Tuesday, July 3, 2012
Tuesday, July 3: Day Four Without Power
While I've had overall good cheer, something about waking for the fourth morning in a row, sticky with sweat, hot, dirty-haired: it was hard to have a positive attitude. I usually make two loaves of bread a day, but without a toaster oven (or any oven), that hasn't been an option. We had pancakes for breakfast, but that heated the RV. The world is hot.
Some deep cleaning on my desk helped some. Continued good conversations about what to do when the power goes on: that was good.
At 2:17pm the electricity beeped on again. Eighty-eight hours and more (with the little blessing last night), and we had returned to the land of internet, air conditioning, and toaster oven. Phil right away filled the 250 gallon stock tank. We both showered. We sat in the stream of the air conditioning. Life is good.
So good, after dinner, clean and cool, we headed out to the dirt and frustration of removing forms. In about three hours, we made little progress on the inner boards (one longer one, two short ones, with the last three long ones stubbornly staying in place, glued down by overflowing concrete that has hardened inexorably); but I started digging out the exterior facing boards, and THAT was fun and fulfilling. The side I started with is most often in shade, so the concrete is not as solidly cured; thus, I could chip away at it with just a shovel, rather than Phil's pick. Also, that side wasn't as undercut, so there was less concrete to begin with. With just me digging (and I'm neither a strong nor efficient digger, compared with Phil), I cleared a 50' side, and Phil easily popped the boards out. We were given a boon, and I appreciate it.
Monday, July 2: Day Three Without Power
Phil brought Bitsy to the vet. It's time for her to be fixed. The vet was closed. We sort of expected it.
He said that where we are, it doesn't look much like anything happened. It's true. We had one apple tree snap off.
We had some branches over and around our trailer break, both the locust next to our trailer and one of the magnificent, looming tulip poplars.
Besides that, our farm was untouched.
Half a mile or less up the road, there are so many downed trees, he said it was like an obstacle course driving between them all. There are branches down on trees all along the roads.
Phil was relieved to get another propane canister (our half tank or less was a concern). He was relieved to see that there was power in places in Scottsville, only twenty minutes away. If we need to, we can resupply our gas without having to drive an hour away.
Because we have no paper products around the farm, our dishes have been piling up. A quick rain shower hit in the afternoon, and we hurried to set out pots, buckets, food storage containers, anything, to capture the precious rain. I used some for the dishes, some for the Berkey. We'll have water enough. And the little bit of moisture was welcome in the moment, even though it meant the humidity sky rocketed.
In the evening, the little beep of an air conditioner started caused mass rejoicing. We immediately filled the RV tank, and, oh joy, the cell phone coverage started again! (I don't know why the electric line was connected to the cell tower, but maybe both went down together?) Phil was getting ready for a shower.
And then the power flickered and went down.
Another night of still heat. And since we have no screens on several windows, another night of being tickled to distraction by flies.
We were so thankful, though, to have 40 gallons of water, ready at the tap. If it takes until Friday, we can make it. I can call; I downloaded my emails and there is nothing pressing. Tantalizing to have that little time of electricity, disappointing to have it vanish again, but we feel more prepared now.
He said that where we are, it doesn't look much like anything happened. It's true. We had one apple tree snap off.
We had some branches over and around our trailer break, both the locust next to our trailer and one of the magnificent, looming tulip poplars.
Besides that, our farm was untouched.
Half a mile or less up the road, there are so many downed trees, he said it was like an obstacle course driving between them all. There are branches down on trees all along the roads.
Phil was relieved to get another propane canister (our half tank or less was a concern). He was relieved to see that there was power in places in Scottsville, only twenty minutes away. If we need to, we can resupply our gas without having to drive an hour away.
Because we have no paper products around the farm, our dishes have been piling up. A quick rain shower hit in the afternoon, and we hurried to set out pots, buckets, food storage containers, anything, to capture the precious rain. I used some for the dishes, some for the Berkey. We'll have water enough. And the little bit of moisture was welcome in the moment, even though it meant the humidity sky rocketed.
In the evening, the little beep of an air conditioner started caused mass rejoicing. We immediately filled the RV tank, and, oh joy, the cell phone coverage started again! (I don't know why the electric line was connected to the cell tower, but maybe both went down together?) Phil was getting ready for a shower.
