bio & biblio

 

BIO AND BIBLIO

 

I’ll probably never be an important enough writer, heard by enough people or ever making much of an impact ( this leaves aside the obvious fact that as we head into an extinction level event the last thing anyone is going to do is use any author of any import for anything other than their pages as toilet paper and firestarter ) to actually warrant a biography or a bibliography, but hope springs eternal our oxygen wasn’t entirely wasted and so I’m going to put forth a modest effort to record for prosperity.  I’ve wanted to do this for some time, if for no other reason it is something a bit different.  Believe me, I ain’t impressing anyone with the dubious life I’ve led.  But I’ve always enjoyed reading of authors motivations and backgrounds.  And it is all about me, so here goes.

 

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My childhood was a rather happy one. Little angst or drama until the teenage years- and those barely count as the teenage construct is an artificial one and unnatural in every way and hence one can’t be blamed for acting as a trapped rat in a laboratory, now can one?  My earliest memory was at two or three ( born 1965, so 67 or 68 ) when I left my breakfast to race down the street and ask a neighbor kid if he wanted to share my banana I was putting on my cereal of frosted flakes.   The rude bastard obviously gave an answer that upset me and there was societies first nail in the coffin of my hatred and discontent.  Next thing I knew I was five years old and we were living in the southern California desert way out of LA ( born in the city, moving from one small burg to the other [ the city was small enough then that I was born in the same hospital room as my mother had been ] until this one to the boonies ).  Leona Valley if anyone can find it on the map- something I haven’t even bothered doing.  This was a wonderful time other than being traumatized by a rattlesnake about twice as big as I was, a fear I’ve never managed to shake since.  This bastard was so big, or else my growth had been stunted from those corn flakes, I ran crying to Mom and begged her not to go outside where I knew the evil Lucifer serpent awaited her ( probably one of the few times I showed her a lot of concern- I was a rather self absorbed brat ).  But this was a time of full size GI Joe dolls and running about the countryside and even the fall from the jungle jim on to my head was all good since I got to go home early and watch Mr. Magoo cartoons.  Nowadays I probably would have been care-flighted to LA and given CAT scans.  Then things were a bit more formal. 

 

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As my dad was working for the state as a youth consoler,  we didn’t stay in one place much more than two years.  Next we moved up to the northern California coast at Fort Bragg ( the town, not the military base three thousand miles yonder ).  I remember a leaking septic tank and having to get a shot for that- and letting everyone know out in the waiting room how much that hurt with my caterwauling.  But I also remember a wonderful adventure just a block or two away when the foster kids built a fort-underground mind you.  And plentiful fresh seafood.  Yep, the state used to be so uncrowded a modest home was just off the beach and there was excess fish nearly given away.  This was also a time I kept stapling my thumb.  Don’t ask me why.  I kept getting an open stapler and putting a metal staple partially into my flesh.  Hey, I can’t control what memories survive.  Like the only TV I remember then was Mutual Of Omaha running animal shows and “Emergency”. 

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Around age ten was when I started having more detailed longer lasting memories, and was about the time my personality underwent change. I was very lucky growing up almost exclusively in under inhabited areas. I only remember one place in the middle of town and the rest were surrounded by woods. I was always outside unsupervised, gallivanting and cavorting amongst the semi-wilds. There were always hills to climb, trees to scale, primitive weapons to construct, secret places to inhabit and other outstanding young lad delights. And I continued to do so right through military basic training where living outside was spoiled for me. But prior to ten years old, not only did I play outside constantly, I also followed in my father footsteps and always participated in team sports. For my age I was tall and did well enough at basketball, but I also participated in other sports. Then, I have no idea what happened ( I remember around this time the German Olympics and the terror attacks, but only recall the thrilling military aspect of the attack rather than being moved as a budding athlete ), but I lost interest in sports almost totally. Perhaps I was never aggressive enough and the older age groups were, and I felt apprehensive. I don’t know. But I turned into a bookworm when I wasn’t out in the woods ( which then on were almost exclusively solo adventures ).

