Back to Black

Caretaker’s Log, Tuesday, May 6, 2014

There’s a light dusting of snow covering everything. A good portion of it is already melted by 9:18. 

It’s 37 degrees outside so I build a morning fire.

At 11:43 it’s raining down ice pellets—snow clumps powered by an east wind blowing fury.

 

The ground squirrels seem extra frisky. They’re chasing each other all over the yard.

I talk with my mom.

There’s a hole in my jeans. This kind of living needs sturdier clothing.

I talk with my grandmother.

This weather makes me sleepy, lazy, lethargic.

I’ve hardly gone outside today.

The majority of my food is coming out of cans these days.

There’s a beautiful sunset happening over at the ridge. From the eastern front comes a cold, wet storm. The clouds descend lower, creep closer. Over there, in the east, it looks like winter.

I go outside at 10:30. It’s snowing big heavy flakes. I stand and shine my light into the falling. I let the snow fall on my face. There’s already a dusting, a trace, about a quarter of an inch of snow on the porch. Maybe I hear a wolf or a coyote far off somewhere in the hills. 

I’m going to need to chop more wood.

Caretaker’s Log, Wednesday, May 7, 2014

I wake up abruptly at 2:43 AM to a flash of lightning and the sound of thunder, to the patter of raindrops against the skylights.

At 9:00 when I come down I see the world as white. Maybe I imagined that thunderstorm. This is snow, a fresh inch or so over everything. This is winter still, not spring.

I chop five sledfulls of wood with snow blowing against my bare cheeks, the wind cutting up under my cap, and my gloved getting wet from the accumulated snow on the logs.

 

While I’m stacking a load on the porch I hear an owl.

Who who who

Who who

Whooo Whooo

I get cleaned up.

I talk with Michaela.

I work part of the Statue of Liberty jigsaw puzzle and listen to a Rex Stout mystery audiobook.

At 6:29 it’s still snowing.

I’ve been here five weeks today.

  

Caretaker’s Log, Thursday, May 8, 2014

Thursday. The start of my sixth week here. My coffee is back to black. I don’t plan on doing much requiring exertion today.

I see a dark canine shape running in the east, southeast field. It vanishes behind the growth and down into an arroyo. Fox, wolf, coyote? It went too fast for me to tell.

My hair is static charged and in my face. I need to pull it back before I give in to the temptation to chop it all off.

The snow glare is intense.

I get the last can of garbanzo beans out of the root cellar.

The red tailed hawk takes its spot on the fence. 

Later, the red tailed hawk flies off.

 

A pair of Sandhill cranes descend to the ground on my side of the fence. They’re eating something along the creek bank. I go out to observe them from the edge of the porch. The cat is being obnoxious.

Clumps of snow fall out of the trees like messages. I don’t know what that means.

It’s 41.9 degrees. Yesterday’s snow is melting like crazy.

I finish the Statue of Liberty puzzle. There are five pieces missing.

I vacuum the living room.