Bummer. Schmutzie posted a 6-part video of the mini-documentary at his blog that, for me, since he posted it, had become a daily ritual and a spectacular inspiration. It was pulled due, I can only assume, to copyright issues. Now I'll have to snoop around The Internet Web to get my fix.
So I've decided, once I get to Iowa, to build a 20' x 20' log cabin using nothing but native trees, tweezers and a nail file. It'll be my summer home.
What is it about us that moves one to, what, regress? Devolve? To let ourselves, yet again, be held hostage to domesticated fire? Several books and movies spring immediately to mind:
My Side Of The Mountain
Dances With Wolves
I have a severe and acute case of homesickness. But there's no "home" to go back to. Hasn't been since 1998. Is that what I'm doing? Trying to create a "home" on the prairie where it all began in the first place? Someday remind me to tell you about the first of my kin to be born in this country, Edward, son of Patrick.
What sort of retarded lunatic (yours truly) craves solitary confinement by virtue of context? Who among the sane longs to come down with a case of cabin fever?
Fear. Despair. Gotta work on that.