Pulling Forms

Yesterday, while we were in the car most of the day, the temperature was hot and dry. It wasn't thrilling to be outside, but it was crisp, breathable.

Too bad today wasn't the day to be in the car, since the thick, humid air arrived in force (despite no rain for weeks). The boys went out to help Phil pull forms this morning, and after a few hours they returned, dripping and red-faced. They played peaceably inside in the air conditioning all afternoon.

When I went to join Phil late in the afternoon, I pulled screws and shoveled, and he used a sledgehammer and wedge, trying to pull the 2"x12" formwork. It was rough going. We had to shovel away a foot of dirt, extract screws that were very over drilled (Phil said, "I told the neighbor over and over not to keep driving them so deep," but some were impossible to extract). It was sweaty, thankless work.

In linear feet, I think we got done with about a quarter of the inside of the building. When I asked Phil, he figured we were actually closer to half, since we've pulled most of the supports and have done most of the hardest extractions. He figures the outside forms will come away much more easily.

As tiring as the work was, I found it such a pleasure to have a task to do with Phil: I think it's been some months since I was able to actually assist in something he was working on.

Blackberries and Plums, and Thoughts on Mammon

A few days ago, the three younger boys joined me in a hunt for blackberries next door. Abraham had been stung by a nasty something on his forehead right before we left, and despite a baking soda plaster and the homeopathic Apis, he was in pain. (A second dose of Apis when we returned took care of the burn, and I heard no more whimpering.) The bushes we found were not loaded. There were a few, but overall it was a bit of a bust. There is one bush growing up into the metal building that is loaded. That gave us more in the one spot than all the rest we had hunted among the weeds and brambles.

The plums have been a rare treat. Most aren't bigger than a golf ball, and we pop a whole one in our mouth and rejoice in the natural sugar. We've almost finished all of them for the year. It's nothing for us to eat twenty at a sitting, so they haven't lasted long.

We moved the chicks outside.

They are about six weeks old now, and still extremely small. Broiler chickens would be approaching full size. These ones are about the size of grapefruits. Slow growers.

They are happy to be outside. Sadly, because of their petite stature, a few have escaped from the pen. And, doubly sad, they are not at all threatening to Bitsy and the puppies. We've had four confirmed dead. At best, we have 55 yet living. Unbelievable that, three years in, we're still ending up with loss rates of almost 50%.

Isaiah loves his ducks, though. He and Phil took the three and put them in the stock tank. They swam around happily, ducking their heads. Dandelion has not lost the funny tuft of feathers on the back of her head, and when she bobbed her head underwater, the feathers stood out like a bad case of static hair.

After about two weeks of dry, hot weather, the garlic is almost cured. I've started cleaning and clipping the best bulbs. There are not many, but I try to feel undaunted. I've been enjoying the small cloves of the garlic harvest in my cooking: three small heads gives a good amount of flavor for a stir fry.

We headed up to get minerals today, the long five hour drive. It was a good time of conversation about where do we go from here. With the enterprises we have going currently, it's hard for me to imagine we'll ever make money. So where does that leave us? In a construction trailer for the rest of our lives?

That wouldn't be the end of the world. We've had an interesting life the last three years in this trailer; three more years in here wouldn't kill us.

I might stew about a lack of free time to pursue "my own" interests (as if the bees and the apple grafts and reading great books to the boys, writing on the blog and photographing my world were not enough): how foolish. Everything I do has intention, and if I can't imagine having enough time to watch a movie or read a few books for fun, well, I should be thankful for such strong purpose.

It was striking to me this month: I have my bad days on the farm, especially days when there's an animal death or plant death. Overall, though, I think I manage a challenging life with thankfulness and perseverance.

But every time I pay the bills, I fall into a funk. If Phil says, "Are you okay?" I have only to say, "I just paid the bills" for him to understand that no, I'm grumpy and irritable.

How foolish, though. Our needs, and many of our wants, always have been graciously provided.

