Ground Down

In many ways, we've been through the mill this year.

Beck's Mill, Salem, IN

So it seemed fitting, that in the grip of holiday spirit brought on by online deals, I ordered myself a Victorio grain  mill.

I've never ground my own grain before but whole wheat flour in the stores hereabouts is lackluster--and expensive. Emergency Essentials sent me an offer I couldn't refuse and I succumbed--a small mill for less than $50.

Then  I had to locate some wheat to grind. My go-to guy for finding things locally had a lead on soft wheat grown a few miles away but not hard wheat (he'd bought a ton--yes, 2000 pounds!--of the stuff many years ago and was still using that. Now THAT'S preparedness). Hard wheat is necessary for bread which is our main use for flour.

So I searched the net. Many places offer hard wheat but the shipping is a bit much to justify the purchase. Amazon to the rescue! Not only can you order ORGANIC wheat berries from them but it qualifies for free shipping. Wow.

50 lbs of wheat arrived a few days ago (the UPS man is beginning to dread coming here)and the mill yesterday. I tested it last night with peppercorns and it worked great. But the real test was whole wheat flour.

I poured in 1 cup of wheat and started grinding. Set at the finest setting, the flour came out silky soft. It took about 10 minutes--that's with breaks for photos--and was fairly easy to turn. I can feel it in my shoulder but then I'm in wretched shape.

The 1 cup of berries yielded almost 1 3/4 cups flour.

I wanted to test this high gluten flour on bagels but was pressed for time so I mixed up some muffins. I did add 1/4 cup white flour as the recipe calls for 2 cups.

Man oh man, do these taste good! I'm not a fussy eater and have the palate of  a toddler, but I'll go out on a limb and say the fresh flour made quite a difference. Although mostly whole wheat, these aren't heavy or dense and have a...wait a minute, I've got to "test" another one...sweet, nutty flavor.

The grinding is an effort but since there are only two of us, we don't use mounds of flour and when the grandkids come visit, this will be a great way for them to burn off some of that excess energy!

Fruits of our labors

Parents the world over are secure in the knowledge that their children are the best of a generation--smart, kind, talented beyond measure. This weekend we had confirmation of that--NOT THAT WE NEEDED IT!

We were honored to attend the premier of a Christmas play, THE FAMILY FRUITCAKE, by our daughter, Rebecca Frohling. She not only has penned a holiday classic but guided her work through the workshop process at the Albright Theatre and stuck with it during rewrites, suggestions, and long nights of rehearsals.

The result is a funny, fast-moving story that is heartwarming without being sappy. The cast, directed by Tricia Hewson and Veronica Krystal, brought the 20 (!) characters to life and made us believe in family, no matter how many nuts the family and fruitcake contains.

If you're in the Batavia, IL area, give yourself an early Christmas present and attend THE FAMILY FRUITCAKE, December 14, 15, and 16.

Now to drop my mommy-theater critic persona for a moment, fruit is in the future here also.

The fruits trees I ordered from the Arbor Day group finally arrived and we planted: 4 apples, 2 peaches, and 2 cherry trees. I have had limited success with fruit trees but have great hopes for these. After all, a garden is the embodiment of hope.

Ye Olde Repair Person



I don't think ours was labelled this clearly.

    In the 5 months since we moved to Indiana, our computer monitor died, the cd player bit the dust, the television stopped working, the jigsaw wouldn't cut, and the new saw we bought fell apart in our hands the first time we used it. Of all of these modern marvels, only the jigsaw was still under warranty (go, Black and Decker) but they didn't fix it, they sent us a new one (the new new one was exchanged at the store).

   This chain of broken has made me long for the golden days of my youth when THINGS COULD BE REPAIRED.

   You young folk may think it's a myth, but I stand as witness that, in days of yore, not only did appliances operate as advertised for several years but that when there was a problem, a repair person came to your house!

