HiTechRedneck Rides.

It’s quiet and loud at the same time, right now.

We moved our old pop-up camper over to the Farm last weekend. It’s a stop-gap move. It affords us more time out here, away from the house, away from the incessant projecting. Everywhere I turn at home I see work to be done, another step to be taken.

The road to sustainability, to true freedom, is turning out to be longer than even I thought, at first. Not a whole lot longer, mind you. I was pretty aware that it would take awhile. Awhile in the Southern sense; depending upon what you’re talking about, well, awhile can mean all sorts of things. In our particular case, it means at least a year.

Yes, a year. Our dream, of course, is our constant. A bright North Star shining effortlessly in the sky of our imagination. Yet reality has a way of dimming even the brightest stars. We’re working very hard to not let that happen.

In the meantime, here I sit. I’m in my favorite lawn chair with a cold beer at my side and a citronella candle burning  duty. To the east, just a handful of yards away, a sentry light sheds its cheerful yellow glow, revealing the quiet pasture before me. To the north, a few feet behind me, is our pop-up camper. A couple of outdoor tables, an awning, and the tools of living just outside the range of urbanity scattered among them. I’ve strung up a makeshift clothes-line on the awning. Swaying in the cool night breeze our towels and the shorts and such that we wore down to bathe in the river earlier.

And I do mean bathe, soap and all, of course. Why deal with icy-cold well water for your evening ablutions when you’ve a lovely, tepid, fast-flowing river a scant few yards away? Although we’re being greedy and inconsiderate of the environment to reach the river. It’s a steep trek down the hill from our little knoll to the Gasconade and walking is no longer one of the things I do well. So we drive. We clamber into my truck and head down the hill; a few minutes later the dogs arrive, clearly wondering why on earth we left them all alone in such a strange place and asking what the hell we think we’re doing leaving them up the hill all on their lonesome.

But now the sun has gone down. The tree frogs are busy trying to get laid and, every so often, I hear whippoorwill break into song. I’m certain it’s not the same one as back at the house, but I can’t be sure. I’m thankful that the tree frogs always seem to be in trees that are far away. Or else they are in the trees right near us but our presence silences them. Maibelle lays her head on my knee, begging for love. The two little dogs have camped out in the pop-up with their other Momma. Spoilt rotten little fur balls, they are…our 16 year old camper has working air conditioning. I turned it on when I arrived a few hours ago; it’s off now, no need to turn our canvas and aluminum haven into the arctic, but little dogs seem to be lovers of comfort. Only Maibelle is outside with me. I’m curious as to what she thinks of me, sitting outside in the dark with some strange contraption in my lap absorbing all my attention.

Hell, we even have a flush toilet in the pop-up. One of those whiz-bang wonders of modern ingenuity. Fill one tank with fresh water, pump the handle when you’re ready to do your business (this puts water into the bowl), pull another handle when you’re done and your waste is banished to the lower tank. I dread emptying it, which should be soon. We really don’t need our little modern marvel stinking up our temporary abode. And yes, it came with the pop-up when we bought it years ago. So did the refrigerator, one of those brown, college student jobs.

Yes, even out here in the boonies we are, currently, still on the grid. We’ve parked our cheerful little home next to the old farmhouse. It’s empty but wired in; amazing what giant extension cords and clever power adapters can accomplish. We have a lawnmower, coolers, propane, charcoal, all the comforts of home, sort of. I can’t believe all the shit we have in this tiny little box. By sub-urban home standards, well, it’s almost nothing…but for me it’s too much. And I’ve been making a list of other things that we need, too. A cutting board, a big kettle, a chef’s knife, sheets, more ice, and on, and on.

I wish a rucksack, a pocketknife, and a pot were all that I require, but we no longer live in that world and we’re far poorer for it. So many accoutrements! Yet I can’t complain, to be honest. It’s so lovely to sit out here in almost nothing, barefoot with my netbook in my lap, writing away to the tune of a cool breeze in the trees and critters for company. Though I could do without being mosquito fodder. I sometimes think that God came up with mosquitoes as a particular mechanism. For all the peaceful beauty we experience  when out in nature in this world, well, it ain’t quite paradise; that we must earn. We’re to appreciate how close we are in environs such as this, but they ain’t the real deal. This homely dream is but a taste of what is to come and mosquitoes the gentle reminders of where we are not. Strangely, I’m thankful for it. For all of it.

