The people you meet ...

Marko has put up the most fascinating proposition - if you could could spend any ONE year in any time of the US.... when and why?

the fine print. void where prohibited.

After some pondering, I finally settled on America's Centennial year. We were far enough along to have our own unique culture by that point - we had pretty much figured out what being American meant, even if we still disagreed heartily on the specifics.

The 1870's are an odd crossroads of history. Heck, all the collectivist utopian dreams that would result in such bloodshed seventy years later were already starting to wander the intellectual landscape. The 20th century was already well foreshadowed that early. At the same time, our frontier was still wide open - this was the age of the high "Wild West," all full of bustling energy as the empty spaces of the map started to fill up.

What struck me most though was the conversations you could have in that time. You could talk with retired Pony Express riders, California Forty-Niners, or even the old mountain men of the 1840's Northwest. Civil War vets of both sides, cowboys, and frontier marshals. Turn east - Emerson, Whitman, Clemens - so many of the classics of American lit were writing then. Old abolitionists and old slaves. Thomas Edison had just started work at Menlo Park, and some guy named Bell had just put in for a patent on something called a "telephone." Yankee industry was exploding - with effects both wondrous and horrific.

America old and new - what a time to live!


That got me thinking though - there's at least as many fascinating stories to ask now. This to will be a time for the history books, of that much I'm sure. I may yet have to try a trip of that kind for real in our own time someday. Coming up with an 1870's itinerary was hard enough.. what about 2010?

Hrmm... food for thought.

What voices would you just HAVE to record, given a year to wander the US of our time?

Curse Ye, plasticety doohickey!

So have I mentioned yet how much I dislike consumer electronics? So far this year I've managed to break two cameras and an MP3 player. Somehow I can manage a hundred year old fiddle just fine, but electronics? Forget it. Darnit - I want a TOOL, not something I have to treat like a Faberge egg.

Is is THAT much more expensive to make the little digicams and music things with a nice metal case, some o-rings, maybe a plastic guard over the LCD screen, and pour on some of that shock absorbing rubbery goop that's covering my jeep's computery parts?

Do they make that kind of stuff and I just don't see it at the local general store, or do they just assume we'll toss it after a year anyway so why bother?

*frump*

Friends old and new

well that was fun.

The day started with hopping over to the hanger for another couple hours fixing ribs (almost DONE!!!!) and painting. Pretty soon we'll be ready to start mounting the things to the spars! So far, it's feeling like doing leathercraft - you do scads and scads of prepwork and it seems like you're not making any headway at all. Then you get to the assembly stage and like magic everything zooms along!

... or at least, that's what I'm hoping.

So anyhow, then a friend of Miss D's shows up, and we proceed to the second half of the day. She'd scheduled us some time at an indoor range up the road a piece, so off we went. There we met my wonderful A&P boss (yes, almost ready to come back sir, I promise.) He showed us how to make the targets "charge" us - now that was just all kinds of fun with the cowboy rifle! A little disconcerting once they get to muzzle contact distance, but it was a neat game! And there's just something a little charming in that Halloween-creepy way about a target covered with cack-spatter from the burning powder.

Anyhow, while there we met a couple wonderful fellers and all went out to dinner together... and wuh. Dinner at a table full of IT geeks (yes, there are IT geeks in Alaska. And they apparently all know each other. It's like an underground religion or something, I swear. One of them draws half an encryption algorithm in the sand with stick.... )

For serious though, the dinner conversation was all kinds of interesting. Mostly of the "hey, do you know so and so...." variety, interspersed with crazy technical stuff. Like hanging out with wizards or something.

Even found out one of the people there is a friend of a friend of my Favorite Fiddler Ever.

Kinda cool, the people you meet in this life. Awesome.

Party Alaskan Style, Part II

So we left off our tale of last weekend just as the costumes started showing up... and Oh. My. God. were there some clever ones! Professor Honeydew and Beaker. A fantabulous Jack Skellington. Bob "Happy Little Trees" Ross. The best though?

