"Where I lived and what I lived for"

Coming into Frame

2012-02-13T19:54:00.000-08:00

Its been two more weeks of sawing and hammering and I've finally gotten everything framed, square (enough) and ready for drywall. Last week when I finished most of the rough framing we were still left with the question of how to handle the entrance to the new laundry/storage area. I made one trip to the hardware store to check my options for doors and get dimensions for the rough opening. While we surveyed the various door frame options we found ourselves wrestling with how the door should swing. Swing one way and it stops short at the adjacent wall. Open the other way and it swings out into the 'hall' somewhat blocking the way at least unless you open it entirely. Opening inward was completely out of the question due to the HVAC duct work running along the opening just inside the door; it might have cleared it...but then again maybe not. In weighing the options we were drawn to the simple and unassuming allure of the pocket door. The unfortunate part about the pocket door is that the opening essentially needs to be twice as wide as the door itself. Since I hadn't planned for this I found myself pulling out some of the existing framing that I had worked quite hard to salvage and keep in place. Fortunately I didn't have to tear out any of the new framing I had built in place of the two double sliders.

I got the opening squared and situated the week before, and this past week I managed to get the door installed and nailed up in its place: it slides smoothly and doesn't take up any extra room to do so. With the hard work behind me, Kate and I started moving out all of our misc junk and stuff from the existing storage area. As clean and tidy as our new laundry space is starting to look the rest of our basement is a mess of things and construction debris bound for the habitat store. Underneath our pile of camping gear and other bits were two substantive storage cabinets built by one of the prior owners. These massive pieces would have been a pain to deconstruct for the trash, so I had the idea to pull them out and put them on Craigslist in the free section. We had a taker for them in less than an hour, and with a bit of struggle and fussing we managed to get them out of the basement and out to the driveway for pickup. Almost instantaneously we went from a storage area choked with junk and over sized plywood boxes to a long, surprisingly spacious, space for our new storage area. The cleaned up space is starting to really look pretty nice.

Framing going in, and the opening for the pocket door.

Looking at the the laundry.

The new storage space leading to the utilty room

Pocket door

Plumbing, Patching, Plaster and Paint

2012-01-28T18:03:00.000-08:00

What I feared would be the most intensely time consuming piece of our laundry 'shift', the plumbing, turned out to go relatively quickly. Tore out in a day; replaced in a day. The time consuming piece, in terms of volume of days wasted doing it, was the repairs to the plaster covered concrete walls, sealing, priming and paint. Each phase of this part of the project, while brief in terms of man-hours, was accompanied by a "cure time of 3 days" type series of instructions. In incremental, bite sized chunks, I transformed cracked, pock marked, stained walls from dingy to a nice semi-gloss green color. Below are before and after shots, although the color doesn't quite come out in the pictures very well; its subtle yet brightly refreshing...the folks at Behr are free to use that without charge.

Note the transition from primer white to primer stained moving toward the corner.

Pretty much the same view, just post paint and with the appliances connected.

Everything was hooked up by mid week which allowed us to test out the new sink and laundry combination. The prior configuration with sub-code drain pipe frequently resulted in the washer backing up into the laundry sink. Now that I've cleaned out the skinny pipe in favor of 2" drains for everything the laundry now runs without spewing up a volcano of nasty suds into the sink. And I can also officially say that this series of plumbing projects has been 100% leak-free...a first for me I think. Getting a couple cycles of laundering in helped thoroughly test my drain pipe work, and everything is still bone dry.
Now that we've got our laundry back to a functional state I have moved on to framing out the new walls. I'm hoping to get a lot of mileage out of the pile of 2x4's from the previous wall-door-wall sequence. That will hopefully help save costs and reduce the number of cuts I have to make as everything has pretty much been cut to height already. I may make some headway on this part of the project tomorrow, or I may very well get lured outside by the promise of unseasonably warm temps again. Last weekend when we hit temps in the mid 60's I found myself repelled from basement tasks and instead out in the front yard trimming trees in my shirt sleeves. The raspberry canes need some attention before spring so if the warm weather delivers framing may just have to wait.

Door Number 3

2012-01-17T19:33:00.000-08:00

It is certainly a bad sign when you go to log in to your blog and you hardly recognize the dashboard. Has it been so long that Blogger's completely redesigned their administrative interface? Apparently the answer to that question is: yes. Conveniently, in the spirit of design and change I'm here to post some updates on our latest home related project.

Long story short we attempted to sell our house last year at the peak of the worst real estate market in years. That proved to be just a touch foolish. With that epic fail behind us we've determined to at least learn a few things from the experience and hopefully make some improvements to the place to better our odds for another foolish attempt this spring. Along these lines we added an expanded patio to the backyard, finished the landscaping and put in a privacy fence around the master bedroom creating a private patio complete with fountain vis-a-vis HGTV. With the weather driving us back indoors we've decided to tackle the biggest project on our list of potential home buyer gripes: the basement.

Although our basement is technically 'finished', and we even painted and spruced it up last year, it still abounds with wood paneling and a preponderance of doors something akin to a scene in Alice and Wonderland. Take this example: the door to the washer.

Now you might be thinking, everyone has a door to their laundry room: it helps hide your laundry negligence. But I didn't say door to the laundry room...I said door to the washer; not to be confused with the doors to the dryer...

or the door to the laundry sink for that matter.

Yes, there's definitely a lot of paneling and doors in our basement. And while I would have hoped that potential buyers might have enjoyed the fun house feel to the place, apparently it was a sore spot with folks. So the paneling, the doors, the oddly angled walls all would have to go. Figuring out what to remove proved to be the easy part: figuring out what to put back in its place was a bit more challenging. As wacky as it looks there was a certain element of logic entailed in the design. We've got a beam, a whole host of pipes and vents, a floor drain and a main duct trunk to contend with in the space we'd ideally like to salvage. The easier, and in my opinion more cowardly, way out would be to slap up some walls and doors and call it good. The real solution however entails moving a fair amount of infrastructure and then putting up walls where you'd expect to find them: around your washer and dryer...not in between them. So while de-dooring the basement might in the end prove harder than its worth (vindicating the cowardly door mongers) we're armed with a pretty good design and with that we got our hammers swinging.

Last week I spent a couple evenings pulling down doors, paneling and 2x4's. The plan is to save a lot of the 2x4's and perhaps a door (or two) and take the rest to the Habitat for Humanity store to see if it someone else might want it. The result was a drastically improved, 'doorless' space for the laundry. Next I had to remove the shelving along the back wall and scoot the appliances out of the way. The plan is to move the laundry appliances into the back corner and then frame in a wall around the new space as well as a wall to hide the drain and vent pipes at the base of the stairs.

Over the weekend I got all of my plumbing and electrical parts assembled and with the help of my brother-in-law Paul, removed the old drain and vent stack, moved the 20 and 30 amp service for the washer/dryer and extended the water supply for the sink and laundry. While it was kind of a long Sunday we managed to get the guts of the new laundry moved and reconfigured. Temporarily it now looks like this:

Despite Paul's confidence in my amateur plumbing abilities I was certain the pipes would leak when I turned the water back on, but Paul's confidence wasn't wasted and the basement is dry as a bone and actually up to code. With the tricky bits out of the way we've moved on to sealing the old plaster wall along the exterior, which will form two sides of the laundry. I have to patch a few holes in the plaster and then we'll paint it before moving the new appliances into their permanent homes. From there it'll be time to start framing in the walls and moving on to drywall, which after plumbing is my second least favorite home improvement project. But I suppose if I've managed to conquer my plumbing demons a little dry wall won't be too tough now will it?

"God's Country"

2010-11-13T08:19:00.000-08:00

Had delicious pancakes with my brother and sister in law this morning. They were thick and warm and very tasty. I even think there were a couple left over, everyone was stuffed. The sky is blue and sunny. Its cool but looks to be another great day in Colorado. All this scenic wonder and perfection sure gets old...oh wait no it doesn't. Have a great day dad :)

Quiet

2010-11-02T19:08:00.000-07:00

Behind us lies the hectic fury and nonstop pace of prepping the house for the market. We cleaned, sorted, organized, decluttered, updated, purged…on and on for a couple weeks. As a result the house looks great. Clean--welcoming. Even despite my ever present pessimism I have to say I’m starting to see the optimistic angle on this one. The first week of traffic exceeded my expectations and I can’t help but start to agree with Kate; maybe we’ll be out of here sooner than I thought. And with all that anticipation yet to sort itself out with our reluctant friend the future, our home is now quiet. Even without a sold sign in the front yard there’s something deeply rewarding about the turn around in appearance, the successes of our productivity, the fruits of our labor. With a bit of free time now I can sit back and appreciate the transformation and peace of mind; the welcome return of quieter nights.

Stuff

2010-10-17T08:07:00.000-07:00

We’ve made two Goodwill trips in a week’s time, had one successful Craigslist sale of a weight set, sold some books to the used book store and tossed out a pile of otherwise useless junk, and I doubt that will be the last of it. The savvy, Better Homes and Gardens word for this would be: decluttering. I can translate that as getting rid of stuff. As much as Americans seem to have issues with our expanding waistlines we also have issues with our expanding domains of material goods and piles of junk. People are more like crabs than I would have thought given our differences in outward appearances. Both species, however, certainly grow to fit our shell. We moved from a small cabin in the woods to a considerably larger urban home and I suppose for want of filling rooms with the pitter patter of little feet, have instead filled them with things. Now we are to the point where we stand on a precipice of stuff.

I suppose on some levels I’ve always been a collector of sorts. As a child I took good care of and held on to what things I had. I kept my toys and odds and ends in good shape and enjoyed their use in all likelihood much past what would be expected of a childhood plaything. This habit continued on into adulthood. I acquire this and that and kept it in relatively good, usable shape, which in and of itself is not a bad thing. I also suffer from a sickness of over sentimentalizing material possessions. I hang onto things because of some intangible ‘meaning’ associated with it. The net effect of this syndrome is boxes of mementoes and random bits of otherwise useless trifles which gets hauled around from place to place marking the passing of time not in hours or years but in pounds. This hording behavior coupled with my fastidious care of things makes it a shame to get rid of a perfectly good, ‘valuable’ item. And therein lies the trap of it all, the accumulation, the personification or sense of comfort in this stuff, the ease of storing things in a back corner room and then the eventual suffocation on junk.

What compounds the issue is my accomplice in crime: Kate is a collector as well. One is bad enough, but two under one roof; watch out. While I think she suffers from a similar psychosis of sentimentalizing things, she has a knack for finding things that nobody wants and then brings them home. A rescuer of sorts, this is at face value not a sin but a merit. However in excess or unrestrained, it translates into wonton accumulation, albeit a cheaper and more environmentally friendly version of it. Bits of unwanted office furniture, chairs, odd bins found on the sidewalk, things pulled out of dumpsters, dead or dying plants, unwanted and largely unsalvagable bicycles and other miscellaneous things. This stuff piles up, and while there's a tremendous value to repurposing and reusing old items, one household shouldn't look to be the savior of the world's island of misfit toys.

Better to not accumulate the stuff to begin with, I would say. There is something to be said for the untrammeled simplicity and beauty of a clean room with very little in it. Turning off the supply chain of things certainly would make the seasonal ritual of purging and cleansing more manageable if not altogether unnecessary. And when an item has long since run its life of purpose, best to be done with it and pass it on to the next person. There’s something quite cathartic about seeing otherwise unused items head out the door in another person’s hands to be otherwise purposed and reused. It helps to reinforce how silly it was to hold on to it for so long, and how worthwhile it can be to just let it go.

So now that our purging is well underway, at least for now, I’ve got my ‘clutter’ sensors working on overdrive. Every likely candidate for the recycle or thrift store bin gets a nod towards the door. I’ve declared a war on things, and I have to say I’m doing a pretty good job. Hopefully this lesson won’t be one that I’ll repeatedly learn over and over again throughout the years, but I have a feeling that’s easier said than done. Maybe I’ll enact a one in-one out policy on stuff…that way our balance of equilibrium here doesn’t get too out of whack--if not for peace of mind, for peace of back. Al this stuff at a point gets pretty heavy.

Outtahere...well eventually

2010-10-15T08:05:00.000-07:00

Is it the caffeine now unheedingly coursing through my system, the promise of an unscripted day off before me (furlough), or the changing winds and long shadows of fall that has me sitting here staring at this blank page, antsy and restless? Kate and I have spent the last two weekends feverishly reworking our small, suburban home to the suggestion and guidance of our real estate agent: we’re out of here. Well, we’re not out of here, at least not just yet. We’ve still got some finishing, sprucing up and decluttering to do. We’ve got to sell our home in the worst of imaginable markets, and we’ve got to do so without losing our shirt in the process; otherwise we’re not going anywhere. Its an unenviable, ‘stuck’ place to be.

Fortunately we’re not in the boat as many, those strapped between payments, facing reduced income, piling debt and the ominous loom of foreclosure. We’re thankfully in a very different boat, yet no less comforted by this fact; we just desperately want to be someplace else. And our timing really stinks. This has been a fine place to live, but its not felt like ‘our home.’ It was crafted in the imagination of the previous owners and countless HGTV episodes. It’s the perfect house for that great American buyer seeking domestic perfection. But for me, I can’t get comfortable and look past the fear of scratching or denting the precious surfaces of our grand ‘investment.’ Even before any of our furniture was moved in to this place I knew that our tenure here would be short, and with that knowledge I’ve neurotically watched over the pristine appearances of this 1950’s gem to ensure its attraction to future buyers when that time would certainly come. As painful as that has been, hopefully its paid off because that time is now: I want out, plain and simple.

I don’t want the neighbors eye balling the length of my grass, and suspiciously discussing the extent to which I’ve sacrificed beloved bluegrass to “what is that?…vegetables?” I don’t want my neighbors to largely avoid us because we’re not in our 50’s, or we don’t have children, or because badly played banjo music emanates from our home, or we‘re just weird--those bike riding, yard destroying, childless weirdoes. I don’t want to drown in all this unused, superfluous space. I don’t want to fill rooms with unnecessary crap for the sake of appearances. I don’t want to be told we cannot have bees, chickens, privacy, freedom to explore our interests and passions without the admonishment or judgment of municipal codes and paranoid neighbors.
“Is that compost bin too close to the fence?”
“Are you going to spray those weeds?”
“Is that a Pit Bull?”
“I think the bin is fine. I’m not spraying poisons on anything and yes that actually is pit bull mix, We rescued her. She’s like 9 years old, allergic to everything, old, tired, and very gentle…wait where are you going? Nice talking to you.”

But with our readiness to end this chapter and begin another we’re faced with the grim realities of how likely it will be that we’ll be here for a good long while yet. Despite the optimism of our agent, the eternal faith and positive thinking of my wife, the assurances of our friends; I’m not quite so cheery and hopeful. Ever the practical realist, I’m not quite content that this is just going to go our way. And that bums me out, pure and simple. So I’m trying very hard, spending good cash on appliance upgrades, paint, trim; spending my free time and weekends working hard on those ‘final finishing touches’--“but it may be all for naught.” Those nagging, realist thoughts of mine are an annoyingly hard pill to swallow.

So I’m not going to dwell on what may happen, what could be. I’m just going to focus on right now; what needs to be done, what the next step is. Its like that point in a very long ride, where you’re done, taxed, and miles from the end. So you get into that carefully focused zone and just pedal continuously into the weariness and infiniteness of time and space; every lane marker passed, each seam in the pavement crossed is a sign of progress, grindingly slow, yet eventual, progress. That’s where I am; head down, pedaling hard, steady and marking my slow progress. Time to get back to work.

Pickin' & Pumpkins

2010-10-12T19:22:00.000-07:00

A dreary and damp day stands to ready to deliver on the threat of Denver's first autumn frost. And while some gardeners might be inclined to rush out to cover their remaining summer flowers and veggies, I'm ready for the turn of seasons and welcome it with open arms. My small amount of cool veggies, the ones left uncrushed and not trampled upon by the neighborhood cats, are ready for a bit of cold. All of my warm season crops are done with one exception.

This morning before too much of the day's soaking could get to them, I went outside to pick the 8 or so pumpkins we've been nurturing for the better chunk of the summer. Our two 'large' and mostly squatty pumpkins made it the entire season along with a compliment of smallish ones of varying hues of orange and red. I lost one to birds, one to rot and another to its own stubborn unwillingness to sufficiently ripen. And yet despite this, and the somewhat misshapenness of my survivors (everyone, including the neighbors, made it a point of noting the wide and simultaneously dwarfish shape of these 'jack-o-lanterns') I consider my first attempt at pumpkins to be a success. Next year an earlier feeding, sunnier location and spot away from the grass and its clinging moisture, will hopefully yield even better results. Until then we'll decorate, cook with and hopefully carve up this crew.

And after a bit of pumpkin picking, a nice warm bowl of homemade tomato soup and maybe some tea, its going to be time for another kind of pickin'. I do love the slower pace of these lengthening fall nights.

The Mostest Liberal Ever

2010-10-02T09:05:00.000-07:00

And this is why the ‘left’ continues to devour itself at the expense of its precious agendas. I get more and more tired of supposed ‘liberals’ every day. This morning while lounging on the couch enjoying a warm cup of coffee and the brisk 46 degree morning I cruised some of my favorite blogs and sites on the internet. My default windows open to Google and MSN, and while I generally don’t spend much time on MSN an article about ‘Giving up Cable’ caught my eye so I gave it a read. You can read it for yourself here. It talks about the savings one can potentially experience by cutting out cable and perhaps TV altogether. As one who’s also pulled the plug on cable TV, and thanks to the digital conversion don’t have functioning network and local TV, I enjoyed commiserating with people of likeminded principles. And then I read the comments…I really need to stop doing this. Most of the comments were all very supportive of the concept; testimonials of folks who’ve made similar decisions and have been pleased with the results. And then there was the troll.

“…I know it is "trendy" to say you have given up tv, but please, don't watch movies from the library or netflix and tell me you have "given up tv". You have failed to reach the "gucci plateau" folks.”

I’m generally pretty tolerant of people’s opinions and whatnot, but I’m getting a bit fed up with this type of judgment and admonishing of people for not being ‘idealized’ enough in accordance with some holier-than-thou, self-aggrandizing standard.

I attribute this type of behavior to the ‘left’ based on personal experience, however I’m sure it permeates both ends of the political spectrum. I remember going to a CSU Extension presentation on small acreage management, where the extension office brought in a variety of resources to talk about alternative energy, bee keeping, pest management and noxious weeds. There were donuts and handouts and it was generally pretty informative and innocuous. And then there was the ‘super liberal’ in the back. HE just bought 90+ acres in eastern Colorado. HE was going to turn the land into an organic farm. HE was going to eat all of his weeds for the Vitamin C. HE was going to fight big agriculture. HE thought it prudent to point out the shortcomings of every extension presentation and their collusion in every large scale agricultural crime against humanity and nature since the dawn of time. I couldn’t stand the guy and as he droned on with this incessant inquisition the audience grew audibly more uncomfortable. And these types seem to be everywhere, whipping out their ‘liberalism’ to measure it up against the next guy or gal. “You eat organic vegetables? I grow organic vegetables.” “You grow organic vegetables? I AM an organic vegetable….”--etc.

I’ve seen this behavior prevalently with the environmental movement. Here the extremes are palpably visible fighting between more moderate groups like the Sierra Club and even Al Gore and the more activist centered organizations like Greenpeace and EarthFirst! Its almost a hobby to deride Al Gore for his hypocrisy of millions of dollars and flying around presenting “Inconvenient Truth.“ Indeed think of all the greenhouse gases he produced jet setting to China and back…not to mention the fact that he probably educated more people world-wide on the grim realities of our current climatic conditions than oh…just about anyone. The idealists are right though, he should be shot, or at least be drummed out of the ranks of the environmental movement.

But I’ve also seen Sweat Shop activists actually call each other out on their clothing labels and ridicule each other for the type of footwear they wore. I've heard the sermonizing of local food activitists and organic farmers, measuring the radius at which they get their food and disdaining those who only practice organic methods and not organic PERMACULTURAL ones. I’ve seen bicycle advocates engage in the game of one-ups-manship of how long they’ve gone without a car. “How long have YOU been a bike commuter?“ I hate that question for the condescending tone in which its generally asked. I’ve seen child advocates fight about the interests and well being of children who all the while languish in long term institutional settings. And now apparently it’s a sin to not have cable and get DVD’s from the library.

Person 1: “My family gave up cable a year ago to save money. We still watch the local news on the free TV and some of our DVD’s”
Person 2: “Oh yeah, well we gave up our TV’s altogether by selling them in a garage sale.”
Person 3: “Oh yeah! Well we burned all of our TV’s in the back yard while dancing around them naked and chanting.”
Super Exemplar Person 4: “OH YEAH! Well I’ve never even seen a TV--ever. And I moved to the Outback of central Australia where TV waves won’t even inadvertently penetrate my house.”

Since when did an extreme become the standard or ideal? Or for that matter, when did there become an ideal? It is not enough that everyone tries to do their part: take the bus, recycle their pop cans, buy CFL’s, eat local etc. Instead many on the left seem to perpetuate gross stereotypes by extolling the virtues of an aesthetic set of inapproachable extremes. These are the types who pick at Thoreau as being too urban and civilized for his living close to town and having regular visitors, or Gandhi for not doing enough to assist all levels of India’s diverse caste system; really, I mean REALLY!?! No wonder more moderate or conservative Americans reject many of the causes and values of the liberal agenda, despite that fact that your average American probably agrees with them. I bet you’d be hard pressed to find people that don’t believe that: we should use less energy, we should do more to protect endangered species, we could take better care of our water and air, we should be more attentive to the chemicals in our food. There are those who are oblivious and those who are not informed, and then there’s probably the majority; silently agreeable yet reluctant to be more vocal for fear of the judgment and derision of the extremes.

But the worst part is that this end fighting ultimately only leads to inaction or ineffectiveness. It becomes a distraction from the actual issue itself. The left seems to tear itself apart and implode, which shouldn’t be too surprising when you think about it. Rather than building a movement of diverse efforts along an entire spectrum of action, you’ve got factions. The extremes won’t associate with the moderates (because they’re not extreme enough--in fact they’re viewed to be part of the problem) and the moderates disassociate themselves from the extremes because they’re polarizing.

“Can’t we all just get along?” It seems somewhat of a trite sentiment, but perhaps there is still value to asking the question. What more could be accomplished with more understanding and support within these movements than jockeying and ‘yardsticking’ for the who’s who of exemplary activism. I suppose there will always be those who think more should be done, and find frustration at the sight of those who aren’t as impassioned or as angry as themselves. And yet no one can do it all. If we don’t acknowledge the efforts of all then we ultimately squander the efforts of both the large and small contributor: united we stand, divided we fall as someone once said. “Oh yeah, but I bet I can fall the most…” "Oh no, I'll fall the most...just watch."

This Place

2010-09-08T16:11:00.000-07:00

Yesterday on the road in to Crested Butte I passed an old farmer out digging in his kitchen garden. He held his shovel firmly and stabbed it at the ground with precision, attempting to extricate some plant or weed. He was singly focused on his task whatever it may have been. The prior day I saw a similar fellow doing something equally mysterious, albeit assuredly productive, in his garden on the windy slog into Gunnison. This gentleman looked up from behind his white picket fence and gave me a wave. He wore overalls, a straw hat, the entire works. His old farmstead still held some of the polish and pride of its former years though I couldn’t see any livestock in the field or horses in the corral. I’ve seen a number of such figures along my route across Colorado. From the gathering of ’old-timers’ in Holly to the man I saw digging yesterday, they all appear at a glance to be of a similar generation, remnants if you will, of a prior era.

