Sweetfern Handmade ~ Crafts, Recipes, Creativity

Seeing green

2013-05-24T10:47:00.001-04:00

It's amazing how quickly May can get out of hand. As in, if I'm not spending part of every single day in that garden of mine, then I'm falling behind. After last weekend (three whole days away), it was time for some serious catch up. It was mid-eighties and incredibly humid most of the week, but I soldiered on.
The trellis with netting is for peas; the trellises with strings are for tomatoes. I never have good luck with tomato cages. They look fine until those plants start to take off, then the fruits start to ripen, the weight gets to be too much, and the whole damn thing tips over. So, I'm using Eliot Coleman's technique this year, and we'll see how it goes. Last Thursday I got my tomatoes (34) and peppers (24) in the ground. I am crossing crossing crossing my fingers for no deer/drought/other catastrophes this year. I have never had the exquisite privilege of hauling in laundry baskets-full of tomatoes, and I am starting to feel a little bitter, honestly, about that. Like, come on, you're not a real gardener until you've hauled in an abundance of tomatoes. And I haven't, ever, though it surely isn't for lack of trying.

The broccoli are so happy. Some of them are even starting to get crowns.

I mulched a lot. I planted beans, cucumbers, and squash. I pulled a lot of weeds. Today, which is blessedly cool and rainy, I even broke out the edger and prettied up two of the garden's three edges, in my rain jacket. I've always loved gardening in my rain jacket. I've had the same one since high school, where I think I broke it in my first spring as a vegetable gardener, planting on a rainy Memorial Day weekend. So, you see, this jacket and I have a long history together. I almost always find muddied seed packets in its pockets, when I wash it, and sometimes I pop out the rain visor on the hood for extra dorkiness. Ain't pretty, but it serves.

The garlic is also quite happy.

This week we got over two inches of rain, which we needed badly. This was the scene, a lot, as Delmer and I sat upstairs waiting for it to break. I worked in a lot of rain, too. In my jacket. Yesterday Del curled up on a tarp in the garage while I weeded, and kept the baby chickens company, and sniffed for rats around the compost. In addition to being a gentle and affectionate family dog, he has perfectly tuned instincts for a life as a homestead guardian, too. And we are lucky.
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Dog love

2013-05-22T09:21:00.002-04:00

I don't have a lot to say today. Despite spending the weekend at a kennel, Delmer's assimilation into our lives continues to be so smooth and practically seamless.
As awesome as our at-home evenings were last summer, with the chickens and Pete and Diesel, I have to say, this year they are joyous. We had an old dog for quite awhile-- and we loved him-- but we forgot a little how fun it is watching a young dog bow and prance and frolic. Monday evening, Delmer took off for a race around the orchard, while Patrick and I got a little campfire going. The sound and sight of him: an ecstatic racing blur of red and tongue and rushed breath, feet thundering through the grass-- we'd forgotten that.

Fence training is going really well, too. Yesterday I worked in the garden all morning with him inside the invisible fence, and within sight, and he was perfectly content to lie in the grass, trading on and off between sunny and shady places, for hours.

And when I write, he retires here happily. He's a big lazy dog. He loves comfort-- I guess all dogs do-- and he and I both are so pleased with this beat-up old armchair that fits him, and is near a window. Right now he's snoring.
I think we picked a good one.
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Remembering

2013-05-21T14:28:00.001-04:00

I am going to miss this lady.

She was 92, and she was ready. I wasn't ready-- I don't think anyone else was really ready to say goodbye, to live the balance of our days left without the benefit of her quiet laugh or perfect hems or Oatmeal Carmelitas.

I bonded with this lady way more than I ever bonded with my own grandparents. It sounds terrible to say that, but it's true. It's the whole urban-rural divide, I think. Esther was a rural wife, a career homemaker in an era when that was a woman's highest calling-- and she made it artful. She inspired my own housekeeping-- though I will never be able to claim napkins pressed as neatly as hers. She had this incredible devotion to rightness, to the best way things can be made or fixed or thought of: and that's what I loved most. I lean on a lick and a promise sometimes, but I wish for the patience and care enough to do things right the first time.

The first time I met her, I was aware how much I had to learn, I wanted so badly to make a good impression. It was Patrick's and my first autumn together, and we had baked pie. Apple pie. And left one at his parents' house for the weekend, during which Esther was going to be visiting. Strategic pie.

Stopping by on our way through on Sunday, Esther's first words to me were, "That was some pie. I heard you put vinegar in the crust, that makes it flaky." Just like that, I think, she had decided that any young woman who can execute a flaky pie crust using a time-honored trick of household wisdom-- any young woman like that would make a good wife for Patrick. She loved him dearly, she wanted him to have a life full of flaky pie. So she loved me, too.

I never thought about how her love for me was just an extension of her love for him. I asked her once what her favorite sewing project had been. She was a champion seamstress. Looking at old family photos, part of the dialog is talking about which dress "mom" made and where she got the fabric and how special Jan or Judy or Joy felt when she put it on for the first time. Esther's answer was a pale blue tuxedo for Patrick, when he was maybe five, when he was a ring bearer in his aunt's wedding.