I’ve often said that if I died tomorrow, I’d die happy. I suppose I feel unusually blessed. I’ve lived and partied hard, met interesting people, had useful jobs, been academically and self-educated, seen this great country and parts of nations to our north and south, known love and anguish, joy and heartbreak. It’s strange that what most folks see as barriers in this world I’ve learned to see as nothing more than challenges to overcome, as problems to manipulate into workable issues. Everything has a solution or a compromise. My God, if I were to thank everyone I’ve ever met, from whom I’ve gained some form of wisdom, this blog would turn into a mind-numbing, endless tome.

So for now I shall finish my cold beer and enjoy the dressings of our modernity. They exist, and so it is pointless to not utilize them. Soon enough we will be free of these entrapments, soon enough we’ll be where we want to be, doing exactly what we dream of doing.

With these thoughts in mind I’ll go to bed. I’ll awake in the morning and get back to the schizophrenic grind that is my life at this point. I’ll take some great strides forward and achieve some miniscule accomplishments. And whether or not we reach our goal, it’ll all have been worth it. Every ounce of sweat and every dollar spent…yup. Worth it all.

In the meantime, well, I’m gonna enjoy the silence and the cacophony.

People are oft puzzled when I refer to my personal heroes, Mark Twain and Theodore Roosevelt. When questioned as to which WOMEN I idolize, I state simply, Queen Elizabeth the 1st. When queried as to why I’ve no “modern” women on my list I simply reply, “well, it took a couple of centuries for the ol’ boys to figure out how to be such smart asses as Miz Elizabeth. Unfortunately, no woman has figured it out since.”

I am sitting outside, alone and in the dark. I’ve been awaiting an interminable amount of time for my Winblows powered netbook to boot up and allow me access to the interwoobies.

It’s beautiful right now. Mother Nature is providing a springtime light show, replete with rolling thunder and bright flashes of lightning. I love it when it is humid and hot. I sit here and anxiously await the moment, which may not come, when I must fold up my tiny technological wonder and head indoors.

The dogs hate thunderstorms. They cower under any object they can find which, they feel, may provide some sort of sanctity. I, on the other hand, adore the raging power…the loud and bright build up of more rain.

Earlier tonight I played Redneck Golf. For those of you unfamiliar with this silly game, it’s quite simple. Golf balls are strung between a length of rope. You have 2 sets of balls and must throw them at 3 rung ladders to accrue points. You only earn points when your throws outscore your opponent’s throws. For the past few years this activity has been rather regularly observed at my buddy Jim’s. Really, it’s an excuse to drink beer, socialize, and swear at one another. In other words, good fun.

But tonight, being so early in a rather violent and unpredictable spring, everyone headed home prematurely. The thunder and lightning somehow encouraging all and sundry to head indoors. I do not think tonight’s storm will reach us. It’s at least 8 miles off. Last night, however, we received quite a dousing. 3 inches of rain in about 30 minutes. I couldn’t even use the toilet in peace…a mini-dachsie in my lap, a lab under my knees, and another lab attempting to force her large head into the already occupied space of my lap.  The dogs do not share my storm-joy.

Because it is a joy. As I drove home from Jim’s place I reveled in the noise and light. I turned onto our gravel road, America’s “Sister Golden-haired Surprise” blaring from my truck’s speakers, and felt indescribable peace. Summer storms make me happy. They always have. Perhaps it is only more so now, in my latter days, that I can truly appreciate them. Their power, their wonder.

I sit here, in the cool of a thundering front, netbook on lap, cold beer close to hand, and am unutterably happy. Frogs are calling their mates, crickets are singing their ceaseless, almost unnoticeable, song and thunder is drowning them all out. It is hot, it is humid, and I am happy. And that damned whippoorwill is chanting his never-ending tune; it goes on, and on, and on throughout the summer…resulting in either ire or an almost cheerleader frenzy on part of the humans who are within hearing distance. PLEASE, GET LAID OR SHUT UP!! All night long it goes, “wip-ur-WILL, wip-ur-WILL, wip-wir-WILL”, continuous and frenzied. I don’t know if his determination is an example of his perseverance or if it is simply something for him to do when it’s dark.

