Author: soldat1950

Proper Pallet Preparation (I could not resist)

/ soldat1950 / 1 Comment

You see them all the time. People building three story homes complete with in ground pool, billiard room, three car garage and tennis court that are built entirely out of pallets. You see the shelves, beds, fences, dining room tables, circular stairways and scale models of Old Ironsides all built with pallets and the question that is at the very head of most all slippery slopes comes niggling into your mind.

How hard could it be anyway?

Alexander, before he was the great, Cole Younger riding through North Field the first time, and Eve staring at the first Golden Delicious all ask themselves: how hard could it be anyway?

The question really was only a matter of idle curiosity until it met opportunity. The manager of the local Sprouts market offered me as many pallets as I cared to carry off. In two trips, I carried off a half dozen conventional pallets and one shelf like pallet that is now supporting Connie’s outdoor flowers that are wintering in our living room.

This is the shelf like pallet I found and, with no alteration, now sits in the Living Room for Connie's flowers

This is the shelf like pallet I found and, with no alteration, now sits in the Living Room for Connie’s flowers

I am still working on the cold frame and I decide I am going to disassemble a pallet to provide the wood I need for that. I have the pallets. I have a claw hammer and a nail puller, so what could go wrong? Find below the lessons learned from my first pallet disassembling:

Pallets before

Pallets before

Pallets after

Pallets after

1. No, I did not impale myself on a nail, but I did decide after looking at the pallets themselves that anyone doing this might want to know the date of his or her last tetanus shot. Mine was two years ago, when I did step on a nail at the old house, and woke up some six hours later with an infected foot. Note: nurse friendly will ask you one time when you had your last tetanus shot. If you say you do not know, start pulling down your trousers: here it comes.
2. Pallets are made to carry heavy loads being lifted with a pallet jack or forklift. They are designed to take a lot of abuse. Pallets are generally assembled with nail guns by workers who do not scrimp on the nails. Some pallets only have real nails in three of the boards, one on each end and one in the middle. The rest of the boards are attached with staples. The good news is the stapled boards are easier to pull; the bad news is that the nail guy, feeling cheated, uses more and longer nails.
3. So I go to work on my first pallet. So as not to leave you in horrible suspense, I did get enough wood to do what I wanted to do on the cold frame. The rest of the story is that it was hard.
4. It took hours to pull the pallet apart; I broke and rendered useless almost half of the boards on the pallet. Okay, useless is an over statement. I burn wood in my den so they are not useless but you get my point.

Disassembling five more pallets that represented 20 to 25 man hours of labor to produce an equal number of usable boards and kindling, did not look like such a good idea. What did all these guys who built covered bridges with pallet lumber know that I did not?

Next, I bought a full sized pry bar at the local farm store and worked on the next pallet with it. The results were only marginally better, and my bad shoulder was fast catching up with my worse shoulder in the pain department. I needed to do something else.

While we are still sad that the Library at Alexandria was burned, we do have the modern equivalent at our disposal. Google led me to You Tube. If you need to perform a kitchen table heart transplant, You Tube has a video for it. On You Tube I found a number of videos on the subject of pallet disassembly. My method incorporated the theory seen in this one.

I did not use a brick or a concrete block because I did not have them. I did have a number of the 4 X 4 inch blocks used in building pallets (I had just taken two apart). I had a small piece of 2 X 4 inch wood that I could attach to the other block (God bless duct tape), and extend it to half a foot. Then I used another of the 4 X 4 blocks and my four pound hammer.

IMG_1344

My basic pallet busting set-up. That and a pair of good durable work gloves.

I would set the 6 inch block under one of the boards near the place it is nailed or, better yet, stapled in, then I would put the other block on the board next to it to protect it from damage and I would hit that 4 inch block with my 4 pound hammer. After I had loosened that end, I would move to the middle and repeat the process. The last attached point was fairly easy to pry loose.

This is what happens when you do it right.

This is what happens when you do it right.

This is your set up. Note please, you will loose board even doing this. Wood is soft, nails and hammers are hard.

This is your set up. Note please, you will lose boards even doing this. Wood is soft, nails and hammers are hard.

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When you are doing the center go to the far side of the center support so your force is against the nails not the board. It cost me another board to learn that, you get it for free.

Using this method I took two pallets apart in a little under an hour, saved more than ¾ of the wood and could walk and function when I was done. All told, a vast improvement.

another view of a good set up.

another view of a good set up.

So now I am becoming a fairly adept pallet disassembler. The next trick is going to be actually building something out of pallets. Let’s see how that works out.

