The Woodlands Homesteading Conference

I (or Conference coordinator, Eva Gutierrez) could not have said it better. Take a look at this post on TMI's blog by friend of TMI and Homesteading Conference participant, Gracie Aghapour.

You can also click here: Reflections on the Woodland Homesteading Festival

Out In It

There are many - truly uncountable - reasons why I love the Jeff Bridges movie, Crazy Heart and its tale of broken down country music legend, Bad Blake. The soundtrack is one of the best - a focal point of the picture. It's an interesting and always perfect for the moment combination of songs newly written by Ryan Bingham among others as well as classics by renegade country stalwarts such as Townes Van Zandt and Waylon Jennings. Beyond the music though, Crazy Heart simply resonates. From the moment Bridges's Blake is seen behind the wheel of his late 70's Suburban driving past the red rock cliffs of New Mexico with "Hold On You" floating through the speakers there's something about the movie that sticks.

It's a darn good film, of that there's no doubt. At minimum, check out the above link or put in a good ol' internet super highway search for it, but, of course, what you should do is see it. I'll leave the plugs there and let you all make the decision for yourselves. However, there is a part (just a short, simple scene) in the film that never seems to be far from the front of my mind, lodged within easy access at all times. Funny how that happens.

Bad Blake is in love and again driving the wide open western highways. On his way to a show in another small town, he stops to call his girl from a pay phone at the end of a another dirt road. He might be heading up towards her, up to Santa Fe and he wants to visit. She is happy to hear from him, wanting to know where he is. "Oh, out in it," Blake says. It's the place where he's standing, the man he's become, all of it, down to the inflection in his voice that carries much more weight than words describing a momentary location.

Out in it. We are aren't we? In the wide open by the red rocks or pushing our way through spruce trees, we're always out there, always making our way. Just as Bad Blake could have tried to explain where he was and just didn't need to, it seems that making our way is enough. It's never easy to explain where we are trying to go or anything that happens along the way, but do we really need to?

Now and Then

The fall season was here and is now gone – certainly seeming much more gone than here at this moment as I sit next to the fire, snow surrounding the Woods Yurt. Not long ago, hundreds of young children were here, getting to experience if only for a few days a place much different than almost all others (those they have seen with their own eyes as well as those not yet glimpsed). And no matter how many places folks young or old have seen or imagined, Spruce’s unique feel is a fact. To prove this, one need not look much farther than the smoke curling from a yurt chimney into falling snow, the wind all around.

This place really does seem to live something of a dual existence with both being critical in their own right. Then – the fall, the season, the kids – is when the stream study, the habitat comparison, and “It’s All Connected” reign supreme. It is a time to teach and a time to open eyes, all the while showing young people the places and things they may have never seen before and might never again. This is important work and we do it gladly with boots on our feet and chalk in our hands. And Now – the winter, the off season, a few staff tromping through the snow – is when calm, slow thoughts make their way through nearly empty (and generally quite cold) spaces. To my way of thinking this is an equally important, albeit vastly different, phase in the yearly flow of Spruce. The busy seasons here are what get the press, generate the excitement and fulfill many of TMIs stated goals, but it is now during these short days and long nights that a few wool clad yurt dwellers get to fill a much different but still important role as the winter world surrounds. Rejuvenation. Rebuilding. Creation of excitement and energy for whatever might lie ahead – all of this can happen now, as the snow comes down, as all things seem to slow.

Now and Then. Both are good places. Both are where we need to be at the given time. I figure I don’t have many complaints about either and that’s a good place to be.

To the Spruce Bars

It seems like the Spruce Bars were put there to impress me. Actually, impress is not sufficient as a descriptor; the hold that those trees have over me is such that further thought and further explanation are needed. Planted long ago (quite how long ago I can’t), it is always said that the Spruce Bars are the oldest planned windbreak in the country (state, county, universe?). As you can tell this is an entirely subjective entry without so much as a hint of a scholarly bent present. That is ok. This is simply an entry about the Spruce Bars and their singular ability to calm an unquiet mind. No matter my mood, the task at hand, or what is yet to come in a challenging day, that perfect arc of tree on horizon is absolutely what I should be viewing at that exact moment.

