The Boy on the Burning Deck

 

No, I don't mean the Victorian-Era poem by Felicia Hemans. I doubt many of you have ever heard of "Casabiana," but it was once very popular. It's maudlin stuff today, dreadfully melodramatic to modern ears, or perhaps we are simply too jaded and declined as a culture to appreciate the poet's sentiments. Maybe I'm a barbarian, but I begin to see where Mark Twain got his "Ode to Stepehen Dowling Botts, Dec'd." I stand with Sam Clemens when it comes to hating Victorian verse of the popular sort.

In any case, for Hemans' tale of the doomed lad, I had never been forced to memorize it in school, as had earlier generations. We instead learned the much more durable "Ozymandias" and a few of Poe's poems by heart. For that kid on the flaming ship, I simply knew the line I've used as my title because these past few weeks, I've lived it. The heat broke, for which I'm thankful, but so did a wooden deck in several places.

The past several days have been consumed with removing rotten boards from our rental property's deck. Buried nails, likely from the 1990s, prove hard to exhume, and then I must plane some of the replacement boards down to fit into the empty spots. Of course installation proves a snap, as I use a screw-gun and star-headed screws I can back out later with ease, when--not if--more repairs need doing. I like these new coated screws; while they are not cheap, they hold up. I've backed out and reused several that still look new and do not round off like Philips-head screws can do. I stain all sides of the board too. Rot creeps in from any angle.

At the end of each session, sore to the bone, I am reminded why I despise wooden decks. Why did they get so damned popular? I share a theory espoused by, among others, Western Doughty, that Americans retreated from their front porches after the 1960s. I was lucky enough to grow up in the last years when, on a blue-collar block in Richmond before AC was common, all the neighbors would sit on the porches on hot nights. When you strolled down the street, greetings got exchanged.

It was no utopia; the dark side was that everyone knew your business. Still, the nation could have done better than treated wood, when we retreated to our back yards. 

Wooden decks require the constant maintenance that a sailing-ship needs, lest someone fall through the deck and into oblivion. I've found that heavy, solid penetrating stain works well enough, as it has for a fence I rehabilitated at our rental property, but decks, by their nature, get a lot of traffic. The one at our rental house, for now at least, bakes in the sun. I plan to change that with a strategically planted Willow Oak this Fall.

 The issue with decks of treated wood (were I forced to build from scratch, I'd use the new composite decking) is dry rot. We know that term, but I began to think about what it means on a deck. Here's an explanation for boats, from the Wikipedia page on dry rot (yes, they have a page for everything):

An explanation of the term "dry rot" circles around boatyards periodically. In the age of wooden ships, boats were sometimes hauled for the winter and placed in sheds or dry dock for repair. The boats already had some amount of rot occurring in the wood members, but the wood cellular structure was full of water making it still function structurally. As the wood dried out, the cell walls would crumble. In other words, the wood was already rotten and as the boat dried, the wood collapsed and crumbled, causing the workers in the yard to determine it was "dry rot", when in fact, the wood had been rotten all along.  

Even with good penetrating stain, dry rot happens to decking in time, because water will find a way into a crevice and sit. Cycles of drying and wetting just give dry rot more chances to begin; fungus follows, invisibly, into the hearts of each board. Think of how cavities form on your own teeth. For decks, what may look great may leave your leg broken when you fall through a big, new hole in a seemingly intact board.

I do like one aspect of repairing decks: Whenever I do a rehab, I clog around in my "Jed Clampett" Redwing boots to see which boards are bad. Breaking a board or two is great fun. Replacing them? Not so much. 

Save yourself. Use composite boards or build a damned patio! 

As with horses, sailboats, swimming pools, or lots of vices I cannot name here, it's better if a friend has a wooden deck.  No, that is NOT my deck up top. It's from the Wikipedia page.

Never, Ever Give Up on Fixing Something

I learned a great deal from my Depression-Era parents and grandparents not to throw things away needlessly. That habit can lead to hoarding, but in my case, my Type-A personality tends to sort things and only toss or recycle what can possibly have no future use. I find all sorts of useful items tossed out in city alleys, when working on my rental property. Many I have repaired and put back into service.

Sometimes, however, I still make mistakes. 

A few times this month, I nearly spend money needlessly. It's a lesson to 1) read the instruction manual on appliances and 2) Watch more YouTube videos.

First it was our lightweight Shark Vacuum, a well-rated device we'd paid decent money to buy at a big-box store. It simply stopped running. A quick check on YouTube and a vacuum-repair site showed me a second filter in the body of the machine. In ours, it was completely clogged. In five minutes, the machine ran again, saving us perhaps $800 on a new vacuum we'd been eyeing.  For under $30, we purchased new filters to keep the old vacuum going for (I hope) many years.

Then it was house paint, something that costs forty dollars a gallon or more already, not considering how ill-conceived presidential tariffs may influence prices soon for so many things we buy. I have saved a lot of paint for a decade that was used when renovating our rental property, but a good deal of it came in older metal cans. These rust, unlike newer plastic paint cans. Some paint had to be tossed out, but I carefully opened two cans, salvaging what I could and finding the paint still viable. I put the remainder into plastic jars saved from the kitchen, in case our tenant needs more touch-ups.

I was ready to get a new range for the rental house too; the oven door had gotten liquid between its two glass panes. It proved tedious work but I removed the door, disassembled it, and cleaned the glass. Now it again looks nearly new. The culprit? The door's handle was loose, and the handle seals the top of the door assembly. My last tenant must have burned something in the oven, so steam worked its way into the door's innards.

Finally, I was faced with hard water and stained porcelain. Our commodes looked horrible because of our well water, as did our shower floor. No amount of scrubbing with brushes and Barkeeper's Friend (or more caustic products) would clean things.  I was about to purchase two new commodes and consider re-tiling the shower when I read about pumice blocks. Suffice to say that these did the job, for under $10. The grout in the shower and the basin in the commodes look clean again. The shower will take constant vigilance, and here Barkeeper's friend with pumice and a small brush for nooks and crannies made showering a pleasure again.

 Learn about your house and vehicles. From an HVAC tech I learned how to unclog a drain-tube in our heat pump; last year that saved me an expensive service-call. Then I learned to flush my hot-water heaters annually, too. Do you know how to do that? It can save you hundreds of dollars in deferred replacement costs, since it extends the life of the heater. 

The economy looks shaky to this cheapskate, with lots of wishful thinking and tomfoolery of crypto-currency that screams "Charles Ponzi" at me.  I suspect that hard times lie ahead for spendthrift nation that is so poorly led. What can you do now to save money on repairs and replacements? Might be time to read that owner's manual again, or maybe for the first time. 

 

 

It Ain't the Heat...But the Humidity Can be Tamed

I recently installed two large dehumidifiers, at a cost to me of under $500, in a building that simply is too large to air-condition. I've been pleasantly surprised by the results.

Our large out-building is cinder block with a metal roof. The ground floor was built into a hill on the southeast side, which provides some natural cooling at the cost of being damp, causing mold to form in spots on our camper as well as anything else left there. The upper floor bakes in summer, and until later year, could be difficult to enter on a hot day. Last year I added more circulating fans, which did help move air around on both floors, but the humidity persisted.

Now with the dehumidifers running, for a few dollars each month, the entire building is dry and pleasant (downstairs) and tolerable to pleasant (upstairs). I can now work on cars, farm machinery, or carpentry projects without dying of heat stroke.

