Weather in Michigan can be unpredictable. The snow came back on April 6, dusting Christmas highlights into what should be a spring scene. But the soft blue-gray colors never fail to enchant me. These maples, as I write this today, are running with sap and their buds are swelling. Later, I'll go and rake more leaves from last fall, building my compost pile stroke by stroke. There is a magic to all the seasons running together and reminding me of things like the face of impermanence and actual joy of groundlessness.
We continue to liberate the inside of all our exterior walls, discovering the "creative" approach to framing used in the cabin. This really makes installing insulation from the outside-in quite impossible because of the bee-hive nature of the wall construction. In some cases, the 2x4s were installed "flat" rather than on edges, so we'll be rebuilding some of the walls to create enough depth for good insulation. We'll have a local company come in to spray the foam from the inside of the house, then drywall over that. It's heavy work, but the savings will be quite profound come winter. In the picture below, you can see that we'll have to rip some of the flooring out as well, and then use a liquid floor leveler to make for a more pleasing room.
The reminders of rebirth are everywhere on the property. These flowers showed up just a day after the snowfall I pictured at the top of this entry. Death and life, beginnings and endings, sun and snow. Each day reminds me of the cycles and circles of life that go on even as I dream new gardens and stuff broken drywall into heavy plastic bags, listening to my breath drawn through the fibers of a protective mask. This work is more like writing a long and leisurely novel and less like poetry. Still, the very nature of "pace and quiet" has settled into my bones and rocks my often too-active mind.