TIPI NEW YEAR '88
"I am out with the morning temp at 12 degrees and evening at 28. The temp is now 10 degrees as I feed the fire frequently and listen to the calm wind go thru the treetops high above me, the sound blocks out everything else. This spot is not as pristine as Lost Valley, it is not in a sea of rhododendron and does not have abundant water or a lake, but it has become a home base. It also has a pretty trail leading upward with deer, turkey, turtles, newts, groundhogs, abundant edibles and the close proximity for hitching into town and a community of like-minded souls below."
"The moon yellowish comes over my left shoulder as I write this and I will shortly crawl out of the tipi and walk back and forth in the snow, breathing deeply. I will look around and hear the wind and feel the cold against my face and love it, being glad to be alive, glad to have this boon of being out, free and alone, healthy and working on contentment and hermittry, yoga and solitude. My environment is good enough, now it depends on me to produce the flame of contentment."
"There is snow at the lodge and we have 12 inches and 10 degrees, what more could I want? Snow blows in from the west, a lot of it, as the temps dip to 8; there is almost too much windblown snow in the face to allow for a comfortable walk in the woods."
"The arctic, life in the arctic, becomes the most popular subject around here since up north they truly experience some deep cold where here we invoke the many names of god when the thermometer hovers right above zero. Of course, I am speaking here of people who live outside, backpackers, hikers, the homeless, debris shelterists and tipiers."
"I am at the lodge on this evening as the 31 degree night air captivates, the lantern glows and the fire cackles and pops. It is cloudy and it wants to rain as I sit on my haunches. The trail up last night occurred late and in the flashlight's glow, I had mud on my feet but made it. Johnny B came up for a chainsaw visit and we both walked down the trail to look for wood. The hawk screeched three or four times as it glided over our humble world."