Another common sight amidst the grandeur and natural beauty of Colorado is the ‘For Sale’ sign. Usually advertising large lots, ranches, farms and other rural properties they generally appear with great regularity along the route I‘ve traveled. Even today descending Kebler Pass the first real ‘sign’ of civilization I saw amongst the vast unspoiled beauty of that wilderness was a Remax sign: “140 Acres for Sale, borders National Forest Land.” Some advertise development opportunities for subdivisions, others like many that I’ve seen riding around the streets of Paonia, offer what I’d imagine are great deals on largely depressed and neglected properties. “Its hard to make a living here,“ a fellow cyclist told me while I was at the car wash today, rinsing the layers of mud from my bike. I imagine that’s why folks can’t afford to stay here.

Juxtaposed together, the images of aging farmers and signposts of rural flight, I’m left wondering what might happen to these places in another 10 to 20 years. When all of the old farmers have tilled their last field, baled their last round bale, or raised their last herd of cattle what will become of their land? With so many other properties already on the market it’s a toss up as to what will happen to these rural landscapes in the future. What is becoming more clear is that fewer people are opting for farming and ranching as a lifestyle. Our society largely disregards the work, we undervalue the end product in our demand for cheap food and it is becoming increasingly more costly to acquire land, work it and keep it. Land values have sky rocketed out in western Colorado even despite the economic downturn. Property adjacent to National Forest or resort land is in high demand, and often current landowners struggle to keep pace with the increasing property tax demand of their valuable asset. As Wendell Berry once noted, land doesn’t make you any money until you sell it…and then what? You may have made enough with the sale of your property to pay off your debts and settle your affairs but your lifestyle is gone.

And with the sale of those properties to a real estate developer, venture capitalist or industrial agricultural enterprise something is taken from the landscape, erased from the living memory of these wide open places. You can see the progression of the lifestyle in this part of the country with the changing style of home found on these properties. The oldest, and often frequently abandoned, boast only a small cabin, log or timber, and broken down fencing. The focus of these old lots was the large bank style barn, network of corrals and pens. Simple and straightforward these structures are often still standing if not fully functioning. Then there are the 50’s, 60’s and 70’s era homes, more solidly constructed yet showing their age and wear, often times more clearly than their older counterparts. There’s a continuity of purpose to these structures, however they represent the travails of the costlier forms of modern agriculture. Expensive facilities, equipment and miscellaneous junk often litter the lots; so much hope and promise banked on new methods and technologies which never delivered. And then there are the new developments, vacation properties, sprawling homes packaged with acreage and a Morton building. Everything you need to plug into the country for a quick escape before you jet back to the city for ‘real life’. I imagine it is hard to build a sense of community when many of your property owners don’t actually live here. They aren’t interested in the place as much as the location.

Wineries, orchards and small farm plots fill the North Fork Gunnison valley trailing down from Paonia to Hotchkiss and Delta. These small communities feature a tight network of new farmers, individuals attempting to rekindle the agricultural spirit of the west using new tools such as CSA’s, organic methods, agritourism and strong local farmer markets. Thanks in large part to a wetter than average summer, the valley is an explosion of color as well as a bounty of fruit and vegetables. Just riding around the town of Paonia one can see orchards full of apples and peaches, small home gardens brimming over with squash, corn, tomatoes, beans and pumpkins. Every neighborhood plot here in this town surrounded by farms seems to have some connection to growing and food production. Perhaps I’m reading too much into an afternoon’s worth of visiting. Perhaps I’m secretly hoping that this community is in fact coming back from the dead, rebuilding its community roots. “Its like stepping back into the 50’s. Its smaller here, but closer,” I was told by an 11 year resident of Paonia. He still keeps a property in Golden, but admitted he can’t stand to go back any more. While this valley of farms, small businesses and local enterprise lies well across the state from my home it gives me hope that this quieter, friendlier, more neighborly form of existence might still make it, and it will do so without the benefits of a ski resort or destination theme resort hotbed. It gives me hope that the bedroom communities and sprawling burbs may not quite get to every corner of the state. That when the old timers are gone, a generation of new timers will be there to take their place; their place of being and not just their location.

You can get updates on my travels across Colorado by bicycle at http://www.spokedintheeye.blogspot.com/ or use the link to the right.

Damn You Angry Winds

2010-08-30T20:24:00.000-07:00

So what happens to the tallest tomato plants on the block (the tallest Fran has ever seen remember) when a low pressure front storms through the neighborhood propelled by 30-40mph gusts? Well they just flop right over. Or they pull their cages out of the ground and flop over. Or they have a fit and throw their half ripened fruit all over the garden. Or they just kind of bend and wither slowly...a half flop, half snap.

Both Saturday and Sunday (Sunday particularly it seemed) featured late afternoon bouts of heavy winds as a tease of rainless clouds amassed above our house and then passed us by for two days in a row. So on top of no precipitation, which we're sorely lacking, we got a tomato bending kick in the teeth as a courtesy. This morning on my usual rounds through the garden, the water and weed patrol, I surveyed the havoc. I righted three plants, resetting their cages back in the beds and then tried to prop up the now weeping vines. This afternoon I returned home with a renewed conviction to make things right. I purchased 4 large garden stakes from Ace and created a perimeter of twine to hang the vines on and stop them from flopping over on themselves. Hopefully this will help the plants at least finish the season with the fruit they've produced thus far. I also pruned the hell out of the lower branches of several of our plants, hoping to increase air flow and assist in the ripening of the remaining fruit. We'll see what happens in the coming days. Hopefully they don't kick the bucket before the fruit finishes. If I had light left to keep pruning I would have taken pictures but as it stands I pruned until I couldn't see sucker from main stem (a dangerous proposition) so no pics today. Its not a pretty sight anyway.

Saturday Mornings

2010-08-28T08:22:00.000-07:00

I can wake up at 6:00 on the weekends with a precision and enthusiasm that makes my weekday self interminably jealous. Weekday Jason is Lazarus waiting patiently for the call back to life. Weekend Jason is Lazarus up and doing the hokey pokey. Today was no exception to this rule. After quickly shepherding Presta out of the bedroom so Kate could continue to snooze (Bean can get up at 6:00 every day and indeed thinks all days should start promptly at 5:45am with running around and rolling on the floor) I wander out to the living room to sit down on the couch. Last night we ate chicken burritos with fresh corn from the garden. The night before it was jerk chicken with cucumber and zucchini salad, fresh cherry tomatoes providing the garnish. I can see more tiny red orbs on the tomato plants from my spot on the couch: the promise of more garnish yet to come. The zucchini leaves are starting to show their age. The corn stalks are beginning to brown at the base. I should be able to get our third cutting of broccoli florets off the stalks this morning, but that may likely be the end of their performance. On the other hand, in the cool season beds I expect to see even more lettuce, chard and spinach shoots than the day before: before too long these tiny sprouts will be all that remains of our lush summer garden.

The thermometer reads 63 degrees outside: a warm morning but the patchwork of clouds implies a cooler day. I make coffee from the remnants of a few different bags, which I generally reserve for such occasions when I’m out of anything better and coffee stew will suffice. I flip back through issues of Grit, focusing on the articles towards the back that I only glossed over my first time through: an article about home brewing beer, a story about direct sale dairy production, nature profiles of bullfrogs and snipe. If I look just out the window I can see the tops of corn stalks, our towering tomato plants and sprawling raspberry brambles. I can blur my vision slightly to erase the chain link fence and backyard neighbor from my view. I can close my eyes and distract my head from the sounds of traffic, sirens, the constant hum of motors in the background. Its as if I’m almost in another place; sipping my delicious coffee concoction, enjoying the cool morning breeze through the screened window, content with my work for the week long enough to enjoy a Saturday morning on the couch before the full advent of day draws me back outside in search of more to do.

Gotta love Saturday’s.

Garden Update

2010-08-21T08:45:00.000-07:00

With my recent bout of blog-negligence I’ve not posted any pictures of our garden in a while. So today after I went out to check on things (make sure its still there and all) and water everything in preparation for the 95 degree bake-off to come later in the day, I took some pictures of the health and productivity of the garden. Below are a couple of the highlights.

Our little pumpkin patch.

The pumpkins are doing well now that I've turned off the sprinklers in that part of the yard and been more resolute in my pinching off of blooms and new vines. We've got 5 very promising, large pumpkins ripening and several more that should make it to the small to medium size category. If the temp stays warm and the days dry, these should do well in the remaining months before Halloween.

Pumpkins have proved a bit challenging to grow. Initially I was concerned they were not getting enough sun, and they may not have been who knows. Feeding them was also somewhat dicey as well as they require fertilizer at strategic points in their development, same thing with watering. My biggest problem has been keeping them dry with some of the rain, watering and cooler days we've had recently. We've lost two already to rot. These guys, now resting on small plywood boards, are comfortably off the ground enough to keep dry and grow nice and big.

King Corn as Michael Pollan described it. Corn is another new one for me that I'm not sure if I'm doing quite right. If I had it to do over I'd have fed it more at the beginning and watered it a tad less towards the end. We've got ears but our stalks are starting to look a bit starved and the fruit isn't quite large enough just yet. I pulled off one ear the other day to reveal wonderfully plump kernels, but they probably would have benefited from more time on the stalk. I've also got some succumbing to borers or some other bugs. We use an organic safe pesticide but its just not cutting it on this one. In the foreground you'll see our broccoli, freshly topped off yesterday afternoon. We're having some friends over this afternoon for a BBQ and one of the main dishes will be freshly steamed, garden broccoli: yum!

According to various web sources the world's tallest tomato plant was grown in England to a height of 65 ft by a fertilizer company (go figure). So mine aren't tall enough to be the world's tallest, but according to Fran behind us they're the tallest tomato plants she's ever seen. I'm kind of proud of that fact, though now we're left with a giant jungle canopy of intertwined tomato plants. Our heirloom cherries, brandywine and yellow plants are doing well enough though they're not ripening with the rapidity I'd hoped for. Some of you might be thinking, "Well you fertilized too much and got all leaf and no fruit." Well to any doubters I'd have you know we've actually got 6ft tall plants loaded with fruit as well as blossoms yet to bear fruit. We've had a sporadic summer and inconsistent temperatures so I blame my lack of ripening on that. I also think that next year I will space the plants farther apart from each other and probably not use my raised beds any more. I also will need to either buy more and bigger cages or go rogue and build my own trellising system.

Another view of the mass with my random carrots and cool season beds ready to go. The wire mesh over the bed is used to keep neighborhood cats out of my planters...nasty little things cats.

Now that's what I'm talking about. Kate likes to think that we've actually produced a lot of cherries...but they've just not made it into the house. There may be more truth to that than she knows! I can't help it, quality control is a job I take very seriously.

2010-08-19T20:01:00.000-07:00

The other night after a late dinner I walked outside to check on the garden and noticed that the light had faded from the horizon; the sun long since set behind the row of homes and trees behind us. Summer is winding down. It is clear from the shortening days, the cooler evenings, and the crispness in the air in the morning that we’re on the downward slope into fall. The neighborhood schools start tomorrow (odd to start on a Friday I thought), and they will be the last of the local metro districts to start. I generally enjoy this time of year the most as fall is my favorite season, but with so much summer seemingly left to soak in it was starting to stop and realize the depth into August that we’ve traveled thus far.

So once again the flurry of busy summer activity will recede and calm as the slow, pleasant days of fall take over and signal an end to the busy summer months. At that point my blog "minions," I’ll be back and writing again more regularly…I promise.

With that I’ll offer a quick recap of some of the more recent events and going’s on with us.

Our garden is still thriving and doing amazingly well. We’ve now got broccoli, one ripe ear of corn, several growing pumpkins, thriving squash and cucumber, tomatoes ripening and cool season veggies on the way. Thus far it has been a productive and enjoyable gardening season. We’re actively in search of bargain canning equipment to begin preserving some of the fruits of this season’s labors. As brave as Kate has been in trying daring new zucchini recipes, this week I resorted to taking it in to work and foisting it onto my team and co-workers: next year fewer zucchini plants.

This month I’ve begun prepping and preparing for my solo ride across Colorado the first week of September. I did a solo camping effort where I rode up from Denver with a full complement of gear, crossed Squaw Pass and descended down towards Idaho Springs where I camped for the evening and then climbed back up the US 40 route back to Denver; about 92 miles of riding round trip with a significant amount of climbing (under load) the first day. Two weeks ago Kate and I did a ride around the entire metro area; myself loaded with a slightly lighter pannier and front bag load and Kate with her regular commuting set up. My intent was to ride on the flats a long distance in incredibly hot weather with a bit of weight for added enjoyment. We accomplished both tasks making a giant circle around Denver totaling 112 miles. Also in preparation for the trip, I ordered a new Tubus Logo rear rack for my bike. Capable of carting around 80lbs on the rear rack alone I’m now a bit closer to being ready for my journey.

We’ve done several odds and ends projects around the house, mainly cleaning, weeding, mowing, and weeding again. We got some solar lights on clearance at Home Depot last week and added a bit of flair to the backyard. And we resealed our countertops: thrilling stuff. When not blowing our minds with adventures such as weeding and sealing, Kate and I have made a couple little trips about town to see different things. Last weekend we went down to the Chatfield Botanic Gardens to walk around the old homestead and check out the large Community Supported Agriculture garden down on the grounds. We enjoyed a completely sunny day but without the oppressive heat of previous weekends. Last night we went and saw one of my favorite bands from my high school punk rock days: Screeching Weasel. It was Kate’s first punk rock show and while she joked that both the music and I were now ‘Vintage’ we had a good time and the band put on a decent gig for a bunch of lightly aged punk rockers. (The lightly aged crowd did pretty well too.)

So as I try to squeeze every bit of the day out of the sunlight that remains I’m finding it leaving more and more day with less and less sun. So it is back to the indoors and the comfort of the keyboard. It is exciting having so much to do from day to day, but it does feel good to have some time to sit back and reflect as well. And while the keyboard doesn’t seem all that dusty to me, I suppose it has been a while. But I suppose that’s all in the past now: I’ll talk to you again soon.

Below are some pictures from our trip to the Chatfield gardens.

Storms A Coming

2010-07-29T19:52:00.000-07:00

"Sweet summer rain. Like God's own mercy."
O Brother Where Art Thou

Although the clouds first rolled in around 4:00, carried on the current of cool, northern wind, the ominous, grey-black wall now looming over what I’d guess to be Golden finally affirms that mother nature apparently means business. These clouds serve as a good metaphor for mood as of late: tumultuous and unsettled. I am agitated about something and for lack of any real indication as to what that something might be I instead affix as my target any convenient patsy. Lightening can apparently strike anywhere, and with my current state of disquietude there’s certainly a stockpile of bolts for tossing around at folks. I suppose this is fair as it is the time of year for unsettled weather, therefore a time for being a bit disturbed or off kilter. July is after all Colorado’s rockiest season. Ok that was a bad pun, but it illustrated the point. I only need to reflect back on the images of last year’s devastating micro burst and hail fiasco to confirm this. While it is easy to focus on the destructive aspect of these storms, there is a restorative and rejuvenating side to them as well. The frontal lows bring cooling winds to wipe away the smog, heat and dust of the mid summer’s day. The cleansing rains replenish the soil, quench the thirst of animal and vegetable alike and therefore carry with each drop the assurance of another day of life. And while, when amplified, these monsoonal events can leave a swath of devastation in their wake, all is not entirely lost. So I suppose I’ll just rise and fall along with the barometer and hope that eventually September will arrive and calmer winds will prevail. Perhaps then I too will feel these restorative effects with the passing of our mid summer storms…gray skies are going to clear up…Good grief: I wasn’t quite cheered enough for that one. Here’s a bolt for your’s truly for a bad pun and Singing in the Rain allusion. And now I suppose I do feel a little better.

Clear Creek Historic Park

2010-07-26T18:07:00.000-07:00

Sunday we rode out to Golden to check out “Buffalo Bill Days.” The weekend festival commemorates the history of Buffalo Bill and the wild west by encouraging people to shop for knick-knacks, eat meat on a stick and look at classic cars. The festival in and of itself was nice enough and some of the old cars were actually really neat, but we didn’t stick around too long. Instead we went and had lunch at the Windy Saddle Café and then ambled down to the Clear Creek Historic Park to check on the progress of their gardens.

Operated by the Golden History Museum, the park offers a real-life entreat into a microcosm of pioneer life. Every summer a corps of volunteers (and I presume a few paid staff) support the living history exhibit at the park by hosting school groups, reenacting settler life and keeping the garden at the park. Centered around a handful of authentic pioneer buildings, the park includes a livestock pen, chicken coop and sprawling garden. While we didn’t see any demonstrations or living historians on Sunday we did get a chance to roam around and see what progress the gardeners had made this season.

Checking out the strawberry patch.

One of the historic timber buildings at the park.

Timbers half-lapped and dovetailed for a tight fit.

Little train which runs on weekends along Clear Creek.

A great trellis design for tomatoes. Each tomato plant is wrapped around a strand of twine, held up by these A-Frames.

While the Clear Creek garden certainly surpasses ours in terms of scenic beauty and variety of vegetables, we seem to be similar in terms of what is blooming or ripening. This gives me a degree of comfort in terms of gauging the progress of our season so far. There is certainly no ‘greener’ envy than garden envy.

No Need to Be Frightened

2010-07-21T19:49:00.000-07:00

This evening I watched a guy in a “Psych Ward” t-shirt and his compatriots loving craft a scarecrow out of a pair of Goodwill jeans, old boots and a flannel hoodie. Then he reminisced fondly at the sight of a faded blue crowbar in the back of Jim’s truck: just like the one he used to have for busting out car stereos. Not exactly reflections on Walden Pond, but the crew got a good laugh out it. They stuffed the scarecrow full of trash bags containing packing peanuts from Kate’s work and even used an old basketball for the head. The portly and somewhat anatomically correct scarecrow ‘man’ certainly doesn’t conjure up wholesome images of Oz, but definitely reflects the pride and enthusiasm with which this year’s crew of guys have taken to their weekly garden forays. I didn’t have the camera because it was actually supposed to rain all day today but next week I will definitely take pictures.

In any case, Breaking Ground is thriving again on second chance soil with second chance gardeners. We’ve been harvesting full grocery bags of lettuce, kale, swiss chard and spinach. Now that these cooler season friends are finally leaving us we’re starting to spot our first tomatoes and pumpkin blossoms. Painstakingly tended each week by residents of the Independence House half-way house the garden is in good hands. Jim keeps the crew supplied with tools, $.99 cookies and the worst knock-off, generic soda you could imagine. It has been a great season so far and we’re only about half way through. Running out of building projects and garden tasks (other than weeding, watering and harvesting) it will be interesting to see what the crew comes up with next week…before we left they suggested that our scarecrow needs a girlfriend: good times down on the farm.

Rainy Afternoon

2010-07-20T19:03:00.000-07:00

A welcome cold front crept in to the Denver area overnight and ushered the heat wave of this past weekend off into memory. With the 70 degree temps also came much appreciated rainfall. We’ve had a wetter than average summer, at least by my calculations, and this afternoon’s bit of moisture came at the right time.

Very faint double rainbow.

I don’t know if our garden has ever looked better. Well actually last year it was looking pretty good at this point and then heavy winds and hail came and tore it all to shreds…that was about this time in July too… In any case, for the moment, we have three healthy rows of corn, a raised bed chock full of potatoes, zucchini, three varieties of tomatoes in bloom, carrots, sage, thyme, basil, pumpkins, kale, peas (can’t believe we’re still getting peas), eggplant, broccoli and cucumbers (-1 one that Zin killed today while digging and wallowing in the bed). With the devastation of last year’s storm our raspberry canes were reduced to just a few for this season’s harvest. We had enough to enjoy, give to our neighbors and taste while picking and weeding. Next year though this year’s set of new canes should offer quite the bounty, assuming all continues to go according to plan.

One Hot Weekend...In Pictures

2010-07-19T20:18:00.000-07:00

No you've not wandered into one of "those" sites, by hot I actually mean scalding...or boiling...or roasting...whichever word you'd care to describe the 102 degree heatfest we had on Saturday. In preparation for the certain death to come in the great Denver Metro basin over the weekend we opted to loaded our crew up into the Vanagon and seek solace somewhere cooler. We made our way up to the Peak to Peak highway from Golden (avoiding the route up through bike banning Black Hawk) and made our way out to Rollinsville. From there we went west along the gravel road to the base of Rollins Pass where good camping could be found...and the Vanagon quite frankly could go no further. Here are some pics of the weekend. (Sorry I've not been posting much lately...I'm going to work on that. For now content yourself with some stunning images of some of Colorado's more scenic places and two goofy people and a dog.)

The old school house in Tolland heading out to Rollins Pass

We tucked in on a small lane and set up our camp near a large stream.
Note the homemade awning action.

Vanagon in the bush.

We went for a hike after we got settled. Kate and Presta left the photographer behind.

Rollins Pass and the Moffat Road were used for the construction of the Moffat Tunnel.

These buildings were used by railroad and tunnel workers back in the day.
They also apparently played basketball.

The Moffat railway tunnel is still used and takes you from Denver to Winter Park and beyond.

On our hike we found plenty of water to cool off the Bean.

More wonderfully cold water. Bean is refreshed.

Dark Eyed (Grey Headed) Junco

We hiked up above tree line to a series of mountain lakes.

White Capped Sparrow

The scenery was impressive.

I took the path up to Roger's Pass along the ridge (11,800ft ish).

Day two we opted to sit by the stream and hang out.

Bean was again pretty refreshed.

American Dipper

We enjoyed ourselves in the cool mountain air immensely and were very disappointed when we had to leave Sunday afternoon and head back home...to the sweltering 98 degree sun. At least next time the temperature soars you'll know where to start looking for us.

Beaver Brook Trail from Windy Saddle

2010-06-27T20:58:00.000-07:00

Untitled

Ensnared by your verdant undergrowth
I stand mesmerized at the entrance to your kingdom.
My senses overwhelm me.
Warm, rocky earth under foot,
A cool whispering breeze spoken sweetly against my face,
The smells of soil, dust, a hint of pine,
Honeysuckle and primrose,
I can see the path before me for a moment
Then diving deep into your wooded dell it hides itself;
Then I close my eyes and am surrounded,
Enveloped, enraptured--
Birdsong, squirrels playing in the canopy
A bee buzzing in pursuit of sugary delights
Your softly whispering summer winds
Calling out to me, beckoning--
Breath quickens in anticipation
But one step and I am lost,
Here I am.

--jlm 6/2010

Decided to go on a hike today and I sure picked a great day to get out and wander a rocky trail for a while. I've tried to capture some of the splendor of the days sights, sounds, feelings above in words and below in images. Enjoy!

Lazuli Bunting

Yellow Breasted Chat

Blue Gray Gnatcatcher

If you open this image it almost looks like he's staring at me.

Mountain Chickadee

Verrry bizzare birds

Stellar's Jay, though the blue doesn't really come through in this shot.

Western Tanger

This guy was raising the alarm so I snapped this pick (with flash) without even looking. I think he was surprised.

Columbine

Just in time for the 5:00 shower.

Rufous Sided Towhee singing his heart out.

"To Hell You Ride"

2010-06-21T19:41:00.001-07:00

If you were a miner in the late 1800's Telluride, Coloardo may very well have seemed like hell. However, for the bluegrass loving aficionado of the 21st century Telluride is heaven on earth. Kate and I just got back from 5 days in lovely San Miguel County Colorado. The week was one of the most relaxing, entertaining, awe inspiring I've had in a good long while. I could drone on in words for quite a while but figure images might better convey the message.

Before that I will just add the following tidbits of wisdom learned from the week at the Telluride Bluegrass Festival:

There is no such thing as too much shit in the car when it comes to the Telluride Bluegrass Festival: bring it all.
2 days early is really 3 days late when it comes to choice camp sites.
A good festival chair is worth its weight in gold and a bad one will just poke you in the ass all weekend.
Sometimes the best show is not on the main stage (the Carolina Chocolate Drops show at the Fly Me to the Moon Saloon Saturday night was one of the best shows I've ever seen).
The Tarp Run is fun but by the afternoon no one cares about your tarp and they'll just come stand on it anyway so save yourself the sleep.
Ear plugs are the festivarians best friend.
Town Park is the ONLY way to go.
And the best advice, particularly to all the amateurs sunburned and passed out by Saturday, its a marathon not a sprint: pace yourself.