.... It's the StayPuft Marshmallow Man.

Oh yeah, that costume got some applause when she stepped into the room. Awesome. After hot dogs and conversation we headed on down to the glacial silt flat for the bonfire. BIG bonfire - the woodpile prolly stood twenty feet high- just the thing for a cold October night.

But no - it was time for the surprise! The hunched little long-nosed man bearing a suspicious similarity to our host in a rubber mask came scrabbling towards us! We needed to come now! It was terribly important!

So we all followed into the dark woods, guided by the little man and his lantern. Eventually we made out lights stretching back into clearing. Eerie blue lights everywhere - and a strange and devilish witch appeared! Two or three at a time, we were ushered into a twisting maze in the forest, full of up smoke and strobes and shrieks and cries and skeletons and beasts and one Very Unhinged Man chasing after us with a Very Real chainsaw.

Yeah, that was a little freaky*.

Eventually we all made it through the maze though, guided once more by the strange little man. He takes us deeper into the woods, then settles to tell us of the ghost stories of the area - so many natives who came the valley this far in winter, only to fall through the ice to their death.

BWAH HAH HAH!

And off comes the mask, and our jovial host leads us back through the woods to the bonfire. Then lots of just plain hanging out and having a grand old time while the fire dies down.


Yup... they know how to throw a party alright.

Wow.














* One of the signs you've a lot of "tactical" type friends who love to show you how to play? You get a giggle when you discover yourself "slicing the pie" in the haunted maze without thinking about it.. :)

For want of a nail...

Amazing how much of a difference having the right tool makes.

A couple nights ago we went for another crack at the Taylorcraft. Godawful mess - I spent more time drilling out bad rivets than putting in good ones. Add to that the mistakes caused by mounting frustration, and well.. we just did the smart thing and called it a night early and went home before we could do any real damage.

This time though -- hooboy! Five and half hours (see, I'm writing that here so I remember what to write in my logbook) of cutting, drilling, and squishing and we're finally almost done with the last of the ribs. The difference? Just using the proper size anvil for the rivets. And by "proper size" I mean "we hacked the head off a bolt, stuck in the rivet squeezer, and used that as an improvised anvil" - worked amazingly well! Amazing what little tricks the experts out here can teach us newbies.

Tomorrow is paint day - then we can finally get the things on the spars and start with the rigging.

Now that's going to be educational.

So that come summer - more views like this!

Winter light

The evenings have the most curious light up here - the low sunsets reflect off the snowcovered mountains, and turns them the most lovely shade of pink. It's there over summer to of course, but the snow just highlights it all the more.

Cameras don't seem to catch it - it's almost like viewing the world through a color gel. Purty.

Party Alaskan Style - Part I

Last summer I had the singular good fortune to meet some fantastic folks and work out at their lodge. Every now and again old friends and associates get invited back for a party - like last weekend. And gosh can they throw a party.

So about 3AM last Saturday morning I set off to meet our gracious host at the airfield. It was about a six hour drive in the dead of night. I've always loved nightime roadtrips, ever since I was a child - they just seemed so magical and mysterious. All the romance was back with this one - snowcovered mountains shone dim in the moonlight, and every now again a snowshoe hare or the like would peer out by the road. For the most part I drove along in silence, contemplating adventures past and future.

Morning crept on slowly as I neared the airfield. Upon arrival I met more friends of the family, and we passed a couple hours waiting for everyone to show up. A lone bald eagle danced around the trees for a bit before sailing off for parts unknown. Eventually the Giant Red Plane came to pick us all up, our host cheerier than I've ever seen him. Something was up... "you'll find out tonight" he says with a grin.

We arrived just in time for some palling around and catching up with each other over lunch - and then the day's big events started.

So here's the background. Sometime back, our gracious host - a backcountry pilot of no small renown - had a forced landing on the ice. He had just the contents of his plane to keep him alive on a two day walk back across the wilderness to the lodge.

