Archive for the ‘The Self-Reliant Woman’ Category
Our Bridge
On September 05, 2010 in The Self-Reliant Woman
by Deborah in the UP
A great deal of property in the UP is owned by logging concerns. They almost never sell property, but once they’ve used up its purpose to them, they will trade it for something else. That might have to do with capital gains tax, I don’t know for sure though.
The Road Commission was no different. The gravel pit they had used south of us was of no further value to them, so they traded the property to an individual for a different piece, and that individual wanted to sell the 80 acres. This adjoined our 160 acres and was where the new bridge was located. We made the deal quickly, paying the full price, and it never even hit the multi-list ads.
Perhaps two years had lapsed since the bridge went in, and we were more than comfortable with the access. Now, it was OURS… sort of. The bridge itself still belonged to the logger, but the property … and the road access to his land… was now in our control.
There are rights of eminent domain here. If someone used a road across another’s property to access their land-locked parcels, that other person could NOT stop them. However, the logger wanted to sell some of his land, and the new owner didn’t have the same rights. Several months later, I found out that Jake had approached Pete concerning signing an agreement for a right to access, for which he would sign over the ownership of the bridge, to us. A very good deal, if it had been approached in a different manner.
Late that Fall, Jake went to Pete, excluding me from the negotiations. I didn’t have a clue any of this was going on.
Paper work always takes time, and by the time Jake had his lawyers write up a contract, it was past Christmas, and there was three feet of snow on the ground.. And on the road to our house. We had been running the snowmobile for several weeks and had a well packed trail, critical to our transportation and access.
Late one afternoon, I rode the snowmobile out to the car to pick up my son who had come for a visit. I came around a curve, perhaps 200 yards from where the car was parked, only to find someone had tried to plow their way in! The snow was way too deep for standard equipment, and whoever it was tried with just a pickup truck, then just backed out, leaving my trail a mess. There were piles of snow I couldn’t drive over; the turn-around was wrecked. I was very upset!! I stopped the sled just short of the first pile, climbed off, and with my snowshoes (that I always carried!), I started digging. Using one of the shoes as a shovel, I knocked down the worse of the ridge, creating a mediocre ramp. Then, putting the shoes back on, tromped back and forth trying to smooth it out. I had to widen it out more, or risk sliding off the new ramp. In the fading daylight, I carefully drove the sled down onto the semi-cleared road, stopping just before the turn-around, which now had three foot drop-offs, on either end. I walked the little sled out to the cars where my son waited, surveying the rest of the damage someone had caused. While Jason filled the sled with his stuff, I went back to work on the turn-around, doing much the same thing as I did with trail, knocking down the worse of it, making a new ramp.
We tied the little sled to the snowmobile and road to the new ramp. I had Jason get off so I didn’t risk toppling both of us if I slid off, and drove cautiously up. The rest of the ride was uneventful… until we got to the house.
I told Pete what I had come upon, and he slipped, saying perhaps it was Jake, wanting to come to us to talk about legal access. Still quite angry over the destruction, I blew, saying Jake would “play hell” getting me to sign anything after that stunt! Pete walked down to the basement, dressed, and drove out . When he returned, he sneered, saying the trail wasn’t nearly as bad as I professed, and I was once again exaggerating. I was really getting tired of this, and told him that of course it wasn’t bad.. I had fixed it!!!
Every time Pete took someone else’s side against me, even in trivial matters, it undermined our already strained relationship, but that seemed to be his goal. I just couldn’t understand it.
A blizzard later, the trail was filled in again and the situation was dropped until Spring.
One morning, I found a long letter from Pete, explaining all the pro’s to signing the agreement with Jake (which somehow came into his hands…) … also explaining why he waited so long.. that *I* was ‘unreasonable’ during previous attempts. Huh… The rational to accepting the deal was indeed logical, and I still maintain that had I been approached from the beginning, there would never have been an issue. I signed and the bridge became ours.
