Home Improvement

For the past three years I've been devouring books, magazines, websites, and conversations to aid me in designing my dream home – a cabin-y cottage equipped to be our family’s homestead hub.  Until we’re ready to build, Weldon and I are living in a glorified garage.  It sounds a bit off kilter, but I assure you, our 1,200 square-foot shop building is an absolutely wonderful home…even with plywood walls, a concrete floor, metal ceilings, and a trailer-sized roll-up door.  Recently, it began to dawn on me that I've spent so much effort defining my future ideal that I haven’t given full attention to my current dwelling.  So, having made peace with staying where we are for at least another two years, I set out last week to look at our space with fresh eyes and renewed vigor.  Saturday’s grand finale was a John Deere tractor rolling toward my door with a piano dangling from its pallet forks.  Yes, you read that right.  All I can say is, “It was a good week.” 

Making a List, Checking it Twice

I’m a little hesitant to post this.  One of my sisters (whose calming presence and laid-back personality make

her a phenomenal massage therapist and an ideal confidant) unleashes her otherwise non-existent fury when “a certain holiday” unfairly takes the stage before Thanksgiving has been given proper festivity.  She mandates that carols, themed movies, and décor remain under wraps until after the pumpkins and cranberries take their bow in the limelight.  I've chosen to acquiesce to her demands for two reasons: she’s my older sister and I can’t afford to pay for massages.  Truly, I agree with the notion that Thanksgiving is an amiable holiday, full of noble sentiment and historical value. I’m very much looking forward to the entire turkey-topped season.  I also agree that the “other major holiday soon to come” has greedily begun chomping on other calendar pages because of outlandish consumerism, nothing more.  However, as a homemade gift giver and a busy woman, I am required to turn my thoughts to December’s celebratory season long before the temperatures plummet.  So…with a bit of trepidation and a wish and a prayer to remain in my sister’s good graces (and within reach of her stone-melting thumbs), I’m posting about my preparations for "you know what".

First Fire

I drove home yesterday evening after a long day of work, appointments, and errands.  A residual chest cold had drained every last ounce of my fledgling energy and forced me to concentrate intensely on the road.  Otherwise, I would have enjoyed the lingering washes of sunlight that swept the skyline above the open, rolling fields as I passed.  Nearing home, I began weaving myself into forested hills and hollows.  I finally pulled in my gravel driveway with a wheezy sigh of relief.  I grinned.  A smoky billow was curling from our chimney.  I dragged myself and my groceries into the house and was immediately wrapped in the warm scent of hot soup and burning wood.  My husband had dinner and a hug ready when I stepped in the door.  If there was ever a winning combo to enhance my mood (and recovery), he’d nailed it.  The warmth from the fire in our cozy apartment, the steamy chicken soup, and a mug of soothing herbal tea were the perfect fit as I lay swaddled in a fleecy blanket on our couch.  The first fire of the season is always exciting; but this year, it was also therapeutic.  

Cleaning: the Long & Short of It

It’s probably unwise for a woman living south of the Mason-Dixon Line to admit it, but I’m not religious when it comes to cleaning my home.  On the spectrum from Clean Jean to Messy Jessie, I prefer to be Sane Jane -- Jean’s artistic, active, and somewhat less-kept sister.  Because I’m not a fan of clutter or filth, I do the basic once over on a fairly regular basis.  But suffice it to say my home has a love-hate relationship with the white glove test.  I've observed that most creative homesteads accept a certain level of disarray in order to focus on living their convictions while maintaining sanity.  This notion has always provided me with calming validation.  As with so much in life, it’s all about balance.  Most people who know me recognize that I’m not a stickler for domestic customs.  Despite this truth, I can’t ignore that our home needs a proper scrubbing after both winter’s hibernation and summer’s flurry of activity.  As much as I like to clean to the beat of my own drum, I generally follow suit when it comes to Spring and Fall Cleaning.  On a recent Saturday Weldon and I put Cinderella to shame with our zealous energy to get our house back to spic ‘n span.  As a shout-out to my thoroughly modern husband, he was neither bribed nor threatened into participating in this event. We turned on some peppy tunes and each chose a weapon of choice (rag, bucket, vacuum, spray bottle). We moved furniture, washed baseboards, vacuumed every stitch, wiped every surface, and even did the little To Do’s that have hovered in limbo for months.  I don’t mean to brag or rub it in, but it gives me great satisfaction to know that not only is my house clean (for now), but we did the work without using toxic chemicals.  It’s neither as difficult nor as pricey as it may sound.  I’m sure there are plenty of Clean Jean’s posting their whiz-bang tips for a perpetually spotless abode, but below I've offered my personal nitty gritty on Sane Jane house cleaning. 

