A Greener Day

A simple man, simple life and simple dreams.

I look out from my simple home, an old, borrowed travel trailer, across my land. I catch the late afternoon sunlight caught among the bare branches of ivy-trunked cottonwoods; they sway ever so gentle in the cool breeze. I hold to my simple pleasures such as this.

The weather has only mustered a high of 46 F degrees day after day. No less, no more. It seems constant - 46 degrees. The rain is frequent and the mud ever-present. 

I have accepted a simple life; no television, no visitors, keeping company with the small army of men who are contracted to appear for a short time, bringing their skills to add to the construction of my new home. 

By board, nail, screw, pipe, fitting, joist, truss and steel, the changes can be seen on the construction site. I too watch and see the changes on the land. 

I look down my gravel driveway as it turns at a right angle toward my gate that leads to the county road. Beyond the this graveled path are the trees and understory brush, and beyond this impenetrable tangle of wood and briar is the rush of Pilchuck Creek's icy waters. I see changes all around me. 

There is now a green haze among the branches. Spring comes and I am able to welcome it unlike any other year in my life. For I am living a simple, purposeful and rather undistracted life. This season I do not live in a spacious, temperature-controlled home with a barrage of routine chores to screen off the seasonal changes. Much has been stripped away and much has been added in my current simplicity.

I look at the changes from a simple perspective and I see a greener day.

I am simply grateful.

 

 Often I do wish I could share these simple pleasures with others. My hope is in a greener day.

Now, Who is that Character?

 

Cover of The Giver, Lois Lowery's 1993 Newberry Award winning story

'Who is that character?' That was the question I asked the other day after posting a selfie in a hand-knit Norwegian wool sweater standing in the mist-shrouded forest primeval on the Pilchuck. 

I supplied the answer that I liked to think that my unshorn hair and long, gray beard made me a likeness of the Norse god Oden. Perhaps I only managed to pull the Norwegian wool over my own eyes. To most, I probably look like one of the homeless drifters in the Pacific Northwest.

But then an epiphany! 

Yes, my new identity was sitting right under my nose. Shear happenstance, I had pulled a number of as-of-yet unread books from the shelves in my Texas home and packed them with me in anticipation of many, lonely months living in Washington as I oversaw the building of my new home on our woodland land. My eclectic reading material included a few books from my son's room; assigned reading from his middle school and high school English classes. Included in my haul of reading material was a book unknown to me, The Giver, a dystopian story by Lois Lowery. It had won a Newberry Award and I considered it worth packing  and stacking onto my small reading shelf in my travel trailer.

It only dawned upon me the other day after looking at the cover art that maybe the 'Giver' illustrating the cover bore a close resemblance to me in my current 'woodland wildman', Norse god persona. Not having a practical mirror in my travel trailer home, I took a selfie while holding the book cover next to my visage. It is almost magic, a trick worthy of Oden himself using mighty and magical gifts crafted by mythical Norse dwarves working in the under-realm. In this case, the magical gift I employed was crafted by Samsung.

Who is that character? Or what character have I become as I have lived in isolation for seven months? I think the resemblance is stunning - based on this coincidentally chosen paperback's cover art, I am The Giver; a single, individual living in isolation from society, assigned to hold society's truth and the memories of pain and pleasure in a world where fear, pain, color, delight and love - and choices, have been eliminated from everyone. 

 

 

I once was told that I bore an eery likeness to James Garfield. I now grace the cover of a book as a fictional, wise holder of memories. Now I need somebody to come visit me in my non-fictional isolation so that I may give them the benefit of my memories and stories. For such is the reason for this blog. 

 

Who is that character?

 

Who is this character?

Some say it is the Norse God, Oden. Is Oden missing an eye, the eye that he forfeited to the god Mimir in exchange for gaining divine wisdom?

Some say there is a resemblance to Charles Darwin. 

Others suggest he might me a ringer for Leonardo Da Vinci.

