One family we know bought an RV and toured the United States for some months with their children and the pet squirrel. A dog, too, I believe. As a friend who prefers fine hotels said, "That's living the dream." (He was clearly being sarcastic.)
It's a funny thing about dreams—we don't all have the same one.
So when I met a couple earlier this month and learned that the wife draws up potential home plans for fun, and had read The Humanure Handbook, and longed for a place in the country, it was a bit surreal. "You're living my wife's dream!" said her husband.
It's been a long time since a sawdust toilet and a trailer in the country has seemed like any kind of a dream to me, but it was a good reminder. We chose this life.
That couple biked down to see the farm today. It was fun to talk about cows and rootstocks, construction and crawlspaces, education (and changing direction), how to store the maximum number of books in a small space, and so on. They promised to bike back again, and we'll look forward to it.
Despite hot and muggy weather, where we would just drip standing still, Phil spent the afternoon digging with the backhoe. It was technical and challenging, but I think he felt like that's about done. He also worked a bit on the window that he's tried to set twice already.
Tonight Phil went to do laundry. We had been watching a storm passing to the north, while we had no rain here. Phil called to say that within a few miles, he had been hit with a deluge. And with $11 worth of quarters in the washers, the power flickered off. All machines shut off. That's the second time we've lost money in that exact way. There is a way to get the money back, apparently.
But for now we're just thankful that the power came back on so Phil can start again, and not return with sopping, dirty clothes. That would have been a disaster.
Saturday, August 31, 2013
Thursday, August 29, 2013
Charlotte's Web
I have either been educated or have been educating with great literature for the last twenty years. Jadon, as a child, never grew tired of reading. Before he was two, he would sit and listen to books for an hour and a half, until the reader was tired and hoarse. Isaiah, always eager to keep up with Jadon, would listen, too, though he wasn't quite as intent on bringing books to an adult to read.
Abraham has been somewhat interested in books, though his attention span has never been quite so unusual. He began to listen to longer chapter books at age four or five.
But Joe, now five, has been a tough nut to crack. He is happy to bring me multiple picture books daily, ready to listen if he chooses the books. But the idea of a chapter book ... that has been of no interest. The Boxcar Children? Not interested. Gooney Bird Greene? No thanks.
I try to read the picture books he brings as often as he brings them, but after eleven years of picture books, there is a bit of me that longs for slightly more mature plots.
Last night I hit on the idea of Charlotte's Web. I read it to the older boys when they were the ripe ages of five and three. Jadon remembered the story, but Isaiah had no memory. Better, he had not pulled it off the shelf to read it to himself! So I had three boys not yet introduced to this classic.
I was thrilled to find that they were all intent on this book. They laughed out loud at the Goose and her repetitious speech. Abraham picked up on the fact that the rotten egg that Templeton takes would come up again (so astute!). And they went to bed on Wednesday, wishing we could read more.
Joe was up early this morning. He would walk in to the bedroom and come out and say, "Abraham is still asleep. We can't read yet." After about five trips back and forth, Abraham and Isaiah finally woke, and they begged for more. Twist my arm. Two days ago, I wouldn't have guessed that I would have Joe begging for a chapter book before the week was out.
Every time I stepped inside, after milking, or making food, or checking on Phil, the boys were ready to read.
And so, tonight, we finished the book. When Joe first realized that Charlotte would die alone at the Fair Grounds, he buried his face in the bed, his standard "upset" posture. (Abraham and Isaiah seemed unaffected. Perhaps too many real animals dying in their lives?) I reassured him that although that is sad, that is not the ending, and that the ending is good.
And, speaking of books, Abraham has struggled along with his reading for about two years. I don't push him, and he's right on target for his age, but it is not easy for him, and books that he has read in the past are not necessarily easier for him. But a few weeks ago, Phil's parents sent us a collection of the original Garfield cartoon books. Jadon read them all aloud, and I found Abraham going through them later. He's been reading a few weeks worth of cartoons each day to me, and that has done wonders for his confidence.
It's like he finally realized that he could read things apart from just working with me. He read through Ten Apples Up on Top all by himself last week, moving his finger from word to word without my prompting. At church on Sunday, he said to me, "Why does the screen say, 'Yes'?" (On hearing it was the name of the next song we would sing, he said, "Huh. Funny name for a song.") But he stood up and sang along. Maybe a measure behind, but it was the first time he'd been able to read and participate.
Is it that I've been intentional to make sure I read with him six days a week (mostly)? Is it that Garfield motivated him? Or did he just hit the needed developmental milestone at age seven, rather than four or five? I'm guessing the latter helped with the first two.
As for construction progress ... Phil was on the edge of illness yesterday. The only thing he can think is that he had too many grapes on Tuesday. He does get migraines after drinking red wine, so maybe too many grapes, even organic grapes, made him borderline ill.
Today, after a medium long cow move, he worked on the long windows, prepping for next weekend. We're hoping to have some helpers come and set those 13' long, 56" high windows. They are surprisingly light for their size (maybe 180 pounds?) but, as Phil knows, that is too much for him on his own. And I am hopeless for helping. I know the last three times I've been expecting, I have hauled young boys around here and there all through pregnancy, and thought nothing of it. But I picked up a thirty pound box yesterday and gasped at how out of shape I am. My goodness! How mortifying!
Abraham has been somewhat interested in books, though his attention span has never been quite so unusual. He began to listen to longer chapter books at age four or five.
But Joe, now five, has been a tough nut to crack. He is happy to bring me multiple picture books daily, ready to listen if he chooses the books. But the idea of a chapter book ... that has been of no interest. The Boxcar Children? Not interested. Gooney Bird Greene? No thanks.
I try to read the picture books he brings as often as he brings them, but after eleven years of picture books, there is a bit of me that longs for slightly more mature plots.
Last night I hit on the idea of Charlotte's Web. I read it to the older boys when they were the ripe ages of five and three. Jadon remembered the story, but Isaiah had no memory. Better, he had not pulled it off the shelf to read it to himself! So I had three boys not yet introduced to this classic.
I was thrilled to find that they were all intent on this book. They laughed out loud at the Goose and her repetitious speech. Abraham picked up on the fact that the rotten egg that Templeton takes would come up again (so astute!). And they went to bed on Wednesday, wishing we could read more.
Joe was up early this morning. He would walk in to the bedroom and come out and say, "Abraham is still asleep. We can't read yet." After about five trips back and forth, Abraham and Isaiah finally woke, and they begged for more. Twist my arm. Two days ago, I wouldn't have guessed that I would have Joe begging for a chapter book before the week was out.
Every time I stepped inside, after milking, or making food, or checking on Phil, the boys were ready to read.
And so, tonight, we finished the book. When Joe first realized that Charlotte would die alone at the Fair Grounds, he buried his face in the bed, his standard "upset" posture. (Abraham and Isaiah seemed unaffected. Perhaps too many real animals dying in their lives?) I reassured him that although that is sad, that is not the ending, and that the ending is good.
Wilbur never forgot Charlotte. Although he loved her children and grandchildren dearly, none of the new spiders ever quite took her place in his heart. She was in a class by herself. It is not often that someone comes along who is a true friend and a good writer. Charlotte was both.At that point, though, both he and I were in tears. I don't remember ever crying with a son over a book. That was rather a precious moment.
And, speaking of books, Abraham has struggled along with his reading for about two years. I don't push him, and he's right on target for his age, but it is not easy for him, and books that he has read in the past are not necessarily easier for him. But a few weeks ago, Phil's parents sent us a collection of the original Garfield cartoon books. Jadon read them all aloud, and I found Abraham going through them later. He's been reading a few weeks worth of cartoons each day to me, and that has done wonders for his confidence.
