This is the time of year when there aren’t enough hours in the day. So much to do before it gets cold; so much to do before it gets wet. The weather is mostly holding, and I’m armed with a to-do list, but there’s still a ways to go.
I haven’t gotten as much done this summer as I planned. Some of that was stagnation while I waited for the bridge, as it felt like I couldn’t turn around without piles of trash getting in the way, or I needed materials that I wasn’t willing to haul down from the upper parking area. Some of it was illness, as this house still manages to poison me sometimes. Some of it was unexpected weather—it’s been an odd summer climate-wise. I’m trying to count my victories, and prune my to-do list to what I might be able to finish this year. Some things really can wait another six to eight months.
I got a few breaks. Waspageddon was a bust; the yellowjackets are out there, sure, but no worse than an average visit to the picnic tables at a park. I’m guessing one nest, maybe two small ones. There’s a bald-faced hornet nest this year, which I think is in the far pasture, but only the scouts poke around the garden close to the house. I expect the net under the William’s Pride apple tree did help (it certainly improved the condition of the apples I collected), but my butterfly net and a few visits from the swallows probably helped more. It was one less source of stress.
I found a small glade behind the Annex, full of untouched beauty and quiet. It’s been touched now, of course; I cleared out a bunch of dead branches scattered around, and did a little work to make the creek run in a more pleasing fashion. I’ll pull the creeping blackberries and plant some violets to complement the sorrel. My goal is to improve its beauty rather than change it—it’s a place I can retreat to when I need some peace, without having to drive anywhere.
The rest has just been a matter of reaping the rewards of hard work. I took the frame apart for the kitchen door, undoing fixes on patches on hack jobs, and when I got down to the original frame it fit the door quite well. I could see why it leaked like a sieve, though: the wall next to it was salvaged shiplap, the boards rough and uneven, meeting up poorly on their grooved edges. There were 3/8” cracks between them, and around the edge of the doorframe where the boards were badly cut. I whipped out the can of spray foam, got ready to use it, and belatedly read the label. Diethyl ether isn’t precisely the solvent I’m sensitive to, but it’s a close enough cousin I don’t want it in my walls. So I put the can away and proceeded to chink the cracks with folded pasta boxes before sealing them with caulk. Clay and moss, 21st century edition. I haven’t quite finished, but I can already feel the difference.
I reluctantly took a hacksaw to the old doorknob, as someone had used epoxy the last time they got exasperated with the set screw slipping. Once it was out, I pulled the mortise lock, cleaned and lubricated its innards, and did the same for the night latch. The locksmith wasn’t able to salvage the cylinder for the night latch, but he produced a compatible cylinder and three keys. I ordered an almost identical knob off of Amazon and put it in. A little more work, and the kitchen door closes, latches, and seals tightly against its weatherstripping. I have to slam it, but as things compress and break in, it’ll get easier; for now I’m willing to pay the price for not having drafts. It needs a threshold and the new trim around the sides of the frame, then I can check it off my list.
I dealt with the window on the south side of the mudroom. I was getting concerned, as the paint was almost gone, the putty was falling out in chunks, and the unprotected wood was drying and starting to crack around the panes of glass. I patiently chipped away the last of the old putty, slathered boiled linseed oil on the dry wood, and pulled out the Sarco putty I ordered online. It was softer than I expected, more like ooblek than modeling clay most of the time, but I found a tool and a technique that worked for me and chugged along. It took five hours to work around all of the 12 panes; that’s a lot of linear feet. Once I took the oil smudges off the glass (thanks for the tips, internet) I was quite pleased, and I feel much better. I’ll try to take time to scrape the rest of the frame and slap some primer on it before the rainy season really lands on us, but that’s one window preserved for the time being.
In the middle of doing the window, the CenturyLink technician showed up unexpectedly. I had attempted to get someone out here four times since my phone went out in mid-July, and only once had I actually seen a tech. The rest of the time I made the appointment, no one showed up, and the system asked if I wanted to reschedule. Meanwhile, the snapped line dangled at the pole just before the next curve, the victim of yet another log truck. Just that morning, I had called customer service, requested a refund for the two months my service had been down, and scheduled yet another appointment a couple of days out. So I was flabbergasted when a tech appeared only a few hours later. He said he had been waiting for a flagger crew, and finally got one that day. He had ran a fresh line almost the full quarter mile from my neighbor’s place and hung it well out of the reach of any log truck. Then he replaced the box on the side of my house, handed me a tone generator so we could find the right pair to hook up, and made sure I had a dial tone before he left. I didn’t even have to call the PUC this time.
