One by one, hoorah, hoorah!

It was April, and though the snow had left the ground, we still had fires burning each day to keep the chill from the air. As the temperatures steadily increased, we began to feel the stir of excitement for spring. For less trips outside to get wood from the stack; for days without sweatshirts and boots. And it was on the way.

But as the cool weather gave way to the warmth, another unexpected, and unwelcome guest came with it. Small. Unassuming. Daunting.

A tiny ladybug.

Scratch that. We could have dealt with one ladybug. As a child I remember being told that if you could get a ladybug to land on you, it would bring good luck. Sitting in my backyard, I still remember the day I sat for so long that I started to blow on my tiny goodluck charm - willing it away even if it DID bring good luck. A ten year old just simply cannot sit still forever. No...one bitty bug would have actually been kind of cute. But this bug had friends. Many hundreds of friends.

All at once, it seemed, they woke from their winter slumber and flew in great numbers to the warm walls of our house. Walking up and down the walls, around windows, in and out of outlets. They flew onto light fixtures and walked the rim of teacups. They. Were. Everywhere. Ryan, crawling age, was delighted at his new moving toys. We vacuumed and cleaned and dusted. We asked them politely to leave and when that didn't work, threatened to turn them into little art collages in place of the macaroni. When they called our bluff we threw tiny tantrums and begged them to go.But still they stayed.

During this same week, we were busy preparing for guests - four of our friends from Washington were coming and we wanted to give them rest, a respite from their jobs and the fast paced lives they lead. So, we were fixing up the bedrooms upstairs. Painting...caulking...taking up carpet. (Our new mantra, it seemed.)

And one week after the barrage of insects had started, our friends arrived. I can look back now and laugh, but what a shock it must have been to arrive to a house full of ladybeetles! (Iowa? Ohm, it was...buggy.) Not being the kind of people to relax (even when you tell them to), soon after they settled in, they each took on some household task. Michael armed himself with the vacuum- insect hunting. I do not exaggerate when I tell you that he spent hours rounding up the pests- keeping count. Over 800 in one day. He would clear a room, and come back twenty minutes later only to begin again. (He's an engineer, an analytical type. That's the only explanation I can give for his methodical counting.)

Thankfully, despite the bugs we were able to really enjoy our time together. We had the vacuuming routine, and as the numbers marched in, we marched them back out.

The day before they went home, we went to town to run some errands. While at the hardware store, the guys happened to find an insect killer that was house safe.(Why we did not do this sooner, I do not know.) Arriving home tired from our shopping trip, we all sat down to rest. Phil took the spray upstairs to the worst (and thankfully unoccupied) room bug hotel to test it out. Ten minutes later, he flew down the stairs "Hey! Come look at this!"

We all ran up the stairs to a room where hundreds of ladybugs lay dead on the floor. Tifani laughed "YES! The wicked witch is dead!" Tycen grabbed the bottle and ran to all the windows, spritzing the corners. We were all relieved to put a stop to the crawling intruders.

But a funny thing happened. Two days after they left, there were no more ladybugs to be seen. None dead on the floor. None crawling on the ceiling. We joked that maybe it had been a plague... an odd phenomenon at the least.

And the last four months have been delightfully ladybug-free.

Last week we had a cold snap - temperatures dropped down to the fifties in the daytime. I saw my first ladybug in four months crawling in that nice, warm front room on the wall next to the window. A chill ran up my spine. I searched tentatively for more, and sure enough, his friends were right behind him- lemming style. They had been in the fields, and were now looking for a good place to winter. It had not been a plague, merely a routine.

And though we have visitors on the horizon (just days away) I am not worried. We have preventive ammunition this time. We bought the gallon-sized version of our magic potion and sprayed nearly the entire outside of the house. Now, we watch them fly up to the house, scurry around to find a nice, dark crevice to crawl through and BAM! The deflector shield (reminiscent of star trek) takes them down! (I am excited about my bug spray.)