For those of you who noticed, yes it is raining in that picture and no, I am not that invested in pallet busting that I do it in the rain. Connie read this and said she would not understand without pictures. And I am always one for clarity.

May God Bless,

EdIMG_1354

So What Would that Look Like in Latin?

/ soldat1950 / 5 Comments

I must confess that my Lawn Tractor has been giving me a little trouble recently. The last three or four times I used it, I was getting uneven cuts. It was dragging badly and it got hung up on a couple of high spots. I casually looked for the answer to what was causing this, but seeing nothing obvious, and the problem not being too severe, I continued to use it.

Let me promise you that before starting any motorized device, I always check the oil and the gas, check tensions and tightness where appropriate, and do a walk around to make certain that “this” is in fact still attached to “that”.

So I was finishing up the yard yesterday and decided to mow the, now knee deep in weeds, garden patch. Part way through I took too big a slice of that weedy pie and stalled my mower with grass and weeds wrapped around the blade.

Have I mentioned that I am not as young as I used to be? In point of fact, I am not as young as most TURTLES used to be. Getting down on one knee once involved just dropping down. Getting up was a matter of rising in total defiance of any laws of gravity that might believe they apply.

Getting down on one knee now requires a thorough recon of the area to make certain that it is clear of twigs, pebbles and other foreign objects, plotting a route down that allows for too much yaw and play in my bad and my worse knee (I do not have a good one) having already chosen what, if necessary, I will use to pull or push myself to my feet. Can I get an Amen from the Geriatrics among you?

So, I get down on one knee and free the blade of all fouling weeds. Now to get up: I put my hand on the right rear tire and push myself to my feet. To save you any doubt I did in fact make it to my feet, but picture for a moment pushing down on a big black marshmallow. My right rear tire was effectively flat. I used the gauge on it and the gauge read “seriously?”

It is two tenths of a mile up a dirt road to our little quick shop. So carefully I limped my little tractor to the quick shop only to find out that the air hose hanging between the pumps was busted. Limping back, I recalled that, while my own portable air compressor was busted, I always carry a can of Fix A Flat behind the seat of my truck. Fix a flat worked fine and I continued with my chore for the afternoon.

That is not why I started this little essay however. I want to discuss a truth that was brought home to me as my hand buried itself into what I assumed was a functional tire and I realized with a flash of insight what I had overlooked for about a month.

A Lawn Tractor runs so much better if all four tires are inflated.

You may say that this is obvious and that any fool would know it. I will tell you that I am personally acquainted with one fool who obviously did not. The larger issues I meditated on while I bounced around finishing the lawn had nothing really to do with tires or tractors but expanded to include life in general. They included such things as:

1. No matter how smart you are, how well trained you are, how careful you try to be, and how much you plan, something will go wrong. The equation we call life has far too many variables in it for us to be able to control them. Only the Great Mathematician has that kind of skill.

2. Beating yourself up over something is a waste of time. Every person who has ever performed knows that you are going to make mistakes; they also know that, even if Auntie Mable’s garter belt explodes in the middle of Sweet Hour of Prayer, you do NOT stop. Quit blaming yourself and fix the problem.

3. If you cannot laugh at yourself it is going to be a long, long life. There are things in life that require serious contemplation; you are not one of them. We live one step away from our next stumble; you can laugh or cry. On my better days, I laugh.

4. The Maker of Everything made it all to its purpose, and declared it perfect. The designer and builder of the only perfect things loves you. Even when you neglect to check the air in your tires.

When I finished, I came in and, over coffee, shared with Connie my story of the mushy tire and some of my contemplations, I told her then, “I probably should make ‘You Lawn Tractor Works Better With All The Tires Inflated’ my motto. I wonder how that would look in Latin?”

Captain My Captain

/ soldat1950 / 3 Comments

When Connie and I got together, Katherine had just got a new cat which was named, for no particular reason I ever learned, Captain. Captain was about 9 months old when we came into contact. Let me assure you, neither of us was overly impressed.

I am not a cat person. Now cat people take the fact that I can get along with cats as a sign that this is not true. I can get along with Democrats too, that does not mean I believe that Roosevelt saved us all.

So Captain and I have been kind of tolerating each other for oh, about seven years now. In fact, we have tolerated each other so long now that we have formed our own kind of weird bond. Kind of like that long standing crick in your neck. It’s a continuing pain, but you would miss it were it to leave.