I hauled the old braided rug out of the living room at last. A friend and I had carefully beaten it last summer, but it was still generating lots of dirt and dust, and it was getting increasingly ragged. I ordered some interlocking foam squares, and spent an evening assembling them, then covered them with a spare sheet to keep the whole thing from becoming a kitty scratching pad. They’re warm, and soft, and even. I’ll cover them with washable rugs or fabric, and they can easily be damp-mopped or swept. The living room is so much cleaner now.
I did several dump runs, clearing the pipeline, and finished cleaning the office. Then I tackled the office closet, which took two rounds and a lot of courage (it’s appalling what rodents, dampness, and time can reduce things to). But one more dump run, and moving a few boxes of books, should finish that stage. Next up will be cutting out the lower portion of the walls and installing new wiring and outlets, so that the office can be on its own circuit once the panel gets upgraded. I’m also planning out how to set up the closet as a stillroom, as it’s perfect for storing herbs.
I’ve been dipping into herb lore, in a few snatched moments. I never put much stock in herbal remedies, as they always seemed half subtle effect and half wishful thinking. It turns out that when you have freshly harvested herbs, processed properly, they work a lot better than commercial products or bulk herbs that have been sitting in some Bulgarian warehouse for several years. It’s been nearly two years since I switched from a prescription antiviral to Oregon grape root extract I make myself, and it’s worked at least as well, but now I’m branching out. First, feverfew tincture from the volunteer plants here, which does help with the book-mold headaches I get. Then I tried ground-up fresh bugleweed on an abscess Artie was struggling with, and I was astonished when it started healing twice as fast; I regret not keeping up with it. There’s something to this, apparently. I’ll see what else I can cook up from the things growing rampant around here. (Other than Ivan chai, which is a very tasty tea.)
Ah yes, Artie. He has a nasty flea allergy, and no matter how hard I control the fleas, he still gets sores at certain times of year. One started at the base of his tail, and by the time I realized the cat flap was scraping it raw, it was a full two square inches and he was in miserable pain. He’s young and vigorous, and he heals rapidly, but after two weeks I knew he needed help—to shave off the fur that kept getting caught in it, if nothing else. I called up my vet, who didn’t even blink at “former feral” and prescribed a sedative to give him before his appointment. It turned out his appetite was so poor he didn’t eat much of it… pain will do that, and I estimate he had lost about a pound and a half already. But the sedative might have helped calm him a bit when I stuffed him into a carrier (our chief weapons are a towel and surprise) and took him off to get poked at by strangers.
He behaved like any other cat, to my relief. He petitioned me for release all the way there, sat warily in the carrier until the vet took over, growled in displeasure while they shaved him and treated the abscess, tolerated the shots, and had nothing to say to me on the way home. I let him out and prepared to feed him on the porch for a couple of days, but by the time we had both had a nap, he was bouncy and cheerful and purring around my ankles again. I had Fixed The Problem, like he knew I would, and he loves me again. He healed quickly, and he’s gaining back the weight. Maybe the next trip to the vet will be a little easier.
Cricket is much as always, already putting on her winter coat and insisting on being included in every project. I’m harness-training her, which is progressing slowly but steadily. Eventually I might be able to take her with me to the outside world.
Rue finally took me fishing. I asked him to teach me as my birthday present this year, and one Saturday he texted me saying he’d be going out fishing with a friend of his, and would I like to come? So I spent the late afternoon, until dark, in a canoe with an old friend of his. We chatted while the friend baited my hook and maneuvered to the best spots, and I went home with five modest smallmouth bass. It gave me a nice dinner, and I have a few left in the freezer I’m about to pull out. I miss fresh fish, it’s nice to have the prospect of getting my own.
I did try the washing machine at the end of June, with Conrad’s help; we wrestled the hand-me-down front-loader from the Red Barn into the kitchen, hooked it up to the taps that did, indeed, work, plugged it in…. and nothing happened. It didn’t respond to a request for a spin cycle, and the door latch refused to open no matter how I tugged at it. We agreed that a couple of extra years in an open garage after sitting idle for five years was probably enough to do in a 25-year-old machine, and we hauled it back out again. Thus settled, I sat down to find out how much a new machine would be… and hit the Fourth of July sales.
I never thought a $600 washing machine would qualify as an impulse buy, but within a week I had a brand new Samsung large capacity HE front-loader, which spins like it’s going to take off for orbit, and sings “Die Forelle” by Schubert when it’s done. I love it dearly. It handled my comforters and blankets easily during the short heat wave earlier this month, and gets things almost cleaner than I could. It was a blow to my budget, but it’s marvelous.