6:30AM. Only 5.5 hours of sleep to underpin my energy level and general ability to function in the midst of a final end-of-season push. Realizing that the printer really isn’t going to print my Google Maps directions, I grab the giant display board and box of brochures and newsletters I am to throw in the old Jeep (The Chief for those of you who know and care about such things) and lower my head for the overburdened walk to the rear hatch. None of this seems ideal and probably wasn’t until I finally looked to the east. Every color you can dream. The sunrise and the Spruce Bars.

It is doubtlessly true that innumerable cattle have been sheltered from the screaming winds of Spruce Mountain by the windbreak, but I still think that those trees may have been planted for me and mornings like that one.

Toeing the Starting Line

There is something infinitely calm in that moment spent standing at the starting line just before the clock counts down to zero and all moves into forward motion. Breath is exhaled, tense muscles relax, and thought is distilled to a point usually reserved for the dedicated practitioner of meditation. This year’s Run for the Hills 5k starting line was the site of this rare and (for me) much sought after clean simplicity of thought. I felt ready to do my part to honor the 2009 performance of one Robbie Kimmich and bring home a win for TMI staff.

And fare well we did. It seems that one of the hiring criteria at the Spruce Knob Mountain Center may be love of the trail running as staff have done quite well in the races since the event’s inception three falls ago. Home trail advantage is not a bad thing to be sure, but staff up here in the high country put in the hard miles in preparation. Take a look at the results page here and keep an eye out for the following names: Clare Smith in the ½ marathon and Melinda Brooks, Lyle Coutts, Dylan Carolus, Stephanie Palmer, Rebecca Saunders, Klancy Nixon, and Chuck Whitney in the 5k.

As always the pig roast following the race was a tremendous hit, and it was mentioned more than once from participants that this was some of the best food they had ever seen at a race. Also in no way disappointing was the beer from Mountain State Brewing out of Thomas – runners were able to bask in slightly accentuated post race camaraderie and storytelling thanks to a keg of amazing IPA. Chicha, our composting pig, certainly went to a great cause and we all feel that her spirit was smiling down on the weekend. In fact, in an unprecedented push to make next year’s pig the happiest yet, TMI employees, David Young and Liz Guttierez, spearheaded a fundraising effort to build a palatial hutch for our animals to live in next year. An amazing rendition of a winged Chicha was created and a good bit of money was raised for what is certainly a worthy cause.

Plans are already in the works to make next year’s event bigger and better than ever, and if you haven’t come out to the races and roast yet, this will be the time. Bring the running shoes or focus more on the beer stein – whatever the case, we’ll see you out here next fall.

In case you missed them earlier, check out the results of the Run for the Hills and West Virginia Trilogy races here.

And for those who really want to get in depth here, check out this blog for the perceptions (possibly skewed by massive levels of fatigue) of a Trilogy runner.

The Randolph County Outdoor Education Program: A Staple

Camp Pioneer is the place.

For over 10 years now, the Randolph County Outdoor Education Program (RCOEP), held at Beverly, WV's Camp Pioneer, has been a staple of TMI's yearly programming as well as a highlight of the fifth grade year for hundreds of West Virginia students. Combining local history, science, art, music, and technical skills, the program does exactly what outdoor education should: allowing kids to learn in a dynamic, surprising, and constantly evolving environment. Whether tackling an orienteering exercise or checking the PH levels of Tygart Creek, the participants in this program are combining classroom-style academic information with the hands on aspects you can only get when wading in a stream or tromping across a field. And when you factor in "Everybody's It" - a key RCOEP free time activity that is simply the greatest off shoot of Tag ever been created - you have something nearing perfection.

The local media agrees. Take a minute to check out this story. Sometimes the fact that you just might be having an impact somewhere down the line - be it near or far - is exactly what it takes to to push one to really commit to a project . Who knows which one of the fifth graders attending this year's program might end up on the board of directors of an environmental policy leader or a key member of a non-profit committed to showing kids that it's still worth getting outside and into the woods? You never know. And we at TMI will continue to do what we can to give kids a chance to discover the outdoors - through science, art, or music - making it something they will eventually focus on and grow connected to.