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My mum, bless her pea-picking heart, made room in our sad and pathetic budget ( my dad had gone from youth counselor to deputy sheriff and this was prior to civil servant Unionizing- budgets and salaries were small as befitted a Podunk out-in-the-boonies county ) for unlimited Scolastic book purchases through the school ( this was also the time I had my first crush on a teacher- decades later I learned my dad was smitten by the same one, so I imagine she was a hottie as well as sweet to a rapidly introverting kid ). And I also started to “adopt” fellow nerds for friends. You know the ones, the dorks with medical issues no one likes. That went on for a few years until a cool kid picked me for a buddy ( he turned out later to transform into a punker, complete with naked razorblade necklace, and introduced me to The Who, The Sex Pistols and so many others ), and I wasn’t so outside the norm until I went back into my social shell after I discovered Dungeons & Dragons. Anyway, from Lake Tahoe we then moved down to central California. I had been born in Southern Cal, we moved up to the north tip, moved back to outside the Sacramento area, over to Tahoe, and then we dropped back down to the Santa Barbara county small town of Lompoc. Home of the Federal prison, Vandenberg Air Force Base and d at the time before being completely paved over, flower seed capital of the world. This was sixth grade, so I was twelve years old.

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After we moved down to central California I finished the last half of sixth grade- all the while to rumors of deadly and horrific fates which should await me at the middle school. Normally this would have been viewed with a certain skepticism but I had just come from a new pilot program where the last sixth grade HAD been part of the middle school and those were some mean bastards lording it over the young kids. My parents graciously offered to allow me to attend the Catholic school which went K-8. At the time I had no clue but this was when they were agreeing to divorce so it was cool they took time from that to focus on my worries ( no sarcasm- my dad was one of those old school dads I could never emulate and did a botched job myself, although I think I did great my kids first year as far as total immersion in their lives. I just dropped the ball after that in my own divorce ). And I’m sure it was a money hassle for them. But even if I didn’t fully apply myself- even then I refused to try if the subject bored me- those folks did such a great job I was able to skate through public high school afterwards not even trying and getting a B minus average after passing a lot of required classes with a D- which gave you credit if nothing else. I might hate the Papists for a lot of their historical abuses but at least I admire their schools.

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I had one best friend through High School, a fellow cops son who also was devoted to carrying on the family trade. He went through the Explorer program ( on the way to the Academy ), a subset of the Boy Scouts, they were junior LEO’s. Back then mainly they did ride-alongs and directed traffic during events. I think nowadays the little jerks are just narcs setting up grandma’s clerking at drug stores for underage sales of cigarettes. I wasn’t THAT dedicated, pretty much having decided right away I was going to the MP’s in the military. That way I got to be a cop AND kill commies. High School was bearable with that buddy, using the weekends to decompress from school. I had a few casual friends for D&D but as I lived out in the boonies it was a hit and miss affair. I enjoyed the solitary creations of worlds anyway to regular games ( I think I bought a copy of nearly every role playing game there was, just to create adventures nobody ever played ). High School also saw me turn into a medical disaster which really killed any social life I might have had ( I was flirting with the pretty Mexican gals as a freshmen but soon retreated to my bubble world ). About fifteen I got braces on my teeth, a brace on my back and my face got pretty bad acne. I stayed a pariah until graduation, gladly signing up on my eighteenth birthday to ship out a few weeks after I was set free from compulsory indoctrination. I thought trading one dictator for another meant freedom. Oops

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At eighteen and a half, finally done with mandatory indoctrination at the hands of incompetent “educators”, I thought I was seeing freedom of action by choosing the career least objectionable. My stepfather offered a free ride through college. I had zero interest in staying in a classroom, and little idea of what I should learn if I did. The local economy was typical of the Eighties aftermath of our sending factories overseas- service jobs only. And the military seemed like a fun idea- I would get issued a FREE semi-auto carbine of my very own in which one hoped I could kill commies and other assorted riff-raff. And, I could continue the new family tradition of law enforcement. I had tried the Air Force first. I liked the idea of staying out of mud and woods and being nicely dressed. But I made the mistake of telling them about my bad back and they had no interest. I then went to the Army and lied about having any medical conditions and they gladly signed me up to The Green Machine. Basic training was at Fort McClellan, the combined MP and Chemical Corps facility ( since closed down, I believe ). July, I’m in Alabama- I was used to California lack of heat, bugs or humidity.

