Total Stop

Thursday night Phil was finished with everything he could do. Friday morning, he headed over to Butch's house. After the big storm, Butch had several large trees come down, and he got his forklift stuck while cleaning up. Phil went over to help. After several hours, he came home, without Butch and with the forklift freed, then stuck again. High centered.

Butch's excavator was getting repaired. Then he was going to dig out the forklift. But all Friday, and all today, Phil was a bit at loose ends: beautiful weather, energy and drive ... and no way to move forward.

That's a frustrating place to be.

In truth, he's had other things to do. Friday, the cows had to make their long move, heading through the headgate for the third time. Phil got three of fifteen cows through the gate on his own. Then I came to help (which was really necessary).

Although the process still wasn't swift, the cows are figuring out what we want them to do. Phil managed to get Snowman into the chute, and used a single strand of electric wire (not electrified) to block the exit. Snowman went almost all the way through, made a rather remarkable turn, and came to the electric line at the back. He stood there for a while. Phil went and stood in front of him, gesturing to turn around and go back.

Snowman lowered his head and thrust his horns around. He wasn't moving, but just bobbing his head. Phil kept gesturing.

"Phil, I just read in a magazine that that lowered head is a threatening motion. Maybe you should move away. Put another wire between the two of you."

Good thing I keep reading and learning! He took my advice.

Then Phil took the bucket of molasses then, and, reaching over the cattle panel headgate, gradually walked Snowman through. Snowman has a sweet tooth. Good thing.

Success!

Charity, born last November, has needed to have her collar loosened for some time. Last time through, I forget how she evaded the head gate. This time, her evasion was unforgettable. She got into the head gate, then made a remarkable leap and burst through.

I didn't think we'd have success getting her back again. But when all but two stubborn calves had gone through, Phil and I walked to the herd and cut her and her mother out with a bit of wire. They walked calmly back to the holding pen, and Charity went in. She wasn't thrilled about it, but we managed to loosen her collar. Phil was greatly relieved. I was thankful that the whole process took an extra five minutes or so: I was expecting a few hours.

Jadon came in for dinner with a stick he had been carving to a point. He held it up and growled, "This is a stick up!" Oh, did we laugh!

Today, I attempted cleaning up around the homestead, but got too discouraged that few things have places. It's really hard to clean up when almost nothing has a place. (And half the things have no recognizable function, either.) So I went to nature and spent almost nine hours weeding the greenhouse. The quarter that had been tilled, then neglected sprouted an amazing array of grass and weeds. Those had all set seed, but the seed had not yet dropped. I figured that if I had the time and energy, it was worth it to get those seeds out, rather than wrestle the next seven years.

One of the benefits of days that had a heat index of 115 is that now, days in the low 90s feel pleasantly temperate; a delight to be outdoors! I would not have guessed that back in late May: then the low 90s felt like an assault.

Lacking other pressing tasks, Phil headed to a hole in the field. A very nasty vine, with a scratchy texture, enormous seed pods, and a tendency to cause a skin reaction has been sprouting from this hole for a year. Last year, I pushed any tendrils back into the hole, preventing the spread. This year, we look down at the former market garden and see one bright splash of green.

No longer! Phil took all the scrap wood from the back of the truck, all the boxes we could find, and tossed them in the hole. He added some gas and lit the hole.

Several hours later, the vine had finally cooked to death. All the unusable scrap lumber was nothing but ashes.

Although this may not have been as satisfying as visible progress on the building, it felt good to clean up some of the noxious plants around the farm. A productive day.

(It ended with hamburgers. I cooked up almost three pounds of meat. I didn't get any of it: the boys and Phil were more hungry than I expected. I figured I could reheat my Thai food in the hamburger grease, to make the leftovers a bit more rich. But when I came in to eat the leftovers, Mr. Bigglesworth had gotten there before me. The pan was licked clean. Fie!)

Cross Beams and Bracing

Phil had a satisfying day. Four more pillars up, ten cross beams, tension cables strung. He even tried to get one of the highest beams in place. He almost made it, standing in the bucket of the tractor (which he had first maneuvered into place, with the beam tied to the bucket?, then climbed into the bucket and, with incredible man power hoisted almost into place). Apparently, the two top holes are matched with the bottom holes, so it's lacking a few inches to be completely correct.

The new epoxy arrived around dinnertime, so he quickly epoxied more holes.

Hopefully tomorrow Butch can come with his amazing lift to help put the upper level beams in place. It's so exciting!

Seven Eleven

We have above-ground progress! Phil put up the first pillar with the epoxy hardened in place. It was not super easy: even a slight tilt off vertical was almost impossible to adjust. And the bolts certainly looked pretty much perfect.