The Festival and Races Are Coming Soon

The Woodlands Homesteading Festival (October 1 & 2) and our third annual race weekend (October 7 – 9) are at the forefront of all minds up here at the Spruce Knob Mountain Center. Giant army surplus tent s are being set up, hills are being run, and the kitchen is gearing up to turn out near record amounts of food. I could spend a bit of time here talking more about the specifics of what’s going on out here over the next couple weekends, but it’s already been done, and nobody is a fan of unnecessary repetition. To that end, please feel free to check out the fine entry in this very blog from a few weeks back. This is just a reminder my friends, just a reminder. Hope to see all blog readers out here in the land of falling leaves and cold mornings very soon.

Arrivals

Working seasonally at TMI has provided me with many things, not the least of which is the opportunity to type the words you are about to read. As great as my current situation is the moments that stand out with real clarity as I ponder my comings and goings are the arrivals. Always filled with anticipation, energy, and a hint of nerves, that first drive up Sawmill Run to 18 Woodlands Way has also never failed to bring with it a touch of the unexpected.

In the fall of ‘08 I came with no expectations and apparently not much sense of direction. Soon after entering what I now know as our driveway, I meandered past the observatory and nearly to the Hawthorn grove at Backridge before wandering back down to what I was sure were the yurts. Little did I know at the time that Daniel Taylor’s was not the yurt I was looking for. Eventually I was greeted in the proper parking lot by Brett Bjorkman (who happens to be arriving again soon for another season - bringing things around in a full circle sort of way).

The spring of ’09 came and after arriving late the night before a course’s beginning I awoke to eight inches of freshly fallen snow covering the roof of my humble van home (also known as “The Whale”, a retired but still faithful early 80’s Ford Econoline). It was a wet and cold hike that day with a slightly astounded group of 5th graders, but the pictures of that snow-covered early morning still resonate.

Ah yes, the fall of ’10. I rolled up to the Earth Shelter to see a certain burgundy Toyota Tacoma’s rear axle hanging off the edge a rock retaining wall - some five feet off the ground and surprisingly supported by nothing more than the bucket of our newly purchased Kubota tractor. All was well in the end, and with the help of a come-a-long, several hi-lift jacks, and the ingenuity of nearly an entire staff, the Tacoma was restored to its terrestrial home.

The voyage can be good, the adventure itself memorable, and the departure sad, but for me - at this place - the arrivals will always stand out.

Here's To New Beginnings

An introduction is in order I suppose. Readers should, in my estimation anyway, know who is typing the words that make their way to the esteemed pages of the Spruce Knob Mountain Center Blog. Nathan Hayes, Josh Nease, and, of course, the most recent contributor, Jeff DeBellis have all left their mark on these pages over the last handful of years, and now I’m excited to sidle up to the keyboard. Oh yes, an introduction was the goal here. Back to it.

Until the age of six I lived in a cabin in the northern Michigan woods somewhere in the range of 45 minutes from the nearest town (Vanderbilt, 200 strong). This is a place that I am lucky enough to get to visit quite frequently and every time I meander up the driveway I am reaffirmed in my desire to spend the majority of my time away from concrete and strip malls. Living in that cabin started me down a winding forest path that I have followed to this this day – a path that I am lucky to have stayed relatively close to through the years. High school and college came and went and I landed in western New Mexico where I began mountain biking and trail running – passions that have held to this day. (At this very moment my bike is actually awaiting the completion of this fine blog entry.) I have found myself at TMI on three previous, seasonal occasions, and now as the new Course Director and Communications Director I am lucky enough to call this mountain my year round home.

Needless to say I am looking forward to bringing random ponderings, solid updates, and possibly the occasional crazy tale to this blog. Basically, it will be as if Spruce Knob were right in your backyard (for those of you reading this in the Earth Shelter that will actually be true I suppose). Read on, friends.

Chuck Whitney