There are neighbors, and then there are NEIGHBORS.

Greetings From Domelandia,

2019 was a particularly stressful year for me.  I was recuperating (too slowly, I felt) from the spinal fusion surgery I underwent in 2018.  I had good days and bad ones, but felt depressed and overwhelmed a lot of the time.  Then I received a phone call in December 2018 from the neighbor east of us, telling me that they'd sold their property and would be moving.

There had been a great deal of conflict with these neighbors.  We were friends for awhile, but her comments about people of color and Hispanics ('those damn Mexicans'), and anyone who wasn't like her, made it hard for me to be around her.  One day she used the N word and when I protested, she told me that using that word was a matter of opinion.  Pretty soon I quit joining her and our neighbor Sharon for our daily treks up into the hills.  I couldn't take anymore verbal vomit.

Over the years these people did quite a number of things that were at the least, not neighborly (and at the worst, downright mean).  We tolerated them.  To them, their land was an Investment.  It was a place to live.  Maybe they were touched by its beauty but their main concern was making money.  We didn't feel a connection with them because we didn't think they really belonged here.   So I wasn't sorry to hear they were leaving.

She told us the land would be sold to people who wanted to start a 'camping club,' I knew she was lying to me.  Sharon continued to walk with her to try to get more information about what was really going on.  When she asked how such a venue would affect the neighbors and the land, the response was, 'Well, it's called Progress! Doesn't everyone want Progress?!'  She told Sharon that the buyers asked if the neighbors minded their own business. She learned that they had 'tried this in other places' and weren't successful.  It became obvious that our neighbor had told the new people that they could do whatever they wanted  and wouldn't need permits.  The deal was done very quickly and then they were gone.

The Viking and I spotted the new neighbors one snowy day and walked over to introduce ourselves.  We offered our help, and they responded by telling us they they wouldn't live here.  The Camping Club would meet about once a month.  They wouldn't look us in the eye.  We were already concerned about what was going on, and being lied to just increased our anxiety.

Several weeks later, Sharon woke up to 13 cars parked along the fence that separates her property from the neighbors.  She was in shock.  I walked to Sharon's.  One tries to be calm in these moments but my heart was pounding.  We got a name, did some internet searching, and discovered that the gathering consisted of people who participate in Live Action Role Play.  The LARPers dress in costume and act out stories.  They'd be lodged in the barn.  Events would usually last 3 days.  More investigating revealed their upcoming schedule.  OK, we thought.  Once a month, 25 people or so isn't the end of the world.  We contacted the County Planner who told us that they hadn't contacted him nor had they applied for any permits.  He said there was no way that the property (zoned residential) could be used for a commercial enterprise. He told us he'd send them a letter.

Soon after, a notice for a public hearing appeared in the local paper.  For some unknown reason, the Planning office had granted them a temporary use permit!!  Now their real intentions were revealed.  They intended to use the property as a venue for weddings, family reunions, as well as a place for LARPers to play.  200 or more guests might be attending some of the larger events.

We obtained a copy of their proposal, and read the zoning regulations.  Their application was for a permanent special use permit that would waive all the guidelines and allow commercial use of the property.  The meeting notice was supposed to appear three times; it was in the paper once. The guy in the Planner's office didn't want to post the required notification on the property, but Sharon insisted.    In their application, they promised:  Port-a-potties, no burning, no noise.  Contact the sheriff and the Volunteer Fire Department. Contact your neighbors.  Our stress levels increased because it seemed that the permit might be allowed despite meeting none of the County's land use guidelines.

But now that we knew what we were facing, we could fight.  Sharon and I agreed that we would hire legal help and appeal the decision if the permit was approved.  I said, 'We are not victims.' In the meantime, another event was held.  There were about 50 people this time.  There were still no toilets, and people were camped in the woods.  One night they built a fire and kept the neighbors across the road awake until after 3 AM.  The sheriff was called, but no deputies came.

I called Sharon one morning after this gathering. I could hear the smile in her voice.  'I've been networking,' she said.  (Sharon and I mostly keep to ourselves, so to hear that statement from her was kind of amazing).  She mobilized the neighbors who would be most impacted.  She counseled one hot-headed neighbor to ditch his anger and accusations, and instead use his intellect to make his case.  The Viking and I composed our statements and got ready for the meeting, scheduled for June 3.

