Today is the Day

July 6, 2017

Today I will finish getting us out of the lake house. I know. I can’t believe it either. We’re still not out.

I am heading over at 5:30 AM to work. I have worked sixteen-hour days for a long time now. I think I have about four hours of packing and schlepping left. The office, the attic, the basement. My prayer is to get it done by 10 AM, when I believe the tour of the place is planned.

Yesterday I worked steadily all day but unexpectedly my teenaged helper Nick did not arrive until noon. I had to leave at 2 PM. However in those two hours he, Lucy, and I managed to move items from the garage to reach the desirable pieces, carry my mother’s heavy secretary upstairs to our room, and carry our chest freezer out of the lake house basement. Having the latter two big jobs done is a huge weight off my mind. The only really heavy item left is DH’s old TV. I imagine I can get it down the stairs one step at a time.

In the midst of everything I received a call from the bank. I was grimy and sweaty and standing in the lake house woodshed at the time. The appraiser wanted to come out to appraise the new house for our mortgage.

I squeaked in fright.

“The house isn’t quite finished?” he asked.

Hmm. No siding. No finished porches, no side porches built at all. No finished bathrooms. No counters. No cabinet pulls. No closets. No finished interior stairs. Only half the interior lights, doors, and doorknobs. No tiled floors. No exterior painting.

I didn’t know what to say, so I told him I would call him back.

When I spoke to him, my builder was not troubled. Nick is a sunny optimist by nature. “The only things left are the little cosmetic stuff, and the siding. That shouldn’t count for an appraisal.”

“Stairs?”

He looked disconcerted. “Oh, well, that will only take a few days.”

I called my mortgage officer. He too was initially unworried. “Nick tells me that there’s just a short punchlist left.”

Apologetically I recited the list.

“Oh, wow. Hmmm. That’s quite a bit different. Let me talk to my underwriter, who is my superior, and I’ll call you back.”

I unloaded the most recent haul of boxes and drove to a farm an hour away to pick up my new foster bull calf. He’s a Milking Shorthorn cross, copper red with a pink nose. He’s also very tall. At two days old he could barely fit in the dog crate. At the moment, unoriginally, I’m calling him Big Red.

The bank called back on my way home. The appraisal has to be delayed two weeks. I am supposed to “light a fire under” my builder and get all the rest of the work done by then. It’s going to be very tight to meet our closing date of August 13. If we don’t meet it, there will be a stiff financial penalty. Stay calm, I told myself.

I unloaded Red at the barn, raced into town to pick up the dogs before the vet closed, and then came back to guide Red through his first nursing on Moxie.

After two days of bottles, Red was slow to catch on. Patiently I milked a teat in a stream over his muzzle and lips. He bucked and reared to get away but I held him tightly. For ten minutes we struggled. I would stuff the teat into his mouth and he’d let it lie there, the milk drooling out. At long last the penny dropped. Milk! It comes from here! It’s a milk bar! His tail lashed with delight. He was so excited that between ecstatic suckles he kept dropping the teat and then searching for it all over the rest of her body in a frenzy of sucking. Is it her elbow? No. Is it her brisket? No. I’d haul him back to the proper position and he’d suckle some more, quivering with joy.

I had been too busy to drive to the city to get a shower curtain rod. (Perhaps tomorrow.) Once the barn shut for the night, Lucy and I drove to the lake house for a last wash before a late supper. Now I’m heading back to pack some more.


I Like Ike

July 4, 2017

Meet Ike, Moxie’s new bull calf, Eisenhower, who called the shots on my moving D-Day. He’s healthy and frisky and very cute.

Meanwhile Moxie is so engorged with milk and edema she can barely walk. Her back teats are tiny nubs on a huge, hot medicine ball.

I can milk out the front teats without an issue but I struggle twice a day to get milk out of the back ones. Even my thumb and forefinger can’t get a grip to strip-milk, only producing a tiny dribble. Another bull calf would have no problem, but though I’ve called around I can’t find one. The dairy I regularly bought from in years past has gone out of the milk business.

I have to empty those back teats or Moxie will get sick.

