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  • The grass straw was harvested 5 miles to the west by an old fellow who wasn't real clear on the means of structural wall-building with bundled plant-matter, although he did offer some fine tips on stacking those bales into the bed of the truck so we could haul a maximal load without losing any on the way back to Sand Creek.

    The back wall is an overhang of natural stone, pretty well as we found it, and as the cowboy and rustlermen would have, too, 100 years and more back to 18__'s meter as etched on a graffito'd rock around the corner beside a dozen homely names; and likely not far altered from deeper centuries when Utes and Fremont dwelt here blithely, somewhat as we had conceived for ourselves to do again.

    The rafter / viga logs are throwaway beetle-kill and burn zone refuse the lumbermen let me comb through for a few sizable, strong-enough members, while they sought to confirm that I had not, nor would ever, write stultifying objection letters to the Forest Service regarding proposed timber sales in the dwindling reaches of marketable pine stand on the Thousand Lake R.D.

    Footing stones came from the creek, behind me. The windows were free somewhere else. The folks, the hands and hearts, came from here and far, mingled, made piece, and moved on. Mud went up over the walls later in sleek sculpture and flourish, from right off the ground, where it will eventually all return.
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