Mindfulness and Meteor Showers

Every year I get excited about the Perseids meteor shower – and then it's overcast or there's a full moon or I forget about it or I can't be bothered to get up in the middle of the night and go look.

This year, it felt important to me not to miss them. I read that while they peak around August 11–12, the light from the waxing moon may interfere with viewing this year. So I decided to make some time to view them before their official peak.

Tucked away in the woods, my view of the sky is somewhat limited, so I asked a friend who has a glorious hill behind her house if she would mind if I drove up to the top in the early morning to do some star-gazing. She gladly welcomed me to share her skyscape.

Staying up late is not my preference, so instead, I got up early.

I drove in the dark up the dirt road leading to her hilltop, the long grass in the middle of the road pinging against the bottom of my car. At the top, it was brisk, but not too brisk. Breezy, but not too breezy. Extremely clear. I was on the late edge for viewing (after 4am, with the sun already starting to lighten the east), but the moon had set and most of the sky was still very dark. I saw seven meteors in about 20 minutes, with the two brightest just before I left to come back home and start working.

As I stood there (I had forgotten to bring a blanket to lie down on), I thought about how magical it is to watch shooting stars. Calm, with happy surprises.

Calm can be a tricky place. It can be easy to slip from calm into the stories we tell ourselves to keep our brains busy. I don't know about you, but some of the narratives I spin about my life are not very pleasant ones. A few times while I was star gazing this morning, my mind drifted off to think about difficult things: work and personal relationships that are troubling me, the book that I'm reading about trauma (The Body Keeps the Score) that is stirring up many upsetting feelings. Each time my mind strayed – Whoosh – shooting star! And each time, I felt a surprised and delighted smile sweep my face, hustling my anxious, hamster-wheel thoughts out of the spotlight.

It strikes me that "calm with happy surprises" might be the optimal state for human life.

Calm without any surprises is boring. From there we often slip into old scripts: catastrophes, anxieties, dramas, anything to make things interesting and give us an illusion of control. Never calm, (i.e. continually stressed) is a brutal way to live. And mostly calm with unhappy surprises, with that slammed from out-of-the-blue feeling, is definitely not optimal.

I have a lot of calm in my life right now. I need it and I'm grateful for it.

I'm reminded this morning to seek out and appreciate happy surprises too.

I had one last Friday, when some friends dropped by and invited me to join them for supper and a few hands of gin rummy.

And come to think of it, I had another happy surprise a few weeks ago, when some friends were home for a visit and spent an evening reminding me how to play Slay the Demon – a game I find deeply meditative and sweetly surprising. And of course, some visits with my favourite young people this summer have been spontaneous and full of in-the-moment sandcastle-building and wave-jumping. And some heart-to-hearts with friends have taken me to that same "brain-lit-up-in-connection" good place.

Waves are happy surprises. So are smiles and hugs. So are friends dropping by. So is dancing. So is breaking out into song. So is the High-5 burger at the Hebbville Tastee Freeze.

I'm reminded to cultivate and/or appreciate happy surprise interruptions to my long hours of work and the dark thoughts that sometimes take over my mind while my hands are busy typesetting.

When you wish upon a star...

The epic move

Well, we are here. Salinger and I.

I've just had four very intense days. Thursday was spent packing, Friday moving the house (eeeeeee!), yesterday trying to organize Wholehearted House and Sunday cleaning my winter apartment and moving Salinger.

Salinger is NOT a fan of moving. He hates driving in the car. But after we got to the ferry I think he figured out that we weren't going to see the vet and he seemed to calm down a bit. After an initial prowl around the chaos in our tiny home, he settled in for a long nap on the bed by my feet.

I kicked back, eyes half-closed, bone bone bone tired. Not a lot more got done yesterday before the fading of the light. I had already put in a full day, scrubbing and packing and wrestling Salinger into his carrier.

I don't have electricity to hook up to my little rig. That is next on the agenda, but I will be roughing it for a number of weeks, if not months. Fortunately, the days are long, so I will have plenty of time to work in daylight. And the dark early mornings are good for thinking, resting and working on the computer (as long as I can figure out ways to keep it charged – I'm working on that).

