Bit of social activity yesterday.  Lunch.  Very nice.  A bit different.  The hosts are quite well-to-do and the setting and food were straight out of Fine Homes and Fine Dining.  It was set in a forest-by-the-sea estate.  It was enchanting.  And, like so much of the fine-living set, they were also very kind, gracious, generous and a delight to be with.  I liked it.  The ‘fancy’ was great.  A lot of fun.

We had joined them with a dozen other locals and so the mix was pretty familiar, only the setting and the fare unusual.  I asked the host what brought him to our neck o’ the woods……

“Just fell in love with it.  So beautiful.  We just retired and this seems like paradise…………and………………well………………….uh……………….you know…………..the world seems to be getting a bit out of whack and this seems like it might be a good off-the-radar kind of place, ya know?”

Which got me thinking.  My new ‘friend and neighbour’ was just saying what so many of us have been saying for some time.  The Sky is Falling!  In fact, ‘Armageddon’ has been the topic of conversation for almost four decades up here starting with the back-to-the-landers in the seventies.  And I, of course, generally agreed with ’em.  I don’t think it is a conspiracy so much as a lemming-like gene for self-destruction.

Mind you, who’s quibbling about why?

But he was saying that it was not looking so good today!  2013.  POST market crash!  So-called revival time!  The Dow is around 14000!  Unemployment was down!  His message felt somehow more current.

They had just retired.  He had done well at the game.  They were both healthy and youngish.  And yet he was stepping off the merry-go-round with the same kind of concern that had prompted so many people before him.

“Wow!  They thought the world was going rapidly askew, too.” said Sal.  “You’d think that they would have more faith in the system having done so well in it, wouldn’t you?  Especially now that they are saying the worst is almost over?” 

“I know.  But, I have come to realize that every thinking person has those thoughts.  How could they not?  Climate change, wars, threats of epidemics, some notable failures of institutions, constant fear-mongering from the media and government.  How could anyone think otherwise?  Fear may, in fact, be the right conclusion but I am starting to think – like the contrarian I am – that it will all work out just fine.”

“What!? YOU?!  The voice of doom suddenly starts singing gospel??  What has come over you?”

‘Well, I have been thinking and throughout history the hoi poloi have, for the most part, just meekly gone about their daily business.  Even when doing so required dodging bullets in the marketplace.  Hell, millions of people have been gently herded to their doom without so much as a peep and this horror has been repeated many times throughout history.  We are a species of ‘go-alongs’ to ‘get-alongs’ and that pretty much precludes the much ballyhooed raging hordes events we all talk about.

“I no longer expect chaos and violence by way of the poor, unhappy, demoralized crowds fed up with corruption, greed and rape of the planet.  They just won’t do it.  That state of affairs simply doesn’t seem to be enough to make ’em mad enough.  Hell, most of them won’t even vote!  Historically, we just don’t do radical change very well.”

“So, what are you saying…………..?”

“I am saying that riots are local and local-issue based.  Not really indicative of anything political.  They are just ‘mini-opportunities’ for political expression at high-stress points.  They are NOT change.  I am saying full-scale rebellion is organized and financed by some self-interested power to manage people who are sufficiently disgruntled enough to be motivated and managed.  But they (the people) wouldn’t have done it on their own.  On their own, they leave their country or go along quietly.  And the average person is not disgruntled anywhere near enough over anything for that to happen unless they are also very very hungry. In North America food is cheap.  North Americans will never rebel so long as food is cheap.  I think it is that simple.”

“Good food is not cheap!”

“I know.  But Cheez Whiz and Kraft Dinner, Big Gulps and Super-sized Macs are still very cheap.  Marie Antoinette said, “Let them eat cake!”  She erroneously thought the starving people had just run out of choices.  The French Revolution was not from choice.  It was from hunger.  Primal.  Wall Street won’t make that mistake.  “Deliver them some pizza!  Let them eat nachos, let them drink coke!  While you are at it, turn on the TV!  That should keep ém quiet!”

And it does.

