The Adirondacks of the High Desert

.

Below: Previous seating experiments on the Rat's front porch. Sad at best.
.
A) Having been through at least six of them, I can say that this configuration was by far our worst investment. Within a year, their fabric rips, their tubing and connectors break and you might incur bodily damage or possible sterilization depending on where and when they inevitably let loose. Land-fill cloggers. Don't even go there.

B) Unrestored chairs from the moving trailer. Don't wince - almost ALL the furniture in the Rat looked like that at one time. This Renaissance Revival survivor will look very different some day when I get a real shop back into my life. In the meantime, these long neglected relics might have a leg or a seat pan let loose at the most inconvenient moment, especially if you have that unforgivable habit of rocking back on their rear legs - ask any cowboy.

C) Yes, it's the ever versatile dairy crate again, ONLY called into play when more than one visitor showed up. But do note that it has a much better pattern for avoiding waffle-butt than the one shown in The Generation Wars.

D) Another desperate measure in porch seating. It might have surpassed the dairy crate but for one fatal flaw; notice that there is a molded-in hinge in the lid which is well offset to one side. It does not, therefore, match the God-given symmetry of the human buttocks. This will cause an never-ending shifting in hopes of finding a comfortable alignment. Somewhere in that process, you will find yourself radically off its safe center of gravity. At that point, if the container has been used to store the product well-used by felines, you will not only find yourself flat out on the porch but with a goodly amount of cat doodoo and litter covering you. So avoid this one if possible and resort back to option C if necessary. This one is safer being used as an end table.

Our visitors have all been incredibly good sports up to now but we didn't want to push the limits of their endurance so we recently hit the catalogs hard. Catalogs are another invaluable resource which you will rely upon heavily if you move to the middle of nowhere and I mean for far more than classic outhouse use. When a supply run involves half a day of commuting, you no longer have time to stop here or there to browse on the slight chance of finding the occasional non-staple items you desire.
. . .
Tah-dah!!! . .In fear of calling the Southwest Decorum Squad down upon us, we compromised and ordered four chairs like the more mission-styled chair in the middle of the photo above and only two of the Adirondacks. They all showed up unassembled in flat cardboard cartons and the assembly was done easily without referring to the somewhat odd 'Engrish' on the single page instruction sheets.

What's nice about the center chair is that it comes without any finish so you can let it weather or apply stains, embarrassingly gaudy paints and stencils, whatever your heart's desire. We will eventually use them as outdoor dining chairs. While they look great, their one drawback is that, after sitting down, you realize that the arms are strangely low and therefore amazingly useless unless you happen to have the torso of a circus midget. The advantage of the low arms is that they will fit under a table much more easily and therefore save needed space when not in use. We found those on-line at Northern Tool.

It was the surprising comfort of the Adirondacks which blew us away. Before we moved here, I had the templates to make a fixed-position Adirondack chair which was famous for comfort back home. Even if those paper patterns had survived the move, the time and materials would have been more than these cost us; under $60 each on sale from Sportsman's Guide. These were equally well constructed but arrived with a clear finish. When I finished assembling the first one, I plunked myself down in it for a skeptical try out. I had sat in plenty of uncomfortable Adirondacks in the past but this one was immediately downright cozy and relaxing. If it hadn't been sitting out in the scorching noonday sun, I would have dozed off immediately.
.
.
. But wait, there's more! Here is that chair folded down for storage. I was as equally skeptical about the promise of how compact it might be for winter storage but when I pushed back on the lower end of the back rest, the chair easily relaxed into what you see above. And it doesn't appear to be interested in collapsing when you are occupying it (perhaps, if you are behaving like a complete and talented idiot, it could be accomplished though). Now I only regret not having ordered four of these instead of two. Okay, so maybe they look more at home beside Schroon Lake ... but color us pleased and comfy on the Rat's front porch ... finally! .
.
. .

Here, Lets Try This Then

.
Apologies to all the rabid grammarians out there but I removed the contraction apostrophe in the post title (and might yet regret leaving the comma in). It appears to me that these things insert all sorts of unexpected html gibberish if you leave them in place in titles. And I am not in the mood for html hieroglyphs on a good day. It's just another ol' Sam Ludd thing, you see.
.
Thanks to your moral support (I WILL remember those who were kindly) when I really needed it, I have come up with this blog plan for the summer:

After today's post, I will be back on the 27th of June and will try to post a story by every Friday thereafter until autumn. Since there are so many stories yet to be shared, these postings might run a little longer than the previous ones and cover several subjects. I know, this is a long interval between posts but a necessary one at the moment.
.
.
Here are the remnants of the old log barn built in the early 1900s. It seemed more fitting to memorialize it in the colorless sepia tones of that era when things were so much harder, so much more demanding of effort to accomplish even the slightest task. Shovels, picks, axes, sweat, a strong back and a powerful stubbornness. Supplies from the outside normally brought in by tall-standing Model Ts with rigid suspensions and near-gossamer tires as time, fortune and technology moved on. But that breed of stone-tough people had arrived by horse-drawn wagon over tracks which were yet to be forged or civilized, had to build their own shelter from scratch in either blistering heat or the inescapable bite of winter. They had no health insurance, no pension, no social hammock to fall back on. They died in the normal course of working and giving life. But they were strong and vibrant with few expectations and appreciated every blessing from nature, fate and the accomplishments wrung from their own calloused hands. Where has the one hundred years hence really brought us? We now die older ... but not necessarily more content and more fulfilled. How do you think and feel on this subject?
.
.
.

Giving Up the Blog Ghost

.
Yes, I am thinking about hanging up the blog rake in the barn, at least for the summer. But first an update on the news at Rat Town.
.
.
Slim's orphan calf, Bully Boy, is starting to look like a healthy calf of his age. Above is a photo taken a week ago. Not quite spunky but his eyes were starting to fill out again as he slowly rehydrated and recovered from malnutrition.

Just last night, Slim asked if he was going to have a heck of a time getting that calf away from me. I said "Well, Slim, I've got him halter broke, saddle broke and even starting dressage but, you know what?" "I can't imagine ... what?" "Well, it's obvious now that Bully Boy just isn't going to make it as my champion saddle bull. Sigh." "Now why you saying that?" "Slim, he's just not sprouting handlebars, know what I mean?" "I sure am sorry to hear that, yeah, it happens. I'll come take him home him then." "I knew you'd understand."
.
.
Here is Bully Boy this morning after his morning bottle feeding which has become a ritual for the entire population of Rat Town. The cats now recognize this as their big outing of the day as soon as they see me fill the milk bottle and put on my long-sleeved shirt and rubber boots. They are already waiting impatiently at the rear door. The dogs are waiting just outside the door, knowing that there is a slight chance for a slurp from this super-sized baby bottle plus a chance to cavort legally with the calf. Somewhere in the middle of all this celebration, someone WILL step on one of my in-grown toenails and this seems to be an expected part of the troupe's merriment. And this was the first morning that the calf kicked up his heels and responded to the dog play. It told me that we had succeeded in bringing him back fully, such an incredibly warm feeling of accomplishment.
.
Other news in brief: Mark is looking a bit better after that round of 'whatever that was' although still dreadfully fatigued. Slim is leaving the canyon this weekend with the last of his cattle and won't be back until early winter (serious bummer). The gas company which will be instrumental in our moving Rat Town up top was all 'hurry up and wait' which means that the monsoons may hit before their construction time schedule and the move may have to wait until next year. Which means that I will not have my creative life back until then (this aspect of treading water is getting REAL old). Sooo, all things considered, I am feeling a little uninspired at the moment. Which brings about my decision to stop making new blog entries for a while. Here are the other reasons:

