Way back in High School, they beat into your brain just how important time management really is in life. To give you an idea, I usually find the time to contribute to this fine body of work during naptime for my two-year old. I need to be quiet, can't leave the house, and writing fit in well.
Recently, though, I have been working on an old house, renovating it (leaving little time for writing). I am in the midst of mudding and taping the sheetrock, which just takes time. If you have not done it before, you should be aware that each coat of joint compound goes on finicky, and you can't really touch it until it is completely dry. The drying process should in theory take 24 hours, but in all practicality, it is taking longer. I still keep busy while the mud is drying because it is a big house, but honestly, there is no rushing it. Come back too soon and it crumbles under the weight of your tool.
As I have been working, such a monotonous job (lacking in measurements, squaring, planning, and other brain occupiers) has left me time to get to know all of the new radio stations, catch back up with all of today's big hits, and let old songs remind me of past times in my own life. It has been nice going back down memory lane. I have thought of trying to contact a few people I have grown apart from, but who has time for that?
The extra time has also let me think ahead.This weekend, there is a big Jeep club meeting and the (probably) last ride of the wheeling season. I have really been looking forward to both. The Vermont Jeep Association plans to elect me as their president, which is an honor, but the run afterwards has really been on my mind.
Every hour, on the hour they talk about the weather on the radio, more during drive time. On nice days, it goes by un-noticed. These days, for me, I am all ears. There is a coastal low moving up towards Vermont, and they are using the "N" word a lot. (Nor-Easter for the flatlanders out there). The Nor-Easter is great for skiers and snowmobilers, a churning winter storm that could potentially drop 2-4 feet of snow on the Green Mountain state. For me, however, looking forward to the last ride of the season in my open-topped old Jeep, I cringe at the thought of spending all day out in the woods, wet and cold. That doesn't mean I won't go, it just means that I will need to combine ski clothes with a fisherman's hat to make the day comfortable. Ugh. I probably will put the bikini top on for the day ( I haven't any other).
There is practically no chance of me not going. I have permission from the wife to leave her stranded with both kids all day. Such an opportunity is not to be overlooked. If the ride is cancelled due to high water or excessive trail wear, I would understand, but probably still spend the day wrenching. I have found the motor and transmission for some future Hot Rod project, but have been unable to find the time to pull it out of the motorhome it grew up in. I could work on that on Sunday, but I will probably have the kids with me, and so lifting a 351 and c-6 overhead and into the back of the truck is probably not the best family activity. The kids would definitely come home greasy and make for more laundry. Besides, it is supposed to rain.
A plumber I have been working with has been looking forward to deer season. For him, he gets a week pass from his wife, and is off to New York to find the big bucks. Apparently, the Vermont program of passing on spikehorn bucks has not netted the final trophies yet. So he goes away for a week with his brother and a few friends to persue a few extra (antler) points.
It is his yearly trip, a sign of the seasons, if you will. Kudos to him for finding the time. For me, there is always work to be done, or wheeling, or pulling an engine, or watching the kids, or fishing, or football, or... Thank God I am not a hunter too.
Showing posts with label Vermonters. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Vermonters. Show all posts
Don't mention it.
The bumper sticker that had obviously resided across the back of the rusty Honda for some time read "I'm a Vermonta, I do what I wanta."
Originally, it called to mind all of the other classic Vermont sayings. "You can't get there from here." "Go right up the road a ways... you can't miss it." And the like. But this one was different. It called to mind the individuality and independent nature of Vermonters. We might just be the most stubborn state in the union.
We really do what we want to. We saw a need, and passed first-in-the-nation same-sex spousal benefits. When Governor Davis saw the clutter and trash lining Vermont's roadways back in the 70s, he shut down the interstate and motivated the entire state to clean itself.
Vermonters way back in history have really done what they wanted too. We were not one of the thirteen original colonies, we were still making up our minds at the time. Most folks don't know it, but Vermont is one of two or three states that was at one time its own country. The Republic of Vermont was a short-lived, but important part of the state's history of independent-mindedness. For more information, a trip to Windsor, Vermont, would be in order.
That independent nature really shows its head in the little things. A recent trip to the lake with a friend on his new-to-him $500 speedboat shows it well.
Of course, the boat started when he first tried it, but then it sputtered and wouldn't start again. The boat's battery was dead, and getting a jump start on the water is a bit more difficult than in the Wal-Mart parking lot. So, while his first mate made a run for a second (hopefully fully-charged) battery, he was left literally holding the boat alongside the dock, hoping to not be in the way as others used the boat launch.
The first mate's trip was only fifteen minutes or so, but that left a lot of comings and goings at the boat launch. Everyone who passed by was concerned. One couple coming in off the water loaned a spare battery and the boat came alive again. He ran it for a minute to charge the first battery, and gave it back.
"Don't mention it," they said. "We've been there before. That is why we carry a spare battery."
A concerned husband and father was milling about, waiting for his wife and kids to get back on their maiden voyage around the lake in a new paddleboat. A friendly conversation sprang up which led to an offer to go out on the powerboat and have a look around the lake, once the first mate got back.
Now, no one would suggest that a new boater on his first time out in a new (and very used) boat would be the best candidate for a rescue mission after a paddleboat, at dusk. But, we were testing the motorboat anyway, and keeping an eye out for the yellow boat was not too much trouble. We saw them at dusk, still quite some ways from the boat dock. They were tired, but still moving.
We exchanged messages and tried to tow the little boat, but ended up pulling it sideways and almost swamping it. It was tense there for a minute, but we untied in time and everyone was still right side up. The little boat paddled to a landing nearby, and we continued on our way, making one last trip around the lake testing the steering and pumps.
By the time the motorboat pulled up to the boat launch, the family was safely ashore and they stopped by to say thanks. We didn't even recognize the boaters without their life jackets, and were caught off-guard when they approached us. We were busy trying to get the boat situated on the trailer and out of the water in the dark. For us, I think the chance to help had been a failure.We almost swamped their little craft and they ended up paddling in themselves. For the boaters, however, we must have seemed like a lifeline, with lights and a motor as the sun was going down.