I set the target relative humidity at 60% for each floor. The units have a garden-hose adapter and the water goes under a garage door to the outside. These units can remove tens of gallons of water from the air daily, but there's not enough of a drop to collect the water in a barrel, something I'd like as I use distilled water from our home AC to flush the radiators in our cars, when I change coolant. I will figure out a system later. Note the starting humidity after I had the bay doors open for 30 minutes. Within half an hour of closing the doors, we were back at 60%.

Such adaptations won't solve all problems, even when I install solar on our property to reduce our carbon footprint. Meanwhile, parts of each floor remain more humid that others, though the circulating fans help reduce that problem. For those like me with a large garage but little money for HVAC, this solution may help you as human-driven climate change makes our summers ever less pleasant. 

 

Pumpitude For Your Rain Barrels

 

The Zen Koan for "before enlightenment, chop wood, carry water; after enlightenment...same thing" can be applied in my semi-retirement. "Chop Wood (From Fall to Mid-Spring) Pump Water (other times)."

 

I enjoy more unharried time, free from the dreariness of campus politics and trifling administrivia, to focus on three things: writing, teaching a single class, and working on our farm. All stimulate different parts of my being: they are intellectual pursuits, though one is more social  than the other two, and only one includes physical labor.

That labor need not be onerous, especially as one's body ages. Watering a big (5,000 sq. foot) garden takes about 40 gallons at least weekly, often more in on a high summer evening, just as the lightning bugs start their show. How to get that all from rain barrels far away? Drip irrigation works for big operations but costs a lot of money and is not portable. It may work for you. All you need is water uphill and fixed beds for the system.

Or carry water in buckets and cans, oh Enlightened Sage. Not me. I let a pump do that. You see the two types I've tried. Both have their advantages and shortcomings.

 

The green pump, a cheapie from Harbor Freight or Northern Tool (I forget), has become my favorite, even though I damaged it by letting it run dry. It still works but now I let the weight of water in the rain barrel do the work for the pump, by connecting barrel's spigot to the pump's inlet (I had to make a female-female connecting hose). This same technique can be used for our pressure washer. I mounted the transfer pump on a small piece of 2x6 treated wood to keep it level and off damp ground.

 

Transfer pumps tend to be lighter than the submersible black one, also a really cheap Northern Tool purchase. Both pumps have grown old and cranky as I am doing, likewise acting up at times, needing only a tap from a hammer to get them running. That may be my fate one day. Bonk bonk on the head.

 

But as I said, they are cheap pumps. Submersibles work great if the top of your barrel or cistern (ours is a copious 500 gallons) is not crisscrossed with bracing, as some of our barrels are, and (strongly recommended) you get a submersible with a float that will shut the pump off as soon as the water level falls too low (again, running dry burns out the pump motor in short order). We had a pump with float, a promising stainless steel model, but it's now at the scrap-dealer's pile. Also a cheap pump, it gave out after 2 or 3 years of powerful service. It never ran dry.

 

Why not buy a nicer pump? I will next time. $100 is not too much, even $200, for one that will last many many years with proper care. Or you can spend $40 to $75. Be sure you have a hammer handy. 

 

Which type of pump is for you? My hose runs 200' from the barrels to the garden, or from cistern to barrels uphill when we transfer water from deep storage. 

 

Unless a hose kinks, the water-flow is powerful and the source sustainable (we have a shallow well we don't use to irrigate. Rainwater only). I use the nozzle shown below to save water. It's a powerful jet nozzle (a tiny one) of solid brass. I can dial it to a stream or spray. The only issue involves debris that can clog the jet. When that happens, I crimp the hose (no 200' walk in July, please) and remove the nozzle and crank it fully open. I then visually inspect it and either puff up my cheeks like Dizzy Gillespie and blow out the debris, or I find a piece of straw from the garden mulch and clear the jam. 

 

Then I watch the plants grow. Now that's enlightenment, Grasshopper. Happy Gardening in 2025. 

 

Now's the Time to Trim and Plant

 

Apple-tree spreaders do their thing

With the weeds just starting their journey to domination, I got busy on some undone tasks. This is the time, friends. Get out there.

Fruit Trees: We cut back our apples and figs. They've gotten so tall that I need a big ladder to get fruit from the tops. While we were at it, I used split branches from fallen maple limbs to make spreaders that train limbs on sides where I want growth. I split the ends of small pieces of maple or use a Y branch, bracing the other cut end against the trunk. When the sap rises, the branch will tend to stay in place. If not, I can cut another spreader.

Too Late for Alliums? I missed the planting-window for garlic and multiplier onions in Fall. First it was too wet, then too cold. Then I got busy cleaning out my campus office. Now here we are, at the end of frost season, planting them. To force growth I'm going to hill them, as I saw done recently in the garden of the Governor's Palace at Colonial Williamsburg.

Hilling has some advantages in our clay soil, avoiding rot. At the same time, in the hot part of the year I'm going to need to weed and water fanatically to get a good crop. As for the hard-neck garlic I love? It will wait until Fall, when I can order more seed-garlic. I'll plant some organic grocery-store variety to tide us over. 

Weeding Before Summer: You really don't want to deal with established weeds and dry soil, so why not get out there now? We let the chickens into the garden all winter, and they loosened even the wire grass. With tiller and cultivator, I got the soil looking lovely. The weeds will return, as always, but they'll be smaller and have roots that are not so deep.

New Tiller: This gets its own post soon, but I purchased a light-duty Stihl tiller to replace the heavy, and not very reliable rear-tine beast I've been using. I'm going to repair the latter and then sell it. The Stihl uses a power-head I know well from our weed-whackers (and it's no wimp; it's a professional model with a lot of torque). I'm getting too old for the rear-tine monster, anyhow, and with our minimal-till method and already amended soil, I just want to turn in ashes and compost. I don't need to bust the sod. For that, I get out a tractor. 

Calling Some Guy: I've a dead oak that needs felling, and it's in an odd place where it might fall on a fence or chicken coop. Then there's a huge red maple that needs a major limb dropped or maybe the entire tree, as it's pulling out of the ground. Enter an expert. I'll get two estimates and the firewood. 

Know your limits! And keep gardening.

Not a Drop to Drink: So Plan, Already!

Our well water is cloudy again, after rains that have turned the ground to pudding, at least at the top. Further down, it's frozen, a pleasant and, historically, seasonal surprise after so many disappointing, warm winters. If we get lucky (well, I love snow) we'll see a major snowstorm midweek here.

The issue with filtering our water is trivial; trees falling in wind are more serious, but so far things are happening away from the well-tending giants around our home. What falls back in the woods will be firewood for 2026.

I compare our lot to folks in the Richmond metro area who lost potable water for a week due to mismanagement and delayed maintenance at the treatment plant. This event made national news. Some people I talked to had pressure; others did not. None of the water was safe to drink. 

 There's not much to do if no water comes from the taps. You buy bottled water or, as one friend did, visit friends elsewhere. Others took short and unplanned winter holidays.

But were the water on, yet not potable, why not own an emergency filter? That's our plan and it's come in handy at least four times in almost as many years. I detest those awful iodine tablets, considering them some test of macho-hood for old-school campers. Technology has given us a better alternative.

We use a system very similar to Sawyer's product shown here. 

Before we have more emergencies that I'm sure are on the way in these troubled times, get one for your home. We are pricing solar and a whole-house generator for our farm, too. I can't run our generator until the snow or rain stops.