But it’s simply background noise amidst all the other songs of a summer’s night. I find joy in all of it. And it puzzles me, more than usual, how others can live life without these sounds and instead find comfort in the wail of sirens and the constant hum of car tires on pavement. The cries of humanity packed together into small spaces.

For now I will enjoy the drama that nature provides. It is, in my opinion, a far cry better than the nightly din of compacted humanity.

Whew, what a last week of school. Aside from the usual stress of unknown final grades and cramming, there’s always one wrench in the works. My last final was a critique of two possible articles and we wouldn’t know which until the night of the final. The semester went well, though, and my 3.3 GPA is still intact.

But on to more interesting things; rest and work and scooter rallies. Oh, and dog training.

We’ve put in a rather large garden out at the Farm. 25′ x 80′ and we’ve pretty much everything in the ground ‘cept potatoes. Thanks to spectacularly soggy and cool spring weather for the past couple of weeks the garden is growing by leaps and bounds, albeit too wet to plant any additional veggies. Tomatoes are flourishing, broccoli is growing sturdy, sunflowers are seeking the sunlight. Which, for a while there, it felt as if sunshine would never be seen again. Yet the sun is shining once again and temps have climbed into the low 90*s. Only in Missouri do you come home from a wet and cold scooter rally one weekend to seek the warmth of a hot shower and then a scant two weekends later seek the same shower for relief from the heat.

Speaking of the garden, it’s locale on the Farm leaves it entirely dependent upon Mother Nature for water. Of course, this being the northern Ozarks, we may well have seen the last of good rain last night. So, we’ve devised a clever plan for bringing water to the garden. How about portable, potable water?

We purchased a 550 gallon potable water tank from Plastic-Mart. Not only do they have an incredible selection, they ship quickly and, upon my rather cursory initial inspection of the tank, the build quality is excellent. I then found an old truck bed that had been converted to a trailer at a neighbor’s and for the hefty fee of $50 towed it home. Then plan is to frame up a platform on the inside of the truck bed to accommodate the water tank. Which is trickier than it sounds as the tank will weigh over 4000 lbs. when filled.

To get water into the tank we purchased a Simer blue water pump; a 12v DC wonder. The pump will be powered by a marine battery wired into a small solar panel. The idea is to drag then entire shebang down to the river whenever it needs filling and pump river water into the tank.

Watering the garden, on the other hand, will be a simple matter of gravity. I intend to plumb in a quick disconnect and two shut-off valves. One shut-off at the tank outlet and another at the watering manifold I’ve devised. In this way we’ll be able to feed water into several soaker hoses (or drip hoses) at a time.

I’ll be starting in on framing up the truck bed later today. Yes, it’s hotter later in the afternoon, but the truck bed will be in shade in another hour or so making the work a bit cooler.

In the meantime, I have a scooter rally to prep for.

Tornado R’Alley VI in Kansas City, KS. Essentially it’s the most scooter fun I have all year. I’ve been attending the rally since TR II and simply can’t stand to miss such a great time cruising all over KC and the surrounding areas with a herd of like-minded lunatics. The prep work involves plotting the most circuitous route from the HT Ranch to ScooterWorld in Overland Park, KS. I abhor 4-lane highways. I was a truck driver, I’ve seen enough concrete slab to last the rest of my lifetime, so I avoid them at all costs. Basically I turn a 3.5 hour drive into a 5 hour trek via the smallest roads I can find.

Last but not least, dog training. My redneck golf buddy, Jim brought home a puppy a month or so ago. Between him, his wife, their daughter, and her 8-year-old son, no one can control the dog. Too many chiefs, not enough consistency. Jim asked me if I could perhaps get her trained a bit and I’m working on that now, as well. Sissy, the pup, has the potential to be a great dog. She’s just full of puppy and is incredibly stubborn. My efforts aren’t helped by our terrier, either. Since I’ve spent the past 3 years in two places I’ve never had much of a chance to get his mind right. He is entirely the better half’s dog. That, however, is changing as we speak. Amidst all the work I’m having to do with Sissy, Duke is right there nipping at her heels. I got that stopped this morning. Now to put the both of them on leads and stick them together under my control. The evening should prove interesting, to say the least.

That’s about all for now. I’ll work up something about my trip to Mimi and Ron’s wonderful off-grid home and Mimi’s incredible garden later.

Thanks for reading.