November 26: A Rainfall Disaster

We woke to a slow drizzle. No big deal.

It wasn't until late afternoon that the horrible part of the day began.

To set the stage: the rain had been picking up all day. It was now falling quite steadily.

In the morning I had gone up to work in a space where I have consistent internet. It was unheated and cold inside; so cold that an unopened bottle of sparkling water had partially frozen. I found it hard to get warm after being chilled to the bone, so I spent a few hours afterwards huddled over a space heater.

When I wasn't quite as chilled, and the water was somewhat thawed in the RV (hooray!), I did dishes for an hour. Nice hot water, but my feet were icy by the time I was done. To warm up, I huddled under down comforters and fed the baby. I drank hot tea, but it didn’t warm me up all the way. I dozed off. When I woke up, I figured I should go start the steaks for dinner.

Before I left, I looked at some pictures the boys had drawn. And I heard a very odd noise, like gushing water.

In the utility room, I found the culprit: the pipe that Phil had carefully dug and placed yesterday, but not backfilled entirely lest he be unable to actually hook it up at the right time, was gushing orange, muddy water into the utility room. On the other side of the wall, the rain-drenched land had absorbed all it could, and now was sheeting down into the lowest point, the not-backfilled hole, now filled with water and seeking a lower place: our utility room.

I called for Phil and quickly found a bucket. Incredibly, the bulk of this terrific run-off had poured directly into a 6” square cardboard box. Once the bucket was in place, I poured the box out into the bucket. The box had held at least a quart, and I caught it before it disintegrated. Small mercy. A quart of muddy water is quite a bit.

Phil was home, recently returned from an errand. He turned the pipe up and the water stopped flowing. Small mercy.

With a damp floor and assorted plumbing and electrical bits littering the space, I left to go cook steaks.

This attempt was an utter failure. Not only was I wet and cold, but the steaks refused to cut no matter what knife I used. They were practically raw, despite following Phil’s instructions (perfectly suited for a different cut of steak). And I am predisposed to hate steaks because trying to get rid of the silverskin or gristle takes so much time: I think, for the most part, I’d rather eat some ground beef and call it good.

As I was trying the fifth knife, Phil came in to check on me. I was at the stage of the downward spiral where nothing seems like it will go right again: ruined steaks, more steaks in the freezer and those will (of necessity) also be ruined, cold, rainy, I was the one who suggested we dig the trench that poured out muddy water, grumpy boys, no internet....

Phil took the steaks to try to figure out what to do with them. If I was ready to toss them to the dogs, they could hardly get worse. I would carry the bread and toppings. He offered to wait for me, but I have a little pride issue about my ability to walk around the farm in the dark (never had any issues before), so I told him to go along.

In this case, "pride goes before a fall"—literally. I was carrying a cutting board and a heavy paper bag of groceries. The terrain was uneven and settling because the newly dug trench bisects the path I took. I stepped, and my foot sank. I stepped again and found myself down, fallen on elbow and muddy to waist.

Now sobbing loudly, I gathered most of the groceries into the torn, damp paper bag. A loaf of bread dropped out as I made my way to the boys, squelching on a mud clod in my shoe at every step.

I had finally bought a new farm jacket some weeks back, after the down NorthFace jacket I had loved since age 19 finally completely wore out last year (not only was it filthy, not only was it torn in multiple places from bits of wire on fences, not only was the down torn out around both sleeves, but the zipper was broken so that both sides stuck together in one place, requiring me to step into the jacket if I wanted even a bit of warmth).

My new farm jacket is rated to 10 degrees. It is navy blue firehose canvas, comes down over m hips, and is warm and beautiful.

And now it was ruined, at least for trips to town. Orange patch on elbow, orange on hem. (Truly, the amount of orange was less than I expected, considering how far I fell.)

I rescued the bread: only a small part of the bottom was muddy: how it landed on the ground did little damage.

But I should have been thankful. I was wearing nice jeans, but had just put on quilted overpants to keep more warm. Those were muddy, but not the jeans. And those quilted overpants are made to be muddy.

I found out later that I had stepped right into one end of the trench; basically, I stepped into a hole. I didn’t have to fall far to hit my elbow. No wonder I felt like I was lolling on the ground. I sort of was, except the ground was two feet down at that spot.

Instead, I was in tears and full of complaints. Why must everything be so hard? I emailed my sister and mother that I felt like a character in a Hemingway book.

Why did the chicken cross the road?

Hemingway: To die. In the rain.

Amy: To get to the dropped bread. In the rain. Left in the wake of a ruined new jacket.