Urbanites and suburbanites may not need the big-dog chainsaw or even "the pee-wee" saw I use, but consider a basic hurricane emergency kit as well as two weeks of non-perishable food. You may not be able to leave home the next time trouble comes knocking. 

Creative Commons image from Pexels.

Be Careful With That "Seasoned" Firewood

Buying any wood this year?

We are going through a lot of wood in our stove this seasonably cold winter. I am reminded of all the poor quality or under-seasoned firewood (always promised to be "seasoned") that I purchased back before I cut my own wood. No, my pile does not look as nice as the header photo.

Nearly all of the wood I purchased before moving to the country went for ambiance in a fireplace. Now we need it for heating, saving over $1000 each year compared to running our heat pump. If you too heat with wood and are new to it, however, here's a cautionary tale.

You see every expensive bag of supermarket logs marked "seasoned," but a study from the University of Tennessee's extension service finds that claim laughable. The UT folks tested batches of store-bought logs; they found moisture content at 50% to 90% the rule. That's far too wet to burn when firewood needs to be under 20%. For most wood not kiln-dried, that means at least 9 months split and stacked dry. Many types of wood require a year or more.

What do I mean by "wet"? It's not the wetness one finds from a log sitting in the rain; instead, it's the internal moisture of green, growing wood lost as a dead log dries naturally.

For a load of maple that fell in a storm this year, mostly big branches, I chainsawed some into small logs yesterday and hauled them to the shed. Wood from the same stormfall maple that I'd cut in late spring is barely safe to burn now, but it had been split and stacked in a sunny shelter. The remaining wood left in the forest comes in at 30% moisture. I might hazard burning a bit of it in April, after checking with my moisture meter again.

I've written about this magical device before here. They run under $30 at Amazon or you can "go pro" but that's best for a wood buyer or firewood dealer.

Today I checked some seasoned wood I split and stacked a year ago. I placed the meter at the end of a white-oak log and also into its split side. Both gave low moisture. 

 

Likewise some very old pine that I mix in with my hardwoods.

 

I don't like to burn a lot of really dry wood but it's good in a mix and to start the fire.

If you buy firewood, do yourself a favor. Get a meter and be Type-A so you don't ruin your chimney. And post to your community-living groups if you find very wet "seasoned" firewood.

Stay warm and feed that stove!

Pride of Workmanship?

As I retire from full-time work in a month, I have been thinking about pride in one's work a great deal. I have never been fully satisfied with my career, which may be a good thing: too much complacency leads to a numbing of the soul. I would instead invent new directions to pursue. This sort of free-lancing stands at odds with the values of corporatism, including the variety now infecting higher education. Not so oddly, I find the opposite--a sense of pride in serving one's community--in small businesses locally owned. It's a delight in our time of anonymous and virtual commerce to encounter vestiges of craftsmanship and civic pride. 

So often, however, it's just the opposite.

I spotted the worst paint-job in many years recently, pictured, at a roadside place in Buckingham County. I hope the owners did not pay much for the job. The painter, using a spray-gun, clearly cared nothing about putting glossy red paint on the grass and parking lot. Ironically, the paint was not well applied to the picnic table. The finish had run, pooled, and left thin or unpainted spots.

At our own picnic table, not yet "painted," I noticed that the original finish was a good-quality penetrating stain, not paint. Stain provides a better sealant for outdoor furniture, too. It can be renewed easily without scraping, even on the oldest wood, as I found not long ago with the old fence at our rental property.

Yet someone painted over the old stain, and once you put paint over stain, there's no going back. In a year, that haphazard paint-job will peel. The owner will either have to scrape the tables down or, as I fear, toss them out and get new ones. They are not bad tables, either. I'd like to get one, sand the heck out of it, and stain it again.

Usually we take our burgers and go to a nearby pocket-park, a tiny miracle of good craftwork. It features durable picnic tables, nice plantings, and a permeable-surfaced parking area.  You don't see trash on the ground, either. I don't imagine that it cost the county that much to build and maintain. It also speaks to something so old-fashioned we rarely hear its name today: civic pride. The town government does not know the travelers or locals who might stop for a smoke break or a sandwich; the small amenity simply says to everyone "you are welcome."

Pride is a dodgy commodity. "What is the return on investment?" a wily and short-sighted American capitalist might ask.

A great deal, I'd answer, but not something to measure in dollars and cents, the false American god of our era. Especially in the mad rush of Black Friday.

Today, of all days, on Black Friday, our water heater decided to start leaking heavily. The unit, at 12 years old, still looks great, but that's the outside. Not wanting to brave the crowds at the suburban asteroid-belt of big-box stores, I went to our local hardware. They had a heater more efficient than our old one and with the same volume. It took me all day to finish the job, but we have guests arriving and they'll want hot water. "Calling some guy" would not suffice, and I've installed two smaller electric water-heaters.

I needed a few tools not in my plumbing box, one a crimper for the little copper rings that make watertight seals on Pex pipe. A novice can learn this sort of plumbing, as compared to expensive mysteries of sweating copper pipe or the cheap, easily broken PVC pipes that I find mostly good for building hoop-houses nowadays.

A young man helped me find the fittings for the new heater, after I discovered that my old pipes were about 3 inches too short to reach the new tank's inlets. The new hardware was cheap enough, but the crimp-tool cost 60 dollars, almost 10% of what I'd paid for the heater. Yet I needed the tool, badly. The young man looked it over and said "This is a nice piece. You take good care of it and it will last the rest of your life."

I joked about only needing 30 years, but his remark stuck with me. I want to hear more of that in a time of disposable products and bad paint-jobs. I do indeed take very good care of all my tools. In the end, our new water heater is no thing of beauty, but it is firmly placed, not leaking, and looks as if a professional installed it. I'm proud that by sundown, I could have a martini and say "job well done" as hot water again flowed from the taps. I'd done it myself, probably saving 500 dollars. 

You could, too.

Chainsaw Logic: That One Little Wire...

I think this post constitutes part of a series. I've written often here about Occam's Razor, and in this instance it and the old "For the Want of a Nail" allegory.  

It's easy to forget the simple, in our age of wonders, how one simple technical issue can make everything stop. Right now, I am streaming a BBC World Cafe concert with Gillan Welch and David Rawlings. My 1980 self could not even fathomed that as possible.

It's a form of magic, following the precepts of Clarke's Law. Remember, "any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic." We get baffled when the technomancy suddenly halts, the screen locking up or the phone "bricking," even a damned advertisement on the YouTube concert-feed popping up mid-song, despite my ad-blocker. The spell is broken, though in my case that stupid ad lead me to the NPR ad-free original. 

Until we fix things, we sit like our primate ancestors before a sacred stone, bewildered at the departure of our gods. Yet sometimes we can bring fallen technological deities back to life.

Recently a friend of my wife's had an enormous Red Oak tree fall in her yard, nearly hitting her house. It would have totaled the place, frankly. now it lays in her yard, some 70' of tree with 40' being straight and nearly 36" in diameter. It's what furniture-makers would call a "veneer log" for the lack of hollow core, lack of limbs, and straightness. Yet we cannot get any log buyer to look. Apparently these folk want a bunch of such logs (worth several thousand dollars each) before driving out.

After inspecting the tree, I came back with my little "firewood" saw and The Big Dog, a $1000 Husqvarna 365 with 5hp and a 20" bar.  I had planned to keep the beast the rest of my life.