With the exception of a very few family members and some kindly and encouraging souls I have met along the way, it doesn't appear that anyone has that much interest in reading about this particular subject, at least as I am capable of presenting it. That is despite an article in WSJ which talked about the looming energy crisis spawning a trend to go rural and self-sufficient. In other words, shit ... I couldn't make lemonade even after a tornado hit a lemon grove. Maybe I sound a little discouraged? You bet, especially after hearing friends talk about their million hits a month. According to my mother, I still wasn't talking much by age four. The kindly doctor told her that I was fine but just didn't have anything I felt was worth saying. I think I am going to head back to that philosophy for a while rather than talk largely to myself. I have a lot of planning and design work that I have been putting off in shameless and delinquent ways so it will feel great to get some of it done now.

With the doubling of fuel costs, the practical side of me says that I don't need to be burning daytime generator in order to keep up with both the blog AND my e-mails. It's starting to cost some serious money and wear on the generator to keep that pleasure up so it's time to reconsider the brutal economics of it.

Since a lot of my favorite blog friends have decided to put their own blogs on hold for the summer, it is as good a time as any for me to give it a try, too. I'm not saying that this is going to work any better than trying to ignore those big, gorgeous chocolate bars in the pantry but I am going to try any way. In the meantime, you are invited to read through the archives. Just start at the beginning since this IS a journal of our challenges and joys to date. If you have any questions, just ask. It was always my primary intent to encourage others (at least genuinely NICE others) to follow their dreams of settling into the countryside. It's a great life if you don't bring any city rudeness with you.
.
.
==========================
.
.
The Parting Shot (humorous images sent in by Ken)
.
Don't ever give up on pursuing the greener grass on the other side of the fence even though it can present some unexpected technical problems.
.
Yep, this is what we experienced as we finally escaped a 15 year exile in Northern Ill-annoys to our new greener pasture. I like to think of this as God's way of saying "Never look back on that place and such people with any regret" and it has surely worked. If you are not one of the "What have you done for ME, ME, ME in the last five minutes" sort of folks, I hope you find your own greener pasture soon.
.
.
.

The Generation Wars

.
Update:

Generators: 1.75 / Rat Clan Mechanics: .25

.
The gen war score says it all, almost. Somewhere under the dark clouds of obstinate generators, Mark's planned absence for the better part of next week, his broken hand, the killer black pick-up truck conspiracy (grin), the insouciance (being diplomatic here) of certain gas companies and, accordingly, the large gamble of moving 'up top', my normal ease of writing has all but evacuated this week. That ability certainly didn't flee from boredom.
.
.
Here is one of the naughty generators of late. At least it is running, after a fashion. Below it, you can see our version of the mechanic's dolly which lopsidedly straddles the hand-dug rain diversion ditch. After several days of the myopic, ham-fisted horde saying "Let's try this ...", "Okay, let's try this then ...", this blue dairy crate and the generators have bested us. Pre-existing posterior miseries aside (but sorely aggravated), this dairy crate left us each with a serious case of WAFFLE BUTT! This was the ultimate lingering insult to injury after not having corrected the mechanical problems.
.
Mark is circumventing the old generator's start-up problem for now by removing the spark plug and priming the cylinder with a few spritzes of gas. While removing the plug for each start-up attempt is a royal pain, it is still far easier than fighting with the air box to squirt gas through the carb throat. The draw-back is in tempting fate blatantly on a cross-threaded head (a la the Kawasaki generator last year).
.
After confirming that each unit had spark, we went through the entire fuel system on each; from cleaning out the carb float bowls and jets to cleaning out pre-carb sludge traps and tank filters. Murphy's Law probably also suggests that you will not need to remove the tank filter unless the tank is filled to the brim with gas first. In my ancient and cantankerous state, this whole process was a high blood pressure fest waiting to happen. I had looked for encouraging signs of culprits to keep me going. There were none; no badly clogged filters, only one nozzle jet with two minor holes (of many) plugged, nothing that offered a "Eureka!" moment of satisfaction and encouragement. I am now convinced that trying to establish an off-the-grid homestead goes much better for those without a substantial layer of jade on them. But we're here so no sense in giving up now!
.
Once Mark heads off to civilization with the prospects of real flushing toilets and predictable showers, I might just avoid the generator start-up hassles and live by kerosene light until he returns. That means no computer, no on-line access and no further blog activity until he returns. Just warning ya ! I will try to slip in one more post before that happens though.
.
.
.

Ms. Daisy Finally Shines

.
Yes, ditzy Daisy came into her own on Saturday for Mark. And pleased he was. With Slim about to move cattle down into our canyon, they have been working hard to repair fences to keep his cattle from mixing with the somewhat wild stock next door.
.
.
Daisy and Brou alerted us to this stray and I caught her with the new camera's zoom; red-handed with a mouthful of our pasture grass. It was Daisy who chased the stray back down the road at 15mph ahead of Mark in the Ram, a mile and a half back to the fence line. Mark was pleased and surprised at her willingness to help out. She would return to him at intervals and go out to search again at his suggestion. The wily cow had given them the slip at the last moment, doubling back and descending a steep arroyo bank leading to the creek which neither of us would tackle on a good day. These creatures are amazingly agile despite their bulky appearance.

Tired but still not willing to hitch a ride back in the truck, she ran all the way back behind the truck. Brou was quietly waiting on the front porch for them. We had been warned that his nearly fatal bout with parvo-virus would leave him without his original stamina and perhaps he wisely realized that. Normally Mark would put him in the back of the truck but had taken off without him this time. Brou was noticeably bummed out about this oversight, too.

Daisy seemed to fully understand and enjoy what new heights of esteem she had just achieved on her own and was unusually chipper and responsive for the rest of the day. Maybe this will be her Renaissance!

------------------------------------------

This is another heads up in case I disappear for a while. It would appear that we are entering into another techno cluster-bung zone. We had not just one but BOTH generators fail on us in the last 24 hours. I am typing on borrowed, limping generator time at the moment. Tomorrow will be taken up with carb, fuel line and filter maintenance. Gee, I can hardly wait. The components are very efficiently squeezed into a space roughly the size of large Coleman coolers and we are a couple of big people with equally big fingers and hands ... and with little patience and finesse left. Wish us luck, please. If it works, I'll be back in no time flat! If I'm not, don't panic yet.
.
.
.

