#21 Not for the Squeamish or Proper

This blog post is really about learning to share our resources, and in honor of Cholo who was such a kind force on this planet, I post one picture that best captures such generosity of spirit (not of Cholo, but found by my friend Lucy in memory of Cholo): After all the soaring sentiments relating to the passing of my best buddy, Cholo, I return with a report on the seamier underside of ecologically advanced rural life: The Joys of the Composting Toilet. Feel free to skip this entire post. I won’t be offended. For the rest of you compulsively interested readers, don’t worry: This post will be short (if not-so-sweet).

In the dry spell before the rains get rampant, it is time to change out the soil in one of the humanure compartments that had been “roasting” for a year. I asked Chris, carpenter extraordinaire, to take a picture of me shoveling out the &#!+ in the composting toilet. Mike, carpenter par excellence, who was (unfortunately for him) nearby, hammering away at the new foundation, laughed, asking why I would even want such public evidence. True, seemingly ridiculous, but many of my visitors have evinced interest (if not disgust) in the nature of a composting toilet. So I thought I might share the education I am getting.

Two letters for the Day of the Big Dig: P-U! I mistakenly and optimistically posted earlier that when the compost is dug out, by the time it has been untouched for a year, the happy little microbes working away, it is merely inoffensive, rich soil. NOT! At least not in the way this toilet has sat for a year. I clearly have a thing or two (or twenty) to learn.

Backing up, here is a picture of the inside of my former outhouse (not connected to the house via the rest of the bathroom). Ralph, the Solar Electrican Magician, stubbornly continues to refer to it as my Outhouse. I’ve tried out other names, like The Toilet Room (obviously too obvious as to its function in this culture where we are supposed to be more subtle about That Room), or The Non-Water Closet (a clever play on the British W.C. and the history of toilets when water tanks were up high to insure a vigorous flush—but far too much to say in a sound bite). Loo, anyone? Well, Outhouse it is, since the room is rather out there, not heated and reminiscent of its rather primordial origins.

Okay, so now that we all agree on nomenclature: it’s a beautiful little room for an outhouse, n’est-ce pas?

Underneath, not so pretty.

The idea of a composting toilet is that we return our dirt to the dirt: “humanure.” When you use the toilet for your human soil, you throw 2-3 cups of a special mixture of one third each of soil, sawdust, ash or lime onto your bodily refuse. Here is my “Composting Kitchen” where I shovel up the mixture from big cans. The mixture both helps the feces chemically deconstruct and helps reduce the offensive odor. (Coconut coir or peatmoss are also used.)

This “aerobic” composting entails what’s called "thermophilic decomposition.” Apparently the bacteria thrive at high temperatures (104-140 °F), but by combining the feces with the sawdust, etc., it will oxidize or break down. Some of the resulting components are consumed in the composting process, reducing volume, and eliminating potential pathogens. However, the urine must be eliminated as much as possible because if the pile is too wet, then the "anaerobic organisms" thrive, creating foul odors.
Urban Woman did not read even such simple instructions before taking up regular residence in the Cabin in the Woods. Missing from the maintenance of the composting toilet? Let me count the ways.

First of all, you supposedly let a pile of “humanure” sit for a year before trying to clean it out. So in all fairness to me, this pile was created a year ago before I moved in last December 1, and the previous caretakers were clearly not using the correct soil emendment. I already knew that when I moved in because the outhouse stunk. When I asked one of the caretakers why it smelled so bad, he said that the emendment is supposed to have sawdust in it, but he didn’t have any sawdust to add to the mixture. So it was pretty much wet dirt going on top of soil made wet by urine, which is too much moisture for the manure to break down adequately.

Getting sawdust, by the way, is not as easy as it may seem. When I moved in, I went to my local hardware store for a bag of sawdust. They directed me to another hardware store that cuts lumber. So I went to shovel out a big black garbage bag full of sawdust myself under the buzz saw. When I went back a few months later, they had been told not to give sawdust to customers anymore because some of the wood is processed and we’re not supposed to mix the residue of processed wood with unprocessed wood, in case it leaches into a garden, I presume. Hence, I went to the actual mill just outside of town and found a veritable gold mine of sawdust. Was Urban Woman ever happy!

