Loading the Bull

Scrunched on the full-size mattress between Joe and Phil, I'm finding it more difficult to fall asleep these last few days. I don't know how early Phil woke up, but at 7:30 I heard running footsteps: "Get the older boys, and come out! The bull has escaped."

My thought was that Clover had bolted through the electric line, but I found out later that Phil, single-handedly, had managed to corral him within four gates. Satisfied that there was nothing left to be done before pickup, Phil went down to print out the butchering directions. When he returned a few minutes later, the gates were twisted and the bull was gone.

Thankfully (truly!), Clover had headed down to be near Belle, and not bolted into either forest or neighbor's land. In some ways, it was an idea setup. We had fenced Belle out of the asparagus patch, but not taken down the cattle panels on the far side of the asparagus, so Clover was trapped in a V-shaped area, with cattle panels on one side and Belle's electric line on the other. I was more than happy for him to trample around the asparagus, so long as he was contained.

Phil quickly set up a lane down the driveway, and with the boys and I running support, we soon had Clover back where he began.

Our friends up the road, the Bessettes, were bringing their bull and had graciously (truly!) agreed to take ours, too. Their bull loaded easily, and they came within about five minutes of Clover's re-containment.

Compared to loading a pig, a bull is—not easy, but manageable. The men set up a corral and squeezed Clover down until he had no way to go but up the ramp.

Or so we thought. Just as Phil said, "Amy, come stand on the far side," Clover got his head underneath and lifted.

That must have been what he did earlier.

But the Lykoshes now had practice with Clover. He, predictably, went back to his lady friend. Since Phil had already gathered the posts for the lane once, and the boys had picked them up and left them in the barn, gathering materials took little time. And so the lane was once again extended down the driveway, and we again pushed Clover back up. Once he reached the last 30', the electric line lane ended and the gates began. Michele stood on one side, and I stood on the other. We were instructed to kick near the eyes if he attempted to go under. Happily, he didn't.

The men tied the back of the gates together, then took a piece of rope and put it around his back side and pulled. Inch by inch Clover moved ahead. When he reached the ramp, he so did not want to go forward that his four hooves were so close together he looked like he might sit on his haunches like a dog. And at one point he almost slipped his legs out of rope, so Michele and I pushed on his backside. (This was more a push-ass operation than a kick-ass operation, if you'll forgive the crass expression.)

Then he was loaded, and the gate was closed. Phil and Dennis drove the two hours to the butcher without mishap. When unloading, Phil said that the two bulls were, inexplicably, put in the same pen initially. The Bessette's bull probably outweighed Clover by 50% (he's a BIG bull!), but Clover had horns and plenty of experience clashing heads with Charlemagne, so the competition was not going to end happily. They were separated out.

My part of this process was over by 9:30, though when Phil took the bull off the farm, I needed to open up more of the lower pasture for the cows. By 9:45 I was ready to milk Belle, but when I tried to pull her upslope, she wouldn't come readily. She had given only 3 cups last night (probably a bit dehydrated), and I realized I had absolutely no reserves to pull her upslope, milk out whatever bits she might give, and bring her back.

So I went and ate and cooled off. And I just milked her once today. (She gave 20 cups, so a goodly amount, but not so much that I felt bad for not milking her this morning. There's only so much of me to go around.)

Phil took the boys over to go swimming this afternoon. So, again, no building progress. We're stuck with the window center post and that's about it.

But we're on track to have our first farm beef later this month, and that is a great feeling.

As a funny aside, Joe's middle name is "Asaph," who was a psalm-writer and sort of worship leader. So it's ironic to me that, since he could first speak, he would tell me not to sing (maybe he has perfect pitch and it's painful?). He's shown no musical interest or aptitude whatsoever.

Imagine my surprise, then, that he created a guitar out of Duplos and has carried it around, with minor modifications, for the last two days. He'll have the stuffed animals "play" and make the musical sounds, either piercing for the "less talented" or more musical for the more capable.

I love that, even after eleven years of parenting, the boys still come up with surprising and creative new ideas.

Moving the Bull

Saturday was a half day of work on the building. Phil put up the center column for the long row of windows and did a bit more bituthene. Maybe something or other else, but he had definitely reached the physically dragging stage, where even standing up elicited a groan.

He had several engineering calls to make today, shorter conversations that somehow ate up the daylight hours.

This evening, he and I went to herd Clover the bull from the lower pasture up to the orchard, in hopes of bringing Clover to process tomorrow. Ever since I heard that we would need to do that, I have prayed every time it came to mind. The idea of trying to direct a full-testosterone bull a quarter mile (or thereabouts) did not excite me.

