Turkeys feeding at our doorstep.
I wrote this before Thanksgiving and never posted it. Why do I write poetry for the holidays? I don’t know.
Turkey Day is on it’s way
My Mom is acting funny
She’s on the phone I heard her groan
While talking to Aunt Bunny
My cousins (there are six in all)
Are coming with Aunt Mazy
She’s bringing green bean salad
I heard Mom say that she’s lazy
For Uncle Fred it’s garlic bread
Enough to feed his four
My Mom’s now pacing, muttering
’bout locking the front door
Plasticwear and folding chairs
Cheap cups, spoons, forks and knives
Mom says no one does their share
The husbands or the wives
Grandma Grandpa on their way
I think it’s time we pray
Clean the couch now Dad’s a grouch
He says his hair’s gone grey
Uncle Ted and Aunty Jill
Are bringing their eight too
They have a dog, spike the eggnog
Tell Mom when she comes-to
Scour the basement and garage
We’ll put all the boys there
We need more room break out the broom
It’s time we said a prayer
God help us all – it’s Uncle Paul
We’ll put him in the attic
No sudden moves speak quietly
He’s prone to being erratic
As for my Mom
Let’s keep her calm
She’s on the verge of tears
Now dinner’s done
This battle’s won
Let’s give her three big cheers
Featured Photo by Ruth Caron on Unsplash
My own photo below as seen from our sliding door.
Our property, no matter how hard we try, is very rough looking around the edges. Development will come later than we originally anticipated. We expect things to change within the next year and a half but for now the place looks junky.
We try our best to keep things organized but it’s difficult to make rust, metal, tarps and trailers appear attractive. Our newer neighbors are building around us and I’m thinking a tarp along the property line with a picture of a house might be a nice touch- or a gigantic f**k you. Just kidding 🙂 My husband insists it doesn’t look that bad and points out other people’s yards while we’re out to make me feel better. It’s rural America after all.
My quest for gold has given rise to a new especially trashy looking collection of buckets, dirt piles, mud piles, pots and pans, holes in the ground and a plethora of tools for metallurgy that lay strewn about outside our shed. Ironic how something so stunning may potentially be the byproduct of such a mess.
I have a large Tupperware container full of useful stuff. It’s all attached together and when I grab something, everything comes out at the same time: brackets, screens, parts of tools I’ve dismantled to make “better” versions of the old, hooks, buckets, parts of old stoves and a set of unused clothes pins we bought on the road a couple of summers ago.
Being on a budget, I have to make due with what we have and the farmer’s dump on the hillside has been the go-to place for everything from mangled but still usable rusty tools to household appliances and parts to old vehicles. I figure the original users would appreciate me resurrecting them. I have harvested screen, fencing, bones (not human), marbles, two can openers, assorted remnants of seventy year old kitchenware and numerous other items. There is even a pair of egg beaters fused with a tree.
The other day I got distracted on my way to repair the water line in the trailer when I veered toward the hillside. My son came home from school in time to see me wandering away from the dump with an armful of tools for the pipe repair (which I never put down), part of a shovel, part of a leftover wheel from a child’s wagon, a long sharp object, an old tractor carburetor, and a candle holder. This stuff comes in handy.
I left the mangled bird cage behind; this time.
We left King County Washington; Destined for our new home on the range.
Tom Petty’s Runnin’ Down A Dream played on the radio as the first hint of daylight tinted the eastern sky. We were driving a 1986 Ford F-250 my husband lovingly called Bridgette pulling a 2001 Jayco Light travel trailer with a very unhappy cat stowed inside. We were on the home stretch of Hwy 395 headed for Colville Washington.
That was two years ago today.
The space between that day and now has been packed with memories a person cannot make up; plenty of material for a blog. Survival trumped all else for the first year while we carved a place for ourselves amongst the Ponderosa Pines on the iron rich bedrock. Survival is still the main theme of daily life out here.
To be cliche, I have cried and I have laughed in almost equal measure during the past two years and things will continue to be tough until we finally build a real house. Water is coming from a spring we dug and we get our energy from two gas generators and a solar power system. I’ll be so glad when a glass of water and a shower non longer involve moving mountains.
We gained a new cat and relocated another feral one. We’ve learned a lot about setting up systems for every day needs and making them work. We put up a huge portable shed and half built another that’s coming down eventually. We’re still living in a fifth wheel but plan on building a small log home as soon as a deal we have in the works comes through.
