Southeastern Idaho is a semi-desert, and a perfect location for building an underground, earth-sheltered home in the 1980's. First, however, we would need a temporary shelter to use until our real home could be built. Something quick but semi-comfortable to survive the winter.

::::::::

The end of September, the first of October begins the autumn rains in southeastern Idaho.  Strong rains in late October ensure strong winter wheat growth.  But if the rains come too early, the harvesters can bog down, the trucks can get stuck, and the potatoes can be ruined.  Of course this was all knowledge that came later. 

Initially, we knew only that southeastern Idaho was a semi-desert.  A perfect location for building an underground, earth-sheltered home in the 1980's.  First, however, we would need a temporary shelter to use until our real home could be built.  Something quick but semi-comfortable to survive the winter.  Something for the four of us: Joe, me, our two boys, Jason and Braedon,  and for Sally, our collie-mix, and something for our collection of 3 goats, 8 chickens, and 4 rabbits.  Something that a limited budget with only me working could provide while Joe provided the labor and the designs. 

So, in August, with a lot of sweat, a dozen rough cut poles, a load of rough cut, log-end planks, and boxes of nails, Joe designed and laid out our shelter.  Using a minor, but conveniently placed sand dune, we hefted the poles and butted them into the hill.  The goats found the process fascinating.  Assured that the logs were bridges to nowhere, they danced along the spans and hopped from one to another.

Joe nailed the rough planks into wall structures, cursing the goats when they pulled one off while trying to eat the bark.  I carried piles of planks, astounded at how well they fit to form walls. 

"What about the gaps," I asked.

"That's simple to fix with mud," Joe responded brightly.

"And the roof?"

"Well, with enough dirt and grass we'll have a fully insulated roof!"

The boys were fascinated almost as much as the goats.  Being 6 and 9, Jason and Braedon were willing to assist for short periods before wandering into the irrigation ditches to find frogs and salamanders or trekking off the half mile through the fields to the closest neighbor with boys to play with. 

When the mudding began, the boys participated full-heartedly.  Careful of each other's progress and the smoothness of their sections, they worked diligently for nearly two  hours.  As they neared the end on their two sections, Braedon casually tossed a handful of mud at Jason's section.  In shock, his smile disappeared as his missile intercepted not the wall but Jason's sudden bent neck.  With a look of shock, Jason turned.  But instead of an angry retort, a smile slowly crept up the corners and a gleam twinkled.  He nodded and laughed.  Relief flooded Braedon's face and he, too, laughed.  But his laugh ended as mud splashed his cheek and flowed down.  The mud battle ended only with the last of their supplies and an admonition to fetch water from the ditch. 

"And wash off that mess while you're at it!"

This was an adventure and the kids were well versed in the important aspects!

The final result for the house was a mudded shelter that kept the wind out.  Three days of shoveling and wheel barrowing covered the north side of the roof with dirt and grass clumps.  The goats christened the roof by urinating and pulling the juiciest grass mounds from their intended position.   The south side was steeper, shorter, so it was mudded.  All in all, it was shaping up as a livable shelter. . . until the real house could be built.

Plastic sheeting for the window openings offered light and wooded shudders could be lowered to keep the wind out and re-enforce the plastic.  On the east end, the eave was still open which provided added light.  The chickens were convinced that the eave was their roosting niche.  This proved a scant problem, which Joe thought funny, but the rooster's use of the eave for calling at 3 and 4 in the morning was no laughing matter. 

By the end of August, the east eave was enclosed and a home was discernible.  School had started, so my help was limited to weekends.  Driving in each day made trucking water easier.  By maintaining two 5-gallon containers in the car, we limited our water needs to ten gallons.  By burying half of a fifty-five gallon drum, Joe installed a sink for a kitchen nook.  Then he ingeniously rigged a shower from half of a culvert.  By pumping a pressure insecticide sprayer, we could shower with less than a gallon each.  The outhouse was a mere 80 feet from the east, and only opening of the house.

With the lanterns and the wood burning stove, we were a little concerned about ventilation. Initially, Joe had buried almost fifteen feet of culvert at the southwest base of the west wall.  This work well, providing fresh air flow and cooling the warm August nights.  But one Friday night the air wafted in smelling foul and musky.  By the morning the distinct odor of skunk was obvious.  Any doubts were dispelled when the excited barks of Sally echoed down the vent tunnel followed by a howl and the distinct overpowering wash of acrid musk.

"I smell skunk!" called Jason.

"I smell Skunk!" called Braedon.

"I just said that," Jason said as he scrambled down from their loft.

"Yuk, it's stronger down here!" 

"My eyes sting!"

"God, who let a skunk in," called Joe.  It was only 6 in the morning and everyone was up, coughing, rubbing eyes, and rushing outside.

"I've never smelled anything so strong or so rancid!"  I cried as tears flowed. 

"Me, too!" wailed Jason and Braedon together.  But we were wrong, for just then Sally came whimpering up.

"Down Sally!" Joe scolded as Sally rubbed at his legs.  She dropped to her belly and whined. 

"She stinks" said Braedon.

"She caught a skunk," observed Jason.

"Yes, yes, yes," agreed Joe, "and you two are going to have to take her to the ditch to wash her."

"No, way!  It's cold!" said Jason.

"Yah," echoed Braedon, "It's cold!"

"Well, water alone wont help," I said, "We'll need to use some tomato juice on her first and I don't know if once is all she'll need."

She didn't.  Three sets of tomato wash, ditch water, shampoo, and ditch water, again, were needed.  When finished, Sally still had the hint of musk, but not bad, as long as you didn't rub her back or let her lay right next to you.  She continued with a hint of musk for almost two months.

The bigger problem was the smell in the house and the skunk in the culvert.  Sally was banned from the house for the day.  The plastic came off the windows to increase the air flow.  Joe threw fresh dirt on the opening of the culvert, burying all but a small six-inch opening.  From the local hardware store, he got a box of moth balls.  He put these in the vent tunnel inside the house and closed up the house end of the vent with plywood.  The intention was to drive the skunk from the tunnel.  The naphthalene wafted with the smell of skunk around the edges of the plywood and the tunnel opening, but it was lost in the residual skunk smell in the house generally. 

Come evening, we laid a couple of eggs just beyond the culvert opening.  And waited.  Without window covers, the smell was tolerable.  Every couple of hours we snuck out to the culvert with lantern held high to see if paw prints marked the skunk's departure.  Perhaps the skunk was waiting for us, just as we were waiting for him/her.  In any case, by midnight no signs of the skunk appeared.  We finally slept.

In the morning, sure enough, small prints showed at the culvert opening.  One set.  Leading out and away!  We wasted no time.  We all helped fill in the entrance, throwing the dirt deep into the tunnel before piling more on the outside.

"What if it just had babies?" asked Jason, "what if it's a mother?"

"God, let's hope not!" Joe and I replied together.

Authors Bio:
BS's and MS in math, chemistry, and geology. Have worked in rad con, chem labs, environmental monitoring, and education. Spent 2 years with research lab developing methods for remediation of contaminated sites (organic solvents and biological warfare agents). Have taught math and science in public and private schools, as well as college and university. Have experience in custodial services as a fall-back profession: when we no longer need educators, we will still need custodians.
Science is a passion. Music is the window.