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| Lloyd's painting of Upper Dry Creek Holding Pond |
It was on a warm March day a little over a year ago that I
hugged the curves of US 89, climbing a staircase of meadows from Kanab to the
pass at Todd’s Junction—the Virgin River winding through most of them--and then
descended another staircase of meadows along the Sevier River for a job
interview in a small community a little over an hour from Dry Creek.
It was unseasonably warm, the rivers unseasonably full, the
grass in the meadows unseasonably green.
In short, it was May in March, the mountain meadows gowned in green. I felt so full of joy, I knew then that I
would return home whether I got the job or not.
As a result of that drive, it was a year ago that Lloyd,
Marci and I sat in the living room here at Dry Creek and conceived Dry Creek
Sustainable Living.
As it is the first anniversary of Dry Creek Sustainable
Living, it is a good time to reflect honestly on how things are going. Since
I have to walk my brother’s dog while he is at his art opening in Dallas, step
out into my office and we can talk as we walk.
A cold wind cuts up the rich green field—a pasture this time
of year—as we make our way down towards the house from my brother’s. Look at how the last heavy snow split the
Juniper below the cattle pond in fourths, each part, roots half out of
ground. That tree is probably 75 years
old, young by Juniper standards, and not easily replaced in this lifetime. Firewood, I guess.
Here, let’s cut across my backyard, get the camera from the
glove box of the car. Autumn, get over
here, leave that deer leg alone. I need
to move that now that it’s spring. My
dogs, Darth and Camilla, have been chewing on it all winter. Last winter, I had an entire dead deer in the
front yard. It was too big to drag, so I
just fenced it off. That worked for a
while, but Darth eventually made her way in and rolled around in the stink.
Hold still you damn dog.
Here can you hold her? It’ll just
take a second to get the—okay, I got the camera. Let’s go.
Amazing how green it is here in the spring. Rio calls it Ireland. And yet, by July, everything on this flat
will be pale yellow. See what the snow
did to that apricot tree there? Nearly a
third of it is gone. That’s okay, I
planned on trimming it way back anyway.
Firewood.
Here, take a right.
That’s Dry Creek there, on your right, down in the canyon. It just started running a couple days
ago. All that property is my
family’s. We can follow the creek back up
to Lloyd’s on the way back. Go to the
left, down the gravel road to the flooded creek-bottom. This was paved before the flood of 83. I like it this way though, torn up,
boulder-strewn, wet, wild. I love the clear
pools and little streams lined with scouring rush that line the road.
Okay, now let’s talk business.
Last summer my goal was to get in a garden that would reduce
our cost of living substantially July-October and then minimally November
through January. To do so, I would build
three 8’ x 8’ garden beds and build a chicken coup.
Not only did I complete the garden beds and chicken coup, but I also built a pergola for Marci’s birthday, which, as you’ve seen, is now the focal point of our backyard.
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| Garden and Pergola under construction, early summer 2012 |
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| Sky Nest of the chicken coup, which we added to accommodate Blackie, one of our five chickens. Blackie think's he's Jonathan Livingston Chicken and likes to roost up very high. Summer 2012 |
This summer, I will add an additional 8’ x 8’ bed out front,
as well as till an 8’ x 12’ garden for roots.
I will also begin to develop a theme garden based on the four album
covers of the Beatles: Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, the White Album, Abbey Road and Let It Be.
This theme garden will be visible from
Canyon Road and will serve to peak people’s interest in Dry Creek Sustainable
Living.
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| Site of future Beatles albums theme garden, coming summer 2013 |
In addition, I’ll be developing a small park and soccer
field for family events.
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| Site of small park and soccer field for family events, Coming summer 2013. |
Wow, look at the inky-black limbs reflected in that
pool. Autumn, get your ass out of there! Hold on, wait for the water to still. Can you hold her while I take a photo? I wish I had a camcorder. I love the sounds down here, the
movement. Still photos just don’t
capture that. I probably should have
been a cinematographer. I can never get
my words to record what I see, no matter how I try.
