My Ida Adventure

Tropical Storm Ida brought rain as we drove Phil to the airport on Tuesday. The gusty wind and constant rain continued through the day on Wednesday, when Michelle Bessette called to let me know that the storm was not supposed to let up until Friday, but we were welcome to take refuge in their house. I suspected we would need that, but as the day wore on, we managed.

Because we’ve decided to get the trees next week, I spent the morning researching rodent guards and ways to connect the trees to the stakes. I ordered Deer Away, an organic product made of putrescent egg solids that supposedly really does keep the deer away. I also looked into making a repeating mouse trap that sounds pretty clever: a 5-gallon bucket rigged with peanut butter on a paper plate, that neatly drops mice in to their drowning death. (See the design here.)

Just once did I bundle all five children up. We ran up and down the driveway twice, but it was so chilly, we didn’t last as long as I had hoped to eliminate all high spirits and high energy. I was looking up at the clouds blowing across the sky, and then looked back to Joe, who had left my side. He had headed to the side of the driveway, where he waded into a puddle up to his knees. I felt like I was receiving a recently-baptized convert as I took his hand and drew him out of the deep puddle. He seemed a bit surprised at the soaked pants and shoes, but not unduly distressed. Silly guy!

In late afternoon, we started Sonlight Core 1 Science. I’d read the appropriate pages, then watch the experiments on DVD. The boys enjoyed seeing Grandma’s house and Uncle Justin. That segment of Science happens to be on water, so we opted against doing any of the actual experiments. Some we have done in the past, but I figured it would be too much to have water inside as well as outside.

Thursday we woke to more of the same. More rain. More wind. More chill. I am pleasantly surprised by how little time the morning chores take: perhaps twenty minutes to get everything fed and watered and check on their general well-being. We’re much faster at moving their paddocks, too. The last time, it took Phil and I only a half hour from the start of gathering up the electric netting to end of moving their pen. The oats they recently grazed appear to be regenerating, even at this late date.

After we did some magnet experiments, the children basically settled in to play happily all day long. It was glorious! They didn’t bicker; they didn’t irritate each other. They came up with imaginative games and stories. A few times I considered stopping them to do school, but realized I think my philosophy of schooling for this season is don’t disturb playing children. (Rather like my philosophy for sleeping babies. Just let them be!)

I read. “Famous” farmer Joel Salatin (the farmer you would know by name if you know the names of any farmers in the US) described his winters as a time to hunker down and research. I felt like that was my day, too.

I visited the sheep in the afternoon. The whole paddock smelled of wet wool, and the sheep looked noticeably thinner, as their wool was wet through. I put up a tarp as a windbreak, but they didn’t appear distressed. I hope not.

After dinner, we got ready for Bible study. I felt triumphant: two days in 224 square feet with five children, by myself, on time to study God’s word, then on to the airport to pick up Phil when his flight landed at 11:30pm. Excellent. I was a bit concerned about getting up the driveway, but figured all would be well.

Sadly, it wasn’t all well. After I got five children into their five boosters and carseats, I started to back the van up the drive. I don’t think I’ve backed up in the dark before, let alone with rain, and felt like my visibility was nil. Not ever the most confident driver-in-reverse, I decided my only option, in order to keep our van out of the treacherous ruts and safe from the electric and satellite poles next to the drive, was to turn around.

Bad mistake. We don’t have enough gravel at the bottom of the driveway. In good conditions, this doesn’t matter much, since we can drive on the pasture. But with five inches of rain in 48 hours, we didn’t have good conditions.

Moreover, I backed up, unfortunately, right over the ditch that Phil and Butch had uncovered last week in order to put in a hydrant. The hydrant will be useful, but the ground was not hardpacked.

In the frustrating twenty minutes that followed, I tried everything I could think of to get the car out of the mudhole it had sunk into. I brought fistfuls of gravel from higher up the driveway (the wheelbarrow has a flat tire, so I couldn’t use it). Then I got smart and shoveled gravel into five gallon buckets, hoping to get some traction. I also was unkind to my transmission (as Dennis pointed out later), by revving it in hopes the car could escape from the miry pit. I put boards down under the wheels. I shoveled the sloppy mud out from under the most-sunken tire.

I even had Jadon go up front and put the car in drive while I pushed from behind. That was, perhaps, the most pointless of all. I do not have Phil’s brute strength, and in tennis shoes, slipping in the mucky mud, I had no purchase anyway. Besides asking Jadon to do something he was not comfortable with.

When the van had sunk down low enough that I could hardly fit a board under the body, I gave up in defeat, and called the Bessettes. (What else could I do?) Dennis came over right away, singing, “Here I come, to save the day!” He did not drive all the way down the driveway, not daring to get too close. (He mentioned that his old neighborhood in Norfolk is under 18” of water. Michelle said, “This is a hurricane, or at least, the tail end of a hurricane. This is not usual weather!”)

We unloaded five children and one carseat into his truck, and drove to the Bessette house. The four older children happily ensconced in the living room watching the latest Pixar movie, and ready to spend the night, I left in Dennis’ truck for Bible study. An hour or so late, but I arrived at last.

The truck freaked me out a bit; besides being manual transmission, it was really big, and felt like riding in a silent spaceship. I would have driven to the airport, slowly and carefully, but Martin Bush offered to drive me instead, and that seemed better to me.

In the continued swap of cars, it looked like this: Amy’s van stuck at Lykosh homestead. Bessette truck at the Doug Bushes. Martin car up to airport with Martin and Amy (and Joe)—get Phil. Drop Martin at his house in Charlottesville. Three Lykoshes drive to Doug Bushes. Drop off Martin car, get Bessette truck. Drive Bessette truck to homestead. Phil gets Lykosh truck (not stuck, thankfully). Amy drives Bessette truck to Bessette house (so Dennis can get to work in the morning, when he leaves before 7am). Phil follows in Lykosh truck to get Amy. Amy worries about 3-year-old Abraham, so goes in to the Bessette home to get that one sleeping Lykosh. Barking dog wakes several other Lykosh children, so all four remaining children end up in Lykosh truck.

By 2am, all Lykoshes are home where they belong, with just Martin’s displaced car and the Lykosh van thoroughly stuck to give any indication that such mishaps occurred.

Doug asked, “Why didn’t Phil drive himself to the airport?”

And we have no answer for that. We even brought the little Corolla from Colorado so he would be able to drive it to the airport when he needed to fly out. But it never crossed either of our minds that Phil could drive on his own.

After Doug asked that question, he offered to go and get Phil himself, so we were, as always, abundantly cared for.