We decided we should rent a heavy brush mower this weekend. The weather was to be warm and clear and we opted to spend the time outside, rather than inside the farm house renovating. We picked up the machine, touted as being able to clear up to 2/3 acre of brush per hour, from the rental store yesterday, just before closing.
Offloading the Merry Rough Terrain Mower
This morning we unloaded the unit, named the "Merry Rough Terrain Mower." Interesting name... not sure what's supposed to be "Merry," -- the rough terrain or the mower.... nevertheless, we started mowing "merrily" around 10 AM. This is one powerful mower, to be sure, and it took a bit of getting used to. We took turns trying it out, though I never managed to shoot a photo of Joe behind the controls. While one of us was mowing, the other was tending to the thorny vines that swung overhead, chopping them down with the loppers, even as they tried to snag our hair, faces, and arms.
Merrily we run along!
Or up a tree
Come on Judy, Keep up!
Dodging obstacles
I, for one, need a little more practice before I would consider myself to be a master of the Merry Machine. In fact, I think I was stuck, wheels spinning, more times than I was actually moving forward. Reverse is not a pretty picture with this particular mower. Once stuck, it was easier to lopper my way out than to try to reverse my way out. By 1:30PM, we were both pretty hungry and ready to take a break.
After lunch we continued the rough terrain mowing. One thing we have a LOT of is rough terrain. By the time we had to call it quits for the evening, we MIGHT have cleared 1 acre total. Still, our bodies feel a wee bit less Merry than when we started, and we have a fair number of bramble scrapes and such even through our long, multiple layer, clothing. Did I mention we have a LOT of brambles?
Underbrush Cleared
More clearing
Still more to go, but making headway
Underbrush, be gone!
The GOOD news is that we rented little miss Merry Rough Terrain Mower for the WHOLE weekend, which, of course, means that tomorrow after church, I will be donning my work-outside-overalls and joining Joe in the merry, merry rough terrain for round two.
Since we still had a little energy left after our day outdoors, we decided to tear off some more of the wall covering in the old farm house. We wanted to verify what our home inspector told us when we bought the place last February. He indicated that many of the floor joists would need to be replaced, but that the beams and rest of the structure was in good condition. I'm guessing I will NOT hire this home inspector again, should I ever need a qualified opinion. While he managed to point out outlets with missing covers, he missed the fact that 3/4 of the beams...those beams that support the WHOLE house were completely failed. So why was I not surprised to see the state of the wall when the wallboard was removed?
Paul McCartney is not the only one to have traveled a long and winding road. Had he been, I imagine his song by that name, and recorded by the Beatles, would never have reached the popularity it enjoyed. We, most of us of that era at least, related to that song. The song was one of love, unrequited, romantic love presumably, but love for certain.
Yesterday, as I drove the three plus hours to visit my Dad and step-mother in their home in Maryland, the thought crossed my mind that this road, this sometimes winding, sometimes straight, sometimes busy, sometimes ridiculously congested and sometimes, once in a very rare while, lonely road, was taking me back home. My destination was not that of any of my childhood homes. My destination was not to a meeting with an old romantic love. My destination was to that first experience of love... the father's love.
I really don't like to drive. I don't mind the smaller, country roads, but once I reach the hustle and bustle of traffic around the DC beltway, I am more than ready to cry "Uncle." Instead, I keep my eye on the road and the seemingly millions of other drivers jockeying for position on that same stretch of pavement, and trust that I will make it to my destination in one piece, and without preventing anyone else from reaching their own destination. At least the Winter weather had taken a back seat, for a minute, offering us just the hint of the promise of Spring.
While I went to visit Dad,
Joe continued the pace on the farm house renovation
This trip was an especially emotional one for me. I had not seen my father since he suffered a stroke a little over two weeks ago. My sister had visited him while he was in the hospital, and had reported she was encouraged by his mental alertness, and such -- theirs had been a good visit, albeit under less than desirable circumstances. My daughter, son-in-law and my nieces had enjoyed watching the Superbowl with "Grampa and Lynne" -- Dad having been released from the hospital the night before. Everyone had told me that Dad had lost a lot of weight, not due to the stroke, but rather to the radiation treatment he had undergone which interfered with his enjoyment of the taste of food.