Flood, part 4
On August 28, 2010 in The Self-Reliant Woman
Once I got over my initial fear of plunging the jeep off those two narrow boards and into the depths of the 2’ deep creek, I traveled at ease over the make-shift bridge. It was much like getting use to driving thru 6” deep puddles for the first time, nothing I had ever done as a city-girl, and something I never thought twice about now. I will admit that I felt better about my driving skill when someone else, a local guy, did slip off the boards, and had to get someone to tow his pickup back onto the road. He had no business being back there in the first place!
Later in June, as I was coming back from a shopping trip to town, and on the long dirt road that led to our private road, I came up behind a very large truck with what looked like bridge pieces on the flatbed. The longer I stayed behind him, the more anxious I became, especially when he turned… into MY road! I followed him to the bridge, just in time to watch a crew use a logging picker pull up all of our hard work, boards and trees, and dump it off to one side. I parked the car, slamming the door, instantly knew who was in charge, and went toe-to-toe with him. My thoughts became words and I asked him what the hell did he think he was doing with MY bridge and didn’t he even stop to think that someone had built that because someone lived here and why hadn‘t I been told?? I was livid, and furious at not being informed about what was going on.
Apparently, this logger owned quite a bit of land up behind us, and needed the road and good access to log. When he had first tried to access his property that year, he discovered the wash out and our temporary solution. He had gone to the county, got the necessary permits to put in a good solid bridge, and was replacing it. This of course was to our benefit, but upsetting that we were not informed so we could be prepared for the six hours of no access. I would have just stayed home.
Much to everyone’s surprise (and unease), I climbed down the bank of the creek, stepped across stones and up the other side. I could hear the guys snickering over the boss being dressed-down by a 5’5” little gal.. a very angry little gal. I jogged up to the house in just a few minutes, told Pete what was going on, and we drove down to the bridge to retrieve the groceries… and so he could see I wasn’t exaggerating about the events.
As we loaded packages and laundry into the truck, another pickup truck pulled up behind us, also now stranded. They had the back filled with wood, bolts to be split later. It was quite common for locals to find the areas that had been logged, and to glean the tops for their personal firewood. The loggers didn’t mind as long as they didn’t get in the way, so it was a win-win situation: someone got free firewood, and the woods got cleaned up. This couple though, weren’t happy either about being caught with no way to cross the creek and go home. We introduced ourselves and invited them up to the house for a beer while the work on the new bridge was completed. Bob & his wife, Tedi, became casual friends, but never good friends. However, 12 years later, after Pete and I split up, the two of them are now good friends of mine, and we still joke about how we met.
It was a delight having the new bridge. A good solid way to cross the creek: welded steel I-beams buried into the banks, 4”x12”x 20’ treated boards, all wide enough and sturdy enough for their logging trucks. I met with the logger, the boss I had yelled at, and apologized for my outburst. Then I asked, politely for one minor adjustment to that new bridge. It seemed they had placed the second layer of stabilizing boards to fit the wide axel of the trucks, and my jeep didn’t ride evenly across them. He was more than happy to add one more row of boards for me. Later, I found out he needed to keep me happy. Another story.
Flood, part 3
On August 22, 2010 in The Self-Reliant Woman
Before getting the culverts in place enough to build a simple bridge across them, life in the UP took on the glorious days of an instant summer. The snow was all gone, trees were leafing out, the sky was a brilliant blue and the sleepy little town we were near woke and was ready to socialize.
One morning, I got a phone call on the bag-phone we had hooked up to the 12 volt battery. Jamie announced there was going to be a bring-a-dish party at Buck’s place on Saturday. Bring-a-dish and your own ‘liquid refreshment’ parties were very typical, there was no burden on anyone for the cost of food or beverage, yet offered a good time. Jamie gave me the times, then announced “oh, by the way, Charlie and I are getting married at the party and Buck is officiating”. Huh??? Well, that put a new spin on the day.