It is a know fact that this character is living in the woods of the Pacific Northwest in an old trailer parked for months under a grove of cedars. Probably just another one of those homeless guys.

  Look, he has two eyes after all. He looks like Oden, but perhaps not as clever, tricky and powerful. 

Se moi.

I have not had a haircut in 7 months. Curiously, my beard has grown longer than my hair. 

I admit, I think that the "wildman" look becomes me as I stand guard over the house being build out here in the forest. I live isolated and wild, I am unshorn and unfettered from what was a normal, clean-cut life. I have transformed into a character of my choosing, the wildman of the forest.

 I like to think of my long, gray beard as fitting for a Norse god. 

The Norsemen of mythology held deceit and trickery in high esteem. I like to think my hair and beard are a good fit for a Norse god - I think I have deceived and tricked only myself.

Most people think I am just another homeless guy living in the woods of the Pacific Northwest. Am so I am.

Little House in the Big Woods - Well, Well, Well

Well, Well; now that's a deep subject.

The house is going up. 

The well went down. 

Down to bedrock, about 18 feet to Bolson Creek sandstone formation about three years ago. 

Swath of fresh earth leads to water well, after clearing stickers

With the well down and the house up; it is time to connect them. They are 660' apart - that is exactly 1/8th of a mile. 

One of the difficulties in the intervening years since the original well (dug circa 1920) was brought up to code in 2017, is that a nasty tangle of blackberry stickers has grown in the 240' between the driveway and the well. 

The difficulties of getting to the well through the stickers and then laying a 1-1/2" poly-pipe underground from the well to the house for 1/8th of a mile is not so difficult if you have a trackhoe.

Phil (General Contractor) talks with Nick, excellent trackhoe operator

Nick does a great job of driving his trackhoe and solving some of our difficulties. We hire Nick to attach his brushhog implement to clear a swath through the stickers and then dig a three foot deep trench from the house to well. It is a beautiful day to watch the berry canes be cleared and fresh earth brought up in his scoop and piled next to a clean, straight trench, ready to receive water and electric lines. The underground service for both power and water will be fed through holes drilled in the basement foundation below ground level.

Water and Electric cables unspooled along bottom of trench

 

I dig progress!

 

Fresh trench for underground water and power lines goes 660' from house to water well

Trackhoe begins digging, Viewed from round dining room window

 

Ready for first scoop of dirt

Little House in the Big Woods - Blessings Above

 

Finishing touches on the metal roof

There are blessing from above. One such blessing came on March 2nd.

The psychologist, Abraham Maslow, famously ranks humanity's 'hierarchy of needs' - close to the basic roots of one's needs is shelter, a roof over one's head. 

Check. I've met that basic need now.

I got a forest green metal, long-lasting, low maintenance roof that blends with the surrounding canopy of evergreen tops. It is shelter and it meets my need for aesthetics and Maslow's 'self-actualization.'

 Mick Jagger sings Gimme shelter.

 I was expecting a finished roof at the end of 2021. In the cold, Pacific Northwest rain, I sing Gimme shelter.

 

Gimme Shelter, Mick Jagger and the Rolling Stones: https://youtu.be/RbmS3tQJ7Os

I wait as slow delivery of materials, labor schedules stretched thin and repeated bouts of snow and frequent rains delay my basic needs. Gimme shelter.

Forest green roof rises among the surrounding evergreens

 

A two month delay passes, shredding my initial expectation for a completed roof. But at the beginning of March, I walk into a house with a completed roof.  

I got me shelter.

It's a blessing above.

Snow Surprise

 

Snow surprise! The view outside my trailer February 21, 2022.

I sleep lightly.

I sleep especially light occupying my trailer as 24 hour armed guard and building consultant on the house construction site. 

I consult the weather app often, usually I see a range of high percentage chances of rain for Western Washington. 

