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.

January 2015 - Random Happenings, Accidental Fires and Bothersome Wildlife

Warning! None of the included photos have anything to do with any of this post!

We started 2015 off with our second visit in as many years from the Benton Volunteer Fire Department.  It was my fault – hot embers plus dry, windy day equals roaring fire in the back yard.  We were home that evening and it was Betsy who opened the curtains and saw the out-of-control blaze heading directly for our propane tank.  You know, what they say about owners resembling their pets is true: we all started running around frantically, like chickens when a fox gets in the hen house – I assume.  We’ve never had a fox in the hen house, but more on what we have had later. 

“Get out of the house!” Jim bellowed as he ran out to move the cars.  After I dialed 9-1-1 and got transferred by the Butler County Emergency Department to the Benton Fire Department where they painstakingly verified my phone number and asked grueling questions like, “How big is the fire?” (Me: “Uh, as big as the pool?”), the older kids and I leapt into the SUV and raced to the front of the property to flag down the fire truck when it arrived.  Unbeknownst to me, Jim left Amanda with the truck, whose gearshift is one of those new-fangled knobs on the dashboard, rather than a stick on the steering column.  In the ensuing panic, Amanda couldn’t figure out how to get the truck in gear.  So, as the flames blazed up the maple tree and devoured the pool filter, Amanda fiddled frantically with buttons and knobs, and four-year-old Lucy helpfully showed her how to turn the interior lights on and off.  Meanwhile, Jim raced back to turn the hose onto the flames.  Of course, the hose came up just a tad bit short.

The cavalry arrived, led by our neighbor, Rex, who snowplows our driveway every winter.  Once at the scene, he cheerfully hailed me with, “That sure was good candy!” referring to the plate of Christmas sweets I’d left with his family the week before.  It was my first indication the fire was under control.  When I apologized, Rex said, “Heck! This is what we get paid for!  And we get a free tee shirt every year!”   So Amanda and the kids returned (she did finally get the truck into drive) and from the back windows, we watched the fire fighters clean up in the dark.

Somehow the flames missed the two trampolines, the decrepit play fort, and the pergola.  The fire fighters saved our wood pile, which is the first thing they spray down, and my good friend Carly wisely suggested I begin hiding all valuables in the wood pile.

In the end, only the pool was damaged.  We decided not to report the loss to our home insurance.  Can you imagine how much premiums would increase if they discovered we can’t even keep our pool from catching on fire?

I heard later that the fire fighters had been impressed, maybe not favorably, by the number, depth, and randomness with which Jack had been digging fox holes all around the back.  These hindered their attempts to drive around putting out all the little fires. I was mortified but Rex just offered us a green click pen with 9-1-1 printed on the side.  “For repeat customers,” he said as he left.  God bless farmers/volunteer firefighters.

Halloween 2014
Woody - Superhero; Lucy - Fairy; Betsy - Princess; Jack - Himself

Let’s see.  What else has happened?  I’ve concluded Holiday cooking is wasted on the kids.  All they want is the canned cranberry jelly, canned fruit salad, and sparkling apple cider.  They’d never even notice if we didn’t have turkey.  I would be satisfied with just pie: apple pie, sweet potato pie, german chocolate pecan pie … I don’t ask much. But Amanda would revolt if we tried to leave out the homemade rolls or stuffing. And Jim would cry if he couldn’t roast a turkey with an entire stick of butter tucked under each breast skin (it does make for a juicy, if somewhat less than heart-healthy, bird).

Fishing with Dad

Speaking of birds, we’ve had a possum problem this past fall; they got into the chicken coop one night and killed a rooster.  After I went out (on the coldest day, of course) and furiously nailed more chicken wire across all the gaps, they turned their attention to the ducks, whose coop is less reinforced.  

Several times Amanda stepped out her door to see one or two possums inside the coop, doggedly pursuing the ducks, who lumbered slowly in circles, quacking almost as an afterthought.  I’m not certain they were aware of their peril, but Amanda got mad enough to chase the possums off with a hoe.  After the rooster was murdered, we realized we’d have to get more vigilant and decided to set live traps for them.  “What will we use for bait?” I asked Jim, because the only thing I knew for certain that tempted the possums (besides chickens) was trash from our trashcans.  “Ducks,” grinned Jim.

