Tearing Down the Deck

There are two things I can think of that I'll miss about living in the trailer: the thunder of the rain on the roof and the back porch-deck.

There was something about sitting beneath the cover of the deck, the shade deepened by the line of trees... When the AC unit wasn't on, it was the epitome of peace.

I had to tear it down last week.

It took me two solid days with the hammers and crow-bars and reciprocating saw.

 Above is one last look at the deck, railing down, ready to go.

 The end of day one. It took a while to get in the groove, but I managed to get half the decking up, and stacked the boards in the shop to use in the tree house / deer stand we are going to build once we are in the house.

Starting the second day was hard. Not only was I a little tired and sore from the day before, but I hit a patch of emotional uncertainty. I guess it's easy to let go of comfort if you know that something more comfortable is ready for you to move on to. But here I was tearing down the ONE THING I loved about the trailer with nothing comparable to replace it, and the golden carrot of moving into the house still seemed so far away. Not to mention that I was destroying the main path in and out of the trailer. Sure, we have another door we use sometimes, but when the afternoon sun hits, the front doorknob is blazing hot. You have to gather courage to use it. So all of a sudden, the doubt hit me: what if I can't make this door usable again? It felt like I was about to throw us into a deeper form of misery.

 Thankfully, I have a bit more tenacity and strength than I give myself credit for, and by the end of day 2, I had slapped together a small landing, and moved the stairs, giving us back use of the door and providing enough room for the trencher to come through when the stairs are moved out of the way.

 We had plans to do the trenching this weekend, but with a high possibility of rain in the forecast, Chris opted to work on the duct in the house, instead. I caught up on some laundry and other chores.

Deep Thoughts With Finley

She was swinging in the hammock when this popped out of her mouth:
"Mom, how do people know God is real and not just something that somebody made up?"

I heard the question from my almost-10-year-old daughter, and for a minute, thought my brain might explode.

I don't recall ever beginning to think that question when I was her age.

After I recovered from that jolt in time (Did you feel it on Saturday morning?), I fumbled out something about the origins of the universe (Forget the debate over evolution. Where did this energy and matter come from?) and the mystery of life itself.

And then I said something like this, "Say you have a friend at school who has never met me. How does she know I'm real? You talk about me all the time, but maybe you are just making things up about me. Maybe you just want a mom so badly that you tell stories about having one so that people think you do."

Boom. The look on her face was priceless. It said something like, "Have you lost your mind?" Well, yes, Finley, I have. Many times. And then I find it again, try to make sure the synapses are working sufficiently, and move on in life until I lose it again.

"See, you know I'm real because you know me. You have a relationship with me. I talk to you and have done things for you that tell you I love you." I went on to say that because of her experience with me, if I made her breakfast in the morning and left it on the table for her, she would know I made it for her when she got up even if I wasn't right there with her at the moment. I started to tell her about some of the times God showed me that he was real, and how he talks to me sometimes... when Joe and Zivah walked outside.

"Is he talking to you right now?!" Joe asked, getting right up in my face, looking for any sign that I was hearing something he wasn't.

"No," I said. And from there the conversation with the kids died out.
The one in my head, however...

You see, I am a doubting Thomas. I am one of those that need to see and feel the scars. In spite of the conviction of my youth, I am not sure that I would believe in the God that I do if it weren't for the experiences that I've had.

It is interesting. People talk about faith. They quote Hebrews 11:1. "Faith is the assurance of things hope for..." A trust that things you don't have proof for are or will be. Some would say that this implies that faith is a blind belief. But this really isn't the case, is it? Faith is based on relationship.

When I was young. I was surrounded by sincere people. My parents made it a point not to lie to me. They never pretended that Santa was real. If these were people whom I trusted, why should I doubt God or the Chritianity they believed in? And so in this faith I grew and then experienced for myself.

But my faith doesn't silence all the questions I have:

What if God had never proven himself to me? Why should I have continued to believe?

What about people of other faiths? Do they experience God? If they are having legitimate experiences, what does that mean for my Christian faith?

Do some people never have spiritual experiences, or is it that they just don't recognize them?
If some people don't, why?

And on and on it goes, this conversation in my head...

2014's Hatchlings

A few days ago, I walked outside and noticed Rockstar was out of the coop where she had been sitting on a clutch of eggs. I went over to check on her, and found four, little fluff-balls dozing in the grass next to her. She had hatched out two black and two multi-colored babies.

