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:
   warm weather abandonment at the bus turnaround
Sunday, May 8 2016
My mentee surprised me by showing up at noon today instead of 3pm like I expected. I had him do a Photoshop project (distorting photos of animals so that they were more rectangular in shape) while I toiled away on the game he should really be building by himself.

Though it wasn't especially warm today (at least by May standards), at least there was sun for long stretches at a time. It made me think I should start the garden. But there's a large swath of it in the "cabbage" patch that needs to be tilled and covered with fresh new soil, since its present surface is a minefield of ashes, compost, and dog turds gathered from throughout the yard over the course of the winter. But to harvest the necessary soil would require the Subaru, which I've pretty much mothballed since its clutch began failing in earnest. But it was such a beautiful day that it insinuated itself into my attitude as optimism, and I decided to risk it. Getting to my usual set of topsoil mines (on the natural levee of the Esopus just across Wynkoop from the Hurley Mountain Inn) was easy, since it was all downhill. Before doing any mining, I first took both dogs (now we're down to just Neville and Ramona) on a brief walk in the field to the north. Their snuffling among the thick bushes between the local farm road and the creek scared up at least one little rabbit (though only I seemed to notice). I snapped a few pictures.


Neville. Click for the vastness of his environment.


Neville behind a bit of Ramona.

I gathered six five gallon buckets of excellent soil and then, with a running charge at the brief (but steep) slope back up to Wynkoop, I began my homeward drive. The clutch was slipping above 3000 rpm, but I could still eventually get up to speed on a flat. As I climbed Dug Hill Road, all went well until I got to the final, steepest leg that begins just above the bus turnaround (only 2050 feet of roadway from home). I tried getting to this part of the road with as much speed as possible, but it was as if I was driving on ice (indeed, this is the part of the road where it often becomes impossible to drive in snowy conditions). The main difference, though, was that clouds of acrid smoke were pouring out from under the hood as the last of the clutch's materials burned away. After gunning the engine futilely for a few seconds, I gave up and backed the car down to the bus turnaround, where I parked it and locked it. Neville, Ramona, and I hiked back home through the woods using one of Tommy's mountain bike trails to get us back to the Stick Trail system. I kept smelling clutch smoke even after I'd hiked a long distance from the car, suggesting it had gotten into my hair and clothes.

When Gretchen returned from her shift at the bookstore, I used the Prius to retrieve my six buckets of soil from the Subaru. I was able to keep the dirt from getting into everything in the Prius' trunk area by putting down a tarp first. The tarp was such a great idea that I might start using it in the Subaru as well, assuming that car ever drives again.

This evening, Gretchen and I went to Susan & David's house for a dinner of pasta that Susan had made. After telling S & D the story of my estrangement from my mother and of the batty rapprochement that happened the other day, I was feeling sleepy and didn't talk that much. I mostly just fondled Olive the dog. Speaking of olives, Susan's pasta had a bit too many of them in it for my liking, but (oddly) when mixed with a little sauerkraut, it was really good.


For linking purposes this article's URL is:
http://asecular.com/blog.php?160508

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