   Ah, the repairman. Thought by some to be a figment of delusional senior citizens, this creature was for real and true. In our family's case, the saint of handiness was Bernie.

   Our console television got heavy use. Jack LaLaine jumping jacks in the morning, episodes of the Mickey  Mouse Club after school, news and Bonanza at night. Expanding our world by three channels in breath-taking black and white. But sometimes that world had wavy lines and fuzzy reception.

   Then we'd call Bernie. His arrival was met with glee by us kids. Bernie came in with his tool box; one of those large metal kits with pop-up drawers full of tubes and electronic gizmos. He'd pull the set out from the wall and take off the back exposing the wires and doohickies that made the magic. And he'd fix it! He was the Albus Dumbledore of television repair and we adored him. I can only imagine the mountain of patience that man must have had to work with an audience of juvenile fans watching his every move.

   I don't remember the other fix-it guys that populated our world back then, although I'm sure there were many. My dad himself was often called out to repair juke boxes and pool tables (he owned a vending business). But I'm afraid the house-calling repair person has gone the way of the 5 cent fudgcycle and the milk door.

   When did we stop trying to fix things? When did we give up and start filling our landfills with plastic junk, our lives with black and white ideas and doomsday despair? Where are the Bernies of the world to connect a wire here, replace a tube there, and give us clear reception, at least for a time. We have to believe that what is broken can be fixed; it's not impossible. Bernie would tell us that.

Home is where the cookies are

The best thing about our new Lick Skillet kitchen was the curtains, which the sellers had generously left behind.

A Rasely make-over was indicated; that meant more shelving, a warmer color, more shelving, propane stove, more shelving, a new light and faucet, and did I mention more shelving?

Here's the kitchen in the real estate ad:

We did the simple things first. Replaced the leaky faucet: expensive (everything was so corroded we had to get a plumber in) but easy. Moved the too large and old fridge out to the garage and brought in our smaller one from New York and we placed it on the same wall as the stove.

The light over the sink was florescent and didn't work right. It was one of those "simple" jobs that took all afternoon and left us both with aches and pains but we did get it done.

We had new gas lines run and installed our small, basic propane stove; I much prefer the control you have with a gas stove.

The walls were white and badly in need of a paint job. I decided to go with a creamy white--helping me look forward to the day we get goats again and have rich, fresh milk! In addition to painting the walls, I also painted the cabinets and added handles,

painted the shelves we built,

and the freestanding cabinet we found in the garage, plus the in-wall shelf. 

At Woodchuck Acres, we had a separate pantry, here all the shelves are in the kitchen so I can see at a glance what stores I have at hand.

I'd still like to replace the table with a rectangular farm table and do something about the floor. But we're happy with the changes and it feels more like home--complete with cookies in the cookie jar.

Thanks for nothing!

This Thanksgiving, I'm thankful for nothing.

Specifically, the nothing that is this hole.

We needed to plant some posts for raspberry and grape trellises. This involved digging 4 holes. And we did it!!!

This may not seem like much of an accomplishment, but anyone who has lived in McDonough, NY will understand that being able to really and truly dig INTO the ground with a shovel is a rare thrill.

And so this Thanksgiving, I am full of gratitude for these fenceposts set in dirt-surrounded nothing.

A Shocking Development

The roll of poultry electronet arrived today. It's relatively easy to put up and can be moved to provide the hens with fresh pasture. They are no longer free-range (see "Fences" ) but this is almost as good with more protection.

We precharged our solar energizer and hooked everything up. Before I could locate the current tester, Dale sniffed the fence and flew back a foot or so! Guess the fence is working!



Dale, aka "Fence Tester"



Today's botany lesson, class, will be about seed dispersal.

Wearing sweatpants in the weeds--not a good idea.

Fences

We finally met our nearest neighbors yesterday, but not in the circumstances we would have chosen.

We had been free-ranging our hens; they get a well-balanced diet, help keep the insect population in check, and get plenty of exercise. At night they are shut into their predator-safe coop.