‘COME THE REVOLUTION!’ ……….……ain’t gonna happen…..………

I am remote.  Mostly.  Kinda.  I mean, it is hard to claim legitimate remoteness when you write a blog, isn’t it?  But that contradiction notwithstanding, I am pretty ‘out there’.  Off the grid.  Isolated.  I am certainly not part of any influential information-sharing network.  I am not milling about in the madding crowd.  I am not in the least way hip.  I am way, way out of the loop.

It was not always thus.  I rode the merry-go-round.  I rubbed shoulders.  I chatted at cocktail parties.  Been there, done that.

When I lived in Vancouver, I would even, on occasion, be in the news or be part of the news or be part of a news story.  No biggie.  I worked in Skid Row and the media love doing pieces about that.  I helped refugees at one time and that, too, was easy grist for the media mill.  Building KIDS ONLY MARKET at a time described as the ‘echo boom’, ensured another minute or two of my allotted fifteen minutes.

It was all less about me and more about the voracious appetite of the media to fill air in order to sell advertisements to, well, people like me.  And I know that.  But it happened.

So, imagine my surprise to have had several ‘contacts’ over the last few years from media-types doing ‘stories’ on people living off the grid?  It is almost a phenomenon.

It isn’t, actually.  It is considerably less than a phenomenon but living OTG has attracted a bit of attention.  It falls short of a phenom for me because, so far, the media types don’t really want my story.  My story is not what they are looking for.  I think I am too dull.

So, we chat for a minute and part amicably.  And then they write what they write.  It is always about something else.  Not just someone else but something else altogether.

It is amazing how far off the mark they are.  At least from my perspective.

Nick Rosen wrote a book and is currently keeping a blog about living off the grid.  But his sense of living OTG is people who live in cars, RVs and up North. He might include liveaboards or desert dwellers who just live far away. He sees some farmers as living OTG because they live remote not because they are actually off the grid.  I think Nick misses the point.

And I just had contact from a woman who wants the story of someone who is “….just leaving the city and maybe just bought a farm and, like, maybe is getting chickens and stuff for the first time.  You know, urbanites hobby-farming?”

“Oh.  You mean like a hedge fund manager who picks up a hundred acres in upstate New York and has a funky barn he gets renovated?”

“Yeah!  That would be great!”

“Well, you can contact Michelle Pfiefer, the actor.  She has a home up here somewhere.  She is rich and has staff, too.  Comes in by helicopter.  Does that work for you?”

“Ooh, that would be great.  Do you have her number?”

I guess Michelle and the fund managers qualify as much as I do as living off the grid but, somehow, it seems like the wrong image.  Most of the people I know who live OTG are not wealthy.  They are rich because they want for little and  rely on less.  They do it all themselves (give or take) and they are off the grid because they do not even have direct road access, let alone piped in water, electricity and cable.  My definition of OTG is more along the lines of Mother Earth News than it is Lives of the Rich and Remote.

But judging from the media contacts, I am off the mark as well.

We have to get back outside working on all our projects.  The list just keeps growing by two for every one we check off and we haven’t checked off many lately.  It feels like we are slipping.  Chipping away at the to-do list is a chore that never ends but is, at the same time, pleasurable and satisfying so long as we can get a sense of progress.  And, if we keep at it, we do get that.  It’s good.

Somehow it seems to help if the sun is shining.  Better photo ops, for sure.

Today is Tuesday – a day after the no-lifting ban has been removed.  We are going to attack some logs to celebrate.  Then, after we have vanquished the pile at the beach, we are going to – maybe – start on railings for the deck.  Although, that might require first getting some lumber from up the coast.  Which can’t really happen (logically) until I re-launch my boat.  Which still has some work that needs to be done…..and, well………………maybe a little breakfast first, eh?  An extra cup of tea?

It won’t be hard to get going today.  It is gorgeous outside.  And I can see forever.  Still, our pace is basically pretty slow and we try to keep the work day to four or so hours of ‘real’ work.  The hard, physical stuff.  There is quite enough to do that is not ‘real hard’ work just keeping home and hearth together to fill the rest of the day quite nicely, thanks.

