NFTNIF Volume 3 Episode 12, Parts 1&2
Part 1: Love/Hate
Things I have learned to hate:
dogs barking
cold
barking dogs
dogs
a single dog barking
barking
dull blades of any kind,
whining, yapping, howling, keening, yipping, snarling, growling, and most especially, barking
zippers (zippers on pants, shoes and boots, hoodies and sweaters, coats, gloves, fanny pack, backpacks, tent, sleeping bags; all zippers jamming, sliding out of alignment, chewing on their immediate surroundings, not zipping);
trellis (a plastic netting used in horticulture, and then turned quite unintentionally into a deadly snare waiting to bring down all but the wariest of walkers),
cow flies,
absurdly numerous dogs exciting each other over nothing and then barking in waves and rounds for hours,
feral dogs, who do not bark but hunt silently, watching each other for cues to behavior,
mules, ill-tempered creatures full of obnoxious character,
litter and disrespect of the land.
I have learned to love
the ever changing splendor of the sky and mountains,
the interplay of light, shadow, smoke and fog,
well water,
warmth,
the absence of any noise even close to the barking of dogs,
the light of the moon,
the trailer, even gutted as it was,
internet and phone access,
being able to cook on a single hot plate (heaven to be able to cook!),
showers,
clean laundry and surroundings,
hot water,
being around big animals such as horses, cattle and donkeys but not, so far, mules,
walnuts picked up off of the ground!
propane and propane heaters (shout out to Hank Hill!),
local beef (wowsers!),
a relative absence of coldness
places with public bathrooms,
my utility knife, doubling as kitchen knife, then moonlighting as table knife,
tarps,
gorilla tape,
silicon caulk,
powerful trucks,
jellied alcohol hand sanitizer,
hot coffee in the frigid morning,
running water,
electricity,
being warm.
You may think you appreciate these things, but you don't really.
"Don't it always seem to go, that you don't know what you've got 'til it's gone, they pave paradise, and put up a parking lot."
From the men of EarthMission, an early Thanksgiving for the simple things in life, as above.
Part 2 - Tires.
We awoke to a chilly, but not cold trailer. One of our hosts pointed out that the truck had a completely flat tire. This was removed and the cause immeditely noted. In what must surely be the supreme irony of our trip so far, the right rear tire was stabbed to the heart by a pair of trimming scissors. I never trusted that tire anyway. We did have with us a spare in good shape, and found someone in town who will mount it on the rim for us, even found a ride into town. After breakfast this chore will be carried out. After that, work.
It may seem at first glance that the flat tire is bad luck, but a closer examination of the issue reveals a different perpective. Suppose that tire, the most suspect of a surly and mis-matched set to be begin with, had thrown itself into the abyss as we skirted a two lane (or in many cases, even down to one lane) mountain road, hugging the lip of the hard Earth. Given my sense of responsibility, I imagine it almost every time we go anywhere.
The trailer has two low tries on the left side - they need to be refilled too. Tires, before that zippers what next?!
Tire repaired, replaced. We got a connector to use our heater with a normal propane tank, and had the first warm night last night. Tonight I cook the first meal for the family boarding our trailer and I m preparing beef short ribs in chicken broth with potatoes and saurkraut.
We have at last dentified the thing people most want de,ivered here - salmon. We are writing a business plan and have an ange to start twice weekly trips to the cost to sell salmon here.
From the men of EarthMission, wish us luck.
Saturday, November 17, 2018
Thursday, November 15, 2018
NFTNIF Volume 3 Episode 11 A Trailer, not a Thriller (WE ARE NOT IN DANGER FROM FIRE)
Let's roll back the clock, while we can still recall the events. Last report, we were impatiently awaiting the delivery of our trailer. In conversation with Grady, the seller. No,let's take it back even further.
We searched extensively for a trailer, and met: scams, no-replies, someone else got it first, and offerings we could not use. We scrambled and appealed for funding and we collected the money for one trailer, an 18' Prowler from Craig's List. I had been in periodic commuication with Grady, and we worked out an agreement for him to bring it to Vacaville from the Sacramento area. When, on our end, we lost the chance to tow it from Vacaville or anywhere else, Grady became somewhat irate. Eventually we agreed to pay him an additional $200.00 to bring it to Mendocino county. He declared he would leave around noon which would bring him to us sometime in the early evening. We made arrangements for a reception and berth on our end. Everything seemed to be coming together.