So back to the Outhouse: You recall from the picture of the inside that there were two handsome wooden toilet seats. One was out of commission ever since last November when I moved into the cabin.

Now, by November, it was time to dig it out and let the other one, now filling up, take its turn to lie fallow for a year.

Here is a picture of the cement box under the lovely wooden toilet seats. Indeed, the top layer of soil was fairly inoffensive dir. Underneath, however, and especially toward the front, a layer of uric acid-laden soil made the digging out process far stinkier than I had expected. I should probably have had on a mask. I definitely disinfected my shovel and myself at the end of the process. (Yeah, yeah, too much information, but I told you this post is not for the squeamish.)

After digging out both the dry and wet stuff, I instinctually (and it’s presuming a lot that I have any such instincts), I threw in several bucketfuls of sawdust at the bottom of the cement cubicle to dry up the wet, eventually leaving such a lovely, clean compartment.

(I now beg you squeamish folks who thought you could handle this to stop reading!) Before initiating the new toilet, I saw some pictures of nifty CTs that have a funnel system for urine which tends to hit the front of the toilet area. I will soon install such a system that will better divert the urine from women who do not wish to pee in the woods (no pressure, ladies, but I do have to deal with it). I’ve found a "Female Urinary Director" (who knew?)—no, not a person, a device that will serve as a funnel (hey, I spared you the picture, so I'm not entirely insensitive). With some piping from the funnel up top, a hole in the wall, and a closed paint bucket down below, I should be able to redirect most of the urine and keep the compartment much dryer over the next year of deposits.

I’ve also learned in my research that the pile needs to be stirred periodically so that the various layers will adequately get air and all the little microbes do their aerobic processing. I hate to have to say this, but we really do need to stir the s____ sometimes. That IS to say that all the Occupy Movements are not just a typical pain in the ass (so to speak), but that people who stir up the $#!& are sometimes the ones willing to do the nasty work of making us look at our nastiness and see what it is we need to do differently. There’s just no other nice way to say it when it comes to composting toilets.

So why use a composting toilet, you might well ask. Because a compositing toilet reduces use of a most precious resource, WATER. Just flushing the toilet, an American uses on average 7,660 gallons of water each year, as reported by one company that is trying to encourage the use of a more modern composting toilet is part of the ecologically friendly construction.
(See Biolet for an example of a “self-contained” composting toilet: http://www.biolet.com/resources/id/How-Composting-Toilets-work .)

In fact, in many National Parks in the US and at roadside toilets in various countries in Europe, the toilets are composting. Just think about sharing the resources, even at your own expense like that beautiful dog at the top.

As for all that uric acid: I invite you men to go into the woods and pee, that’s all there is to it and all my male visitors are happy, perhaps because they are liberated from having to put the seat down.

But you ladies! We’ll talk when you get here. Just think about how all those women coped for centuries, eons, before there was something so boxed in and private as the Outhouse. Yeah, no wonder we had penis envy, Freud!

But I’ve got some ideas for us women, never fear.

#20 A Versatile Companion Remembered: Eulogy for Cholo

Sunrise March 8 at the Berkeley Humane Society, 1997

Sunset November 8, 2011

Cholo came home with me and Lonny (photo lower left) at 8 weeks. At 14 and a half, Cholo has lived a long and happy life. I wanted to share a few highlights in photos for those who will find this as fine a memorial for a creature who has given so many of us pleasure.

CHOLO'S CHARACTER: As a puppy just home from the pound, Cholo sat at my feet and studied me. I always remembered that moment, how odd he seemed. Puppies are typically uncontrolled bundles of squirming energy. What up with this pup so quiet and observant?