While I was bemoaning my lot via email, Phil was being an adult. He cooked the steaks under the broiler which magically made them both edible and cuttable. He mopped up the utility closet and dealt with the leak that was developing. He put the cheese and meat and other assorted groceries away. He cut off the bread bits that were muddy.

When I was done venting, I ate some steak (pre-cut, mind you) and felt human again.

But the leak in the utility closet then intensified. And that was the battle we fought all evening and through the night. The water dripped and streamed a bit from chin-height. We had to somehow keep it from completely ruining the floor, the back of drywall, the framing, the paint. I used one method, and it started to flow into the crawlspace, which is now covered with black plastic (meaning, the muddy water would not just sink down through the gravel and away).

Phil went out to fill the hole back in as best he could. He stepped down and almost lost a boot, but had the good sense to keep foot in boot and dig his foot out. He covered the exterior pipe with a bucket, and it helped. A little.

He tried this a second time, later, but was then out of ideas and options. I mopped up every half hour, and then covered the back of the drywall with plastic wrap. That at least stopped the spatters from real damage.

But the better idea was to put a towel over the leak, and stick a pipe on the bottom of a towel, to direct the water right into the bucket.

We dumped the water, always two or three gallons worth, at 10:30pm, 12:30am, 1:15am, 2am, 5am. It was not a fun night.

I was grieving over my bad idea. Phil was grieving because “I knew in my gut it was a bad idea, but I couldn’t figure out why in my mind, and so I did it anyway.” I was sad for being so anxious to be done that I put pressure on; Phil was sad for giving in so readily.

It felt like we were Adam and Eve. “’Just dig the trench,’ said she, to her husband, who was with her.”

November 24 and 25

On Sunday, after church and community group, Jonelle and I looked through homeopathy books, comparing what we’ve used the last year with the course we’re looking to transfer into. We are excited about the books we’ll be using: much superior to what we’ve been using.

On Monday, I had a day in the car: up to Charlottesville to drop off Jonelle and home again. Up to Charlottesville to take three boys for evaluations by the holistic dentist and home again.

Jonelle was blessed with travel mercies: she caught a standby flight for the second leg of the trip and made it home hours earlier than she would have.

I had a mercy at the dentist. Although the appointment was scheduled for Jadon, Abraham, and Joe (all cavity-free, thankfully), I asked about Caleb’s difficulty latching on. It turns out he is pretty severely tongue-tied and has a very high dental palate. A frenectomy (to cut the frenum and free his tongue) can be done without anaesthetic up to six months: that might allow him to avoid later dental issues, and it will certainly help with his latch.

I’ve scheduled it for ten days from now.

We returned home to find that Phil had had a profitable four hours. He had dug a trench and laid a water line, and backfilled the trench.

Our water to the RV froze last night. We have done no dishes. We have steaks thawed, but no plates to eat them on, no forks to eat them with, no knives to cut them into bits. So we had popcorn for dinner. And some bread.

When we have no water, life feels much harder than normal.

Phil told me later that he had had an issue with water, too. I had done a good job during his illness making sure the water line was unhooked from the spigot to the cows. But the line curled in a few places, and the water in those places froze. To water the cows, he had to go out with a blowtorch and melt the water, but not the plastic. I suspect it took quite a long time.

November 23: Visiting Provision

Phil’s chemical prostration continued through today, at least as bad as yesterday. How frustrating for him and us!

Jonelle and I had a productive day, though. We had gone to bed waiting on the paint to dry. The second stage of the Annie Sloan's Chalk Paint process is to put on a wax that will bind to the paint and make it durable (or something like that). Another thing the salespeople didn't mention is that the paint is almost smell-free, but the wax is quite toxic-smelling. Blah.

Bt Jonelle waxed the dresser first thing. Then put on the new handles. It looks fabulous, and makes me smile every time I look at it.

I also have a garage sale bookcase that has been useful, though ugly.

Because we had to mix two colors, Jonelle used the straight navy to paint the bookcase. It was tough to paint in the creases, but after two coats of paint and the wax, it looks entirely different. I love it now!

I enjoyed putting all Phil’s work clothes away. I almost cried to Jonelle that Phil had so few clothes that were fit to be seen in public. She said, “But he’s a farmer. He can wear work clothes that get worn out.” This was a good thought, a continuation of the conversation we had begun earlier in the week. I can think of myself as a person who lives in the country. I can wear clothes I like and change into work clothes if I head out to garden or help Phil. But I don’t have to live in work clothes that are the wrong color or make me feel ugly. I’ll keep a few less-than-stellar things for my work times, but can choose to dress nicely the rest of the time. (Also, I then found bags of professional clothes that Phil had worn when he worked in an office, so he actually has tons of clothes fit to be seen in public; they just haven't seen the light of day in a few years.)

