What is a year?

Driving back from Walmart now rusty ol’ jacked up truck, with the warm March sun on my face, I kept going back to the idea that it was one year ago that it was March. The harsh of winter, that glimmer of hope as I looked at buying land and maybe a house to establish permanent roots. That trip up to Grandma Moses Country and exploring along the Batten Kill. Then the warmth came, the summer, the days of smoking pot and hanging out at old swimming hole, and it seemed to evaporate all way. Then autumn came and I was so busy with work that days that there wasn’t a lot of time to look around. Winter came, it got cold, the windows closed and the holidays. I got COVID and then spent that cold and snowy weekend up at Burnt Rossman. And then it just was weeks of winter weather, ice and cold. Things are thawing out, I am riding to work more, and will be spending more time in the wilderness soon, with lots of fires, riding trail and enjoying some grass.

It’s a year, but was it a meaningful year? And should it have been a meaningful year? Or was it good to keep saving and investing, allowing things to grow, both financially and with experience. Time spent reading and learning, figuring out how I will get my land and the place I really want – not a suburban house on a few acres of land in some town not far from the city that smells like cow shit. Something really out in the mountains, something that I heat with wood, can have livestock and crops, burn trash and debris, make a lot of noise with guns and nobody cares. Where I can be as far away from endless mountains of garbage and crime and grime of the cities, and the endless advertising and consumerism that is such a plague on society today.

It was a year ago I was here ...