In 1977, I purchased 27 Acres in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. My intent was to design and build a house for myself in the middle of the forest. I had no experience at all in how to do it. I read dozens of books about building a foundation, types of houses that were possible to build, different styles, how to insulate it, how to put in windows and doors, and what kind of roof would be adequate for the heavy snowfall that would occur during winter. My final decision on Style was a cordwood house.
Basically, it was necessary to build a framework for the house. The walls would be 12 inches thick to accommodate the small pieces of logs that would be cut to fill in the framework, leaving room for large windows and a door. As the logs were stacked to fill each wall, in between them, to keep them together, I used a mixture of concrete, lye, and a little coloring so that the exposed outside and inside of the log would match the color of the framework. It would take at least two months to complete the framed walls.
I couldn't see myself living in a small tent while I built a house. The idea I had was to buy a manufactured replica of a Sioux Indian Council Teepee that could sleep at least 8 people inside of it. I found a company in Colorado that made such things, and I bought one to be delivered the next February. It came with 15-26 ft long poles that would hold the outside skin. The problem was that I didn't own a truck to transport it to Upper Michigan.
Since my days as a musician had come to an abrupt end and I had spent all my finances on the property, the teepee, tools, and everything else I would need, I decided to place an ad in the newspapers. The ad said, For TRADE, 1936 Full-bodied Gibson, curly maple body, spruce top, rosewood neck, collector's item. In exchange for a truck in good condition similar to a Ford F-150. Only serious offers considered.
Within one week, I received several responses and scheduled meeting times to review each of our offers. The first three didn't work. Two because their trucks were junk, and the third because I didn't think he was much of a guitarist to do justice to that fine old instrument. I wasn't trading that beauty to just anyone.
The fourth one was a serious player, could play everything I asked him to play, and loved the guitar. He owned a two-year-old Ford F-150, and we had a deal. It was with great sadness that I parted with that guitar.
Once the deal was made and the papers transferred, I called my cousin Leon, a welder. I told him I needed a custom-made rack to carry my teepee poles above the bed of the truck. He said he would do it on the weekend, and on Monday the truck was ready. That truck served me well for 5 years until the engine finally died because of all of the heavy loads it pulled during that time.
Enter my neighbor, Steve, who lived behind me up the hill about 1/4 of a mile. I told him my problem, and he said it was not a problem because he had an old Mercedes-Benz in his driveway that had a Ford engine in it. We towed my truck up to where the Mercedes was, and he built a tripod to lift out the engine, remove my old engine, and put the new engine into the truck. I was back in business for about a year until I had a problem with shifting gears. Once again, he came to my rescue, stating he could fix the problem but in a very unusual way. He said the first and third gears worked on the steering column, but the second and reverse gears would have to be utilized on the floor. He asked if I wanted to do it, and I said, of course. He brought out a 12-gauge shotgun, blew a hole in the floor, and put in a gearbox for the second and reverse gears. It was a very unusual setup, but once I got used to it, it wasn't a problem. Time took its toll on the gear setup, and eventually I just parked the truck, went into town, and bought a used Honda.