The first time we tried to cut him out of the herd, he soon bolted and rejoined the rest. So Phil gave his standard, "Yip yip yip" it's time to move call. Happily, Clover came in the middle of the herd, and it was easy (though a work of brilliance with unelectrified electric wire) to separate him out.

That was the most challenging moment. The second most challenging moment was next: we had to move him from the wide paddock down below up into the lane Phil had made. Which meant that, for a bit, he had full access to range hither and yon, and a single bolt could mean the undoing of a half hour's careful driving.

Phil's fast twitch muscles came in handy. One moment in particular, Clover was in a little gully and Phil was to the north. Clover climbed out of the gully in the correct direction and Phil bolted up the side and there he was, waiting for Clover to the south. I could imagine Clover wondering just how many Phils there were behind him. (I have no doubt he knew at all times that there was only one slow-moving pregnant Amy.)

Once he got into the lane, though, all was stress-free and relaxed. Clover has walked the lane with his companions numerous times, and he dutifully headed upslope, with Phil winding up the reel behind him. Short of fencing materials, with the bulk of the herd in the largest paddock, Belle in another, and the two calves in a third, we had to move Clover in three sections while we recycled the posts and wire. But even that wasn't horrible.

Really, my prayers were answered. Now for loading tomorrow.

In a sadder bit of news, I counted eight hens pecking food last Thursday. Today we had none. We considered getting a raccoon trap some weeks ago, but the thought was fleeting and now it's too late. Before we bring birds to the farm again, we'll need to figure out better ways to protect them.

I was quite annoyed that even chickens that were a dollar or two a bird and ready to lay were, I think, a financial loss to us (counting purchase price and feed costs). It feels like we simply can't win.

But then I remembered how we had enough eggs to make delicious fried rice for me in the mornings when I was still so ill, and how much better those eggs were than the store bought ones. And I realized anew that maybe the financial aspect of those birds doesn't tell the whole story.

Goodbye to the Animal We've Had the Longest

Phil headed out to work on the building when he noticed a pile of feathers. Guinea feathers.

The guinea nested in a tree about 15' off the ground, with no lower branches. Apparently the raccoon was willing to climb. We bought that little guy as a keet back in October '09, and he has survived long after the other six keets died. He was the last animal left from '09. I didn't necessarily love feeding him, but he was loud and funny looking, ate ticks, and had a magnificent wingspan when he flew overhead.

It's a bit odd to think that a bird has out-survived cats, a dog, goats, and sheep.

Phil had a frustrating day. After so much smooth sailing with framing, he finally had a day where everything went wrong. The brothers were playing among the joists that were waiting to go into place, and knocked them over, pinching fingers. In a Keystone Kop moment, Phil described it to me later: "Abraham's fingers were pinched, so Joe came over to help. Abraham got his fingers out, but then Joe's were stuck. I was up on the scaffolding and couldn't get down quickly, so I yelled to pull the fingers out. He couldn't or wouldn't, so then Abraham helped and got his fingers stuck again. And Joe's got stuck again, too."

No real harm done, the brothers left for other activities. Then the first board of the center beam that Phil had just put up fell off to the south. It didn't fall all the way to the floor, but it did warp the tube metal of the scaffolding.

He put it back up into place. Unbelievably, it then fell off to the north, and took the center column down with it!

I came down a bit later to check on progress. I didn't notice anything broken or really out of place, and that rascal board was up in place. But that was the only progress after several hours of work.

In the afternoon, Phil managed to get the entire west wall of bituthene started and finished. That was excellent progress, but the overall feeling of the day was simply a bit discouraging for him.

I spent several hours cleaning out the kitchen drawers. I was walking Belle back downslope yesterday and a little mouse went hopping down the driveway ahead of me. Neither dogs nor cat was anywhere around, and it hopped towards the propane tanks outside the motor home. I can guess it was going to join its family inside, as I opened several drawers today to find mouse droppings all over. So disgusting!

Progress on the Fourth

My day did not start out very well. Belle, plagued with flies these days, shifts forwards and backwards just a bit as I milk. If her hooves are covered, she kicks with her front legs, enough to dislodge the flies but not at all aggressively. She is a very good cow.

Last night, with all the rain we've had, she had mud squelching between her hooves, and when she kicked, a huge mud clod landed in the milk pail. I was planning to feed the calves anyway, and they didn't mind a chocolate-milk colored milk, colored with mud.

This morning I headed up to milk and the same thing happened. But this time, I had been rejoicing in the rich color of the milk. To watch a mud clod make a perfect parabola and land in my pail ... I admit I screamed in frustration. (And then, when that brought no response from any person making sure I was okay, I grew more grumpy. Petty, but true.) Did we actually need that milk? No. We had a gallon and a half or so in the refrigerator. But something about not being able to protect my planned on pail really irked me.

