A Brand New Day and a Brand New Coop

A busy day full of chicken coop building with hubs, my dad, my brother and my nephew has led to a night full of writing for a potential client. Too tired to upload coop pictures tonight, but perhaps tomorrow you'll get to see our progress.
For tonight, a song for your Sunday. Enjoy!



Video from here on YouTube.

Memories and Rust

In the middle of the town I work in, right across the street form the Walmart, Kmart and other strip mall fascinations, looms a reminder of our past. At the far north edge of the Sears Hardware parking lot stands a weary old farmhouse, its clapboard walls worn smooth by rain, wind and time.
Although the windows are cracked and the roof is sagging, if you look closely you can still find traces of the whitewash that once graced the siding, now laid bare to the sky. Carefully made calico curtains hang listlessly in the windows where they once gave a family shade. Beyond the house, tall grass and weeds stand in silent sentry in front of a slumped-over coop that once housed proud hens. All around in the yard lie traces of a time long lost to this patch of earth, the seats and engines of a hundred Allis Chalmers and Massey Fergusons choked in vines and rust. It's a graveyard of farming in the center of a suburban town.
I imagine as I drive past each day that years ago the home was a showplace, a respite for travelers down this main country thoroughfare where they might ask to water their horses or stop for a rest. Now it sits, a pile of junk and lost prayers, to some, an eyesore in the center of progress.
But have we really moved forward or just shunned hard work for the instant gratification of a factory-made world? We might do well to remember from this last vestige of our agricultural past, to recall what once was a more close-knit community, the home of A.I. Root and the infancy of the science of keeping bees, where our children knew how to treat animals and till the earth to plant food. We might find lessons, hidden there among the weeds, about what it means to be neighborly, about patience and thrift, about the value in hard work and advance planning. These virtues and the skills to grow, cook, build and create are disappearing in our cities and towns, lost in a world of Google and iPhones. It'd probably do us good to remember the names of those who toiled before us so we could live here in ease and comfort, safe in our kingdoms of convenience.

This Memorial Day weekend, while you are remembering those who gave their lives in military service, don't forget those whose lives of service helped us in other ways: put food in our bellies, a roof over our heads or clothes on our back. Ask a neighbor or relative to share a story, a recipe or a lesson in living and remember that all our world was once made by hand.

Tornado Warning Lessons

As my weather radio frantically beeped and chirped every day the first half of this week, I got to remember a few timeless lessons and do some things around the homestead that are often overlooked in the chaos of everyday life. Here's the wisdom I stumbled on:

I discovered that my batteries are, unlike the rest of my home, ridiculously organized. My flashlights, however, are not and, although they're the large kind, they are difficult to take apart in the dark.

If it looks like it's about to storm and your stove is electric, cook faster.

I learned that I really should charge my phone overnight and maybe even before I leave work for the day.

People who love you call and warn you when they think you might be in danger. They also want you close by and offer you shelter.

A dog is a great companion during times of stress and anxiety, even if the dog is also stressed and anxious. They also won't pick on you when your fears seem silly or irrational.

I learned my electric company has fantastic service and that things really do stay cold in your fridge and freezer for hours if you don't open them.

Have compassion for the suffering of others but don't be paralyzed by a fear of a similar fate. Let your worry drive you outward to action rather than draw you inward.

Moving outdoor containers near the house prevents seedlings from swimming. (Victory! Blue Lake bean plants sans lakes!)

I remembered that people can be entertained and survive without phone service, television, computers and gadgets and all you really need for fun is a tiny flashlight, a book and a soft place to rest.

I realized that at some point I got rid of all those candles I used to collect before I started in on the yarn.

Guided Meditation

Jack Kornfield mp3 audiobooks on meditation are relaxing during thunderstorms.

Sometimes you end up starting from seeds indoors anyways. If you fail, there's always someone with a greenhouse to buy starts from.

When the sky is black and earth is SILENT, the weather is about to hand you your ass. Take the eerie stillness without the chirping of birds and rustling of leaves seriously. Give your respect to what you cannot control.

Spontaneously developing lakes can be beautiful and the raw power of nature is awe-inspiring.

Sowing Hope

Spinach and swiss chard are stretching skyward by my front walk, their tender young shoots enjoying the warm bits of morning sunshine at each new day. Eyes closed and salivating, I imagine the combinations we'll create when the hens finally join us. Our future holds fritattas.
Elsewhere at the SemiFarm, strawberry petals lightly coat the rich dark soil. A cloud opens up and all traces of hoofprints are washed away, leaving little evidence of the wayward foragers. Lilac blossoms give way to dense green foliage and bare branches are shielded from sky.
Spring fades toward summer as humidity peaks and dark clouds of thunder roll in on the wind. The seeds still lie in the darkness and safety of pouches as we bide the slow passage of time and for earth to drink the soil dry.
Under roof and sheets we ride on faith, dreaming prayers for time to plant and the harvest, of full bellies and sore muscles.
Farming is hope sown as seed, planted and tended till it rises as food, a gift from the earth to sustain us.