Captain is probably the sanest of our cats, but you best not forget that she is the mother and grandmother of crazy (Bookworm) and “oh dear heaven look at that!!!” (Adora, AKA Arrhythmia). So Captain, in a pinch, can show you her mind blowing spells of the crazy that she so liberally passed on to her progeny.

For instance, on two occasions Captain has deserted our lovely home complete with heat, air-conditioning and cat food to live in the woods by herself for months at a time. We would get an occasional glimpse of her from time to time; distant and unresponsive to our calls. She was somewhat like a land version of the Loch Ness Monster. Living on mice and surfacing occasionally for the amusement of the gawking masses. (Katherine, Connie or me).

Both times she came home thinner and quite proud of herself. Once, after one of her walk abouts, I saw her catch a mouse in our old house. Most cats play with Mr. Mouse for awhile and generally just scare the pour thing to death. Captain pounced on it, ate it whole from tail to neck, turned to me and spit the head out. “Take care of that won’t you.” She seemed to say and then walked away disdainfully.

When she has decided to stick around the house, she has just this summer decided to sleep most nights in the barn. Having met her child and grandchild I often wonder if she is not smarter than all of us on this matter.

She will leave the house about dusk, go out to the barn where her only trouble might be raccoons, foxes, the occasional coyote or snake, and sleep under an unused feed stall. Of course, being a cat, she cannot come when called in the morning. That would be so beneath her dignity. So Connie and I, after calling a number of times, feeding the other cats, calling again, feeding the dogs, calling, and checking the garden, walk out to the barn where we find Captain in the same spot each time. After some coaxing by Connie and/or Katherine (I can forget about it) she will come out look at all of us like, “Well what are you waiting for?” And go to the house to be fed.

Captain is really a quite pretty cat. Now you cat people are thinking “See he really likes cats.” Rattlesnakes are really very beautiful, but that does not mean I pet them. So my ability to see Captain’s beauty does not make me a “cat person”. She is white mostly with colors around here and there. A picture would do best I think.

Captain showing her love and affection for Connie. One interest we both share.

Captain showing her love and affection for Connie. One interest we both share.

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Captain, showing her ultimate distrust and disdain for me. And I am so nice to her. Reminds me of several of my ex-girlfriends.

Captain likes to sleep on my pillow. I have no idea why. I often come to the dining room table all set for a meal to find her sitting in my chair. Again, I have no idea why she would want to do that. Maybe she likes to hear me growl, “Get down you silly cat.” When not trying to sit in my chair or lie in my bed, the cat seems to spend a lot of time on my dresser lying atop my “Stuff Box” Connie made me for Christmas a couple years ago.

You would think that sometimes I petted her, rubbed her, and treated her like she was welcomed or like I missed her when she wasn’t here. ‘Course we all know better than that don’t we?

Take Care,

Ed

Be It Ever So Humble There is No Coop Like Home

/ soldat1950 / 2 Comments

Awhile ago, I told you about us acquiring five chickens and, later, Connie told you about losing three to the not so loving play of Meeko. That left two. At the time we were keeping the little critters, first five and then two, in a small chicken wire cage. Meeko’s antics showed us how really unsecure that was.

So I determined to move ahead with my chicken coop idea as soon as possible, which would be my next day off. We kept a better eye on the little chickens that day and, of course, put them and their cage inside the garage at night. The next morning, I came out to move them and found a very large pile of dog waste (Connie will be so proud I did not say #@$%) right where the chicken’s little cage normally sits.

So coop building priority went up another notch. As God would have it, I was not due into work until three PM the next few days. So, because of a sudden reduction in the chicken population. and a sudden real need to get something up RIGHT NOW, the plans were changed. Instead of a 10’ X 10’ enclosure with a 4’ X 8’ coop, it would start with a 4’ X 4’ enclosure and a 2’ X 4’ coop on stilts that could be converted to a laying box in time. After all I was just building for two chickens.

Oh yes, also as God would have it, we ended up with one of each: rooster and a hen that Katherine has turned into pets. The line dancing lessons will have to wait until we get more chickens.

The rest of the story can best be told in pictures, but you need to understand my building style. I meticulously plan everything first, I carefully make a list of materials and measure off the area trying to lay out things in the most efficient manner. Once that is completed, I go to the store, buy what suits my fancy and build something that looks nothing like the original design. Oddly enough, it works more times than not.