So: what to do with the rest of pillars? He has the tractor supporting one that he stood upright, then epoxied in place. Maybe that was easiest, but it means that the tractor is out of commission for four hours or more, while the epoxy dries. So his plan going forward is to epoxy bolts at kitty corners in place, put the pillars into place, and epoxy the final two with the pillars in place. Hopefully that will be the best option of all.

I found some peanuts that I had meant to plant this spring. Oops. I'm at least a month late. To make space, I weeded in the greenhouse, and although I brought the hoe, most of the weeds have started to get seed heads; combined with robust root systems, it was easier to just pull them.

Okra was $8/lb at the grocery store, so I planted some okra seeds, too. I do love okra, and the planting calendar says this is the final week to get it in.

I started to plant the peanuts, jabbing individual holes with a tread-in post. And after about 50, I just grew despondent. Peanuts have a four-month growing season. That would put me into November. And while it is possible that the frosts will hold off that long, it's not very likely. Am I planting for nothing? There is the nitrogen-fixing, soil-improvement aspect. And I've shelled the expensive seed peanuts, and cleared a space for them.

But I think I'm just tired of planting things and not having them grow well. The 150 rununculas I planted? Not one emerged. The dozens of peppers? No plants survived into adulthood. The 100 year-old comfrey plants? We had 82 come up, in the mineralized soil of the orchard.

I mentioned to Phil how discouraged I was with gardening. For him, though animal husbandry has not been easy nor free of death, he feels like he's constantly learning, always improving (current survival rate of chicks notwithstanding: had the box not fallen, and the dogs not decimated, we would still have most birds, since we've had none just die since the first couple of days).

But with gardening, I am at a loss. Do I know what to do differently? Hmm. Better soil? More watering? But how to improve germination rates? How to keep on in hope, even when seeds don't sprout? How to maintain enthusiasm for the three tomatoes of ten that are ready to transplant out, and not simply chuck the whole lot in a fit of pique? (Okay, maybe that didn't happen with tomatoes, but it is a real temptation for me, a character flaw perhaps: if it's not perfect, throw it away, or don't bother!)

Phil asked what I enjoy around the farm. I enjoy things that do well. And since I feel like I've had few of those, I guess I shouldn't be surprised that the farm feels a bit draining emotionally.

(That said, I can see things that I should do differently. The greenhouse comfrey patch is doing well, because I have done spot weeding most days since planting. Thus, there are not entrenched weeds or grasses. Constant maintenance helps.

In the moonbed, though I have some pretty flowers, the not-fully composted manure and hay that I used for mulch turned out to be a bad idea. It is growing grass beautifully! Next year, I will plan to line everything, including walkways, at least with cardboard, if not biodegradable weed barrier and cardboard. And then use compost as mulch.

And it would probably be prudent to make several really good quality beds and grow some vegetables for the family, just so I don't feel like a constant failure. I made lasagna beds when we first moved here, and those compost-spoiled hay beds grew very nicely for a few years. But I diluted that good soil across the whole greenhouse floor, which means the whole greenhouse is mediocre soil: better than the subsoil it was at first, but not a rice growing medium that produces fabulous food.)

First Epoxy

After Phil moved the cows Monday, he went back to bed and slept the rest of the day. I'm not sure if he caught the flu, or was simply still not fully rehydrated after his labors last week. Maybe sun stroke?

Lest anyone have the wrong idea that the metal building is almost done: it's not up in any way.

But with the beams moved to the building site, we can access two rows of apple trees from the driveway for the first time in sixteen months.

After such dry weather, it was a great relief to have rain Sunday evening. More rain fell Monday, totaling almost an inch (which, ideally, is what should be falling every week. We're a little behind). With the cooler weather, I felt motivated to head out, at least for a while. I planted the six remaining mulberries in the greenhouse (they've been languishing in soil blocks).

Today I weeded in the greenhouse: snipped grass seedheads, then foolishly pulled grasses by hand. (It was very satisfying and fun to get those giant grass clumps up by the roots, but it was, in retrospect, foolish not to use the hoe. The hoe really does go faster.)

Phil was better today. But because the rain had fallen, the holes in concrete were no longer dry and ready for epoxy, which is the next step. Hmm. With thunderstorms predicted for the rest of the week, it might be some time before the building progresses more.

Phil first tried to use the ShopVac to suck the water. Not doable. Next he tried siphoning the water, sucking it into his mouth. Which would have been a good idea, except the alkaline concrete is still curing, and burned his tongue.