As I approached their neighborhood, I saw an ancient, very thin woman, tending the shrubs in her front yard. Her "favorite" soft polyester pants hung loosely on her rail of a body, and she looked incredibly feeble. But she was out there, enjoying the opportunity to bask in the sun's warmth, if even for a little while. This elderly woman had to be at least 90. As I passed her, creating her "story" in my imagination, wondering if she had family nearby, it occurred to me, that one day my parents will be in the "very old" stage of life and that the trip to visit would be made more often... that long trip from my home in rural Virginia to theirs in Maryland Beltway suburbs. And, while I very much dislike the congestion of those roads and the stress of the drive, it also occurred to me that the door at the end of that road led to something I very much like...and that one day there will be no more reason to travel that road.
By the time I arrived at Dad and Lynne's, the stress of the drive was behind me. I parked on the street in front of their home, locked the car doors, and made my way to the front door. I rang the bell, as is still my custom, though I am well aware they are just as happy if I simply walk right in, and set right down (yeah, those lyrics from another song also seem to fit). There was no immediate answer to my pressing of the doorbell button, so I surmised that Lynne had not yet returned from a quick run to the grocery store, and not wanting Dad to overexert himself, I let myself in.
"Hello!" I called out as I entered their foyer.
Dad's familiar, tenor responded immediately from the family room, "Hi Judy!"
Dad was standing, moving toward the door with the aid of his new friend, the walker he has named "Johnny." It was clear the effort was really more than he needed at this point and I was sorry I'd rung that doorbell, rather than simply opening the door and letting him know I was there. Still, within a minute, he was back, more or less comfortable in his rocker/recliner chair.
His appearance took me aback at first. He was so much thinner than last I'd seen him at Thanksgiving. The thinness of his face accentuated the size of his ears, ears that I'd never before considered particularly big, but which yesterday struck me as huge! (Yes, Little Red Riding Hood and the wolf disguised as grandma, DID come to mind.) Still, thin or not, Dad was Dad. He was detailed in his stories (we Fletchers are ALWAYS detailed in our stories) and he was sharp, helping ME remember a word that eluded me.
Dad and I visited for maybe 20 minutes before Lynne returned, having stopped by Dad's doctors to get some answers to some test results. We all sat and chatted for another half an hour, before we decided it was time to share lunch. Perhaps the most challenging part of Dad's recent medical escapades, at least for Lynne, has been his disinterest in food -- pretty much any food. Obviously, and Dad is well aware of this, nourishment is required to sustain life, so opting out of eating is counter productive. Still, if nothing tastes good, and the sensation of food on the throat is unpleasant, I can completely understand his aversion to the whole process.
Lynne had laid out the sandwich "fixins" for one of our all-time favorite lunches -- the "build your own bonanza." In years gone by I can recall some pretty creative sandwiches built by my brothers, our children, and OK, yes, by me! The three of us sat down and Dad looked at the offerings. He didn't reach for the platter of meats or ask for the plate of cheeses. There was some discussion about the spinach and the lettuce, not being a viable option for him with his current medication. Then he proclaimed that he'd been thinking he'd like to try a Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwich.
Growing up, PB&J was, undoubtedly, the staple at our house. I have no idea whether Mom liked them, but all six of us kids certainly devoured our share over the years. Dad carried a PB&J with him to work for his lunch, at least the first, oh, I dunno, 18 years of my life! So Lynne hopped up from the table and in a jiffy (no pun intended) retrieved the jar of peanut butter and another of jelly from their shelves and placed them on the table in front of Dad. Dad looked around, obviously still missing something.
"I'm looking for the butter," he announced, though I'm not sure we had asked. Still, I laughed as I went to the refrigerator to get the gigantic tub of margarine. Dad ALWAYS butters his bread before lathering on the peanut butter and jelly.... I never met another person who made the sandwich this way, but Dad declares it keeps the peanut butter from sticking to the roof of his mouth. Dad proceeded to make his favored PB&J and then proceeded to eat the WHOLE thing!
