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").


decay & ruin
Biosphere II
dead malls
Irving housing

got that wrong

appropriate tech
Arduino μcontrollers
Backwoods Home
Fractal antenna

fun social media stuff

(nobody does!)

Like my brownhouse:
   ratchet the cargo gradually homeward
Monday, January 26 2009
Despite continues problems with a snotty nose, I was feeling better today. Meanwhile there was a winter storm being predicted for Wednesday, so it seemed prudent to replenish the depleted firewood cache (which I hadn't restocked since January 9th, more than two weeks ago in the coldest month of winter). So I used my trusty customized firewood cart to bring home a full cartload (over three hundred pounds of wood) from the most distant of my two recently-felled Chestnut Oaks. Several snows had fallen since I'd last taken the firewood cart down the Stick Trail, so this was a pioneering cart run, meaning its wheels would compress the smooth slots through the snow that would act like negative rails for subsequent runs. Pioneering runs are arduous, especially at that section of trail where I'm coming up from the Chamomile "River" on a grade of about ten percent over a distance of perhaps twenty feet. At that point the only way to make ground is to yank the car uphill a couple feet at a time, allowing the metallic non-wheeled part of its base to dig into the snow after each exertion so as to lock in the progress and ratchet the cargo gradually homeward. Not being entirely healthy, I was surprised I was able to do as well as I was doing at what is arguably my most physically-demanding job. It definitely helped that I stopped to rest now and then, stretching out on the packed snow of the trail and staring up at the naked branches of winter trees overhead. You know you've been working hard when you find the cold of the snow coming through your coat pleasant. I felt so comfortable as I lay there that I wondered what would happen to me if I were to fall asleep. Mind you, the air temperature at the time was in the mid-20s.
Another job I could do in my condition was continue work with the slathering of Portland Cement on the interior masonry walls of the greenhouse. It's a completely unnecessary step in the building's construction that I've been prolonging so as to maximize opportunities ideal for listening to podcasts. (One can't really listen to podcasts when operating a chainsaw, writing text, or reading articles on World Wide Web.)

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