A home of one's own not only shares a partial title to a Pollan book but is also a long-winded entry for another day. Today is about before and after photos to show the work we have done so far on our home-to-be. It's a one-month and four-day time capsule into how we've been using up any energy reserves that can still exist after days, nights and weekends of working our "day" jobs. Whenever we've had the spare time, it's been spent here. This is the front of the house. It was built in 1890 and has a Victorian-esque flair.

We have big plans of renovating the kitchen but not before winter sets in. We didn't do a thing with the kitchen except move the refrigerator and move our things in to the one room of the house that would not be a construction zone.

Five kids were raised in this home and the parents occupied it for 55 years. When they moved in, there was no indoor washroom…just the (still standing) outhouse. What was the bedroom of two boys will be our master bedroom. It's a "train" room--the type where you have to go through one room to access another. The first perspective is facing the entrance from the back of the room with the view of two closets. Under every bedroom's carpet we found two layers of linoleum and one layer of newspaper from 1956. The green walls were offensively neon, though the photos don't accurately depict their shade.

And an attempt at the other side of the room. Look for the nook in the back of the room to keep perspective. The bump out is due to the chimney for the once-working fireplace below. The hardwood floors were in such poor shape that after Josh did repairs, we decided to paint them.

The next of three bedrooms, this room is the access to the master. As Josh will be taking over what would be our den for his office and Roost Architecture operations, this will be our den of sorts for the time being. We wanted to call it the parlor or lounge but know we can't get away with such a foolish nickname. Instead, we're going to try for "sitting room" and see how many people buy it.

Moving downstairs, this is the laundry room on the other side of the kitchen. Two different perspectives here. The wall between the laundry and kitchen was plaster covered, but my husband had to have a look underneath and we found ourselves with a brick wall. Phase II will come with kitchen renovations.

The living room took on a big transformation. Yesterday we stained the floors and the next step will be the coats of polyurethane. Then we should be ready to begin moving in. Again, I'm kicking myself a bit for not keeping formal photo perspectives. Across from the bay window is the stair. To the right is the kitchen.

To sum it up: plaster patching and painting galore. I've become a bit of a master-edger. There has been more sanding involved than I ever thought could be necessary. Sanding, whether it be spackle from patching cracks in plaster or operating serious floor sanding machinery is definitely the most strenuous part. We're very thankful for our friends and family who have put in such hard work to help us along. It'll be a work in progress for some time, but we're almost ready to move in.

The first thing you need to know about, especially if you're in Pennsylvania is the Eastern Penn Mushroomers. You will be sure to find more than one fun guy if you stick around these people. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Yesterday, I left the house only to go next door for a wave goodbye and stop in the garden. I cannot remember the last time I had a whole day in one place. Here is how I spent it:

In contemplating my recent exhaustion, I realized lately that both Josh and I are each running our own businesses and each an integral part in the running of a nonprofit organization. That's not to mention additional regular volunteering, then the tasks of keeping house and occasionally showing a face to friends and family so that they know you still like them. I think I've given up on trying to be the perfect aunt to seven nieces and nephews, the perfect daughter to the ever present or holder of high expectations parents (if you don't have kids then it is your job to serve those who do), the perfect friend to the demanding and dramatic or to the silent and strong (whom I miss!), the perfect resident of this small mountain community who each pitch in and do their part, save me it seems. I figure this much: if they do not know how I love them and that at their request I would drop all twenty seven balls I'm juggling to assist them when in need, then perhaps there's not much more I can do to try to prove anything. On top of these messy people things, we value travel and spontaneity. So what then can we do to get away from the responsibilities we've undertaken? How do we steal momentary release until the "someday*" of rest comes? Well, by workin' of course. (*my imaginary "someday" includes a test year as a mute hermit, once I have my own space in which to do so)

The garden provides much more than a nagging feeling that you've got work yet to do, you see. It's a place to get away for a few minutes and battle the weeds when they're growing better than those little green things we started from seed in February. It's also a place to share with others because life's tumbles are put into perspective when watching literal growth take place. Most of our veggies come from seeds we purchase from seedsavers.org. Around May we tend to get some plants from my mother and like magic we have a full garden. I am still pursuing my aims to become a gentleman farmer. Here now, witness my garden of victory:

Photos taken from same vantage point installation day before & after 5/7, 5/21, 6/3 (in which I think Josh is dancing because I told him to stay still or get out of the frame), 6/10, 6/22.