Having been a cake decorator and putting myself thru massage school creating wedding cakes, I decided that would be my gift to the new couple. A few phone calls to the bride’s closer friends got me how many would be at the party, what her favorite cake flavor was, and the flowers she would have. I had only three days to pull this off.
First thing on the agenda was to check my supplies for the necessary ingredients for frosting and cake, make a list, and do a quick run to the store. As quick of a run as could be when the nearest store was 15 miles away, and we were still walking across boards over the creek and dealing with washed out roads.
The day of the wedding arrived overcast and a light drizzling rain. Pete packed his camera (he was taking the event pictures), and I loaded the cake, in layers, onto a board that went into the back of the truck for the ride to the creek.. our transfer point. In the rain, I balanced the cake carefully as I made my way across the slippery foot path, and placed the cake tenderly in the back of the jeep for the ride to the party. The cake was a big hit and I was ‘forgiven’ for not bringing a dish to pass when I claimed I brought dessert!
Everyone was amazed at our tales of the wash out and how we were managing. We were ‘anointed’ with honorary local status, since we not only had survived a record breaking winter, but we were staying for the next one… apparently, many new residents left after the first winter…lol.
Flood, part 2
On August 11, 2010 in The Self-Reliant Woman
The rest of the walk back to the house was in stunned silence. We put the laundry away, and I dealt with the groceries and started dinner. The only thing we could possibly do, was wait. Wait until the water receded.
The next morning, with more blue skies and sunshine, we walked back to the creek, never expecting what was waiting for us. The culverts, weighing more than we could even roll, were up ended. Some of them already washed down stream. ………….and the river continued to roar past us. (see picture)
What we did notice that morning, was the road from the house was almost completely open, muddy but open, and we could drive the truck to the creek, no further of course, but it was a start.
At the end of the second day, our curiosity got the best of us, and we took a late ride down to the creek… the river had receded from overflowing the banks, but was still rushing. Why? The culverts were gone. All of them. Of the five, three were within 50 feet of the crossing, one was almost 200 feet downstream and the final was in between.. Crumpled, like a flimsy tin can. The power of the water was mind boggling. Apparently, so much debris from further upstream had backed up against the culverts that the force of the water just.. Pushed…. Until the resistance was gone. There was this gaping hole in our road and no way to get from one side of the road to the other. At least we had one vehicle on either side…
Over the next few days I made several phone calls. See, the property belonged to the County Road commission.. They still owned a now abandoned gravel pit to our south, and technically that portion of the road was theirs. When I called, and asked about washed out roads, I was told it was the responsibility of the land owner, not the road commission, to fix wash outs. Then I pointed out that the area in question was owned by the road commission … I was met with silence. He then said he’d get back to me and hung up. I never heard another word from them, of course.
We needed to do something on our own.
The first thing we did, was to place several boards from one bank to a large rock, and from there to the other bank and then yet across another to the road. A foot bridge. Then it started to rain…
For several days, for hours and hours, in the rain, Pete and I worked with his come-along, slowly dragging the culverts back into place. It was quite the process, since the winch only stretched so far. We went thru two come-alongs during the process. With the constant, tedious racheting, Pete’s mind started to wander, and he over tightened the cable, breaking the internal gears. Time for a new one. With the new tool, we pulled, inches at time, then move, a few more feet, then move again, until after four days, we had dragged three of the culverts back into place. The furthest was much too far… and the damaged one was useless. .
Now what???
Pete started cutting nearby trees and I stripped off the branches. Slowly we built a log bridge across those three culverts. The final addition was 2×12 boards, in two strips, to give support to the vehicles. I was terrified the first time I crossed, but I knew, that in watching out the side window, that as long as I kept that front tire just inside the edge, at a certain spot, the other tires were fine and would follow….
We had access.
Flood, part 1
On August 01, 2010 in The Self-Reliant Woman
by Deborah in the UP
It was a long a cold Spring, very snowy, so when in mid-May the temperatures climbed into the 60’s, we basked in the warmth!