The heat waves were all short this year. I had been holding off on some projects, waiting for the dry, hot weather that dries paint and fabric immediately, but just at the point I normally expect a red flag warning, we got drenching cold rain instead. Some Asian typhoon had looped up around the gulf of Alaska and landed on us. It soaked the arriving crowds at Burning Man and checked the momentum of a bunch of crops ripening in the garden. It’s been a humid summer in general; I’m not one to complain, as I mentioned to the Deputy Fire Marshal when he looked over the new bridge, since we didn’t have a real fire season this year. Still, it was disconcerting to have my strawberries consumed by grey mold before they even really got ripe.
I did get some, though. The August berries made it all worthwhile. Each one had the flavor of a double handful of commercial strawberries, so I found myself satisfied after just a couple. They weren’t bearing much in their first year, so that worked out. I’m looking forward to drying and preserving them next year.
I also got the rare Egyptian White zucchini to mature for a seed increase, which is a weight off my mind. My most recent seed was ten years old, which isn’t ancient for squash, but I was starting to worry. With that out of the way, I can work on a controlled cross for next year, and produce a new batch of Kraken seed. Those I may actually sell as seed packets. It’s a magnificent hybrid, and my mom says it’s the best tasting zucchini she’s ever found; I don’t know how much money I could make off of squash seeds, but if Mr. Byles could sell enough tomato plants in the early 1940s to pay off his mortgage in six years, I figure it’s worth a try. If you want a Kraken of your own, watch this space next fall, or ping me about some of my older seeds (they’re still good, just not newly minted). If preserving an heirloom white zucchini sounds interesting, I will happily send you seeds and advice for that too—it’s not difficult.
The rest of the garden was the usual mix of success and failure. The Asian cabbages were stupendous, and I got a very good batch of kimchi out of them; the fall crop is bounding along, next to far more broccoli. The beets came out very well, and my red onions are small but tasty. The potatoes had an average year, outperformed by the lettuce; I now have many jars of pickled lettuce for winter. The deer munched the last of it, alas. The cucumbers and beans failed yet again, victims of the poor fertility of the newest bed (I thought building it out of the former compost heap would give it a boost, but no). That bed was redeemed by the coriander, which shot up to three feet and bloomed, and bloomed, and bloomed. The pollinators adored it, and it’s heavy with seed. My experiment with peppers was quite successful, though I’m not sure all of them will ripen. The tomatoes fizzled, but I’m not too sad about that—it was a rotten year for them all over. The herbs gave me two or three harvests. And I had to thin the golden delicious apple after it threatened to break branches. It still has a month to go, and I’m crossing my fingers they ripen up properly.
I have almost a comfortable amount of firewood. Some is still drying, and I’m about to stack it beside the Annex under cover so it can finish off; I need to shorten some of the rest, as it’s too long for my stove. I got a packboard at the thrift store, and I’m about to attach a wire basket to it so that I can gather bundles of sticks in the woods for kindling. The woodshed is almost full, however, as is the stack along the side of the Bug Bay, and I still have most of the oak in the Annex (not all of it is too long). So I’ll be warm this winter, with a little more work. Rue cleaned the chimney for me, and he was shocked at how little soot there was after a full cold season. I think he respects my little woodstove a bit more now.
Jenny is doing well, though I’m scrambling to get a roof on her porch and a new back door installed before winter. She’s doing her usual rounds, and trying to stay out of my way as I juggle all the plates.
Lastly, to accompany the new culvert and the new bridge, the road crew from the Federal Bureau of Land Management just finished clearing and grading the access road that branches off at my mailbox. It’s now three times as wide at the foot, with a brand new culvert, and they logged off a bunch of trees along its length to widen the corridor. I bet the hunters will love that this fall.
As much as I’ve pruned my list, it still feels ambitious: cutting down the box bushes that smother the north side of the house, digging drainage for the pasture, moving the dryer into the mudroom, sewing a bunch of thermal curtains. Those are just some of the major items. I remind myself that I still have five weeks before the definite end of the season, perhaps that will be enough. If nothing else, I’m far more comfortable than I was a year ago.
I’ll post again at the winter solstice, a few days before Christmas. I hope the turning of the seasons treats you well, and remember to check out the Google photo album. I’ve been too busy to add as many pictures as usual, but there are some good ones.
—Sam
