Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Monday, March 21, 2011
Good Ol' Tools
When one lives a life close to the land, good and sufficient tools are a necessity. The word tool has its origin in an old Germanic word that means “prepare.” In the kind of life I live I constantly work with one type of tool or another, and being prepared by having the right one for a task is important. It's not feasible for me to run to the store quickly and get either a replacement tool or the latest gadget. I'm out in the boonies and need to be ready to tackle the job at hand.
Modern technology offers us a plethora of gadgety tools. Peruse any tool catalog or handyman box store and you'll see a mind-blowing variety of tools—many of them powered by electricity or gasoline—to bring any task to a quick and noisy conclusion. There are many inventive companies that dream up all kinds of fancy implements that will fix anything and convince you that your life is incomplete without them.
But the problem with many of these schemes is that the tool too often does not do the job as easily and perfectly as advertised, and if it does, it will soon be in need of replacement or repair. How else are we to support those industrious folks who need to keep inventing newer and better widgets that we simply must have, if we don't scarf up their latest gimmick?
One lesson I've learned over the years of trying to forge an independent and sustainable lifestyle is the deep sense of satisfaction that comes from using a long-lasting, basic tool over the years, and literally having it become an old friend. Many of my most-used tools were acquired as long as 50 years ago, when I was a young man. It's great to still be using them. My tools and I have settled into a relationship here on the homestead that is straightforward and low tech. A good file, or pliers, or hammer, or chisel, or plane, or screwdriver, or wrench, or handsaw are implements that have almost become an extension of my body. They fit just right, do the job well, are safe, and can be depended upon to endure—all attributes that I value over speed.
Treasured even more (although not used as often) are a few tools handed down to me from my grandfather—some of which are over 100 years old. It is a joy to pull out one of Grandpa's tools and find it still useful and comfortable in my hands, or find out that it does the job better than any new-fangled tool. It takes me back to when I shadowed him around the farm as he did his chores and tackled carpentry projects, teaching his four-year-old “helper man” valuable lessons of self-sufficiency.
Another feature of old tools is how they teach me about patience and pacing in accomplishing many of my tasks around the homestead. Maybe I could polish off a job much faster with a modern power tool, but that speed often comes at a cost: a botched and rushed job because I went too fast; or buying a pricey toy that works well for a few times but then begins to malfunction; or adopting practices that just don't allow me an old-fashioned appreciation of a skilled job well done.
Old tools lead you into the slow lane, where you can become more intimately connected to the task at hand, and take the time to appreciate the sensual aspects of projects. There's a lot more to life than swiftness.
Modern technology offers us a plethora of gadgety tools. Peruse any tool catalog or handyman box store and you'll see a mind-blowing variety of tools—many of them powered by electricity or gasoline—to bring any task to a quick and noisy conclusion. There are many inventive companies that dream up all kinds of fancy implements that will fix anything and convince you that your life is incomplete without them.
But the problem with many of these schemes is that the tool too often does not do the job as easily and perfectly as advertised, and if it does, it will soon be in need of replacement or repair. How else are we to support those industrious folks who need to keep inventing newer and better widgets that we simply must have, if we don't scarf up their latest gimmick?
One lesson I've learned over the years of trying to forge an independent and sustainable lifestyle is the deep sense of satisfaction that comes from using a long-lasting, basic tool over the years, and literally having it become an old friend. Many of my most-used tools were acquired as long as 50 years ago, when I was a young man. It's great to still be using them. My tools and I have settled into a relationship here on the homestead that is straightforward and low tech. A good file, or pliers, or hammer, or chisel, or plane, or screwdriver, or wrench, or handsaw are implements that have almost become an extension of my body. They fit just right, do the job well, are safe, and can be depended upon to endure—all attributes that I value over speed.
Treasured even more (although not used as often) are a few tools handed down to me from my grandfather—some of which are over 100 years old. It is a joy to pull out one of Grandpa's tools and find it still useful and comfortable in my hands, or find out that it does the job better than any new-fangled tool. It takes me back to when I shadowed him around the farm as he did his chores and tackled carpentry projects, teaching his four-year-old “helper man” valuable lessons of self-sufficiency.
Another feature of old tools is how they teach me about patience and pacing in accomplishing many of my tasks around the homestead. Maybe I could polish off a job much faster with a modern power tool, but that speed often comes at a cost: a botched and rushed job because I went too fast; or buying a pricey toy that works well for a few times but then begins to malfunction; or adopting practices that just don't allow me an old-fashioned appreciation of a skilled job well done.
