Author Archives: Boonies167

About Boonies167

As implied by the name, I come from the boonies of southwestern Wyoming. I was basically raised on a homestead, well off the beaten path. As I navigate the rocky path of life I like to sit down once in a while and organize my thoughts by writing. If there is any merit or fault in my writing abilities I defer it all to good ol' home schooling. Enjoy.

Life in Ogden

So I just moved to to Ogden a few weeks back and decided to start writing about the things I discover as I go. I got job not far away, though not too close either. I’ll not give out too many details about what I do or where exactly I live for the sake of privacy. I moved in with the help of my parents. They had the truck loaded down with all my junk and I led the way to a house I hadn’t even seen the inside of. A room mate from my last domicile did house hunting for himself and let me know that there was an extra room available, so I took it. Not a moment too soon either, because I was this close to being evicted. Anyway, I got moved in and then we went out to eat pizza at the pi pizzeria. Probably the best I’ve eaten. Then my parents had to leave. I sat in an empty apartment for a few minutes and considered my situation. All my friends were at least sixty miles away, granted that’s not very far, but deal with it. I was lonely. If I hadn’t already stuffed myself with pizza I would have consoled myself with food. Groceries were next on the list of to dos so I hopped on over to the closest grocery store and grabbed a few essentials such as milk, cereal, and fixings for p b and js. Oh and cookies for dessert. After putting the food away I took a little drive east to find a good view of the sunset so I could watch it while I ate cookies.

My First Acquaintance

The next day I was aware that I was no longer alone in the house, but I left early and didn’t see anyone until after work. As I entered I found a manbun and an impressive beard attached to a tall skinny man with black rimmed glasses. We introduced ourselves and started into conversation. He gave me a very different view of life in Ogden. My impression of it up to that point had been that of a crowded city with lots of businesses and concrete. I thought of gangs and dumpy neighborhoods, a place people lived only because there was work. My new room mate told about rock climbing and hiking trails, social activities and community events. My eyes were opened. Living here might not be such a step down from the college town I came from.

The Drive Home

Every day for the first couple weeks I took a different route home from work. My eyes were peeled and my head was on a swivel as I tried to absorb every detail of my surroundings. I take note of grocery stores, thrift stores, recreation locales, restaurants, and municipal buildings. I watch out for shady areas and piece together a mental map of everything with relation to my domicile.

I discovered that Smith and Edward’s is right in my way, and often lures me in for a look at their wares. I found Mountain House meals there and decided to try a few. In fact I ate a freeze dried chicken casserole while writing this.

I gave every Ogden exit a go so I would know where I was at wherever I made it off the freeway. It happened first by accident when I missed my exit.

Ogden Canyon

From I-15 I could see the gap in the mountains known as Ogden Canyon. One day I made a b-line for it. It was very narrow, in fact it looked like it might not go anywhere. I followed the road right into it. I noticed that the shops and businesses leading up to it were more geared for outdoor enthusiasts and tourists. RV accommodations were common as streetlights.

The first thing I encountered was an enormous pipe that was strung across the canyon way up high. It bows down over the road and comes back up to its original elevation. Right next to it is a waterfall which is hardly visible on the way in since it is on the inside of the first corner.

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Hammock Overnighter

Not very often do I find a consecutive Friday night and Saturday morning where nothing is going on. I took the opportunity to go out alone and camp overnight. The weather was ideal, if you don’t care for clear skies and dry ground. This was a great opportunity to test out my new rain fly (borrowed from an old tent), and see what it is like to sleep in a hammock.

After some tactical consideration, I chose to camp in Green Canyon where I wouldn’t wake up to any surprises on my car windshield. At the parking area I surveyed the landscape and chose a direction to look for a campsite. I wasn’t feeling very ambitious, so I found a general area about a Frisbee throw from the parking area.

I stumbled onto a fire ring made of rather sharp rocks, and decided that I had gone far enough. It was about 7:00 Friday evening. After scouting the area to assure that I was the only inhabitant of the new digs, I strung my hammock and managed to get the rain fly raised and configured in record time — about 45 minutes. If my carefully coiled rope hadn’t been so well packed it might have taken longer.

The sleeping quarters looked good, almost picturesque. From the inside I had a great view of the trail so I could see who came and went. To get an idea of what it looked like just think of 4th and Main. A stop light might be appropriate on the weekends.