And it's funny how, when you want to be irked, there are always plenty of annoyances just waiting, whether it be the case of peaches that went from rock hard (as in, crunch like an apple when bit into) on Monday to almost 100% moldy today. Clearly those peaches were lacking in brix! Or maybe the stinky compost bowl that needed to go out and reminded me of my failings as a homemaker. Plus the general disarray of the living space (amazing how quickly 224 square feet can be completely suffused with all manner of debris!).

Hours later, after reading some in my beloved Mandelbaum Aeneid (my professor in college is mentioned in the Foreward to that book, so I have only two degrees of separation from the translator!), working with the boys to do a general cleanup, bringing out the compost, and eating several delicious peaches (the 70% that wasn't rotten), my day was looking better.

Phil's day ... that was another story. He had literally just brought the tractor down and picked up the first joist to load when it started sprinkling. Then raining. Not hard, and not long. Just enough to wet him through. After an hour or so, he came in. The grumpiness had spread. "My shoes are soaked. My shorts are soaked. I'm spreading mud everywhere. It's slippery." He took a nap.

I thought things were going better until I heard him tell some boys at play around him, "You need to leave me alone. Now." It turned out that he had been hammering in joist holders when a son who shall remain nameless climbed up the ladder to watch. In the split second he turned his head to make sure the son was safe, he whacked his thumb. With the heavy hammer with the dimpled surface.

I had tapped my thumb at times, hammering little brads into the wall. It wasn't fun. I gave my thumb a pretty good whack a few weeks back and was amazed that the pain continued for the rest of the day. Little thumb shooting pains. And I hadn't even whacked it hard enough to discolor.

I cannot imagine the pain of a heavier hammer, swung with Phil's strength. Ugh.

Besides, the rain was falling again. Only for two minutes or so, but enough time to get everything packed up and under cover. Phil took a break, ate some bread and cheese, and slept again.

When he stopped work, after 9pm, he had again made excellent, visible progress. The upper level center beam extends halfway now. He hammered in all the holders on both sides. He put up all the joists on one side of that beam (still waiting for dry weather for bituthene on the south wall): another eighth done.

And, in perhaps the most tiring of tasks, he had brought down all the joists so they are ready to go, and loaded all the plywood and hoisted it with the tractor up to the roof. (The boys spread it out, but only the same one and a half sheets from yesterday are actually in place permanently.)

And right at the end of the day, he put up the next piece of rimboard, in preparation for the next eighth.

With the plywood spread out, it's a very different feel. It'll be dark in there!

And, on a completely different note, two animal stories. Belle has a paddock right now of about an acre, with some trees in a gully, the road to the lower pasture, and all the land in the finger we had hoped to use for market garden crops. The fertilized but not planted soil has produced an abundant crop of rank weeds, most over my eye level. Every time I go to milk right now, I hope I will find her easily, because the idea of a tromp through 5' weeds, with ticks and snakes and mice—let's just say, it's not a favorite idea.

The first three times, she was in plain view, enjoying the clover and grass along the road. This evening, she had branched out into the tall weeds. I saw her backside as I walked down to get her, but when I called she darted further away. I wasn't sure if she was attempting to make her way to me, or if she was startled and spooked, or if she wanted to play hide and seek.

The boys stood upslope and called to me her progress. "She's at the big pit! She laid down [that was Abraham. I don't think he had a good view of what was happening]." And then, there she was. She had come when I summoned her, like an obedient dog. As I said, she's a good cow.

The other animal story is a bird story. I know most of the sounds here on the farm. I might not recognize exactly which bird is making which call, but I hear the same range of noises. Today, though, when I stepped out of the trailer, there was a weird shrieking noise. Then Phil said, "Look at the hawk!" And sure enough, a hawk came looping over the trees, shrieking away. A second hawk answered. They called back and forth for perhaps an hour. Presumably then they found a nice meal on a neighbor's property.

That's pretty neat!

First Roof Cover

Oh, this weather! After a drenching rain overnight, we awoke to a continued gentle rain. Phil headed up to town to get a few more rolls of bituthene and a sealant that he needed, so he used the time well (we had planned to have him go today anyway because not much is open on the 4th of July). Back home, he struggled with brief intermittent rain squalls. How annoying to be ready to go, shoes on, up on the scaffolding, only to have the rain start after a few minutes. Take wet shoes off inside: rain stops. Repeat throughout the afternoon.

Despite the once again shortened workday, he felt reasonably pleased with his progress. He put up the remaining joists in the first quadrant.

That let him actually screw down the first bit of roofing! Yay!