Yesterday morning I heard a loud squawking and looked out the window to see one of the neighbor's dogs with the Rhode Island Red in her mouth. I grabbed a coat and ran out yelling but the dog took off through the weeds. Tom had by then joined me and we both hurried up to the corner house.

I had taken walks by the house and been greeted by their three barking dogs. Two of them stayed away, just warning me that I was a stranger. The third was a little, plump mutt that always came out to be petted. This was the one who had killed my chicken.

Mrs. Neighbor was home. She's elderly, walks with a walker. She apologized for the incident and wanted to make good but was firmly of the opinion that dogs should be allowed to roam free.

In the country, dogs trump chickens every time.

Mr. Neighbor stopped by that afternoon. He's a 78 year old preacher, long-time resident of these parts. He too wanted to pay for or replace the chicken. And even though he likes his dogs to run free, he would tie them if absolutely necessary.

There are so many factors in a situation like this.

We're the newcomers. We're from New York--and even though we always say UPSTATE New York, most Midwesterners think of us as city folk. We hope to be here awhile and don't want the locals thinking we're lording it over with our cosmopolitan ways, telling people who have been here for generations how we thinks things should be done.

These are our neighbors. These are the people we will see every day, part of our community, our local support system.

And although I'm not a dog person, I do understand that dog versus chicken is instinct.

We assured our neighbors that no recompense was necessary. That we would be installing more fencing. We also let it be known that we would be getting more animals in the future and the dogs weren't welcome.

It's real common around here for property owners to shoot trespassing dogs. I don't want to have to resort to that measure so will assume the expense of electronet and perimeter fence in the future. And we will call and talk to our neighbors if there is a problem.

Sometimes building walls can build relationships. As the poet said, fences make good neighbors.

Cookin' with Gas





The deal is done, Woodchuck Acres is sold. We got the check!

We have a loooooooooong to-do list waiting for this moment; at the very top are: get a woodstove and run propane lines.

Teapot standing in for yet-to-be-delivered wood stove.



We found some cheap, not too ugly ceramic tiles and I put down a base for the stove (my first attempt at tiling, not too difficult but hard on the lower back).

Then we made a foray into Louisville to the nearest store that sold Lopi wood stoves.

We had a Lopi in New York and were impressed with the ease of use AND it has a cooktop. That's two ways to save money! The store was busy and the first gent who waited on us didn't know if they carried Lopis--until I pointed out that he was leaning on one. He blushed and explained he was a repair guy filling in for sales staff. We eventually talked with the sales manager and agreed, not only on a stove, but a complete installation package. We're talking mucho dinero here but Tom and I were not thrilled with installing another chimney or trying to manhandle a heavy stove into the house, etc. Been there, done that.

Our Indiana house is taller than this with a steeper roof--I wouldn't be smiling if we did it ourselves here!



We have a few cords ("ricks" out here) from that dead elm but need more. In NY we bought from a wiry, elderly man who brought it in his dumptruck. I looked forward to his delivery and his wealth of stories and he only lived about 4 miles away. Here I called our nearest neighbor (the one who bushhogged our field and his bucket loader and tractor helped pull down a dead pine limb) for a reference and, lo and behold, he also sells firewood. So we can get it from a source 1/4 mile away--I love buying locally!

So, the wood stove is on it's way. Now on to the propane lines.

 I wanted a line for a kitchen stove, a water heater, and an outside valve for a propane generator. I had delusions of doing this myself--so what if I've never dealt with potentially deadly gas and couldn't figure out how to crawl the 20 feet that would need to be navigated on your stomach over and under heating ducts and water pipes and through a cement block wall? We briefly considered cutting a trap door in the floor of the kitchen so I could somehow snake pipe along and... In this case, the musician in the family was the realistic one and talked me out of this endeavor.

