The Saturday before Christmas I slept late and woke up around 10:30. Wandering downstairs I checked my Facebook page while I waited for the dogs to eat their breakfast. My aunt had posted on my wall to be watching for a package that she expected to be delivered that day.
Earlier in the week, she had sent me a tracking number so that I could follow the progress of my package as it travelled from Arizona to Illinois. I logged off Facebook and onto the USPS website to check on the delivery status. To my delight, the package had been scanned as "out for delivery" at my local post office just hours before.
As I flipped back over to Facebook, I heard the distinct crunching sound of tires on packed snow. Peering out the window, I saw the nondescript white car that I recognized as belonging to our postal carrier. Excited to see what my aunt had sent, I rushed to the back door to meet the postal carrier. By the time I reached the door, she had already dropped the package halfway up our icy walk and was retreating to the warmth of her car.
As I lifted the medium sized express box from the frozen ground, I heard the scratching of doggie claws at the screen door. I knew that I had latched it and yet, before I knew what was happening, two brown blurs of fur bolted past me to inspect the postal carrier's car.
Good naturedly, she patted the dogs on their heads through the open car window and slowly pulled around the circle drive. As she drove, Buster and Bella continued to run in large circles around her car. Always nervous about my "kids" around moving vehicles, I began calling them back tot he house. "Butt-Butt, Bella Bella! Come on lets go get Daddy" I tried. I called repeatedly but they were more interested in the visitor that was leaving without paying them enough attention.
Although not yet dressed for the day, I started to chase them down the driveway. My fuzzy green slippers offered little traction on the snowpack. Wind tore through my teal and white plaid pajama pants. My yellow BCMS Track hoodie offered little protection from the weather. As I pulled my hood up, the postal carrier turned right onto Centerville Road to continue her route. Buster and Bella paused for just a moment to look back at me and then they took off in hot pursuit of the mail carrier.
I ran back to the house to grab the car keys. "Dan! Your dogs are down by Superior Acres!" I screamed as I searched through my purse for the keys. The thud of Dan's feet hitting the bedroom floor above me said he had gotten the message loud and clear, so I headed for the garage.
"Buster! Bella!" I heard Dan's voice booming from the front porch as I fought with my arch nemesis, the garage door. Why wouldn't this damn thing cooperate? My puppies were about a quarter mile down the road by now and not looking like they had any inclination to come home.
Flying out the driveway in pursuit of the dogs, I caught a glimpse of Dan in his white boxer briefs heading back into the house. Ahhhh...good thing we don't have neighbors nearby.
Down the road, the mail lady was doing her best to coax the dogs back towards our farm. She had delivered to the next house on the route and then turned around to head back towards our place. As she started driving, she too was calling the dogs. "Come on doggies! Come on. Let's go home." She was doing her best to lead them back to our house.
By this point, the ADD beasts that they are had already lost interest in chasing the car and they were now making friends with the dogs on the next farm. Fortunately, the farmyard was enclosed with a sturdy fence and the four animals could not mingle. The neighbor dogs didn't look too excited to see company arrive so unexpectedly.
Pulling off the road, I jumped out of the car and fought with the zipper on my coat as I ran to the fence line. As my slippers sunk into calf deep snow drifts, I realized I'd never manage to get my coat zipped and pulled it tight against my body. I moved towards the fence line where Bella was checking out the neighbor dogs in hopes of making friends. Caught up in her own drama, she ignored my continued calls.
Inching closer and closer to Bella, I reached for her collar. Zing! She was off again. Damn! "Bella! Let's go for a ride. Come on girl!" She circled around me once and then danced backwards away from me again. We repeated this several times. Each time, I lunged for her collar as she got close, each time she twisted out of reach at the last nanosecond.
I'm not sure how many tries it took, but after a few minutes, I snagged Bella by her pink nylon collar and started dragging her to the car. As we walked, I shouted for Buster who was now heading off towards the remains of a cornfield at the rear of the property. "Buster! Let's go! Come On ! Time to go home."
Seeing his sister imprisoned and being dragged off towards the car, he did just the opposite of what logic would dictate. He ran right towards me to see what I was doing to Bella. That, and I think he wanted to taunt her that he was still free. As I opened the car door to put Bella inside, Buster pushed past me, nearly knocking me out of my frictionless slippers, and jumped into the car. In one smooth push he was inside and in the rear cargo area ready to go. Bella wasn't quite as eager to head home and had to be lifted into the backseat.
Waving a thanks to the postal carrier who had been watching this play out, I headed for home while she turned her car around once more and continued her route.
As I let the dogs out of the car at home, I held my breath as the looked towards the road once more. Only once they were safely inside the house, did I breathe a sigh of relief.
Monday, December 27, 2010
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Boys and Toys
As a teacher, I often hear my colleagues lament that imagination is dead. I now have evidence to the contrary. Unfortunately, the creative play I witnessed was among twenty-something year old men and not the children in our classrooms.
The day after the blizzard that shut down Centerville Road, I called in sick from work, still unable to leave our driveway. At some point later in the day, Dan's friend Jamie showed up to "work" with Dan in the shop. Within minutes of his arrival, snowmobiles burst forth from the shop and started doing loops around the yard and pasture. From the kitchen window, I could see both "men" grinning ear to ear as they chased one another around our property.
At various times, I saw each snowmobile get stuck in a drift somewhere on our property. The driver of the second snowmobile would approach dismount, and let the driver of the first use his sled to pull the first from the drift. This continued for quite some time. Eventually, the snowmobiles were put back in the shed.
Playtime over, I imagined the boys were starting whatever task had called Jamie out to the farm in the first place. I was corrected by the roar of four wheelers coming to life. The guys had traded one vehicle for another and were repeating the scene that had played out on snowmobiles with four wheelers. With the four wheelers, they attempted to climb the large drift that I had abandoned my four wheeler in the day before. (Mine was now free and part of the mayhem.). Stuck. Duh! Hadn't I proved the day before that this couldn't be done?
Watching from the kitchen window, a very maternal instinct came over me. I felt as though I were watching my own little boys (which I don't have) playing in the yard. The movie reel in my mind fast forwarded to some point in the unknown future when I could watch the sons of these men playing in our farm yard. Then the projector got stuck. Damn it! Dan hadn't completed a thing on his honey do list. Like any modern mom, I text him to come in and finish a few tasks for me. Like Beaver and Eddie Haskell, the boys tromped into the house, completed the most important of the tasks I had assigned and then ran off back into the snowy fields.
I had to leave shortly thereafter, and as I pulled out of the driveway, I saw two four wheelers tethered together by a webbing lead attempting to pull the larger free from another snow drift. I shook my head and started off for town.
A few days later, I mentioned the events of that afternoon to Dan. Casually, I stated that it seemed they were actually TRYING to get things stuck. "We were," was his reply. It turns out that the scene I had witnessed was actually and elaborate game with rules to be followed. And like with any game, the boys were finding loopholes in their own rules.
The object of the game was to get your vehicle of choice stuck in a snow drift. To free it, the rider had to use the same type of vehicle and his own man power. So, if they got a snowmobile stuck, they had to use a snowmobile to get it unstuck. Freeing a four wheeler had to be done with another four wheeler. Tying a four wheeler to the bumper of a truck and using the winch on the four wheeler to pull itself out did not constitute cheating because all the power provided came from the four wheeler.
