Warmth

It's not quite August and here's our woodshed!

That will last us through winter, and the first two rows are left from last year, which means we will actually start the fall shoulder season with dry wood.

And here's the beginning of the pile to dry for next year.

The fallen over side is the one I stacked. We should have about two cords stacked here drying for winter next year. We are slowly stockpiling wood with a goal of having three years of wood in a cycle.

Bug Collection

Leafhopper

Maybe rosehip fly

Colorado potato beetle

I think this is either a bee fly or flower fly, not a true bee.

Euclytia flava, another parasitic fly

Parasitic fly, Gymnocheta

Green-striped grasshopper?

Aerial yellow jacket

Friendly fly

Skimmer

A Charlotte-type gray spider

Another flower fly

This looks like an ant, but might be a wasp.

Pasture grasshopper

Northern corn rootworm

Short winged grasshopper

Lucia azure

Another flower fly

Grasshopper

Spring Count

On Saturday, I saw the first robins and heard the first "cheeseburger" chickadee call. This morning, I heard the first frog. The snow continues to recede. I smelled the evidence of a skunk passing through Saturday evening. I haven't heard a snowmobile in a week. The snack stand opens in another week.

Red Wing Blackbirds

I heard them for the first time yesterday morning as I was hanging out the laundry. In Shelburne, they filled the field in the early morning, in the early spring, with their call. I loved to be struggling through knee deep snow and listen to them declaring their intentions to raise young in what looked like a forbidding environment.

There are not so many making their declarations in the damp area below our property, but I savor their call, announcing the coming spring.

No robins, yet, and no "cheeseburger" calls from the chickadees.

Dark is Coming

I read somewhere recently that people who claim to like winter are people who feel pretty secure in what they have set aside for it. Right now, we have plenty set aside.

The pantry is full- mostly of tomatoes and apple cider. The freezer is near bursting with chickens, beef, butter, lard, tallow, berries, green beans, and melon. We'll have to find room for half of a pig. There's kimchi in the cellar. The chickens are laying pretty well. We're getting almost 3 gallons of milk a day. The wood is stacked. I guess we're about ready for winter.

And suddenly, even before daylight savings time ends, it's really quite dark at completely decent hours, like 6:30. When it gets dark, my prey brain says, "Time to tuck into the burrow." Unfortunately, that would mean very little in the way of a social life. My goal this winter is to force myself out into the dark more often. I'm starting a sewing circle that meets in the evening, and I'm going to attend at least one reading or similar thing per month. I like staying home, but I think I'll feel more involved in our community if I make this effort.

What Happened at Our House Today

Maybe I'll get used to this, but I have my doubts. Here in early October, we had some strange, but not unheard of, weather. That white stuff is not hail, but very fat balls of sleet. It felt decidedly winter-ish, or late fall-ish, with the wind blowing and much frozen white stuff falling.

Like Texas (in January or February), it all melted pretty quickly, like when there would be twenty minutes of blazing sun between the intervals of blowing sleet and snow. I was delighted, and awed, and mystified.

I looked at the children on this mid-October day and said for the millionth time, "I do not believe we're in Texas anymore."

No Dryer

We chose to not have a dryer when we moved in here. We had experimented with this from time to time, but this house is so tightly configured that the space that might hold a dryer was quickly occupied by other necessaries.

It's been over three year; we've made it three winters. Actually the winters are not even the most difficult season. Since we run the wood stove throughout the winter, the house is relatively dry and laundry dries pretty well. I can set a drying rack in front of the stove loaded with laundry before bed, and it's all dry in the morning.

Today's weather presents the real difficulty. It has rained pretty steadily since we've been back from Maine, and there was a lot of laundry to wash when we got home. So, with steady shuffling and a fan, I've gotten most of it washed and the last "catch up" load is hanging in the laundry room.

We talked about taking it to the laundrymat, but the dryers there smell burned. We are tired of hearing the fan running, but it seems like a pretty good compromise.

You Know You're Not on Hulen

You Know You’re Not on Hulen

When the truck in front of you has a goat in the extended cab section behind the front seats. Especially if the goat is alive, full grown, and wearing a stable blanket.

When the river you’re crossing is frozen over.

When the oncoming traffic stops to let you turn left.

When the field beside the road has wild turkeys gleaning it.

(When there is a field to glean)

When you cannot see past the snow bank.