Of course, he had his squirming moments, jumping all over the back seat when we approached anywhere fun. I remember once my friend Susan was riding in the front seat while Cholo slobbering eagerly over her shoulder to show his affection. I decided then that he needed better car manners. Ever willing to please, he learned to be just a little less enthusiastic as a backseat driver.

Being disciplined was one of Cholo’s fortes. Many will remember that he would walk off leash on not-too-busy city streets with us, but at a corner, he’d stop and sit, waiting for the invitation to continue on with us. I taught him that trick when he was about 8 months old and someone brought him to the house out of the street, reprimanding me for letting my dog wander off the sidewalk. Except for a squirrel running across the road, he (almost) never got off the sidewalk without permission after that.

In fact, once, Cholo and I were walking with a group of friends down city streets, and I suddenly realized Cholo was no longer with us. I looked around, I looked back, and there he was, on the corner a block away, anxiously awaiting the signal that he could cross too. Good dog!

Cholo had a distinctive look. I can’t count how many times—almost daily, hundreds of times, complete strangers asked me what kind of dog he was. I had at least two responses to keep myself entertained with the same question. One, “That’s a Purebred Mutt!” and two, “American Scruff.” The answers always got a smile, just like Cholo’s very scruffy smile produced smiles everywhere he went. He also looked particularly distinguished with his legs crossed.

CHOLO’S FRIENDS: I'm on the road often, and of course Cholo went everywhere with me, and my friends always welcomed Cholo into their homes. I received many warm condolences on his loss, too many to share all of them, but I include a few.

Cholo made friends easily with his winsome face. Two of his early good friends were Izzy and Micah, who grew up with Cholo. Izzy was 2 when he gave Cholo his first birthday party. When the boys were older, they taught Cholo to swim in the American River: He had been too scared to wade into the little inlet by himself, but when they waded out and tossed a ball to each other, along came Cholo. He was already 8 years old by then. You can teach an old dog new tricks. Here is a photo of Izzy and Micah saying good-night to Cholo when they visited the cabin.

At age 13, Blair, a Girl Scout who came to sell cookies at my door in Sacramento became Cholo's babysitter, giving him walks on my long days at the university. Soon her whole family adopted him, too. Cholo enjoyed various trips to Lake Tahoe with Blair’s mom Sydney, not to mention swimming in the pool at their home. Once when I was across the country, they nursed Cholo through an emergency with a life-threatening abcess (we later discovered from a foxtail he had snorted up his nose—nasty). Sydney wrote of Cholo: “what a wonderful, loving, wise, tolerant, peaceful life force he was.”

Cholo was named Dr. Cho by my friend Dr. Darryl (Babe) Wilson (of the Fall River natives in northern California, photo left, in one of my Travels with Cholo). Babe always added a thought for Dr. Cho in his letters to me, quirky reminders of the wisdom of this creature, especially as Cholo aged and was teaching me patience. On Cholo "going on ahead," Babe wrote, “At dawn I'll sing a song for you both, then I'll say, "Ina'lum'qotmi" (You must go but you must take my heart with you” to Dr. Cho as he continues The Journey of Life without us for a while.” Thank you, Babe, from me, Amal.

Here are a few other portraits that people have begged to get with the honorable Cholo and some words they wrote in memory of their friend.

My father Pete Bancroft and I with Cholo in Sacramento (right): Pops wrote, “Cholo was truly a member of our family, loved by us all … Those of us who have seen him in recent weeks all sensed that at 91 (going on 98) this marvelous gentleman was keeping himself together almost entirely and solely out of love for his mama.”

And note (photo left) my father and his kids with our first beloved dog Buck in 1963.

My older brother Bradford, his wife Phyllis, their Mula and my Cholo in Los Angeles (below left). My sister Chris on the road in Mendocino in July (center). My younger brothers Stephen and Greg, with Greg’s wife Wendy on the back deck in October (right).

(Below left) With Fred and Ann in the fall leaves in Sacramento. Wrote Fred: “His enthusiasm and affection, his good nature and adventurousness, his courage. The essence of DOG. I loved him, too. He was a beautiful boy.”

