The Rains Came

and we were Blessed.

No More Lollygagging

Though the weather doesn't suit me I have to work.  That's a self-appointed half to not a required have to. It was only 94F when I came in.  I am ashamed.

I have bored you with all my tree clipping, snake finding, brush pile building for weeks.  I know you are tired of it but so am I.  The last few feet remain in my yard and then on to Marcy's outbuildings, flowerbeds, fence clearing, and on and on.

Before

during as Lil keeps her snake eyes on

and after.

Another six feet on the side that faces the road and I will be through!  Back where I began.  As badly as we need rain I am glad I was able to complete all this making it easier to mow closely with less trimming.  Peeking around the corner it doesn't look too bad.  Will knock that out in no time but there are two stumps on this side that are barring all attempts at elimination.

Afterword:  Finished, done, complete, wrapped up in this yard...On to the next.

Evidence of Snake Occupancy

source

That's right...snake poop!!!!  Marcy spotted it under the edge of the old house.  I took no picture.  I was somewhat disbelieving and had to dig in it with a stick.  It looked like the above picture.

The snake I almost mowed that got away is still feeding in the area.  I notice my frog population is decreasing so I suppose he will stay until the population is decimated.

I have my snake eyes on as I carefully trim around the old house.  I always call the dogs to ask them "What is it?"  This is their clue to look for snakes.  Lil lays quietly at the entrance of the lean to kitchen.  I feel safe as I trim and cut.  I am not stupid though and take no chances.  We are on Copperhead alert.

The snake saga continues.  I truly think I will triumph.  I am known to be very determined.

Dad and Mom

Daddy was
My Irish sunshine
From Dust Bowl
And
The Great Depression
From hunger
And hard work
He grew
Into a soldier
I need no reminder of the cost
Husband, father
And oh, so much more

Parents gone while I live
in an old house
in the very heart of things
In the house they built
Midst the ashes and memories
of other old houses
The very heart of them lives
I like to say I have Dad's eyes
I hope I have their zest for living
I know I have their love of the land
And pray I have their heart

For dVerse~Poets Pub

Progress

is sometimes slow

when you're old.

I've picked up fallen limbs.

Old wallpaper still clings

but some ancient sheet rock has fallen

in the old house.

I see floor!!!!

I fill the room I just cleaned as I empty the room with the falling floor.  The wooden cook stove is almost hidden again along with the cream separator.  We are a bookish family.  I just hope this floor doesn't drop from the weight before I get the other fixed.

My sister always says, Gotta muddy the water before the stream runs clear.  Well, I am muddying the water and it's not clear yet.

I'm closer to finished than I was and look forward to making this a tiny cozy place for hard times. 

Who Has Stolen My Time?

It's October.  I'm not through with spring's work!  I continue to thin, sort, stack and clean the old house.  I have the second room finished and now must finish the slanted room so I can repair that floor.

I have deleted another pile and discovered treasures.  I have pulled enough lumber from under the old house to be able to repair, I hope, the board and batting outside.

Here's a shot of my structural problem with this third room.  The floor has simply dropped from the side beam support.  I am hoping beyond hope I'll be able to use a floor jack and return it to its original position. I've noticed they've sistered some floor joists. I won't know until I get this room empty.  If I work hard maybe a three day job. Trouble is I can't find three whole days anywhere.

I'm working myself to the bone.  I may even be dehydrated and delusional because I thought this find needed to be documented. It's a pack rat just like me.

I sidetracked on a rock hunt and found these colorful beauties.  Notice the awesome fossil in the lower rock.

Made my day with discovery of iron ore, few and far between, either from a meteorite or a volcanic rock.  Without a degree in geology or rocktopgraphy (I know, not a word, but I like the sound of it) I'll just have to guess.

Treasures Found

Who said wall paper sample books have no use?

Blue enamel bed pan and a gun holster 

Red neck potty chair...take lid off and use for dining room chair or remove linoleum and slide a bucket underneath for an instant portable potty.

washboard

My personal favorite...a box of rocks.

I come by my love of rocks naturally. 

 Wall art from cut metal cans, wire and a button

Cast iron, copper and the politically incorrect

cowboys and Indians with an astronaut

A tiny hand carved cage for something

includes a nest box and a ceramic water container

Who the heck is this??

If you know, please tell me.

That's all the news I have today.

Update on more treasures next week

if the Lord's willing and the creeks don't rise.

I Worked

in the old house.

On a farm multiple buildings always means something needs repairing, sorting, or improving. This house was where my sister was born and where two siblings were born that we never knew. 

Thanks to varmints and dogs chasing said varmints there is some disarray inside this small three room house where three generations have stayed at different times.  

The death of Mom, the watching of Dad until his death, the ice storms, the tornado, and health and life in general has kept me from doing a proper job keeping the outbuildings in order.