Creative play is not dead. It is alive and well in the young men surrounding me. I obviously did not play this game. Being stuck in a snowdrift had been the bane of my existence the day before and yet Dan and Jamie found a way to enjoy it. Boys!
The day after the blizzard that shut down Centerville Road, I called in sick from work, still unable to leave our driveway. At some point later in the day, Dan's friend Jamie showed up to "work" with Dan in the shop. Within minutes of his arrival, snowmobiles burst forth from the shop and started doing loops around the yard and pasture. From the kitchen window, I could see both "men" grinning ear to ear as they chased one another around our property.
At various times, I saw each snowmobile get stuck in a drift somewhere on our property. The driver of the second snowmobile would approach dismount, and let the driver of the first use his sled to pull the first from the drift. This continued for quite some time. Eventually, the snowmobiles were put back in the shed.
Playtime over, I imagined the boys were starting whatever task had called Jamie out to the farm in the first place. I was corrected by the roar of four wheelers coming to life. The guys had traded one vehicle for another and were repeating the scene that had played out on snowmobiles with four wheelers. With the four wheelers, they attempted to climb the large drift that I had abandoned my four wheeler in the day before. (Mine was now free and part of the mayhem.). Stuck. Duh! Hadn't I proved the day before that this couldn't be done?
Watching from the kitchen window, a very maternal instinct came over me. I felt as though I were watching my own little boys (which I don't have) playing in the yard. The movie reel in my mind fast forwarded to some point in the unknown future when I could watch the sons of these men playing in our farm yard. Then the projector got stuck. Damn it! Dan hadn't completed a thing on his honey do list. Like any modern mom, I text him to come in and finish a few tasks for me. Like Beaver and Eddie Haskell, the boys tromped into the house, completed the most important of the tasks I had assigned and then ran off back into the snowy fields.
I had to leave shortly thereafter, and as I pulled out of the driveway, I saw two four wheelers tethered together by a webbing lead attempting to pull the larger free from another snow drift. I shook my head and started off for town.
A few days later, I mentioned the events of that afternoon to Dan. Casually, I stated that it seemed they were actually TRYING to get things stuck. "We were," was his reply. It turns out that the scene I had witnessed was actually and elaborate game with rules to be followed. And like with any game, the boys were finding loopholes in their own rules.
The object of the game was to get your vehicle of choice stuck in a snow drift. To free it, the rider had to use the same type of vehicle and his own man power. So, if they got a snowmobile stuck, they had to use a snowmobile to get it unstuck. Freeing a four wheeler had to be done with another four wheeler. Tying a four wheeler to the bumper of a truck and using the winch on the four wheeler to pull itself out did not constitute cheating because all the power provided came from the four wheeler.
Creative play is not dead. It is alive and well in the young men surrounding me. I obviously did not play this game. Being stuck in a snowdrift had been the bane of my existence the day before and yet Dan and Jamie found a way to enjoy it. Boys!
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
I Hate Being a Girl
Okay, so the title may be a bit misleading here. There are many things I LOVE about being a member of the "delicate sex." Shoes, shopping, girlfriends, w(h)ine Friday, and men make being a woman wonderful, but there are times when it is frustrating as hell and I'm NOT talking about "that time of month."
Maybe what I should have said was, "I hate being a city girl in the country." There are some things that kids, boys or girls, growing up in the country are just better at than those of us who were raised in the city. It seems to me that handling all things with motors falls into that category.
On the same day that the drifts of snow consumed Centerville Road, I decided I should grab a snowmobile and head back to town to pick up Dan. In order to even get at the snowmobile, I had to move Dan's big ole diesel truck. Usually, he plugs in the block heater every night to make it easier to start the truck, but of course, that wasn't the case on this day. I patiently waited for the truck to warm itself, and cranked it to turn over. Confident that I had let it run long enough before attempting to move it, I slipped the truck into reverse and eased onto the gas pedal cautiously checking the mirrors lest I take one off as I back out of the barn. HA! Like that would be a problem. After moving less than a foot, the engine died. To restart, I turned off the ignition, turned it half way back, waited for the start lights to go out, and tried again. She fired right up and we tried again...with the same result. Three times I played this little game. Start the truck, inch back, and start over after the truck dies. On the fourth attempt, the truck didn't start. I heard a little tick, tick, tick and nothing else. Oh Shit! Dan would kill me if I'd drained his battery or worse damaged the truck somehow. I decided to give it a few minutes before trying again.
While waiting, I figured I'd use my time wisely and get the snowmobile turned around facing the right direction. Dan had mentioned the night before that there was no reverse on these machines so I knew I would have to drag it to turn it around. Remember earlier when I said I was going to "grab a snowmobile"? Have you ever tried to grab a 450 pound hunk o metal and turn it around? Yeah, you can imagine how well I did on that one. Although I was able to drag the back end side to side like a pendulum, there wasn't enough room in the shop to turn it all the way around 180 to face the other direction. I would have to pull the machine straight back to the middle of the room and THEN turn it. Wasn't gonna happen.
Back in the truck, I was lucky enough to get it started again. Tired of killing the engine every time I tried to carefully back out of the garage, as soon as I put it in reverse, I rev'ed the engine and threw caution to the wind. I got the truck just far enough out of the garage to allow the snowmobile to pass through before the engine died once more.
Resigned to the fact that I wouldn't be able to take the snowmobile to go get Dan, I decided I deserved to have a little fun. We have a number of four wheelers so I decided to take one out for a spin. My first choice, the biggest of them and also the only fully automatic, was torn apart for some reason. (I still don't know what Dan was working on). Next I picked "my" four wheeler to try. Never having luck with getting this machine into reverse, I opted to push it backwards through the shop until I could get enough room to turn it around. This was much easier on a wheeled vehicle than it had been with the snowmobile.
Much to my surprise, it started on the first try (easier than the damn truck) and we were off and flying out the barn doors and around the yard. After a quick spin to get a feel for it, I decided to ride down the road a bit and see if it would be possible for Dan to get home from the west. I turned right out of our driveway and before I even got to the end of our property I saw that this route would be just as impossible as approaching from the east.
Realizing that even an ATV couldn't make it through the approaching drifts I attempted to make a U-Turn and head back for the safety of our pasture. Once again, Mother Nature and the fates spoiled my plans. I'm still not quite sure exactly what happened, but the snow drift ate my four wheeler. That's really the only way to explain it. To a casual observer, it may have appeared that intentionally ran head on into the snowdrift, but I assure you, I'm not that stupid.
I attempted to engage the reverse mechanism, put the ATV in reverse, and back out of the drift. As described earlier, reverse and I don't exactly get again and this time was no different. I failed again. Dismounting the ATV, I straightened the handlebars, walked to the rear of the machine, and began to pull. Already tired from my previous efforts on the snowmobile, my arms, shoulders, and abs groaned under my renewed effort. With each grunt, the snow relinquished a little more of my ATV. After about 5 minutes of tugging, I released the 4 wheeler from the snowdrift.
I pushed it to the middle of the road, so I had room to turn around, remounted the ATV, turned the key, hit the choke and the starter and...nothing. Not home free as I intended. Ok. Problem solve what I know. Make sure its in neutral. Check. Open the choke. Check. Try again. Nada. Wait. Was I supposed to start in first? I don't think so, but leaving my quad in the center of Centerville wasn't an option. Nope. That didn't work either. Back to neutral to try again. What? Fifth? That's not what I wanted. Click Click. Taping on the clutch I moved through the gears (or thought I did anyway). No matter what, I could only find fifth gear. I wasn't finding neutral no matter what I did.