Yesterday, I hit a minor milestone.  I had finished sharpening the chain on my chainsaw and noticed that the teeth were all pretty skinny.  I had kept this chain working and sharpened for so long that I had managed to sharpen it down to the nubs.  But all the nubs were much the same.

The mark of a pro.

A good sharpener will have a worn chain that still has all the teeth much the same.  I usually over and under sharpen my chains so that I have to replace them earlier than I should.  That is the mark of an amateur.  Having all your chain-teeth worn and sharpened equally is a sign of growing skill.

Yeah, I know………..get your kudos where you can……

Before I sharpened the chain yesterday I had been down on the dock splicing some prawn trap lines.  Short-splicing, not long-splicing.  (Short splicing is when you attach two lines and the weave or splice is a double thickness.  Long splicing is when you taper the strands so that the splice is almost unnoticeable.)  They would both work in this application and the short splice is so much easier.  Still, it took a few hours.

And the lighting was good.

So there I am sitting all by myself on a dock in the middle of nowhere splicing lines like a scene from Herman Melville.  I’m sitting on a bucket.  In a plaid shirt.  Toque on my head.  Little ‘reader’ glasses perched on the end of my nose.  Dog at my feet. C’mon, does it get any more funky than that!?

Splicing and then later, sharpening my chainsaw……I mean……c’mon!!……‘where is National Geographic when you need ’em, eh?  Shouldn’t some indy with a handycam be drooling right now? 

Hello, SUNDANCE!!

Post-operative recuperative phase?  There isn’t any.  Not really.  I mean the eyes have to adjust and all but, really, it is nothing.  Lots of nothing.  A smidge too much of nothing, actually.

So much nothing a guy can get into trouble.

Seems you are not supposed to lift anything for a few days.  Eyes will pop out or something.  I dunno.  But I was happy to give up lifting for awhile.  Any excuse will do.  “So, Sal, could you lift my toast onto the plate?”

That might have been the first sign of trouble right there.……….

First day or so I may have pushed the envelope a bit but I didn’t do any lifting.  Stayed the course.  Sal did all the heavy lifting.  All the medium and most of the light stuff, too.   

Funny thing is that the day before I went to get operated on I visited a local sculptor to ask about rocks.  He was throwing out a few chunks of marble so I took ’em.  I kinda forgot that in a few days, I would not be allowed to lift ’em.

So Sal did it.

Kinda funny.

That may have added to the trouble a bit, too.

I like to think we are 50/50 partners, Sal and I.  I like to think I pull my weight.  I usually do the heavy stuff.  This was just a short vacation.  I also like to think that I am an equal-opportunity kitchen aid at the every least.  I cook.  I do the dishes.  I vacuum.  I’m good.  But, as I sat there watching her do all the stuff, I realized that I am not really the better half.  Not by half of a half.

When I do the dishes I always say, “Sweetie, you prepare the dishes and I’ll do ’em.” This is because some foods are saved and others are thrown out, some foods are wrapped in one thing, others are stored in something else.  Some get composted.  Some get thrown out for the gulls.  God only knows where everything goes afterward.  It is all way too complicated.  So, I take over the washing phase after all the sorting has been done. And I bask in the washing-up credit afterwards.

A little while later – when I was reading – I heard Sal putting all the dishes away.  She does that because I don’t know where all the dishes go.  OK, I don’t wanna know where all the dishes go.  Basically the same thing.

“It just dawned on me, sweetie.  Maybe I am not so much 50/50 after all.  I mean, you scraped and sorted the dishes and put the food away and now you are putting the dishes away.  I just washed ’em.” 

“This just dawned on you?”

“Well, yeah.  Kinda funny, really.  Don’t ya think?”

“Hysterical”.

“Well, because I can’t do any heavy lifting right now, I was reflecting on my role here.  It occurred to me that I wasn’t doing much else except the heavy stuff.  But I at least cook, right?  I mean, I do sushi and pizza and toast, feed the dogs and I pour the wine.  It’s not much but not too bad, right?”

