Our New Swimming Pool!

The 1.3" of rain last night was welcome for the plants, of course. But when we got up today, the excavation site was standing water. Maybe it's not quite a swimming pool, but it's close.

Once we get the forms made and the foundation poured, we'll put gravel over the work zone (much nicer to work on than slippery, sticky clay), and have drainage tile and a trench to move water away from the site. But for now, we wonder how to work around all the water. Shop-vac? Mini pump?

We'll see.

On a totally different note, I've been rather resistant to driving around to look at used materials. What a hassle! What a lot of time!

Today, though, I went to look at cast iron tubs. They ranged in price from about $1400 to about $4000. To spend even four hours in the car to get a used tub for $100 doesn't seem so ridiculous. Hmm.

Calcs and Boards

While the boys and I cleaned up the week's worth of art supplies and creations, Phil ran the numbers for cement, sand, and gravel. By midafternoon, we headed out to lay out the foundation.

First struggle: the rectangle is not quite a rectangle, but a parallelogram. Just a little; just enough to make the foundation a very tight squeeze. (Although we laid it out with 3' extra on each side, somehow the extra wasn't quite sufficient.)

I don't know that we have an extra six inches, overall, but the layout fits. Barely. Phew.

Next we needed to drive posts that would allow micro-adjusting, to allow the length of the foundation to be right on. Immediate problem: one corner of the foundation (maybe two) rest on sedimentary rock. Even with a heavy sledgehammer, the rock remained unyielding. Phil got a rock bar to help, and he managed one post. Another post he drove horizontally into the wall, but that creative solution didn't help either. Argh! Phil will have to think about how to manage this.

We moved down the leftover foundation wood from the metal building, plank by plank. I think we'll have enough, but just barely.

And now, in the night, the rain has been falling heavily, steadily. I wonder if we'll have a swimming pool; I wonder if the four flags we placed precisely will be washed away (difficult to drive little wire flags into sedimentary rock, too). Daylight will tell.

Excavation Done

A little excavator joined the big excavator today. It was interesting to watch them work: the little excavator in the hole and the big excavator scooping out the debris.

By 2pm, the pad was finished.

The huge teeth were done carving out the dirt.

The piles around reached their zenith.

The hole had reached its proper depth.

The pile encroached as far as it would toward the RV.

The excavator cleared a path so it could move up the driveway.

I went down into this space for the first time. It is a great space.

The little excavator had dug out a small ramp in one corner, and I looked out at the view. The netting for the tree nursery is just a few feet away; the tree line and the clearing stretching out. It a new point of view, but I like that point of view.
</
As storm clouds approached, I figured it was time to break out the special treats I've been hoarding for a month. Last trip to Costco I bought a box of Haagen-Dazs ice cream bars. I imagined us indulging and dancing on the pad, celebrating a major excavation milestone.

But when I went to get the bars, the box felt strangely light. And there was a funny smell. It took me a minute, but then the realization hit.

The freezer had died. And as I had had no reason to open that particular freezer for the last month, I had no idea. (I wonder now if my strong desire for an ice cream bar earlier this week was a nudge from the Holy Spirit to check the freezer. At the time, I figured it was simply lack of self discipline, and I resisted because I had stocked up in hopes of many celebrations: 30 bars, enough for us all to have five in the next few months. If I took one, it would throw off the fairness.)

I made pizza for dinner, and the boys seemed to appreciate that more than an ice cream bar.

But for me, who emptied the foul fowls (11 broilers, seven stewing hens, four ducks), plus the putrid pig (17 packages of various piglet cuts), plus some sundry stinkers (including bits of two-year-old lamb that had been stuck fast to the bottom, and a professionally wrapped piece of pork that is at least 18 months old); as for me, I missed the ice cream bars.

And I would really appreciate it if I never had to deal with such a mass of waste ever again.

"So it wasn't one-hundred-percent," my grandmother said. "Few things are." (from Homesick, by Jean Fritz)

We read that yesterday, a grandmother's comment to a young girl on her first day of school: she disliked her teacher but she made a friend.

Today wasn't one hundred percent. Few things are. That's life.

Ayers Rock in Virginia

I stepped outside just before 7:30 to help Phil roll the trampoline out of its place. When the men dropped off the excavator yesterday, they mentioned a "heap big dirt," and figured they might need the site of the trampoline. Phil was going to dismantle it, but I had hopes we could just roll it back into place. And rolling is faster.