(Right) Cholo with friends Nomi and Susan On Top of the World last December. Nomi, the mother of Cholo’s two first play buddies, Izzy and Micah, said that we will all feel the void of this warm soul. "He was deeply loving and loyal as you were with him – an amazing tender relationship. You know how much the boys and I loved Cholo and felt that he was part of our family. Izzy especially felt that he was a brother and loved him deeply. Cholo's energy, delight, dignity and kindness touched us deeply and will always be in our hearts . . . forever.”

(Below center) With Jeff and Eben in the Redwood Dell in Willits a couple of years ago, where in fact Cholo is buried.

A favorite position for Cholo was to give everyone a chance to rub his knobby head, as here (below right) with his head on Katherine’s lap last November. I appreciated Katherine noting the "amazing give and take between you two. Not just dog-master thing going on. I don't know, the exchanges felt wry and whimsical, relaxed with an obviously-earned familiarity, syncopated." Yes, Cholo was easy to be with in all those ways.
Left is Cholo with my dear friend Marjorie and her husband Robert only two weeks ago On Top of the World, the hill by the cabin that looks out to the ocean. Marjorie, like so many, reaches out to Cholo in love and joy.

ACTIVE AND INTERACTIVE IN HIS YOUTH: One strange gift that dogs give us (of so many) is teaching us about loving so fully for such a short time. As Cholo slowed down so dramatically, even exponentially in the last two years, how long ago now seems his youth when he was running after balls incessantly, swimming or taking long walks at the river and in the woods. He loved his fetchit; here he is (below left) with Jeff’s nephew Benjie, alert and ready to swim.

INTREPID CHOLO: In the last few months, he endured sometimes trying situations. Putting up with snow, hikes, sleeping in the unheated cold shed during cabin renovations, travels with his mama.

DOG AS BUDDHA BEING: Surely any of us who love our dogs and cats marvel at how these once wild critters came to be part of our lives, working the system to get food, warmth, and massages. While some theories about dogs believe that they manipulate us to keep them in comfort on their terms. Is the love they seem to show just our interpretation of their manipulation of us? In some ways, and yet....and yet....

Clearly Cholo enjoyed his friendships, and aside from what he got from all of us, he also gave us a hint of the wild, a Buddha nature. He was here to work in his own way—guarding his pack, keeping us all together as he roamed up and down the lines of a group on a walk. He was here to show unconditional love: even if I’d left him for hours, he was willing to forgive my slights and love me fully and immediately. And finally he was here to simply be in the world, enjoy what nature and people have to offer.

I often watched Cholo observe the world around us. He was patient, wondrous, curious,

I seek to be more like him. And that was only one of the gifts he gave.

Here he is (below) at the special hilltop in my ‘hood, a place we call On Top of the World. I like thinking of him with the sun perpetually shining on him.

The End, New Beginnings

Letting go of Cholo--putting him to sleep--was one of the hardest decisions I've ever had to make, wondering if he was ready. Though he was no longer able to eat, couldn't walk far, and panted hard with pain he could not describe, I hoped it would turn around. With the help of my friends Bird and Sienna and the good vet Dr. Chana who all know dogs well and what their demise means for them and their human companions, I was able to let Cholo rest at last.

He is buried in what I refer to as the Goddess Dell (below), a circle of redwoods where his back is curled against the sheltering wall of a burnt out giant stump (left), with a yes, whimsical collection of river stones, redwood slab, and a hanging collage of found objects made by a previous denizen of the cabin Helen (who deserves a story herself). My nieces know my habit of inviting guests to make offerings to the nature spirits. And what better offering than a cherished companion animal.

Visiting the dell is itself a remove from the world, and now I can feel Cholo's eternal slumber. I’m sure he is continuing to run in his sleep and enjoy the pleasures of adventure, which he helped me enjoy on our walks over the years. Thank you, my honey. Blessed be.