Not wanting to, but not knowing what else to do, I called Dan for any advice he may be able to dispense from afar. Alas, my night in shining armor was nowhere to be found. I was on my own, stuck with a four wheeler that wouldn't start, standing in the middle of the road. Grrrrrrreat.
I knew that I couldn't just leave my toy where it sat. After trying again, I determined I would have to push the stupid thing back into our driveway and let Dan deal with it whenever he finally arrived home. As with everything out here, easier said than done. Without being able to find neutral, the wheels did not want to turn nicely. Essentially, I was back to dragging the snowmobile. I stood to the side of the quad and attempted to push with all my might - or what was left of it. Grrr... this was not pleasant. Remember. The wind that caused this drifting nightmare in the first place had not subsided, in fact, it may have even increased. And to make things even more fun, the sun was slipping beyond the horizon. I had just a few minutes to move this thing off the road before night fell and I had to admit defeat.
Moving to the back of the quad, I gave a hefty push. Movement! Succes....shit! It wasn't the ATV moving. It was me. My rubber rain boots slipped on the ice below me. My left knee slammed into the trailer hitch on the four wheeler. A shock wave of pain rippled through my body to my mouth where it was released in a stream of cusses that would make a trucker blush. Completely exhausted and ready to surrender, I crawled into the seat once more, gave the clutch a tap with my foot, and gave yelp of excitement when the light popped on indicating that the machine had slipped into neutral. Turning the key, the quad fired up on the first try.
Relieved that my four wheeler would not spend the night on the road, I laughed my way up the drive towards the shelter of the shop. Just twenty feet from the open doors, I legitimately misjudged the size of the drift that was slowly overtaking the north end of our driveway. Crap! Stuck again.
This time, I knew exactly how to handle the situation. I dismounted the four wheeler, brushed the snow off myself, and much like Scarlett O'Hara, decided, "I can't think about that right now. If I do, I'll go crazy. I'll think about that tomorrow."
Maybe what I should have said was, "I hate being a city girl in the country." There are some things that kids, boys or girls, growing up in the country are just better at than those of us who were raised in the city. It seems to me that handling all things with motors falls into that category.
On the same day that the drifts of snow consumed Centerville Road, I decided I should grab a snowmobile and head back to town to pick up Dan. In order to even get at the snowmobile, I had to move Dan's big ole diesel truck. Usually, he plugs in the block heater every night to make it easier to start the truck, but of course, that wasn't the case on this day. I patiently waited for the truck to warm itself, and cranked it to turn over. Confident that I had let it run long enough before attempting to move it, I slipped the truck into reverse and eased onto the gas pedal cautiously checking the mirrors lest I take one off as I back out of the barn. HA! Like that would be a problem. After moving less than a foot, the engine died. To restart, I turned off the ignition, turned it half way back, waited for the start lights to go out, and tried again. She fired right up and we tried again...with the same result. Three times I played this little game. Start the truck, inch back, and start over after the truck dies. On the fourth attempt, the truck didn't start. I heard a little tick, tick, tick and nothing else. Oh Shit! Dan would kill me if I'd drained his battery or worse damaged the truck somehow. I decided to give it a few minutes before trying again.
While waiting, I figured I'd use my time wisely and get the snowmobile turned around facing the right direction. Dan had mentioned the night before that there was no reverse on these machines so I knew I would have to drag it to turn it around. Remember earlier when I said I was going to "grab a snowmobile"? Have you ever tried to grab a 450 pound hunk o metal and turn it around? Yeah, you can imagine how well I did on that one. Although I was able to drag the back end side to side like a pendulum, there wasn't enough room in the shop to turn it all the way around 180 to face the other direction. I would have to pull the machine straight back to the middle of the room and THEN turn it. Wasn't gonna happen.
Back in the truck, I was lucky enough to get it started again. Tired of killing the engine every time I tried to carefully back out of the garage, as soon as I put it in reverse, I rev'ed the engine and threw caution to the wind. I got the truck just far enough out of the garage to allow the snowmobile to pass through before the engine died once more.
Resigned to the fact that I wouldn't be able to take the snowmobile to go get Dan, I decided I deserved to have a little fun. We have a number of four wheelers so I decided to take one out for a spin. My first choice, the biggest of them and also the only fully automatic, was torn apart for some reason. (I still don't know what Dan was working on). Next I picked "my" four wheeler to try. Never having luck with getting this machine into reverse, I opted to push it backwards through the shop until I could get enough room to turn it around. This was much easier on a wheeled vehicle than it had been with the snowmobile.
Much to my surprise, it started on the first try (easier than the damn truck) and we were off and flying out the barn doors and around the yard. After a quick spin to get a feel for it, I decided to ride down the road a bit and see if it would be possible for Dan to get home from the west. I turned right out of our driveway and before I even got to the end of our property I saw that this route would be just as impossible as approaching from the east.
Realizing that even an ATV couldn't make it through the approaching drifts I attempted to make a U-Turn and head back for the safety of our pasture. Once again, Mother Nature and the fates spoiled my plans. I'm still not quite sure exactly what happened, but the snow drift ate my four wheeler. That's really the only way to explain it. To a casual observer, it may have appeared that intentionally ran head on into the snowdrift, but I assure you, I'm not that stupid.
I attempted to engage the reverse mechanism, put the ATV in reverse, and back out of the drift. As described earlier, reverse and I don't exactly get again and this time was no different. I failed again. Dismounting the ATV, I straightened the handlebars, walked to the rear of the machine, and began to pull. Already tired from my previous efforts on the snowmobile, my arms, shoulders, and abs groaned under my renewed effort. With each grunt, the snow relinquished a little more of my ATV. After about 5 minutes of tugging, I released the 4 wheeler from the snowdrift.
I pushed it to the middle of the road, so I had room to turn around, remounted the ATV, turned the key, hit the choke and the starter and...nothing. Not home free as I intended. Ok. Problem solve what I know. Make sure its in neutral. Check. Open the choke. Check. Try again. Nada. Wait. Was I supposed to start in first? I don't think so, but leaving my quad in the center of Centerville wasn't an option. Nope. That didn't work either. Back to neutral to try again. What? Fifth? That's not what I wanted. Click Click. Taping on the clutch I moved through the gears (or thought I did anyway). No matter what, I could only find fifth gear. I wasn't finding neutral no matter what I did.
Not wanting to, but not knowing what else to do, I called Dan for any advice he may be able to dispense from afar. Alas, my night in shining armor was nowhere to be found. I was on my own, stuck with a four wheeler that wouldn't start, standing in the middle of the road. Grrrrrrreat.
I knew that I couldn't just leave my toy where it sat. After trying again, I determined I would have to push the stupid thing back into our driveway and let Dan deal with it whenever he finally arrived home. As with everything out here, easier said than done. Without being able to find neutral, the wheels did not want to turn nicely. Essentially, I was back to dragging the snowmobile. I stood to the side of the quad and attempted to push with all my might - or what was left of it. Grrr... this was not pleasant. Remember. The wind that caused this drifting nightmare in the first place had not subsided, in fact, it may have even increased. And to make things even more fun, the sun was slipping beyond the horizon. I had just a few minutes to move this thing off the road before night fell and I had to admit defeat.
