Flowers and Brambles

Everywhere you look, there is something else growing, wild...

Chris decided we shouldn't do anything this year and just see what grows naturally. Then she and Marty created a flower garden and invited the birds, and planted trees and totally changed everything around so I don't think she is going to be in charge much longer! I am currently trying to find someone who wants the hay bad enough to come cut it, and take it. And wondering when the total growth of these fields will start to make people understand you can't just let things go wild if you ever want to control them again. Now about the trees, we had a running battle about where the trees would be planted. Chris thought they should just be spread around the pastures and hay fields "willy nilly". Then it came time to try to find them to water them, and she was glad there was some sort of plan, alignment with fence posts and certain distances apart for example lest we would have lost them in the 5 foot high grass that has taken over all the pastures and the hay field. Her comment that she" thought the grass would quit growing when it got about 8 inches to a foot tall," was also humorous. Relying on her suburban upbringing and never seeing grass taller than that. Not realizing the" neighborhood" wouldn't allow it to get any taller, before they would send someone to cut it. Ah, the innocence she exhibits in some areas. Like planting the Flower garden for her mother and then deciding it needed to be watered twice a day, which means no showers, or laundry, just for the day.

 

I have been bringing things down, every week or so, from the Lake Street Estate which, by the way, will soon be ready to sell. I can't wait till I have zero involvement with the Great City of Rubber. It was an experience working for people who tell you where to live, what to do, and how to do it, at all times. I am really enjoying the new freedom of watching the grass grow if I want, or parking my motor home close enough, I can get to it without driving for 15 minutes. As you can tell by the picture of my new backyard I don't mow everything. It's kind of wild what grows if you let it, and how much won't, when you're trying to get it to, grow that is. We planted a hundred trees and shrubs, in the rain and cold, back in April. Now about half of them are dead, just dried up twigs, in the clay. And twenty feet away, another of the same variety, is doing just fine. And all this growth is in about an inch of topsoil, or what passes for topsoil around here, and below that inch, is clay and sandstone. And just more stone under that, it's no wonder so much is built of stone around here, in fact it seems that even more should be built of stone, but the sandstone is pretty weak as a structural material, so I guess it answers it's own question. Still, it is neat to have huge stones just sitting around. Though I don't think there is any hope of a cave anywhere on the property, I am still looking to find the hidden entrance, to the aliens power system, that will revolutionize our energy production methods for the next million years... And then of course I'll have to keep the oil companies from getting it and killing me to keep me quiet, or is that somebody else's phobia? Gee I wish I could remember where I left that funny looking glowing tube... Back to reality. I have been surprised at the amount of consistent, and I think useable, wind there is, blowing across the property. There are also the springs, which seem pretty reliable as well, a steady flow of water and wind, combined with the area available for a geothermal installation seem to offer some options not available up north. One of the reasons I'm anxious to get my tooling all in place down here, is the opportunity to fool around with "free" energy ideas, and see if they really are functional as dependable alternatives, on a small scale, no budget, operation like mine. I am surprised, at the amount of hot water I get from the garden hose, just from letting it lay in the sun in the yard. and it's not even a black hose, it's kind of gray green so I'm sure I could get it hotter yet. But I can't put it on a couple of the available roofs yet due to construction issues, but I can't talk about them for another page, ( I did promise after all ). There are a dozen varieties of little flowers growing, we have no idea what they are, and I'm sure there is a plethora of Poison Ivy and Sumac varieties as well, there is one near the chicken house that stings me every time I walk by it, but I don't get those particular rashes very much, so I don't worry about being able to identify them.

This is a butterfly, don't know what kind, don't care, it's on a plant, don't know what kind, don't care. Just neat that it is on my property and I can look at it, whenever I can find it. And there are so many don't care things that my blood pressure hardly even registers any more, my doctor even commented on it. Seems we are really happy out here.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This is a picture of some little, really bright red flowers, that grow out in the back area in the woods. I think they are pretty, and I can go look at them whenever I can find them, weird huh? And believe it or not, there are black raspberries all over the place. I won't even have to import them, just cultivate them a little, and get them in proper rows. So they can be properly farmed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

And yet another installment of the FARM WIFE SAGA

Day 18: Lessons Learned the Hard Way:

Morning dawned bright and early. I know this because the light persists in shining through the blinds no matter how tightly I close them, and because morning always dawns early, too early. Duh! It dawned, however, without the accompaniment of rushing water or, indeed, even trickling water. I waited a while until the rising sun warmed the back of the house, which means, until it quit steaming. Then back to the old routine of donning Sonny's clothes in preparation for an early morning's spelunking.

Everyone who knows me knows that I am not a morning person. They admonish me that mornings wouldn't seem so early if I went to bed earlier. They rave about the beauty of sunrises. They moralize about the discipline of getting up early, which to me means that they don't like it any better than I do but since they have to do it regardless of their preference then they try to make it sound as if they walk a higher moral ground. They claim that I "sleep in" as though they themselves thrive on only five hours of sleep but that I, poor sluggard, must get ten hours of sleep or more. Ha! I think they're just jealous that I don't usually get up until after the sun rises, brightens the sky and warms the air. As a matter of fact, my natural body rhythm is to try and get between six and eight hours of sleep, just as those other people do. It's just that I prefer to sleep between the hours of two and ten in the morning. The point of this story, however, is not to enlist support for society reaching the logical conclusion that my hours are much more beneficial than those of the "early to bed, early to rise" mania, but rather simply to explain that I do not do my best thinking or planning in the wee light of morning. That being said, we shall return to the lessons learned the hard way.