I’m not looking forward to another winter of zero degree temps as the fall equinox approaches although we’ve kind of learned how to drive in the snow and have a fireplace to keep us warm.
We’ve learned to live with the wild life for the most part and our garden is two years old and full of half eaten tomatoes and squash. I’m growing a gigantic pumpkin that I’m proud of and we introduced morel mushroom spores to the side of our property where they were absent. We even discovered small amounts of fine gold after looking for two years.
Looking forward, we’re a lot wiser now but have an understanding that humility is a necessary state of mind out here. Never take anything for granted and never get over confident.
Perhaps most remarkable is that we’re even starting to get along with the neighbors. That’s true progress.
Give me a shovel and I’m happy.
I grew up in Utah in a middle size town named Roy. My Dad passed away months before I was born but I’m told our house was brand new when my parents bought it. No landscaping was in place when they moved in. Most people laid or planted grass and a farmer who still owned many acres worked his land behind us well after he was surrounded by “civilization”.
Our yard, however, was different for two reasons: First, we had a commercial size playground set that attracted every kid for miles and secondly, because my father had the foresight to leave the back quarter in it’s natural state. The rear fence was lined by four huge trees for climbing and the rest was dirt.
Mud is the perfect toy. It’s great for the immune system, and is superior to the most expensive of Lego sets. You can mold it, make highways for your matchbook cars, or create mud pies. The possibilities are endless for a kid with a bucket, a shovel and a four year old imagination. Essentially, I grew up in the dirt.
Fast forward to adulthood and the continuing fascination with digging. While we were on the road looking for property to buy a couple of years ago, I dug a few test holes out in the woods looking for water. I knew we were going to be roughing it and I wanted practice. I youtubed instructions on how to dig a water well with nothing but PVC pipe and was successful at one point. My husband promised me that when we got our own property, I could dig any time of day and for as long as I wanted. I couldn’t wait.
Now that our realm is measured in acres rather than feet and there is no HOA from hell to tell me what I can and can’t do, I dig to my heart’s content. I need only the slightest excuse to grab a shovel and open the ground whether it be in search of water, gold, artifacts or to plumb the depths of a fault (a couple of months ago, I got about three feet down before I realized I wasn’t going to run into lava).
When we first got to our new property, I went looking for a likely place for water. To my delight, I found it a little over a foot down and we have have used the springs along a hillside for our water supply without digging a deep well.
I subsequently dug several other test wells and named them alpha hole, beta hole, etc. Most I’ve since filled in lest someone happen along in the middle of the night without a flashlight and break a leg.
Recently, with the drought and all, I began eyeballing a spot I suspected may have been a well for the original occupants of the property seventy years before our arrival. The rocks seemed to be piled into a depression that gave me the impression of a filled-in well.
Although I’d previously dug down about five feet, the idea of digging deeper was daunting because of the terrain and brush surrounding it. With our current water supply dwindling however, I surveyed the area again and finally made the decision to excavate.
Me and my husband spent about a week clearing vegetation and moving the already existing piles of rock farther away from the hole. We spent day after day digging by hand, pick and shovel farther down into the earth until I heard my husband exclaim excitedly “look at this!”. I looked down to where he pointed and saw water actually squirting up and out of a crack in the rock.
We already had water in the bottom of the hole but this was what we were looking for. A strong new water supply. To our best estimates, our new well is producing about a hundred fifty to two hundred gallons a day. Plenty for ourselves and our garden.
We set the pump and laid the hose and power cord over a tree we placed across the opening, cleaned up the bottom and sides and we’re back in business! I felt a great sense of relief and was doubly glad I’d decided to go through with the back breaking project.
My latest excavations are test holes for gold. I currently have about five or six of those going. But I really don’t need an excuse to dig any more.
Decoding the universe through marbles.
I wrote a blog titled “I’ve Lost My Marbles” last year. It was about how searching for my lost slingshot balls put me into an almost altered state of mind. Today I once again found myself contemplating the universe while looking for the projectiles.
I took up ball slinging a year and a half ago whilst trying to shoot down a yellow jacket nest. I was bored. We didn’t have a lot of money and rocks were my ammunition. I kept it up, bought lots of balls, made a slingshot ball return device (which has now been decommissioned,) and kept practicing.
Although I’m on my way to becoming a crack shot (give it a year or two more) those balls still disappear quite efficiently in the long grass and pine needles surrounding my target. For some reason, the search for them; the wandering around with intent on my mind, puts me into a sort of contemplative state and I feel as if I see things differently.
