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Category: Wyoming
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wood stove installed in RV

Three months ago the prospect of wind, cold temperatures, and snow filled me with dread, but today, with my wood/coal stove easily keeping the temperature inside my RV above 70 degrees, the 30 something degree winds outside, with a forecast of up to three inches of snow, doesn’t bother me. In fact, it gives me a certain degree of satisfaction. With at least a month’s worth of firewood stacked and covered, and two piles of raw wood covered and ready for cutting into stove lengths, my heating needs seem secured, at least until the subzero weather, when it will be time to switch to coal. What a change from previous winters, when the average daytime temperature inside the RV was 50 degrees, with nighttime temperatures dipping into the low forties and high thirties!

Part of my satisfaction stems from the hard work in September, refurbishing the stove and installing it in the RV. First the space for the stove needed clearing, using the compartment taken up with the refrigerator and propane furnace. After those were gone, the walls, floor, and ceiling needed concrete backer board to take the heat due to minimal clearance. Then the chimney needed to go through the roof and be braced against the fierce winds to come. That required special adapters and pipe, and considerable expense.

The stove itself was rusty and stiff, having been stored outdoors for almost fifteen years. After stripping the stove down to the metal frame, I went to work on the rust with my grinder, wire brush, and sander, and then applied high temperature paint with my spray gun and compressor . Once I cleaned the brass trim with cerium oxide abrasive and reassembled the stove, it looked as good as new. Then the problem was getting it into the RV. My wheeled hand truck, ratchet straps, and handyman jack helped me get it up the steps and into the compartment, after carefully setting up each maneuver and applying more brains than muscle to the puzzle.

All my preparation and measurements paid off as the stove slipped into place and the chimney bolted on. While installing the flashing and support struts for the chimney, my close inspection of the roof revealed pinholes in the aluminum sheet metal roofing, the source of a mysterious leak that had plagued me for several years. A coat of black, tarry mastic over that whole section of the roof fixed the leak, and just in time, too, as a storm moved in that evening.

Last year my strategy was to leave all of this behind and spend the winter in California. Then, all my efforts centered around getting my vehicle ready and packing. This year it was different. Upon my return from seven months away, the soft June breeze and gently shaking aspen leaves whispered something in my ear, and made me realize how beautiful it was in Wyoming, and how lucky I was to have my own place here. Slowly, over the next few months, my resolve to stay the winter gained strength, and my thoughts turned to what needed my attention before the cold weather arrived.

The skirting on the RV was rotten and had holes that admitted cold air and mice, which resulted in frozen pipes and a mouse infestation inside the living compartment. The door on the engine compartment in front had rotted away and needed new plywood backing. Tackling these tasks, which had developed over years of neglect, reawakened a sense of stewardship in me, a feeling deeper than just fear of cold and snow. The RV needed some long overdue attention, and in return would give me a secure place to live.

Looking back, it seems strange that my own situation had degraded so much. Perhaps it had to do with quitting my job, losing my business, my marriage, my family, and moving out of the rental house and into the RV, all in the space of four years. That would be enough to send most people into shock and grief. On top of that, my mother became the center of a family feud over her being put in a nursing home due to Alzheimer’s Disease. Only after her death did family members start talking to each other again.

From the disarray on my acreage in Story, which was mine after buying my ex-wife’s share, you would say something was wrong with the person living there. You would be right, but you would only be guessing from the surface appearance. The deeper reality was more complex. My job as an adjunct instructor at the local community college consumed all of my time and energy. In addition to that, my sister from California asked me to fix the bathroom wall in her rental apartment in Sheridan, and that project expanded into a total remodel, with new plumbing, wiring, heating, bathroom fixtures and tile, and kitchen counter top. Even the walls needed extensive repairs before painting, and we installed new windows everywhere.

You couldn’t call me lazy, because between the teaching and remodeling, there wasn’t a spare minute. No wonder my own place suffered from neglect. Even that excuse doesn’t reach the core of the problem, though. My dreams of building a home for my family shattered, all my internal motivation vanished. Only the external motivations of the teaching job and my sister’s apartment had the power to put me to work. Left to my own predicament, my inner well seemed dry.

What changed me? What fount recharged my resources? What made me fall in love with my place in Story again? Was it my seven month absence in California last year? Was it my winter camping experience in the deserts of Arizona and New Mexico four years before? Was it the end my job with the college and starting Social Security benefits? Probably yes, to all of those things.