Moving to the back of the quad, I gave a hefty push. Movement! Succes....shit! It wasn't the ATV moving. It was me. My rubber rain boots slipped on the ice below me. My left knee slammed into the trailer hitch on the four wheeler. A shock wave of pain rippled through my body to my mouth where it was released in a stream of cusses that would make a trucker blush. Completely exhausted and ready to surrender, I crawled into the seat once more, gave the clutch a tap with my foot, and gave yelp of excitement when the light popped on indicating that the machine had slipped into neutral. Turning the key, the quad fired up on the first try.
Relieved that my four wheeler would not spend the night on the road, I laughed my way up the drive towards the shelter of the shop. Just twenty feet from the open doors, I legitimately misjudged the size of the drift that was slowly overtaking the north end of our driveway. Crap! Stuck again.
This time, I knew exactly how to handle the situation. I dismounted the four wheeler, brushed the snow off myself, and much like Scarlett O'Hara, decided, "I can't think about that right now. If I do, I'll go crazy. I'll think about that tomorrow."
Monday, December 20, 2010
Pioneer Spirit
About the third day after moving in, it became necessary to run a load of laundry. Dan had been forewarned that a special laundry pump had been installed and our washer would have to run through this. Essentially, the pump is a sump pump designed to suck the water from our washer up from the basement and out to the septic field. He had dutifully purchased all of the necessary connectors and hooked up the washer. With this task completed, he set about positioning and hooking up the dryer. This should be a fairly easy task considering its an electric dryer which just requires plugging in. However, it becomes a bit more complicated when there is no 220 outlet to plug into.
A quick inspection of the electrical panel revealed that 1.) the plug intended for use by the dryer had been stolen and was being used for the well (not something we want to disconnect) and 2.) the panel is full so there is no room to easily add an outlet. I waited a few more days hoping that the landlord would get an electrician out to add the outlet. Once laundry reached a critical point, I began washing them and hanging them in our upstairs hallway to dry.
After the first load of laundry was done, I noticed that the basement floor was wet in the corner near the washing machine. We assumed the washer had leaked somewhere, but imagine my surprise when I walked downstairs while a load was running and discovered a 4 foot fountain of water bubbling out from behind my washer. The sump pump was not large enough to keep up with the amount of water being discharged from the washer and the excess water was being forced through the air. Again, the solution is easy. We simply need to add a utility tub for the washer to drain into. The tub can hold the large volume of water until the pump catches up and can push the water out the the septic tank. Perhaps we'll get to that in the next week or so. In the meantime, I enjoy the water feature we've added to the basement. A good realtor could use this as a selling point.
During the time that we were hanging laundry to dry, we experienced another plumbing/electrical issue. On our 10th evening in the house, we experienced a huge power surge accompanied by a popping sound. At first it appeared as though nothing was wrong. We thought that the impending snowstorm was messing with our electrical service.
The next day, Dan was inspecting the electrical panel hoping to add the outlet for the dryer (but you've already heard how that ended). With the cover off the panel, he noticed that the breaker for our water heater was tripped. He flipped it back to the ON position and immediately heard a horrific noise emanating from the water heater. When he flipped it back off the noise disappeared as well.
We went together to inspect the water heater. From the service panel on the heater, water was dripping and pooling on the floor. It became very clear that we had an issue on our hands. I text our landlord to let him know. He called back immediately, relieved to have an excuse to step away from his wife's company Christmas party. Although he offered to have someone come out the next day, we declined and saved him the expense of a Sunday plumber's visit.
Monday morning the reality of my frugality dawned on me. The prospect of a cold shower and damp laundry was not a pleasant one. My morning routine was disrupted by the need to warm water to wash my face and take a sponge bath. Washing my hair became an acrobatic feat as I had to twist my body to get all of my hair under the bath faucet while keeping as much of the rest of me dry and warm as possible. I carried cold, wet clothes up to be hung in the hallway and all the while reminded myself that it could be worse.
My dad grew up on a farm and the "hardships" I endured on this morning, a deviation from my routine, were are part of his daily life. As I did my best to just "grin and bear it" I developed the mantra "pioneer spirit" to keep myself going. Imagining how life for my dad and his family had been kept me going without complaint.I guess I have the hardy Skaggs genes to thank for the new spin I was able to put on my situation.
A quick inspection of the electrical panel revealed that 1.) the plug intended for use by the dryer had been stolen and was being used for the well (not something we want to disconnect) and 2.) the panel is full so there is no room to easily add an outlet. I waited a few more days hoping that the landlord would get an electrician out to add the outlet. Once laundry reached a critical point, I began washing them and hanging them in our upstairs hallway to dry.
After the first load of laundry was done, I noticed that the basement floor was wet in the corner near the washing machine. We assumed the washer had leaked somewhere, but imagine my surprise when I walked downstairs while a load was running and discovered a 4 foot fountain of water bubbling out from behind my washer. The sump pump was not large enough to keep up with the amount of water being discharged from the washer and the excess water was being forced through the air. Again, the solution is easy. We simply need to add a utility tub for the washer to drain into. The tub can hold the large volume of water until the pump catches up and can push the water out the the septic tank. Perhaps we'll get to that in the next week or so. In the meantime, I enjoy the water feature we've added to the basement. A good realtor could use this as a selling point.
During the time that we were hanging laundry to dry, we experienced another plumbing/electrical issue. On our 10th evening in the house, we experienced a huge power surge accompanied by a popping sound. At first it appeared as though nothing was wrong. We thought that the impending snowstorm was messing with our electrical service.
The next day, Dan was inspecting the electrical panel hoping to add the outlet for the dryer (but you've already heard how that ended). With the cover off the panel, he noticed that the breaker for our water heater was tripped. He flipped it back to the ON position and immediately heard a horrific noise emanating from the water heater. When he flipped it back off the noise disappeared as well.
We went together to inspect the water heater. From the service panel on the heater, water was dripping and pooling on the floor. It became very clear that we had an issue on our hands. I text our landlord to let him know. He called back immediately, relieved to have an excuse to step away from his wife's company Christmas party. Although he offered to have someone come out the next day, we declined and saved him the expense of a Sunday plumber's visit.
Monday morning the reality of my frugality dawned on me. The prospect of a cold shower and damp laundry was not a pleasant one. My morning routine was disrupted by the need to warm water to wash my face and take a sponge bath. Washing my hair became an acrobatic feat as I had to twist my body to get all of my hair under the bath faucet while keeping as much of the rest of me dry and warm as possible. I carried cold, wet clothes up to be hung in the hallway and all the while reminded myself that it could be worse.
My dad grew up on a farm and the "hardships" I endured on this morning, a deviation from my routine, were are part of his daily life. As I did my best to just "grin and bear it" I developed the mantra "pioneer spirit" to keep myself going. Imagining how life for my dad and his family had been kept me going without complaint.I guess I have the hardy Skaggs genes to thank for the new spin I was able to put on my situation.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Walking in a Winter Wonderland
Winter in the country is beautiful. The first snowfall of the year covered the countryside with a crystalline blanket. Fields shimmered for as far as the eye could see. The picturesque scene that surrounded our property filled my heart with hope for what would be.
The dogs and I took a daily walk around the perimeter of the yard and Dan filled his days tinkering with snowmobiles and plows for his truck. Winter in the country would be a fun time for our family.
