Camera On!

Yaup, I got me a new camera.

I held out for cash and a camera with rugged specs in the hopes it will survive the punishment I give. The Ryobi Tek4 is supposedly, shock/water/dust proof. Time will tell.

Here's a picture of trees along Deerwood's south ridge. Most of the leaves are gone on this wet and windy day.

Burning Through Books

One of the upsides to the big flood of much of my stuff in storage is that I now have a whack of books to use as paper for starting wood stove fires.

Hey, it's good quality paper and it won't go to waste.

Right now I'm on Plato's "Early Socratic Dialogues". I read a little, then tear out, and crumple the pages. It may take me a while to get through the whole western canon, but I won't stop trying.

Storage Issues

I opened up my 'dry storage' container to discover 1/2" pool of water on the floor yesterday.

I've taken the day off my day job to discover the cause and start to fix it. I suspect it's the eaves trough run off pipe which travels along the side of the container outside of the vapour barrier. Tuck tape can only seal so much when water pools along seams.

Water damage has destroyed quite a bit of my art collection.

Gone gone gone.

'Red Squirrel'

'Red Squirrel'

Throwing rocks at a chiding squirrel,
I prefer the 'shotgun method'.

Bill Pocock, 2009

The Roar

I stood on the steps of Deerwood's FMO last night and looked up at the sky.

It was full of stars. A velvet blanket with a billion suns.

Then I let in the faint sound of vehicles speeding north and south along the 400 highway. It's so strange to be surrounded by the wild and yet hear the low roar of civilization so near. Living in the city, the roar always in the background. My mind can filter out the noise, and only notice it by trying. It's an inescapable hell of sorts. But in the city it's like living inside a machine.

Though, I must admit, there's a part of me which is reassured by the sound. It's also a comfort to go deeper into the woods and listen as the roar dies away.

Who Are You?

Yesterday I had a nice philosophical conversation - part of which had me saying, "I'm a cloud".

So it was interesting last night to entertain notions of interior design of the FMO as I began construction of a ladder/stair ('lair'). This combined with drop down shelves reminded me of a mighty, morphin' performance space for Greek dramas and Mozart's Don Giovanni in particular. The wood stove (newly lit) represented the fires of hell below the descending lair from the gods above.

I said to myself, "I am, I am...".

All in the interest of space. I'm reminded of C.G. Jung's thirty year build of his home on the shores of Lake Geneva as the subconscious revelation of self and wonder what other embedded messages are formed within my architecture.

O, the satisfaction of design/build!

Wet, Wet, Wet

It's been raining at Deerwood since I don't know when.

One of the good things about the rain is pools of water forming on the trails indicate where I'll have to eventually bridge or divert water in order to maintain traversable trails.

So, today I plan to walk the entire Deerwood trail system and stake 2x2 posts at the water boundaries. This way, I'll know how long the bridging needs to be.

Ideally, I'd like to drop nearby trees for this purpose. The best time of year to do this is in winter when the soggy areas are frozen. Though, the trees need to have the bark removed so they don't decay as quickly. My bark spud tree-debarker only works if the tree was cut down in spring or summer, though. That's when the tree's sap flows and allows the bark to be peeled off. If cut in the fall or winter, a drawknife if needed to take the bark off. Using the drawknife is much more difficult than using a bark spud.

drawknife (source: caribooblades.com)

Autumn Colour

Falling, colourful tree leaves have come and soon will be gone from Cottage Country.

If you have the time and opportunity, Muskoka and Parry Sound districts make for a beautiful tour though small towns on back roads.

'B I L L P O C O C K'

My postings are slowing a bit at MOSSONWOOD because I've begun an additional blog to capture my creative activities which I've simply called 'BILLPOCOCK'. Click and see me some time.

Meanwhile, I've got the day off my day job due to thunderstorms and high winds (bad for seafaring). I plan to make a start of screwing the 1/2" plywood to the interior of FMO at Deerwood.

Some drawings to guide my cutting around the attic windows. As I need to cut these somewhat straight, I'm going to do that in Ma Pocock's garage, then transport them to the FMO. I don't think hand sawn would give me the design effect I'm looking for....

No Waste

The FMO, which I'm starting to conceive of as a tidy little contemporary art gallery in the woods, as the interior work grinds on.

Because I'm budgeting every building material so close to actual without surplus, the finish becomes elongated as resource scrambles bog things down. I just barely had enough insulation. I just got a new pack of staples, need more tape, and I'll be able to scavenge the last of the vapour barrier poly.

I don't like to carry waste out of the woods.

So, no waste if possible.

More Insulation!

I've spent the last few days finishing off the nailing lumber on the interior of Deerwood's FMO and installing insulation. There's only a half bundle needed to finish it. I could toss in some surplus pink fibreglass insulation, but I like the Johns Manville while non-embalming fume stuff better. Time to go back to Rona.

Not the easiest thing in the world getting up and down into the upper section of the FMO without a ladder. Sort of twisted my ankle all over again coming down the last time. Better strap the high boots tighter for a while.

More Insulation

Heritage Forest: Part Duh

I announced on this blog some time ago that I wanted to call my forestry practice, 'Heritage Forest'. Well, a business title search on that name came up with at least a dozen competing variations already registered.

So, 'Heritage Forest' is out. I really should do more research and take more action before I blab about my intentions. A fool, but not an old fool yet.