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Not only did the Army like crappy places to train you, I got stuck in an experimental OSUT ( one site unit training ) where I had to put up with the same drill sergeant from day one basic to MOS school graduation. At the time, 1983, they liked to brag that the Army MP School was ranked number ten nationally in law enforcement training. If that was the case I’d have hated to see what kind of bozos number eleven churned out. We got one or two hours of training in most particulars ( body strike points for a baton, holds for subduing, riot control, etc. ) and the majority of the time was pseudo-infantry training ( urban assault, squad automatic weapons, M203 grenade launchers, traffic control on battlefield, bivouacking, etc ). Their justification of Basics Only law enforcement was that every unit had different standards ( and yet arriving at each unit it was assumed you were already trained ). This was my introduction into the silly military tradition of hammering square pegs into round holes. And yet, despite such difficulties as barely getting five push-ups out the first week ( only thirty-five more to go as a minimum! ) and never getting enough sleep, waking up screaming with cramps, MOPP training in muggy weather, and all the rest, all in all I fondly look back at basic training. It was my first real challenge and the first time I pushed myself. I was genuinely proud, even if all but the worst screw-ups made it through. Alas, that was the first and only time I enjoyed my stay in the military.

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90+% of my Army graduating class was sent over to Germany to man the nuke sites as security. I was relieved my “overseas” assignment was Hawaii ( and not the stinking 25^th ID like the other two chumps got but my near dream assignment to a Field Station intelligence gathering facility ). How lucky can you get? Well, perhaps I WASN’T lucky but it felt like it at the time. I do ponder how my life might not have been comprised of such a crap sandwich if I had gone to West Germany and followed a different path, but who can say. The assignment was easy, even though it was so easy all the putz officers acted like little cubicle bitches trying to stir up enough drama to make themselves look promotion worthy. I quickly became disillusioned and started with a really crappy attitude and soon found myself transferred to another squad. Third Herd, all the malcontents. There I found a home and quickly embraced near non-stop drinking ( root beer schnapps and a can of soda leave no alcohol breath and allow on the job drinking. Just don’t try until you have a good tolerance ) and illicit drug use. Not that I was pressured. I eagerly embraced poor behavior and mind numbing time passage. I thought I was started on a career and instead found myself in an insane asylum run by retards. I wanted little more to do with them. So I spent my Hawaiian vacation drunk and stoned ( with the typical cop attitude that I was above the law if I so chose ).

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I got out at just shy of three years ( Congressional authorized Early Outs to save money ). Rudderless, I took the first job that was easy-watching the gas pumps on a midnight shift. As a franchisee the place had to stay open all night but I typically had no customers. My only real job was to stay awake and I always brought a stack of Library and Loompanics books and since I rented a cheap room and had no bills I drifted for about six months effortlessly. Then, on no more than a whim, I drifted up north from the mid-coast to the mountains. Happy Camp, California. A real place. About a thousand population back in the mid 80’s. That was fun. I worked at a video store, reading in between customers and watching movies after closing. I met an ex-con who turned me on to the Lee-Enfield and a unemployed gold prospector who was a real hoot. Poached a deer by the river when he got hungry. Back then, California hadn’t turned so serious and moody.

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After about a year I once again felt restless and got fired from a piss poor attitude ( my only job ever that I got canned. I learned to be more kiss-ass afterwards ). Having a serious attack of dumpishness, I re-upped in the Army ( no more jobs available in town ). I thought I was going to hate it and it still took me by surprise how much so. I was sent to Korea to Camp Casey and the 2^nd ID. What a bunch of stick up the ass wanna-be Jarheads. God! I loved the prostitutes ( $800 wages a month and a half hour was $15. Overnight only $30. Plus you were strongly encouraged to by $5 Pink Ladies for her beforehand- which was still darn cheap for our earning power ). And the culture was way cool. But I couldn’t wait to get away from these asswhores. The Sarge made the mistake of berate us on a grueling run to tell him if we wanted out because we couldn’t hack it and I had no pride and took him up on it. Made his life miserable for months until I finally found something that made them want to kick me out ( a fake set-up suicide attempt. The Captain wasn’t buying it but was up for promotion and needed to keep this embarrassment in unit, so I got an “under honorable conditions” discharge ). Then I went back to worthless civilian time wasting jobs, which I know you can’t wait to hear about.