I knew the dark would be on me before long, so I explored the area and found a dead juniper tree. That is where I spent the next 30 minutes, gathering firewood. With an ample supply on hand I turned my attention to the fire pit. Tall grass stood all around it, making it almost invisible. Not only would the grass get in the way, but it might be hazardous. So I trimmed out a circle 2 feet larger than the fire ring, one handful at a time, using a knife to cut it. It was painstaking work, but it looked pretty neat when I finished. Soon the air was filled with the crackle of flames and the scent of juniper smoke.

Camp

Camp

The world got darker and darker, but at some point it actually lightened a shade or two, enough to see shapes clear across the canyon. It was the lights from town reflecting off the clouds. I walked out into the field to observe what I could beyond the fire glare. From there I could see the city lights lining the mouth of the canyon. Then I noticed a strange sound, barely audible. It sounded like a distant gun shot, coming from over the North mountain ridge. First a faint boom coming from one side, then an echoing report from the other side. I stood for several minutes just listening. It happened again and again, with a few moments in between. They got louder. Soon I could see dim flashes of light on the ridge. It looked like the front lines of battle on the other side or somewhere not too far. I thought about what it would be like to live someplace where every day you knew the war was just one ridge away from your home. An ominous thought, it gave me the chills.

After a while the fire died down to a nice bed of glowing coals. My excursion was such a last minute affair that I went up without any good food to roast over the fire. That was a bummer. I did pack myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, but I can’t imagine a bed of glowing coals improving the taste any. Since I had no food to cook and no friends to tell ghost stories to, I decided to turn in early. I don’t like ghost stories anyway.

Looking From Inside The Hammock

Looking From Inside The Hammock

I didn’t worry about the fire getting out of hand, a new volley of rain came through every 20 minutes or so. I got into my hammock filled with sleeping bag. It was so soft, and the air was so warm, that I considered just sleeping on top and not worrying about getting inside. Experience told me that it would get colder in the small hours, besides, I needed some protection from mosquitoes.

As I settled into bed and prepared to sleep, a group of guys at the parking lot gathered together and raucously shared their experiences. Who knew “salty” language could be so unsavory? Next time I do something like this I’ll go someplace not so busy.

Bedtime

Bedtime

I woke up several times during the night. I realized that a hammock is a hassle when you gotta go. I also noticed the sound of mosquitoes. They sounded like they were trying to get to me from underneath. Surprisingly (and thankfully) they never came up topside. Other than that, it was nice not having rocks and roots sticking into your back (even with foam pads). In the morning I felt like a banana. I laid there about an hour before peeling myself out of bed. I was a little stiff, and thought if I tried to straighten up I might break.

The first thing I did was check my backpack to see if it was safe and sound. It was dry, but alarmingly it was covered in bugs! A congregation of pill bugs gathered for a revival. I’ll probably be pulling pill bugs out of there for weeks. Note to self: get everything off the ground. I’m glad that I put my shoes in the hammock instead of on the ground.

Company

Company

I started the fire again, just to prove that I could after a rainy night. Once it had died down enough I got my stuff together and took off. I think I’ll need a nap.

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Storm Sitting

The ravine below me

The ravine below me

Looking out towards the valley.

Looking out towards the valley.

The trail was clear until it reached a ceiling of mist near the peak.

The trail was clear until it reached a ceiling of mist near the peak.

To the south the storm continued to cast shadow and gloom over the city.

To the south the storm continued to cast shadow and gloom over the city.

Me

Me

My nose

My nose

How glorious the sunshine was over the valley.

How glorious the sunshine was over the valley.

Breakfast this morning

Breakfast this morning

 

I saw a storm coming in as I drove home from school. It would be a shame to let a good opportunity go to waste. With the clouds starting to block out the sun, I drove up to Green Canyon on the edge of town and parked as high on the side of the mountain as possible. I got out and opened the trunk. I found a hoody and pulled it on, then I shouldered my backpack, locked the car and took off up the nearest trail.

The sky was gray and to the north loomed a dark blue thunderhead, below it the landscape disappeared behind a curtain of rain. I climbed a trail that was damp from the last downpour, but not muddy. The breeze was cool and a few drops hit me now and again. The air was fresh and fragrant with wet sagebrush, mules ear, and earth. I definitely need to go backpacking more often.

