The Snows of Kill-A-Man-Jason
During the many years I spent trapped at a desk in downtown San Francisco, I spent an inordinate amount of time thinking about places I would rather be. For most men I imagine that would be someplace warm and comfortable, where scantily clad brown skinned women frolic and play in bikinis and alcohol comes equipped with tiny umbrellas. Hawaii. Mexico. The Bahamas. But I always fantasized about desolate places where human beings of any sort are rare - never-you-mind brown skinned women in bikinis - and alcohol is served out of a yak's foot or something. Rugged, untamed wildernesses where men are free to do as they please, and they paint their dreams across the canvas of an unspoiled land. Alaska. Montana. The Yukon. Antarctica.
In retrospect, part of my problem is that I've never actually lived anywhere where it gets really, really cold. Visited, yes. But lived? No. I was raised in central Florida, not northern Minnesota, so the snow and cold has always seemed romantic to me. Particularly since I've spent my life confronting it on ski slopes with hotels, bars, five star restaurants, and women who look like Hannah Teter. I don't think that gave me the best perspective on trying to build a ranch in winter. I had sooooo many plans for things I was going to the place this winter: level ground, gravel pads, add another Mod Space trailer for Tina, and put in two more shipping containers to name but a few.
#Snort# Maybe I should focus on getting the plumbing working, huh?
It's hard for me to adjust to being unable to work done outside. The ranch is a freaking mess. There's crap everywhere, and it eats at me. But at least it's all Under Sixteen Feet of Pure, White Snow. (Not really. That's the title of a Nick Cave song about going insane in winter and murdering your loved ones. But not to worry: my crap's only under about two feet of snow, and Tina and her damn bestiary would undoubtedly get me before I got them.)
In spite of the snow, sleet, and snowy-sleet, I've continued working on my massive front porch project. I've completed the first two-fourths, save for painting and ornamental flair, and now I'm working on the Mud Room. For those of you unfortunate enough to live somewhere other than the Silver State, a Mud Room is the small room in front of your front door where you change shoes, hang your coat, store firewood, and so forth. I've integrated it into my front porch you that you'll be able to walk into the Mud Room, turn right, and walk out onto the porch proper. I've almost finished building it, so now the trick is to make it look nice. Or at least neat. Or at least very desert rat.
I'll post a picture when I'm done.