So enough with the money worries. We've been reading lately about how people can't serve both God and mammon. If I'm falling into a funk when I pay the bills, despite witnessing God's provision for the twelve years of married life, I'm clearly not trusting God. He provides. He leads.

May we continue to be good sheep, following his lead.

Concrete Pour!

Phil was up early. He finished tying in the second level of rebar, got the vibrator and extension cords ready, cleaned up the site, and had just finished when the concrete pump truck arrived around 11am.

We had hoped the concrete pump truck would be able to access the site. Otherwise, we'd need extra helpers, and lots of wheelbarrows. It would require extra mess and extra labor and extra time. So we were so thankful when the pump truck said we were a go.

Phil called the concrete trucks that had been waiting on will call. While they spent the next hour driving down, the pump truck got ready. It was unbelievable.

First, four support arms extended out. Next, the arm unfolded and stood upright. Magnificent.

It rotated on its turntable (which Jadon had noticed and predicted). Then it stretched out as a large M in the sky. (Phil is in the background, a tiny little toy figure compared with the M.)

The M rotated, and started unfolding even more. The photos don't give an adequate perspective on just how high into the air the pump truck extended, but it was incredible. A pterodactyl looming over the building site.

And then the chute made its upside down U.

The men chatted while they waited, ready to beat the clock: hardening concrete against Phil, neighbor, and pump truck.

The first concrete truck arrived, spinning. The driver hit the ground running, the fastest moving construction worker I've ever seen. The puppies came up, sniffing around, so I walked them back down and found a single tie. I tied up Socks, and figured Shadow would stick close.

That minute or two down the driveway was enough for the work to be well underway. Concrete poured out of the pump truck tube, filling the trench. It was amazing to see: it flowed so easily along the bottom of the trench, and then gradually filled up, almost to the surface.

The pump truck driver managed the chute with a yellow box hung around his neck, a huge remote. One of the two men (Phil or our neighbor) would guide the concrete along, with the driver offering some helpful tips: "It's settling over here! Move it back this way!" Guiding the concrete pour was a full-time job.

The man not guiding the concrete had to scramble. One of the tasks was to stick the vibrator into the concrete as it poured into the form work. It vibrated out bubbles in the concrete, making a more stable end product. Also, that man had to take a piece of wood and run along the top of the form work to ensure it was all level.

Isaiah helped a bit smoothing the surface, too.

The first truck finished dumping, and only one side was done, one of the 40' sides. There was some concrete running into the two adjacent sides (semi-liquid, the concrete flowed), but we were concerned: two 50' sides, and a 40' side all left, and only two more trucks coming. If it were me, I would have ordered another truck or two.

While the first truck was rinsing its chute, the second truck showed up. Phil was still trying to smooth the first side, and it was time to pour again.

Incredibly, this truck finished a 50' side and half the next 40' side. How could that be? Maybe we would have concrete enough after all.

I was standing, admiring the beautiful, level job the men were doing, so smooth and perfect. Suddenly I focused on Isaiah. I called to him, asking, "Are you wearing your church clothes yet?"

He paused, then said, "Can we talk about that later?" (Which I still find absolutely hysterical.)

During this exchange, Bitsy had shown up, unnoticed. She headed over to Isaiah. I watched her step on the beautiful, sidewalk-like concrete. Wait! That's not hard yet! "Bitsy!"

I think I slowed her down, since her front leg sank in only over her foot, while her back legs sank in to her flanks. She was surprised. I was mortified: this perfect, smoothed corner, now ruined.

While I took her down to rinse her off thoroughly, Phil and company repaired the damage. Bitsy was mortified. I don't think she would have come up again, but just in case, I tied her up. Shadow, too. No more dog disturbances.

Then I got Isaiah a different shirt.

The third truck came before the second was half done. Then the final push came. Would there be enough concrete? Or would we need another load after all?

And we didn't need another load! How wonderful that Phil trusted in his calculations and wasn't swayed by how it looked after one truckload!