And then the power flickered and went down.
Another night of still heat. And since we have no screens on several windows, another night of being tickled to distraction by flies.
We were so thankful, though, to have 40 gallons of water, ready at the tap. If it takes until Friday, we can make it. I can call; I downloaded my emails and there is nothing pressing. Tantalizing to have that little time of electricity, disappointing to have it vanish again, but we feel more prepared now.
Sunday, July 1: Day Two Without Power
The predicted strong winds to drive away the heat didn't materialize on Saturday night, which meant we were starting from a higher temperature in the morning. We had decided not to even attempt to find out if there was church: the idea of six sticky, stinky Lykoshes driving an hour round trip to find either that there was church or that church had been transformed to a community support center ... we were happier to stay home.
A neighbor stopped by in the morning to make sure we were doing okay. She has a generator, so if we need water, we can go there. She said she was hearing reports of outages for four or five days. She had been driving home when the storm struck. On our road, she had a tree come down in front of her, and another behind her. Her car ended up in a ditch, but she was spared.
We had hoped for cooler weather. The car said 98 at 9:30pm Saturday night, and 96 at 11:30am Sunday morning. It remains hot.
I made mushroom barley soup for lunch. I had written in the cookbook, "Unbelievably good." I had stepped away for a few minutes and returned to find that the words "Or bad" had been added below. That rascally Jadon with a funny sense of humor!
Phil heard that electricity to the state isn't expect to be restored until Friday night. We sit in front of the oscillating fan in the motor home, take little breaks in the cool car air conditioner, watch movies, read books, try not to think about how sweaty we are. Phil has taken the dogs and any people who want to go down to the creek in the truck. To sit in a few inches of water, watch the crawdads and minnows, soap up and rinse off (not necessarily to get clean, since the red clay muck on the bottom stirs up with any motion, but just to get rid of the sweat): what a pleasure. Phil took the creek experience to the next level, as Joe told me: "Daddy combed his chin, to get rid of the pricklies" (translated: Daddy shaved to get rid of his whiskers).
I watched a movie with the boys titled Metamorphosis. Although it was about butterflies, I know that bees also metamorphose. To go from a little caterpillar (or larva, in the case of bees), to enter a chrysalis (or cover the hexagonal cell), and emerge later as a winged insect with proboscis and compound eyes: that's really crazy. The cells of the first actually break down into a sort of genetic soup, which recombines to create a more advanced creature. Amazing.
A neighbor stopped by in the morning to make sure we were doing okay. She has a generator, so if we need water, we can go there. She said she was hearing reports of outages for four or five days. She had been driving home when the storm struck. On our road, she had a tree come down in front of her, and another behind her. Her car ended up in a ditch, but she was spared.
We had hoped for cooler weather. The car said 98 at 9:30pm Saturday night, and 96 at 11:30am Sunday morning. It remains hot.
I made mushroom barley soup for lunch. I had written in the cookbook, "Unbelievably good." I had stepped away for a few minutes and returned to find that the words "Or bad" had been added below. That rascally Jadon with a funny sense of humor!
Phil heard that electricity to the state isn't expect to be restored until Friday night. We sit in front of the oscillating fan in the motor home, take little breaks in the cool car air conditioner, watch movies, read books, try not to think about how sweaty we are. Phil has taken the dogs and any people who want to go down to the creek in the truck. To sit in a few inches of water, watch the crawdads and minnows, soap up and rinse off (not necessarily to get clean, since the red clay muck on the bottom stirs up with any motion, but just to get rid of the sweat): what a pleasure. Phil took the creek experience to the next level, as Joe told me: "Daddy combed his chin, to get rid of the pricklies" (translated: Daddy shaved to get rid of his whiskers).
I watched a movie with the boys titled Metamorphosis. Although it was about butterflies, I know that bees also metamorphose. To go from a little caterpillar (or larva, in the case of bees), to enter a chrysalis (or cover the hexagonal cell), and emerge later as a winged insect with proboscis and compound eyes: that's really crazy. The cells of the first actually break down into a sort of genetic soup, which recombines to create a more advanced creature. Amazing.
