Covodea, the land of rocks.
I’ve been spending a great majority of my time in Pittsburgh as of late. I love the people I’ve met. They’re anarchists. They’re open-minded. They’re all good cooks. They’re anti-automobile. They’re bikers. What more could I ask for?
At least half the time I’m out there, we spend it at Covode [Dave’s family’s hill in the country]. I love it. Wiping my ass with the soft side of white oak tree leaves, having those damned rocks pop up from the netherworld directly under my sleeping pad where no rock was before, drinking lukewarm water, not showering for days, and worrying about the next time our little friend, the black bear, eats our one year supply of soup—it’s all worth it. That piece of land is beautiful. We may be a small group of eco-radical idealists, but it’s never been more fun to be an outsider.
Collecting tinder for the fire, dragging six-gallon jugs of water around, searching the land for funky berries to eat [we’ve discovered elderberries, huckleberries, and blackberries thus far], and staring at the Milky Way for hours in the darkest dark I’ve ever known is more relaxing than I’d ever be able to put into words. I long for a time I can call that piece of land my home. …and I think that dream is growing closer with each passing day. Dave, Nathan, and Scott were working on the foundation for the stone cabin last year, but that progress has slowed down. It need not matter, their friend, John-Michael, the owner of the DVD Empire, is in the midst of building a tree house twenty-plus feet up in three trees. This is not any tree house, mind you, it’s a John-Michael tree house—including a thousands of dollars zip-line to the site, huge deck, pulley ‘elevator’ system, and plans for running water. This guy is cracked-out just like his grandiose schemes…he has more motivation in what’s remaining of his thinning hair than what my entire body could ever contain. He’s cracked-out. Period. Covodea is quickly becoming a home. I like that.
Not only am I having a great time with my new-found friends, I’m falling in love, too. Damn, what ever happened to that seratonin-deprived Lindsay of last winter? I don’t miss her anyway.
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