It's like he finally realized that he could read things apart from just working with me. He read through Ten Apples Up on Top all by himself last week, moving his finger from word to word without my prompting. At church on Sunday, he said to me, "Why does the screen say, 'Yes'?" (On hearing it was the name of the next song we would sing, he said, "Huh. Funny name for a song.") But he stood up and sang along. Maybe a measure behind, but it was the first time he'd been able to read and participate.
Is it that I've been intentional to make sure I read with him six days a week (mostly)? Is it that Garfield motivated him? Or did he just hit the needed developmental milestone at age seven, rather than four or five? I'm guessing the latter helped with the first two.
As for construction progress ... Phil was on the edge of illness yesterday. The only thing he can think is that he had too many grapes on Tuesday. He does get migraines after drinking red wine, so maybe too many grapes, even organic grapes, made him borderline ill.
Today, after a medium long cow move, he worked on the long windows, prepping for next weekend. We're hoping to have some helpers come and set those 13' long, 56" high windows. They are surprisingly light for their size (maybe 180 pounds?) but, as Phil knows, that is too much for him on his own. And I am hopeless for helping. I know the last three times I've been expecting, I have hauled young boys around here and there all through pregnancy, and thought nothing of it. But I picked up a thirty pound box yesterday and gasped at how out of shape I am. My goodness! How mortifying!
Tuesday, August 27, 2013
Tractor Work
Phil's project for the day was to work on the tractor. We suspected that the starter had gone out, and that he would have to make a drive over to the Shenandoah Valley to buy a new one. The one silver lining in that prospect was that he could also buy a spring that fit the broken mower.
So he headed up to the barn to do one last tinkering.
An hour later, he came in to tell me that he had two pieces of good news and one piece of bad.
The bad was that the mower would need to languish a bit longer without a new spring.
He had been able to get the tractor started! His problem solving abilities saved the day again: something like a circuit he tested wasn't completed as it was connected, but when he touched the battery underneath the circuit, it would still work. So he cleaned the connector and tightened it down very hard, and it worked. The other benefit was that he noticed that a bank of fuses was missing one. He tested it and realized that all his gauges would work again! Apparently, the one time the tractor was in the shop, it came back without the gauges working. Well, they must have removed the fuse and not replaced it.
So that was very exciting.
He went down to dig out a drainage ditch to let the crawlspace drain.
That was a pretty intense amount of digging. He dug for some time.
Isaiah dug for about an hour.
Phil dug more.
I think, by day's end, he had dug all he could with the tractor (difficult access in some ways), but if he needs to dig some by hand, at least he doesn't have to dig the entire trench, some of it five feet down.
Excellent!
Monday, August 26, 2013
A Window Step-by-Step
The tractor wasn't working this morning, even after charging the battery. He went to the auto parts store, and they tested the battery: it should be fine. Presumably the charger was the issue, so Phil bought a charger, then headed to Charlottesville and bought the supplies he needed for the windows.
Back home, it was afternoon, but he quickly mortared the concave window sill so it was all level.
He put down some cement board temporarily.
And then, while he waited for the mortar to dry and the battery to charge, he put in a second window.
I watched him for some time. Wood first, shot into the concrete, to make the opening about the right size for the window. In this case, the rough opening was 48", I think, and the window only 40", so he needed to build the sides out more than elsewhere.
Then waterproofing goes down on the bottom and the two sides.
Shims go along the bottom to raise the window whatever fractions of an inch are needed. Sealant goes down to stick the shims in place, and to ensure the window stays where it needs to.
The window goes in then, first with just a screw or two to hold it in place temporarily. Level and plumb the window, micro-adjusting as needed. Shim the edges to make sure the window stays perfectly in place. Finish the rest of the screws.
Then shoot slightly expanding foam all around. That foam is unbelievable: I watched as it went from barely filling the space to expanding way out of the space. And that was only slightly expanding foam—there is also really expanding foam, but that could warp the window!
Then another layer of waterproof, this time first on the edges, then along the top. Thus, the water flows from the top, down the sides, and down the bottom, rather than getting stopped at each layer, and trapping water (disaster, that!).
So the day was going wonderfully well, until Phil headed up to the barn this evening and tried to start the tractor with the newly charged battery. He didn't even get a click. Burned out starter? It was too dark to really investigate further, and so that will be the priority tomorrow.
The boys had a good time with the silty mud leftover from the last rain.
They made mud balls with it. Apparently they don't share Phil's aversion to getting hands dirty!
Back home, it was afternoon, but he quickly mortared the concave window sill so it was all level.
He put down some cement board temporarily.
And then, while he waited for the mortar to dry and the battery to charge, he put in a second window.
I watched him for some time. Wood first, shot into the concrete, to make the opening about the right size for the window. In this case, the rough opening was 48", I think, and the window only 40", so he needed to build the sides out more than elsewhere.
Then waterproofing goes down on the bottom and the two sides.
Shims go along the bottom to raise the window whatever fractions of an inch are needed. Sealant goes down to stick the shims in place, and to ensure the window stays where it needs to.
The window goes in then, first with just a screw or two to hold it in place temporarily. Level and plumb the window, micro-adjusting as needed. Shim the edges to make sure the window stays perfectly in place. Finish the rest of the screws.
Then shoot slightly expanding foam all around. That foam is unbelievable: I watched as it went from barely filling the space to expanding way out of the space. And that was only slightly expanding foam—there is also really expanding foam, but that could warp the window!
Then another layer of waterproof, this time first on the edges, then along the top. Thus, the water flows from the top, down the sides, and down the bottom, rather than getting stopped at each layer, and trapping water (disaster, that!).
So the day was going wonderfully well, until Phil headed up to the barn this evening and tried to start the tractor with the newly charged battery. He didn't even get a click. Burned out starter? It was too dark to really investigate further, and so that will be the priority tomorrow.
The boys had a good time with the silty mud leftover from the last rain.
They made mud balls with it. Apparently they don't share Phil's aversion to getting hands dirty!
Saturday, August 24, 2013
A Fitting End to the Week
Today was a fitting end to a frustrating week.
Phil had gone up to town and had fun with friends last night. After a leisurely morning, he headed to Scottsville to purchase two things he had seen with the boys a few days back. He had mentioned a week or two ago how much he would like to have a child's school desk, where the writing surface slopes down a bit, and the chair is connected. Lo and behold, when he stopped by an antique store on Thursday, they had just such a desk, including ink well. It needed new paint, and the top surface was water-stained, but it was exactly what he wanted.
For some reason, he didn't buy it (and it was only $30! And all the boys loved it!). I think he wanted to check with me about whether we had space for it, or whether I wanted it.
There was also a light armoire, made of cedar.
Anyway, he had intended to stop there last evening to buy those two things, but in the rush to get to a supply store before closing (which he didn't, because he was stopped behind a school bus), he didn't get back to the thrift store.
Today he could, though, so into Scottsville he went. He did buy the armoire (though when loading the van, he realized he probably overpaid for it). But the little desk sold last night.
I felt ill. He took it more philosophically—it wasn't meant to be. Obviously.
Back home, he needed a little more time to plan the next step on paper. Suddenly he realized he was lacking masking tape. We did have the better part of a roll, but he figured he needed multiple rolls, so back to Scottsville he went, arriving just minutes before the hardware store closed for the weekend.
Back home again, he figured he should dig out a drainage pipe under the foundation, as it is currently blocked in and the water is pooling. A quick job with the tractor.
Except the tractor wouldn't start. The battery had been drained. Which isn't a big deal in the long run, but in the moment, it meant that many more hours of standing water not able to drain.