The trail led to a large boulder which was familiar to me because DJ and I had found a geocache here before. I figured this was high enough and I looked for a natural shield from the wind and rain. I took refuge just off the side of a ridge-line, just above a thicket of scraggly maple and scrub oak. On this slope I settled down and opened my pack to see what luck had afforded me. In the main compartments I found a change of clothes, mess kit, first aid kit, small survival kit, and several packages of emergency rations. The side pockets were empty, which is just as well because I can never find anything when I distribute stuff throughout the various pockets. I had expected to find at least a poncho, but I guess that got taken out in case I wouldn’t need it.

A pocket within the main compartment contained a plastic ground cloth from the previous decade, complete with duck-tape patches. Seriously, I remember using it when I was a boy scout. It wasn’t much, but after all, a tarp in the bush is worth ten ponchos at home. I pulled it out and looked it over. It was about 3 x 5, so not too big. The corners had little loops of string leftover from previous usage. These I attached to branches around me to make a canopy about three feet or so off the ground.

It was hard to sit on a slope so I put my pack under my legs and sat on it, facing away from the hill. My feet kept the bag from sliding downhill and the bag gave me a seat. This posture wasn’t exactly relaxing, but at least I didn’t have to crouch or kneel in the dirt. I chose this spot because it was the least likely to get me wet, or blown away, or struck by lightning, discomfort being the lesser of two evils.

Soon the sprinkles turned to droves of rain. My canopy flapped just a little, though the wind was strong. My strategic position was very effective in that sense. Every once and again a bunch of water would spill off one end of the tarp. My head held up the center so the water couldn’t gather there. So far so good. Then it started to hail.

The hail wasn’t much different except that where the rain would just stay where it landed, the hail liked to roll and bounce in from the uphill side. My seat was liable to create a little reservoir if this kept up. Then I noticed the increase in weight on my head. The hail stuck to the plastic and formed a slush that didn’t roll off like the rain did. No problem, I just patted the tarp every so often to keep it moving. Water shoots over the edge. Slush likes to stick around and throw water underneath the tarp. I was getting slightly soggy. I considered unhooking the tarp and using it as a poncho. That way it might keep more water out and also serve as a wind breaker. All the heat in my hands had been sucked out by the moisture and the wind.

I didn’t know how long this was going to last. As exciting as it was with lightning flashing and thunder pounding terribly, I got a little bored and started messaging DJ. It occurred to me that if something were to happen to me it might be a long time before anyone noticed I was missing, and even longer before my general location was found, let alone my body. DJ was the only one who would know what I was talking about if I had to describe my location. If he needed to, he could give rescuers my exact coordinates since I was within a few yards of a geocache.

I wasn’t too far into the boonies and still had service. I told DJ what was going down. I said that if I went missing, he would know where I was.

“Just so you know. If I turn up missing, I’m up by Green Canyon, sitting out a storm.” I said.

“If you do go missing, can I have your stuff?”

“Not unless a body is found.”

“That can be arranged.”

It’s comforting to know someone has your back.

It got so wet under the tarp that I had to put on the pack and stand up. The water certainly came off better, but even though I was well out-of-the-way, my head felt very prominent. I didn’t like that position at all.

Occasionally I looked out at the valley and finally I saw light on the other side of the watery veil. The end of the storm was near. When the rain ended it did so quite suddenly. I came out and marveled at how clear it was and how glorious the sunshine was over the valley. To the south the storm continued to cast shadow and gloom over the city. I looked up the mountain. The trail was clear until it reached a ceiling of mist near the peak. There’s nothing like a good storm to refresh one’s perspective.

Cold and clammy, I wrapped up my tarp and shimmied down the trail to my car. The purpose of doing this (besides randomness and lunacy) was to find out how I would fare in such a situation with only what I had in my pack, while still able to opt-out. I found that my tarp was OK in a pinch, but I would rather it be bigger so that I could set it up and have more than one foot square of dry ground underneath. I would set up the tarp with at least one side on the ground to block the wind better, and again, to keep more moisture out. The material is an important factor. I need something durable, yet lightweight. Maybe I can pack a large tent fly. They are much more durable than the piece I had, and I could probably find one that is twice the size and still be lighter. A bonus is that tent flies generally have elastic cords on each corner that would make set-up fast and easy.

