"Naw, Fer'git it!"
Chuck,
Got to The Woods last Thursday. Cold and windy. Friday dawned clear and temperature warmed quickly into the mid-fifties. Marked a new blaze northwest from the cabin to the North Pool, painting those birches most likely to succeed for at least another couple of years. Discovered a camp of sorts along the way. Somebody used it quite intently, am assuming during hunting season. A fortified fire pit with heavy steel reflector plates, garbage cans on their sides spilling coffee mugs and partially chewed toilet paper and cookware and utensils, etc. Large plastic barrels blue (easy to see from a distance) and great carpets of foam rubber like used in mattress pads. Appears to be abandoned. Spooky what goes on nearby without any notice. Discovered an unusually high spot between the cabin and North Pool, 25 feet above the surrounding forest floor, with a ridge running to the North Pool, evidently an esker put down by the last glacier. This time of year, the woods is empty of foliage and easy to see through. Could barely make out Red's Shed through the birches. Amazing how many years I've spent here but never knew such a nearby feature was awaiting discovery.
Spent the evening raking. Had a fire going in the pit, mostly for ambiance with a touch of sprite, but mostly to burn the abundance of soggy birch logs and other flotsam littering the ground. Pleasing to watch the clearing evolve into a civilized park. Scraped up a toad while raking. Apologized and placed him in a nook by a tree.
Drank a beer. Listened to the grouse drumming, incessantly beating for action. Peepers commenced for the night. Pronged another toad into a spasmed pose. Told him how bad I felt and placed him near another tree. Thought to check on the first victim. It was gone, then discovered they were the same. Peeked back on victim number two but his splay of arms and legs hadn't changed. A cartoon thought cloud hovered above him: "ooo that hurts!"
The biffy is going to be all right. Honest. Spent some time last night cutting panels of disheveled plywood for the roof of it. Hah! Ever try to finagle unsquare, uncooperative plywood atop a potty roof before?, without proper balance? With only a fervor? Hah!
Got out the spare rolls of roofing from beneath Red's Shed. Fought against stiffened curl. Furled and cursed. Threatened and cajoled to make it stay put while I tried to cut suitable lengths. Employed a well rusted kitchen knife to hack it into compliance, all while the biffy swayed inventively. Got the roofing in place through much muttering and disparaging jeers by the tar-struck stuff. Nailed it down (for a time) and left it all to rest and relax.
Noticed the biffy itself has become slightly uncentered. In need of correction. A list to the northeast was noted and corrective measures are in committee.
Had a plan to connect the Coleman stove directly to the outside propane tank.
Hah!
Would've worked. Ingenuous. Although gas line fitting costs could've paid for twenty year's worth of the disposable bottles it currently uses. Had it all planned out. Hardware guy assured me it would work. The first concern I put to the hardware man was "I've already got a regulator on the tank and another at the stove--"
"Naw, fergit it!" Many brass hardware parts in the mix, "bring back what you don't need."
Major surgery. Tools are right. Visegrips for sure. Disassemble and insert all the major improvements.
It became a lesson in how many times gas needs regulating. Probably, by the time it gets to the burners inside the cabin it'll be regulated out of existence.
A puny, prostate-less flow was the measure of it when I turned on a burner. All I got after thirty seconds was a bland wavery flame. Unscrewed the hose by the tank, pointed it at my face and opened the valve. Eyebrows instantly whisked back ... lots of pressure there!
"Go to hell!"
Dismantle every new hardware component. Aspire to wipe away most of the sealant paste and prepare to return every last copper fitting to the "helpful" hardware guy.
Decided I should have persisted in my line of questioning about how many regulators were too much for gas to be had inside the cabin. Realized too late it was a moot point when the agenda of the man named Karp was to sell as much as he could, damn the prospect of my disgruntle.
The rain guttering did work fabulously, although we haven't had rain
yet and the window above the kitchen now doesn't want to open on the right.
Biffy roof awaits more days of sun to relax the buckled tar roofing. And me
to raise it from it's slump. Stove is fine, having survived my dithering assault
on its improvement. The forests remain dangerously drought-stricken. Littleton
Colorado is a startling reminder we know very little. Herb and Meg continue
to be remarkable, decent folk. The water at the Store is as fresh and free
as ever. The ticks continue to attach. The flies demand to be splatted. The
trees beg to be burnt and warmed by. North Pool is secure in
knowing somebody cares.
P.S. I've got a line on a gas microwave.