. I placed a gallon milk jug beside the mound to show how industrious these little fellows can be. They place a shingle-like layer of larger gravel and chico needles on top to slow down erosion and it's enjoyable to catch the glint of old colored glass fragments in the mix. I've heard that they occasionally dredge up lost Indian trade beads as well. These mounds and their forage trails are everywhere and I soon learned to pay attention as to where I was standing before stopping to sightsee during a hike. Willy the Well Driller noted that the 'old timers' used to observe the height of the mounds to forecast how much snow the coming winter would bring. Then, being in his 8Os, he stopped to laugh at himself for calling anyone an 'old timer'. But the ants and the old timers were right - we had a much needed higher level of precipitation last winter.

The ants showed up and introduced themselves like the Welcome Wagon as soon as we arrived. While they are not as aggressive and rude as fire ants, I still didn't like having them keep me company and crawl up my pants legs while I was working under the Rat. That crawling sensation caused me to hit my head on the undercarriage more than once. To their credit, however, they were more pleasant to deal with than the rotting rat that I stuck my hand in while trying to move around under there. Thankfully, I did not run into scorpions, rattlers, black widows or tarantulas that are also likely to move in if you don't have the space sealed up well. I have met all of them in other settings since arriving so it's probably just a matter of time before they show up under the Rat. Funny thing but I have since developed a dislike of having to work under there. Therefore, I will be ever grateful that Virgil bit the bullet and dove under to deal with the latest necessary plumbing reworks. I know for a fact that he is not particularly fond of creepy crawlies either so my only solace was that he was far more agile and likely to come shooting out of there at light speed if he ran into anything untoward. Without him, I guarantee you that this water project would have been on hold 'til slightly before Hell freezes over if it had required my participation.

There's This Hum on My Cell Phone

Crackle ... "... on final approach" crackle ... "Roger, Charlie Niner ... you're breaking up, over?"

It wasn't until yesterday while I was leaning against the hummingbird feeder post that I realized what might have been irritating my cell phone communication with the outside world. I found myself there trying to determine if the dogs were barking at anything of genuine substance. A hummingbird dove in to hover a few inches away from my hand to grab a slurp of sugar water and was immediately strafed by a far more aggressive member of his own kind. I watched the aggressor fly back to his vigil on ... MY cell phone antenna! MY, MY, MY antenna, NOT his!

The "Doh!" moment hit, a nostalgic flashback back to the TV industry's standard screen saver of the 60s for transmission difficulty ... birds sitting on an antenna! We had bought and installed this big rig antenna on the roof of the Rat to aid my cheesy default package cell phone. This phone had always been 'iffy', even with the construction of a closer cell tower up on top by Slim's ranch but the antenna had worked well in the winter months. By late Spring, I could count on conducting undecipherable conversations on a regular basis. It didn't make any sense. Not until today.

Apparently the sensitivity and signal loss of this antenna is such that, when we asked about buying coaxial to extend its reach further back into the Rat, the answer was a resounding "No, can't do it!" Accordingly, I spent any subsequent cell time tethered to the antenna at the desk in the front of the Rat. Lately, even that wasn't enough to stop the break-up of signal. Doh! This had corresponded with the return of the hummingbirds! Thankfully, this revelation does not make me feel any more compelled to absorb mindless girly chatter about bimbos whom I have never met while my buttocks, arms and mind fall asleep, a torture visited upon me by previous female acquaintances. For future calls of genuine importance, however, I now know that I can run out to the porch and throw cow chips at those perching bullies when the signal breaks up.

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June: A couple of antennae decided to get married. The wedding was so-so but the reception was fabulous!

C-o-o-l, c-l-e-a-r water ... WATER !

Story time line: Late April to present

As promised on his last field visit, Virgil came through for us and returned on his own time to help us with the dreaded plumbing rework to correct that last numbing bit of craftsmanship left by the Handyman from Hell. Without his help, neither of us were going to get around the stroke-inducing memories of that fiasco. And so that day held exciting prospects beyond few others out here to date. I awaited anxiously for the check-in call saying "We're only a half hour away right now."

When they finally arrived (a half hour seeming like an eternity), they did not come to the door as expected but went right to the work site at the rat's rear. Wot!? Such serious intent? We'll have none of that here! I ran the inside length of the trailer and exited out the rear door to head them off. I grabbed the cordless drill on the way out and lay in wait behind the metal 'doghouse' which we had recently lowered into place with the skid steer. Virgil rounded the corner first and I mowed him down quite effectively with the drill ... Grishzzzzzzzzzzz!!!! Well, he was no fun at all and kept on walking even though I knew that I had scored a direct hit on this invader of Billy the Kid's secret hideout. But wait! There is one more invader to be dealt with! I hunkered down again and sprang up in full blaze as his wife rounded the corner. Grishzzzzzzzzzzz!!!! Grishzzz!!!! Grishzzz!!!! I wasn't about to take any chances this time, nosiree. It just had to be done.