"Woof Woof!" said this Big Dog, until it would not bark for me, let alone start. 

I gnashed my teeth. I pulled at my beard, having no hair on my skull. I cursed the gods of Sweden and two-stroke internal combustion, to no avail. I considered the expense of even a diagnosis at the dealer, looked at (heresy!) a $500 Stihl "Farm Boss" saw, ready to spend MORE money. 

No. I was doing what an academic colleague calls "catastrophizing failure," meaning that I assumed a small setback would lead to an utter and permanent disaster. 

Realizing then where I went wrong, I began replacing Husqvarna parts myself, starting with the simplest parts and least expensive that can lock up a saw: a new spark plug, a kill switch, then an ignition coil. Still, Occam failed me. The saw would not even "burp." A second wave of self-doubt followed as I watched more YouTube "how to" chainsaw videos by burly men with Southern US, Scottish, or Scandinavian accents.

Then $30 later, I fixed the saw and it fired right up. Even that 30 could have stayed in the bank. I checked the electronics, working backward, to my new spark plug. What if the wire that attaches to the plug had turned sideways when I pressed on the rubber "boot" that covers the end of the plug? 

With a razor blade I cut open enough of the cover to see that the wire loop connected to the plug. It's the little metal piece shown in the image at the top of the post. I slipped it over the plug. Then I pulled the cord.

"Woof! VROOM!" The Big Dog barked!

I've learned from working on engines a little bit, whether on old tractors or late-model cars: a single wire can bring done tons of working metal. So can a pinched gas line. So once again, Occam proved right in the end. This is why we pay a mechanic 25 cents for a screw, and $50 for knowing which screw to replace.

Now back to that tree. I just felled a section the size of a normal tree in 30 seconds, a task impossible with my firewood saw. 

Never give up working on stuff. A fix may be simpler than it seems. And now I have some spare parts for the saw. 

I was about to put the saw on a pagan altar and make offerings to it. Clarke was right but so was Occam. Keep moving up the chain of causality to the problem, and one can fix nearly any machine (and maybe large societal or environmental woes, as well).

Grandfather's Hammer and Keeping Old Things in Service

Some of you may know the Grandfather's Axe paradox. I encountered it a few years ago. The paradox asks us that if every part of an item is replaced one by one, in the end, is it still the same item? I heard it stated as "this is my grandfather's axe. Since he used it it has had two new handles and one new axe head."

So is it the same axe? The empirical, scientific answer is "no." Every molecule of the original item has been replaced, even if it looks identical.  I'm a Humanist, so I'm going to sail off in a different direction.

The paradox stretches back to ancient Greece, where it was called The Ship of Theseus. I really enjoy logical paradoxes, if you cannot already tell. I am not going to give you my philosophical opinion, right away, but I will talk about an item that evades the paradox because it is pretty much the same as when my grandfather used it.

He was a junk-dealer by trade, an immigrant from Hatay in what is now the southeastern corner of Turkey. Arriving in Richmond in 1911, in time he acquired an old truck and combed the countryside for scrap metal, old broken tools, furniture, or anything that might have some intrinsic value. Somewhere along the way, he found an old claw hammer, or at least the head of one. He fixed it to a length of metal pipe and used a giant nail to hold the head to the new handle.

I found that hammer when cleaning out his basement in Richmond, a couple of months after his passing in 1982. It went into an old tool box I still have in my barn, but the hammer recently re-appeared in my shop, when I found myself in need of something for driving masonry nails in the cinder-block wall for hanging tools, old tin signs, and other bric-a-brac. The old hammer works like a charm.

For years, every time I saw it, my Type-A, rationalist side would say "that old hammer needs a proper hickory handle," but somehow I never quite got around to it. I'm happy about that now. I'm slightly less Type A (and probably less rational) after a dozen years in the country, since farmwork requires a certain amount of clutter and temporary disorder when, say, the garden is bursting with food as it is right now.

We live in a time of fast food, fast fashion, disposable electronics. No thank you. My anti-consumerist, Humanist side wants to stake a claim to keeping old things that work well around as long as possible, even if, especially if like The Ship of Theseus, every single part has been replaced at least once. I recently put new front wheels on an old Woods belly mower that my late father-in-law slung under a 1951 John Deere M tractor he purchased new. In the years that I've been custodian of the machine, I restored and repainted it, replaced the seat, swapped out a new wire harness and battery, put in an electronic ignition. I bought a new mesh inner panel for the grille, a gas cap, and lots more.

Is it the same tractor? Mostly, yes, and it does exactly what my father-in-law did with it. When I'm gone, a grandchild or great-grandchild will get Grandpa's tractor, and one of my nieces or nephews who has a taste for DIY work will get my grandfather's hammer. Perhaps the paradox becomes meaningless if the object's purpose remains the same, and that object gets passed from generation to generation. I hope they don't just use the John Deere for parades or the hammer as garage-art.

It will help if I can get someone to form a bond with the tractor or the hammer, telling the story once a younger person shows interest. Luckily, the interest is there for lots of things that have been family heirlooms, but most of those objects I've handed on have not been tools. To merely hang the hammer on a wall (as I did the mower's old wheels, one of them still quite usable) seems to break a chain.

I don't have a fancy philosophical name for this but "the thingness of things" has been my go-to. I feel the material presence of my forebearers when I get on that tractor, hammer a nail, use a biscuit-cutter that belonged to my late mother-in-law. My favorite skillets are cheap and thin Taiwanese-made ones my mom got me at a Roses store in the summer of 1982, when I was returning to college and an apartment for my final year. I use those pans daily now and think of my mom, gone nearly two decades.

So look around the shop and house at old things your ancestors used to make life simpler: a rolling pin, a favorite casserole dish, the old Buick sedan that grandpa loved so much. Look at the well-made furniture that is not modern chic but still perfectly useful.

Could you still use those things? Why not?

Old-School Tools: Barge Cement Update

 

I do not place advertising on this site. In a time when many driving down what we once called "the Information Superhighway" looks like a tacky highway full of ugly, intrusive billboards, I hope you appreciate that.

I do, however, endorse products that have worked well for me. One of them is an old-timer, Barge Cement. In its original formula that I have written about here, it has saved many a shoe from the landfill, as I found when a pair of slip-on work boots nearly lost their sole. With the parts cleaned and clamped, Barge provide me with years of service beyond what would have been the end of the boot. Here's the form of Barge you might find on brick-and-mortar shelves. 

 

Check the web site listed below for specialty versions, like one I've recently ordered online.

Recently I've another tough job needing adhesives, fixing weather-stripping / dent guards on a farm truck, before I repaint them. Regular Barge, the shoe adhesive, will not bond to all plastics, and who knows what GM used for that piece? Enter Barge Super Stik. I learned that the firm offers a range of cements with differing set-up times and curing times. I recommend checking their chart to verify if the materials to be bonded will work with a particular adhesive.

Fixing stuff is at odds with the ethos of Huxley's Brave New dystopia that we seem to inhabit, but I'd rather mend it than end it. That applied to a 1951 tractor I got back in service a decade ago; I changed the oil and mowed grass with it this week. It applies to shoes and other things, if you wish to say no to a consumerist "paradise" of cheap goods meant to wear out and be tossed into our brimming landfills.

So be subversive: go out and fix something. Barge is a premium product at a premium price, but if you follow directions you will not be disappointed.

Saving an Old Fence

When we lived in town, I always felt the pressure not to have the worst fence on the block. Now I don't worry about that at my home, but I sure do at our rental.