I was surprised by how the boys eagerly came to try on clothes. Abraham was happy to find three hoodies that fit, and Joe came and wanted to find hoodies, too. I don’t think I was happy to try on clothes when I was their age.

The most amazing moment of the day was when we headed up to move the wardrobe. If we could move the wardrobe, we could finish putting the boys’ clothes away. Jonelle and I scooted the wardrobe over to the door, then tipped it carefully out. “It doesn’t weigh that much!” she said hopefully, to which I replied, “It’s all relative.” But when we actually pulled it out of the door, it was much heavier than we expected.

Just as we were standing, confounded and unsure of what to do next, we heard a yell: “Lykoshes!”

Doug and Denise Bush “happened” to stop by at that precise second. Doug came running when he saw us, and took over the wardrobe moving process, until it was in place. Phew! I think Jonelle and I might have died if we had tried to do that on our own. Such a gracious provision of the Lord, when Phil was completely unable to help.

Jonelle vacuumed the construction debris, thought about nice groupings of wall decorations, and spent an hour or so with me going through a mass of accumulated life-debris (what my mother would call "rummel," which, I have heard, means "sand" in Arabic). I held the sleeping baby and she put things in boxes or give away bag or with like items until the mass appeared more manageable.

After I had managed all day on about four hours of sleep, we went to bed early.

November 22: An Amazing Amount of Errands

Jonelle and I had a seriously burly day. We got ready as fast as we could to leave, and left the farm at 10:30 with the two littlest children, a girl almost 2 and Caleb, almost 6 weeks.

In Charlottesville, I withdrew cash at the bank.

We went to Lowe’s and had a fabulous time buying about 15 assorted things. Normally I wouldn't think of a stop at a big box store as the highlight of a day, but because we had the littles, everyone—not just the women but male employees and scruffy men—gave us big smiles and tried to see the baby’s face. Caleb nursed while I sat on the floor and Jonelle and two employees picked out tiles and the setting mortar and grout and tools. The first person to help us was a young lady, and she was soon joined by a young man.

When I asked the young lady where to find a particular part, she said, “I’m a girl. I don’t know what that stuff is called. We’ll ask him.” And he first showed us a photo of his 6-week-old on his phone, and then answered our questions for every other item. Aisle 12, aisle 16, aisle 17, aisle 24. It was brilliant. We knew, then, exactly where to go.

Jonelle and I had talked earlier about Virginians, and how I thought the people were a friendly bunch. “Yes, people here are friendlier,” Jonelle said.

The particular part I needed was a nut and bolt. Quickly stymied in finding the identical part, we asked for help from a cheerful man with an accent: “We are females and are clueless. We need help!” He gave us a little tutorial on how to locate the proper bolts (match them into the guides on the wall, count the number of threads) and how to buy them (put them in a bag and mark the quantity and part number). We also needed a piece to hold up the shelves in the armoire, and he helped us again. He was still holding the final brass shelf-holder and I laughed and said, “Yes, you probably don’t want to keep that as a reminder of our time here,” and he laughed and said, “Oh, I don’t need that to remember you.”

He was wearing a ring, and we had our babies with us, so was that outrageous flirting, or just good cheer? In any case, we left the store almost giddy with good experiences.

On to Whole Foods, where we again had happy interactions with clerks.

Then we located Michael’s in the local shopping center. I had found some art and wanted to frame it. Jonelle went in first and I stayed in the car to feed the baby and eat a sandwich.

Picking frames and mats is not easy, so it was really helpful to have her there. And then the pieces were all 25% off! We left feeling really good about our experience.

So then we hit the walking mall to get Annie Sloan's Chalk Paint at a new store in town. After paying $2.75 to park, we had an hour.

This was the first sour note to the day. Chalk Paint is not the same as chalkboard paint (which is cool in its own way). Chalk Paint is a thick paint that does not require sanding before painting, nor between coats. I had really set my heart on a particular blue, and they had pulled the last can from the shelves just 20 minutes before. (Why they mentioned this—I don’t know. It didn’t help, but instead made me frustrated that we hadn't come earlier.) A nice red was my back-up color. That was out of stock. Grey was a distant third. That was out of stock. So was the burgundy.

We briefly considered driving to the next store, but it would have been several more hours in the car and, actually, they were out of the blue also.

Thanks be to God, Jonelle has an art background. She suggested combining two colors, a bright green and a solid navy, and those two, fingerpainted together, made an approximation of the color we wished for.