And now some pretty (and not so pretty but entertaining) pictures.

We got to 'Town Park' on Tuesday and set up camp.

Wednesday we opted to go for a hike to see some waterfalls.

This is a waterfall with a Kate in front if it lurking in the bushes.

You could walk right up and stand beneath some of the spray. (Note how its falling straight down for Kate)

The wind changed directions for me and I got soaked with snow melt...brrrrr.

We wandered up "Wasatch Trail 508" and came to more falls. Note the cool, sketchy bridge.

Just some random picture of God's Country. You can just make out Telluride below in the distance.

The festival attracted folks from everywhere.

Here's a young man from my home town...he loves Missouri too.

This fellow arrived recently from the Congo.

I have no idea where he's from but he has a way with the ladies.

There was music by fine musicians, like Keller Williams.

And there were many other off-shoot collaborations...yes that is Ed Helms on banjo.

The festival brought together cultures from around the world.

And was not with out some daily exercise in the form of the 'tarp run'

And there were plenty of opportunities for sitting around in camp and hanging out with the locals.

Couldn't have asked for a better week, a better place, better people, better music or better memories...more time on the other hand would have been perfect.

Rain Delay Day 2

2010-06-13T11:42:00.000-07:00

Nature forced yet another break again today. When I got up this morning it was again pouring, a repeat of yesterday morning. So for the second day in a row I started my morning with a mug of coffee enjoyed while sitting on the couch watching the rain fall and the house sparrows feast at the bird feeder. They didn't seem to mind the rain too much so long as it meant a free meal. While I lounged indoors the population of birds at the feeder got pretty interesting (sparrows and house finches are not that interesting.) I tried to get some pictures of our latest visitors.

Our rufous-sided towhee friend came back this morning. I first saw him in the garden on Friday but Kate didn't believe me and he was on his way before I could show her. Well today she got to see him first hand.

He seems to like the bugs and worms on the ground, and he hops about in an interesting way. Kind of an odd looking bird he has a whole range of markings.

I didn't quite get the camera on the right setting to get all the detail in his coloring, but this is close enough. He didn't hang around too long after giving our garden the once over for worms, slugs and what not. Shortly thereafter we got a visit from this big fella. I couldn't help but hear the voice of the Wild Bill character from The Green Mile in my head, "You sure are a great big f@#$er where'd you come from?" just before David Morse's character beats him in the head with a billy club. This picture only lends itself to that comparison, especially when you see the way the sparrow on the far right's head is craned to view the newly arrived giant Northern Red-Shafted Flicker.

The Flicker sure had a hard time feeding on our feeder, but that didn't stop her from trying (we think its a female because it lacked the black markings, or moustache, by its beak. So I guess 'big fella' isn't quite fair). We'll need to get a different feeder for some suet blocks if we're going to be better hosts.

Not much phases the sparrows who didn't seem to mind sharing with their large friend. I think they're still probably out there (the flicker is gone) and may very well hang out all day. If the rain doesn't stop soon I won't get to tackle any of my lawn and garden activities before our trip next week. It will likely look like wild kingdom then when I return, with the towhees, flickers, sparrows and tigers lurking around in the tall grass and weeds.

While not a tiger per se, Zin is a feeder stalking, grass prowling, bird killing machine...that is if he's not watched like a hawk or trampled over by Presta Bean, who really doesn't care much about birds but who has a penchant for squirrels and serves as an effective "cat alarm."

The prey...

Presta hates squirrels.

Houston you are go for launch.

Nature Forces a Break

2010-06-12T10:30:00.000-07:00

Wow May 22nd was a long time ago…sorry for the hiatus. Last night a cold front moved in to the Denver area to offer a reprieve from the stretch of dry, hot days we’ve ‘enjoyed’ recently. This morning I awoke to a gently falling rain and heavy overcast sky. I guess I’ll have to put those garden plans on hold. So here I find myself watching house sparrows and grackles pick seed out of the feeders (tossing what they don’t like on the ground for the squirrels) and I have a moment to post some updates.

Our garden is coming along quite nicely. With the stretch of warm weather all of our late spring and early summer planting is finished. I need to sow carrots again and still plan to plant some cucumber but I think everything else is in the ground if not already up and flourishing. It seemed that we leapt over a true spring and went from cold and dreary to 90 degrees in maybe a week. So I’m quite impressed that we have peas still trying to make a go of it; they’ll appreciate the cold weather this weekend. On the less hearty end of the spectrum, all of our lettuce just about ran its course. We left for Missouri with the prospect of lettuce and came home at the end of the weekend to the prospect of bolting. So we got cutting and have had two weeks of non-stop salad eating thanks to all of the lettuce, spinach and kale harvested at about the same time. I think there were days when Kate had salad for just about every meal: she definitely did her part to not waste the flavorful greens. As an experiment, I did some internet research and found that spinach and kale can both be frozen relatively easily. So I blanched some of the deep red veined spinach and hearty kale and put it in freezer bags for preservation. If that works we’ll have garden fresh greens at the height of summer when everyone else is either doing without or importing it from green houses or colder climes.

Red veined spinach ready for blanching

Big headed...lettuce that is

Cherry tomatoes ready for summer!

Our raspberries return!

Our potatoes prefer this raised bed to last year's location in ground

Carrots in the foreground, kale and sage behind.

The Breaking Ground project has seen some challenges this season but is doing really well. We’ve struggled a bit with some of the volunteer coordination with our halfway house sponsor, but with a new system for communication in place things seem to be going well. Last Wednesday the volunteer gardeners took back to their house 5 large bags of fresh bib and leaf lettuce, spinach, swiss chard and kale. We planted some of our tomato and broccoli seedlings, sowed some radishes in the shadier back beds and got the ground ready for squash and corn. It never ceases to amaze me what grows and flourishes on a plot of land that two years ago was a vacant, trashed lot and remnant of a burned out building. Hell my swiss chard never came up this season despite my best efforts and attention to soil, water etc., yet it thrived at Breaking Ground. Mother Nature must be more charitably minded than I thought.

Buried manifold: a worse sign.

This is not a good sign.

Last weekend I got a lesson in sprinkler system repair. I thought I’d have myself a very productive Sunday of mowing, weeding, watering, planting. I got the mowing down and then turned my attention to the sprinkler system. I started fixing what I thought were just broken heads but soon discovered was an issue with the valve manifold. Part of the problem was that I couldn’t find the valve manifold for the backyard. I later discovered it buried in the ground under a couple random pavers in the backyard which I was always curious about but had never investigated. In modern systems these valves are usually in a box, nice and tidy and not covered in dirt and ants. I spent most of my Sunday (which was like 98 degrees) meticulously excavating the ancient brass manifold and then researching whether I could get a replacement diaphragm for the leaking valve. No such luck, my 1976 oddly sized, brass relic belongs in a museum; manufacturers stopped making replacement diaphragms for this system back in the late 80’s. Cursing Roger Cook from This Old House, who’s web video for manifold repair made this project look so easy, I decided to rebuild the entire sprinkler manifold myself. I did a pretty good job of piecing the parts together but learned some valuable lessons in the process. First, its better to match the spacing of the old valve manifold than try and get all fancy and shrink things down with the replacement; because the second lesson is that the black plastic sprinkler tubing, at short lengths at least, is not very flexible. I fought tubing for an entire evening on Monday to get everything to connect together again. It also pays to be REALLY thorough about testing the fit of your pieces up front. I didn’t fully tighten some of my valve connections so I’ll be redoing them…when it dries out after all the rain (at least the ground is getting watered somehow).

Excavating a valve

My museum piece or brass recycling donation

Pretty new valves...spaced too close together but hey...

So we’ve been busy enough and in my book have earned a bit of a vacation. Coincidentally we’re heading to Telluride for the Bluegrass Festival next week, so we won’t have to wait too long to get one. If it ever stops raining hopefully I can finish my sprinklers and drip system for the week we’re gone, mow the lawn so its manageable when we return and make one last effort against the weeds before they get a vacation too and rise up against me in my absence. By Monday night it will be one well earned trip.

Wilderness Time

2010-05-22T20:46:00.000-07:00

This week I finished Melissa Walker’s, Living on Wilderness Time. Kate picked it up for me from the library several weeks ago, and after an extension or two I finally managed to get through it. That it took me what seemed like an eternity to finish it in no way speaks to the quality of Walker’s book, but rather serves as a very real example of the central premise of it. I simply didn’t have the time to get to it.

An accomplished university professor, writer and environmentalist, in her early 50’s Walker reached a point where she’d achieved a successful family and professional life but found herself needing to reconnect with wilderness; a reminiscence of her life growing up in woods and wild places of Georgia. Recalling a series of trips taken while in her early 50’s, Living on Wilderness Time retraces Walker’s path and experiences while driving solo across America camping and hiking through many of its designated wilderness areas and parks. While on her first such journey she finds herself in the Rockies for the first time in many years and while camping in Wyoming begins to feel herself retreat from the hectic stresses and pressures of her life in Georgia. She calls this calming Wilderness Time. Wilderness Time speaks to the normal and natural rhythms of nature. It denies all schedules and organizational constraints; plays to the whims of weather and describes the manner in which living things, including people, can exist in concert with the environment around them. As idyllic as this sounds, throughout the book the concept of Wilderness Time comes to a head on several occasions, most severely when she returns home to the mail, emails, phone calls and obligations of her modern life, as well as when her husband comes out to meet her at several points in the middle of her travels. He brings with him the agendas, timetables, and rush of an existence quite dissimilar to Wilderness Time.

At this point I don’t even know if I could give any other description for Wilderness Time except by poaching Walker’s own narrative. I personally haven’t really seen it in a while. The past several weeks, really all of May, has passed in a complete haze. The month started with racing and an attempt to climb aboard the cycling season which already seems to have left me at the station. There was a trip up to Fort Collins, which while relaxing on some levels was still a flurry of activity: prepping to ride, riding, camping, making sure to get to race locations to watch Kate, heading home, meeting family for Mother’s Day and crashing at some point that evening. I don’t know how Kate did it all on top of running 26.2 miles. I was exhausted and hadn’t run a city block. In May my team has two work projects drawing to a close: an analysis and data modeling effort and a software deployment rolling out June 1st. We’ve been behind to some degree on both (when are you ever really ahead) so its meant several long nights writing queries, reviewing data, and testing functionality. On top of this I found out I’m losing one of my team members. After breaking this news she also had to take last week off (right at crunch time) for daycare reasons. So I got to do some extra fun things like covering a last minute training Friday afternoon. And then in the middle of all this you try and do those other little items, keep the house somewhat in order, get the garden started, keep the lawn mowed, remember to take out the trash and all that fun stuff. But really the house is a mess. The garden is behind where it should be and we were on a 4 week stretch where our recycling was piling up in the garage and on the counter because I kept forgetting to drag it down the driveway on recycling day. I guess you just roll with it.

But rolling with it isn’t exactly a flattering way to describe living; churning away on the great catch-22 treadmill of modern living isn’t as glamorous as its cracked up to be. Sometimes I find myself asking the, “how did I get here?” questions and then realize that all this ’success’ I’ve achieved was quite intentional and deliberate. I studied hard in high school and got into a good college. I made dean’s list, graduated with high honors, moved into a career, rose up through the ranks. I’m now a somebody. And to demonstrate my somebodyness I have a mortgage, rooms of stuff and ‘nice’ things and a lawn that needs mowing despite my distaste for grass. I have hobbies which keep me at the brink of exhaustion or dismemberment at all times…from stretching myself to try and do it all: the Wednesday night community garden sessions, training, racing, gardening at home, writing, reading…which brings me back to the start of this post. Finally piecing together enough evenings to finish Walker’s book, I could fully appreciate the position she too found herself in, struggling to understand for what exactly was she rushing around. I suppose I’m a bit more fortunate in some regards than Melissa. I’m 32 not 52: there’s still time…

I think people do a pretty cheap trade in the barter and quick sale of their tomorrows for what they think is of value today. I feel time really is much the same as money, neither are much good to you in great quantities if it is your nature to be wasteful. So, I’m not sure the answer necessarily lies in having more time, but rather in having a different approach to the time you currently have. I think Walker learned this by being out in the woods for months at a time. Wilderness Time is less ‘rush and then enjoy’ but more ‘enjoy without having to rush.’ I certainly don’t have this figured out myself, but hopefully at some point I will. And hopefully that time comes sooner rather than later. (I trust the irony of that last sentence wasn’t wasted on you…I’ve got a long way to go.)

My Breed Ban and Protectionist Nanny-State Rant

2010-05-14T20:55:00.000-07:00

This afternoon I found myself cruising the pages of the Denver Post online and came across an article about two veterans and a dog breeder suing the city of Aurora over the city’s ban on certain dog breeds. I read the article and dared myself not to scroll further down, keenly aware of some of the sentiment sure to be expressed in the article’s comments section. But I’m a glutton for punishment and the owner of a rescued pit mix: I scrolled.

Fundamentally something riles me up about the idea of a “concerned” group of citizens organizing to limit my personal freedoms because some moron is irresponsible. In an attempt at impartiality, here are some facts I dug up this afternoon from a series of websites which track dog bite statistics (largely from CDC sources). About 5,000,000 people were bitten by dogs in 2008. That is about the size of Colorado, and while an estimate, theoretically accounts for all dog bites for all types of breeds. According to the same CDC source 400,000 (less than the population of Denver) were considered serious and required medical treatment. Many of these bites do involve children, however young adult males are the population most frequently bitten. Most dog bites interestingly, occur at home. In 2007 there were 23 dog bite fatalities in the US and Canada and in 2008 there were 30. Colorado hasn’t had a dog related fatality in 5 years. So thanks to the news portraying stories of mauling with an ambulance chasing prowess akin to sharks who smell blood in the water, people now have this notion that dogs (and specific dogs at that) are out there mauling and killing people en masse. But this just isn’t true at least according to the facts. But the facts do say that Pit Bulls, Rottweilers, German Shepherds and Presa Canario’s accounted for 65% of US and Canadian dog bite fatalities: 19 of the 30 were attributed to this group. In 2009 a Pomeranian in California killed an infant…and that was probably the only one of those. These stats lead many to argue that while any dog can bite, when these large, aggressive breeds bite they cause far greater destruction. As a result of this 'fact' these breeds should be banned in order to protect the lives of innocent citizens and children.

In the county where I live, the same one that doesn't feel it appropriate for me to have a chicken in my yard (cause of flu and noise and dirtiness and stuff) I’m already required to register my dog and provide proof of vaccinations. I’m also subject to many municipal codes regarding: leash and restraint, barking, fencing, poop scooping etc. And if my dog was to be out roaming the neighborhood I’d be subject to citation for having a loose dog. But apparently these restrictions, which are applied to all dogs and dog owners equally, are not enough. It is not enough that I, as an adult, be expected to abide by these and for my neighbors or local animal control be in place to “call” on me should I be in violation. No, in Denver or Aurora I would simply not be allowed to have my dog because she COULD hurt someone and I MAY NOT be able to prevent this through training or other preventative measures. (Though I should point out that the breed ban so far does not apply to my city, I’m merely speaking philosophically at this point.)

So how much safer is Denver now with thousands of Pit Bulls confiscated and euthanized? Since Denver banned Pit Bulls they dropped their number of total reported dog bites to 305 in 2008. Thousands of dogs are being taken from owners and destroyed for the continued prevention of 300 bites? Now I certainly don’t want anyone to be bitten by anything, dog or otherwise, but 300 bites out of a population of 500,000 is a .06% per person bite rate. That's it? I find this kind of selective application of logic amusing. Here’s the proof as much as I can decipher it.

Pit Bulls are statistically more vicious and are physically (due to size, strength etc) more dangerous than other dogs.
Pit Bulls are unpredictable.
As a result of their unpredictability and level of “danger” they should not exist because anyone could be at risk.

Here’s some more of this brilliant logic.

Large SUV’s and Trucks are statistically more dangerous on the road than other cars (due to their size, blindspots, mass etc). (NHTSA 10 year census of traffic accidents indicates light trucks and large utility vehicles as 43% of the vehicles involved in 2007 traffic fatalities).
Drivers are unpredictable…especially when you toss in a DVD player, I-Phone, cup of Jo and some tunes.
As a result of their unpredictability and level of “danger” to society, trucks and utility vehicles should not exist because any of the millions of people using a road could be at risk.

Certainly one who frets at the .06% risk per half million of getting BITTEN by ANY DOG would virtually wet themselves at the 1 in 107 (4672 per 500,000 person or almost 1%) risk of getting into an injury related car accident. But of course I’m oversimplifying, you’re twice as likely to get bitten by a dog than you are to be KILLED in a car accident and obviously getting bitten is much worse than death therefore we should act decisively against these damned biting dogs!

Ok, now that I've got that out of my system, here’s the interesting point to all this. People don’t want to take the chance on a dog. A dog is unpredictable and no one knows if and when a dog will bite or who it will bite if it ever will. That is entirely true, as domesticated as they are dogs are animals and they inhabit a plane of existence that we do not quite understand. But more importantly, people don't really want to take the chance on a person either. People are equally, if not more, unpredictable than dogs. Let's face it, we kill 40,000 people a year on the roads in our cars and yet don’t feel any collective sense of responsibility for this fact. Its always “those careless people” and never the rest of us. Yet its not just car accidents, we make bridges which collapse, own guns which kill people, sign off on and package food which makes people sick, lose an oil platform in an ocean which ruins an ecosystem and a local economy. We make war. We destroy forests, species, our air. We do all these things and we even take animals and abuse the hell out of them until the point that they are like hair trigger explosives primed to go off at the slightest pressure. Yet WE are not the problem, because we feel that we can somehow legislate ourselves into a state of security against our neighbor and all the evils and ills they potentially represent. If the FDA stamps my food its ok to eat. If Congress approves it we can bomb some Iraqis and be more secure. If the EPA approves the mine next door the air is ok and water safe to drink. We legislate or rubber stamp ourselves into security. With the right argument and under the right circumstances we can take your children, your license, your home, your rights, and your dog. We don’t so much as expect responsibility as we prefer to hold people accountable. The great covenant community of the USA, the delusion that if I keep my neighbor from owning a potentially vicious dog then my children will be safer (.06% safer)…that is if I can also keep them out of the street, off of the neighbor’s trampoline, out of the sights of psychos who shoot kids at schools, away from diabetes causing processed foods, and of course out of the car.

We can bubble wrap our entire existence but the fact remains that life has an abrupt stop at the end. Its dangerous out there. And while this isn’t the jungle (with lions and tigers and t-rexes and pit bulls) it is still savage on many levels. Unfortunately the great human survival mechanism called society has transformed from a sense of mutual reliance upon, and respect for our neighbors to a hyper protectionist fearfulness. Do we fear the dogs or do we really fear each other? Do we fear being bitten or do we fear our own insecurities and tenuous grip on this fragile thing called life? I sure don’t know about the rest of you and what some may be afraid of, but speaking solely for myself I feel a little safer with my Presta Bean by my side.

I got a lot of this data from http://www.dogbitelaw.com/, the CDC and a Westword article from September 2009 on Denver's pit bull ban. The traffic data comes from National Highway Safety reports on traffic accidents and fatalities. They have great databases and spreadsheets on this information on their site as well as on the US Census and Vital Statistics page.

Vamping

2010-04-05T06:08:00.000-07:00

Its like tramping or camping but with a Vanagon. With both Kate and I out of work Friday on mandatory furlough, we chose to make the best of it and took the long weekend to go vamping. We picked Horsetooth Reservoir in Fort Collins as our destination of choice due to its relatively close proximity, low elevation and easy amenities for van camping. With the possibility of unpredictable spring weather (which predictably delivered) we chose what we thought would be a safe spot for a weekend away.

With all our gear (except the milk and the condiments…doh!) loaded up in the van we took off Friday morning. Outside of Longmont the front, passenger wheel blew and derailed our trip slightly while I swapped it out for the spare. Fortunately our first big lesson learned from our first Vanagon trip was: always check your spare tire. Our spare was good as gold and quickly we were back on our way. An aside to this little adventure, this is technically the 3rd flat we’ve had on the van (second blow out), I’m about to abandon the vintage, German 14”, alloy wheels and upgrade to something more substantial and hopefully safer. We rolled in to our campsite and found we had the entire north half of the Inlet Bay camp area to ourselves. What would be keeping people away from such a lovely camp site: could it be the gale force winds, freezing temperature and intermittent spurt of rain/snow? --nah.

We set up our site and quickly found ourselves huddled in the van to avoid the wind. While lounging inside, a green, 1978 Micro Bus rolled by and settled into the spot next to us: two German vans in an otherwise desolate campground (a third, ‘Bumblebee,’ would join us later, also a vintage Micro and friends of the green bus.) The Ranger couldn’t believe that we were the only two vehicles up there and we didn’t know each other. I attempted a fire the first night with little success: it lit but was really too cold to enjoy. We ate our dinner and again retreated into the confines of our Van to read, listen to some music and eventually go to bed.

The second day dawned sunny and calm. We ate scrambled eggs and toast for breakfast, straightened up the van and then went for what started out as morning stroll but what turned into a 3+ hour hike. The trail system around Horsetooth weaves its way north from the camp areas and heads towards Lory State Park. The park boasts nearly 30 miles of trails which are laid out well and clearly marked. We wandered north for a while along the valley near the lake and then backtracked our way to the Tower Trail. We decided to climb up about a mile and a half to a nice overlook where we could see the entire Reservoir, Fort Collins and Wyoming in the distance. Not prepared for such a hike we lacked water, food and other items which would have made it easier to press onward. Instead we descended back down to camp and ate some lunch. We spent the afternoon playing ladder golf (aka horse-balls) with two of the kids from the green bus. They got a kick out of playing and Kate crushed all competition and I sucked so badly that not even 10 year olds wanted to be on my team. By this point the wind was again howling and clouds were gathering atop the mountains to the west of us. It spit snow and sleet occasionally but eventually passed leaving just the wind and cold temperatures. I made a bigger fire which kept us warm well into the evening while we ate spaghetti, salad and homemade strawberry rhubarb cobbler for desert.

Sunday we woke to overcast skies and flurries: the crap was back and with a vengeance. The plan for the day was for me and the dog to hike while Kate got in a long run for her marathon training. We carbbed up on pancakes and got the van cleaned up to check out; for much of this we enjoyed a break of sunlight and the day seemed to be looking better.

When Kate was ready to head out for her run it began to snow. Thick grey clouds pooled into the valley from the north and looked to ruin the entire day. Frustrated with the weather we opted to pack it in and bail on Horsetooth for the day. This proved somewhat fortuitous as the weather back in Denver, while still windy, proved much, much warmer. Kate ended up running a loop around the hogback and I went up to Mt. Falcon to satisfy my hiking fix. Here are some pictures from my hike.

Mule Deer Grazing on the Hillside

I came across about a dozen of these picking and digging at a stand of pine. I believe they're White Breasted NutHatches.

Not sure what this guy is. I spotted several of these hiding in bushes.

And the trail leads ever onward...

PI Day

2010-03-14T10:37:00.000-07:00

I can vividly remember the first time I ever entered Kirkwood High School. I was in 6th grade. I might have gone to the gym once or twice before for basketball games and haunted houses, but never into the school itself. My mom dropped me off near the library along with other 6th and 7th grade students, we were there to take the PSAT. Why would 6th and 7th graders take a preparatory college entrance exam; for kicks I suppose? In fairness to memory we weren’t there to take the entire test, just the math portion. The Kirkwood school district offered ’gifted and talented’ students the opportunity to take the PSAT to test into an alternative math program offered over the summer. All of the eager college bound 12 year olds filed into the library for a couple hours to fill in scantron answer sheets for math questions they should have had no earthly way of knowing the answers to. Pencils down, tests over and back home to play in the backyard or do other such pre-teen boy things. Weeks later I found out I somehow tested in the 90th percentile…for high school students…and along with another boy from my middle school we were offered entrance into the program.