My sisters came from Texas to visit, and I decided not to attend the meeting.  We went to the Sand Dunes Hot Springs.  I tried to relax and give myself a break from the stress.  I got the call from the Viking on our drive home. He said, (I'm paraphrasing) 'Sue, it was beautiful.  So many people stood up and spoke.  Everyone was respectful, well informed and articulate.  Everyone was against the proposal.'  The (now not) hotheaded neighbor said that where we live is as beautiful as any State Park, that the canyons are like jewels.

Here's what happened: A Planning Commission member asked Mr. LARPer how this endeavor would benefit the community.  About the legal requirements for using residential well water for a commercial venue.  He couldn't defend the noise issue, the campfire, or the lack of toilets. After all the neighbors had their say, the new owner asked to withdraw his application.  Everyone was stunned. That had to be put that to a vote, and it passed.  He asked if they could have one more event, but the Commission did not support that. 

I stopped at Sharon's on the way home.  I ran to hug her and in my excitement, left the car in gear.  My sisters saved the car from rolling down the hill.  I'm still embarrassed about it.  I think the stress from the whole thing was so overwhelming to me that I just totally lost it for a second.  

Sharon and I couldn't believe it was over.  It took several weeks for us to process the anxiety we'd lived with every day. We started sleeping better, and that queasy feeling in my gut finally went away.

The best thing that came out of this was that we realized we are a community. BonCarbo is made up mostly of people who left the city and gave up a lot of things to live out here in the wild world.  We have a live-and-let-live philosophy about each other.  We don't hang out with most of them, but we respect each other.  We don't have a lot in common except for the things we love about living here--the peace and quiet, the forest and its creatures, and being able to live life on our own terms.  Where we live is sacred to us.  Turns out those are the most important things to have in common.

Change is inevitable.  We don't know what might happen in the future.  But right now I know I could call any one of my neighbors and they'd help me, and I'd do the same for them.

And Sharon and I will always be total bad asses. 

Neighbors Redux

Greetings from Domelandia,
The first blog I ever did was entitled 'Neighbors'.  It included an explanation of our choice to live out here in the wild world and how the presence of new neighbors had affected us over the years.  I ended the blog with a statement about how we would try to be good neighbors to the new people who moved onto the acreage behind us. 

That was in 2010.  Since then, they've come and gone.  Life here isn't for the faint of heart.  Or it turns out, it isn't for people who aren't ready for the realities of digging out after a snowstorm, muddy roads, or having to open several gates to get in and out of their place.

After a couple of years, they left.  They didn't tell anyone where they were going.  When we finally figured out they were gone, we weren't sad about it.

A couple of years ago on New Years' Day, we walked back there on the way to see the magnificent cedar tree we named Tawanda.  You might recognize that name as the definition of Female Power used by Fannie Flagg in her book and movie 'Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe.' We love that tree.  We hadn't been back to the end of the canyon in a long time, and we wanted to see how she was doing.

The hike through their place was amazing.  We saw black plastic bags of garbage, most of which had been torn open and dragged into the forest by bears.  Piles of junk of all kinds everywhere.  Old fencing, lawn furniture, generators, water heaters, water tanks--we could not believe what had happened to this beautiful little piece of land.  Piles of logs, some cut to length, left by the gas drillers for their use, were rotting into the ground.  Blasphemy!!

We continued to the end of the canyon where Tawanda stood in her majesty.  There is a cave at the very end with a smoky ceiling.  There was a waterfall we'd never seen, the result of a spring waking up after a couple of wet years.  It was frozen in mid-flow.  We went home a different way so we wouldn't have to be reminded of what the neighbors had left behind. We want to win The Lottery so we can buy the place and clean it up. 

I once dreamed that a Native American man was speaking to me.  It was right after I came to live with the Viking.  He told me it was our job to take good care of the land while it was ours.  He then turned sideways and floated into a hole in the air.  I took that vision seriously.  We've been good stewards--the scars from overgrazing and tree cutting are mostly healed, and our forest is healthier too. Visitors often comment on the Sense of Place they feel when they drive up the road to our house.  It sits in the middle of a little valley.  The morning sun wakes us and warms us.  It is our home.

We treasure the presence of people who feel connected to the land as we do. Our land isn't a revenue-generating possession, or something to be taken for granted.  It is an energetic presence that requires reverence and respect.

Wakanda Forever!!

Greetings from Domelandia,

A couple of weeks ago, the Viking, the Strawberry Blond daughter, and I went to Pueblo to see the movie "Black Panther."  We'd read great reviews and were hoping the movie was a big success.  As of today, the movie has grossed one BILLION dollars.