On the downside, the weather forecast is cloudy and rainy for the next FIVE days. Salinger and I seem to have a knack for moving to this house at the beginning of a long stretches of rain. This will make two out of three years. The first year in March, this year in May (if you'd like, you can listen to a song I wrote about that first rainy/snowy/sleety March here). 

But on the upside, at least it's pretty warm (I slept very comfortably last night) and I'm hopeful that the wet weather will make for some calm and quiet days that I can spend organizing the interior of the house and getting some desk work done.

This morning, Salinger is outside checking out our (new-to-him) land. It's raining pretty heavily. I think he is mostly hanging out under the house, mewing at the door periodically to make sure that I am here and will let him in upon request.

Here is the story of the move:

I decided to rent a U-haul to accommodate some of my stuff.
I wasn't sure how much weight we should try to move
inside the house. And also, it was just hard to maneuver in
my house with 100% of the contents inside it. Everything
became a lot easier once a lot of my stuff was stogged into the van.

The evening sky at Pennybrook. There was a fair bit of nostalgia and
melancholy involved in this move. I felt sad to leave both
Pennybrook and my winter accommodations.

I made a rope corral to keep most of the
contents that we moved inside the house from
shifting around and to keep the weight
over the wheels, as helpfully advised
in an email from Wholehearted House's maker, Adam.
My friend Katy, who helped me pack, was interested
in seeing before and after photos to see how much things
 moved when we hauled the house.

I hope the grass will spring back quickly
at Pennybrook in the spot where
my house and deck sat for two years.

I was going to have my house moved by a local towing company (Adam, sadly, has moved out west, so it was not possible for him to move it). I was feeling pretty anxious about it, and the thought of working with strangers was stressing me out even more.

A couple of days before the move was scheduled, I was talking with my friend who's cut down all of the trees on my land and telling him about feeling stressed. And he instantly offered to move my house for me.

"What!" I exclaimed. "You can do that?"

"Of course I can."

I don't know why it had never occurred to me to ask. I knew he had a big truck and mad skillz.

Anyway, he was amazing. Simply stellar. Every curve and bump was managed with aplomb. And, we took our time; he was totally patient with my anxiety and my lack of experience helping to move very large objects up and down narrow driveways. My Pennybrook landmates were also extremely helpful, especially Jude, who provided both practical and moral support on many fronts.

The bottle jack, hoisting the house off her blocks
and back onto her wheels. (We also moved this
mattress abandoned by another temporary Pennybrook
resident down on to the pile awaiting Big Garbage pick-up).

Heading down the driveway at Pennybrook.
Pretty much the same journey in reverse to the
one I described when we moved my house up to Pennybrook,
with the exception that we didn't have to manage
the curve on the lower part of the driveway because
the neighbours kindly gave me permission to
travel out on their straighter driveway – the connection
between the two driveways is normally blocked off
and I didn't know when we moved in that the barrier
is removable!

Backing up the driveway into The Crooked Wood.

The "after" shot for my friend Katy. Not much
moved except for the things I had forgot to put
down as low as possible.

After some preliminary organizing on Saturday.
In a typical case of two steps forward and one
step back, it now looks way worse than this because
of all the things I've added from my winter
apartment. Sigh.

Salinger, king of the chaos around him.

So, we are here, Salinger and I. There are plenty of blankets on the bed. The propane stove works, so there is tea and soup and fried or baked potatoes any time I want them.

I don't have electricity or refrigeration or running water. I feel like I could sleep through most of the next five days, avoiding the rain and recovering from the move and from the huge amounts of work I did this winter.

It is so quiet here. There are only the sounds of the birds and squirrels, the rain and VERY occasional passing cars.

My to-do list is long. Desk work is unrelenting. And I have so many things to do for the continued development of The Crooked Wood. But that's another blog post.

For now, it is enough to sit with the major accomplishment of having gotten this baby moved and settled here in her (hopefully) permanent home.