One of the things I was most grateful for was how little extra poured over on either side. Compared with the potential mess from innumerable wheelbarrow loads, the little bit of overflow seemed extremely manageable. The worst spill came just a few feet from the end: there was a little dip, and in trying to move back to fill it, the concrete overflowed.

After that, there was even a bit extra, and Phil had the pump truck man put it on the ground of the building. That was a good idea, but the implementation was my one little disappointment for today. Phil realized later that he should have had the concrete guy mix it with all the water he had left, to dilute it, so it would have been very thin as it came out, easy to break down into gravel and sand. Barring that, I should have gone to shovel the concrete around into a thin layer. As it was, I waited until the workers had all left, and it had set by then, in little globs here and there.

Phil managed to get the extra concrete scraped off the form work. He said later that at least two of the concrete truck drivers had said, "That's beautiful form work!" They commented on not only the wood but the rebar, too. Apparently, many people don't put up enough support, and the concrete breaks through the forms and makes a big mess. For a first attempt at concrete pouring, to have compliments from people who do it every day was quite gratifying.

Isaiah put all our initials (first and last) into the concrete. Aesthetically, it makes me cringe (and always has, since I first heard of people doing that when I was about age eight), but sometimes it's not all about me. Isaiah could hardly wait to put our initials in. Though I think he would have done so anyway, he stuck around through the entire process, I think in part to make sure we would remember. He was so pleased to have them there. In this case, it's a little celebration of our family.

I was amazed that something that we started over a year ago, with the gravel pad, that took much of the winter to saw into boards (which we'll recover after the concrete hardens), that required Butch and Phil to dig, and days of work to build formwork, to backfill, to place rebar, was poured in about two hours. The trucks showed up around noon, and all had left by about 2pm.

Phil had to drive up to town then to return the rented concrete vibrator. He said he realized just how tired he was on the way home, when he offered Isaiah the chance to drive. (Isaiah pointed out several reasons that wouldn't be a good idea. Primarily the fact that he wouldn't be able to reach the pedals.) Phil walked in the door and took a good nap.

The concrete had started to pull away from the form work already by the evening. The boys and dog walked across the top. Another day or two to harden, then we'll remove the boards, and it'll be time to start building!

Two more little thoughts from today. Jadon tells a funny story about how, when we first arrived on the land, "Mom was happily talking on the phone, and Dad was busy looking around, but I was sitting on top of the van, eaten alive by sweat bees, crying about the strange place we had come to." The sweat bees were out in force today. Joe gamely watched the first concrete truck do its work, but then grew so sad with the little stings, he headed in to watch from the safety of the window.

And in the evening, Phil and I walked over to see the cows. Beatrice came up to me for the first time, and licked my fingers to get the juice of our farm fresh plums. What a beautiful little herd, against the beautiful view of the neighbors to the south.

We think the grass is looking better this year than last. The broad view is magnificent and green. Up close, the coverage is still a bit bare, not as filled in as we'd prefer. But that will come.

Twelfth Anniversary

Phil and I have been married twelve years today, a nice round number, a biblical number. We've had a good, mellow day, talking and laughing, reading to the boys (me), playing card games (Phil).

I was pleased that I could wear the same dress I wore for engagement photos, twelve years ago. (And thanks to Wilson from church for taking some snapshots of the family.)

Saturday was a great day. Phil worked on getting the metal formwork done for the concrete pour on Monday. It's a much larger, longer task than he had hoped. The bottom layer went pretty well. They're stacked on bricks, so just a little off the ground.

For the upper layer of support, he had planned to bend the rebar to fit, but doesn't have a proper bending tool. Instead, he's had to cut many segments and wire them together. That takes a long time. Happily, it's not physically demanding.

In other news, Phil had gone to mow around the orchard. He found another black-faced hornet nest in a little pear tree. We'll keep far away.

I was heading into the RV, when one came face to face with me. Happily, it let me alone.