No, my small friend, you won't winter here this year. I don't care if you bring good luck or not. And I mean it about that macaroni thing.

Fall begins

The fields are turning shades of brown and tan, and the cooler temperatures are setting in. A few fields around here have already been harvested I am sure most of you know this, but I didn't - so I will explain.

There are three types of corn- seed corn, sweet corn, and field corn. Sweet corn is picked when it is ripe and ready to eat fresh. You see it in the grocery stores and farmers markets. Seed corn is corn that is planted specifically for next year's crop preparation. They "detassel" most of the fields to ensure they are pollenated correctly. And field corn is what most of the state is made out of. It takes less care and maintenance than sweet corn because critters don't really like it, and if you tried to eat it you would be sorely dissappointed. It goes to things like Ethanol production, corn syrup and corn starch, and probably a million other things (just read the back of your food labels sometime...) They let it grow and ripen and then overripen and then dry out. When it is harvested the stalks are so dry the are a pale tan. Soybeans (what most farmers rotate with corn) are also dried before they are harvested.

Therefore, in the spring the fields are black with turned dirt for the harvest, the summer brings out a lush green as the fields grow, and then you can see fall first in the fields, as they turn color much like leafy trees do - ripening and drying at different times. Beautiful shades of reds and golds make the landscape into a beautiful patchwork. I thought that once this "drying out period" happened, it would be less enjoyable to look at the scenery, but instead I think it is probably more beautiful. You can't really go anywhere without being reminded of the season as a result.

I know the farmers are gearing up for harvest because I overheard two men saying "those roads are going to be treacherous until mid-November, now that harvest is beginning..." (I'm thinking, have you SEEN Seattle rush hour?). It's also evidenced by the fact that we have not had a real visit with our farmer friends for a few weeks; the "stop in's" lasting only a few minutes here and there. Yesterday I talked with the wife of a local farmer. She mentioned that if the rain will hold off, they will start harvesting this week, and be finished by Halloween. Between now and then she doesn't expect to see him much, because just like planting, they work day and night to complete the harvest.

Yesterday they cleared the field right in front of us. They had three huge combines going and took it all down in an afternoon. It looks so bare and is a constant reminder that cooler weather is on the way. There are still hints of green in a few of the other surrounding fields, and I have joked that I might just call up the people who farm them and ask if they would put off harvest for a few more weeks...just so I can continue to admire the landscape. It sounds reasonable to me.

(I took the top picture from the roof of our house a few days ago. The second picture was from early August, when the temperatures were hot and the fields were tall and green. The last one is of the combine running through the field in front of our house, harvesting soybeans.)

Conversation with a farmer

Farmer Mike: So, this here neighbor invites me to an "Old guy's" group over in Story city.
Me: Oh yeah? That's neat!
Farmer Mike: Well, kind of. I mean, I went once. These old guys sit around and drink coffee, eat for 20 minutes, and then just leave!
Me: Food doesn't sound so bad...and coffee, that's good, too.
Farmer Mike: Here's the thing- they don't even talk about anything good. They just discuss who died last month. It's all business.
Me: Really?
Farmer Mike: And hey, I told the guy, if I'm going to drive all the way in to town for some "old guy's" club, at least let me tell some tall tales and lies!
Me: Oh sure...that's understandable...

Refined by the fire

Dear brothers and sisters,* when troubles come your way, consider it an opportunity for great joy. For you know that when your faith is tested, your endurance has a chance to grow. So let it grow, for when your endurance is fully developed, you will be perfect and complete, needing nothing. James 1:1-4

I used to loathe our house.

Phil bought our house without me ever stepping foot in it. I was working, and so he had to fly back on his own and decide if this house was going to work. Being a remodeler, and a carpenter, the house looked ilke a lot of work, but it had "good bones" he said. We had been married two years, and had worked on our first house together. I was confident in his decision making skills...but I had no idea he could be so bold.

