Entering the vertical world, receiving assistance from three temporary fellow vagabonds (Texans, of course). Our backs took a week off while we developed some splendid blisters and callouses on our feet, for that is the initiation into the world of traditional cobbing. Never mind the fact that those ancient Welsh bastards had some draft horses! But our cobbing forefathers didn't have ghetto blasters with which to play Pearl Jam's "Ten" for motivational purposes.
On the social front, the typical initial awkwardness of communal living is melting into a cohesive whole where our roles are "organically" coalescing into a working team, smashing egos in the process (or so our collective ego has led us to believe). They say there is no "I" in team, but there are two "I"s in annihilate.
Workhorses: visited House Alive World HQ, an inspiring conglomeration of hand-sculped and even code-approved dwellings and meditiation spaces tucked into the Oregon woods. Years of backbreaking labor is the price you pay for a Permacultural Utopia: off the grid, self-sufficient, and an inspiration to Peak Oil Homesteaders the world around. And the covered wagon RV nestled right up close to sheer brilliance.
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