The Monster in My Closet

There comes a time as a homesteader when you reach a plateau, one where all the things you've begun to do on your own become a little overwhelming in quantity. It comes to each of us differently, but, rest assured, it comes nonetheless. You might find youself waking up in a cold sweat at the prospect of getting another twenty laying hens or get cramps in your wrists whenever you even THINK about kneading homemade bread. Sometimes it all just becomes a bit too much and one portion of it, if not all of it, makes you want to run for the hills. For me, my moment of madness took the form of recurring nightmares about being chased by my yarn stash, which had reached mythic proportions.

I really enjoy making things with my own two hands and teaching myself to knit was just a natural extension of this love to create and an overwhelming urge to possess (and cuddle) fiber animals. At first it was a cute little hobby, a way to pass the time, start conversations with strangers, make something useful and have the skills necessary to outfit my family in enough blankets and scarves to survive an ice age.

After a while though, I began to panic at the sight of a pattern, knowing full well that either I would not have the right type of yarn or a sufficient amount of any one color to begin a project. This wave of stress was brought on, not by the doing, but by the sheer thought of needing "more". Whether that meant yarn, needles or stitch markers didn't matter. It was the very idea of knowing I was lacking, that my preparation in hiding fiber throughout my home wasn't somehow enough and now I'd be required to find room for new balls of fluff in my overflowing closets and drawers. The prospect of failure and nightmares (no-seriously- I had them) had, for a while, swore me off that bit of DIY, but then I read a book titled Made From Scratch. I picked it up innocently enough at the library and, no sooner had I finished it than I became sucked into the blog the author, Jenna Woginrich, keeps about her farm, Cold Antler. Imagine my delight (and terror) at learning she had sheep (at that time two, Maude and Sal) and a budding fiber CSA. She was selling a drop spindle and what more could a punk rock, hardcore knitter want than to learn to make yarn too?!? (Hopefully you get where this is going...) Oh shit, I thought. I'm doomed to appear on that show Hoarders and I will have died from inhaling too much fuzz. Now, there's some Maude 2-ply hanging in my closet. And a bag of fleece from and old co-worker/friend. There they've sat, for months, holding out hope for the day I am no longer too busy or preoccupied or uninspired. They languish in the dark, waiting for a chance to share their beauty and softness with the world in some way, crying out for a purpose and form. All that's needed is a pattern and a solid time frame of focus.
Have I forgot to mention that I know at LEAST three ladies now due to have babies in the fall that will be requiring shower gifts? That one is my sister-in-law? That I made a sweater for the last baby born in the family? The prospect of hunting for a suitable pattern is daunting and brings back a panic just short of tears and cold sweats.
If I can't put in the garden, a bit of productivity with what I have surely won't kill me. Maybe I'd just better hunt down some Ambien and get prepared, but gift cards are easier to mail.

A Song for Your Sunday

One of my favorite bands from AZ~ Jim Adkins would sometimes come bicycle shopping at the Toys R Us I used to work at.
Sorry, there's no farm-related significance to this video or song. I just like it. :) Enjoy! Hope you are all having a great weekend.



Song ("Always Be") and video by Jimmy Eat World, as shared with the rest of the world via YouTube. All rights are theirs, but I'm grateful we can also enjoy it. Thanks guys!

Here Comes the Sun

Yesterday when I left work, the sun had returned after what seemed like weeks of endless, dreary grey and rain. I'd begun to think I wasn't meant to grow green beans here, because the Blue Lake seeds I'd planted in pots were (very briefly) actually IN little lakes from all the rain we received. They've been rescued and hopefully survive. I really enjoy the crunch of the just-picked beans and keep fantasizing about wandering into the back yard and snacking on them.

By the time I made it home it was beginning to get dark. After a happy-to-see-you dance of what seemed like twenty minutes River, my Chow mix and furry best friend, was prancing by the back door with a pained look on his face, waiting to be let in the yard. I turned on the porch light but I wasn't really prepared when I opened the door for the very loud and large kamikaze insect aimed straight at my face. At the last possible second, the winged pilot shifted directions and swung out into the night as I caught my breathe. The June bugs were back and my garden still isn't in.

The progress of plants around here really has slowed due to the weather. A co-worker of mine described it pretty well when he said we seem to be stuck in an "extended March". If it weren't for the calendar and the sudden reappearance of sunshine, it'd be pretty easy to forget that were are not far at all from the Memorial Day holiday. The Seville Farm Market opens that weekend, but I'm not sure what they will have to offer. No doubt it will be seedlings instead of spinach after this wet spring. We're all holding out hope we can hold off the rain, but mine's because I've been formulating a plan for the small patch by the door and the holiday weekend is the perfect time to put it into action. I've also got a coop that needs building that I don't want to sink in the mud, although I could use the wood for an ark if we need it. Looking at the forecast, it could go either way.

I'm grateful for the pop and buzzing as the June bugs bounce off of our outdoor lights to remind me that summer is afoot and better days aren't far ahead, but really prefer them to stay out of my face. I'd rather have some sunshine there instead.