We enjoyed a nice conversation over lunch, though I could tell Dad was getting sleepy. He has always enjoyed his afternoon nap and yesterday was no exception. At just before 2PM, he excused himself from the table, belly filled for a change, and trying to stifle a yawn, said goodbye to me, and headed off to the bedroom for his nap.
Lynne and I chatted for another half hour or so before I headed back to the car to begin that return trip, opting to leave, hopefully, ahead of the rush hour Beltway madness....no such luck.
It was a good trip, all in all. I am glad I went. I am hopeful Dad will return more to his pre-stroke self with time, as I can see it is incredibly frustrating for him to will his hand to do his bidding, and be rewarded with a hand that refuses to recognize the brain as commander and chief. His leg is getting a little better, more feeling, some better control, but it is clear Dad has a long and winding road ahead of him too.
Sunset before I made it back home
By the time I reached the rural roads of Virginia, the sun was setting, offering me more beauty in which to reflect. I took no photographs on this trip. Yes, I had my camera with me, but it did not seem appropriate to take pictures. Rather, the pictures I captured are only in my own memory, downloadable to no computer. I am confident there will be many fun photos in the future. For now, I shall be happy that the road took me safely there and back.
Wintertime is souptime, in my world. Most days the crockpot is busily transforming the various ingredients loaded into the crock into a wonderfully savory soup. Sometimes the soup is a thick, hearty concoction and sometimes it is a light, vegetable broth. Always, when served alone or with bread, or sandwiches, it is a hit.
On Tuesday, the contractor who'd agreed to help us resurrect the old farmhouse, arrived to take a look at our work. Joe and I had spent Mud Bowl Weekend, preparing the site so that the broken, rotted boards and the trash from the floor removal was out of the way, allowing the contractor to make a closer inspection of the challenge ahead. He brought his wife along and she and I immediately hit it off. She's a lovely woman, one who has spent the last 24 years of her life homeschooling their seven sons. She homesteads, raising as much on their land as possible. So we chatted about gardening, and raising chickens and goats. We chatted about old houses and our preference to see the relics restored to decent living homes, rather than left to decay. And she asked about my overalls. Before they left, she had accepted a pair of the capri length overalls that had been included in my "10 pair lot" eBay purchase last year. It seems she has been having trouble finding them in the thrift stores anymore.
After examining the house, the contractor was confident he could tackle the job. We agreed he'd begin work Friday morning, after the "snow event," predicted for Wednesday, had the opportunity to clear out of the area. Finally, finally, the old farmhouse was going to be moving toward a new set of beams and joists, with new piers supporting her, and with the ultimate goal of a sound and relatively level floor.....
Friday morning I heard the light knock on the garage side door. On a conference call for work, earphone in my ear, I ran down the steps to meet him. When I opened the door, he held out a box. In the box were two quart jars of homemade soup, a loaf of homemade bread and a copy of Countryside magazine. He explained that the box contained his lunch, prepared by his wife, and that he was to share it with us! While the guys got to work on the digging of holes for cement, and the removal of even more rotten wood, I returned to my work, in the quiet of the garage apartment office.
Under Construction
Getting to Work
Old boards from House
Some three hours later, I headed down to the garage, where I set up a temporary dining area. The Craigslist table and chairs we'd bought in December were called into duty, and, in just a few minutes spent moving boxes and other items out of the way, the table was set, ready for the three of us to enjoy lunch.
Garage Diner
Soup's On
Over the delicious soup and bread meal, we talked about the project, and I can honestly say this guy is just as eager for this to succeed as we are. He has performed similar renovation work on his mother-in-law's house and on his aunt's house. We discussed different options, and by the time we'd had our fill, we'd come up with some good plans for the next steps in the house project. After lunch, I returned to the "office" and they to the house, and thus it went until nightfall. When he left after the first day on the job there was already visible progress being made.
Jack Supporting Failed Beam
Saturday he returned -- his little box truck, that is his rolling workshop, loaded down with 20 80-lb bags of cement. While I ran back and forth to the pond house, doing laundry, running errands, doing yardwork at the pond house, the guys dug seven more holes, into which they poured cement. These will become the footers for the new piers upon which this old structure will eventually rest. Gigantic roots from the giant sycamore tree, roots which ran under the house, had to be cut to accommodate the new footings. It is AMAZING the amount of water that pumps out of tree roots... seriously amazing.