Grady made one last attempt to have u take delivery somewhere closer to him, but it was simply not ossible. He demanded an additional $400, which was also not possible. I texted to check on his progress around 4 pm, and he informed me he had not left. He had to rent a U-Haul, despite his repeated insistence that he would have no difficulty pulling the traier with his Suburban. He again tried to get more money, or meet us elsewhere. Indeed, his now much later than agreed upon arrival time meant we could NOT take delivery where we had expected, and we had to have it taken to a campground as his arrival time slipped again and again - past 8, 9, 11, and then midnight. All of our volunteers to help move it faded and went to bed.
Indeed, when Grady let us know how late i t would be I tried to move the delivery to a later date, but he replied that it was too late he was now on the road, had spent money on a rental truck, had a court date at 8:30 am the next day, and we should be grateful to meet him any time. We arrived, tired but excited at our meeting place, and still he was late.
I should say in simple fairness that the drive is tricky under the best of conditions. At night, pulling a trailer, it is a very spooky business. Grady went through it because his planning left him no choice. We also had little choice except to call it off at that hour.
When he arrived, he tried to ditch the trailer in the loading dock of the local supermarket. After some warm discussion, he oh so reluctantly agreed to take it to the campground, which was not our choice, it ws simpy the only other option. Or so we thought.
Partway (most of the way!) to the campground Grady pulled off the road into a field dirt road. A we turned around and drove back, he was hurriedly unshackling the trailer. When we got there he rased every possible objection to continuing; he had lredy come much farther than he wanted to, he was out of gas, he had no crd to get gas from stations closed for the night, he had court in a few hours, and so on.
He had no keys, handed me the paperwork, asked us for favors, then sped off. We clambered inside to discover. . . .
Both skylights were open to the sky, one had scattered its fragments on the bed - obviously smashed sometime in transit. The electrical system did not work. The furnace had been removed. It was hard to tell in the light of our handflashes, but it looked, er, gutted.
We made such preparations for the rest of the night as could be made around 2 am in the dark on the side of the road. No question that this was the coldest night yet, ditched on who knows whose property on the side of the road, only 4 miles or so from the campground.
In the morning, without phone service, we made arrangements for the owner of the campground to tow us to a spot at his place. His comment on the trailer was, that if the seller was local, we should dump it on his property and get or mmoney back. His next comment was that we should have come to him - he knew of at least one perfectly goodd trailer for sale. But how could we have known to come to him? I had never heard of him until the plan to take a late delivery.
On the day we assessed the condition, we were at a campgrond with NO phone or internet service. We scraped together our remaining money, made a short ist of things we had to have, then set to work rehabilitating our new home.
4 solid days of duct tape, Gorilla tape, silicone caulk, shrink wrap, cardboard and bits of wood later, we have it mostly sealed up, although it also took both sleeping bags, most of our clothes, towels, baggage etc. We have a small electric heater (inadequate by itself but as part of a multipart system, effective enough), a small propane heater (used to get us up to temperature, then turned off, as we discovered that the little cylinders it uses do not last a night if we left it on), and a hot plate used for cooking, and a tiny Mr. Coffee to warm water for coffee or tea. The last is not a uxury, it is cold when we wake up in the mornings, but much warmer than when we started fixing up the Prowler.
We did not get [aid work during those days, a pause after the harvest before the main processing begins, and the campground fee each day devoured what funds the renovation or food did not take.
We discovered that the propane system is working, but the firnace had been ripped out. The water is also working but for one flaw - when we pressurized the system the i[ing at the back of the toilet sprayed water, and there are no shut off valves aywhere in the pi[ing so we had to turn that off, clean up, and work on moving somewhere else.
We have finally arrived at the locale we originally meant to occupy. In exchange for some light duties around the farm, we get to stay here free and are provided electricity and water. We are once more safe behind gates, surrounded by dogs and people with guns, and with a Porta-Potty close by, have returned to a sustainabe situation. Paid work has resumed, and we have some groceries sotred up. The refrigerator works, and we have installed a parallel electrical system, which gives us light, heat and cooking.
Sadly, in the process of moving the trailer, we lost the one phone that "had service"; it was crushed. My phone loses service in 4 days and has the wrong hardware to be switched to local service.
The hardest part of this has been the complete blackout enforced by our isolation and the fact there was no form of communiction we could use. I fear for the relationships abruptly interrupted, and don't even know when I will get this narrative posted.
I hear the lively voices of the farm animals - dogs, turkeys, cattle, donkey, chickens, pigs, a llama. The cats are mostly silent, the birds are mostly loud, the people friendly and sociable now that we are the nwest part of their househd.
Today we get the orientation and introduction to our chores.
From the men of the EarthMission, apologies for the long, long silence.
Let's roll back the clock, while we can still recall the events. Last report, we were impatiently awaiting the delivery of our trailer. In conversation with Grady, the seller. No,let's take it back even further.