Old tools lead you into the slow lane, where you can become more intimately connected to the task at hand, and take the time to appreciate the sensual aspects of projects. There's a lot more to life than swiftness.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Friday, March 11, 2011
Doubly Dazzling
A few nights ago I was leaning back in the outdoor tub, beginning to soften, as the 102-degree water soaked the aches from my body—under a clear, dark sky. I'd been watching the overhead stars from time to time, but at the moment was not even looking upward. Suddenly I felt a strong urge to direct my gaze overhead, and spied a bright object floating south-southeast. My previous experiences at discerning the difference between high-flying planes and satellites immediately told me that this was the latter. From the brightness of the object—far more dazzling than any star or planet—I also felt certain that it was the International Space Station (ISS).
Shaking with excitement, I watched it for the next few minutes, as it headed towards the horizon, and then suddenly it blinked out, as it entered the Earth's shadow. I sat there, up to my neck in hot water, thrilled that I had not missed this spectacular show and wondered what may have called my attention at this propitious moment. Still in the midst of my dazzlement, I then saw another satellite appear in the exact same location and pursue the same exact path—following it by only a couple of minutes.
Now I was really blown away! Tears streaming down my face, I experienced a moment of incredulity. There is only one ISS, but I had just witnessed two identical bright lights! I sat there stunned—trying to make sense of what I'd just seen. And I was sure that I'd observed a real double dazzle satellite show. I was not hallucinating. What had happened?
Then an explanation popped to mind: I remembered that the Space Shuttle Discovery had been visiting the ISS on its final mission, and was scheduled to undock and head back to Florida for its final landing and then get decommissioned. I must have seen both Discovery and the ISS—one trailing the other for awhile, before the Shuttle fired its braking rockets and descended towards home. The tears continued to flow for awhile—partly in awe of the spectacle that I'd just witnessed and partly in deep gratitude for whatever called me to be in the tub at this time and to look up at the right moment.
I knew what I'd do to verify my guess about what I'd seen: in the morning I'd go online and visit a couple of my favorite Websites—one being NASA's page on the Shuttle program and another that lists the times and properties of satellite flyovers. Yes, NASA said that the ISS and Discovery had been flying close to one another the night before, with the Shuttle in the lead. Discovery had undocked the day before, had circled the ISS, and then moved ahead of and below it, in preparation for landing a day later.
The Website that gives satellite flight details across your very own sky is heavens-above.com. It's built and maintained by a German enthusiast. When you visit the site, you need to enter your latitude and longitude (or the nearest major city) and then the site's program calculates your local times for ISS overflights, its brightness, and its path across your sky.
I've used this Website several times, to predict a time and location when I can go outside and be prepared to watch the ISS go by. It's a really spectacular show. I've sometimes alerted neighbors and friends, to share the event.
It's not an uncommon experience to see the ISS go overhead—after all, it circles the Earth several times every day. But most of the time it doesn't put on a dazzling show, because it may pass during the day, or be too close to the horizon to spot, or be invisible in the Earth's shadow. Only about twice a month are conditions such that this largest of all satellites can be seen so bright.
So that makes my experience of seeing both the Space Shuttle and the ISS so unique and sensational. Truly doubly dazzling!
Back in the tub the night before, I very slowly came down from my satellite high—now lying back, eyes riveted to the sky. I saw three more satellites over the next hour—none of them holding a candle to the scene I'd earlier witnessed—but still thrilling in their own right.
Shaking with excitement, I watched it for the next few minutes, as it headed towards the horizon, and then suddenly it blinked out, as it entered the Earth's shadow. I sat there, up to my neck in hot water, thrilled that I had not missed this spectacular show and wondered what may have called my attention at this propitious moment. Still in the midst of my dazzlement, I then saw another satellite appear in the exact same location and pursue the same exact path—following it by only a couple of minutes.
Now I was really blown away! Tears streaming down my face, I experienced a moment of incredulity. There is only one ISS, but I had just witnessed two identical bright lights! I sat there stunned—trying to make sense of what I'd just seen. And I was sure that I'd observed a real double dazzle satellite show. I was not hallucinating. What had happened?
Then an explanation popped to mind: I remembered that the Space Shuttle Discovery had been visiting the ISS on its final mission, and was scheduled to undock and head back to Florida for its final landing and then get decommissioned. I must have seen both Discovery and the ISS—one trailing the other for awhile, before the Shuttle fired its braking rockets and descended towards home. The tears continued to flow for awhile—partly in awe of the spectacle that I'd just witnessed and partly in deep gratitude for whatever called me to be in the tub at this time and to look up at the right moment.
I knew what I'd do to verify my guess about what I'd seen: in the morning I'd go online and visit a couple of my favorite Websites—one being NASA's page on the Shuttle program and another that lists the times and properties of satellite flyovers. Yes, NASA said that the ISS and Discovery had been flying close to one another the night before, with the Shuttle in the lead. Discovery had undocked the day before, had circled the ISS, and then moved ahead of and below it, in preparation for landing a day later.