After checking the weather app, I bed down in my sleeping bag, expecting temperatures in the low to mid-20's. Cold and dry for February 21st is the forecast, rain chances negligible my app tells me. My fingers hurt when it is cold, I dislike the cold, but it is February and February is a cold season. I am quite tired of the rainfall from the atmospheric river that has been flowing and flushing Western Washington these past five months. A dry cold is preferable to a rainy cold.

I sleep light, but not so light as to be awakened by the cat-foot sound of falling snow. Yet awaken I do, and by the light of my exterior trailer lamp, I see what looks like lumpy porridge drifting down from the dark sky. It is 2:30 AM and an unexpected inch of snow has collected on the hood of my SUV. I was not expecting this.

The plan was to have the metal roof finished by Tuesday. I think, like so many of my plans on this project, the plan is kaput - certainly delayed.

Roofers do not show up in the morning, I am not surprised. Climbing about on a pitched slope covered in snow and ice is an unwelcome risk to neck and noggin, even for half-mountain goat roof installers. They will wait for warmer weather.

Even if the roofers do not show, the sun does show on Monday morning, melting away the 2" that fell overnight.

Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me. I check the weather app, the forecast is for no more precipitation under clear, hard freezing conditions, but dry conditions. I tuck in for the night, my electric heater is set on high inside my trailer. 

I wake to a new inch-and-a-half of snow on Tuesday morning. Like last night, I was not expecting this. It is February 22, Washington's Birthday. A white Christmas is one thing to wish for, but a white Washington's birthday? - c'mon, give me a break.

White Christmas extends to Washington's Birthday

This next snow keeps the roofers off the job and on ground level. Tuesday's snow sits on the ground under overcast clouds; it does not melt. It lingers in shady spots until the weekend.

 

 

Roofing Co. owner brooms snow off

 

Roofer applies propane torch flame to melt stubborn icy patches

 

 

 

 

 

 

The forecast is for no snow on Wednesday, and this time it is accurate. Thursday has no precipitation predicted - until late in the afternoon, when the forecast changes to chances of snow on Thursday night. It snows again late Thursday through early Friday.

I need a roof. The roofers want to finish up my weather-delayed job and get paid. The roofing company owner comes out to my house with a broom to sweep the snow off the pitch and get it ready for work. He fires up a propane torch on the roof to melt off the icy patches that can not be swept off with a broom. I cringe at the sight of an open flame, envisioning another fire burning down my house and having to start over again.

The snow has stopped falling, and with a propane prod to speed along the natural process, the roof snow is gone and the roofers return in the rain to add that hunter green barrier between me and the elements above.

The house under 3 days of late February snowfall.

 

Little House in the Big Woods - Window of Opportunity

 

My window of opportunity is set into an empty socket. The house is beginning to look alive.

I suppose it is difficult in the best of times to build a home. These are not the best of times in many ways, and I am discovering it is difficult to build a home.

I lead with an example: I was at home in Texas in September, 2021 when I answered a phone call from Phil, our general contractor, who is getting ready to build our home in Washington. On the other end of the phone, Phil is with the supplier of windows and they want to go over what size, location and quality of windows I want to install on my home. We all realize that under these weird, dislocated societal pandemic patterns that these are not the best of times.

These not the best of times to discuss such matters, but discuss them we must as best we can. My long-distance window preferences are noted by contractor and supplier and another element of the home building process is checked off the schedule.

The windows are ordered in October. I am told they won't be ready until late December - after all, these are not the best of times to be building a home. I am told later that the needed window material for my home is locked up in a 'supply chain' issue. The material for the window frames and possibly the glass is stranded in a tanker floating offshore, the proverbial slow boat from China. I'm not sure if this is true, but the up-shot is that my windows are not scheduled to arrive on site until March 15. Beware the Ides if March! I think to myself, am I to be betrayed?

Window and Doors arrive for installation 4 months after ordered

 

 

Octagonal Kitchen Skylight

Having ordered the window in October, and told they will arrive five months later, I must concede that these are not the best of times. I will wait, what else can I do in these times?