Chillin' and Freezing Your Assets

.
I'm going for the largely technical/pictorial today. All this heavy socializing (a once a week complete joy for two weeks in a row now!) has left me severely adrenalin-depleted. Yeah, pretty darned sad when you think of it. So I am slipping off into the technical end of off-the-grid living, something that I can do without the emotion I need to address the intrinsic rewards of this lifestyle. Also, I have to admit, I am very saddened by Fat Hairy's loss of his dad yesterday. I don't accept sad events happening to good people very well at all.
.
.
Above is our first big dollar purchase early on. This is an 18 cubic foot propane-fired refrigerator made by Crystal Cold. Compared to the usual electric refrigerator, it was pricey at $2500 (without shipping) but going for the extra capacity was money WELL spent for a situation where you might not be able to access civilization for a few weeks at a time. The unit has preformed very well and dependably in these past two years (touch wood as always). Other than having to vacuum the collected debris from the rear cooling coils once to get it restarted, it has performed very well. Mind you, defrosting is a necessary function every couple of months. I know, NOBODY has had to defrost a refrigerator in the last 20 years but, still, you take what you can get in this limited field of offerings. I took this photo during a defrost and you can see the Coleman cooler to the right which is keeping the vacated contents somewhat cool during the process.

Over the very top shelf within the cabinet, you can see the radiation coils which provide the cooling. These will form a thick frost which needs to be removed occasionally. You can slow down the defrosting ritual considerably by taking care not to store items which readily release moisture. Our dry desert climate also helps as far as minimizing introduced outside moisture collecting on the coils. Fuel consumption will go up and adjustment of the cooling controls will need to be continually tweaked if you ignore the defrosting task. Still, this is not an utterly daunting task.

I normally drape a heavy blanket over the door to keep the door shelf contents cool in place rather than find more cooler space for them but I removed the blanket for this photo. This unit is very reasonable on gas consumption when properly serviced. It is also available pre-jetted for natural gas use but switching the jets from one to the other fuel is easy enough later on.
.
.
The new freezer arrives! Plenty of supervisors! Above, Slim, Sammy, Chase and Big Dog all supervise Mark approaching the unloading task in the skid-steer.

The gift of that elk carcass forced this issue on the postponed desire to have a full freezer here. It's yet another pricey addition at $2375 without shipping but we are looking beyond the one year cost of storing a processed elk to the new prospect of being able to stock up on truly exceptional sales of meat and dairy products and having these food items available should we become stranded longer than normal. Given how many millions of dollars worth of food has spoiled during severe ice storms and subsequent power outages in the last decade, this is an option that even on-the-grid dwellers should consider.
.
. Temporary home of the new freezer. It spent the first few days out on the hydraulic lift gate of the 45' moving trailer but it became apparent that being under the scrutiny of the returning Spring sun, the gas consumption would increase dramatically so we moved it into the trailer. The shelter within will provide temporary shading but we hope to juggle a space for it inside the more insulated main buildings as soon as possible. The other incentive for moving it inside (although the manufacturer said that many people keep these units outside) was that the strong winds of late continually blew out the pilot light. .
.
.
While it poses a bit of an obstacle in this new setting within the moving trailer, we are willing to sacrifice trailer content access for shading until the situation changes. I would say that patience has become our number one necessary lesson in moving off-the-grid. Anyone driven to immediate gratification will not psychologically survive for very long out here unless they have an unlimited budget - and that rules out 98% of us right up front. Note that the cooling coils are situated on each side of the unit as opposed to the rear (you will read more about that curious feature below).
.
.What is so very different about this freezer when compared to our gas refrigerator (or even the standard electric models) is that the cooling coils are not located at the rear. From the photo above, you can see that the designers obviously retrofitted a standard electrically cooled cabinet - there is a large open area below the inner cabinet which originally housed the electric compressor unit. This space is wasted and empty since the gas tank powers TWO separate cooling systems, one on each SIDE of the cabinet.

The glory in having two independent cooling systems (one on each side) is that you can run just one side if the freezer is operating in an fairly sheltered and cool environment. We will be running on one side only and saving considerable fuel until the summer weather hits.

Immediate drawbacks? These appliances are a truck-freight item and it is required that you inspect the item at the shipping dock before loading it and noting any damage if you want to make a damage claim. Given the very rough 2 hour ride from the dock to the Rat, we didn't want to clip the steel banding and disturb the protective shipping wrap. In both the case of the refrigerator and the freezer, we later found hidden freight damages not apparent at the dock. You can see some of the damage in the middle photo of the freezer; a deep ding in the coil cover about ten inches down from the top of the side cooling system cover. It was just a chance we took and lost - had we uncrated the unit for inspection at the dock, it might have sustained worse damage on the trip in.
.
.
.

Dang Fool - part 1

.
Pre-Ramble: Rat life is pretty darned good at the moment. The plumbing is holding up (both in and out), the propane man made it in last week just before the roads went bad. Saw the first traffic in a week when Hondo stopped by (he deserves a post to himself someday soon). He had been out checking his well run and his truck looked more mud brown than anything.

Later, I glanced out the window yesterday and saw what first looked like a small Willys-type Jeep. The closer it got, the stranger it looked. Then we saw a collection of dogs and a black cowboy hat inside of it. It was Slim, arriving like the Cavalry with a case of beer in the back end. With neighbors like that, could you want for better? He had been running and repairing the fence lines in preparation for his next load of cattle to arrive and thought to make the extra five miles to our place in the process. He stayed for several hours of socializing before heading back. I just wish that he had given me some warning; I could have thawed out a great early supper. I suspect he figures that goods meals only occur well after dark around here and he wasn't about to stay out that late in an open cabbed vehicle and drive home freezing and half in the bag over roads he was so glad he didn't abuse his truck on. We couldn't fault him on that either.

So why didn't I get photos of our visitors? Mark and I talked about that after they all left. It obviously comes from my own dislike of having my photo taken. I just presume that everyone else feels the same way. I will have to force myself to ask them for the privilege some time and see how they feel about it. They are certainly a very important part of our life out here.
.
.

Yesterday's moon over the Rat

.
On to today's post: "Dang fool". This is the first part of a random and happenstance series on what we left behind. This is an important part of the 'leave it all behind' process that we all have to deal with in this circumstance.

Now read this quote from an early sixties program:

Jed Clampett: Pearl, what d'ya think? Think I oughta move?
Cousin Pearl: Jed, how can ya even ask? Look around ya. Yer eight miles from yer nearest neighbor. Yor overrun with skunks, possums, coyotes, bobcats. Ya use kerosene lamps fer light and ya cook on a wood stove summer and winter. Yer drinkin' homemade moonshine and washin' with homemade lye soap. Yor bathroom is fifty feet from the house and you ask "should I move?"
Jed: I reckon yor right. A man'd be a dang fool to leave all this!