That event was the origin of what looks to be an annual competition. The guests are divided up into three teams, and given a variety of tasks to accomplish. This year, that involved:

* several river crossings, across runoff from the Chitina glacier.
* build a fire sufficient to boil a bucket of water.
* scavenging wild edibles
* creating wild art and/or tools
* racing to and from a given destination.
* Chopping and carrying wood and hauling water - this last was the only mandatory part of the race (no fools here!)

And so - we began!

The teams huddled, talking strategy briefly. The we were off!

Drat! We'd been beat to the large rafts! That left just kayaks. The shallower rivulets of the river could just be forded - the deeper parts were more challenging. The truly hardcore on each team donned drysuits and served as ferry guides, steadying the kayaks across the deeper waters. I'm not sure how many crossings were involved before we reached the island in the middle of the riverbed - I want to say about half a dozen.

Decision time.

One strategy would be to charge over across the island to the far shore, five miles distant. Also, we could scavenge local edibles and improvise either survival tools or rustic art for the Lodge - for the most part, our team decided on this latter option, sending the strongest off to reach the far shore. With any luck, they'd also bag a rabbit for the pot.

Time passed. I felled a small tree, and set to work turning out handcrafts - a basket from the bark, a sharpened digging stake, a flatbow stave (didn't have time to get the tiller right, but it was coming along), hafting a stone celt - it was none of it pretty, rushed as it was.. but for "get a lot done fast" it was alright. Meanwhile we assembled a shelter and the Lady of the lodge set to making a soup of all the wild edibles she'd harvested on the walk up - noting their properties as we passed. Points added up.

Meanwhile, our host was flying about over our heads, occasionally landing on the sand to stop by and check on one group or another. Soon it was time to head back across the waters, treasures in tow. This time the crossings were more hurried, as we struggled to beat the clock and concern for staying dry and warm fell by the wayside. The deep parts we were still ferried over - the shallower ones we just splashed across, boots and all.

It takes about twenty yards of fast walking for the icewater around your toes to warm up to the point you don't notice it anymore, in case you were wondering.

Finally we arrive - and drat! not enough time for the woodchopping. We go ahead and cut it anyhow, despite not getting the points for it. Bother.

And the day is done. Everyone piles back inside for hotdogs, chips, and storytelling over the days events. Candy and cookies are everywhere, music blaring... and soon the costumes come out.

Evening was fast approaching, along with The Surprise.

soggy trousers, toesies on ice.

More on the fun party later. Here's a preview:

WSK / "Tracker" knife review

photo by Oleg Volk

Okay, since last week was apparently "sharp things" week for friends and friends of friends, let me bring out this odd looking thing that got a fair amount of use this weekend.

It's called a "WSK" or "Wilderness Survival Knife" (also "Tracker") - and was I believe the result of a collaboration between a custom knifemaker and a wilderness survival instructor a few years back. And yes, it was in a movie*.

Some have called this pattern a useless overpriced gimmick, often throwing in some "Rambo" jokes to boot. Others will sing its praises to the heavens. Me? Well obviously I was intrigued enough to try buying a decent example of the breed** shortly before coming to Alaska. And so far, I'm really impressed with it.

photo by Oleg Volk

Yes, it looks like a bad fantasy movie reject. Sawteeth and holes and different grind angles every whichaway. However, each and every one of those odd looking things is there for a reason. I'll not bother repeating the whys and the wherefores - those are easily available elsewhere on the web. Suffice it to say though - they do make a positive difference in the functional utility of the knife.

The key is... it's very much a niche thing. Within that niche - namely "easily, conveniently, and discreetly carried tool for making *other* improvised tools in an extended wooded wilderness survival situation" - it's fantastic. Quite possibly even unsurpassed. Yes, I mean that last part.

Outside of that niche, its utility drops off sharply.

As an example - the hosts of the Halloween gathering I went to this weekend have an informal "Alaska Challenge" - part race, part wilderness survival exercise. One of the requirements this time around was the creation or discovery of 'tools.'