One year the chickens laid eggs in the attic. The dogs have continued to search and seize any trespassers that entered the old home.

After the tornado the loose tin caused some water damage.  The roof was repaired but water has caused a floor joist to fall.  Know this is a box construction house.  No two by's.  No four by's but a simple floor joist system and roof rafters with board and batting connecting the two.  Paper and cloth was used for insulation if you can even call it that.

Primarily used for storage I have my work cut out for me. I am slowly sorting things that have ruined from over sixty years of storage, saving what I can and repairing as I go.

One room is on a slant so I slide in, grab a box and run uphill to get it to level floor and repeat and repeat. I sort and stack in a solid room.

I sort, reduce, protect and stack.  I would carry a sack to my throw a way pile while keeping the "good" stuff.  When I needed air I would carry a box of bottles from my other project and place it in the lean-to kitchen.  A thousand steps, a million steps....maybe more.  Until the muscle cramps and promise of rain stopped me.

An old wringer washer

a wood cook stove

A complete school desk from a one room school house

I've written how two small houses were pulled up the creek by horses and a sled joined by a common roof. A lean-to kitchen was added.  This was in the early thirties so there is no way to tell how old the house or houses really are.

  

I remember being warm in winter with no insulation.  I remember the smell and taste of Mom's biscuits.  I remember Dad setting us out during the first snowy morning to run around the house to keep our feet warm all winter. .I remember hauling water from the same spring we use today. I remember the weight of all the quilts in winter and the cool breezes of summer. I remember the love.

In this house with each box and bag, I remember.  Yes, I remember.  This is the reason I work in this old house...to save those memories and perhaps, just maybe, make more.

Just in case you were worried, I have not lost my marbles.  In fact I may possibly have five or six generations of marbles, so I'm in good shape.

The Old House Still Stood

smothered in the fog of a cold winter morning.  It was vacant and stood in my memories as long as the mountains around it.

Approaching carefully, knowing this ramshackle old house was empty, I stepped up and through the open door.

The kitchen lean-to was filled with old kitchen things and an antique wood cook stove…I smelled coffee.

Embarrassed by my trespassing, I  turned to leave when a voice, as ancient and rusty as the stove, spoke from the other room.

“Sit a spell”, the  voice said, “Pull up a chair” as he pointed to an old hickory cane bottomed chair. 
Handing me a tin cup, full of hot coffee, he spoke again, “Black’s all I got, but you’re welcome to a cup.”

I sat, I sipped, as the coffee made my taste buds dance, I waited for him to speak again.

The rocking chair creaked as he rocked, slowly. I waited for him to speak, to shout about my intrusion, to say something to absolve me of my guilt.

“The weather’s turning”, he mentioned casually as if I were a long time friend.  “How’s the coffee?” he enquired.  “I like a touch of chicory, takes me back to a time when we didn’t have coffee.”

Speechless, I nodded in agreement as he rocked and rocked, always keeping his cup balanced, never losing his rhythm.

Comfortable enough to face him, Irish Blue eyes looked straight through me, filled with nothing but kindness and welcoming.  The craggy, yet boyish, face was surrounded by blonde hair turned older.  The face sported a full, thick beard as elegant as Santa’s.

Age was not a question, nor did it seem to matter.  Speaking again in that ancient voice, he asked, “Need me to warm your cup, Ma’am?” 

I offered my cup for topping off as he spoke again.  “I was born here, in that very room.  Nineteen seventeen was a long time ago.”

My voice was not needed, only my presence.

Bit by bit, he talked as if there was nothing but time.  I listened, I learned and was mesmerized by his gentle voice telling of his youth and his experiences through the years.  I could only listen.

The rain began to fall, pinging on the tin roof. I sat, he rocked.

Somehow, I dozed, waking with a start, I looked around for the gentleman I had visited with for hours.

Gone, except for the coffee cup, I called out his name.  No answer.

The rocking chair was dusty, the wood stove was cold and the open door remained open.

I think of this often as my walk takes me by the cabin.  I smell no coffee and the house remains the same.

I check, time to time, for him, but he’s never there. I only have that afternoon, in the rain, and the coffee cup as I continue to search for Chicory growing wild.

Wondering...

Do I talk about how the fog enveloped the valley on my drive to work yesterday, making it look prehistoric or about how beautiful the moon was before full darkness?

Shall I talk of wandering the farm and finding a perfect knife or tell of finding this perfect arrowhead in my yard?

Do I speak of the beauty in the ordinary things around me, that sometimes go unnoticed until the light is right?

Do I share a tale of the old homestead and the memories of my ancestor's and my life here?

I leave you with these questions...

and proof of spring.

Snowy Favorites

Happy Valentine's Day!