! In the quiet hours of the bootcamp grind, I found myself: Esteban's Bootcamp Experience

B.E.L. Post # 147

I awoke to a morning that felt gently placed upon the land—soft light stretching across the horizon, the kind of quiet that makes you feel fully reset. The cats, of course, had other plans, their morning chorus reminding me that the day had already begun. After tending to them and a few personal tasks, I gathered my tools—chainsaw, batteries, hatchet—and loaded up the Rav4, setting out with a clear and simple plan.

The intention was to fill the work rig, swing by the lab to harvest a few junkpoles and check in on Melissa, then make my way to Dances with Pigs for a bit of well-earned relaxation with my little dog.

About five miles into the drive, the journey offered a small but meaningful lesson.

I noticed a subtle wobble from the rear—nothing dramatic, but enough to say, “pay attention.” Trusting that instinct, I pulled over right away to take a look. I’m glad I did, because it turned out the rear wheel had worked its lug nuts loose and the drum had shifted slightly out of place.

It wasn’t a failure—it was one of those moments where catching something early makes all the difference.

After gathering the lug nuts and assessing things, I reached out and before long Seth arrived with a jack and tire iron. Together we took a closer look, reset the drum so everything seated properly again, and got the wheel snugged back into place. It was a solid temporary solution—more than enough to get me safely back to basecamp without pushing things further than needed.

From there, the decision was easy: head back, take it slow, and let it be properly looked over.

What stood out most wasn’t the issue itself, but how smoothly it was handled—quick awareness, good communication, and a helping hand showing up right when it was needed. One of those quiet reminders that things tend to work out well when you stay present and take action early.

Back at basecamp, I shifted gears into something more grounded—building.

I spent the rest of the day crafting additional shelving for the solarium. I cut a piece down to 30 inches, flattened one side of the round timber with the table saw, and began shaping it into something both functional and beautiful. The live edges were sanded smooth, supports cut along the way, and I even took the time to wood-burn markings into the surface—adding a bit of story into the grain itself.

To finish, I applied raw linseed oil, watching the wood come to life as the tones deepened and the character emerged.

By the end of the day, everything had come full circle—from a moment of awareness on the road to a quiet sense of accomplishment back at basecamp.

Just another reminder that a good day isn’t about everything going perfectly—it’s about noticing what needs attention, handling it well, and continuing forward with intention.

B.E.L. Post # 148

Today had one of those quietly magical rhythms that seems to carry you along before you even realize how much has been accomplished.

The morning began with the cleaning blitz, and somehow that full hour slipped by in what felt like mere minutes — a sure sign of being surrounded by genuinely good-hearted, easygoing people. There’s something about shared purpose and light conversation that turns even simple tasks into something enjoyable.

Afterward, I made my way to the shop and put a coat of linseed oil on the outer walls of the cat house. There’s a certain satisfaction in that kind of work — slow, methodical, and protective — knowing it’ll help the structure weather time a little more gracefully.

With that done, I stepped out of “task mode” for a bit and spent an hour or two just being — playing with my dog, journaling, and enjoying the stillness woven into the day.

Later on, I helped Melissa move the last of her personal items from the Love Shack over to the Abbey. It felt good helping close that chapter with her — one of those small but meaningful transitions that quietly matter.

Once that was wrapped up, I noticed Roy — our trusty work vehicle — was sitting around a quarter tank, so I took him out for a quick fuel run before heading straight back to basecamp. Always good to keep him ready for whatever the next task may be.

In the afternoon, I shifted focus to the Solarium and installed a couple more shelves — this time near the door leading into the library. It’s starting to come together in a really functional, intentional way, piece by piece. After finishing that, I went back to the shop and began prepping additional shelving materials to be installed later this coming week.

Nothing overly dramatic today — just steady progress, good company, and that grounded feeling of building, helping, and moving things forward one step at a time.

B.E.L. Post # 149

Today unfolded like one of those quiet chapters where skill, curiosity, and a bit of courage all meet in the middle.