I also have to finish emptying the lake house, put up shelves, find linens, and on and on… the push continues.

Still, this morning a family of ravens was outside our window. They were screaming with delight so I looked out to see what had them enthralled. They were attempting to peel protective plastic (glittering with morning dew) off the roofing pieces stacked in the driveway.

Like a raven, I get tremendous pleasure from the small things.


Still Not Out

July 3, 2017

I’m mostly out of the lake house. One more room to go, plus the attic, the basement, the woodshed, and the garage. I made my last trip at 9:30 last night and didn’t have energy left to unload the truck.

I am tired and trying not to be overwhelmed.

Nothing in the new house is set up to receive our things. No closets, no shelves. Therefore we have piles of boxes, food, clean laundry, framed paintings, and dress clothes everywhere. Not to mention boxes and boxes of books and stuff, in amongst leaning piles of construction debris, tools, and materials. Even the porch is jammed with saws, the staircases waiting to be installed, and builders’ trash waiting to go to the dump. I had anticipated the problem and asked last week if at least the closets could be finished and if the debris and no-longer needed construction items could be moved out. However, I’m not sure the reality of we are moving in had really dawned on anyone — and it didn’t happen.

Nick did come out yesterday after church, in response to my text, to install exterior door knobs so I didn’t have to pile things in front of the doors to keep the dogs inside.

Meanwhile I packed our personal dishes and linens two years ago when I moved us out of the school in nine days while teaching and driving Lucy to visit colleges. I have no memory of where anything is, except that it must be in the stacks and stacks in the basement or garage. So currently we have no dishes, sheets, or blankets.

All of these mysteries would be delightful to solve if I only had time. I’m itching to build pantry and closet shelves, open boxes, and gradually get us organized. However, I have more days of moving out of the lake house to finish. The boy Nick whom I’d hired to help today — I can’t carry filing cabinets down flights of stairs or wrangle a chest freezer out of the basement on my own — again texted that he could not come. DH and Lucy will be off to work, and the builders arrive here at 7:30 this morning. I have to control my panicky sense of having zero control.

Oh, well. I know everything will work out in the end. I also know how lucky I am. I just have to keep marching. I can hear Allen’s voice in my ear. “Done whinin’?”

Onward.

This morning I will try to find my tools and set up our bed to get our mattress off the floor. If that can happen, I can put all the clean laundry on top of it. I will take a broomstick and create a temporary hanging rod suspended from the basement ceiling joists. I will stack everything currently piled on the kitchen counters in the future pantry, just to have it out of the way. I will take Lucy’s bags out of the mudroom and shove them in the attic, ditto. I will roll back all the rugs so the men do not walk on them with muddy work boots. I will drive the dogs to the vet for the day so they will not end up on the highway.

Then I will mow lanes and move the sheep, try to make poor Moxie (painfully engorged but — thank you, God! — happily not comatose with milk fever) comfortable, and push on with emptying and cleaning the lake house.

Tomorrow I will post something upbeat, with photos. Today I have to buckle in and motor on.

 

 


Countdown

June 30, 2017

We are due to move tomorrow. We’ll see. It will be opening day for our school’s summer camp, so both DH and Lucy (who has a job in the camp office) have to work. Not perfect planning on our parts.  I think I will have the help of young Nick plus possibly another teenager.

No calf. Poor Moxie’s bag is so engorged I’m wondering if I will be able to get a bucket under it.

Yesterday morning I put up the last two sheets of sheetrock. With great difficulty young Nick and I pulled our big old white melamine TV cabinet up the stairs out of the basement of this house (it has been a storage unit for DH’s climbing gear for the past two years), carried it to the farm, and cut it down to fit in the corner of the farm basement. By quitting time at 5 PM we had all the bookcases in place around it.

After a quick supper I went back to the farm and worked on the basement until 9:30 PM. All the structure is now in place. There are still hours of unpacking and shifting of boxes to do down there, but I can see that my plan will work if I can get it done.

I just need time. And energy. I’m very tired. Too anxious to sleep.

Still, as worried and exhausted as I am, this move feels very different from the last one. When I walked out of the basement late last night, lightning was flashing across the distant horizon, and fireflies winked in the dark over the pasture. I’m moving into my farm! And my farm has fireflies!

