How a Fireplace Created An Odd Addiction

Sure, I’ve had a fireplace before – one of those silly gas-burning jobs.  You know the type; instant romance at the flick of a switch.  Total jive.  

Now, for the first time in my life, I live in a house that offers the rustic warmth and comfort of a proper wood-burning fireplace.  Actually, it’s not a fireplace per se, rather it is a wood burning insert, ours being the Vista, by Pacific Energy. 

I’ve come to quite enjoy stoking the fire - its blended aroma of fiery cedars, firs, and alders.  Pleasant as a crackling fire may be, I must admit the house does get a bit warm for my liking at times.  Oh well.

Kelly and Moo-Moo embrace a differing viewpoint, they instinctively seek a fire’s warmth and comforts as would a small child take the safety of its favorite blanket.

The problem with the wood-burning firebox is the need for firewood. 

Last year, Kelly and I bought and stacked a cord of wood – a first for us.  It turns out that a chord is quite a bit of wood, lots of wood in fact.  

Yet surprisingly insufficient for our proclivity.

The sight of a nearly empty wood bin can be a real morale buster and ominously, by early fall, there was no denying that we were running low on this precious fuel source.  The possibility of life into winter without wood launched Kelly and me into alarm, frantically seeking this precious energy source wherever we could.

Foolishly, we had no idea that wood prices fluctuate atop rising tides of seasonal ebbs and flow.  The rookies we were, our naiveté found us buying wood at peak prices last year, a mistake not again to be made.   Stubbornly, we found ourselves hell-bent on acquiring wood with less cost this winter.

  Awaiting patiently, our  current stock of firewood sits idle

Coincidentally, about this same time, a neighbor of ours had to fell a tree in order to accommodate an expanding fencing project.  This felled tree, quickly converted into rounds, bestowed an opportunity for Kelly and me to split the rounds ourselves.

As you might imagine, renting a gas powered 20-ton wood splitter proved to be an interesting project.  Who knew Kelly had such panache for squatting and splitting rounds for hours at a time.

 

Over the past few months, this chance encounter with a felled tree has quickly transformed into an obsession; my own quest to find the Holy Grail – free wood.

To that end, last week proved to be bittersweet. 

As part of a larger landscaping project, my immediate neighbor dropped six mature trees – three Douglas Firs and three Alders.  The firs were sold, but the alders were given to us, perhaps a good will gesture in exchange for the unsightly and barren views now upon us.

 Rounds which will likely sit for two years before splitting 

Regardless, I jumped at the opportunity to squeeze into my grasps, the two to three cords he was offering. 

Free is free.

Let There Be Water

It goes without saying that Kelly and I have taken to gardening with kid-like enthusiasm.  As a couple of city folks seeking to bolster our green thumb credentials, we have expanded our garden this season with aim to amplify our yields.

On the one-hand excited about the additional garden space, we have been shouldering exhaustive trepidations towards the prospect of irrigating these very same beds.  Hose in hand, last year Kelly and I spent far too much time watering our precious crops; delivering this essential clear liquid atop thirsty soils.

Tranquil as this endeavor might sound, the cruel reality is that the process generally proves to be a pain in the ass.

Getting water to the garden itself is merely the first hurdle.  Hoses suck, especially when faced with many obstructions all too effective at snagging and kinking the hose lines.

Finally, once the hoses are settled, Kelly and I must then subject ourselves to what seems like hours of standing around, spaying the beds.

BTW – don’t even get me started on sprinklers.  Anyone having taken time to scratch beyond the the obvious solutions knows that sprinklers carelessly and needlessly waste water.  Nope, sprinklers for our garden beds are not an option.

Still stuck at square one, we had to find an alternate method of getting water into the beds.

Water Witch?  Nah, I’ve got no patience for superstitions, less the voodoo “art” of locating water.  Something about relying upon some guy, white-knuckle clinching his trusted fork stick dowsing for water, simply doesn’t espouse the confidence I seek.