So then we went to lay out tape on the floor, in preparation for drilling for various pipes. Phil is a consummate engineer in laying things out, measuring multiple times in multiple places, including diagonals, to ensure square corners. (I'm more of the persuasion of, "It's just tape; is a half inch that big a deal one way or the other?" But I am not volunteering for this task, and I can imagine that a half inch could be a big deal.) That took some time, but in the end it was all squared. And then Phil realized that we probably should have put down another layer of subfloor first. And when that goes down, it will obscure our absolutely perfect tape job.
About that time, he went to check on neighbor's animals, and he took the boys to their pool for fun.
Not a productive day, nor week.
But the prayers of the saints must be helping, because rather than feeling like today was the end of the world it makes me shake my head and roll my eyes. So what else is new?
We'll carry on.
Phil had gone up to town and had fun with friends last night. After a leisurely morning, he headed to Scottsville to purchase two things he had seen with the boys a few days back. He had mentioned a week or two ago how much he would like to have a child's school desk, where the writing surface slopes down a bit, and the chair is connected. Lo and behold, when he stopped by an antique store on Thursday, they had just such a desk, including ink well. It needed new paint, and the top surface was water-stained, but it was exactly what he wanted.
For some reason, he didn't buy it (and it was only $30! And all the boys loved it!). I think he wanted to check with me about whether we had space for it, or whether I wanted it.
There was also a light armoire, made of cedar.
Anyway, he had intended to stop there last evening to buy those two things, but in the rush to get to a supply store before closing (which he didn't, because he was stopped behind a school bus), he didn't get back to the thrift store.
Today he could, though, so into Scottsville he went. He did buy the armoire (though when loading the van, he realized he probably overpaid for it). But the little desk sold last night.
I felt ill. He took it more philosophically—it wasn't meant to be. Obviously.
Back home, he needed a little more time to plan the next step on paper. Suddenly he realized he was lacking masking tape. We did have the better part of a roll, but he figured he needed multiple rolls, so back to Scottsville he went, arriving just minutes before the hardware store closed for the weekend.
Back home again, he figured he should dig out a drainage pipe under the foundation, as it is currently blocked in and the water is pooling. A quick job with the tractor.
Except the tractor wouldn't start. The battery had been drained. Which isn't a big deal in the long run, but in the moment, it meant that many more hours of standing water not able to drain.
So then we went to lay out tape on the floor, in preparation for drilling for various pipes. Phil is a consummate engineer in laying things out, measuring multiple times in multiple places, including diagonals, to ensure square corners. (I'm more of the persuasion of, "It's just tape; is a half inch that big a deal one way or the other?" But I am not volunteering for this task, and I can imagine that a half inch could be a big deal.) That took some time, but in the end it was all squared. And then Phil realized that we probably should have put down another layer of subfloor first. And when that goes down, it will obscure our absolutely perfect tape job.
About that time, he went to check on neighbor's animals, and he took the boys to their pool for fun.
Not a productive day, nor week.
But the prayers of the saints must be helping, because rather than feeling like today was the end of the world it makes me shake my head and roll my eyes. So what else is new?
We'll carry on.
Friday, August 23, 2013
Some Days Things Go Well
And some days they don't.
Yesterday, Phil went to try to install the window, take two. He pulled out the wood, cut what he could salvage down to size, and basically got it all ready.
Only for it to be a bust once again. I don't know exactly what happened: there was something there about the poured concrete bond beam being just a bit concave and holding water, which is no good, especially on the side of the prevailing winds; something about other wooden pieces being a disaster; something about the waterproofing getting all torn up, and not having extra on hand.
It was definitely a blue day. And though he could do some layout, looking ahead to the future, the overall day was a bust. Grumpy attitudes all around.
And today it rained (again). Phil is discouraged by how quickly the crawlspace, which had finally dried out, filled up again. We suspect that this is an issue of imperfect backfilling: the slope currently runs towards the structure, which would make water seep under the foundation. When the mud goes down, he plans to cut a trench somewhere in order to increase drainage.
I would not have guessed that we would again be dealing with rain delays. But the next two projects, exterior windows and doors, and work in the crawl space, both require a pretty high degree of dryness.
It is, perhaps, infinitely more frustrating to have had three beautiful days on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, that could have been spent in a dry crawl space, that instead were spent indoors doing engineering.
I know that perseverance is a virtue, as is patience. As is thanksgiving! But I am finding myself in short supply on every one right now.
Yesterday, Phil went to try to install the window, take two. He pulled out the wood, cut what he could salvage down to size, and basically got it all ready.
Only for it to be a bust once again. I don't know exactly what happened: there was something there about the poured concrete bond beam being just a bit concave and holding water, which is no good, especially on the side of the prevailing winds; something about other wooden pieces being a disaster; something about the waterproofing getting all torn up, and not having extra on hand.
It was definitely a blue day. And though he could do some layout, looking ahead to the future, the overall day was a bust. Grumpy attitudes all around.
And today it rained (again). Phil is discouraged by how quickly the crawlspace, which had finally dried out, filled up again. We suspect that this is an issue of imperfect backfilling: the slope currently runs towards the structure, which would make water seep under the foundation. When the mud goes down, he plans to cut a trench somewhere in order to increase drainage.
I would not have guessed that we would again be dealing with rain delays. But the next two projects, exterior windows and doors, and work in the crawl space, both require a pretty high degree of dryness.
It is, perhaps, infinitely more frustrating to have had three beautiful days on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, that could have been spent in a dry crawl space, that instead were spent indoors doing engineering.
I know that perseverance is a virtue, as is patience. As is thanksgiving! But I am finding myself in short supply on every one right now.
Wednesday, August 21, 2013
I Need Iron
The last three days, Phil has worked long hours ... in front of the computer. While designing walls and such might be important, it's not super interesting to write (or read) about.
Phil was startled, though, walking to the motor home yesterday, to see an enormous, bright green caterpillar. Where that tomato horn worm came from, I have no idea, as there are no tomatoes I know of (even volunteers) within about 50 yards. Shadow barked at it and fearfully pawed at it for a very long time.
Our neighbor drove up last night, honking repeatedly. Our wandering calves had finally decided to explore the wider world, and had wandered down the road to his lawn. It was about 8:30pm, and mostly dark, so we piled in to the van with headlamps. I got to drive the van, high beams pointed down the road. Jadon waited at the far side of the driveway to direct the cows where they needed to go. Joe sat behind me and watched, while Phil, Isaiah, and Abraham tried to corral the calves off the lawn and back down the road.
Happily, only one car passed by, and that was at the very beginning, before the calves were even headed to the road.
It was fun to drive slowly behind the calves and guys trotting down the road: Abraham, in exuberance, kept jumping for joy.
We re-corralled the calves this morning. Maybe we'll have the energy to walk them over to the rest of the herd soon.
Speaking of energy, my midwife did a blood test last week to check my iron levels, and she called today to tell the results. I figured I was low, because if I wasn't, she wouldn't call. And, yes, I was low. I think my last midwife wanted me around 12.4, and I was around 9.2. No wonder I have sometimes been getting breathless while just standing and washing dishes! (Which, I must say, is very annoying. It's not like standing and doing dishes is an aerobic activity that would normally require rest!)
So I'm on iron supplements and made myself a large quantity of liver pate from our bull. It's stronger than chicken liver pate. To make sure I have enough vitamin C to help absorb the iron, I drank some lemon water and ate some frozen peaches. I'm looking forward to having more energy one of these days. And more breath.
I checked online to see if I could find other high-iron foods. And I found it interesting that I've wanted to put raisins in everything lately (like tuna salad on bread); that a few weeks ago I asked Phil to pick up an orange melon (which I never do, because no one else really likes cantaloupe, and I am normally not that keen to eat a whole melon in a day; he couldn't figure out which I would like the most, and bought me four, which I ate in four days); that I went to a friend's and thought, "I could eat this entire green salad that is for a large party."