 That got me wondering about Isadora. I couldn't remember exactly when she started sitting, but figured her eggs should be hatching soon as well. Sure enough, a day or two later, they did. She ended up with two yellow & orange chicks, one brown, striped chick, and a gray. Although I can tell which kind of hen laid three of the eggs>chicks, but I am not sure where the gray one came from. It will be fun to see what it looks like after its feathers come in.

Notice the chick poking out of the feathers on Isadora's back.

I could sit around the coops all day watching the new, little chickens. Unfortunately there are other things I have to do.

Living in a Children's Book

If you have never read The Cow Went Over the Mountain, written by Jeanette Krinsley and illustrated by Feodor Rojankovsky (one of my all-time favorite illustrators), just go ahead and order yourself a copy now. I don't care if you are over nine years old and children never frequent your home, there is something about that book that could bring a splash of joy and beauty into anyone's day.

Every once in a while, I am wandering out back behind the house, catch a glimpse of the calves meandering through the thick grass and clover, and almost expect to find a frog and a pig rolling around next to the calves, laughing because the grass is so munchy and lush right here at home.

 Isadora, who I thought had abandoned a clutch of eggs over a month ago, decided to give it another shot and has been on this nest for a while now. Since I didn't notice exactly when she settled in, I am not sure when the eggs are due to hatch. When I check on her every day, I have been listening anxiously for the telltale peeps of chicks.

Not too long ago, I noticed Rockstar, another one of our hens, limping around the farm. I don't know if she pulled a muscle in some chicken calisthenics, or if some predator got a hold of her briefly, but I decided to keep her locked up while she recovered from the injury. With nothing else to do, she got broody, and has been sitting on some eggs as well. The excitement for all these potential babies (that I don't have to care for!) is growing daily.

On a sadder note, Lizzy has gone missing and, although no trace of feathers have been found, is presumed to have become fodder for some predator. Chris is especially feeling the loss.

My tomatoes are doing well in spite my my neglect. The rest of the garden remains unplanted. Aside from the focus on the house, the lack of fencing and daily rains have been quite the deterrent. Even if we don't get around to planting Finley's eggplant seeds this year, I really do need to get that fence up. I may never forgive myself if I allow the chickens access to any ripe tomatoes.

 At least the girls' trough garden is doing well. I had them harvest their radishes last week, but failed to tell them to only pull the ones that looked big. As a result, there were only a handful of edible radishes, and quite a few tiny red nubs.

 And Zivah has finally lost her first tooth. The tooth fairy's wife set an alarm this time so that the tooth fairy would not forget his duties. Dressed in pink wings and tiara, he tried to sneak into the kids' bedroom, but was discovered. From here on out, the tooth fairy is determined to be more cautious.

Summer Begins

The kids have been out of school for almost two weeks now, and there is one thing I am thankful for.

 The pool.

Honestly, having an above-ground pool is not something I would prefer. There is nothing beautiful about them.  It kills any sense of aesthetic I had for our new back yard, and I see it as a big, ugly blight I am already looking forward to getting rid of someday. But for now, there are some good reasons to be glad we have it. There is nothing like a pool to keep the kids happy for long stretches of time. They (we) are getting some good exercise. They are not so anxious to be snacking on something all the time. And it has worn them out enough that Z has been sleeping in until 7  instead of the dreaded 6 a.m. she had been waking at.

As I watch the kids swim, I have been sweating it out on the deck, trying to get it sealed.

Sealing the deck is one of those things I hardly want to spend time on, since it doesn't seem necessary to achieve the prime goal of moving into the new house, but it (kind of) is. It would be wise to stain it before we moved the patio furniture from the trailer porch to the deck. And the patio furniture needs to be moved before we can tear down the porch. The porch needs to be torn down before we can dig the trench for the main electrical line to the house. We can't move in until we have electricity to the house. So sealing the deck, it is.

Once the deck is sealed and the patio furniture moved, there isn't a lot I can do while keeping an eye on the kids in the water, so if anyone wants to come sit in the shade and drink mint juleps (or something) with me, feel free to come on over.

In other news, Finley was standing out side in her bare feet when something stung or bit her. I didn't pay much attention to the fact until two days later, when she woke up with her foot looking like this:

The picture doesn't do it justice, but the underside was all swollen with a raised line extending from the sting site up through the arch of her foot. She is now on antibiotics that make her more sensitive to the sun. (Just what she needs with the new pool.)