"The Beverly Hillbillies" c. early 1960s

------------------------------------------------

I was very young when I heard those lines but something about them stayed with me forever after. It was a story about a hillbilly who (unlike us) had mineral rights and subsequent sudden wealth. While Mark and I never had great wealth from being in the right place at the right time, we had persevered and developed a comfortable home while still accruing some savings. What's enjoyably ironic is that we are now pursuing a reverse Jed Clampett scenario. For a decade and a half previously, we had pursued a 'no debt' objective and now it was paying off. My ever-ending rehab of the past few houses had yielded gains and we were on our way ... downwards, in the eyes of many. It was a good thing that we never followed the bleating crowds or we never would have made it. We don't live as primitively as Jed by a long shot but many would think so. The standard perception is that we had something to lose and did so. Did we really? I mean really? Prior to this, we dealt with long commutes, theft and vandalism from scum (those poor little victims of society), municipal restrictions and enforcement, neighbors and acquaintances who most often fell short of returning our assistance and generosity and HIGH taxes to support this 'privilege'.

So, how willing are you to give up your conveniences for a greater degree of autonomy and freedom? Can you still free your hand from the philosophical monkey trap by letting go of your fist-full of immediate comforts? It's harder than you might think. Unless you earned your money the old-fashioned way - by inheriting it from dear mumsy and dadda, you have to plan a long way ahead and remain dedicated to your goal. The prime outlands may be under siege from trust fund slugs but we everyday folks can still get our licks in if we plan ahead with determined and genuine intent. What are you waiting for?

So here begins the 'dang fool' series. If your sitting in relative comfort on the grid, I don't want to hear any accusations of whining; such numb-nutted thought-free sound bites will only anger me immensely. If you are interested in pursuing a similar goal, this series will benefit you in understanding these pressures and dilemmas.
.
.
Here is the place we left behind. It is a rambling 3 level 120+ year old farmhouse which we spent 12 years restoring. It was fun, challenging and an awesome place to call home. It was our pinnacle of residential comfort and achievement.
. .

Tah-dah!!! The Rat!

Take two independent people going from over 3,000 square feet of living space plus a barn with over 4600 square feet of room for work shops, vehicle toys and 'stuff' and jam them into a 910 square foot rat trailer 24/7 for two years. Do the math; you'd both better enjoy each other's company in every way before attempting this. And you both better be able to see and appreciate the benefits from doing so. Still worth it? Put yourself in our shoes and decide.
.
.
.

Why I Despise Plumbing Work

.
The "P" word (that dreaded catch-all category for anything that involves movement of clean or dirty fluids) is a leading cause of insanity. I will explain why. The word 'plumbing' came to us from the Latin word for lead. We know that the Roman civilization existed slightly before the EPA Empire and so they piped all their water around via lead pipe and even made drinking cups from lead. Some have gone so far as to suggest that lead poisoning from their plumbing was a major contributor to the eventual decline of their Empire. I happen to agree that their plumbing was a major factor although I believe that dealing with any aspect of plumbing, be it in lead, copper, iron or plastic, will cause or encourage complete insanity. Please proceed with that premise in mind.

Somewhere in mid-January, Mark chipped away the ice and removed one of the Rat's skirting panels. The reason at the time was to allow the new warm air to infiltrate the underbelly of the Rat and hopefully thaw out the plumbing which had already left us without running water for the last two weeks. A glorious prospect indeed!

I made the fatal mistake of stooping down to survey the creepy-crawly space. I saw ... I heard .... dripping. At that point, I should have discreetly loaded my bags into the Dakota and left for parts yet to be determined. Perhaps the roads were impassible that day, I don't remember now. Perhaps I was simply in denial with a warped pioneer stubbornness and masochism. Whatever that was matters not; I felt compelled to crawl into that void beneath the Rat to find the cause of the dripping. The water piping had held its own against the subzero weather, it was the drain system which chose to let loose.

Since I am the far more compressible into three or for segments to work under the Rat and the only one still marginally able to see in the dark, I choose at that moment to retreat and declare the drains off-limits until further notice. I needed time to think and form some sort resolve, intestinal fortitude ... something, anything. In the meantime; no water in, no water out.

There was a time when I was an erect-walking Homo Sapiens of the full basement clan. No, I was not fond of plumbing duty even back then but I did not have the oppressive dread of it that I possess now. Folding, crawling, crouching and laying in the mud of disconnected drain discharge has somehow let my disdain bloom fully. Fergawdssake, I don't have much of an immune system on a good day.

A week after the discovery, I made one more exploratory, armed with a tube of silicon just in case some quick fix might present itself. I did locate part of the problem (which I optimistically presumed to be the entire problem, of course). After scrunching around into position, I grabbed hold of the culprit drain pipe. It, in turn, launched a splendid counter attack and squarely dumped a cup of filthy gray water directly into my ear which was invitingly sideways at the time. I will not include the dissertation which followed at great volume but it set every creature within 100 yards of the Rat on high alert. I retreated to the upper Rat, flooded my ear canal with hydrogen peroxide and hoped for the best.

Just like Red, I tend to ruminate and consider all the aspects and consequences of a project until just before Hell freezes over. While Mark loves us both dearly, this is not one of the traits which compels him to do so.
.
.

And so we lived like this for several weeks until yesterday, my next big day of resolve. Mark performed the customary 'freeing of the panel' ritual and I laid out a large piece of plastic which I hoped would be my prophylactic shield against the scum of the earth.
.
.
The sodden forest of mold to the outer edge of one central I-beam told me that I needed to remove the glorified cardboard insulator. I dug in a carpet knife and incised the soggy matting away. That, in turn, released putrid streams of standing water down upon me. The empty kitty litter bucket in the bottom of the photo above was able to capture most of the remaining stream. It also served as a good repository for the wet pink insulation and multi-colored slime that I grabbed down by the messy handful. Then I retreated to let everything drain further - by George, it was Miller time already.
.
.
My target? Right beyond that blackened floor stud showing in the middle of this foul incision. This is where the drain took a right angle up into the Rat. I wasn't about to take a photo looking straight up and chance having that crud leak down on me.
.
.
Above is the other end of my mission on the inner side of the I-beam (marked with a yellow arrow). Mark, in the interim, had removed the bathroom sink and performed considerable drain rearrangements which ultimately led to a little more reasonable length of pipe poking through the floor for me to work with down under. I still managed to drive a knee and elbow into the dodgy ooze and dust the cobwebs and other unidentified flotsam off with my hair but was able to avoid a good buzz from the plastic cement. Not that unholy benediction moments did not occur but with some charlie horse spasms and a little luck, the wayward drain found its mating ends and seemed to hold in place.

Close enough for one day! I scrambled out 'from unda' and declared Miller Time Two. So far, so good! (?) My advice is to avoid plumbing issues at all costs - it is a serious detriment to both physical and mental health. This is one case where you do not wish to 'Do as the Romans'.

Now make sure to come back tomorrow for your Valentines greetings from all of us out here at the ranch!
.
.
.

A Woman's Guide to Pioneer life

.
The following reprint from Housekeeping Monthly c.1955 was sent to me by my old motorcycle buddy John E. in Phoenix because he knew that it summed up my personae to a tee. You see, having the right attitude when plummeting back 100 years into the off-the-grid pioneer lifestyle is everything for a woman.
.
.
It will be necessary to click to enlarge this image and carefully absorb its wisdom before proceeding.
.
.
Why ... I have a whole closet full of those lovely cotton dresses and shapely spiked heels in fact! And I look enchanting in them when I trudge out to the barn through the mud to drag the dogs away from the elk carcass.