And, yes, raisins, cantaloupe, and leafy greens are all good iron sources.
Phil was startled, though, walking to the motor home yesterday, to see an enormous, bright green caterpillar. Where that tomato horn worm came from, I have no idea, as there are no tomatoes I know of (even volunteers) within about 50 yards. Shadow barked at it and fearfully pawed at it for a very long time.
Our neighbor drove up last night, honking repeatedly. Our wandering calves had finally decided to explore the wider world, and had wandered down the road to his lawn. It was about 8:30pm, and mostly dark, so we piled in to the van with headlamps. I got to drive the van, high beams pointed down the road. Jadon waited at the far side of the driveway to direct the cows where they needed to go. Joe sat behind me and watched, while Phil, Isaiah, and Abraham tried to corral the calves off the lawn and back down the road.
Happily, only one car passed by, and that was at the very beginning, before the calves were even headed to the road.
It was fun to drive slowly behind the calves and guys trotting down the road: Abraham, in exuberance, kept jumping for joy.
We re-corralled the calves this morning. Maybe we'll have the energy to walk them over to the rest of the herd soon.
Speaking of energy, my midwife did a blood test last week to check my iron levels, and she called today to tell the results. I figured I was low, because if I wasn't, she wouldn't call. And, yes, I was low. I think my last midwife wanted me around 12.4, and I was around 9.2. No wonder I have sometimes been getting breathless while just standing and washing dishes! (Which, I must say, is very annoying. It's not like standing and doing dishes is an aerobic activity that would normally require rest!)
So I'm on iron supplements and made myself a large quantity of liver pate from our bull. It's stronger than chicken liver pate. To make sure I have enough vitamin C to help absorb the iron, I drank some lemon water and ate some frozen peaches. I'm looking forward to having more energy one of these days. And more breath.
I checked online to see if I could find other high-iron foods. And I found it interesting that I've wanted to put raisins in everything lately (like tuna salad on bread); that a few weeks ago I asked Phil to pick up an orange melon (which I never do, because no one else really likes cantaloupe, and I am normally not that keen to eat a whole melon in a day; he couldn't figure out which I would like the most, and bought me four, which I ate in four days); that I went to a friend's and thought, "I could eat this entire green salad that is for a large party."
And, yes, raisins, cantaloupe, and leafy greens are all good iron sources.
Monday, August 19, 2013
August 18: Mouse Killer!
Phil found Belle in a steady rain this morning. I think the calves found her udder for the first time, as she was milked dry. The calves have been able to sneak under her electric wire and join her in her pen, but she's not been dry before. Phil got a working charger for the electrical line (we ended up being out of the right sized batteries), and so we have hope that tomorrow morning Belle will have milk again for our boys.
We were headed to church this morning and got stuck behind some slow moving vehicles. It was raining yet, but the pace was ridiculous even with wet conditions, so Phil turned off the main road to take an alternate. I would have done the same thing.
We were zipping along happily and suddenly came to an unexpected stop: a large tree had fallen across the road. Since we didn’t have our chainsaw with us, and because we were only a few minutes off the main road, we turned around and went back the way we came. (The original slow moving vehicles were gone, but we got stuck behind an RV a little later. At least we made it in the end.)
The other happy thing was that I commented yesterday morning that I was so sick of mouse droppings in the kitchen drawers. Phil heard me, and set a trap. This morning, he showed me how to set it (I knew, vaguely, but hadn’t been able to actually set one for months).
We leave the motor home for many hours each day, but for the last 36 hours, every time we’ve gone in after some hours away, we’ve had a mouse. Five and counting.
How gratifying to have figured out a spot where they actually come regularly!
I just try not to think that they have all been going in to my potholder drawer. Ewww!
We were headed to church this morning and got stuck behind some slow moving vehicles. It was raining yet, but the pace was ridiculous even with wet conditions, so Phil turned off the main road to take an alternate. I would have done the same thing.
We were zipping along happily and suddenly came to an unexpected stop: a large tree had fallen across the road. Since we didn’t have our chainsaw with us, and because we were only a few minutes off the main road, we turned around and went back the way we came. (The original slow moving vehicles were gone, but we got stuck behind an RV a little later. At least we made it in the end.)
The other happy thing was that I commented yesterday morning that I was so sick of mouse droppings in the kitchen drawers. Phil heard me, and set a trap. This morning, he showed me how to set it (I knew, vaguely, but hadn’t been able to actually set one for months).
We leave the motor home for many hours each day, but for the last 36 hours, every time we’ve gone in after some hours away, we’ve had a mouse. Five and counting.
How gratifying to have figured out a spot where they actually come regularly!
I just try not to think that they have all been going in to my potholder drawer. Ewww!
August 17: A Sad Window Day
Phil headed to the hardware store after moving the cows. He needed a few boards and some new nails that he could shoot into the concrete.
Then he got to work on the second window. Even though the dimensions were supposed to be the same as the first, the variance in masonry meant that it wasn’t quite the same.
No matter: he cut the lumber. He put a new saw blade on: the old one had worn teeth. He couldn't believe the difference in ease.
Then he fitted the waterproofing, sealed the joints and, hours after beginning, went to put in the window.
And it didn’t quite fit. He figured that if he could have given it one whack of the hammer, it would have gone in. But you can’t whack a window, and so it stayed out. Not even an eighth of an inch, but that hair’s breadth too much was, sadly, too much.
I asked if he could just sand it down a bit. The table saw he used to cut down the boards is not very precise (reasonable for rough construction, but no good for fine furniture). If we knew what the smallest point was, he could plane it down, except that he isn't sure what that one point is.
He had shot the boards into the wall. He had waterproofed all around.
In despair, he said, “I’ll have to take out everything I did today and redo it.” That’s not quite true. Of the three sides with wood, he probably only has to remove one. But still … he was pretty bummed out.
***
His level of depressed resignation showed up when I noticed Belle had again escaped. Her charger no longer had batteries, so no wonder.
But rather than finding new batteries, we both just let her wander. We are so tired by Saturday night.
***
The boys have dug out a hole in the side of the earth mound to the south of the building.
It extends back enough that all four of them can fit at once.
It's tall enough on the inside that Jadon can sit up.
Phil checked it out, after they played in it for some days, and decided he wasn't comfortable with the safety of their creation. Bummer, but they had fun and got dirty, so it wasn't entirely a loss.
***
For me, I had a funny moment. Lacking a scale, I measure my waist at the largest point periodically. In ten days in mid-June, I went from 40” to 42”, which shocked me. But then, for two two months, I held steady. I would think that surely my waist had grown, and measure 41”.
The midwife on Wednesday suggested that maybe in mid-June, I had a 42” waist just in one spot, whereas now the 42” runs the whole of my belly.
The last few days, my belly has been feeling tight, stretching. So it was interesting to see that I had, indeed, grown again, from 41.5” to 43.5”. Oof.
I was at a friend's house this week and surprised myself twice. First, when I caught a glimpse of my shadow and was surprised by the belly on the shadow.
Then, going down some stairs, I caught a glimpse of belly instead of feet. That usually happens a few times each pregnancy, where I don't recognize my reflection. It's odd to be in a body that feels like a stranger.
Then he got to work on the second window. Even though the dimensions were supposed to be the same as the first, the variance in masonry meant that it wasn’t quite the same.
No matter: he cut the lumber. He put a new saw blade on: the old one had worn teeth. He couldn't believe the difference in ease.
Then he fitted the waterproofing, sealed the joints and, hours after beginning, went to put in the window.
