wooo, yeah, i'm finally here

so Mountain Gardens. yeah. not Cincinnati.

wake up at quarter to 8, cook breakfast over a rocket stove, and then work/play for the rest of the day. all to a soundtrack of small critters. if it's not the squirrels rustling so noisily through the leaves that i can hear them across the holler, or the owls hooting from farther up the mountain in the national forest, it's the worms and mice all around me. sometimes the sound of rain or snow hitting the tin roof, or tumultuous gusts of wind working it's way into every crevice on the three acres. either way, i don't regret not ponying up for an MP3 player.

i'm starting seeds for my own garden. there will be goji berries, several strands of native tobacco and other smokables. st. john's wort, should a spat of inclement weather overstay its welcome with me. and of course, the Jersey walking stick cabbage i posted about here.

most of the hillside terraces that you see as pictures on the Mountain Gardens website were originally trenches dug to bury human excrement, with the soil placed on the downhill side and the rocks piled up to make a retaining wall, possibly with the help of some stakes and planks or branches. this strikes me as a brilliant example of stacking functions, especially considering we use the ash from our cook fires as the drying agent in the composting toilet. and, it working so well and supporting so much life, it starts to feel sacred and beautiful. every day when i wake up and head out the door, i walk through fairy land.

bah. i've only been here a few days and i'm waxing poetic. it was hard to get to a spot to blog. had to hitchhike for 15 or 20 miles, and ride on the back of my friends bike/jog the other 5. but it's worth it to be able to share a good story.

speaking of good stories, i still have 30 pages of Against His-Story, Against Leviathan! to type up. it would be lovely if someone else wanted to take that on, but i'll get it up by the middle of May, anyway. email me if your up to it.

if you're already writing letters, like maybe to some prisoners or your homeless godmother in the Maldives, think about dropping me a line. (i'll remember you better on your birthday.) my address is

546 Shuford Creek Rd.
Burnsville, NC 2874

werebrock out