More level ground would be ideal, but it is hard to find level ground that isn’t likely to get struck by lightning or flooded by run-off. Still, I think I could manage to find a better spot to set up camp. If I had to stay the night I would have been in trouble, not only because sleep would be impossible, but moving once the storm had started would be fruitless. Everywhere else would now be soaked, plus there is the danger of traveling under such conditions.

Gloves would make the experience much more comfortable. I had them, but I didn’t want to get them soaked. Waterproof gloves, that’s the way to go. Or maybe I could just apply a coat of wax or sealant to the leather. Along those lines; after a rain, the grass and bushes are covered in water. Walking through them is like wading through a river. Waterproof pants or even gators would be handy to keep your pants and shoes drier. Extra socks are a must anyway, but keeping your shoes relatively dry would make a change of socks worth it.

After everything else, it would be great to have some kind of diversion. I would have liked to have a book, or a notepad with me. It’s possible there won’t be service in the emergency situation, hence the need for a pack in the first place. I guess I have games on my phone, but I would rather save the batteries for more crucial purposes.

The storm sit, wasn’t a bad experience, but a few modifications could make future occasions more comfortable, and leave me in better shape to continue.

 

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Summer Mornings

Sometimes I would wake up to a silent house. That meant Mom and Dad were off on a walk, otherwise there would be sounds and smells of breakfast cooking. Everyone else was asleep from what I could tell. These mornings excited me, they were summer mornings, which meant no school to worry about, and at this age, very few chores. Being one of the first awake made me feel like I had a good jump on the day. Though I knew my day would be full, I felt like I could afford to take it slow until breakfast.

Lyman is very flat, so even early in the morning the rays of sunshine hit and warm every east facing surface. Though the air is still chilly it doesn’t bother you cause you know that it will soon be warm.

The air is still and holds the moist scent of dew on grass, earth and concrete. Robins chirp and sing from everywhere, out to clean up the worms. To this day their racket always takes me back to those summer mornings with nostalgic pleasure. I remember wandering through the silent kitchen, all the lights are off yet the room is bright with the sun shining through the glass door and white lace curtain, onto the island and the stools. The living room is also lit up and leaves from the cottonwood trees out front cast shadows on the flowery wall paper.

I go out the front door and sit on the cold concrete steps to wait for Mom and Dad to return from their walk. The sunlight glistens on the grass and the sidewalks are damp. I shiver a little and walk out in bare feet to where the sun warms the side-walk in front of the yard. Up and down the street everything is glowing in the morning light.

After a while, Mom and Dad come around the corner down by the canal. Soon they are back and the kitchen comes alive. Dad turns on the radio and Mom turns on the stove. The smell of pancakes brings more of us down stairs. The day starts right after breakfast.

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One Little Pig in a Tree

Larry was a pig. One day he heard the story of the Three Little Pigs; it inspired him. He wanted to build a house of his own. He couldn’t find any bricks so he had to figure out a different way to protect himself from the wolf. He had a lot of sticks to build with, but he knew the wolf would only blow it apart. Then Larry had an idea. He found a tall tree that couldn’t be climbed and made plans to build a tree-house in it. How did he get up the tree in the first place? He built a hang glider and took it to a hill near the tree. He strapped a long rope and a bucket to his waist and took off. He flew to the tree and landed in the highest branches. Then Larry tied the rope to a nice large branch and lowered himself down in his bucket. Using the bucket, he hauled up all his lumber and built a tree-house.

Being so high he was soon spotted by the wolf. Wolf came over and watched as Larry came and went using the bucket. Wolf soon hatched a plan. He waited until Larry came down to get food. Then, when Larry was out of sight, he pulled himself up in the bucket and hid in the tree-house. He made sure to leave the bucket exactly as he found it so that the pig wouldn’t suspect anything.

Larry soon returned and pulled himself up with his groceries. To his high-pitched horror he found the wolf waiting in his kitchen boiling water and cutting carrots! The wolf cut the rope and chased Larry around the deck until Larry finally made it to his hang glider and escaped.

The wolf was stuck. On the bright side, the house was very well-built and had an extensive food supply. So the wolf lived comfortably, though confined, for many days.