Saturday, June 30: Day One Without Power
We have been longing for rain, and stormclouds appeared Friday night. After dark, a little lightning storm struck, and it would knock out the power for a few seconds. About the seventh time the power flickered, it simply didn't come back on.
And then the windstorm struck. It broke some branches of the locust tree that shades our trailer, and the branches scratched our roof. The gusts continued, stronger now, and Phil had the boys get away from the window next to their bed. The three dangers were 1) a branch could break a window, 2) a tree could fall on the trailer, and 3) the trailer could tip over. (I had not had the imaginative capacity for any but the first scenario.) I read by headlamp to the boys.
For an hour and more we stayed like that: three boys crammed into the bottom bunk, a 2'x6' space the size of a camping pad. Isaiah at the head of the bed, in a specially crafted safety spot, with pillows and blankets.
Phil said, "We need a bunker!" He's probably right.
Happily the wind blew in cooler air: once the windstorm ceased, we opened the windows, and the dark, silent night filled the space. (Right before the storm, it still felt clammy and oven-like outside, even though the sun was down. Sure enough, Accuweather showed that the temperature was 86, but "feels like" 106.)
I found it hard to sleep. In part because three boys had somehow taken over my spot on the bed, and Abraham's air mattress was flat. In part because of questions about how long would the power be out. Back by morning? Excellent. The freezers would be fine. Back after 24 hours? Hmm. Five freezers of chicken carcasses waiting to be made into stock, or pork bits waiting to be made into food for the guys ... that would be a great financial and emotional hit. I considered another drive to Costco to get a generator. (I'm sure they would have been sold out, had I made the trek.)
After taking a melatonin, I finally drifted off around 2am.
To wake at 6: Phil was telling a puppy not to grab a chick. He was right: chicks aren't for puppies. While Phil had a longer cow paddock shift, I went to work with the partially recharged battery on the driver (not fully recharged when the power went out). At 6am, the air was just in the 70s, the sun wasn't up: it was fun to pull screws and try to dig out forms. We have to hack through a little layer of concrete that has come up beneath the form, locking it in place. Pick and shovel, hammer and pry bar.
I was done before 9:30: it was too hot. The power wasn't back on.
Phil listened to the news on his radio earphones: devastation and destruction across the state. We figured we weren't going to be getting electricity anytime soon.
Happily, we have a stock tank of water (the "swimming pool") for the chicks and chickens, dogs and cats. Unhappily, despite my resolution to keep the 40 gallon RV tank filled, it is, sadly, empty, as is the Berkey water filter. We have ten gallons of kombucha already brewed, and ten more brewing, so we should be okay for a bit. After a day of kombucha only, though, we are all wishing for water.
For the cows, they are on the neighbor's land. Phil moved them, and, as part of his routine, emptied the stock tank, moved it to the new pasture, and went to turn on the hose ... oh, right. Without electricity, the pump doesn't work. He ended up making a path to the creek. Virginia is in a state of emergency: the cows must have water. Thankfully, Phil had an alternative method to get water for them. Thankfully, they are in a paddock with enough food, they can both eat and drink.
My other big concern, the freezers, resolved itself. The RV has a generator and a battery to store the energy. We spent the afternoon cycling through the five freezers, giving them each about 20 minutes of cooling. We'll trust that's enough for today. I pulled hot dogs for dinner, and they were still rock solid. We thawed the packages on our heads and wrists and were thankful for the cool.
Overall, then, I'd say we're doing pretty well, twenty-four hours into our experiment with summer electricity outage. No internet, no cell phones, no running water, no toaster oven. We have an oscillating fan in the RV that we turn on at times, enough RV batteries to keep the fridge on, and recharge the computer. It could be worse. Sweaty, sticky, but somewhat relaxed.
With nothing to do but survive the heat and stay hydrated, life turns simple.
And then the windstorm struck. It broke some branches of the locust tree that shades our trailer, and the branches scratched our roof. The gusts continued, stronger now, and Phil had the boys get away from the window next to their bed. The three dangers were 1) a branch could break a window, 2) a tree could fall on the trailer, and 3) the trailer could tip over. (I had not had the imaginative capacity for any but the first scenario.) I read by headlamp to the boys.