We searched extensively for a trailer, and met: scams, no-replies, someone else got it first, and offerings we could not use. We scrambled and appealed for funding and we collected the money for one trailer, an 18' Prowler from Craig's List. I had been in periodic commuication with Grady, and we worked out an agreement for him to bring it to Vacaville from the Sacramento area. When, on our end, we lost the chance to tow it from Vacaville or anywhere else, Grady became somewhat irate. Eventually we agreed to pay him an additional $200.00 to bring it to Mendocino county. He declared he would leave around noon which would bring him to us sometime in the early evening. We made arrangements for a reception and berth on our end. Everything seemed to be coming together.
Grady made one last attempt to have u take delivery somewhere closer to him, but it was simply not ossible. He demanded an additional $400, which was also not possible. I texted to check on his progress around 4 pm, and he informed me he had not left. He had to rent a U-Haul, despite his repeated insistence that he would have no difficulty pulling the traier with his Suburban. He again tried to get more money, or meet us elsewhere. Indeed, his now much later than agreed upon arrival time meant we could NOT take delivery where we had expected, and we had to have it taken to a campground as his arrival time slipped again and again - past 8, 9, 11, and then midnight. All of our volunteers to help move it faded and went to bed.
Indeed, when Grady let us know how late i t would be I tried to move the delivery to a later date, but he replied that it was too late he was now on the road, had spent money on a rental truck, had a court date at 8:30 am the next day, and we should be grateful to meet him any time. We arrived, tired but excited at our meeting place, and still he was late.
I should say in simple fairness that the drive is tricky under the best of conditions. At night, pulling a trailer, it is a very spooky business. Grady went through it because his planning left him no choice. We also had little choice except to call it off at that hour.
When he arrived, he tried to ditch the trailer in the loading dock of the local supermarket. After some warm discussion, he oh so reluctantly agreed to take it to the campground, which was not our choice, it ws simpy the only other option. Or so we thought.
Partway (most of the way!) to the campground Grady pulled off the road into a field dirt road. A we turned around and drove back, he was hurriedly unshackling the trailer. When we got there he rased every possible objection to continuing; he had lredy come much farther than he wanted to, he was out of gas, he had no crd to get gas from stations closed for the night, he had court in a few hours, and so on.
He had no keys, handed me the paperwork, asked us for favors, then sped off. We clambered inside to discover. . . .
Both skylights were open to the sky, one had scattered its fragments on the bed - obviously smashed sometime in transit. The electrical system did not work. The furnace had been removed. It was hard to tell in the light of our handflashes, but it looked, er, gutted.
We made such preparations for the rest of the night as could be made around 2 am in the dark on the side of the road. No question that this was the coldest night yet, ditched on who knows whose property on the side of the road, only 4 miles or so from the campground.
In the morning, without phone service, we made arrangements for the owner of the campground to tow us to a spot at his place. His comment on the trailer was, that if the seller was local, we should dump it on his property and get or mmoney back. His next comment was that we should have come to him - he knew of at least one perfectly goodd trailer for sale. But how could we have known to come to him? I had never heard of him until the plan to take a late delivery.
On the day we assessed the condition, we were at a campgrond with NO phone or internet service. We scraped together our remaining money, made a short ist of things we had to have, then set to work rehabilitating our new home.
4 solid days of duct tape, Gorilla tape, silicone caulk, shrink wrap, cardboard and bits of wood later, we have it mostly sealed up, although it also took both sleeping bags, most of our clothes, towels, baggage etc. We have a small electric heater (inadequate by itself but as part of a multipart system, effective enough), a small propane heater (used to get us up to temperature, then turned off, as we discovered that the little cylinders it uses do not last a night if we left it on), and a hot plate used for cooking, and a tiny Mr. Coffee to warm water for coffee or tea. The last is not a uxury, it is cold when we wake up in the mornings, but much warmer than when we started fixing up the Prowler.
We did not get [aid work during those days, a pause after the harvest before the main processing begins, and the campground fee each day devoured what funds the renovation or food did not take.
We discovered that the propane system is working, but the firnace had been ripped out. The water is also working but for one flaw - when we pressurized the system the i[ing at the back of the toilet sprayed water, and there are no shut off valves aywhere in the pi[ing so we had to turn that off, clean up, and work on moving somewhere else.
We have finally arrived at the locale we originally meant to occupy. In exchange for some light duties around the farm, we get to stay here free and are provided electricity and water. We are once more safe behind gates, surrounded by dogs and people with guns, and with a Porta-Potty close by, have returned to a sustainabe situation. Paid work has resumed, and we have some groceries sotred up. The refrigerator works, and we have installed a parallel electrical system, which gives us light, heat and cooking.