I revel in a perverse joy when I am told, my windows will arrive in mid-February; only four months after the order was placed - not five. I've been down so long, down looks like up. I'll take it. A window of opportunity has opened a month ahead of schedule. Don't let that window of opportunity slam shut.

 

 

Skylight over the kitchen ceiling

Mike Mulligan's framing crew comes up my muddy driveway on February 18, methodically picking up 18 of the 19 needed windows for installation. Window 19 was not delivered, this is how things go when dealing with 'not the best of times'. Window 19 will be special ordered and will be here two weeks later.

I watched the long awaited glass windows being set in the empty sockets of a framed house, bring the look of life, transforming the house under construction closer to the look of a life-filled home. Having sat idle since December, the these  bare bones of a house are being transformed from the skeletal structure to a home before my eyes.

 

Nineteen windows are set in place in February

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Studio/Loft Sun Room gets glassed-in

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

These are not the best of times to be building a home. The building progress has been 'pane-fully' slow. I am looking at a window of opportunity opening and I see real progress; glass and doors cover the bare bones like flesh and blood on a living body.

Roof, Windows and Doors flesh-out the bare bones structure of my house

A Good Old Birthday Celebration

The whole family celebrates dad's 91st birthday!

On my side of the family (all raised in California); I have a father, two sisters, a nephew and his wife and their grand niece all now living in Washington. I am officially a resident of Texas, have been for over half my life, but my time and focus recently is on Washington as I have settled in to build a homestead north of Seattle to which to retire someday. Since fate has dealt us Sunesons a full house, I play my hand and can join the rest of the family in Washington, driving 106 miles south to join in the celebration.

Dad, living well at a senior residence in Tumwater, Washington, is doing a great job at pushing the extremes of the bell curve. He turned a healthy 91 on February 10! It is worth a good old celebration.

Fortunately for all involved, he can freely leave the oft-quarantined facility where he lives and gather off-site with family for frolicking and fun. It is decided by the all in the family that we will gather a sister Sheri's new home on Saturday the 12th, about 6 miles from Dad's place. Sister Wendy scooped him up and brought him to his birthday celebration lunch on their way down from Anacortes. I volunteered to cook a salmon party dinner, with rice pilaf. Sheri made the birthday cake and a couple of sides. Now It's A Party!

Salmon dinner served to celebrate 91 good years

I am excited to get to cook real food in a real kitchen after months of microwave meals in my travel trailer on the construction site. 

We had a party, everybody came and most sang Happy Birthday to YOU! We talked, reminisced and then it was time to let them eat cake.

Happy Birthday Dad!

You are doing great - here's to many more.

Dad chats up son-in-law Tony, Barth and Wendy listen in

 

Our hosts: Sheri and Tony in their new home

Grandson Brian delivers 4 mo Ellie to Great Grandpa

Ellie and Great Grandpa Al bond as Grandma Wendy and son Brian hang on the sidelines

 

   

Little House in the Big Woods - What was Once in the Abstract is Now in the Concrete

Was it a dream? 

A vision? 

A fantasy?

I can say, "Yes, it was." 

I can't say when or how it came to be; nor do I recall if it was a flash of sudden insight, or more likely, a slow metamorphosis of an abstract idea. 

I wanted duality, contrast, balance. I wanted it to feel sensual, a uniting of the feminine and the masculine. A wedding of soft curves and clean, hard lines. I wanted it to be a place that captured my interests and stroked my curiosity. I wanted it to drawn in friend, family and visitors with an inviting sense of whimsy and a hint of mystery.

It was intentional in many ways, but its form has been modified by required building codes and practical construction advice. The process has been fluid.

The home that was once dreamed of in the abstract is now in the concrete

 

 

It takes 6 Cubic Yards to cement a dream

What was once in my mind held only in the abstract of loose-knit concepts has now taken on form in the concrete.

