Tomorrow we’re going to an onramp and heading out to the Ozarks. Neither of us has ever seen an Ozark before, but we’re going to find them and spend some time there. The idea is basically for us to get the city blown off of us, and for us to adjust to living on the road. That way when we get to each new place afterwards, it’ll be easier for us to really get there. I’ve found on other trips that if I come from the city, and I’m still keeping myself wrapped up in all its mental entanglements, it takes a while for me to really arrive anywhere else.
Nearly anyone who’s needed more than basic medical care—and especially people who take some kind of medication regularly—seems to get around to asking me this question eventually. If I’m moving off-grid, what am I going to do about health insurance?
I had the best birthday party ever, and I thought you should know. We went to the Drinkin’ Spelling Bee.
This is the second of two posts about redoing my blog. This one is mainly for other people who’d like to make a Jekyll blog and are interested in how I did some of the things I did. If you’re migrating from Blogger you’ll find it especially relevant.
It’s true: I’m leaving. Misty too. At the beginning of April, we’re putting on our backpacks, finding a highway onramp, and leaving behind the greatest city I believe this country has to offer. We plan to be on the road for a year.
It’s trivially easy to point out that there’s something missing in our culture’s relationship with nature. The evidence is our entire way of life.
But what is it that’s missing, that’s wrong? It’s harder to answer that than it is to know that something’s wrong. If we knew the answer already, maybe we wouldn’t be doing it.
I got invited to Sugarbush by the teacher from the Monday night language table, Pebaamibines (Peh·bahm·ibbi·nehss) or Dennis Jones, a retired professor of Ojibwe language at the U of M. Pebaam is an almost archetypal Native American teacher, with two salt-and-pepper braids, a radiant calm, and a voice that brings to mind an all-cello quartet. In order to counteract this image a little, he tells limitless numbers of bad puns. Each year for the last few years, when it’s come time to start up syruping for the season, he’s packed up a surplus army tent and moved out to the woods, for the duration. But he’s a relative newcomer to this sugarbush; people have been tapping the trees there for forty years.