Who can tell exactly when grief ends and you decide to start living again? Instead of punishing myself for all the mistakes that led to overwhelming losses, bundling up in a frigid environment, and denying myself a future, deciding to change my environment, through the hard work of installing a stove and cutting wood, gave me permission to feel good again, about my place and about myself. Staying in Wyoming and opening my eyes to all the interrupted projects on my place used to provoke feelings of failure, but now those projects offer the promise of many hours of problem solving and satisfaction in the years ahead.

What better gift could a single man ask for in retirement? With no debt and simple needs, my income covers my expenses and will even pay for modest building supplies. Even though my muscles complain after a hard day of work outdoors, the promise of rest and leisure gives me a chance to recover and plan for the next engagement. Even my limitations of old and unreliable vehicles seems to reinforce my future on my place in Story, since it is too risky and expensive to go anywhere far away.

Nobody knows how long they have to live, and my diagnosis of cardiovascular disease twenty-five years ago suggests that my end could suddenly manifest from heart attack or stroke. Even that has worked in my favor, though, forcing me to change my lifestyle and diet, and exercise regularly. As a result, my outward appearance isn’t typical of a sixty-six year old man. Maybe there is enough strength left in my muscles, enough determination left in my mind, and enough time in my circulatory system, to realize some of my dreams.

Could it be that the threats of winter, and of death, give us new vitality and motivation to live? If so, those threats become gifts in disguise. We can use our predicament, whatever its nature, to help us discover what it is to be human, to experience grief from loss and satisfaction from accomplishment. After all, it is the ability to reflect upon our lives, and to grapple with reality and change it to our advantage, that makes us so different from other animals, and so successful.

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Category: Painting
Hits: 1733

Beach Police


Vast wilderness, surf infiltrates the sand beneath my feet,
Making firm my footsteps and the pawprints of my dog.
Unleashed, free to investigate driftwood and snaking kelp,
What trouble might a dog incur on such a barren beach?


Mind wandering, to home and books still waiting my return,
My reverie dispels by yelp and lunge of my companion –
A grounded boat with sleeping cat triggers its primal mind.
Forgetting master’s shouts, intent upon its prey – it springs.


The hinterland and backshore quake as spike-legged creatures bound
Toward my dog, and spiney arms hook tail and chest to halt.
And suddenly a piercing pain – green talons grip my leg,
While several plants surround the boat, a fierce agave hedge.


Its lust for blood forgotten now, my pet’s attack aborted,
A mocking sharp raspberry taunt directs my gaze above,
Where waving palm fronds purse their lips, and tongues issue the sound.
My head hangs down in shame, my dog’s tail ’tween its legs.


The beach police protect their own, from violence and harm.
But visitors, we limp homeward, our lesson learned, I hope.

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Category: Painting
Hits: 876
Library display wall

Sometimes you just need a little push to get started drawing.  In this case it was two books at the Story Library that got me going, both with the title How to Draw Cool Stuff, by Catherine V. Holmes.   These books feature step-by-step illustrations that show how to develop drawings of various objects using simple shapes, such as ellipses.  It also encourages the budding artist to experiment with line weight and shading.

The Story Library staff used my drawings to create a wall display with the goal to get people to try sketching from the books.  They provided pencils and the books for sketching in the library activity room, and a signup list  for those who would like to take the books home once the display is finished.

The "Climbing Tiger" is the most ambitious drawing of the bunch, and involves multiple ellipses in its construction, as well as varied line weight and shading.  It looks kinda scary, which is cool.

The title piece, or "Piece of Cake", combines pencil with hard pastel.  This is an easy way to experiment with color.  It uses just think butcher paper as the support, but a light mist with acrylic paint using my airbrush was able to fix the pastel without buckling the paper, or changing the quality of the color.

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Category: Painting
Hits: 825
home made perspective frame

Just as my hero Vincent Van Gogh used a custom made device to help him master drawing scenes from real life, my latest aid for outdoor drawing is my home-made perspective frame.  It features a 4:3 aspect ratio with grid lines that can help the artist orient angles and objects in the scene with similarly gridded paper on the easel. 

Looking through the viewing aperture guarantees the same point of view each time you check the scene, which saves lots of time versus trying to find the same view with a handheld frame.  This makes it easy to transfer lines from the frame to the drawing via the grid lines overlaid on the scene in the viewfinder, and drawn lightly on the paper or painting support on the easel.

The angle of view can be widened or narrowed by moving the viewfinder aperture closer or farther from the grid mask.  This is easy to do by twisting the large knob on the top, which racks the grid mask in or out.