As we were tying the boat down safely on the trailer before heading home, a teenage boy in a too-cool-for-me ball cap abruptly called out, "Thank you."
"Don't mention it," we said, hardly looking up from our work. It wasn't until later that it really sunk in. For him to come up to total strangers like that really speaks volumes. We were only doing what any Vermonter would have. We were just doing our part. That night, it made a difference.
Originally, it called to mind all of the other classic Vermont sayings. "You can't get there from here." "Go right up the road a ways... you can't miss it." And the like. But this one was different. It called to mind the individuality and independent nature of Vermonters. We might just be the most stubborn state in the union.
We really do what we want to. We saw a need, and passed first-in-the-nation same-sex spousal benefits. When Governor Davis saw the clutter and trash lining Vermont's roadways back in the 70s, he shut down the interstate and motivated the entire state to clean itself.
Vermonters way back in history have really done what they wanted too. We were not one of the thirteen original colonies, we were still making up our minds at the time. Most folks don't know it, but Vermont is one of two or three states that was at one time its own country. The Republic of Vermont was a short-lived, but important part of the state's history of independent-mindedness. For more information, a trip to Windsor, Vermont, would be in order.
That independent nature really shows its head in the little things. A recent trip to the lake with a friend on his new-to-him $500 speedboat shows it well.
Of course, the boat started when he first tried it, but then it sputtered and wouldn't start again. The boat's battery was dead, and getting a jump start on the water is a bit more difficult than in the Wal-Mart parking lot. So, while his first mate made a run for a second (hopefully fully-charged) battery, he was left literally holding the boat alongside the dock, hoping to not be in the way as others used the boat launch.
The first mate's trip was only fifteen minutes or so, but that left a lot of comings and goings at the boat launch. Everyone who passed by was concerned. One couple coming in off the water loaned a spare battery and the boat came alive again. He ran it for a minute to charge the first battery, and gave it back.
"Don't mention it," they said. "We've been there before. That is why we carry a spare battery."
A concerned husband and father was milling about, waiting for his wife and kids to get back on their maiden voyage around the lake in a new paddleboat. A friendly conversation sprang up which led to an offer to go out on the powerboat and have a look around the lake, once the first mate got back.
Now, no one would suggest that a new boater on his first time out in a new (and very used) boat would be the best candidate for a rescue mission after a paddleboat, at dusk. But, we were testing the motorboat anyway, and keeping an eye out for the yellow boat was not too much trouble. We saw them at dusk, still quite some ways from the boat dock. They were tired, but still moving.
We exchanged messages and tried to tow the little boat, but ended up pulling it sideways and almost swamping it. It was tense there for a minute, but we untied in time and everyone was still right side up. The little boat paddled to a landing nearby, and we continued on our way, making one last trip around the lake testing the steering and pumps.
By the time the motorboat pulled up to the boat launch, the family was safely ashore and they stopped by to say thanks. We didn't even recognize the boaters without their life jackets, and were caught off-guard when they approached us. We were busy trying to get the boat situated on the trailer and out of the water in the dark. For us, I think the chance to help had been a failure.We almost swamped their little craft and they ended up paddling in themselves. For the boaters, however, we must have seemed like a lifeline, with lights and a motor as the sun was going down.
As we were tying the boat down safely on the trailer before heading home, a teenage boy in a too-cool-for-me ball cap abruptly called out, "Thank you."
"Don't mention it," we said, hardly looking up from our work. It wasn't until later that it really sunk in. For him to come up to total strangers like that really speaks volumes. We were only doing what any Vermonter would have. We were just doing our part. That night, it made a difference.
What is appropriate?
It might not have been your first thought, but I am really talking about road uses.
This topic came to me this morning when a couple things happened.
First, I caught the President's comment: "I am looking for whose ass to kick" in relation to the oil spill. That got me thinking about whether that was appropriate or not... Actually, I liked his bravado. It was very John Wayne, very American. We all are pissed about this, and he is merely voicing it. Was it appropriate? perhaps not. Should the leader of the free world be able to say "ass"? I think so. Others don't.
Then, There was a report of a Town of Moretown, VT road meeting last night in which the town selectboard discussed the use and keeping of several Class IV roads. For the uninitiated, Class IV roads are the bottom of the barrel, unmaintained roads that are still legal roads for all sorts of travel. They may only look like dirt paths or horse trails, but anyone with a bicycle or pair of shoes is legally able to travel these roads.
So what? you say, we can also travel on the area's bike paths, and recreation trails. Ok, you are right. but did it ever occur to you that many of them do not really go anywhere? Class IV roads connect towns by unmaintained roads. You can actually go over the top of the mountain to get lunch in the next village. You can take a hike to go someplace, rather than walking along the shoulder of the busy roads. If you have never visited one, you should. They are (thankfully) mapped clearly on the good topographical Vermont book maps, and readily identifiable driving around (if you see Road X East, and Road X West, they connect via the Class IV road).
These connector trails / Class IV roads are really a gem, but for the past few years (like 5) the towns and the state have been trying to decide whether each of them should stay on the roster of town roads. On one hand, they cost nothing, hey are unmaintained. On the other, neighbors who might have been misled by a real-estate professional who did not know any better, do complain when people use them. These folks have camps or live next to a road that might only be used one day a week when folks are out of work and have time on their hands. It might only be used once a month. The rest of the time, they mow across it, or park their cars on it, and never have a second thought.
Until, that is, somebody comes riding through on an enduro motorcycle, or walking by their kitchen window unexpectedly using the Class IV road. "How dare they?" the person might ask. "They didn't even knock and ask first," they might exclaim.
Even though the use might be unexpected, on such an unfrequented road, I argue that it is appropriate. The thing is, when these people have such a knee-jerk reaction to travel on such a road, they might yell at the user, or yell at the town. It is a matter of perspective, from their perspective it might seem like folks are just willy-nilly riding bicycles or driving through their back yard. That is a legitimate concern. If they are crunching the vegetable patch, that could be even worse.