Maybe he used the bulb syringe; probably he had some other brainstorm. He dried out the holes and put in some permanent bolts.

Some of the holes took a good bit more epoxy than he expected, so he ordered some more, which should arrive on Thursday. In the meantime, he has a good idea of what he can do.

To close, I've been doing some school with the boys. Today I interviewed them, and one of the questions was, "What would you change in the world?" Jadon said, "Have everyone follow Jesus." In a separate conversation, Isaiah said that he would stop production of pasteurized milk.

Sounds like Lykosh indoctrination proceeds well.

A Sad Discussion

Bitsy and Socks have continued to kill any chicks that get out. Two, three, four killed today, the worst day in a while (made extra worse because I saw the depression around the edge of their pen, but it didn't look large enough for a chick to escape, so I didn't fill it. After we found the dead birds, I stopped up the hole, caught four or five living birds who had escaped, and we put up the electric netting. Phil had talked about doing that for some days, but the idea of moving netting for a few chicks seemed like such a hassle: we got rid of sheep to stop moving netting! Blah! So it makes me a chick-killer doubled, both because I didn't stop the hole, and I grimaced whenever Phil mentioned the netting).

It's tricky to count chickens: they're always on the move and they look pretty much identical. But we're somewhere in the low 30s.

I like stock, eggs, and stir fry with chicken. But I'm emotionally spent on the birds.

If a neighbor dog had eaten twenty of our chicks, we would be in shoot to kill mode.

It wasn't a happy discussion, but Phil suggested it's time to re-home Bitsy and Socks. I have been hoping with each dead chick that that would be the last. But if we're hoping to feed four boys through their teen years, we need dogs that don't kill chicks.

We need these two dogs to go, and we'd rather they not go that way. If you could pray that they can find a home within the next day or two, it would be a blessing. (There doesn't seem to be a simple and easy option.)

Shadow is Phil's shadow. She follows him when he goes to check on the cows, comes when called (and piddles when excited: it's good she stays outdoors). She doesn't eat chicks. We plan to keep her.

So that's the emotionally heavy thing, which taints what was otherwise a good day.

Phil, having gulped his way through the better part of 20 gallons of kombucha this week, started to feel a bit ill this afternoon. With the heat index right up around 110, the fact that he was outside most of the day, moving metal, laying it out, bolting some together—he completely drenched two pairs of shorts with sweat. I'm guessing he simply couldn't stay hydrated. Maybe I should have added some Celtic sea salt for trace minerals and replacement salt.

But we can access a couple of rows of apple trees from the road now! They're no longer blocked by long metal columns!

Phil was a little disappointed when he realized that the tractor isn't quite tall enough to get the steel beams up. I had always figured we'd need to rent taller equipment. (He probably figured that, 16 months ago when we ordered, but has forgotten in the meantime.) To just be able to work with our own equipment would have been preferable, but when you're missing three feet, you're missing three feet.

Concrete Progress

Despite temperatures in the 100s, Phil has been gamely working for hours each day on the metal building. On the Fourth of July, he used the tractor and his muscle and pulled and prodded form boards, meshed in concrete, until there were eight to go.

Most boards were horrible to extract, requiring digging, chipping, prying and more prying.

Yesterday, the fifth, he continued to extract boards. Three more out. Five to go.

Then he drove up to town to rent a special concrete drill. He used it to make three different sized holes in the concrete. Before he could drill, though, he had to spend several hours marking the precise spots where the bolts would go. A quarter inch off, and the building wouldn't work right.

I am glad he thought to split that task apart from the initial pour. Knowing how fast he was running during the pour, I cannot imagine also trying to put in bolts with such slim margins of error. And then maybe Bitsy's plunge into the wet concrete would have made the effort obsolete anyway.

He drilled all the several dozen holes before dark fell. (It wasn't much cooler then: still 95 degrees around 10pm. But once the sun drops, the intensity of the heat feels more bearable.)

This morning he again drove to town to return the drill. Back home, he read up on the unique bonding agent (glue or epoxy): once mixed, like concrete, there's a limited time to work before it sets. Rather than get that started in the blazing heat, he opted to continue to sledgehammer out the remaining boards.

He had a new pry bar, longer and flatter. That made a huge difference. Two more out.

Around 4:30, I finished reading to the boys for the afternoon, and we all headed up the driveway to join him.

He had planned to clean up the site when he was done extracting form boards. But we could do that. He backed the truck up, and we started tossing broken boards, short support boards in the back.