It was the last day of November when we first looked at the house we were to purchase the next day. It was cold and windy and the road to the house seemed like it was the longest road in the world. It was 1 hour from our Uncle's house, where we were staying - forever away from civilization. We stepped out of the car and our feet crunched on the newly fallen snow. The trees were great masses of sticks and the flowerbeds were full of dead weeds. The outside of the house was mostly brick, but as I walked up to the house I could see that what paint was there, was wearing away with the weather.

As we walked through the house, a feeling of dread came over me. We had to buy this house. This was now home. The cracked walls and the peeling paint. The worn green/brown shag carpeting. The white, rusted metal cabinets in the kitchen. I had never seen something needing so much work, let alone lived in such a place.

I held my 7 month, just barely crawling child in my arms, terrified. Everywhere I looked I saw walls that needed to be repaired and replaced. There was no way I could live here. And yet we were under contract to buy it the next morning. Not to mention the semi-trailer full of furnishings that had come over snowy ground to be there. Had it been spring, I could have hopped in that truck and just headed home. But the roads were just too treacherous now.

I said nothing as we walked because I was afraid of what would come out of my mouth. My in-laws called and wanted to meet up with us. "Great!" I thought, THEY will talk some sense into my husband.

As they walked through the house, they said nothing. I wanted them to yell and scream and refuse to let us buy the house. But they didn't. Phil and his dad walked through the upstairs again and I sat with my mom-in-law in the middle of the living room floor, crying. "Why would God abandon me like this?" I asked through tears. Being ever so wonderful, she just replied, "He hasn't. This might be difficult, but He is still here, walking with you three."

That night at dinner, I was able to get everyone in a discussion about not buying the house. I was feeling pretty good about this. I had no idea where we would put al of our things or where we would live, but the great thing is we were discussing NOT buying the house. But my father in law stopped the discussion. "The fact is, you guys are under contract to buy it tomorrow. Now, the question is, where do we go from here? How can we get this house ready for you guys?" While I hated that statement, it was true. And it turned our thoughts from excape to action.

Over the next two weeks, Ryan and I stayed at Phil's uncle's house while parents, uncles, aunts, and even grandparents worked on the house. (We kept Ryan and me home because I was nursing, and we didn't need Ryan exposed to any lead.) They patched and painted and removed carpet. They worked through most of the downstairs - the living room, front room, and den. When we finally decided that it was safe for Ryan and I to be out there, I decided I had better come to grips with the house. We were still not ready to move in, but with Phil now working and his parents visiting relatives, it was up to me to finish preparing.

As I drove out to the house that first day, I had grand plans of what I was going to accomplish. I dreamed of fully-furnished rooms and waxed floors. I dreamed of unpacking kitchenwares and making a home.

But when I opened the kitchen door to come in the house, the dread returned full force. I just hated it all. I turned to leave. I would come back when there were people to help...noise in the empty home to soothe my nerves.

But as I settled into my warm car, my conscience held me still. Just one project, I told myself. I forced my feet to walk back inside. I got out the wax, and started to wax the front room. I put Ryan in a playpen to take a nap, and just started to work, one side to the other. And I expected to have to fight myself to stay there, just through this project. But a funny thing happened. As I worked that floor, so focused and small as it was, I started to enjoy myself. To see beauty come from something small I had done. When I allowed myself a break, I turned to look out the window. Two walls of that room are covered with windows, and I took in a deep breath as I surveyed the white landscape. It really was beautiful. And serene. There was something calming about the quiet and the solitude. I could see for miles. (I have since found myself drawn to that front room many times- it was so comforting to look out at the land- already perfect without any "projects".) While waxing that floor, a stirring inside my heart made me feel just a bit more at home. I could stand back at my work and think "yes, that was worth it."

And this past 10 months has been that way for me so many times. I will look at a room or a closet and think "I just can't DO this". But when I force myself to do one small thing, and then another, before I know it, I have a beautiful landscape.