The former trampoline site was bare. A small pile of debris remained well out of reach of any dirt. We were ready to go.

The excavator, too, was ready, sitting, regal in the morning light, dominating the landscape.

I think the contractor had a flat this morning, so he arrived later than he'd expected. But right as Joe woke up, he made the first cut. I picked up my son and we watched the cut, together.

The contractor first scraped the site of most of the topsoil.

It made a good sized mound of pretty good looking brownish dirt.

Then he cut down a corner. Phil hung around with his surveying equipment, so they could shoot the corner to make sure it was excavated as deep as it should be.

After looking at the depth, Phil realized it wasn't as deep as we'd like: we needed two more feet to get a crawl space under the Underground Storage.

Two feet below the lowest part of the grade, though, made quite a hole.

The dirt kept piling up.

I looked at the pile of debris from the morning, and realized it needed to move. And it absolutely did. Though little dirt actually touched that spot (the contractors diligently worked around the tulip poplar right there), the excavator needed that site.

By lunch time, the trampoline site had dirt touching it.

Those piles look small, until you realize there are piles behind piles. That's a lot of dirt.

By dinner, the trampoline site was obliterated under a fifteen foot mountain of dirt. (I'm standing inside the RV to take the photo: the dirt is right there!)

From a little distance, I think it looks much like Ayers Rock in Australia: large and red.

Sometime in the midafternoon, I had to take a break. Sensory overload, perhaps, or a bit of grief (if there's this much dirt extracted, how will we ever replace it even somewhat so it looks okay?). When each scoop takes out a couple of wheelbarrows, and the scoop runs all day, that's a lot of disturbance. A daunting disturbance, perhaps.

And so close to our living space. I round the corner of the trailer and there's a red slap in the face, ten feet away, blocking all view of nursery or field. I know that at some point my brain will cease to shout at this change, but for now, it shocks me every time.

Even the downhill slope has a quantity of dirt. Perhaps terracing is in our future.

The boys love this mountain outside the RV door. They climbed the mountain, carved seats for themselves, jumped and danced until they were red from hair to toe. (It makes my skin crawl just thinking about it: what a powdery ick all over!)

As the upside of the hole grew deeper, and the cut grew more square all the way around, the boys and I began to wonder how the excavator would get out of the hole. We've read Mike Mulligan of course, but unlike Mary Ann, we have no desire to keep such an enormous tractor in our basement as a future furnace.

How did the excavator exit? When he had a small amount of dirt yet to extract, he pushed it over to the edge and made a little ramp. Up he went, then scooped out the ramp. Done!

Well, not DONE done. Tomorrow he'll come with a smaller excavator to tidy up. When he and Phil shot the site, there was, on average, about nine more inches of excavating to go. Where will this dirt go? I'm not sure.

Looking Ahead

I had a great day. I'd peeled the sepals off one of the buckets of hibiscus fruits, and several of us enjoy the pink tea daily. I realized, though, that I can peel sepals while I read to the boys. We've been studying China, and I've fallen behind a bit in the reading (in part because I want to read aloud the books they are supposed to read to themselves: they're all just too good!). The boys have become obsessed with drawing cartoons the last few days, and so they would either do puzzles or draw. With sepals to help me feel like I'm being doubly productive, and Isaiah eagerly asking me to keep reading, we spent hours today just enjoying the books and being together.

Abraham, though he can read at his age level, takes no delight in it. Today we had a talk, and I realized that there are some challenging tasks that I don't always feel up to doing. Not because I'm not capable, but because it takes too much out of me. So I told Abraham that for a while I would ask him if he felt ready, and if he didn't at that time, to come to me when he did feel ready. I have hope that for earnest Abraham, this will be a good solution.

My greenhouse comfrey has a few recently planted roots coming up every day. The edges of the greenhouse, where the tiller couldn't break the soil, are still by far the most spotty (in retrospect, I should have filled in those places with the most vigorous roots, if not outright transplants). I am amazed, though, that though the front section was almost razed just a few weeks ago, it has almost matched the back in size. The compost layer applied to the front made a big difference.