Now, let’s talk food production. Last summer, even with only three 8’ x 8’
beds, we were able to produce enough cucumbers, peppers, squash and tomatoes to
live off for the months of August and September, Additionally, we were able to can enough
pickles, tomato jam and freeze enough zucchini to enjoy through the
winter. We still haven’t eaten our store
and will most likely have enough to get us through to the next canning season.
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| Our first batch of pickles, summer 2012 |
This summer, we will be adding beets, carrots, onions,
potatoes and corn. We will also be
marketing our first product to the public: Marci’s incredible tomato jam. We plan to kick this off during the Fourth of
July celebration in town, where we will also be selling “Navajo Phillies”
created by her brother, Sam.
Just look at that pool.
I love the stones so perfect at the bottom. You couldn’t design a garden pond like this,
no matter how you tried. Landscaping,
like photography, like words, or even cinematography always comes up short. Art, intense as it is, pales compared to
reality. If we were focused all the time,
we wouldn’t need art at all. What art
does do though, is freezes the moment, helps us focus, meditate. But the moment in art is never equal to the
moment in reality. We’re just more alive
to it. That’s all. Art says:
Look stupid. There is beauty
here.
That’s what I was looking for when I was younger: Grace, intensity. That’s why I went away—looking for a more
intense sun. But as Bernie Taupin says
in “Gray Seal,” the sun on the silver screen is never as real as the real
one.
I went away only to find my way back here. Now if we can only make a living.
Money has been tight to say the least, but we knew it would
be. This is an extremely rural area and
employment of any kind is hard to find.
But we knew this, and it was no surprise. To provide some cushion, we took out a
$10,000 loan from our retirement fund. That bought us some time.
I began working in August as short order cook at one of the
three restaurants in town. In September,
both Marci and I were able to get jobs working as support staff in a boy’s home
thirty-five miles from here. The work is
rewarding, as jobs with youth always are, but the pay is lousy to say the least,
and the drive there eats up much of it.
Also, our hours are irregular and seldom approach full-time employment.
In January, I was hired as an instructional aide at the
elementary here in town for 30 hours a week.
It too is rewarding work, and the pay is slightly better. However, I only get paid when school is in
session, so this summer will be a problem.
But I have faith a temporary job will see us through or a teaching
position will open. My patriarchal blessing promised me that I
would know when I needed to make a change in my life—I assume this crazy
decision is it!—and that I will have the health and strength to meet challenges
during that change. Let’s hope so.
See that wide spot in the creek on the left—we also own
property over there. The main creek is
further back. My stepdad, Joe, set those
cottonwoods on fire. About the only time
I’ve seen him lie. He knew I’d be so
upset, so he said it was a lightning strike.
Then he felt guilty, told the truth.
It killed about half of them.
Firewood.
One of the ironies about living in rural communities in the
twenty-first century is that it’s harder to live a sustainable lifestyle out
here, in God’s country, with earth and stream almost outside your doorstep,
than it is to do so in a high-rise above a smoggy city. This is primarily because of lack of
employment opportunities, long distances between communities, and lack of
public transportation.
Marci and I have put 24,000 miles on my mother’s car in 8
months. (We avoid taking the van because
it guzzles gas.) If we lived in Dallas,
the bay area, or even Salt Lake, we could buy locally, work locally and take public
transit.
Here—that is not an option.
And what’s worse, is it never feels like you’re hurting the
planet driving down an empty highway in the middle of nowhere, sky above
smog-free, even with the power plant at the north end of the valley. It’s all quit glorious. I really missed the commute when I started
working primarily in town, even though my conscience is now a little lighter.
But if a teaching position opens in a neighboring town, I
will of course take it, and begin the long daily commute again. It is simply a reality of choosing to live
here until Dry Creek Sustainable Living can actually sustain us totally. Sometimes you have to look further down the
road then the end of your driveway to build a better way of life and I’m not
ashamed to do that, even though in the short-term, it may seem hypocritical.
Are you ready to turn back?
I still need to take you up Dry Creek.
Then I better get back, feed the chickens, get supper on, then head up
to Mom and Lloyd’s again to post on the blog.
We still don’t have internet. We
can’t afford it. But, of course with a
yard like this, you can’t complain too much.
As Sinead O’Conner says, I’m finally at a place where, “I do not want
what I haven’t got.” That’s a nice place
to be.