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Let’s back up just a smidge and date all the past activities.  High school graduation was the summer of 83.  The next month I went active duty and served a smidge under three years to spring 86.  The graveyard gas station was summer 86 to December that year.  I moved from central to north California and after a crappy grocery store job for a month or two I moved on to the video store February 87 until that ended November that year.  The second tour in the Army was December 88 to summer 89.  I got back to the west coast from Korea and attempted my first Great Escape from California by trying out Reno Nevada- not too bad of a small city way back then but a real craphole now.  From August to November 89 I worked for Harrah’s casino on the graveyard shift as security.  This was boring beyond belief as all I did besides spot checks on a set pattern was stand over the guys collecting coins from the slots.  December 89 to Jun 90 I was back in California working security for a Homeowners Association in a gated community.  I actually clashed with both the chief who was a retired cop and the other peons who were just wanna-be’s who had college classes but no experience as LEO’s.  I didn’t do things by his book and the other idiots were actually jealous of my experience/position which was a laugh. 

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I put up with that crap as long as I could then decided to leave the area once an old evil girlfriend moved close by.  I don’t know what insanity gripped me but I tried out Cheyenne Wyoming for the summer.  The only work was part time waiting tables at a locals greasy spoon.  The tips were terrible and I made just enough to pay for a $150 a month converted motel room, roll your own tobacco and barely enough to eat ( you were graciously allowed a kids meal on the days you worked-barely enough to make a turd.  I ate a lot of rice that summer ).  I had to scrap together enough to buy used books, and that was a stretch ( the library wouldn’t issue a card to transient addresses such as mine ).  I looked at the constant winds thee, decided they would be no fun in winter, looked at my job prospects as dismal, and moved back to California.  I got a management job at a gas station off Interstate 80 which lasted until October 91.  By then I had met Evil Wife #2 ( #1 was Not Too Evil, but we were squad mates in Hawaii and married just to get off base and the thing crashed and burned quickly- she still cost me two months wages for a big screen TV so it counts as a marriage when you get screwed ) and I can’t remember why but she wanted to move from the Sierra Mountain foothills up to Lake Tahoe.  I should have known the marriage was doomed.  On our wedding night after a reception filled with beer and LSD ( I was peeing and watching a residual Technicolor rainbow left in the wake of the urine stream, then watched Tango And Cash in an endless repeat loop on cable TV all night-I was pretty trashed ) I let her fall asleep without services her ( hey, we had been humping regularly for months and I had no idea of the protocol involved and I was REALLY trashed ) and she was so pissed she wouldn’t put out the whole honeymoon.  That was a first and just the start of that little piece of heaven relationship.   

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October to December 1991 I worked Stateline Lake Tahoe ( the south state line, not the north one- the two states meet in the top middle of the lake and down at the bottom at the southeast corner ) while living in the California city of South Lake Tahoe.  This is about the only major area poor folk can live.  All of the Nevada side is rich snobs and most of the rest of the lake on the Cali side is wooded and sparsely populated.  The job was dreadful as most of mine were, lugging dozens of pounds of coins ( way before slot machines went digital and coinless ) on a waist belt- almost an exact duplicate weight and distribution of being pregnant with quadruplets which leads one to believe its designer was a disgruntled breeder.  But this was still an era- now a distant memory- where casino jobs were coveted and Union-like in bennies and wages.  Plus, I worked four ten hour shifts which gave me three days off a week.  With this copious free time I started my first newsletter which was the foundation of the greatest publishing empire of all time.  To the sounds of great drum rolls and the spectacle of falling confetti, The Walter Mittey Papers was born.

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I had zero writing experience, extremely short high school papers excepted ( and the odd police report ).  I was also much more enamored with publishing than with writing.  For some bizarre reason ever since I was a child I had been fascinated with stationary supply stores, and the idea of photocopying and office supplies and mailing physical publications fit right in with that.  The first copy of the newsletter was therefore dreadful with numerous unoriginal ideas in several sentence forms comprised of a single double sided sheet.   It was supposed to be a bi-monthly and I charged 50 cents.  Stamps were 20 cents and the Xerox copies and envelope another 15, I think.  The publishing schedule from day one was much worse- I think it took five and a half years to put out 25 issues ( summer  98 was the last issue if I recall correctly ).  It was fun, swapping copies with other “zines” ( amateur crudely published magazines or newsletters ).  I did finally get an adequate product going of eight pages on usually a single idea.  Loompanics bought one of my articles for publication.  Backwoods Home  mag rejected them being afraid of losing subscribers by going to survivalism, which was my first and only attempt to solicit from a conventional publisher ( Loompanics contacted me- a huge ego boost to a fledgling writer ).  I thought I was being a bit better than others with original ideas.  The Loompanics article was how to circumvent state gun control.  I put out one on a how-to dictatorship for after the collapse.  One on how to steal from your job to finance preps.  But being a physical product, I was still in Publisher mode.  I was improving as a writer but the occupation I was striving for seemed to be about being a publishing enterprise. 

