Signs of spring.

Took a break from packing yesterday to go to the park with the Spawn and the Better Half. We saw this little tangle of three garter snakes sunning themselves on the edge of the path. It was particularly cool because we'd just the day before been to the library where we checked out a book on garter snakes.



And what the heck, here's a fun shot of the Spawn herself. She's a little too fast for my pocket camera or there'd have been more of her in the photo.

A short tour of the new homestead!

I should be packing or watching Diana so Chris can pack. Instead, I just uploaded such photos as we have of the new place. But...I'm too lazy to upload them twice, so below is the link to the Flickr set. There will be more photos, I feel sure. These were just for reference when we first looked at it. Interior pictures will have to wait until the interior is fixed up.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/41469598@N02/sets/72157623538531337/

Chest beating and navel gazing

As the title says...and if you're not in the mood for reading self-examination, please move along.

I've been feeling both excited and terrified by the upcoming move. Yes, there's the stuff aspect, but that's not the terrifying thing. Ten years ago, the Better Half and I got married. We were living the big city life. We traveled a good amount. We had, if not all the comforts, at least a sufficiency of them. Now we're moving into a double-wide trailer to raise pigs.

This is something we've discussed and agreed upon, so I can't and won't claim I haven't been told. But it's still frightening. Having grown up in a culture that places so much value on success in the rat race and the accumulation of bigger and better stuff, it's hard to totally turn my back on that. I've never been on more than the periphery of it all, but there's an attitude that permeates everything.

Most of the people we know are happy for us and are themselves only at the periphery. This helps. Some of them may wish to buy animal flesh from us. Family has largely not suggested we have our heads examined. This helps too. But still. There's this nagging feeling we're depriving the Spawn of all the opportunities she ought to have. Rural life, even semi-rural and within acceptable reach of a decent sized metropolis is NOT the same as urban life. Friends her age will necessarily be further away. Exciting classes at the museum or the zoo will not be something we do very often. We aren't likely going to be taking her on any trips 'round the world. Having livestock will make it difficult to even visit our widely scattered family, who can no better afford to visit us than we them.

Yet I think given how things seem to be heading, what we are doing is the right thing. And the food will be better. But it's still hard.

*wild cheering*

We're moving! Now we have to pack and dismantle fencing and stuff. Not so fun. But...we're moving! Huzzah!

Will the dream come true?

So, we may be moving soon. We've been looking for a different place to rent (eventually reality should strike even the Portland area real estate market, right?) and may, perhaps, possibly have found something. We need to get our credit report to the potential landlords and then they'll make their decision.

It's an interesting place. The bad first. It's small. It's actually not a "real" house, it's a double-wide trailer. If you've ever seen any house I've lived in, there are lots of books about. Those will have to be stored if we move into this place. There's a fast-running stream just by the house. That'll need fencing ASAP to keep wandering livestock and children out. There are apparently all sorts of critters about. Bears, say, or bobcats. Coyotes. This will make raising poultry a bit trickier. There are a couple of structures on the property that are...not in good shape. We're talking don't go in there they're death traps sort of not good shape. Those will apparently be torn down at some point, but no telling when.

On the good side...it's eight acres. A lot of it is wooded, but there's enough clear space for a decent garden. A decent garden by my standards is one which will provide for a major portion of our large vegetable consumption. The owners of the property don't seem to mind chickens, turkeys, whatever else we want to try raising. They do want a share of the blueberries, but I think we can have all the grapes and mulberries. The apple trees are old and may not produce terribly wonderful apples. We can have them though. That stream, it's a salmon run and there are supposed to be trout in there too. As well as the death trap structures, there is one BIG, weather-tight structure/shed sort of thing in which we could store all the stuff that won't fit in the house. There are three other small sheds that would be good for things that don't mind a little damp from the bottom. It's MUCH quieter than our current place, which is on a major street.

We shall see. Maybe we'll be packing madly for the next few weeks. Maybe we'll be digging in here and making the best of this place. Further updates as events warrant.

A walk in the 'hood.

The Spawn and I had a fun walk the other day. We went about a block and a half (each way) and it took a good forty-five minutes. We walked to the end of the driveway, where there was a mud puddle. Stomp! In front of the neighbor's house, we stopped to watch someone collect their mail. Next stop, moss on the sidewalk, which needed to be prodded, stroked, and examined minutely. Then the Spawn wanted to pick some red berries. A little further on, there was a puddle with a bit of water still in it. It needed to be stomped in and to have pebbles thrown in it. There was a crack in the road leading from the puddle--perfect for walking along. Oooo, pine trees. The Spawn looked up at them and exclaimed that there must be THOUSANDS of pine cones up there. Then came the roots of some cottonwoods; she likes to pretend they are computers on which she and I can type to each other. Just a bit further along is the puddle by which we once found raccoon tracks. Only car tracks this time, I'm afraid, and some tracks of the Spawn. At the end of the street is a gate, where the Spawn deposited the red berries. She said she wanted to go back and get more for her "collection". But wait, is there a big mushroom in that yard? No, just a leaf, but there were other small mushrooms to be found. And we think they might be irises coming up under one of the trees. Back across the street and she had to check and see if some rocks were part of the street or loose and ready to be thrown in the puddle. They were part of the street. Short discussion of what a street is made of. Then she spotted some daffodils blooming across the street. She had to touch each one twice. Back over to the red berries. We started back down the street when she noticed some of the grass was different from the rest--much taller, for one thing. She put down the berries in order to pick some of the grass. Hmmm...time to go home, she says. First though, there are some small white flowers which also need to be picked. And one final stomp of the mud puddle and we made it home.

Young Disease Vectors

Yes, that's one of the things I hadn't really thought about before becoming a parent, at least not in any real and serious way. Having a child means adding to your household a little disease vector. The Spawn catches whatever's going around and, with great generosity, shares with us. The latest has been a particularly unpleasant GI bug of some sort. Lots of vomiting has been done. On Monday (thank goodness for holidays) there were ten loads of laundry needing to be done. On the plus side, ALL the sheets in the house are freshly washed, as are ALL the towels. Sunday night was not fun.

The other and related thing I wish I'd known was that if your child IS vomiting, they're going to be running for comfort right beforehand. That means Mom catches a lot of half digested food and drink. Probably wouldn't have changed my mind about the whole spawning thing, but it would have been nice to know. Daddy doesn't get nearly his share of precious bodily fluids, though he certainly does his share of cleaning up after these little incidents. Every twenty to thirty minutes in the early part of Sunday night, in fact.