From the Hive

Writing this blog is proving to be challenging in a way I didn’t anticipate. The days here are full in a way that I haven’t known before—or perhaps in a very long time. When Andy and I wrote our blog as we pedaled cross-country, we were alone for most of our adventure, performing a repetitive, meditative task, taking in the country relatively slowly through our senses and muscles. We had social interactions with others that were meaningful and concise for the most part.

  Living this adventure is quite different. I feel a bit like the computer server of the original healthcare.gov website: overwhelmed with choices and stimulation, and trying to come to terms with my current processing speed. It’s challenging to step enough out of the experience to get perspective. But I trust my commitment, and sticking to the facts of the moment.

My body is warm from a full day of physical labor though it has been chilly and overcast. My face is flushed with windburn. My hands are dry and sandpapery and slightly torn in places. (Sheep’s oil, lanolin, is my new best friend). Today on the La Sal building site, where I’ve been spending most of my time so far, we re-squared and attached the posts to the box beams that will hold the roof. We stuffed our first straw in those box beams. In the afternoon we poured the concrete for the third and last foundation at the Locust building site (where there are 2 smaller 2-bedroom homes). Since third times a charm, we got off a little early from the day’s work. During the pour, as a few of us were burping the foundation with sledges, we had a pretty awesome conversation about personal growth and spiritual practice. I’m kind of a junkie for those conversations. Here the seriousness usually gets lightened pretty quickly by a good joke, a new task, a funny error (of which there are many). I seem to have developed a quick reputation for puns and a slightly dark humor. It’s hard to hide much in this environment.

We are quite a hive, and I have never been in a hive like this before—it literally buzzes from 7am to at least 10pm, with some ebbs and flows in that depending on the day, astrological changes, hormones, weather. It is an amazing experience, and I’m also putting it out to the universe (and some individuals) that if someone wants to rent me and my roommate (who seems to possess a similar threshold for oversocialization stimulation) a small room that we can sit in, do nothing, or make things, read, do nothing, that would be wonderful.

Sand Flats Fins, up the road from our house

Moab is starting to buzz a little more too as the season opens. Last Saturday 4 of us went to Arches National Park (the week before our comrades had 7 cars ahead of them—this day we had at least 70). We drove the length of the park and decided to do the 7 miles of trail and “primitive” trail at the end of the park (Landscape Arch, Double O Arch, Dark Angel are part of this loop.) We are a pretty well-matched foursome. Comfortable with silence, stories, and bringing attention to the landscape and how we feel within it. While the main trail provided us with opportunities to judge the behavior of some of the other tourists, the primitive trail took us down into the rocky canyon. Maybe it is because I am reading Artemis, the Indomitable Spirit in Everywoman and am reimmersed in those mythologies, but I couldn’t help but thinking of it as an underworld descent—the temperature lessened, the sun was getting lower in the sky and bringing out that dangerous spirit quality in the land that beckons you to stay when you know darkness and cold are coming. We encountered more magical rocks, juniper and pine trees, and about a few places where this trail labeled as “difficult” asked us to test our faith and courage (3 of the 4 of us have less experience in rock scrambling). Narrow, somewhat slick ledges with steep drop-offs—we offered up our backpacks in advance to the gravitational gods, committing ourselves to the path. I chanted furiously for faith and removed my shoes, trusting the intelligent evolution of my feet more than my clunky modern shoes. Later we came to a pool of water which we had the choice to cross or scale a high rock with a running start. 3 of the 4 of us took the former option, removing some clothing and wading through knee high what is literally the most painfully cold water I have been through in my life (I’ve been in some cold water). At the other side, a sunny rock to absorb the cold for a few moments, before we continued our now steady ascent through the desert landscape, noticing beauty and dreaming of hamburgers.