Digging Holes for Cement Water Filling From Tree Roots
Saturday lunch was, once again, shared in the make-shift garage diner -- this time it was my crockpot soup with store-bought bread. Again, it was a most pleasant meal, with lively conversation. We each had second helpings, and were quite full when we got up from the table. And then it was back to the job. By the time he left Saturday, after dark, all of the new footings for the front room had been poured. Tuesday, when he is scheduled to return, he will tackle the kitchen/dining area footings. The place now is beginning to look more like a construction zone than the demolition zone it has been for the past few months.
Bags of Cement on Front Porch
Mixing Cement and Filling Holes
Old Brick from Failed Piers
I'm looking forward to the next couple of weeks and the transformation of the old farmhouse. Of course, as these things have a tendency to do, the possibilities of what "could be" are expanding the scope of the project, but I really feel we've got the right guy for the job.
Pouring Cement in the Holes
Old Timbers from the House
This afternoon we took it easy. We took advantage of the beautiful weather, and spent the afternoon following up on Craigslist inquiries. By the end of the afternoon we had met several very interesting individuals, and agreed to purchase some odd items, but items which will help us in our construction. Some of our stops were more of the heartbreak that is this economic climate. The photo below was taken at yet another house being foreclosed. The owner lost her husband almost a year ago in an automobile accident... now she is losing the home they had been renovating together for eight years...
Beautiful Home of Another Victim of Foreclosure
The last stop on our Craigslist journey was to pick up a four drawer filing cabinet. We arrived at the house of the sellers to find they were an 85 year old woman and her 57 year old daughter. Before we left with our filing cabinet, we'd brought in a HEAVY new T.V. they'd just purchased, and set it up, moving their old HEAVY T.V. to the front room; we'd learned that the daughter and I had been at FSU during the same years, she working on her Master's degree, I on my undergraduate degree; and we had agreed to return later in the week, bringing them MY two drawer filing cabinet... As it turned out, we exchanged no money on this transaction, rather, exchanging items. Interesting folks we have met in our Craigslist escapades!
Sunset Started as We Were Leaving Our
Final CraigsList Encounter of the Day
It was a busy week, for us. We met some nice people and made some headway on the house. And tonight, when we returned home, we had a nice bowl of soup...with bread and butter... a perfect ending to pretty decent week.
I don't follow football. I don't care about the "greatest commercials." I don't watch TV in general, so the whole idea of Super Bowl Sunday is, I am afraid, lost on me. Still, we had our own little "super bowl" weekend here at the old farm house.
As has been our experience throughout this adventure, we found ourselves with "workers" who did not materialize to complete the work they'd agreed to perform. Of course, there were the normal excuses, promises to show up tomorrow, etc. etc. Much as I would like to believe that the economy is the reason these guys are out of work, I am being forced to face the fact that there are other factors at play, not the least of which is their work ethic.
Nevertheless, we have made the tentative agreement with the contractor who will repair/replace the foundation, install new beams and joists, and install the sub-floor, resulting in a more level house. To begin his work, he needed us to get the old joists out, the electric wires identified as "hot" or "dead" and cleaned up, and the general area cleaned. This was a task we'd imagined would take the two able bodied guys two days to accomplish. That was two weeks ago. This weekend, after numerous reschedules and such, we decided we'd proceed without them. We might not be as able bodied, but we were certainly determined to get the job done.
After spending an evening last week identifying and marking the electrical wires, we were ready to tackle the joist/broken rotted beam removal. Naturally, we opted for the weekend of rain, which followed the previous weekend of rain, which followed rain and snow, etc. etc. Under the house, with the failed foundation and the failed beams and the failed joists, was dirt... and puddles. At 13 feet above sea level, everything in this county is wet a good part of the year. Still it is a problem we intend to resolve as part of the restoration of this fine old farm house. So it was that Saturday afternoon and well into Saturday night we spent schlepping around in the mud, cutting and removing joists and rotted beams, exposing the broken ones still trying to support the two story structure.