The Website that gives satellite flight details across your very own sky is heavens-above.com. It's built and maintained by a German enthusiast. When you visit the site, you need to enter your latitude and longitude (or the nearest major city) and then the site's program calculates your local times for ISS overflights, its brightness, and its path across your sky.
I've used this Website several times, to predict a time and location when I can go outside and be prepared to watch the ISS go by. It's a really spectacular show. I've sometimes alerted neighbors and friends, to share the event.
It's not an uncommon experience to see the ISS go overhead—after all, it circles the Earth several times every day. But most of the time it doesn't put on a dazzling show, because it may pass during the day, or be too close to the horizon to spot, or be invisible in the Earth's shadow. Only about twice a month are conditions such that this largest of all satellites can be seen so bright.
So that makes my experience of seeing both the Space Shuttle and the ISS so unique and sensational. Truly doubly dazzling!
Back in the tub the night before, I very slowly came down from my satellite high—now lying back, eyes riveted to the sky. I saw three more satellites over the next hour—none of them holding a candle to the scene I'd earlier witnessed—but still thrilling in their own right.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Puppy Passions
My postings have been interrupted lately, because I made the fateful decision of inviting a puppy to join our homestead family of two senior citizens, an aging cat, and an old dog. This canine youngster has upended our daily routine and forced many habitual activities into suspension. It's been three decades since I welcomed the last puppy into my life—when I found myself spending many hours trailing a pooping and peeing infant canine, trying to get the message across that if he accomplished these kinds of eliminations outdoors, I would be far happier than being forced to wipe up yet another oops from the floor. Apparently those earlier puppy travails have faded.
Memory withers with the years and this is often why we tend to repeat our past mistakes. Or is it a mistake in this case? Am I repeating a former blunder or am I possibly prescient about bringing some fun into our lives? I can think of myriad other blunders that I've made in the past that were so painful that I know I'll never do them again. But there are other previous choices that, even though I paid the piper for them, I seem willing to try again... in this case maybe either because I sort of remember the delight of having a young-in' around, or maybe that I think I can do a better job this time around. The other possibility is that the many years have dulled the initial pain I endured and my revisionist memory has painted the subsequent experiences a decidedly rosy hue. After all, my previous puppy eventually blossomed into a happy and valued member of the family.
It could be argued, however, that I'm too old for engaging in the puppy raising game. Old farts like me often acquire a stodgy demeanor that beckons us to veg out in front of the TV or to retreat into monotonous pastimes that guarantee minimal surprises or creative activity. Chasing a puppy around the yard, congratulating it in theatrically cheerful expressions of gratitude when it dumps a smelly load is not the usual sport of seventy-year-olds. So it just may be that I sensed an opportunity to be jolted out of my aging lethargy and have my life infused with a badly needed injection of youthful joy. Or equally possible, I'm in danger of spilling what few mental marbles I still retain. We'll see.
We are now at the three-week mark of having a puppy dog in residence. He was seven weeks old when he joined us—an ideal age for smoothly transferring his adulation and connection from his mom to a human being. That transfer, however, comes at the cost of many lost hours of sleep and a continually interrupted routine. One's life becomes dictated by the puppy's desires and impromptu bladder and bowel evacuations. Am I going to have lots of fun or did I make a colossal mistake? We'll see.
Memory withers with the years and this is often why we tend to repeat our past mistakes. Or is it a mistake in this case? Am I repeating a former blunder or am I possibly prescient about bringing some fun into our lives? I can think of myriad other blunders that I've made in the past that were so painful that I know I'll never do them again. But there are other previous choices that, even though I paid the piper for them, I seem willing to try again... in this case maybe either because I sort of remember the delight of having a young-in' around, or maybe that I think I can do a better job this time around. The other possibility is that the many years have dulled the initial pain I endured and my revisionist memory has painted the subsequent experiences a decidedly rosy hue. After all, my previous puppy eventually blossomed into a happy and valued member of the family.
It could be argued, however, that I'm too old for engaging in the puppy raising game. Old farts like me often acquire a stodgy demeanor that beckons us to veg out in front of the TV or to retreat into monotonous pastimes that guarantee minimal surprises or creative activity. Chasing a puppy around the yard, congratulating it in theatrically cheerful expressions of gratitude when it dumps a smelly load is not the usual sport of seventy-year-olds. So it just may be that I sensed an opportunity to be jolted out of my aging lethargy and have my life infused with a badly needed injection of youthful joy. Or equally possible, I'm in danger of spilling what few mental marbles I still retain. We'll see.
We are now at the three-week mark of having a puppy dog in residence. He was seven weeks old when he joined us—an ideal age for smoothly transferring his adulation and connection from his mom to a human being. That transfer, however, comes at the cost of many lost hours of sleep and a continually interrupted routine. One's life becomes dictated by the puppy's desires and impromptu bladder and bowel evacuations. Am I going to have lots of fun or did I make a colossal mistake? We'll see.
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