When every car looks as if someone went mudding.

When the traffic stops to let a pedestrian cross.

When you see the “MOOSE” sign along the roadside.

When the only coffee shop is actually a diner.

When the closest clothing store primarily sells shovels and animal feed.

Windshield Wiper Fluid

I ran out of this magic liquid two days ago, and I remembered why it's vital this time of year.

Let me start by saying that unless you've driven in winter in some snowy place, you cannot fully appreciate its importance. There are perhaps other conditions when it's just as important, but I don't know them.

Here's what happens- I clean the beautiful white snow off the windshield while the car is heating. Then, I drive down the drive, turn on the unpaved road and then hit the rural "highway". The first time I encounter a car, either going the other direction or driving in front of me, a thin film of snow mixed with road dirt, maybe salt, and a little wet, hits the windshield. It's such a fine mist that I do not even notice it. But it builds. And then the sun hits and the light refracts on all those teeny tiny bits of ice and salt and dirt and my windshield becomes opaque with that gorgeous sunlight bouncing so hard off it. I do mean opaque.

Squirt, squirt- swish swash. I can see again.

Or let's say a truck passes me. Then it's no fine mist but a shower of this road debris, and the blindness ensues.

After stopping mid-trip to buy the blue fluid for our safety, we now carry some in the car the way I used to carry oil for my old leaky Mustang. We jump in the car, check seatbelts, and that we have windshield wiper fluid.

Our Rocks

The rocks around us are granite, lots of granite. And throughout Vermont, people struggle with this pushing up into their fields each spring when the frost action heaves new rocks up to the surface.

On our property, we have a unique situation. We have sand- lots and lots of sand. We can dig a twelve post holes and plant twenty trees and only hit a handful of rocks, all smaller than a fist. To put that in perspective- we have friends in many different households who feel lucky to hit only one rock any time they dig any hole.

So, I feel gratitude for our soil. It has it's problems; it dries out fast in the summer (although that's a boon the rest of the year), it is not terribly fertile, it lacks much in the way of humus, it's pretty acidic. Many people with a world more experience than I have say these problems are minor compared to the complications of clay soil that is prevalent in Vermont.

I look around and try to figure out why there is all this sand right in this spot. Our property is sort of a shoulder of a hill. There's a fairly steep drop down to it and then another fairly steep drop away from it. Erosion is a steady concern. But what erodes from above is sand. And the trail that runs down below is sand. I figure Old Dame Nature put the sand on this somewhat flat spot, but I do not quite understand why our hill is sand in the land of clay soils. Maybe that hill was already ground up at some other point and deposited there by moving water?

Another Thing I Like about Hardwick

Today, the local coop celebrated its 35th birthday, and we all went to the party. One of the things they organize for the party is a clothing drop and swap. We took a few things the children had outgrown, and we came home with many, many things. I normally run a tight ship regarding clothes because storage is such an issue. With the chill in the air, I was able to remember how cold the house can get, and I picked up a few extra sweaters for everyone. And some boots to replace the ones I had to get rid of. And some socks. And a few things that I'll sew into something else.

It was wonderful in so many ways. These are clothes that would probably go into the waste stream, even though they still have plenty of life left in them. It's a way to save money in a place where you need vastly different clothes in different seasons. It also was quite social. As people (and let's be honest- it's was mostly ladies) sorted through the clothes on a table, they would talk with the other people there. We talked about what sizes we were looking for and whether something looked good and what our kids were doing and the weather and so on. Most of the people there pretty much knew each other, and we knew many and now know more of them.

After the clothing swap, everyone put together a potluck and different people provided live music. I sat on the grass marveling at the beauty of the day and the people we have chosen to live among.

A Long Weekend

Jason had a three day weekend and we got lots of small stuff done. In fact, it was such small stuff that it kind of looks like nothing.

Jason dismantled the cool box gifted to us by a friend. It was made of some oak and insulation, and we hope to reuse the materials on a smaller box to fit our space. The current idea is to take the defunct freezer out, build some shelves and insulate the middle ones to act as a cool box. We just have to figure out how to deal with the condensation and then build it. No big deal...

