💾 Archived View for uscoffings.net › home captured on 2023-05-24 at 17:48:47. Gemini links have been rewritten to link to archived content
⬅️ Previous capture (2022-06-03)
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As a child in the 1970s-80s, I grew up in cornfields in north-central Indiana. It was good living in the country, but I was not in nature. I still remember the burn in my nasal passages from the gravity-wagon-loads of fertilizer we hauled in the spring (and how the fertilizer rusted the steel like a cancer), and then the oily stench of herbicides and insecticides that we applied across hundreds of acres that slowly rolled over the house for weeks afterwards, and in the early summer, the dangers of injecting anhydrous ammonia.
Now when I pull up that area on google maps, I can clearly see the huge circular tracks of new irrigation rigs, covering the entire county. I wonder where they pump the water from. It can only be from deep underground; there is no nearby surface water. Thirty or forty years ago, we didn't need to irrigate; we had huge rolling thunderstorms every two weeks or so. Occasionally July or August would run a bit dry and the corn leaves would roll for a week, until the next storm rolled through. Seems that's no longer the case. The climate is changing, even if the new farmers think this is how they've always done it.
I spent some of the 1990s in Boston on the Charles River. Simultaneously far more urban, yet far more natural than farm country.
The 2000s found me in tech in Utah. I didn't know the culture I was dropping myself into. The Mormons want to have 5 kids per family, in a desert. That is exponential growth, in a finite environment. And it's my childhood home that still produces the grain, that feeds the cattle raised somewhere else, that feeds that exponential population growth, in the desert.
I rebooted my life just before the pandemic.
I now live on 30 acres, on a mountain, in Oregon. The land is shockingly beautiful, but clearly it has been abused. I am working to restore my small bit of land: hauling out the trash, replanting trees, giving nature space to re-establish its network, and trying to find a new balance against our modern way of life.
As of 2022, we've been here 2 years, and I finally almost feel like I have caught my breath. There is no longer a new critter invasion or leak or catastrophe every week. The house is 50 years old, and the land appears to have been abused for at least that long. Hell, I'm almost that abused myself. An equilibrium seems near.
Tech continues to support me, remotely. It is the destroyer and the provider.
So where do we go from here?
That's a massive question (physically and existentially), and I might occasionally write some general thoughts over here:
But for the physical here and now, things I am considering for our property:
More to come.