The second snowfall came with a bit more of a bite. It began about 3pm and quickly accumulated. By 5:00 that evening, a Saturday, Dan and I were able to pull out the snowmobiles. I had never driven a snowmobile myself so I did a few tentative turns around the yard before we headed off for town. Dan had briefed me on the basics of operating a four wheeler and I did pretty okay for a first timer. We took a quick trip to the local bar for a burger and beer and then stopped at Pete and Lisa's.
Sometime during the night, the peaceful snowfall took a vicious turn. To borrow a line from Dorothy, "the wind began to switch, the house to pitch and suddenly the hinges started to unhitch." Throughout the night the wind howled outside. I'm not sure that howled even begins to describe the sounds outside our house that night. The rattling of windows couple with the moaning of the wind kept us awake most of the night. At some point I had drifted off to an unsettled sleep only to be awoken by a deafening "pop" as with wind filled the plastic wrap over the windows beyond capacity.
Morning light revealed that it had not only snowed outside, but inside as well. The force of the wind had pushed snow between the window sill, through the mini-blinds, and was caught by what plastic remained on the window. Ahh...the joys of an older home.
Given that this storm came up so suddenly that we had only 72 hours notice, Dan and I had no groceries in the house and decided to head to town to stock up. Rather than go to the little store just 5 miles away, we opted to go to Rockford for lunch and then do our grocery shopping. As we left Centerville, the wind continued to blow across the open fields and drifts had begun to accumulate on East/West roads such as ours.
Three hours later when we returned from Rockford, the wind was whipping the light snow into sugary clouds that could not be seen through. We wisely stayed on the main highway until the last possible moment before turning onto our road as near to the house as possible. As we turned onto Centerville, we were amazed to see the first 200 feet or so clear. As we approached the 150 foot mark though, another powerful gust of wind kicked up enough snow that we could not see even the front of our car. We continued moving forward slowly, but not for very long. WHAM! We slammed into some unseen, unmoving object. When the snow settled we saw what we had hit...more snow. We were face first into a snow drift that was as tall as the hood of my Buick Rainer.
For some reason our predicament amused me greatly. I was already wearing snow boots, hat, gloves, etc so I jumped out of the car to take some pictures. The snow along the road was approximately crotch high and I had to take large Baywatch-style steps as I walked to the rear of the car. Dan continued inching backwards and forwards to get us out of the drift. Whipping wind was stinging my checks so I crawled into the back of the car to provide some extra weight and change into my snowpants.
Dan's persistence paid off and within about 15 minutes we were freed from our snowbank and free to explore alternate ways home. Our first attempt was to go back down the main road to the west and find a north/south road to take us back to Centerville from another direction. It was a nice try, but we quickly learned that there was a 10 car pile up on the main road. A quick U-turn and we passed our road and headed north to try to make it back from that direction.
As we turned onto the road immediately north of ours we saw a little tiny drift. Gun shy from our first attempt at getting home, Dan asked if I thought he could make it. Seeing it was just a teeny tiny baby drift, I encouraged him to try it. You can do it, I laughed. And he did. He gunned it, blew through the baby drift and plowed right into the larger drift waiting on the other side. After cussing at me for a few minutes, Dan tried the forward and backward trick that had worked so well on Centerville. It worked, almost. Had the darn car just kept a straight path as it moved in reverse we woulda been out without a problem, but it didn't. The back end of the car fish tailed to the left and swung into the ditch. This time it was obvious that we weren't going to be able to inch our one out of this.
Dan and I had two different thoughts on how to proceed from here. My first instinct was to walk home. I had all the necessary winter gear and was prepared for the hike. Dan, on the other hand, wanted to go sit in the bar until we could get the car out and the road cleared. Not knowing when the roads would get cleared, I wasn't willing to sit and wait, I had things to do.
Dan had called a friend and gotten us a ride back into town. Tired of waiting for her to arrive, we gathered a few things from the car that we needed. I had the foresight to stick my ID in my pocket so the authorities would be able to identify my frozen carcass later and my ski poles which were still in the back seat from our move. We began walking towards town and our approaching ride.
As we got in our friend's minivan, Dan and I continued arguing about the wisdom in walking home. My stubborn streak had set in and there was no stopping me at this point. The minivan pulled onto the 100 clear feet of Centerville Road and dropped me off.
Grabbing my ski poles for extra support I jumped out of the car and started my little trek for home. It was about a 1/2 mile from the point where I was dropped of to our driveway. From that point, I could not see the house due to the swirling snow. What I did see, just ahead of me, was a farmer digging his truck out of the same drift we had been entangled in earlier. "Is this a typical winter out here?" I asked him as I approached the truck. "Nope. This is a first for me he answered." Not wanting to lose my momentum, I kept walking as we chatted. "You kinda look like you're enjoying this," he said. "Yes. In some perverse way I am." I smiled to myself as I continued.
As I continued trudging through the snow that was, in some places, nearly waist deep I was reminded of my ice climbing trip to Canada several years ago. The weather that weekend was only slightly worse than it was this day. I paused to survey the scene around me...what there was that I could see through the snow. A feeling of contentment fill me and warmed me from the subzero wind chills of the day. Within a few more minutes I was home.
Five hours later Dan tumbled through the door. He had seen to getting our car out of the ditch and waited around at a friend's house hoping that the road would be cleared. When that failed to happen, he had driven to the end of our road, parked the car and walked home.
We still had the issue of moving our car to a safe location out of plow's way. Snowmobile to the rescue! Dan and I cuddled up on one of our sleds and headed straight down the middle of Centerville Road. The drifts bounced us around, and I swear we even got air at one point, but we made it to the car without incident. I jumped in the car while Dan took of across the field to meet me at Pete and Lisa's.
We unloaded the groceries that had gotten us into this mess in the first place into Lisa's house and we were off again. Neither Dan nor I are small people, and the snowmobile wasn't really meant for two people. Our ride home was only about a mile, but I swore I was going to die. I felt like my butt was dragging off the back end through the cornfield. Once we hit Centerville Road I breathed a sigh of relief. We'd been through here once safely a second time should be no problem.
Prayer had delivered me safely across the cornfield when I'd been scared to death. Somewhere in there I had said, "Lord, If this thing has to spill, please make it a soft landing." It wasn't long before that prayer was answered. The same snowdrift that had swallowed our car earlier in the day ate the snowmobile. It sank about three feet into the snow. Dan dug it out once more and we were on our way. As we approached our driveway, I heard a muffled shout from Dan. "What?" I screamed to be heard above the noise of the machine and the wind. About that time, I felt myself go airborne and land with a thud in the snow. "Why didn't you lean?" Dan screamed. We brushed ourselves off and finished our short drive home.
The first snow plow didn't come by until 9AM the next day. Thanks for the three day weekend Boone County.
The dogs and I took a daily walk around the perimeter of the yard and Dan filled his days tinkering with snowmobiles and plows for his truck. Winter in the country would be a fun time for our family.
The second snowfall came with a bit more of a bite. It began about 3pm and quickly accumulated. By 5:00 that evening, a Saturday, Dan and I were able to pull out the snowmobiles. I had never driven a snowmobile myself so I did a few tentative turns around the yard before we headed off for town. Dan had briefed me on the basics of operating a four wheeler and I did pretty okay for a first timer. We took a quick trip to the local bar for a burger and beer and then stopped at Pete and Lisa's.