Waiting on Spring (A Tiny Home/Land Development Report)

Last night, I heard the spring peepers for the first time this year — not a full chorus, but a few bold frontrunners.

There are still predictions of snow in the weather forecast (in fact, snowflakes are falling as I write this), but I'm hopeful that there won't be any accumulation of snow. It would be great to have relatively clear sailing from here into the summer. Except of course for the inevitable season of rain and mud that passes for spring in Nova Scotia.

Not that I'm complaining. Compared to last winter, this winter has been a walk in the park. And no matter how wet and gross this spring becomes, at least it has already started. This time last year... well, don't get me started.

Now that spring is both officially and apparently here – and my biggest desk-work commitments are out of the way for another 5 months – I'm getting itchy.

I have less than a month left in my winter rental and I'm wild to know how soon I can move onto my land.

Preparation work has been continuing through the winter. More trees have been cut down. There is now a beautiful clearing letting in a ton of sunshine – as well as the fully-cleared actual (second) driveway.

I'm sad this cool stump will have to be
rooted out of the driveway.

Discussions have been happening with many and various people regarding possible construction, septic systems, wells, the driveway and electricity hook-up.

Decisions, decisions

I've had to make some major decisions this winter. 

The biggest decision I faced was whether I should try to winterize Wholehearted House (the tiny house on wheels that I bought a couple of years ago and have lived in for the past two summers) or if I should build a micro cabin.

After consulting with the fellow who created Wholehearted House (out of a 35-foot RV from the late 80s), another good friend who's a builder, my pops and others, I decided that it would not be wise to try to convert my tiny home. It is not meant to be a year-round dwelling. It's a grand (and beloved) dwelling in the summer time, when all the windows can be wide open. And it stays beautifully dry in the winter if it doesn't have a human being in it, producing gallons of moisture. But I've decided that trying to make it habitable year-round would be a misuse of funds and almost definitely a shortcut to major problems with moisture and mold.

However, I love my house and don't want to part with it. I have decided to keep it and use it in three seasons – as quiet, off-grid living/working space and as guest accommodation – or more likely, as my accommodation when I have guests, as I don't imagine all of my guests will be as happy as I am to live free of modern conveniences.

So, what about this micro cabin?

My pops, who always keeps an eye out for tiny home ideas for me, posted this link on my Facebook page a couple of months ago and I fell in love.

Isn't it adorable? Click the link in the paragraph
above to see many more photos.

Interestingly, after my mom saw these pictures, she told me that my Nana (her mom) had really, really wanted an A-frame cabin in the 60s, but ended up with a more traditional style of cottage.

There will definitely be some modifications to the design, but I think this is the general idea I'll be shooting for.

On my birthday this year, I went over to my land for a site inspection with my Builder Friend. We had a good look at the lay of the land and discussed everything that needs to get done.

In the midst of that conversation, I came to another decision, a rather sobering one: I simply can't afford to build my cabin this year.

That's disappointing.

Very disappointing.

I was longing to be settled in one place before winter this year.

But it's better to know and decide now instead of getting in over my head and winding up leveraged to the hilt. Or worse still, making commitments that I can't keep. I'm assembling a team of awesome people whom I really like and the last thing I would want to do would be to make – and then break – promises to them.

So, slow and steady is the order of the day. I am working hard, budgeting and saving as radically as I can (without sucking ALL of the joy out of my life).

With a little luck, I hope to be able to save enough money to build my micro cabin next year.

In the meantime, my immediate needs are a driveway and level spots to put my car and Wholehearted House. Then I'll need to move my tiny house on wheels to my land and set up a small solar rig for my immediate power needs, so I'll be able to work while I'm living there this summer.

The driveway is currently on hold, waiting for spring weight road restrictions to be lifted. And of course, because the path of my driveway has changed, I need to get a new estimate.

This spring, I want to make some raised beds and plant a garden. I also hope to be able to have a well dug (or drilled) and possibly put in my septic system this fall.

I have lots of research to do and decisions to make. Fortunately, I am surrounded by experienced friends who are generously willing to mentor me and help with ideas, advice, skill and labour.