Within two hours, that WSK and a small tree had given our team:
* trimmed bark strips for a basket
* a roughed-out flatbow stave
* shelter supports
* a figure-four trap
* a sharpened digging stick
... and prolly a couple other things I'm forgetting. And it made making all those things easy.

photo by Oleg Volk

A small axe, drawshave, and camping knife would have done much the same job at least as well - but would have been more cumbersome. In contrast, the WSK sits sideways across the small of the back, neatly out of the way. A solidly built smaller hunting knife would been moderately easier to carry, but the jobs would have been much harder and time-consuming. And honestly, given the work at hand I suspect one of the little Mora knives I've had recommended to me as "more realistic" would have snapped, as would many (not all, to be sure) folders.

The WSK is a compromise - everything is. I'm no professional wilderness survival expert, not by any stretch - but I have learned this much: anytime you take something with you into the woods, you're trading weight for time. The highly skilled woodsman can improvise most anything he'd need - knap a stone blade, assemble a shelter, twist cordage or weave containers. If you're really serious, you can make the tools to make the tools to make the tools - I've known guys who could turn iron-bearing river sand into a swordblade.

photo by Oleg Volk

But every one of those actions takes time, as well as being dependent on locally available materials***. Time spent Making Stuff is time not spent closing on a destination, signaling for help, or whatever else it is you want to be doing that got you into a wilderness survival situation in the first place. And so you make a trade - you carry a tent and sleeping bag so you don't need to spend a couple hours making a good shelter each night. You carry a blast lighter and matches and suchlike so you don't need to fuss with making a bowdrill. Everything is a tradeoff.

The WSK fits squarely in the "carry a minimum of stuff... but be ready to improvise nearly everything you need for days or weeks" point on that continuum.

If you're in the mostly settled parts of the lower 48 where a ten mile walk in any direction can get you to a road, which can in turn get you to a filling station and nice comfy hotel - then yes, the WSK is probably overkill. If you're off to set up a basecamp somewhere and you're taking an assortment of dedicated tools - it's probably going to be unused weight.

But here and now? Within that niche? Let's just say were I ever to be dropped in the wilds with a single tool**** - it would be this one. No question about it.













* In the movie, it was used mostly as a scary-looking gimmick knife for the hero and villain to cut each other up with. Despite looking intimidating as all heck, I don't expect though that it would make a particularly good weapon. The almost hatchet-like balance, along with the projections all over just make the thing feel clumsy compared to the fighting knives some friends of mine own. But better than nothing in a pinch I suppose.

** No I don't personally think the TOPS version is a particularly good example of the breed, but I'll leave that decision to you. Mine is from Mark Terrel of MTKnives and I could not be more pleased. I did have to smooth off one finger ridge that didn't fit my hand quite right, but so far as "quality per dollar spent" I don't think it's possible to do better.

*** Hence my saying wooded wilderness survival tool. Note most of those chores I mentioned involved woodwork. If you're more concerned about weaving grass and sculpting clay water vessels, I doubt it will be much use to you.

**** A situation which although unlikely, remains distinctly within the realm of possibility flying about up here. The only thing it's really missing is a firestarter.. which is why there's a little one in that tin you see on the sheath.

Well, the credit cruch can't be that bad...

... if my bank is trying to get me to buy a new snow machine.
I wonder if I can get my Senators to cosign for me?

Change in my pocket.

My favorite class in high school was history. I had some amazing teachers - Mr. S was the best. Others were wilder, or perhaps more focused - but none could spin a tale like Mr. S could. It was like storytime every day.

More interesting than the battles and kings though were the ephemera of daily life - the diaries, the engravings that gave way to photos, keepsakes and treasures... and the tiny little pictures on the coins.