Now maybe some would consider such things as "Ewwww, like so totally sophomoric, you know?" but then again, I never signed any contract saying that I would grow old gracefully either - or even sanely, for that matter. And there's something satisfying about making younger folks wonder if their own parents are like this when they are not around. My reward for all this foolishness was a sighing reprimand from Matty as she restrained a patient grin and said "Sigh ... oh, Lin, you-are-SUCH a little kid ...." Some moments just don't get any better than this, seeing that adorable ever-patient little face in chastise mode. I can see why Virgil is completely sold on her, I really can.

It wasn't long before Virgil, being the no B.S. kind of guy he is, surveyed the situation through the skirting panel we had just removed, donned his Carharts and disappeared under the rat for serious business. Matty remained content to browse through her school supply catalogs on the back steps nearby, soaking up a good sunburn in the process.

Soon we heard "Oh man, I can't believe he did this ... what a complete doofus!" issue forth from the dark under belly of the Rat. But there were no real surprises for us in his findings. It would figure that the Handyman from Hell had reduced the 3/4 inch supply line that he made such a dog and pony production over down to 1/2 inch well BEFORE the branch-offs to the kitchen bath and laundry occurred. But we knew deep down that more inane practices would be revealed in time.

The best we could do now was to hover by the opening in the skirting and toss him tools and supplies as he needed them. It was a sheer and envious pleasure to watch his lithe, young frame squeeze by UNDER the rat axles - something that neither of us could accomplish with our latter day bulges.

While the remainder of the system set-up was not ideal, by the end of that day, we had gen-you-wine running water in the rat. We celebrated over the lunch which THEY had brought and then with a Chez Rat supper. And Virgil reminded me that he got one of our private property mulie hunting passes for the effort. Now just hoping that he might share a backstrap or a round roast if he gets lucky this Fall.

With Virgil's absolutely crucial part in the scheme completed, we could now seal the skirting back up and proceed with the foundation for the proposed addition. This was a glorious step forward. The photo shows that momentous progression.

Click on photo for larger image

To be continued!

Project Delayed by Passing Wind!

"On wan dark night on Lac St. Pierre,
De win' she blow, blow, blow,
An' de crew of de wood scow "Julie Plante"
Got scar't an' run below --

For de win' she blow lak hurricane
Bimeby she blow some more, . . . "
~ WH Drummond

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There are times when the crew of the wood scow "Rat" must acknowledge a helpless insignificance in the face of nature and acquiesce until its tantrums subside. Last week brought winds so fierce that, for the first time in over a year, we could feel the Rat shudder and rock from several right hooks from Mother Nature.

This photo shows the dust storm raging along the path of the creek, obscuring our normal view of mesas five to ten miles away. The sage in the foreground is straining forward to the east under the heavy hand of the wind. Click on image for larger view

The day had started out with benign breezes. Eventually the playful zephyrs became like rowdy drunks, hurling innocent objects aloft simply because they could. I looked outside and saw Mark attempting to become Rocky the Flying Squirrel by waltzing with a 4x8 sheet of sheathing. "Secure that thing and come in here! No sense in continuing with the project until the wind dies down!" No one likes to hear that sort of logic expressed when they are on a roll but Mark had only needed a second opinion to confirm his own thoughts. In the company of all dogs and cats, we spent the rest of the day reading and watching interesting items sail past the windows in their unexpected maiden flights. The water and addition project fell into stasis between the winds and the likelihood of thunderstorms. On the other hand, we welcome such occasions to read obsessively without any mantle of guilt. We are truly enjoying no longer being caught up in agendas, timetables and goals. We did take occasional peeks outside to formulate new and improved plumbing configurations and create new schematics. The next town run will bring home definitive supplies to complete our water machinations. But I may have made that presumption before. For the want of a nail, the kingdom may wait another half a month for continued progress but things do happen eventually.

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Humor of the Day (from Ken)

Bumper stickers for seniors

- Senior Campbell's Soup - new LARGE type alphabet soup

-The secret to staying young is to live healthily, eat slowly and lie about your age.

-I must be getting older - all the names in my personal phone book end with M.D.

