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Ridge pole

16 September 2009 | Category: Building | Author: Clare

The ridge pole has been wandering around in the back of my mind for months.

To finally be the other side of this particular hurdle is an awesome feeling; the prospect of getting a heavy, long beam settled on top of 2 vertical posts just over 16’ off the ground, was daunting to say the least. ...[Read More]

Like a river

16 September 2009 | Category: Stories | Author: Clare

Sometimes it seems like I am in a canoe on a fast, wide river. I have a paddle, but it serves only to give me stability in rough water, I have no real control over the speed at which I travel, or where I will ultimately end up.

I rush by beautiful scenery and wildlife. The images flit by too quickly to grasp, or let memory form. Though I feel like I am navigating the river, the river is navigating me. ...[Read More]

Cabin progress

15 September 2009 | Category: Building | Author: Clare

Thankfully being stubborn goes a long way; this last wee while seems to be characterised by frustrations and difficulties. Having the tools stolen bought me to a standstill, realising how expensive the roof was going to be made me baulk, and watching the rain drip through the floor almost made me cry with frustration at the dismal weather. ...[Read More]

Square to the Earth

10 September 2009 | Category: Building | Author: Clare

I stumbled over the cabin site trying to locate one of the corners of the property in the late Spring. The natural bench and potential view made it a great place to build, except of course for the forest that stood guardian over the site.

There were a couple large spruce that stood out from the birch, fir and cedars; these big old trees suggested a natural orientation and clearing to make the most of the space. ...[Read More]

No-mans land

10 September 2009 | Category: Stories | Author: Clare

We disturbed some whitetails on Wiseman Road last night; they bounded away, hit the tree line, and were gone; swallowed by the forest.

It is amazing to me how they can disappear in a sway of brush and branches, as if they pass through some kind of star gate; gone to another world, one in which we tread softly and with trepidation. ...[Read More]