Ray McCune's Website
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(Water water everywhere and not a drop to take a bath in!)
Though we haven't had a well failure for a month now, ( knock knock knock on wood!) I still get in the shower wondering if I will get a whole shower, or if I will be scraping soap out of my eyes and cursing the "well god" yet again. And yet I now have water leaking in under the front door and through the ceiling in the Mother-in-Law's room.... Evidently the same company that makes the crappy windows for these houses ( KIMRO ) makes the weather stripping for the doors as well, (or as crappy) because when the wind comes from the North it pushes water under the front door, it seems most wind from the north has a component of water with it, call it rain, snow, or precipitation, it doesn't belong in the front hallway, but due to the completely deteriorated seal under the front door, it gets in and makes little rivers on the floor. And if that isn't enough, there has appeared, an unwelcome yellow spot on the ceiling in the bedroom of the gentle woman who has also announced "we have no water, my toilet didn't flush right, and there's a spot on the ceiling in my room." Fortunately we didn't agree to a three strikes rule, so she gets to stay. Now obviously, none of this is her fault, and I have asked her to let me know if there is anything I can do for her, to make things more comfortable. And, although I won't heat the house to 90 degrees for her, I have tried to make everything else as nice for her as I can. So she keeps me up to date on water infiltrations.
OK, on to more constructive issues, specifically the freaking birds! Who would normally have met with a shovel by now, but that same little voice that announces all things wet and bad, loves the little birds. Those same birds that crash into the windows attacking their own reflection, fight with the mirrors on my cars and at the same time crap down the side of them. (Did you know birds have no rectal sphincter, they are a totally open system and have no control over their elimination. Now some would say then, that it's not their fault, but they could find a better place to spend their time than crapping down the side of my cars! Of course we must feed them, and make sure they have a safe place to spend the few moments a day that they can't crap on my cars, so they need a bird house.
And any old bird house won't do, it must be a Bluebird House because, they are Bluebirds. And Bluebirds are rare in some areas and were nearly extinct, according to an article in the Birdhouse Book. I tend to think they were probably nearly extinct because they are an annoying, stupid bird, that has a problem with anything else that flies (they hide under the cars when the hawks fly over, other than that) they chase everything else out of the yard. And they crash into the windows of the house and crap down them as well. They can catch hold of the screens and peck at their reflection, and well I've mentioned the part about them I really like, right? I suspect they are going to find a new territory soon, if I can just get the barn cats interested in them... let nature take the heat, I didn't know cats could get to that bird house!!!
Anyway, Chris wanted me to see if I could make anything out of the materials of the collapsed barn on the property, so I gave it a shot. I used barn siding to make the bird house and a piece of the slate to make its roof . I also made a weird sized frame, not a standard size, as there were a couple textured areas I wanted to include, and they didn't work into a standard size. Still tinkering around with it, as far as reproducible technique. I'm going to make a couple varieties and see which seems most popular and then hope to pay for some of the things I need to get done down here with the proceeds.
I did manage to get my Jeep pickup towed down last week. It has a trashed tranny and probably a blown head gasket, but it has a lot of good parts too, I had recently rebuilt the front end and the rear end, put in a new gas tank and had the engine running like a Swiss watch, then the tranny crapped out, and I got hurt, and couldn't pull it ( the tranny) to get it fixed. So it sat in the yard for nearly four years, and hasn't liked it at all. What a shame, it was a good truck, it will probably become a tractor, or a large four wheeler for the farm. Haven't decided yet. But it won't be going back on the road. My next challenge is getting the big yellow truck down here, it had a good tranny and engine, but the break lines, and yes I spelled it that way for a reason, popped each time I moved it in the yard. It is still filled with valuable materials, and would be great if I could get it in reliable condition to make a couple trips down here with machinery in it, but I really doubt that will happen. It was tough to work on it when I was not a cripple, I doubt I can get much done with it in the time I have left. So it will probably get scrapped out, the aluminum box should bring a few shekels, and the running gear is quite large and heavy and could make some one a great car hauler if they were willing to go over the entire brake system and replace all the lines. but I'm probably the only one who still does stuff like that. OH WELL.
