My Poultry Palace

I woke early this morning before the earth had even entirely shed it's sleep, the ground still covered in dew and a calming hush lingering in the air. After coffee, bill paying (which seems to suck less if I'm not yet fully awake), and the obligatory feeding of animals four-legged and two, my parents arrived.
This morning held great hope. Today we were coop building.

This coop of ours is a little miracle of economics. One of the reasons it's taken us so long to complete is because nearly every last piece of it has been repurposed, reused, recycled or free. So far the only things we've had to purchase are nails, two storm windows and a door. When you are re-using lumber, checking it for and pulling out old nails is a time-consuming, but VERY important part of the process. So is making sure those same rusted bits of steel don't get forever lost in the lawn, where the undoubtedly be rediscovered by an unsuspecting pet or person with the bottom of a foot.

After several hours of searching through and sorting out a pile of random 2 x 4s and pieces of OSB of varying sizes, several gallons of sweat, a brief break to run to the library and meeting some new locals by stopping to help rescue a neighbor's elderly retriever from wandering in the middle of the street, we've actually managed to make progress. I finally have something to report, folks. The coop has a roof. There aren't shingles just yet, but there are eaves and boards that block most of the view of the sky (we also cut out the ridge vent today).

It's brilliant and beautiful and I was both grateful and awed as I watched my dad, who I am pretty sure is now officially 60, scale the ladder to lay the sheeting and figure out the pitch of the roof in his head. I feel blessed to have a mom who finally learned to use a circular saw to help me, a daughter who hauled the tree limbs we trimmed with the tractor to the burn pile and a husband who did everything from measuring to hammering, not to mention who has exhibited the most incredible patience during every let step of this process.

My dad is not the type who does things at all half-assert, so this coop is damn near indestructible as well as being pretty and functional. We've started calling it the "poultry palace". I'll post pictures for you later this evening to enjoy, but for now I'm enjoying my family and they're enjoying the pool before it closes. Hope you are enjoying your families as well. If they're half as special as mine, make sure you make time to do it.

Under Glass Without Release

All things around this homestead are in a state of suspended animation. The garden has paused its growing and, unless you look very closely at the flowers that remain, you can hardly tell they are still living. They look so lifeless and limp in the hard, clay soil. On some plants the leaves have tinted themselves the hue of sour lemons after being water-logged by our continual rains. It's hardly consolation, but we're not alone in our struggle by any means. Loans have just been made available to farmers in my county and several around us to cope with their losses as fields lay fallow and barren. Knee high corn? Not this year in most places, folks, but if we're talking weeds, perhaps. Everything but our crops seemed to germinate once the rains subsided.

Building the chicken coop is also stalled again for the moment, although now there are four walls, openings for windows and a door frame. As a semi-private hiding place with a great view of the stars, it is perfect, but otherwise it needs a roof and a few other things before it's fit to house hens. So far the plan is to focus some effort there this coming weekend, but, as with the garden, we are at the mercy of time and others so we can simply do nothing but wait.

Meanwhile, most of my writing has been for paying clients instead of patiently waiting blog friends. I've not really been focusing on my own blog for lack of progress to report and too few hours in my harried days. In my few moments between ghostwriting blog posts, I'm pouring my soul into marketing what seems to me to be my singular talent, one that borders on obsession at times. Putting pen to paper or fingers to keys and giving birth to ideas, phrase by phrase, is all I can imagine doing joyfully as work, and so I find myself driven to realize that dream. Again, although my business is steadily increasing, it seems like just another dream suspended as if under glass, so close my eyes can take in every minute detail and commit them to memory, but too far away to touch. It's this same proximity mostly in all these half-realized dreams that's driving me nearer to madness, the anticipation and frustration mounting like being teased ceaselessly by a lover without release.