Love & Marriage

Weldon and I celebrated our third wedding anniversary last week!  I know I’m deviating a bit from my usual

kitchen, homestead, and farm topics, but as I see it, all things in this life are interconnected.  Weldon and I are the core of this homestead and as such our marriage plays a vital role in how our homestead, kitchen, and farm exist.  Some readers may think this topic too personal or maybe a bit presumptuous for such a newly-married person.  I have no disclaimer there, but perhaps you’ll get a good chuckle from this week’s story and can appreciate a dose of young love. 

Demolition Derby: She's A Brick House...Or Used To Be

I'm speechless...well, almost. I was tempted to post only pictures for this one because, as they say, they're worth a thousand words. However, my affection for the written word cannot be suppressed. While the photos throughout will tell almost all of the tale, I'll obligingly provide the embellishments.

Demolition Derby: Bringin' Down the House

I confess I'm feeling muscles today that I haven't felt in quite a while. I suppose five hours of hammering, chiseling, squatting, bending, pulling, and wrestling with a pry bar could be the culprit. Yesterday was the official start of our newest homestead project -- a house demo.

Living Room Flooring Before

Living Room Flooring After

SOLD! ...To the Highest Bidder

This time of year in our neck of the woods we're on the cusp of something grand -- Auction Season! In our county there are land and real estate auctions year round, but Weldon and I neither have the pocketbook for nor interest in such large-scale purchases. However, our interest abounds in treasures untold, stuff that has a story, and...let's be honest...a good bargain. Spring fever has started to perk but we're not quite ready to get caught up in the great outdoors. Instead, we've begun eyeing the newspaper for sales and can feel in our bones that Auction Season, like spring, is about to unfurl in a glorious array before our very eyes. From now until autumn the affairs are frequent and the variety of goods available exponentially increases. So much for Sotheby's -- we're off to a good country auction where the mono-syllabic babbling is peppered with jokes about cornbread and the concession stand is graciously goopy! Just last night we bought a passel of new and nearly-new tools that will come in handy for homestead construction projects in the coming years. We also chalked up the outing as our celebration of Weldon's birthday (which he gladly shouldered). We gained MUCH more than we spent in the evening and had a blast. What a win-win!

Spoils from last night!

Thankful: To "B" or Not To Be

There are two sides to every coin.  Good day, bad day.  Good season, bad season.  Good year, bad year.  I've found that life usually falls somewhere in between with a strong leaning to the good if we're willing to see it that way.  But we always have a choice...

Home Sweet Home

When I was a little girl I dreamed I would grow up and live in a huge garage.  Wait.  What??  That can't be right.  But truth is stranger than fiction, no?  The truth is that as of a couple weeks ago I AM living in a huge garage.  I moved from my rented 1,300 square-foot brick home with a full basement, yard, shade trees and large garden plot to a 650 square-foot apartment that makes up 1/2 of a metal shop building complete with an over-sized garage door, OSB wooden sheet and metal walls, and unpainted concrete floors. There is no yard and very little southern exposure.  Despite what you may be thinking right now it was an easy decision to make.

BEFORE

AFTER...yes, these are labeled correctly

Life on the Line

My husband and I joke that there's a troll living in our basement.  We currently live in an older home built by his grandparents in 1960.  The underground lair is partially finished, damp, dimly lit, and generally "creepy" (as my younger sister, fifteen years my junior, calls it).  Thankfully, spiders don't bother me and the rare signs of a rodent don't send me screaming. Despite efforts at keeping it tidy, it's hard to make a place like this one inviting.  However, the utilitarian qualities of my basement are more than adequate to redeem it in my book.  There's a built-in set of pantry shelves for canned goods, an ancient and wonderfully reliable chest freezer, a nook with shelving for seasonal items, a room for storing orphaned extended family items, the wood stove et al, the recycling bins, the tools/hardware stash, and the washing machine/laundry/cleaning area complete with clothesline.  Yup, a clothesline.  I love it.

Come On, Baby, Light My Fire

The other week I was with my mother standing in line at the store when she turned to me with a smile and said,