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The Upstairs Window

Once upon a time there was a boy, named Will, who lived in a small English town. There was a girl that he liked very much, so being a very impetuous character he did things to get her attention. He would carry things that were big, but not too heavy, to look strong like large sacks full of wool. He befriended Bruce Mason, the local bully and staged a fight where he won. She noticed him plenty but didn’t want to let him know. She thought he was very impressive indeed.
Finally he decided to cut right to the root. He went to her house and threw a rock at the upstairs window, where he believed her room was. It happened to be her parent’s room, and he shattered the window. He was sure that his hopes of being with her were just as broken as the window pane. He decided that he would fix the window before her parents got back. They were on the town council and there was a meeting that morning.
Will abandoned all discretion and pounded on the door. Sue, for so she was named, came out and he explained the situation. She felt somewhat responsible because she had purposely ignored him to see how far he would go, and agreed to help him fix the window. They went up to the room and cleaned up all the glass. Neither of them knew how to go about fixing it so they went to a shop that sold windows and asked the man how much it would cost to replace. They didn’t have enough money. Sue was anxious. Will though hard. After all, this was another opportunity to show off. They went to the store next door and asked for work to make enough money. The store manager was skeptical about how useful a small boy would be. Sue told the manager how she had seen Will carrying 50 pound sacks of grain and how he had beat up Bruce Mason. Will was astonished to hear from her own mouth that she had watched him. He was also a bit anxious about how much she was talking him up. The manager agreed to put him to work. He had just happened to have a large pallet of grain and needed it unloaded. He said he would pay them what they needed if they unloaded the pallet, and went back to his accounting. Will tried to carry one of the 50 pound bags, but it merely dragged him down to the floor. He had to admit to Sue that he had filled those sacks with wool instead of grain. So they both carried the sacks, one by one. An hour later they had finished. The manager was satisfied and gave them the money.
Will and Sue ran back to the window shop and bought the window. It was heavy, but they made it back to Sue’s house. They realized that they had a new problem. They didn’t know how to replace the window.
Will remembered that Bruce worked summers at the window shop. Now Will had to reveal to Sue, his friendship with Bruce. Dramatic dialog was exchanged. They got Bruce and the three of them put in the new window. Will realized that all of his lies had backfired on him and now wanted to be completely honest.

Soon Sue’s parents came back, not a trace remained of the day’s events. They did find a note on their bedroom door. “I broke your window, but fixed it. Will Sue.

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Random Goats

Long before we ever got a hold of a cow or the means for keeping one we toyed with the idea of getting a milk goat. My mother grabbed hold of the idea and soon every level piece of furniture was stacked milk goat literature. We kids were also excited about the idea, but that might have been before we got chickens, which we learned need plenty of maintenance.

We never did get the milk goat but many years later we somehow found two billy goats on our hands. The cool thing about goats is they eat anything, and it doesn’t matter what you feed them. You could put them in a patch of thistles and soon they would have them mowed to nubbins. One of the problems with goats is that they eat everything, it doesn’t matter what you have fed them they will continue to chew to the last breath. We wanted to let them run loose on our vast acreage and let them do their magic on all the weeds and abundant thistles and tall, coarse grass. But unfortunately their magic entailed wandering into the flower beds, herb gardens and potato patch. Once all the tender shoots were devoured they decided to become garbage disposals and raided the garbage. I didn’t mind them actually eating it but they didn’t care for keeping their bearded chins over their plate. The solution was to stake them out where we wanted them to mow and they would do a pretty good job. It looked like crop circles. This worked fine except that we had to move them every hour or so and check on them to make sure they hadn’t strangled themselves on their ropes. Sometimes they got so wrapped around their post or a branch that they couldn’t move an inch. I’d trust my life on some of the knots those goats configured. And every so often a goat would either chew their tether in half or pull loose somehow. Luckily we were soon alerted of this by the panicky braes of the other poor goat who found himself alone. It’s funny how the one that’s free doesn’t mind being alone. Once they are free it is every goat for himself. Same with horses.

