A clean slate

My favorite part of the school year was always the beginning. Ah, the beginning, what with the empty notebooks, organized divider system, color coordinated doo-dads and a new pack of pens. Not to mention the clear determination that THIS would be the year that I would be ahead on homework for every subject, organizing all of the notes and paperwork diligently in order to ensure low stress levels and high success levels. It was a clean slate- a new beginning. And the blind optimism never failed to show up each September.

While my family was here over these past two weeks, we turned over the garden once again and planted teensie seeds into black earth with hope of new life. This weed-free, straight-rowed piece of ground is the equivalent to my adolescent new school year. I find myself with new determination to keep the garden free of all weeds, nicely watered, safe from bugs and other pests, and pruned and tended appropriately.

A freshly planted garden is a beautiful clean slate, filled with opportunity and hope.

Of course, a large piece of me knows that, like the school year, the work quickly piles and it is near impossible to keep all of those goals listed above. Having planted and harvested three gardens, I now know that there will be weeds...probably at least one kind of bug will attack a prized crop, and the chickens will make dust baths in the middle of my bean rows. My children will tromp through my flower garden and pick the peas from the roots. Despite my best efforts, the grass will creep into the garden edges and those dandilions will make their attempts at being a volunteer salad crop. There will be mud-prints more days than not through my house, up the stairs, and the laundry will triple with soaked, dirt-laden clothing.

In short, it will be delightfully imperfect.

And no matter how frustrated I get with the process, sometimes it helps to put it in perspective. The mess, the imperfection of my gardens, only leave room for improvement the following year. The zucchini planted in my front flowerbed (instead of the garden) is testimony to the delight my kids find in gardening- a passion I would love to cultivate in their own hearts. I won't really want all of those bean plants anyway- and the chickens will remove some of those pesky bugs in the course of their bathing. And throughout, if I can keep the delight rather than the frustration, we all end up enjoying the process, giving thanks for each sun-filled day, for good ground that produces excellent tomatoes, for full canning shelves and for each other.

So, in the past I have shown you the pictures of the clean slate...and this year, since my sister planted nearly my entire garden with me, it is my intention to share with you it's progress each week- the good, the bad, and the ugly. Weeds and all. Because, in my book, a girl who spades a garden by hand and plants her sister's garden without the hope of reaping harvest, at least deserves some pictures of it along the way.

Plus, it will keep me motivated through the trials.

Here's to a new season of gardening!

Married to a Carpenter

This year, as one of our winter projects, we decided to tackle the downstairs bath. We had torn it out when we first moved in three years ago, and it has stood abandoned ever since. This was for a couple of reasons- first, we could never agree on what this bathroom should look like- or should it even be a bathroom? And secondly, with so many other projects on our list, it simply was never high enough on the ladder to warrant tackling it.

And so, for the better part of three years, the door to this room has stood closed. It is directly off the kitchen, and looked more like a back door- a way to a patio of some sort- than a bathroom door, and hence, we were rarely ever asked about the room. But this was the year we were to reclaim this room. Besides the obvious benefits of the extra bathroom, there are other reasons I am excited to have a bathroom on the first floor. First, we garden so much in the summer, that a room to wash up in straight "out of the dirt" will be fantastic. No more muddy footprints through the kitchen, up the stairs, down the hallway. Secondly, as we get set to "train" yet another young boy, I am left thinking of convenience and accessibility.

So, we set out to plan this little project of ours. When we had the layout figured- one that included a shower, toilet, and sink, we started to look at dimensions.

Do you know how difficult it can be to plan those three fixtures in a room with two doors, surrounded on all walls with windows past mid-point, and only 6ft by 6ft? It's...challenging. One of our biggest obstacles was the sizes of sinks. Even if we went with a pedestal sink, we were looking at a 25 inch depth, which we didn't really have room for. After many searches on the Internet, we started thinking outside the box. We came across this picture of an old-time wash stand. I loved it's charm, but knew we needed something with running water. It was on Ebay, and I asked Phil if he could modify it, but he was less than pleased with that idea. But it got us thinking- could we make a sink? So, we set out to do just that. We planned an early morning trip to a number of stores- starting with Target, where we bought this bowl. At Lowes, we picked up this tile hole saw for $13 and some drain parts.

We realized after we were home that we only bought one bowl. If it happened to crack or break, we were sunk. We also only bought one of the hole saws. Again, if it wore out, broke, etc, we would be facing another trip into town. But it went swimmingly. But, if I were to do this again, I would have doubled up on supplies. Once we had the bowl and the drain complete, we discussed what the finished product would look like. And here you can see why one of us is a carpenter, and the other one is clearly not. I drew the top picture, and showed it to Phil, explaining my idea and the parts to it. Then he looked at me quizzically, drew the bottom 4 illustrations, and said "I was thinking more like this." Also, let it be on the record, his drawings took as long as mine. So. Sad.

And then, the neat part comes- where he turns that drawing into furniture!
Here is the finished product- minus the drains and faucets (which will come at the next stage of progress). But, I think it turned out pretty well, and it fits our space!

Just a Finger

Sunlight drenches and soft music fills room, finally- quiet rejuvenation.
Weary eyes and blurry head strain to re plan to-do list, re-sort the day's priorities.
That dull throb and those heavy eyelids ache for rest, defying midday brilliance of spring sun.
Small boys don't understand sleeping in. Burning candles at both ends takes creative restoration these days.
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Husband has been on vacation this past week, and we have been knocking one project after another off the list. Late nights and early mornings and plan plan plan and then, a saw blade and a fingernail pull us to a halt.