Blog #19 She's Back!

After four long months of life busily engaged on the mountain and on nomadic wanderings (four state, multi-city), I finally return to my invisible audience to share the next stages of this Urban Woman’s journey into the wannabe wild.

First of all, why gone so long? Well, I thought you might’ve been satisfied that the renovations to my cabin were 95% done and thus my voice chattering into your computer was no longer necessary. And too some emotional setbacks at the end of the long process made retreat from the world very necessary. I gave in to my desire to retire to the mountain, at least metaphorically.

Actually, I was working hard at other projects: editing, researching, continuing with small renovations. But my blogual silence was inspired by instruction taken from tales of Buddhist monks in their mountain huts, or of Jesus going alone to to the mountain to contemplate his purpose before descending to be sacrificed. These stories and others are found in a beautiful book called Sabbath: Restoring the Sacred Rhythm of Rest by Wayne Muller, describing the ways people across the world and time have answered the need to find refuge and rejuvenation for our physical, emotional, intellectual and spiritual selves.

This book was given to me by two hard working women friends, Marjorie and Akiyu, when I had finished my doctoral studies and they hoped I would take respite after my own intensive labors. Instead, I helped open a new charter school in Richmond, California, in the most violent neighborhood of the most deadly city at that time. I am still trying to heed Marjorie and Akiyu’s gentle suggestion to incorporate more nourishment for the soul in my Type A, driven life.

To that end, I decided that instead of reporting on I would simply live my busy life over these last few months, but a few of you out there—the Known and an Unknown—have asked me to continue plaguing you with my observations, and so I shall. Thanks in particular to the shout-out from “Anonymous,” calling me to return to my reporting. I sit here again now with you, on my quiet mountain aerie, and let these words tumble out, to be polished and posted.

[Pictured is my work station in the tree tops, in the half of my cabin that serves as dining room, office and living room. Cholo, as you can see, is doing what he does best these days: sleeping (though he does enjoy his two daily sloooow walks).]

Life continues to be fairly intriguing here on the hill when one is both learning how to cope with the demands of rural life and being amazed by what it offers: a grey fox that wandered down the road below the cabin, for example!

Indeed, while renovations to the cabin were my particular focus from mid-April to mid-July, I began this journal of my life on the mountain in early 2011 to recount the larger process of what it means to give up the relative certainty of everything one knows for the relative unknown. Especially going solo, such a change can be daunting. One questions one’s sanity. One struggles to keep the proverbial head above the piles of debris that threatens burial alive. Most of you know such transformative struggles in one realm or another.

In support of my move to a rural redoubt, I’ve been generously given books that narrate related journeys, books I’ll surely share more from: of course Thoreau, not just his most famous Walden (1854) but also his journal and other essays; The Essential [John]Muir (ed. by Fred White); Annie Dillard’s Pilgrim at Tinker Creek (1974); Marjorie Rawlings’ Cross Creek (1942); and Anne LaBastille’s Woodswoman: A Young Ecologist’s Life in the Log Cabin She Built Herself in the Adirondack Wilderness (1978). I take inspiration to continue reporting from these writers who have gone before.

In my next post, I’ll return with more specifics about what has transpired, including many smaller renovations and clean up projects and lots of wonderful visitors who have helped out over the summer and fall. The cabin has been eulogized by all who visit for its fine craftsmanship. For me, now living in it has been an aesthetic blessing. I share here a few photos to report on some of the 4% of changes that happened to the cabin since I last wrote:


My tiling-talented sister Chris in Tuscon sent me these beautiful tiles she made and that I set into the entry way, with neighbor and tiler/carpenter/craftsman Mike’s help.




Meanwhile, Mike tiled the hearthbox that he had built. It turned out spectacularly. There followed some days of drama about getting double-walled stove pipes that fit and outgassing the new paint while the weather suddenly headed downwards of 50 degrees, resulting in four days of unheated life in the cabin—nothing like living in the cold again to remind me of the beginning of this process in our wintry April here and to make me think of so many who live in the cold on a continual basis with no respite.