After the morning meeting, Rodger and I were given a task that, at first glance, felt like stepping into unknown territory—changing the driver’s rear wheel studs on the Rav4. I had never done anything like it before. There’s always that small moment where you can either hesitate or lean in… so I leaned in. A quick YouTube tutorial became our guide, and before long, we were elbows-deep in the process, learning by doing. What started as unfamiliar quickly turned into something surprisingly enjoyable. There’s a certain satisfaction in understanding how something works by taking it apart and bringing it back together again. We stayed with it right up until lunch, problem-solving as we went, and appreciating each small victory along the way.

After lunch, the pace shifted into something a bit more peaceful. Samantha led us on a garden tour that felt less like a walkthrough and more like being let in on a living story. Every plant had a purpose, a history, a role to play—food, medicine, soil builder, pollinator ally. The level of detail she shared made it clear just how much intention and care is woven into the land here. It’s one thing to see a garden… it’s another to truly understand it.

With fresh perspective, Rodger and I took the Rav4 out for a test drive—always a satisfying moment after working on something mechanical. Everything held up nicely, which felt like a quiet little win for the day.

We wrapped things up by returning to the cat house and continuing work on the roofing. There’s something grounding about ending the day building—measuring, fitting, adjusting—watching a structure slowly take shape under your hands. We worked steadily until the light began to fade, closing out the day with that good kind of tired that comes from learning, creating, and contributing.

Another day of small skills growing into something bigger.

B.E.L. Post # 150

The morning began, as many good tales do, in a quiet gathering of minds—where intentions were set like seeds in fertile soil. From there, Stephen, Rodger, and I ventured into the courtyard, armed with our hori hori knives, like humble guardians reclaiming ground from the slow creep of green invaders. We knelt to the earth, carefully freeing the cracks from their grasp, each root pulled like a whisper undone.

But the work did not end with removal—no, we followed with a touch of quiet alchemy. Wood ashes, the remains of past fires, were scattered and swept into the cracks. It felt like returning memory to the land… a protective layer, sealing the spaces and discouraging future encroachment. A simple act, yet one that carried the wisdom of cycles—fire to ash, ash to protection.

As Stephen departed for his weekly council with Paul, I continued onward, drawn to the horseradish berm. There, beneath the midday sun, I worked steadily, peeling back the stubborn grasses that dared compete with what we intended to grow. The rhythm of it carried me to the edge of lunchtime, where effort met rest.

In the afternoon, Seth and I made our way to the lab, gathering round timber as if collecting pieces of a future warmth. Each length of wood held potential—soon to be part of a firewood build that would serve others down the line. There’s something grounding about working with timber in its raw form… a quiet respect exchanged between hands and tree.

We closed the day alongside the fence line, reinforcing and shaping it—one more layer of intention made visible. Not just a barrier, but a boundary with purpose. A line that says: here, we are tending something meaningful.

And so the day folded in on itself, as all good days do—leaving behind small marks of care, effort, and quiet progress woven into the land.

B.E.L. Post # 151

This morning during boot shift, Rodger and I got back on the cat house roof to finish it up. We kept laying shingles for a while and finally got the last one fastened in, which felt pretty good to wrap up.

After that, we snapped a chalk line and trimmed the excess down to about a 4" overhang so everything looked nice and even. Once that was done, we gave the roof a coat of raw linseed oil. Planning to come back later and do a second coat once it soaks in well.

While we were working on that, Seth was inside the cat house putting in some quilt-type material for insulation, which should help keep it nice and cozy. Stephen and Jessee were off doing a gravel harvest at the same time.

After lunch, Melissa, Rodger, and I headed over to the Abbey to work on the junkpole fence. I focused on getting the horizontal pieces up and ended up harvesting about six trees to use as supports. I managed to get all but two of the horizontals in place by the end. While I was doing that, Rodger and Melissa were working on filling in the panels.

Overall, it was a solid day—felt good to make that kind of progress and see things coming together.

B.E.L. Post # 152

After the morning circle, when intentions for the day had been spoken into the cool air, we made our way toward the quiet bones of the shower shack. It had been still for some time—waiting, in that patient way that structures do. Today, we answered that call.

Piece by piece, we brought it back into rhythm. The foot pumps were set once more beneath the sinks, ready to draw water with the simple press of a step. The shower faucets returned to their place, like old instruments being tuned again. Seth wove the lifelines together—hoses stretching from the hydrant to the water heater and into the shack—until the whole system felt connected, like veins carrying warmth and flow back into a resting body.