And it didn’t quite fit. He figured that if he could have given it one whack of the hammer, it would have gone in. But you can’t whack a window, and so it stayed out. Not even an eighth of an inch, but that hair’s breadth too much was, sadly, too much.
I asked if he could just sand it down a bit. The table saw he used to cut down the boards is not very precise (reasonable for rough construction, but no good for fine furniture). If we knew what the smallest point was, he could plane it down, except that he isn't sure what that one point is.
He had shot the boards into the wall. He had waterproofed all around.
In despair, he said, “I’ll have to take out everything I did today and redo it.” That’s not quite true. Of the three sides with wood, he probably only has to remove one. But still … he was pretty bummed out.
***
His level of depressed resignation showed up when I noticed Belle had again escaped. Her charger no longer had batteries, so no wonder.
But rather than finding new batteries, we both just let her wander. We are so tired by Saturday night.
***
The boys have dug out a hole in the side of the earth mound to the south of the building.
It extends back enough that all four of them can fit at once.
It's tall enough on the inside that Jadon can sit up.
Phil checked it out, after they played in it for some days, and decided he wasn't comfortable with the safety of their creation. Bummer, but they had fun and got dirty, so it wasn't entirely a loss.
***
For me, I had a funny moment. Lacking a scale, I measure my waist at the largest point periodically. In ten days in mid-June, I went from 40” to 42”, which shocked me. But then, for two two months, I held steady. I would think that surely my waist had grown, and measure 41”.
The midwife on Wednesday suggested that maybe in mid-June, I had a 42” waist just in one spot, whereas now the 42” runs the whole of my belly.
The last few days, my belly has been feeling tight, stretching. So it was interesting to see that I had, indeed, grown again, from 41.5” to 43.5”. Oof.
I was at a friend's house this week and surprised myself twice. First, when I caught a glimpse of my shadow and was surprised by the belly on the shadow.
Then, going down some stairs, I caught a glimpse of belly instead of feet. That usually happens a few times each pregnancy, where I don't recognize my reflection. It's odd to be in a body that feels like a stranger.
August 16: If You Go on Vacation, Things Die
Isaiah found an Eastern Fence Lizard yesterday at a party and caught it. He held it for an hour, showed it to everyone (multiple times) and took it home in a little plastic container. It did escape in the trailer overnight, but he found it quickly this morning.
He got a box and filled the bottom with sand, gathered leaves, caught a grasshopper, found a twig, and covered the top with plastic wrap, taped down. He put in a little container of water. Samson was one wanted lizard.
But the little guy escaped within a couple of hours. There was a part of me that was relieved (baked lizard would be harder to deal with than lizard on the loose), but Isaiah’s grief was real. Maybe one of these days we will get an aquarium and light so that a lizard can live a long and secure life.
***
Phil had gone shopping for supplies. I was amazed, first of all, that he could fit everything in the van. Ten foot sections of 4" PVC required creative handling (and a purchase of a cheap tape measure to ensure the interior of the cab was, indeed, at least 10' long).
The trip took longer than expected, and we were right on the verge of running late for the party, so all boys were called to help carry supplies to the building. Joe and Abraham worked together.
The older boys carried pipe and bags on their own.
So sweet to see.
***
My day started interestingly. I was eating breakfast and heard the calves munching their way around the motor home. Since the calves pretty much roam free, I didn’t think much of it until I looked up and it was actually Belle, mysteriously escaped and wandering. Happily, I got her leash and was able to simply walk up and get her, but that was an odd experience, especially since there was no noticeable place in her paddock for her to escape.
***
Our window and door delivery was set for this morning. Phil moved the bathtub out of the way (I helped by lifting my end about an inch off the ground, and he scooted it around).
Phil had originally figured on leaving the materials outside, resting against their respective openings.
But since I caught Belle down on the mudflat to the south, and since the animals could wander at will, we figured it would be less stressful to have all materials on the interior.
That required some cleaning, which was fine. The delivery guys were short staffed today, so Phil got to aid in unloading.
All looks good!
***
Isaiah wanted to make chocolate chip cookies. I had run out of my bucket of spelt this morning, and since Phil was working in the building site, I headed up to the barn. The 45 lb. bucket was a bit heavier than I prefer to lift at this stage gestation, so I gingerly carried it the few feet to the driveway, and then we rolled it down.
A few months back, we watched a little talk that famous physicist Richard Feynman discusses how trains stay on the tracks. http://www.wimp.com/thetrain/ Train wheels, unlike car wheels, are connected, and so on any turn, how does the outer wheel move faster than the inner wheel? It has to do with the shape of the wheels, and we witnessed that phenomenon with the bucket rolling down slope: the top was just a little bit wider than the bottom, but that was enough to skew the direction of the roll every time.
***
Phil has some engineering work at present, probably about a week’s worth. We debated whether it was worth it, to delay the building another week or not, but on balance, I think it is.
So I was surprised when, a few hours after he had gone inside to work, he summoned me to the building site. Apparently, he needed a break, and had decided to put a window in.
The height of the window opening was within a fraction of an inch of the actual window. “It’s going to be tight,” the salesman said. And it was … but not so tight as to threaten to crack the window, as I feared.
In fact, the entire installation went smoothly. Phil had (not so) secretly been dreading this installation for weeks, so to have one go in permanently in just about a half day’s work, was a great relief.
I forget all the steps, but installing a window includes putting in wood on all sides to make the rough opening the exact size needed (and to put wood in requires shooting into the concrete). The window goes in, and also waterproofing and flashing and sealant.
Great, great news.
***
Less great news is that the weight of the earth settling has pulled the insulation down the wall. He'll have to dig that out, put wood down to support the bottom edge, and redo.
***
Phil also cooked some NY strip steaks for our dinner. We are all in raptures. He had cooked some top sirloin over the weekend, and those were good, but this … this was fantastic.
***
The one hard thing today was that I finally went to check the bees. I haven’t seen my hive tool in months, and it is extremely hard to open a hive without that little metal tool (the bees’ propolis seals all cracks). Add to that the instability I have with a shifted center of gravity, my physical inability to life 50 pound supers, and, honestly, no desire to be stung (I’m uncomfortable enough), and I haven’t really wanted to check them, even since I’ve been vertical again.
So I wasn’t entirely surprised to find the entrance to one hive deserted and the hive itself silent. As Phil said later, "In farming, if you go on vacation, things die." I know that some bees survive in bee trees in the wild, but my bees are not that hardy.
It was disgusting to pull out the bottom viewer and realize that was challenging because the surface was covered thickly with powder, so that it looked like an animal had stuffed red clay into the opening, only to realize that that was pulverized bits of wax from the hive.
Without fear of stinging, I opened the hive to find a scene from Halloween: the wax moths had taken over and hung the hive with their web-like secretions, and crawled, maggot-like, in and out of the wax.
Wax moths take over a hive when it weakens. What had caused my hive to weaken? I wonder, based on the position of wax in the brood chamber, if the wax melted in the heat of the summer and crushed the queen. There were a few queen cells under construction; it could be that the hive was trying to rejuvenate when the wax moths took over.
Or it could be that the queen was raised this spring, but the hive simply didn’t thrive with all the wet weather, and that the wax moths ate through so much of the wax in the last few months, they destroyed the proper shape of the wax in the frames.
Either way, it doesn’t make much of a difference.
I went to the little greenhouse in hopes of finding my hive tool. I opened the door, only to be greeted by weeds to the ceiling. I couldn’t see the floor. It felt like the jungle encroaching on every inch of space, the inexorable advance of nature.
No hive tool there, no hive tool in the barn. I’ve looked in the motor home repeatedly, and Abraham somehow heard that I was looking, and he came to help. “Do you think it would help if we prayed, Mommy?”