It was bittersweet to spend the weekend remembering and celebrating her, and meeting so many of the people she'd touched-- and fed. But so final. That's the hardest part-- knowing I can't love her through sending mail, or stitching Christmas presents, or baking pie anymore. I have to love her while keeping my hands still-- so, so hard. Somehow I think that might be the very core of what we had in common. We loved with baked goods, and careful stitches, and tidy flower beds.

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Arrival

2013-05-15T08:50:00.000-04:00

Oh my. We suspected he was a real good one from what we saw in the shelter. It can be hard to judge for sure, with so much distraction and the absence of a real bond. And I have to say, it is a total act of bravery to take even the best and sweetest shelter dog and walk him out to your car, and figure out how to get him (a total stranger) to stay in your car, and to drive the hour home worrying that he's freaking out or being sick (he was). Worrying that he won't like you.
Silly me.
We got home, we walked around the yard a few times on the leash. Pete followed twenty feet behind, in full-on stealth mode. We went in the house. I showed him his food and water. Olive dove for cover. We went outside again, then came in so I could post photos on Facebook. He paced the perimeter of my office twice, gave it a few cursory sniffs, and did this.

He is made to be a freelancer's dog. He is back in that position this morning as I write this, checking in for my approval every few minutes or when I make an interesting noise.
He is also meant to be a gardener's dog. After posting pictures, he and I went outside to plant some things. I looped his leash around the end of a pitchfork stuck in the ground, nearby. He circled a few times and laid down with a sigh, and I was so amazed. Some dogs-- Diesel for one-- would've turned into complete basket cases, being tied up like that. But Delmer was just-- oh, ok. This is where my person wants me. We worked for the better part of an hour this way.

When Patrick got home, we had a campfire.
He has melted us, completely and totally. He's two, so he still has quite a bit of puppy in him-- and needs to learn that mouthing is a no-- and loves to frolick and prance. But under that, deeper than that, he has Great Dog Instincts. The checking for approval, the ability to be quietly content (when I'm in sight, at least), the goodness with the cats and the neighborhood noises and even the chickens-- I am so excited, and so hopeful. And so happy.

I don't think I'm alone, either.
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Shower gifts, and happy news

2013-05-13T11:07:00.001-04:00

Okay, so this photo sort of gives the impression of Siamese twin babies or something-- oops, my bad. I can assure you my friend whose shower I attended Saturday is not having twins.
I whipped these appliqued t-shirts (9 mos size) up last week the same way I did these onesies years ago, except this time I was smarter and gifted something that'll get worn more than once. The mom-to-be is a great fan of all things nerd-- Star Wars and Dr. Who and old school video games-- so all it took was a quick snoop around her Pinterest board for the new baby to come up my designs.

The mushroom from Super Mario Brothers.

The alien dude from Space Invaders. To round it out, I threw in a pair of green footless tights (Mom is pretty steadfastly anti-pink, which I knew) and sewed up a quick Layer Cake Skirt to match. So much fun! The shower itself was a surprise, and I was the one tasked with picking up the guest of honor for a day of "yard saling," then driving her to the park across from my house for the shower. She was duped, we all were smug, the whole thing went off without a hitch.
This is shaping up to be a very exciting week for us. Turns out Dale wasn't returned-- he was just taken off hold by a woman who'd been on the fence about him. We have been busting hump all weekend trying to get our lawn invisible-fenced (800 linear feet, baby!), and today when we went out to buy more wire for the fence, we stopped and bought a collar, and a duck chew toy, and dog food. Again. I'm driving to Delhi to pick him up tomorrow.
I am making the most of this opportunity to be sentimental. Patrick and I sat across from each other at a bar Friday night, brainstorming names. Dale isn't a bad name, and, well-- it does suit him-- but it's just a tad on the NASCAR side for us, you see. He's very laid back, and also a bit of an airhead, it seems, so we wanted something appropriate. We thought about Southern airhead names like Bubba and Dwayne and Amos, and we thought about Irish names that might fit, like Seamus. Then I started thinking about Fargo, because this dog has a Fargo sort of face. And so eventually we settled on Delmer Lundegaard Strain, and I simultaneously burst into a laugh-cry over my gin and tonic. Perfect.
I am so overwhelmed by excitement, but I'm trying to hold myself back a little, trying to remind myself that though he has the makings of a great dog, I will likely be cleaning up after him and wiping off his slobber and vacuuming up his sheddings for many years. Even great dogs shed, and slobber. But those nerve endings in my heart are starting to grow back after many months, and this guy had me at woof.
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Friday thoughts