The thing is, that even though they might mow it, it is a road. Just like other roads, it is subject to travel. Travel by anyone, or anything legal for travel along the state's roads. Use is to be expected. Use is why they are there. Towns have been wary of eliminating them because of the potential for some eventual benefits of use down the line.
In city neighborhoods, there is use that is unwelcome. Residents are woken by late night motorcyclists, and early morning garbage4 trucks. Just because the garbage trucks tend to use different roads, does not mean that they should be prevented from using Class IV roads. Neighbors of these thoroughfares need to understand that what is appropriate use, and what they might like to see, might be two different things.
That Barack Obama wants to "kick some ass" is his right as an American. That others would have preferred that he sugar coat the message before saying it on TV, does not make it inappropriate.
If you support the position to keep Class IV roads open to free travel, please let the Town Clerk know.
This topic came to me this morning when a couple things happened.
First, I caught the President's comment: "I am looking for whose ass to kick" in relation to the oil spill. That got me thinking about whether that was appropriate or not... Actually, I liked his bravado. It was very John Wayne, very American. We all are pissed about this, and he is merely voicing it. Was it appropriate? perhaps not. Should the leader of the free world be able to say "ass"? I think so. Others don't.
Then, There was a report of a Town of Moretown, VT road meeting last night in which the town selectboard discussed the use and keeping of several Class IV roads. For the uninitiated, Class IV roads are the bottom of the barrel, unmaintained roads that are still legal roads for all sorts of travel. They may only look like dirt paths or horse trails, but anyone with a bicycle or pair of shoes is legally able to travel these roads.
So what? you say, we can also travel on the area's bike paths, and recreation trails. Ok, you are right. but did it ever occur to you that many of them do not really go anywhere? Class IV roads connect towns by unmaintained roads. You can actually go over the top of the mountain to get lunch in the next village. You can take a hike to go someplace, rather than walking along the shoulder of the busy roads. If you have never visited one, you should. They are (thankfully) mapped clearly on the good topographical Vermont book maps, and readily identifiable driving around (if you see Road X East, and Road X West, they connect via the Class IV road).
These connector trails / Class IV roads are really a gem, but for the past few years (like 5) the towns and the state have been trying to decide whether each of them should stay on the roster of town roads. On one hand, they cost nothing, hey are unmaintained. On the other, neighbors who might have been misled by a real-estate professional who did not know any better, do complain when people use them. These folks have camps or live next to a road that might only be used one day a week when folks are out of work and have time on their hands. It might only be used once a month. The rest of the time, they mow across it, or park their cars on it, and never have a second thought.
Until, that is, somebody comes riding through on an enduro motorcycle, or walking by their kitchen window unexpectedly using the Class IV road. "How dare they?" the person might ask. "They didn't even knock and ask first," they might exclaim.
Even though the use might be unexpected, on such an unfrequented road, I argue that it is appropriate. The thing is, when these people have such a knee-jerk reaction to travel on such a road, they might yell at the user, or yell at the town. It is a matter of perspective, from their perspective it might seem like folks are just willy-nilly riding bicycles or driving through their back yard. That is a legitimate concern. If they are crunching the vegetable patch, that could be even worse.
The thing is, that even though they might mow it, it is a road. Just like other roads, it is subject to travel. Travel by anyone, or anything legal for travel along the state's roads. Use is to be expected. Use is why they are there. Towns have been wary of eliminating them because of the potential for some eventual benefits of use down the line.
In city neighborhoods, there is use that is unwelcome. Residents are woken by late night motorcyclists, and early morning garbage4 trucks. Just because the garbage trucks tend to use different roads, does not mean that they should be prevented from using Class IV roads. Neighbors of these thoroughfares need to understand that what is appropriate use, and what they might like to see, might be two different things.
That Barack Obama wants to "kick some ass" is his right as an American. That others would have preferred that he sugar coat the message before saying it on TV, does not make it inappropriate.
If you support the position to keep Class IV roads open to free travel, please let the Town Clerk know.
Summer in the Springtime
Spring is here in Vermont, but it sure does feel like summer. Temperatures in the 90s do a lot to get folks outside and enjoying the Vermont landscape.
A trip to get creemees after dinner really drove the point home. Of course, we were not the only ones with that plan in mind. I decided to drive the (recently through rehab) Willys Jeep down with the family in tow. Driving with the top off really was the only way to stay comfortable int he car without AC.
I wasn't the only one with that idea either. In the village, while we were struggling to catch ice cream drips before they hit my son's shirt, we witnessed one of the better things that comes back with the warm weather.
It seems like everywhere we looked, we saw motorcycles, convertibles, and classic cars out enjoying the warm weather. I talked for a few minutes with a fellow who had just bought his wife's uncle's 1970 Cutlass Supreme. It was a beautiful orange convertible with a 350 and like-original whitewalls. It still purred through its untouched mufflers; none of the growl I would have added to turn heads in town.
The car was a sight. It had white leather upholstery and brown carpet on the lower half of the doors. The owner had it out to take the kids to the creemee stand, just like us.
This time of year really makes living through the long, cold winter worthwhile. Vermonters can enjoy the outdoors, although slathered in bug spray to ward off the black flies, once again. We come out to plant our gardens. Some of us come out again to re-plant out gardens which were killed by the late snowfall last month. We come out to recreate, perhaps bringing a picnic to the park. We come out to swim, though the water is still a bit cold for my tastes. Most of all, we come out to be with those we love. Adding the summer cars to the mix just makes it that much better.
A trip to get creemees after dinner really drove the point home. Of course, we were not the only ones with that plan in mind. I decided to drive the (recently through rehab) Willys Jeep down with the family in tow. Driving with the top off really was the only way to stay comfortable int he car without AC.
I wasn't the only one with that idea either. In the village, while we were struggling to catch ice cream drips before they hit my son's shirt, we witnessed one of the better things that comes back with the warm weather.