Jason and I cleaned out the barn some more. It really had been pretty thoroughly cleaned out last summer when we were getting the previous owners' stuff out. However, there are still some jars of used oil and some bits and hunks of metal (WHY?) and our things that still don't have a home. I organized my beekeeping things and I think I'll add bees within the next two years. I got the door mirror out and Jason hung it in the bathroom. I listed the dresser, extra bike, and extra energy-hog freezer on Craigslist. We found the hooks to hang the bikes. We put all of our lumber together. And now- we can pick up the rest of the hay we need to make it through next April.

We figured out a way to get fence across the drive so we can work the cows carefully around the fruit trees. The grass is pretty good over there, and we need all the grass we can get. I sure hope the pasture improves quickly.

I harvested the pumpkins. It's early, but we needed them out of the way for the cow to graze. I'm not sure how well they'll store when picked this early, but we'll let them cure at least a month and then decide whether to store them whole or puree and dry them.

We killed two chickens. We actually killed two two weeks ago. Then, it was because I am sick to death of them pecking eggs. We had seven older hens, but they were pecking one or two eggs every day. Also, one of them layed an egg with a soft part that cracked if it got stepped on. I think once that one was open, the hens got the idea to open a few more. I finally caught one in the act two weeks ago, so we killed her and the one I thought was responsible for the soft-tipped egg. Since then, we have had one or two pecked eggs total and no more soft eggs. Those ladies were getting a bit aged, so they went into pot pie. The two we killed today were meat birds (read: heavier) and we fried them. Yum! Company joined us for dinner.

We had a burn pile this morning from the bits of wood we hauled out of the barn. That's always fun.

We ate dinner last night at Parker Pie. If you ever come visit, we'll at least drive out there. It must be one of the prettiest drives I know of. It is not startlingly pretty; it's all soft edges and wide views and mountains in the distance. There are long shadows and small lakes and not very many people. Usually, when we go there, we run into at least a couple of people we know, but lastnight, we did not see anyone. There were some out-of-staters complaining about the atmosphere. But the atmosphere is what makes it feel so Vermont to me. It's this pizza place attached to a convenience store. We even get our sodas at the store so that we can have the cane sugar, no dye kind. Then, there's this patched screen door and not many tables and grass and another couple of tables outside. It is, notably, fly season in Vermont. That means millions of flies and they all want in the house or building so that they can fly around your head and land on your legs. It's part of the charm. I guess they don't have flies in Massachusetts.

And that's what we did this weekend. Not bad- but not much to show for it.

Fall Really Is Coming

The past few days have been quite warm, highs in the upper 80s. (Before you Texans start laughing at us, I'll point out that our highs had been in the 70s and even cooler for a couple of weeks.) This heat feels like a last hurrah. It's not that the highs won't get into the 80s again, it's just that it will be a day here or there- not 5 or 6 days in a row.

But with the sun beating down on us during the day, the nights are still cooling off completely and quickly. As soon as the shadows begin stretching back out at 3:00, the animals are active again; this is unlike the more summery days of July when they stay in a heat soaked stupor until evening is settling in. The sun is down by 8:00 and the temperature is well into the 60s by 9:00. The hot wind that's drying the clothes so quickly is also rustling through orange and yellow leaves. And in a couple more days, our highs will be back in the 60s.

It's time to gather in some apples and the pumpkins are looking ready. The beans are drying on the vine, and the butternut squashes are swelling and changing color. In a couple more weeks, we'll dig the potatoes.

One of the children asked me when mosquito season would end, and I thought of how soon frost will visit. I thought of warm soups and fires. I thought of the crisp taste of winter air. I feel friendly to summer now, but I still anticipate fall.

Daily Delight

I'll start by acknowledging that late winter and early spring can feel VERY long, but it's anticipation and tiny little delights that make even that time difficult.

Starting in May, there is some delight in every month. I've thought for awhile that May was my favorite month in Vermont. You can almost feel Nature stretching languorously and shaking down her hair. Nothing is quite happening, but everything is just percolating and ready for the mad dash of summer weather.

June is sort of the same, except things have begun to happen. By June you can definitely wear shorts most days, and if you don't mind cold water, it's time to swim. I always think of an Elsa Beskow poem that begins, "The sun is warm, the water is mild, Summer has come to the water child."

July means you can swim almost daily, and the kind of craziness of the short growing season is in full swing. There are berries to pick and greens to eat and the weeding to do. The paths through the woods can become impassable by July as the briers fight for every available bit of sunshine.