And he used the special sealant he picked up today, a polyurethane sealant (which he's never seen in any big box store): he was in raptures about how easily and cleanly it applied. One of the things we're learning is that different suppliers specialize in different things. Our original supplier managed to get all the block and various wood that we needed. We've used a more local company to get some insulation, and expect to order windows and doors from them: they are more wood people. A different local company specializes in concrete work. Not necessarily the cement, but the waterproofing bituthene and sealants. Another local company deals with roofing material, so when we order the rubber membrane to go up there, they will be that supplier. And, of course, the sand and gravel came from a different supplier. Then there's the electrical company, the propane company, the greenhouse company, the big equipment excavator guys ... it's amazing to consider how many things, from how many places, need to converge. But that's an aside.

He put up another two pieces of rimboard, leaving just a four-foot gap to fill in later.

He had noticed that several joists weren't quite meeting perfectly on the rimboard, so he measured and realized that the structure had shifted about a half inch along the span, so he unscrewed some things and had Jadon come help him hold it all in place to make it perfectly join.
So visible progress, yes; and maybe at a slightly more sustainable pace than a 15 hour day.

In the evening, as the mist rose heavily all over because everywhere is saturated and soggy, Isaiah went down to help him do a last half sheet of plywood roofing. He skipped shoes that time, and just went down in flip flops, because the plywood was already on site, and just needed to be screwed into place.

I had a startled moment today when I was doing some site cleanup. On the flooring rimboard, right next to the plywood, was a green lump of foam that stood out. It was a bit disgusting to consider that tan foam Phil squirted just last week had already turned green, so I bent to touch it and realized it was a little tree frog. So that's where all the frog eggs down in the crawlspace came from! It is tree frog celebration time here in the country. The cicadas had nothing on these little green guys: the volume outside in the evening is astonishing.

A Bit of Roof Support

Phil headed down to start the second level. He remeasured the column and realized it was about a half inch too low. This isn't a huge deal, except that during the construction process, all water will run to right there. So he shimmed up the column. When I asked if this was a problem he said, "That's why all houses have trim: to disguise the little adjustments."

With the center beam hoisted into place and screwed together, he put up the upper level equivalent of rimboard along two walls. The upper joists abut this rimboard on the north side.

We plan to put a greenhouse on top, so the south side has joists extend a bit over the edge of the wall. The view from below is quite the optical illusion: they are both exactly 3'3" from the sill plate, but one looks a good bit further out.

By early afternoon, he had a few joists in place even, hammering all himself, as there isn't enough scaffolding to go around. I was happy to let him.

And then the deluge started again, cutting off work by 2 or 3pm.

It's exciting to see the progress, but too bad to keep having truncated work days.

Foam and Flashing

I know there are people around the world who work in horribly polluted conditions. Who work six (or more) days a week. Maybe there are even some who work that much hauling and hoisting 150 pounds, all day every day.

I salute those people. I think Phil does, too. He does admirably, for working alone, at 40. It's amazing to think that, when the building is done, every pound of it will have been lifted into place by him.

But all day every day labor eludes us. Sunday morning, after several days straight of dealing with bituthene fumes, he had a funny head and complained of not feeling well. He still did the Sunday routine, but did it exhausted and ill.

This morning we woke to a light rain. That was perfect, really. Although we're past the stage of construction where a rain means no construction until the site dries, we're not yet to a point where there is much we can do during actual rainfall. Once the roof is done, we'll be there.

So Phil slept off his funny head and continued exhaustion all morning. And when the sun came out at 1pm, he was ready to go.

I learned a bit more about flashing. This thin metal layer will help drive water away. The boxes said to store, "This end up," but Phil hadn't seen that. Hence, the long north wall's flashing was a bit warped from lying on its side. There's a few waves, despite Phil's best efforts to pull it taut. Happily, the other packages appear to be intact.

To put it in place, Phil cuts out a piece of the metal with a utility knife. We don't know how construction companies do it more efficiently, but it's not a lengthy process, happily.

The foam goes into place easily. And then the pressure treated lumber, bolted into place with the bolt set in the concrete. Somehow, on that long wall, a few bolts ended up a bit too low, so Phil had to carve out the lumber in order to fit on a washer (or something like that). They are all bolted into place now, but it wasn't quite as easy as it could have been.

By nightfall, he had finished the north and east walls, and had done enough of the south wall to start framing the roof. Yay!

And as I was admiring his work, I noticed, from my terribly neglected garden, some new flowers I hadn't seen before. The digitalis I planted last year actually flowered this year, at least a bit. Purple and peach. I can see why that peach is popular with brides: what a striking color, for those who can wear it!