 

Basement slab is repaired after plumbing is installed

 

Finishing crew fills support post holes

 

 

Pouring the basement patio

I think this is not the way most men build a house. I feel this is the way that I end up building a house. What fun to slip from dream and fantasy in the abstract to the concrete form of cement, wood, nails and glass. 

It has been an enjoyable journey.

Morning Mist

Morning Mist

February 6, 2022

I have shared some complaints borne of living in isolation in the woods of the Pacific Northwest. There is plenty of rain this winter, which begets plenty of mud. I grow weary of the rain and mud. My residence is a small travel trailer that provides cover and heat for a basic existence.

By nature, I am not a unduly burdened by hardships. In the midst of my irregular living circumstances, I also find pleasures in living in isolation in the woods of the Pacific Northwest.

I choose to share not a complaint, but the pleasure of a winter's late sunrise above the morning mist rising above Pilchuck Creek as it cuts my land beyond these cottonwood trees.

Little House in the Big Woods - Re-Envisioning Space and Time

It is the first week of January.

Year 2021 is gone.

The snow is gone.

The wife is gone. 

I am alone with plenty of time to think about where I see myself in the future.

+++

At the time of the Christmas snow, I was anticipating the roofer to be out to put on a layer of high tech fabric over the plywood decking to "dry-in" the interior of the house before the end of 2021. No dice. With 11-13 inches of snow on the roof, no drying-in for a while. No roofers on the icy pitched roof for a while. Gives me time to think.

I sit in my trailer home watching the rain fall on the cedars next to my house under construction. Gives me time to think. 

 

On Monday the kitchen skylight and the doors will arrive. This signals the next phase of work. We have been idled by weather and long waits for construction material for over three weeks. 

 

Backside of the house as seen from 'Little Crick'

I have given it some thought. I have some modifications to make to the framed walls in the coming days as I rethink the design of the house. 

 

Rocky, the plumber, has been contacted and he promises he will be out shortly to layout pipes for a real house. Phil, our General Contractor, will follow the plumber and do the electrical. Once plumbing and electrical are signed off by county inspector, our insurance should then pay out the 2nd half of our claim. Luck be a lady tonight - baby needs a new pair of shoes and daddy needs to buy mama a pretty new house. Allstate Insurance has given me an ultimatum to have the house ready for sheet rock by March 22, 2022 - or else they will not pay off my remaining claim amount. Tough bastards.

With time to think things over, I am planning flooring, wall colors, tiles and bath fixtures and laying out cabinet configurations - in my mind. Soon to be a reality. 

A new thought. One thought that has grown on us since our recent Airbnb experience, is the idea of using the basement bedroom and luxury bath as an Airbnb rental to help finance our transition to the Pilchuck. Therefore, I've added a newly designed kitchenette and living space in the basement outside the bedroom with a fridge, sink/counter, microwave with a dinette + chairs for possible future (paying) guests.

Plenty of details to do; waiting on windows to be delivered mid-March (ordered in October 2021 - supply chain problems). I am considering laying down the wood flooring myself, also doing the interior painting and applying a thin stone veneer on the tower/turret NE corner of the house. I've got time. I am hoping to get the remained of my insurance money.

 

Trailer's small kitchen corner, Gives me shelter from the storm.

My trailer is dry and warm, for which I am thankful. The atmospheric river phenomena may be letting up after 83 days of near-continuous precipitation, mostly rain, but a healthy 12" of snow.

 

The new year and new experiences has brought a new perspective. I envision myself belonging to this place. I see a real opportunity before me to open up my new space to paying, short-term renters, al a Airbnb. It will be a lovely place for our paying guests, and even better for our non-paying guest, i.e kith and kin who are welcome to drop in. 

 

 

Who will be the first to let me host them? Operators are standing by to take your reservations.

 

2022 - A Re-envisioned use of this space and my time.

A Last Hurrah + A First Start

I had another New Year fall upon me. Why does this keep happening to me?