After buying the needed wax and a medium brush, we were out of there; a bit deflated, but pleased that we had the chance to move forward.

Eliana was getting ragged and Caleb was getting fussy, but we quickly stopped at the high-end lingerie shop. Jonelle was again a huge help, and getting the properly sized undergarments completely reshaped my body.

Hurry, then, to the car to avoid a ticket or towing. Caleb was fussy, but we didn’t want to pay $2.75 so I could sit there and feed him. I was going to stop at a local elementary school, done for the day, to feed him, but he was sleeping, so we drove on to the post office. He slept through that, and new homeopathic books had arrived.

Home again by 4pm, we found Phil, completely prostrated from chemical exposure the day before. It took quite some time for Jonelle and me to unload all the purchases, and Caleb slept through it all.

At 6:30, we received delivery of a beautiful dresser. One of the knobs had fallen off, but the owner found it and will mail it to me.

The weather was a magnificent, balmy 62, so we moved bags of clothes.

Then, after the children went to bed (slumber party again!), I worked on framing (most of the frames gave us fits: they would not work unless there were no mats, and even then … super tight. Some pictures I just used cardboard as a backing and taped it up.

The pieces I finished, though, were magnificent. I am so pleased!

Jonelle sanded the dresser down for a time, and then began to paint.

The Chalk Paint had been built up too much for us, so we were quite underwhelmed, verging on disgusted. If all that was promised was that we wouldn't have to sand, that would have been great news. But none of the other assurances came to pass.

Yes, the paint is thick and the brush chunky. Jonelle had a good time with it, at least for the first hour. The heavy brush did tire her out, after that. (I am not a painter. I tried a few brush strokes, but Caleb was fussy, so I didn’t do much. I would probably not do it again.)

But the “one, maybe two coats” reassurance did not prove to be our experience. Neither did the “ten minutes and dry” promise (we finally went to bed about two hours after the third coat, still waiting). We did get a fairly good amount of coverage, but the dresser took more than the cup of paint that the store suggested we might need.

Plus, because we hadn't had the cans premixed, we needed to get not only the color we desired but also the right quantity, because if we didn't mix the entire amount, we could never match it perfectly to do a bit more for touch up. Our first color was a bit too green (see foreground drawers), but the second coat was exactly the blue we were after (see background dresser).

Plus, we had received so many reassurances about how we don’t need to sand or prep, that when the paint dramatically threw into relief just how not flat the sanding job had been—it was a bit of a bummer all around.

But we ended the day well. Jonelle searched through the newly arrived homeopathic repertory and we talked through remedies for Caleb. He continues to be just uncomfortable, choking in the night, aspirating some of the reflux, wheezing, fussing, sometimes reaching full-blown panic. He is very sweet and not intentionally cranky. He just doesn’t feel good.

Jonelle suggested Calc carb, and after we discussed, I dosed him. Almost immediately he fell more deeply asleep. He did have a bit of a choke about an hour later, so I dosed again.

So the day was a mad rush, but good!

November 21: An Ugly Dresser

On Thursday morning, I continued to deal with the things from my wardrobe while Jonelle started to replace the veneer on the dresser that Phil loves and I loathe.

Our friend Susan gave it to Phil before we were married. It’s about 100 years old, and does have beautifully dove-tailed drawers and wooden runners. But the veneer is peeling off much of the top and part of every drawer.

And the top drawer, randomly, has a bit of black inlay that isn't on any other drawer. Why?

We checked online and found directions to refresh it: cut the veneer so it is missing in squares and rectangles instead of flaky bits. Use wood veneer tape, an iron-on adhesive, to fill in the missing spots. After the veneer tape is stuck down, smear on wood filler to make it all even. Then sand.

Jonelle chipped away for many hours. I would never have had the patience. Then we used veneer tape, purchased at the local hardware store, to fill in the spots. I will say, that was pretty awesome, to see how easily it sticks down.

We spent the evening going through the middle three boys’ clothes: sorting, folding, in some cases tossing. We talked about homeopathy, which was quite fun.

November 19 and 20

Jonelle and I had a more intense day dealing with children on the 19th.

We did unpack a box or two, including a box with old dolls (two I had made and one my aunt made for me when I was five), a few wedding gifts. That was fun.

One of the boxes held the remains of my earring collection. We spent some time looking through them. Jonelle helped me figure out which ones are both fun and funky and age appropriate. (I fought hard to wear the ceramic butterflies still, but, as I am no longer 12, I will stick with more classic earrings.) That was a restful, helpful thing.