Mildly chagrined, I agreed that it would, and began, but Abraham said, “No, I’ll pray.” And he is a fervent pray-er, and asked God very sincerely to “Please help either me or Mommy find that tool quickly, because I don’t think Mommy likes having those moths in the hive.”
Literally within less than ten seconds after he finished, I reached into a pocket I would have thought I had searched repeatedly, and pulled out the hive tool. Really.
I spent several hours trying to rescue what wax I could from the frames. One website suggested trashing all the frames because of the impossibility of eradicating the wax moths from every crevice. I might just freeze them before use, then rub mint leaves on the surfaces (something the moths apparently dislike).
I went to render the wax, only to be disappointed yet again: most of the wax was from now empty brood chambers, dark and a couple years old. That wax does not yield wax for candles.
And so I ended the evening with a dead colony, a bucket of moth maggots, and a few ounces of wax rendered from the lightest of the wax pulled from the frames. And I may have ruined my strainer and pot, trying to get those few ounces.
I have about twenty or so frames yet to really clean, as well as the exterior deeps and the base.
It’s discouraging to feel like I’m constantly falling further behind.
He got a box and filled the bottom with sand, gathered leaves, caught a grasshopper, found a twig, and covered the top with plastic wrap, taped down. He put in a little container of water. Samson was one wanted lizard.
But the little guy escaped within a couple of hours. There was a part of me that was relieved (baked lizard would be harder to deal with than lizard on the loose), but Isaiah’s grief was real. Maybe one of these days we will get an aquarium and light so that a lizard can live a long and secure life.
***
Phil had gone shopping for supplies. I was amazed, first of all, that he could fit everything in the van. Ten foot sections of 4" PVC required creative handling (and a purchase of a cheap tape measure to ensure the interior of the cab was, indeed, at least 10' long).
The trip took longer than expected, and we were right on the verge of running late for the party, so all boys were called to help carry supplies to the building. Joe and Abraham worked together.
The older boys carried pipe and bags on their own.
So sweet to see.
***
My day started interestingly. I was eating breakfast and heard the calves munching their way around the motor home. Since the calves pretty much roam free, I didn’t think much of it until I looked up and it was actually Belle, mysteriously escaped and wandering. Happily, I got her leash and was able to simply walk up and get her, but that was an odd experience, especially since there was no noticeable place in her paddock for her to escape.
***
Our window and door delivery was set for this morning. Phil moved the bathtub out of the way (I helped by lifting my end about an inch off the ground, and he scooted it around).
Phil had originally figured on leaving the materials outside, resting against their respective openings.
But since I caught Belle down on the mudflat to the south, and since the animals could wander at will, we figured it would be less stressful to have all materials on the interior.
That required some cleaning, which was fine. The delivery guys were short staffed today, so Phil got to aid in unloading.
All looks good!
***
Isaiah wanted to make chocolate chip cookies. I had run out of my bucket of spelt this morning, and since Phil was working in the building site, I headed up to the barn. The 45 lb. bucket was a bit heavier than I prefer to lift at this stage gestation, so I gingerly carried it the few feet to the driveway, and then we rolled it down.
A few months back, we watched a little talk that famous physicist Richard Feynman discusses how trains stay on the tracks. http://www.wimp.com/thetrain/ Train wheels, unlike car wheels, are connected, and so on any turn, how does the outer wheel move faster than the inner wheel? It has to do with the shape of the wheels, and we witnessed that phenomenon with the bucket rolling down slope: the top was just a little bit wider than the bottom, but that was enough to skew the direction of the roll every time.
***
Phil has some engineering work at present, probably about a week’s worth. We debated whether it was worth it, to delay the building another week or not, but on balance, I think it is.
So I was surprised when, a few hours after he had gone inside to work, he summoned me to the building site. Apparently, he needed a break, and had decided to put a window in.
The height of the window opening was within a fraction of an inch of the actual window. “It’s going to be tight,” the salesman said. And it was … but not so tight as to threaten to crack the window, as I feared.
In fact, the entire installation went smoothly. Phil had (not so) secretly been dreading this installation for weeks, so to have one go in permanently in just about a half day’s work, was a great relief.
I forget all the steps, but installing a window includes putting in wood on all sides to make the rough opening the exact size needed (and to put wood in requires shooting into the concrete). The window goes in, and also waterproofing and flashing and sealant.
Great, great news.
***
Less great news is that the weight of the earth settling has pulled the insulation down the wall. He'll have to dig that out, put wood down to support the bottom edge, and redo.
***
Phil also cooked some NY strip steaks for our dinner. We are all in raptures. He had cooked some top sirloin over the weekend, and those were good, but this … this was fantastic.
***
The one hard thing today was that I finally went to check the bees. I haven’t seen my hive tool in months, and it is extremely hard to open a hive without that little metal tool (the bees’ propolis seals all cracks). Add to that the instability I have with a shifted center of gravity, my physical inability to life 50 pound supers, and, honestly, no desire to be stung (I’m uncomfortable enough), and I haven’t really wanted to check them, even since I’ve been vertical again.
So I wasn’t entirely surprised to find the entrance to one hive deserted and the hive itself silent. As Phil said later, "In farming, if you go on vacation, things die." I know that some bees survive in bee trees in the wild, but my bees are not that hardy.
It was disgusting to pull out the bottom viewer and realize that was challenging because the surface was covered thickly with powder, so that it looked like an animal had stuffed red clay into the opening, only to realize that that was pulverized bits of wax from the hive.
Without fear of stinging, I opened the hive to find a scene from Halloween: the wax moths had taken over and hung the hive with their web-like secretions, and crawled, maggot-like, in and out of the wax.
Wax moths take over a hive when it weakens. What had caused my hive to weaken? I wonder, based on the position of wax in the brood chamber, if the wax melted in the heat of the summer and crushed the queen. There were a few queen cells under construction; it could be that the hive was trying to rejuvenate when the wax moths took over.
Or it could be that the queen was raised this spring, but the hive simply didn’t thrive with all the wet weather, and that the wax moths ate through so much of the wax in the last few months, they destroyed the proper shape of the wax in the frames.
Either way, it doesn’t make much of a difference.
I went to the little greenhouse in hopes of finding my hive tool. I opened the door, only to be greeted by weeds to the ceiling. I couldn’t see the floor. It felt like the jungle encroaching on every inch of space, the inexorable advance of nature.
No hive tool there, no hive tool in the barn. I’ve looked in the motor home repeatedly, and Abraham somehow heard that I was looking, and he came to help. “Do you think it would help if we prayed, Mommy?”
Mildly chagrined, I agreed that it would, and began, but Abraham said, “No, I’ll pray.” And he is a fervent pray-er, and asked God very sincerely to “Please help either me or Mommy find that tool quickly, because I don’t think Mommy likes having those moths in the hive.”
Literally within less than ten seconds after he finished, I reached into a pocket I would have thought I had searched repeatedly, and pulled out the hive tool. Really.
I spent several hours trying to rescue what wax I could from the frames. One website suggested trashing all the frames because of the impossibility of eradicating the wax moths from every crevice. I might just freeze them before use, then rub mint leaves on the surfaces (something the moths apparently dislike).
I went to render the wax, only to be disappointed yet again: most of the wax was from now empty brood chambers, dark and a couple years old. That wax does not yield wax for candles.
And so I ended the evening with a dead colony, a bucket of moth maggots, and a few ounces of wax rendered from the lightest of the wax pulled from the frames. And I may have ruined my strainer and pot, trying to get those few ounces.
I have about twenty or so frames yet to really clean, as well as the exterior deeps and the base.
It’s discouraging to feel like I’m constantly falling further behind.