And that's the news from the farm.

Making the Most of Summer Vacation

We were grateful when a thunderstorm rolled in this afternoon. With the heat index hovering around 110, we haven't been getting much done outside during the day.

The boys and I have been having a fun time indoors. It's so hot that we aren't leaving the trailer even to eat: I drip my way through meal preparation and bring the end result into the air conditioning.

The little boys have made extremely intricate scenarios with Cars-the-Movie Duplos and Playmobils. The older boys read and make forts. I have a few school-like books to read, and we're just reading for fun.

We had been working our way through the first of the Winston Breen books. I don't like it quite as much as my all-time favorite, The Westing Game, but it's a diverting story, likened to Encyclopedia Brown.

I started reading a bit before 10pm, early for us lately (with the late setting sun, we've been eating dinner around 9pm). I had expected to read a bit and send the children to bed, but we hit the final 60 pages or so and it just got more and more exciting. My heart was pounding, the boys were jumping around the room in excitement: it was impossible to stop.

But, you know, it's a Friday night in the summer. I figured, if they stay up until midnight, what's the problem, really?

And so we read on. Phil came in to head to bed and was surprised when Abraham jumped up to him, waving his arms, saying something about a ring.

At 12:09 we ended the book. The boys were ready to start the next one.

Tomorrow.

Last Day of Spring

Phil spent Tuesday finishing backfilling the trench. It took a long time, but he finished at last.

The last three weeks have been wonderful late spring weather, often in the low 80s. We haven't needed the AC much.

Phil went out to move the cows this morning and said he was immediately drenched with sweat. There's a big difference between 85 and 95.

After the cows moved, he called about concrete and a pumper truck: we're aiming for Monday.

And he called about a yurt. There's a lot of decisions to make, but it's helpful even to know what we need to decide (door opens in or out, from the right or left, for example).

The boys and I celebrated having a bit less stressful life: we went to the pool with friends from church. Last year the idea of leaving the farm on a workday, even for three hours, was about as reasonable as going to the moon for a family vacation. It's a measure of my margin that we got away today.

I was glad we went. Jadon can paddle around all over, and happily played. Isaiah worked on floating, but he sinks like a stone even if only a foot or two away from the wall, so he stayed in the shallow end.

Joe is fearless. He clung to me at first, but figured out how deep he could go and walk. Then his favorite thing was to stand on the edge and "Geronimo!" jump to my arms. He usually only got out the first syllable ("Ger!") but it was impressive to see his enthusiasm.

And then there's Abraham. He volunteered to stay home with Phil, and came along under protest. "I'll just play on the playground." No, Abraham, you have to come in the water. I carried him in, sobbing, pleading with me not to make him go in the water.

After some time, he relaxed enough to sit on his own on the steps without trying to sneak away. And he once dunked his head. It was progress.

The pool is not restful: there's no lifeguard on duty, and I felt the responsibility of making sure the three youngest children never got out of their depth. But it is a classic summer experience, and I'm glad we went.

Back on the farm, I have spent some time the last two days weeding the asparagus patch. It is slow, but clearing a patch inch by inch really allows me to see the worms, the soil structure, the bug life. I wait until about 6pm, and then have a few hours of good work before the sun sets.

Cow Mowers

Last year on Mother's Day, the bull got out. This year on Father's Day, all the cows got out.

I was wiped out yesterday. After an hour nap, Phil came in to say that the cows were out. When I made no move to help, he said, "That's okay. I think I can handle it on my own." I lay in a stupor for a while longer, then roused myself to help my husband (on Father's Day no less!). But he had the situation under control.

Apparently, the cows had grown tired of their grazing area and gone hunting for a new place. Surprisingly, that new place was up near the homestead: the beautiful stand of rye grass, waiting for the blueberries to be planted. Phil had been saying for some time how badly the area needed mowing. The mowers had come to us.