If you have the opportunity to use something that has been standing for, oh, fifty years or so don't turn it down. Because we could see it from the house and because it fits into my larger plans I decided to build this onto the back of a freestanding garage. My helper there is Katherine. I

If you have the opportunity to use something that has been standing for, oh, fifty years or so don’t turn it down.
Because we could see it from the house and because it fits into my larger plans I decided to build this onto the back of a freestanding garage.
My helper there is Katherine.

Post require holes. A four foot high post needs at least 2 feet in the ground. There are roots in the ground, and rocks, and more roots and things that I would hesitate to name. But if you are stuborn enough you can dig the hole. Katherine developed other business.

Post require holes. A four foot high post needs at least 2 feet in the ground.
There are roots in the ground, and rocks, and more roots and things that I would hesitate to name. But if you are stubborn enough you can dig the hole.
Katherine developed other business.

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On the off chance you have not seen a two foot deep hole in the ground half full of muddy water to make the digging a tad easier or a dirty boot.

Poles in awaiting the box.

Poles in awaiting the box.

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Katherine rendering invaluable assistance while I saw. No, I am serious, I need that plywood to sit still.

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Making progress.

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At some future date I intend for this to be a nesting or laying box for three hens. It has a hinged roof so I can reach in and a door there in the front for the chicks to enter or leave. Right now it will house to baby chickens.

Connie holding down the post while I play Paul Bunyan.

Connie holding down the post while I play Paul Bunyan.

This is the next morning and I am putting the finishing touches on the wire. At least for this phase.

This is the next morning and I am putting the finishing touches on the wire. At least for this phase.

The project is still not complete, I am in the process of expanding the chicken yard to a 12 X 6 foot enclosure and adding some form of ground level coop for them. I have an unused dog crate I could use at least temporarily.

But I just locked the two little survivors (they are not so little anymore) in their house and I can sleep knowing they are safe for the evening.

Chicken Son…. I’ll Show You a Chicken

/ soldat1950 / 6 Comments

A couple weeks ago, we were headed for the big city of Chillicothe, Missouri when we passed a sign that read, “Eggs, Chickens and Fowl for Sale”. We were past the turn before the sign registered on us, so we just kept going but made a note to remember it.

This afternoon we, again needing to make a trip to town, made the turn onto D Highway and drove right by the place of course. We missed a big sign in front of the place saying that they did indeed sell chickens fowl and eggs and another sign that said, “Caution Protected by Guineas”.

We went on to Chillicothe, but would not be denied so we came back up and this time we found it. Actually, we were looking for a connection for free range eggs and chicken meat. I had no intention of buying a live chicken.

Meet the new members of the Hall family farm. Now they must compete with 2 dogs, 3 cats and assorted wildlife. Good luck chicks.

Meet the new members of the Hall family farm. Now they must compete with 2 dogs, 3 cats and assorted wildlife. Good luck chicks.

Being a firm man, I stood my ground. We did not buy a chicken… we bought five chickens. We have no chicken house and we had no chicken feed, but we bought five baby chicks.

Oh, I have plans for a chicken coop. I probably have five or six really good ideas. I guess its time for me to get off the dime and build a chicken coop. Right now they are small and we have them in a wire cage that was  left to us by a previous owner.

Meanwhile Katherine will be making pets of my chickens and teaching them how to line dance. I am just thankful her and the local skunk family have not gotten together.

So I stopped by the local Co-op and bought a fifty pound bag of starter feed. I think I am going to need some more chickens. When we got home, we cleaned out the cages and choose the one we would start them in.Then we cleaned out the water and food dishes and we put them all together in the picture you see above.

So now, I guess, I am a Chicken Farmer.

Ed

Libby Lou

/ soldat1950 / 2 Comments

For those of you who do not know we have two dogs. At least that is what we refer to them as. “Look dear, the dogs have totally wrecked two days of work and are about to cost you another hundred and fifty bucks in materials. Aren’t they sweet?”

This is Libby and Meeko, Meeko is the one closest to you and Libby is the pretty girl on his right. They look so innocent don't they?

This is Libby and Meeko, Meeko is the one closest to you and Libby is the pretty girl on his right.
They look so innocent don’t they?

The eldest of the two is known as Libby or Libby Lou by Connie. We won’t go into all the things I have called her; this is a family blog. I really have no room to complain about Libby; in point of fact, Connie had her before me so Libby has some claim to Squatter’s Rights.

Libby, the best we can tell, is part Lab and part Akita. This means she is a curious, intelligent animal who loves to play, understands exactly what you want her to do, and will sometimes even do it, if she chooses.

