Winter Camping

Living in a 30 foot RV, you’d think I’d be miserable, camped out in the snow all winter.

You’d be wrong. Yeah, that surprised me too.

I’ll admit it; the start of the cold weather season was tough. The fire wood that had been freshly pulled from the swamp did nothing but smoke and make creosote in my wood stove. I did manage to successfully burn an entire winter’s worth of kindling in a couple of weeks, trying in vain to get the swamp wood alight. As convenient as it was to not have to add any more clothing layers before going outside, I began to tire of wearing my hat and gloves inside all the time. As condensation dripped off everything, I began to wonder where I had stashed my foul weather gear.

I was sure I wouldn’t make it. As my friends watched me suffer, they were anticipating the ‘moving Kit back into the house’ breakfast party.

And then someone swapped me a load of real, non swamp-infested wood in exchange for some canvas work.

Nothing beats a wood stove. My favorite winter morning pastime is to get it cranked to 82 in here, and then don my summer wardrobe, which consists of, well, let’s just say it creates no laundry. On milder days, when temps hover around 20, I can even open the outer door, leaving the storm door in place, which thrills the dog no end, because she can come and go through her dog door at will. For a canine, nothing beats dashing out after squirrels, and then popping back in for a biscuit and a thaw by the wood stove before heading back out for more fun in the snow.




Life ain't so bad.



Now, if we could get rid of that daily snow shoveling routine, I might not even mind winter so much.

Why Did I Steal This?:

because my driveway looks like this, that's why:And that's only the first half. There's that much more again down round the bend where I live. My theory was that by swapping a small slippy car for a rugged 4x4 to traverse half a mile of country driveway, there would be no snow. Obviously, that didn't pan out.

I also have 4x4 on my feet. Please no comments on the duct tape. They're great boots.
I do hate this about the truck I stole:Given the prodigious number of snowflakes that are going to cover us until at least July, I need to redesign that stupid dashboard snowflake. It's the flake that broke the shoveler's back. I think I'll put this image on there instead, in the hopes that it will make me think of tropical drinks:
What is it really? Well, after my dog came in all covered in ice balls and I brushed them off, I thought it would be funny to put them in a glass and take a photo. Why did I think that was funny?

Because I think I got camper fever, and don't own a gun to shoot six holes in my freezer, that's why.

Let Sleeping Bears Lie

Reasons why I haven’t posted for so long:

They found me.

Spent all this time shoveling snow.

Got put in the kennel over the holidays.

Ran out of olives and went into a great depression.

Kidnapped by the grinch. Oh wait, that would mean that I held myself hostage.

Caught lazyitis from the infected hordes surrounding me.

Had to go visit my home planet.

Held without bail for grand theft pick up truck.

Forgot which way was up.

I was trying to hibernate, but now that I’ve been rudely awakened in the middle of my long winter sleep, I’m on a rampage, so look out.

Diggity Dog

What do you do when you’re still a pansy-assed weakling after battling lyme disease for more than a year, but your budget is zip after underworking all that time, so you can’t afford to hire a ditch digger? But that strength-necessary task absolutely must get done before the big freeze-up.

Just do it. Dig for a bit, get frustrated at your lack of muscle, and then stop and contemplate your life. Maybe it really would be easier to live in the car, driving south away from the frozen land, and just earn enough for gas.

But wait, gas prices are up again, so you may not be able to afford that lifestyle either.

While leaning on your shovel trying to find the zip to carry on, your dog jumps into the trench you’ve started, and digs digs digs. Within moments, she’s dug down four inches deeper than you managed in half an hour.

Being showed up by a dog pisses you off enough to say, well, if that little dog can do it, so can I. And off you go with your shovel, calling in the dog whenever you need a break. And in two days, the trench is dug, the new wire is in.

Where would we be without dogs?

Whereby my friends try to kill me

(Can you spot the mountain dog?)

I thought that the email that came through regarding Sunday’s group hike was simply a misspelling: “Tomorrow’s Wall”.

My friends claimed that they tried to convey that this was not an easy hike. However, the email that read: “lots of ups and downs on this one” did not accurately clarify that up and downs did not mean simply walking up and down hills, but clambering over boulders that had been sheared from rock walls formed during the last ice age.

As a recovering lymie, I’ve been working to rebuild my strength, by digging trenches, climbing ladders, and carting firewood. But still, it takes time, when, for the last year+, you’ve resembled a piece of linguine that’s been stuck to the wall far too long.

Four hours of climbing over rocks was just a bit over the top.