Neanderpundit

nephew and I went out on Sunday. I have no qualms about saying i got skunked, I got seriously skunked. Stil: any day hunting.

it was an instructional day. Most of indiana is flat as hell, but ther is actually some rolling terrain out in Kingsbury. We wandered through a lot of it sunday- as far as I can tell, around seventeen miles. Around noon we did what the deer were doing; that is to say, we took a nap. I found a spot under some pines, in the lee of a big hillock, and we ate a sandwich and bedded down. Nephew was a little amazed that you could sleep outdoors on the ground in 9 degree weather and not freeze to death- I explained to him about pine needles, and explained why I told him to dress the way he dressed. Nice to pass this little bit of knowledge on to the next generation. Nice to have such a refreshing nap, too. We woke around one thirty,and walked back to the truck, and moved on to another spot. We saw three does, which were safe sunday, but might find themselves in peril saturday.

That walking, carrying my bulk around, is not easy, but its the standing still after that’s the trouble- I had no trouble doing it. Keep moving, as they say.

How I wish I was there now.

No, this won’t be a post about an obscure rock group.

In Orson Scott Card’s book “Seventh Son” he talks about people who have a “knack”.

The idea, at it’s base, is that some people have an ability, innate, that others do not. That some people are born with extra, special skills that make them supreme fitters, joiners, cabinetmakers, plumbers, electricians, etc. In the book proper, he speaks about the idea that white men have simple and sometimes forced knacks, and that the red men have knacks that are encompassing. It’s an interesting concept, and one that gives me a good jumping off place for a discussion of the “simple science” of the previous post.

I used to think that anyone can learn anything. I have learned a lot of things in my life, from harness repair to robot programming. From homebuilding to auto repair. From deer hunting to baking. I’ve been very adept at adapting. And I enjoy that. I continuously do new things to try to keep my brain stretched; I also have begun to notice gaps in my abilities. I’ve noted before that I have no interest in sports, nor do I seem to be able to deal with musical instruments. I have not done well with languages either, but I think that if I had a chance to live somewhere for a while, I could change that.

One of the most damned useful things I’ve ever learned was how to tie knots. No, not the kind that frustrate you while getting your shoes undone, the kind that you learn in boy scouts. Even some of the best scouts I know, don’t remember their knots.

My wife works in a store where they still have an overhead twine line, and the employees can break the twine by hand, and make a parcel of brown paper and string. When was the last time you saw that done? Just tying the knots is difficult enough.

SO if you want to be able to tie a knot that won’t come loose until you want it to, and come loose when you need it to, go get a copy of the Ashley Book of Knots.

I’m a huge fan of simple science. There aren’t many people these days who rememebr the old ways, I keep notes and write down things like ropework, splicing, saw filing, things that have come and gone, skills that almost no longer exist. Dad knew a lot of this stuff, and he passed what he knew on to me, when he could. While I was a kid, I did things like dig wells, build barns, shoe horses, etc. etc. etc.

One year, we put a new well in our home. the old well had been giving us some occasional grief but had finally gone dry, so dad had a well drilled that was a bit further away from the front of the house, and sank a 6″ casing. it was a great well, and as we would eventually be expanding the house, the well pit was about 20 away from the garage. So, that winter, it was going to freeze, and there wasn’t any way around that.

I started dreaming up all manner of inventions to keep the pit warm, and I had a half a notebook full before it was all over.

Thew well pit itself was a concrete bunker six feet on a side and four feet tall. It had a concrete roof and an insulated wooden door. As long as it was above 32 degrees, it was fine- btu we get hard winters in the midwest.

So one day dad shows up after work with a pickuptruck load of horseshit. Not an unusual occurrence, we used it to fertilize, and it amended the clay soil almost perfectly.

Except he started shovelling it onto the well pit.

In short order, he had covered the back, sides, and roof of the pit in a huge mound of horseshit, piles of little road apples running off into the yard. I din’t understand.

See, that horseshit would decompose, and the heat of it’s decomposition would keep that pit warm and cozy all winter long, and in the spring,w e scraped it off and put it in the garden. We did this three years until we remodeled the house and incorporated the pit into the basement. Never froze. Simple science. Things our parents and grandparents did to get by before blackberries and fax machines.

Foxfire was started to try to save those old ways, but the founder, Elliot Wigginton, ended up being a doper and a kiddy diddler. Shame, too, because they did a pretty good job. Where will that knowledge go now?