When it comes to letting him know that I have been thinking about him all day long, that plate of leftover fuzzy beans and wieners says it all! Ladies, you just can't imagine how much this means to your man. Yes, it's these little things that say 'I worship the ground you walk on (and here it is on your plate)."

And I never fail to put on a fresh babushka over my sun-dried, knotted up hair and apply a squirt of Lysol under each arm. Honestly, I haven't tried that 'be a little gay' thing with him ... it's not really my style and I'm not THAT desperate yet, thank you. If it gets that bad, I will strap on a tool belt and trigger my Makita cordless drill at him alluringly.

But I do fussy up the household clutter, or at least anything weighing under 30 pounds. Fifty pound bags of dog food are just part of the decor these days. Any stove stains under .001" thick also fall into that category. You just have to find your own comfort level here.

Making that lovely fire might add more stress than relaxation for my returning beloved since we don't have a fireplace. About the best I could offer is a layer of flammables over our gas flame space heaters. Honestly, I think this is a man's job and Mark truly enjoys arranging for unexpected pyrotechnics all by himself. Why rob them of this satisfying creative outlet?

"Prepare the children" Well, I tend to lean towards the prep methods of the senior heroine in the Hanzel and Gretel tales ... nuff said. I'm looking at the two kids in that illustration and wondering what incriminating things they will pull out of dad's briefcase.

Don't stop learning how to appear to please while getting what you want! I have learned so much about how important staged emotions are in just these last few days! Never underestimate playing the sensitive female card. Had I known then what I know now, I could have ruled the world by now! Ladies, we need to work more emotionally, not harder - everyone will be a winner, just trust me on that one.

If Mark decided to hit the big city with Slim for a few days, well, I wouldn't say a word but be waiting with a smile ... and perhaps a large sledge hammer. Or I might have that warm hemlock toddy waiting in his favorite cup. Just kidding ... he's a true engineer, that's all I should have to say.

As the article so wisely states "You have no right to question him." "A good wife always knows her place." You bet, that's me and the big secret to our success out here!
.
.

Freeze!

.
Here's an update while I am up for it:

Just ask Brou or Daisy - it sure was chili dogs here last night! Mark saw a reading of ten degrees below zero when he got up at dawn to let the dogs out. We later thought about the out-of-state elk hunters up top with Slim. I was getting ready to form a rescue mission when Slim finally returned our call. Apparently all was in good order when we initially called but he had been in the middle of driving his newly arrived herd of a hundred or two head the remaining five miles up to his ranch. He admitted that he was quite contentedly off his horse and settled more comfortably into his pick-up truck for the duration.

We knew that he was picking up the hunters in Albuquerque yesterday and now Slim caught us up on the details. He had to stop and check his cows in the corn lot before heading to the big city. The plane was one hour late so he grabbed a bite to eat while waiting. The hunters hadn't been fed on the plane so they stopped on the way back to eat and fuel up. Notice that I used the term fuel. It was only after he had topped up his Dodge diesel that Slim noticed that he had pulled up to the wrong pump and filled up on gas. Ever had one of those days? Luckily, he noticed the smell of gas as he pulled out the nozzle and hadn't started up the engine. The hunters were a couple of easy-going guys and didn't complain as he secured a number of 5 gallon cans and a pump with adequate capacity to siphon out the half and half in order to start the process all over again.

What annoyed Slim the most was the onslaught of bums asking him for gas money as this embarrassing circus was taking place. "Hell, I offered them a whole five gallons and a can and they still walked away. Would you believe that!?" I guess a real can of fuel, pure or half and half, just won't buy a bottle of booze in the end. Who said beggars can't be choosers anyway? Maybe the ethanol lobby is missing a big offshoot market here.

With temperatures of ten below, our water pipes finally froze up at the Rat. I sighed and dropped my head in resignation as the faucet squeezed out one last drop late this morning. How long before it would eventually thaw out? We fired up the blast furnace in the addition to give the water tank and plumbing there a little heat. A little later we decided to pull up the hatch to the space beneath the addition to heat up the wellhead and other plumbing and fired up the heater again. Mark noted that it was foolhardy to pull up part of the floor in a room with no lighting of any sort.

So the predictable tale of two idjits continues. An hour later, I ask Mark if he would step out and fire up the generator. It wasn't 30 seconds later that I heard a thunderous crash and a stream of ultra-volume expletives. I burst into that kind of grasp-the-wall-for-support hysterics. If you are part of that perfect breed of rational humans, I still don't want to hear any 'tut-tuts' out of you. Having been in the same position previously as Mark was now, I was more than qualified to welcome him into the fraternity of trapdoor idjits. And I had paid my dues right then and there since Daisy's little dance with me earlier had left me in a further deteriorating state of extreme pain. Laughing now has its own torments as does coughing from this nicely timed chest cold. I paid for every laugh today dearly, especially when another stream of cursing arose as he hit his head on the generator room's low door immediately thereafter. We both ended up laughing hysterically in the end - what else can you do sometimes?
.
Sorry, I just had to go back and add this Dore litho again. I can never get enough of it. You can see its first suitable blog use here: Don't ever wanna hear about YOUR potholes!
.
The good news? The heat allowed into the crawl space freed up the pipes! The forecast calls for a slight warming trend - afternoon highs in the low forties for the next few days so we will hopefully dodge the big freeze bullet again.
.
.

Chili Today, Not Hot Tamale Either

.
The cold weather is officially here! It got down to 1 degree above zero just the night before last. The good news is that we still had running water in the morning, unlike the nice surprise we had before we got the two doors finally hung on the Rat's official Water Department addition. Thing of it is, our plans keep changing as we go, mercurial at best. Accordingly, we have learned that postponing our wild hairs of the moment is a ultimately a good thing. We had put off installing an open flame gas heater in the new addition since it was also going to be our repository for solar-charged batteries. Having an open flame heater in the midst of charging batteries emitting hydrogen seemed like hosting a cigar bar in the balloon shell of the Hindenburg so we waited.

Now, with the advent of the new buildings, the battery closet will likely move over there in the Spring (or whenever the roads and weather accommodate us). In the interim, the solar hook-up is on hold but we can at least apply temporary open-flame heat in this addition. Everything might change again by then so we are not going through the aggravation of running permanent black iron piping anywhere until Spring.
.
To keep the pipes and well head from freezing in the interim, we dragged out the blast furnace (above) that we used so judiciously last year and the year before to heat the Rat itself before our project to add reasonably safe and thermostatically controlled LP units. Yep, this unit will kill you in a fairly tight enclosure ... but we survived that phase. We would fire it up, get the place to the point that the walls were getting soft, shut it down, go to bed and then just hope that the temperatures wouldn't drop below freezing inside until morning. Oftentimes it worked. Hallelujah and good riddance to using it as a primary heat source however! We look upon it more kindly now as a quick heat builder in the addition (which does not share common air space with the Rat). We fire it up just before turning off the generator at night and get the temperature up to dry sauna quality and then turn it off.
.
Now here is the part I really want to talk about. This photo above shows a new kerosene lamp, one of several that I bought on-line dirt cheap from Pennsylvania in the summer. Bruno's recent post about some old kerosene lamps got me to thinking about it again.

