foundations

Today I wrote to one of my heroes and asked him for a bit of advice on shaping the rest of my life and career as a builder and artist. More specifically I commented on his blog because I couldn't find an email address. Here's a link to his blog: lloyd

I would encourage all who like beautiful handmade things to check out his books, they have been a great source of inspiration to me.

Nettlepants

Few things in this world make me happier than walking through the woods with my dog, no trail in site, and no sound but our combined footsteps and whatever animal life we startle. I hike alone in part because I enjoy the solitary experience of a man and his dog in the woods, but also in part because few people I know would enjoy our hiking method.

First of all, we go off of the trail as soon as we are able, often making progress painful and difficult. There's nothing quite like deciding whether to try and cross the thigh deep swamp or to brave the acres of eyeball high stinging nettles, and blackberry thorns (even with her fur coat Maple gets stung by nettles).

Secondly our pace is either blindingly fast or painfully slow, with very little in between. The speed at which we hike is dependent on a number of things, but primarily it has to do with whether we are trying to cover as much ground as possible, or are exploring a new area, leaving no stone or log unturned.

Third and perhaps the most annoying for someone wanting to hike with us is that we get distracted very easily. Maple will smell a year old scent of a grouse at the same time that I spot what I think is a bone or a mushroom several hundred yards away. Either of these new distractions will alter the course of travel sometimes for miles, until the scent grows cold or I realize that my Sasquatch skull was merely a plastic bag stuck on a burdock plant.

So, fair warning to those wanting to hike with me. I will take you on an adventure to a place that few have gone and few will go. I will find amazing things for you, like bones, plants, fossils, and mushrooms, and we will see amazing wildlife in their most natural state.

To experience all of this though you must endure serious physical and mental strain, including but not limited to: Nettle stings (sometimes in your eye), wet shoes, wet clothing of any kind, scratches from sticks, blackberry thorns, devils club, Maple claws etc... I will try and feed you weird wild foods that I think taste good but you will hate. Conversation will be strictly limited to clicks and whistles mostly directed at Maple. You will have to help carry the bones, fossils, and mushrooms back to the car through the swamp, and or field of nettles. I might fire a gun without warning at an empty beer can before putting it in my bag for later recycling. Oh, and finally, don't make plans because we wont get back before dark...

Anyone want to go for a hike?

Arts and Farts

I've started to draw again and have really enjoyed the process though the results are somewhat less than desired. I was inspired by some creative street art in Mexico the last time that I was there, and am copying the concept. Basically the idea is to draw on ceramic tiles and then adhere them to your desired showspace with construction adhesive or concrete. The result is that you can spend as much time as you need on the artwork and very little time installing the piece. I've been drawing mainly portraits from old books that I get for free at the library. Check it out!

It might get annoying

Here's a glimpse into what I am able to do with my free time now that I am not chasing your dog down I-5. Inspired by real musicians, with the help of my brother, and with the support of craft night I am now able to make my dog cry.

Tweezers

You may have noticed that I smile more these days. You may have noticed that I smell less like dead possum and more like sawdust. You may have noticed that the dog poo on my shoe has been replaced with a spring in my step. You may not have noticed any of these things, but I sure do. I have more energy, and more time. I feel healthier, both mentally and physically. I am inspired to create and share.

It amazes me just how much something so small can either add or subtract to ones quality of life. Like a tiny hardwood splinter deep in a thumb, an irritant in life can fester. That little shard tries to drive itself deeper, following the direction of the grain while your body attempts to reject the invader. Infection sets in and you might even run a constant low fever. Your mood shifts erratically and you feel irritated. Until one day you notice a small white blister on your thumb and you absentmindedly squeeze it. Pushed out on a wave of puss rides the cause of your misery, and suddenly the world is anew. Everyone gets a splinter at some point in their lives. There is a huge difference though in those that pull it out immediately, and those that let the gangrene take over.

Meat and Bones

I went for a long walk in the woods the other day on the far side of Lookout mountain. I was alone and whispering to myself. I had a small saw that I was hoping to use for cutting interesting pieces of dead wood to bring home to make furniture. I came upon a massive root cluster attached to an overturned cedar tree. I crawled into the root cave that the fallen tree had created and immediately got chills. The hair on my arms prickled and stuck out from my skin like a stinging nettle. The smell of cat urine was overwhelming and there were small bones littered everywhere that somehow I hadn't seen before. I backed up slowly and sat with my back against a mossy rock. There was no question in my mind that there was a mountain lion watching me from somewhere, sizing me up and determining whether or not I was a threat to its territory. I folded up my little saw and put it in my pack hastily. I figured that if I was going to be attacked that I would have a far better chance of defending myself with my hands than with a flimsy saw that I would have to figure out how to use as a weapon.
I consider myself to be a pretty brave person, and generally I would say that I am not scared of anything. At that very moment with my back against a saturated rock I honestly felt a cold fear that I've only one other time in my life felt. After a few more moments of shallow breathing and trying to hear over my own cacophonous heart, I stood up slowly and let out the deepest, loudest growl that I could muster. I continued my primal cry as I walked purposefully out of the woods into the trail that eventually would lead me to my car. Now on open ground, my adrenaline leveled out and I stood in the middle of the trail and breathed deeply. As I exhaled, a full grown female cougar walked in front of me no more than 100 ft away. She crossed the trail and looked directly at me. Her expression was one that I can only describe as disgust. It was almost as if she was saying "oh please, like I would even bother attacking you." I stood there a moment longer, trotted back to the car, and drove very slowly home. I have never felt more like prey. I have never felt smaller in a world that I often feel like I own.

We don't own this world. We don't own anything. We are animals. We are meat and bones.

Connecticut homes

I finished reading J.D. Salinger's "Franny and Zooey." for the third or fourth time today. I can remember reading this book for the first time and closing it slowly and thoughtfully. I remember thinking that it was my new favorite book, and I have since considered it my favorite book. It seems important to have a favorite something and for whatever reason this story resonated with me to such a degree that I chose it then and there as my one and only. I closed the book again today and felt nothing like the deep understanding that I felt then. It's been probably six or seven years since I read it for the first time and there wasn't even a hint of nostalgia. In fact, much of the book was unrecognizable and distant to me. Halfway through the book I began to question whether or not I had even read this story before. Now, I'm no stranger head injuries and perhaps I can blame this blank space to some residual amnesia, or maybe some early dementia. I think the answer though is a bit more profound. I think the answer lies in time itself, and its ability to change everything around us. Apparently our bodies regenerate in their entirety every seven years or so. If I believe that dated and probably overly simplified data, then I am literally almost a completely different person than the young man that read the book for the first time. As creatures of habit we tend to take comfort in the constants of life. We create patterns wherever we can find them, and are constantly searching for order among the chaos of the world and beyond. Having a favorite is a comforting thing. Favorites provide an answer and a window into who a person is or who they would like to be seen as. A favorite is generally perceived as being a definitive fact, and it's not supposed to change. Everything changes though, and to ignore that is to ignore reality."Franny and Zooey" is a good book. It is not my favorite book. I do not have a favorite book. I am lost in the chaos and I am satisfied.