Tracing Wires
Breaker Box Mapped
The more we uncover, the worse it looks, to be honest. If we are successful in restoring this place, we will have brought her back, literally, from the brink of death. The beams look awful. The ancient brick piers, which are the foundation, crumble at at the least touch. We worked with all of the windows open to allow the fumes from the chain saw.... yes, you read correctly, the chainsaw, to dissipate without our gagging or worse. Joe is a great fan of the chain saw and uses it for tasks not typically considered chainsaw material. Still, he makes it look easy, and the results were exactly what we were after.
Foundation?
While he removed the wood, I worked with the rake and shovel to clean up decades of crud from under the house. By the time we quit, at around 9PM, our boots were covered in much and our work gloves were wet and nasty, but we'd made major headway.
Joist Removal
Sunday afternoon Joe worked alone, dumping the buckets of crud we'd removed from the house....which led to the lawn tractor getting stuck in the MUD, not once, but twice, and his having to use the big tractor to tow it out. By the time I returned from a recording session with our choir, he had succeeded in getting the buckets emptied, and the tractors back in place, awaiting the next load. Between church and the recording session, I had stopped over to pick up our latest CraigsList find.... 175 joist hangers, for $25. That, was a real deal!
Trunk Full of Joist Hangers
Tractor Pulling Tractor
Sunday evening we schlepped around in the mud again, and by quitting time, we had cleaned up the whole area. We still have to carry the cut timbers out of the house, but the real work is done.
Judy in Mud
Cleaned Up Front Room
Cleaning Up to Start Supper in Garage Apartment
Now..... if the contractor, who is supposed to come over tomorrow afternoon, is not scared off by the task, we should be able to get underway soon. (Of COURSE, it is raining AGAIN as I write this!) On the other hand, if he decides the task is too big, we will be back to square 19 (oh, who's counting?) and rebidding the work. One thing I know for sure is that at least everyone who bids will be able to SEE the real state of the piers and the joists, something that was previously hindered by the broken joists and miscellaneous trash in the place.
So, while others were enjoying the Super Bowl in the comfort of their homes, in front of their TVs, we were enjoying the mud bowl in the old farm house. We might not have managed to catch the murder of the National Anthem, but we had our own screaming excitement when the smoke alarm went off, alerting us to the fact that SOMEONE was using a chainsaw! And we were rewarded with TREASURES, such as old shoes, a red plastic J magnet....and various parts of a lawnmower?
No "pot of gold!"
One thing occurred to me as we were pulling back the "curtain" on this old farm house. What if.... just what if, this was NEVER a "well built" old farm house. What if it was a "handy man special" right from the start. Certainly, from the appearance of the piers, they have long since served their expected life. It is also clear that we are working with two small structures that were joined to become one, and that the second story was an afterthought. Yeah, I suppose it is entirely possible that the beams, notched in crazy fashion, weakening them, while allowing them to "fit" into others, is the work of a handy man, rather than a house builder.... still, she has been standing for more than 126 years, and, if we can, we will help her stand for another century.
And lest you think I don't notice the beauty..... Saturday evening we were treated to a beautiful sky at sunset.
I originally posted this over four years ago. Dad has been on my mind for the past few days. May his recovery be speedy and complete. And may we all sing again soon.
Sunday, September 17, 2006
Growing Up and The Best Christmas Gift
For my father's Christmas present a few years ago, he was 70, I gave him a homemade gift. I compiled a notebook of songs, with guitar chords. For the cover, I made a collage of photos taken at the family reunion four months earlier. I slipped into the front of the song book two things. A CD I recorded with my two children of my father's favorite songs, and a "poem" which I hoped would convey my appreciation for the gift of music my father had given us growing up.
On Christmas Day, when Dad called, he was choking back tears. He loved the present and was happy I had understood what he had tried to give us all those years.
I thought I'd share the poem and the collage, as I think the idea is an inexpensive gift of love, that others might find just the right type of thing for that PERFECT CHRISTMAS PRESENT.