May 18th, with those warmer temps, we decided to go to town together, since the furnace wasn’t running and didn’t need tending. There was still several feet of snow in areas, so we packed the sled with laundry, donned the snow shoes, and hiked out to the car.
With light hearts, and faces to the warm sun, we made our way down the road and across the swollen creek that coursed thru the five culverts beneath our feet. The snow was wet, soft and slushy, and made the walking difficult. We looked at it as a wonderful thing.. That the snow was finally melting in the woods. The air was clean and warm and held such promise.
Pete and I had a great day in town. We did laundry, and folded clothes side by side as we watched large puddles and rivulet’s forming in the parking lot from the melting snow. We did the grocery shopping together, something we rarely did, as that was my job and my expense. I let him pack the purchases his way, knowing every bit of space counted when it was transferred to the sled. We stopped for a casual lunch and had a rare afternoon rum& coke to celebrate our first really warm day.
The sky was a brilliant blue when we parked the car in it’s snow stall back on our road. I recall commenting how much the banks of snow had gone down during our trek to town, a trek that had lasted only six hours. Earlier on the radio, the excited newscaster had mentioned a rare 85* had been reached that day! This was going to be a wonderful spring, I had high hopes for the coming year with such good omens!
We climbed the snow bank behind the jeep and slipped into our snowshoes, balancing the sled enough to pull it up where we stood, now less than two feet higher than the ground around the jeep… the muddy ground, squishy and soggy with melting snow. As we rounded the first curve of the road, it was obvious we weren’t going to need the snowshoes! There were several patches of open ground on the road, which meant we would soon be driving in! It was a bit more difficult dragging the sled over the mud instead of snow, but manageable and we were excited about the quick melt….. Until we reached the creek.
The water that was under the road was now OVER the road, by quite a bit, as can be seen in the picture, and it was flowing fast, really fast. After taking a few pictures (this was the most excitement we’d had in months!!), we discussed a course of action. Pete went back to the jeep and got some rope that is always packed. Meanwhile, I scouted around and found two long and sturdy saplings and cut them for walking sticks. When Pete returned, we tied one end of the rope around Pete, looping and tying the rope to the sled, and the end of it around MY waist. Pete leading the way across the treacherous gully wash, he stepped carefully only after probing with the walking stick, to make sure there was road under his foot. There was perhaps fifteen feet between him and I, with the sled bobbing in the river between us, as I stepped into the rush of water. The fast current sucked at my boots and quickly washed over the tops and in, soaking my feet with icy sludge.
It felt like forever crossing that stretch, when in fact it was less than five minutes. Safely on the other side, we stopped to empty the water out of the boots, and to ponder what had just happened. We left the cut saplings nearby, in case we needed to cross again. That was not something I wanted to do.
Landscaping
On July 25, 2010 in The Self-Reliant Woman
by Deborah in the UP
Sometimes landscaping just… happens.
The area in the front of the house was cleared of trees and excavated as the septic field, basically as a very large circle (see top picture). Nothing should be done over a septic field, so it was just left.
Since the house was built into the side of a hill, a LOT of dirt and rocks were removed to do that. All that removed dirt … and rocks… was piled off to the side … piles and piles of it… (see bottom picture) I spent a good portion of the second summer moving all that dirt back around the other side of the house, wheel barrow by wheel barrow, across 2×10 planks, to fill in around the basement. Good exercise.. LOL. Some of the dirt, in fact a good portion, went into filling the slope where the new wood shed was built, so the floor was reasonably level for stacking wood. As I shoveled into the wheel barrow, I set aside the really large rocks, figuring there would be some use for them down the line. Little did I know how many rocks I would accumulate!
The yard started with my birdbath in the center, just for a place to put it. But the center of that circle was also the perfect place to build a fire pit, and fires certainly wouldn‘t hurt the septic field. We liked our evening fires. Fire just seems to draw you in, creating a peace in the soul, and this pit saw much use. The birdbath was moved off to just outside the circle and into the woods. The largest rocks that I had set off to the side, were placed in a circle, creating the safety ring for the fire. Oh, it was added to, taken from, when better rocks were found, but for the most part it stayed as it began. The rest were gravitating to edge the yard, with a horseshoe around the birdbath. This also gave me somewhere to start, a focus, for adding more.