Sometime during the night, the peaceful snowfall took a vicious turn. To borrow a line from Dorothy, "the wind began to switch, the house to pitch and suddenly the hinges started to unhitch." Throughout the night the wind howled outside. I'm not sure that howled even begins to describe the sounds outside our house that night. The rattling of windows couple with the moaning of the wind kept us awake most of the night. At some point I had drifted off to an unsettled sleep only to be awoken by a deafening "pop" as with wind filled the plastic wrap over the windows beyond capacity.
Morning light revealed that it had not only snowed outside, but inside as well. The force of the wind had pushed snow between the window sill, through the mini-blinds, and was caught by what plastic remained on the window. Ahh...the joys of an older home.
Given that this storm came up so suddenly that we had only 72 hours notice, Dan and I had no groceries in the house and decided to head to town to stock up. Rather than go to the little store just 5 miles away, we opted to go to Rockford for lunch and then do our grocery shopping. As we left Centerville, the wind continued to blow across the open fields and drifts had begun to accumulate on East/West roads such as ours.
Three hours later when we returned from Rockford, the wind was whipping the light snow into sugary clouds that could not be seen through. We wisely stayed on the main highway until the last possible moment before turning onto our road as near to the house as possible. As we turned onto Centerville, we were amazed to see the first 200 feet or so clear. As we approached the 150 foot mark though, another powerful gust of wind kicked up enough snow that we could not see even the front of our car. We continued moving forward slowly, but not for very long. WHAM! We slammed into some unseen, unmoving object. When the snow settled we saw what we had hit...more snow. We were face first into a snow drift that was as tall as the hood of my Buick Rainer.
Dan's persistence paid off and within about 15 minutes we were freed from our snowbank and free to explore alternate ways home. Our first attempt was to go back down the main road to the west and find a north/south road to take us back to Centerville from another direction. It was a nice try, but we quickly learned that there was a 10 car pile up on the main road. A quick U-turn and we passed our road and headed north to try to make it back from that direction.
As we turned onto the road immediately north of ours we saw a little tiny drift. Gun shy from our first attempt at getting home, Dan asked if I thought he could make it. Seeing it was just a teeny tiny baby drift, I encouraged him to try it. You can do it, I laughed. And he did. He gunned it, blew through the baby drift and plowed right into the larger drift waiting on the other side. After cussing at me for a few minutes, Dan tried the forward and backward trick that had worked so well on Centerville. It worked, almost. Had the darn car just kept a straight path as it moved in reverse we woulda been out without a problem, but it didn't. The back end of the car fish tailed to the left and swung into the ditch. This time it was obvious that we weren't going to be able to inch our one out of this.
Dan and I had two different thoughts on how to proceed from here. My first instinct was to walk home. I had all the necessary winter gear and was prepared for the hike. Dan, on the other hand, wanted to go sit in the bar until we could get the car out and the road cleared. Not knowing when the roads would get cleared, I wasn't willing to sit and wait, I had things to do.
Dan had called a friend and gotten us a ride back into town. Tired of waiting for her to arrive, we gathered a few things from the car that we needed. I had the foresight to stick my ID in my pocket so the authorities would be able to identify my frozen carcass later and my ski poles which were still in the back seat from our move. We began walking towards town and our approaching ride.
As we got in our friend's minivan, Dan and I continued arguing about the wisdom in walking home. My stubborn streak had set in and there was no stopping me at this point. The minivan pulled onto the 100 clear feet of Centerville Road and dropped me off.
Grabbing my ski poles for extra support I jumped out of the car and started my little trek for home. It was about a 1/2 mile from the point where I was dropped of to our driveway. From that point, I could not see the house due to the swirling snow. What I did see, just ahead of me, was a farmer digging his truck out of the same drift we had been entangled in earlier. "Is this a typical winter out here?" I asked him as I approached the truck. "Nope. This is a first for me he answered." Not wanting to lose my momentum, I kept walking as we chatted. "You kinda look like you're enjoying this," he said. "Yes. In some perverse way I am." I smiled to myself as I continued.
As I continued trudging through the snow that was, in some places, nearly waist deep I was reminded of my ice climbing trip to Canada several years ago. The weather that weekend was only slightly worse than it was this day. I paused to survey the scene around me...what there was that I could see through the snow. A feeling of contentment fill me and warmed me from the subzero wind chills of the day. Within a few more minutes I was home.
Five hours later Dan tumbled through the door. He had seen to getting our car out of the ditch and waited around at a friend's house hoping that the road would be cleared. When that failed to happen, he had driven to the end of our road, parked the car and walked home.
We still had the issue of moving our car to a safe location out of plow's way. Snowmobile to the rescue! Dan and I cuddled up on one of our sleds and headed straight down the middle of Centerville Road. The drifts bounced us around, and I swear we even got air at one point, but we made it to the car without incident. I jumped in the car while Dan took of across the field to meet me at Pete and Lisa's.
We unloaded the groceries that had gotten us into this mess in the first place into Lisa's house and we were off again. Neither Dan nor I are small people, and the snowmobile wasn't really meant for two people. Our ride home was only about a mile, but I swore I was going to die. I felt like my butt was dragging off the back end through the cornfield. Once we hit Centerville Road I breathed a sigh of relief. We'd been through here once safely a second time should be no problem.
Prayer had delivered me safely across the cornfield when I'd been scared to death. Somewhere in there I had said, "Lord, If this thing has to spill, please make it a soft landing." It wasn't long before that prayer was answered. The same snowdrift that had swallowed our car earlier in the day ate the snowmobile. It sank about three feet into the snow. Dan dug it out once more and we were on our way. As we approached our driveway, I heard a muffled shout from Dan. "What?" I screamed to be heard above the noise of the machine and the wind. About that time, I felt myself go airborne and land with a thud in the snow. "Why didn't you lean?" Dan screamed. We brushed ourselves off and finished our short drive home.
The first snow plow didn't come by until 9AM the next day. Thanks for the three day weekend Boone County.
Friday, December 17, 2010
Girls and Garage Doors
One thing we noticed on our first trip to the farm was the quaint garage doors on "my" garage. I was looking forward to parking inside for the first time in about three years, so the lack of a garage door opener didn't bother me too much. I had, after all, had manual garage doors at my first house. This would be a minor set back from the comforts of staying in my car to open the doors, but its a detached garage so I'd have to be in the cold anyway.
At my old house, the garage door was a heavy 3 panel hinged model. Even though there was no opener, I never had a problem opening or closing the door. On the first trip to our new house, I discovered that the doors on this garage were constructed of a single panel that road up and down on the track. Essentially, the garage door kicks out at a 45 degree angle and then has to slide parallel into the ground into the garage above the parking spot. No Problem!
In and out all weekend the garage door and I got along just fine. Of course, that all has to change on Monday morning, the first day I have to negotiate this feat on my own. Because the house is far from settled, and I'm still living out of boxes, I was running late.
To open the door, there are two hasps on the inside of the garage that have to be turned so they are parallel to the track. On the outside of the door, two pegs have to be undone. Easy enough. Dan had showed me that the easiest way to proceed from here was to grab the cable that runs along the front of the door and pull on it to get the door off the ground. From there, I just had to grab the door and push it over my head and slide it into place. No problem. Pull out the car, put the door down, and head off to work just in the nick of time.