The gothic arches we made to decorate the stone ruin walls (to make bank barn become woodland church) at our wedding are again serving well as pea trellises. 5/7, 5/21, 6/3, 6/21

Here are just a bunch of pictures from yesterday:

We haven't lost any total of one crop yet. While we have additional plants up by the house (why put cherry tomatoes so far away from salad bowls?) that aren't considered here, the contents of this year's lower garden include (veggie [number of different varieties]):Lettuce (mix)
peas (3)
green beans (1)
pumpkin (1)
swiss chard (1)
lima bean (1)
sweet and hot peppers (5)
tomatoes (4)
onions (2)
carrots (2)
cucumber (2)
beets (1)
eggplant (3)
squash (2)
sweet potato (1)
some parts of the garden are lined with marigold and basil

Anyone up for a trip to the garden?

The life and times of our black australorp. Rather, this entry is more about his death. We didn't plan on this, but when life changes, you adapt. In keeping with our attitude about food, we decided that if we are to eat chicken, why would we not eat a chicken that was raised well, had a good life, ate clean food and was allowed out to forage?
When we first decided to keep chickens, we wanted to have one rooster to help protect the hens. Our australorp was meant to be a hen. We received our $1.00 refund for the company's accidental sexing ("it was the principle!"). When it came to the last few days of keeping two roosters, he was chosen due to the following: 1. Male australorps have a huge comb and his got awful frostbite over the winter; they're from Australia. 2. The other roo had an advantage of breed. If we wanted a pure brood we could have them. 3. Three votes were cast from the three members of our household. Majority ruled. In the last days we had to pen him separately. The other rooster took dominance and undermined the australorp as king of the flock. They lived together peaceably until a warm day that we let them out. Then the brown one became relentless about fighting and although he was not winning, he was persistent. Trial separation did not work. The next day that they were let out, the black one would not leave a small corner of the coop. Any time that the roosters were together, he was attacked if his face was not in a corner. When they were not together, the black one would not eat, would not drink, would not remove his face from the corner. When we finally separated them, the chickens were all in the coop, but the black one allowed to roam for a day or two. If left in the coop, he would have died either from starvation or by losing blood from being attacked.

For most people in the world, the idea of preparing your own food is not foreign. But in this society, in my corner of suburbia, I'd dare to call it controversial. Sure, there are some who think it no big deal, but of those I know in my generation, they will react with squeamishness and disgust much like I did during this process. I was not raised this way. In every circumstance, we become more comfortable/desensitized the more often we perform a task. It goes the other way too. For example, I can no longer sleep well after overly gruesome or violent movies that I used to enjoy watching. Nor would I be able to tolerate a job that required little thought but rather time, nor tasks I did not directly design at least in part. We choose our strengths and our weaknesses through practice. I would like to better understand the process of something as intimate as the food I eat.
I am now not surprised that those who are picky eaters, whether they be picky children or picky adults, are comfortable with chicken. I will continue to eat other meats that I have not processed personally, but with the effort that these five pounds took, I have a hard time imagining the work hundreds of pounds would require. Having made this animal a meal, I now have a different perspective when I see a bulk value pack of chicken breasts at the supermarket. Chicken nuggets are ground up pieces of my little australorp. Buffalo wings are literally a pile of severed appendages of my entire flock. We know this already, but I invite you to come kill and prepare a chicken with me, for both our stomachs' sake and then tell me it doesn't change something in your understanding. I don't know when the veil was pulled that isolated food processing from consumption. I assume it's because we like to smooth over what's unpleasant and most of the process of getting food from animal to plate is not pretty and is generally a link that doesn't even exist for most of the people I know. This misunderstanding takes place not only with meat, but vegetables for sure (all vegetables are available out of the natural seasons/climates, or on the other side we have genetically modified seeds that have social implications). Then there's the marketing of products--people become comfortable with brands when they see the same name often (it's a natural part of human psychology that happens to also be profitable). Some probably think that a chicken raised within a small flock, access to sunlight and allowed to forage is actually dirtier than a brand name concentrated animal feeding operation that provides most of our grocery options. Or that the eggs collected fresh same day from my coop somehow could have less shelf time than the factory machine-collected ones that we have better access to. We trust that companies that specialize do a good job and I don't mean to say that there aren't good ones out there. I'd just rather know one more part of my diet a little bit better.