- I'm not old - I am chronologically gifted.

- Be nice to your children - they will choose your nursing home.

- FLORIDA - God's waiting room!

- Experience is a wonderful thing. It enables you to recognize a mistake when you make it again.

- Quit worrying about your health. It'll go away.

- At my age, flowers SCARE me.

- I'm so old that all my friends in heaven will think I didn't make it.

- Birthdays are good for you; the more you have, the longer you live.

- One good thing about Alzheimer's ... you get to meet new people every day.

- It ain't the age, it's the darn mileage.

- Support bingo. Keep Grandma off the streets.

- When did my wild oats turn into prunes and bran?

- Any day above ground is a good one!

- My wife always gives me sound advice; 99% sound, 1% advice.

- Retirement: Twice as much husband, half as much money.

RE: Siding, Re-Siding and Residing at the Rat

Da Moose, Red, et al continually remind me to post photos of our rat re-siding project. They're right, this has been a major step towards civility and economic sustainability here. Why I have waited this long to present the status of this project is beyond me - perhaps due to not having finished the window and door trimming. It will look great if I ever get around to that final touch, however, just don't hold your breath, okay?


Click on image for larger view

We hadn't been moved into the rat for more than 24 hours before we realized that something had to be done to stop the wind and the cold air from infiltrating. While this trailer had probably been state of the art efficiency 35 years ago, both time and technology had long since advanced. We even got a good laugh out of the surviving climate zone (-50 F) certificate in the old furnace closet. Admittedly, the trailer had full 2x4 stud walls stuffed with pink insulation. If you are thinking about buying a cheap rat, do yourself a favor and get one with at least that much going for it. I kid you not, we had carefully diced our way through a number of rat trailers with 2x2 walls - don't even think about those jobbies. This one at least had the big 'P' (Potential) going for it in that regard.

The detractors of the rat were that it had 3/8 plywood paneling on the interior walls and a beer can thick coating of aluminum on the outside and the place leaked air like a bicycle tire in a prickly pear patch. Since it was winter by the time we settled in, we started with the cozy fixes on the interior; putting up drywall here and there and re-securing and caulking the original paneling where needed. Even that helped immensely as far as the number of 20 pound propane tanks we were going through although we still sequestered ourselves into just the living room and kitchen area that first winter. You'd better like each other's company before trying this however. Even Slim testified that he doesn't doubt that this same scenario led to a divorce in his case. So be forewarned.

During the following summer, we started skinning the rat. The aluminum siding was tacked on here and there with hex-head screws and innumerable staples but it was easy enough to take down in ten to twenty foot sections at a time with the help of tin snips to define the cut-off points where necessary. In the process, we eliminated two leaky old doors; one to the now defunct water heater closet and the original side egress. And good riddance. They were nothing but wind and bug liabilities anyway. The hard part was deciding which old windows and doors would stay and where new windows and doors needed to be framed in and installed.

Once the framing issues had been addressed, Mark began infilling each stud center with a precisely-fitting piece of one inch styrofoam over the existing fiberglass insulation. I was impressed since they managed to stay in place even with the high winds ripping by before we could proceed to the next step.

The game plan was to do one complete side at a time and then wrap over the entire side with Tyvec before beginning to install the new exterior paneling. The strategy worked very well, too (sometimes our plans DO NOT work as envisioned). We cut and installed stepped flashings both above and below the paneling as we went and this has paid off nicely in terms of avoiding moisture infiltration.

When the last panel was in place, we painted the paneling. This paneling proved to be a nice material to work with. They're 4'x8' particle composite sheets with a deeply embossed weathered barn board effect which took the paint very well. For the color, I took an average of various pieces of weathered board that we had salvaged for our fencing. If I decide to get fussy at a later date, I will go back and highlight the embossing with a nearly black stain. But, you know what, it looks just fine at the moment and may stay that way forever. As an acquaintance used to say repeatedly "I may be young and ambitious but not THAT young and ambitious." And that was uttered 30 years ago. My former anal perfectionism has mellowed considerably over those intervening years.

Being both pragmatic people, our biggest pleasure in completing the siding project was in being able to expand into the rest of the trailer without any increase in heating costs. The difference was remarkable, in fact. Now that we are entering hot weather again, the benefits seem just as remarkable in terms of heat infiltration. This has definitely become one of our most cost-effective efforts so far.

Next stage: working towards running water in the rat.

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Appropriate humor of the week:

What's the difference between a divorce in Arkansas and a tornado?

There is no difference. One way or the other, somebody's gonna lose a trailer.

