An Old Project Continued, part 1

 It's been much longer than I expected but I have finally gotten around to working on the electrical rebuild of the Beaver, my ancient RV.  It was back in December of 2017 I started implementing a plan to upgrade the electrical system. I bought books, I studied, I ordered parts, I jumped in.  Then it got too cold and other projects seemed more important so I let it go. I figured it was a good enough start.

But after the evacuation I realized that I need to get this done so that I throw things in the the Beaver and leave it I needed to.

I started reacquainting myself with what I had done. Jesus, I've forgotten so much of it that it scares me! Early onset dementia?

I needed to make some changes but I'm moving forward with the idea of separating the chassis (starter) batteries and the house batteries. At this point I have two chassis batteries separated by a switch using starter type batteries - not deep-cell. I have one deep-cell battery for the house load but will probably add another at some point.

I need to hack into the existing system, keep the parts that work and remove the parts that don't. The main access point is in the kitchen area above the sink (above) and consists of the 120VAC entry and the 120 to 12V converter with a switch that toggles the battery and the converter to the 12V loads consisting of lights, water pump, etc.

I'm taking it slow but steady, adding parts daily.

A Funny Thing Happened

It crowed.

That was the beginning.

Lucky D. Clucky was supposed to be a she. Soft-spoken. Egg-laying. Hen-like in all the traditional ways.

But Lucky crowed. And kept crowing.

So. Not a hen.

Ah well. It was never really about the eggs. And definitely not about the meat—I’m not the killing type. No, this was always about communion. About sharing space with the endlessly strange and varied citizens of the animal kingdom.

But Lucky has had a rough go of it lately.

I started with four chickens, raised from chicks right there in my living room. A tight little crew. I gave one away—contractual obligation—and the remaining three seemed to be getting along just fine.

Then the fire came.

We were evacuated. The neighborhoods turned ghost-quiet. And in that stillness, the predators emerged. With no one home to lock the chickens in at night, two of them didn’t make it.

Sacrificed to the hunger of the wild.

That part still stings.

Somehow, Lucky survived. Shaken, but alive. I heard him one night a few weeks back—distressed, clearly not okay—and I brought him inside. Just like that, he was back in the living room.

He now enters through the window, like some eccentric boarder in a folktale. At first I had to train him. Now there are stairs.

In at dusk. Out in the morning. Rinse, repeat.

He seems okay. I don’t know if he gets lonely. Hard to say with chickens. But he seems content enough. He gets along with the dog, the cat, the rabbit. Especially the rabbit. They nap near each other sometimes, which feels like some small quiet victory.

Another book down. The Quants.

 I just finished this one.

Really fascinating story well written.