“Don’t get me started.”

“What?”

“Well, when you do the sushi, I get all the ingredients out.  I prepare them.  You assemble them in sushi rolls and put ’em on plates.  OK, you heat the sake.  But then I do the dishes and put everything away.  Same for pizza.  You are like all the idiot guys who think they cook chicken because they barbecue.  The wife buys the chicken, marinates it.  Then she gets all the crap out and prepares it and then takes it out to the doofus who inhales chicken-smoke for half an hour and thinks himself a super-chef while the wife makes potato salad and everything else.  She does the washing up, too, while doofus-for-brains stands over the grill drinking beer.”

“Hmmmmmm. This is embarrasing.  I really should be better, shouldn’t I?  What are you gonna do next?

“The laundry.”

“Damn.  Sorry.  The basket is kinda too heavy for me right now, ya know?  Want some tea?”

I was in the waiting room with a bunch of old women, all of us waiting to have an eye sliced and diced.  I was in for eye #2.  I’d been there awhile when the O.R. nurse came over to me and gave me the pre-op speech and put the blue hair-hat on my head.  I took that to mean it was my turn and stood to follow her.  “Oh no, not yet, dear.  Stay seated.  We still have someone on the table.  If I took you in now, I’d have to put you on top of her!”

I couldn’t help myself…..

“Could I at least check her out first?”, I asked.

Five old ladies and a nurse cracked up and laughed out loud.

Then the slightly naughty jokes started being told……………all of them by the women!  I am sitting in a room with five old ladies, all of whom are 75 plus except for the sixth, a nurse, who was in her late 50’s.  And each felt obliged to outdo the other with some kind of naughty, ‘…..a priest and a condom salesman come into a bar…’ kind of joke.

The waiting time flew.

Second eye got done.  Piece o’ cake!  By the next day my vision was 90% there and today, I suspect, I’ll have both eyes pulling together like draft horses.  I can see.  It is flippin’ marvelous!  Two eyes are definitely better than one.  And even the one reconstructed eye was way better than the previous two in their prime.  I almost kinda wished I had a third one somewhere that he could rebuild.  I don’t care what I would look like, it is just fun seeing so much better.

Turns out I like little old ladies.  In small groups, anyway.  (One-on-one..?…I am not so sure).  Who woulda guessed?  I’ve had two groups now and they were both a lot of fun.  They have some kind of old-lady cohesion thing going on.  The yap-yap sisterhood.  They all seemed to know each other even tho they had never met before.  They started chatting and laughing and talking about quilting, kids, grandkids, great-grandkids, cats (yes, cats!) and how far they had to travel and then they gave up a bit of their life story.  They are all old.  They are all no-longer-married.  They all have cats.  And they are living alone and independently.

Four of ’em had I-pads, too!

One old crone said she volunteered three days a week at the senior’s centre!  “Yvonne”, I said, “forgive me for pointing this out but I would venture a guess that you are, yourself, a senior!”

“Yes.  But I am healthy and active.  I sing in three choirs, too.  Plus I volunteer at the hospital here!”  

One of the old ladies is aboriginal and she still does all her old native things.  She just came back from clam-digging up one of the inlets.  “Yesh, it was pretty cold.  We had to break the surface ice to get into the beach.  But we dug up a boatload.  We did good”.  She was late 70’s. Just barely five feet tall.  Didn’t weigh 100 pounds.  And they hand-dug the beach with small clam-rakes and collected the little mollusk morsels in large net bags!  Took ém all day to fill the boat and then drive four hours back to Powell River.  In the winter.

Lot of stories like that.

When my operation was done, they took me down to the lobby in a wheelchair.  Sal was there waiting and looking concerned.  “Oh, sweetie……..you OK?  Everything all right?” I smiled at the old volunteer and said, “It was hell!  Oh my gawd!  I am gonna need a lot of extra attention.  And tea.  Lots of tea.  Maybe a little lie-down before dinner……………..ooooh……………eye operations, eh?  Pretty hard on a guy.”