A plumber who knew what he was doing came and within 3 hours had all lines done and we were using our gas stove by that afternoon. Sometimes you've just got to admit your inadequacy and bring in a professional.

Two major things checked off! It's wonderful to have money--at least for a little while.

Can Do Attitude!

With no garden this year, I didn't plan on doing any canning. But then I got a great deal on some ground beef at the supermarket and decided to add it to the pantry.

Meat needs to be pressure canned. No problem. I knew exactly where the canner was as it has been nestled in a corner of the kitchen since we moved in.

I figured I needed about a dozen jelly jars; I like to do small jars of meat as we use just enough for a bit of flavor in spaghetti sauce or soups. There were some empty jars in the bedroom, but only 3 jelly jars. I knew there were canning jars in a box upstairs, behind the box with the unpacked pictures and under the broken computer monitor. That netted two more.

Think! I have dozens of small jars and I vaguely remembered finding a great place for them. Of course, in the bathroom closet under the yogurt maker.

I now had enough jars and rings, the canner, the jar lifter and tongs, funnel. What else?... Lids!

Easily found my stash of Tattler reusable lids but  I haven't used them much for pressure canning so we went looking for the metal lids. This search took both of us. Not in any kitchen drawer or cupboard, not in the canner or with the jars. Not in the atrium (our fancy name for the utility room) or in the bedroom drawers or in either of the card catalogs (every retired librarian should have a few card catalogs lying around).

A-ha! The lids were in the drawer of my treadle sewing machine.

Got the meat heated, jars washed, lids boiled. Ladeled the hamburger and some broth into the jars, sealed them, and lowered them into the hot water in the canner. Secured the lid...and realized I had no idea where the lid weight jiggler was. No jiggler = no pressure. No pressure = botulism and a painful death.

Now we're on the clock because once the canner starts to release steam, you have ten minutes to vent it before you add the weight. However, we were now getting so good at locating canning supplies that this search only took one or two minutes before we found it in the cabinet where I keep linens and cheesemaking stuff.

We now know where most of the canning items are.
And as an additional reward for all of that scramble, every jar sealed. 

We're not lumberjacks, but we're ok.

Really.

No casualties, no crushed legs or feet, no gushing blood.

We did loosen some stones in the fire ring, land a limb on the play set, get the chain stuck a few times, damage part of the chicken fence, and my back seized a few times.

I'll start at the beginning.




After the first limb was cut (I forgot to get a "before" shot).


One of the few large trees on our property was an elm tree. Of the three main trunks, two were dead and one was looking to pass over.
It needed to come down.

We've got an electric chainsaw, have read the Paul Bunyan stories, and are gifted with a great store of optimistic stupidity; we could do this ourselves.

The first trunk was going to be easy. The only things in its path were the fire ring, maybe the compost pile, and us, if it fell wrong. Tom cut a notch and it fell where it was supposed to; we were giddy with success. Not so bubbly after spending hours cutting it up and stacking the wood.

The next day I had to reset some of the ceramic tiles and couldn't grout yet (teaser for another article) so we decided to tackle the next dead piece.

This one had a clear field to fall. Except for the silver maple tree next to it and the play set. But we had all of that experience now and had improved our safety procedure (I now made sure to stand where Tom could see me wave my arms and shout "Move! Move!).

It hung up a bit on the maple and play set, and this is where the saw got stuck a few times, but it was down.

Then we tapped into that deep reservoir of can-do spirit (a.k.a. half-wittedness) and, after a rest and some ibuprofen,  went to face the challenge of the remaining limb.

The remaining limb. The live one. The one hanging directly over the chicken coop and fence.

The strategy: loop a rope over the limb, Cindy pull with all her mighty might, Tom cut, and hope for the best.

The reality: Cindy's might ain't, the rope broke, and the coop roof only has a few dents and the fence can be fixed.



Photo cleverly NOT showing the banged-up fence.