But we ended up catching one in the coop with the ducks again, and Jim brought the .22 rifle and killed one as the other scurried sullenly off into the darkness.  “I hope that was his best friend,” Jim said grimly, as he tossed the carcass out, and the ducks blinked benignly from their Dogloo.  I guess the other possums got the message, because sightings have been fewer and farther between.  I can’t help but feel like a part of some kind of farm co-op mafia: ordering hits on friends of the perpetrators.  Anyway, all we catch in the live traps is our garage cats …

The boys started a PE class in dodge ball last week.  Jim’s favorite part of the whole thing was the less than enthusiastic look on the boys’ faces when I told them they’d be playing dodge ball.  The class is for homeschoolers, and not surprisingly, is all boys.  There’s the usual 14-year-old with a burgeoning moustache, and all the rest are gawky, gangly teenagers, some with too long, greasy hair; most with scrawny arms; all with enormous adams apples.  But, to my knowledge, none were drinking beer or running an undercover betting ring on the side, so we’re going to let it ride.  Woody is one of the youngest and smallest.  He spends most of the time with his back to the game, chatting with other players.  Jack learned his technique from the ducks, which is to say, he confounds the enemy with his slow, predictable progress across the floor, never juking or dodging, never panicked, even when facing certain elimination.

Betsy Baking

 

Lucy Baking

In other news, we no longer have a mouse problem.  These were eradicated by the snakes I now catch in the basement utility room, which is open to the underside of the house.  They’re all bull snakes (non venomous) but three to four feet long.  I keep a walking cane nearby, which is good for hooking them around the neck, and the pruning shears, which are good for carrying them outside and lopping off their heads.  I appreciate the mouse population control, but I’d prefer the snakes do that outside, before the mice get inside.

The other animals are fine.  Amanda said she thinks she needs to have her eyes checked since she was under the impression, glancing out her window, that Max was a cow.  But I assured her since Max has been eating freely from the enormous round hay bales dotting our property, he actually is as big as a cow, and this time, it’s not bloat. 

I asked Jack the other day if he wanted animals when he gets his own place and he promptly said, “NO!”  Then, “Well, maybe a cat; you don’t have to take care of them.”  I told Jim this later and he said, defensively, “I still think it’s been a good experience for them.”  Then, after a pause, “It’s been TERRIBLE for the donkeys, but it’s been good for the boys.”

What else?  Lucy asked me the other day, “Mom, did you always want a little girl who loved you?” I said, “Yes!” and Jim, who was walking by, said, “Maybe some day we’ll get one,” which offended Lucy deeply. 

Everyone is fine.  School is school is school, except for right now, since we’re on our way to, let’s say it together: “Disney World!!!” (excited exclamation marks added for Jim’s benefit).   I texted our next-door neighbor, just to let her know we’d be out, and therefore, they’d all be safer since we wouldn’t be there to set any fires.  I think she was relieved.  

That’s it for now.  Hope you all have a mild winter!

Hugs and Kisses

The Summer of This Malcontent

Summer started out not with a bang, but a whimper … mine. 

It began with my first case of food poisoning.  For two weeks my poor primary care doc ran every test imaginable, during which time I was so nauseated my only refuge (much to the kids’ delight) was passing out on the couch for hours at a time.  A test finally came back positive for campylobacter – a bacteria found mainly in raw chicken.  Then I got a call from the Butler County Health Department, whose raison d’etre is apparently to convince you, through a series of pointed questions, that you are totally incapable of caring for yourself, your family, pets or potted plants, and probably should not be trusted in the kitchen with a butter knife.  Where have you eaten in the past two weeks?  Did you eat chicken?  Eggs?  Egg products?  Are you in contact with chickens?  (I had to laugh at that one: Yes, in fact, the chickens and I have a deeply personal relationship: I would personally like to wring their necks.)  Do you cook your meats thoroughly?  At this point I considered saying it must have been that one time that instead of bleaching and then washing my cutting boards as I usually do, I licked them all clean.  But they didn’t seem to have much sense of humor.  In the end, nobody else came down with it, and through the miracle of modern drugs, I'm still here.

At Space Camp

Your confidence in the future of the Space Program can only increase knowing Jack's team took first in the Speed Lego Assembling competition.

Other things happened that first month, too, or so they tell me.  Jack went to a week-long Space Camp in Hutchinson, Kan.  It was the first time he’d been away for that long outside of family visits, but we didn’t feel terribly apprehensive after dropping him off.  As Jim said when we left, “Did you see all those nerds?  He’ll be fine.”  While there, Jack designed and launched a rocket, did some other space-campy stuff that filled his schedule from 7 a.m. until 10 or 11 p.m., but he’ll remember it most for the sleep deficit he racked up.  Jack has entered the awesome teenage boy years, when there is never enough to eat, and this injustice is only surpassed by the torture of having to wake up.  Every day.  In Disney World, there’s a ride called Mission: Space, where you get to be a part of a team going into space.  Each passenger has an assigned critical role in getting the ship to its destination safely.  Of course, Jim and the boys do everything out of order, including hitting the HyperSleep button first thing, instead of waiting until after launch sequence.  We weren’t allowed to call Jack during the week, but we texted him in the evenings, and Jim teased him about his responsibilities in an upcoming launch simulation.  “Remember to hit the HyperSleep button,” Jim texted one night.  And with all the anguish that can be transmitted through plain text typing, Jack fairly wailed in his response, “THERE IS NO SLEEP BUTTON!!!!!”