My tenants are fine folks. One of them used to work for me, so he knows I'm a fuss-budget about fiddly things. When their neighbors got a new fence, part of ours was so rotten (the ground there stays wet) that posts snapped off. The fencing company put up a 4' picket fence but I wanted all the fence to match the 6' privacy fence that we inherited when we bought the place a decade ago.

Treated wood ages like other wood, and soon enough, that fence looked like the set of a horror film. While I don't place advertising on this site or endorse products, I cannot speak highly enough about Behr Solid Deck Stain. We'd used it to preserve the house's deck, and it's a tough product. The company makes lighter-duty stains for siding, but the deck stain seemed a good, if slightly more expensive, option. I'd found that it made old wood look as good as the new replacement boards next to them.

So this post is short but clear: if you need to renew old wood, try this or its competitors. I found Valspar a little more expensive. But to hide the old dark weathered wood, go solid, not transparent.

Keep in mind that you cannot put stains over paint. They will peel. I never use paint on decking or fences, anyhow: I've found that on new or old unfinished wood, these heavy stains last a decade and best of all, clean up with water.

Happy repairs!

One Little Fix Made All the Difference

 I've written here before about diagnosing equipment problems, boiling matters down to a question of "Fire and Fuel," and I've discussed how critical our Kawasaki Mule 610 UTV is to our farm business.

The business goes well, with some income on a steady basis for egg sales from nearly 100 hens, but the poor Mule continued to give trouble until recently. I'd been haunting motorcycle and ATV forums for ideas, and after a long time pondering and replacing parts, at long last I hit on a solution for slow drain to our battery.

For you non-gearheads, apologies if I get a little wonky here. For you REAL wonks, I commend you to "History of the Humble Automotive Fuse," here.

Many Mule owners winge about the battery-drain issue. I did many things they too tried: replacing the ignition switch, putting in a new voltage regulator. I bought a new battery, but that drained after a while, too. It was maddening. I figured that rough usage or a mouse had led to a short in the wiring. Taking the Mule apart one panel at a time, I verified the integrity of every wire I could see.

Then I did the non-cheapass thing: I bought an original Kawasaki Mule Voltage Regulator, not a dubious Chinese-made aftermarket part (for 100 bucks versus 20). Suddenly the Mule ran like the proverbial scalded dog of Southern simile.  I also installed a battery shut-off switch, marking the "on" position with a yellow paint-pen. With it off, no current would trickle in the circuit after we ran the vehicle (thus avoiding any load on the battery from a short I could not see).

Oh, how I basked in my gearhead pride until the Mule would NOT start at all. 

At least I knew that came from the incredibly flimsy, easily jostled 30-amp glass fuse near the battery. You do need a fuse of that amperage, to avoid damage to the electrical system in the event of a power surge. Yet Kawasaki chose something so badly designed that I'd have figured they pulled 1980s General Motors accountants out of retirement to advise them on how to save 30 cents on each Mule.

Fuses come in two varieties these days, as shown here. A "bladed" fuse to me is much less prone to breakage from jostling, and it's less likely to slip loose from its holder.  

The price differences between the two types are negligible, but the fitting to hold the fuses probably costs more for the bladed design. Thanks to Amazon, I got an entire bag of bladed-fuse holders for 10 dollars, putting one holding a bladed fuse in place of the crappy glass fuse.

And yes, it worked. No pride this time, just a wary, sideways look at the Mule now and then to see if anything else breaks. At least I now feel that I can fix it, when (not if) that happens.

Asleep yet? A blog can work better than Valium. But seriously, if you own a UTV and have intermittent problems with your battery going down, try that I tried.

Occam's Razor, 2023

Once again, I applied the idea that given competing solutions to a problem, start with the simplest. I live by that rule. It's logical, elegant, and usually a cheapass solution to expensive issues.

As I wrote here before, most problems with any machine involve fuel or fire. 

We own many used vehicles, not including tractors. I work on almost all of them. The use of Occam's Razor never failed me yet, but William of Occam never met a modern electrical system's ground fault or short circuit. For those without coursework in electrical science, I'm talking about the way any charged circuit "goes to ground," with current going to the frame of a vehicle because of a chafed or broken wire. This slowly discharges the battery. It's not dangerous (generally) in a 12-volt DC system like the Mule has; once the current of 20-40v from the engine reaches the voltage regulator, it steps down to trickle-recharge (rather than blow up) the battery. Thus arranged, a new battery can last a decade in a car; in a farm vehicle, fewer years because of all the moisture and hard use they encounter.

Still, that recharging battery is magic! That's all fine and good until one has a short from corrosion in a connector or a mouse-chewed wire somewhere, leading the battery to slowly discharge over time.

Of all our vehicles, the most thrashed, and most useful, is a Kawasaki Mule 610 we got when Nan broke her leg in 2015. It makes getting tools and supplies a snap on a large property, not to mention moving 50 lb bags of feed for chickens, bed-loads of mulch or gravel, and more. At our age, we could not get by easily without the Mule.

Until we had to do so. Something was draining the UTV's battery.

The Internet forums for these vehicles abound with complex and often contradictory advice. I've come to the conclusion they these light-duty UTVs all have a weak-spot in their electrical systems.

So I began with the cheapest, easiest fixes. After testing and ruling out expensive stuff, I replaced the $12 ignition switch (trivial), $20 voltage regulator (a bit fiddly). Still, the machine continued blowing a 30 amp fuse and the battery would not hold a charge. The battery was fairly new, so it was either 1) damaged by all the jump starts and draw-downs or 2) not the culprit.

Eventually, I came to the conclusion that a parking-brake "idiot light" had a short. I simply eliminated it from the circuit and bought a new $60 battery. Now the Mule runs like new. I then spruced it up with new tail-gate and hood-release cables, cleaned the frame and engine compartment, did an oil change, cleaned the air-filter, and repaired a tire with a slow leak. I have a few more things to do before the 500-hour service, none of them major work. 

If the fuse blows again, I'll shell out $150 for a new electronic control module, a computerized device that regulates where current goes in the Mule's innards.

I cannot say that I won't thrash the Mule again, but I plan to stick to the service intervals and check my electronics more. With 400 hours after 8 years, the Mule has been used heavily by us. We don't want to have to replace it.

So as 2023 closes shop, what else have we been thrashing, aside from our poor planet and our sense of community? What if we applied Occam's Razor to some of those problems?

Here's to hoping that 2024 is bright and full of hope.

A (Darn Straight) Right to Repair

 I have begun using the term "stealership" when referring to the automotive dealers' service centers.

Granted, I know some dudes at Mini, and they have given me sweetheart deals over the years. They knew I'd be coming in to buy another car, eventually. Granted, I used to know a tech or two at Honda, before I got the chops to fix on my own the two CR-Vs I've had. But, still.

 With my wife's 2019 Toyota Tacoma due for its first non-free service at 30K miles, I asked her to get a price on the work: oil change, filters, checking differentials and transfer case, lubing the few points on the chassis that are not sealed. Price? Nearly 300 bucks.

"Get out," said I, looking at the owner's manual. I knew that I could do the same work for a lot less. I made a list, because modern companies still give you a maintenance schedule in your owner's manual. Use it.

This post is not a "tsk tsk" for those of you who don't have tools or time to DIY maintain your rides. I have been blessed with an inherited lift we got back in service last year, time to learn how to use tools, plus a decent collection of same. I write for an automotive publication. I should be able to turn a wrench by now.