Sadly, in the process of moving the trailer, we lost the one phone that "had service"; it was crushed. My phone loses service in 4 days and has the wrong hardware to be switched to local service.
The hardest part of this has been the complete blackout enforced by our isolation and the fact there was no form of communiction we could use. I fear for the relationships abruptly interrupted, and don't even know when I will get this narrative posted.
I hear the lively voices of the farm animals - dogs, turkeys, cattle, donkey, chickens, pigs, a llama. The cats are mostly silent, the birds are mostly loud, the people friendly and sociable now that we are the nwest part of their househd.
Today we get the orientation and introduction to our chores.
From the men of the EarthMission, apologies for the long, long silence.
Thursday, November 1, 2018
NFTNIF Volume 3 Episode 10 A Halloween Tale
The Men of EarthMission present- A Halloween Tale
(NOTE: Gentle readers, although this story uses the real world as it's point of departure, this is a work of fiction, devised in the depths of night, for your horripilation and shivery delight. So sit back, turn off the lights, and enjoy.)
Scene opens on a lonely hillside. A couple of tents and a weary truck among the looming trees. Cut to interior, an octagonal tent, 3 occupants, lighted by a small electric lantern hung at the apex. The interior is orderly, the occupants dressed warmly. There are several operations underway - a cigarette is being rolled, tasty beverages tucked away safely in corners, the remains of a meal stacked and ready for disposal, a deck of cards has appeared.
The 3 are talking freely, warm and happy and at the end of the day. Outside a dog barks suddenly, but that happens often.
Suddenly, very close together, 12 shots rip the night. The shots are so loud they have to be close, from the cluster of dwellings, trailers, shanties, mobile homes and a few houses at the foot of their hill. Swiftly, all lights extinguished, every extraneous item put away and 3 men pressing to the ground, listening.
"Help me, help me oh God" closeby, but growing swiftly fainter. Sounds of scuffling, many voices raised in alarm.
Outside the tent, something coming uphill. No one even breathes as something moves fast, uphill and away. Minutes pass before anyone even whispers, and noises and action continue below. Hooded or capped, a head appears at each end of the tent, sliding out through the narrowest slit.
Lights in the bushes, trucks, cars and walkers searching. No one comes near their tent. Gates open and close, the search is limited but thorough. Fire engine, ambulance, police arrive and depart. Sounds of conversations getting softer.
Far away the unmistakable sound of a high speed collision - Wham, clatter screech, swallowed by distance.
One awake in the tent now. Outside, far away 8 shots popopopopopopopop. Dogs howl and bark but the barking doesn't spread in the usual way. Quiet again. Popopopopop. Fewer dogs, barking more savagely. Popopop. Pop. Quiet again.
A car passes along a road without lights.
Midnight. In the small trailer park/subdivision, a man's voice rises.
"What IS that? OH GOD, WHAT THE *&^% IS IT!?" His voice, rising in pitch to a shriek of utter despair becomes a wordless scream, a beast howl from a human throat. "What is that? Oh God, someone, what is it?" now the voice weighed down with insupportable horror. Steps, now loud in the shocked silence, then again "WHAT, IS, THAT?!?!?" Screaming now, abandoned screams of the forever damned. The screaming moves away, never answered, never stopping, just moving away until it's swallowed by the blackness.
Cars and trucks silently quarter the area, some with lights some without.
Moonrise is still hours away. The lone watcher in the tent faces a terrible choice - keep holding it or step out into a night of monstrous pandemonium? Eventually the decision is made, and blessed moments of peace allow the minimal decencies - scramble quietly back into the tent and resume watching at the slit.
Some time passes (with no one screaming how will one know how long it's been?) then in the distance, a helicopter. Approaching slowly, inexorably. No lights, no searchlight. Closer, passing, moving on. Never any lights. Gone.
A pickup starts suddenly, and accelerates away, gathering speed until it's lost to the void of night.
The last quarter moon rears sullenly over the hills, casting a sickly light and pooling even darker shadows. In the distance, more gunfire, dogs, but closer still
Wild laughter, young voices calling to each other, ugly laughter, cruel laughter. Never getting close, moving in an arc, and finally gone.
Dawn must be close now. A final wound on the night, the sound of dogs, many dogs, dozens of dogs, fighting wild, gutteral, tearing something in a vast pack, something that truly slashes the night with a scream of defiance, but buried under an avalanche of berserk dogs. The sounds of struggle become softer, wetter sounds of feeding. Again, quiet.
