The White Silence

"And men who have shared their bed with death know when the call is sounded. Mason was terribly crushed. The most cursory examination revealed it. His right arm, leg, and back, were broken; his limbs were paralyzed from the hips; and the likelihood of internal injuries was large. An occasional moan was his only sign of life.
No hope; nothing to be done. The pitiless night crept slowly by, — Ruth's portion, the despairing stoicism of her race, and Malemute Kid adding new lines to his face of bronze. In fact, Mason suffered least of all, for he spent his time in Eastern Tennessee, in the Great Smoky Mountains, living over the scenes of his childhood. And most pathetic was the melody of his long-forgotten Southern vernacular, as he raved of swimming-holes and coon-hunts and watermelon raids. It was as Greek to Ruth, but the Kid understood and felt, — felt as only one can feel who has been shut out for years from all that civilization means." 

Jack London
The White Silence

I finally got my Jack London Experience. No, i wasn't nearly killed by a falling cedar, or devoured by my dogs (though I've got a weather eye on Cap'n Wayne-o's dog, Honey) but i have been cooped up in the HH for about 5 days. Saturday and Sunday were a usual weekend of errands and volunteer boat work, Monday was a holiday, and Tuesday i felt like i was fighting off the flu, so i opted to take a sick day. You know i feel like crap when i don't want to build a boat. Turns out, it snowed 5 inches Tuesday, and school let out at 11am. Then it was cancelled today. And, unless the Pacific Northwest is hit with an unscheduled solar flare, it sure as hell ain't melting tonight.

I'm sure the ceiling is 6 inches lower than it was yesterday, the snow covered trees are considerably closer to the windows, and if i sit very still, all i can hear is the natural ringing in my ears. White Silence. Thank God "Redrum" hasn't crossed my mind till just now.

Also, i have reached a new personal cleanliness threshold.
This was definitively the longest i have ever gone in my entire life without a shower. 5 days. Strangely, i didn't smell that bad. Just a little like smoked, wet dog. Or, what i imagine smoked, wet dog to smell like. I took the 'bru out for a snowy test drive, as she's only ever seen an inch or two once in Knoxville. She goes great, but doesn't stop very well. I went to my pal Eric's house for a near spiritual showering experience. I was truly at one with every bubble, every drop of water. I'm fairly certain this was also the first time in a week my core body temperature has been over 45 degrees F.

My smoky dog aroma, as well as my sub-standard body temp can be attributed to the "real dry" half cord of wood i gave some mountainous jackass a hundred dollars for. This huge Craigslist lumberjack said this wood had been down for at least a year, and i believe it was: down in a snowdrift on the top of a mountain waiting for him and his deadwood permit to collect, cut, and split it. It's wet'r'n hell and I'm pissed. I have been feeding that damn stove kindling, not logs, but kindling every 20 minutes for 5 days.

I also never really worried about not having hot water, until i had to wash dishes when it was 39 degrees inside my house. I don't have a thermometer, but my toothpaste is nearly solid when it comes out of the tube in the morning; I'm guessing I'm close.


After the epic struggle for heat is over, the fire is actually burning, and the dishes are clean, its quite cosy in the HH. The "simple life" is simple, it just requires extremely repetitive tasks to meet basic survival needs. I guess that's what old school Zen masters call "chopping firewood and carrying water" as Farmer Brenden says. At least my water comes out of a faucet. And, I kind of signed up for this. I have always wanted to experience this kind of alone-mess, and I'm very thankful for the opportunity and wherewithal to intentionally carve out a space for it in my life.


I'm going to finish this post, and meditate on becoming one with the White Silence.