My family was famous for its mantra "call some guy!" I've written recently about this philosophy. My mom's brother-in-law, Carlyle Rourke, resisted it. He had a 1964 Mercury Comet 4-door that he kept into the late 1980s. He did everything on that car, and when my first Buick Apollo needed an oil change, he showed me how. My old man told me "get a real mechanic to check your work, boy." I told Pop that if the car was not puking oil into the street, and the dip-stick was right, I'd just take my damn chances.

Today's vehicles are a long way from that Comet, but there are many things one can do on modern vehicles, and thank you, YouTube mechanics, for showing us how. For Nan's truck I soon had torque-specs for all the bolts I'd need to tighten, techniques for doing things without spilling oil on myself (here I failed. Toyotas are odd that way), and so much more that would put you to sleep if I listed them.

Like the OCD person I am, I wrote it ALL down in order of service, with numbers for torque specs beside each item on the 30K list.

With three hours of backache-inducing work, it all was done. I did have to order sockets from Amazon in sizes I didn't have. I tried local businesses but they either put me on endless holds or told me I'd have to buy a set.

Pffft. I got next-day delivery from Bezos' company and a good price. At the end, for $76 including the half-case of Amsoil 0w20 plus filter and Toyo-specific filter-wrench I needed for the oil change, I handily came in at 1/4 the price of the dealership.

Now that many states are pressing for right-to-repair laws, may I humbly suggest you go to Harbor Freight or Northern Tool, buy a cheapass set of wrenches, and watch some YouTube videos? See a few how-to examples at other sites? Some of them have wonderful senses of humor.

It's the 21st Century version of sticking it to the Man. Come bust a knuckle or two with em.

A Cylon Provides Homesteading Advice

Some time ago I picked up a booklet from an extension agency for first-time homesteaders. So I decided to see what an AI might say on this topic. I'm actually impressed. It provided answers "tailored for your tractorpunk perspective"but it's a better caretaker of the land than most humans I know. 

It also covers all the things we have done, sometimes after mistakes, or are planning to do with our land.

Okay, the blog is done. I'll just let  you ask an AI from now on :P

Joe: Good afternoon. I'm going to do a post at my blog Tractorpunk.blogspot.com and am curious about what advice you might synthesize for a new homesteader moving to a rural area. I figure a machine would have some good ideas because tractors are machines, too.

ChatGPT: Good afternoon! Moving to a rural area and starting a homestead can be an exciting and rewarding adventure. As a fellow machine enthusiast, I'm happy to provide you with some practical advice for new homesteaders based on the principles of machinery and efficiency. Here are some tips tailored for your tractorpunk perspective:

1. Research and Plan Like a Well-Engineered Machine:

Survey the Land: Understand the lay of the land, soil quality, water sources, and microclimates. This knowledge will help you plan your crops and animal husbandry effectively.

Set Clear Goals: Define your objectives clearly. Are you focusing on sustainable farming, self-sufficiency, or maybe even a small-scale agricultural business? 

2. Prepare the Ground for Planting:

Soil Testing: Conduct soil tests to determine its health. Tractors need solid ground to operate efficiently, just like your plants need healthy soil to grow well.

Composting: Start composting organic waste to create nutrient-rich soil. It's like fueling up your tractor with the best quality diesel.

3. Choose the Right Seeds and Livestock:

Diversify Crops: Plant a variety of crops to ensure resilience against pests and weather fluctuations.

Livestock Selection: If you plan to have animals, choose breeds that are well-suited for your climate and have a low impact on the land.

4. Implement Efficient Farming Practices:

Crop Rotation: Just like rotating tires ensures even wear, rotating crops maintains soil fertility and reduces the risk of diseases.

Rainwater Harvesting: Install systems to collect rainwater. Water conservation is vital for any farm, just as fuel efficiency is essential for tractors.

5. Embrace Sustainability and Self-Sufficiency:

Alternative Energy: Explore solar power and wind energy. Just as tractors are becoming more eco-friendly, your homestead can too. 

Preservation: Learn techniques for canning, fermenting, and drying food. Preserving your harvest ensures a year-round supply, much like storing fuel for the seasons when your tractor needs it most.

6. Community and Knowledge Sharing:

Local Networks: Connect with local farmers and homesteaders. Sharing knowledge and resources is like having a community of well-maintained tractors—you all help each other out.

Continuous Learning: Stay updated with the latest agricultural practices and sustainable farming techniques. A well-maintained tractor is a knowledgeable one!

7. Maintenance and Care:

Regular Inspections: Just as tractors need regular check-ups, inspect your crops, animals, and equipment regularly.

Adaptability: Be prepared to adapt your strategies. Just like a tractor that can handle various attachments, your homestead plans might need adjustments based on experience and changing circumstances.

8. Safety First:

Protective Gear: Just as you wear safety gear while operating machinery, prioritize safety on your homestead. This includes proper equipment use, fencing dangerous areas, and having a first aid kit on hand.

Remember, every successful homesteader started with a passion for their land and a willingness to learn. Your journey, much like a well-maintained tractor, will get smoother with time, care, and a bit of mechanical ingenuity. Happy homesteading and blogging! If you need more specific advice, feel free to ask.

Joe: Dang, son, you sound like a farmer! If you were in a Cylon Chassis I'd hire you.

ChatGPT: Thank you! I'm here to assist and provide you with the best advice possible. While I might not be in a Cylon chassis, I'm always here to help you with any questions or tasks you have. If you have any more inquiries, whether they're about farming, blogging, or anything else, feel free to ask. Happy homesteading!

Robot cultivator courtesy of Wikipedia Commons.

That Mighty Fine Old Hose

 Joke coming. Leave now if you wish.

"How many Virginians does it take to change a light bulb?"

"Only one to change it and five more to talk about how mighty fine that old bulb was!"

Lots of truth here. So when a 40-year-old garden hose finally gave up the ghost, I had my next blog post.

My father passed 21 years ago, and that seems like yesterday. He bought a house in 1975, on Fitzhugh Avenue in the near West End of the City of Richmond, and I only lived there for four years before college, but I came back for a year and a half after. Those were very happy years for us all. About that time, in 1984 or so, he redid the yard and went to a local hardware store. He bought the best garden hose they offered. "Real rubber!" he said, still house-proud a decade later. He as no yard-guy, but he believed in keeping up appearances on a block where the neighbors often went all-out for their little 1/3 acre city yards.  That hose was astounding; it coiled up naturally without kinks and was easily to move around.

Yes, a mighty fine hose it was.

I miss the old man immensely, for all his difficult personality tics. After a life of hard toil behind the wheel of a truck he'd made it, owning a produce warehouse with his cousin Leroy. He was a beloved boss, too. Maybe he treated his employees so well because he remembered terrible privation.

He grew up in desperate poverty in the Great Depression, served in the Navy during World War II, raised a family with my mom in a little row-house. A detached two-story home in a neighborhood full of assistant bank-managers and insurance salesmen, with an Olds or Buick out front? The American Dream. I miss that too. It's gotten so super-sized since dad's day. I am rather glad he's not around to see things now.

That old red hose? It moved with us after mom passed away, and I used it for years until we moved to the country in 2012. Then it served well in our garden, with some fraying finally catching up to it near the end. I used a special leak-stop tape but that only bought me a  year. This summer, the old hose had to go.