It was FANTASTIC.  We loved the beautiful and exotic costumes.  The strong characters were amazing and the writing was creative.  It was easy to get swept away by the story.  We thoroughly enjoyed ourselves, suspending reality for those 135 minutes in the movie house, being in Wakanda, cheering for Good King T'Challa, his amazing sister and his people. 

Caution:  Spoiler alert--if you plan to see the movie, skip the next 2 paragraphs.

The turning point in the movie came when T'Challa's kingship is challenged by Erik Killmonger, aka the Bad Guy.  They started fighting and ended up struggling dangerously close to a cliff edge and a waterfall.  The two clashed closer and closer to the edge...the suspense was building...

Suddenly from the seat behind us, came the voice of a little boy.  "No! NO!"  Then King T'Challa got swept over the waterfall!  From the little boy sitting behind us, "NO! NO!"  And he started crying.  His Mom tried to quiet him.  It was all I could do to keep from turning around and saying, "It's OK, honey.  The King will be OK."  I didn't turn around then because I didn't want his Mom to think he was disturbing us.  My thoughts were about his innocence and the purity of his spirit.

The movie ended well.  As the house lights came up, I turned around and said to the Mom, "You have such a nice boy.  I hope he's OK."

His Mom said, "I know he was kind of loud.  It's his 8th birthday today.  He just got his cochlear implants and this is what he wanted to do for his birthday, to see 'Black Panther.'  This is the first movie he has been able to hear.  He hasn't learned how to whisper yet."

We chatted for a few moments, and then turned to go.  The little boy asked, "What did that lady say, Mom?" His Mom replied, "She said 'Happy Birthday.'"

There were only white people in the audience (think Pueblo, Colorado).  The boy was color blind (everyone there was, I think).  This was the classic story of the Hero's Journey, the battle of Good against Evil.  You cheer for the heroes no matter where they're from or the color of their skin.  You cheer for a better world.

The theater full of white folks and that little boy make me feel hopeful.

Dogs

Greetings from Domelandia,

We gathered with some good friends a few months ago to celebrate Cindy's birthday. 

Somehow (I'm still not sure how this happened) we got to talking (and talking and talking) about dogs.  At some point we were looking at one another, thinking, SOMEONE PLEASE CHANGE THE SUBJECT (!!)  but it never happened.  Later the host said, "And we weren't even smoking anything!"  The next day I emailed everyone and apologized that the conversation had gone to the dogs.  Now the subject of dogs in general has become an inside joke that we'll carry with us going forward. 

Good friends are hard to find.  And we forgive each other for totally weird conversations apropos of nothing meaningful.  (Kind of like this post).
 

I Am Not Making This Up

Greetings from Domelandia,

Today (October 28, 2017), at about 5 PM, Scout barked and I looked out the dining room window.  (I have learned over time that when Scout is trying to tell me something, I should listen. He is a Good Dog).  I saw a black cloak clad figure walking fast across the top of the dam. She wore flowing black robes, was stooped a bit, and wearing what looked to be a white hat, creating a somewhat witchy appearance.  She was walking southwards towards Jim Bock's canyon, where the little camping hut stands that Jim built back in the day.  I told Ric something garbled like, "someone is out there!!" and he finally believed me, and jumped into his truck and followed her.

He came back to the house and said, "Call the sheriff.  There's an older lady who appears to be disoriented."  He grabbed his fire department radio and some bread and drove back to where she was.

Ric told me that she opened her hands and told him "I have barter."  She had a few rose hips to offer.  She told him she was pregnant with triplets and was trying to get to Sarcillo Canyon.  She told him he was making her uncomfortable.  He pointed to a small grove of trees a few yards away and said, "That looks like a good place to spend the night."  She said OK and walked over there.  Ric zoomed back to the house and told me to call the sheriff back and tell him to hurry.  It was getting dark and colder as the sun was setting.  He was afraid she'd start walking away up into the woods and was prepared to follow her if he had to.

I called the BonCarbo fire chief (Mary Ann) and she coordinated with some members of our volunteer firefighters who guided the deputies and an ambulance to our place.  I walked outside to see what was happening (I couldn't see them from the house).  Mary Ann showed up and needed to call someone else but wasn't getting cell service so I came back to the house to make the call.  I took some soup and a cup of water over to the lady.  She gulped down the water and drank all the soup.  She told me she was fine, not to be concerned, that she had made her decision.  She wasn't wearing any shoes, and her coat was turned inside out, but her white hair was neatly arranged into a bun and she was clean.  She didn't want me to stay too close so I went back to the truck to wait for help to arrive.  She sat down.