The volunteer smiled and kept her mouth shut.  It was Valentines day, after all,  and I guess she figured I was needing a bit of coddling.  After all, the men just aren’t as tough.

When you get your eyes slashed and whacked you are obliged to put in drops four times a day for about three weeks.  Of course, most people undergo cataract surgery when they are older.  And they are the ones who have senior moments.  They forget.  WE forget! Can you believe that!?  Sal and I have forgotten to ‘do drops’ at least three separate times over this eye-drop regimen.  We missed a session again yesterday.

Well, I missed the session yesterday……………

“What the hell is wrong with us?  This shouldn’t be so hard, right?”

“Well, we have our lapses, sweetie.  And I did manage to put the dogfood in the breadbox………….”

“Yeah.  And I put my hat down somewhere within thirty feet of the front door and, for the life of me, I still can’t find it.”

“It is Sunday, right?”

“Not a clue.”

Honestly?  I don’t think we are really losing it.  Not really.  Well, OK, maybe a bit.  But I have always had trouble finding my keys, glasses, socks, etc. and Sal hasn’t finished a sentence in years.  She starts them but they just end mid-sentence.  I usually finish them for her.  What else are partners for, eh?

“Sweetie, I was thinking that on Tuesday I’d……………………..” (and then a pause so long it could pass for a vacation).  So, I fill in………

“Go to the post office?  Make muffins?  Invite someone over?  Rearrange the furniture? Write a novel?  C’mon, Sal, gimme a hint.  Tuesday is a long day!”  Sometimes I pull on my ear and say, “Sounds like?”

She just looks at me…………

But basically we have it together.  I think.  We’d likely be the last to know though, right?  I mean, it is the loons who think they are sane, right?  True sanity is checking in now and then to make sure…………..ya know?  At least we are still checkin’ in to make sure.  That has to be a good sign.  Right?

Tho I can’t remember the last time we checked in………..

Never mind………………..we are fine ……..and……………well………….?…hmmm……… where was I going with this?

Oh yeah.  Eyes.  A few days from now I am going back for eye number 2.  The stress level is way down this time.  Nothing like a little success to put one’s mind at ease.  And eye #1 is like having had an eagle’s eye swapped in.  It is great.  I should have opted for Blu-ray, maybe.  But, still, I can see from one eye very well and it is very reassuring.  I am actually looking forward to it.

I just hope we don’t forget which day…..

“What’s on our agenda today?” I asked Sal

“I dunno.  Gotta do the laundry.  We need to load in some wood.  We can try to figure out how to use that new hard drive if you want?”

“Not good enough.  I have readers!”

“Hmmmm, right.  And I don’t trust you not to just make something up.  You whacko.  You are kind of sick…you know that?  Hmmm……I suppose we could bring up some logs from the beach.  Maybe get some oysters…….?”

“Nah.  Tide’s too high.  We’d just get wet.  And I have done a few ‘wet blogs’ already.  Need something new.  I kinda like the idea of makin’ something up, tho.  Sump’n kinda sick sounds cool.  I’ll do sex.  Use really gross key words.  That should get good ratings.  Good suggestion.”

“Stop that!  Stop that right now!  Don’t even think of it.  Don’t make me mad, now.  I swear that, if you do, I’ll go into the post and I’ll delete it.  I swear.  Try to be good for once!”

“Oh, alright.  But I suppose, then, I could do a post on your dictatorial ways…?  You know?  The editor from hell?”

“Yeah, right.  Like anyone would believe that!  Why don’t you just make yourself useful and take out the washing?  Get it started while you are out there.  And what about those dishes….better get on ’em.”

“You sure no one would believe me?”

“They never have.”

“Right.  That’s true.  Man, oh man.  ‘My kingdom for a pretty face!‘

“You don’t have a kingdom!  You got a cabin-on-a-rock!  And it’s a 50/50 one at that, you doofus!  And my half has the kitchen!  So watch it!  Now enough with the stalling.  Go’ on, now!”

“Right.  I’ll get on the chores just as soon as I finish making your tea, mem’ sahib.”

“Just a little milk…………..thanks.”

