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

Post#1

Hello beautiful people of the permaculture world!

    Just a quick intro about me .... I was born and raised in the golden light of Clearwater,FL - a place where the scent of salt and citrus fills the air, and where my family's little restaurant sat overlooking the endless rhythm of the ocean waves.  It was there, between the clatter of dishes and the crash of the surf, that I learned about nourishment - not just of body, but of the soul and community.  For nearly a decade, I served the heart of my hometown, working with the City of Clearwater, giving back to the place that had given me so much.  But somewhere deep inside, a quiet whisper began to grow - a calling to step beyond the shoreline and wander toward something wilder, something rooted.  That call carried me west, across the sun-soaked plains and into the desert of Tucson, Arizona.  There, under wide open skies and surrounded by saguaros, I rediscovered wonder - in the silence, the stars, and the taste of good Mexican food shared with friends old and new.  One evening, while exploring WWOOF USA, I stumbled upon Wheaton Labs- and something inside of me stirred.  -It felt like the place I'd been moving toward all along.  So I packed up my clapped out old Tacoma, my loyal 8-year-old havapoo Chapo riding shotgun, and began the long, winding road north.  Now, nearly two weeks in, I find myself here - among the pines and permaculture dreams - grateful beyond words.  Each sunrise feels like an invitation, each project a lesson in patience and possibility.  This journey has already been magic, and I can't wait to see what grows next.  

Post #2

    The dawn cracked open over the permaculture stronghold like an orange bursting in sunlight.  I rose to the call of duty - our high commander lay fallen, struck by a flu-like foe, leaving the realm in my hands.  Yet I was not alone.  By my side was the one and only Duke of Permaculture, a man of patience, precision, and profound earthy wisdom.  To fuel my mission, I began with the Elixir of Fire - a concoction of ginger so potent it burned through the morning fog and forged resolve in my veins.  The day demanded nothing less.

    My first task: carrying two formidable boxes of cardboard from the grand library.  These were not mere boxes - they were shields of brown fiber, destined to feed the ever-hungry flames of the mass rocket heater.  There, at the dehydrator, the plums of yesterday waited for their transformation.  With a strike of fire and a puff of smoke, the beast came alive, devouring the air and spitting out warmth.  The scent of drying fruit rose - a sweet offering to the gods of self-sufficiency.

    But there was no rest for the fieldworker.  The Tomato Uprising had come.  The harvest was vast, red, and unrelenting.  I faced the mountain of fruit with my mighty Victorinox in one hand and a pot in the other.  Under the watchful gaze of the Duke, I began the alchemy - boiling, blending, seasoning - until chaos turned to creation.  Tomato sauce, rich and radiant, was born.  My first.  My proudest.  And under Paul's wise guidance, it became a triumph of both patience and palate.

    Then came the Corn Crusade.  From home base to the Abbey, I marched through fields of whispering stalks, harvesting every golden ear the earth would give.  Yet the yield was modest - a single wooden crate, humble but honorable.  Each cob was shucked like a trophy of perseverance, the kernels gleaming like sunlit armor.  The final trial of the day awaited back at home base: the restacking of the firewood.  Together with the Duke, I lifted, tossed, and balanced the logs like pieces of an ancient puzzle, fortifying our winter.

As dusk settled and the stars crept out from hiding, I looked upon the day's conquests: the fire still glowing, the sauce cooling, the corn stored, the wood stacked.  And though the high commander would never see the feverish symphony of sweat and smoke that filled this day, I knew the land had witnessed it.  A day of toil.  A day of triumph.  A day under the Duke of Permaculture.

Nice for you to come at harvest time Esteban! I suspect the colder weather in Montana winter will be a culture shock for you as a change from Florida.
Any plans for the green tomatoes - are you hoping they'll ripen off in time?

@Nancy Reading

    You guessed it true - I've arrived right as the harvest bows its head to the turning season.  The air carries that fine, woodsmoke sweetness, and the fields whisper their farewells before winter lays her quiet hand upon the land.  For a fellow raised beneath Florida's golden sun, these Montana winds will surely be a mighty change - but a welcome one, I believe, for there's good spirit in every challenge worth meeting.  As for those green tomatoes, my boot commander's still pondering their destiny, though I suspect a few will find their way to the skillet soon enough.  There's comfort in the sizzle and scent of fried green tomatoes - a taste of home, wherever one's boots may rest.  