As an adult I can look back on the experience and judge it pretty critically, but at the time I just went with it. I got to ride my bike to the high school twice a week over the summer. They sold Vess soda for a quarter and candy during break (how they could get us to focus with that much sugar and Red Dye 45 coursing through our veins is beyond me) and we took advanced math courses: logic, number theory, sets, propositional calculus, algebraic theory. It wasn’t too bad. In hindsight the method of instruction, largely lecture oriented reinforced with repetitive practice and assignments, really didn’t work for me; it still doesn‘t. That didn’t matter at the time, I don’t think math education was really enlightened at that point. It wasn’t about how students individually learned but rather what they would be collectively taught: curriculum focused education. I’m not bad with written and spoken instruction, but I really excel visually. Show me a picture or let me get my hands on it and the brain will quickly follow. Luckily for me I also happen to have a razor sharp memory which allows me to recall the details and specifics of rules relatively well, as long as I spent the time to visualize and commit them to the file system. That was part of my problem, in the summer you really don’t want to be memorizing math theorems; at least I didn’t. I did pretty well with the number theory and sets problems: the diagrams were largely visual. I bombed logic until I simply committed to memory the rules and order of operations: blind repetition yielded more success than trying to understand the underlying rationale. I don’t actually recall if I did well or not, but they let me skip my 7th grade math classes to continue in the program so I couldn’t have done that badly.

I remember sitting out in the hallway during 7th grade math class when the rest of the students were in Mr. Horton’s Pre-Algebra course. I’d sometimes wander around the hallway, seeing how far down the hall I could get before Mr. Horton would come out and check on me. I’d do my math problems, write little stories, draw pictures. It was fun being by myself. It might help explain how I became somewhat of a social retard, but at that time I didn’t mind being isolated from the other kids at least for a period. I didn’t like many of them and some of the other boys weren’t particularly kind to me so there was no real love lost. It was not my destiny to fit in to their junior high crowd, for most this is not the case which is why middle school is such cruel experiment. At the end of junior high we transferred school districts. I took placement tests for high school in the new district and did somewhat poorly on the math section; well, poorly enough that the new district didn’t feel it appropriate for me to enter the honors math program, despite the protests from my mom. I think she eventually brought in all the books from my summer math programs to appeal to them to let me into the program. See, when you spend your time in isolation as an experiment in what types of math concepts you can teach a 13 year old, you miss out on some of the foundation of what a 13 year old is expected to have learned. It is one thing to be able to rationalize or guess your way through a prep test, but at some point you should really be taught HOW to figure these problems out and why the answer is what it is. I didn’t encounter Logic again until my junior year of high school; shows how useful all of that summer study was; by that point I‘d forgotten most of it.

My love affair with math, if that’s what it was, went on hiatus in high school. The math teachers were far less interesting compared to the science, English and history teachers. There was a drama to English and history that I related to; a story to be told. Science told a story as well, that of the natural world and how all of the intricate pieces of our surroundings connected with each other. I took one math course in college, enough to get my liberal arts math credit and tested out of the rest: I was math free at this point. After leaving college and entering the working world my fondness for math came full circle: I feel off the math-less wagon. I read about math topics and became enamored with the lives of mathematicians who spent their entire existence in monastic pursuit of mathematical proofs. Truth, so I thought…maybe still do… lay within numbers. I started taking math classes again over the summer; once a dork always a dork. I began assembling a series of prerequisites for the masters program at the University of Colorado, Denver campus. I found math teachers who taught using examples and diagrams and found the world of Calculus to be easily grounded in the physical world I could perceive and understand. If only junior and high school students were taught math this way, maybe we could cure math phobia. I don’t think I ever got better grades in math courses up to this point; Calculus, layers of Advanced Calculus, Differential Equations, Linear Algebra, Discrete, IT Applications to Discrete Principles and Modeling. I think I took just about all of the late afternoon and evening math courses I could take, and when I ran out of classes I sort of stopped. I wasn’t prepared to leave a very well paying full time job to take math courses; those numbers apparently didn’t make sense enough to me to justify the reduction in income at that point.

Now the years have passed such that much of what I relearned has probably started to fade a bit into memory once more. I still go back and look through my notes, some of what I studied can still have application to the work I’m doing currently…at least enough to prevent all of it from slipping into memory. Its funny to think about how much time most people will spend in the study of subjects that at some point will fade into oblivion. Unless you’re in a scientific or academic setting, I imagine much of what you learn in high school and college is really designed to teach you skills as opposed to specific content. The pace of learning and scientific advancement pretty much renders most of our learning obsolete even before we’ve finished mastering it. You learn how to write, how to convey thoughts. You learn basic math skills and the scientific method. Ultimately what you learn serves to lay the foundation for some form of practice which after enough repetition becomes rote. A biologist friend of mine who served over in Iraq likened the doctors he encountered over there to “skilled cutters with an ego.” He figured if he spent all his time cutting and stitching he’d be a pretty good surgeon too. I’m sure that oversimplifies some of the learning and reasoning involved in some of these skilled professions but perhaps leaves a small nugget of truth, at least enough to be funny. From personal experience I can say I’ve probably forgotten how to diagram a sentence. I’ve forgotten the meaning to TS Eliot’s The Wasteland. I don’t remember much of the German I spent nearly a dozen years and a semester abroad studying. The programming we were taught in high school is not the same programming, not even the same technology, we use today. All of these concepts diminish, grow rusty or become obsolete. And then there is math, fundamentally the same math as conjured up by the philosophers and dreamers of ancient times. Yesterday at Breaking Ground I remembered that one could use a 3-4-5 triangle to simply measure right angles, was this Pythagoras speaking to me and helping me lay out garden beds? I used triangle geometry (cosines and stuff) at our old house to get the rise and length of our deck stairs right when we rebuilt them. I'm sure there was an easier 'trick' to getting this right but at the time the math was easy enough, especially with a scientific calculator to help. There are still those practical bits of knowledge rattling around upstairs, no matter how hazy everything else seems.

So today on PI day (3/14) I write about math, about learning and about the circular way of life. Archimedes estimated the ratio between the circumference of a circle and its diameter to be no larger than 3 1/7 but greater than 3 10/71. He made these calculations some 300 years before Christ walked on water. While one man supposedly was the son of God, the other seemingly sought to understand God’s divinity in concrete and tangible terms; Archimedes must have been a visual learner too. Mathematicians have since carried PI out to an absurd number of decimal places yet have not found an end to it. How can this be? How can this seemingly infinite constant be at the heart of every circle drawn, every looping curve and arc; unchanging and ever present and we cannot fully know it? PI is both constant and mysterious, it symbolizes to me much of what we know to be true about our existence on this planet: a lot…but not really a whole helluva lot. We are here and yet we don’t know exactly why we are here. We exist but almost in a childlike state despite our sophistication and enlightenment. People still fear the uncertainty of the future and the unknown of the hereafter. We live, we love and we feel loss all without explanation. Violence permeates our societies, racism and discrimination still underlies our interactions with cultures and we lack the peace and harmony often proffered by intellectual and social evolution. We’re as barbaric and crude as we may have been in caveman days; we just have a sexier, faster, more socially acceptable way of doing and rationalizing it. We exist in a delicate balance with nature and often seem to take for granted how exacting and precisely calculated this balance can be: billions of places. Our current way of life seems to be scrubbing some of the zeros from this calculation; rounding up the sums. What’s a bit of pollution here, loss of species there, families without food or income…? It still pretty much adds up, the markets continue to rise… The greater body of humanity is still ok, right? We simultaneously can and cannot explain away the world around us, and as an intelligent animal this unknowing bothers us. And yet, for most it is quite easy to overlook these figures, to turn a blind eye to the detail in the calculations; the pull of celestial bodies, the patterns in swirling water, the complex equations governing chance. The great watchmaker built one hell of a timepiece, it keeps on ticking and churning away. It was, is and always will be.

I’m now 20 years removed from my summer math classes, almost a generation from that point and yet the images and memories remain as fresh as that first day I walked into the school library--it is just the specific content which has faded. Who would have guessed where time would take me? The boy riding his bike to the high school would still be riding bikes 20 years later, but in another state and the technology of his bike would have advanced significantly from the old Murray he pedaled back in 1989 and 90. He’d find a new set of experiences, a new life, a family, a home and dreams of the future all of which would have been beyond the scope of his imagination as he sat in class on those summer mornings working on proofs. His path was uncharted-- or was it? The lines of fate and chance drawn out into an unknown destiny, decimal places drawn out into irrational certainty 3.1415926535897932384626433832795.….

Happy PI day folks.

Work Day

2010-03-13T19:30:00.000-08:00

Much of today's activities is probably best left for the pictures to say for themselves. On one aspect I will speak for the camera, as it cannot effectively convey temperature: today was a really great spring day in Denver. The sun shone most of the day and while there was a bit of a breeze the near 60 degree warmth felt fantastic. With the order for the day being garden work and our season kick off for Breaking Ground 2010, we couldn't have picked a better day. My morning started early in the backyard, where the chill of last night's cold spring evening could still be felt in the ground. I started by pruning one of our maples. Of the two planted shortly before we bought the house, this one has lagged behind each year. After last year's storm it looked particularly bad. I pruned off a lot of dead wood from the top branches of the tree, hoping it will try and spring back life. However I fear it might be a bit of a lost cause at this point. After pruning our raspberry brambles, I worked the beds targeted for spring vegetables and prepped all of our mini-greenhouse cold frames. The plastic covering will retain the heat were expected to get over the next couple days, paving the way for lettuce, spinach, kale and swiss chard.

After power raking (because I'm so powerful) some of the thatch in the yard and loading it into the compost bin, I ate a quick lunch and Kate and I headed down to the Breaking Ground site for our first work day. Already gathered around Jim's truck when we arrived, the group of guys from Independence House included a couple familiar faces from last year as well as several new ones. After quick introductions and a run down on the day's plan, everyone set about their jobs. The straw laid over the beds at the end of last season had to be raked off and tilled into the soil. Beds needed to be widened and realigned for frames and hoop house structures, similar to our mini-greenhouses. There wasn't a whole lot of trash on site, but what pieces had blown in off the street were picked up and disposed of along with other debris.

The Independence House Crew (and Kate) in action at Breaking Ground.

A discovery of onions from last season, sprouting again for 2010.

Lady Bug

With most of the beds tilled and straightened the crew set about building the hoop houses. The structures dwarf the small ones we have at home. After a couple false starts, thanks to a bit of over-engineering, the group settled on a design which seemed to work.

How many guys does it take to put up 4 hoops?

The hoop houses weren't the only new addition to the site this year, we got a newly 'tagged' sign up front as well. These guys spent most of the afternoon working on this display, and I have to say it turned out really well. Graffiti is an art form...at least when it has been commissioned...on your fence or garage wall its a real pain in the ass.

I mentioned the false-starts we had earlier...they resulted in some hoop houses and 2 hoop tents.

The basic idea though is still the same.

With the sun setting on our work day we got on our bikes and pedaled back towards Lakewood. We spotted at least a dozen red winged blackbirds calling and answering each other around Crown Hill Lake. The warm weather and sunshine must have gotten them all worked up as well. As I recount the day's events I can feel the warmth of the sun on my skin, left behind in the form of a "bit of sun." I can also feel the tightness in my lower back and that splinter in my thumb; familiar sensations indicating the very real arrival of spring. It seems at times that it has been a long time in coming.

Don't pee on that tree...Uncle Sam is watching

2010-03-08T19:53:00.000-08:00

Outta here! Well…now I’m back but I was outta here Saturday morning for a spur of the moment Vanagon trip southward. Feeling the itch to ramble on, I loaded up some miscellaneous junk into the Vanagon, grabbed the Bean and took off to go ‘camping.’ The destination: south…but once south where specifically? I settled on Cheyenne Mountain State Park, unfortunately too close to Ft. Carson and Colorado Springs, but a pleasant site for a quick weekend trip nonetheless.

Cheyenne Mountain State Park sits eerily close to the entrance to NORAD. I talked to the Ranger a bit when getting my camp site authorized and he told me all about the myths and legends of NORAD. It supposedly is no longer used for strategic defense and space purposes…no James Bond, cloak and dagger or Dick Cheney hiding out inside its fortress like walls. But the mountain emit’s an odd light from its base and leaks out steam from random vents on really cold days. The park itself covers a small area but packs in a large number of meandering trails, camping spots and amenities. For understandably ecological, yet horribly annoying reasons the park does not allow dogs on its hiking trails. This discrimination more or less meant my compatriot Bean was confined to the roadway or campground areas: lame. That small detraction aside, the park was nice and offered a small selection of great campsites (all RV oriented this time of year…but technically the Vanagon is a RV so I fit right in).

I rolled in and rolled out for my lack of cash to pay for camping (you can pay for your day pass by plastic money but not the camping itself…annoyance #2). When I finally got a site picked (#61 in the Meadows campground, very nice), I ran Bean around trying to find a pen so we could fill out our little camper info form and pay our $20 some odd bucks for the night. With the bureaucracy appeased we were free to roam around and pseudo hike. I later put the Bean in the van for bed and checked out some of the dog-unfriendly trails. They were muddy and not particularly worth leaving my best friend in the car for, so I didn‘t cover a whole lot of ground. Back at the camp I fiddled around with some writing, read a little and watched the sun retreat to the safety of our guided missile defense filled hills; it was like Ansel Adams meets Dr. Strangelove. With the wind picking up and temp dropping (Ranger thought it would hit the mid 20’s) I retreated indoors and curled up with my book.

In short I’d definitely head down to Cheyenne Mountain St Park if you’re a dogless, car camper with a tight schedule. The park is close, very nice, clean and not crowded while the summer crowd is still huddled safely indoors. So for impromptu silence and natural splendor…a stone’s throw from anti-aircraft weapons and Apache helicopters…head to Cheyenne Mountain State Park. Site #61 is the last one on the left and well worth it.

Looking East at Site #61: Vanagon and Presta Bean

Vanagon and NORAD Looming in the background...or is it the other way around? Note how Presta couldn't give a shit about NORAD...she's been sequestered to the site.

Creepy NORAD lights and the last hint of sunset.

Vanagon with city lights in the background.

Work Dreams and Night Terrors

2010-03-05T08:22:00.000-08:00

I had a work dream last night. When I was a boy I had a recurring nightmare about a large venomous snake that lived under my bed. If I ever had to pee at night I’d sit in my bed as long as humanly possible to avoid having to get out; where the snake assuredly would reach out and bite me (you died in 6 days…very tragic stuff). If I did get out I’d jump as close to the door as possible to escape his swift bite and long reach. It never got me and I never waited so long that I wet the bed, so I guess I won on both counts in the long run. With work however, there’s apparently no escaping it. I’d take a nightmare with zombies, falling, vampires etc over a work dream any time. The scary part about work dreams is less the “horror show” aspect of them, but more the realization that work has so deeply permeated your self-conscious that you’re now going to need a rotor rooter to extricate it from the essence of your being…oooo just got Goosebumps thinking about it.

In my dream last night I tried in vain to unveil the details of an important system to two of my customers who wouldn’t listen. I had graphics, handouts, PowerPoint’s the whole nine yards but they wouldn’t focus and eventually they wandered off while I had my back turned at the computer; kind of a bizarre little dream. While I’m sure a psychiatrist would say it likely symbolizes my own insecurities, frustrations or feelings of inadequacy (no one listens to me…blah-blah), to me it tells me work has gotten too close. Its touched a nerve somewhere deep in my noodle and now is showing in High Def in my head at night. Perhaps it is time for a vacation, therapy or binge drinking spree…something. I’ve got to knock the work mojo out and get focused back on what matters. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a pretty dedicated worker. I work long hours. I do my job. I do it very well and am generally well respected for it…but that doesn’t mean I want to carry it around with me like a designer handbag to show off to all my friends and have rattling around in my brain while I sleep. I don’t want to come home like I used to and VPN to the network to keep working. I don’t want a blackberry I compulsively check every 5 min for the latest edict or conversation thread. I don’t want calls at home or on vacation about reports I can run. I don’t want to stew and obsess over work trivialities such that I can’t enjoy my evenings. And I don’t want work in my dreams! Dreams are for flying, adventure, killing zombies and other unmentionable things (I actually frequently have black and white dreams about counting random things. I walk around very content counting things and telling random people how much I've counted. I also have a recurring dream about missing German class in college…who knows?)…but no dreams about system design handouts!

So tonight I’m going to try and concentrate hard on my childhood snake friend and see if I can conjure him up again. I haven’t seen him in a while and compared to a dream about PowerPoint slides he’s actually looking kind of cuddly at the moment.

Sprouts!

2010-03-03T18:57:00.000-08:00

In just a few short days the seeds I started the weekend before last are showing tremendous signs of life.

Here's a close up of one of our Brandywine heirloom tomato plants. Between these later season varieties and our earlier season cherry tomato plants we've got nearly 45 plants. If we can hang on to most of them our garden and the Breaking Ground plot will again be thick with juicy tomatoes.

Framed by the soil around it lies one of our small celery sprouts. Of the two dozen I started I think we've got half that poking through at this point. Celery is slow to germinate (8-15) days and we're just now around the 10 day mark. From what I've read these fragile little guys are going to be hard to get going, but if we can pull them off our soups, salads and peanut butter will be better for it!

Kale: the ninja kicking-est sprout in our group. I think they've all come up and they already outgrew the enclosure in about a week. While we're getting these going early, we should be able to rotate these throughout most of the season if it doesn't get too hot. Hardy and easy: now that's a veggie anyone can get behind.

All stars from last year's garden, our bib lettuce is looking great. Coming through in promising quantities, our whole tray is nearly full of developing leaves which some day will make great salads and sandwhich toppings. We'll likely hang on to half of this group and send the rest to the community garden for the guys to get going in a couple weeks.

Sunday Snowfall

2010-02-21T20:09:00.000-08:00

Today’s snow fell in fits and starts exhibiting more of the earnest persistence one might expect of a Colorado winter storm. Although only forecasted to receive a couple inches over the course of the day, one cannot help but stare out at the swirl of flakes and envision something worse. Today marks our fourth day of grey skies, cold and snowfall. The effects of this snow will not be measured in inches but rather in days.

Snow falling on the bird feeders

The front yard and my "shoveled" driveway

Looking across the street

I did manage to get seeds started for lettuce, kale, celery and two types of heirloom tomatoes. Additional seeds will be started in successive weeks as we hopefully draw closer to spring and leave these remnants of winter behind us. I also took the lazy Sunday as an opportunity to head to the library to pick up some new books. Armed with a fresh new compliment of reading, I sat on the couch most of the day and turned the pages on Nature’s Second Chance by Steve Apfelbaum. And now with a cup of hot tea in hand I’m content to draw up this summary and reflect on some of the wintry images from earlier today. With the dog snoring soundly on her bed I can't help but think that shortly I should make my way to mine so I can do the same.

“Its Gettin’ Hot In Here…”

2010-02-20T09:58:00.000-08:00

The snow falling outside says you might want to leave your clothes on at this point, but things are heating up now that our grow table is powered up and warming. I cleaned out the dried onions from last season and some misc debris and turned on the lights and heating pad this morning. After a day of enclosed heat, our starting trays and potting soil should be ready for planting. On track with our calendar we should have sprouts of some items in about a week. We made our grow table last season and used it to get a really early jump start on spring planting. We’ll get our lettuce, broccoli, kale, tomatoes and peppers started in the enclosure. The cooler items should be cycled out fairly quickly to cold frames in mid-late March, making room for starting additional warmer season veggies. We put the frame together for well under $100, including fluorescent light fixtures and grow bulbs (which we alternate with warm fluorescent bathroom/kitchen tubes.) The frame itself is made of misc. scrap lumber we got from Home Depot and the lights are on a timer to run most of the day and shut off at night. Surrounded by plastic with a heating element at the bottom the enclosure will easily get to 65-70 degrees, despite being in the basement. If we can’t get decent weather outside we’ll fabricate our own! (How very industrious of us to try and trick Mother Naure…)

Yesterday our lunch with Jim to plan Breaking Ground 2010 got my head swimming with possibilities. Kate and I got to Pasquini’s early to review some garden sketches and confirm our initial thoughts on spring and summer rotations. When Jim arrived his usual high level of energy was infectious and he outlined some of the recent conversations he’s had with other local property owners, now very interested in the Breaking Ground concept: plants might not be the only thing propagated this year! What better way to make use of vacant commercial ground in the midst of a real estate slump than by creating a pleasing, ingratiating garden space. We reviewed our plan for building projects, upgrades to the site and timetable to get things working. Some of our goals are to get a couple of the beds raised, protect early season crops from the elements with hoop houses and possibly look to add chickens to the site. We want to make sure our chickens can exist happily in the neighborhood, unmolested by delinquents, vagrants or other ne’er-do-wells. If we can pull it off though (and make it through Denver’s ridiculous permitting process) producing eggs from the garden would be awesome! Jim’s also optimistic that the local neighborhood association will allow us a free space at their Saturday markets throughout the season so we should be able to get the guys out on the weekends to sell their harvest. The energy and excitement about the second year of the project really got me going and helped lift my spirits a bit from the gloomy, doldrums they’ve landed in thanks to a string of cold, cloudy, snowy days.

So with my seed trays warming and thoughts of summer projects bouncing around in my head, I can look out at the falling snow and find myself carried away to more hospitable places...like my basement or vancant, unloved, building plots. And to think: some people go south to Florida in the winter.

The warm glow of grow lights.

Tomorrow these trays will be full of seeds.

Fast Week

2010-02-17T18:17:00.000-08:00

It seems there is a lot to post about but I'm not really focusing on one particular topic. Instead I'll just throw out one of my minutia...rambling posts to give an idea of all the things bouncing around in my head at the moment.

With the week already shortened (at least for those of us lucky to get President’s Day off), the days really seem to be reeling by: it is almost Thursday. Work has been chock full of meetings and other last minute project items which helps to pass the time during the day but really saps the energy by quitting time. Additionally, this week Kate and I are taking off some of Friday to take care of some of our personal affairs. We have an appointment with our financial advisor for our annual update on our short and long term goals as well as our portfolio and savings strategy. I generally try to start the spring (often around my birthday) with a trip to the doc, cholesterol check and these visits to Dave’s to gauge the health of our finances. If I threw an oil change in there I think everything would be pretty much flushed and checked for another year! Friday we’re also touching in with Jim to talk about the garden plan for the 2010 Breaking Ground season, our community garden project in north Denver. We’ve got our seeds picked and purchased for the first months of the project, and we want to have Jim start thinking about raised beds and maybe cloches of some kind. At some point I’ll try to write more about our garden plans for home and Breaking Ground. I finally got the spreadsheet updated on planting times, rotation and bed use, so I should be able to put some of that up here along with my garden drawings. This weekend we’ll be starting some of our early season cold weather plants and our tomatoes. Also if the weather holds out (which may not be likely) the 3’s team is going to have Team Time Trial practice on Sunday. That should be a good time if its not ungodly cold (which will be likely). Lot’s to do!

Noisy Neighbors

2010-02-15T11:08:00.000-08:00

This slow morning 7:00 seems early for chatter
From early birds out scanning for worms;
Searching for prey that they will never get after
Safely covered by winter’s last storm.

The backyard feeder a cacophony of sounds
Tells of the chilling struggle for food,
Birds clinging to perches or alight on the ground
Cackling about in their foul toned mood.

Once dormant bushes adorned with blossoms of wings,
Hide leaves of sparrows amassed in a gang.
Poets who oft tell how sweet the morning bird sings
Missed all the fuss these morning birds sang.