That is the genetics of the situation. Then there are the environmental issues. Connie got Libby when the dog was about four months old, and she had already been conditioned to something interesting behaviors and interpretation of human words and behaviors.

For instance, as Libby still understands it, “Come here Libby.” Means “let’s play a fun game of Tag and Go Hide” a hybrid of Tag and Hide and Go Seek where we, being it, approach Libby and just when we get close enough to “tag” her she runs away, hides somewhere and the game starts over.

This game has the potential to go on for hours and end only when Libby has had all the fun she can have. Luckily for us Libby is beginning to age somewhat and sessions are fewer and further between.

Another fun Libby game which got her banned from sleeping in the house except in really inclement weather is, “Lets Chew What Belongs to You”. This game, played by a normal chewing dog, involves finding a shoe, shirt, towel or whatever and destroying them completely. Libby’s version involves finding everything you own which is within reach, chewing a half to a dollar sized, almost perfectly round hole in it and moving on to the next item in line.

Libby is nothing if not creative.

The last of Libby’s little games she learned as a pup was probably re-enforced for her by Connie’s youngest son who used to play with her quite a lot. It is a form of dog/person rough housing in which Libby rises up on her hind feet and almost boxes with you. Of course she does not stand completely up. She only goes up high enough that, when she strikes out she will hit a man who is sixty-seven inches tall right in the groin.

Go ahead, ask me how I know?

Yes, she has her eccentric behaviors, does our friend Libby. What she intends to do with the buzzards she is constantly barking at were she ever able to catch one I have no idea. But when she sits and cocks that beautiful head looking up at you with those eyes it is a different story. When she goes berserk because the child is on the roof, or near the fire, in a frenzy of protectiveness, or when she rests up against your leg waiting for a pat and a smile you kind of forget all that.

After all, I have a few eccentricities of my own.

No Plan Survives Reality

/ soldat1950 / 5 Comments

A quick update: The rain has abated and the breakneck growth of everything bad, accompanied by the stunting of everything good seems to be tapering off. The corn is taller than me, which is no great feat for corn, but is an improvement. The rag weed has stopped growing just in time; the trees around it were beginning to show discernible signs of embarrassment.

I have been out and about on the place; doing this, that, and the other, which we can talk about later. I left you hanging on the last post concerning the piece of major equipment I bought. If you have not read my last post in Old Folks at Home Stead you can find it here.

I have never owned a “Lawn Tractor”. Every time I think about one, I picture a fat guy in checkered Bermuda shorts and a Grateful Dead Tee Shirt, wearing a hat with two Bud Lights in holders and straws leading down to his mouth. I know that is an unfair generalization, but you only have to see that sight once to scar you for life.

I always used a push mower. Anything more seemed to be just showing off to me. Then I bought The Homestead. Our yard is plus or minus an acre; I would guess plus. It is not an easy mow. We moved in last August and I think I mowed it four or five times before the end of the season.

I hate lawns. It is unnatural, unless chickens and goats are eating on it. That is from an Appalachian Mountain background. Bottom land was garden or pasture, side hill was pasture or orchard and the top of the mountain was woods. Lawns were for rich people and “flat land fereners.” Also I have a lazy bone but that is another post.

Be that as it may, because of the size of the yard and the age of the man, it was time to get some kind of lawn tractor. Not long after this decision, one Sunday after church I was discussing this with a friend who, as it turns out has a son-in-law who had just bought a new lawn mower. It was one of those 360 degree things, with a five feet cut and some such other stuff as is beyond my ken, and he had an old one for sale.

Sight unseen, I said I would take it. It was a little over a week until I could go see the lawn tractor. It was an older one, but I have no idea of the year model. It was a Bolen which actually is a brand name; research has shown me that the engine was made by Troy Bilt.

The machine had two problems, which Jeremy was quick to point out to me. One was an issue with the battery, which will not hold a charge. No real problem there as long as the engine kept charging. The other problem was that, from time to time, when you engaged the parking brake you have to reach back by the rear axle and release it. Neither of these were deal breakers.

We brought my new toy home, and that day I mowed with it the first time. It worked great! There is a learning curve involved in how to operate it, but I had downloaded the manual from the net and, seeing as I could drive an M1 Tank, an M113 Tracked Vehicle, and any normal road vehicle, up to a five ton truck, I did not think a riding lawn mower was going to buffalo me.

On my third time mowing the lawn I was really gaining some skill on the little beast when, coming around the northwest corner, I heard a pop and a thump then we stopped moving. I don’t know about all riding mowers, but it seems a lot of them run on a belt drive system. For instance, mine has three belts; one comes from the engine to the wheels, another from the engine to the mowing attachment, and the third from that one to the blades.