Favorite Desert Recipe - Just Add Flower

There have been a few events lately that had me lightly wondering why we are still here. This photo helps explain why to me and the rest of the world.

Click for a larger view

These are yucca plants, similar to the one which Mark encountered (but without the handsome blooms) on his previously recounted buttock ride down to the creek. Like most other desert plants I have found, they aren't happy growing just anywhere either. They seem to pick out-of-the-way places where the deer and elk (or sliding hikers) aren't likely to pester them. These particularly nice examples are growing on an isolated ledge jutting out four stories above and sixty feet behind the rat trailer. They keep the company of some of the most joyously lush and vibrant yellow clusters of wild flowers I have ever seen. Photographing them is quite another story:

Disclaimer: DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME

- Especially do not try this if you are accompanied by two whacko Aussie cattle dogs who will blast between your legs as you pick your way over the crumbly two foot wide section of ledge with a sheer drop on one side.

- If you place a foot on an unstable rock which gives way and crashes over the edge, Mark will never notice from below, even though you just did a geriatric sideways splits and came up howling like a banshee. Your solace is; at least you didn't go over the edge with that picturesque rock.

- Once the dogs are out of the way, you will enter the Josef Karsh zone as you jockey for that most sublime shot. This will cause you to keep your eye jammed into the viewfinder while crab-walking backwards for the right frame. This, in turn, will cause you to inadvertently squat on a younger yucca. I have yet to figure out why these spikes leave a lingering and unpleasant burning sting at the contact point but they do - just take my word on that. Still, I just had to share this view with you.

So how's that for some awesome no-fuss backyard landscaping?

Gas Pains

Okay, so when was the last time you filled up at the pump and went inside to pay and the nice lady said "That'll be $2500.00 and some odd, please." ? It might be enough to have you clasp your hand over your heart and reel backwards like Fred Sanford working on 'the big one'.

For us, it seemed like just last week. Come to think of it, it was just last week. After over a year and a half of trying to set up fuel delivery to the ranch, it finally happened. Both a good and bad aspect of New Mexico is that a lot of people and businesses don't get strokes over 'minor' details. If you go along with that new mindset, you will be fine and probably live longer in the end. If you haven't quite managed the full transition, you might die that much sooner out of frustration. We are somewhere in between at the moment. We have been laid back enough to not follow-up even weekly on events that just aren't happening as promised. BUT, we are still up north or back east enough to eventually get tired of drumming our fingers and waiting, especially when something brings a premium with it when it does finally happen.

For instance, imagine what that same load of gas would have cost well over one year ago. The irony was that we only found out later, unofficially, that we could have locked in a price per gallon at the time we first committed to ordering it. And, much more ironically, that a locked-in price might have had that fuel out here much sooner as gas prices started to rise.

The upside of having fuel delivered out here to the back yard is that we no longer have to bring several 5 gallon gas cans into town each week to feed the generator, the skid steer and other thirsty beasts around here (To Be Announced!). Our biggest disaster in personal fuel transport just had to occur right after Mark's new big Dodge got the new spray-in bed liner. Of course. The shop sent him away with the warning to not spill fuel on the liner - that this was one thing guaranteed to eat it up. So, you guessed it .... five gallons dump over onto the liner, a load of building supplies, etc., despite the load lock bar, wishes, prayers and santos. Well, maybe we weren't using the santos (those charming rustically carved saint statues - largely of Hispanic Catholic origin) but I think I might track some down after the events of this last month and tack them to the cab roof.

To take a minor amount of sting out of the delay, the company did give us tanks and the spill detention tanks at a reasonably reduced rate though. They give you a discount for bulk quantity purchase but the delivery price curiously offsets that savings, i.e. you still pay pump prices. Like I said, the main benefit is that we no longer have to transport fuel in ourselves. Now ... all we have to do is use it up before it deteriorates or find some way to stabilize it. As I have found out from vehicle restorations and running older, more finicky engines, the new gas formulations just don't have the shelf life they once did. Those little, itty bitty, pricey cans of Stabil were not going to cut it at our volume so we started looking for it in quantity. In the process, buddy John E from Phoenix noted that Stabil itself does not necessarily have a stable shelf life. Is it just me or is there some grand irony involved here? Well, we did some more technical info digging after that revelation and it turns out that it is okay if you add it all to your fuel immediately or leave it unopened. Once opened, however, that tiny can will start to go down hill unless you use it up. How many of you, myself included, have had partial cans of that stuff hanging around forever on the shop shelf? Something to think about before pouring it down the gullet of your favorite old GTO.