--jlm Feb 2010

First Trip to the Garden Center of the Season

2010-02-13T16:00:00.000-08:00

Immediately upon opening the doors to Southwest Gardens in Wheat Ridge a rush of fragrant, humid air pushed out of the greenhouse to greet us. Inside the first building a woman crouched behind a pallet of fresh new potting soil gave us a wave and warm “Hello.” This area of the store still smelled like Valentine’s flowers, the remnants of their holiday sales effort setting out in front by the register for last minute shoppers. Behind this pile of red plastic pots of red and pink flowers adorned with ribbons lay the real heart of the store: clay pots, soil amendments, compost, fertilizers, tomato stakes, planters, bird baths and small pots of coleus and other tropical plants. Across from the register stood an old wooden crate, tipped on one end full of ancient books on gardening, vegetables, plant health and pest control, a handwritten sign above them saying, “Free Garden Books/Help Yourself/One Per Customer.” I knew this was my kind of place. We made our way out of this seemingly unheated space into the second greenhouse.

Trays of tropical succulents lay spread across old, mossy cinder block and board stands. Cacti, aloes, exotic fronds, poinsettias, rubber plants and a wall composed of sprawling rainforest looking trees helped to impress upon us why they call this Southwest Gardens. Book ending the greenhouse were two “Employee Only” signs marking the entry to the shop’s heavily used potting areas; fresh bags of compost and tools still out from recent transplanting. An old Lenox Heating thermometer on the wall read 75 degrees. Making our way back to the last of the three greenhouses we saw examples of exactly what were in the mindset to do ourselves: start some vegetables. Dozens of trays boasting small sprouts of herbs and seasonal vegetables lined the isles of the entire space. Lettuce, spinach, basil, broccoli, aloe, artichokes all clearly marked and already thriving. On the back wall in well worn boxes lay the tags of hundreds of vegetables and herbs. Ancient piping and hoses wrapped around the entire space with rusty heating units hanging above, silent shepherds of the flock of tiny sprouts. Back in the front of the store we stood in front of the freshly stocked wall of locally produced heirloom, standard and hybrid seeds, pondering which ones we should try. Having spent some time this morning reviewing our collection of seeds leftover from last season we knew exactly what we needed.

Three seasons of carrots left our stock of those tender orange fingers fully depleted, along with our savory Brandywine tomatoes, zucchini and mizuna (a huge success from our 2009 season.) To our 2010 garden plan we are adding: melons, pumpkins, parsnips, eggplant, celery, Swiss chard, kale, spinach, thyme, tarragon, and chervil. We also hope to continue with seeds from last season, including: Bantham Sweet Corn, broccoli, Kentucky Wonder pole beans, New Zealand spinach, bib lettuce, basil, rosemary and sage. We’ll also be ordering onion sets and three types of potatoes from a Colorado company http://www.potatogarden.com/. Sitting at the kitchen table holding seed packets is one thing, but being in the fertile warmth of the greenhouse, looking through the catalogs and seed packets had me longing for spring. Setting out our calendar for the upcoming season we will be starting our own trays of seeds either this weekend or next, hoping to get a jump on the season using our mini-greenhouse hoop structures to start lettuce, kale, spinach and the Swiss chard. It won’t be too long before we’re again enjoying fresh vegetables from the garden.

Leaving the store we loaded our seeds, new trays, and potting soil into the Vanagon. The sun shone bright and warm, but the cold wind blowing from the north reminded us that we’re not quite through with winter yet. And while tonight’s forecast for Denver calls for an inch of snow, the seedlings at Southwest Gardens will be warm and cozy within the fiberglass greenhouses, heaters working busily overhead, drippers feeding them with cooling drops of moisture. To these sprouts the dormant season is over and it is time again to come to life and welcome a period of growth and prosperity. For this gardener, pondering the potential of the season shortly to come, I can’t help but feel the exact same way.

Nights Without TV

2010-02-10T19:38:00.000-08:00

I can hear the clock ticking from across the room,
slow, constant calls and repeats--
           tick...tock.

Deep groans echo up the ducts from the basement,
the walls and joists stretching their tired limbs--
          settling in for the evening.

Almost simultaneously my wife and the dog
shift and sigh in their respective seats,
trying to get a bit more comfortable--
          she turns another page.

My keystrokes are deafening.
The thoughts in my head,
whirring in synch with the processor on my lap,
pull me in and out of this place;
I almost lose the clock for all its ticking.
I cannot hear the outside--
          just our soft evening sounds.

As if the measure of life and all its enormity
only exists in the ticks and tocks of our small space--
         if only but for a moment.

--jlm Jan 2010

The Home Economics of Breakfast

2010-02-07T10:11:00.000-08:00

As promised, yesterday evening's clouds which began building in the southwestern skies around Denver delivered snow this morning. No Team Time Trial practice today for the Primal 1^st Bank crew. The nice part about not needing to be out the door by 8:00 is the opportunity afforded to have a slow morning around the house and eat a large breakfast. Since Kate obliged my desire for apple pancakes yesterday, I stepped in and whipped up some buttermilk biscuits and Kate topped them off with brie omelets. As we sat at our table in a hazy breakfast coma, our conversation, as it often does after such high quality at home fare, turned to the value of making meals like this from scratch.

This got me to wondering…how much does it actually cost to make a meal like this from scratch and is there really a value add? I suppose I've always assumed there to be one, but I like cold hard facts. I wanted to "show myself the money" (so to speak) and see if it really added up. I pulled out old grocery receipts and broke down our meal to as fine a level of detail as possible. Here's what I came up with.

Item	Unit and Unit Price	Amount Used	Meal Cost
Tea	$3.17 (20)	1 for Kate	$0.16
Coffee	$7.99 (12 oz)	8 tbs for my addiction	$1.11
Eggs	$2.89 (12)	7 for omelets and biscuits	$1.69
Butter	$1.93 (32 tbl)	10 tbs	$0.60
Brie	$7.49 (1 wedge)	5 thin slices	$0.94
Flour	$6.78 (25 lbs)	2 cups	$0.14
Buttermilk	$1.99 (quart)	¾ cup	$0.37
Frozen Strawberries	$8.99 (large bag)	Whole bag for 2 quarts jelly	$0.63 for a couple tablespoons of homemade jelly
Sugar	$2.87 (5 lbs)	2 cups for 2 quarts jelly
Apple	$1.17 (2)	1 for 2 quarts of jelly
Sundries	Some salt, pepper, bit of baking powder and soda. The amounts are minimal.		$0.50
TOTAL (2 3 egg brie omelets, 10 biscuits, butter, jam, tea and coffee)			$6.14

(A brief disclaimer here…I didn't get exact and weigh and measure everything in advance so some of this comes down to guess-timation. Quibble with the figures as much as you like, I think the point is still valid in the long run.)

I was kind of surprised by how cheap the meal was to prepare. Now you could argue that the time to cook it and clean up factors in to the equation as well: time is money after all. But it only took an hour to cook, eat and clean after the entire meal if two people work together doing it. Figuring in the amount of time to drive to a restaurant, sit down and order something comparable, even the time savings looks to be significant. On the other hand considering a basic breakfast value meal at MacDonalds is $2.99, two people would eat garbage food for about $6.00. Eating at a nicer restaurant you'd likely spend $6.00 on one item, and I doubt one of them would be a savory stuffed brie omelet. Sure, a bowl of cereal would be cheaper. A pop tart or doughnut might cost less. But part of what is missing from those stand-in's would be taste and nutritional value. The idea is to have something that is economical to eat, yet not skimp on nutritional value or sustenance. I don't want to be hungry again before noon, which a doughnut would almost guarantee unless I filled my stomach and arteries by eating a dozen or so of them.

In some of our recent conversations Kate and I have tried to figure out how to cut back on some of our monthly expenses to add more to the amount we're able to save each month. By cutting back on the frequent eating out we had grown accustomed to, and by purchasing fewer premade food items (sauces, jellies etc.) and instead making more of them from scratch we hope to add significantly to our monthly budget. After going through this exercise, to actually see the dollars and cents adding up, it seems that our strategy might actually pay off significantly in the long run. Some people talk about putting their budget on a diet, but I'd suggest that if people looked more critically at their food dollars and where they're really going they might actually help their bottom line and their actual diet as well. And if it means homemade biscuits and jam, who would want to argue with that!?!

Economical and YUMMY! Sign me up!

Sheep in Wolf's Clothing

2010-02-05T10:58:00.000-08:00

Friday is supposed to be casual day at the office, the one day of the week where you can dress down and wear jeans and a flannel shirt. However, on tap to present one of our projects to a quarterly meeting of judges and magistrates down at the Denver court house today meant no jeans or flannel or comfortable shoes. Without knowing the audience and wanting to make a favorable impression on behalf of my team and our project it appeared that today should be a full on suit day. Looking into my closet this morning I noticed that father time had deposited a pretty hefty layer of dust on the plastic dry cleaner bag containing my suit coat. I couldn’t even recall the last time I wore it.

Strolling around downtown with my Franklin Covey planner, charcoal grey suit and shiny black shoes I appeared the picture of middle-age urban professionaldom. After our meeting we stopped to get coffee. I owed my team member who drove me to the meeting (I still rode in to work on the old Cannondale—extra pannier for the suit coat). Glancing at my reflection in the mirrored glass of office buildings I felt like a visitor from another planet. Suite, coffee drink, planner: I don’t think Matt is going to let me live this down. He informed me that because I happened to forget both my cell phone and work issued Blackberry I should be drummed out of the ranks of the urban professional. I couldn’t have agreed more.

I felt a bit like an imposter. I never wear a suit. I have no desire to own suits or have to regularly wear them and I really don’t even enjoy putting on my “fancy clothes” for the regular Monday through Thursday routine. I have no qualms leaving my dress shoes (both black and brown) at work in a drawer because they otherwise wouldn’t see the light of day if I brought them home each day; plus it would just add weight to my commute. I wanted to have a button that said, “He’s just doing this until he gets a real job doing something else, preferably involving bikes or dirt or maybe both,” something to serve as a disclaimer to my otherwise totally constrained, by the books appearance. I should have introduced myself as, “I’m Jason, my hobbies include riding my bike and reading about farming. My pants are itchy and my shoes uncomfortable. I’d rather be outside right now.”

I suppose I shouldn’t complain. A job is a job and there are those who do not have them at the moment: I should be less begrudging of my opportunities. And metaphysically speaking, wearing a suit is NOT QUITE akin to the shackles of prison (if I had a tie on that might change things!) It is after all a means to an end. So while I must, I suppose I can walk around in my suit and just drink my coffee all the while keeping my sometimes big mouth shut. In the process I suppose I fancy myself a sheep conveniently disguised in wolf’s clothing. It just means I’ll have to wear extra flannel this weekend to make up for lost time.

A nighttime stroll through Boulder

2010-02-03T19:02:00.000-08:00

A nighttime walk through the blocks north of Pearl Street,
Victorian era homes framed by dark cottonwoods and oaks,
Their windows aglow with lamplight
Offer a passing glimpse into other lives; other realities.
A young couple steps tentatively over frost heaved sidewalks
Picking their way through the shadows
Kicking autumn leaves to stir the aroma of the season
Pondering the possibilities of a life not yet fulfilled.
They dream and talk of choices not yet made.
They discuss courses not yet taken.
They ponder a direction.
Choosing a path up a long lightless hill they walk
Side by side, two individuals,
Occasionally holding each other close.

--jlm
October 2009

Tooling Around Town

2010-01-30T18:55:00.000-08:00

Within one minute of being outside this morning, I could hear Presta whining at the door. She certainly can endure colder temperatures but this morning 19 was about enough for her. Thankfully the sun rose quickly and the mercury climbed steadily throughout the morning. Kate made ham and cheese omelets with this Mediterranean spiced gouda we got earlier in the week. Her omelet skills are improving nicely; mine was golden yellow and fluffy complimented well by the ham and smokiness of the cheese. She heated up some of the scones she made earlier in the week and capped everything off with smoothies and a cup of coffee. On days like this, today no exception, a breakfast like this will keep us going pretty much all the way until dinner.

Proteined up and with the dishes finished, I read the last couple chapters of Better Off: Flipping the Switch on Technology, by Eric Bende. This book grew on me the more of it I read. Initially I found it a bit put offish that he seemed to focus more on his own thoughts and philosophies of technology without really delving into the lives of the Amish (Minimite) families he and his wife were living among. After See You in a Hundred Years (Logan Ward) I found Bende's style a little too self-gratifying and cold in his portrayal of life in his homestead. Fortunately my impressions changed as the book went on, and while he still tried to rationalize much of the Minimite’s behavior and relate it to his own interest in a technology-less existence, he revealed more of the in’s and out’s of their society and how their simpler form of living afforded them a very natural and intimate relationship with themselves and the small world around them. With the last of my 3 books from last weekend finally finished, Kate and I tossed around some objectives for the afternoon: head out to the Denver Urban Homestead Saturday market, go to the library, take the cardboard to the recycling drop off, try to find some bins for flour and sugar and get a CFL to replace one of our incandescent kitchen floods which finally crapped out on us. With the temperature a nice 39 degrees and still climbing we set out on our bikes and rode down to the farmer’s market.

The Denver Urban Homestead market is an indoor market open every Saturday. Today there were a number of local vendors and a fair amount of patrons milling about. We got a sample of goat’s milk soap. Tested out some sauces and soups. Chatted with an organic beef producer from northern Colorado. Kate actually knew him indirectly through her work with the Department of Agriculture. He raises a long haired breed of cattle from Scotland: Highlands. According to the rancher, the long coat of hair means they carry less fat on them, resulting in a form of lean, well marbled beef, perfectly adapted to the Highlands of both Scotland and Colorado. We sampled some goat cheese, compared notes and ingredients with some dried pasta (secretly stealing ideas for our own designs!) and chatted with a lady who is a local organic wheat farmer and flour producer. We gave her our contact information as she is actively looking to build a share program where families can get bulk organic unbleached and whole wheat flour at cheap rates throughout the year. We currently get our bulk flour from the local grocery store and go through it at a pretty fast pace. With our baking, recent pasta making, penchant for pancakes and other tasty baked items we burn through flour. When we told the lady how much flour we consume she excitedly asked, “What do you sell?” I replied somewhat sheepishly, “We don’t sell anything, we eat.”

The market also includes cold frames and chicken coops for sale. Chickens aren’t yet allowed in our zoning area in Lakewood so that purchase will have to wait I suppose. We sat out in the sun in front of the market and enjoyed what had become a wonderfully warm and sunny afternoon. We pedaled back towards home, making our way around Sloan’s Lake and out west through Edgewater. Our route took us past several new construction pop-toppers: homes which have either been razed or had their tops cut off to expand. These modern, monstrosities sometimes completely fill the small urban lots they’re shoe-horned onto. Intended for multiple families they tower 3 stories above the pavement; right angles and glass at every corner. I think these homes feel soulless, especially compared to the handful of bungalows and Victorians that still remain in the neighborhood. Once home we planned to get the bike trailer to drop off our cardboard (the only item not picked up by our bi-monthly recycling pick up), head over to the restaurant supply store to get storage containers for our bulk flour and sugar and hit the library before returning home.

Having deposited our recycling, we picked up two 22 quart food grade containers with lids and two scoops.

Kate was eager to get to the library to pick up the 4 items she had on hold. I dropped off two of the books I had out and picked up a new one which Kate says should last me a day, Blood-Lust Chickens and Renegade Sheep: A First Timer’s Guide to Country Living, by Nick and Anita Evangelista.

Tonight Kate is making steak and potatoes from a recipe from class (I’m psyched) and we’re having 5-min bread and asparagus. A trip to the Beer Man to get some wine was all we needed to cap off our Saturday of tooling around town. Twenty-five plus miles pedaled, a half dozen errands accomplished and a well built appetite are about all we accomplished today: that’s a perfect Saturday by any stretch of the imagination.

Kate Gettin' Busy on Some Spuds...Note the Dry Good Containers are Bigger than Kate!

5 Minute Loaf Rising

The finished Mother Earth 5 Minute Loaf

Steak, Asparagus and Potatoes...Happy Saturday!

Pasta Making 101 (Jason's abridged version)

2010-01-26T20:07:00.000-08:00

This year for Christmas I gave Kate the gift of cooking classes. Now you might be thinking that she in turn gave me the gift of a black eye for insinuating that she needs to take cooking classes, but you would be wrong. I don’t know if I know of anyone more talented in a kitchen than Kate. She has some pretty mad skills already, but is hoping to get into culinary school. And for that fact I thought cooking classes would actually be a great preamble to subsequent training…see I’m not a jerk husband afterall. During one of her classes two weeks ago they learned how to make homemade pasta directly translating into a tremendous boon in home pasta making in our household.

A couple years ago I bought Kate a pasta maker for a gift and we’ve since dabbled with it a handful of times but to no real significant measure of success. We had a great evening this summer making all-homemade ravioli and we’ve tried noodles a couple times but generally our pasta making comes up short somehow: that is until now. Kate can now whip up noodles that are to die for. Having watched her do it a couple times now I thought that while she is out this evening for another class I would whip up some of these awesome noodles myself.

As much as I recalled the techniques and methods for making the pasta I couldn’t remember exactly what ingredients and proportions to use: not real smart I know. Fortunately our good old Fannie Farmer Cookbook confirmed what I had in my head as Kate’s recipe. And there's not really much to it, a simple pasta dough consists mainly of egg, flour and a bit of salt; scale it however you wish. I’m sure there are fancy variations on this theme, but for my first time flying solo I chose to stick to the basics. I made my little one cup flour volcano on the counter and put my egg in the center to which I added my half teaspoon of salt. From here I stirred the egg gently adding in flour from the edges of the volcano until a smooth dough formed. (Next time Kate does it I’ll take a picture to show what a flour volcano looks like. My hands were a mess and I was hungry so I didn’t stop to clean up and take pictures. But if you use your imagination you'll likely figure it out yourself.)

The trick really seems to be gauging how much flour to add so you have a good stiff, dry dough. To be careful add your flour slowly testing the dough against your palm for moisture content: moist=bad. I’m not sure if I quite reached that threshold but my dough looked pretty good and felt dry enough after a bit of flour adding and kneading. I put the dough in the fridge for 10-15 min while I cleaned up and started my water. Once the water was nearly boiling I cut my dough into two pieces and started working it through the pasta machine. The dough rolled through the machine with ease; no sticking, bunching or wading up amongst the rollers…good sign. I progressed through the settings dividing my halves a second time as I worked the dough into a thin almost translucent sheet of dough. With each pass I rubbed on a sprinkle of flour as needed to keep the dough dry and smooth. After setting 7 on our Atlas pasta maker I put the dough through the spaghetti setting and out came perfect long strands of spaghetti. Success! I repeated the steps for the rest of the dough saving time by running each piece of dough through each machine setting rather than completing the process for one and then starting over with the next.

With a nice heaping pile of dry noodles I tossed them into the water, put my leftover Kingsolver sauce into the microwave (Kate’s version of the sauce recipe from Animal, Vegetable, Miracle) and got ready to feast. Sure it would be faster to throw some packaged noodles into boiling water and twist off the lid on a jar of Ragu. However, the whole process to make my meal took barely 30 min considering my sauce was essentially sauce from a jar having been pre-made on a prior day by Kate. With the ease of being able to stir up some dough and crank out the pasta, it would be possible to make a bunch of dough one afternoon and dry it for use later. Considering the cost of a couple cups of flour and some eggs you could generate far more pasta than you ever could buy for the same amount. With everything pre-made you would end up with a 10 min pasta meal without having to purchase dried out, tasteless, packaged noodles and sodium-preservative laden, pasty sauce. You spend a bit more time for essentially the same result with the key difference being the boost in nutritional value and taste. Generations of Italian families can’t be wrong!

Pasta making in progress: Caution! flour may attack at any time, notice Bean hiding in the background...she knows what I'm talking about!

Barilla eat your heart out.

Meatballs...next time meatballs!

Weekend At Home

2010-01-24T20:10:00.000-08:00

Right now I sit where I’ve spent a fair amount of this weekend, on our couch in the living room back to the backyard picture window. The howling wind outside continues to rustle tree branches and hammer the walls of our house. This weekend Kate and I didn’t go anywhere (unless propelled by foot or bicycle) and spent most of our time puttering around the house lounging, baking, reading and resting. This slow paced drifting between productivity and idleness suited my mood just fine.

Friday I came home and set about the task of making homemade pizza, drawing a large grapefruit sized chunk of pre-made dough from the fridge and shaping it into a massive pie. I made the dough earlier in the week using the Mother Earth 5 min recipe and eagerly anticipated tearing into the crisp, rich crust all day; particularly after the ride to and from work and the 3.5 mile run at lunch. After dinner Kate and I played a game of Scrabble and then called it a night.

Saturday we got up in no particular hurry. We ate homemade waffles and left the house early to take Presta for a long walk. The sky was sunny but still cool, with a crisp breeze in the air. We walked for over an hour and in returning home stopped off at the library to pick up 3 books waiting for me. Earlier in the week Everett from the Denver Urban Homesteader Meetup sent out a link to his reading list on his blog. I found a couple of unfamiliar titles in the Jefferson County library system and put them on hold: they arrived just in time for the weekend. When we got home I immediately started the first one, It's a Long Road to a Tomato: Tales of an Organic Farmer Who Quit the Big City for the (Not So) Simple Life, by Keith Stewart. Stewart’s book highlights his experiences over 20 years of organic farming in New York after abandoning his big city Project Management career for the good earth. I enjoyed the book thoroughly and read it over the course of Saturday afternoon and evening. In between my reading I headed out for a bike ride and enjoyed much of the afternoon before meeting our new cold front and freezing winds. My hands were nearly blue by the time I returned home, but the fortuitous winds from the northwest helped push me home along 32nd well in excess of 35mph.

Saturday evening we dined on the last small chunk of bread and left over noodles smothered in Kate's homemade alfredo sauce. After an excellent meal (and last bits of bread covered in Kate’s strawberry jam) I finished my first book and started my second, See You in a Hundred Years, by Logan Ward. This book fascinated me and I found it difficult to put it down. The story tells of a middle age couple from New York who leave the city (picking up a theme?) and move to a farm in Virginia. The twist on the story is that they forgo all the conveniences of the 21st century and choose to live using technology and resources only available in the 1900’s. The story starts off in very real and harsh tones as the couple battles the steep learning curve of farming and animal husbandry, a drought and themselves. I won’t give too much of the narrative away other than to say that I was thoroughly engrossed until I finished it this morning. And despite my initial conclusion that the two, Logan and Heather, were foolishly way in over their head I have to say I was surprised by the transformation they underwent over their year of very simple living.

Finishing my book I milled about picking at some low-hanging household chores, doing dishes, cleaning the bathroom. I helped roadblock the bed while Kate attempted to make it entertained the dog periodically throughout the afternoon. It seems more recently we’ve tried to squeeze every drop of activity and opportunity out of our weekends to the point that come Monday morning I wake more exhausted and sleep deprived than when I started the weekend on Saturday. We live for our weekends!…but almost to the point that the living of the weekend itself is almost unbearable. There is something profoundly restorative and relaxing in not trying to conserve and weigh every minute of the weekend. While it might be easy to look back and consider the past 48 hours a string of missed opportunities to be productive or ‘accomplish something’ I sit here comfortably on my couch and reflect on them with a calmness and level of comfort I seldom have on Sunday evenings. Tonight I’ll post this blog and wrap up my accomplishments for the day before heading to bed to start my 3rd book of the weekend, Better Off: Flipping the Switch on Technology by Eric Brende. And I think I’ll sleep well, and while Kate had dreams Friday night of her version of Heaven replete with homemade bread and jam, I hope to dream of the lemon blueberry scones awaiting me for breakfast on Monday. I’m not sure if a Sunday night’s sleep can get much better than that.

Ski Day Off...Yeah Buddy!

