Windy, The House of Orange

So this is Windy (The House of Orange) the tent that goes together with Matilda to make up my system for living.  It is made of a heavy-duty sports nylon and is strung between adjustable tent poles.  The structure is able to convert its roof angle depending on the weather and the need.  It is only a fifteen minute set-up and tear-down, and only one person is required.  I plan to use it as a rain shelter and patio with one side at seven feet and the other pitched low at four feet.  Matilda fits comfortably inside.  On the other hand, I could park Matilda outside and host a family reunion in this small circus tent.

Gentle and tough

Brian Nichuals with an uncooked lamb named Magoo

Magoo probably won his freedom from the skillet due to his insanely cool sheeponality,

Putting together a tent system

Stormy weather in Lyons, New York:

Windy, the tent, getting a fitting during the sewing-up job.  So far the big top and one side panel are completed with the rest yet to be invented as we go along.  It is sort of built on an old but practical military style.  The nylon fabric is heavy but experience will tell if I will be sewing up some new tent next year.  I chose the color orange because of Syracuse University (of course) and also because my son the Danimal below is a land surveyor.  It is by far the most honest profession, but also seems to be one that requires spraying day-glo orange on yourself a lot.  

Fourth of July Jelly making

 

On the Fourth of July I might have had other plans, but the black currents decided all on their own that today was their day to be picked.  So I spent hours stripping these inedible black berries from just two bushes for a total of twenty pounds of berries.  Not sure how much jelly that will make because after the berries are processed one also adds a lethal dose of sugar equal to the weight of the berries themselves.   All those berries are simmering away on the stove until they reach just the right consistency and then they get put in jars for long keeping.  As horrible as a fresh black current tastes, black current jam/jelly is the best-tasting preserve you could imagine.

I found this  rock 'tool' not twenty feet from my campsite.  I am not sure if it is a flaked tool or if it's shape was the result of natural non-human causes.  If it is indeed a tool, then it is of great age. It looks like it may have been used as a scraper and it fits perfectly in the hand for that function.  However it does appear to have a shaft of sorts and that would suggest maybe that the intent was to tie it onto a stick.  But since the tip is broken, maybe the project was abandoned.  I am posting pictures here in the hope that someone might see it and have a more informed opinion.

Why do I call my camper 'Matilda'

People have wondered why I chose to call my little peripatetic home 'Matilda'.  I took the name from that great Aussie song 'Waltzing Matilda', where Matilda was what the swagman called his 'swag' in the song. That famous swag was his bundled-up bedding roll that would swing back and forth as he walked, and since he was alone, he called his swag 'Matilda'.  I grokked the parallel. My camper waltzes along behind my car just like the swagman's bundle, and I have pretty much the same relationship with my waltzing bundle on wheels as that swagman had with his Matilda.  The song also strongly captures that sense of determined individual freedom that we Americans and Australians seek to enjoy and makes a fine anthem for a life on the road.

More of my world

The reigning clan matriarch in her command module at 92.  Name withheld because she gets too many crazy calls already and we need to keep the old men away from her for their own protection.  Her pioneer grandfather was a Civil War veteran who died while fetching water from a well. Her dad 'Bert' was born in the back of a Conestoga wagon in Red Cloud, Nebraska.  It took me thirty years to write the genealogy that lists all the ingredients for making this heroic mammal that tough.

This retired racing nag has won numerous races (stay with me, I'm talking about the horse). But now he lives a golden but gelded life in full retirement.  His big concern is the sanctity of his pasture and food supply.  He does not like me very much, probably because I am neither fenced-in nor gelded.  If my car breaks down, we can go full Amish together and if he bumps me aggressively again to show me that being gelded means nothing after retirement, well, there is the 'Alpo Solution'.