The couple that built the house we live in is no longer living, but they had amazing foresight. Everywhere we look, we can see signs of commitment to excellence.
For instance, the electrical breaker box has every switch labeled. Puzzling for months over the one switch labeled “Worm House”, we searched until we figured out the worm house was actually the chicken house/woodshed.
We knew the worm tables were down there, but we hardly guessed what they were. The industrious ones who built two houses on this property and maintained an enormous garden, were human after all. They fished. They loved having their own source for worms. Or they sold worms. What work went into their lives for a bit of pleasure or a few extra dollars!
Worm Table
The worm tables, consisting of framed, 1/2″ mesh wire, were for sifting out worms, I guess. I know the soil under these tables is uncommonly rich and free of the usual rocks from around here. It makes very good garden dirt and a great side-dressing for those plants that seem to need extra nutrition.
I can imagine a grandchild’s wonder as he watches a shovelful of soil reveal its inhabitants. I can imagine the child’s taking all this culture for granted, walking in such luxury of self-sufficiency, hardly guessing all the work others have put into this place.
A little like I tend to do, myself.
I say, “Oh, good, a chicken house,” and forget all the work in those rough-hewn boards. I stroll around a pond and never think that someone had to bulldoze it. I retrieve canned goodies from the basement without realizing all the engineering it takes to perch a house over a hole in the ground.
But I want to remember, to think, to realize. I want to be thankful for someone’s foresight, for those who went before and built for those who would come after.
I cannot believe we finally have cool weather! I cannot believe it. But I am thankful. Oh, YES!
A week ago, it was a full fifty degrees warmer, here. Now I am running an exhaust fan and drawing all this cool air into my stuffy house and listening to birds and squirrels chirping and chattering.
It is a gift.
Hugging the Sidewalk
Our ma cat appreciates it NOT. No one explained to the cats they would need their warm coats today. The pre-heated sidewalk gives relief, though, as Puddy hugs to it, waiting for the sun to rise over the treetops.
Not me! I’m dressed for 100 degrees, sitting in a 60-degree breeze, shivering and GLAD!
This cool weather did not bring rain with it, though. We are still more than 12 inches below normal for this year. Usually, we receive much rain in August, around 5 to 10 inches. I guess it all went to Mississippi and the Carolinas. Since it is the second year running that we have not received normal rainfall, trees are dropping like flies. We’ve lost about 3 per acre on our property.
One Twin Dies
Our neighbor has lost half of a gorgeous set of twin oaks in his pasture. It is sad, but we must look at what remains and be glad some trees have stronger roots and can survive. Maybe we’ll help harvest the firewood from our neighbor’s tragedy, turning it into something useful, so it is not a total loss.
Life is like that. We help each other turn our tragedies around, don’t we? We help make sure our losses are not total losses. We reach out to each other, perhaps grim-faced, but determined: We will not be completely defeated.
Well, it’s not the prettiest sight in the world, but it represents GREAT progress: a path to my sewing machine. Now it calls my name every time I hang up a shirt or walk to the coffee pot.
A View of the Path
I will be crafting several hand-made eye masks for sleeping, with lavender between the layers of fabric. Cannot wait to begin.
You know, that uberhuge closet had been the dumping ground for anything we were unsure about where to store it. Now that certainty has guided the clean-up, we still have the unsure things, but they are elsewhere.
It reminds me of the Cat in the Hat, which constantly flung pink stuff somewhere ELSE, but never actually got rid of it until the very end of the book.
I don’t want to wait that long.
But I surely enjoy strolling down that closet path.
On the way down to the chicken house, to take my girlies some scraps, today, I startle a squirrel, which bounds into the woods, startling me, in return.
Next, a deer leaps from its hiding place near the edge of the woods and races after the squirrel, such rattling of leaves and scrambling of footsteps as I’ve not heard in a while.
As I near the hen-house, which is 2/3 wood shed, I hear more scrambling. What a menagerie around here, today! I hear it again. Hmm. This is not the usual. The hennies are making a different sound, too, one I’ve heard too many times before. They’re saying, “We don’t like the sounds and smells around here, at all.”
I stop my crunching advance and listen. Another small movement comes from under the worm table. (Yeah, worm table. Gotta postabout those soon.) I toss a small rock over there to scare whatever it is.
Nothing.
I begin thinking about snakes. We’ve seen a timber rattler around here, before, and it’s been so hot and dry, and there is water inside the chicken house . . .