My house has been a lot of work. When we first moved here I avoided inviting people over, from embarrassment, and fear. As I walk through my house now, I can do so with pride. Each room slowly repaired and restored with elbow grease and firm resolve. But along the way, something inside me has happened, unexpectedly. Over these past 10 months. I, too, have been toughened...refined. When I see other people's homes with as much work as mine once had, I can joyfully dream with them- help inspire them to what COULD be rather than what is. And they still have to walk it. They still need the paint and the scrapers and the patch compound. Its amazing to me how something as seemingly simple as a house can be refining for someone - that it can teach discipline and endurance and also the frivolity of possessions.

There are still so many things to do - there is still red carpeting in the bathroom and the outside still needs to be painted...but I see it differently now. I can see the potential underneath that my husband saw that first time he walked through the house. Before we came, a friend showed excitement for our new adventure, assuring us that if God had not let us down yet, he was not about to do so now. Looking back on that first day, that feeling of abandonment seems so distant to me now. I can see where God has stood by us, giving us friends and support and a beautiful home.

And my house continually grows on me. Last night we had people over for a fall dinner. We roasted turkey, dug potatoes from our garden, picked a squash, and made an apple pie. We sat around a table in my dining room, dark with reds and golds. The kids ran around and played games and the adults talked. It was the beautiful clatter of family and friends. It was home. And after, we collapsed into the chairs and surveyed the landscape - strewn with dishes and toys - and it was nice - like the snow, serene and quiet, silence resonating throughout.

Monkey

Ryan loves other kids. Mostly, I think, because he learns so much from them (how to get more of this or that, how to "cooerce" parents, new tricks to try and new things to explore, to name a few). So, when we are out and about, if there are other kids around, those little bright blue eyes soak up everything from those kids. Most recently, we were at the library and there was a small girl- just over 1 - who was a "climber". Ryan has never been a climber. The only things I need to worry about "baby proofing" are things he can get when standing on the floor (which is actually quite a lot of things, believe it or not). He watched this girl, enthralled, for just over 10 minutes before we left.

Naturally, when we got home, he decided to try some of this girl's strategy. It's like a whole new world has been opened up to him. From ten minutes in the library, he realized that he does not have to view the world from two feet tall any longer! There are much higher vantage points - "the better to see you with, mom!" he assures me with his squeals. The only good thing is that he is not very adept at it yet. Since he has never been a climber, and does not yet have the necessary climbing skillset, it usually manifests itself in the child sprawling his arms over the object (couch, chair, etc) lifting a leg, and giving little grunts as if that will help him fly up onto it.

But, he is starting to realize not everything is out of his reach. That's right, clean clothes baskets and boxes of apples are definitely within said climbing range. Yesterday, in fact, I walked into the living room, and noticed Ryan was a foot taller. A closer look revealed Ryan, doing a little "victory dance" on the top of my sewing basket. Hmm. Maybe we won't be visiting other children much, after all.

Of Funnel Cakes and Mini Cows

The Iowa State fair is one of the largest in the country. It pulls in over one million visitors each year and as been going on since 1854. You can purchase over 20 food items on a stick there. I had been pretty excited to see it, simply because of all the hype surrounding it. Plus, there were to be butter sculptures of a cow and Superman. The cow, well, because they do a cow every year, apparently, and Superman, because the latest Bulletproof man is an Iowa native. Only in the midwest could you find a lifesize cow fashioned entirely of butter. How could I miss such an event?

For a month or so I had looked forward to this fair. When we found out that Phil was going to be putting in a few days of work at the booth for RVP1875 (he was demonstrating the "old" ways of furniture making) I was very excited. We had another excuse to go.

There was a twist- however. The original "Butter Cow Lady" would not be sculpting this year. No, her apprentice of 15 years, a 29 year old Iowa native, would be at the helm of the ship this year- on her own for the first time. Concerning? Yes. But a deal breaker? No.