As I dug and moved dirt, mostly sand, I included moving rocks to my new projects on a daily basis, as part of the days work. When a rock garden closer to the porch began to develop, I started looking elsewhere for bigger, nicer looking rocks. There was an old quarry on the other side of our lowest 80 which was perfect for my hunt! The trouble came in moving them. This was MY project, and I received zero help in that department. I learned a great deal about leverage and fulcrums that summer, as I maneuvered small boulders into the back of the jeep for the quick journey to the developing yard.
As the base rocks were in place, I began planting: perennial herbs on one side and in front, leaving room behind and between them for the annual herbs of basil, dill and cilantro. I had a cinder block of chives that had moved with me wherever I went, for almost 20 years. Here was it’s final home. …or so I thought. I removed the chives and spread them along a 4×4’ area, then planted creeping thyme right at the edge of the rocks. The thyme grew and draped and covered the rocks so beautifully…. Behind the chives and up into the next layer of rocks, was the sage, and next to that was the oregano. The herbs took and thrived, creating a beautiful collage of flowers and scents, not to mention the availability to me of fresh cooking herbs!
But my sense of color wasn’t done…I needed flowers. Picking a point at the base of the garden and angling up to the edge of the porch where I had placed a rain barrel for watering these new plants, I dug in carefully selected flat stones to form a stairway. This was the barrier between flowers and herbs. Into the flower side I had planted some nasturtiums that eventually cascaded down the steps. The flower beds held a rainbow of colors in iris, plus coral bells, Shasta daisies and daylilies.
The fine tuning of the herbs and flowers took several years, as I added, moved, changed a few combinations. But eventually it became my pride and joy, with colors and scents to greet us all season long.
Baby
On July 10, 2010 in The Self-Reliant Woman
Ever have a child who came back home after moving out? My youngest son did. It was just for three weeks, which turned into four months. With him came his cat, JC. I figured that stood for Jason’s Cat, but I wasn’t quite sure. She was beautiful, what’s called a soft calico: gray, not black, beige, not orange, and white. A short-haired delight, and she instantly took to my older cat, Muffin. When my son moved to his new apartment, the cat stayed behind. As I couldn’t bring myself to call her “JC”, I would simply say “come here, baby…” … and Baby she became.
When Pete and I met, Baby adored him, the new alpha male in her life, and she quickly became his cat. She moved with me to his house, then with us up into the woods. I’ve found with cats, as long as their human is with them, they do fine with moves. Baby and Muffin roamed freely around the new house and the immediate area outside. Neither of them strayed very far, I do think they understood it was a dangerous area for a domestic animal. Baby was very smart, and had figured out how to open the screen doors and let herself out, too bad she didn’t close them behind her! I even got her to sit up and beg, but most the time she only treated me to one raised paw.
The year I started waiting tables at the café in town, brought disaster. Baby went missing. I arrived home from work, snowshoeing in late, when Pete told me he couldn’t find Baby, she hadn’t come in all day. I was heart broken, and very afraid for her. Yes, I blamed him, she went missing on HIS watch! He was so consumed with his stained glass, that many things were neglected, many things that were HIS responssibility to take care of. We searched in a grid for her, or for signs.. of blood, fur, something to tell us what happened. She wasn’t a small cat, but I knew a large owl could have grabbed her, and that’s what my thought was. In my mind, though, I could ‘hear’ her …pleading with me to come and get her. I would stand at our door, looking out, tears streaming down my face. I had somehow let her come to harm. I had failed her. For weeks she haunted my dreams, begging me to come and get her and I would look for her everywhere I went. Eventually, the pleading stopped. I knew she was gone.