I remember being fascinated - then horrified - as I learned of the history of those little portraits we see every day on our "pocket silver*" as gramma called it. My father showed me pictures of older coins, covered for the most part with symbolic representations of Lady Liberty. In this one she might be seated with a flag, in that one in profile wearing a Liberty cap. Other ideas were there to - like our early Continental Dollar advising frugality and industriousness, bearing a sundial on one side and stamped with the motto Mind Your Business. Iconic ideas were emblazoned on these little bits of life. But the executive? Never.

Our Founders knew rule by personality. With some exceptions** they despised the notion of "L'État, c'est moi" in vogue with the monarchs of the day. It was no accident that the coins our young nation would eventually produce bore the images not of men, but of iconic principles.

It seems a little thing - inconsequential really. But once again, they proved wiser than we often give them credit for. As a species, we seem almost hardwired to think in terms of a monarchical leader. From the tribal headman to the building-sized posters of modern dictators, the need to look to a human savior seems inborn in us somehow.

"Give us a King!" cry the tribes of Israel.

It's an old cry.. and one that when ceded to leads very rarely to good. Human shoulders cannot long bear the weight of that much power without falling to vice. And so our Founders took care to limit the executive - and took pains not to revere him up as sovereign. And as much as even Washington was loved and respected at the time, the latter-day Cincinnatus would not find that sovereign's place on the coin of the state for 140 years.

It took us - what? Five generations? Seven? Many Americans would live and die before we forgot why those strictures were in place, and even then we insisted that only the dead would be so immortalized.

This is a little thing, I know. Small potatoes to questions of tax policy or judge appointments. It's only a medallion, a commemorative piece to a lot of people's hard work and one man's ambition. But nonetheless... all that history came flooding back when I saw this little piece of gold.. and it's why it creeped the ever-loving' jeepers out of me. More than the pseudo-presidential seal. More than the Orwellian poster aesthetic. More than the chanting teens in camo pants. More than... okay, not more than the Sunday School songs. But almost. And honestly, if it weren't for all those other things together I'd likely not have given this little thing a second thought.


It's not the political questions. I'm used to disagreeing with people on political questions. Heck, watching my father play political badminton with the black sheep uncle or the Sunday school class was a family tradition. Eventually I even got to play to.. all in good fun. It got old quickly, but hey.. no big thing.

This though... this is starting to get unnerving. Aside from the petty annoyance of being called a racist*** again, the whole "Cult of Personality" vibe going on these last few months has been positively unsettling. Not so much for what it indicates of the man himself - we've had egotists in the office before, we can handle another one. Rather, for what happens when he doesn't live up to the promises.

Because no one can.

We don't sing praise songs about our politicians for a reason, darn it. People are fallible. People have egos and weaknesses. People will fail and disappoint. The best of us are flawed.

Once upon a time, we remembered that.

Somewhere, I think Mr. S still does.












* yeah, that's a debate for another day.
** A gentleman of one Mr. Burr's acquaintance comes to mind.
*** Boomers, you actually managed to raise a generation that's for the most part color blind. Now you're flushing one of the few truly spectacularly GOOD things your generation accomplished down the toilet by turning what used to be a heinous charge into a joke. For an election. I fear that's a choice we will all regret.

A little squirrelly...

Is it just me, or is this last week enough to make one a little antsy? Financial mess, recriminations going every which-away, electioneering shenanigans... jeepers.

I'd meant to pull out some things for the swap meet down at the hangar yesterday morning, but ended up getting distracted putting the crash bag back in good order, making sure everything was actually squared away instead of scattered amongst half a dozen different bags from various jaunts this summer. The usual checklist started going through my head - "sell this, give that to so-and-so, ooh! forgot I had one of those, gosh I could really use a new whatsit.. maybe some thingamabobs to..." You know the drill.

In the end, a small little pile sat on my bed - not luxurious certainly, but at least enough to keep body and soul united for a short time should things turn sour for a little bit, be it a forced landing in the bush or another earthquake in town. And I found it comforting.