All in all, a successful venture. However, I am grateful that our other trees are hale and healthy (although there's that Scotch Pine with carpenter ants...) because I intend to retire my plaid coat, sell the Blue Ox, and hang up the ax.

Inch by Inch

I read a country living/prepper kind of internet forum regularly. One thread is "What did you do today to prepare for whatever...". Folks post about planting 50 acres of corn or building a root cellar or canning rutabagas.

Our big accomplishment yesterday was tearing up a corner of vinyl flooring.

Underwhelming, maybe. But for us, these past two months have been a series of baby steps. No, not even baby steps. More like first tri-mester, toes starting to develop steps.

• Locating the website that lists the local farmer who sells straw and getting a map to find his place--all for 10 bales for chicken bedding.  
• Calling and waiting for the plumber to fix the pressure tank so we can call around and find a used washing machine, which doesn't work at first so it has to be fixed.
• Cleaning up the debris from the fallen pine tree limbs only to have two more massive branches come down in as many days.

But mostly waiting for the sale of our former home so we have some money to really work on the to-do list.

But back to the floor.

We want a wood stove. While waiting for an estimate for installing a chimney (we did our last one ourselves and I don't want another crushed disc), we thought "Oh, easy-peasy first move--tear up the flooring in preparation for laying tile." Who would have thought that a piece of vinyl 5' x 5' would fight tooth and nail to stay on the floor. As the photo shows, it came off in layers, when it finally came off at all. We finally came to our senses and said "We've got to put down backerboard anyway, the layers can stay."

It looks crummy, took much longer than it should have, scraped our knuckles and hurt our backs, but it's progress. Real, tangible, step by step, inch by inch progress.

Going, going, gone

My haul from an auction a few years back. All of this for $11.

We have a closing date for our NY house!

In celebration, we went to an auction.

My mom introduced me to the world of bargains available from estate auctions. We followed a father-son team of auctioneers. They had their set patter and their set jokes. From them I learned the term "by the each"--selling two or more items at once but you pay two or more times the money. And when they couldn't figure out what something was, they fell back on "It's a nice one!

We've now attended a few outside auctions in Indiana and felt right at home with the same type of jargon, the same lame jokes, the same crappy sound systems.

But there is one big difference.

At every country auction in New York, there was a large tent set up with chairs. The auctioneer sold from the front and his crew toted in the goodies. You sat, more or less in comfort, chatted with your neighbors, scarfed down the goodies offered for sale.

Here we found no tent and no chairs. The items for sale are laid out on large flatbed trailers and the audience follows the auctioneer around the lot. This means you STAND FOR HOURS!

I'm out of shape and not used to standing for that long. I guess that means I'll have to start a training regime for the spring auction season.

BTW--the celebration auction we attended? I did buy three enamel roasting pans, a tea kettle, and a few other miscellaneous kitchen bits and spent a whopping $2.00. That's my idea of stimulating the economy.

Blame the Grandkids

We let our grandchildren name the chickens, so meet

Brownie, Stripey, Cinnamon,

and Hot Dog.

I named the cats--Penny and Dale, two Ginger Rogers characters in Fred Astaire pictures, but I bet you knew that.

Strategies

Kitten Penny patiently tracked a small lizard. She persevered, finally pounced, and caught it.

Kitten Dale yawned and watched, seemingly not interested in such goings on.

Then she calmly walked over and stole the lizard. Her growls made it known to all and sundry that the prey was now hers. Dale toyed with it for awhile and then ate it.

Treachery wins over honest hard work again.

Reminders

Helping grandma make ice cream

I apologize for the lapse in posts; we're involved in a real estate transaction.

What a minute! Didn't I already post, moan, and groan about that? Yup, but it's happening again. Still.

The first offer on our house fell through--much stupidity and weirdness on the buyer's side.

This time, we have a, well, shall we say inexperienced (anal, incompetent, obnoxious?) assessor who is holding up the deal. Fates preserve us from bureaucrats with a little bit of power.