For an hour and more we stayed like that: three boys crammed into the bottom bunk, a 2'x6' space the size of a camping pad. Isaiah at the head of the bed, in a specially crafted safety spot, with pillows and blankets.
Phil said, "We need a bunker!" He's probably right.
Happily the wind blew in cooler air: once the windstorm ceased, we opened the windows, and the dark, silent night filled the space. (Right before the storm, it still felt clammy and oven-like outside, even though the sun was down. Sure enough, Accuweather showed that the temperature was 86, but "feels like" 106.)
I found it hard to sleep. In part because three boys had somehow taken over my spot on the bed, and Abraham's air mattress was flat. In part because of questions about how long would the power be out. Back by morning? Excellent. The freezers would be fine. Back after 24 hours? Hmm. Five freezers of chicken carcasses waiting to be made into stock, or pork bits waiting to be made into food for the guys ... that would be a great financial and emotional hit. I considered another drive to Costco to get a generator. (I'm sure they would have been sold out, had I made the trek.)
After taking a melatonin, I finally drifted off around 2am.
To wake at 6: Phil was telling a puppy not to grab a chick. He was right: chicks aren't for puppies. While Phil had a longer cow paddock shift, I went to work with the partially recharged battery on the driver (not fully recharged when the power went out). At 6am, the air was just in the 70s, the sun wasn't up: it was fun to pull screws and try to dig out forms. We have to hack through a little layer of concrete that has come up beneath the form, locking it in place. Pick and shovel, hammer and pry bar.
I was done before 9:30: it was too hot. The power wasn't back on.
Phil listened to the news on his radio earphones: devastation and destruction across the state. We figured we weren't going to be getting electricity anytime soon.
Happily, we have a stock tank of water (the "swimming pool") for the chicks and chickens, dogs and cats. Unhappily, despite my resolution to keep the 40 gallon RV tank filled, it is, sadly, empty, as is the Berkey water filter. We have ten gallons of kombucha already brewed, and ten more brewing, so we should be okay for a bit. After a day of kombucha only, though, we are all wishing for water.
For the cows, they are on the neighbor's land. Phil moved them, and, as part of his routine, emptied the stock tank, moved it to the new pasture, and went to turn on the hose ... oh, right. Without electricity, the pump doesn't work. He ended up making a path to the creek. Virginia is in a state of emergency: the cows must have water. Thankfully, Phil had an alternative method to get water for them. Thankfully, they are in a paddock with enough food, they can both eat and drink.
My other big concern, the freezers, resolved itself. The RV has a generator and a battery to store the energy. We spent the afternoon cycling through the five freezers, giving them each about 20 minutes of cooling. We'll trust that's enough for today. I pulled hot dogs for dinner, and they were still rock solid. We thawed the packages on our heads and wrists and were thankful for the cool.
Overall, then, I'd say we're doing pretty well, twenty-four hours into our experiment with summer electricity outage. No internet, no cell phones, no running water, no toaster oven. We have an oscillating fan in the RV that we turn on at times, enough RV batteries to keep the fridge on, and recharge the computer. It could be worse. Sweaty, sticky, but somewhat relaxed.
With nothing to do but survive the heat and stay hydrated, life turns simple.
Friday, June 29, 2012
Pulling Forms
Yesterday, while we were in the car most of the day, the temperature was hot and dry. It wasn't thrilling to be outside, but it was crisp, breathable.
Too bad today wasn't the day to be in the car, since the thick, humid air arrived in force (despite no rain for weeks). The boys went out to help Phil pull forms this morning, and after a few hours they returned, dripping and red-faced. They played peaceably inside in the air conditioning all afternoon.
When I went to join Phil late in the afternoon, I pulled screws and shoveled, and he used a sledgehammer and wedge, trying to pull the 2"x12" formwork. It was rough going. We had to shovel away a foot of dirt, extract screws that were very over drilled (Phil said, "I told the neighbor over and over not to keep driving them so deep," but some were impossible to extract). It was sweaty, thankless work.
In linear feet, I think we got done with about a quarter of the inside of the building. When I asked Phil, he figured we were actually closer to half, since we've pulled most of the supports and have done most of the hardest extractions. He figures the outside forms will come away much more easily.
