Hats and Boots

A house needs a good set of boots and a good hat. This is how the build instructors describe it. This week I’ve spent a good amount of time on the roof trusses and sheeting the lower layer of the roof on the La Sal house. I think of myself as a bit nervous around heights—my physiology can change rather quickly around them—sweaty palms and feet—which is usually not at all helpful for whatever the tall situation calls for— I have spent much of my adult life trying to feel my feet on the floor and my body attached to the ground. Now a good bit of my desert life so far has been getting more comfortable with my body weight in space—on hikes that involve rock scrambling over some real drops, or hauling trusses and plywood sheets up onto the house (reality check: it is a 1-story house and the roof is the lowest slant that is acceptable for the build). And being around people—like my housemate who has made his living washing the windows of skyscrapers—who are encouraging in their person and in their actions that make what seemed impossible possible. I was reminded too, this past weekend, that human bodies are made to do this—to find balance. Andy was here for a visit (super yay!) and we ventured south to Mesa Verde. The landscape itself there is magnificent, but part of the story of the Pueblo people who lived there are the cliff dwellings that they literally build in the alcoves of rocks suspended hundreds of feet above canyons and sometimes at least 100 feet below the top of the canyon. Scrambling up and down the canyon walls was a regular part of their daily living. I in no way think that is part of my purpose here for this life, but gaining more willingness (and perhaps reconnecting with tree-climbing little me) does seem like a way of embodying a more complete and holistic picture of the life I’ve been graced with.

Today we were back in the boot of the project. All of us worked to bring in and being to level the majority of the dirt for the adobe floor today of the La Sal house. This included, with each inch-layer of dirt we brought in and distributed through the house that we would stomp and boogie over each square inch of dirt to compact it. I appreciate deeply that the 8 men of our intern group seem to love and enjoy dancing as much, if not more, than the 9 of us women. Well, probably not more.