Broadcast #3 - The frozen tundra. 0 degrees.

Broadcast 2. Live inside the main house, having had to abandon ship for warmer habitation. 

Outdoor temp 0 F.

Indoor temp 30 F 

Even with sections open clear to the sky, sails having torn free
In the windstorm of early December. 

A trudge through icy landscrape

Reveals

1/2" layers of ice
Creak creak CRACK pop
Under my weight
Deceptive in their woodenness

Reveals

Mud for miles
(Mud for acres.
Muddy Acres)
Under the ice

The crescent moon
Palpable
Growing
Serene against blue

Camouflaged in wisps of cloud

Boom boom boom boom

The persistent beat of a living earth
Under my boots

Pop POW pop POW POW pop

The violent flapping of the MotherEarthship's white sails
Someone's ready to set sail
Time to push off to sea

Full throttle ahead
Against a blanket of icebergs

Baby don't run aground

ALL HANDS ON DECK
SHE IS SETTING SAIL.


(the MotherEarthship sets sail)

A Bit of Land

A little bit of land is all I ask.
Just a small place to call my own,
Where I can put down roots, so deep, so deep,
That great-grandchildren will still call it home.

Is it so much to ask? A lane of trees,
Bringing birdsong and colored leaves,
A grape arbor, the roses beyond,
Sweet lilacs, holding in their arms, the lawn…

Tulips and yellow daffodil,
Spattered up and down the cedar hill,
Sweet gurgling brook, fresh and cool,
The brush beyond, sheltering grouse
And sage, and shy, sweet deer.

Oh aching heart, hungry, hungry soul,
What little bit to make a grateful whole.

Is there no spot in all this Universe?
A little valley, with a cabin home,
A bit of garden I can call my own…

I would not bruise the land, or tear it apart,
But keep it beating with a happy, blooming heart.
Each bit of soil, which God had surely blessed,
Would be a cozy home for seeds to rest…

And grow and nourish, comforting all men,
With fruit and shade, and food for every soul.
A little bit of land, to call my own,
Within its small confines, a loving home…

And fertile soil, no matter the toil,
I would so grateful be, if God
Would take a little chance on me,
And give me a small plot of lonely sod
That needs a gentle hand, and God.

(By Jennie Senrud Hutton) Taken from the Encyclopedia of Country Living, 40th Anniversary Edition, by Carla Emery

Broadcast #2 - Day 1

The morning of Day 2 

I am warm enough in my tent - I even sweated through the night, in my 30 degree sleeping bag, piled with blankets and a down comforter. I arise, assess the temperature to be around 40 degrees, leave the tent, keeping my three furry children safe inside. 

It has started to snow outside, and the partially-ripped plastic sails on the domes are flapping violently. The plastic sectioning off the domes has been ripped free and is moving in the wind... wooden stakes ripped from icy mud and jerking around on the ground like a livewire...

I go to relight the rocket stove we built a month ago out of cob, firebricks and an air tank. Sleepy and cozy, I had let it die overnight. It needs fed every 2 hours - currently in prototype mode. 

I kneel on a wooden board, my fleece pants brushing against mud floor, and peer into the long terra cotta pipe that feeds the burn chamber. I add 5 pinecones collected yesterday, while singing a song of tremendous thanks to the mother Earth for warmth and beauty, love and light. I add three 2"x8" hardwood pieces, using a piece of wood to shove them deep into the pipe. I add small pieces of wood, strike up a firestarter, holding it upside down for a few moments to help it get going, and toss it into the stove. Ignition! My first self-made fire, ever. 
This city girl has some lessons to learn...

Satisfied with myself, I straighten up, and call my Earthship Group partner Daniel, to see when he will arrive. My homesick heart and fish-straight-outta-water head had me nearly begging him to please come help, the night before. Today he will arrive to help plan and build and prepare for the wicked super-below-freezing temperatures and snowstorm that are due to arrive within days. 

Shortly into our conversation, I glance at my rocket stove and mouth an expletive. Smoke is billowing into the room around the fire bricks, and as I watch, flames lick at the entrance. 
Ensue freakout mode. 

Coughing and squinting, I remove as much of the fuel as I can.  Sassy is crying incessantly. The room is filling with smoke. The loud, violent beating of the sails raises the intensity of the situation further. I swing wide the large plywood door to the ship and stumble out into a blizzard, heading for the barn as refuge.

Rocket stove temporarily out of commission. 

Mike is gone to work for the day so I'm on my own. This homesick city girl is left feeling damn witless until the radio starts playing Katy Perry.