As tiring as the work was, I found it such a pleasure to have a task to do with Phil: I think it's been some months since I was able to actually assist in something he was working on.
Too bad today wasn't the day to be in the car, since the thick, humid air arrived in force (despite no rain for weeks). The boys went out to help Phil pull forms this morning, and after a few hours they returned, dripping and red-faced. They played peaceably inside in the air conditioning all afternoon.
When I went to join Phil late in the afternoon, I pulled screws and shoveled, and he used a sledgehammer and wedge, trying to pull the 2"x12" formwork. It was rough going. We had to shovel away a foot of dirt, extract screws that were very over drilled (Phil said, "I told the neighbor over and over not to keep driving them so deep," but some were impossible to extract). It was sweaty, thankless work.
In linear feet, I think we got done with about a quarter of the inside of the building. When I asked Phil, he figured we were actually closer to half, since we've pulled most of the supports and have done most of the hardest extractions. He figures the outside forms will come away much more easily.
As tiring as the work was, I found it such a pleasure to have a task to do with Phil: I think it's been some months since I was able to actually assist in something he was working on.
Thursday, June 28, 2012
Blackberries and Plums, and Thoughts on Mammon
A few days ago, the three younger boys joined me in a hunt for blackberries next door. Abraham had been stung by a nasty something on his forehead right before we left, and despite a baking soda plaster and the homeopathic Apis, he was in pain. (A second dose of Apis when we returned took care of the burn, and I heard no more whimpering.) The bushes we found were not loaded. There were a few, but overall it was a bit of a bust. There is one bush growing up into the metal building that is loaded. That gave us more in the one spot than all the rest we had hunted among the weeds and brambles.
The plums have been a rare treat. Most aren't bigger than a golf ball, and we pop a whole one in our mouth and rejoice in the natural sugar. We've almost finished all of them for the year. It's nothing for us to eat twenty at a sitting, so they haven't lasted long.
We moved the chicks outside.
They are about six weeks old now, and still extremely small. Broiler chickens would be approaching full size. These ones are about the size of grapefruits. Slow growers.
They are happy to be outside. Sadly, because of their petite stature, a few have escaped from the pen. And, doubly sad, they are not at all threatening to Bitsy and the puppies. We've had four confirmed dead. At best, we have 55 yet living. Unbelievable that, three years in, we're still ending up with loss rates of almost 50%.
Isaiah loves his ducks, though. He and Phil took the three and put them in the stock tank. They swam around happily, ducking their heads. Dandelion has not lost the funny tuft of feathers on the back of her head, and when she bobbed her head underwater, the feathers stood out like a bad case of static hair.
After about two weeks of dry, hot weather, the garlic is almost cured. I've started cleaning and clipping the best bulbs. There are not many, but I try to feel undaunted. I've been enjoying the small cloves of the garlic harvest in my cooking: three small heads gives a good amount of flavor for a stir fry.
We headed up to get minerals today, the long five hour drive. It was a good time of conversation about where do we go from here. With the enterprises we have going currently, it's hard for me to imagine we'll ever make money. So where does that leave us? In a construction trailer for the rest of our lives?
That wouldn't be the end of the world. We've had an interesting life the last three years in this trailer; three more years in here wouldn't kill us.
I might stew about a lack of free time to pursue "my own" interests (as if the bees and the apple grafts and reading great books to the boys, writing on the blog and photographing my world were not enough): how foolish. Everything I do has intention, and if I can't imagine having enough time to watch a movie or read a few books for fun, well, I should be thankful for such strong purpose.
It was striking to me this month: I have my bad days on the farm, especially days when there's an animal death or plant death. Overall, though, I think I manage a challenging life with thankfulness and perseverance.
But every time I pay the bills, I fall into a funk. If Phil says, "Are you okay?" I have only to say, "I just paid the bills" for him to understand that no, I'm grumpy and irritable.
How foolish, though. Our needs, and many of our wants, always have been graciously provided.
So enough with the money worries. We've been reading lately about how people can't serve both God and mammon. If I'm falling into a funk when I pay the bills, despite witnessing God's provision for the twelve years of married life, I'm clearly not trusting God. He provides. He leads.
May we continue to be good sheep, following his lead.
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