It seems like everywhere we looked, we saw motorcycles, convertibles, and classic cars out enjoying the warm weather. I talked for a few minutes with a fellow who had just bought his wife's uncle's 1970 Cutlass Supreme. It was a beautiful orange convertible with a 350 and like-original whitewalls. It still purred through its untouched mufflers; none of the growl I would have added to turn heads in town.
The car was a sight. It had white leather upholstery and brown carpet on the lower half of the doors. The owner had it out to take the kids to the creemee stand, just like us.
This time of year really makes living through the long, cold winter worthwhile. Vermonters can enjoy the outdoors, although slathered in bug spray to ward off the black flies, once again. We come out to plant our gardens. Some of us come out again to re-plant out gardens which were killed by the late snowfall last month. We come out to recreate, perhaps bringing a picnic to the park. We come out to swim, though the water is still a bit cold for my tastes. Most of all, we come out to be with those we love. Adding the summer cars to the mix just makes it that much better.
Paper or Plastic? Neither
When is it going to happen here? When will we do something about our environment, and our cities' aesthetics?
This blight takes the form of innocent-enough plastic conveniences. If you bother to notice, you can see discarded plastic grocery shopping bags all over the place. Especially this time of year, after the snow cover melts and before the leaves come back and conceal the tangled blemishes in their branches, discarded plastic bags seem to be everywhere.
The problem is perhaps worse in urban areas, where the wind can help the lightweight trash escape from uncovered dumpsters behind apartments and shopping centers. A scene from American Beauty, parodied in popular culture by The Family Guy and on YouTube, tries to bring the problem a silver lining, but even artistry ultimately fails to put a good spin on the problem.
Vermont has a history of strong environmentalism, and has not been afraid to seek out its own direction when it comes to the best thing for its people. Vermonters enacted bottle deposits when the containers became a problem on the roadsides. We enacted Civil Union legislation to meet a need there as well. These shopping bags wind up in creeks and ditches, in treetops and on fences looking ugly and causing an environmental problem. We shouldn't just wait for Green Up Day to address the infestation.
Today though, larger cities, like our nation's capital, which face larger problems that come with larger populations are on the forefront addressing this problem, not us. We seem to have bigger fish to fry. It seems as though the Vermont legislature is working on fishing licenses and city charter changes this year instead.I suppose they are important as well.
So it is left to us, the people. We need to make an effort. We need to tell our neighbors to make the change. We need to take a stand, however quiet or refined, and say through actions and deeds that we do not need disposable bags any more. They may be easy, but they take a toll as well.
So what is the answer? We recycle. We reuse. There are lots of ways to do it. There are websites that will show you how to turn extra pillowcases and t-shirts into shopping bags. You can buy the reusable variety from the market, or from web retailers.
The question then becomes one of design and aesthetics. It is nice to show your individuality with the bags you carry. Recycling your old Duran Duran shirt would do that. You also should look at convenience and carrying ability as well.
Talking to others about the issue, the consensus seems to be that the bags should be small and convenient to carry, whether folding up to place in the shopping cart is enough, or stuffing together into a small pocket. They should be large enough to carry three cereal boxes. They should have wide enough handles to carry the weight of milk jugs. They should be washable after handling your meat, and many like the variety that can stand up on their own for easy loading and unloading.
Changing our habits is always a difficult thing to do. Whether we are quitting smoking, or adjusting our route to work because of construction, the change has to be a conscious one. This instance is no different. This is a call to reject the status quo. Say it out loud when you are confronted with the old "Paper or plastic?" question. Tell the clerk that you have brought your own. Tell them "neither". But please remember to bring your own bags with you when you go shopping, and keep the rest out of the trees and creeks of the Green Mountain State.
This blight takes the form of innocent-enough plastic conveniences. If you bother to notice, you can see discarded plastic grocery shopping bags all over the place. Especially this time of year, after the snow cover melts and before the leaves come back and conceal the tangled blemishes in their branches, discarded plastic bags seem to be everywhere.
The problem is perhaps worse in urban areas, where the wind can help the lightweight trash escape from uncovered dumpsters behind apartments and shopping centers. A scene from American Beauty, parodied in popular culture by The Family Guy and on YouTube, tries to bring the problem a silver lining, but even artistry ultimately fails to put a good spin on the problem.
Vermont has a history of strong environmentalism, and has not been afraid to seek out its own direction when it comes to the best thing for its people. Vermonters enacted bottle deposits when the containers became a problem on the roadsides. We enacted Civil Union legislation to meet a need there as well. These shopping bags wind up in creeks and ditches, in treetops and on fences looking ugly and causing an environmental problem. We shouldn't just wait for Green Up Day to address the infestation.
Today though, larger cities, like our nation's capital, which face larger problems that come with larger populations are on the forefront addressing this problem, not us. We seem to have bigger fish to fry. It seems as though the Vermont legislature is working on fishing licenses and city charter changes this year instead.I suppose they are important as well.
So it is left to us, the people. We need to make an effort. We need to tell our neighbors to make the change. We need to take a stand, however quiet or refined, and say through actions and deeds that we do not need disposable bags any more. They may be easy, but they take a toll as well.
So what is the answer? We recycle. We reuse. There are lots of ways to do it. There are websites that will show you how to turn extra pillowcases and t-shirts into shopping bags. You can buy the reusable variety from the market, or from web retailers.
The question then becomes one of design and aesthetics. It is nice to show your individuality with the bags you carry. Recycling your old Duran Duran shirt would do that. You also should look at convenience and carrying ability as well.
Talking to others about the issue, the consensus seems to be that the bags should be small and convenient to carry, whether folding up to place in the shopping cart is enough, or stuffing together into a small pocket. They should be large enough to carry three cereal boxes. They should have wide enough handles to carry the weight of milk jugs. They should be washable after handling your meat, and many like the variety that can stand up on their own for easy loading and unloading.
Changing our habits is always a difficult thing to do. Whether we are quitting smoking, or adjusting our route to work because of construction, the change has to be a conscious one. This instance is no different. This is a call to reject the status quo. Say it out loud when you are confronted with the old "Paper or plastic?" question. Tell the clerk that you have brought your own. Tell them "neither". But please remember to bring your own bags with you when you go shopping, and keep the rest out of the trees and creeks of the Green Mountain State.