The evening before, the prospect of crawling under the house in ill-fitting clothes hadn't seemed so bad. But in the cold light of day I found myself wondering, purely theoretically of course, how long Mom and I could manage without water. That thought was quickly followed by an equally enticing one: maybe if I accomplished this immediately, I could go back to bed!! Now I was motivated!

Lesson 1: Do not proceed hastily.

I hastily proceeded to get ready. I put my boots on so my feet wouldn't get cold. It was plenty cold outside and wet under the house so I wanted to start out warm and dry. I very neatly and efficiently taped the straps of the bib overalls to the proper length. I rolled up the pant legs so they wouldn't drag on the floor. I tried to put the bibs on. Did you know that if one securely tapes the straps of clothing which one is supposed to step into, that the opening is greatly reduced in size? I didn't know that, but I found out the very minute that I tried to pull the bibs up from my ankles. Ha! As if! This necessitated removing all the tape from one strap, but after stepping in and pulling them part way up, I stopped to neatly retape the strap while I could see what I was doing. Success! I pulled the strap up over my shoulder, grabbed the pants at the knees and started pulling them up over my boots. Except for one thing. The pant legs didn't fit over my boots.

Lesson 2: Do not attempt to jump right into a situation. Think it through before taping.

I slowly proceeded to take off the strap, untape the strap, remove the bibs, remove the boots, step into the bibs, pull them all the way up to my chest, retape the strap, pull it up over my shoulder, roll the pant legs back up (for very stiff duck material does not stay rolled up very well or very long), and sat down on the steps to put my boots back on.

Lesson 3: Work alone. No witnesses.

At this point, my mother, stifling her laughter, subtly yet not so innocently asked me, "By the way, where's your camera?" Ha! As if! There would be no pictures of me dressed in these stiff, bulky bibs. No way. She begged. She cajoled. I wouldn't budge. As a matter of fact, I could barely move. Not only was the material stiff, so were my muscles. I was not accustomed to doing a belly crawl, even one that alternated with crawling on my hands and knees. Groaning now, nearly sweating, afraid to even glance in the direction of my camera bag, I looked around for the tools of the night before. Somehow the flashlight, screwdriver, flannel shirt, knit hat and gloves had mysteriously dissipated throughout the house. I grabbed the bibs at the waist, hiked them up and proceeded to clump along in my search.

Lesson 4: Maintain control over the media.

As I searched, I realized that Mom had come up with a very good idea. Some sort of documentation of the event was in order. When one goes spelunking, a camera can support one's veracity and lack of embellishment when later recounting one's farm spelunking adventures. So, hiding my actions behind the billowing bibs and flowing flannel shirt, I retrieved my camera and a large Ziploc® bag, all the while discussing the benefits of taking the telephone with me on this trip under the house.

From here, things progressed rather smoothly. I relocated the cardboard boxes, removed the access panel with the aid of the screwdriver, illuminated the interior briefly (still no critters—phew!), backed into the abyss, and flashlight in one hand, camera "bag" in the other, and commenced crawling to the water pressure tank. (Please excuse my ignorance in previously calling the water pressure tank the "water pump." I have been corrected. See Lesson #5 below.)

Some of you, who shall at least temporarily remain unnamed, have in the past accused me of exaggerating when retelling a story. You have doubted the accuracy or completeness of my tales. Just in case you find yourself wondering whether or not I truly crawled under the house (regardless of the method used) here is proof positive. Pictures. Unretouched photographs. Digital proof that I did indeed don the bibs, crawl through the gravel under the house, find the "button", and restore running water to the house.

Lesson #5: Learn the proper terminology via the internet or books. Do not expose yourself to the vagaries of extraneous informational sources.

See the blue water pressure tank off in the distance, across the gravel, behind the beam? (Anyone who wants the technicalities of the workings of and the differences between a "water pump" and a "pressure tank" or any other part of a farm's water supply system, can call or write to Sonny and he will be more than pleased to provide you with a long and detailed explanation, with gestures and diagrams if necessary.

 

 

 

 

I, however, couldn't concentrate on this particular lesson, even as amazing and thorough as it was. Be forewarned, however, the lesson (learned the hard way) contains words such as "valve", "bladder" and "gauge".)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lesson 6: Learn the proper terminology before attempting to share information or procedures with anyone else.

Note the total lack of any buttons on the pressure tank or the electrical box? Note the itty bitty little ol' piece of bent metal behind the thick, wide wire? See the barely visible arc above the bent metal? See how the arc goes 90º? If you ever find yourself confronted by a similar tank or box, do not rotate the wire the entire 90º! Rotate it only about 10º, stopping before you get to whatever the letters are on the left of the arc. Feel free to squint if you have to. It won't help, but feel free to try. Feel better now? You won't if you can read that the top word is "off" even though the wire is not pointing there and the tank was off. The word on the left might say "start" but what kind of significance can that
have when "off" clearly doesn't mean "off"?

Lesson #7: Always know where your exits are located. (Hint: it's the little rectangle of light at the top...This is helpful in showing distances, as in distances crawled...It's farther than it looks, especially with your hands full, in case you wondered.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lesson #8: Always take a picture of yourself in the environment you are describing so no one can doubt the accuracy of your words. See the gravel? See the muddy boots? See the gloves, flashlight and camera baggie? See the folded cuffs of the bibs. Are they not just as I have described them? Ha! 

Suffice it to say that I exited the crawl space safely and entered the house triumphantly. A moment later, Mom greeted me with smiles and congratulations as she emerged from the bathroom.

Stay tuned for Days 30 and 31, wherein the farm wife learns that "running water" has more than one definition and a popular saying is debunked, for it is not always true that "what goes in must come out".

Sincerely,

Farm wife

Spelunker

Documentary Photographer

General Nuisance

 

Man, are we happy out here!

 

The Chores, Fresh Air, Green Acres is for ME.