Five years later, I was leaving to meet Pete at the ‘new’ trailer in town, to make ice while he cut the lawn. As I passed by Three Shoes, I ran into a couple walking with their young daughter, my neighbors from on the other side of the road. We were more than a mile in on one side of the road, they were a half mile in on the other side…my closest neighbors! I stopped to chat a bit and we discussed the latest pack of dogs that we both had been seeing, and that led to feral cats. That’s when they mentioned finding one, a stray, but it wasn’t feral. The more Janet described the cat, the more I knew… it was Baby!! I asked her to take me to their home, …. I had to know.
What I was able to piece together, was that Baby had followed me out that morning, five years earlier, as I snow shoed to the car. I had no idea she was behind me, and after I got in the Jeep and left, she was lost since she couldn’t smell her own trail in the snow. She wandered across the road, following the scent of the food my neighbors left in their deer feed pile. Baby lived on donuts for a month, before these kind people coaxed her into the house. When she was safe and warm and loved, is when my dreams stopped. They had taken her to a vet, who confirmed she had been spayed and well cared for. Their young daughter, Amelia, renamed her, and Baby had a new family. Baby no longer recognized me, and my neighbor said she refused to go outside, ever. She would, however, open the upstairs window screen and sit on the roof, watching the stars. Janet was very concerned that I would want to take Baby home, but I knew that would break Amelia’s heart, and I could deal with the pain of loss better than a nine year old.
I was overjoyed that Baby was still alive, but deeply saddened that I really had failed her by not searching better, by not checking with the only neighbors I had. That guilt hangs with me to this day, even though I know Baby is truly gone now… I hope she has forgiven me.
The Saga of 510
On July 04, 2010 in The Self-Reliant Woman
by Deborah in the UP
The rain is falling along 510
The creeks are rising
and I don’t know when
I started missing you all over again.
It started with one raindrop
It started with one tear
Both came from the storm clouds
With the thunder rolling near.
You were the breath between my heartbeats
The reason for my smile
But I couldn’t make you happy
and after awhile
The rain started falling on the 510
The creeks were rising and then
I started missing you for the first time again
The clouds roll in across my mind
I thought you were good
I thought you were kind
You said you loved me and said you’d be true
So why is my bed empty, cold, and without you?
Oh, the rain is falling on 510
She tempted you once and then once more
That’s when you walked out, right out the door.
You left me empty and broke my heart
Now what I need is a brand new start, ‘cause
The rain is falling along 510
The creeks are rising
And here I am
Missing you all over again.
(note: This poem was begun the evening of the Renaissance Dinner, and completed shortly after. I’ve submitted it a CW singer I know, and he’s turning it into a song.)
Odds and Ends and Falling Apart
On June 27, 2010 in The Self-Reliant Woman
by Deborah in the UP
The first few winters were dealt with by both of us snowing shoeing out to the car, digging it out of the most recent snowfall, and going to town. It was an event. We would each load up wood in our respective stoves, mine the cook stove, Pete the downstairs furnace, and hope it would keep the house warm until we got home again. Often it did not… a very chilly homecoming.
Winter mornings were met with lighting a kerosene lamp for light while having our coffee and toast. It didn’t get light outside until 9am, and it was dark again by 4:30pm. Depending on the cloud cover, a lamp may burn all day to chase the gloom from the shadows. I spent many hours washing soot out of the well used globes during those long, cold months. One morning, we left to shoe out to the car for a trip to town, getting an early start, around 9am. It was to be a full day: laundry, errands, groceries, all which would be brought back in on a sled. That 1.2 mile trip taking a half hour or more, longer the heavier the sled was. As we came up the final stretch to the house that day, I noticed a light in the kitchen window, and could see the lamp was still burning. Commenting that we had forgotten to extinguish it, Pete got very upset at me, saying that I was the one who left it burning, and it would have been my fault if the house had burned down! MY fault? He didn’t agree that things of that nature were a joint responsibility.
After that, only one of us went to town. The other stayed home to keep the fires going, or to prevent them.