The short belt from the engine to the wheels had broken. I knew it was a broken belt because I found the mangled piece of it behind the mower. It is a good thing that lawn tractors are not heavy. I pushed it to my house garage and stored it there. Then I took the mangled belt with me to Jerry’s Automotive and Hardware on Main Street in Braymer. Total distance to drive one way: about 3/10 of a mile. I love small towns.

Coming in the door of Jerry’s establishment, I looked at him, held up the belt and ask, “Jerry, do you have a belt like this?”

He examined the belt I was holding up and said, “I hope not.” Did I mention the belt was pretty beat up? As it turned out Jerry did not have the belt for my mower in his place. On further inquiry, no one in Caldwell, or adjoining counties, had this particular belt. So I placed a call back to Jerry’s so he could order one for me. No more mowing for three days.

On the second day, I picked up the belt. I planned to fix my mower on the third day, so that I could mow on my day off. One thing you need to know: I had no idea how to replace this belt. So, being a modern kind of hillbilly, I looked it up first on Google, and then on YouTube. I firmly believe that if one wanted to build a time traveling 1947 Jeepster there would be a YouTube video about how to do it.

I know to a certainty, there is one on how to remove and replace the drive belt on a Bolen’s Lawn Tractor of my model. It is about 8 minutes long. I watched it twice and set about to do the job. Since the removing part had already been completed, all I really needed to do to put my new belt on was take off one big nut and slide this big pulley, beneath the nut, up so I can get the belt on it.

Since the guy in the video had used an adjustable wrench to loosen this nut so did I. A word to the wise, at least wiser than me: the guy in the video had loosened the nut before he made the video. He had also removed springs so that some things went easier. I was determined that I was going to loosen that nut with an adjustable wrench.

A little voice in my head asked, “Think you need to be wearing your buffalo hide work gloves Ed?” I ignored that voice and, hand deep in the bowels of a Bolen’s Lawn Tractor, I gave one more long, steady, hard, pull. Something gave, and my hand slipped all the way around, with my fingers striking a hard object out of my sight.

I pulled the offended hand out to examine it. It was beginning to smart a little, I tell you that. My middle finger of my right hand was bleeding a little from a scraped knuckle and I saw a line on my ring finger of my right hand. Probably a scrape; no big deal. Then I made a fist.

Have you ever seen one of your knuckles? No I do not mean all that skin that lies on top of it. I mean having that skin roll back and show you the whole bony joint? I went upstairs and Connie put yarrow on it. OUCH! Then we put a bandage over it and I called our Doctor (who was twenty-five miles away in Hamilton, that day), to get three stitches and a work excuse for two days.

This is the damage that can be caused by an adjustable wrench and a hard head.

This is the damage that can be caused by an adjustable wrench and a hard head.

The next day, with the right tools, a stiff finger and invaluable help from Connie, we got the job done and the day after that I mowed the lawn with my newly fixed lawn tractor and that same stiff finger. Today, they took the stitches out of my hand. I will have a pretty spectacular scar to add to an already impressive collection. The doctor suggested I tell people I was bitten by a shark.

But if this story has any lesson beyond don’t use an adjustable wrench because they slip, and learn to listen to good advice; even if it’s from you, it would be no plan ever works out like we want it to. Those who appear so competent at anything only have practiced it so much they have learned to recover, before we even see the mistake.

Lord Knows Everything Grows (Whether You Want It To or Not)

/ soldat1950 / 5 Comments

“I don’t really need the money, but the people I owe it to need it a lot.” That was something Hank Williams used to proclaim in the late 1940’s, on his Health and Happiness radio show, when he was selling his own records over the air. If you would like to hear some of that, you might look here.

Hank had a way of speaking for the common man. I really care nothing for money. A horse can’t eat it. Too bad my creditors do not agree with me. So I have to work, because robbing banks in Missouri has already been done to death.

Now I am settled into my new job, I can take a few moments and write to you about what is going on around the old Homestead. I have not been idle on that front, it is just that, between working, working around the place, eating, and sleeping, I have had very little time for much else.

So here are some random topics, things I have worked on, mistakes, and successes we have had over the last few weeks. As I told Connie not too long ago, “We do not fail; we either succeed, or learn how to succeed next time.” Unfortunately, quite often the tuition at the University of Hard Knocks can be high.

The Rag Weed that ate my fence row.

