Hallelujah! I mean, ommm...

I confess, I've been feeling a little cooped up lately. Between the snow, our budget, and work schedules that have us coming and going at completely separate times, I've found myself moping around the house for the past few days, even (really embarassingly) begrudging Jason the fun of a post-work happy hour. This hasn't, needless to say, been my finest hour.

But, lo and behold, it appears that relief is in sight. I had already decided to go ahead and spend the $10 per week for the evening yoga class at D Acres. Then, in a moment of sheer stupid hope, I googled Buddhism for both Vermont and New Hampshire, and found my jackpot: The Upper Valley Zen Center in White River Junction. Their schedule doesn't suit mine, but they are affiliated with the Zen Practice Group at Dartmouth, which has a Monday evening practice session right when I need it. They aren't meeting this week, but starting on January 5th, I'm going to be pondering koans and chanting with an ordained lay monk. Awesome.

A peek at the outside world

It's a slow day at the hardware store, which means I've been reading the New York Times. (As an interesting side note, I don't know if it's me, or if the paper really has cut down on its new content; headlines seem to hang around for much longer than I remember...) The gem in today's paper speaks both to the smart motivation for sustainable living, and the opportunistic ADD with which so many of us throw off modern materialism when stocks are down, only to run happily back to our iPods when the next bubble starts expanding.

So check out "Boom, Bust, Repeat," and maybe even the book it's reviewing: Panic: The Story of Modern Financial Insanity

Damned electricity

Like many would-be homesteading types, I'm sure, I frequently get stuck between my competing desires for self-sufficiency and what seems like modern practicality. Do I use the dovetail saw or the sawzall? The square cut nails or the nail gun? Do I use $10 worth of lemons for a cool drink in the summer, or just reach for the cannister of powdered lemon-like flavoring?

When it comes to real food choices, quality almost always wins out with me; I'm just too into the project to sacrifice my involvement in it. But, with tools and appliances, I admit that I sometimes show a remarkable lack of fortitude--reaching without thought for the vacuum instead of the broom, or even the mixer when a hand potato masher is just as available. My instinct to do things the hard way runs smack into my habits or (alleged) time constraints, and in the dark alley that is my decision making process, apparent efficiency takes to best intentions with a set of brass knuckles.

I have this on the brain this morning because I always start thinking like Jeremiah Johnson when I catch a glimpse of the electric bill. This month it was just over $180, and that for a house that I usually think of as pretty conservative in terms of consumption. We heat with wood (and wood pellets, true), use a gas stove, have no baseboard heat, and religiously turn off lights when moving from room to room. But was I just deluding myself into assuming that the whirling meter on my south wall was clearly defrauding me one expensive watt at a time? Am I really running a system of power guzzling?

An honest look at our appliances popped a great big hole in my optimistic bubble. Yes, I have a gas stove and heat with a Jotul. BUT, I also have a dishwasher that runs, on average, once a day. I have a pellet stove that sucks electricity to run its ignition and blower systems. An electric clothes dryer. An electric washer. Two computers, one printer, and a constantly drawing wireless network. Oh, and a 16 cubic foot freezer. Worst of all, I have not only a submersible well pump, but the sin of all sins, an 80-gallon electric water heater, sitting like a monetary black hole in my unheated cellar. (Forget that it's supposed to be super-efficient--one ploy for which I will continue to demonize the electric company--it's still a monster.) My little self-congratulatory assumptions of roughing it are starting to sound just a little ridiculous, n'est ce pas?

The question is, in the midst of the modern world (and my empty bank account), what am I to do about this? Clearly, the knee-jerk loading of that dishwasher has got to stop. And perhaps I can install this "gray box" I've heard about to time the heating of water to coincide with our usage. But what other strategies will combine to return electricity to its original (and in my opinion, rightful) place as an instrument of lifestyle improvement rather than constant necessity? Can my urge to rough it live alongside my urge to blog?

Homesteading the New Old-Fashioned Way

So, one of my most delightful Christmas presents this year (and this really was a banner season for thoughtfulness) was Made from Scratch: Discovering the Pleasures of a Handmade Life. I know that may seem a little regressive for someone who already owns a 180-year old farmhouse, had 26 (ill-considered) chickens last year, and regularly bakes bread, pie, and assorted other old-timey goodies. But, after a rather tumultuous year, when many of those tasks were put down in favor of more emotional projects, it was lovely to pick up a beginner's how-to, full of simple, unintimidating steps toward self-sufficiency in a modern world.