Not to be the case. Lifting my arms above my head, I grabbed the bottom of the door and pulled as hard as I could. Nothing. Okay. Try again. Thank goodness. The garage door started moving. Continuing to pull the door down, my hands lost grip on the door as it screeched to a halt. Stuck. The door refused to move any further. A perfect 45 degree angle of garage door. Try again. Push the door all the way up and try again. With my palms face up at chest level I pushed with all my might to return the door to the open position. Nothing. Maybe even stuck more. "I do not have time for this!" was the only thought running through my head.
Palms down, I pushed down on the door until my tippy toes lifted off the ground. Finally! Movement. The door inched down a hair. Inched down is an over exageration. That door did not move an inch. Palms up, force the door back up. This time I had more success, I actually got the door the whole way open. Starting from scratch, I decided that the best approach would be to lower the door as quickly as possible to prevent it from getting stuck again. Nope. It lurched to a stop again in the same place, well maybe a few inches higer than the previous time. Not wanting to waste any more time, I left the door half open, headed off to work, and text Dan to take care of it.
Being my first day back to work, Dan had prepared dinner for me and text me telling me to let him know when I was nearing our place. I did so and was surprised to see I had a garage door opener waiting for me when I pulled up the drive. Dan was standing outside the garage with the door wide open waiting for me. As I pulled in, he pulled the door shut behind me.
Morning number two, having seen Dan close the door effortlessly the night before I was optimistic that I would have similar success without a repeat of the previous day. Not so. Have you ever seen the movie "Ground Hog Day"? If so, you can understand the sheer frustration I felt as Monday's events played out again nearly exactly as they had the first time around. Again, I left the door open for Dan to deal with later. This time the text suggested that he lubricate the rusty old track.
Unlike the first night, Dan was not waiting for me when I returned from school. I pulled the car in and renewed my fight with the door. Seriously! What does this door have against me? Knowing Dan would be home soon, I left it for him to deal with again.
When Dan pulled into the drive and saw the door standing agape, I got a phone call from him from the driveway. "Get out hear and learn how to shut this garage door." After protesting a bit, I reluctantly put my shoes on and went out. "Show me what you are doing," Dan instructed.
I reached up and tugged at the door prepared for my usually struggle. It slid down without a fight.
Are you kidding me!? "You did something. What did you do?" I asked Dan. His buddy who witnessed the whole episode laughed. "Julie," he said, "I'd be the first to rat him out, but he didn't do anything other than call you."
The damn thing has worked without issues ever since.
At my old house, the garage door was a heavy 3 panel hinged model. Even though there was no opener, I never had a problem opening or closing the door. On the first trip to our new house, I discovered that the doors on this garage were constructed of a single panel that road up and down on the track. Essentially, the garage door kicks out at a 45 degree angle and then has to slide parallel into the ground into the garage above the parking spot. No Problem!
In and out all weekend the garage door and I got along just fine. Of course, that all has to change on Monday morning, the first day I have to negotiate this feat on my own. Because the house is far from settled, and I'm still living out of boxes, I was running late.
To open the door, there are two hasps on the inside of the garage that have to be turned so they are parallel to the track. On the outside of the door, two pegs have to be undone. Easy enough. Dan had showed me that the easiest way to proceed from here was to grab the cable that runs along the front of the door and pull on it to get the door off the ground. From there, I just had to grab the door and push it over my head and slide it into place. No problem. Pull out the car, put the door down, and head off to work just in the nick of time.
Not to be the case. Lifting my arms above my head, I grabbed the bottom of the door and pulled as hard as I could. Nothing. Okay. Try again. Thank goodness. The garage door started moving. Continuing to pull the door down, my hands lost grip on the door as it screeched to a halt. Stuck. The door refused to move any further. A perfect 45 degree angle of garage door. Try again. Push the door all the way up and try again. With my palms face up at chest level I pushed with all my might to return the door to the open position. Nothing. Maybe even stuck more. "I do not have time for this!" was the only thought running through my head.
Palms down, I pushed down on the door until my tippy toes lifted off the ground. Finally! Movement. The door inched down a hair. Inched down is an over exageration. That door did not move an inch. Palms up, force the door back up. This time I had more success, I actually got the door the whole way open. Starting from scratch, I decided that the best approach would be to lower the door as quickly as possible to prevent it from getting stuck again. Nope. It lurched to a stop again in the same place, well maybe a few inches higer than the previous time. Not wanting to waste any more time, I left the door half open, headed off to work, and text Dan to take care of it.
Being my first day back to work, Dan had prepared dinner for me and text me telling me to let him know when I was nearing our place. I did so and was surprised to see I had a garage door opener waiting for me when I pulled up the drive. Dan was standing outside the garage with the door wide open waiting for me. As I pulled in, he pulled the door shut behind me.
Morning number two, having seen Dan close the door effortlessly the night before I was optimistic that I would have similar success without a repeat of the previous day. Not so. Have you ever seen the movie "Ground Hog Day"? If so, you can understand the sheer frustration I felt as Monday's events played out again nearly exactly as they had the first time around. Again, I left the door open for Dan to deal with later. This time the text suggested that he lubricate the rusty old track.
Unlike the first night, Dan was not waiting for me when I returned from school. I pulled the car in and renewed my fight with the door. Seriously! What does this door have against me? Knowing Dan would be home soon, I left it for him to deal with again.
When Dan pulled into the drive and saw the door standing agape, I got a phone call from him from the driveway. "Get out hear and learn how to shut this garage door." After protesting a bit, I reluctantly put my shoes on and went out. "Show me what you are doing," Dan instructed.
I reached up and tugged at the door prepared for my usually struggle. It slid down without a fight.
Are you kidding me!? "You did something. What did you do?" I asked Dan. His buddy who witnessed the whole episode laughed. "Julie," he said, "I'd be the first to rat him out, but he didn't do anything other than call you."
The damn thing has worked without issues ever since.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Stitches and Transmissions AKA Moving Day
I don't imagine anyone has ever described the moving process as being a pleasant one. Really, who wants to pack up all of their worldly possessions into boxes and trucks, haul them from point A to point B, only to unpack, wash and strategically place them again. Every time I move, I swear its going to be the last time.
One of the greatest pains of moving, unless you are smart and hire people to do it for you, is rounding up your friends and enlisting their help on moving day. If this were an easy task, there would be no need for bumper stickers that read, "yes this is my truck. no i won't help you move."
I tend to leave the friend wrangling to my husband. He has a multitude of friends with trucks, trailers, and muscles. Let's face it, my girlfriends have none of these things. We'd probably end up at the bottom of several wine bottles with broken belongings and no progress being made if it were left up to my girls. BUT my girls would be there.
Come moving day, it looked as though Dan and I would be doing all of the heavy lifting ourselves.We had already taken all the boxes of light stuff to the house the previous day and worked my poor pubescent nephews like borrowed mules. All that was left was the big bulky stuff. AND no one was there to help us.
I'll spare you the whining, and extend my thanks to Dan's buddy Ben who showed up and did the brunt of the work. My girl Brooke and her hubby Grant also came to our rescue late in the day. There were others who were prepared to help unload (thanks Shelby and Brenda!), but poor communication had them at our new house hours before we were there.
FINALLY, at 4:30PM we arrived at the farm. (Only about 3 hours after when I had hoped to be there). At that point, it seemed that all hell broke loose. My mom, aunt, grandmother and cousin arrived for the grand tour. Brooke was settling her kids in so that she could help unpack the kitchen. Ben was frantically trying to get back to Rockford for a previous engagement. Buster and Bella (our adorable if someone naughty boxers) were romping through the yard exploring their new digs. The stress of the day began to get to all of us.
