In the Spring a Man's Fancy Turns to Heavy-Duty Construction

Ah, Spring!

Spring is my second-most favorite time of the year.

It’s when the bright yellow-green leaves unfurl from gnarled and thorny hedgerow trees, making them look less menacing.  We know this is a lie; they are just as spiteful beneath their foliage, a fact we learned by painful experience, having perforated our hands while gathering firewood in past years.  But from a safe distance they are beautiful, and as full of summer promise as the timidly budding fruit trees and redbuds.

Now the breezes that spin the windmill blades are no longer bitingly cold, and the soft, heavy mud that clings to worn-out barn boots smells grittily clean.  This is when baby calves (yes, I know that’s redundant, but it’s true: ask any four-year old) head butt and crow hop across lumpy fields while mothers and aunties stand ankle-deep in clover and placidly eye their antics.

My most favorite time of year is the fall, when we close the swimming pool.

Running out to the pond.

What to do when the pool isn't fixed yet: swim in the stock tank.

Well, Jim got out his garden, although it took supreme effort for him not to start it in February.  This year he optimistically planted sweet corn, tomatoes, pumpkins, squashes, cantaloupe and watermelon.  Then he set out some fruit trees, which are only bent over slightly from that last line of thunderstorms.  He also tilled and had the boys plant new grass in the back, which thrilled the ducks, who waddled doggedly behind the sowers, gobbling up the seeds almost before they could settle in the soil.

Coming back from the pond.

We decided sometime last year that 14-year old Jack probably needed his own space.  In March we had windows cut out into the two basement bedrooms so we could turn one of those into Jack’s new room.  But of course, it’s never that simple.  One room was a guest room, which we still need as a guest room, and one room housed all Jim’s weight equipment so we had to find a place to put that.  Naturally, the only viable option was a small “shed” Jim planned to build on the other side of the pool (which is being redone since it’s cheaper than filling it in).  And if he was going to build it, it might as well be done right, with a concrete floor, and we know better than to try to pour our own concrete. 

It started out like this.

So we found a contractor who poured not just the floor of the shed, but also a pad for a basketball goal next to it.  By now, Jim had discovered it was just as cost effective to build a roof using trusses, as opposed to stick building, and our contractor started calling it a “pool house”.  And while we were at it, we decided we were done with weeding and got a bid to pour a concrete patio off the back of the house.   

Mess.

Basement windows.

Of course, all of this is in various stages of partial completeness, and the entire back of the house is a muddy disaster right now.  Once the “pool house” is done, and the weight equipment moved out there, we still have to drywall and finish the closets in the bedrooms downstairs, as well as tile the floors before we can move Jack in.  Meanwhile, the kitchen is still in shambles.  The good news is, I’ve discovered I can make do with a fraction of the dishes, pots, pans, utensils, and appliances I packed away last October, and I don’t care if I never open those boxes again.  There’s something to be said for moving every four years …

Best use of a Kubota tractor ever: hanging the basket ball net.

Jim asked if he should close the windows when the last storm came through.

Jack and Woody graduated from dodge ball to baseball.  It was disappointing to them, going to an organized sport from one that was so disorganized.  First of all, in baseball, not everybody can be running at once, and second of all, you have to throw the ball to someone rather than at them.  Jim took the boys to the first day, which was dedicated to player safety, a necessary session since the majority of the players were fresh off dodge ball.  Coach Dave offered helpful insights like, “Remember, the baseball is a weapon,” and then clarified for the elated players that this was a bad thing.  Next up: knowing the signs another player was ready to catch the ball (i.e. making eye contact, glove up, as opposed to facing away from you, which in dodge ball is like having a target painted on your back).  

Jim got to help out once the kids had moved on to throwing and catching.  “I think you found the holes in their defense,” Jim informed the coach when he realized he was chasing down all the overthrown balls the catchers missed as this would have required the players move anything more than the hand with the glove on it.

The much more aggressive shouts of “I got you!” and “Yeah!” in dodge ball changed to the more relaxed conversations like the following: 

Kid #1: “Throw me a pop fly!”

Kid #2: “Did you say pot pie?”

Kid #1: “I like chicken pot pie.”

Kid #2: “Me too!”

And this is why you will never have a competitive home school baseball league. 

The girls are excited just to be out of school, even Lucy, who isn’t in school, but finds it negatively affects her plans.  “Is Betsy done yet?” she’ll sigh as I’m wrapping up math flashcards with her too-slow big sister.  This is followed by “HOORAY!” whenever Betsy does finish.  It’s very similar to her reaction at the end of church, when her excited cheers erupt even before the last “Amen” is said: “Hooray! We’re done!” she’ll holler in her outside voice as she bolts from her seat. 

Jim had an anesthesia conference in Colorado Springs so we all came, because this is where Sendo, Sally and I were all born and I wanted to show the kids something of it, but also because misery loves company, and eight hours in a car through the heart of Kansas is an all-new level of wretchedness for us. 

Our first day we visited Garden of the Gods, which is smaller than I remember Mom and Dad describing it, and also more crowded.  The hiking level of difficulty was not high: we were passed by numerous leashed dogs too jaded by nature’s beauty to bark at the even-more jaded deer who glared at us from the scrub trees.  We also were passed by several elderly pedestrians and a toddler in a motorized, kiddie-size jeep.  Jim was most taken with a fire hydrant located just off the path.  “How often do you think the rock formations catch fire?” he mused, before concluding it must have just been put there for the dogs. 

At the Garden of the Gods.

Hiking with Dad.  This looks familiar.

From there we stopped at Manitou Springs where every store sells ice cream, fudge, and most likely, marijuana, but hopefully not in the ice cream or fudge we bought.  It was the kids' favorite stop, because they discovered The Penny Arcade and spent the better part of an hour pouring quarters down the toilet.  I mean into the games.  

At The Penny Arcade.

Coin Rides: you're never too old ...

The always disturbing Monkey Organ ... on the left.

Spoooooky!

What else?  Betsy got her ears pierced and is no longer in a booster seat in the car.  Next up: the car keys.  

Woody suffered a mishap on the trampoline and bit clear through his tongue a few weeks ago.  He was inconsolable until I assured him he hadn’t bitten it completely in half, and he wasn’t going to end up maimed for life.   Although I did kind of appreciate the ensuing peace and quiet during the next two days.  He's completely recovered and recently I overheard him accusing Jack of being “the mother of all lies,” which made me smile. 

Jack grew another inch over the last year (you must realize I suffer terrible anxiety knowing I contributed all the “short” genes to the kids), but thankfully, his feet haven’t grown any more in the past couple of months (again, I contributed the disproportionately big-feet-to-short-stature gene) – he and Jim wear the same size now. 

Lucy stated several times, and is still convinced, that we are visiting “Avocado” rather than Colorado. 

And I guess that’s it for now.  Here are some random photos from our Spring.  Hope yours has been beautiful!

Taking a breather at the Red Barn Antique Market, Benton, Kansas.

Betsy and Lucy with home-made soap from the Red Barn Antique Market.

A quick visit from Uncle Sendo.  At the Sedgwick County Zoo.

Our very own sea serpent.