This is a personal blog which is actually the original point of blogging. It’s supposed to be specific to the individual. More so than other writing. And if done correctly, it becomes extremely difficult to mimmic because it’s original and unique and personal.
That’s blogging.
A blog is a published work.
To blog is to make blogs.
And this blog is about as personal as I think I’m willing to get online.
About 2 years ago I bought a house in rural America that’s actually in the middle of the woods.
It’s an old parcel of property that predates the surrounding village/communities. It’s registered to the township circa early 20th century and remains under that jurisdiction otherwise known as unincorporated.
It’s an 18 acre piece of property with my house as the original home. Over a century it’s been divided 6 times into 7 unique dwellings. The acreage of these divisions ranges from 1 to 7 with my home an even 2 and located in the middle of the pack.
If visualized as a capital F, then my home is the the mid-point of the mid-digit of the F.
There are two homes to my east, two to the west, and two to north. The seven of us comprise the 18-acre piece of unincorporated property.
Several unique features accompany this living arrangement. Of note for the purpose of this blog is that we own the road that services 5 dwellings. It’s technically under my name and because we’re unincorporated, we don’t receive city-services for maintenance. I have to provide the plow. I have to re-gravel. I have to trim the overgrowth. I have bear responsibility for safe conditions. You name it.
I did not know this at time of purchase. And originally I thought it was a cool feature to own the road until realizing most of the things mentioned above.
For example:
A very small tree fell into the road during Memorial Day. It obstructed about half the road so I took my small chainsaw to the clear it out of the way.
Mrs. Carl loved it.
She posted it to instagram for Sterk Family Farms. She’s so proud I proactively used a chainsaw to clear the road. So much she didn’t mind me drinking a cold one while operating a chainsaw but that’s why she’s my #1 .
This was a mistake. Simply clearing one small tree apparently now means that I can move mountains because as I type this, I’m getting an earful about a fully grown oak tree that feel into my neighbors lawn during a storm last night.
I’m talking a solid 70 footer. Cracked at the base. Tipped over like a bigger girl in bad heels. So big it startled my dog and completely covered the the road +25 feet in both directions. Gigantic.
And technically in my neighbor’s lawn and presumably his problem. One he is more than capable of handling himself – a large, strong red blooded American with farmer roots from Iowa and a 5-car garage laden with power tools and tractors and a fresh stock of high school aged kids around the house to help not to mention a guy on call that comes around does jobs on his property. If you had to pick someone to be in a good spot to handle a tree, you would just pick my neighbor Jim.
Problem is Jim doesn’t own the road. At least problem to my old lady.
She thinks Jim could use some help from me and my pussy electric chainsaw.
She thinks I need to go knock on their door and offer to remove the tree myself.
CRAZY PILLS.
Less than 30% of the tree is in the part of the road we own.
And further more I offered to convert an existing easement to full property rights last fall. Waiting to hear back from his lawyer but that’s fancy talk for me saying I’ve offered to surrender that property for this exact scenario once the weight of ownership settled. You can have it pal.
So you’ll have to excuse me. When I saw the tree in the road this morning, I didn’t instinctively think to embarrass myself offering bad help to a guy who doesn’t need it.
You need to be a good neighbor – Mrs. Carl
Lady. Get a grip.
The tree care SPECIALISTS would need a full afternoon just to slice this thing much less remove the scrap.
Why are you yelling? – Mrs. Carl
I’m trying to make a point that a guy has to know his limits and I know my limits are far exceeded when I saw that oak split in half.
She thinks it’s a nice gesture to offer to help.
I say the only thing that comes from offering that kinda help is very, very bad. And as such, I don’t want to offer it in the first place. It won’t make me feel better.
So right now we’re in a little Mexican Standoff. She wants me to help and that help quite frankly does not exist.
In preparation of losing, I have recharged my chainsaw batteries. But I know who I am: a guy with an electric chainsaw charging batteries. How could Jim possibly value anything I have to offer?
My wish is to not find out but that’s not coming true.
A text message has been sent. Wife to wife.
I’ll keep you guys posted but let the record show I see it as a humiliation ritual.
love this type of blog and hearing about the homestead