Firewood basics for the do-it-your-selfer
Is it strange that on the first sunny week of springtime, many Vermonters are already thinking about winter?
After the long cold winter the woodpile in many homes looks like a shadow of its former self, and many do-it-yourself Vermonters have already begun working to replenish it.
The cost of heating a home has been on the rise, and according to the USDA Forest Products Laboratory, seasoned firewood is the least expensive fuel source, with natural gas, and wood pellets close behind. The only problem is that heating a home with wood requires a bit more work. That work carries on all year.
Typically, trees are cut in the fall, and they lay in log length over the winter. In the spring, as the snow cover recedes, Vermonters will take to the forests on frosty mornings, when their tractors or trucks won't do as much damage in the fragile environment. Then the fun begins.
Logs began drying when they were cut last fall. As the birds come back to Vermont, those logs need to be chunked up and split to fully cure before next winter. The extra steps in the spring make sure that the logs don't rot on the ground, and that when they are burned the most BTUs can come out of the woodstove.
Before you get to work, you should have a couple things in mind.
1) Make sure your chainsaw is running well. Nobody wants to get out into the middle of nowhere and then figure out that his chainsaw won't run. Before you leave, fill it with new gas, and runit for a few minutes at home.
2) Take a look at your blade. Whenever running a chainsaw, in addition to eye and ear protection, you should have your saw's T tool and a file with you. A screwdriver and wrench can replace the tool, but nothing in the woods will sharpen a dull blade. Use the file correctly, pushing its teeth into the semicircular cut on the blade.
Match the number of strokes for each tooth. If you favor one direction or the other, the saw will cut diagonally.
3) Know what you want to get out of it. When you approach your logs, you need to know how long each piece of firewood needs to be to fit in your particular fireplace. Do they need to be 16 inches? Would 18s or 20s work? Use the length of the chainsaw's blade for reference. Most are in the right ballpark.
4) Plan your attack. Are you right handed, or left? it might make a difference on which end of the woodpile you begin your cutting. Righties, for instance, work better moving to the left after each cut. That way, the chunked log falls off away fromthe saw's housing.
5) Work in sections. There is nothing worse than cutting a log, then tripping over it all afternoon. The best way to work is in sections. Cut a bit, pile some up in an out of the way place for the splitter, then go back and cut more. When working with powertools, (especially those used in horror movies) sure footing is essential. You don't want anything taking your attention away from that saw in action.
The old saying goes, "Firewood warms you twice, once when you stack it, then again when you burn it." For do-it-your-selfers, firewood might warm a few more times than that.
After the long cold winter the woodpile in many homes looks like a shadow of its former self, and many do-it-yourself Vermonters have already begun working to replenish it.
The cost of heating a home has been on the rise, and according to the USDA Forest Products Laboratory, seasoned firewood is the least expensive fuel source, with natural gas, and wood pellets close behind. The only problem is that heating a home with wood requires a bit more work. That work carries on all year.
Typically, trees are cut in the fall, and they lay in log length over the winter. In the spring, as the snow cover recedes, Vermonters will take to the forests on frosty mornings, when their tractors or trucks won't do as much damage in the fragile environment. Then the fun begins.
Logs began drying when they were cut last fall. As the birds come back to Vermont, those logs need to be chunked up and split to fully cure before next winter. The extra steps in the spring make sure that the logs don't rot on the ground, and that when they are burned the most BTUs can come out of the woodstove.
Before you get to work, you should have a couple things in mind.
1) Make sure your chainsaw is running well. Nobody wants to get out into the middle of nowhere and then figure out that his chainsaw won't run. Before you leave, fill it with new gas, and runit for a few minutes at home.
2) Take a look at your blade. Whenever running a chainsaw, in addition to eye and ear protection, you should have your saw's T tool and a file with you. A screwdriver and wrench can replace the tool, but nothing in the woods will sharpen a dull blade. Use the file correctly, pushing its teeth into the semicircular cut on the blade.
3) Know what you want to get out of it. When you approach your logs, you need to know how long each piece of firewood needs to be to fit in your particular fireplace. Do they need to be 16 inches? Would 18s or 20s work? Use the length of the chainsaw's blade for reference. Most are in the right ballpark.
4) Plan your attack. Are you right handed, or left? it might make a difference on which end of the woodpile you begin your cutting. Righties, for instance, work better moving to the left after each cut. That way, the chunked log falls off away fromthe saw's housing.
5) Work in sections. There is nothing worse than cutting a log, then tripping over it all afternoon. The best way to work is in sections. Cut a bit, pile some up in an out of the way place for the splitter, then go back and cut more. When working with powertools, (especially those used in horror movies) sure footing is essential. You don't want anything taking your attention away from that saw in action.
The old saying goes, "Firewood warms you twice, once when you stack it, then again when you burn it." For do-it-your-selfers, firewood might warm a few more times than that.
Modern Life or the Old Ways
Technology is wonderful, except when it isn't. Modern mechanisms have been making our lives a little bit better since the invention of the spoon. Little pieces of insight and creative thinking cradle us in convenience.We surround ourselves with them and show them off to our friends. "Look at my phone!" or "The game is on the Plasma."
In a book I just read, the villain tried to detonate atomic bombs all around the globe, not to bring about nuclear holocaust, but to send out an electromagnetic pulse that would render useless anything with a transistor or circuit board. "Dear God," the President commented, "That would be far more savage than nuclear war." Maybe it would be. But that is only because we as humans living in the 21st century continue to fight for technology every day.
We fight for technology without knowing it. We say that going "paperless" is being environmentally conscious. We also notice that it will save us money on paper and printing costs. It is good, and good for us too. But what has come of the hand scrawled Thank You note Emily Post still recommends we write? Now, we are so tempted by e-mail and Facebook posts, that people actually need to be prodded a bit to take up a pen and paper the old way. Ridiculous.