After winding our way through traffic and the maze of rides and games we found ourselves headed toward the many exhibition buildings. There were multiple livestock barns - one for attle, one for pigs, another for sheep and goats. There were four or five buildings dedicated to crafts, tradesmen, and contests. It was quite the production. Upon our entry to the Agriculture building (the butter cow building), we saw fifty or so flowers lined up. Though all were beautiful, they had been judged and ribboned accordingly. There were squash and pumpkins and a hundred other produce items with their rating pinned for all to see. This was the butter cow barn, however, and my eyes searched for this exhibit more than any other.

I suppose it can be chalked up to media hype. For all I knew listening to the ads this cow had its own building, and Superman himself was going to stand next to his creamy-image admiring the likeness. (On a side note, can you imagine having someone carve your likeness out of butter for the one million fair visitors to gawk at?) I envisioned the woman painstakingly working with her chisels as onlookers oohed and ahhed at her skill and patience. The cow, three times the bulk of a living heifer would be so real you could almost hear it's "moo."

Alas, as I walked around the building there were a scant three windows, with the sculptures already completed, unspectacularly set for the viewing. Don't get me wrong, it was very cool to see the butter all worked up in the shape of a cow or Superman. But the cow's head was a little small. And Superman was a bit short. I snapped my picture in between the crowds closing in to see the projects that took a week and over 55o pounds of butter to complete. But, not to be dismayed by the fact that it was "only" made out of butter and didn't really dance or sing, one had to be pretty impressed that the woman actually scuplted something so large and lifelike out of the stuff. Besides, it has been an Iowa fair tradition since 1911!

We decided that we should keep the "newness" alive and buy a funnel cake. Neither of us had ever had one, and you only see those at the fair. For a mere $5 we purchased the fried sweet treat (really though, a large, prettily-shaped donut) and enjoyed the ongoing feeling of new endeavors. We did, however, pass on the porkchop-on-a-stick and the giant roasted turkey leg.

All in all, the fair was huge, but it was not so abnormal. Although we did see abnormal things, like a 3000 pound cow as well as a dwarf cow (those are REALLY neat, by the way). We spent the day walking through throngs of people and felt the frenzie of the fair. And then, we retreated to our car, and drove the hour and a half to the country, where things were quiet once again, and the chirping of the crickets faded our memories of the swarms of people. Ahh, it was good to be home.

What year is this?

To perpetuate the notion that we might actually have moved in with the Amish, Phil has just completed a two-wheeled cart. That's right. It's not motorized...and it's pulled by horses. No, we didn't decide to move in with the our non-electric friends; he built it for a customer who will be giving horse-drawn wagon rides to children with disabilities.

He has been sub-contracting with RVP-1875- a company that does all of its woodworking as if it were still 1875. This means that they use only hand tools (save for one hand-powered rip saw), fell their own trees, and even make homemade stains and finishes. This was the first piece that he was asked to make for this company, and it turned out to be a challenging one. For this piece, though, he was allowed to use some power tools (thankfully, because the 300 some bolts would have been a bit of a chore with a hand powered drill!).

Nonetheless, it has been a really neat project. He had to do quite a bit of research (you know, he doesn't exactly build handicap-accessible wagons every day) but the end result turned out beautifully.

The woodworkers out there will appreciate hand jointery neccessary for a piece like this - (a dovetail lap joint connecting two sides flared at 10 and 25 degrees. The piece de resistance is a wedged through-tenon holding it all together.) The wood-illiterate wife in me says "wha?". But that's what happens when you don't use things like nails to hold the wood together. You have to be a bit creative.

His next piece is a sideboard - pictures to come.

The great thing about working with this company is that he is using his own shop for building these pieces. When we first started working with them, I thought "Great! All of this extra time to work on my house!" and it has turned out to be "Wow, look at your well-furnished shop..." With this company, for example, he will need to build a special bench- one that can be used with hand planes and such. All of his other (very well organized) benches are for "different purposes." It's not that I'm jealous or anything (Oh, to have a kitchen so well put together!) but then, my husband would remind me (gently) that it has been awhile since our kitchen made us any money...