Staring down the barrel of responsibility for nearly double the garden space, we simply had to ascertain a better solution.

Faced with these realities, and armed with confidence of a chain-smoking poker player, we’ve decided to double down on a drip irrigation system.

 

The trench, hosting the hose from the house to the garden 

Out two days of work and about $150 less in my wallet, Kelly and I are betting that our decision to implement an irrigation system will effectively transport precious water to the crops, without either of us clumsily fighting the lengthy and bulky hose in and out of the equally pitiful deer fence (expanded to contain growing garden footprint).

 Command central for all the hose lines

Truth be told, early reaction to the drip system is just that … drip. 

It’s hard to determine if the process will in fact work.  Regardless, Kelly and I are nervously holding our collective breathes before passing any definitive judgment.

 

Not the best looking, but I believe in function over fashion

Ultimately, time will tell if our bet on drip irrigation will payback big, or leave us holding a worthless set of cards.

In the end, if we do in fact fold our hand, I suppose Kelly and I can always revisit prior decisions … hose in hand.

 

Murphy supervising the project activities

Three Cups of Tea, $100k in cash, and One Hell of a Story

About a year and a half ago, my friend mentioned that he was planning to attend a lecture presented by a guy from Bozeman, MT. As best I recall, the premise of the talk had something to do about this guy – a former high alpine climber – and how he is now operating a nonprofit which builds schools throughout remote regions of the world.

I don’t recall specifically why, but do remember I didn’t attend.

Afterwards, my friend told me that I had missed a great presentation, as evidenced by a standing room only affair. At the time, I thought it was unfortunate to have missed what apparently must have been an otherwise a good lecture.

Fast forward about a year … I’m casually flipping the pages of Outside Magazine and find myself fixated upon a picture of a guy standing in a field.

Curiosity having clasped its tight grip upon me, I begin reading the story’s teaser text…

“Greg Mortenson's school-building program in Central Asia dates back to 1993, when the banged-up K2 survivor made a pledge to the Himalayan villagers who took him in. Fifteen years and Three Cups of Tea later, it's both a powerful example of a great idea and a chaotic, ongoing adventure. KEVIN FEDARKO hits the rough road with Mortenson in Afghanistan, where they roll with warlords and deliver teacher pay the old-fashioned way: with a $100,000 bag of cash.”

I was hooked. No way I’m passing on this story and the $100k bag of cash. I had to read on (click here to read the article). I finished the author’s account of an amazing story and could not help but think that this guy Greg Mortenson is something special. Really special.

Remember that lecture I passed over – probably to watch some college hoops or other programming I’ve long forgotten – turns out that guy was Greg Mortenson. His presentation was held no more than ten minutes from my house. The fabric of irony can be ill-fitting at times.

Like a well-executed prank, Fortuna pulled a fast one on me. I am such an idiot.

Seeking atonement, I decided to read Mortensen’s book Three Cups of Tea in an effort to augment gaps with the Outside article. I mentioned my plan to Kelly, wherein – adding further insult to injury – she speedily retrieved a copy of the book from our humble library.

Without her possibly knowing, Kelly’s next comment struck me like a Kung-Fu chop, “Oh look, it’s signed by the author”, she says.

I was seething.

The good news is that I did read the book – a task I would encourage anyone to consider – and will say simply that the story is incredible. Over the years, Greg Mortenson and his non-profit have built dozens of schools and vocational facilities throughout some of Pakistan and Afghanistan’s harshest regions.

Taking into account the political and geographical impediments, and bearing in mind that this former hippie climber is considered an infidel in the eyes of everyone he must rely upon within that part of the world, these accomplishments are nothing short of Herculean triumphs.

The amount of personal risk and sacrifice taken by this man along with his team on the ground is infinite. If faced with similar challenges, I honestly do not know if I would have nearly the courage to proceed as has Greg. Probably not.

