Esteban Ademovski

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 # 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 # 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 # 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 # 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 # 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. #146

After the morning meeting, we split up into teams for the day’s tasks. Melissa, Jesse, and I headed over to the lab to switch out the batteries and memory cards on the trail cams. Once that was wrapped up, we made our way back to basecamp to review the footage. Nothing unusual showed up this time around, but it’s always good to stay consistent with checking them.

After that, we were assigned to build a fire rack at the berm shed. We took our measurements, gathered the materials, and cut everything down to size. We made solid progress on it and got to a good stopping point just in time for lunch.

Following lunch, the whole crew headed up to the Abbey. Seth and I focused on installing the tipi gate, and I’m happy to report that we were able to finish it. It’s always satisfying to see a project through to completion and leave it better than we found it.  Also while Seth and I were focusing on the gate install, Stephen and the rest of the crew were working on the junkpoles ....

All in all, a productive day with a good mix of maintenance, building, and teamwork.

B.E.L. Post # 145

Today started, as always, with the morning meeting setting the tone for the day. After that, we headed to the shop to gather tools for our tasks up at the Abbey. The work ahead of us was a mix of practical land stewardship and ongoing infrastructure—junkpole fence repair, a tipi gate replacement, and building mulch rings around young trees to support their establishment.

Once we arrived, everyone naturally fell into rhythm. Stephen took Melissa and Jesse aside to rebuild a fence panel, walking them through the proper techniques and protocols. It’s always good to see that knowledge being passed down in real time—hands-on, intentional, and rooted in experience.

Nearby, Rodger and Seth focused on straightening junkpoles, correcting V-formations, and adding mulch rings around the young trees. That work might seem simple at first glance, but it’s the kind of detail that really matters over time—small corrections now prevent bigger issues later, and those mulch rings will go a long way in conserving moisture and nurturing soil life.

I spent most of my morning on the tipi gate installation. I picked up where the work had left off, continuing to dig out the footing. After finding a solid log, I cut it down to 54 inches to fit the need. I drilled a hole all the way through—not just for the tenon that will act as the hinge for the gate, but also to allow for drainage in case water ever finds its way in. It felt like one of those small but important design choices that can extend the life of the structure.

Once the footing was ready, I laid about 3 inches of gravel at the base for drainage, set the log in place, and backfilled with more gravel to create a sort of “gravel sock.” It’s a simple technique, but one that reflects a bigger principle—working with water rather than against it, even in something as straightforward as setting a post.

That’s as far as I got with the gate for now, since we didn’t have a ladder on hand for installing the lintel piece. Sometimes progress comes in stages, and that’s just part of the process.

After that, I joined in on building mulch rings until lunch back at basecamp. In the afternoon, I shifted gears—seeding the berms and then making a run to collect water jugs from Raspberry Rock down to Lightning Hill, which wrapped up my boot day.

Overall, it was a day that really highlighted the balance between building, maintaining, and nurturing the land. From fence lines to tree care to water-conscious construction, every task tied back into the bigger picture of long-term resilience and thoughtful design.

B.E.L. Post # 144

I started the day with my usual rhythm—feeding the cats and heading into the morning meeting. There’s something grounding about beginning the day that way, taking care of small responsibilities before stepping into the bigger picture of the day’s work.

After the meeting, we were tasked with heading down to Dances with the Pigs meadow to gather mulch and stage it at the Abbey. Before linking up with the rest of the crew, we split into two work rigs. Riding with Seth and Melissa, I had a few buckets of gravel loaded up that needed to be dropped off at the Abbey first. It felt good knocking out that small task early—one less thing hanging over the day.

Once we met up with Stephen, Rodger, and Jessie at the meadow, we all got to work. The weather matched the mood of a good, honest workday—a light sprinkling rain under a gray sky. We spread out, cutting and dropping grass while also collecting what we like to call “deer candy.” There’s something satisfying about gathering materials straight from the land, knowing it’ll be put to use building soil and supporting future growth.

When Roy’s bed was filled, we headed back to the Abbey and staged the mulch. It’s always rewarding to see a pile of raw material transformed into something purposeful, ready to feed the system.

Back at the shop, the group split again. Stephen took Jessie and Melissa aside to teach proper chainsaw sharpening—an essential skill that really speaks to the permaculture mindset of maintaining your tools so they serve you well over time. Meanwhile, Rodger, Seth, and I continued working on the Tipi gate build.

After lunch, we got right back into it, picking up where we left off. By the end of the boot day, I’m happy to report that we completed the frame for the Tipi gate. There’s a real sense of progress when you can step back and see a structure taking shape from your efforts.

Days like this remind me how much permaculture is about stacking functions—not just in the land, but in the work itself. We moved materials, built soil, learned skills, and made tangible progress on infrastructure—all in one steady, rain-soaked day.

B.E.L. Post # 143

Woke up this morning feeling genuinely rested, the kind of sleep that seems to reset everything. I eased into the day with my usual rhythm—feeding the cats, taking a quiet moment before heading into the morning meeting.

Afterwards, I joined up with Rodger and Seth to continue work on the tipi gate. Some of the material had already been set aside from trees Stephen and I felled before he left for Baltimore, but like most natural building projects, it became clear we needed to work with what the land could still provide.

Rodger and I grabbed the chainsaw and hatchet and headed out to Sherwood Forest. Walking out there reminded me of something I’m starting to understand more deeply—how much permaculture is about relationship. Not just using resources, but observing, selecting, and taking only what fits the need. We chose a couple of trees that made sense for the project and brought them down with intention, knowing they would directly become part of something useful.

Back at the classroom, we began processing the logs—debarking, shaping, and slowly turning raw material into functional pieces. Seth worked on cutting the tenons, and it was one of those moments where you can see the transformation happen in real time. There’s a certain patience in working with natural materials—they don’t rush, and they don’t always conform perfectly—but that’s part of the lesson. You adapt to them as much as they adapt to the design.

After lunch, Jesse, Rodger, and I shifted over to Dogstar to shore up the dog park. It was straightforward work, but still carried its own lesson. I spent time nailing in supports and felling around 15 junkpoles to fill in gaps along the panels. Using what might otherwise be overlooked or considered “low value” material felt like a small but clear example of permaculture thinking—finding purpose in what’s available instead of reaching for something new.

By the end of the day, everything felt a bit more solid—physically and mentally. We wrapped things up with Taco Tuesday, sharing a meal and winding down together.

Days like this continue to reinforce that permaculture isn’t just about systems or techniques—it’s about mindset. Paying attention, working with what’s there, and being part of the process rather than trying to control it.