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Mountain Man Mondays; A Lonely Farm

This winter, I found myself constantly slipping on the ice. One day, after watching me fall for the umpteenth time, my pragmatic Mountain Man said, “You’ve always got your head up in the clouds. You’re looking at the mountains,at the sky, at everything except where you’re going. That’s wonderful. That’s you; but why don’t you just pay attention and watch your feet so you can see the ice and then you won’t fall as much?” “No, I might miss something and I’d rather fall.” I answered. “I knew you’d say that.” he replied.

That conversation in a nutshell sums up the differences between Mountain Man and me. While I’m off in the clouds, thinking, dreaming, writing, falling and picking myself back up again, Mountain Man is steadily focused on the task at hand.

Last week, Mountain Man left Red Pine Mountain towing a horse trailer and taking two of the youngest (overly exuberant) dogs. I was left alone on Red Pine Mountain and the responsibility of keeping the farm running rested solely in my hands. Mountain Man’s final words to me were “Don’t burn the place down.” To which I responded haughtily, “Of course I won’t.”

Weeks before, Mountain Man had started planning his trip. Not the details nor the routes but instead the care of the farm and its smooth running while he was away.

Daily, he cut wood and stacked bin after bin in the shed so I’d be able to keep the outdoor boiler functioning. “Why the heck are you getting me so much wood? I won’t need all that. I’ll be fine.” “You wait” he said. “You’re going to be surprised how much wood you’ll go through.” And not just one pile of wood. I had three piles. Dry wood, seasoned wood, not so seasoned wood. The techniques of keeping this outdoor boiler up and running would confound a scientist and I listened carefully while he explained the burning system. And, if I should let the beast of a boiler go out, the water inside it would freeze and burst the pipes and our boiler which had taken so much of our savings would be ruined.

He dragged box after box of kindling into the house for the wood stove so I wouldn’t have to use the axe to chop it and possibly cut off my fingers. He shored up the well in the barn to make sure it wouldn’t freeze and he installed a heating system and a new water line so I would be able to run water for the horses without having to crack ice and use a hose. He was afraid I would fall into the well trying to retrieve the hose.

Every day, he checked the Weather Channel to make sure he wouldn’t be leaving Red Pine Mountain during harsh weather.

“Don’t worry about it. Don’t make such a fuss about it. If you want to leave, just go ahead. I can take care of things here. I’ll be fine. I’m not helpless you know.”

“No, I don’t want to leave you with any more difficulties than necessary. That boiler is a lot to handle and you need to have enough wood to keep it going. I also don’t want to leave you here with all these dogs so I’ll take the two trouble makers,” as he affectionately calls our slobbering, exuberant 165 pound Newfoundland and our German Shepherd guard dog, Lilly, who considers everyone an intruder unless instructed otherwise by Mountain Man.

“The dogs will be fine, I’ll be fine, just stop worrying about it. It’s no big deal.”

Finally, the day arrived when he felt everything was under control and off he went. I let out a sigh, partly in relief because we had been in such a flurry of activity preparing for his departure and partly because the farm already seemed empty.

And, as the days passed with Mountain Man away, the nature of Red Pine Mountain changed. Gone was the hum of equipment running, gone was the sight of the tractor out working, gone was the sounds of music emanating from the shop. Gone was the constant barking as Lilly searched for imaginary intruders. Gone was my goofy newfy slobbering all over me and knocking over all the other dogs in his exuberance. Gone were my elegant dinners cooked by Mountain Man. Gone were quiet evenings spent together by the wood stove. The farm was still and much too quiet.

I started to discover just how much wood a giant outdoor boiler can consume. Vast amounts of wood, day after day, hour after hour. My arms ached as I threw more logs into the belly of the beast. I appreciated all the piles of wood Mountain Man had left because they were rapidly disappearing.

The cold set in again and instead of having to crack ice and drag a hose to fill buckets of water for the horses, I only had to turn a knob and out came running water.

Not one to fuss much over cooking, I decided to use the toaster oven to heat left overs which Mountain Man had provided. One night, after turning off the toaster oven and crawling into bed, I heard barking coming from the kitchen. “Be quiet Alvin. Stop all that noise.” But Alvin, my 6 pound Chinese Crested, wouldn’t be quiet. I figured he was barking at one of the tiny mice that on occasion run through our home so I wasn’t worried but when the barking persisted and became louder, I decided to check it out. There in the kitchen, flames were shooting out of the toaster oven. I grabbed Mountain Man’s handy fire extinguisher and put out the small fire and then I gave Alvin very special praise and treats for without his barking, I would have been oblivious to the situation. Mountain Man’s parting words echoed through my mind and I resolved to become more diligent.

This week, I have come to realize even more that Red Pine Mountain is Mountain Man. Perhaps I put it into words but without Mountain Man’s hard work every day and his attention to detail, Red Pine Mountain would be a shambles.

In his absence, I have decided to share some of my favorite photos of him. Mountain Man, always looking where he’s headed, always surefooted, always working hard, Mountain Man, for whom love is action, but a sweeter love I could never find.