2010-01-15T19:22:00.000-08:00

It is mid January in Colorado, and your wife doesn't have to work on the Friday before a three day weekend (thanks to a furlough day): what do you? You take it off and go ski, that's what you do! I opted to extend my Martin Luther King Jr. holiday weekend by taking off today (Friday) with the intent of sharing it with Kate. Seizing the moment, Kate and I decided to head up to hit the slopes. Sure we haven't really had any measurable snow in a week or so, but when you have an opportunity to head up and ski without the hassle of I-70 traffic and the weekend crowds you have to take it. My friend Chris, enjoying the last weekend of his lengthy winter break from his PhD program, joined us for the trip and thanks to blue skies, warm temps and tolerable snow conditions we all had a great day.

After stopping off at the Evergreen Bagelry (our personal must stop, pre-ski, breakfast haunt) for some tasty bagels and DazBog coffee, we made our way up over Loveland Pass to Arapahoe Basin (A Basin). According to the snow report, A Basin got .25 inches of snow last night, and based on the rules: you go where there's fresh snow...no matter how miniscule.

We got there just in time to be in the first line of cars in the lot. Kate had the great idea (in the parking lot) that we should have brought up the Vanagon instead of the Cherokee. And while it would have been a MUCH slower trip up the hill, the roads were more or less dry so the Vanagon would have done just fine. At A Basin you can camp out next to the base area and chill out in lawn chairs and pretty much hang out all day. While it might have been a bit cold for that this morning, perhaps another time we'll go big on that game plan and make a day of it. But I digress, we did not intend to loaf about on our day off, we drove to A Basin to get busy racking up some runs.

This is Chris's Gettin' Busy End
We suited up and hit the nonexistent A Basin lift line and rode up to start carving some of the icy corduroy of A Basin. They had a minimum of terrain open and the coverage was pretty thin even on the groomed runs. A Basin is somewhat of a locals ski area. No fancy base village, 6 person lifts, gondolas, Apre Ski menus etc. It is generally cold, steep and best if skied balls out right off the Pallavicini chair down through the bowl into the trees. Unfortunately all of that wondrous terrain was closed. So we hopped bumps and dropped through tree and rock laden glades for 8-10 runs before Kate made the executive decision that we were heading to Keystone. We raced down and walked the 50 or so feet to the car and quickly loaded up for the 6 or so mile run down US 6 to Keystone. In order to maximize our efficiency none of us changed out of our gear. We didn't want our resort hopping to take away from valuable ski time, so efficiency was key. Even I only removed one ski boot just to work the gas and brake: I kept my helmet on for safety.

At Keystone it felt warmer and our chilled, scraped P Tex spirits were immediately lifted. We shed our shell layers and loaded up backpacks with water and snacks: now it was serious. It was just after 11:00 and we were already on the Gondola on our way to the Outback....but first a quick stop at Labonte's for some libations and a snack...ok it wasn't that serious. As you can see below, our friend Chris is a true class act with his homeless man sized can of Tecate. He should have had a Banquet.

Kate takes a long time to warm back up, so she sipped her fancy-schmancy pint size Fat Tire with the help of mittens.

Fueled up, we got on the lift and made our way back to the heavenly trees of Keystone's Outback. We did several runs off the Outback Express lift through the Black Forest area on both sides of the gates. The coverage here was also a bit thin, Keystone's only received 60 some odd inches of snow so far this year. Determined to make the best of it we tried every shady nook and cranny to scrounge up as much quality skiing as we could. We managed to navigate the gullies and catwalks without too much difficulty. We jumped off some of the exposed logs and rocks and enjoyed a great run down through The Grizz and Badger's tight trees and narrow chutes. Totally worked over after a full afternoon of skiing, we decided to call it and make our way back to the frontside. Navigating the icy patches of the frontside runs and teams of newbies crisscrossing the runs we made our way back to the River Run base area and ambled up to Pizza Alley. I don't think 3 people have ever eaten pizza faster.

Happy Kate After a Friday of Hard Work on the Slopes

Snowboarder Chris Came Away From This Visit To Keystone With A NewFound Love Of The Bumps
Windburned, a bit sore and tired from a full day of skiing at two of Colorado's great ski areas, we sat and enjoyed a well deserved beer before trudging back to the car for the drive down the hill to Denver. And just think, we should have been at work...cheers!

Warning: Living May Be Hazardous To Your Health

2010-01-14T08:29:00.000-08:00

While listening to the radio this morning I caught the trailing end of a commercial for Wal-Mart, Walgreens…something like that, advertising a sale on over the counter cold and flu medicines. I generally tune out commercials, but for some reason I heard this one. After going on about how the mom in the commercial can cure disease with soup and how she touches the cheeks of mere babes, at the end of this touching montage the announcer said the following, “Use only as directed.” Really?

I know at this point in our society we put disclaimers on everything. We have labels that remind us that our coffee is likely hot; signs that tell people not to speed through school zones; warnings that suggest we avoid drinking bleach. But do we really need a pleasant voice at the end of our Walgreens commercials to tell us not to chug that bottle of Robitussin? Does this 4 word reminder really absolve Wal-Mart or Kroger of their responsibilities for this product? “Well we told them not to drink it all!” I just can’t imagine that we need this level of babying. What’s next, “Remember to wipe your ass”? Is our lowest common denominator really that low?—unfortunately I’m not sure I’m going to like the answer to that question.

If we’re really devolving to be absolutely and completely incapable of navigating our world successfully without drinking something we shouldn’t or spilling something that might hurt us, then perhaps we do need all these labels: in fact.perhaps they should be more obvious. “DON’T BE SO STUPID!” or “I CAN TELL YOU’RE PROBABLY AN IDIOT, SO WATCH OUT!” or “KNOCK THAT OFF DUMBASS!” Maybe this would get our attention and redirect some neurons to make us less clumsy or just plain moronic. In any case, I feel better knowing I shouldn’t chew all the Advil in the bottle, or I shouldn’t try to hang from high tension lines, or drive my car at 80mph through city streets. And like my new found sense of safety, I hope that out there in radio land there was someone, perhaps down on their luck, or just really tired of their sore throat and stuffy head, about to down 12 ounces of Dayquil with a vodka tonic chaser, who heard that message and thought, “You’re right. The directions say two teaspoons every 6 hours. Maybe I shouldn’t drink the whole bottle. Thanks commercial lady!” A life is perhaps saved and a company’s conscience is now a little cleaner (or at least less liable.) It’s a great day in America.

Coffee, Cookie and Consternation

2010-01-09T18:32:00.000-08:00

For the past hour or so I’ve poured over the RSS feed from “The Path Less Pedaled,” the blog of Russ and Laura, a young couple from Long Beach, CA who left their 9-5 lives behind and headed out on the road by bike. They’re sharing their story with the world, visiting outer realm parts of the US and seemingly enjoying every bite of the marrow they’re sucking out of their lives. When you’re a person who’s not entirely sure what they’re special dream is, it is easy to get wrapped up in the special dreams of others. “Kate and I could do that.” “We could leave it all behind. Ride around. Meet new people. See new things. Share our story. Test some gear. That would be awesome…” Would it? Would it be our awesome? Or would it be like walking around in someone else’s shoes all day; awkward and possibly smelly?

The frustrating thing about feeling yourself a person of limitless potential is figuring out what the hell to do with it all. Compounding this frustration is this annoying personal trait of mine: being ever calculating and exacting in decision making. Is there a spreadsheet solution to life planning? Can I please get the R-squared likelihood for success from choosing this path in the yellow wood versus the other? Are there calculated leaps of faith? Probably not, there’s calculated standing around (that’s easy, especially if you love calculating) but I think once you leap you’re supposed to put your bits in the hand of that whole faith thing…tricky business. So while I sit here in Boulder sipping my coffee and coveting the seemingly more exciting and adventurous lives of strangers across the way and on the internet, I feel this frustration welling. I’ve been stuffing round pegs into square holes for a while now trying to figure out what my purpose on this rock should be and I don’t feel any closer to the answers than when I started. I can tell you for all the dead ends I’ve drummed up, I do know that sitting in a windowless hole punching keys on a keyboard all day for someone else is not IT (its technically I.T. but that’s not what I mean, don’t be punny.) I suppose this discovery constitutes a small, if not altogether obvious, moral victory: proof by contra positive. My life is not sitting in an office: if I am sitting in an office then this is not my life. Those extracurricular logic classes I took that summer in 5th grade sure paid off for that one. So what is the big capital I capital T (IT) then? That’s definitely a puzzler, and I ate a lot of Spree candies during that logic class so if they covered that topic the memory of it is a bit hazy.

I can tell you this though, I’m starting to think that I just might not be able to rationally deduce the rest of this. I always fancied myself one to make my own destiny, which sounds all cavalier and Client Eastwood like (‘Make my day’—yeah bitches that’s right!) but interestingly I have this apparently paralyzing fear of ‘making mistakes’ such that it irrationally keeps me forever standing on the dock weighing the odds while all the boats go a-sailing by. “Bye, bye pretty boats…but you do know the odds of dying by drowing are 1 in 8,942” Do you think Dirty Harry ever cared if someone didn’t think he was a badass? No, cause he’d just shoot them in the face, that’s how he rolled. Sometimes you ‘think’ something and sometimes you just ‘know.’ Well I know I spend a whole lot of time thinking. You have to have some guts to plunge headlong into the great unknown and risk colossal failure at all costs, like Russ and Laura or any of the others who manage to do this and therefore must be made of a different type of mettle than I--right? I’d like to think that we’re actually not too dissimilar in nature, with perhaps one large exception: they’re not trying to rationalize their decisions and predict the future, they’re just letting things transpire and greeting the ‘future’ come what may.

I suppose they might be on to something with that whole take a leap and let life happen thing…the universe works in mysterious ways right? For an ardent planner and 1+1=2 type of person like myself this somewhat mystic fatalism doesn’t quite sit well with me. “When will the universe just figure its shit out and get on with it, doesn’t it know that I’m waiting?” This passive wait for nature to take its course stuff grates on my already thin patience. But using my overworked right brain to ‘figure everything out such that it will be splendid and perfect’ doesn’t seem to be having much success either. What to do? I’ve purged my soul with this little diatribe of mine but acknowledge that this too is still somewhat of a right-brained type activity and yet again no bells are going off and lightening has not hit me yet either to signify the answer or put me out of my misery. Damn, it was worth a shot. So where does that leave me…? Let me recap: “Overly caffinated, equally frustrated, right brained, office-hater seeks divine intervention so he won’t feel like he’s grasping at proverbial straws to meet his destined purpose in life.” Maybe I’ll just stick that in the personal section of the paper and see what turns up. I wonder my odds of success might be…?

Outside Golden: The Goldenrods

2010-01-05T20:34:00.000-08:00

Goldenrods on the roadside litter,
The park entrance, greeting all those
Who enter

To see them in the sun like glitter,
Tiny yellow dancers for the
Visitor.

Butterfly wings they slowly flutter
Warming and cooling a thirst for
Sweet nectar,

Alongside bees who sweetly linger
Drunken with tastes of the flower’s
Dry liquor.

‘Ready?’ My dog emits a whimper
Eager for entry to Nature’s
Bright splendor.

I sit and observing, remember
October mornings quite strangely
Familiar;

Where the sights of fall’s birth from summer
Defies the eventual shift
To winter.

And all the while the bees still labor
While I, with stolen hours of time,
Can savor

Autumn’s woods, left alone to ponder
The passing seasons and time’s slow
Meander;

A pathway, cut through hillside grandeur
Etching a course between the past
And future;

Connecting each and every creature
As we journey along this road
Together,

The flowers, bees, dog and her owner
Are juxtaposed here just for now;
Not longer.

For soon, time will sweep us down river,
And blanket us under winter’s
Deep slumber.

Bees they pass on, flowers they whither,
Man denies his fate, but too will
Grow older.

But time often helps us remember
By giving us back a glimpse of
October,

Giving us pause in idle wonder
Hearkening back to ground we have
Covered,

Amongst goldenrods coated in amber
A boy and his dog to wander
Forever.

jlm 10/2008

New Year's Weekend (I actually say kicking it old school in the first sentence it was that good)

2010-01-03T19:31:00.000-08:00

I can think of no better way to kick of the New Year than two days of riding with the team, bowling, a bit of skiing, moving watching and kicking it old school around the house (I’m not sure what that means but I was on a roll.) To festively commemorate the new year I went on a Friday morning ride with the team. The weather wasn’t the greatest but it felt good to get out and ride with the group. By the time I got home Kate managed to completely obliterate any remnant of Christmas and its ever present cheer and good tidings from our house. She’d also liberated all of our furniture in the living room of its related accoutrements in anticipation of moving things around: nothing like a New Year to make you want to move furniture! Personal organization urges satisfied we went to Mead Street to get some dinner and then met our friends Chris and Jenna at Elitch Lanes off 38th and Tennyson for some bowling. Kate bowled consistent games and I think came out the overall winner.

Classy VW Van Drivers Just Like to Roll

I had the highest score on our last game of the night with a 178 or something like that…the score is not what matters in bowling, its all about the laughs, black light, bad 80’s synth-pop music (thanks to Chris’s contributions to the juke box) and a pitcher of cheap brew. With New Year satisfactorily ushered in, we got down to business kicking its ass on Saturday and Sunday.

Saturday included another group ride with the Primal/First Bank group, although a smaller cadre than Friday’s ride. I felt really good and enjoyed getting out and putting the hammer down--as Bob Roll might say. After the ride some of us planned to meet again to see Avatar in 3! I am not a movie critic nor a movie connoisseur, I know what I like and generally Avatar-like films--special effect explosions of bad acting and noise--don’t get me to the theater. No Hulks, Transformers, Iron Men or the like. My rule tends to be if it has comic book characters, aliens or robots in it then maybe rent it, or better yet wait until it comes out on TV or HBO and you’re hard up for something to do--I frequently find myself injured for some reason or another so often will have a stretch of latency to catch up on my crap cinema. Then I can watch these box office lackluster at home in the privacy of my basement, where no one can see me as opposed to dropping real cash to see them with 300 of my fellow Americans and a year’s worth of calories in bad popcorn and butter. However, I succumbed to persuasion on this one and have to admit that I appreciated the cinematic experience of this film. That being said, I felt vindicated that the plot was flimsy at best and the acting mediocre (excluding Giovanni Ribisi, I thought he played his part well). Did anyone else think it ironic that the voice for the Chief of the Nabi-Navi-Naïve was the same actor who played the Indian in Dances with Wolves who befriends Kevin Costner??? Was that tongue in cheek on Cameron’s part (hell the plots are the same…why not poach some cameos)? Any way, the movie was fun to watch and I didn’t feel ripped off for having paid extra to see it in 3D. So rush out and get your tickets now, it might be sold out through June but is well worth it if you can get in to see it.

Eyes still aching from the 3D effects, we got up late this morning and went up to Keystone to ski. They got 5 inches last night and the improvement from our last visit two weeks ago was pretty significant. They opened more of the Outback and we found a great stash of powder on the right side of the Outback lift. The snow provided enough float to just glance the rocks and logs below, but all in all yielded the desired powder day effect. We got in over a dozen runs on the day and left just before closing, legs burning and ready for a repose. We planned to avoid traffic by seeking haven in Georgetown. We stopped off at Mother’s Saloon and watched the last bit of the Bronco’s travesty of a season finale.

Kate very sad about the Broncos being worthless.

We ate dinner, enjoyed a cold beer and got back on traffic-free roads and cruised home. And here it is Sunday night, I have icy hot smeared on my shoulders, plan to rub out my thighs with our massage stick before bed and feel generally exhausted: that’s what I call ringing in the New Year. Hello 2010.

Happy New Year!

2010-01-01T15:53:00.000-08:00

Today marks the beginning of a brand new year: 2010. Its a fresh start, an opportunity to begin again, to commit to doing things that in 3 weeks you won't want to do anymore. You can take a very unrealistic viewpoint of your personal faults and shortcomings and fancy yourself capable of undoing them all with sheer gusto and willpower alone. Take a look back on the remnants of last year and think, "This year will be different" only to find out in 6 months that it turned out to be eerily more similar than you thought it would.

He-he-he...I'm sure the karmic payback for starting the year off on such a cynical note will be huge, but I really mean it all in jest. I actually like the New Year. I like the energy that comes with looking at a calendar from 1 and thinking of the possibilities of what could lie ahead. So all traces of cynicism aside, I think this year will be pretty interesting and hopefully eventful. With that, I'll wish you all a happy new year and only the best for 2010.

Happy New Year!

--jason

Simple Preferences

2009-12-31T07:31:00.000-08:00

Here's a lovely picture of the sunrise this fine New Year's Eve morning in Denver.

Contrasted with an equally lovely picture of the sunrise against a backdrop of Mt. Evans and other Front Range peaks.

Not speaking specifically to the quality of photography being demonstrated, but which do you prefer? In my mind the question is an obvious one.

Kate's Crappy Friday

2009-12-30T20:07:00.000-08:00

"Minutia: small or trivial details" an appropriate tag for this type of post...

Thanks to the state's budget crisis state employees must take a furlough day tomorrow, which pretty much makes this Kate's Friday today. She's been giving each day this week its appropriate nick-name to match her shortened work schedule: its kind of annoying, at least since I'll still be going in to work tomorrow. Tonight I spent most of the evening doing a bit of writing. I should have put some time aside to hop on the trainer but you know what they say about good intentions... Tomorrow will be the last day of the year, I'll have to come up with something clever or introspective to say. At this point all I'm coming up with are dirty limericks. Despite my grumbling this is my Thursday, meaning I'll get a 3 day weekend so plenty of time to do some riding, some writing and catch up on whatever odd's and end's need to be done around the house. The heater core on the Jeep has finally given up the ghost so that project might be on my plate for Saturday if I feel up to the task. So with my battery beginning to fade, the Bean looking at me like I need to go to bed and my eyes feeling like she's right, I think I'll just pull the plug on this post and call it a day.

Christmas Day Hike

2009-12-28T19:43:00.000-08:00

My dad and I decided to brave the frigid temperatures on Christmas Day and take a short hike at Crown Hill. We gave my dad a spotting scope for birding, so the Wildlife Sanctuary at Crown Hill seemed a good place to test it. The weather, as you can see, was pretty grey and overcast. The temperature hovered in the upper teens, according to the new weather station we got as a gift from my parents!

We hiked around the lake and entered the Wildlife refuge. There were only a handful of people out and about. But we did spot a coyote taking a stroll across a frozen pond. The picture below shows him slinking across the ice. We got a great view of him through the scope but unfortunately could not replicate it with my poor cell phone camera.

Hoping to see some birds (my dad being a bird watcher) we set up behind one of the blinds and observed some Magpies fluttering about among the trees across the pond. Those were the only birds we saw however.

Here's a shot of the Bean and my dad trying to find some birds to watch. Bean really wasn't supposed to be in the Wildlife Refuge. And normally I would certainly have obliged but there wasn't really a lot of wildlife to behold and she was on a leash...she just whined most of the time.

With scope and dog in tow we made our way out of the refuge and walked around the lake. We saw some Gulls, Canadian Geese, and a duck which we couldn't identify. That being the sum total of our birding experience we decided to head back to the car. Despite the lack of birding to be had we still got a chance to test out the scope, stretch our legs and see a bit of wildlife.

Dogs in the Backyard

2009-12-18T16:37:00.000-08:00

Sometimes the dogs try to do the talking for us.
Running up to fences,
tails raised and wagging,
ears and eyes alert,
barking and imploring their partner next door,
“Come and play.”
“Run with me in the sun.”
“Tell me about your day.”
“Roll with me in the dirt.”
“Explore with me the smell of this flower.”
A frantic commotion of energy and excitement,
the sighting, one of the other stirs a frenzy of
unfettered enjoyment.
Owners hastily scurry out of houses, or
peer through screened windows from porches.
“Quit barking.”
“Be quiet.”
“I don’t know what got into him.”
“She’s just such a handful.”
“You know puppies.”
Apologizing to neighbors,
joking nervously about their dog’s behavior
making excuses for the obvious disobedience,
the failure of the owner to exert control.
Dogs are pack animals.
Humans have yards
and fences.

jlm
fall 2009

Routine Labor Pains

2009-12-13T19:05:00.000-08:00

After a week of single digit temps, Mother Nature finally delivered some warm weather. Waking to sun and tolerable temperatures on Saturday, the day seemed ripe for a bit of routine maintenance on the Vanagon. A week ago I ordered a bunch of Mann Oil Filters on sale at Van Café, anticipating an oil change in the near future. Beyond the routine oil change, I needed to top off some of the other fluids, perform an inspection of the engine compartment for leaks etc. and time permitting take a look at some of my recent clutch issues. Feeling spry after a tasty breakfast, I made the trek down to Autozone to get oil and a pan and set to work on the oil change.

Now despite the swagger of that opening paragraph, I should make it quite clear that I’m no mechanic and really have limited experience wrenching on cars. I have performed numerous oil changes on various vehicles before so I approached this task with the knowingness of a seasoned veteran. And in actuality, changing the oil on the Vanagon proved easy enough considering everything is more or less in arms reach of the rear bumper. Remove the plug and drain the oil. Remove the oil filter by hand and replace. Fill the sump and run engine for a minute; top off as needed. I added some coolant, did my poking around looking for leaks and felt pretty good about myself. I was at that point where after having survived the swim across the shallow end of the pool I foolishly thought myself primed for a dive off the diving board. And dive I did.

After our most recent Vanagon trips I noticed a fair amount of hesitation in the clutch and chunkiness in shifting. Before I ran to Autozone today I stopped off at the bike shop to get a replacement spoke for my commuter and when attempting to shift the van into reverse to leave the parking space found myself unable to do so without forcibly grinding the gears into place. After some research on the Samba I discerned that my gear bashing could be related to failing clutch cylinders, but upon noticing no visible leakage from either the slave or master cylinders decided to simply flush the line and replace the fluid as a first fix. In theory I found myself again changing oil, but unlike the ‘unscrew and dump’ variety I’m quite familiar with I had to navigate the challenges of hydraulic lines and vacuum pumping. I made my second trip back to Autozone and picked up fluid and a vacuum pump. Now nearly 4:00pm (after my oil change and maintenance on my bike amongst other piddling around) I faced a rapidly dropping temperature and the pleasures of working on the van using lamps and hand held lights. Still confident, I set about making the hose connections and attaching the vacuum to the bleed valve in what I thought was a relatively straightforward manner: goo. Goo shot out the bleed valve and all over the floor of the garage. “Ok don’t panic.”

I pumped the hand pump to actuate the vacuum and the fluid stopped flowing and yet failed to start flowing through the tube to the receptacle. “Ok a bit of panic.” I foolishly cursed and pumped and cursed some more trying to coax the fluid through the line. I managed about a fluid ounce of dark, tea-colored hydraulic fluid before unhooking the line, cue the goo again, and retreating back to the pump’s instructions. Opening the instructions (for really the first time) I quickly learned that I needed to attach my pump to the valve (while still closed) prime the pump with a dozen or so pumps and then open, pumping again to tease out the fluid into the line; physics then would take over and do the rest. Sure enough those instruction writers sure know their stuff. I Teflon taped the valve, closed it, attached my pump, pumped and then opened the flood gates so to speak. Presto! I had suction, but boy did my suction really suck. What those clever instruction writing bastards failed to mention is that it would take 10-15 minutes just to fill the container half way. In truth I probably own the blame for the slow flowing h-goo thanks largely to my attempt to perform this repair at night in now 30 degree temps. It is hard to get the goo to flow when its cold; if you know what I mean. But, flow it eventually did and I sucked out three containers worth of nasty clutch fluid before my impeccably clear new fluid appeared in the pump. After a fair amount of cleaning up from my sloppy mechanic’s work, I took the van out for a test. The clutch felt firmer and more responsive and the gnashing of gears could nary be felt; though I still had to really push hard on the shifter to force the van to shift. We’ll call this a draw.