Dan got snippy that I was giving tours rather than helping Ben get his truck unloaded so he could go back to town. Not wanting the dogs to make a break for it across the countryside, I locked them in the basement and got to work. Within minutes, Bella was following me through the back door and out into the winter night. I was perplexed by her presence, but didn't give it too much thought. With so many people in the house, I figured someone had let her out of the basement.
On my next trip in, Brooke asked if I knew the moving van (a 36 foot box van borrowed from Dan's cousin) didn't have reverse. I assured her it did, I had seen it back up the driveway of the old house myself earlier in the day. "Oh" she said, "I must have misunderstood what Grant was saying."
As I turned to leave, someone pointed out that there was blood on the floor. The only logical explanation was Bella. Knowing that she wasn't in heat, I picked up her front paw to check the pads. As I did so, blood poured across my hand as a four inch long cut opened up along her forearm. I quickly put together Ms. Houdini's escape from the basement. One pane of glass was missing from the basement door and Bella had pulled herself through this square finding a shard of glass along the way. She had torn open her leg from the elbow down. Someone handed me a wad of paper towels as my aunt went off in search of the first aid kit (thank goodness it had been unpacked on the first trip to the house). We quickly decided this was bad enough to warrant stitches and after wrapping her leg in neosporin soaked paper towels and an ace bandage, she and I were off to the emergency vet clinic half an hour away.
While the women folk were dealing with the Doggie Drama in the kitchen, the men folk were puzzling over the moving van. Brooke had, indeed, understood Grant correctly. The moving van would not go into reverse. In an attempt to "sweet talk" it, Dan eased into first, pulled forward a bit, and attempted reverse again. This time the gear shift stuck between first and reverse. It would limp forward a bit, but backing up was impossible. They quickly determined that the transmission had gone out. Furniture would have to be hauled across the drive and the front yard to get it into the house. There was no way to back into the drive. A long night lay in store for those who were unloading.
Did I mention on top of all this, I had agreed to host a family dinner for 12 people the following day? We ate carry out.
One of the greatest pains of moving, unless you are smart and hire people to do it for you, is rounding up your friends and enlisting their help on moving day. If this were an easy task, there would be no need for bumper stickers that read, "yes this is my truck. no i won't help you move."
I tend to leave the friend wrangling to my husband. He has a multitude of friends with trucks, trailers, and muscles. Let's face it, my girlfriends have none of these things. We'd probably end up at the bottom of several wine bottles with broken belongings and no progress being made if it were left up to my girls. BUT my girls would be there.
Come moving day, it looked as though Dan and I would be doing all of the heavy lifting ourselves.We had already taken all the boxes of light stuff to the house the previous day and worked my poor pubescent nephews like borrowed mules. All that was left was the big bulky stuff. AND no one was there to help us.
I'll spare you the whining, and extend my thanks to Dan's buddy Ben who showed up and did the brunt of the work. My girl Brooke and her hubby Grant also came to our rescue late in the day. There were others who were prepared to help unload (thanks Shelby and Brenda!), but poor communication had them at our new house hours before we were there.
FINALLY, at 4:30PM we arrived at the farm. (Only about 3 hours after when I had hoped to be there). At that point, it seemed that all hell broke loose. My mom, aunt, grandmother and cousin arrived for the grand tour. Brooke was settling her kids in so that she could help unpack the kitchen. Ben was frantically trying to get back to Rockford for a previous engagement. Buster and Bella (our adorable if someone naughty boxers) were romping through the yard exploring their new digs. The stress of the day began to get to all of us.
Dan got snippy that I was giving tours rather than helping Ben get his truck unloaded so he could go back to town. Not wanting the dogs to make a break for it across the countryside, I locked them in the basement and got to work. Within minutes, Bella was following me through the back door and out into the winter night. I was perplexed by her presence, but didn't give it too much thought. With so many people in the house, I figured someone had let her out of the basement.
On my next trip in, Brooke asked if I knew the moving van (a 36 foot box van borrowed from Dan's cousin) didn't have reverse. I assured her it did, I had seen it back up the driveway of the old house myself earlier in the day. "Oh" she said, "I must have misunderstood what Grant was saying."
As I turned to leave, someone pointed out that there was blood on the floor. The only logical explanation was Bella. Knowing that she wasn't in heat, I picked up her front paw to check the pads. As I did so, blood poured across my hand as a four inch long cut opened up along her forearm. I quickly put together Ms. Houdini's escape from the basement. One pane of glass was missing from the basement door and Bella had pulled herself through this square finding a shard of glass along the way. She had torn open her leg from the elbow down. Someone handed me a wad of paper towels as my aunt went off in search of the first aid kit (thank goodness it had been unpacked on the first trip to the house). We quickly decided this was bad enough to warrant stitches and after wrapping her leg in neosporin soaked paper towels and an ace bandage, she and I were off to the emergency vet clinic half an hour away.
While the women folk were dealing with the Doggie Drama in the kitchen, the men folk were puzzling over the moving van. Brooke had, indeed, understood Grant correctly. The moving van would not go into reverse. In an attempt to "sweet talk" it, Dan eased into first, pulled forward a bit, and attempted reverse again. This time the gear shift stuck between first and reverse. It would limp forward a bit, but backing up was impossible. They quickly determined that the transmission had gone out. Furniture would have to be hauled across the drive and the front yard to get it into the house. There was no way to back into the drive. A long night lay in store for those who were unloading.
Did I mention on top of all this, I had agreed to host a family dinner for 12 people the following day? We ate carry out.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
In the beginning...
So, bear with me for these first few posts please...I had contemplated the idea of recording my experiences here on the farm prior to even moving here and yet I didn't start right from the beginning. There are already three weeks of tales to tell, so these initial posts may ramble. I promise that I will get better once I am caught up and telling just one story at a time.
How did we end up on a 5 acre farmette? That may be the place to start. Dan, my husband, was raised in the small town outside of which we now live. When we were first married we considered moving out here, but decided instead to "keep up with the Joneses" and buy a bigger house in a nicer neighborhood than we could really afford. We made a go of living there happily ever after, but we just weren't cut out for the classy area we had moved to.
Our claustrophobia in suburbia was compounded by the down turn in the US economy which resulted in Dan losing his job. That, coupled with rezoning which DOUBLED our property taxes, meant that we could no longer afford the home we had purchased. Now upside down in our mortgage we made the choice to downsize and move elsewhere.
It took months of prayer and negotiation, but a farmette we had looked at hoping to buy came available for rent and became ours. Thanksgiving weekend 2010 we moved into our little farmhouse. And so the fun began...
How did we end up on a 5 acre farmette? That may be the place to start. Dan, my husband, was raised in the small town outside of which we now live. When we were first married we considered moving out here, but decided instead to "keep up with the Joneses" and buy a bigger house in a nicer neighborhood than we could really afford. We made a go of living there happily ever after, but we just weren't cut out for the classy area we had moved to.
Our claustrophobia in suburbia was compounded by the down turn in the US economy which resulted in Dan losing his job. That, coupled with rezoning which DOUBLED our property taxes, meant that we could no longer afford the home we had purchased. Now upside down in our mortgage we made the choice to downsize and move elsewhere.
It took months of prayer and negotiation, but a farmette we had looked at hoping to buy came available for rent and became ours. Thanksgiving weekend 2010 we moved into our little farmhouse. And so the fun began...
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