Where each ball is, how it’s hidden, and how I find it is a clue as to how I believe the universe works. They’re all there but they aren’t. They’re gone when not observed. You can walk past one and miss it only to turn around and see it from a different point of view. It all depends on how you look at it.
Is the universe a single thing viewed from an infinite number of perspectives? Is everything connected in some way that is a giveaway of the underlying oneness? Has God created us to experience time and space through ourselves? Am I full of shit?
Symbolism makes perfect sense within the framework of recent scientific theory and has also been relied upon for thousands of years. I’m discovering that if a particular belief’s been around for a long time, it’s probably solid.
Think of Tarot cards for instance. A few years ago I would have laughed at the notion of cards being shuffled and their order revealing some sort of future outcome. Today, I’m not so sure. The same for reading tea leaves.
My daughter once said to me “if you want to know what’s going on in your subconscious, take a look around you”. That’s probably one of the most profound statements I’ve ever heard given the theory you are what you think.
On occasion, when I go outside, I try to see what the world is saying to me through nature. It seems logical that the natural world is the most perfect manifestation of creation; untouched by human will or hand. Why not pay attention?
I believe the universe, God, or what have you, speaks to us; communicates to us through connections. Intuition has led to some of the most notable inventions and breakthroughs in history.
Looking for my slingshot balls helps me to exercise that part of my brain that I believe has access to that space between the smallest space and past the boundaries of the universe.
If only I could find a practical application for this. Like coming up with a better garden tool or maybe I could do slingshot ball readings.
Doesn’t take much of an explanation. A bear showed up last week and made the circuit between us and our neighbors a few days ago. The neighbors called Fish and Wildlife to make a report. On our end, we’re making sure everything that could attract a bear is locked up tight.
We’ve been watching the cameras and being really careful. I haven’t seen it in any videos for the past couple of days. We’re hoping it’ll move on. It was pretty big.
I have a really nice camera that has a sepia filter. I thought that setting might fit into the nature of the history of our property as it was last occupied 75 years before we bought it. There is a “farmer’s dump” here and we’ve found so many neat and wonderful things there!
With that said, here’s a look at the property in sepia.
Morels. 40.00+, a pound. And they’re apparently hard to cultivate but we got lucky. You see, they already like it here. They grow on our property. Just not enough to sell but enough to make mushroom “slurry” out of.
We’ve been tossing around the idea of farming mushrooms since we moved onto our 3.7 acres of land in eastern Washington almost two years ago. For quite a while, we were thinking oyster or medicinal mushrooms but our tight budget, the need for snow-load rated greenhouses, and a lack of knowledge have kept us from moving forward.
Then I had a great idea the other day. The mighty morel!
The morel I’m no expert on but my husband and I have been harvesting them for a couple of years and know they bring a pretty penny per pound, dried or fresh. The biggest problem is that they only grow once a year – in the spring – and for a very limited time. You have to know where to go to get them and how to move them and we have yet to find any real sweet spots.
We’ve been up and down many forest service and DNR (Department of Natural Resources) roads and looked but not a one have we seen – until we get back home. Turns out we are fortunate to have land that is naturally host to morels.
In our area of the Pacific Northwest, they grow around Ponderosa pines in slightly grassy to semi-spongy areas and along roadsides. That’s a generalization but it’s what we’ve found to be so far. My understanding is that the mycelium or main mass of the things live in connection with certain tree roots underground. The mushrooms themselves are the fruiting bodies of the mycelium. That’s the extent of my education on mushrooms so far.
They are far and few between though so we’ve dried out those we’ve found so far and have started the spore slurry. I’m not 100% on the efficacy of the slurry but the basic idea is you soak the mushrooms in water that has had salt and molasses added in order to germinate the spores. The molasses feeds them and the salt keeps the bacteria away.
After soaking them for 24 to 48 hours, apply the liquid or slurry to the areas around host trees where, theoretically, they’ll search for roots to become roommates with.
I was stirring the slurry with a wooden paddle when the thought came to me that if they like wood, why not add pieces of wood directly to the slurry then bury them under trees when ready? The thought is that the spores will find and start a home before they are planted. This will be an experiment that won’t show results for a couple to a few years when the mushrooms grow, if they take.
If this works, in a few years we’ll have mushrooms aplenty and might be able to begin to harvest an amount large enough to put a dent in our pocketbooks. It’s one of many adventures we’re embarking upon.
Never put all your morels in one basket.