We went out.  Like I said.  It was blowing again.  Like we expected.  But it all went well.  We didn’t even take on as much water.  Feet remained dry.  And we caught some prawns.  Five pounds.  It was good.

Five pounds is about 250 prawns.  Success is usually anticlimactic.  Not this time.  We were pretty pleased with ourselves.  You know – having braved the seas and all?

If you look at the picture at the top of the blog you’ll see our house on the ‘rock’.  Imagine being just off that rock to your right by about 100 to 200 feet.  That was where we were.  Seems safe enough from that view, don’t you think?  It was.  The second time.   First time?  Not so much.

When we got back, after having cleaned up and put everything away, Fid started barking.  A lot.  That usually means one of any number of things.  I have no idea.  Dog-talk.  It all sounds the same to me.  Sal figures she is fluent, tho.  She began asking him what was on his mind.  It is a wonderful sight – watching them communicate.  Both eager to please.  Both looking blank.  Sally claiming comprehension.

NOT having a clue.

As Fid barked and looked out to sea, however, we saw what the commotion was all about.  A pod of four Orcas were going by.  A big young bull, two females and a baby.  Pretty neat.  The season has started early.

Fid thinks part of his job is to spot Orcas. He is right.  The other part is to chase balls and sticks and then eat whatever is put in front of him.  He’s good at it.  And it keeps him busy enough.  Meg is a watcher.  Fid is a doer.  Meg is his audience.  Sally watches both of them do their thing.  She thinks both of them are geniuses.  I think they all are.  They keep each other totally entertained.  Bloody brilliant, actually.  When you think about it.

I try not to.

Later that evening I went out to tend to the genset.  Heard the wolves.  Faintly.  They were up at the North end.  Sounded good.

Waves, whales, wives and wolves with a few pounds of prawns as appetizers.

Wonderful.

I am a smidge embarrassed.  And I am not alone.

If you read the last few posts you might recall reading about the woman on the boat in the snowstorm?  That post was about being extra vigilant when on the water and even more so in the winter.  You may also recall the last post when I stated that Sal and I are even more safety conscious right now what with winter, my eyes, and all that.  I also mentioned that we were going to pull prawn traps.

And I said the wind was whipping up.

And I said that we were going out anyway.

We did.

Sal has a small boat.  Eleven feet four inches.  It’s a mini Boston Whaler.  Like a shallow bath tub.  It has, maybe, 7 feet x 4 feet of actual ‘walking space….not even the size of a piece of plywood.  We took on board two big white five gallon buckets (we are optimists) and a full size garbage pail for the line, plus a large plank with a mechanical prawn-puller on it.  With me added to the mix, space would have been at a premium had there been any.  We were packed.

The wind was piping up to almost twenty and a few whitecaps were showing on the windlines.  We had maybe 6 inches of freeboard in a fast-moving, heavily rippled sea.  But we were ‘just going a hundred or so feet from the front of the house……’

I suggested, “So…?  Waddya think?  Maybe not today?  Maybe we should haul tomorrow, ya know……………..like, when it is less likely to drench us?”

“Oh, sweetie.  Don’t be silly.  We are just in front of the house and it will only take a few minutes.  These gusts will diminish.  Suck it up!”

Being out-machoed by Sal is par for the course, so I shut up and we got about our business.  Seas splashed and lapped up the sides and over now and then.  Not a lot.  Just a little.  But it was steady.  And it began to rain.  The occasional wave rolled over the little foredeck.  Maneuvering room in the boat with two traps hauled up – each about the size of an ottoman – made the load and our ride even more tippy and unwieldy but we pulled up a couple and then went for the last trap.  I noticed a lot of water swirling around the bottom of the boat.  Surprisingly, about four of the six inches we had were filled.

“Hey, Captain Sal!  We seem to have a lot of water in the boat.  Maybe we should head for shore?”

“Yeah.  Where is it coming from?  I’ll head in………Holy Moly, we are going awash!”

Sally instinctively gunned the motor forward at the same time as the bow plowed into a wave and we instantly took on another 25 gallons.  So, now the boat was even lower.  And pretty much stopped.