Post #3

    The morning broke cool and golden over the valley, a thin mist curling above the fields like breath from earth itself.  After a counsel with the wise Duke and the High Commander - where plans were laid, wisdom exchanged, and laughter stirred like coals - the day's labors began in earnest.  The High Commander and I made our way to the shop, where I brought life to the great rocket mass heater, its deep rumble waking the still air.  Sparks leapt and danced as the High Commander tended the second fire - the one bound for the dehydrator, where the plums, laid out like jewels of summer, awaited their slow transformation.  From there we journeyed to the laboratory - the edge of our small dominion.  We walked the lines of the junk pole fencing, studying the craft and strength of its making.  The feline guardians met us with bright eyes and soft demands for breakfast, faithful keepers of the realm.  A few matters were inspected on-site, things of quiet importance that keep the work of the land steady and true.

    Upon returning to base camp, there was no pause - for the land waits for no man.  I set to work with the t-posts, driving the deep to protect the young trees from the hungry deer that wander like ghosts at dusk.  Their bark and branches, still tender, must be guarded well if they are to see another spring.  Then came the boxing of potatoes - good, humble treasures of the soil, each one tucked away carefully for the cold months ahead.  Stephen, ever the craftsman, took the time to show me the art of sharpening - the edge of a shovel, the keen glint of a pocket knife - simple tools, yet mighty in the hands of those who tend the land.

   And before the day was done, I discovered a new joy - the wood-burning tools, glowing like embers in my hands, ready to etch stories into timber and grain.  To leave a mark, however small, on the world around me - that felt like a good ending to a day well spent.  As the sun sank low and the air grew sharp with evening chill, the fires burned steady and the camp settled into its quiet rhythm.  And I, weary but full of gratitude, thought to myself - this is the good work.

Post # 4

    Yesterday (10/17) was another full and meaningful day here at Wheaton labs - the kind that leaves you both tired and deeply fulfilled by sundown.  The morning began with my daily meeting with Paul and Stephen, a grounding ritual that always sets the tone for the day ahead.  We discussed a few plans and upcoming projects, trading insights and ideas over the crisp morning air.  Afterward, I made my way down to the shop to light up the rocket mass heater - that comforting roar of fire and warmth that brings life back into the chilly space.  There's something meditative about tending that fire each morning; it feels like lighting the day's intentions.

    Once the heater was humming along, Stephen offered me a new challenge - the opportunity to fell a dead tree down at base camp.  It was one of those moments where excitement and nerves meet, knowing that this was both a skill and a responsibility worth learning properly.  Before even picking up the saw, Stephen walked me through the assessment process - observing the tree's lean, reading the way it stood in relation to the slope, checking for obstacles like fence lines or power lines, and envisioning the safe direction for it to fall.  It was a lesson in observation and respect for the forces at play, a reminder that working with nature always begins with awareness.

   Once we had our plan, we set the tree jack in position, and I began cutting the V-notch, taking my time, feeling the rhythm of the work.  Then came the back cut, the moment where precision and patience really matter.  It took me a good while - the tree didn't give in easily - but with Stephen's steady guidance, I pushed through until he helped finish off the tail end.  And then, that satisfying moment: the groan of wood, the creak, and finally, the tree giving way and falling exactly where we intended.  It wasn't just about cutting down a tree - it was about learning to read one.  To understand the balance between human intention and natural gravity.  After felling it, we bucked the logs and hauled them back to the shop.  From there, we sliced a few thin rounds off the trunk, and inspiration struck - we decided to turn them into signs for the willow feeders.  Using my newly learned wood-burning techniques, I etched messages into the rounds, transforming them from fallen wood into something useful, artful, and lasting.  

    By evening, as the smoke from the rocket mass heater drifted lazily into the twilight, I felt that quiet satisfaction that only comes after a full day of learning by doing.  I came away with new skills, a deeper appreciation for the craftsmanship, and a growing sense of connection to this land and the work we do each day.  Each task, no matter how small, seems to weave itself into a larger tapestry here - one of resilience, creativity, and community.