 

With Sue visiting Washington for 10 days over the Christmas-New Year Holidays; we had seen family living here in Washington, we had talked privately about many things and we are in agreement that we are unsure of what this New Year of 2022 AD will do for us or to us. 

Sue has a boarding pass with her name and assigned seat. She will be leaving on a jet plane, don't know when she'll be back again. We have today together and then she will be gone to Texas.

 

High tide at Larrabee SP

On her last full day here, it is decided on the spur-of-the-moment to go north up the coast. Peeling off the interstate, we sweep across low farmland and skirt estuaries until Chuckanut Drive climbs the defiant, stony headland cliffs; I steer around hairpin turns on a narrow roadway chiseled into the rocks. Conifers on the right, Samish Bay on the left, we cut through the mist that drifts through the trees and patches of recent snow. Our destination, as much by happenstance as by plan, is Larrabee State Park on Samish Bay. 

 

 

 

At my instruction, Sue pulls the Discover Pass out of the glove box and puts it on the dash. With the pass displayed, we are paid-up legal visitors to the coastal preserve - we are the only ones in the park this cold morning. I like it.

Hiking down to the water, the tide is in and the tide is high. Not much beach to access. Opting for a hike along the brim of the sea cliffs, we trudge through mostly mud, some remaining snow and ice. The fog descends, only to be swept hither, revealing tankers navigating through the waters of Puget Sound around the islands. In a moment they are hidden once again in the silent fog.

 

A cold wind and ice pellets drive us from our sea cliff hike

 

 

 

 

Standing under pines among rocks wrenched sideways by tectonic forces, we inhale a fog-muted water view. The winds kick up and we are driven from the cliff face trail by cold blustery gusts and a wintry mix of ice stabbing our exposed chees and cold cutting through our clothing. 

 

Back in the 4Runner, I set the dash controls to blast out some heat on our feet and fingers. Cruising back south, hugging the cliff, I pull off and park on a wide shoulder. We have chosen the Oyster House for a late, warm lunch. It is  a small restaurant hanging over the water. 

 

Excellent choice. It was an exquisite dinning experience. We enjoyed viewing the weather changes over the water as we dined. We shared the view with an eagle perched on a tree top outside our window seat, we both watched oystermen doing their work in Samish Bay below. We sampled a variety of oysters with melon and briny finishes and sipped an Oregon Pinot Gris.

 

 

 

 

 

 

A fine dining experience at The Oyster House on Chuckanut Drive

 

Sitting at an intimate table, oysters as appetizers and chased by a fine vintage from the stemware, I look across to my dining companion and I think I am in love. I confess to her that this is my ideal day; spontaneous, adventurous, intimate, quiet and rich with the finest and best things in life. I ask, "Won't you consider coming up to our new house and joining me here. I think I am ready for that. What do you say?"

 

Last Hurrah on an Ideal Day

The sentiment is shared, but so are the doubts of finances, timing and logistical details of leaving one life and its deep grooves and making a new one. It doesn't happen instantly or all that easy.

We ponder the future.

Today is our last hurrah for our time together. 

 

I say that I believe that beyond this last hurrah, we are at the cusp of a first start. 

We vow to talk of many things; to remember our last hurrah and to envision a new start.

***

Up early, we quietly exit our Airbnb, loading her minimal luggage into the 4Runer. We grabbed a hearty breakfast at the Farmer's Cafe in Stanwood, wiped our faces and joined the commuter traffic heading into Seattle. It was a quick unload and a peck on the lips in the outer lane of the Sea-Tac drop-off zone. She grabbed her gear and slipped into the masses at the Alaska Airlines terminal. She was gone.

 

Exiting the airport, I continued on south to Tumwater to tour my sister's brand new home, filled with unpacked boxes. I was there to see Sheri's washer, dryer and fridge coming to be installed. So pleased that they have a grand, new home to begin 2022. 

 

May it be the same for me.