The kids came for my birthday and we went on the requisite "walk the farm" trip, and they decided to seek out the origin of one side of one of the streams on the property. It's the ravine dedicated to trash at present, and as it turns out it has another collapsed spring house! The third spring on the property so far! We are probably going to call it Rusty Spring, for various reasons. Such as who forged the route, the hard way, following the stream to its origin, and the fact that the center of the ravine is filled with rusting hulks of old washers and refrigerators and bicycles, and other trash. So we have the Little House Spring House. Rusty Spring, and the old collapsed Spring House, and I'm pretty sure there is yet another spring head I haven't yet found, because Rusty Spring combines with it, the unknown spring, before the junk portion of the stream. I however can't swing a machete, and clippers are tough to operate with the shoulders I have left, so I'm thinking there is yet another use for a tractor. She just groans whenever I say "tractor" now. Jenni and Ryan forged a new path up the hill and want a sign commemorating it, the "JR Trail" or some such thing.
So I guess I have another use for a piece of the "down barn" I'm paying taxes on, seriously, they are taxing me for a collapsed structure. They are really desperate for money around here, I have to reduce it to piles of construction materials before they will quit taxing on it. They are taxing on the collapsed spring house near the road as well. I have dismantled it, and will call about getting it off the records. I really think there must be some serious dementia in the tax department here, but I haven't got a finger on them yet. Can't wait till they find out I have a new roof on the garage, I'm sure that requires an adjustment. Can't get away from the petty bureaucrats. The Down Barn has been reduced to a pile of "construction materials", which I will store in one side of the existing barn, in the next month. While moving the equipment from Akron, preparing the other side of the "garage" for concrete, making picture frames, repairing the little house, getting a water supply to the house from the third spring, and... the list goes on.
Man, are we happy out here!
the concrete guy? can't even crawl, YOU should see me on the wet cement I move like a cat, a caterpillar tractor! I leave a mess ahead of me that is shameful, but the boys did a great job straightening up my disaster area and the first half of the garage is nearly full! Someone mentioned, the finish on the floor was insignificant, as no one will ever see it after the first week anyway! Thanks Matt...
Keep coming back , page Eight follows......soon .
Chris has chosen to bless us with another farm wife page, ENJOY!
Day 73—Gardening, Bugs & Bluebirds
Please forgive me if I jump ahead of the story line (Day 17 and Addendum) but today, perhaps for the first time in several decades, I saw bluebirds in the wild! Ray had spotted one a few days ago but wasn't sure exactly what it was. Then yesterday, in true country-life fashion, we visited our county Soil and Water Conservation Dept. whereupon we picked up a few books on birds, creating gardens that appeal to birds, and building birdhouses to suit specific birds. As Mom and I occasionally read a few fascinating facts out loud, Ray would occasionally roll his eyes or audibly scoff at the thought that I would or could do any gardening. I cannot really blame him. Those of you who know me fairly well, know that I have never had a green thumb, not even a light green thumb. As a matter of fact, I have more of a brown thumb. Perfectly healthy plants will just keel over after being in my charge a very brief time. Some have been observed trembling and paling (becoming pale, that is) when their caretakers have offered to send them home with me. Over the years I have made peace with that fact and contented myself with buying silk flowers and taking lovely pictures of other people's gardens, especially those of my mom and my sisters. (I would give you their names, but then I'd have to make up new online names for them, and I'm already in trouble with one of them for the unauthorized use of "her" name in a previous situation, so no way am I doing that again!) Suffice it to say, it is understandable that Ray was amused by the concept of my creating or maintaining a garden.
But here is my theory. (Rest assured, I won't blame you for skipping this paragraph in its entirety if you have already heard this or if you have a workable theory of your own, but if, like me, you appreciate nature but have no knack for controlling it; if you, like me, do not think that it's just wonderful to dig your hands deep into loamy soil; if you, like me, do not like having dirt under your fingernails, sweat running down your face or getting sunburned without swimming; and if you, like me, do not think it's worth it to spend so many hours on your knees pulling weeds, then just maybe you should stick around for the upcoming theory.) My theory is that gardening was not meant to give us untold hours of frustrating toil but to make us good stewards of the land and resources around us. I can appreciate the symmetry and neatness of a formal English garden. I will take pictures of immaculately trimmed bonzai trees and marvel at the discipline they demanded. I am agog at the skills required in whatever it's called when people carve bushes and trees into spirals or pyramids or cartoon characters. But I know myself well enough to know that it would drive me totally bonkers to try and maintain any of those things. Every single little leaf that had the audacity to grow outside of the pattern would scream at me to fix it! Every weed in the garden would shout my inadequacies to the world. Every flower border with a flower out of line would have me back on my knees trying to scoot it over an inch or so! This is not how I want to spend my life, folks.