We stay up late, he with pain piercing hand, me with worry and fret. We pass the hours of early morning, debating a midnight trip to the ER. Eventually the pain subsides, and husband reassures that the finger will be OK.

He laughs, "just a hangnail" as I dab blood away from and wrap gauze around 3/16 inch puncture wound in his fingernail (only a carpenter measures injuries in sixteenths.)

And as the moments pass through the night it strikes me anew- the ever present danger of his profession, the inherent perils of our lives on the farm. A split second changes lives. Such an encounter only serves as a reminder of how fortunate we are each day for the limbs we have, the hands and feet and ears and eyes and oh, what would we do without? Certainly life would be changed.

My offer of chore duty for his recuperation is met as if it were a challenge. "Oh, I it's just a finger," he assures me, pulling on those boots and winning that race to the barn.
And so he heals, still stubbornly hauling buckets of water to animals under this nurse's protest that he just rest and get better. Taking trenching shovel and post hole digger to soft ground, gingerly holding out that poor finger with the half-torn off nail, wrapped and taped. That warm day calls to him louder than that throbbing hand, and he will not be deterred.

Certainly a farmer he is becoming.

Starting Seeds

This past week has been so beautiful that we could not stay indoors. On days like these I feel like the oft-depicted weary sea-traveller, so elated with dry land that they stagger in from the salty sea and revel in the feel of sand. We winter-weary Iowans throw open windows and make sweet tea. We walk a few feet out the door and can't help but close eyes with face pointed sun-ward, inhaling spring- glorious, life-giving spring.
To my delight, when Ryan has asked if he can go play outside, I can once again say yes, rather than reasoning with him that it is really too cold. David, intent on being right behind that big brother, finds any shoe he can (dad's, Ryan's, whatever) and follows me, holding it as high as possible, saying "boot" repeatedly, until I relent, find his boots, and we all make our way outdoors.

The average last date of frost for Iowa is in mid-may- quite awhile from where we are now, with many a-frost likely in between. So, Phil built me this cold frame from a salvaged sliding glass door and some wood. This way, the seeds stay warm and protected from the cold at night, yet benefit from the sun during the day. I was delighted with the idea of starting seeds now, rather than having to wait. So, yesterday, on a particularly calm, warm, delightful day, the boys and I took off in the truck in search of gopher holes.

Yes, gopher holes. Phil had heard that, before fancy potting soil came in bags from Lowe's, one would go in search of gopher holes, the dirt from which would be extra-fluffy and *ahem* fertilized, is perfect for starting seeds. I had also read about using egg cartons for the planters, because they are biodegradable and can just be planted directly in the ground when the seedlings are ready for transplant. We have an abundance (read, 30) of these egg cartons, so it sounded like a perfect plan to me.
We planted mostly flowers in this round- zinnias, bachelor buttons, marigolds and sunflowers. Even some heritage seeds (meaning, from grandpa and grandma and uncles, passed down and saved carefully in envelopes). I love the idea of having a "frilly" garden (as my Aunt Sydney describes her beautiful garden) and this year I am determined to line those practical plants that fill tables and tummies with beauties that stir hearts and lift spirits. We also started zucchini, beans, bell peppers and peas, not so much because they need help getting started (we all know how well zucchini grow here!) but because Ryan remembered a stash of seeds from last year that we had kept in the garage, and brought them out to add to the stack. He really enjoyed this project.

Those egg cartons were nice, too, because after each one had been filled with seeds, it could be closed - protected from tiny hands until it was ready to be opened and placed in the cold frame.

Do you realize how much dirt a gopher can throw out of his abode? I had no idea. I pulled 10 gallons (those two buckets there) from one hole, and it still looks like I barely scraped the surface. Here you can also see the cold frame and the patches of old garden space that will soon be turned over once again.

We have one more door that we hope to make into another cold frame, and if that happens this year I plan on starting some seeds directly into the ground- like lettuce and spinach, and a few herbs. This type of planting suits me really well- keeping the garden dirt in the garden, and taking advantage of those first beautiful days of spring.

Now, it's a waiting game- how well does this work? Will they come up too quickly? Will spring not set in by the time the seeds need to be transplanted? This is certainly a trial run- but oh, what fun! To think, flowers!

When winter decided to come up for air, and we were graced with a few days nearing 50 degrees, we could hardly contain ourselves. Fresh air and open windows and romps in the mud beckoned, and we answered with delight.

I found Ryan's first pair of "chorin' boots" and pulled them out for David. It was a good thing, too, because boys and mud are like glue and paper...birds and song...Oreo's and milk, and it was not long before he was tap-tap-tap-splish-sploshing through the nearest puddle.

Ryan, true to form, was off on an adventure. Of course, note that he has his stick in hand- never leave home without a trusty stick.

I hope when these days are long gone, one thing I remember is how much I loved hearing David call for Ryan. He 's doing that in the picture above- pausing to call with all his might...waiting for an answer, waiting to run in the right direction.

Ryan, (stick still in-hand) has found the half-melted snow-cave his dad carved out for him only days before.

And of course, we couldn't take a trip outside without seeing the "ladies". In a few months, we hope to be calling them "mom's." We can't wait! See that one on the right? That's Millie. And she still thinks she is more human than sheep.
We still have one cow (see those horns!?). He has grown a little, too.

It has turned back cold again this week- back down to the 20's and 30's- but oh, that breath of Spring was enough to get us dreaming...and planning...and hoping for brighter, warmer days!