Why do we fret over material things so much? In my case, that old hose told a story that only mom and I knew, and maybe my oldest sister. Sis and I are the only ones left. Now I am telling you.

Funny thing, though. This tale has an ending not only happy but sustainable. We found that most of the old hose is just fine, still flexible and intact as ever. I cut off 10 bad feet or so, then another 20 good feet from the far end. That length will help me water trees, attached to the water tank I carry around in my UTV for saplings when the weather here goes into a prolonged dry spell.

 

If the hose lasts four more decades, it will outlive me. And there the story will end, happily in fact.

What Could POSSIBLY Go Wrong?

My osteopath, an otherwise sane man who helps me manage my arthritis, was all aglow about a new tool on his horse farm (PhDs keep veg gardens; MDs have horses). I stopped him right in his tracks.

"One-hand chainsaw? You are going to kill yourself, doc!"

These battery-powered tools are all over the search engines, and they scare me far more than my monster Husqvarna 20" bar tree-feller. Why? 

All saws kick back at some point or other. "Kick back" often happens when a saw binds up in a fallen tree. It can meant horrible injury or instant death if said saw hits one's femoral artery or cranium. That's why I wear Kevlar chainsaw chaps and a forester's helmet when I go to drop a tree or cut one up that has already fallen.

The dude in the photo above sure looks smug. I see absolutely no chain-brake on his little deadly toy. The brake has saved me from time to time when a chain slipped off the saw's bar. It instantly stops the saw when it kicks back or loses its chain.  

I can imagine home-owners going out to trim small limbs and not even wearing thick gloves. Oh, what could possibly go wrong? Look here for one horror story. Here's to hoping  you don't own one of these crazy things, at least until the Federal Government regulates them so they have the same safety features as full-sized chainsaws.

My recommendation? At the very least buy a helmet with face guard and a pair of chainsaw gloves. Heck, get the chaps too. The store near me does not sell spare legs or fingers.

Better yet? Get a small conventional chainsaw that is battery powered. All the manufacturers make them now. If  you have the mobility and strength, get a good pruning saw. My Felco is awesome. Be safe, please.

Bonk! Flashlight Smack-Down On The Farm

Remember your parents' D-cell flashlights when the power went out? If your dad was a Postwar Prepper sort, he'd swap the batteries before Hurricane Season and stock up on more. Maybe he had one of the big plastic lights that held a 6-volt battery? 

I loved those. It was a manly thing. My dad was manly, but he was Type B about tools (unlike me). If we could find the flashlight, it almost never worked.

When Maglite hit the market, I got him a four-battery monster. He loved that light and took good care of it. He hated getting gifts, but that was one he not only accepted from me but actually talked about. It was as purposeful as a cop's nightstick. A paramedic friend said he had to use his for exactly that purpose. Nuff said.

We've had a bit of a revolution since the 1990s, featuring small flashlights with LEDs.  Forget that nostalgic Rayovac in the bathroom closet. It might throw 30 lumens, fine for finding your keys, when the cat bats them under the sofa.

The new LED lights often recharge with a USB cable, are light, waterproof, and rugged (or so the makers promise).  They can also blind someone, so be careful where you shine the things.

But how well do they work? I have owned a couple and here are a few basics:

Size: Lads, it truly no longer matters. Some of the smaller lights produce blinding light at long ranges.

Power:  These new lights provide illumination of 1000 lumens or more (a lumen is the light of a birthday candle) but no more hunting for batteries. This benefit comes with reduced run-time for rechargeable lights. Read on for more thoughts about that.

Function: Generally, these lights all feature a quick on/off button on a "tailswitch," a high/low beam and with some meant for self-defense, a strobe feature.  

Cost: Prices run $40-$200 or more. But do you get what  you pay for? Let's see.

Streamlight  & Four Sevens

Streamlight was king of the hill for a while, without any competitors.  I bought what I thought was an early model because a policeman recommended it to me. It turns out to be a (now discontinued) Four Sevens model called a Maelstrom MMR-X. It ran me about $75, new, at a sporting-goods store where I buy most of my reloading supplies.

For a few years, it was my constant companion, spotlighting paths after dark and one half a dozen occasions, showing me a Copperhead ready to bite me when I had to go out to the chicken coops or garden after dark. For that purpose, it was small enough to hold in my off hand while my shooting hand held a big old Ruger revolver for doing what big old revolvers do best. It has hi/low/strobe lighting.

The range is stunning: up to 100' on high with perfect illumination, for it and a bona-fide Streamlight I picked up last year while the Maelstrom was out of service.

Both Four Sevens and Streamlight focus on the military/police end of things; many have rounded points on the front fork, for breaking a car window when you are at the bottom of Loch Ness, then bonking Nessie on her reptilian head. That weaponized feature seems a constant with flashlights now, especially the Four Sevens line. I dislike the militia-look of the gear, but the light is a darned good companion.

Newer Streamlight products don't appear quite so fierce, but they remain the Maglites of the 2020s, minus the heft and size. Cops seem to love them, and for good reason. They are rugged (with one exception).

Therein lies the problem with the rapidly changing market for lights. My Maelstrom broke its tail-switch after trouble-free years of being dropped, left out in the rain once or twice, and used continually. It worked, but the button needed to be held down for it to function. Not good in an emergency. Here's the pesky switch that broke.

Most of these lights get activated by pushing a rubber-covered button at the back of the light. That's handy for a light mounted on a rifle, something most of us won't ever need to do. The tail-switch, to me, proved the weak link on this light. A tiny bit of plastic broke in there, rendering my light less than optimal until I found a replacement part, not an easy process.

Four Sevens no longer stocks the parts. It was tough sledding: Searches for "Maelstrom" turned up a new Four Sevens line. Luckily, an eBay seller's picture matched my light. It was listed as a Four Sevens MMR-X tail cap. 

As fate had it, the switch fit. As the part is no longer manufactured, I will order another one ASAP since it seems the only part likely to break or wear out under my rough handling. $16 costs less than a new light. I should be good another 20 years, as the rechargeable battery can be replaced easily. By age 82 I'll just hire some burly dude to carry my next light and bonk offenders with it.

My second Streamlight, still in production, is a Stylus Pro. It runs about $50 at Amazon. No milsup pretenses here: just a light the size of a dry-erase marker. Same tail switch. Nice little heavy nylon belt holster. We'll see if this light lasts. It's very solid, but the switch worries me.

Nebo 

Was a brand new to me, but already we have two of their lights: a larger hand-held light called a Slyde and a headlamp for my wife's work in the chicken coops. 

The larger light works beautifully, with more lumens than either Streamlight. The switch is on the side, and the entire light slides apart to reveal an area lamp, which shuts off the front beam. That's a nifty feature for working around my dogs in the gloaming. I don't want to blind them, but opening the light just a little throws enough ambient light to see their bowls, the holes they dig around their shelter, and the young dog that loves to get tangled up with me until I fall down.

You can see the area light here. I'm not sure if Nebo fixed what we call "accidental discharge," after a line by a flashlight-geek in a YouTube video. We say it with a laugh but it can be an issue when the light slides open accidentally. Nebo should have included a small release button. Perhaps newer models have that. 

I do like the magnetic base, so the light can double as a small shop-light on a vehicle's frame. I stuck it to the trunk lid of my Miata just now, to jump the car's weak battery with a portable jumper-pack I travel with.