(The theory will be continued here so the previous paragraph won't be too long, because research has proven that people do not read long paragraphs carefully and this could be a life-changing theory for you, as it was for me.) Therefore, my theory, restated, is that it's best to create garden areas that are similar to meadows, woodlands, and marshes, with no definitive demarcation between the "garden" and the "lawn". While we're on the subject, as a bonus for those of you who are still reading (I admire your fortitude), here's my theory on lawns: It's okay if the grass gets a little taller than two inches, it's okay if there are some weeds here and there, and it's okay if flowers spill over into the grass rather than being confined to a "bed." In other words, it's okay for nature to be kinda messy, or, hey! here's a thought: it's okay for nature to look natural.
One more little sideline and then I promise we'll get back to the bluebirds and the books. There's another reason it's a funny concept that I'd be interested in gardening of any sort. I have a problem with things that sting. Bees, wasps, yellow jackets, mosquitos—you name it, I've been attacked and stung by it either individually or in swarms. If Ray and I go on a walk together, I return with 12 or 14 mosquito bites. He is just fine. If I am in a group and a bee approaches, I am the one who gets stung, regardless of the assurances of those in the group who are saying ridiculous things like, "Just leave it alone and it will go away." No it won't, it will circle around the group several times before zeroing in on me. As it lands on my arm, those same people (the very wrong people who used to be my friends) will say, "It's okay. It's just walking around. Leave it alone and it will go away." I used to believe them. I was quite adept at holding still, at appearing casual and unconcerned about the insect in question. But the years and the number of stingers pulled out of my skin have proven those people wrong time and time again. And yet do they believe me when I try and warn them of my impending doom? No sirree. They do not. But because I am the one who keeps getting stung, I remember these things, oh yes, you betcha I do. So here's my corollary on gardening and its inevitable ability to attract stinging pests (blah, blah, blah, I know all the hoopla about bugs being crucial for pollenating the beautiful flowers--they're still pesty): If one doesn't have to be face to face with the flowers and weeds, then one can maintain a respectful distance between herself and the pests. And if a prudent gardener puts the flowers far away from the doorways into the house, then the bugs might not prevent her from safely entering and exiting her domicile. And if one is successful in providing plants which attract birds that eat the stinging brutes, then she has killed two pests with one bird (or some other clever rewording of the two birds--one stone saying, for truly I want the birds to live)! Ha! Take that, you bumblebees, you!
So, back to today's sightings. As I held the phone, enduring another endless round of voice mail, Ray spotted a bluebird sitting on the railing of the front deck. Alas and alack, before I could get the camera, turn it on, and shove give the phone to Ray, it had flown the coop, so to speak. But we were now on high alert, ready to pounce at the slightest whirring of wings. You know what? High alert gets really boring after twenty or thirty minutes! I had given up and was heading into the bedroom when I heard a "thump" at Mom's window. She was in the family room, so I knew she wasn't making the noise. As I went in to investigate, a bluebird staggered up from the ground, flying off unsteadily. I ran (yes I did!) back to get my camera, quickly changed into a black shirt so I wouldn't reflect in the window, and went back to Mom's room. In just a minute or so, the bluebird came back and perched on the bird feeder holder right outside the window.
He (for I am sure it was a male due to the way he looked so proudly at his reflection in the glass) turned from left to right and back again, sometimes staring directly into the camera. Then he suddenly took off and flew SMACK into the window again (I told you it was a male). He staggered on the ground for a few seconds, then swooped away. This process was repeated several times, giving me plenty of time to improve my position, avoid reflections, and stop laughing at the silliness of the repetition. After I was certain that I had some good shots, I just watched him.
Eventually he grew weary of bonking into the window and flew over to inspect my car, sitting for a minute in the wheel covers, zooming up to the luggage rack, checking out the bug shield on the hood, crawling up the exhaust pipe—he gave it a thorough going-over all right.
Then, predictably, he saw his reflection in the car window and began fluttering up and down, back and forth, now and then crashing into the side window or the windshield.
Believe it or not (and you have no reason not to believe me, right?) this went on for several hours. That silly bird rarely went more than two feet away from the car for the rest of the day.
Hey! Thanks for sticking around to the end! Day 18 will be coming to you soon, if it hasn't already :-)
Love you,
Farm Wife
Photographer
Bird Watcher