2013-05-10T10:41:00.000-04:00

Salad time!
I always forget how fast they grow. It's been almost two weeks, and they've tripled. The barred rock Emmy is a bit crazy, but the other two are so docile and relaxed-- a big change from last year's brood, I must admit. And a welcome change. It's nice to have chicks who don't mind being held.
I am at 760 words on my article. In addition to the writing, I also spent several pleasant hours sewing gifts-- and I will reveal the fruits of that labor on Monday. I was so, so thankful for the rain that forced me inside this week-- and my peas and leeks were thankful, too.
The shar pei mix--Dale-- got returned to the shelter, and I spent three sleepless hours last night excitedly hoping things would work out. Our application is next in line, the shelter person told me, but I need to find out why he got returned. Sigh. We've walked nearly a dozen dogs at this point, and are realizing that love at first sight is mighty hard to come by. I've got my fingers crossed.
This is shaping up to be a good, down-home, low-key sort of weekend. Patrick goes into the studio all day Saturday-- and I take a wee drive to visit Alexis and possibly Kat, too-- and Sunday we are opening a big 'ol can of whoop-ass on the old homestead. May is so hard to keep up with, but we're doing our best.

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Gardening and procrastinating

2013-05-08T10:54:00.001-04:00

Fact: I have 800 words due Monday. Fact: I haven't written word one yet. Fact: Instead of working, I spent all day long in the garden yesterday.
That's that thing about gardens, and May. You leave for two days and suddenly, magically end up behind on everything. There were paths to mulch and seeds to plant, rows to fill in and seedlings to thin and beds to prepare for tomatoes. Dandelions, always, to dig out of the edges.
Things are looking good out there. I've had some struggles with germination this season, which could be because I seriously jumped the gun on some of my plantings, or it could be because I'm using a different, cheaper brand of seed for many things. (Really, there are some places where one just shouldn't cut corners, and I'm beginning to think seed is one of those...) Regardless, it is early May, and I am pretty pleased. I have two-inch-tall peas, and little spinaches and lettuces and radishes and arugulas and kales. I have a nice armada of broccoli seedlings beginning to realize the joys of the horse manure I worked in around their toes. We're just coming off a considerable dry spell-- eight long days with absolutely nothing-- and I'm thrilled delighted ecstatic to see a reasonably good chance of rain for the next five days. We need it.
Also, I have leek sets my neighbor and fellow obsessive gardener Dave gave me, and four twenty-five cent packets of wildflower seeds to sow, and nasturtium and fennel seeds to sow too, and we ate our first Strain Estate asparagus Monday night.
It's a good month, this May.
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Spring in the city

2013-05-07T10:03:00.001-04:00

Well. What a lovely weekend. Cities once in awhile are so fun for a rural kid like me. I forget how much fun it is just to people-watch, or drink in the fabulous details of 1920s brick buildings, or wander down long lanes strung with bobbing pink tulips.
When I was 13, I started coming to spend spring break with my aunt Carol, who lives in the Bronx. The tradition lasted eight years. We had so much fun, those weeks. It was a little bit about the shopping, and the museums, and going to the movies-- at least in the beginning. But over time it became more about the friendship I have-- and have always had-- with this great lady.
Almost everyone has an aunt, and aunts of any kind are a fine thing to have. But my aunt, well. Aunt just doesn't quite do justice to the bond we have. From the beginning she spoiled me rotten, which may have-- I'll be honest-- greased the skids when it came to forming a lifelong relationship. I have clear memories of throwing tantrums when she wanted to use the bathroom by herself. Spending time with her always felt a little bit conspiratorial. In a delicious way. Like we had this totally awesome club thing going on, this girls club, and no one else could gain the privileges that came with being part of such a club. The privilege to stay up way past bedtime eating black olives and painting our nails (that's when I was six or seven), or the privilege to go to bed early after spirited literary debate and a prodigious amount of wine (now that I'm thirty).
It's still this way between us, though so much has changed in my life-- and in hers. But she still has the same little apartment in the same North Bronx neighborhood, all the restaurants we used to get takeout from are the same, and being back there reminds me of how much I loved spring breaks, and how much I gained without really realizing it. Sometimes I feel like I learned as much about how to be a woman from my aunt as from my mom-- how to be independent, how to revel in solitude. How heartbreak gives you wisdom. And above all, the importance of comfort, whether it comes from junk food, girl talk, or just a really good book.
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Twilight

2013-05-03T09:13:00.001-04:00

Twilight, with tree-buds and tree-flowers, and chickens scratching in the compost and everything in the garden loving this week of warmth, and an ambitious Pete-cat trying to break into a birdhouse to swallow baby swallows. Snack? Hehllooooo, snack for hungry Pete? Oh, this guy.
This week was pretty mellow. I dug into the two big projects that will stay with me all summer: digging bishop's weed out of the circle garden beside the driveway, and of course working on the house exterior. I put in four hours or so on the front porch this week, and have not a whole lot to show for it: I burned and scraped paint off of maybe a four-foot length of spindles (urgh, spindles!) and gave the whole porch a second coat of that lovely dark blue color. I should make a weekly habit of taking a picture out there, so I can make a time-lapse video of the summer's progress. It will be slow progress, to be sure, so time-lapse is probably the only way to go. But in the end, it'll be so rewarding.
Bishop's weed is awful stuff, to be sure, but this week I've had the "assistance" of the chicken brigade while I work. Loretta, especially. She is not afraid to get between my shovel and the ground when a juicy earthworm is involved. That whole area, once I de-weed it all, is going to be a place for some perennial herbs and flowers to attract beneficial insects to my garden. In late June all the perennials get marked down to $1 apiece at Frog Pond, which is about when I'm going to hitch up my mules and head down there and haul home all they have.
Tomorrow I decamp for New York City for a few days, to stay with my sweet aunt and still the ever-turning mental hamster wheel that is May for a gardener like me. I had so much fun switching off for a few days last year, when I went, that I decided it should be a yearly tradition. So, I'll be wearing cute skirts and walking through the Botanical Garden where I don't have to worry about weeds, or bugs, or germination rates-- and that will be just fine.
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Rites of spring