Katy Perry - Roar

"I got the eye of the tiger
the fire

Dancing through the fire
'Cause I am a champion

and you're gonna hear me roar
Louder

louder than a lion
'Cause I am a champion

and you're gonna hear me roar!"

So I grab my toolbelt, hammer and slap stapler and begin stapling back up the plastic wall dropped on either side of the dome, starting at the top, triple layering, stapling, then hammering firmly into wall. 

Action counteracts anxiety!

When Daniel arrives, he assesses the situation and makes a plan - we will use the existing plastic and 2x4s to frame up a wall where as currently there is plastic flapping free, and create a sturdier wall, tamping the plastic down with 2x3" squares of wood (plastic has a tendency to tear, and there are sometimes 30mph+ winds here). 

The end result is quite fantastic. After working into the night with headlamps, drills and layers, we finish the walls in about 24 hours. 

The rocket stove will need further assessing...

(to be continued...)

Broadcast 1 - Live from Tent 1 inside the MotherEarthship

have wiped away the last of more than one tearflow today.

have sung an offering of thanks to the stove, the ship, my friends, my family, love in human hearts, kitties' soft furs, the eyes of one who loves me, sunshine and light.

have just fed the stove for the night, taken (hopefully, naively) my last pee

on the beautifully-made double-seater compost toilet.

song 1. created spontaneously, sung with soul, through tears, sails flapping forcefully a rhythm, hands black with soot from rocket stove fuel.

i am grateful to the rocket stove

and i am grateful to the earthship

i am grateful to the friends i know

and i am grateful to the earthship

i am grateful for the love that we give

we give all that we can give

i am grateful for my family

they love me best as they know

we do the best that we can do

we do all that we can do...

i am grateful to the rocket stove

i am grateful for its red hot glow

i am grateful to the cold breeze that blows

and i am grateful for the falling snow

i am grateful for the things i will know

when i go....

i am grateful

i am grateful

i am grateful...

Rocket Stove Workshop!

WE BROUGHT THE SHIP TO LIFE.

this weekend was PHENOMENAL.

it always is the freshest of refreshing to breathe that crisp clean country air, come home with clothes smelling decadently of smoky roasted wood, and work your freaking ass off - proving to yourself that you are capable of anything you put your mind to, with the aid of friends. 

WE FINISHED capping the domes with plastic, shutting out the star-smattered sky, sunday night.

we worked in layers (except for Mike, who wore next to nothing! Indiana Jones...) and breathed through scarves. we worked around the icy mud i was in disbelief of (its not cold! its not cold! its not cold!). 

we watched the watery orange shape of a drooping half-moon rise quickly over the treeline, patterned by treefingers. she illuminated wafting clouds who appeared the fastest-moving of all we could see, yet indeed were the slowest!

we could feel the earth turn, the moon, whooshing, the stars whizzing by and all was instantaneous. 

we ate together warm wholesome good food, donated from the severe goodness of the hearts of many.

we sang at the top of our lungs, played til our fingers hummed, danced from the depths of our souls, and saluted eachother by the warmth of a fire.

WE HOWLED AT THE MOON.

WE CHANTED 'Om' in unison, made harmonies echoing deep in the ship.

we slept sound as children, illuminated by the moon, in 13 degrees, warm as kittens in our 0° sleeping bags in a tent on the mud floor of the ship. she rocked us to sleep and the singing white sails were so comforting - we were drifting away into the universe.

WE BROUGHT THE SHIP TO LIFE.

i stood in her belly, silence in the cold stillness, save for the flap flap flap of her white sails in the breeze. i stood there alone and heard distinct the deep drum of her heart beat. the Mother EarthShip is alive.

THE MOTHER EARTHSHIP

IS

ALIVE.

(thank you very much)

Humanure Rap

Poop and Pee

Poop and Pee

They transform so magically!

You gotta put em in the compost pile

And then ya let em heat up for a while

You'll be surprised cause it don't smell

That shit grows food to make you well

Poop and Pee 

Poop and Pee

They are good enough for me

We gotta grow soil, not just crops

And all this waste of my waste yeah it will stop

Yo all this waste of my waste yeah it will stop

Our top soil in degradation

We got the means for fartilization

So if you wanna give to our starving nation

Just drop them pants and make your donation

Poop and pee

Poop and pee

They are good enough for me

Poop and Pee

Poop and Pee

Poop and Pee

Poop and Pee

...You make me wanna Poop

Poop de doop de doop de doop

!!!

...