Progress, not perfection

Years ago I got a Chinese fortune cookie whose wisdom has served us well on the Loveless Lake Project:

Inch by inch, life’s a cinch.

Yard by yard, it’s very hard.

Even though it seems we’re always looking down the road (me, especially, as I’m already sketching cabin plans and interviewing builders…), it helps to break down the steps into chunks – and then lower expectations a notch or two.

This past weekend we set three goals.

Goal No. 1: To make our "first Saturday" visit to the Polk County Recycling Center, when it opens for the month's lone weekend day until noon. We paid the kind gentleman $15 to take the refrigerator -- even though the Freon likely leaked out years ago, and Xcel currently is paying people $35 to get rid of their aging fridges. Still. Just like those nasty, skanky mattresses we dropped off the first Saturday in Febuary, this was money well spent.

To quote an art teacher I once met, "Good riddance to bad rubbish."

Goal No. 2: Get the giant TV console up the hill and into the truck so I could set it out with my curbside recycling in Minneapolis. The thing was so heavy that Chris ended up dismantling it. If memory serves, this was the third TV we've hauled out, and certainly the most challenging and karma-sucking of the bunch.

It's sitting on its side, but this massive dinosaur was a mother to deal with.  

Goal No. 3: Fire up the new chain saw. Whohoo! Chris made quick work of the low-hanging branches that snagged his fishing line the first time he threw a cast at lakeside. I hauled several loads of excellent firewood up Stairmaster Hill to stoke the fire.

Yes, life’s a cinch.



Chris and his angle of repose.



We're studs

We’ve reached a major milestone at Loveless Lake: We’re down to studs on all walls.
Even in the kitchen, where Chris joyfully pulled out the cabinets, along with this beaut.

We occasionally fantasize about designing a pulley system or buying a snowmobile and sled to give us some extra power to haul all the stuff up from the cabin to the road. I did buy a little "come-along" recently because we thought we might need it to help us remove the refrigerator. We ended up sliding it up the snowbank and dropping it close to the road. (Hey, when you've got two rotting boats on your property, what's a fridge?)

Chris with a load of drywall. Refrigerator is on the left.



I'm bonded with the truck.



We're thinking a teardown party in the spring might be a fun way to help haul away the remainder of the Loveless carcass, and usher us into the next phase.


I'll provide food, beverages, a warm fire and a campsite for anyone who wants to burn a gazillion calories and work those glutes.

Any takers?

Our Super Saturday

The Packerheads were hyped for the Super Bowl when we headed out to Loveless the day before their showdown with the mighty Pittsburgh Steelers. Bar signs promoted weekend specials, kids at the Menards were decked out in Green Bay jerseys.

This was our first trip to the Wisconsin cabin with the “new” truck. We knew exactly what we wanted to do: Get those skanky, nasty, too-disgusting-for-words mattresses and box springs out of the cabin.

Our friend, and my former neighbor, Doug came along for the adventure, and we were grateful for his extra muscle. With thigh-high snow, it took the three of us to haul those things up the hill to the truck.



Doug and Chris celebrate.



I had to pay the Polk County Recyling Center $10 apiece to take them, but it was the best money I’ve  spent in a while. Some of the bad karma left the space with those mattresses. And more practically, we’ve got more room to stage the kitchen demo.


Mission Accomplished.

After we stuffed the truck with bags of insulation -- fuel for the Hennepin County garbage burner -- we took to the lake. Chris tried out snowshoes, and Doug and I headed out on cross-country skis.

Doug takes in the expanse of Loveless.

This was my first view of the front doors of my neighbors, and offered more evidence that Loveless is delightfully offbeat and fun. 

On the lake, we saw smattering of traditional ice houses and a several guys sitting on buckets next to their 4x4s. There also was a handful of vintage trailers that people were using as ice houses, something native Minnesotans Chris and Doug had never seen.

Up next: Figuring a way to pull the nasty, skanky refrigerator up the hill, using snowpack to our advantage.

Bringing a little love to Brainerd

There aren’t too many things we’ve been able to save from the deconstruction at Loveless, but Chris had the good sense to keep this ice scooper out of the trash heap.

It came in handy this weekend as we headed up to Brainerd for the $150,000 “ice fishing extravaganza” on Gull Lake. We joined Gov. Mark Dayton and 10,000 other souls braving 20-below wind chills to have some fun and maybe win a big ole truck.

Despite my jiggin’ and Chris’ bobbin’, we didn’t even get a nibble. But the bright orange scoop -- which Chris stuck high in his bucket the few times we wandered off -- was our beacon among the masses, guiding us back safely to our fishing holes.

Loveless has a truck

More good things are flowing toward Loveless. In a tidy three-way, I bought this truck from my friend Bill who bought a car from our friend May who was selling everything and moving out of the country.

Chris is on his way to adding a minivan (with trailer hitch!) to our fleet. After a fine season pinch-hitting, I'm benching the VW Golf.


Let the serious work begin.

The boats

I’ve got a couple more months to figure out an exit strategy for these boats. They’re plopped right by the side of the road, on the only flat spot on the property. It’s the only logical place to put a dumpster, if it comes to that, when we drop the cabin this spring.

The fiberglass runabout seems like the bigger obstacle. There’s no rehabbing it to make it lake-worthy, and I’ve yet to find anyone who will recycle it or take it as scrap. One person I contacted suggested I use it as a flower pot.

Actually, I told her, that’s currently its most endearing feature. This fall, ferns were flourishing among the bottle tops and water toy remnants. 

As for the pontoon, at least scrappers would value the aluminum. And if the pontoons actually float (how do you figure this out?) a resourceful soul could rehab this baby and have some fun with it.

I'm noodling with the idea of turning it into a floating patio:

After I bought the land this fall, I put an ad on Craig’s List:  “Free boats: Handyman Special. U Haul It.”

No takers.


My mother suggested I try again, and this time put a price tag on them.


That way, she said, people will think they’re worth something.

OK, Six Funky Things

Can’t believe I didn’t mention this loft in my previous "Five Funky Things" post. Chris and I didn’t give it much thought at first.

But when it was time to take a look at this loft, we got to thinking. Hmm. There's no way to get up there. No stairs, no ladder.


Once Chris pulled his own ladder up to it, we realized it’s a Good Thing he’s a skinny guy. A Santa-sized person could not squeeze through these openings.

We found lots of kids’ things up there. Sleeping bags, toys, cots. Maybe they shimmied up here and crashed after a night of board games.

At any rate, Chris has now pulled all the insulation out of the Loft From Nowhere and from most of the cabin. Walls are down to concrete and studs. Here are some before-and-afters of the living room.  



Rear wall of living room, wood paneling, and picture.



Goodbye paneling.



Goodbye Pink Panther.



The kitchen is the next frontier. 

Ah, maybe I'll just snowshoe around Loveless Lake.