Post # 5

    I want to share a bit about my off - boot day, and more importantly, why I think it's worth sharing these kinds of posts.  Wheaton Labs isn't just a place to learn and build a community - it's a whole environment of growth, peace, and exploration.  And for any future boots reading this, I want you to know that there's so much more to experience here beyond the daily projects.  Your time off is just as valuable as your boot hours.  Because out here in this beautiful part of Montana, your "off-duty" time can easily turn into a mini adventure - hiking through pine forests, exploring quiet river trails, or just taking in the small-town charm nearby.

    This morning I gave myself a little gift - sleeping in until 8 a.m.  Sometimes you just have to let your body rest and let the morning unfold at its own pace.  After my usual routine, little Chapito and I hopped in the truck and headed out to a cozy little town about 20 miles away.  I wanted to grab my favorite coffee and explore a few new trails for us to hike later on.  It's one of the things I love most about being here - you're never far from somewhere new and beautiful.

    We eventually came across a hidden gem called Big Eddy - a small fishing spot tucked off a backroad.  It opens up to a gorgeous stretch of river where people can launch their kayaks, rafts, or small fishing boats.  Chapito and I wandered along the riverbank, skipping a few rocks and soaking in the calm.  He had a blast sniffing around while I just enjoyed the quiet rhythm of the flowing river water. It's simple moments like that which remind you how healing nature can be.  

    On our way back toward based camp, I stumbled on another cool find - a single-lane bridge that crosses the river.  It looks like it might've been a railroad bridge at some point, though who really knows!  There's a little pull-off next to it where you can park safely and take a trail that winds down to the riverbank below.  I'm already planning to come back there soon - it feels like the perfect place for journaling, hiking, and reflecting with the sound of the river as my background music.

    When I got back to base camp, I took a stroll along the road ( always walking my dog) ... I noticed a few sections of barbed wire fencing that had been knocked down - probably from deer sneaking through.  Tomorrow after our cleaning blitz, I plan to repair those sections and haul back a few logs ( about 18 feet total) that was near yesterday's tree felling .... They'll get cut and split next weekend.  It's nice ending an off-day with a few light plans for the days ahead - keeps that balance of relaxation and purpose.

    So, to all future boots or visitors thinking about coming here - remember this, Wheaton labs isn't just where you learn. It's where you live.  It's a place where you can find peace in nature, enjoy your free time in countless ways, and reconnect with yourself in the process.  Whether you're hiking, journaling, exploring nearby towns, or just sitting by the river with a cup of coffee - this land has a way of feeding the soul.  I feel incredibly grateful to call this place home, even for a while.  And I hope sharing my off-duty adventures gives others a glimpse of what makes Wheaton Labs so special - not just for the learning, but for the living.  

   

Post # 6

    Yesterday (10/19) started with the famous cleaning blitz - you know, the glorious time when we all pretend to be professional housekeepers for a few hours.  I rolled out of bed, stretched like a cat, and got straight to dusting, wiping, and sweeping the main house kitchen until it gleamed like a freshly oiled rocket stove.  Then I marched over to my living quarters for "nest duty".  Let's just say - if a squirrel saw my tidy nest afterwards, it would've taken notes.  Everything in its place, bedding fluffed, and floors so clean you could almost eat off them (though I wouldn't recommend it).

    With my chores wrapped up, I switched gears to personal time - a rare and beautiful thing.  Between bouts of rain, little Chapito and I went on multiple walks.  He loves his strolls... well, as long as it's not raining.  The moment a drop hits his fur, he looks at me like, "Bro, I didn't sign up for this."  When we weren't dodging raindrops, I got a bit of inside time for journaling - a few lengthy entries that probably read more like philosophical ramblings of a man trapped indoors by weather.  Also reorganized my mailing and stationary area - because apparently, I now get satisfaction from alphabetizing envelopes.

    At one point, I decided to brave the drizzle to work on the barbed wire fence up front by the road.  Got a few lines tightened up, admired my handiwork, and then the sky reminded me who's boss - cue instant downpour.  All in all, it was a dreary, rainy day, but honestly, I didn't mind.  Sometimes it's nice to slow down, do a little cleaning, a little writing, a little fence - wrangling, and a lot of Chapito-cuddling.  Not every day has to be sunshine and chainsaws - sometimes it's just me, my mop, my mutt, and the rain....