August 1984“YOU CAN CONTROL CIRCUMSTANCES.” That was the birth of the code. He didn’t listen. Not at first. None of us did the first time we heard it. And I’m not sure I can interpret it now. Isn’t that the way it is with codes and canons, principles and plans? They’re okay until you hit an extreme, then it’s a matter of figuring out how they apply, how to decode them, what’s relevant.
The raccoons haven’t come. For a week there’s been no lights in the house. None in the barns. It is cool, cold. My body is stiff, chilled, and I can barely bend my right leg. The fire hardly warms me. Three days ago I dug the pit and chimney. Nothing much, really—a small one-man kitchen with a flat stone over the fire pit, an entrance flue downhill, a six-inch-deep exit tunnel-chimney, a covered trench, sna