And, since it will all take some time to get this project off the ground, I am also lucky to have a number of friends and neighbours who have offered to share their infrastructure through the summer so I'll have access to water, showers and laundry.

I'm looking forward to my summer in the woods. Conditions will be rustic in the extreme, and hopefully also peaceful in the extreme.

Well, adventurously peaceful.

The SECOND driveway (A Tiny Home/Land Development Report)

On a couple of days over the past month, my forest ecologist friend (who is also an artist with a chainsaw) and I have gone to my land to cut out the "real" driveway (if you missed the back story on this one, you can check out this earlier post).

One afternoon, my friend stopped off by himself and cut down a few trees.

Today, we were able to complete the job. 

Walking down the "false" driveway toward
"my clearing" through soft and
peaceful snow.

Some tools of the trade – branch trimmers and tea.

I had forgotten how much we had already completed.

It only took us a couple more hours to finish the job.

Most of what we've cut out so far has been fir,
but my friend dropped a couple of large pine trees today.
The pine boughs smelled so good and for some
reason reminded me of being sprinkled with holy
water as a child in church. I know in Toronto
the priests used palm fronds, but in Lunenburg,
I seem to remember the priest using pine boughs.

There was one particular bit of excitement when we had to fell a tree that was close to the road, leaning toward the road and with all its branches on the roadward side. We thought we might obstruct the road and cause a massive traffic jam (in Crousetown – haha) but in the end, my friend did such a stellar job felling it that this is how much of it wound up (very briefly) on the road. Given that it was between my car (with its four-way flashers on) and my buddy's truck, I don't think it had a major impact on anybody's drive home.

Here is the final view of the driveway entrance from the road.

I'm tired and happy and I smell like pine trees.

Next, the plan is to haul out the logs that are suitable for lumber and get them milled.

After that I just need to get through winter so I can get the heavy machinery in to build a road! 

Local Shopping by Proxy

Here's a fun idea for holiday gift-giving – Shopping Local by Proxy.

I got an email last week from a good friend, with a proposition for me.

She lives more than 1,500 km away from her mom, while I live about 20 km away from her mom. And there is an awesome, new, independent bookstore, Lexicon Books, in the town where I am living this winter.

So, rather than order books online from one of the big conglomerates, my friend asked if I would be willing to pick up some books she would order at Lexicon and take them over to her mom the next time I was going that way.

This sounded like an excellent idea to me. I happily agreed.

I picked the books up yesterday and delivered them today.

My friend added a gift certificate for me to her order – which she totally didn't need to do, but which I will gleefully spend – I want to get one of Rebecca Roher's adult calendar/colouring books: Hot Babes Wash Dirty Dogs while I'll put the remainder toward Brené Brown's book Daring Greatly (which I have on order and which should be coming in later this week).

So have a think about friends who live near your loved ones and figure out if you can replace the faceless convenience of online shopping with friendly connections and support of local businesses.

Tiny Home/Land Report: From Overwhelmed to Confident (in about 4 hours)

I admit that I have been dragging my heels most of the summer, not doing much of anything about my land, except thinking about it. (And by thinking, what I really mean is worrying, fussing and spinning my wheels).

A couple of weeks ago, I decided that I needed to accept that I wasn't going to be anywhere near ready to over-winter in my tiny home this year. So, I began the hunt for a winter rental (and I think I've got that just about sorted, which is good).

Three days ago, I called a (known and trusted) contractor about putting in a driveway. Two days ago, he and I went to look at my land together. I explained my two or three tentative plans, we ixnayed one of the ideas but didn't see any major impediments to either of the other two. The estimate is forthcoming. The deciding factor between the two plans will be cost. Depending on how much money will need to be spent, I will decide on Plan A or Plan B and also whether I can afford to proceed this fall or if I will have to wait for the spring.

From OVERWHELMED...

After the meeting about the driveway the night before, I woke up yesterday morning feeling completely overwhelmed. I had intended to go to the municipal planning department to talk about building permits, but I just couldn't face it, even though I know I have a two-page list of questions I need to ask, trying to narrow down my options.