The Rag Weed that ate my fence row.

This is my forth summer of attempting to do some small farming, and wrest some small piece of property back from the clutches of flora so diverse and aggressive, it staggers the imagination. This year I have learned about the effects of an over abundance of rain on plants in the state of Missouri:

It appears that over watering kills, stunts, and/or messes up the growth cycle on everything you want to grow. Causing such behavior as cauliflowers that go straight from “tomorrow I will grow out and make a nice head of cauliflower” to, “on second thought I will just go to seed, see ya.” Not to mention that grass likes rain water much more than tomatoes, who “don’t like to get their feet wet” or corn which tassels while less than waist high.

The grass that ate what we were going to eat. You can stand there and watch it grow.

The grass that ate what we were going to eat.
You can stand there and watch it grow.

On the other hand, everything you really would rather NOT grow, when allowed to take every other day showers, grow like Jack’s Beanstalk. Connie has learned to name near every invasive plant, common weed, tree, shrub, or fern on the place; whether useful, neutral or dangerous. We used to walk across the pasture and she would point down at her feet, name the plant, and tell its lineage, whether it is good or ill, and what we should do with it. She still does that, but now she has to point up over her head.

As I stand in the dog lot, I recall having cut out all the standing hemlock with a machete and some other light hand tools. I was counting on my ability to find the stuff as it grew back and destroy it quickly. That worked for a couple of weeks. I would see the little plants and knock them down with a hoe or even my foot. As I stare up at the seven feet Rag Weeds I ignored, I think, “Use the chain saw.”

This is Rag Weed, the picture was taken by a 5 foot tall most beautiful woman in the world. But it makes the perspective interesting. The plants are between 7 and 8 feet tall.

This is Rag Weed, the picture was taken by a 5 foot tall most beautiful woman in the world.
But it makes the perspective interesting. The plants are between 7 and 8 feet tall.

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In spring none of these sapling were over knee high and bigger around than your finger.

Let’s talk about the fence rows. All winter long, I would look out my door and see the sprouts caught up in the fence rows and think to myself, “When it warms up a bit, I will cut those out.” Let me save you some trouble. Don’t ever do that! Barring weather so extremely bad that the risk of death or serious injury is imminent, cut them things out right now. My fence rows look like a scene from one of those dinosaur movies.

Put shortly The Homestead is suffering from serious case of Underbrush Overgrowth.

I have never been a real fan of lawns. They always seemed to me to be such a useless waste of time and resources, unless you had chickens running loose on them. Then there is mowing the things weekly, and the constant obsession with only having the right grass. Crab Grass need not apply, and God forbid is that a Dandelion? Who cares and why?

So why did we end up buying a place with a BOY? (Big ole yard).

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This is the front yard, it is not as big as some but try mowing it and the other half with a push mower.

Because the BOY surrounded the house we wanted and was surrounded by the land we wanted, on which sat a cool barn with two horses pained on the front. Who could resist that, and why should you? So I have a large yard in which grows plants of all shapes and sizes, a lot of which Connie assures me makes good salad.

After having mowed our largish yard four or five times last year and again this year about the same, I spoke to Connie saying words to the affect of, “Hon, as soon as we get a chance we need to buy a riding mower.” Something I had largely disdained. She tells me that I misinterpreted her look, but I would swear she looked at me as if to add “wimpy boy” to her smiling statement, “We’ll have to see dear.”

The next week, she offered herself and Katherine to be stand in mowers. switching off the lawn mowing every time around. After a few rounds we finished and, back in the house, Connie smiled at me and said. “Dear we need a riding lawn mower.” Ah, the joys of shared experience.

So now we have one; a riding lawn mower I mean. Next week, I will tell you how that is turning out. By then I should probably have the stitches out.

May God Bless,

Ed

Life Gets In The Way

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When I was twenty-two it was my dream to homestead. I looked into free land and the where and how’s of that. I looked into equipment and all the falderal that would be necessary. As a former farm kid, sporadically raised on a side hill farm in Appalachia, I had some idea of what it would take to make a successful operation. Pretty much everything we did not have.

Anyway, this was my dream, and I would have done it too, but life got in the way.

Life being the outcome of all the decisions I had made to that time; the obligations I had made to people and organizations that I could not escape from, and, oh yes, a healthy dose of cowardice. It is kind of hard to admit, being a tough old Infantry Soldier, that I am afraid of anything, but let me assure of this: attempting to fulfill your dreams can be the scariest thing in the world. It begs the question; what does it mean about me if I fail?