Day 2 of Vanagon wrenching and I found myself back to the drawing board on my poor shifting. Again pursuing the wisdom of the Samba community I decided to try and first address my issue by changing the transmission fluid. Back into my comfort zone I thought this project would be a slam dunk given my impressive skills in undoing bolts and setting oil free. Sure the posts I read commented on the peculiar tightness of the transmission filler area, and there were several (sometimes multi-colored and bold) comments about making sure to free the fill plug before draining the fluid; apparently that fill plug is tricky. Well son of a bitch, it kicked tricky in the ass before it turned on me and gave me a ninja kick to the head. For starters I had to find a 17mm allen wrench. Unlike every other fitting on the van, which thankfully makes use of a traditional nut and bolt set up, this one uses a contortionist 17mm hex bolt as both drain plug and filler. As an amateur bike mechanic I have a lot of hex wrenches, but 17mm? That’s like saying your back yard tree is big while standing next to a sequoia: time to get back to the zone…Autozone. It is also worth mentioning that the filler plug is conveniently located about an inch and a half from some exhaust piping and other mysterious van hoses all crowded in the same 6 inch space behind the frame in the rear passenger wheel area. Using my newly acquired Autozone 17 mm hex socket and a wrench (the socket driver itself didn’t fit) I pulled until I finally freed the fill plug: point me. The drain plug unfortunately also sits next to some exhaust piping but even closer than the fill plug so my handy hex socket would not fit: point Vanagon, touché. After a bit of cursing and flailing around, I found myself at Sears where they conveniently stock actual 17mm allen wrenches. I thought this might actually fit and upon returning saw my hopes dashed against the rocks: the wrench was still too long and now theVanagon takes an early lead.

I decided to get crazy on this problem and sawed off about an inch of the Craftsman allen wrench. “Sure hope you weren’t planning on taking that back to Sears.” About this time Kate came out and saw me buzz sawing my new tool with the circular saw and grinding wheel and promptly turned to hide behind the Vanagon. Yet, my craziness panned out and I was able to use a closed wrench and the 17mm nub to remove the plug: gamed tied at 2 apiece. What came out of the transmission was truly disgusting to behold. Despite all of the drama up to this point (and what came after) I know this repair was completely worth it just to purge that nasty black gook out of the transmission. The fluid drained slowly but eventually stopped and I put the plug back in and got ready to fill, this would have to be the easy part right? WRONG! I attempted to use some hose and my funnel to work the fluid into the transmission by routing it around the suspension coil, across some vacuum line, under frame and around the exhaust and misc. hoses and finally back up into the transmission. In the process I managed to pour oil down my back, all over the exhaust pipes and the frame and the gear shift shaft and the floor and the side of the transmission. Once I got fluid through the tubing it started flowing back out of the filler hole. Here’s where I slipped a bit into the darkness having spilled expensive fluid all over myself, the car and the floor and having gone several hours without eating or standing in a normal erect position: with my handy funnel set up I was tempted to start beer bonging gear oil just to be done with it. Instead, the van probably racked up a half dozen points while I kicked, yelled, cursed German engineering and threw oil soaked rags across the garage. At the point I asked Kate to come out and hold the funnel she could see my lapsing into hysteria and suggest I eat before trying again: damn, she is a smart one.

I had a bit of lunch, calmed down and went back to Autozone for the umpteenth time to get more fluid (I only had a precious 4L of the 4L required when I started and managed to spill a good amount of it in my first attempt). At Autozone near the gear oil I spied a whole assortment of pumps and oil fillers that I apparently missed my first, hasty time in the store when I was blinded by cockiness and hubris. Strangely, the $4.00 plastic pump proved to be the game saving hero of the day. Back home and under the van I placed my pump in the oil jug and tube in the transmission and began pumping. Gee, look how easy the oil goes from pump to transmission without having to bend and twist around the frame, other hoses and miscellaneous van parts. I accomplished more in 10 min than I had in an entire afternoon of foul language and futile pouring of gear oil down my backside. Topped off I had a brief moment of stupidity where I tried to reinsert the fill plug by turning it the wrong direction (righty tighty dumbass), but upon realizing the error of my ways soon had everything sealed up and ready for a test drive.

Holy shit, what a difference! The shifter and transmission easily engaged each gear from R through 4th. I took the Vanagon out and drove it around for a bit and could not believe the transformation. I might have hit a pretty low point in getting there, but finally had knocked one out of the park. Pulling back up the garage I surveyed carnage of the weekend’s festivities. Grease spots, oil slicks, slimy footprints, dirty rags and tools. Obviously going to a Grease Monkey or similar shop would have yielded a significantly less stressful experience. But on the other hand, I would not have learned a thing and would not have the satisfaction of solving a problem myself. The garage cleaned and all of the tools put away I pulled the Vanagon back into its spot. As far as inanimate objects go it seemed happy, or at least its owner was happier. I wiped down some finger prints left above the wheel well and visually inspected the chassis underneath. A bit of oil leaking from the CV boot…that should be fun.

Spindly Winter Tree

2009-12-07T18:28:00.000-08:00

Spindly winter tree,
arms raised despite the weight of a frosty harvest,
icy fruit ripening in the
red-orange light of dawn,
I look into your face on fire
bowed and weeping tears
of melting snow,
framed by blue sky and white,
pristine and perfect.
I look and feel you burning.
I hear God—

for your voice is his own.

2009 jlm

Vanagon Window Switch Replacement

2009-12-06T09:30:00.000-08:00

A couple weekends ago I undertook the job of repairing the driver’s side power window in our Vanagon. I pulled off the door panel, cut through the plastic lining and pulled out the switch components and motor. I ran tests on the switch and seemed to be getting current. I also ran the motor against the other switch thanks to a suggestion from one of The Samba’s forum members: motor ran like a champ. The diagnosis definitely pointed to a bad switch, sneakily allowing current but not enough power.

I ordered a replacement switch from Van Café for $14.00. I think the shipping charge I paid totaled more than the part itself; somewhat of an annoyance but I had a suitable replacement in relatively short order. There are 5 contact points on the back of the switch where various wires are soldered on leading back to plastic connectors. Replacing the switch itself would not amount to much of a challenge; cutting and then re-soldering all of the old connections would prove to be the tricky part.

I can summarize my experience with small electronics with one word: nada. My experience historically has favored residential electrical work, for example in our cabin up in Indian Hills I completely rewired our home office. I replaced switches, outlets, ran series of lights etc. Not to discount the science of the electrician, the actual work itself typically amounts to little more than drilling, screwing in fixtures and boxes and twisting wire: pretty straightforward assuming you’ve done the work to not overload your circuit. On the other hand, I tried to make a bike light once and ended up melting down a half dozen AA batteries in the process. Did I use the wrong gauge wire, have too much power, not enough resistance, what about capacitance…I really have no idea what any of this means. Wary of melting my Vanagon I approached this project with a bit of trepidation. All I had to do was replace what the fine folks at VW had done: just recreate what they already had done the brainwork on…that should be a piece of cake.

And in truth it was, but man I solder really poorly. I managed to get the old wires and connecting harnesses off and since I completely lacked replacements planned to just reuse them. I made a small diagram of which color wire went to which pole on the switch; pretty methodical and deliberate. The original German switch used a pole connection notched at the end to make soldering and connecting the wire pretty easy. My Brazilian knock-off lacked this notch and instead provided small holes I presumed for the wire to thread through and get soldered. This worked but make the act of soldering tricky because I felt compelled to put solder on both sides of the pole to hold the wire in place. I must confess I Googled a bit of help on how to solder because I couldn’t get it to work very easily. I tried heating the connections but they never seemed to get hot enough to melt the solder: I sat at length with my arm cramping holding the soldering iron praying that it would just heat the stupid metal. I probably melted most of the inside of the switch in the process but nary a drop of silvery solder. So I added flux…and more flux; hopefully this stuff doesn’t cause cancer I huffed a whole tub of it. I ended up getting things going with the help of the flux and small touches of the iron to the solder itself. In the process I melted some of the back tabs on the switch; they seemed irrelevant anyway. I also nicked my thumb with the iron which while also irrelevant left a nice painful reminder of my clumsiness.

The switch includes a red/black bridge from one of the 5 poles to another. That proved the most challenging as I completely lacked wire to help make the connection, and the Germans used one wire connected to two poles and not two separate pieces which I now had to do (after cutting them to get them off the old switch). When finished my switch looked like Frankenstein; a poorly constructed mishmash of solder bubbles and wire. There was no way this was going to work. In my brilliance I made one flaw in my rewiring: I just connected the wire to the switch without trying to keep the wire within the same profile of the switch. As a result it wouldn’t fit through the switch bezel. I almost threw it across the room, but instead managed to bend the wires enough to force it through the bezel opening. I thought for sure I’d pull something loose or worse, break a wire. But with some grunting and brute force I managed to work it through the opening and made my connections. Key, ignition, brief moment of prayer and…down went the window smooth as ever. It also went back up with ease (the second half of the equation, I previously had a window that would go up but not down, thankfully I hadn’t reversed my symptoms). I put some grease on the window rail to help it slide down and sealed back up the door panel. Having successfully tackled my most challenging Vanagon project to date, and my first involving anything electrical, I felt pretty content with myself. The next time, and with a Vanagon there certainly will be a next time, I don’t think I’ll approach the task with so much trepidation. I just hope the Vanagon gremlins don’t reward my new found confidence with too many projects just yet, I’d like to enjoy the success of this one for a little while.

Cider Bottling Day

2009-12-05T13:10:00.000-08:00

Over the summer Kate and I traveled up to Merino, Colorado to visit a friend of her’s who needed help picking some apples. We spent an entire afternoon picking and sorting apples from the large tree in the friend’s front yard. For a day’s labor and trade for cleaning up all of the rotten fruit, we got to keep all of the apples we picked. So, at the end of the day we came back to Denver with 4 large boxes of apples. Some of these beauties found their way into pies and cobblers but the bulk of them we pressed with the intention of turning it into hard cider. Neither Kate nor I have ever attempted to brew, distill, ferment or otherwise process anything into alcohol before so we didn’t know exactly what to expect. The process which really occurred in stages over a couple months finally came to fruition today when we got to bottle all of our cider.

To get everything started we scrubbed and washed all of the apples. We ran them through a food processor to puree them and then hand pressed the remaining mush by wringing it through cheesecloth. Later we learned that the local beer making store we bought all of our equipment from, Stomp them Grapes, also happens to rent apple presses.

Lesson 1: Do not hand press your apples…it’s a bit ridiculous find a press to rent.

We processed the apple juice and added Campden tables and Pectic Enzyme to the mix immediately and let it set for 24 hours. It is very important to read the instructions and measure carefully. I misread tsp as tbsp and added more Pectic Enzyme than we needed.

Lesson 2: Do not let an impatient moron do your measuring for you.

Having too much enzyme we found wasn’t going to hurt our cider, but we’d have extra un-dissolved tablets that we’d need to filter out of our juice. On day two we added the yeast to our primary, gave it a stir and checked the specific gravity. After about 5 days our specific gravity was in the 1.04 range so we siphoned it off into a carboy to sit. This process proved challenging as we have never siphoned anything before. Kate got several mouthfuls of slightly fermented juice before we figured out our tube stopper was on the wrong end.

Lesson 3: No matter how much you suck, you cannot start a siphon with your tub shut off at the top…gravity doesn’t stand a chance if you do.

We locked off our carboys and then let the product set for a couple months. Our due date was Thanksgiving, and since we were out of town we had to wait until today to bottle. Stomp them Grapes sold us brown bottles with stoppers and some apple flavoring to add to the cider. Today we set up our two carboys and siphoned off the cider into the bottles. We used our bottle filler but found that it was easier to just use the shut off on the tube and run the tube directly into the bottles. This proved messier but was far more efficient.

Lesson 4: If you have to squat down to fill your bottles and repeatedly take big shots off of the siphon tube you stand no chance of walking away from the process without a killer headache.

Our bottles went back downstairs to sit for a couple more months before we can put them in the fridge and then drink. It will end up being a long process, but if the end product tastes anything like what I got a good shot of today, it will be well worth it in the end.

Bluebird Morning

2009-12-03T18:13:00.000-08:00

The bluebird Colorado morning
Passes a casual gaze in through
My living room picture window,
Snow blanket pulled back enough
To reveal her green grass and fall
Leaves, eyeing me through the lens
Of falling drops of melting snow
A coy entreating glance from the
Girl at the bar, turning on her
Barstool without moving her
Torso, all hips and legs, soft,
Smooth skin tracing the gentle
Line from ankle to points north,
A downward glance, turning nod of
The head, hands raising lazily to ear
Brushing back auburn locks, a sidelong
Eye cast in your direction just enough
To lock in recognition prompting the
Seemingly chance smile of flirtatious ruby
Lips, a moment to come hither and
Then recoiling in artificial
Laughter at the bartender or some
Other patron, leaving you longing,
Standing naked and exposed,
Breathless at the first shock of her frigid air;
Always colder than it looks outside.

2009 jlm

Thanksgiving 2009

2009-12-01T11:49:00.000-08:00

This past weekend Kate and I flew back to Missouri to visit my family for the Thanksgiving holiday. We arrived late Wednesday night after a surprisingly uneventful evening of ‘hectic’ holiday travel. My brother picked us up from the airport and we stayed with his family through Friday night. We spent Thanksgiving Day at my parent’s house where we indulged in the traditional eating of wonderful food and watching of football. Seventeen or so people crowded around the dining room table and tail of folding card tables. There is something very comforting about being around so many people who know you, and have known you, on a very intimate level pretty much all your life. Everyone is very laid back, the conversations are widely varied and the occasion seems all the more festive. I treasure these opportunities to see everyone again, particularly my grandpa who is well into his 80’s but still dishes out the sass and humor. The afternoon’s grazing and shouting at the TV was broken only by my brother’s attempt to start a fire in the fire pit outside, which went up in smoke, (sorry for the pun) and by my attempt to play Frisbee with my cousin and nephew in the wind; I ended up on the roof—twice.

Friday we lounged around with my brother and 3 year old nephew Bryce. He’s a handful, but playing with him, while physically exhausting, is a fun escape. Watching him interact with and respond to his surroundings is fascinating; you can practically see him learning and processing as he plays. That afternoon we all went out for lunch and stopped by to see my sister-in-law at work. After that we went over to my parents for the evening. Saturday was family photo day and everyone in my immediate family begrudging dolled themselves up (as best as can be expected) and went out to get a family portrait. Quick and only mildly painful, like a flu shot, it was over and we were off to do more exciting things.

The weather on Saturday was gorgeous so we spent much of the afternoon outside. We went to a nearby park to hike and take my Bryce out to play on the playground. That evening we all went out for dinner and then went to the Brunswick XL Zone to go bowling. Approximately the size of a Super Wal-Mart or some such store, the Brunswick XL Zone is the first bowling alley I’ve been to where they had couches instead of uncomfortable plastic chairs. Your shoes were brought out to you, there was a dedicated waitress for our lane and atypical to Missouri bowling alleys there was no smoking allowed: pretty high class. Considering we are a family of professional bowlers we did really well: I think our scores at the end of each of our two games probably added up to 300…for 6 people. Despite my Dad’s complaining about having to go bowling even he appeared to have fun, at least when we got a strike or two.

Sunday we got up and Kate made pancakes at the behest of my parents. Kate will one day be famous for her pancakes, if for nothing else. So my parents requested these even prior to our arrival and the ‘scheduled’ day for pancake-o-rama was to be Sunday. Fully fueled on complex carbs and sugars we went down to the Old St. Charles historic district to walk around. One of my favorite places to go in the St. Louis area, particularly for the holidays, Old St. Charles did not disappoint even despite the overcast skies and cold wind. Cobblestoned and lined with brick buildings and storefronts from the late 1700’s, the main street district reflects the deep history of the area and serves as a memorial to the city’s territorial roots, Missouri statehood and starting place for explorers such as Lewis and Clark and Daniel Boone. The main street houses a number of touristy shops, craft stores, coffee houses, bars and restaurants. Usually decorated for the season, the city already boasted the trimmings of the Christmas holiday, and we even arrived right at the tail end of the holiday parade. Accompanying all of the activity were costumed performers in holiday garb, carolers and even a man roasting chestnuts over an open fire. We stopped for lunch at Bradden’s and walked around the down town area for most of the afternoon.

Monday Kate and I had most of the day to ourselves so we went on a drive out HWY 94 to Augusta and then went and did some shopping. I made some repairs to my dad’s bike and attempted to till their garden but ended up trying to fix the starter coil on their roto-tiller. That evening we were back out at my brother’s for dinner before heading home to pack for the trip home. Our flight home left St. Louis at 6:10 which mean we were up by 4:00am to get dressed and drive out to the airport. Such a departure doesn’t leave much room for reminiscing or fond farewells. Instead you get up and in a bleary eyed haze pile in the car and head out, which I have to say I almost prefer. While the coming is very exciting, the going is almost always bittersweet; at least if you’re out of your wits tired you don’t have a lot of time to concern yourself with that. It appears sleep deprivation is good for something, so I’ll try to be thankful for that.

Drum and Fife Corps Playing Christmas Songs in Old St. Charles

Stables and Livery

Some of the old homes and storefronts decorated for the holidays

Check out the link to my Flickr page on the right for more photos.

Your security wait time...

2009-11-25T16:21:00.001-08:00

Knowing full well that today is the busiest travel day of the year, and that DIA is the 3rd busiest airport in our fair nation, we planned very intently to allow sufficient time to make our flight. We ended up parking in the overflow lot, but that beats no parking at all...the lot was nearly full when we got there. We managed to get a spot by the bus, board in 10 minutes and get to the terminal. I've never seen DIA so busy, and feared the worst for wait times. We walked above the main security check in: not too bad. The concorse out to A looked clear-what? We walked right up and through security-no wait. I've waited more on non-holidays. Conveniently we now have our planned "two hour buffer" and are in line to actually sit down for dinner. So far so good.

When words fail

2009-11-24T07:28:00.000-08:00

What color best describes that shade of the morning sky
just after sun rise,
where the clearness of the heavens reaches out to greet
the first rays of light,
where the infinity of space meets the boundaries of our world?
Do artists know of such a hue?

And what term of science or physiology best explains that
first welcome sensation of warmth that emanates,
from core to chilled extremities and brings
the first hint of life giving relief
to numb limbs on a cold winter’s day?
Do practitioners know of such a heat?

And how might philosophers or religious men characterize that brief moment
where the soul recognizes something in its surroundings
and translates this recognition of place and being for the mind,
communicating an assurance of purpose and course,
an internal resonance: everything is as it should be?
Can even the wisest explain such peace?

And where in our collective humanity are there words to define love,
love felt in hearing your returning partner’s footsteps upstairs
and knowing you are not alone,
love communicated in a glance across the kitchen
as she reaches for a box of cereal
what word or phrase would capture this feeling—
or as with many things does it leave us,
dumbfounded and mute,
grasping for a means to explain,
yet unable to fully do it justice?

DIY Kind of Day

2009-11-22T20:44:00.000-08:00

"The best part of waking up--" is knowing that you have to go down to the Home Depot to rent a giant drain rooter. I generally do not shy away from home improvement projects. I enjoy rolling up my sleeves and getting my hands dirty, be it carpentry, demolition, electrical, gardening etc. That being said, I have historically had issues with plumbing. In our cabin up in Indian Hills I was plagued with plumbing problems: drains that wouldn't drain, pipes that froze, faucets that leaked. Every time I would try and fix a problem it seemed I would just create another. Although we moved to more of an urban setting I've still maintained my DIY spirit, except that I've shyed away from plumbing related projects. Sure I fixed a leaky faucet and I try to unclog stopped up drains when they happen, but when things have gotten messy with our root clogged main line in the past I bailed on the project and called for reinforcements. Well since this is the season for our basement main to start backing up (and indeed it has the last couple times we've run the washer) I decided to take it upon myself to fix the problem myself.

I went to the Home Depot and rented one of their 74' 1.5" drain rooters. The past two times we've called someone to come out and do this in the past all they've done is drag their rooter down into the basement, run the cutting blades down the line and voila'! I figured I could do that myself and save a $100 by getting my hands on the right tool. The HD rig was $50 for 4 hours and was easy to set up and operate. It came with a compliment of augers, blades and cutters. To get it working all you had to do was plug it in, flip the switch to the desired direction (forward or reverse) and hold the cable as it fed into the drain. I found it easier on my back to fold up a towel and use my knee to activate the foot switch and kneel on the other as I worked the cable down the pipe. I first ran the auger for 20-30 ft and then pulled it out to switch to the cutter. I ran the cutting blades for nearly all of the 75' cable. I reversed the line, wiped up the floor and hosed off the machine when finished. Fortunately the HD gave me free gloves with my rental; my hands were filthy. Aside from that and a handful of errant splatters, the process was relatively clean. I didn't ever pull out any debris, but after running the cutters the cable came back with a heavy layer of sludge on it. I must have struck gold...or Texas tea...or something in the process. Before I took the tool back I ran a load in the washer on Medium volume: no back-up. By the time I got back from returning the machine, Kate was already on to a Super Plus sized load and yet there were no leaks or gurgles in the line. A job well done. Having taken this project on myself I now know what to expect if (when) I have to do it again in the future. Plus, I've confronted my plumbing phobias and perhaps now will be more confident for future projects.

Having tackled the drain with such success I was feeling pretty saucy. I went out and got a new trainer tire for my bike (see my post on Trainer Tires at http://www.spokedintheeye.blogspot.com/ for more details) and then decided to tackle the finicky driver's side window in the Vanagon. This window has only worked a handful of times and has left me in awkward situations at the ATM, at a toll booth in Kansas and at the football game when I had to get out to pay the parking attendant. My initial thought was that the switch was bad, so I thought I could do a bit of work to diagnose this problem and figure it out.

I went to Autozone and picked up a multi-meter to test the current at the switch and if needs be at the motor. After a bit of effort and careful deliberation at the Bentley Vanagon Manual I pulled the trim off the door and started pulling apart the window motor. The disassembly wasn't too difficult, once I got past my initial concern and desire to proceed very cautiously. My fear of tearing up the Vanagon trumped my desire to be fast, so I took my time and proceeded in an exacting manner. I had to cut into the moisture barrier, which I fear might be a hassle to replace and even in doing so may never match the exactness of the German original. In any case, I fished out the switch and wiring and tested the current going from the fuse to the switch and from the switch to the motor. From my tests I could get 12 v of current coming from the switch to the motor, which makes sense considering I've never had problems rolling the window up...just down. So I pulled the motor out, which was by far the most difficult part of the job considering I couldn't get my window down to relieve tension on the pulley, and tested the motor by running it separately. It ran strong. At this point I'm back to thinking that the switch is bad. I'll have to do a bit of research on the web to find a suitable replacement. I'm sure I'll more on this project at a future date.

Well, Well HTML

2009-11-19T20:15:00.001-08:00

Man this has been a long week...and its only Thursday. I've got a new bike specific blog in the works. Eventually it will be found at www.spokedintheeye.blogspot.com but right now its not really worth seeing. I've struggled with trying to customize the Blogger templates for the past couple days and have come to realize that I know nothing about HTML, CSS or any of this mess. Its a whole different world from the .net and database coding I'm familar with. Oh well, tomorrow is Friday and hopefully over the weekend I'll get things up and running.

Human Race

2009-11-17T19:28:00.000-08:00

Today on my ride in I stopped at one of the many stop signs along 14th to wait for a pedestrian who was crossing just as I pulled up to the intersection. Following closely behind me an old Nissan truck drew up to the intersection and waited in its place in the queue. As the pedestrian made his way past me a white sedan of some kind (a Buick perhaps?) flew past the Nissan, myself and pedestrian (in mid stream mind you) and raced through the intersection without stopping or even hitting his brakes. Now it hardly bears mentioning that in Colorado it is state law to stop at stop signs, this seems to be a universal truth more or less anywhere across the globe. Additionally, it is also illegal to cross an intersection in Colorado if a pedestrian is present and its doubly ignorant to pass a car and bicycle waiting in traffic to do this.

After I spent some time gesturing and yelling on behalf of the dumbstruck pedestrian, my thoughts quickly turned to “what was this person thinking?” Were they simply neglectful and not paying attention? Were they in a big hurry and felt obligated to cut some corners in the realm of safety to save time? Did they just not care? As a cyclist I see this type of behavior a lot. The slow meandering pace of a bike (regardless of how aptly powered) affords a great amount of time to survey automobile interactions at close quarters. More often than not I’m entirely confounded at the hastiness and impatience at which people drive, and in thinking about this further after this morning’s events I’m reticent to think that this phenomenon is exclusive to the act of driving.

We associate an unmistakable connection between ourselves as people and the phrase “human race.” We cover all nations, ethnicities and peoples: Indians, Africans, Americans, Europeans, Chinese, Russians, indigenous tribes and onward all under this umbrella. We clearly articulate both our oneness as a species as well as the continuity of our existence on Earth in this one expression. Now, if I was to say the words, “bike race,” “foot race,” “horse race” or even “arms race” the understanding of the phrase would be quite different despite the parallel structure. It strikes me quite curiously that we use the same word to describe humanity as we would a friendly competition between teams, factions or individuals. But the implication of this word choice reaches beyond a simple euphemism for competitive struggle. While arduous, a race is not entirely the same as a game, a struggle or a war; even though these terms often serve as synonyms for each other. Races more poignantly are contests of endurance and perseverance: the fastest, or more importantly fastest while longest lasting, wins the race. The competitive strategy in this sense is far more basic: out run or out last.

We have become endurance athletes in metaphorical sense, and humanity’s modern race is decidedly a fast paced one, and with each day only becomes increasingly more so. We eat “fast food.” We describe the expansion of our cities in terms of “the pace of growth.” We dial in to a digital race track of communication and information exchange using “high speed internet.” Human courtship has been reduced to internet matching and “speed dating” where we can quickly decide our compatibility without all the slowness and hassle of doing it ourselves the hard way. Our routes to work take us along sprawling interstates, zipping past cities and towns at 65 mph all to go from point A to point B as quickly as possible. We can easily go to one large box to shop for all the necessities of modern living, maximizing our time spent in the store and efficiently scurrying us in and out the doors via self-scan check out lanes faster than and Indy pit crew: it actually pains us tremendously to have to wait in these queues, “What’s wrong with this place only 20 check out lanes open? I’ve been here like 5 minutes!”

Our lives have become so condensed, so focused on perpetuating this race that we never seem to escape it. Our news comes at us in fast digestible bites. Our time spent at work is a long act of endurance plugging away at business and industry. Our split times are measured in fiscal Quarters, our pacing in annual budgets and sales: “the speed of business.” We arrive home late at night and cook quick meals in microwaves consuming calories in great hungry man bites. Our “free time” is doled out sparingly in evening and weekend increments; sometimes you do have to coast or draft or at least stop to pick up some Gatorade. But even here we rush about and make a race of our leisure time. We need to clean the house. We should go out and see so and so, catch that movie, TiVo that show so we can see it later, spend time with the kids, walk the dog, prep for Monday, go get that triple-shot Grande latte to fuel us back up so we can go on and on and on in varied and chaotic forms. At this point we can only squeeze nanoseconds out of our 24 hours; we are so ‘efficient’ and organized in our day to day. We can drive, get directions, check email, catch up on the score of the game last night, get a restaurant review, grab breakfast, shave, put on makeup, play parent to the kid in front of the DVD player and still have time to run down a pedestrian trying to cross the street—and all before 7:30am.

And while it might be easy to take the fluidity and effortlessness of our fast paced, me-centered, impatient culture for granted behind the wheel of our comfy automobiles, in reality we are more akin to the cyclist, vulnerable and unsheltered on the far edge of traffic than the beefy SUV that hurtles past at 50mph. Our interactions with our fellow racers are brief if not often on a collision course with each other. Our cars distractingly collide in intersections. Our stock markets ‘crash.’ We ‘wreck’ our marriages and relationships all in similar fashion to a chain of cyclists going down in a turn or a NASCAR driver spiraling end over end after colliding with a wall. For as seemingly successful we have become as racers, our race has now apparently become an attempt to sprint what is in reality a marathon distance.

By rushing about so, what do we really miss? Well, we potentially miss the pedestrian in the walkway, but outside of that example we likely miss out on so much more. With all the accessible information at our fingertips do we really know that much more about our surroundings than we did before? By being able to text, SMS, Twitter, or call a ‘friend’ at any hour of the day do we really find ourselves that much closer as human beings? How is it that one can have thousands of friends on FaceBook and yet not know the names and stories of their neighbors next door? By having 5 activities to do instead of one do we really accomplish more? It seems the net result of multitasking is having more things left undone. I’m not so sure that the answer to any of these questions is all too positive. I don’t know if we would see quite the same levels of violent crime, mental illness, domestic abuse, divorce, obesity, loneliness, depression, stress, anxiety, and suicide if we really were winning this race of ours.

Coincidentally there is a passage in Truman Capote’s “In Cold Blood,” which I am currently reading, that speaks of the boy, Kenyon Clutter, and his “riding the life” out of his horse. The boy pushes his young colt to the point that in mid stride its heart gives out and it collapses. I cannot help but think that in our race we might be assuming the role of both rider and horse; whipping and pushing: more, more, faster, faster—to the point where we can barely stand it any longer, just before our heart gives out. I’d certainly hate to be crossing the street when that happens.

Post-Snow Ride 11/16

2009-11-16T06:45:00.001-08:00

The predawn temperature this morning pushed the mercury just above 20 degrees. With clear skies and sunshine the weather magicians prognosticated a possibility of 45 degrees later in the day despite the layer of snow and ice on the ground. Well then that sounded just like the perfect conditions for a ride. In all honesty, I initially approached my ride to work with the anticipation that I’d be tossing my bike on the bus and catching a ride in to work. Despite being within school-bell range of an elementary school, Lakewood must not feel it worth plowing our streets. So the road through my neighborhood, snaking the path from 25th to 20th bore all the scars and wounds of Sunday’s drivers encased in a hefty layer of ice; dreadful conditions for navigating a road bike.

However my attitude changed for the daring, when I hit 20th and saw clear streets (caveat: snow covered bike lane) and no traffic. Taking to the open road and cruising right past the bus stop in front of the library I cast my vote for 2 wheeled transportation and gave the proverbial finger to a life of walking, running and skipping and took off down 20th. It really wasn’t as bad as all that and in fact I didn’t face any issues until I hit 14th east of Carr…where apparently Lakewood exchanged plows for zambonis. Its easy to see how they might be confused:
Snowplow—

Zamboni—

So, with a veritable ice rink before me and I ended up walking my bike a block and a half. This humiliating bit of bike pushing just adds more to my argument for getting some badass studded bike tires like these.

My only hesitation has been the lack of an extra set of wheels to make them über convenient and the fact that it really doesn’t snow and ice all that much here in Denver. Sure we get some lousy days (such as this morning) but it usually melts fast and by the evening (such as this evening) the roads are adequately passable. STILL! The ‘hardcore’ allure conjured up by images of studded tires mounted on the ol’ Cannondale is hard to ignore.

Continuing on with the ride, in true bike commuter dork fashion I whipped out my new cell phone camera to snap a couple quick pics of the coverage on 14th and at the path just past Federal Blvd.

Not really that bad. Clear with lurking hints of black ice.

The path looked great up until the bend just in the horizon…ditched it for the street

As you can see the roads were really quite passable by bike, and of the three snowy days we’ve had so far this year this one ranks 3rd on the list. Last year at this time, I don’t even recall having to ride in the snow even once; there was plenty of wind to contend with which on many levels is almost worse. With the start to the season going the way it has so far, I think there might actually be plenty more opportunities for some rough commuting.

And you know what that means…

Dogs in the Backyard

2009-11-15T15:53:00.000-08:00

Sometimes dogs try to do the talking for us.
Running up to fences,
Tails raised and wagging,
Eyes and ears alert,
Barking and imploring their partner next door:
“Come and play.”
“Run with me in the sun.”
“Tell me about your day.”
“Roll with me in the dirt.”
“Explore with me the smell of this flower.”
A frantic commotion of energy and excitement,
The sighting, one of the other, stirs
A frenzy of unfettered enjoyment.
Owners hastily scurry out of houses, or
Peer through screened windows from porches.
“Quit barking.”
“Be quiet.”
“I don’t know what got into him.”
“You know puppies.”
“She’s just such a handful.”
Apologizing to neighbors, they
Joke nervously about their dog’s behavior
Make excuses for the obvious disobedience;
The failure of the owner to effectively
Exert control.
Dogs are pack animals.
Humans have yards
And fences.

jm 2009

So what happened to the garden?

2009-11-15T13:59:00.000-08:00

So this blog began with such vigor and enthusiasm and then...na-da. So what happened? Well part of it can be chalked up to poor blog form. My wife and I are summer people, so we didn't spend much time indoors, let alone in front of the pc blogging. No excuse I know, but hey I'm new at this.
As for the garden...well in late July the part of Lakewood, CO where we live was hit by a small "weather event." Some sources called it an F1 tornado where others indicated that it was just mainline winds and severe hail. By either definition the physical manifestation of the term was destruction to our house and garden. Here are some of the last shots we had before the storm to provide a bit of comparative context:

You can see the peppers, tomatoes and corn all doing quite well.

One of our first carrots!

Another healthy, happy garden shot.

So here's what happened on July 20th.

Fortunately we were up in Silverthorne with my family, visiting from MO, when the storm hit. The wind blown hail grated all of the leaves off of the trees. One of our plum trees never recovered, the other looks like it might make it. The two maples and apple tree recovered nicely. The wind blew out the windows in our garage (soaked the inside) and beat up the north facing exposures of our house.

In this view from the roof (where I was taking pics for the insurance folks) you can see the damage to our once lovely and fruitful garden. Pretty much leveled everything as you can see below.

It took my wife, dad and I most of the afternoon to clean up 90% of the debris. The garden took a week of solid cleaning to get all of the leaves and dead plants cleaned up. Damage toll:

windows in garage and on north side of house
fascia and siding on north elevations
air conditioner
vents on the roof (one of which was blown clean off allowing water into the kitchen)
2 rows of corn
carrots and onions (which kept in the ground for a while)
2 potato plants (harvested some new potatoes so it wasn't a total loss)
6 pepper plans
6 broccoli plants
3 lettuce plants
4 rasberry brambles (3 of which came back)
herb garden (which came back)
Kentucky wonders
spinach and mizuna (which not just came back but thrived)
8 tomato plants (the 4 sheltered on the south side of our garage were spared)
mail box, gutters and some planters

All in all we came out very well. A house just behind us had a tree fall into their garage and living room. The entire neighborhood came back with time though we had a meager fall and there was a palpable deadness in the air for much of the summer. However, I learned that plants are actually quite resilient. Despite our losses we're going to go at it again next year. Weather is the most critical factor in the success of agriculture and I think we take the precariousness of growing food crops for granted by largely removing ourselves from the process of it. For us, I actually think we are now more prepared having gone through this than we otherwise might be. And since we'll be back at it again next year, we're no worse for it in the long run. Hopefully our perseverance will be repaid next year in a proper harvest!

Snow Day...Sort of

2009-11-15T10:41:00.001-08:00

Snow! Too bad its not going to be a workday snow day. We got about 5-6 inches of powder overnight. It looks to be finished for now, and to think yesterday we were out on a Hart team ride. I suppose I need to go start digging...

Breaking Ground Highlighted in Westword

2009-08-12T16:00:00.000-07:00

Here's a link to a Westword article on the Breaking Ground urban garden project.

http://blogs.westword.com/latestword/2009/08/urbavores_dilemma_breaking_gro.php

Bike to Work Day 2009

2009-06-25T20:26:00.000-07:00

On Wednesday, June 24th Denver celebrated Bike to Work Day. This event has become somewhat of a holiday for me since I began commuting to work over 3 years ago. I've celebrated each of my Bike to Work Day's with increasingly more elaborate testaments to my zeal for two-wheeled, pedal-powered commuting. This year was no different. I put my plan into action early in the week and began assembling what would be this year’s homage to bike commuting. Tuesday night amounted to a somewhat late night of finishing touches, battles with spray glue and lessons in holding a steady hand while free-handing colorful lettering. Here are some photos of the finished product.
The result was one part public information piece, one part rolling biography and soapbox for the masses. My wife and I got up early on Wednesday and made our way down to the breakfast station at REI. The weather was picture perfect, and the sight of all the bicycle commuters in route to their various destinations was very much what I picture the Netherlands to be like. Once down at Confluence Park, I spent the morning hanging out drinking coffee and chatting with folks who would stop by to observe the spectacle. The reception was pretty good, and I had a chance to meet a lot of equally enthusiastic commuters. I encouraged folks to sign my board entitled, “Why do you bike?” Here are some of the responses people offered:

I bike for the environment.
I bike to enjoy the outdoors.
Will bike for Starbucks and Einstein’s.
Its cheaper than gas!
I bike to be responsible and to feel like a kid again.
Cars are coffins.
For the ladies.
For the fresh air and fun! :)
For maximum funness!...and chicks. [that’s two votes: for the ladies]
For my health, enjoyment and the breeze thru my helmet…etc.
I refuse to pay for parking!
Cause I can’t sleep in June.
I bike for my baby and husband so I can be a fit-healthy-happy momma :)
Why not!?
Becus its my planet too!!
Health! Cuz I got no insurance!
For the kids :)
To have something to brag about on twitter.
Because I like my bike more than my car.
I love riding to work. [penned by an ambitious 12-ish year old]
I like to keep the miles off my car to increase the resale value.
Because its there.
Love the Colorado evenings.
Any excuse to be on my bike.

After hanging out for a while I had to fulfill the latter part of the day…the ‘to Work’ piece…so I made my way down the trail to the office. I was pleased to note a full bike room and extra bikes locked up in the parking garage. I counted 18 in total by the time I made it in (admittedly later than usual) and would estimate that there were a number of other late comers based on the additional volume in the garage by late afternoon. Although it rained a bit (at least for my commute) on the way home, it didn’t dampen the spirit of the day. I tooled home with my trailer in tow and stopped off to pick up some libations to toast another successful year of commuting. Here’s to many more to come.

Bike To Work Day Materials

2009-06-25T20:03:00.000-07:00

Here are some of the informational materials from my bike to work day trailer.

Bike-onomics

Most trips people make are less than 5 miles from their home, including going to the store, work or out for fun. If you travel at a comfortable 10mph then most of these trips are less than 30 min away.

In my neighborhood a 1 mile circle gets me access to:
• Two grocery stores
• Convenience stores
• Hardware stores
• A local library
• My bank
• Parks
• The Dry Cleaner’s
• Local restaurants
• Pet store
• Fast food

My 5 mile radius gets me access to:
• A major mall
• Department stores
• Movie theater
• Fine dining
• Pubs/Bars/Live Music
• Three bike shops
• Open space with hiking
• Recreational centers and community facilities
• My doctor’s office and hospitals
• Thrift stores
• Garden center

We were a typical American “2 car” household until 2 years ago when we decided to sell one of our cars and get by more on biking for short trips, commuting to work and running errands.

Over the past two years of riding here’s what we saved:

Expense	Monthly Rate	Annual Total
Car Payment	$338	$4,056
Car Insurance	$70	$840
Fuel Costs	$150	$1,800
Parking Permit	$15	$180
Vehicle Registration	na	$100
Annual Maintenance	na	$200
One year savings		$7,176

Two year savings $14,352

We also save by using our remaining car less: primarily reserving its use for hauling large loads or traveling long distances. Bikes still have costs associated with ownership (tires, tubes, chain lube) but when combined together they don’t amount to a significant cost compared to that of owning a vehicle.

FACTS ABOUT BICYCLE COMMUTING
· More than 50% of Americans live less than 5 miles from where they work
· 40% of all car trips in the U.S. are made within 2 miles of home.
· 12 bicycles can be parked in one parking space.
· Traffic jams in the 29 major cities cost commuters an estimated $24.3 billion each year.
· The U.S. has roughly 139 million automobiles.
· The U.S. has roughly 103 million bicycles.
· The U.S. could save 462 million gallons of gas a year by boosting bicycle trips just half a percentage point: from 1% to 1.5% of all trips.
· 60% of the pollution created by autos happens in the first few minutes of operation, before pollution control devices can work effectively.
· Commuting by bicycle produces zero pollution.
· Industrial world cities typically use at least one third of their land for roads and parking lots for motor vehicles.
· 100 bicycles can be produced for the same energy and resources to build one medium-sized auto.
· Driving consumes 7.3 million barrels of oil daily.
· The avg person loses 13 lbs their first year of commuting by bike.
· Just 3 hours of biking per week can reduce your risk of heart disease and stroke by 50%.
· The average cost of a new car in the U.S. is $13,532.
· The average cost of a new bicycle in the U.S. is $385.
· For a comparison on true cost savings, consider that you can drive your car to the grocery store and spend 35 cents for a bar of soap, adding 7 cents for the gas, or you can ride your bike to the corner convenience store and pay 41 cents, actually saving a penny and getting some exercise at the same time.

Bike Commuting for Gearheads

Commuting by bike doesn’t have to involve a huge plunge into the bottomless pool of bike gear…that is if you don’t want it to. For people looking to begin commuting by bike here’s a basic list of items to consider acquiring for the task.

Bike Things:
Bike: I use an old 1984 Cannondale touring bike picked up off Craigslist for well under $100.

Storage:
A rack: if you plan on using panniers or even an old milk crate strapped to the back, you’ll likely want a rack.
OR
A backpack or messenger bag: If you’re not interested in the above a simple back pack will do.

Lock: After I had a hefty cable lock cut in broad daylight I decided to go extra beefy with a U Lock.

Helmet: Any one will do. If you plan to ride in the winter make sure you test your helmet out with a hat, hood or ear muffs to make sure it fits well.

Tire kit: A pump, extra tube and patch kit are a must.

Clothing:
My trip is only 6.5 miles one way so I don’t feel the need for spandex or other fancy gear. Certainly bike specific clothing helps with wicking away moisture and increasing comfort, but for 200 plus days of commuting I don’t have the budget for all the bike clothes and laundry.

Summer Clothing: Shorts, T-shirt, biking hat for a bit of shade

Winter: Wool socks, long underwear tops and bottoms, old pair of khaki pants, jacket, hat and gloves.

Fall and Spring: Can run the gambit between Summer and Winter attire. Try to be flexible with layers and anticipate seasonal fluctuations in temperature or moisture.

A word on Winter Weather Wear…
When it comes to staying warm and dry, I part with my “no bike clothing” mantra. I swear by my Gore jacket. It’s a slim, Gortex and nylon jacket made just for cycling. I’ve never been cold with it on, and the sleeves unzip to help on variable weather days. I also suggest shoe covers or gaiters for really wet or snowy riding as well as investing in a quality pair of gloves. I use ski gloves and liners on really cold days.

Extras…?
(For the true gearheads here are some nice to have’s)
Bike lights: Critical if you plan on riding much at night (and in the winter you don’t really get much of a choice.)

Clipless pedals: One can certainly use a pair of stock platform medals or traditional clip pedals. A cheap pair of SPD pedals, or similar type, will make your ride more efficient than traditional pedals.

Mirrors: The extra, easy visibility can be very helpful.

Fenders: Generally Colorado is quite dry, even in winter, so fenders are a bit unnecessary. However, after riding home in the rain with spray hitting you on both ends you’ll likely end up finding them to be indispensible. For year round commuters I’d definitely say they’re a must have.

Spring Pasta

2009-06-08T20:42:00.001-07:00

On one of our first “dates” my wife cooked Spring Pasta for me for dinner. Far from an epicurean in my culinary experiences at that point, the simple dish impressed me significantly. I don’t want to mischaracterize things too dramatically. Growing up I certainly managed to eat my fair share of great meals, and in looking back on my childhood have many pleasant associations with cooking and eating family dinners. My grandma was a tremendous cook and would go to great extents to make holiday or Sunday dinners truly a feast to behold. For regular dinners I’m fortunate to say that my mom made a point of having meals together as a family. (Reflecting on this I think this was an invaluable experience on many levels, not to mention the availability of a home cooked meal each night.) And although there was a brief and il-advised “Fit For Life” phase to her cooking, these dinners were generally wholesome, nutritious and enjoyable. Still, as a child I recall being a relatively picky and finicky eater, and even today maintain some of my bad habits from those days (I have issues with certain foods touching on the plate…its truly bizarre and I really should get help.) In a purely culinary sense my tastes were relatively plain, and it really wasn’t until high school, when I eventually had friends who worked in finer restaurants, that I began to appreciate more sophisticated combinations of ingredients and tastes.

Fresh garden lettuce and mizuna for dinner

This exposure aside, through college pasta for me consisted of spaghetti or fettuccini alfredo. Chicken came barbecued, fried or baked. Fish came in stick form and an effective side dish usually could be found in a blue box with powdered cheese and milk being the key ingredients: yummy. Dinning out was generally food served in its own container, for ease of travel, and getting fancy involved a trip to the Olive Garden or some swanky sit down establishment of that ilk. Given my dietary predilections, I fortunately maintained a high enough level of activity as to keep from becoming massively overweight. After I graduated and moved out to Colorado I began to venture out of my food comfort zone ever so slightly and as a result there were several high points along the way. I did have a rather long stint where I was a vegetarian; stint being 5 years and vegetarian meaning I still ate eggs and dairy products. Over the course of this time I broadened my horizons significantly and attempted cooking on my own. Excluding a tragic tofu-rkey and ‘gravy’ Thanksgiving dinner, there were several successes: stuffed peppers, several rice and pilaf dishes and a great potato salad. Yet, given my general lack of culinary vision many of my dishes fell back on things I could buy which were easy to prepare. With this background it is easy to see how a simple dish consisting of fresh spring veggies cooked in tomato sauce and served over tortellini would be such a big hit; paired with a glass of wine and some bread, that first dinner earned my wife major points.

Since that first evening I am pleased to say that things have changed significantly for the better. I now have a better appreciation of what it takes to prepare really tasty food, and as a side benefit I now really enjoy the taste of truly tasty food. I attribute just about all of this to my wife’s vision…because she’s the one that has it and I’m the one that benefits from it. She’s managed to show me, albeit sometimes painfully, that quality ingredients (and yes sometimes the pricier ones) can make a meal, whereas cheap or poor ingredients can easily ruin one. A dish that has been prepared from scratch will taste infinitely better than one which at any point in its inception involved a box or plastic container…or comes with the instructions “bring to a boil, stir and simmer on reduced heat for 15 min.” Cooking is not an exact science, which implies a huge margin for both error as well as a chance at discovering something brilliant and new.

My adventure in food and cooking has now grown to the point that we’re working diligently to amass the skills needed to prepare much of our own food entirely from scratch. We’re somewhat systematically breaking down many of our staples and my wife has come up with several tasty homemade concoctions which fill in nicely for many store bought items such as: jams, granola bars, juice drinks, pastas etc. Fortuitously this also contributed to my acquiring skills in bread-making, which for once makes me feel less like a leech and more like a contributor to our home economy; though I’m sometimes reminded that I probably don’t make bread enough to fully divest myself of my leech status. Additionally, as is highlighted in several other posts, we’re growing our own food as an experiment in producing many of the raw ingredients we use for our meals. While tonight’s meal wasn’t entirely garden or scratch made, it was Spring Pasta and contained many fresh and homemade additions to make it feel like a brand new dish. So tonight I snapped a picture of this evening’s version of Spring Pasta and fondly thought to myself of where much of this began: bon appetite.

Spring Pasta, Homemade Bread, Garden Salad and a bit of Vino