There is even a growing market in Vermont for landowners to have their forests logged by ancient means. They call it responsible forestry, touting how it can repair damaged land. No, the lumberjack isn't going back to the hand saw or axe, but they are using teams of draft animals rather than giant tractors to haul the wood out. It is really quite inspiring to watch, take my word for it. Engine noise and exhaust fumes are replaced by heavy breathing and footsteps. The only down side is the view driving the team. Who really wants to stare at the rump of a horse all day?
That reminds me of a great Vermont story I heard from my in-laws a few years back. A fellow was out moose hunting on the last day of the season. He was miles from a road and shot a big bull moose. The animal weighed more than a thousand pounds. Being the last day of the season, he had to weigh it in by sundown or face a fine. He drove a 2wd Toyota pick up that stood no chance of traversing the muddy forests, and appealed to a farmer nearby for use of his tractor. The farmer said no, but offered instead his team of oxen. Those who watched it that day, and those who retold the story afterward still speak in awe of the sight of that team hauling the muddy moose out of the woods that day. They go on to laugh at the memory of ten big farm boys picking up and setting that muddy moose in the bed of the tiny Toyota pickup as well; feet sticking out one way, the antlers over the other side.
There was no need for technology that day. The old method was even better suited to the task. Those oxen left no ruts in the soft forest ground. They burned no fossil fuels (though they did release methane gas, I'm sure). They did the job the old way, and made a real impression on a lot of people because of it. Just like that hand-written Thank You note does.
So why did I mention it? Well, we are in the midst of March Madness. For the uninitiated, that means picking teams and filling out those college basketball brackets. Personally, college basketball is the one sport I do follow. I am too busy Jeeping all summer to follow baseball. Football is only good in the playoffs. College basketball gets me in from the garage at the muddy end of March. It is fun to make your picks and see how far off you really are from what really happens. Up until this year, I filled out my picks on paper. I have managed office pools, and spent hours in front of the television with a highlighter figuring out who was ahead.
This year, I tried to us technology to make my life easier. I usually embrace new technology. I have the patience to tinker my way through most of it. Not this time. Managing the brackets has always been a practice that focuses on the playing ability of the teams. This time it turned itself into a computer nightmare. It all started so easily. Click on a link here, follow instructions there. It turned into a four hour process taking up two computers and three separate e-mail accounts to see if it worked. And it didn't. Ugh!
Technology truly can be a wonderful thing. Unless you are the President staring down a threat to transistors everywhere, technology really can be a blessing. But when things don't work right, boy can it go wrong. Nobody ever had a problem with a prototype spoon that affected people the same way computers can. Nobody ever spent four hours online trying to get a piece of paper to work. With the advent of the Kindle, and IPad threatening to overtake books and newspapers, we need to remember that. The old ways are sometimes better. Whether through Thank You notes, or teams of draft animals, the old ways still can bring people together at a personal level. It is better than struggling to overcome the emotional distance that an e-mail creates.
Perhaps the emotional distance can be a good thing as well. As it is, nobody at CBS Sports knows what I was really thinking when I tried to fill out my brackets online.
In a book I just read, the villain tried to detonate atomic bombs all around the globe, not to bring about nuclear holocaust, but to send out an electromagnetic pulse that would render useless anything with a transistor or circuit board. "Dear God," the President commented, "That would be far more savage than nuclear war." Maybe it would be. But that is only because we as humans living in the 21st century continue to fight for technology every day.
We fight for technology without knowing it. We say that going "paperless" is being environmentally conscious. We also notice that it will save us money on paper and printing costs. It is good, and good for us too. But what has come of the hand scrawled Thank You note Emily Post still recommends we write? Now, we are so tempted by e-mail and Facebook posts, that people actually need to be prodded a bit to take up a pen and paper the old way. Ridiculous.
There is even a growing market in Vermont for landowners to have their forests logged by ancient means. They call it responsible forestry, touting how it can repair damaged land. No, the lumberjack isn't going back to the hand saw or axe, but they are using teams of draft animals rather than giant tractors to haul the wood out. It is really quite inspiring to watch, take my word for it. Engine noise and exhaust fumes are replaced by heavy breathing and footsteps. The only down side is the view driving the team. Who really wants to stare at the rump of a horse all day?
That reminds me of a great Vermont story I heard from my in-laws a few years back. A fellow was out moose hunting on the last day of the season. He was miles from a road and shot a big bull moose. The animal weighed more than a thousand pounds. Being the last day of the season, he had to weigh it in by sundown or face a fine. He drove a 2wd Toyota pick up that stood no chance of traversing the muddy forests, and appealed to a farmer nearby for use of his tractor. The farmer said no, but offered instead his team of oxen. Those who watched it that day, and those who retold the story afterward still speak in awe of the sight of that team hauling the muddy moose out of the woods that day. They go on to laugh at the memory of ten big farm boys picking up and setting that muddy moose in the bed of the tiny Toyota pickup as well; feet sticking out one way, the antlers over the other side.
There was no need for technology that day. The old method was even better suited to the task. Those oxen left no ruts in the soft forest ground. They burned no fossil fuels (though they did release methane gas, I'm sure). They did the job the old way, and made a real impression on a lot of people because of it. Just like that hand-written Thank You note does.
So why did I mention it? Well, we are in the midst of March Madness. For the uninitiated, that means picking teams and filling out those college basketball brackets. Personally, college basketball is the one sport I do follow. I am too busy Jeeping all summer to follow baseball. Football is only good in the playoffs. College basketball gets me in from the garage at the muddy end of March. It is fun to make your picks and see how far off you really are from what really happens. Up until this year, I filled out my picks on paper. I have managed office pools, and spent hours in front of the television with a highlighter figuring out who was ahead.
This year, I tried to us technology to make my life easier. I usually embrace new technology. I have the patience to tinker my way through most of it. Not this time. Managing the brackets has always been a practice that focuses on the playing ability of the teams. This time it turned itself into a computer nightmare. It all started so easily. Click on a link here, follow instructions there. It turned into a four hour process taking up two computers and three separate e-mail accounts to see if it worked. And it didn't. Ugh!
