I keep pulling Ten of Wands, and it’s no wonder: This is going to be a lot of work. With sticks. Rods. Wands. Specifically.

My neighbor Mike is quietly burning inside to burn my wood as quickly as possible. But he reads very patient. Considering he came over at 10am to say, “I brought my chainsaw! Let’s cut down your branches!”

I was looking forward to a quick break after much moving and before starting my new job.

But Mother nature has DEADLINES. We must get these trees down before the rainy season.

Mike and Mother Nature are right: there is no time like the present. So in spite of my cats putting me through hell staying out all night, and coming back at 3 in the morning demanding food and cuddles, I said, “Okay.” He’s the one with the chainsaw, after all.

And, yeah. There is a lot of fucking wood to deal with. “Source your home from your property!” Yes, okay, I will, as it’s the environmental, artistic, and frugal way to do things. But, yikes. It’s not just cutting down trees and slicing them up. It’s sorting, and breaking, and hauling, and determining.

I’d like to take a moment now, while I’m thinking of it, to say shame on all who denigrate rural people as dumb hicks. Do you have any idea the vast mountains of knowledge in science and math you need at the ready to do all of this? “Watch out for that, it’s poison!” “Don’t throw that out, you can eat it!” “Why are you saving that one? It’s rotten.” “You are way outside your property line. Do you want to see the formula and map again?” “You have to cut down this tree to cut down that one, because of the geometry.” Like…I don’t know what the fuck everyone is thinking. My entire body hurts, including my brain.

I guess they’re thinking, “Why wouldn’t you just buy it, stupid?” And…valid. Buying a fence is a lot less work and toil than trying to find sticks suitable for building a fence.

But I have gobs and gobs and gobs of wood. Something has to be done with it. And I need a safe home for very little money.

Here’s the thing: I am very lucky to have a tree guy right next door who loves to wield a chainsaw and has a big fat brain in his head. Very lucky. But these trees are fucking massive. I still have to hire a different tree guy to cut off the tops before Mike can cut down the rest.

The sheer amount of wood I will have dealt with by this time next year is massive. It’s expensive no matter what, but luckily, everything I earn can go into chopping down trees for a little while.

I’m learning fast that natural living is about learning how to kill, starting with these trees. It’s not safe to have so many, and there isn’t room, and there is not enough light for a garden, and none are doing well because they are drowning each other out. And I need space, and I need a home, and so these trees must come down and I don’t like it. The least I can do is recycle. Turn what I can into my home. Besides, the more has to be removed and processed, the more money it costs me.

I’ll be working full time-ish (service industry full time–around 30 hours), and on my feet. Until I get a paycheck and can get a scooter or ebike, I’ll be hoofing it an hour to work on winding mountain roads. When I’m not working, I’ll be hauling wood around, trying to beat the seasons, and also building a better shed, trying to beat the seasons.

The universe is giving me more help than I have ever received in my life, and I know intellectually, mentally, emotionally that this is right.

But no matter how little it costs, it still costs all of your money, all of your time, and all of your labor, every waking hour to make a life.

But some things make it easier. Like where I am, there is a fixed rate for utilities–$200 for water, gas, electric.

I’m hoping by 45, that is my biggest, consistent monthly expense.

Everything takes 3 times longer than I expect/want it to. So that would be 55.

I’ve never worked a job with a retirement plan you can retire on. This property is my retirement plan. You don’t get out of this life without working. It’s why it’s so galling when people say, “People don’t want to work anymore!” Bitch, please. We’re all working.

But you can decide who you work for. Why you work. How you work. Whose retirement you’re helping to build.

We seem to have gotten it into our heads that hard work is synonymous with degrading work.

No.

No.

No.

I feel like an Olympian out here. Life is beautiful, and I can see the value in what I’m doing. There is only empowerment. No degradation. I am working. And I hate it and I don’t wanna.

And it’s also play, and it’s beautiful, and I can’t wait.

If we want to be Americans, we have to start demanding that we work in ways that empower us. That builds us. That honors our capacity and strength. That doesn’t waste it or pervert it.

The most amazing thing about being out here is how easy it is to get right with yourself. For the first time in my life I am being fastidiously clean.

Because if I leave cups or saucers or food around, I will be killed by a bear.

Very clarifying.

I am 40. I would like to wear makeup. I cannot find my makeup. And even if I could: Ha. Ha. Ha. I am hauling logs all day. I can already feel myself turning into a wiry forest hag. I already miss vanity.

But soon, I will have soundproof walls made of cordwood a foot to 16″ thick (undecided). I will have an ADU for my mother. I will have a garden. I will be prepared for both off and on grid living. I will have a work shed to continue making my home beautiful from, and to hold and preserve all of this versatile Douglas fir. I will have first a wood fence, and then a wall made of cordwood, to keep the bears out. I will be safe and at home.

And then I will be beautiful, no matter what. Life will be beautiful, no matter what.