I realize I am not dressed for actual danger, in a summer dress and flip-flops, so I really need to size up the situation.
Inching along, I peer around a corner and gasp.
Raccoon (Procyon lotor). Français : Raton laveur (Appellé Racoon en Guadeloupe) (Procyon lotor). Author: Darkone, 5. August 2005 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
There, in the deep shadows, is the glowing-eyed face of a huge, fat raccoon.
I immediately back up, out of its sight. A cornered raccoon can be deadly, roughly as dangerous as a pit bull. Odd that it just sat there looking at me.
Not wearing decent shoes, and not having my phone with me, I know the best plan is to retreat up to the house and think. Calling my husband, I learn the raccoon probably is caught in a trap, which explains why it did not attack, flee, or even move. Then he explains to me how to unlock our rifle, volunteering to come home early and help me.
I feel I ought to be able to do this, though, and want to try. So I change into jeans and real shoes, get a drink of water for all this heat and exercise, grab the rifle, and return to the chicken house via a different way, around the shop, to approach it from behind. Several branches of briars are in my path and with my nerves about to snap, I pick my way through to where I know my moment of truth awaits me.
I peer into that dark place, again, and sure enough, the raccoon is still there. I aim and squeeze the trigger.
Nothing.
Hmm. I pull out my cell phone to ask my husband a few more questions. Aarrgh! I’ve unknowingly grabbed our son’s rifle. Of course, it is not loaded. By now my husband seems really eager to come home. But I still think I can do it and I still want to try, so, it’s back up to the house, for me, to exchange rifles and get another drink of water, and then back I go, down to the chicken house.
Since the terrain continues downhill, beyond the building, I choose a different vantage point, this time, one that puts me on a lower elevation and puts the ‘coon more at my level. I’m feeling like quite the predator, now. I aim and this time the satisfying “pop” of success makes me feel lots more intelligent.
Until I realize I’ve missed the critter entirely. Sighs.
I move closer and try again. What! Now the rifle isn’t working, again. Oh, brother!
Thinking it must have had only one bullet, I return to the house and call my husband once more, telling him I give up. He agrees to come home. I drink more water and return to putting the finishing touches on my closet project.
That was enough excitement for nothing, I think, but I do love having the experience!
And my husband says, “I never married you for a hunting buddy, anyway.”
Yesterday, I finally launched a work I meant to do last year.
And the year before.
Today I actually dragged half the contents of the master closet out into the bedroom and kitchen.
Kitchen? Yes; it’s a walk-through closet connecting the kitchen and bedroom. My side of the bed is exactly ten steps from the corner of the stove where the coffee pot sits each morning. Heh, heh.
Just Ten Steps from Zzz-land!
But I digress . . .
There used to be no terrific place to put all my sewing project business. However, there was this enormously gigantic closet in the master bedroom. And we are the type that has a normal amount of clothing. So . . .
One new electrical outlet later, and voila! I had a lovely galley sewing room, with space for zillions of yards of fabric to hang on coat hangers around me. Excellent!
Except it was also still our closet and sometimes I put outgrown or off-season kids’ clothing in there. And schoolwork that needed filing. And large skeins of yarn for crochet projects. And gifts I’m hiding until someone’s gift-day comes along. And stuff-Mart bags stuffed with stuff I needed to deal with. And back-logs of un-ironed items. And a multitude of craft supplies.
It was becoming unnavigable.
So yesterday, I hit it.
However, I also needed to wash a couple of intricate loads of laundry, hard-boil a dozen eggs without ruining them, and fix myself breakfast and lunch on time, since I had a tutoring appointment in the afternoon. So I did all of it at once, listening to the washer while watching the eggs come to a boil, and taking bites of my breakfast and sips of my juice, between trips in and out of that closet, loaded down with boxes, etc., and at the same time, sorting contents according to what was throw-away, storage, or put-away. Also re-charged my cellphone, did chicken chores, and made a new pot of coffee.
We call it multi-tasking, and we are good at it because we do so much of it. So many aspects of keeping a peaceful home depend upon it.
Our home is not too peaceful, right now, though, but rather torn out and scattered, waiting for me to finish it. Oh, the worst is over; just have to fit a few things back in, the right way, then enjoy it again.
And when it comes to the soul, aren’t most of us also in that shape?
Now is the time for judgment on this world; now the prince of this world will be driven out. But I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all men to myself.
Home's Cool! 