A welcome major addition was a fence across the ends of the driveway (with a new entrance further down), built with redwood trees that were crowding around the cabin and came down to allow more solar and satellite); the planks were also milled here by another hardworking Mike. The fencing provides much needed privacy from the road. Even if it’s only one car an hour that passes, I am now less exposed to the world. And I hope I’ll get a little less dust during the dry season. Soon the bamboo will grow into a green fence and create an altogether beautiful boundary. I asked the fence builders if they had ever created a mountain design for a fence (rather than just a straight line across). “Nope, can’t say we did.”

Last to report at this juncture: I can now send you these words via the satellite on my roof, sharing space with my solar panels that help power my cabin and technology, what little I can use with my 1000 watt inverter. I no longer have to drive into town to communicate on the worldwide web. I’ll take up the joys and demands of solar living soon. What would Thoreau say?!

Speaking of the sun, here ‘tis, saying good-night over a clear evening at the Mendocino coast 20 miles across the ridges to the west. The evening show never fails to amaze me.

Blessings be.

#18 Making a Reality of a Dream

Hectic
The process of cabin transformation reached its apogee in the last week with the confluence of tiling, electricity, plumbing, final installation of doors and trim, all conspiring to leave me with a home that is now 95% complete (an unscientific meansurement). What joy emerges from this hectic process!

I Sing the Cabin Electric!
At the beginning of the week, Ralph, electicial engineer par excellence, finished connecting the solar panels (see picture left of panels on the roof). I have two new large panels that each convey about 400 watts eacg, and three old ones amounting to another 200 together, showing how much the technology has advanced since those original panels were installed 15 and 25 years ago.

Now I also have a plethora of switches, receptacles and lighting fixtures. The trick will be to continue conserving electricty because I only have a 1000 watt inverter, meaning I can’t use any tool or machine that will draw more than that power or it will threaten to blow out my system.

For example, many vacuum cleaners use over 1000 watts, but I have a 600 watt vacuum cleaner. I will have to pick my machines carefully—or not at all. Machines common to modern life are simply untenable or overly taxing on a modest solar system. Leave your hair dryers at home! Don’t expect a blended smoothie chez moi. But you can plug in your laptop and electric toothbrush when the sun is shining and you won’t deplete the storage system at all.

A patient teacher, Ralph has promised a tutorial for me on the science of how the solar system works, a lesson I will transmit for those interested. In the meantime, I can watch a metering light show whether I have 100% or less stored in my 4 6-volt batteries; once the meter hits 60%, I have to start turning off whatever is draining my power.

Tiling or Sisterhood Is Powerful
An ecstatic aspect of the last week was having my sister Christina with me; she is a professional tiler, as well as a hard working friend much needed as I neared the end of this marathon of renovation.

Christina Devine is my step-sister, but since our two families blended early and often, I have grown up with her in many ways, and I consider her my sister in every way. Chris has a brilliant mind versed in German philosophy, a wonderful sense of humor, keen and intriguing observations about the human psyche and life (“I don’t believe we really die”), and uses the I Ching for daily meditation and guidance. She is also talented with a trowel and in ceramic design.

Chris showed me the process of tiling, from designing the tile pattern with a chalk line (photo left below)
to mixing the thinset and laying the tiles with spacers (photo center), and then finally grouting (photo right, Chris mugging as my taskmaster), and polishing.

Here we are looking very happy with our finished product.

When the claw foot tub moved back in (after an hour of cleaning it up following its dirty sojourn in the debris yard for the winter), the bathroom looks positively elegant. The water started flowing, hot and cold, at 3 pm on Friday night, July 8th, and Chris got the first hot bath in celebration.

