In the Beginning . . .
The year was 1983 when I purchased 150 acres of old growth timber near Pleasant Hill, Mo (see satellite map on Contact page). The down payment took every penny I could scrape together and left me on a shoe-string budget for the following ten years, until I could call the timber mine. As a single man with such financial constraints, I had no choice but to live on the property. No electrical power or municipal water system existed along the lonely road. Deep creeks and an intimidating ridge isolated any access to the site I dreamed to call home. Nonetheless, I was eager to begin. With a pair of 4½ ft used “whistles” (culverts) dropped into the creek, I gained a foothold on the ridge before me. Snaking between the trees up the ridge some 900 feet, my twisting road scaled the summit. This was the spot where I would begin my first of many future projects - - the one room shack.
For 18 years I called this little shack “home.” All the while, I was saving my money for the greatest project of my life, the timber frame house. In 1999 I married Gayle and she lived in the shack with me through two winters before we moved into the “big house.” For a civilized woman like Gayle to endure my gravity fed shower indicated her willingness to join my lifestyle and was certainly her “rite of passage” that punctuated my choice as a mate. Today, we have renamed the shack: it is now dubbed “the shop.” All projects here on the hill are funneled through the shop. The timber frame house is ours; the shop is . . . . and always will be . . mine. Following Gayle’s year and a half initiation, she cheerfully bestows such ownership to me.
The success of my living conditions the first five years was based on propane. I adapted Colman camp lanterns and converted a 1940’s vintage natural gas refrigerator to propane gas. In the rafters of my shack I installed a 200 gallon stock tank, which held my “hauled” water. Below the reservoir was a propane hot water tank. With this arrangement I enjoyed the amenities of hot and cold running water: a shower, sink and a flush toilet. My shower was equivalent to standing under a bucket with holes drilled in the bottom but it worked acceptably. A free-standing wood stove was my sole source of heat. Many times after a day at work I would come home to find ice in my toilet. During the 60 mile round trip to work and back I charged an auxiliary 12 volt battery with my pickup truck. With that portable battery I could power a small black and white TV and a small night light. Of the 800 square feet of shelter, half was living quarters and half was work shop. Though most folks would not identify with these living conditions, I was delighted that I had all the comforts that I needed and could not have been happier. As a final touch, I transplanted my collection of H. ventricosa along the front of the shack.
After five years of austerity measures, electricity was finally routed along my road and I joined the modern world (rural water would not come until another five years had passed). Electric lights and power tools were a welcome luxury but perhaps most welcome of all was the simple oscillating fan. Sleeping through summer nights in a tin roof building was far more uncomfortable than the most frigid of winters, and the coveted fan provided me with an undisturbed night’s sleep. Also, I could finally watch a TV program through its entirety, rather than have it fade away into a small dot on the screen at the most interesting juncture. No longer did I have to carry a flashlight in my rear pocket.