The fifteen cows ate the thick grass for about twelve hours. Then Phil moved them to another section of green manure run amok. The growth was up to the cows' backs. Jadon said, "You think the cow is lying down, but then it moves, and you know it's not." I'm happy to have the cows graze!

Phil's present was long overdue: he got namebrand Muck Boots. After he's worn out three or four pairs of off brands (and dealt with wet feet for months before declaring the boots "worn out"), he heard that the name brand won't split and leak. We're hopeful.

Abraham today asked Phil to go with him to pick blackberries. They headed next door and spent a long time together, picking and eating. Abraham said to me, "The large berries that had slightly opened and were ripened by the sun tasted heavenly!"

I caught Socks starting to play tag with the Leghorns today. I said, "Puppy!" and he immediately sat down, and stayed there, looking contrite, for several minutes.

Phil has been backfilling the trench, getting ready for pouring. He's getting closer.

A Week I'm Happy Is About Over

The last time we went to Costco, I splurged and bought canned artichokes. We used to have them sometimes on pizza back in Boulder, and it seemed like such a treat after several years.

Phil had some on pasta on Thursday night, after a good day of finishing the cattle fence next door (just about) and woke up Friday feeling just a little off. But often with the amount of dust and fungi in the country, he has a stuffy head first thing. A few more artichokes for breakfast, and he had a full blown migraine.

How frustrating, to have a treat turn to a day of physical pain. He slept most of the time.

It's interesting: our biofeedback keeps getting more acute. I realized I cannot eat Costco's natural peanut butter, with only peanuts and salt. Apparently, peanuts are usually grown in rotation with cotton, and cotton, genetically modified, is one of the most heavily sprayed crops. So it's back to organic peanut butter only: no painful joints in the morning.

Phil was better today. He dealt with some of the frustrating tasks hanging over his head: he managed to get the wheel back on the trailer, then brought another load of hay. He placed it in the field next door. The little boys had gone with him, and they happily picked blackberries, even managing to save some for the rest of us, the sweeties. From the number of red berries yet on the bushes, we'll be blessed with blackberries for some time yet.

He also moved the cows into the bottom section, and, for the first time, gave them a little section across the ford in the creek. We went down later to see if the cows had actually crossed the creek. Phil figured they had, at least for a bit.

Our little walk had a funny companion: Mr. Bigglesworth followed us the entire way.

He also is just about finished with fencing next door. He has a few more gates to put in, but to have perimeter fencing down both edges is such a great relief. Hopefully Butch will never again look out his window to see cows out his window.

The field next door looks like a summer field. The color is completely different than spring. It's still beautiful, in its own way, but that bright green has gone.

Phil had his first instance of purposeful chemical poisoning around the farm. He bought Raid to kill a nest of bald-faced hornets that had taken up residence right along a fenceline next door. After his two stings last year that gave him full body hives, he wasn't interested in another showdown. And a nest of yellow jackets had decided to build right on the electrical box. He sprayed one entrance. All died. But the back entrance was still active. He sprayed again. Those died. He needed to use the electrical panel, and some yellow jackets that must have been foraging had started to build a new nest right there, and they stung him in the ear. He defeated them, though.

I have liked being a chemical-free farm, without any -cides. But I like a husband without hives and swelling, too.

As for me, I continue to fight the blues, a feeling that we're standing still. I went to weed the asparagus on Thursday, and all I did was hoe the section we'd weeded two weeks ago. It took an hour or so. Standing still.

I suppose there is consolation that standing still is better than going backward. If we did no weeding, we'd simply be replaying last year, when all got away from us, and all crashed and burned. To have some things come out well maintained, that would actually be progress. Just not fast progress.

Yesterday, I spent a few hours blessing my future self: I started to hoe the greenhouse, which is starting to get overgrown after the tilling a few months ago. I didn't get much beyond the edges of the various pots. Hoeing and weed pulling is hard work in muscles that I don't use frequently. I attempted hoeing today as the sun went down, and was glad I hadn't started earlier. I'm ready for a rest!