August 14: Framing Frustrations II
We had friends come by today. They moved away a little over a year ago, and our children all enjoy each other’s company, so we had a fun visit of several hours.
Phil had a little less fun. With only two small walls of framing left to do, somehow on the first wall he made the door opening a little too small again. How did he do that, since that was what he wrestled against the day before? I have no idea, and neither does he!
Then, after finishing that wall, he needed two more 2x4s, and didn’t have them! This would have put me over the edge, as I like to be able to check things off, and the idea of one small section preventing that check mark would have been devastating.
But Phil can juggle all those tasks, and so he just went inside to make up a list of plumbing parts.
In a memorable moment, Isaiah found Cadbury tormenting a bluebird. He drove the cat away, found some gardening gloves, and picked up the bluebird. I have a definite soft spot for the beautiful blue flickers, and to see one in his hands, teased by the cat, presumably about to die ... what a sight.
And then, it suddenly up and flew away.
For today, it cheated death. Thank you, Isaiah. And thank you, God.
Phil had a little less fun. With only two small walls of framing left to do, somehow on the first wall he made the door opening a little too small again. How did he do that, since that was what he wrestled against the day before? I have no idea, and neither does he!
Then, after finishing that wall, he needed two more 2x4s, and didn’t have them! This would have put me over the edge, as I like to be able to check things off, and the idea of one small section preventing that check mark would have been devastating.
But Phil can juggle all those tasks, and so he just went inside to make up a list of plumbing parts.
In a memorable moment, Isaiah found Cadbury tormenting a bluebird. He drove the cat away, found some gardening gloves, and picked up the bluebird. I have a definite soft spot for the beautiful blue flickers, and to see one in his hands, teased by the cat, presumably about to die ... what a sight.
And then, it suddenly up and flew away.
For today, it cheated death. Thank you, Isaiah. And thank you, God.
Tuesday, August 13, 2013
Framing Frustrations
The framing Phil did today was difficult to photograph, but more difficult to install. Phil subdivided a space. He built a frame with two doors, and stood it upright, only to have it about 1/4" too tall. So he took it down and shaved off all the legs.
Brief aside: we have been shocked by how warped some of the 2x4s are, how chewed up along the edges. The lumber we bought is stamped as a fairly good grade, which makes it that much more discouraging. With as much difficulty as Phil has had to get things plumb, it makes sense why metal studs are the current vogue in building.
After cutting down to size, Phil set the framing upright and was happy with it....
Until he remembered that he's not putting in pocket doors, but normal swinging doors. Just to be on the safe side, he went to check dimensions needed. And he had built the height about 1.5" too short and the width about 1.5" too skinny. (As he said: "This would go a lot faster if I had ever done this before.")
So he took it down again, and shaved it off again. The project he hoped would take just a few hours took most of the day.
But eventually that wall was finished, and he subdivided the space further.
The boys continue to spend hours each day in the tub. They are sunburned, which they don't love, but laughed and had a good time, which I do love.
Brief aside: we have been shocked by how warped some of the 2x4s are, how chewed up along the edges. The lumber we bought is stamped as a fairly good grade, which makes it that much more discouraging. With as much difficulty as Phil has had to get things plumb, it makes sense why metal studs are the current vogue in building.
After cutting down to size, Phil set the framing upright and was happy with it....
Until he remembered that he's not putting in pocket doors, but normal swinging doors. Just to be on the safe side, he went to check dimensions needed. And he had built the height about 1.5" too short and the width about 1.5" too skinny. (As he said: "This would go a lot faster if I had ever done this before.")
So he took it down again, and shaved it off again. The project he hoped would take just a few hours took most of the day.
But eventually that wall was finished, and he subdivided the space further.
The boys continue to spend hours each day in the tub. They are sunburned, which they don't love, but laughed and had a good time, which I do love.
Monday, August 12, 2013
Doesn't It Bother You?
When we lived in Boulder, Phil and I were blessed with several fun boarders who lived in our basement from a half year to three years. One of them passed through town last week, and I was the lucky one to visit with him, his father, and two others over dinner.
As I was driving home, I thought about the evening. In response to a question about how we were surviving without farm income, I said something like, "I get paid well for my job, and I am very good at what I do." It made me laugh a bit, because in the enneagram, a system of dividing personalities into nine different people types, I have the need to be perfect.
How nice for me that, if I'm not perfect in my work, I enjoy a high degree of competence and regular ego boosters from users over the products I work on.
I feel like that in my parenting, too. If I take the boys out, I enjoy compliments (maybe less now that they are older, but there were several years where every time I went somewhere, I had comments on my delightful children). I wonder sometimes if that's because I have four blondes, and if people discriminate in favor of blondes; I'd prefer to think that it's because we all seem happy together.
In my homeopathy studies, I remember again that I am a good student. Being a good student does not necessarily equate with being a good homeopath in the end—just because I can write a good essay in a short time does not mean that I have the intuitive sense of what remedy a person will need—but, again, I am doing something that strokes my ego.
I manage pretty well in living conditions that most would consider stressful. When I taught Sunday school, I was a very competent teacher. I make my loaves of bread each day and train the boys and enjoy homeschooling.
In some ways, I have ordered my life so that I can fulfill my need to be perfect. In less pathologic terms, I might prefer to say that I'm working within my giftings. In either case, I can look at my life in various ways and say, "Yes, I am awesome!"
But as I was driving home, I suddenly realized that Phil doesn't necessarily get any of those strokes. Although he was a gifted and successful engineer, that's not something he uses much anymore. I don't think most people will approach a man and say, "What lovely children you have!" That's more something to say to a mother. He listens to lectures daily, and so is always learning, but no one will give him feedback on his learning to say, "You listened to that lecture so intently. Great job!" He would love to do more teaching on the Word of God, but despite offering multiple times and in multiple ways, he is passed over at church (it could be that it's just not quite the season; he does extensive prep work!). He moves the cows daily, but "rotational grazing" doesn't have quite the same cachet as "homemade bread."
Instead, he's stuck doing construction and working on a farm that is still not really productive, despite four years of hard work.
If I was Phil, I would be miserable!
So I asked him about that. "Does it bother you that you don't have anything you can be perfect in, or even feel pretty competent?"
"No, it doesn't bother me at all."
Oh, how different we are!
But he had a good perspective. "When I got out of college, during those horrible months interviewing, if a person asked the awful question, 'Why should we hire you?,' I would have nothing to say. I couldn't think of a reason to hire me. [I think he was overlooking intangibles like creative thinker, honesty, diligence, good mind, and so forth.] I had no experience, and didn't really know what I was doing. But after a decade, if someone were to ask that question, I could tell them why to hire me, because I had both head knowledge and experience.
"In some ways, that's where I think I am now. Maybe I just got out of 'college'. I have a little experience, but in five more years, I'll be that much more competent, with that much more experience. And when I look at most successful farmers now, so often they are second or third generation farmers. I don't think I'm Joel Salatin; more like Joel's father, trying things out, doing what I need to.
"I'm learning every day. I can see how much better the land is now, and I have optimism for the future. I'm just thankful we can get by, so that the pressure of actual survival doesn't depend on my farming ability."
As I was driving home, I thought about the evening. In response to a question about how we were surviving without farm income, I said something like, "I get paid well for my job, and I am very good at what I do." It made me laugh a bit, because in the enneagram, a system of dividing personalities into nine different people types, I have the need to be perfect.
How nice for me that, if I'm not perfect in my work, I enjoy a high degree of competence and regular ego boosters from users over the products I work on.
I feel like that in my parenting, too. If I take the boys out, I enjoy compliments (maybe less now that they are older, but there were several years where every time I went somewhere, I had comments on my delightful children). I wonder sometimes if that's because I have four blondes, and if people discriminate in favor of blondes; I'd prefer to think that it's because we all seem happy together.