This much I know for certain - I’m still kicking myself about missing that damn lecture.

The Murph

Kelly and I have had Murphy for a long time, the better part of thirteen years to be specific.

I suspect that much like any long-time dog owner, Kelly and I have fully integrated Murphy into our lives, perhaps too much some would say. What started off as a spur-of-the-moment visit to a pet shop has gelled into a long lasting affair with the dog we often times love to hate.

But we love her regardless.

Sure, as a puppy Murphy was adorable; her long and soft ears often proving a formidable obstacle even she was not able to fully navigate. It was then, these quirks made me smile.

Of course Kelly found this simply adorable.

Over time, Murphy provided cause for me to be evicted from my apartment. Apparently my landlord was serious about “no pets”.

Throughout the years Murphy has proved to be a worthy ambassador, opening the doors of introduction for what have become many long-standing friendships for Kelly and me … less that little kid who failed to keep his ice cream cone at safe distance.

It would appear that Murphy does take pleasure in ice-cream atop a sugar cone. Who knew? Lucky for Kelly and me, the kid’s parents found the entire episode endearing.

I cannot help but wonder if that kid has made his peace with dogs yet.

Recently, our vet suggested that Murphy transition to a diet for elderly canines.  Apparently her kidneys lack the full digestive power of her youth.  Yikes, where did all the years go? Daddy’s little puppy suddenly is grown.

The vet simply states the obvious; these days Murphy’s old age cannot be disputed. She reminds me of my grandpa in his late years. She to seems to be slowing, the spring in her step less sprightly than in years past, her hearing loss is obvious, and she’s become increasing ornery.

An old curmudgeon is what she’s really become.

But we love her regardless.

I like to think that our recent relocation to a more rural setting has been good for Murphy in her golden years.

She really appears to enjoy our big yard and is always keen to locate potential bread scraps the birds might have overlooked. She likes to walk the Grand Forest trails where infinite aromas are abundant - a lottery of sorts satisfying her incessant sense of smell and endless searches to discover something akin to her version of lotto.

Also, did I mention that Murphy is trending towards increasing levels of stubbornness? Sometimes I want to leave her in the forest.

Alas, we love her regardless. Unconditionally.

A Bear and a Frog

Kelly and I are always happy to have visitors to our home and recently, we were pleasantly surprised to find an unannounced visitor ringing the doorbell.  

It seems that our guest – at the suggestion of one of his classmates – has been spending time with many families recommended as probable and hospitable home stay hosts.  Taking sabbatical from his regular life as a second grader from Big Hollow Elementary School, Theodore has been traversing the country enjoying what I can only imagine to be a wonderful journey.  

In attempts to win-over our traveling friend, Kelly and I gave Theodore a proper tour of Bainbridge Island, highlighting all the places he had earlier identified and was hoping to visit during his stay.

Sadly, the weather did not always cooperate, resulting in some rainy moments which I suspect dampened Theodore’s spirits slightly at times.  All was not lost though - Kelly and I had a plan - the perfect place to take Theodore. 

Enter Frog Rock.

In 1971 - as an artistic divergence from the established rituals of “Paint Night”, two Bainbridge High School graduating seniors bucked tradition and opted not to partake in the longtime and frowned upon practice of painting their names atop the local boulevards. 

Instead, these creative sweethearts provided local residents with a peace offering gesture … widely known now as Frog Rock. 

Upon first sighting, Frog Rock represented something idyllic for Kelly and me; symbolic reassurance that Bainbridge Island was in fact a good place for us to begin the next chapter of our lives together.

As for Theodore, he didn’t mention his exact opinion, but Kelly and I think he found Frog Rock to be pretty neat.

BTW – remember that couple who erected Frog Rock … they went on to marry and rumor is they have remain together all these years.

The Joy Of Breakfast

I'm a big fan of breakfast.

In fact, rarely do I miss the opportunity to start my day with a healthy dose of food.  