Really, I spent the day astounded at the difference. I had put some compost on a few of my orchard comfrey plants the week before we went on vacation. It's not a fun task, shoveling compost into buckets, picking through it to get out obvious weed growth, hauling and pouring. And I haven't been that impressed with compost-grown things thus far. There hasn't seemed that much of a difference.

Until today. I looked at my compost-fed plants.

I looked at the plants languishing for lack of compost.

I'll make it a priority to get compost on all those plants. It's nice to know it works!

I was walking around the greenhouse, a bit aimlessly, when I came across a stunning sight. A spider web, about two feet from top to bottom, with the center near my navel. But it wasn't between two obvious supports. In fact, as I examined it, I think the spider suspended it from the top of the greenhouse (really) and also attached it to a part of the greenhouse floor, maybe on a chunk of yet-to-be-used compost. Amazing.

Abraham and I admired it, and then he posed for me, to give some scale to the growth in the greenhouse. From left to right: stinging nettle in the black pots; bushy elderberry off his right shoulder, several mulberries started from seed off his left shoulder, and a little hint of the runaway okra. It's leggy, but at least it is producing a little now.

The four lead cows have been grazing in view the last day. Periodically today they would leave their pen and head down to the lower pasture, where they'd visit with the rest of the herd before coming back up to graze. I suppose they were escaped animals, but it makes me chuckle, to think about those rascally cows breaking out to go socialize, then returning because the food is better up here.

And did your Dad every flip you or fly you? My Dad used to do flips with us. We'd start on his feet and end up over his head. Phil flies the boys. Well, as they keep gaining weight, he mostly just flies Joe at this point. I expect all children love it. In the photo, he's suspended above our heads, bright red from laughing so hard.

***
Phil has been working hard indoors the last few days, finishing up some work-for-pay projects. He finished around lunchtime. After lunch, he headed out to clear the excavation site. It took the rest of the afternoon.

We were a bit disappointed: though the forks arrived last week, the attachment for the tractor turned out to be manufactured on demand, and will not reach us for several more weeks. So rather than easily taking the concrete mixer off the truck, he had to rig the tractor bucket to become a careful lifter. It worked, but it was a challenge. Instead of easily picking up a pallet of T-posts, he had to lift them into the truck, then unload them in the blue building. Cattle panels, random debris, fencing, he had a less than ideal task. But as dusk fell, he finished. Isaiah drove the tractor into the barn, and we headed down the drive.

Phil called the excavator to find out when he was planning to come. He left a message. Not half a minute later, Abraham, jumping on the trampoline, said, "Wow! Look at that huge excavator!"

The time is now. Bring it on.

Overrun with Vermin

There have been a few unpleasant moments since moving here. I found a drowned mouse in the sink one day a year ago or more. I had seen no signs of droppings, so it was a random ick. We have fly strips in both RV and trailer when the weather isn't freezing.

But lately the ick factor is out of control. Before Phil joined us on vacation, he realized that there were mice in the trailer. Since returning home, I fall asleep to the little click of toenails in the walls, so near, so nasty.

I found rodent teeth marks in the coconut oil in my skillet in the kitchen drawer, rodent droppings camouflaged against the black cast iron. After killing multiple mice in the pot holder drawer, the remaining ones have caught on: now they leave just droppings, not carcasses.

Living so far from town, and trying to eat whole foods, I tend to buy grains in bulk. My oats are overrun with weevils. Come to think of it, so is the barley.

I had ground rye flour for sourdough starter; I returned home to find webbing in the bag.

The 40 pounds of raw almonds I bought last fall are now crawling with moths and larvae. I'll soak them and hope that kills them (it's good to soak almonds before eating anyway, then either dry or freeze until using); but, seriously? Almonds?

Jadon opened an overhead cupboard in the RV to find a CD he wanted to listen to, and a mouse or two dropped out.

And then there's the ants. Ants in the bedroom, the living room, the kitchen. Ants don't taste good: too much formic acid.

I try to blow off these little nasty findings, but I think I'm getting grossed out. I have a strong stomach, but the emotional toll is worse. Who wants to enter the kitchen in such disgusting conditions?

If you come to visit: you've been warned.