Sweets for the sweet


Anyway, in the meantime we got a fun visit from kids and grandkids. There is nothing like a 4 and 7 year old to remind you what's really important in life!

What's Old is New



Table made from recycled teak, from www.exbali.com

 Recycling is the rage.

Bloggers boast about turning old dog chains into jewelry, vintage oars into scarf racks. Glossy magazine articles feature crafters who repurpose bed frames into benches, plastic framed mirrors into chalkboards. The end products always take your breath away with the artistry.

I needed a plant table. Tom took 6 pieces of 2'x4' and a ratty, wormy piece leftover from the doghouse we demolished, and voila!, a work table.



We've been reusing and recycling our entire lives but this creation, although functional, is never going to make the cover of Dumpster Delights*. I'm betting it will hold plants just as well as teak, though.



Tom showing pride in his work.



*There MUST be a magazine by that name!

Island Style

In our search for scrounged materials to use in the chicken coop, we found surfer dude under a cabinet in the garage. I think it's a sign, a reminder that the spirit of aloha should always be in our lives even when we are far beyond the Pacific.

Shaka, brah!

Eggs-elent!

Picked up four layers Wednesday evening.

Had our first egg Thursday afternoon.

Yippee!

Cooped Up, part 3--Chicken Eve

Penny: "I heard we're getting chickens tonight."

Dale: "Wow, that's great! What are chickens?"

The coop is done, finished, completed. Whew!

All we had to do after the last post was:

    

     Add the chicken door

     Glaze the window glass

     Caulk

     Add drip edge to the roof

     Put polyurethane on the door

     Fence a small run

     Add a gate

     Add nest boxes

The chicken door is Episcopal church door red--ever notice almost every Episcopal church has a red door? I thought the coop needed some color and it was the only other outside paint I had.

We made a miscalculation on the roof (for some reason, we always have trouble with roofs) so added drip edge to cover a small gap.

We decided to not only fence in a small run area but also fence around the base of the coop to discourage whoever might want to dig under and take up residence. We got it all secured, made sure we hadn't fenced in the cats, looked five minutes later and Penny had managed to get under somehow. Sigh.

The nest boxes are two plastic cat litter buckets I retrieved from a recycling bin. The roost is a long dowel we found in our garage.

I didn't keep track of how much the project cost, I'm guessing about $150 and a lot of sweat and sore muscles. Here's a rundown of what we bought and what we "repurposed":

• Lots of 2'x4's--we had bought about 20 on sale back in NY and brought them along, we did buy about 10 more and there were a few in the Lick Skillet garage.
• Cement blocks--found here
• 2 sheets of plywood--bought new
• 4 sheets of osb--bought new
• Primer, white paint--bought new
• Waterproofing--brought from NY
• Siding--T1-11--found here
• Metal roofing--found here
• Screws--some we had, bought more
• Roofing nails--found here
• Roofing tar--bought new
• Door--found here
• Gate--found here
• Fencing and posts--brought from NY

Our heartfelt thanks to the previous owners who left such great stuff lying around! New metal roofing and T1-11 would have easily cost another $200.

I'm picking up four layers tonight; we're more than ready to get back to fresh eggs and are sincerely hoping NOT to tackle another construction project for awhile--I'm tired!

The Ant and the Grasshopper (and the flies and...)

Tom still carries this photo from Hawaii in his wallet



I have a love/hate relationship with insects. I even once considered becoming an entomologist.

I was in college, majoring in the –ologies: zoology, ecology, geology, dendrology, ichthyology, and entomology. I loved most of them (except ichthyology—ever dissect a thawed, past-eating stage, raw fish?). I found entomology particularly  fascinating; there are an estimated 6-10 million different species of insects on earth. All shapes and sizes and colors, adapted to all environments.

But I finally realized that most jobs for entomologists require figuring out ways to kill the very beings you spend your life studying. I switched my focus to plants.