Generally, my morning mealtime ritual commences with a double espresso.  Upon slurping the last few ounces of liquid caffeine, I progress next to preparing toast (with honey!) along with a big bowl of cereal - generally a blend of wheat flakes mixed with granola and dried fruit.

A sizeable glass of fresh orange juice serves as a perfect chaser.

Oh, and I also take delight in more espresso by way of a yummy latte.

As it turns out, most mornings I generally park myself at the dining room table and enjoy the spectacular western views over-looking the Olympic Mountains.   Over the past year or so, this little ritual has served me well, providing a serene moment prior to facing the remainder of my day. 

Earlier this week - for some reason I cannot effectively articulate, I was particularly struck with momentary awe by the day's sunrise.  I can’t quite pinpoint what it was, but I found myself uncontrollably drawn to this particular first light.

At the risk of sounding hokey, this dawning of the day was simply breathtaking.

Needless to say, the benefits of an otherwise routine breakfast provided extraordinary delight.

It's Kind Of Like Green Acres

Sometimes I feel like my life is but an episode of the former 1960's CBS comedy Green Acres.  You the know the show - a married couple moves from Manhattan to a farm in the country.  Episode after episode, this couple - one of whom wants to be a farmer, the other wanting to remain a city dweller - struggles to maintain balance in their lives.

About a year and half into my life here in the PNW, I'm sometimes torn between my previous life in Chicago and my current one in rural western Washington.  

Meanwhile, Kelly continues to solidly cement her love for the country and if she had her way, would move to a proper farm tomorrow if she could.  While I am continuing to find joy in life away from the big city, I'm not quite ready for full fledged farm life.

However, I do quite enjoy the benefit of a huge yard and the ability to *farm* within our garden.  Over the past couple weeks, Kelly and I have dedicated countless hours expanding our garden (versus last year) and preparing for this season.  

We are especially excited to try out our new cloches which should allow us to jump-start our seed sowing and also enable a much longer growing season.

It turns out that building the cloches was pretty straightforward, but Kelly did volunteer for a particularly messy job which I was did not want any part of during the construction process.  

It turns out that Home Depot does not carry 2" PVC clips as we needed, so Kelly had to fabricate about 60 pieces, which besides being a particularly tedious effort, did lead to her also getting filthy.  

The good news is that these little clips provide a great seal for the cloche ends and without them, the benefit of the cloche is not maximized.  

I'll be thanking Kelly this spring for her efforts as we enjoy some fresh veggies for dinner.

Gift For My Niece

My brother Mike and his wife Andrea are expecting the birth of their first child in April.  It seems to me that the arrival of a newborn is always a special event, but for my immediate family, this particular birth represents the first child birth amongst my siblings. 

I'm pretty excited.

As Kelly and I were debating gift ideas, we eventually landed on the idea of baby quilt.  While a quilt is not necessarily a new concept per se, Kelly and I do quite like the idea of providing a newborn with a baby quilt of their own.  

Coincidentally, my neighbor is a fabulous quilter. 

Recognizing opportunity knocking when we see it, Kelly and I commissioned the following quilt for Mike and Andrea.  
        

                                                    The full view

       Close-up of the front 

       The entire backside is comprised of this pattern

Kelly and I are very happy with the results; hopefully Mike and Andrea will feel the same.  

Note:  If you like this quilt let me know; I'd be happy to put you in touch with my neighbor.  As an added bonus, she donates a third of her quirt earnings towards a local abuse shelter, allowing a quilt purchase to further benefit others.

The Complexity of Debt

Recently, there has been an inordinate amount of conversation swirling about focused on the cause and impact of consumer (i.e. personal) debt.  Certainly, it seems plausible they may be legitimate situations of misfortune and unfortunate luck propelling many innocent individuals into financial peril.  


But ... 


It seems to me that a recent SNL skit summarizes the most likely root cause of the consumer debt pretty effectively.