In the spring, after the snow had melted, but before the trees had fully leafed out, there was another incident.
There was always a metal ash can in the basement for, naturally, ashes. I would bring the cold ashes from the cook stove down every few days, and dump them in with the remnants from the furnace. When the ash can was full or mostly full, Pete would haul the can, on a sled, out to an area away from the house and empty it… as he did that day, then went on to other chores. He was on the roof an hour or two later, brushing the chimney perhaps, and I went out to talk to him. Facing away from the house as I went out the door, I saw flames. I brought it to his attention as I ran to the area, right where he‘d been dumping the ashes. Apparently there were still some hot coals within all the ash and they had caught the dry brush on fire! While he started raking the fire apart, I grabbed a hose, attached it to our holding tank and started filling buckets. Since the hose wouldn’t reach that far, I dragged full buckets, two at a time on the sled out to douse the fire.
A half hour later, the near disaster was over, fire fully extinguished. That’s when Pete started in on me. Those hot coals just HAD to have come from MY cook stove, therefore the fire was MY fault.
I was beginning to see a pattern.
One winter morning, while we were both still going out to the car, we had to shovel off 18” of snow from the previous night. It was really deep, covering the windshield of the jeep, much more than a little scraper or brush could deal with. To me, the only logical thing to do, was remove some of the snow first, so I took the plastic shovel out of the back of the car, and began lifting the top foot of snow off the hood of the car, in segments, 6“ at a time. The plastic shovel never touched the surface of the car, but once again, Pete started to yell at me, this time for scratching his car with the shovel. The plastic shovel.. The same material the scraper was made of. His attacks were confusing me, and I was getting real tired of it. I had thought that perhaps it was ‘cabin fever’… being cooped up together for days and weeks, not seeing other people, was getting to him, so even though it upset me, I let it slide. He didn’t.
That same winter he accused me of being stupid enough to leave matches and paper on the floor next to the wood furnace, even though it was he, not I, that always lit and maintained that fire.
The spare bedroom was only 10×10, but was perfect for an office, sewing room, even a spare bedroom for guests. There were lots and lots of books, mostly mine, medical books, cookbooks, how to books, nature books and my favorite authors… and all of them needed shelves. I bought some attractive wooden brackets and stained them to match the woodwork. Pete installed them and then set rough sawn planks as the shelves. It looked great. The expanse over the window was a problem, but I had dealt with that issue in my last house, so offered the solution: turn the bracket upside down, attaching it to the shelf from underneath, then securing it to a stud to take the weight. Did the trick nicely, even creating in-place bookends. The next time Pete’s parents came for a visit, his dad remarked what a great idea Pete had come up with. Pete said thank you, never mentioning my contribution. A month or two later, being very restless and not wanting to disturb Pete, I was sleeping in that room, on the floor. During the night, one of the other shelves came crashing down, burying my legs in books! It seemed that Pete had not put those brackets into studs as they should have been, just into the drywall… but then it was MY fault for putting heavy books on it. The next morning, limping with bruised legs, I told him it was a good thing his mother hadn’t been sleeping there when the shelf let loose. He fixed it promptly, the right way.
I had spent hours and hours laying Berber carpet tiles in the bedroom, hallway, bathroom and spare bedroom, getting them to line up just right. Even when the color changed, the pattern flowed perfectly. When Pete’s dad saw it, he looked at Pete and said ‘nice job!’. I immediately said thank you. This was the one time I would not let him take credit for my hard work! I had spent too much back aching time on my hands and knees for him to do that yet again. Pete scowled and me for a week for ‘embarrassing’ him in front of his father. I was starting not to care.
The pattern continued: If something went right, he got the credit, any time anything went wrong it was MY fault, even if I had nothing to do with it. I now saw that he could not take responsibility for any errors, he could never be wrong, therefore, if something did go wrong, it had to be MY fault. It was obvious to me he cared little for my feelings, which meant he no longer cared for ME. My heart was breaking.
