This tree is fairly tall.
The dog and I went on a long walk today – much longer than usual. We went to the end of the road, 12.5 mile.
Month: July 2022
Caveat: Poem #2173 “Snufflebeast”
ㅁ dog snuffles down the road smelling flowers... gotta smell that tree! oh, here's a piece of trash! nice, a mud puddle to drink! oh, look, a bee to try to eat! yikes! ouch. that bee is not so tasty.
Caveat: Tree #1266
Caveat: Poem #2172 “Unprecedented”
ㅁ rain comes down continues and then pauses you get used to it then when a patch of blue appears between parting clouds strange clarity amid gray whisps you feel somewhat disoriented
Caveat: Tree #1265
Caveat: Poem #2171 “R. Jeffers”
ㅁ I feel happiest just watching things, external to interactions: the struggle of living things trees, bees, birds, fish, eagles... a theodicy of small creatures, if you will, fighting death.
Caveat: Tree #1264
Caveat: Poem #2170 “Planning ahead”
ㅁ The day is done. I go out. A remainder of daylight and the drizzle invoke doubt with regard to coming night. Night is not a time to walk: rather, it's when I'll try sleep, check my handcrafted door's lock, and rest. And maybe dream, deep.
Caveat: Tree #1263
Caveat: 아니 땐 굴뚝에 연기 날가
I found this aphorism in my book of Korean aphorisms.
아니 땐 굴뚝에 연기 날가 a.ni ttaen gul.ttuk.e yeon.gi nal.ga if-not make-fire-PART chimney-IN smoke go-out-SUPPOS Do you suppose smoke comes out of a chimney if one doesn't make a fire?
This is the same as, and similar to, “There’s no smoke without fire.” The last word gave me some difficulty. The verb is clearly 나다 [na.da = go out, exit], but there is no ending -ㄹ가 [-lga] in my grammar. Then I remembered that there was a spelling reform sometime in the 70’s or 80’s, when the combination -ㄹ까 [-lkka] was a “fixed” spelling, introduced to match pronunciation. The archaic spelling would have been -ㄹ가 [-lka], which is the spelling still used in North Korea, though in both South and North the pronunciation reflects the faucalized version of the consonant [k vs kk]. -ㄹ까 [-lkka] is what might be called a “suppositional” ending. Korean philology is so exciting!
Caveat: Poem #2169 “Chance of rain”
ㅁ drip, drop, drip, drop, drip... drop, drop, drip, drop, drop, drip, drop... drip, drop. Just sayin'.
– a pseudo-haiku. Subject:
Caveat: Tree #1262 “Gravel and daisies”
This tree supervised a pile of gravel and some daisies.
“Alaskan Gothic.”
[daily log: walking, 5.5km; dogwalking, 3km; c105059066084s]
Caveat: Poem #2168 “Faith”
Caveat: Tree #1261
Caveat: Poem #2167 “The view from over here”
Caveat: Tree #1260
Caveat: Poem #2166 “Slow down and enjoy the scenery”
Caveat: Tree #1259
This tree observed the installation of a table saw in the treehouse.
I borrowed Arthur’s table saw. I told him that I would rather have it in the treehouse, close to my working area. But in fact, that’s not quite accurate. I actually put the table saw in the treehouse because when I use the table saw in Arthur’s shop, he hovers and tries to help, but his hovering is unhelpful and stresses me out – he wants to tell me I’m doing things wrong, he’s always got very particular ways things should be done. By putting the table saw in the treehouse, he’s unlikely to make the long, arduous journey over there just to watch me “doing it wrong.”
Caveat: Poem #2165 “Dalí style”
Caveat: Tree #1258
This tree lurked in the drizzly morning.
[daily log: walking, 5.5km; retailing, 8.5hr; c114069062084s]
Caveat: Poem #2164 “Treehouse maintenance record”
ㅁ I guess there's a leak... at this one spot in the roof... I knew the roof leaked
Caveat: Tree #1257
Caveat: Nesting, more literal than typically done
I guess this business of making the treehouse into my “outdoor bedroom” is a kind of instantiation of the “nesting instinct,” right? But given it’s up in a tree, it’s maybe a bit more literal than your average human “nesting” behavior.
I took some pictures of the interior of my treehouse, now borderline habitable.
Here is a tatami mat I’ve owned for several decades but haven’t much used. I put it down on the rough plywood floor to be my “bed” – I’m always a floor-sleeper (Korean/Japanese style), so that’s fine with me. You can see the complex pieces of plastic I’ve put over the window holes – this is temporary until I make actual windows, which is really my next major project, but it’s going to be a slow process I think.
Here’s my screen door on the east side – facing the high-tide line and Arthur’s dock. You can see I put a little railing now at the edge of the balcony. There are two smaller trees poking up through the floor of the balcony, hidden to the left behind the wall.
Here’s the screen door on the west side, where the stairs are.
Here’s my bed after I’ve made it up for sleeping in, and I found some old throw-rugs to put down.
Just now we’re having a very rare Southeast Alaskan thunderstorm. There was a big boom.
Caveat: Poem #2163 “The birds”
Caveat: Tree #1256
Caveat: Nine Years Cancer Free
July 4th, 2013 was the day I underwent a 9-hour surgery to remove the tumor at the root of my tongue and the lymphs on the left side of my neck. It seems an odd day for a cancer surgery to Americans, but bear in mind I lived in South Korea. It was not a holiday – just a regular day. A Thursday.
I remained in the hospital for the rest of July. And in late August and through September, I underwent radiation (x-ray tomography) to further ensure I was cancer-free, but I like to celebrate July 4th as my cancerversary.
Last night I slept in my treehouse. That was the very first time I’ve done that. I mostly have waited because I have wanted to try for some modicum of bug-freeness. With my two custom-made (somewhat slapdash) screen doors installed, and my third door opening simply blocked off with plywood, I felt that I could hope that at least some portion of the bug inhabited spaces outside would leave me alone. I think some bugs still got in, but not any worse than sleeping in the attic, I don’t think.
I slept fine. The birds seem louder out there. Notably, the traffic on the road has a different “sound” than sitting in the attic with the window open, so the first few times a vehicle went by, I was disoriented as to where they were driving – it sounded like they were coming down the driveway. My position relative to the various nearby steep slopes is somewhat different, and so I guess echos and such things are arranged differently.
I could hear the sea sloshing, and around midnight, there was some wind that was rang my wind-chimes and woke me briefly.
Caveat: Poem #2162 “Solace”
Caveat: Tree #1255
This tree (on the left) is in Mike and Penny’s yard, next to a table and a dog (on the right). Although it’s less than two weeks after the solstice, you might notice that its leaves are changing colors.
My garden made some nice zucchini. I chopped them up and put them in my fried rice this evening.
I also picked a lot of salmonberries along the road today, and made a salmonberry cobbler. I’m not happy with it: it’s more like salmonberry soup, despite having added a quarter cup of tapioca.
Caveat: Poem #2162 “Sixtieth stanza”
ㅁ Kiamon watched as a raven took wing, pondering just what engendered this thing. Doubts seemed to flee as she hardened her soul, knowing she'd finally take on the role.
Caveat: Tree #1254
Caveat: Poem #2161 “Fifty-ninth stanza”
ㅁ Kiamon never considered the fact: others disliked her avoidance of tact; personally she just viewed it as truth... slightly heroic, to be so uncouth.