The next morning, I spent an hour with Caleb and Eliana, feeding Caleb and talking with Eliana. Then I fell asleep. Meanwhile, Jonelle and Phil moved the incredibly heavy wood-burning stove with brute strength.

Then they moved the refrigerator the way the pros did it: they carried it! As in, picked it up by straps and lifted it where it needed to go. Most impressive!

I came then, and we moved the armoire into place. So fabulous, beautifully framed by the door.

Phil wondered aloud when Jonelle would touch up paint. A very fair question. So while I dealt with a hungry, fussy baby, Jonelle did all the touch-up paint on walls and ceiling. It took her much of the afternoon.

Then Jonelle and I went up to get box springs for the bed. No mice damage! Easy to carry! We moved them. The mattress itself was another story. We could hardly push it, let alone carry it.

So we went into the house and tried to make Jadon’s dresser look better. My parents found it by the side of the road while they were expecting me. It was an ugly green, but they saw the potential and refinished it. After a scrub and then a LOT of olive oil to make it look nice again, it was revitalized.

Right around then, Abraham mentioned that Phil had spilled some stuff at the back of the trailer and could I please go clean it up. That was an odd request—why couldn't Phil pick it up himself?

Because he had picked up the California King mattress and carried it, Samson-style, on his back.

“Do you have super-human strength?” Jonelle asked.

“I don’t know if it’s superhuman,” he replied, “but I am often surprised at how little other people can do when they come to help.”

We decided the cousins should have a slumber party. The children happily moved air mattresses, pillows, stuffed animals, and sleeping bags from the bunk bed to the floor.

In the night, Jonelle and I talked through much of my wardrobe. I was unsure of how to combine different pieces. This was so helpful: what works for me, and what doesn’t. I feel like I have renewed vision for what to wear, even in this chunky, post-partum phase.

November 18: My Sister Comes to Visit

Over the weekend, Phil worked on several tasks, aided for some hours by a friend. They finished most of the flooring, primarily. Phil bought doors and installed the sliding pocket doors. Without trim, they swing a bit crazily, but it is nice to have them in place.

My sister and her daughters came to visit, arriving Sunday night. We sat up late that first night and talked.

The 18th, though, had beautiful weather sunny, in the 60s. Knowing this might be the last time such a day comes this year, we decided to unpack as much of the storage trailer as we had strength and energy to complete.

Phil and our electrician friend did wiring all day. Our friend joked that this is an electrician's worst nightmare, to have two women storing stuff while the house is being wired. I can see his point, but it was not a deterrent.

After four years, to move things out of storage and into Underground Storage was an amazing experience. In many ways, I had been both dreading it and looking forward to it. Phil happened upon the snake at one point; various cats have padded about; the number of stinkbugs around the perimeter explodes every fall. The space isn't really climate controlled (Phil's office, in the front, usually has the door shut). The climate is humid. Just how much damage should I expect?

One box of books smelled musty and the box felt damp. A second showed visible signs of mildew. (That apparently began with a book purchased from a garage sale; perhaps latent mildew spread?) We uncovered the piano very early on and the bottom corner was discolored.

I had to step back to cry, just a bit. How bad would this be?

I kept uncovering the piano. It does have some very sticky keys; can that be fixed? Perhaps. Happily for the discolored bottom corner, the piano is not veneer, and it hasn't warped at all. (Unlike, sadly, the armoire that we bought two months ago: it has a huge bubble in the veneer after living a few months in the barn. Such a bummer!)

Incredibly, that was the extent of the damage. Two boxes of books that may be of questionable quality, and a bit of possible damage to the piano.

But my ivory knit afghan from Grandma: no damage. Same with the down comforters. And another afghan, which had some form of rodent droppings in it, but no chewing.

Our very large wool rug also had a collection of seeds and droppings in it, but no chewing damage at all. I pulled out a photo album and a bunch of seeds and such fell out from the spine, but there was no damage, not even a few nibbles. We found a few acorns in a box with some blankets—was a squirrel living in the storage trailer?

There are a few tiny nibble marks on the back of my pie-crust rolling out pad. So a bit at the edge of the side that faces the counter: no big deal. And that is all the rodent damage we've seen.

We did find the two boxes of precious artwork that have been packed away for four years.

For the present, Jonelle did the popular "lean" in the playroom. It looks so nice!

Overall, I was pleased to see that, really, we don't have that much stuff! After we got through the stored clothes and assorted randomness at the entrance of the trailer, we have just the kitchen table, our bed, and the piano by way of large furniture. As Jonelle said, "About a third of your stuff is just books." At least.

We found photo albums. And then sat up until late at night and looked through them.