It is tremendously exciting.

Rain has drummed on the roof all night. I’m going to walk and feed the dogs, pack a few more boxes, and head down to the farm to get back to work.  Yesterday morning I found the men had left me a message scrawled across the basement wall on the final sheet of insulation.

I was grinning as I fitted the last sheet of sheetrock to cover it up.


Working

June 29, 2017

Still no calf. Moxie’s udder is so swollen it resembles a rubber glove inflated to the breaking point. Yesterday at morning chores I anxiously ran my hands over the hot, giant teats and discovered that she is freshening with bad mastitis in one quarter. The milk is clotted like cheese curds. My sense of doom is increasing.

That feeling is not allayed by a walk-through of the house. Though progress is being made in every room, it’s still far from ready.

It has also dawned on me that we will be moving with two dogs into a work space where men leave all the doors open all day long. Another problem to solve.

For now I am thinking we (Lucy, DH, I, and the dogs) will sleep upstairs but, for the next week or two, spend any other time hanging out in the basement. Yes — that big chilly space stacked with boxes and furniture. It sounds crazy but the basement doors can be closed and then we will be removed from the rest of the house and the ongoing work. (Except for the day they replace the stairs.) To make the basement a comfortable spot will require considerable effort, but I have a plan.

The boy Nick texted early yesterday that he could not come, but that was fine. I often find it restful to work alone.

I spent the morning cutting more sheetrock and putting it up. At one point I had struggled to carry an upright sheet through the maze of mess and finally got it safely against the far wall when I turned to find the electrician staring at me.

“You work so hard,” he said, his eyes concerned. “I feel sorry for you.”

I smiled. “I like to work.”

It’s true. If it weren’t for the time pressure, I would be having great fun.

With the pressure, it is indeed a little stressful. To cheer myself up I have been wearing Allen’s old baseball hat. He gave it to me years ago at the end of one of our long working days. It looks foolish on me but that’s OK.

Though clearly I was a strange woman and without most practical skills, it was my impression Allen respected my sheer determination. I always recall him saying to his son-in-law, back in 2009, “You’re gonna be workin’ with girlie, here. Try an’ keep up!”

His belief in me is a happy thing to remember.

* * *

After lunch Lucy and I drove to the city an hour away to get more bathroom tile (believe it or not, a box fell out of the second floor window and smashed, and now we were short). Lucy went along to pick out her bathroom shower curtain. I would also take the opportunity to buy mastitis meds for Moxie. The last thing I wanted to do was interrupt my day for an unexpected four-hour trip, but it could not be helped. In order for us to have one working shower by Sunday morning, Nick needed to finish tiling the children’s bathtub.

We bought the tile, we bought the shower curtain. Naturally, Tractor Supply was sold out of mastitis meds. We found some in another store in the other direction and had them held for me; I will be driving to pick them up this morning.

When we got home I discovered that the toilets and kitchen sink had been delivered at school. The stack of giant boxes was chin high. Toiling slowly, I partially unpacked some of them in order to fit them in the truck to carry them to the farm. One toilet was in shards. Though I do wonder how toilet companies stay in business, I have no more emotion in the toilet department. I asked Nick to unpack the others carefully in case they, too, have to be returned.

Today: Moxie, mortgage calls and paperwork, finishing the basement.


Pressing On

June 28, 2017

Yesterday young Nick and I cut and hung sheetrock in the corner of the basement. I have never worked with sheetrock before and made sure to read about it online before starting work in front of the smiling pros.

The job was difficult primarily because the space is so packed with boxes and furniture that it was hard to find room to tilt each piece to stand it upright. Then we had to shuffle with each piece (just short of 8 feet high) through the narrow aisle without catching it against the 8-foot ceiling or the floor.

Moreover, after we had our first three sheets up, contractor Nick (working nearby on plumbing) glanced over and realized he should not have told me to place the top furring strip so far down the wall, because it was too low to be a brace for a future dropped ceiling. He jumped in to help us fix this problem with more furring strips. We had only proceeded by another sheet when he similarly realized we needed some bracing behind the long vertical seams, to help keep the drywall from bowing. Again young Nick and I unscrewed, removed, braced, and rehung the sheetrock.