The Party: Community is Powerful
Friday, July 8th was the day set three weeks ago for the Wrap Party, though it was really more of a “95% Done!” bash for the people who have worked so assiduously on the cabin these last six months and to whom I got a chance to make speeches of thanksgiving: Nancy Simpson, the architect and woman with a keen eye for design; Beda Garman, the septic installer with his dancing dinosaur backhoe (photo left); Ralph Pisciotta, the electrician magician and solar scientist (photo right in front of the "solar hut"); (Mike Trevey and his assistant Billy couldn’t be at the party but his plumbing expertise helped me join the 20th century with the amazing flow of water indoor, not and cold indoors—amazing after carrying buckets to and from the spigot in the yard all this time—(photo below with Tom before tub got moved back into bathroom).

Finally, I lavished praise on The Crew, Chris Beebe, Mike McAlister, and Tom Allen, who have lavished such hard work, good humor, patient instruction, and community information on me day after day for months. (Photo below right) I am also thankful to my sister Chris for her contributions, not only to the tiling but also to sanding off the dark stain on the steps to the loft so that the refinished stairs would be cleaned up and match the lighter woods throughout the house.

I did not get to thank in person but am grateful to Bruce Rumble and his family for helping clear the woods of debris in during the winter months; Miguel Torres for all of his work digging, carrying, and building; to Mike Beebe for his help with fallen trees, including the milling to come; to Johan Henckell for landscaping already completed and lots more to confront.

In the gathering on the deck, I took pleasure at seeing this assemblage of talented people with their "significant others." Tom’s wife Mary had her own childcare center for decades in Willits and thus has known many of the town’s children as they grew up under and after her tutelage, including some of the younger attendees at the party. With all of these folks having known each other for many years, they comfortably caught up on recent news: babies soon to join the community, news of a kayaking adventure on the Mendocino coast and a misadventure on the Eel River, stories of old folks in the town playing pranks and being featured in the Willits Arts Center oral history project [http://willitscenterforthearts.org/].

I could feel the power of community, people connected to one another and to the improvement of their community. When the town is small, it is perhaps much easier to see the impact of economic development and the input of vital skills, from architecture, carpentry, electrics, and plumbing to childcare and nursing. Everyone has a role to play and the community benefits from and supports those contributions, unlike in many economically depressed urban and rural areas where opportunities are more limited.

I was so happy to celebrate the warmth of my new home with those who made it with their ingenuity, guidance, and hard work. Take a look (views north, south and loft below).

Going to the Mountain
Friend John sent me a quotation that keeps resonating with me these days, a response to my request for a quote on perseverance from Nietzche’s Thus Spake Zarathustra, whom John had been rereading. John found this: "I overcame myself, the sufferer; I carried my own ashes to the mountains; I invented a brighter flame for myself."

In the last few months, I’ve made many adjustments to life in the forested mountains, leaving behind the comforts of an urban life and even the comforts of indoor plumbing and electricity. At times, we must let our old selves die away to leave room for the new emanation to escape and grow. I am indeed seeking a brighter flame for myself, as so many of us do, whether that be a light of knowledge, serenity, love, justice.

When my sister Chris and I parted after our week together and the symbolic completion of my new cabin in the woods, she embraced me and told me to be proud of all the organizing work I had done for this project. “You did it alone.” No wonder I was feeling tired at the end of the process! I had much to overcome in myself in order to understand and move through this process.

Still to come: tending the landscape around the cabin which ranges from clearcut ugliness in what will become a garden to cleaning up brushy debris of a forest left untended. My forest adventures are not over yet, and the skills I have yet to learn in forestry and organic gardening, solar energy use and life on a dirt road will provide challenges ahead.

The Skies Shine for Her
By way of thanks Chris for all her help this week, we took a trip to Orr Hot Springs outside of Ukiah, where we also ventured to the Montgomery woods redwood grove.

I will take as a symbol of the positive possibilities the sun shining on Chris and me the day we wended our way back from Willits via Mendocino and the California coast where the coast is often socked in by chilling fog in the summer.

Nothing like a little sunshine in a beautiful place after a cold winter to renew one’s pact with life.

The door will open when you come to visit....