With water moving again, we turned our attention to care and renewal. Roy and the Rav4 stood by, dusted with the stories of many miles. Seth moved through the interiors with the steady hum of the vacuum, Melissa brought clarity back to the inside glass, and I worked along the outer surfaces, clearing away the film of the road. When the windows were clean, I laid down Rain-X across the windshield, mirrors, and glass—a subtle layer of protection, like a blessing against the coming rains.

Before the midday pause, I returned to the cat house roof. The wood, already kissed once by oil, drank in its second coat of linseed. You could almost feel it—like the structure exhaling, settling deeper into its purpose, more ready now to meet sun, wind, and weather.

After lunch, we climbed toward the Abbey. There, Stephen and I worked with the horizontal pieces, setting them carefully, aligning them so they could carry both weight and intention. Once they were in place, I began filling them in, one piece at a time, falling into that quiet rhythm where the hands know what to do and time softens around the work.

As the day began to lean toward its close, I moved into the simple practice of cut-and-drop mulch. Blade to stem, stem to soil—returning what once grew back to the earth that will receive it again. A small cycle, repeated endlessly, quietly building fertility beneath our feet.

And with that, the day came to rest—threads of water, wood, effort, and soil all woven together, each task a small offering to the larger living system we’re tending.

B.E.L. Post # 153

This morning’s circle felt different… like the land itself was holding its breath with us.

Stephen shared that he’s stepping down from the High Commander role, and the words landed softly but deep. You could feel it move through the group — not loud, not chaotic… just a quiet wave of emotion. There was sadness there, of course… but also something steady underneath it. A knowing.

Because truthfully, it feels right.

There’s something deeply permaculture about it — a man returning to his own patch of earth, choosing to tend his own systems, to build slowly, intentionally… to find peace in the rhythm of his own land. I’m genuinely happy for him. Now he gets to shape his own little haven, guided by the seasons instead of the demands of leadership.

And in that same movement, something else opened.

With him stepping back, space is being created… and you can feel it calling the rest of us forward. For us core boots, it’s like the ecosystem just shifted — light reaching new layers. There’s room now to grow, to take on more responsibility, to root deeper into this place. Not all at once, not forced… just naturally, like young trees finally getting their share of sun. A quiet passing of the torch.

After the meeting, I wandered over to the solarium and spent some time tidying it up, getting it ready for the new boots arriving soon. It felt like preparing soil before planting — clearing, arranging, making space for what’s about to come in.

From there, I headed to the classroom, loaded up the new cat house onto Roy, and made my way out to Cooper Cabin. I set the new structure in place where the old one had stood — same footprint, fresh start. Then I brought the old one back to basecamp, where it’ll be taken apart this weekend. Nothing wasted… just another cycle of breakdown and reuse.

After lunch, we gathered at the Abbey. Jesse and I worked on rebuilding the junkpole fence next to the Ant Village gate — piece by piece, fitting together what the land has provided. It’s the kind of work that feels simple on the surface, but there’s a rhythm to it… like you’re part of something older than yourself.

We closed out the day as a crew, felling more junkpoles that will soon become pickets for that same gate. Harvesting what’s needed, shaping it, returning it in a new form. The cycle continues.

Change is definitely moving through here right now… but it doesn’t feel like an ending.

It feels like succession.

B.E.L. Post # 154

Woke up this morning to the kittens making sure I didn’t sleep in—little rascals were hungry, so I got them fed and situated. After that, Chapito and I headed out toward the lab and ended up wandering quite a bit, just exploring and taking it all in.

We made our way through the Dances with Pigs meadow, stopped by the Abbey, and checked out a few other spots around the land. Saw a good amount of wildlife too—deer, turkeys, and a bunch of smaller critters moving about. It’s one of those things that never really gets old out here.

Eventually we hiked back to basecamp and took it easy for a couple hours. Later on, I headed back over to the Abbey to gather some woody bits and brought them back to basecamp to get the shop’s fire rack stocked up—figured it’d be good to have that squared away.

After that, I knocked out some laundry and came across a tiny kitten that had wandered off, so I brought it back to its mom. Had a really solid conversation with the new sepper too—always good connecting with new folks coming through.

All in all, a simple, good day.