Renaissance Dinner
On June 20, 2010 in The Self-Reliant Woman
by Deborah in the UP
Life in the woods wasn’t all work, we DID play on occasion! We had the perfect location for a costumed Medieval dinner party! Living deep in the woods, the clearing in front of the house was an ideal setting. A roaring fire pit roasted or heated whatever we wanted.
It was fun coming up with names and titles for all of my guests. I, was Lady Deborah, Pete was Lord De***ch, my son was Sir Jason, our knight. Then there was Prince Connor and his Wench (his wife), the Lady Susan and Constable Jerome (a judge), the Duchess Norene, and the Sorcerer …. And King Louie, Lady Susan’s French poodle.
I scripted invitations on the computer in old English writing, printing them out on parchment. Singeing the edges to give it a more aged look, I then rolled each one, tied it with a ribbon, and sealed it with sealing wax, pressing in my “D” for an added touch. The invites were fragile, and hand delivered.
The invite read:
Hear Yea!
Hear Yea!
The Lord D***ch and The Lady Deborah
Of M** Manor
Humbly request your presence at the
Feast of Harvest
On the Twenty and Third day of September
At the hour when the cock crows thrice.
The Fare Shall Be:
Roasted Fowl
Peasant Soup
Succulent Forest Greens
Roasted Whole Corn
Breads and Sweets
Fine Wines & Cheeses
Please dress according to your Nobility
This was the posted menu:
!!FEAST OF THE HARVEST!!
Ye Fare:
Peasant Soup
Fowl & field stock
With newly plucked vegetables
Salad
Greens fresh from the forest floor
Corn Cobs
Grilled in husks
Potatoes
Unusually spiced & baked
Roasted Game Hens
Stuffed with garden herbs
Roasted Beef Tenders
Seasoned with secrets
Crusty Loaves of Fresh Breads
Wines & Cheeses
Sweets
The table was set up: a piece of plywood balance on four bolts of wood. The ‘seats’ were bales of hay. (see attached picture) My son cut slices of wood (called cookies) and routed them out to create dinner plates, and I had enough wooden salad bowls to take the place of soup bowls. Utensils would be a single knife, and fingers. Pewter mugs for the men, silver wine challises for the women. The table was festooned with fresh cut fern fronds and wild flowers. Napkins were (new) sack-cloth towels, held down by a rock that I had written everyone’s name … each according to their invitation.
I requested that each female bring a vegetable from her garden as a contribution to the “peasant soup”. I did not designate what, but two brought carrots, one brought a potato and green beans. I added onions, and squash. To participate, I had them chop their own vegetable ..on a wooden board, with a meat cleaver. The stock was all the juices from cooking the Cornish game hens (the fowl) in the cook stove, in a cast iron Dutch oven, which is what the soup was then cooked in. Once the Cornish hens were cooked, they were moved to a different pot and set by the outdoor fire to stay warm and ready for serving. Bread had been baked earlier too, and wrapped in towels, nestled in baskets. A whole tenderloin was waiting for guest arrival, then set on the grill above the fire pit. Corn in husks that had been soaking over night in salted water, were laid directly onto the hot coals.
Just this week, I asked one of my guests (the red-haired wench in the photo) what she enjoyed most of that party, so many years ago. She started with ‘the peasant soup! It was really fun to chop and add, and it came out so good. Then she said, ‘but having just a knife to eat with was really cool! And it was fun to toss bread rolls down the table!’ and then, ‘the wooden plates were a great touch, and I just loved that everyone wore a costume…’ Guess she enjoyed the afternoon too!
Getting rid of the dinner remnants was not an issue. All the corn cobs were dumped out by the deer salt block, and the guys had great fun tossing bones over their shoulders, ala’ Henry VIII, into the woods for our nocturnal wildlife. As night fell, we moved all the straw bales up to the 8’x40’ porch, and continued our merriment with guitars, singing and more wine.
Oh, I’m in the green dress (with short hair!) and that’s my son Jason with all the damsels. We have discussed doing another dinner… and soon.