2013-04-29T11:44:00.000-04:00

We watched the Morris Men dance. They tour this area every year-- dancers from Binghamton and Boston and New York City and Toronto, and it is a real joy to mark the season with their annual performance. We went to look at more shelter dogs, and admittedly didn't "fall" for anyone. This is going to be a long process, I think. We completely shirked off responsibility (and our rapidly growing lawn) on Sunday and drove to Syracuse. We hadn't been to Syracuse together in over a year. It used to be an hour away, and now it is the better part of two, and that makes a big difference. But. Syracuse has a zoo, and some genuinely good restaurants, and is near a state park second-to-none for spring wildflowers (Clark Reservation State Park) and so it was nice to be there again. It was seventy degrees, and I pinked up my shoulders nicely, and we were home in time for dinner and an evening campfire.
It was lovely to pause from homestead work and do something just purely fun. And now, under a soft gray blanket of clouds and a little bit o drizzling rain, I'm going to get out there and get back into it. A gentler sort of week than last, to be sure, but still one full of projects.

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These guys.

2013-04-26T09:55:00.001-04:00

So, we didn't get the sweet golden retriever-shar pei mix. But we did get THESE GUYS. Emmy, June, and Maybelle, one barred rock (like Patsy) and two Buff Orpingtons (like last year's Dolly and Tammy). I didn't expect that we'd be raising chicks this year, but since we are, I'm pleased. It's enjoyable. Watching Pete covet them might be the best part.

After recovering from my compost/chicken yard fencing marathon, I took a load of garage debris to the dump, built supports for the raspberry bushes, planted twenty broccoli seedlings and one long row of potatoes, and swept out a corner of the garage. I'll show you pictures of all of that next week.

My parents are coming for dinner tonight, which I'm excited about. I love giving "homestead tours," especially in this season when so many things are recently finished or about to be in the works.

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An improvement

2013-04-24T09:23:00.001-04:00

Well. I had intended to give you pictures of our chickens enjoying their new yard. Today was their first day in it, so I let them out as I always do, then went to make tea and eat breakfast, and came back outside to photograph the scene just in time to see Loretta clear the fence in one winged leap.
Hrmph.

Oh well. Picture three rascally chickens scratching in the dirt on the other side of the fence, here.
This was a pleasing project. I spent $49 on fence posts, two of which I didn't even use. I had plenty of welded wire fencing left over from last year's garden fence project, which I used for the compost bin area. Those great framed wire panels came free from our neighbors. I agreed to take them before I even realized they fit the scope of this little project like a glove. I needed about 30 linear feet of fencing, for the chicken yard, and our neighbors were giving away just over 34 feet. That is serendipity.
Here's the old yard area, for reference. It didn't look so bad when it was first constructed, but then it started to droop... and I had to add a droopy chicken wire roof to keep Genevieve in, before she had a flock...

Much better:

The rest of the materials I culled from the burgeoning lumber-pile that has taken up residence in the greenhouse: a deconstructed shipping pallet, a few spare 4x4s, etc. That's one thing they don't tell you about being a DIY-er. Materials accumulate in unsuspecting places.
Now, to move those haybales-- which I think served as chicken launchpad this morning-- and hopefully keep my charges inside the fence tomorrow morning. Darn feather-jumpers.
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Weekending

2013-04-23T09:35:00.000-04:00

We had such a good weekend. Usually, we get Saturday together, and Patrick has a most-of-the-day band rehearsal on Sunday. And usually, that's fine by me. But when a Sunday comes along with no rehearsal, I am more than happy to spend another day relaxing (or, as it turns out, getting stuff done) with Patrick.
This weekend was a good one to have an extra day. Saturday we went to look at some shelter dogs. It has been a long, cold, lonely winter without a dog. I have been telling myself I'm ready for weeks, (Patrick, naturally, took longer to feel ready) but now I'm so glad I waited. We walked the loud hallway down between the cages of wishful dogs and I got SO teary. Immediately teary. I'm glad we waited.
Anyway, we fell a little too much in love, as I supposed we might. There was a golden retriever-shar pei mix named Dale. There was an application in ahead of us, though. We are waiting to hear. We are hoping, which is bad, but we are.
Sunday we worked around the old homeplace. Spring's a-comin on strong. Patrick put a new set of tires on the mower while I dug and transplanted a bunch of peonies, and planted some rose-of-sharon volunteers a neighbor had given my parents. It feels wonderful to be on the receiving end of everyone's giveaways-- and to have the room for them. I felt so daunted by the enormous blank slate of our yard when we moved here, but now that I've conjured a plan for every corner it all just feels like so much delicious potential.
I spent yesterday working on our new compost bin, and today I'm going to work through yesterday's sore muscles and continue the project, adding to it a new and expanded chicken yard. It's looking good.
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Strong and finally