As I understand it, in my municipality, if I leave my house on wheels, I don't need to get a building permit to put it on the land and it doesn't have to meet code. The first building I put on the land, regardless of its size, does need a building permit and does need to meet the code, but anything after that does not, as long as it is smaller than 210 square feet.

One of the biggest decisions I face is what kind of building, if any, I want to put on my land.

Do I want to put a building on my land that is low-serviced? Basically a combo garage/firewood storage space, with on-grid electricity, but no heat or running water? Or do I want to build a small "water house" with running hot and cold water, a kitchenette, bathroom and washing machine hook-up (with either a full septic system or a greywater system and composting toilet)? Or do I want to build a full-on, rooted-to-the-earth tiny house with power, heat, running hot and cold water – everything contained in one place. Or would I rather not build anything at all and just perch on the land in my current tiny home either three seasons a year or year round (with the latter option obviously requiring a number of winterization measures).

Each of these options will entail very different things in terms of permits and cost.

And I don't know what I'm doing. I've never done this before so I'm learning at a great rate. If I'm not careful I get overwhelmed and I feel very lost and scared.

It's a big challenge for me to go slow, not get ahead of myself or try to take on too much at once.

And while I'm doing this project solo, by and for myself, it's important for me to remember that I don't have to do it alone.

Yesterday was a perfect reminder of that.

...to confident.

After my dismal, stressed-out morning yesterday, I was in town in the afternoon, running errands, when my phone rang. The call was from a couple of friends for whom I had done a substantial favour earlier in the summer. They had offered to return the favour with a day of work (meaning two person days of work – an agreement that seemed more than fair to me, especially since they are super-handy and work in the field of forest ecology, offering skills that I really need). I understood that they were having a busy summer and that our work party would need to wait until late summer, or even early fall.

When they called yesterday, my friends said they were unexpectedly free for the afternoon and since it wasn't too sweltering hot to work, was I available to come take a look at my land? I was mostly hoping for their knowledgeable advice about what trees to cut and what not to cut, but I got way more than I was hoping for! They brought a chainsaw and after four hours of work, we had cut out and cleared about half of the length of the planned driveway at a width of 16 feet!

It was an amazing transformation! My land has not been cleared or tended in any way in a long time. It is a stand of natural, mature forest – very little undergrowth, lots of standing and fallen dead wood. I find it remarkably beautiful, but what I was not prepared for is how much more beautiful it is with a swath of it cut out. The space for the driveway is now framed and canopied by trees. The trees look much taller now that one can stand back and really get a look at them.

The clearing sets off the trees to better advantage!
Look how tall and majestic they are!

And the things I learned about forest ecology were useful and fascinating. We selected the path for the driveway with an eye to preserving certain trees – favouring hardwoods (which are less common on my land) and a couple of beautiful old, super-straight tamaracks and pines. We mostly took out the small, crappy fir trees, many of which were standing dead anyway from a lack of light under the canopy of taller trees.

My friends explained how brush piles and piles of dead wood act as nourishment for existing trees and how they could be positioned to regulate water drainage on the property. And that I could transplant baby trees from the middle of the planned driveway to other spots on the property, where they will get more light – and not be decimated by the excavators.

Plus, we piled up a good start on next year's firewood!

One of several piles of firewood,
ready to be bucked up!

All in all, it was an extremely satisfying, informative, fun and uplifting afternoon!

In one short afternoon, I went from feeling stuck and stymied about my land to hopeful and heart-lifted.

It is very good to have good friends.

I am very, very grateful.

And I am strongly reminded to be open to receiving help when it's being offered.

Where once there were only trees...

PS: because our work party had been planned so spontaneously, I had to take off around 6:15 pm to keep a commitment with some friends who are visiting from out of town. My friends said they would continue cutting and clearing for another half-hour or so. When I went back today to take the pictures I had forgotten to take for this blog post, I was amazed to see how much more they had done. They must have stayed much longer than a half hour, and they cleared about the same distance again that we had cleared in the first four hours. I am amazed and humbled by their hard work, efficiency, diligence and their generosity with their work and talents. 