Technology truly can be a wonderful thing. Unless you are the President staring down a threat to transistors everywhere, technology really can be a blessing. But when things don't work right, boy can it go wrong. Nobody ever had a problem with a prototype spoon that affected people the same way computers can. Nobody ever spent four hours online trying to get a piece of paper to work. With the advent of the Kindle, and IPad threatening to overtake books and newspapers, we need to remember that. The old ways are sometimes better. Whether through Thank You notes, or teams of draft animals, the old ways still can bring people together at a personal level. It is better than struggling to overcome the emotional distance that an e-mail creates.
Perhaps the emotional distance can be a good thing as well. As it is, nobody at CBS Sports knows what I was really thinking when I tried to fill out my brackets online.
Being a Vermonter
You know, it really does take a special sort of person to live in Vermont. I'm not talking about the wherewithal to live through the seven-month winters or black flies, either. It is one thing to forgo pizza delivery and corner markets voluntarily in the move, (The latter is here of course, but that corner might be a ten minute drive away) it is another to embody the real spirit of Vermont.
Lots of people have been born into the role of Vermonter. For those folks, they might never have seen what the other side is like. Living here has kept them naive to major crime, racial tensions, or the need to lock your doors and windows. Even light pollution at night is foreign to many true Vermonters.
For the rest of us, we might have fled from those issues or others when we moved here. (OK, maybe not the pizza delivery) The Green Mountain State really is a holdout in the modern world. it is a throwback to the times when people were civil. Vermont can really surprise you if you let it.
Take last weekend for example. My family was hosting some friends of ours up from Boston. We were doubling our household from 2 adults and 2 kids to 4 and 4. We were entertaining. So, I did what any responsible person might, I picked up a local newspaper event listing and poured over it while we were waiting for the guests to arrive late Friday night. The listings for the weekend were bleak. The paper mentioned a star-gazing sleigh ride (but neglected to mention the $50 cost for a family of four to go), and an event at the local library.The circular was published monthly, so it had advertisements all over it for the '2010 Maple Open House Weekend' that would happen three weeks later. Oh well. There was always skiing.
Of course, bright and early Saturday morning, I got up and made pancakes for our guests. (Eight people can eat an amazing quantity of pancakes. I was truly impressed as I made the second batch, and frightened for the future of Octomom. OMG, is she in for it.) We served the last of our family's gallon jug of syrup from last year. My wife mentioned that we bought it from a sugarhouse up the road, and it lasted us the perfectly for a year.
I didn't think a thing of it as I was furiously flipping flapjacks that morning, but come Sunday, I was worried. Our friends wanted to pick some syrup up before heading home, and we tried to call ahead to the sugarshack, but then deciding to just show up.
Now let me tell you, when I lived in real cities, in apartment buildings or condominium complexes, I loved the Pop By. They were fun distractions from the tedium of normalcy. Friends would pop in, we would end up running out for a bottle of wine or some beers, and a good night would follow. Somehow in the rural life of Vermont, this practice has been lost. Perhaps it is the thought of driving ten minutes to get to the neighbor's house, only to find them away, but we ALWAYS call first these days. I haven't done a good Pop By for years. Even when I was living in the city, we would never have dreamed doing one before 10am.
Yet here we were: two cars pulling into the driveway (and home) of the Stokes Family Sugarworks. I was quietly mortified; thinking how I might react if all of these mostly strangers (I did buy syrup from them a year earlier) pulled into my muddy driveway unannounced expecting a tour one Sunday morning.
I got out, and slowly ambled through the mud towards the sugarhouse, looking for any friendly faces I might remember from last year. Slogging up, I made excuses to the first friend I met, and promised to buy some syrup if they would let us take a look around. He disappeared into the house after a couple bottles, and I motioned for the rest of our posse to unbuckle the kids and debark.
This turned out to be a fine example of Vermonters in action. As the kids came up rattling off questions as fast as they could talk, the rest of the family inside the house pulled on their mud boots and came out to meet us. They gave us a proud tour of the dilapidated building that included the story of how a cut off tree trunk hanging in the rafters saved the building from the south wind a few seasons prior. Sure, they sold us $15 worth of syrup, but they were happy to do it on an early Sunday morning. I truly believe that if this were not Vermont, we would have been turned away. Well, we might have been able to buy the syrup before we were kicked out.
It really is a shining example of Vermonters in action. My friend was even invited inside for a look at the resident's woodburning of the sugarhouse embossed on his living room coffee table. Would you get that anywhere else?
Lots of people have been born into the role of Vermonter. For those folks, they might never have seen what the other side is like. Living here has kept them naive to major crime, racial tensions, or the need to lock your doors and windows. Even light pollution at night is foreign to many true Vermonters.
For the rest of us, we might have fled from those issues or others when we moved here. (OK, maybe not the pizza delivery) The Green Mountain State really is a holdout in the modern world. it is a throwback to the times when people were civil. Vermont can really surprise you if you let it.
Take last weekend for example. My family was hosting some friends of ours up from Boston. We were doubling our household from 2 adults and 2 kids to 4 and 4. We were entertaining. So, I did what any responsible person might, I picked up a local newspaper event listing and poured over it while we were waiting for the guests to arrive late Friday night. The listings for the weekend were bleak. The paper mentioned a star-gazing sleigh ride (but neglected to mention the $50 cost for a family of four to go), and an event at the local library.The circular was published monthly, so it had advertisements all over it for the '2010 Maple Open House Weekend' that would happen three weeks later. Oh well. There was always skiing.
Of course, bright and early Saturday morning, I got up and made pancakes for our guests. (Eight people can eat an amazing quantity of pancakes. I was truly impressed as I made the second batch, and frightened for the future of Octomom. OMG, is she in for it.) We served the last of our family's gallon jug of syrup from last year. My wife mentioned that we bought it from a sugarhouse up the road, and it lasted us the perfectly for a year.
I didn't think a thing of it as I was furiously flipping flapjacks that morning, but come Sunday, I was worried. Our friends wanted to pick some syrup up before heading home, and we tried to call ahead to the sugarshack, but then deciding to just show up.