August is the reason for this post. I have been biased against August, probably because they're having triple degree heat right now in Texas. I always think of August as a month to be endured. However, I am seeing it with new eyes this year. In Vermont, August looks like the peak month; it's the crest of the hill on the seasonal roller coaster. Flowers are in full bloom and garden plants are fruit- laden. It is a lush month with thick greenery. It is also tinged with the coming of fall. A few trees are shimmery with yellow and orange highlights; the nights are cool and we often put on jackets for an hour or two in the morning. Fog is in the back field almost every morning and the crickets are chirping in a very diligent way.

September brings apples and jeans and an earnest longing to be outside every possible second, as the waning light becomes quite obvious.

October is the golden month. Nature is replete and ready for the rest winter brings.

November usually brings the first winter weather, and that is always greatly anticipated at our house.

December brings the thick dark. That dark is magical in its velvety cold. The stars look so crisp and moonlight is so inviting.

January is for a good fire; that's when the weather is usually at it's coldest. It's a fun time to blow bubbles. Have you ever blown bubbles on a 0 degree morning?

February usually brings snow and good skiing. And March does the same. March is also when I begin to really notice how much longer the daylight lasts. It's the time for starting plants.

And back again to April. Thank you Mr. Eliot for stating it so clearly.

APRIL is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering	5
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.

Summertime

We're in real summer now. We've had temperatures in the 90s all week. And before you Texans start razzing me about how hot it is there, remember, we just do not air condition much up here in the far, cold north. So what do you do when it's 98 outside and 92 inside?

First, we try to get outside work done early. It's not that that work can be completed before it gets hot; there's too much to do and not a lot of shade in the pasture and garden. If I'm outside as the sun creeps over the hill between here and Mackville, I can be eased into the coming heat like a frog in a pan of heating water.

Second, we show some gratitude for having these temperatures during swimming lessons. Last year, and almost always say those in the know, it was mighty chilly during swimming lessons. Some parents even sat in their cars instead of on the beach while their children turned blue in the water with the wind whipping around their wet hair.

We also giggle over the excuse to go to the beach every day when it's this hot. We're not shirking on our house and garden chores; we HAVE to take the children to swimming lessons. And Caspian Lake feels truly heavenly on days like this.

Also, we try not to cook. It's a good time to eat all that abundant lettuce before the heat turns it bitter. Sandwiches are a lovely thing. Refried beans and tortillas are an easy meal. Hot dogs and other grillables are a nice option, but your local coop might run out, especially during the week following July 4th.

We try to buy fans, but if you wait until day 4 of the heat, you can forget about buying a fan in Vermont. Fans are a seasonal item, like snow boots, so once they run out, you have to wait until next year.

Finally, we watch the garden. Blight is less likely in this weather, so I say a little prayer over the tomatoes and sing "Uncle Aiken".

More from that Book

On page 105 she says, "Our society is riddled with myths to suggest that anyone who forgoes a conventional career track and devotes themselves to sustainable home and community life is merely squandering their life... Committing her life's energy to an employer has not made a truly 'liberated woman'. A homemaker's primary job is not to be a consumer. The choice to cultivate self-reliance, curb consumption and live well on less money drains only the extractive economy, but feeds a life-sustaining economy. The pursuit of affluence, the ennoblement of excessive work and hyper-individualism are not manifestations of the American dream, but causes of a national nightmare."

That's it. That's why I'm here and why I wonder at everyone (the general, not specific) pushing their children to go to college. I wonder why I was limited to that view of life and wish that I could have gotten to this one by a more direct route. I know people who did. I know people just barely in their twenties who know where they're going and it isn't into the "extractive economy". I'm not staying home to consume more; I'm not staying home to spend my husband's paycheck; I'm not staying home "for the children". I'm here because our family works better this way. We are able to pay closer attention to our path in the world. And Jason does the work he does so he actually has time to be part of our home economy and part of our community. We feel we're finally in a place where we can participate and be with the people around us. We don't want to be an atomic family; our vision is much wider than that.

What I See

Despite the snow and cold and frost and unplanted garden- spring is here!

I know how hated dandelions can be, but when they all open in one great sweep and fill a world that has been so slowly greening from white and brown, from mud and cold, they are the most beautiful flower in the world. They can cover a hillside in a glowing yellow. They seem to cheer spring along as we head toward what seems a very distant summer.

