Memos from Quarantine #38: Spring and the Allure of Zero Trust

Tomorrow is the first day of spring, and it scares the hell out of me.

 Wouldn’t you know it? Just as I write those words, sitting here pre-dawn in the old farmhouse at the edge of the hundred-acre wood, some creature outside said the wrong thing to the wrong skunk, and now we’re all paying the price. This is why I have defense-in-depth with scented candles.

Up ‘til now, in my first winter at the Revolutionary War soldier’s home, it’s mainly been about clean and seal. Clean the floors, walls, ceilings, windows in the main living space, and seal it all from outside elements – and creatures. Keep the oil tank full, the woodstove stoked, the power on, pipes from freezing … and worry about the rest come spring.

 Well, now spring has come. Where to begin?

 Do I start by venturing into the root cellar? Not to be mistaken for my real cellar – a granite-walled, dirt-floored foundation under the main farmhouse – the root cellar is just off my kitchen at the far edge of the home, and it supports the unheated ell that connects to the barn. There’s racket down there, and it may just be squirrels. But there seem to be an awful lot of skunk fights around here, so I’m suspicious. Not sure I want to investigate.

 Instead, do I expand clean & seal? The attic has been cleaned and partially sealed, but I need to make sure it’s airtight before the bats return. Then there are the rooms in the ell. They’d make fine studios or guest quarters, but there are a lot of peeling paint and loose window panes to be addressed. And I need to ensure a solid firewall, so to speak, between the ell and the barn. Because I know the squirrels have been partying in the dance hall, and I don’t want them staggering into the home.

And how about that barn? I’ve said since day one that I want to host a Halloween party in that dance hall, but there’s so much to be done between now and then. Beyond clean & seal, there’s a wooden floor to be sanded and stained, electricity and lighting to be addressed, entries and stairways to be buttressed. To revive the innocent revelry of the 1940s barn dance, I have to apply the safety & security sensibilities of the 21st century, and it’s daunting.

Then there’s the landscaping. This farmhouse is nestled perfectly between the sunrise and sunset on five acres of rich land. You can see the overgrown path where the stage coaches approached. Walk through the remnants of the vegetable garden where novelist Erskine Caldwell harvested potatoes and rutabagas. Stumble across apple trees and berry bushes that remind you of what a fertile ground this has been. There’s a huge, sprawling lawn that could host games, tents, stages. I have a dream of one day seeing Caldwell’s “Tobacco Road” performed on this lawn. But, geez, how does one get from here to there? I don’t even own a lawnmower yet.

 Haven’t even talked about restoring the floors and walls in the main living area. Or the exterior paint job that’s needed. Roof repair. Driveway to be paved. Walkway to be built. The list is as long as the days will be by June.

 I knew all this coming in, of course. That was part of the allure – the opportunity to restore and reshape this historic property. But as winter becomes spring, as “what I’d like to do” becomes “what I need to do” … I kind of freeze. There is so much that needs to be done, and I don’t know where to begin. It’s like living in a “Choose Your Own Adventure” book, except with the responsibility of ensuring that every next step is taken safely and securely.

 Hmm, not unlike a living version of “zero trust.” Verify, then trust.

 One of my conversations this past week was with John Kindervag, the creator of the zero trust security model. He’s just changed jobs, and he’s outspoken about his desire to evangelize – to help organizations understand and embrace the model so that they can bolster security as we all emerge from this winter of pandemic isolation and step into a broader, interconnected world of “work from anywhere.” He’s pleased to see his 11-year-old concept take off as it has, but dismayed at how some vendors have tried to turn it into a product.

 “Zero trust is a strategy, not a product,” Kindervag tells me. “There are no zero trust products in the world, so if anybody tells you ‘Hey, I want to talk to you about my zero trust product,’ it would be best to slam the door in their face.”

 To Kindervag, it all comes down to: What do you want to protect?

 And, y’know, as I face the start of spring … “What do I want to protect?” isn’t the worst first question to answer.