Instead of creating food from soil or worlds with my pen, necessity drags me back to days filled with agonizing solitude in my retail job. While I keep hunting for something I could turn into a career and nurturing my home-based business, I still need a way to provide for those who depend on me, so five days a week I sit alone and in silence at work and wait for something to happen. It's overwhelming and depressing at times, but doing nothing is not a viable option, so I simply try and do more. There's little room for self pity when you're aiming for progress.

Instead, I keep trying to remind myself that, much like life, building this homestead's a process, and not an end in itself. I can't will it to happen any faster on my own. Truth be told, there really IS no destination, just a series of stops and starts in the endless circle of life. Instead of fighting the current, I need to simply float sometimes like waves on the ocean, and not wish away the minutes. This is difficult to do without tremendous focus (a skill I'm pretty sure at the moment I lack), because all my farming mentors are years ahead of me it seems, and I see where they are and grow impatient that I seem so far behind.

One day we'll be closer and those folks will likely be farther ahead still, waving at me from the rearview mirror. Or perhaps fate may have other plans I just can't see now. That's just the mystery and seduction of life. For today, all we can do is pause, take it in and breathe. Some days that's all there is to do.

Broken Lines and Breakfast for Birds

My husband, daughter and I woke up early this morning, packed up my truck and headed off to Spencer Lake for an impromptu fishing trip. We picked up some nightcrawlers along the way, unloaded our gear and got down to the important business of relaxing and enjoying ourselves. My daughter was the first, and only, person to catch a fish all day.

 It was a windy, cool and overcast morning, and each time I cast my hook into the lake the choppy little waves carried my line right back to me in a matter of minutes. While my frustration was beginning to mount, I noticed a large bird flying towards me, seeming to blow in on the clouds as it circled past me and came to rest on the opposite bank of the little inlet I'd been angling in.

Slowly the bird, a Great Blue Heron, crept into the water, where it stood and peered intently into the choppy murk. I lost all interest in my fishing was transfixed; it's not often I get a chance to so closely observe such a large and beautiful creature in its natural habitat. As I silently looked on, the majestic bird patiently crept further into the lake until, in one sudden and graceful motion, it stretched out its bill into the water to snatch out a rather large, wriggling bass and carried it off into the brush on the bank. The whole act of watching this bird catch his breakfast was at once violent and moving and left me awed and breathless. I sat for a moment, feeling blessed for having been able to see a small sampling of life in the wild. Turning back to my fishing pole, I noticed my hook had gotten hopeless ensnared in the weeds. After a few minutes struggle, I had freed it and the heron had moved on as well. At least it was having better luck than I was.

I headed back to grab my coffee and find another place to fish and discovered a curious visitor when I arrived.

My daughter picked it up and carried it around for a little while, naming and playing with it the way children do with wild things that seem like they might be friendly. I cast my line in another part of the lake, got my line tangled in some rocks beneath the surface, and called my husband over to help me free it. Then I moved again, choosing another spot I thought looked still enough for the fish to bite. After just a few minutes, my bobber disappeared beneath the surface. In the excitement of the moment, I pulled too hard and the line snapped, sending my hook, line and bobber down into the depths with the rocks I had mistaken for a biting fish.
My daughter had grown weary of fishing and said the caterpillar had bitten her and she was regretting having named it, so we left my husband to fish and went for a walk down the path. Here are a few of the other things we found as we explored:

 

After a short jaunt where we found lots of insects and geese and some very cool seed pods, we found my husband, wrapped up our fishing trip and got on with our Saturday.

Although the pictures don't really do it justice, it's been a very long time since I've felt so surrounded in peace, beauty and tranquility. Even though my fishing trip was far from a smashing success, it was an excellent chance to combat the Nature Deficit Disorder that's been defining my busy life lately. I feel inspired and refreshed and all it cost was some fishing line, a hook, a bobber and a few hours of my time. Thanks to a heron and some insects, I remembered why I love it here and that it's important to slow down and notice the little things.

Wishing you a week full of small, inspirational moments.