Two more sheets to cut and hang today to finish the corner. I’m not sure young Nick will be with me. It will be a challenge to stand up and carry the sheets on my own, but I imagine I will figure it out.

Then it is on to moving all the boxes out of the way, moving all the bookcases into place, and unloading books onto the shelves. It actually would be a fun assignment if the time pressure didn’t feel so crushing.

And if I didn’t have the potential disaster of Moxie’s impending calving in the back of my mind.


My Dear Sword of Damocles

June 27, 2017

Poor Moxie. I check on her a dozen times a day and she looks so uncomfortable. The later she goes, the more worried I get. I tell myself that my sense of impending doom is merely due to all the other stresses going on in my life.

Yesterday after checking Moxie I started the day by building a new platform for a propane tank delivered last Friday. Due to the weeds and the yellow jackets, the gas man had installed the tank at the edge of the house, where it was visible as one drove in. I figured the easiest way to get the tank moved further past the corner was to set up the new spot myself. I hauled dirt to level the ground, hauled #2 stone for drainage, and set up and leveled identical pavers I had on hand. The work took an hour before breakfast but it was done. When they arrived, the men moved the heavy tank in less than a minute.

(The paint on the garage has been scraped preparatory to the entire house being painted in a few weeks. The sewer pipe is a clean-out that Allen and I installed in 2009. Once the building is finished, I will cut it down to just above ground level.)

Meanwhile, see this mess? This was originally an orderly, very large pile of boxes, most of them filled with books, moved by me from the mudroom. Unfortunately, in the last few weeks of rush to get things out of the way of the builders, various other items have been thrown on top.

The outside doorway into the basement is similarly blocked with “stuff.”

All of it must be moved in the next two days, to make room for a water heater plus various other items to be brought in.

I have thought and thought about how to scaffold all this labor. I hope my plan will work.

I have stumbled upon a sweet, lanky 16-year-old, also named Nick, who is willing to be hired to help me with this move. What a stroke of luck!

Back in March when I was moving all the boxes to the basement, I planned ahead and left a two-foot-wide path around the giant stack. Yesterday young Nick and I fastened furring strips along the Fox Blocks lining the basement walls. Fox Blocks are the styrofoam forms into which the concrete walls were poured. The blocks have nailing spaces between the concrete about every ten inches. By attaching the furring strips to the block wall with 3″ coated deck screws, we have created a frame on which to hang sheetrock.

Someday the basement will be a finished space, but given the dollars involved, not any time soon. For now my goal is to hang 8 sheets of drywall in this northeast corner to smooth out the walls.

The Fox Blocks website says that the concrete should cure for a year before sheetrock is taped. This is convenient for me, since I don’t know how to tape.

Once I get the sheetrock up, I will line the walls with some of our two dozen bookcases. Then I will start emptying cartons onto the shelves. Though DH and I like our books to be grouped by subject, for now I will just get them out of boxes, to clear the space.

Yesterday young Nick and I carried ten bookcases from the garage (where Kyle and I had stored them in 2015) around the house and down the rough slope to the basement. We carried four more inside for the office.

Here is Nick trimming the back of one of these latter office shelves so it will fit tight to the wall over the molding. Long experience has taught me that the best way to keep a teen’s attention through a long day is to give him access to a power tool.

Meanwhile Lucy and Amanda have been helping me with bathroom decisions. Last night I rushed to the lumberyard 20 minutes away just before closing and picked up samples for the molded vanity top (less expensive than separate top and sink). Here is a sample of the flooring tile, a piece of white trim matching the plain vanity cabinet, a white subway wall tile, and two “faux granite” options for the molded top.

After I check Moxie I have to drive the box of samples back. I have to order the vanities this afternoon, cut and hang the eight sheets of sheetrock, move bookshelves into position, carry four more shelves down the stairs of this house and into the basement, and start emptying boxes.

If I have any energy left, it would be good if I could prime the mudroom ceiling tonight.

And perhaps Moxie will calve today!