2013-04-19T10:32:00.000-04:00

There's a point in every spring where my blog-barometer swings quickly from "nothing to write about, lots of time" to "WAY too much to write about, no time!", and I think it's safe to say I crossed that divide this week. It was so sudden. It had me completely hoodwinked, to be honest. All last week was cold and uncharitable, and I spent it scrubbing plaster dust and grout off every horizontal surface (and most vertical ones) in our upstairs. Sunday was cold and gray, and I walked around halfheartedly, looking at the totally uninspiring progress everything was making-- barely any daffodil buds, crocuses still trying to open in slow-motion in the front flower beds, lots of dead stalks and last year's weeds to address, and still no sign of anything I'd planted recently in the garden. I had the better part of the afternoon, though, so I made myself break out the edger I'd bought new last year and never used, and I edged this bed by the driveway.

It was amazing. It's like someone had flipped a switch. I guess it was the first immediately gratifying outdoor work of the season, and it set the tone for the whole entire week.

(Arguably, the fact that it was sunny and mid-60s every day ALSO set the tone for the week.)

My spring mojo, which arrived so quickly and so completely last year, has been sluggish this year, but edging that bed set it free. On Monday, I crouched in the garden prepared for a frown, and saw kale seedlings instead. I crouched in the orchard and saw the False Indigo (Baptisia) I'd planted last fall coming up, its pointy purple shoots so dark I'd missed them against the moist ground.

I worked hard. I repaired the greenhouse roof, a third of which blew loose over the windy winter. I turned another 4x8 bed in the garden, repaired the back fence, hauled beaucoups horse manure and finished compost to the garden, built and filled two cold frames, hauled fence posts, and spent more time with that magnificent edger.

In between, there was rejoicing.

The lawn is fairly electric green, the chickens have roamed part of every day this week, suddenly everything is coming up. Peas, spinach, kale, arugula, mizuna, radishes.

Crocuses. Lupines.

We have turned the corner. Jody tilled for us on Thursday, working in all that wonderful horse manure and compost and piled last autumn's leaves, and next week planting broccoli and potatoes is on the agenda. Also: rebuilding this shambly chicken run/compost pile area, which I built very quickly and nearly for free our first summer here. That was a big summer for "quickly and nearly for free." Now it's time to slow down, step back, and spend time thinking permanently.

I am going to try very, very hard to resume three-times-weekly posting here. My photos are better than they've ever been (thank you camera!), this place is prettier than it's ever been, and spring's a-comin, strong and finally.

Happy Friday.

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Getting out

2013-04-08T11:04:00.000-04:00

Saturday was sunny and almost fifty. Sunday was sunny and almost sixty. It was lovely. Both days, we hiked. THAT has not happened in, I think, years. Saturday we went to Gilbert Lake State Park, where it was still winter, apparently, and hiked around in the snow-slush. We saw a beaver, which was super neat.

Sunday, we walked down along the river, just a few hundred yards from our back door. My memory card was full, so Patrick took pictures with the panorama mode on his phone.

I love that when we want to, we can just point our boots in this direction and be here. Big open fields, mergansers on the river, hints of spring in the skunk cabbage pushing their rubbery beaks up out of the mud.

This is the time of year when I start to say, "I love this time of year!", because everything is still ahead. The snowdrops and crocuses are still in full swing, we haven't missed anything. Daffodils and tulips will come, when they're ready, and for now it's warm again, and the time is right to celebrate with river-walks.
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My new favorite room

2013-04-05T11:00:00.000-04:00

Are you ready? Really ready? First, start a little Eye of the Tiger going on in the back of your mind, while I re-visit the Befores, and the Durings, for the last time.
Here we go.

Let us never speak of all that horribleness again. Now it is time for the Afters.

Bam.

Guyssss. I'm in LOVE. I actually painted the room twice-- first, a very unfortunate aqua I'd mixed from leftover paint around the house, and then quickly-- very quickly-- this soft dusky gray-beige. (Or, okay, I'll unofficially admit that it's really purple. I wasn't going for purple. The color is called "London Coach." It didn't LOOK purple at Lowe's, but the good news is, I don't mind its purple-ness.)