It's an interesting sort of comfort, really. It puts me in mind of that "Hierarchy of Needs" of Maslow's they teach in Psych 101. Basically "if you're concentrating on not dying, or really really needing to pee, you're not going to be spending time concentrating on self-actualizing your belly button lint." I might not be totally on board with the top half of his pyramid, but it's hard to argue that when you're worried about where your next meal is coming from or on avoiding hypothermia that you'll be more inclined to leave off the finer things.

I think that's why Christ puts us in mind of the sparrow, or the flowers of the field*. It's precisely when we think matters are desperate that we're tempted to take stupid, destructive actions. Principles become easier to compromise. Other people begin to look less like immortal souls and more as irritating obstacles. Obstacles in traffic, obstacles in the food line - or obstacles to the perfect world.. dehumanization is dehumanization. Obstacles can be cut off, pushed out of the way.. or liquidated. And conscience, once traded away for expedience, cannot be easily bought back.

And so we're asked to trust to Providence.. so that if despite our best efforts our work comes to naught, we are still not to act in fear or desperation. It's not a command to live a pauper's life, nor an endorsement of fecklessness, but rather a caution against finding too much comfort in that barrel of wheat, the bucket of nitrogen-packed beans beside the case of 5.56, or even the ephemeral numbers in the bank account or the tiny slips of gold in the safe.

The house can burn down with all our goods inside. Businesses can close, jobs disappear. Our bodies may fail us, making the work we're trained for impossible. Friends may move away, lovers may betray us, and family will die. Nothing mortal remains.

And that's okay.

That little of pile of supplies on my bed, now repacked and stowed away is worth something only to the extent it allows me to act as a better human being. Will it allow me the luxury to tend a wound, to feed a friend, or to bring a little more joy into the world? Then it's nice it's here. Were it to become a distraction or end in itself, were it to turn my soul completely to matters of security or building a nice insular home - then I'd be better off were it to be washed away.

That's a harsh lesson. I've learned it once, and pray not to have to learn it again. But what will be, will be.

Be not therefore anxious for the morrow: for the morrow will be anxious for itself. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.












*Matthew 6:25-34

gettin' the hang of it...

Went to the Alaska Airman's Oktoberfest todo tonight. Woooonderful dinner, funny hats, and nifty things to look at. Interesting eclectic band to - they went from the Chieftains to Tom Petty in the space of a couple minutes. I felt for 'em, to be honest - they seemed used to being the focus of attention, not background entertainment, and it seemed to fluster them a little. Still, they pulled it off alright.

After dinner things seemed to slow up a bit, so we skedaddled to work on the Taylorcraft some. This time things went a lot smoother - basically cutting out bad pieces of ribs for replacement. We called it a night early though - much later and stupid mistakes could have made some hard-to-fix errors. Time for bed.

Landspeeders are a good idea for why?

Ah, October in Alaska. When the first snow starts to fall, and the roads get their first smattering of ice.

Yeah, you see that great big gash out of the front? That's what you get for not having wheels!

It's this time of year I remember every cool little hover-thing in the science fiction movies I saw as a kid, whether Luke Skywalker in his little brown project car, or Marty McFly on that spiffy Barbie hoverboard... and I think.. why?

You how easy it is to not really appreciate something until it's gone? Yeah, well.. solid contact with the ground is one of those things. Icy days here feel less like driving a spiffy landspeeder though and more like guiding a ballistic projectile - provided you keep it pointed in the right direction and don't make any sudden moves, you probably won't go off in any weird directions.

Oh well .. at least when we finally get hovercars like in the movies I'll have some advance practice in scrambling to get pointed in the right direction while not cursing too awful bad.

The Artist's Courage

It's easy to be a creator amongst friends and family. Surrounded by those who love us, who want the best for us - people always willing to overlook the hurried line or squeaked note for the sake of love and nurturing. And in truth, that stage is an important one - the bonfire always has that moment of delicate spark, so easily blown out. It needs nurturing at first, as do we. And for most of us, that's where we stay. We soothe our own souls with our art, whatever form it may take, but it remains with us. We're safe. We're comfortable.