Songs of Our Youth
Songs were sung in the dark -- children sang with freedom
Encouraged by their father -- For whom music defined life
I recall those years in my brothers’ room
The door closed, the lights off, the shades drawn
Six children and Dad sitting on four beds
Dad leading us in song.
Song was how we passed the time on long car trips
Song was how we shared our love with grandparents, who were dying.
Singing together was attractive
To other children, not blessed with our family love of music
Audiences formed out of nowhere when we sang together
Children eased up to join us– eager to feel part of the song.
What we learned as children has served us in our adult lives well
We are not afraid to sing out -- eager to listen to others’ song
We choose to harmonize with those willing to sing along
Our children have heard our songs --They have learned the tunes we’ve taught them
They have added harmonies of their own -- And they have added songs to our collection.
On a cool summer night in Pennsylvania
We all gathered around a roaring campfire
Dad, two of his brothers, the five surviving children, the youngest brother, not part of the original mix, our nine children and husbands and wives and friends
Three of us had guitars; all of us had eager voices
And we sang.
We sang the old songs, learned in the dark
We sang some new songs, acquired along the way
We laughed as we sang verses out of order
Or when the chords we struck were in discord with the voices.
The children displayed the freedom of youth, as they danced in the light of the fire.
Those of us with some age enjoyed their enthusiasm, as we sang the songs of our youth.
February 2, 2010 dawned a cloudy, cold day. The snow that had fallen the weekend before was threatening to challenge our success in completing the final step of acquiring the old farm house and the ten acres upon which she rested. In anticipation of this closing event, to be held in the attorney's office in town, less than five miles from the snowed in pond house, we had been busy with shovels (not snow shovels, since I did not own such a thing) clearing the 400+ foot driveway. Of course, even with two, very long, neatly cleared ruts to the end of my driveway, I had no guarantee of making it out of the little subdivision, another 3/4 mile of dirt road, privately maintained and without luxury of snow plow services. Only then would we be able to discover whether the snow plows had cleared the BIG subdivision paved road, another 3/4 mile stretch required to travel before getting to "civilization" of the county two-lane, double-yellow-lined road. After that, it would be an easy couple of miles into town....
The acquisition of the old farm house had begun as a necessity -- a necessity to obtain separate living quarters, living quarters that could serve as a "safe house" from my then-estranged husband, who, although living separately in South Carolina for nearly two years at that point, continued his threats of burning down the pond house, with me in it, -- threats I took seriously. The details of the eleven-year "marriage" to this substance abuser/wife abuser are well left as a closed book today, but on that day, 2/2/2010, the anxiety level was high and I was determined to make that closing.
Our snow shoveling, my front-wheel drive car with my friend Joe at the wheel, and fingers tightly crossed, worked together to get us out to the main highway. Once at the main highway, we could see the county had, indeed, cleared the main arteries for easy travel. Before making our way to the closing, we had to do the final "walk-through" of the old farm house, so at the main highway, we turned left heading away from town.
The old farm house looked quiet and serene, if a bit lonely, blanketed with snow. Only twelve miles from the pond house, and closer to the water, the snow was not as deep as what we'd shoveled, but there were still several inches of the white stuff. We met the Realtor there and she walked us through the old place -- nothing had changed since our last visit, except, perhaps, a greater sense of abandonment. With the snow on the ground and the systems "winterized," the former owners having left under not-so-happy circumstances, the old farm house appeared sad. For 125 years she had been "home" to people. Under her gigantic sycamore tree, summers of oyster roasts and family gatherings were captured in the memories of the families who called her "home." And the swing set, now sitting idle in the yard, attested to the life that must once have made this place thrive. As we looked over the place, my last chance before signing the documents, I was fully aware that an incredible amount of work would be required to bring this place back to life, but I was compelled to create that living, thriving farmette.
After our final walk-through, we had just enough time to make the drive back into town and to the attorney's office. The closing took only about an hour. Disclaimers were produced and signed, explanations of documents were provided by the closing attorney and, despite the fact that this was the fifth home I'd purchased in my life, and the fourth home in Virginia, I listened as he explained each document. What with the snow side-lining most of the county, nobody seemed in a big hurry, and we had fun, sharing little stories and jokes, etc. And when the papers were all signed, Joe took a picture of the attorney, the Realtor and me.