(They also mean it's time to have potatoes in the ground. Guess who still has three varieties awaiting planting!)

This is an apple blossom! Isn't it beautiful? Look at the five leaves arrayed around the five blossoms that will open into five flowers that each have five petals that could make five apples each with a five pointed star in the center. I'm in love with the apple blossoms right now.

"A violet by a mossy stone
Half hidden from the eye
More brilliant than a star
When only one is shining in the sky."

Here are some more flowers. My yard in all it's strangeness is extra pretty at the moment and who can be discouraged when surrounded by flowers? They mean that life keeps pushing out.

We're Home

I looked through my pictures to pick a few for this post, but none seem quite right. I'll put some at the end, but they're not exactly related to this.

The drive home was uneventful. We drove. And drove. We stayed at a Days Inn for $45 that seemed pretty clean at 11:00 when we went to sleep and at 7:00 when we woke up; really, we were awake for under one hour in the room. (Here would be a good place for a picture I know Jason has. C'est la vie.)

Our visit went really well. There's something nice about seeing my children playing with so many of my family's children. Our quirkiness stood out at times, but the things I actually worry about (temper, boundaries, selective deafness) all seemed to blend right in with the things the other children were doing.

We saw Ray and Stacey in a play. I talked to my aunt for hours. The children got to swim and wade. I helped start a little garden. I saw just about everyone I hoped to see for almost long enough.

Now we're home. And we slipped right back into this place I love so much that lacks my dear family but abounds in people I hold dear. We started our first day back in a perfect way- we went to a pie breakfast at Woodbury elementary. I wished I had a camera, as it so typified my feelings about where I live. We were in a cafeteria that had a wooden floor with basketball boundaries painted on it. There were so many people in that little room having pie for breakfast (proceeds benefit the local library). Outside, the sun was shining, promising spring, and inside, everyone chatted and drank coffee and waited their turn and made room for the newcomers. It was a great welcome home.
Riverwalk 
 Cousins
More Cousins

Off on My Own

Bright and early, just as the sun was coming up, I was headed east down 15. It was really beautiful this morning; the temperature was below zero and the sky was partly clear. The light looks somehow crisp and fragile on mornings like that. Then, as if hiding from the cold light, little errant wisps of clouds were tucked into the shadows of hills. By the time I was on 2, past Danville, the White Mountains were aglow. I somehow managed to stay on the road and make it to the Vermont Grazers Conference before things got underway.

It was a good day and I learned many new things. The most informative was a presentation by a fellow out of Jericho. He was explaining the benefits of raising beef and poultry on the same pasture, the poultry following the beef. He was clear and seemed very certain of why he was doing what he does. It made buying a cow this year seem a bit less crazy.

There was an ice cream social at the end with local, organic ice cream, but I was too ready to be home to mill around with a bunch of strangers. I had had lunch with the group, and it was a nice lunch, also made primarily of local foods. However, I kept thinking we looked like animals in a confinement operation, so I skipped the ice cream and headed home to tell my little group of people all the things I learned.

The cold is pretty nice

Cold weather is finally settling in.  We've had about ten inches of snow this week that has not melted.  The children have been sledding every day.  They play and play and play.  They've been skiing around on our property.  There's enough snow for me to ski, but I've been busy with holiday labors.  The fire is burning.  We all do our part to keep it going.  We're having chicken and dumplings for dinner and we've had cocoa three times this week.  I like all these things.

Some wonder how we've adapted to this very different climate.  The truth is simple- we've equipped ourselves.  All of us wear woolies- that's wool long underwear.  It is NOT itchy unless you get too warm.  We all wear wool hats and socks- they are NOT itchy unless you get too warm.  We all have warm slippers.  We all have snow pants and snow coats.  We all have at least three pairs of gloves or mittens.  We all have neck warmers.  We all play outside so we don't get gloomy in the long winter.  Also, we have at least two blankets on all the beds, and the kids each have three.  Sylvie wears wool pajamas.

The cold means it's time to slow down.  You have to drive more slowly in the winter weather.  People are very forgiving when you run late.  You have to have fewer plans because it's darker and the roads are less navigable.  There's lots of being at home and being quiet.  However, this is balanced by having less to do.  There are no big construction projects, no yard work, no gardening, no camping, so what time we have is more easily given to casual socializing.

The cold is pretty nice.