I had remembered friends talking about Lehman's Hardware YEARS ago as far as supplying the Amish and anyone going off-the-grid and found that they even had a website. They were clearing out these foreign made reproductions of old Dietz railroad lanterns for something like $7 each. I had lost all my antiques ones in the moving insanity to folks who wanted them badly. I thought about how many I wanted of the two different models available and gave the list to Mark the next day to order (he is the official on-line orderer) . I was heart-broken that the sale had ended between my finding it and the next day when Mark tried to order them. But never say never, at least not with decent folks; I sent them an e-mail and, would you believe it in this day and age, they said "Well, okay, close enough, just talk to so-and-so in the order department and she will let it go through." My faith in mankind (at least parts of it) surged up twelve points on a scale of one to ten when I heard that.

So here I am with my nice supply of new kerosene lamps thanks to a Mennonite hardware in Pennsylvania. I now have a very nice bias towards Mennonites, no doubt about it. In fact, it will be a Mennonite clan who will be constructing our new buildings and we have been met with the same trust and decency in dealing with them so far. It is a reinvigorating experience after dealing with the uniformly disappointing people of our last locale. And now you know why I don't refer to that last place (our long exile) by name. As Beautiful Dave the Cat would say "They sucked, they REALLY sucked!"

There, wasn't that a nice long-suppressed side rant. I needed that. Anywho, I took one of these lanterns, lit it and placed it near the 350 gallon water tank, pressure bladder tank and piping. It seemed to produce just enough heat through the long night to keep the temperatures above freezing point. I can't tell you what a sense of accomplishment it is to turn the kitchen faucet on in the morning and have water come out. We haven't hit the minus 15 below temps yet this year but this is a good start to getting things sorted out.
.
---------------------------------------------------
.
Humor of the Day (from Ken) and don't tell me you can't relate to any of these
.
.
What job ad lingo really means

Competitive salary:
We remain competitive by paying you less than our competition.

Join our fast-paced company:
We have no time to train you.

Casual work atmosphere:
We don't pay enough to expect that you will dress up; a couple of the real daring guys wear earrings.

Some overtime required:
Some every night and some every weekend.

Duties will vary:
Anyone in the office can boss you around.

Must have an eye for detail:
We have no quality assurance.

Career-minded:
Female applicants must be childless (and remain that way).

Apply in person:
If you're old, fat or ugly you'll be told that the position has been filled.

Seeking candidates with a wide variety of experience:
You'll need it to replace the three people who just quit.

Problem-solving skills a must:
You're walking into perpetual chaos.

Requires team leadership skills:
You'll have the responsibilities of a manager, without the pay or respect.

Good communication skills:
Management communicates, you listen, figure out what they want and do it.
.
..

An Update of Sorts

.
..
My sincere apologies; a good funk takes my desire and abilities to write reasonably well right out the window with it and I do not wish to subject anyone to filler dribble. From what I have sensed in a few blogs so far is that sometimes a blog writer comes under the pressure to produce volume at predictable or demanded intervals. I simply cannot do this, it is the antithesis of why we are out here to begin with; to shed frivolous (to us at least) societal expectations. So please bear with me here over the next few weeks.

First off, I wish to thank my blog friends for their support (and even the occasional loving threat) in their comments on my last entry. Believe it or not, your thoughts have made all the difference and I thank you in the most sincere way possible. It helped immensely and I will let those wonderful comments on the previous post through when I am done with this trudging effort of mine here.

All is fairly quiet here right now. The spirit of Nature has left the new well across the street in an expensive limbo (to the tune of $45K a day for just sitting there). The rig is down and unmanned but the big diesel generators are still running around the clock with only occasional visits to check for a pulse now and then. The roads are horrendous according to all seasoned hands and the BLM is teetering on the brink of closing them down to heavy equipment traffic. Some folks are likening this mess to the onset of conditions a few years ago when the roads were officially closed down for over a month. We are reasonably well-stocked on all fronts and can probably wait it out.

What will take a hit is our new buildings project. Yes, this is a cause for part of my blues since I have been waiting to resurrect my shop and creative life for over two years now. Such a thing may not mean much to most people but it is my worldly passion on hold until even further notice. I have learned an uncharacteristic amount of patience from this but this long-awaited sight of the finish line and then its taunting retreat has been a challenge of late. Mark finally made the hard call to the builders this morning to let them know that delivery out here was all but impossible for the foreseeable future. My solace is that the builder was greatly relieved since another customer had been hounding him furiously to build him something before the year was out. Somehow my personal disappointment was greatly salved by knowing that both the builders and a stranger out there somewhere would both be much happier as a result of our misfortune.

The new Honda 3000EU generator died suddenly yesterday. Thankfully, we had the older one ready to hook-up. Mark took a look at the dead one today and, as I had suspected, it had simply developed a carbon bridge in the spark plug. The rejetting downwards of the main jet seems to be holding since the plug color was still a reasonable light brownish shade (presuming that you can still partially trust a color read from modern lead-free fuels). We didn't want to run the old one longer than necessary since we haven't rejetted it yet. While the procedure is not an end-of-the-world event, it is still irritating enough that I don't care to deal with it in this weather unless all else fails. Yep, you know THAT will happen soon enough.

Hondo, another of our favorite gas field regulars, dropped by today. His infrequent visits are always a welcome break in our day and I can't help but think that our Virgil was somehow responsible for his stop since he knew I was in this deep funk. I will write more about Hondo down the line since he is another delightful character out here worth noting.

This funk can't last forever, especially knowing that you are with me and pushing me uphill. Thank you all, I love ya.

-------------------------------

Humor of the day

(at least I can share some humor that has been kindly coming my way lately) this one from my Katlady:


WHITE LIE CAKE

Have you ever told a white lie? You are going to love this, especially all of those who bake for church events.

Alice Grayson was to bake a cake for the Baptist Church Ladies' Group in Tuscaloosa but forgot to do it until the last minute. She remembered the morning of the bake sale and after rummaging through cabinets, found an angel food cake mix and quickly made it while drying her hair, dressing and helping her son pack for Scout camp. When Alice took the cake from the oven, the center had dropped flat and the cake was horribly disfigured. She thought, "Oh dear, there's no time to bake another cake."

This cake was important to Alice because she did so want to fit in at her new church and in her new community of friends. So, being inventive, she looked around the house for something to build up the center of the cake. Alice found it in the bathroom - a roll of toilet paper. She plunked it in and covered it with icing. Not only did the finished product look beautiful, it looked perfect. Before she left the house to drop the cake by the church and head for work, Alice woke her daughter Amanda and gave her some money and specific instructions to be at the bake sale the moment it opened at 9:30 and to buy the cake and bring it home.

When Amanda arrived at the sale, she found the beautiful, perfect cake had already been sold. She grabbed her cell phone and called her mom. Alice was horrified - she was beside herself. Everyone would know! What would they think? She would be ostracized, talked about and ridiculed! All night, Alice lay awake in bed thinking about people pointing fingers at her and talking about her behind her back.