The day begins like any other, as innocent of the events of the night as Ohio is innocent of Atlantis. Nothing ever makes it into the news, but by lunch everyone knows that 9 dogs were found, horribly torn and scattered, but only the signs of a terrible struggle, no remains of anything but dogs, nothing except some prints, of monstrous paws, stabbed into the ground as something stood and fought, and died.
As soon as lunch is over, all the spotty news exchanged, heads shaken, the night is put into memory. The harvest is on.
The End
From the Men of EarthMission - Did you vote?
The Men of EarthMission present- A Halloween Tale
(NOTE: Gentle readers, although this story uses the real world as it's point of departure, this is a work of fiction, devised in the depths of night, for your horripilation and shivery delight. So sit back, turn off the lights, and enjoy.)
Scene opens on a lonely hillside. A couple of tents and a weary truck among the looming trees. Cut to interior, an octagonal tent, 3 occupants, lighted by a small electric lantern hung at the apex. The interior is orderly, the occupants dressed warmly. There are several operations underway - a cigarette is being rolled, tasty beverages tucked away safely in corners, the remains of a meal stacked and ready for disposal, a deck of cards has appeared.
The 3 are talking freely, warm and happy and at the end of the day. Outside a dog barks suddenly, but that happens often.
Suddenly, very close together, 12 shots rip the night. The shots are so loud they have to be close, from the cluster of dwellings, trailers, shanties, mobile homes and a few houses at the foot of their hill. Swiftly, all lights extinguished, every extraneous item put away and 3 men pressing to the ground, listening.
"Help me, help me oh God" closeby, but growing swiftly fainter. Sounds of scuffling, many voices raised in alarm.
Outside the tent, something coming uphill. No one even breathes as something moves fast, uphill and away. Minutes pass before anyone even whispers, and noises and action continue below. Hooded or capped, a head appears at each end of the tent, sliding out through the narrowest slit.
Lights in the bushes, trucks, cars and walkers searching. No one comes near their tent. Gates open and close, the search is limited but thorough. Fire engine, ambulance, police arrive and depart. Sounds of conversations getting softer.
Far away the unmistakable sound of a high speed collision - Wham, clatter screech, swallowed by distance.
One awake in the tent now. Outside, far away 8 shots popopopopopopopop. Dogs howl and bark but the barking doesn't spread in the usual way. Quiet again. Popopopopop. Fewer dogs, barking more savagely. Popopop. Pop. Quiet again.
A car passes along a road without lights.
Midnight. In the small trailer park/subdivision, a man's voice rises.
"What IS that? OH GOD, WHAT THE *&^% IS IT!?" His voice, rising in pitch to a shriek of utter despair becomes a wordless scream, a beast howl from a human throat. "What is that? Oh God, someone, what is it?" now the voice weighed down with insupportable horror. Steps, now loud in the shocked silence, then again "WHAT, IS, THAT?!?!?" Screaming now, abandoned screams of the forever damned. The screaming moves away, never answered, never stopping, just moving away until it's swallowed by the blackness.
Cars and trucks silently quarter the area, some with lights some without.
Moonrise is still hours away. The lone watcher in the tent faces a terrible choice - keep holding it or step out into a night of monstrous pandemonium? Eventually the decision is made, and blessed moments of peace allow the minimal decencies - scramble quietly back into the tent and resume watching at the slit.
Some time passes (with no one screaming how will one know how long it's been?) then in the distance, a helicopter. Approaching slowly, inexorably. No lights, no searchlight. Closer, passing, moving on. Never any lights. Gone.
A pickup starts suddenly, and accelerates away, gathering speed until it's lost to the void of night.
The last quarter moon rears sullenly over the hills, casting a sickly light and pooling even darker shadows. In the distance, more gunfire, dogs, but closer still
Wild laughter, young voices calling to each other, ugly laughter, cruel laughter. Never getting close, moving in an arc, and finally gone.
Dawn must be close now. A final wound on the night, the sound of dogs, many dogs, dozens of dogs, fighting wild, gutteral, tearing something in a vast pack, something that truly slashes the night with a scream of defiance, but buried under an avalanche of berserk dogs. The sounds of struggle become softer, wetter sounds of feeding. Again, quiet.
The day begins like any other, as innocent of the events of the night as Ohio is innocent of Atlantis. Nothing ever makes it into the news, but by lunch everyone knows that 9 dogs were found, horribly torn and scattered, but only the signs of a terrible struggle, no remains of anything but dogs, nothing except some prints, of monstrous paws, stabbed into the ground as something stood and fought, and died.
As soon as lunch is over, all the spotty news exchanged, heads shaken, the night is put into memory. The harvest is on.
The End
From the Men of EarthMission - Did you vote?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)