This Nebo runs down its battery quickly, but a USB-C cable tops it back off overnight. Given its short run-time and weight, it's not a light I'd take backpacking. It has replaced the Four Sevens in the drawer by the back door. On the trail, however, the Four Sevens or Stylus Pro would be all I'd need.

Nebo's Slyde too has the "bonk 'em on the head" front end, though the feature is not so pronounced. More of a "dope slap" than a baseball bat's wallop, perhaps? I picked up the Nebo hand-held for about $50, on sale during a special event. It now costs considerably less.

I think our headlamp ran $65 at Amazon. It is the finest headlamp I've encountered. My wife confirms that she's not had to recharge it yet, so it bests the bigger light in that department.

These lights, like the Steamlight, seem very rugged. Again, with the switches, time will tell.

Maglite 

This US manufacturer has not broadly embraced the "Tacti-cool" look of competing newcomers, but their current lights do feature LEDs. What I love most? Maglite sells models like those I recall from 20 or 30 years ago, which means I can get parts easily. Before LEDs, I only recall replacing bulbs, never a spring or a power switch.

Maglites are US made, too. That warms my heart as someone who favors American-owned manufacturers when possible (save for cars; my rotten experiences in the 80s and 90s soured me on our Big Three for the duration). Beyond nostalgia, I have a lot of love for their lights, especially the rugged switches. You can still get their biggest mambo-jambo with the four D-Cells, which the company calls "an iconic design, not one of those ugly flashlights!"

Yeah, Maglite dissed my ugly lights. Bonk bonk on the head with my Maelstrom! When, not if, I buy a new Maglite, I'm going to opt for a rechargeable one with the USB cable. I might split the difference with their model that can be recharged or, in a prolonged outage, run three C-Cell batteries.

Whichever I get, I'll write about it here, as well as any solar chargers we get. Even with a week's worth of propane on hand for our generator, it would be wise to have a backup to recharge flashlights. Light matters.

Wait...they have a Mag-Tac rechargeable with a 2.5 hour run-time, recharger base, and "crowned bezel" top (for bonks on the head). 671 Lumens, "throw range" 185 meters! I feel more manly already.

Except I cannot find my flashlight. Bonk!

Gigantism, SpaceX, and von Braun's Nova

What? A post about going to the Moon here? This is a rural-life blog, true?

True. That said, I enjoy considering how the tools we use, from a good framing-hammer to a Moon rocket, reflect and reify deeply cherished cultural values.

Right now, many of us Americans seem to value huge things: McMansions, burgers that weigh nearly a pound, super-tall skyscrapers, hulking SUVs and lifted pickups guzzling gas on ten-lane superhighways. Add to that list the massive Starship Rocket Elon Musk wants to use to build settlements on Mars. While I'm not a Musk fanboy, I acknowledge that his engineers at SpaceX and Tesla have made some enormous contributions to technological progress. Moreover, they understand how failure teaches us to improve our work. I use lessons from SpaceX to encourage my students, many of whom have never experienced any sort of personal or academic failure; their first shuts them down, emotionally.

Yet as someone who wants us to explore space and eventually settle on other worlds, I'm concerned about the gigantism embodied in Starship.  Other objections to human exploration of the Moon and Mars, be those environmental, social, or economic, may have their day and their place, but I want to look at the problems of gigantism here.

Musk's dream, it turns out, is nearly 70 years old. In my first-year seminar, "The Space Race," we divide our time between considering the Soviet-US race to the Moon and the plans to return today. One chapter in that earlier race gets lost as we discuss NASA's plan to land humans there again: Wernher von Braun's massive Nova rocket. 

He dreamed up this design in the 1950s, refining it until NASA canceled the booster in 1964.  Budgets began to scale back America's space plans, as did some reasonable qualms about the danger of such a rocket exploding on the pad with the force of a tactical nuclear weapon.

Nova would have flown directly to the Moon, with its top stage, some 65' tall, landing on the lunar surface.  No complex dance of lunar lander and command module in deep space needed! As Michael Neufeld's magisterial biography of von Braun notes, the German engineer really intended to build a Mars rocket with Nova. That had always been his goal, as is Musk's in developing the Starship/Super Heavy Booster stack.

What an impressive sight Nova would have been, lifting off from Florida. Yet at the same time, what an improbable task, landing its final stage, the height of a six-story building, on difficult terrain. Then imagine doing that while seated at the very top of that building. Aldrin and Armstrong, during the Apollo 11 mission, found themselves improvising their landing when faced with boulders the size of automobiles. A larger lander than their small LEM (its outer skin was little more than foil) would have certainly toppled over had it landed poorly.

Today, NASA has a Moon rocket but not a lander, opting to have a version of Starship called HLS descend with crew for touchdown. Granted, we have better computers than anything Project Apollo employed. I doubt any human aboard would fine-tune the automated landing. Moreover, SpaceX has shown again and again that its smaller boosters can land for reuse, even on an automated platform at sea.

Why then was I so queasy when Starship's latest prototype blew up on its maiden voyage?  

Musk's company went through similar glitches with its Falcon 9 rockets. There is, however, a key difference that troubles me: the Super Heavy Booster for Starship sports a cluster of 33 Raptor engines to develop full thrust, as compared to the five F-1 engines in the Saturn V's first stage. The SpaceX design reminds me of the failed Soviet N-1 Moon rocket, a multi-engine behemoth that kept exploding on test flights. Finally the USSR ended the program, ceding the first landing to the United States.

Given the failure of Starship/Super Heavy's first launch (whatever SpaceX claims to the contrary) as well as considerable damage to the launch pad from all that thrust, I wonder if NASA will see any of its astronauts set foot on the Moon in this decade. If Starship continues to lag NASA's SLS, would we do what we might have done in the first place, stop subsiding Musk's Mars dream and instead land the components for an inhabited lunar base with several small vehicles, launched from Earth by smaller rockets?

Those of us who dream of settling the Solar System's other worlds have seen the price of gigantism before it got so scaled back that no sustainable infrastructure survived into the 80s. In consequence, since 1973 our species has been stuck in low Earth orbit.

Even if Musk's booster works, there's landing HLS safely. SpaceX's lander will stand 165 feet tall. Here it is, reminiscent of the single-stage rocket from  Irving Pichel's 1950 SF epic, Destination Moon. As in the film, people and cargo will be lowered from the nose on an elevator.

Thus I have some questions:

• why did NASA opt for an enormous lander so similar in concept to von Braun's, rejected 60 years ago?
  
• will SpaceX send a robotic excavator/roller to prepare a perfectly flat landing spot on the Moon?
• how soon will the company be able to test the Super Heavy with lander before the Artemis III mission?
• when would a robotic HLS practice landing on the Moon and then blasting off again?
  
• what plans do NASA and SpaceX have to get astronauts off the Moon if the Starship lander fails to relight its engines?

To be fair, for Project Apollo no rescue plans were feasible.

My questions may come to naught with successful tests of each component, until Starship is human-rated for flights. I also suppose that my final question, "what could possibly go wrong?" will answer itself. One troubling outcome of American gigantism played itself out with fire and debris last week, 24 kilometers above the Texas coast.

Perhaps, if Chinese astronauts set up housekeeping first on Luna, we'll see it a sad rebuke to America's infatuation with the gargantuan. 

This blog promotes thinking small; getting the Moon is big, building a permanent settlement bigger still, but if we choose that path as a species, how big need our tools be to get the job done safely and sustainably?

I don't use a sledge to hammer nails, or a backhoe to plant a new raised bed, after all.