It ties everything in so well-- the rug and the shower curtain, the warm wood of the buffet, the purple tones in the art I've had forever and been planning to hang in here. I'd gone on a BIG shopping trip last Friday in Binghamton-- it was one of those stars-aligned days of Good Shopping Karma, and given that it'd been three solid months since I'd shopped at all, well, I was due. I went antiquing for old hardware (to replace what was broken on the buffet) and to find a giant vase for that corner (check!) and a giant mirror for above the sink (check check!) and then I ended up coming home with that coat rack to use for towels, and found a bunch of great sweaters at Goodwill, and... well, it was just one of those awesome days.

And I found the shower curtain at Goodwill, too, still in the box from Target. Six bucks.

And did I tell you the mirror was $25? I spotted it and fell in love, and was bracing myself for the guy to tell me $60. Because it looks like a $60, right?
The room was coming together in my head, SO FAST, driving home from that shopping trip.

(Had to sneak one more before in there, just for good measure.)

Whew. Of course, not everything is crossed off yet, but it's going to take a little while for that. First, I'm going to install two narrow little shelves in the alcove above the toilet. They will be stained dark walnut and varnished. I want to make a faux Roman blind for the window. I am totally at a loss for what sort of fabric I should go with there-- any ideas? Then I'm going to spray paint the heating register glossy black, and Dad's going to modify the middle drawer of the buffet to accommodate the plumbing, and then we can put it back in place.
Last but not least, I'm going to save my pennies for a ceiling fixture from Rejuvenation-- I think, unless I find an antique or reclaimed one I like before that-- to jive with the deco-ish-ness of the mirror.
Oh, and we still need a threshold. See? It never, ever, truly ends. But at least now I get to smile with glee every single time I walk into the room. It feels like a hotel-- and damn, is that a good feeling.
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Reprieve

2013-04-01T10:41:00.002-04:00

Saturday brought us sunny and mid-fifties, finally. The thing about this winter is not that it's lasted into April, but that it's been so continuous. Most winters, we get a break. A warm spell, a quick thaw. Not this time, buster. This cold weather has been Puritanically stubborn.
So catching a break, as we did Saturday, was marvelous. Patrick and I cautiously decided that since we were going to be home all day, and outside, it was okay to let the chickens range. So range they did, and happily.

They walked out the hole in their fence and stopped to chow down for about twenty minutes straight, without pausing or looking around or walking, and that was wonderful to see.

Patrick spent his day doing the brakes on his car, and I spent the day getting one of my punch list items crossed off. Remember those bricks I laid last spring? Of course you do. Well, I never got around to filling in the cracks between with sand, like I was supposed to, so weeds aplenty grew in and around everything. I spent Saturday grubbing them out, all of them, and pouring and sweeping and tamping sand. Much better.

I also spent time planting: carrots, and beets. I also have peas, spinach, shallots, scallions, radishes, kale, mizuna, and a few other cold-weather crops in. Plus, arugula seedlings in the cold frame. This spring, I have hoed snow off the garden in order to plant. This spring, I have worn long underwear while planting, while tying trellis, while digging. It has been stubborn, but today I checked the ten day forecast, and after Wednesday it looks like we're finally about to be released into the land of warmth. Pete will be happy for that, for he has developed a love of hunting the small rodents which have colonized the hugelkultur beds I made last spring...

While it continues to be cold and rainy/snowy Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, I am going to work on the bathroom. It is ready to be made splendid, and I am ready to get it there.

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Now, the prettying

2013-03-29T09:00:00.000-04:00

The tiling is done. The plumbing is done. Everything has been grouted, now, though the pictures may say differently-- they were taken this morning. My father-in-law has packed up his tools and handed the reins to me. And as you can see, boy, we still have a ways to go.

(In some corners, more of a ways to go than others!)
How is it that I get to cross two things off the to-do list today and add fifty? Oh, isn't that how it always goes? To whit:

Fill assorted gaps, cracks, and holes with spackle or caulk, sand, and paint the walls
Paint the ceiling
Paint the window
Frost-film the window, and build a faux roman shade.
Varnish the buffet-top, to protect it from moisture
Find and buy and install towel-hooks
Replace piece of door trim
Replace over-sink light (yuck)
Replace ceiling light (also yuck)
Find big mirror to live above sink
Build in two narrow shelves above toilet
Modify middle buffet drawer to accommodate plumbing
Add ceramic cove molding around top of shower tile
Buy and install a toilet paper holder
Find baskets, boxes, and trays to use as drawer organizers
Accessorize, yo.

I'm thinking a giant vase should live on the far side of the sink, and be filled with branches that arch outwards towards the window. That little piece of frog-art should be hung, and another bigger piece I've been saving should, too.

Initially I wanted to go with a really dark wall color, but now I'm thinking a nice sophisticated pale ochre-yellow might be the way to go. Also debating painting the ceiling the same color, to de-accentuate the fact that the room sort of looks like an M.C. Escher painting. Seriously, check out them funky angles. Love them old houses!

I am so excited to start in on the genuinely fun part, and (of course) to have all this gorgeous tile to gawk at in the meantime. Pretty tile, pretty sink, pretty faucet. Ooooh yeah.

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Prescription: just keep sewing...