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My Trip to Montana, 2013

My trip to Montana to go camping with Melissa. She had invited some friends to visit her and go camping a Glacier National Park. The only one to take her up on the invitation was a guy. Since she couldn’t have him living in her apartment for a week, much less go camping alone with him, she called me up and asked if I would join them. Always ready to do anything for my blood relations, I accepted the task of going camping. We lived pretty close so it was convenient for her friend Dority and I to drive up there together and split the cost of traveling the 600 miles to Whitefish, Montana.
I packed up my little Honda and found Dority’s house in the adjacent town. We exchanged pleasantries and decided to take my vehicle since it got better gas mileage, though I’m sure the gas mileage suffered while loaded down with so much stuff. Luckily we didn’t have to haul any food up there. On the way we got to know each other. After the first couple of hours we knew more than enough about each other and put on a book on tape. We went through a few books over the course of the trip. He also brought his camera and we made a couple of detours along the way to catch the scenery.
For lunch we found a little cafe that had been recommended by Dority’s father. It was a little old school-house that had been converted into a cafe, with the school-house decor preserved. The menu was written on a chalkboard, and the walls were covered in vintage school supplies and educational posters. Most of the customers wore cowboy hats and collared shirts. The food was decent.
Once we made it into Montana I began to see things I had never seen before. Casinos were as abundant as restaurants. I don’t remember what else there was. Perhaps looking at pictures will remind me later.
We got to Kalispell and met Melissa at Wal-Mart since we needed to shop for food and neither of us knew how to get to Melissa’s apartment. Melissa had a menu planned somewhat and we made a few adjustments as we went through the store. Finally we got to her apartment and got settled down. Oh ya, we stopped for some ice-cream as well. That night we cooked and ate and talked and played cards until finally going to bed. The sun goes down at least an hour later than it does at home. It felt weird to see it still kind of light around 10:00.
The next morning we loaded up our stuff into Melissa’s jeep and took off for Glacier. We took a while getting to our campsite cause we were sightseeing and picking up some things like fishing licenses and such. I bought a nice fly reel and a knife. What kind of heretic would go camping without a knife!?
We checked in at the ranger’s booth and found our campsite. Each camping spot is numbered and we thought we found ours, but we needed to back up to see the post with the number on it. I looked behind us just in time to see the tree we backed into. The tree wasn’t harmed at all, but it took out a light cover on Melissa’s nice new jeep. Luckily That was the worst thing that happened throughout our trip. Except it did rain a lot.
There were lots of places to see and Melissa wanted to show all of them to us. We drove around most of the day and took a couple of hikes. We happened to run into Uncle Jud, Aunt Ledah and Natalie up there and we took a stroll with them. I was excited to do some fishing but we got skunked most places. I think we did actually catch one or two near the end of the trip, but obviously not anything worth telling.
Melissa and Dority talked a bunch, so I had a few chances to wander off a bit on my own to fish or look at the scenery. The first morning in camp I left the other two sleeping and found a trail leading to the lake. The sunrise was amazing. The air was a bit cold but the sun shining on you made it perfect. The lake was calm and clear. You could see fish in the deep water where it changed from clear to green and then blue. After sitting there on the shore for a while I began to explore again. I stumbled on an old stone foundation, ruined and mossy. It was pretty small, probably a one room cabin or shed. Soon I went back to the shore and tried to skip rocks. There were lots of pebbles but not many good skipping rocks. One rock was some type of sandstone. I used my knife to scrape a relief image of a tree. Later when I returned to camp I stowed the rock in the Jeep and forgot about it.

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Story Time

I love stories. I like to read them and I would like to write them as well. But I don’t really let my imagination wander in fantasy or fiction. I like to concentrate on real life. I want to create a story but in real-time. I want to live it. I want to make something of my life worth writing about.

I am a home schooled boy who grew up largely in isolation. I spent my youth in the hills and woods. I used to trap and hunt. I’ve skinned more critters than I can count. I served a mission in mexico during some of the worst of the drug cartel wars, where you were never sure if you were hearing fireworks or a gun battle. When I returned I worked a couple of jobs before going to school. I decided that the university was not for me and went to a tech school to study drafting. I used that as a front while I studied in my apartment about social media, blogging, finances and business. I wrote and read and wrote and read. I am in the process of creating a life for myself, one where I am financially independent and I dedicate my time to seeking out the best thoughts and paradigms. I am surveying the world to find a path. I am pioneering the cloud of information and thought and culture. Just as I used to study which plants were edible or harmful in the wilderness, I now roam the jungle out there to apply my gift of discernment to identify the good from the bad.