With that closing began the next chapter... Though the winter of 2010 was nearly over, we spent many, many freezing, wet hours with shovels in hand, digging hundreds of feet of trenches throughout the property to divert water away from the old farm house and the much newer garage. We performed septic repairs and gray water diversions. And by the time Spring had sprung, we were able to move into the apartment over the garage.
Our "bringing her back to life" project was, of course, limited by available funds, work schedules, and legal battles etc. Our major Spring accomplishments were getting the beginnings of roads created, building fences, acquiring a couple of goats to help tame the incredible undergrowth in the wooded part of the property, and the sunflowers. With the intent of a morale boost during this rather awful period of time, Joe planted a couple of dollars worth of sunflower seeds. In his imagination, sunflowers would line the long driveway on both sides when summer arrived. While he was planting, I was laughing. He put so much effort into it. Each plant, carefully started in small pots was transplanted into its own little circular "garden." When he'd finished, I believe he'd dug more than 60 of these little garden spots for the sunflowers.
As anyone who has lived more than 50 years knows, life has way of changing our plans, throwing us curve balls. I received just such a curve ball on June 15, just days before I was due in court for another of the many "required attendance" dates in the process of a Commonwealth of Virginia divorce. It turns out my husband, whose attorney had been portraying him as "too sick to work" and demanding I pay him half my salary, had continued further down the road that had led to the dissolution of our marriage.... he had passed away from a drug overdose.
The rest of the summer is somewhat of a blur to me. I had surgery on my bum elbow, we proceeded with more "stabilization" projects at the old farm house, we prepared the pond house for sale, we tended to goats and gardens, and dealt with the legal fall-out of a husband passing away in another state. In fits and starts, progress was made, though nothing fell into place easily. Everything took longer and cost more than we'd planned. Still, we made progress.
Fall brought lots of travel for work for me, and torrential rain for Joe to deal with on the home front, pushing his renovation schedules back while he dealt with mother nature. And yet, he was successful, before we left for an extended cross-country trip, managing to get the floor torn out of the old farm house, the ancient chimney knocked out and removed, the deck/carport built onto the garage apartment, the eBay trailer wired and finished inside, ready to accept my merchandise, the semi trailer in place and ready to serve as a storage facility and office space, three additional carports erected to protect farm equipment and vehicles, and several roads made with road dirt/compaction dirt and gravel.
Our trip to CA was work related, but we took the opportunity to rent a truck and bring more of Joe's belongings back to Virginia from his place in California. True to form, the drive across the U.S. was filled with weather related challenges. We arrived back at the old farm house, four weeks after departing, with little time remaining to prepare for winter.
Cutting down dead trees, cutting and splitting the wood, making neat piles of firewood and getting wood stoves installed in both the old farm house and the garage became our primary focus. Along the way we managed to find some great deals on Craigslist, and we met some interesting people in the process. By the time the first snow fell, we were able to keep warm inside, enjoying the relative slow-down in work, playing games and jamming on our guitar and accordion in front of the wood stove.
Of course, there continues to be MUCH work around here. We have managed to get some interior work completed in the garage,and hope to soon be progressing on the raising of the farm house to restore the foundation and level the floors... but weather and such continue to keep us moving towards our goals...two steps forward, one step back.....
And here it is, Groundhog Day, 2011. Much has changed in a year. The pond house is still not sold...not a good market for really nice properties.... Unless the house is being foreclosed, it seems, nobody is interested in even taking a look. So we live between two houses, maintaining both and working toward the day when the focus can be completely on the old farm house. At least, for today, there is no snow on the ground... yes, we are soggy wet with rain, but no snow this time.
In retrospect, I have to laugh at life's little jokes. On April 1, 2002 I closed on the pond house..... though a lovely house, the April Fool's Day joke was on me. And, though we were supposed to close on the old farm house on January 31, our closing was pushed back to February 2-- Groundhog Day... Remember the movie? The main character was sort of "stuck" in the day..... Nah, I'm optimistic. The pond house will sell, or I will rent her out, the farm house renovations will move forward, and this time next year, we will be farming.... for real!
