23. The House, The Farm
Now, we’ve been here for five months. Almost half a year and I feel like we’ve always been here, and yet, simultaneously, just getting started.
Already, I have revisions for next year’s growing season based on my utter failures this year, like not direct-seeding anything aside from root veggies, transplanting later, using straw mulch as a weed barrier, planting more flowers (a surprise hit of the season at market are my wildflower bouquets, which is bananas, since I have no talent for arranging, and I am quite literally scouring a field for “flowers” which are probably more likely weeds), setting up bird-netting to protect fruit, and not doing so many varieties and concentrating on unique offerings of market classics. Gotta find my niche somewhere, and I’ve already been christened “the chicken lady” or “the egg lady” at market. While it’s great to have a product that’s high in demand, I’m more than my hens, dammit!
I’m also taking some baby steps towards starting a market in my tiny town. Since residents don’t have garbage pick up, there is a central location we personally drive our garbage to in the middle of town (where a garbage truck waits, running for hours, belching diesel pointlessly). Cars and trucks line up, idling in a line, captive in their wait. So I figured, since people are gathering there anyway, why not set up a market in their line of vision, mere steps away from the line of cars and their tons of garbage. Mmmm…garbage market…We’ll see how that plays out.
In other news, the Hubs has been very hard at work transforming our family room from a gross construction zone, to a really snappy space. We’re not quite fully polished (look at me using the pronoun “we”—it was all him, with the few exceptions of my purchasing and picking up a few supplies), but the transformation has been phenomenal.
Cute, right? This is the original real estate listing picture of the room we are currently destroying and rebuilding.
First, we ripped out the beadboard to discover water damage. Wait, let me get rid of that misleading pronoun: HE demo’ed the ceiling, plaster, and insulation.
Once the ceiling was completely demolished (up into the actual attic), he attached a vapor barrier, sistered some support on the ceiling beam so that it was level and square (which, at this point, may be the only level and square part of the house).
And then there was the first attempt at ship lap, which was a failure, since the ceiling joists (beams? I don’t know my construction jargon) weren’t level. So he set about leveling all of the ceiling beams so that our new ceiling wouldn’t bow.
After he installed the ship lap on the ceiling, and puddied the cracks, splinters, and nail holes, he extended the ship lap along the walls on either side of the fireplace, replacing the gross and sagging built-ins that he removed a couple of months ago.
The trim followed, naturally, then caulk in the seams, sanding down the wood-filler, painting the ship lap and ceiling, and even painting the fireplace, and refinishing the fireplace face.
Scroll up and look at that original again. Pretty cool, eh?
All that’s left is to install a ceiling fan, replace insulation in the attic, and put a coat of new paint on the walls. But then there’s the floor to fix (on account of the really excellent rot-job the previous owners allowed to fester). Then, we can finally move the furniture that’s been housed in the garage since February into the house. Whew!
Thank you, husband, if you happen to read this. I am shouting out your hard work, sweat, frustration, and dedication to a meticulous job well done that was completed with little experience or help from yours truly. You continue to amaze me with your new skills and ability to complete major projects. Clearly, I can take a tip from you (as much as it pains me to admit it, since I am, after all, infallible).
And here, I admit to my major failure of a growing season: I have been defeated by lack of germination with direct seeding, ridiculous weed pressure, lack of fertility in the soil, and the age old problem of not having enough time to do something well. It’s a bust. But the positive outlook is that I am learning the land, the weather, and making early mistakes so that when I begin to expand, I will not have as much failure (I hope). Meanwhile, I’m setting my sights on fall and winter planting, prepping the soil, and planning my Hempire (did you know that I’ve got my eyes on the CBD Hemp prize for 2021? Well, I do!). But of course, this fits in with my penchant for making big plans: it’s why we moved to this land in the first place—to grow.
Das berries