About ten years later, I had another one of those epiphany moments when I realized I still had the ability to love and the ability to dream dreams about riding up the Outlaw Trail, and then walking down the Appalachian Trail; of starting a band and of getting the girl. It was all going to be great.

Anyway, that was my dream and I would have done it too, but life got in the way.

Life being, again, the outcome of all the decisions I had made to date; and real obligations I would have to meet, if I wanted to continue looking at myself in the mirror when I shaved; and, oh yes, a really healthy dose of cowardice. Fear of failure, agreement with that voice in my head that said I could not do it, and fear of harming innocence to which I owed so much.

So I stayed with the life I had chosen. The life of the defender, the protector, and the one who occupied that line between good and evil, a life in which you spent too much time looking into the eye of evil. “When you look into the abyss, be sure the abyss isn’t looking into you; and when you set out to fight monsters, be sure you do not become a monster.” Nietzsche said something to that effect. I may be the only living Christian who quotes both Nietzsche and Twain.

Yes, I am the short one.

Yes, I am the short one.

At the age of forty-eight I was fairly successful at my chosen profession, having completed one career already and working on a second. Then I followed another family tradition and became a drunk. I will not bore you with the details, but I pretty much blew off a decade trying to drink Plank Road Brewery and George Dickle Distillery dry. I failed.

That ended over six years ago. Here I am, forty-two years after the original dream, living that dream. No, I did not do it right, nor do I have all the equipment, and heaven forbid that I actually have a long drawn out plan. With the help of “the girl”, yes that would be the girl from over thirty years ago. It took some time, but I finally won that one, we are building a home on five acres and a dream.

It would have been easier had I done it when I was twenty-two. The joints worked better and the body was more resilient, if nothing else. I have lost a lot but I have gained some important things too. One good thing I have lost is the fear of failure. I have already seen what is the worst that could happen; everything from there on out is easy. One good thing I have won is the girl. That was worth the whole tangled mess.

I love you Connie Hall.

On re-reading this I realized I had not gotten to “the point” I think the story should have made it evident but in case it did not here it is. There are only two real things worth following in this life the first is the will of God Almighty and the second is your dream. If you aren’t doing that now is the time to start.

Ed

Rain Day

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The wife and I were out looking at our budding (at least supposed to be budding) garden. I believe the tomatoes were doing the backstroke, while the corn and beans were engaged in a stirring game of Water Polo. Did I mention it has been raining a lot around here?

The prognosticators are saying we have the potential for a year as bad as the Flood of ’93. I was not here for the real flood of ’93. If the looks of the little creek is any sign I will not be here for this one. I will probably be considerably downstream, if it gets that bad.

Where was I? Oh yes, we were looking at the garden being slowly drowned; I turned to her and said, “Maybe we should have planted rice.”

I do know that the Good Lord has promised not to end the world by means of a flood again. However, He made no such promise concerning the state of Missouri did He? I am instructed by the Bible to be thankful in all things so I do thank the Lord for showing me where the low spots on our new homestead are exactly.

So being rained on in great splashing bushel baskets full of water leaves one with a lot of time on his hands. Hard to put up a fence when every time you try to sink a fence post you hit water. Anyway, I do not swim very well with a roll of fence wire on my shoulder.

So you decide to do all those inside things you have been putting off. The first thing you need to do is make a list. Brainstorm and put down every possible thing you can do from remodel the den to take a nap; then you need to prioritize said list by numbering the items you have and identifying the top ten; finally you need to put the list where it can be seen but will not be misplaced. Of course, you misplace the list.

That’s all right, I am a writer you know, I have started two novels, a couple of cowboy poems, a gospel song, a nonfiction semi-autobiographical piece, a couple of blog entries and a grocery list for the health food store.

Let me just start on something, “It was a dark and stormy night….”….. Did you know that Microsoft has some games on your computer? Two in particular are Hearts and Spider Solitaire., these are alternately referred to as Mental Crack and Intellectual Heroine.

Four hours later, I realize that I am hungry and go to find the wife to discuss the whos, whats and whens of lunch. She is busy playing Spider Solitaire and yes, it is still raining outside

Proving that any fool can make a grilled cheese sandwich and soup, I fix lunch. After grace, when we thank the Lord for our food and the day we are wasting, I ponder my missing list. Still have no idea where it went, but suddenly I do remember an important chore.

“Feel like a nap?” I ask my Love.

She smiles like the angel I often suspect she is, “I was just about to ask you the same thing.” She says.

Another rain day well spent.