Your leaking thatched hut during the restoration of a pre-Enlightenment state.

 

Hello, my name is Judas Gutenberg and this is my blaag (pronounced as you would the vomit noise "hyroop-bleuach").



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Like my brownhouse:
   the cozy quality
Friday, October 17 2008
I only managed to install seven concrete blocks today, dogged as I continue to be by imprecision in the location of the footing (which I'd "sketched" in impressionistically at best). Not only is the footing proving too low along the north and west walls, but in the northeast corner, it runs a good inch too far north. I'd thought that by making the footing wide in a number of places I could get away with imprecision, but the cold hard precision of the blocks themselves are showcasing my errors.

Meanwhile Gretchen headed into the City for a weekend of socializing and poetry reading. The weather had been unseasonably warm for over a week, with mosquitos tormenting me as I mixed mortar. But today conditions took a turn for the chilly, and in the evening I made a big fire of pitchy pine cones and paper trash.
One of the natural resources I collect at this time of year is needles from the many White Pines along this stretch of Dug Hill Road. As with the deciduous trees, the pines shed their old needles at this time of year (of course, unlike deciduous trees, they retain a good many green needles through the winter). The needles form tawny windrows on either side of the road, where I can come along with a rake and gather them. This year I'm storing the needles in our dog house, which otherwise goes unused. Why, you might ask, am I gathering pine needles? I find them to be excellent high-energy kindling, but equally importantly, I love the fragrance of their smoke as they burn. Typically when I start a fire with pine needles, I fan a few clouds of smoke into the house to give it the cozy quality that normally eludes a McMansion with an open floor plan.


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