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:
   sunless, partially-coffee-free Sunday
Sunday, November 25 2012

location: rural Hurley Township, Ulster County, New York

We've had so much travel-rationalized coffee this week that Gretchen decided to have tea this morning (on what would normally have been the day of our weekly coffee ritual). We had to do it in the living room in front of a blazing fire in the woodstove. It was a cold overcast day, and there was no passive solar to be had down in the greenhouse. It's days like today when using the brownhouse is more of pain than a pleasure. Normally I'd turn on the electric space heater during my time seated on the throne, but the brownhouse space heater has been moved to the greenhouse upstairs so it can be quickly warmed even when the sun isn't shining.
Another source of heat at this time of year is metabolic; a good way to get that going is to retrieve and split firewood from the uphill neighbors. But today my woodcart broke under the strain of a heavy load I was hauling. It's been broken before and it looks like I will once more be able to weld it back together. But I've also ordered two new pneumatic tires and taken delivery of a few pieces of steel that I can use to assemble my own completely-custom woodcart, one that draws on my ample experience dragging firewood down bumpy trails out of the forest.


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