Bundled in warm layers and thick rain gear, I stay dry in the cab of the mini excavator. Scott has already prepped a large downed spruce tree from the mossy forest floor. I didn’t see it myself, but know that it was at the top of the hill deep into the forest, attached to a pulley that was attached to a tree which was attached to the mini excavator, which was kind of attached to me.
Besides being mesmerized by and following my dad around in the shop to every piece of equipment I could operate or ride on, my equipment operating skills are pretty slim. This is my second day in this machine and my only job today is to pull the tree down the hill. Primarily this means watching Scott’s hand signals as I back the track between the foundation posts that are prepped for the shop build. Scott jumps over and around the large, slippery, weathered log, working hard to help maneuver it into the path of least resistance, all while keeping it attached to the excavator, while not getting hurt himself.
Sitting in the mini excavator, watching Scott and his hand signals, I think of my dad. He spent thousands of hours operating a variety of heavy equipment, and was well known for his skills. After his sudden passing in 2020, there was a road named after him that is a causeway to the container dock in Valdez, Alaska. It’s called Steve Cotter Way, and it brings you to the floating dock with some impressive heavy equipment. My mind starts to wander, remembering my dad. Watching Scott maneuver this logging operation so effortlessly in the muddy, sooty December mess reminds me of my dad working in his element. That commitment, that dedicated effort, to fulfill the needs of the task, no matter what obstacles or difficulties may arise. It’s familiar, it’s intriguing, and it brings comfort.
I was a daddy’s girl through and through, from my youngest memories until the day he suddenly transitioned from this earth. I admired my dad in many ways, but especially loved his calm energy, his quick wit, and the eclectic range of his useful skills. Since his death, I’ve felt close to him in many different ways and forms. One of the ways that is ever so present in the coastal homestead way of life is in the work and efforts that we do to maintain and develop this property. The physical efforts, running the excavator, chainsaw, or mill, designing and building, they bring a richness to the memories that pulls the life right out of them. For a moment, it’s almost like I’m in the mini excavator with my dad again, just a little girl sitting on his lap, mesmerized by the movements of the controls and the effortless executions that they make.
The hum of the excavator is rhythmic and the only noise in this calm space. The tree of focus makes it to the desired location before Scott takes over the operations to complete a more technical maneuver. This includes moving the log in between a downed stump and tree, in between foundation posts, through the thick gelatinous mud, and over a recently built bridge spanning a small creek. Today, in the challenging conditions, it took longer than desired, but boards were milled from the forest for the sauna, and sometimes these efforts take longer and aren’t as fruitful as one would hope. That’s just the way of life in the wilderness. And, it’s a life we whole heartedly embrace.
Does it take longer to pull anchor and drive our motor sailor, the White Eagle, to Homer to mill or purchase the wood there? Probably. Do we lose out on the “simplicity” of getting in the truck and driving to Home Depot for some 2X4”s or beams because we chose to live coastal remote? Sure. But in this “loss”, we gain a richness so deep it is palpable. It’s palpable in the round log we drag from it’s destined rot on the forest floor, to the mill, to salvage all we can to turn it into a new life form. It’s palpable in the creative architecture of a timber and stick framed building designed with the available milled beams and boards in mind. It’s palpable in the untreated spruce that will bring a rustic, weathered life to this beachfront sanctuary. And, it’s palpable in our souls which thrive in the vast resource filled wilderness with creations to build, and memories to excavate.