The rubber bands can hold straight line objects such as wooden dowels or even plastic zip ties.  This allows you to precisely measure and transfer angles of important edges in the scene to your drawing.

Can you guess what this device served as in its previous life?  Answer: the focusing standard on an old photographic enlarger.

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Category: Painting
Hits: 2059

The ocean is such a vast wilderness, and the beach brings you as close as you can get to it without getting wet.  Both you and your dog enjoy walking along the beach face, where the sand is somewhat hard from the water underneath, but your shoes keep your feet dry.  Today your dog is particularly energetic, and you think it will be good to let it run off the leash.  Nobody seems to mind if a dog comes up to investigate, and there don't appear to be signs that dogs have to be tethered.  Besides, what kind of trouble can a dog get into on a wide expanse of sand and surf?

All is going well, and your mind starts wandering to the various books waiting for you at home when you return from your walk, when your dog yelps in surprise and lunges forward.  You jolt back to the present moment and see a boat beached nearby, and wonder if that is what excited your pet.  It takes a few seconds to spot what your dog has identified: a cat sleeping on the deck.  Oh no!  Your dog hates cats.  This one seems more like a sitting duck, with no place to go.  You doubt that it can swim, or if it can, that it would dive into the ocean.  Drat it!  You should have used the leash after all.  The last thing you need is an angry cat owner and an injured pet on your hands.  Think of the liability!

Just as it seems that your dog is completely out of control, ignoring your frantic calls, the beach comes to life.  Out of the hinterland and sprinting across the backshore come the most amazing creatures you have ever seen.  They look like agave plants, but they have legs and arms, and are heading directly for your dog.  One of them reaches out its spiny arms and grabs your dog by the tail, and puts two more arms -- yes, two more arms -- around its body.  Then you feel the piercing pain of two spines in your own leg.  In the struggle you glance over at the boat and see several more agave creatures guarding the boat, while the cat looks nervously around for an avenue of escape.

It is all over before long, though.  Your dog cries out in pain as the spines on the agave creature dig into its flesh, and suddenly all the fire has gone from your pet's attack.  You breathe a sigh of relief, and then hear a strange sound coming from above, like the raspberry tart of a contemptuous onlooker.  Have you been observed?  You look around quickly, up onto the headland overlooking the beach, but there is nobody.  In a panic you scan the horizon and then lift your vision to the sky, where the fantastic vision of a floating palm frond, lips parted, tongue protruding, is mocking you and your pet.

Clearly, the beach has its own rules and enforcers, as well as overlords that protect those who belong to the sea.  You are just a visitor here, and you better mind your manners.  Heading for home, books forgotten and limping slightly, you hope your dog learned its lesson, but somehow you have your doubts.

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Category: Painting
Hits: 1501
Value and color study

General Bird had to admit that the situation looked grim.  The coastal fortifications were still intact in places, but the enemy had breached them on two opposite sides, intending to crush the defenders in a vice-like assault.  It was time to call in the advanced guard and regroup in a defensive stance, with perhaps the chance of closing the gaps and trapping the enemy forces already inside the homeland.  She issued the command to the beacon tower to send the recall message, and the three remaining detachments headed for the gate.  They were ahead of the advancing hoard, although the farthest could feel their clammy mass coming up behind, adding to the desperate flight.

Behind the attacking front was the more serious occupying force, developing probing arms that would exploit gaps in the boundary once the first wave had subdued any initial resistance.  One such probe had already gotten inside, but now appeared to be separated from the mass and could be surrounded and destroyed if the main assault failed.  With continual and increasing pressure, the defenders would be too busy to take that opportunity, but time was on their side.  The invasion had to succeed with speed, or the whole operation would fail.

General Bird dispatched her best troops inland to rally the people.  They knew what to do in the event of an invasion, and they were Summerland's secret weapon.  The sea wall was actually a decoy, to trick the enemy into thinking that was the sole defensive barrier.  Certainly the General would defend it.  She would make the invaders pay dearly for their initial assault and possible capture of this fortification, but once inside its perimeter, the rules would change.  The enemy would see the land itself rise up to devour it. 

What had kept them free for so long was not the army or any sort of wall, but the nature of the land itself.  The vaporous creatures from the ocean wilderness might flow across the hills and fill the valleys, but they would never dominate the soil.  Even if they succeeded in burning the surface plants and animals with frost and fire, the roots and burrowing animals would remain.  When the creeping mist  finally exhausted itself and fell as rain, it would nourish the earth with its blood and new growth would rebound, retaking the land in an explosion of life.

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