Woody learned to mow the lawn with the zero-degree riding lawn mower this summer.  This is impressive when you consider that at 70 pounds, Woody’s barely big enough to keep the seat pressed down adequately for the safety feature (which cuts off the engine when it’s riderless) to not engage.  Daredevil Woody, who is uncharacteristically cautious around objects with moving parts, approached this task with trepidation.  Unlike Jack or almost anyone else who mows a lawn in ever widening or tightening circles, or who goes back and forth in straight lines, Woody mows the lawn like a gnat, flitting wildly about in a seemingly random fashion.  Except gnats are faster.  Woody never got out of turtle into rabbit.  But we got some spectacular lawn carvings out of him.  Once he carved a Mickey Mouse head, and another time he and Jack cut “I love Mom” into the front lawn (even spelled correctly) with some heavy prodding from Jim.   

Life on the farm changed drastically once, after repainting the exterior of the house, we decided to confine the chickens to their coop and enclosed yard.  Now the front porch is eerily clean, possibly sanitary, and we even managed to get a few tomatoes out of the garden to eat for ourselves instead of watching the chickens peck them all to pieces.

The ducks now reside in a Dogloo, which is enclosed in the old dog run next to Amanda’s depot.  There they have easy access to the water spigot for their eternal baths that never leave them any cleaner, and they can scold Amanda whenever she steps out of her door.  Sometimes they scold her when she’s not even home.  

Midnight, the sole remaining Mammoth Stock Donkey, and Max, the bloated goat, got out once this summer and wandered up to the new neighbor's place.  This isn't too unusual, but what the neighbors frowned upon was that we apparently didn't realize they were gone for two days, and it would have been longer but someone finally called us.  And then we only went to retrieve them because common courtesy demands it.

We didn’t really travel this summer: with the retirement of one partner, Jim’s anesthesia group was a little short-staffed and summer is vacation time for all the partners whose kids are in regular school. 

So naturally, with Jim working non-stop, we decided to begin the renovation of the kitchen.  But first Jim had to finish piddly little projects, like ripping some ancient built-in shelves out of the boys’ room, patching the resulting holes in the wall and ceiling, repainting the walls, and laying hardwood floor in the boys' room.  Also repairing the damaged ceiling in the basement from when the pipes froze and burst last winter because our heater quit working when some darned mud daubers built their nests in the exhaust pipe of the heating unit.

Tearing out the old built ins.

Floor in progress

That done, Jim took out all the cabinets in the kitchen and began building a new custom kitchen island out of quarter sawn oak, complete with dovetailed joints in the drawers.  He also began laying the hardwood floors in the kitchen.  Also, he put in my new gas stove top.  But then his vacation week ran out and it’s been slow going since.  As usual, my main responsibilities include finding tools we haven’t seen in months, and then sighing heavily and looking distressed whenever Jim has to drive back into town (usually multiple times a day) to pick up a single item we can’t find, but without which, all work comes to a halt. 

Dove-tail joints.

The new kitchen island -- mostly done

Laying new floor ... and eating off it.

Rule #1: Even remodeling, NEVER disconnect the TV!

We got started on school in August, and with different grades (Jack’s in 8^th, Woody’s in 6^th, Betsy’s in 2^nd, and Lucy’s into everything), I’m gradually coming to accept school is the only constant.  But at least the kids keep it interesting.  Jack, proving he’s not come too far from the days when he wrote in a book report that he would “recommend this book for people who like to read long books”, signed a letter “Honestly, Jack” after attempting and scratching out “Sincerely, Jack” multiple times.  Clearly, “sincerely” is too tricky to spell with any confidence. 

On one vocabulary exercise, Woody was supposed to select from a list of things that might be considered “ferocious”.  He correctly identified a) a strange dog, b) a wild bear, and c) a hungry baby.  I gave him extra credit for the last answer.  After one sociology lesson where we discussed the growth of the feminist movement, he frowned and asked, “Are there any ‘meninists’?”

Lucy turns 4

Lucy is not in formal school, but that hasn’t stopped her from trying to teach the others a thing or two.  This was a recent tearful exchange:

Lucy: “Betsy said a bad word!”

Betsy: “I didn’t!”

Me: “What did you say?”

Betsy: “Vomit.”

Me: “Vomit’s not a bad word.”

Betsy: “Lucy said it is!”

Me (incredulously): “Why are you listening to the three-year-old?!”

The finished results in the boys' room.  Why did we even bother?

So I guess that's it for now.  Hope you all have a beautiful fall!