My Plastic Evolution Box

 Today we got half of the compost bin built in an area my husband has been working diligently for a while to clear out. It is made entirely out of materials that were given to us for free and should last nearly forever.
There will be a second portion attached to the side of this one that looks exactly the same so we can turn the compost easily from one side to the other as we need to. This is super exciting to me because it means we can stop sending a good portion of our trash to the landfill and instead use it to grow yummy veggies in years to come.

It's exciting when you get a chance to turn the death and decay of one thing into the birth of something new or better. First pallets, then food scraps, and afterwards our dependence on the grocery store. We're blessed to have this little bit of land we can use to change how we interact with our world.

Now my husband only has about a half acre more to clear to make room for his dream: dairy goats. We're getting there folks, but it's a slow evolution.

Work In Progress

"The ultimate goal of farming is not the growing of crops, but the cultivation and perfection of human beings." - Masanobu Fukuoka

Hero in Steel Toes

I remember being maybe about four years old, playing in the living room with him. I think the carpet was a mottled grey shag in that room and the couches we had were probably second-hand like mine are today. A grey plaid pattern and a scratchy material covered the cushions we used to make our forts under the table as we listened to John Lennon and Yoko Ono's Double Fantasy. We had great adventures together. Once I even got to ride my imagination as far as space when I climbed inside a welding suit and put on the mask. I was an astronaut and he was my hero, with his uniform shirts and steel toed boots.

As I grew older he taught me other things: how to tie my shoes, ride a bike, who sang all the songs on the radio, to plant marigolds at the edge of the garden and what the names were of every bush and tree around the outside of our humble home he worked so hard for us to have. From him I learned what metals you can recycle, how the inside of a toilet works and how to drive a car. Our adventures evolved too, from car rides through the park to look for deer to going fishing and then to him visiting for dinner at the restaurant where I waited tables, where he would smile proudly and leave a generous tip.

Although he challenged me to always do better, he was never discouraging or angry when I didn't get straight A's. Even though he worked long days to make sure we were fed and clothed and comfortable, he always made time to shoot hoops or come to school plays. And most importantly of all, he showed me that it's always worthwhile to help those in need, even if you are tired yourself.

These days I have a husband to kill spiders, wipe tears and chase off things that go bump in the night, but he still lends me his tools, helps me build things and helps my husband work on my car. And even though we don't play spaceman anymore and I'm all grown up, he's still my hero and I'm his biggest fan.

I love you Dad. Happy Father's Day and thanks for everything, especially sharing your time and John Lennon with me.

Old Before Your Time

Been SO busy @ the SemiFarm lately! The garden is finally in, the grass is mowed, every single dinner has been grilled outside and there's a really cool, handmade, homemade twig fence around the strawberry patch to deter the deer. It's working too folks! There aren't many berries, but the plants will slowly recover and there's no more hoofprints. (It's the small victories. Really.)

Though we're still working on the coop, the earth's doing her thing quite nicely! Peas and potatoes and purple pod beans are creeping out of the dirt. Even the cucumbers I direct sowed from seed are showing their adorable little heads. We put some straw down for the potatoes tonight and it looks like a little rain might be headed our way again. So far the weeds have been tolerable and quick to take care of. (Another of life's tiny pleasures.)

We've been hard at work, all of us, on getting the homestead going and me, solo, on my writing which, (happily) also is keeping me quite busy. I really thrive on the chaos, but being over-extended so much and so often lately has been "aggitating my soul", as a friend of mine likes to say. The stress must be getting to my body finally too because a co-worker pointed out today that my token grey hair (that I blame entirely on my job; I'm still young) had broken and multiplied. Now I have several badges of honor on my head to show my strength and determination!

Last weekend my super amazing husband, sensing my anxiety, forced me into an impromptu fishing trip. I've sworn off caffiene too to ease my jitters a bit too. This coming week, then, will also be intentionally quieter, as I force myslef to slow down and enjoy life a little more. It's sweeter that way anyways, and I'll be better for it in the long run. Maybe I'll take a few minutes to admire my new silver locks.