After about an hour, the deputies and EMTs arrived.  They were very patient and approached her slowly and in a non-threatening way.  It took about 20 minutes but they finally convinced her to get into the deputies' car.  She wouldn't allow the EMTs to examine her but did tell the female EMT that she had a place to stay in a 6-sided cabin and would be perfectly safe there.  Ric walked the short distance to Jim's little cabin and sure enough, it looked as if she'd been there.  The trapdoor entrance on the floor of the cabin was open, and you could see the marks in the dirt underneath where she'd scooted on her knees to open the door.  There was an old piece of foam that had been moved from the sleeping loft area down to the floor.

She looked familiar to all of us.  She told us her name is Gale.  The deputies left with her in the back seat.  The next week I saw her standing at the intersection of Main and Commercial streets in Trinidad, and at Wal-Mart, with her coat right side out, and wearing a new pair of boots. We called the sheriff to compliment him on how well his deputies conducted themselves.  He told us that Gale is 'known to law enforcement'.  He called me back several times and we found out that she'd abandoned her vehicle at our neighbors' place and somehow found her way to the little cabin through the woods.  Our neighbor said there was a packed suitcase in the back seat and fire starters.  And used toilet paper all around the car.

We're grateful we were able to help get her back to town.  The Viking later remembered she used to cut meat at Safeway, and ran the store and post office in Hoehne.

The funniest part of this whole thing was me trying to tell our neighbor Yvonne about it.  She thought I was Halloween pranking her and kept hollering at me to stop.

Why I Love The Viking

Greetings From Domelandia,

Happy Valentine's Day!

Four months to the day after the Viking's Heart Event in 2008, he called the family together for the weekend. There was a big tree near the hay barn that was dying. We needed to get it out of there before it fell onto the barn. The daughters and their significant others watched him use his chain saw to bring down the huge tree, and we all helped haul away and stack the wood. I sent some photos of this milestone to the doctors that saved his life. You have to look twice to see the Viking--he looks very small next to that tree. I was worried that he was overdoing it, but he used the occasion to say to us and to the world, "I'm back."

A couple of months after that, we were working on our Solar Center. This is a small structure that holds the batteries and inverter, complete with dials and switches that tell us how much juice the batteries have and how much the panels are producing. It is made from Structural Insulated Panels (SIPs). (Essentially a 6" piece of foam sandwiched between two sheets of plywood). Things went smoothly until it was time to put on the roof. There was a logistical problem because the panels are quite heavy and unwieldy. Still a bit concerned that my hubby was overdoing it, I called a halt to the process and suggested we make a plan--you know, think about the best way to get the panel up onto the roof without killing either one of us. The Viking responded to this idea by saying, "I often find that if we just start doing something, something will happen." Unable to refute this logic, I grabbed one end of the panel and tried to help him shove the thing into place. The Viking, standing a couple of rungs up the ladder, almost got it into place. Then the weight of the panel pushed him, step by step, back down the ladder until he came to rest with the panel on his midsection, his arms and legs flailing insect-like. He wiggled out from underneath the panel, but not before I had another of those moments where I wondered if he'd get out of this one unscathed. Somehow he always does. He's just fearless that way.

Living with an artist who happens to be a builder, one becomes accustomed to inventive solutions to problems. Like the metal roof he designed and installed for the dome. Ingenious. And the gopher-proof fence he built for the garden.

We mostly finished the interior of our little love nest, so our thoughts turned to making the approach to our home look more presentable. We envisioned a little landscaped area with native plants and interesting rocks, some lovely rugged tree sculptures, and maybe a water feature thrown in for good measure. Something feminine and round, to echo the shape of the house. We pictured water flowing down the sides of the thing and into a pool of water. We couldn't find a fountain we liked at any of the lawn and garden places.

Our farmer/welder friend Robert saw a 250-gallon propane tank on Craigslist and we drove to Pueblo to see it. It looked so cool sitting there in front of the guy's house. We bought it and drove it over to Robert's so they could uninstall the valves and air the thing out. They drilled a couple of holes in the top for the fountain pipes. Then Robert helped The Viking load it back into the pickup and he brought it home a few days later.

We wanted to see how it would look in place.The orb weighs about 700 pounds.The plan was to simply roll it out of the truck. The thought was that the combination of its mass and the deep snow on the ground would hold it where it landed. Unfortunately, the Viking's calculations were faulty and it started heading down the slight incline of our yard and straight for the arroyo. He leaped out of the truck to stop it and promptly fell down in the snow.