After five minutes, I looked at Jadon and Abraham, working with me. They had sweat droplets running down their temples, red in the face, drooping. I let them off to go play in the shade. There's a part of me that thinks they should probably learn to work hard; but I felt light headed and ill: what would it be like for them?

I kept working. I started to be more conscientious about drinking kombucha, and as my body started sweating in earnest, I think my core temperature came down, and I didn't notice the heat as much.

Phil's shorts were thoroughly drenched by the end of the workday. I don't know how the pioneers did it, sans water bottles and electrolyte drinks, wearing (as I understand) shirt and pants. And the ladies, in their dresses, cooking over an open fire. I salute those early pioneers. They were way tougher than me.

Phil pulled another two boards. One more to go. Optimist that he is, he said, "I think I've figured out how to most efficiently remove these." But that last one turned out to be a stickler. He wrestled with that over an hour. Jadon and I stood on the pry bar while he did intricate things with a second bar and a sledgehammer. He used the tractor. He used his arm and back muscles.

He got it all the way out. In pieces, but out.

Next: he forced water into each hole he'd drilled, readying the holes for the bonding agent.

Then he started making the driveway into the metal building. Because we had to dig a foot down to extract the form boards, there's a good foot of concrete that needs to be ramped up to allow equipment to drive in.

There's only so much he can do right now. The soil is extremely dry, and mashing dry soil is sort of like trying to make a sand castle with dry sand: it just doesn't work very well. But he mashed it enough to drive the tractor into the interior space of the building. Where it will remain until he can push a foot of materials next to the foundation to create a ramp to get him out.

In that time, I finished picking up the wood. Two hours of gathering boards and tossing them in the truck.

It was amazing to me to contemplate how much materials handling went into the formwork. Phil cut the trees in the lower pasture. We chipped the limbs. He sawed the boards for weeks. He tried to pull a trailer of boards up the hill. Then Butch came and pulled him and the trailer up. He unloaded the boards. Butch helped him lay out the line for the foundation. Butch dug the trench. Phil did some finishing work to get it dug. Phil figured out how to build the formwork. He carted the boards to the site. After the formwork was built, he backfilled. The concrete came. It set. He spent a week trying to extract the boards. I spent several hours just gathering the pieces of broken boards. We have a pile of slightly damaged wood, ready to be sawed into smaller bits, or used as is.

That was a LOT of weight and effort to get to the foundation. Now comes the satisfying part: laying out the metal.

Even the bits we've uncovered so far have generated a wheelbarrow of old cardboard. I am SO happy to get this stuff cleared from the entrance to the farm. Get it away!

I think we both ended the day feeling encouraged with the progress. Phil feels like he has a clear picture of what needs to happen next, something he's struggled with (never having built a metal building before).

Years ago we had friends who built a strawbale house in the evenings and weekends. I remember watching their progress for those two years, amazed at how slow all the layout was, how minor appeared the progress. And, in some ways, how boring the pictures. I understand now, though, why they posted photos of the string, the foundation trench. It's all effort, and learning, and struggle. I get it.

Thinking about Success

I've been thinking recently about success. There was a time when we were doing really well in the ways of the world. Phil had a great job as an engineer, I've always enjoyed my part time job; we had a great marriage nice boys, a healthy church family, close proximity to family; a new minivan and a nice house in the suburbs of a truly cool city.

When I thought about my friends, I felt like I was pretty much the most blessed. Maybe that was pride, but it felt like an honest assessment.

We have friends today who are marvelously successful. The Lord blesses the work of their hands, has given them passion and opportunity. And I was horrified to realize that I felt envious. (The enneagram, one of my favorite personality profiles, shows that when I'm not doing very well, I tend to fall into envy. While it's uncomfortable to be so predictable, I think that's accurate.)

As I thought about this little spurt of envy, I think there's a part for me that feels frustrated that, despite the combined intelligence of Phil and I, despite our love of learning and research, our reading and actual attempts, we just aren't having much success here. Yet.

I feel like, "No, we really are awesome people! The farm should reflect how awesome we are!" And there is nothing that feels awesome about the farm right now.

I watered my 21 little pawpaw sprouts, my 25 or so little osage orange sprouts and thought, "This is not nothing." That is a tiny bit of progress. But from a "sustainable farming" standpoint, it's awfully close to nothing.

There's a verse that says, "So then neither he who plants is anything, nor he who waters, but God who gives the increase." That's in the context of conversion; I'd like to hope it's applicable to real farming, too. And I'd like to hope for increase.

Before that, though, I suppose there's an acknowledgement that if our labor is unto the Lord, we can be thankful for the ways he's growing us, and also rejoice in the success of our friends.