The variety of insects still interests me. And between Woodchuck Acres and Skillet Farm, I think I’ve seen a fair portion of them. Every year seems to bring a new beetle, bug, or wasp to my attention.

My first insect revelation was at Cornell. I was working a summer job cleaning married student housing. I came from a fairly sheltered background, a home with a stay-at-home mother who gave dirt no quarter and I had never in my life seen a cockroach, alive or dead. One of the joys of that Cornell summer was opening freezer doors and having waterfalls of dead cockroaches cascade over you.

Then came a year in Hawaii. Understand, Tom and I are from the Northeast. The cockroaches I met in Ithaca were miniscule; we were flabbergasted at tropical roaches. Tom spent the year trying to kill them with Honolulu phonebooks dropped on their exoskeletons; I found 2x4’s worked better.

McDonough never lacked for entomological interest either. One year it was “friendly flies”. Large, buzzing bombers. There were so many that wash hung on the line was blackened by their bodies. They didn’t bite but persisted in flying around and around your head. Locals also called these “government flies”. Rumor was that the powers that be released them because they are natural enemies of the forest tent caterpillar. Our infestation did follow a year when the caterpillars had devastated area sugar bushes but I think the flies came on their own without government assistance.

Another year it was European hornets. Wasps and bees and hornets were common around the homestead and I generally follow a live and let live attitude, knowing them to be beneficial predators of garden pests. Until one day I opened the bedroom door to find thousands of large, colorful hornets pouring into the room through a hole in the ceiling. It was a scene out of a cheesy science fiction movie. A fully suited and armed exterminator took out two nests of the critters in the attic.

Our first day moving into our Indiana home we discovered giant--easily 2" long-- flies all over both porches. I have yet to identify them*; the internet installer called them horseflies but I’m not convinced**. These have since disappeared to be replaced for a few days by tiny flies; flies so small they found ways into the house even though we have built in screens.

Now every time we go outside to work we are surrounded by tiny, bee-like creatures. They don’t bite or even fly into your eyes or ears but land on bare skin. I was thinking sweat bees of some kind but they only have one set of wings. A little research and I discovered they are syrphid flies, commonly called hover or flower flies, supposedly great pollinators.

And I won’t even mention the carpenter ants in the pine tree, the katydid in the garage, the paper wasps in the newspaper tube, or the cicada on the clothesline.

Because I don’t want to bug my readers too much.

*Flies especially are hard to identify. Guidebook keys involve looking at the venation of their wings under magnification. Yeah, right, they HATE having their wings stared at.

**Most people I’ve talked to have a less than accurate knowledge of insects. I’ve heard references several times to “male mosquitoes”. Large, mosquito-like insects that don't sting flying out of the grass. I’m pretty sure people mean craneflies.

Cooped Up, Part 2

After we finished the walls, it was time to start the roof.

From my point of view, roofs don't make a lot of sense. Usually, the rafters are nailed into the back wall and the front ends are notched (birdmouthed) so they stick up and you have to put in soffits if you don't want an opening. We fudged this and screwed in both ends. We know this roof won't have to bear a lot of weight so are (mostly) confident it will hold.

There's no getting around the fact that to put on a roof, someone has to climb onto the roof. In our case, that would be me. We hoisted up 2 panels of osb, secured the corners from the ground and then up I went. I love the view from up there.

We added furring strips (found in the garage), and then metal roofing (also found).
To cover the walls we did some serious salvage.
Remember the shed at the beginning of the project?

The original floor was reinforced with T1-11 panels--2 full 4'x8' and several partial pieces. It took hours and some sore muscles, but eventually we pryed them up. Even with that we still needed a few more pieces; Tom suggested the dog house that came with the place. We have no plans to get a dog, so

One deconstructed dog house later, we gained just enough T1-11 to finish the siding.

Next time: chicken door, painting, fencing.