I was talking to Strawberry Blonde daughter on the phone, unaware of the drama that was taking place right outside the window. I looked out just in time to see the sphere rolling away and then the Viking falling down. He was behind the truck, so I couldn't tell if it had rolled over him or not. I told daughter, "AAH! AAH! Oh! I'll have to call you back!" and raced outside to make sure he was OK. He luckily didn't fall into the path of the juggernaut, and was able to stop it before it got too much farther. Then he tried to roll it back up to the proposed site but of course NOW it would not be moved. I called the daughter and told her he wasn't dead. Since the thing was still full of propane fumes, we decided it couldn't stay near the house until those dissipated. While we waited for this to happen, we dug a pond.

We painted the sphere a lovely dark blue and put it in the middle of the pond.  The Viking routed the water to go up through the middle of it and cascade down the sides.  Nine goldfish and a spotted salamander live in there year round.  The spadefoot toads use it for a hatchery and their love croaks fill the air for weeks while they're trying to find one another. I think some of the tadpoles get eaten by water snakes but many survive to continue the cycle.  It really is a thing of beauty but not the simple little water feature I had envisioned.  The Viking's visions are often unrestrained and unique, to say the least.

One thing I love about the Viking is that he is mostly cheerful. He calls me in the morning and tells me, "Isn't it just a beautiful day?" And then proceeds to tell me about the deer or the turkeys or the bobcat he saw on the way to work. He thinks blizzards are just as beautiful as sunny days.  Even when he is tired, he has a positive attitude.

He has mentored many young men by hiring them to help him build houses. He has the ability to convey what it means to be a responsible person, how to be proud of what you do for a living, and to be able to look at yourself in the mirror and like what you see. He doesn't understand how some people believe that craftsmen are second-class citizens. (We had a customer who never spoke to any of his crew, and that bothered him). The homes he builds are not only functional but beautiful. He can't help it.

He's compassionate and kind. He gives waitresses generous tips. He gives presents to his customers to say thank you. He brings me flowers. And loads of compost for the garden. He does yoga to stay strong enough to keep building houses as he gets older.

He's an artist. He would paint, draw, and write more if he had the time. Taking care of his family has always been his priority. We are looking forward to retirement so he can spend more time doing the things he loves.

One morning he stopped his truck on the county road to let a herd of elk pass. He watched as they took turns jumping over the barbed-wire fence. One cow caught her hind foot in the fence and started thrashing and struggling. Elk are big animals, but The Viking didn't hesitate. He grabbed a pair of pliers and ran to help her. It took him a minute to get her loose because the wire was wrapped so tightly, but he was able to cut her loose. She bounded away unhurt.

He is what you'd call A Real Man.

Happy Valentine's Day to my Viking.  I love you always and forever.

Kids Say the Darndest Things

   


Greetings from Domelandia,


Just got back from Texas and a nice visit with my family.  We had time to walk, eat barbecue, talk, tell jokes, and shop.  We spent some time with  grandnieces (5 and 8).  The youngest did something remarkable that reminded me that before we start caring what other people think, we can still see Heaven.

It was after the big party My Bro threw for the family--that's me and the Viking, and an assortment of sisters, brothers, nephews, nieces, sons, and 2 granddaughters (5 and 8).  My Bro is the one that makes a special effort to keep our family connected.  We gathered at his house from a variety of scattered locations (The Viking and I are the furthest away) and enjoyed reconnecting. We ate great food, soaked in the hot tub, played games, and generally had a blast doing all of that, talking our heads off and laughing at the good parts.


When it was time to go, the 5-yr-old said, "I want us to all get into a circle and hold hands.  I want us to go around the circle and say how much we love everyone.  I'll go first."  And she told us exactly how much she loved everyone and what a wonderful time we'd just had together.  There was an embarrassed silence by some of us. The rest said, "awww..." then silence.

Awkward seconds passed, and then in turn, we responded with our own statements of love. 

In that moment, the youngest of us was our spiritual leader, telling us to stop for a second and feel the love.  Telling us to be grateful right now.  Telling us to say out loud and in front of everybody how much we love one another. It reminded me of our Mother, who always said a prayer to kick off the festivities at family gatherings in the past. 

Our generation wanted our children to know how to be strong, upright, fair-minded, good partners, loving moms and dads, good sons and daughters.  Their children, I am certain, are all that, and a bag of chips.