I Meet the Tax Man

Phil has spent a lot of time the last week or so moving the cows. He's moving them twice a day right now, which doubles the general work. And last week he separated out the three yearlings and Fern (who we had hoped was due yesterday but shows no signs of imminent delivery today: perhaps we reintroduced the bull right as her heat was closing last December, so she will birth in three weeks); he runs these four in the paddock right ahead of the rest of the herd. That gives them first choice to the most nutritious and exciting foods. It also means that he has to walk more, fill more water, and drive more pokey cows. Fern is so stubborn, he had to actually put the leash on her and lead her to the next pen yesterday afternoon.

While Phil was dealing with cows, I suddenly noticed an unknown white car in the driveway. I headed outside to meet Butch the county tax assessor. We spent about an hour chatting about life in the country (he suggested we not try grapes, as there are vineyards springing up all over the county now), the neighbors (he mentioned that Dennis Bessette makes a good wine, and how he's never met anyone like Dennis, with such a clear vision, able to take a wreck of a house and transform it into something beautiful), how the assessors manage their workload (they try to get to every house in their area every six years, as well as all obvious new construction and all sales). He had been driving by and noticed the big blue building: "Whoa! That's new from the last time I came by," he thought.

I had forgotten that little aspect of a barn: increased taxes. I hope the reduced maintenance by having the tractor out of the rain is worth the increased price we'll have to pay.

An Odds and Ends Week

Phil continued to scythe in the orchard. He's not finished yet, but where he's finished weeding around the trees, the orchard looks so well groomed.

The rest of the orchard is still a bit overgrown, but the one patch of comfrey is growing larger and stronger.

I finished my labeling of trees on Friday. The tallest tree touches my chin! I like the beautiful shape of the grafts on the originally grafted trees: the cambium of rootstock and scion grew together beautifully.

I ended with the 30 bud grafts I attempted about a month ago. In retrospect, I probably should have used a rubber band to connect the bud to the tree more firmly. I relied on the parafilm to keep the connection firm, but with the rapid rainfall lately, the trees grew so swiftly, they burst the parafilm, and pushed the bud grafts out. Six of the buds fell off, and several more appear to be hanging on by a thread. But some appear to be doing well.

My beautiful Thai Red Roselle hibiscus are covered with blossoms. This afternoon was the first fruit day since we've been back, and it took me two and a half hours to harvest the fruits from the six or seven plants I have. I ended up with about 10 gallons worth of blooms, enough to keep me in lovely red zinger tea for the next year. (But in the future, I'm going to try to stay on top of harvest: it's much faster to pick the fruits with a simple snap, as I can when they're smaller; once they reach golf ball size, it requires pruning shears, and that takes exponentially longer.)

Although they don't lay eggs yet, and although they are not large birds, I love our Holland chickens. When I go to feed them, they come at a run, and follow me around. Phil said, "I can pet them!" As adults, they have firmly settled their coloring: the girls are darker, the boys are lighter, with handsome combs.

Our friend is baling hay currently. Phil mentioned that we could use about ten bales, and we could store them in our blue building until the immediate need. Those beautiful bales came today, and the sweet scent of perfect hay wafted down the driveway. While I don't love buying hay, I am thankful we have it available and I enjoyed that delicious country scent.

We've been preparing for our underground storage building. I had hoped to have an excavator come this weekend, but it looks like we're on the schedule for next weekend. We have the site marked out, from just across from the greenhouse back to the woods.

Phil went yesterday to pick up our new PTO-driven concrete mixer.

Also, a long-anticipated purchase: forks to attach to the front of the tractor. We are so happy to soon be in a position to unload large loads for ourselves! Butch has been unfailing gracious as we've relied on him several times a year, but how much better to be a bit more independent. (Moving haybales with forks will be much easier, too, than the rigmarole required when moving a half ton bale with the bucket.)

The boys have been active, too. On Thursday, Jadon spent hours getting a burn ready. We had dropped all the broken wood from the metal building forms into our mid-slope pit. Jadon used the wheelbarrow to cart three loads of cardboard down to the pit, and then stuck with a long, hard job fetching hose. When the easily accessible hose didn't reach, Jadon searched and finally dragged a length from the neighbor's far pasture to the south, probably about a quarter of a mile hauling a hundred feet of hose.

Then he stood, in the 80 degree sun, burning for hours.

Today, all four boys spent about eight hours in between the trailers, building an elaborate train track, using all the track and all the blocks.

So precious!