2013-03-25T10:09:00.000-04:00

It's funny, isn't it, where the inspiration to be creative comes from. For me, I guess, the word isn't as much inspiration as it is motivation: the gumption needed to cross the bridge from ideas to actually crawling around on the floor with the rotary cutter.
This week, somehow, I've declared a subtle sort of war on this very persistent winter we're having. An I dare you sort of war. I crossed my arms, scowled at the snow-covered garden, and stated: "As long as it continues to snow, I am going to sew. I can sew just as much as it can snow. Watch me." And then I broke out the rotary cutter, and the scrap pile, and got to work.
I started working on one of AMH's Scrappy Nap Pillows, to go with the curtains I sewed for my friend's nursery. This is one of my very favorite patterns to work with-- so much freedom, and so easy, and of course working this one in my very brightest, funnest, liveliest scraps didn't hurt, either.
And today we're in for another inch (which is, I'm happy to say, considerably less than our friends in Pennsylvania and Ohio and West Virginia are in for) and I'm going to get this thing assembled and backed and stuffed and done. Now this stubborn late-late winter isn't cheating me out of extra gardening time, it's just delivering me some extra sewing time.
(At least, that's what I'm telling myself...)

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Spring, interrupted

2013-03-22T08:57:00.001-04:00

I took these pictures on Sunday. Though it was still cold, spring seemed imaginable. Then, it snowed quite a bit. Now, we have snow in the forecast for nine of the next ten days. This is most truly the winter that won't quit!

I am trying to be happy for the maple-syrupers, I am trying to be happy for the fruit farmers who don't have to worry about premature bud-swell. I am also trying to remember that when spring finally comes, it will likely be no-holds-barred, and there is something sort of exciting about that.

Also, I am trying to be thankful that I am not a bird. And remember that underneath all of it, there are buds, there are baby chives, there are seedlings in the cold frame. Soon there will be peas to twine the trellis, new this year, and broccoli sets to plant, and a rototiller to rev.

Winter can't last forever. Onward!

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Inside jobs

2013-03-20T09:10:00.000-04:00

We got seven inches of snow yesterday, and today is supposed to be the first day of spring. Ha, ha, ha, I can hear someone, somewhere saying. We had clear ground, completely clear ground, on Monday, and I was out raking, and taking pictures of snowdrops, and then this happened. I'll save those snowdrop photos for another day, and focus on inside for this post. Inside, things have been shaping up.

Our bathroom is at that point where, if you zoom in enough, it looks amazing. Zoom out and you see ungrouted tile on two walls, patched drywall, and lots of roughness, still. But zoom in, and, ahhhh...

I've always been a five-minute shower kinda girl, but lately I've been spending excessive time petting this tile while standing under our new and very much amazing showerhead. It's so PURTY!

That band of accent tile was my FIL's idea, and those little cubbies, too. He is SO good with tile, and this has been a rough job. The marble floor tiles kept cracking and chipping as he cut them, and these subway tiles require four spacers apiece. And they cover 124 square feet of wall. We're maybe 40% done with the whole room, at this point-- still need the sink, light fixture, drywall fun, paint, mirror, and shelves behind the toilet. BUT having this perfect, complete shower setup is a huge, delicious treat, and this makes it easier to get through the work that's left.

Meanwhile:

I finished the runner, and it came to live on our table. Pretty thing.

Then I was out at Joann's for some curtain lining fabric (for the curtains!) and a package of sheet moss magically found its way into my basket. Imagine that! I've always wanted to play with sheet moss.

So, I did. I played with sheet moss and blown eggs and fabric scraps and Spanish moss and broken bits of china I've been saving my whole life for exactly this purpose. (Maybe it only seems that way.)

Then I spent about twenty minutes pre-dinner walking around with my camera. I love that it's still light enough to take pictures at 6 o'clock.

I love that spring is there, almost, under all that snow. I love that there are trellises in my garden that I put up a week and a half ago, pre-snow, and seedlings in the cold frame, too. Spring is late, but she's coming.

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Renewal

2013-03-18T10:00:00.000-04:00

Some bloggers are really good at gauging when they're ready for a break. Some bloggers are up-front about their brief disappearances, they give notice, they meet expectations. I am not one of those. I had no idea I needed to step away from this space for a few weeks, until I realized it had been a few weeks, and then I was ready to come back. Really, it started-- my process of re-entry to the blog world-- with moving Patsy back into the coop. And cleaning.