And I am even more grateful than I was yesterday, if that is even possible. 

Land Plan (Inch By Inch, Life's a Cinch; Yard By Yard, Life is Hard)

Here it is, mid-(to-late-)June, and I must admit that I have come very little distance in figuring out how I'm going to proceed with my land.

I'm almost resigned to the idea of renting somewhere again this winter – much as I don't want to. I'm just not sure how I'm going to get everything I need in place before the snow flies...

I'm trying to think about things one step at a time. Here is my step-by-step plan. Probably each one of these will warrant its own blog post at some point over the next few months. I'd appreciate any ideas or advice you care to contribute.

Step 1: Research and information/advice gathering

This is the stage I'm in now. It involves doing research and gathering advice and opinions from experts in a number of different fields, including:

• Site design
• Sustainable Forestry
• Infrastructure/Utilities – power, water, waste water, driveway/site leveling
• House design and/or effective winterization of my tiny home
• Financial advice about how to access enough money to complete this project

Step 2: Decision-making

After I've gathered all of the information, opinions and advice that I can, it will be time to make some decisions. I think this is going to be the most difficult part of the process. There are so many decisions to make! And so many possibilities for each decision! I am trying to remember to take these as slowly as I need to and again, one at a time.

Step 3: Skill acquisition

Next up will learning how to do some things I want to know how to do and identifying the right people to help me make this project a reality. I'm enrolled in a chainsaw course on July 18-19, and that will be a very necessary skill to enable me to contribute to clearing my own land. I have to admit that I don't have a great drive to gain many other skills for this project. I am not a handy person. Fortunately, lots of other people around here are.

Step 4: Resource acquisition

Once I have decided what needs to be done, and what parts of it I can do myself, it will be time for budgeting. I have little doubt that this is a project that is going to need to be done in phases, as the availability of money permits. This was a conscious choice on my part, to bootstrap my way into a house. I could have purchased an existing house and taken on a mortgage, but I decided that I didn't want to pay all that interest to the bank, or have a house that was way larger than I needed and painfully expensive to heat. I am only one person and finding a house for sale that is the right size for one person can be a tricky thing.

The more I think about it, the more I think that my financial situation will require one or more years of "roughing it" living in my tiny home on wheels without running water or much electricity. But – step by step – I don't need to jump to any conclusions just yet...

Step 5: Selecting collaborators

I am very fortunate that lots of my friends and community members are skilled and knowledgeable about so many aspects of land development, green energy and building. There are many people who will be able to help me accomplish tasks for which I do not have the skills, like back-hoeing and building and plumbing and wiring.

Step 6: Seeking approvals

Yes, I'm a by-the-book kind of person. Mostly because if I build a home, I'll want to insure it. If my home were to burn down, I wouldn't have enough money to replace it without insurance. That would be a problem. And, I believe that the rules, however cumbersome, are there for a reason. So, whenever it comes time to install the main aspects of the infrastructure, I will be seeking  the appropriate permissions from all of the appropriate people.

Step 7: Implementation

This in itself will be a multi-step process.

1. Access to the site (clearing trees, building driveway)
2. Infrastructure (electricity (on and/or off-grid), water, waste water, Internet)
3. Moving (and possibly winterizing) my tiny home on wheels
4. Building a fixed tiny home with awesome stuff like hot and cold running water and heavy-duty electrical service.

Where I'm at now:

Our summer solstice gathering this weekend blessed me with an even-greater-than-usual influx of advice from a number of smart and knowledgeable friends and neighbours. Some pieces in direct conflict with other pieces, of course – LOL! It will all need to be weighed and measured!

At the end of the day, I know that it is most important that this process and the decisions that come out of it are a comfortable fit for me. And I have to go at the pace that's right for me.

This is going to be my home. It needs to fit my heart.

Ready for my Tiny Open House

Today, I open my house up to anyone who would like to see it. I've put a fair bit of work into getting Wholehearted House ready for this day.

She still has a ways to, but she's looking really good to my eyes. The snacks and drinks are ready. I hope lots of people are able to come help celebrate the home I'm making.