Now let me tell you, when I lived in real cities, in apartment buildings or condominium complexes, I loved the Pop By. They were fun distractions from the tedium of normalcy. Friends would pop in, we would end up running out for a bottle of wine or some beers, and a good night would follow. Somehow in the rural life of Vermont, this practice has been lost. Perhaps it is the thought of driving ten minutes to get to the neighbor's house, only to find them away, but we ALWAYS call first these days. I haven't done a good Pop By for years. Even when I was living in the city, we would never have dreamed doing one before 10am.
Yet here we were: two cars pulling into the driveway (and home) of the Stokes Family Sugarworks. I was quietly mortified; thinking how I might react if all of these mostly strangers (I did buy syrup from them a year earlier) pulled into my muddy driveway unannounced expecting a tour one Sunday morning.
I got out, and slowly ambled through the mud towards the sugarhouse, looking for any friendly faces I might remember from last year. Slogging up, I made excuses to the first friend I met, and promised to buy some syrup if they would let us take a look around. He disappeared into the house after a couple bottles, and I motioned for the rest of our posse to unbuckle the kids and debark.
This turned out to be a fine example of Vermonters in action. As the kids came up rattling off questions as fast as they could talk, the rest of the family inside the house pulled on their mud boots and came out to meet us. They gave us a proud tour of the dilapidated building that included the story of how a cut off tree trunk hanging in the rafters saved the building from the south wind a few seasons prior. Sure, they sold us $15 worth of syrup, but they were happy to do it on an early Sunday morning. I truly believe that if this were not Vermont, we would have been turned away. Well, we might have been able to buy the syrup before we were kicked out.
It really is a shining example of Vermonters in action. My friend was even invited inside for a look at the resident's woodburning of the sugarhouse embossed on his living room coffee table. Would you get that anywhere else?
Rust is a Funny Thing
I was looking through craigslist postings for an engine donor for my old Jeep. I was amazed at what people want for cars these days.
One post I saw wanted more than $2000 for a 93 GMC Jimmy 2wd!
Sure, it may be a southern car, but no serious Vermonter would want to pay that for it.
The problem with southern cars is that they were initially sold in the south. Frankly, car companies deliver different vehicles to different areas of the country. The south gets no factory rustproofing. No amount of 'Rubberized Undercoating' can make up for bare metal inside the cavities of a southern car.
Let me give you an idea. I moved to Vermont in 2000. in anticipation of the move, I bought a Jeep Cherokee 4x4. When I bought it, the flatlander dealership thought I was nuts. The state did not see snow - ever - and the only thing they could think of was that i would turn it into a "mudder". I bought it nonetheless, and promptly moved to Vermont.
I hardly drove it. at age four, it only had 45,000 miles on it. I lived near to Newton's Car Wash in Burlington at the time, and washed it every week, summer and winter alike. I sprayed on the rubberized undercoating fromthe hardware store, and did everything else that I could to try and keep the rust at bay. I was good.
Today, if you look under that truck next to another Jeep of similar age and experience, it is like night and day. The rust got it where the tow bar kept moisture, the rust got it when the cold nights forced condensation inside the unprotected framerails. It is practically falling apart.
Back to the craigslist posting. In Vermont, that bluebook value goes right out the window. It doesn't matter how many miles, or where a car was from. Unless it is never driven, a southern car will succumb to Vermont's red scourge within four years. I guarantee it. The fact that that Jimmy was 2wd rather than 4wd is even more of a reason that its owners will be disappointed when it does not sell. Somebody they work with, or a neighbor needs to explain it to the owner. Kelly BlueBook is not accurate in the Green Mountain State.
As a matter-of-fact, someone should publish a GreenBook for Vermonters. I can see it now. the book would have listings based on real market value here. A 97 Hyundai would be accurately listed for $450 with the words "Winter Beater" next to it. A 1993 GMC Jimmy 2wd (Southern Car) would list an accurate $750 and the phrase "solid engine, many parts."
One post I saw wanted more than $2000 for a 93 GMC Jimmy 2wd!
Sure, it may be a southern car, but no serious Vermonter would want to pay that for it.
The problem with southern cars is that they were initially sold in the south. Frankly, car companies deliver different vehicles to different areas of the country. The south gets no factory rustproofing. No amount of 'Rubberized Undercoating' can make up for bare metal inside the cavities of a southern car.
Let me give you an idea. I moved to Vermont in 2000. in anticipation of the move, I bought a Jeep Cherokee 4x4. When I bought it, the flatlander dealership thought I was nuts. The state did not see snow - ever - and the only thing they could think of was that i would turn it into a "mudder". I bought it nonetheless, and promptly moved to Vermont.
I hardly drove it. at age four, it only had 45,000 miles on it. I lived near to Newton's Car Wash in Burlington at the time, and washed it every week, summer and winter alike. I sprayed on the rubberized undercoating fromthe hardware store, and did everything else that I could to try and keep the rust at bay. I was good.
Today, if you look under that truck next to another Jeep of similar age and experience, it is like night and day. The rust got it where the tow bar kept moisture, the rust got it when the cold nights forced condensation inside the unprotected framerails. It is practically falling apart.
Back to the craigslist posting. In Vermont, that bluebook value goes right out the window. It doesn't matter how many miles, or where a car was from. Unless it is never driven, a southern car will succumb to Vermont's red scourge within four years. I guarantee it. The fact that that Jimmy was 2wd rather than 4wd is even more of a reason that its owners will be disappointed when it does not sell. Somebody they work with, or a neighbor needs to explain it to the owner. Kelly BlueBook is not accurate in the Green Mountain State.
As a matter-of-fact, someone should publish a GreenBook for Vermonters. I can see it now. the book would have listings based on real market value here. A 97 Hyundai would be accurately listed for $450 with the words "Winter Beater" next to it. A 1993 GMC Jimmy 2wd (Southern Car) would list an accurate $750 and the phrase "solid engine, many parts."
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