The next day, Alice promised herself she would try not to think about the cake and would attend the fancy luncheon/bridal shower at the home of a fellow church member and try to have a good time. Alice did not want to attend because the hostess was a snob who more than once had looked down her nose at Alice because she was not from the founding families of Tuscaloosa. But, having already RSVP'd, she couldn't think of a believable excuse to stay home.

The meal was elegant, the company was definitely upper crust old South and, to Alice 's horror, the cake in question was presented for dessert! Alice felt the blood drain from her body when she saw the cake. She started out of her chair to tell the hostess all about it, but before she could get to her feet, the Mayor's wife said, "What a beautiful cake!"

Alice, still stunned, sat back in her chair when she heard the hostess say, "Thank you, I baked it myself."

Alice smiled and thought to herself, "God is good."
.
.

It Sure is Dark in Here

.
One thing we all take for granted: a reliable source of light.
.
Fortunately, I rarely have to get up in the blackness of night for a nature call. This morning was not one of those fortunate times. I woke up to the call and tried desperately to ignore it, to roll back over and resume my zzzzzs. It was Not to be denied, however, and I knew that any delay could cause dire consequences - something far worse to deal with in half light. I leapt out of bed, grabbed the flashlight off the nightstand on my side and clicked it on. It emitted a meager yellow haze for a second and then dimmed completely out. Lovely ... there was no time left to stumble around for Mark's lantern by now. But that was okay, I would rely on my excellent memory and my cat-like ability to wander around in the dark. I was computing all this on the move in the dark with an increasingly more desperate mission at the forefront. It was about that time that I tripped over a box of burn trash in the hall which I swore was not there when I retired to bed. And it was about that time that I realized in my sleep-groggy state that my cat-like senses had guided me into the storage room and that there was little chance of relief in there.
.
On high alert by now, I frantically bashed my way through a maze of pinball flippers which are normally boxes, walls and doors in daylight. Oh God, please let this be the right door and NOT the one to the pantry because I don't have time to back track by now! Yes, yes, these walls all feel familiar in a good way! Now if only I can find the loo (which is the repository for liquids only, really no more than a five gallon plastic bucket with a molded seat-type lid). It wasn't where I expected but I found it accidentally with the back of my heel while I was flailing around blindly in the wrong place with my hands. Close enough! I am now beyond desperate! Luckily I guessed the right position of the loo and was able to flip the lid up, drop my britches and sink down to the seat below creaky knee level. That's how you spell relief - a true disaster diverted. And a great, satisfying sense of victory washed over me there in the dark. Life was not only good but stellar at that moment.
.
I'll admit it, I sat there enjoying this sense of victory over darkness for far longer than was necessary to simply finish the initial mission. Out here, you tend to seize upon such moments when they present themselves and savor them fully. But the night's chill began to dissolve my reverie and it was time to move on. As the old British shop manuals were infamously wont to say "Assembly is the reverse of disassembly" and I began the process. It was into about step 2 or 3 when I realized that I had missed part of the disassembly process in my frantic rush. The cold, wet sensation on my backside made me realize that my drawers had not adequately cleared the area of operation. The previous fleeting moments of victory vanished as though they had never existed.
.
By now, every other living creature in the Rat was awake and listening to my laments. A sleepy offer from Mark to use his lantern was not exactly a salve at that point. Yours truly, the adrenaline-filled human pinball, made the reverse trek back down the hall to the bedroom. I fumbled around in what was hopefully the right dresser drawers to find a dry replacement for my folly. Mark finally roused enough to fumble around and click on his lantern. In this sudden burst of real light, I saw many pairs of glowing eyes nervously watching my every move and I asked that the stage lights be extinguished to preserve some minor part of my remaining dignity, thank you.
.
As I dropped back into bed and the night's misery concluded itself, my eyes snapped open again as I became aware of a cinching tightness around my lower torso. In this last dance in the dark, I had somehow managed to put my underpants on askew with one leg hole now tightly around my waist. S-I-G-H! I then heard one of the cats deftly, merrily and noisily using their litter box in the Rat's pitch black as if to thumb his nose at this irritated mere mortal.
.
While you have it, don't ever, EVER cease to appreciate light on demand 24/7, I'm just tellin' ya, okay?
.
====================================================
.
Humor of the Day (from Ken):
.
One day my wife and I were discussing anger management. I asked her, "When I get mad at you, you never fight back. How do you control your anger?"

She said, "I clean the toilet bowl."

I asked, "How does that help?"

She said, "I use your toothbrush."
.
.

Let There Be Light (some at least)

.

No, your monitor is working just fine. The first image is what living off-the-grid away from light pollution on a moonless night with no generator looks like. It IS that black, that deeply black and consuming! I kid you not; it is like a black velvet painting without any trace of Elvis to illuminate it. I found this out one night when we got home a little later than expected. I forget the circumstances but we had probably been socializing with the cowboys a few places up the road from here. As much as it only happens maybe once or twice a year, it is still a fine ol' time to be had. I wouldn't say that I had earned any designated driver status by merit that night as much as an ability to hit the driver side door the quickest. Not to worry, that little aside has nothing to do with the story here.

We came home and realized that we needed to fire up the generator before Mark could even find his way around inside the Rat. I parked in front of the barn at such an angle so that he could find the generator. It wasn't long before light sprang up from within the Rat and I could see Mark through the windows. He quickly put up our window shades and the Rat sunk back into darkness from the outside world. I backed up and headed the Dakota into my usual spot in the barn. In one smooth motion, I killed my headlights, turned the beast off and hopped out, locking the door behind me. And found myself immersed in the most intense and drowning darkness I have ever experienced. Other than the keys still in my hand, I had just relinquished any vague connection to the lit world - and I could not even see those keys now, let alone the truck. I put out my left hand and was relieved to find the familiar bed of the truck at least within reach. I knew that if I followed the line of the bed far enough back that I had a chance of making it through the barn door without running into a wall or a pile of potentially lethal junk.

It was about that time, with me being about five foot into groping along the bed, that I heard something. Something loud, something moving, something BIG by the sound of it. In the following seconds, it appeared to me to be something immense and bipedal, all according to the steady beat along the row of old well pipes that we had salvaged and laid out in one area of the barn. Clang, clang, clang, clang, resounding like a church bell death toll - heavily, steadily and quickly it continued towards me. I felt the invisible keys in my hands. I gauged the chances of returning to the truck door and finding the keyhole in just the right way to insert the key and find myself within the locked safety of the cab. My heart started to pound a little when I realized that I wouldn't likely have the time to execute that option - the creature was getting closer by the nanosecond. Clang, clang, clang, clang, ever closer. What to do, what to do next?!