This is the best my office has looked in months. I guess I cleaned after Christmas, but I don't really remember. All I know is, after two weeks of serving as part injured-chicken-palace, it was ready to be cleaned again, with feeling. So, I cleaned, and later that afternoon I layed out five yards of pretty dotty-stripe cotton and made a curtain (one of two) for a friend who is expecting triplets. The baby quilts are being covered by my friend's mom, so I volunteered for nursery curtain duty. Meanwhile, Patsy--

Patsy is doing just fine, and better, actually, than I expected. Still hobbling, but definitely regaining some limber-ness in her yellow toes, and able to roost, and navigate the ramp to the yard, and the brown egg we found yesterday may have been hers. We have decided the chickens will no longer be free-range. All week, the week after the attack, I was totally on-edge whenever I heard a dog barking. I would get up from my desk and run to the window, scanning the yard like a hawk, ready to spring into action. Well. I can live without the stress of that in my life, thanks. A sizable chicken yard expansion is in the works for summertime, and maybe a few years down the line we'll even fence an area the size of the garden, and build them a new coop, and cut a hole in the garden fence so they can forage in there, in the off-season. I think that would be pretty sweet living, actually. I walked around and took a bunch of photos yesterday, so I'll be hopping back on Wednesday and Friday this week for further updates. Including bathroom photos-- or, at least, shower photos. You'll see.
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Better days

2013-03-01T11:19:00.002-05:00

I had no idea how much I would enjoy having an office mate. She's a distraction, sure, but a welcome one. Sometimes I look over and just watch her blinking, or moving her pretty bird head. I make her food-- all the best, tastiest possible morsels I can dream up-- and she eats, and I feel satisfied. Yesterday she ate half a hard boiled egg-- don't flinch, I read that an egg is supposed to be really good for an injured bird! Patsy seemed to agree.

I devoted Wednesday to self-cheer. Not self-care; I'm already super good at that. Self-cheer. Somehow I'd become derailed from my usual song of gratitude for all the many amazing little things in this life that are good.

Re-reading the blog is always good medicine. I did that for awhile. I read about last year, about putting up the garden fence, and rolling sod, and laying my brick paths, and it was a good reminder of what spring feels like. Spring is not as early as it was last year, but it is still there, right around the corner.

We came such a long way last spring and summer, so many of the Big Things are done and can be used or admired.

And now I have a camera that can take pictures of falling snow.

And soon I will have a finished table runner to add some handmade-ness to my dining room.

And I have found a small writing opportunity to add to my roster of projects, to add income to the coffers, to finance the (smaller, more manageable) projects this year holds in store.

And the plumbing has been fixed in Binghamton, and the water has been turned back on, and though our Gilbertsville bathroom has been put on hold while we address our Binghamton house, it does boast a fully functional and totally spa-like shower, and I have been looking forward to my evening showers all day long.

And now it is March, and March is a good month.

It's easy to let a small tragedy like this-- like our chickens-- overwhelm my whole little world. That's the thing about working at home. Myopia is completely inevitable, and mostly pleasant when The Little Things are happy and warm and bright. When bad things happen, though, I need to open up and look at the big picture. Chickens are just one aspect of living here, and they are good, and mostly they are happy and healthy. We'll be getting a few chicks this year, again, so we have that to look forward to, along with everything else.

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February blues

2013-02-26T14:58:00.002-05:00

Note Pete, outside the window.

First, an update. It continues to be February, and wintry February at that. The car repair we thought would be $$$$ turned out only to be $$, so that is a big relief. I am still sewing and listening to podcasts and trying to stay patient with the snow but also really really wanting to plant three more cold frames, rake the yard, finish painting the porch, and drink a beer on the lawn.

I've been waking up at 3:30 am for about three hours each night, almost every night, for no particular reason, for about a week straight. My mind starts going ten miles a minute, I stare at the ceiling, I glare bitterly at the snoring Patrick beside me. I try to imagine I am a buoy on the ocean, rocking up.... and down... with the surf. Sleeplessness has never been my problem before; I'm not sure what's up.

On Sunday night, we went to close up the chickens for the night, and found only Genevieve and Loretta inside. That is about par for the course-- lacking a rooster, they sometimes have a hard time getting themselves in the coop autonomously at night. We started looking around.

Dolly was dead in the snow not too far from the coop, and Patsy a little further away, still alive but injured. The dog tracks went all around.

It's completely nauseating.

Patsy has moved into a cardboard box in my office. Last night, we set her broken leg, and today she's eating. I have no idea how hopeful I should allow myself to be.

I have talked to the town supervisor, the mayor, the dog warden, the sheriff, the department of environmental conservation. And when I'm awake at 3:30 in the morning, it's something I try really hard not to think about beyond that. This tide of bum luck needs to turn itself around and be gone. Go haunt someone else's house.

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Long Point

2013-02-19T11:09:00.001-05:00

It's been awhile, it seems, since I marked our dating anniversary on this here blog. Actually, it's been awhile, I think, since we really marked it to each other, doing something special to honor the day. And though we're trying really hard not to spend any money right now, yesterday after my writing commitments were met, we felt the tug of Ithaca, Ithaca, and found it impossible to resist.
We hadn't been to Long Point in far too long, anyway, and we hadn't had time alone together in Ithaca in even longer.

This is where we went for our second date, and it was a day very much like this one-- sunny and not too breezy, and perfect for starting to get to know each other.

After rocks were skipped and lucky stones were pocketed, we drove into town for a few happy hour beers, a game of pool, and wonderful Mexican food. It was absolutely perfect.

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