The ten elderberries I bought were looking worse and worse in their pots, so I planted them in the greenhouse, in the newly hoed section. Only six were still alive, and four of those had long rootlets break off in the transplanting process, despite all the care I could give.

I planted the lemon tree, too, in the greenhouse. It had grown to the edge of its 5-gallon bucket, but did not appear rootbound. I hope it is happy in the greenhouse ground.

And my little fig cutting that I took about two months ago has leafed out, so I planted it in a pot. I might transplant it into the greenhouse, too, for a time; I haven't decided yet.

The first two groundcherries have ripened in the greenhouse. I'm grateful not many in my family like them: I think they're delightful.

And Phil and I enjoyed our first plums today. The bugs are out in force now, so that the stonefruit orchard was loudly humming with green beetles the size of a quarter, but despite the larvae in the little fruits, we enjoyed the flavor and color of the Santa Rosa and Burbank plums.

The laying hens peck around the stinging nettle. I planted it behind the compost pile, and I think there's a preponderance of worms in that small area. One of the nettles may not make it (and one they entirely dug up: I'm not sure if I rescued it in time: we'll see), but one plant especially is growing tall and strong. I can't wait to have nettles to eat, nettles for foliar spray.

We had a laying hen die this week. She had spent several days prior looking like she was trying to poop all the time. Maybe a stuck egg? We didn't do a post mortem. Today Jadon came out to find the puppies tormenting another hen. He tied them up and went about his business. I happened to pass the wood chip pile, so covered with feathers it looked like snow.

The dogs had been plucking the hen. They didn't bite her or kill her, simply pulled all the feathers off her back and neck. She died a short time later.

What to do? That's the second bird the puppies have teased to death. Is it time to give them up? That would really make the family sad, I think. While Bitsy follows me, the puppies follow Phil. He goes to move cows, and there's his faithful Socks and Shadow, shadowing him. When the cows got out this week, naughty Cleo went even farther afield than the rest, and found herself trapped behind a fence and she couldn't remember how she'd entered.

When we started her on her way, Socks made sure she kept right on going, barking at her heels. "He has herd dog blood," as Phil said, and Phil was impressed that, when called, Socks stopped and came. He didn't keep after Cleo in a frenzy, but was (somewhat) controlled.

The boys take the puppies on the trampoline. They run in circles, laughing hysterically, as the puppies try to follow along.

Do we pen the hens, rotating them to new pasture? They are such foragers, that seems mean. Do we pen the pups, and hope they outgrow their rascally ways?

Phil put the pups on leash, stuck their noses in the dead bird, and communicated to them, firmly, that that was not acceptable. I am sure they got the message. For the moment. Will it be enough? We need wisdom.

We've only been getting one egg a day in the box. I'm not sure where the other ladies are laying, but if the box-layer was the deceased, it's going to be hard eating around here the next several months, until the chicks commence.

The chicks remain adorable. All the other birds we've had seem to go through an awkward adolescent stage. These never really did. They are fast and cagey, so I have a hard time catching them, but I still really like them.

The ducklings are growing well also. One is about 50% bigger than the other two. I wonder if we have two Mrs. and a Mr.

There has been much of good this week. A fixed trailer, renewed well water, internet interrupted and restored, next year's school books arrived, this year's school work winding down, Abraham's great leap in reading confidence, Joe wondering whether it was time for him to read, boys making little movies, Joe taking photos, Jadon doing math books just for fun, Isaiah recreating patterns in his critical thinking book and asking over and over, "Can I do one more page?" Oh, okay. Boys eating blackberries and sharing blackberries with each other

Perhaps the most funny moment came today, when Abraham, incredibly dirty after a week of good playing, took his shower. I had wetted him and soaped him, and he leaned against the wall of the shower for a moment. When we stepped away, there was a perfect skeletal imprint, all in dirty suds: back bone, neck, rib cage, hips. Oh, did we laugh.

Why be downcast, oh my soul?