And the gusts had piped up to over twenty plus.  Wind lines were rushing across the sea and we were in what can only be described as wallowing conditions.  Water was lapping over my rubber boot tops.

We looked at each other.  This was embarrassing.  We were only a few hundred feet offshore but it looked like we were going to get pretty damn wet pretty damn soon.  The boat would be fine – it has positive floatation so it can’t sink – but we were going to look like idiots.

Which only seemed apt.

That’s when L waved to us from the beach.  “Hi!  Thought I’d drop in for tea….. you guys OK?”

“Oh yeah.  We’re fine.  Head on up to the house.  See you in a minute or two.  Just coming in.”  Sal passed me a bailer and she grabbed a bucket and we began bailing the boat.  Fast.  Bailing is not easy when the boat is full of gear.  But we managed.  Got things noticeably more buoyant and then she dropped me ashore with the prawns while she swung the little boat around to the dock.  She got it back to ‘dry’ while zipping to the dock.  It self-bails when you can go fast enough.

So, the first lesson is ‘don’t push the envelope’.  But we did.  The second lesson is, ‘don’t sink the envelope’ but we almost did that.  And the third lesson is, ‘if you are going to be that stupid anyway, at least don’t do it in front of the neighbours!’

We’re hopeless.  It is embarrassing.  Especially for Sally (she was the captain and it is not all gold braid and salutes, ya know?!).

I think the only thing I can promise is to stop making promises I have no intention of keeping!

Yes, even tho conditions are similar, we are going out today for the last trap. 

It’s a cliff-hanger out here, eh?  Stay tuned.  

Spring?  So soon?

Weather’s OK, that is for sure.  But the wind is whipping up a bit.  Things are bright and clear.  And mine eyes are getting sorted.  Still a little out-of-sync but working – especially the new one.  Feels like Spring.  We’re thinking of getting out and about today.  Try to get some chores done.

First up, is pulling in some prawns if sea-conditions permit.  It’s a bit early in the season but we feel the need to get a few so a couple of traps worth will suffice nicely.  Three pounds or so.  No sense in getting more.  They stay fresher and get bigger leaving them in the ocean to await our future culinary requirements anyway.

Plus we are not pushing any envelopes right now.  I am a smidge more safety conscious and Sal is a smidge more Dave-and-his-condition conscious.

The weather is mild enough that some seeds are starting to sprout so a bit of time in the garden may be in order as well.  But that job is Sal’s, mostly. (I find it hard to talk to plants.  It is required, I am told.  I am disinclined to talk to cats and dogs as well.  I am just ill-suited to the task.  I need feedback, not tail-back.)

We definitely have a few logs to cut and haul.  Our beach is currently ‘logs akimbo’.  So, that would likely be job two.  And then there is the ‘hangover’.  It’s an old tree that hangs over the solar array in the winter effectively reducing the power production.  It has to go although, strangely, I feel I have more in common with it than the cats, dogs and vegetables.  (We’ve frequently spoken – is what I am sayin’).  Still, it is a tree and I am a man with a chainsaw.  It is just our destiny, really.

Which reminds me: it is time to top the batteries.  Fluid levels need to be checked.  May as well do another oil change on the genset while we are at it.  I do not tend to talk to machinery.  Not really.  Sometimes I yell at it but it is not really about communication.  It is a bit more about determining who is in charge.  The jury is still out.

Those are just the chores off the top, as it were.  If I go to the official list, it grows by a factor of five.  We have a busy schedule looming this spring.  Maybe even busier by summer.  Then it’s the whacky season. It’s when the guests show up and all hell breaks loose.  May even have some more students this year.  There’s talk, anyway.

I guess that is the point of this post – I am not quite all the way back yet but all things seem to be progressing way ahead of schedule.  Spring, the garden, my eyes.  I am thinking that a hiatus til April 1 won’t be required.  March 1 is more like it.

Healing.  New growth.  Spring is in the air…………… it is all looking good.  It’s definitely a good day.