People are confused about how the world works in spite of all the advancements in science and trial and error of various ideas and inventions and thoughts. There are those who have learned to manipulate how we see the world. There are others who would wrest these individuals of control of mans vision. There are those who have unwittingly altered the lens of right and wrong until they are befuddled and confused. There are those who would stand in for forgotten or lost signals. I wish to be among those men who restore our vision and direction. I would do so by sifting through the knowledge we have, reconnecting the circuits that have fallen out of repair. diagnosing the causes and finding the cures for the mutations and malfunctions.

I may not be a wiz with computers or mechanics but I can wield a pen, and my mind is active and daily increasing in skill and dexterity. I feed on truth, vision, and motivation.

I always have a paper and pen handy, ready to capture thoughts and ideas that come to me. I haven’t found a use or application for all of my inspiration, but as I record them I show that I am receptive and the stream becomes more steady.

I need to be more active in testing out my ideas and spreading my thoughts so that when I strike it may hit home.

This home schooled boy from the mountains will become a success in business. he will show people that there is a way out of the cave we have cornered ourselves into.

People have problems. I would like to solve them. Or at least open their eyes to the possibilities and their own potential.

What problems do people have? Lack of money. lack of education (even the college grads). Unhappiness. lack of nutrition (even the well fed).  Is it wrong to think that there are malnourished people who get plenty to eat? Or that there are people who have gone through the entire educational system and yet be ignorant?

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I would like

When I think about who I would like to be I can’t imagine myself being anybody specific like a teacher, an engineer, a doctor or a plumber. I like to write but I don’t see myself as an English wiz or a journalist. Grammar can really give me fits.

I do like to explore. I like to push some limits and see what I am capable of. I like to keep journals of my excursions. If I could make money off of my journals then I would do that. I believe that I can get insight that others miss. I am patient, yet driven; observant, yet active.

So that would be my dream career. Full of adventure, self-paced, driven by my own curiosity. I don’t know if I could be a travel writer, but that would be cool to try. I would like to be free to choose any subject that catches my interest and focus on that for a time. I could go as far in depth as I wished.

That is why writing for a magazine looked attractive to me. But since that kind of writing is kind of hit and miss I think I will need a better plan. An ideal position would be to have my name branded and known for good quality, interesting journals on whatever subject I choose. A published journal series would be ideal. Sort of like a tv show but in writing, like a book. I think an eBook would be good to start out with but al fin de todo me gustaria tener mi propio biblioteca de mis libros en papel.

What kind of subjects would I like to explore?

Survival, hiking, treks into specific places, entrepreneurship, creating a product, building something, stuff like Jeremy does; learning something new every year. Aquaponics, raising animals, food (finding, growing, processing, eating), blacksmithing. And I would also write about ideas and philosophy.

I’d like to do stuff like that because that is what I end up doing with my time anyway, even without getting paid. If I could just support myself and a family then I would count myself a very fortunate man. I would be a happy man.

I can see myself with a house in the country. A large estate with plenty of land on which to work. A shop with all kinds of tools. A studio full of books and a desk to write at, a nice big window to see the view and get natural light. Books like encyclopedias, classics, and a range of books on the kinds of subjects I investigate. And one whole shelf dedicated to my own works, each with the same leather-bound cover and same height, though the thickness may vary.

I would have spent my life doing stuff that I love while leaving behind a lot of information for my children and grand children. What kind of legacy is that? Well, a much better legacy than that of a plumber. I can give a life of service, demonstrate good values, even teach. I can also show them that they can achieve whatever they set their heart on.

As great as this all sounds I can’t help but feel a twinge of doubt as to whether this would be a worth while dedication of my life. I have to ask myself, what’s wrong with it? What could I be missing in life by doing this? Is there some essential part of life that I would have to sacrifice? God? No. Family? No. Country? No. By nature this would be an occupation that would require me to be informed. I might have to forfeit the corporate ladder, the rat race, and a host of other such insignificant facets. Those kinds of experiences might be all I miss out on, but isn’t that the point? I know how to work. I have done plenty of that. I have gone to school, and anything else I might need to learn I could go learn.

Would I be depriving my family of anything? Did I feel deprived of anything while Dad made himself an artist working at home? Heck no! I loved it. I think that my kids will have a very interesting upbringing. I will have the freedom to learn a lot and to develop my thoughts and ideas, as well as plenty of time and opportunities to teach my children.

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