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December 91 I gratefully gave up my casino job and went to work managing a gas station.  The name was Terrible Herbst and they had a cool sombrero type hat wearing handlebar mustache bandit as their corporate mascot.  That was the only great part of the company.  I only had nominal power in my position and the territory manager did all the hiring and firing.  Meaning I couldn’t get rid of the rancid whore who worked graveyards and made my life hell.   I took a demotion and went to a Chevron as an assistant manager.   From mid 92 to mid 93 I kept that sorry job- and only that long as my first child, a daughter was born right about when I started.  During that same time I took a part time position at the local theatre.  I did it for the extra income but it was fun since I got free popcorn ( back when it was made with yummy coconut oil )  and soda and movies on non-working hours.  I quickly moved up there to assistant manager since I was the only one above high school age and I actually kept working even on lulls as the movies were playing.  Too bad it wasn’t full time. 

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March of 94 we decided to move to Oklahoma.  Evil Wife Two was pregnant ( hint- if the woman has sufficient body fat even as she is nursing, and is so fertile she gets Prego just looking at a penis, a combination of lactation and The Withdrawal Method will NOT be effective birth control ) and she wanted to move out of nursing into her true love flying.  We stayed until number two child, my son, was born summer 93 since the births were free as a benefit of her job in the hospital.  From the birth to the end of the snow early 94 we saved money and liquidated assets.  The plan was for us to put her through a year flying, at the reasonable tuition to equal a new modest automobile and then I’d be Mr. Mom and write as she worked.  The reality wasn’t so palatable.  We got to Tulsa and the flight school ( Emery Riddle I believe ) turned out to be a new corporate structure formed with the explicit intent of screwing its students while trading on the old schools reputation for new recruits.  There was none of the promises of job hunting for the students spouses or rental reductions or much of anything else.  Luckily, we had raised enough to see us through and I got a great job at a gas station chain named QT ( those in the Midwest should have one near you ).  By staying on graveyard and earning profit sharing bonuses I made the same wages as both of us had made back in California.  I worked nights, came home and watched the kids for eight hours while Herself went to school, then barely got enough sleep to survive the next cycle.  Needless to say our relationship just kept on a steady downhill course.  If I’d been calling the shots we probably would have divorced as I suspected she was cheating on me, but as it was she preempted that and moved out on her own and took the kids.   This was obviously a strategic move to keep me so poor I couldn’t fight the divorce she instigated with free legal help ( poor female single mom, so poor and fragile but trying to make it on her own by going to school as her abusive brute of a husband looked on! ) because from the separation to the divorce I was supporting two households.  My $25k a year wages left me $400 a month to survive on, the rest gong to her and the kids. 

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In 1995 on my thirtieth birthday, walking to the second household I was paying for to get my car I was paying for from the separated wife so I could go to work out in the boonies to support the bitch ( yes, I know.  I was supporting my children.  Is it a shock to discover when your life is being ruined that you mainly think just of yourself and not others, even if you should be? ), I took stock in my life and decided I really wasn’t in the place I had ever wanted to go.  I was now working a high stress job just for money- something I vowed I would never do.  No relationship- and I’d never liked being alone.  And nothing accomplished- even the writing was giving me no satisfaction.  I know I wasn’t screwed as badly as others.  I did move on to better relationships.  I did get direction in my life after that.  And the experience was an invaluable if high tuition lesson in life.  Of course, at the time I had no such perspective.  It was just a sad and miserable slog.  I got sick with the most strange things,  and in general I’m a healthy horse- the product of good genes more than my sterling personal habits.  And I rebounded to a terrible relationship. 