I guess such situations are where major personality traits come into play. With what I thought was little to lose at this point, I stopped, turned on my heels and addressed the advancing unknown. "Knock it off! Get lost or I will kick your butt on the way out! Make my day, bud - I will enjoy it." And despite the still advancing noise, I turned around again and headed back towards where I presumed the door lay. Somehow I managed to clear that door with my dignity intact and found myself out in the larger engulfing darkness but the hairs on the back of my neck told me that I still might be grabbed from behind at any moment by the unseen predator. Sometimes you just have to understand that you may only have two options; that you are either totally screwed or you're not and so I kept walking vaguely in the last known direction of the Rat and hoping for that latter option. After much pawing ahead of myself in the dark and stumbling, the door of the Rat and its light within greeted me. A small eternity passed by in the process.

Didn't seem worth alarming Mark at that point however; some things just don't seem worth the stress of a re-telling at the time.

The second photo? Well, that is my collection of skulls and antlers tacked along the back inside wall of the barn. Do they sometimes come alive at night and stalk hapless victims? Nah ... probably not.
.
.

Chaos, Rains Supreme - Part 5

Photo: A new dawn, a new day can bring new hope, new faith - if you choose to look for it.

Click image for larger view

As you might imagine, that Saturday night was a quiet one. Mark was intensely mulling over the Ram's likely new differential problem and I was content to stare out the window in a deep funk, occasionally drooling down the front of my shirt. Don't ever let anyone tell you that your emotional state cannot effect your physical well-being. The effects of the antibiotics seemed to vanish and the malady returned with greater vigor than ever. So here we were suddenly retro'd back to primitive camping in the Rat and I was not the classic happy camper.

I never imagined that I would be into a Part Five of this tale so I will cut to the chase with a day by day accounting of it:

Thursday: The Honda generator dies. Some triage performed, no cigar. Sun is dropping behind the mesa. Sit in relative misery until bedtime - which comes early with no light, no computers alive and well.

Friday: Fiddle-fart around for most of the day with possible fixes. Call Red for more ideas. Fiddle-fart around some more, still no cigar. Generator dealer administers Last Rites to generator by phone.
Evening drill: Sweat profusely. Assume glum faces, retire at dusk. Sweat profusely. Wake up at 3:00AM because you are not used to this much sleep (but the cats, being nocturnal kind of guys, think this is just great!). Sit around staring at walls and sweating by kerosene light until sunlight returns. This would become a standard routine henceforth.

Saturday: 'Nuff said already on the wrecking and raising of the Hesperus.

Sunday: Mark spends day largely avoiding 'management'. No power, all Rat projects come to a halt. Long reading aloud sessions develop and become daily entertainment - I certainly can't complain.

Monday: Generator dealer closed - we sure love prolonging this agony. Mark does get hold of Dick, top mechanic in town who has seen everything which could happen to a vehicle out here in the oil patch. His observation: DO NOT drive it to town like that. Gives Mark some pointers on next wise step to take.

Tuesday: Profuse sweating still de riguer. Since the evap. cooler is now on a separate wire and plug, I get bright idea to power the cooler with the mil-surplus Kawasaki (no, it cannot be used to power the Rat's main electric panel for a number of reasons but only an electro geek could possibly explain why clearly). We fire it up and plug in the cooler. YES! YES! Relief from the swelter! Dance around and do cartwheels. Repeat for 1.5 hours until ... the big Kawa dies. Emit wails of lament loudly, assume the standard evening routine previously noted.

Wednesday: Mark follows Dick's advice and finds contacts willing to bring out replacement fluids for differential from town. Dick sends fluids out without requiring payment up front (and this stuff is PRICEY). Faith in humanity escalates.

Thursday: The guy who maintains the wells one section over from us is able to deliver the fluids (now one of several new brownie points accumulating for humanity). Don't forget to insert the routine daily and evening misery here though.

Friday: Mark takes my Dakota down to the creek, wades across, masters the technique of loosening diff cover, drains out sludge and adds new fluid. All dressed up now and no place to go since appointment for complete diff cleaning is not until Monday. While he is scrubbing around in sand under the Ram, pipeline hand drives up to creek and admits that HE was the one who created the humongous sink-hole in the channel, the one which Mark's Ram slid off to the left into before he could climb the far bank. Nothing like a big dually to excavate mud. Mark offers sarcastic gratitude and the kid offers a big poop-eating grin before dropping into the channel again, pausing long enough to dig out some more mud.

Saturday and Sunday: Complete write-off on progress but misery still not optional. We do sun dances to ward off another creek run. Slim becomes concerned that any attempt on our part at rain cessation will brown out his reviving grazing grass. We futilely fart around with the dead Kaw although we now know that we need a smaller main jet which may or may not be available any more - Kawa dealer offers minus enthusiasm and support to that end.

Monday: I run Mark down to the creek at 0:dark-early. Dick makes the world right again with the Ram. But .... Honda dealer is closed. Mark gets to stay overnight in town at motel with real, unlimited hot water, real porcelain flushing toilet, air-conditioning and dine-out food. I am out here grinding teeth in the relentless swelter, thinking that this mini-vacation is a curious reward for his initial short-sightedness. Mind you, he does get to do a LOT more errands than time normally permits.

Tuesday: Mark picks up the perishable groceries, stuffs them in the cooler with plenty of ice. Then he picks up the dead Honda generator at Dick's, drops it off at the dealer and loads the new one waiting to come home. Even though these things are gut-busting heavy, you don't want to leave one in the back of a pick-up in a motel parking lot or any where else for long so he had to very carefully choreograph the order of his stops. He returns absolutely beat in the late afternoon. Just enough time before dusk for me to replace the cooler motor with the new one he also brought home. Resume sullen evening routine in darkness.

Wednesday: We unload the new generator and hook it up. It works! Electricity, night time lighting! Best of all, computers again! Life was again worth living! I now stand outside on the porch again and let each brilliant new dawn and the shooting stars at night fill me with renewed energy and joy and I begin the process of healing once more. We were finally back to our original Nirvana.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

News of the Week:

Red, This BUF's For You!

There is a double entendre in the header above considering the news story but this is really meant for our old friend, Red, not the Rooskies.

Rich Russian tries to buy U.S. bomber at airshow

I came across this story last week but Buck over at Exile in Portales beat me to it. It's about some newly rich Russian, surrounded by his personal Guido guards, wanting to buy a B-52 at an air show there. The U.S. personnel seemed taken aback and possibly a little affronted.

Out here at the Rat where we have plenty of time to think and behave like bad kids, we have come up with our own ideas on the matter:

You know, given that we are supposed to be the grand poobah nation of evil capitalism, maybe we shouldn't have farted off this big buck Russian so quickly. Hey, the BUF (a loving, familiar name for the venerable old craft, standing for 'Big Ugly ... uhm ... Fella) has been around for a awhile, probably written off long ago in the books so why did we pass up this willing $500 million bite? We got to brainstorming a little and considered some parallel marketing ploys by the U.S. auto makers. Hey ... how about something like those popular schmancy Eddie Bauer Limited Edition models? The Pentagon is missing a big opp here, I mean B-I-G! They could produce a very limited Slim Pickens Edition, personally endorsed by his estate (God love and rest him). I think them Rooskies do have a great sense of humor and would love it. I bet even pectoral Putin would have to chuckle.

Next post: I need to sincerely thank some blogger friends who have enjoyed and supported our journal entries beyond the call.