I will summarize my captions for the following photos collectively so that it's easier to collectively reject viewing them within posterous format. We were fortunate enough to have the expertise of Josh's grandfather and aunt, as well as the support from his other aunt and my mother. Were it not for their diligence in performing a simple enough task (and my appreciation for their time), I may have gotten emotional and lost sight of my purpose. Josh did the honors. As much as I've previously described delight all of the chicken metaphors that exist, "running around like a chicken with its head cut off" is now sobering, complete with the saddest dance I've ever witnessed. WIth a pot of almost-boiling water at the ready, once he stopped moving, an aunt dunked him in. After a few times the skin had loosened enough around the legs. With a few swift test rips, she knew when it was time to get all of the hands in to pluck the feathers. Some were more stubborn than others, especially those around the wing tips and severed neck area. When it was clean, it went to the cutting board. There is an oil gland just above the bum that gets to be removed. Then the skin from the neck. Once the feet are removed, they make for a neat trick. When the tendons are pulled, the claw clenches. Any air left within the chicken will make him expel a clucky-sigh with all of the moving around. At the back end he's slit around the cloaca without puncturing the intestines. Then separate all innards and collectively pull out a pile of guts. Heart and liver are good, but there's a sac of some sort that must be cut out or it will spoil the flavor. While working the insides, I found the scratch I had fed him to lure him over to the chop block. The yellow thing is the crop. That's where stones (and for some: nails, lost keys, etc.) can be found. That yellow can be peeled off. It gets fuzzy from here and no, I'm not taking my time to research the anatomy and describe in detail each step. I was nervous but proud for most of it. Maybe it will be a proper 'how-to' guide another time, but not this one.

If you cannot touch raw chicken, how can you eat cooked chicken? I used to be afraid of touching raw meat. I was afraid that there were germs everywhere. But then I asked myself how it was fair to expect someone else to bear the burden of touching raw meat that I would later enjoy. This was one of the beginnings of a series of small changes that helped me adjust my perspective and become a little more responsible in at least one area. I'm noticing that when something seems too clean, too perfect or too easy, it probably is and there's a risk that someday the bottom will drop out. I confess that I still sanitize the kitchen each time raw meat is handled (and we cook a lot).

From the culinary perspective, here are a few notes about the meat. It was probably a combination of the preparation as well as this guy being a rooster, but the meat reminded me more of steak or pork. Sinewy. I've not experienced free range rooster roast before, but I've never seen such marbled meat in chicken. Everything was super attached in his well developed muscles. (Yes, as we were preparing I could not refer to our meal as "the chicken" or "it" but rather, "he" and "him.") The meat pictures are from his thigh and drumstick, respectively. Next time we'll try a different method. It was difficult to eat and I was surprised how much power my subconscious had over my mental preparation. I didn't want to eat very much, even though I eat chicken often. I then felt sick, but I knew it was just a matter of dealing with knowing what I was eating. It took a while before my mind won the control over my body.

This experience has taught me about give and take. Life comes, life goes. No matter how well prepared for it we think we are, I find that I am still surprised when it happens, be it human or pet.
Here are a few images of our little australorp growing up. When he was the alpha, he used to get into fights with our portable music player.

Goodbye, roo.

Our "let's get together and watch a pot boil" party went well! We had a great turn out--I was surprised at the number of people who responded and were able to share a day out-of-doors with us. Some even from two hours east and others from an hour and a half south! (Thanks for making that trip, friends!) I count myself blessed to be among such good company. I realized after it was too late that I should have extended the invitation ever further, but there will be more opportunities, I'm sure. I very much enjoy gathering people together, even if it makes me a bit scatterbrained and poor in conversation due to pure excitement. I enjoyed it. I hope everyone else did too.For our sap-boiling-into-syrup process, we started the fire after 2:00 in the afternoon and let it go probably until about 7:00. Then we let it rest overnight to finish off indoors this morning. We rounded off the night by taking the grate off of the fire and with a slowly shrinking group of people, gathered closer around the warmth and told stories of anacondas, building shelters in the woods and how nice it is to relate to those who also "stick out" in a crowd (which can feel like you can't relate).

Even the horses stopped by for a visit. Their visits are always a nice surprise. They were quick enough to keep that awful saddle cover...this time. The rooster got some love and attention. Plenty of it I hope since it was likely his last full day on this earth (the poor thing).

Because of the way this blog site formats, I'm putting the finished product picture first. Here it is. The beauty of the finished product! These guys are sealed so I actually haven't tasted it. But it sure looks good, even better than the test batches we've run before. Here is the culmination of weeks of tapping and gallons upon gallons of collected sap. We're sharing with those who had a direct hand in the process (mountain people). I'm afraid there isn't any more to go around! This process has been a fun learning experience. I look forward to doing it again next year.

Today I witnessed the beginning of beauty unfolding in the sweet hopefulness of Spring, as well as nature's less attractive sides. It was a beautiful day to be working in the field.
Here are some pretty pictures. Some are natural, some are just because it was a good day to visit the local garden store (Ashcombe's).

I'm short on words due to a current dilemma. I thought it a perfect day to let the chickens roam.

And it was. Until the roosters started fighting. I've now rescued the losing but so prideful red rooster three times from the black one. He is dripping with blood but will not relent. He also will not stay put in the garage when I try to separate him. I need help deciding which one to off before they kill each other. I hate this part about food, but as meat eaters go, it's reality. And I'd so much rather be eating chickens I've respected and raised than the ones that never see the sun and get processed like plastic.

 

 

More notes from a home made life: