Frustrated by life in the "Civilized World",a former ranter moves to the woods of West Virginia to find a life of peace and simplicity with his trusty dog Dooley.
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
I got a little irritated a couple of nights ago when the goats were loudly taunting the chickens about their lack of understanding of Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle during my evening porch sitting time. If you own goats then you probably already know how they like to flaunt their natural abilities in the field of physics. The chickens, of course, are much more spiritual and faith-based and are easily agitated by challenges to their beliefs by the largely agnostic goats. It is my policy not to interfere with open discussion on the farm, but it was my porch sitting time and I had already lit up my Swisher Sweet Double Barrel Rum Outlaw cigar; this was a downright blatant disrespect of an otherwise beautiful evening. I sent Dooley the dog over to suggest that they break into smaller, quieter discussion groups. I don’t know what Dooley really told them but the discussion ended and both parties went back to more conventional goat and chicken activities.
I’m pretty sure that is not why I felt unsettled.
I felt a little disappointed around mid-day yesterday when I realized the work in my garden was largely done for now. In past years it seemed I never had a day that something didn’t need attention in the garden. She is five years old now and maybe she’s getting to the age where she doesn’t need me as much as she used to. I guess I thought she’d remain a two year old forever…. but, I don’t think that is why I felt unsettled.
This morning Dooley and I went over to the property north of the creek to look for sourwood trees (for an upcoming secret project) and we discovered a short segment of an old barbed wire fence up along the little creek that feeds the waterfall. I didn’t have a way to take a sample with me but I did a little sketch of one of the barbs and the surrounding wire. I am always looking for clues about the people who used to live here. Harry, the owner of the grocery/hardware/feed store in town is a member of the Antique Barbed Wire Society of America. He has been collecting for years and I thought he could look at it and perhaps tell me when it may have been strung. I mention this because when I announced to Dooley that we would be going into town this afternoon, he just turned and walked away. Later, back at the cabin he just outright said he wasn’t interested in going to town again this week.
It’s true. I had been spending a lot of time away from the property. I think he was afraid I might be slipping back into the fringes of the “other world” I had worked so hard to avoid in my first years up here.
So, for my friends in town and my neighbors around me Dooley and I are going to “hole-up” for a while. Tonight we are going to make a campfire from scratch, howl at the moon and once again declare ourselves the Righteous Hermits of Rock Creek.
I feel better already.
PS. Irene, could you have Harry send me up a case of cigars. Just leave them in the tire below the mailbox. Thanks, Roger