anticipating a bath

I’m back home after a quick but tiring trip to Yellowknife. We flew over a good stretch of Canada, stopping in Edmonton and jetting north from there. Much of the landscape I saw was cold and rather desolate, the colour drained from the vegetation and the snow beginning the long months of accumulation.

Arriving home, I appreciated the moist and relatively warm air of the coast—the enduring prevalence of green here.

Ironically, we flew in and out of Yellowknife easily (we were concerned, having heard of a recent snowstorm that closed the airport for several days), but we were delayed half a day on the final leg of our flight home. It was raining in Vancouver when we arrived, but fog had piled up against the east coast of Vancouver Island, where we were scheduled to land in Nanaimo. Finally, after an aborted attempt, we were routed back through Vancouver airport and had to take a flight to Victoria’s airport instead, making our way back up island from there.

On the flight home I saw several babies being shuttled around the country and so I was yearning to see Asher when I got home, and to feel his solid weight in my arms. He has become the fulcrum around which our lives stretch and tip, defining the boundaries of home and heart.

Sleep for me is elusive when I stay in the humming, sterile space of a hotel, so I was also tired when I got back to our land, but awake the following day, at dawn, as usual. (The extra hour of sleep promised with the return of standard time and the setting back of clocks did not seem to work with Asher.)

On Sunday we puttered around the new kitchen, building a platform behind the kitchen, near the stove alcove, to support the hot water tank. The tank needs to be higher than the stove for the thermosyphon system to work and for the water to circulate without the assistance of mechanical pumps. Dan is working on plumbing the system now, so we should have hot and cold running water soon.

We also brought in the old cast iron tub from its previous location behind the current kitchen. (Having the bath and shower outside and in relatively plain view never seemed very comfortable for our guests). We bought the tub shortly after we moved to the valley, from a gentleman who repairs fiddles and lives on a local biodynamic farm. Many of our neighbours get a vegetable box from them through the summer. This meeting, to check out and buy the tub, was one of several serendipitous meetings precipitated from ads in the Buy, Sell and Trade.

I’d rather keep the tub outside, but Zena and Gen want an indoor bathroom—for this purpose we built a 4’x8’ room off the new kitchen, not far from the stove, which will have a curtain to separate it from the cooking area. I’ve only had a couple of baths since moving here as I can never justify using so much hot water and burning so much propane for my pleasure. (I should point out that I do take showers regularly.)

With the new system, however, the hot water will be a by-product of space heating, and will be warmed by our renewable supply of wood energy, so I will be able to enjoy guilt-free baths once in a while. After days of building in the cool and wet weather, sinking into a hot bath can be a lovely, bone-warming experience. (Our first winter here, with very little that was warm or dry, we built a steam lodge, styled on a traditional Aboriginal sweat lodge, just for the penetrating warmth of some steam.)

Today, with the kitchen space itself more or less complete, we played with ideas and designs for counters, and for arrangements of stove, fridge, and sink. We should be able to plumb in and install the sink tomorrow, then we can move over the stove and small fridge and start cooking in the new kitchen as we continue to build remaining counters and shelves.

Meanwhile, I have several other work projects coming on line, so my focus will be turning more to the confines of my office and the machinations of policy, financing, and sustainability.

…

November is turning out to be our redeeming weather month, at least for its opening salvo. We’ve had sunny and mild days, with cool nights, for most of the past week. The earthen mass of our walls warms up enough to carry us through the evening in relative comfort (although by sun up, a warm sweater and woolly hat are called for).

Photo: the underside of a local forest, eroded from a road cut.