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Wife #3 was well meaning but crazy as a crap house rat and terrible in bed.  I think it speaks quite highly of me that I stayed with her for a whole year.  I felt like Al Bundy in “Married With Children” who bemoaned the few times a month he was forced to service his wife.  She was bad enough I tried going at it again with #2.  Of course that didn’t work out but I did get to see the kids a heck of a lot.  And I did move to Florida to do so.  I don’t know if that was a good or a bad thing.  It was different.  I moved there the summer of 1998 and by early the following year I had found wife #4, started seriously prepping for Y2K and had started writing again.  I think I was trying to sell booklets on floppy discs through the mail.  My recollection is hazy.  I know that didn’t work out and in a year I had folded all those articles into a newsletter.  That newsletter, the format and name escaping me, was a lot of reprints of others work as well as my own writing.  When I started the weekly e-mail newsletter ( Bison ) about 2001 I reprinted my own writing from the previous work.  So, for instance, if #35 from the old one was used, in the Bison it showed up as #3, or whatever.  No, I don’t particularly care about editing or record keeping.  It always has been and always will be about the writing above all else.  I’m special that way.  But the upshot is that since the turn of the century I’ve been writing on a near daily basis, as well as continuously publishing.  It could even be since 1999, but let’s round it to an even number.

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After my first job in Florida, a convenience store that paid well in guaranteed overtime, I had to move on to another after that Arkansas asswhore Clinton funded sting operations on underage sales and I got busted a second time and had to pay a serious fine to stay out of jail.  Hey, I’m terrible telling age.  You want your precious little twats to stop drinking, go after them yourself.  If the Constitution held any force that would have been construed as involuntary servitude acting as an unpaid untrained law enforcement officer.  But since lawyers are in charge, they just twist meanings and go sleep soundly at night.  Not that I’m bitter.  The new job was an assistant manager at Dollar General.  A noble mission job selling to the working poor almost everything they needed to live outside of perishable food, housing and transportation, in the three and a half years I was there the corporate clowns ran it into the ground fast, and it emerged just another greedy profit center humping their employees gleefully.  That job more than anything else prompted me to move from the area.  That was the start of 2000 to the fall of 2003.  We tried to move to Kingman Arizona but I couldn’t find a job to save my life and my delicate northern European skin was being cooked in a matter of minutes down there.  After a week or so we drove up to Carson City Nevada and I had a job in three days as a casino slot department supervisor. 

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Now, that job blew chunks also.  I’m supervising a gaggle of females whose daily existence would inspire any soap opera writer.  We got along famously- when I’m on the time clock I can be quite charming and the people person- but they were extremely high maintenance.  Again, the money kept me there, but this time it wasn’t just to pay for the ex-wife.  After being almost driven to drink with living in mobile homes and their higher costs, when we got to Carson I stuck with travel trailers and their parks.  Much cheaper than mobiles and I had freedom to move.  By living like peasants and working in a high gratuity gambling den of vice, I invested like mad in our future.  Cash for land, precious metals, guns and ammo, small business investments ( as usual, a failure- I had to try though ), etc.  I was doing it right this time, unlike Florida where we left two mobile homes with equity ( too long of a story for now ).  In summer 2006, the casino had laid us all off for a second time to reduce the personnel numbers ( the first was to shed management jobs ) and rather than be rehired-or not- I walked away and gave the slot to someone else.  We hit the road in the Hippie Bread Van and came up to Elko-only to discover my land was not going to be practical for winter commuting to work.  Back to Carson and we were parked in the stepdaughters driveway ( I had given away the trailer to a deserving family with kids on Craig’s List- good Christ, the more I think about my life, the more of a saint I am ) and I stumbled on to a job at the food bank as a driver.  I also started writing again, after having given up on the newsletter.

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For two months, during lunch and after work, an extension cord snaking out to the 110 degree roasting van, I wrote my first book “The Frugal Survivalist”.  After that I tried out a few more such as the “$3k Homesteading” and a couple of shorter ones such as the Peak Oil treatise and some damn thing else I’d have to look up.  I was ready, and that fall of 2006 I started the infamous “Bison Survivalist Blog” which has spread far and wide and is now known by none.  That went on til 2012 when I needed a break and started the James M Dakin Blog that lasted two years.  In the meantime in 2008 I had moved to Elko, just a month or two shy of the near Wall Street meltdown.  Not that I had any idea it was going to happen other than in general paranoia theory, but it makes me look vaguely clairvoyant.  And here we are, 2014.  The ex is paid off.  The land is free and clear.  The underground home is providing wonderful weather protection and we are chugging merrily along with the Bison Prepper Blog. 

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