"It's just a hobby" we tell ourselves.

And yet, every so often one of us climbs out of her home, and splashes her soul out on the world for all to see.

Take or leave it, they say - but this is me. This is what I'm giving to the world.

And it's scary. Now strangers can judge us - those with no interest in making us happy, but who will simply hold up our little treasures alongside the finest they can get in a world that can bring most anything to their door.

How frightening!

And yet... some do it anyway.

My dear friend Gina just had her first art show. Her silk paintings cover the walls of a local la-di-dah restaurant, vibrant and alive. Sea otters play with their food, coho salmon swim along the streambeds, a caribou walks the night under the aurora. For good measure, a troupe of piglets tour the Alps and a giraffe nuzzles her child. Flowers burst out in rich color, and the evening glow of the sun shades the mountains in soft pastel.

Half a dozen of the pieces were sold before she sat down to dinner two hours later - and she had half again that many in commissions filling her notebook. Another spark caught that night - she's done it.

And better still, another inspiration is in the world. Inspiration that just maybe, the rest of us holding our light under the basket might be able to uncover ourselves as well. Inspiration to do better yet, to fill the world with yet more joy and wonder.


So Gina -
Thank you for your courage.
Thank you for your inspiration.
And most of all -
C O N G R A T U L A T I O N S !!!!!!!




Alaska silk paintings are courtesy of Silk Creek Studio.

well that's neat..

It's always cool to see a little bit of progress in what you're working on. Last night after getting home I was just playing some fiddle tunes, and remembered one of my old favorites - Dougie Maclean's The Gael. If you've ever watched the early 90's version of Last of the Mohicans* you know this tune - its that driving, haunting fiddle melody played at the fort and again in the pursuit near the climax. Honestly, that tune was probably a part of what prompted me to pick up the fiddle the first time years ago, though I never learned it then.

This time though, I thought I'd give it a try. I found some sheet music for it online, but didn't like it - it just didn't sound right (way too high for one, though the intervals are right I think). So I set to trying to sound it out myself from memory.

And hey... ten, fifteen minutes later, there it was under my fingers! I'm still in that "drumming it into the body" stage** with it the next morning, but it's surprising how fast it's coming along.

Wow.. guess I really am learning something. Cool. :)












* And if you haven't, you should!!

** At least at my level, learning a new tune comes in three stages -
In the first, you just learn how the melody goes and where to put your fingers to make the right sounds. Think of it as preparing the canvas

In the second, you go through that series of movements over and over until you can do it on autopilot. If you're painting, this is where you'd be roughing out the shape and general form of the composition.

In the third, you can concentrate on nuance and expression - make the song your own. This is the fun, creative stage - think of it as like playing with the light in a painting, how shades and colors reflect back and forth.

Until the melody itself - and the movements needed to make it - are so ingrained in your fingers you don't have to think about what comes next, it's not possible to do that really.

We'll build it one piece at a time...

Spent the afternoon with Miss D and this smart guy she grabbed from the Aleutians - we went to get tools then he showed us all kinds of neat tricks to put the wings of her Taylorcraft back together.. I do believe that thing will fly yet.

It's a neat look back at history, actually. The thing was put together before WWII - she showed me once the gap in the logbook after 12/7/41 - nation-wide groundings didn't start on 9/11/01. The wing ribs look for all the world like a '40's truss bridge in miniature. Our gracious instructor was describing the intricacies of the engine - how this part was from a contemporary car, that part from a tractor. Even the bracing and various bits and bobs filling the bins around the room were still for the most part hand-welded from raw stock, rather than pulled out as whole custom castings. Simpler times indeed.

The whole creation feels so much more ... raw... than the glistening UAA Katanas or the polished Cessnas purring around the field. Not how I expected to spend the day, but it was sure an education - and fun, to boot!

Now to get those ribs done so we get 'em mounted - then the real fun starts putting the wings together. And one of these days, we'll actually get her bird in the air.

One piece at a time.