This is my Political opinion Blog. On it I will write about Nevada / California mostly. My Art site is on which I will post drawings, paintings and sculpture for sale.

Location: United States

I realy have lived in a cave for quite some time, though ive also lived in a franciscan monastary, a log cabin in the mountains, and a completly underground house. I work in stone, clay, wood, glass past (not blown)as well as oil and acryilic. I have also woked a forge (yes the kind with a bellows and anvil) while living on a ranch.

Sunday, April 02, 2006

Daylight at the cave.

I am having trouble visualizing myself as a blogger. Perhaps I should describe something familiar. The smell of the smoke wakes me. In the night I placed dry dung around the edge of the pit. Experience has taught me that it will burn through and begin to smoke as the greener wetter underside catches. It wont burn through till about dawn, if I’ve placed it carefully. An alarm clock of sorts. The kind of thing my people would undoubtedly have taught me if I had any people. I’m here alone, last Paleolith within walking distance as far as I can tell

So now I’m up, and the coals need tending. Dung is good for low heat long duration fires though they tend to smother themselves if not cleaned properly. The ash needs to be removed and wetted down to put any remaining fire out. You don’t want a repeat of the range fire that almost cleared me from the territory.

Next, a small amount of fresh dung is needed as I’ll be out all day. Cry me a river of salt about leaving a fire unattended! I do it all the time! I do use precautions, like stones encircling the dung to lessen my liability. And I’m alone in this world! The alternative is making a fresh fire every night, and the drain on local kindling won’t permit it.

I eat cold hare and yambah, that is rabbit and a native potato. I get my #3 digging stick and my posibles bag and head out.

Now, you might think rhubarb don’t grow in the mountains of Nevada, though you people think you can raise spending, lower taxes, and balance the budget! Kind of why I live in a cave now. You might also think crow’s eggs aren’t edible. Well I intend to get both today! Mmmm! Mmmm! Good!

As to the rhubarb, the spring it grows along is far. Therefore be it known that I shall get their last. The crow’s eggs however occur along the way. Getting them home requires ingenuity. Or, in one piece it requires ingenuity. As yuck it don’t take more effort than to put em in your pockets. Yuck ain’t my type of eggs. So a contraption is in order.

Using my knife I cut a strip of bark from an aspen. Rectangular the bettor, that is, a piece around two feet long and six to eight inches wide is desired. Finding the center, and moving your hands three to four inches from it, in both directions you come to the part about folding the bark. As bark comes from trees it is rounded. Well more or less. The fold shall place the edges towards one another and approximate a cylinder. You will notice, only if you’re paying attention, that the bottom is concave. In fact your cylinder resembles a card board pie holder in a fast food restaurant. The two edges will need to be fastened together somehow. Sewing with grass, thread, sinew or other material works fine.

Along the way to rhubarb creek, I notice pairs of crows chasseing each other around. All that noise means eggs! I’m in luck! I don’t know why crows make all that noise while there $%ing. It’s a dead giveaway to the location of the nest, and the presence of eggs. Stuffing the bottom of my basket with dry grass I put some eggs in. some more grass and eggs, then its time for lunch!