The book really got me thinking about what exactly I've been trying to do up here, 600 miles or so from my natural habitat, and a few worlds away from my schooling, training, and previous pursuits. I moved up here, originally, for profoundly political purposes, driven by the desire to live by my hands as an expression of political autonomy. (An expensive and labor-intensive way of saying, "I don't need no stinkin' government.") My political sentiments still hold, but both they and my desire for self-sufficiency have gained a foundation over these last few years, a grounding in the firm belief that living with labor and truly valuing goods and pleasures because you either know or remember what went into them just flat out makes a person happy.

My perspective now, I guess, is libertarianism, objectivism, environmentalism, back-to-the-land-ness, and Buddhism rolled into a weird and apparently uncommon package. So, I'd expect the tone of this blog to shift a little bit as I incorporate more of my viewpoint than just the still-beloved task of repairing this wreck of a house. Expect more along the lines of organic gardening, green building, and the occasional exploration of acceptance and meditation. I guess Dad was right; I'm a free market hippie after all.

Question

I know it's unlikely to draw huge responses (given my recent return here), but I'm going to post a poll, and will gratefully receive comments in response to this question:

What do you think of coal heat?

Here's the thing. I have a pellet stove in the cellar, and I don't like it. It's an Englander that had a completely appalling malfunction a few years ago (yes, this one), and with every storm that threatens the power lines, I get less and less comfortable with having a heat source that needs a blower. Working up at the local stove shop lately, I've had my eye on this wood/coal furnace, but I'm not 100% sure about the transition. Any opinions?

BRRRR!!!!

I'm not sure what to say about 20 inches of snow. Mainly, I'm sorry that the camera is temporarily out of commission because this is amazing--it's like opening your front door to a Santa display at the mall. This snow actually sparkles, and it's falling in huge chunks, the way snow does in the movies, but never *ever* does in real life.

We took the kids out to play in Round I on Friday; Amelia sledded happily and amused herself by sweeping snow while Papa diligently shoveled. Henry, bundled up from head to foot, seemed ever so slightly less happy, like the sheer whiteness of everything in sight was just too startling to handle.

More on topic (I suppose), the old house is standing up marvelously; I'm proud to report that we've tightened it up enough that you can actually notice individual air leaks, instead of just standing in a vortex of draft. Winter is by no means conquered, but it may be ever so slightly tamed.

Wearing a barrel, swinging a hammer...

I'm not sure sometimes whether poverty and productivity have a direct or an inverse correlation. Would my money pit project be more successful if I had all the cash in the world?

On the one hand, I'd be an idiot to think not. I have an immediate need for something over 20 sheets of drywall. Could hang it tomorrow. But because it has't been airlifted into my yard by the drywall fairies, along with a bucket of mud, a nice taping knife, and a space heater, I have walls that sit open, covered in plastic, in rooms that would otherwise be liveable. I need electrical wiring, a rental floor sander, urethane, cabinets, trim boards, and a lot less credit card debt.

But... The financial ability to move quickly can be a real hazard; I look back now to some things I did in this house early on, and cringe at my combination of hubris and ineptitude. I didn't know how to frame walls; I didn't know how to hang doors; I didn't know enough to lay pipe for radiant heating when the subfloor was up (for a future option); and I hired out work to hacks with websites, rather than asking around town to see who locals would recommend. All in all, if I could go back to the beginning, I might rip out 15-25% of what we did when there was money to spend on it. Maybe more.

So, as much as I'd like to run down to Home Depot and stock up on 2x3s, insulation, wiring, drywall, and paint, there's a lot to be said for the care and caution that poverty makes you apply to every decision. I'm not going to plunge ahead with the paneling over the fireplace because, to be honest, I still have no idea how to do it, and I don't want to risk wasting the paint-grade ply. There are hundreds of projects like that, and I approach them all now with a sense of respect for the materials that I'm pretty sure I used to lack.

Can it BE?

Am I back? Is the world as I know it still out there?

The answer, of course, is "yes and no." I've Rip Van Winkled away a lot of time on this blog, letting the time between posts slip from one winter to another. But, here we are again, with snow piling up on the ground outside, a roaring fire going in the stove, and a whole mess of unfinished drywall. The more things change, the more they stay the same.

For anyone who isn't related to me (and thus required to read this stuff), the brief recap: Last year, divorce (still difficult and sad), full-time employment (excuses, excuses), the NH primary (all sorts of distracting), two new bedrooms refinished, and a certain level of mid-project ennui. This year, new family, two stepkids, my first pregnancy, big garden, less money, and 26 chickens, may they all rest in plucked, frozen peace. Let it never be said that I do anything easy--or (I sometimes suspect) particularly bright.

So, I suppose this post is the reopening of a door, hopefully not (a la Sarah Winchester) into a wall or 2-story shaft. I am back; I hope you're here; and it's time I got back on the blathering horse. There's an awful lot to catch up on.