In my homeopathy studies, I remember again that I am a good student. Being a good student does not necessarily equate with being a good homeopath in the end—just because I can write a good essay in a short time does not mean that I have the intuitive sense of what remedy a person will need—but, again, I am doing something that strokes my ego.
I manage pretty well in living conditions that most would consider stressful. When I taught Sunday school, I was a very competent teacher. I make my loaves of bread each day and train the boys and enjoy homeschooling.
In some ways, I have ordered my life so that I can fulfill my need to be perfect. In less pathologic terms, I might prefer to say that I'm working within my giftings. In either case, I can look at my life in various ways and say, "Yes, I am awesome!"
But as I was driving home, I suddenly realized that Phil doesn't necessarily get any of those strokes. Although he was a gifted and successful engineer, that's not something he uses much anymore. I don't think most people will approach a man and say, "What lovely children you have!" That's more something to say to a mother. He listens to lectures daily, and so is always learning, but no one will give him feedback on his learning to say, "You listened to that lecture so intently. Great job!" He would love to do more teaching on the Word of God, but despite offering multiple times and in multiple ways, he is passed over at church (it could be that it's just not quite the season; he does extensive prep work!). He moves the cows daily, but "rotational grazing" doesn't have quite the same cachet as "homemade bread."
Instead, he's stuck doing construction and working on a farm that is still not really productive, despite four years of hard work.
If I was Phil, I would be miserable!
So I asked him about that. "Does it bother you that you don't have anything you can be perfect in, or even feel pretty competent?"
"No, it doesn't bother me at all."
Oh, how different we are!
But he had a good perspective. "When I got out of college, during those horrible months interviewing, if a person asked the awful question, 'Why should we hire you?,' I would have nothing to say. I couldn't think of a reason to hire me. [I think he was overlooking intangibles like creative thinker, honesty, diligence, good mind, and so forth.] I had no experience, and didn't really know what I was doing. But after a decade, if someone were to ask that question, I could tell them why to hire me, because I had both head knowledge and experience.
"In some ways, that's where I think I am now. Maybe I just got out of 'college'. I have a little experience, but in five more years, I'll be that much more competent, with that much more experience. And when I look at most successful farmers now, so often they are second or third generation farmers. I don't think I'm Joel Salatin; more like Joel's father, trying things out, doing what I need to.
"I'm learning every day. I can see how much better the land is now, and I have optimism for the future. I'm just thankful we can get by, so that the pressure of actual survival doesn't depend on my farming ability."
Sunday, August 11, 2013
Friday and Saturday's Treks
I spent a few hours on Thursday arranging a trek to Richmond and back for Phil. He took the seats out of the van on Friday morning, and headed out. About 45 minutes away, he hit a thrift store and, apparently, had a great time. I remember that, in the summers when we'd visit my Grandma, we would go to thrift stores. My thrift store shopping, though, since about age ten, has been limited to occasional clothes shopping at Goodwill (usually I prefer consignment stores). So I was interested by the real thrill I heard in Phil's voice as he described the interesting little kitchen nook table with incredibly heavy chairs made of 2x4s, or the dresser that was just dropped off that the storekeeper was cleaning up. We had looked at a new dresser there, advertised on craigslist, and the one we liked was actually a set. The set was nice, so he paid and headed off.
From there, he headed on about fifteen more minutes to another craigslist location. Leaving there, he drove to Richmond.
I have been eyeing claw foot tubs for years. Probably back in 2007, I heard a lecture by the late Dr. Dan Skow, and he described how amazing it feels after bathing in a cast iron tub. I don't know that I've ever actually bathed in one, but I am ready! We had found a reasonably priced one (over the years, I've seen prices from about $100 for an old tub left in the farmyard to about $1000 for a refurbished version—after reading the multi-step process to refinish a tub, mostly done with harsh chemicals and sandpaper, I think that price for a new tub is worth it!). The picture on craigslist showed the better-looking side, but the interior enamel was in great shape, so Phil put it in the back of the van and drove home.
Had he gone straight out and back, it would have been about four hours of driving. He was gone almost eight, and was one tuckered out man by the time he returned.
The boys, though, were ecstatic. Actual baths over the last four years have been extremely rare (they probably have had them, but I'm not sure they all have, and not in the last three years). They climbed into the tub while it was still in the van and pretended to swim, or to jump in, or to balance on the edges. We finally grew concerned that the enamel was in danger with all the vigor, so we shooed them out.
I got in and sat back. At 30 weeks along, I know that I should always sit forward, to allow the baby the best chance of positioning well for labor, but for those few minutes, it was fun to sit with my back against the edge. What a perfect angle!
On Saturday, Phil's friend Andy came to help. We lightly loaded up the truck with all the trash bags we could (those that hadn't degraded over the last many months in the sun—a very small proportion of the total quantity of trash we have accumulated). Then they headed out for what I thought would be a three hour furniture collection trip.
Five and a half hours later, they pulled in. Shortly after dropping off the load at the dump, they ran into an incredibly heavy rain. Then the truck started jolting—Phil was having so much fun talking, he had forgotten to check the gas gauge. Thankfully they found a station while running on fumes.
Loading the dressers was a challenge. In the end, they had to leave the tailgate down, and as they drove, they had to stop periodically to adjust the tarp over the top (protection from the rain) as it blew in the wind.
Unloading was another challenge. The calves have, apparently, taken up residence in the barn at times, and there were mini cow pies dotting the unloading zone. Not only was there the grossness of stepping in them; then the dirty shoes spread the manure where a hand then went (eww!). And the furniture was heavy. If Andy hadn't been there to help, I don't know what we would have done. Maybe Phil could have used the tractor somehow, but that sounds a bit like trying to cut a cake with a chainsaw: way too much power for a delicate operation.
So that was two full days of transportation. I'm glad we don't have to do that every day.
The boys, though, made the most of the time. The tub is now resting in the driveway next to the greenhouse (again, happily Andy was there to help unload—otherwise, maybe our van would simply be unusable, with only seats for Phil and I still in). The boys filled it with water from the hose. They put on swimtrunks and spent several hours, all four of them, laughing and splashing.
Abraham came in and said, "Ohh, I think I got seasick!"
And the bonus was, they didn't have to shower last night!
Thursday, August 8, 2013
Thursday's Anticipation
There is so little in life with unalloyed joy. But for Joe, today, I think he experienced it.
"Isaiah! Let him sleep! He'll be happier if you don't wake him too early." So Isaiah got Joe's favorite stuffed animal and set it up so the first thing he would see was Sam's face, saying happy birthday.
I dozed off and woke to Jadon gently leaning over Joe and saying, "Happy Birthday, Joe."
"Jadon! Let him sleep!"
"No, no, Mom, I think he's awake. See, his eyelids fluttered!"
Aaah!
No, Joe wasn't awake quite yet. So the older three went to play in the other room, and I dozed off again. But when Joe and I both woke up, and he realized it was his birthday, he had an ear-splitting smile. And then the three brothers chorused from the other room, "Happy Birthday, Joe!"
His Sam has been his favorite companion for weeks now. His main gifts: a stuffed polar bear, a cat beanie baby, and a stuffed tiger (all the Calvin and Hobbes made the attraction of a stuffed tiger irresistible, but though he named it Tigger, he keeps forgetting the name Tigger, and just calls it "Tiger—what was it's name again?"). He and Abraham played with the new and the old animals all day.
And then it took him 45 minutes to settle down enough to fall asleep.
I think when you've thrown your head back for sheer joy about a dozen times, it's hard to let the day go.
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