He caught a big one

With our creek running at its peak, we've been spending more time at the water's edge. It's been too fast for wading in, but the kids recently decided that "fishing" was a worthwhile alternative. I helped them find long sticks and tied on some twine and a large, plastic clip meant for anchoring balloons.

They were happily occupied for several afternoons, (even digging some worms for bait) but announced that they wanted Papa to take them fishing, for real. They buzzed with anticipation for a few days.

The day they had planned on going, ominous black clouds swirled overhead. The wind blew and it hailed, but they were confident that the storm would pass quickly. Their optimism prevailed and they piled into Papa's truck, all wiggly and smelling of insect repellent.

They returned a few hours later, bursting through the back door and announcing, "Samuel caught a big one. It's in the bucket!" Those of us who had stayed at the house got up to investigate.

I had half expected the "big fish" to be a smallish one. But I was wrong; Samuel had indeed caught a big fish. (Apparently, after he reeled it in and caught a glimpse of it flopping around on the dock, he turned tail and ran. It wasn't surprising, then, that it took some coaxing for him to pose with his catch.)

After we all had a look and snapped a few photographs, the kids headed outside to release the big guy into our creek. Though he was a little sluggish, he eventually perked up and headed down stream, where he no doubt made his way back to the lake where Samuel had caught him.

Samuel beamed until we put him to bed. And he awoke the next morning, still smelling of fish and still talking about his big catch.

Our (mostly) free chicken tractor

It didn't take me long to realize, that pastoral as it might seem, loose chickens are not good for gardens. When they were out, it was like having three more children to keep track of. And like children, they were getting into mischief--and tearing up my perennial beds.

Of course, we now know something first-hand about the term "being cooped up." Though we have a small fenced area for them attached to their coop, we really would rather not leave these ladies penned up all day. Besides, they're fabulous aerators, thatchers, and pest controllers--not to mention fertilizers. Their proper place truly is in the yard (just not in my flowers).

So we decided that building a chicken tractor really was our best option; they get to be outside and do what they do best, and I get to keep my gardens intact. The only problem was that we didn't want to spend a whole lot on the project. In fact, we didn't want to spend anything at all.

We scrounged around and found some cedar pieces leftover from our porch addition and used a large piece of reclaimed flashing to give the chickies a little shade. The handles on each end were leftover from other projects, too. Our only expenditure to complete the project was another roll of chicken wire. (We had some bits leftover from last spring, but not quite enough to finish the job.) For a few dollar's worth of materials, we now have ourselves a tidy little chicken tractor.

We're still hoping to add some wheels so that the tractor is easier to move. We bought a pair of salvaged wheels, but they won't work without a little retrofitting.

In the meantime, however, we've put those chickens to work on our next project, which is to build a planting/patio area on the northeast corner of the house. Even as I write, they are tearing up the sod and adding nitrogen to our soil. This has been a boon to my aching back. (I started digging out the grass a few days ago, but I think they are much more proficient than me.) Now, I can sit back and sip a glass of iced tea while my chickens do all the hard work.

Five!

Just a few days before this boy was born, I was climbing on the side of a steep hill. It was warm, and I was wearing a pair of shorts and some rubber boots. We were trying to gather flat rocks to finish our front path, and we knew we were running out of time to get house projects completed. (Little did we know, then, that we had far less time than we had expected.)

Our neighbors stopped to visit with us, and they jokingly asked if I was trying to start labor. I laughed, and heaved another stone into the wheelbarrow.

I think we finished the path that afternoon. The next night, I finished packing our bags and decided to pull out the baby name book one last time. We still had three full weeks before my due date, but my body must have known what I didn't yet grasp.

We headed to the hospital the next morning. And at 8:00 pm, we held our little Samuel for the first time.

It seems impossible that five years should have passed so quickly. It seems impossible that we have witnessed him morph from a chubby, scooting babe, to a boy with a big heart and a generous spirit.

He's nothing if not consistent. He's slept on his tummy and loved powdered sugar donuts for as long as I can remember. He never has been able to resist a stick (or a strawberry), though balloons have always been his true passion. I love how he squirms and his eyes light up when he sees one.

Fittingly, he asked for nothing more than balloons for his birthday.

Slowing down (and making pasta)

I stir a pot of soup with a baby on my hip, read books while I'm giving baths, try to sip tea in between rounds of playroom hoops. In the name of expediency and efficiency, I sometimes find myself moving too fast, trying to do too much.

I chase balled-up socks and dust bunnies, boys with chocolatey hands, and chickens who can't resist fresh mulch. Sometimes, it feels like I'm always running somewhere, or after someone (or something).

Slowing down takes a concerted effort around here, but when I do, I'm always so glad. A few nights ago, I climbed onto the wobbly kitchen stool in my kitchen and brought down my Italian paster maker, still in its original box. It was a gift from my late grandfather. He'd had it set aside for me in the front hall closet of his house, pulling it out and pressing it into my hands when I came to visit. I still remember how his brown eyes softened when he handed it to me, but he didn't say a thing.

With the littles occupied in another room, I had the kitchen to myself. I didn't bother with a bowl, but made a mound of flour on the counter, pressed a well in its center, and cracked three golden-yolked eggs inside. The sticky, soft dough clung to my fingers as I massaged it into a ball.

Kneading the dough smooth was meditative. I thought about my grandfather and his gift. I thought about how thankful I was to move without someone underfoot, but mostly I thought about the simple joy of cutting pasta by hand.

Porch Details and Summer Plans

Take a look at those chickies, who love to congregate in the loose dirt around the foundation of the house and the new screened-in porch. I knew chickens gave themselves dust baths, but I didn't understand the magnitude of their messes. Of course, little chicken-made potholes aren't the only mess these girls leave behind. It should be an interesting summer trying to keep the ladies out of my garden and flower beds.

We (and when I say "we," I really mean Jory) may just have to make building a chicken tractor the first summer project. With a movable pen, we could still let the chickens out into the yard, but we'd have a bit more control over exactly where they went (and therefore where they dig and poop).

Originally, we thought we'd get a few more chicks this spring, but now that we're typically getting two eggs a day (yesterday we got three), we'll hold off. That way we won't be tied down with tending to hatchlings when we'd rather be working on other projects.

Those other projects include building a playhouse for the kids and a flagstone patio on the north side of the new porch. The playhouse will be recycled chic; we'll be trolling the reuse center for materials in the coming months and will make the plan on the fly. To stay within county limits, and to avoid having to buy a building permit, we'll keep the playhouse to around 10 by 12.

While Jory's thinking structure, I'm pondering louvered shutters and painted porch spindles, built in bunks and little nooks. We'll be meeting somewhere in the middle, to meld reality with fantasy.

As for the patio, we've decided to save ourselves the hassle of tending to yet another flower bed. Rocks are definitely lower maintenance than beds that need watering and weeding, composting and mulching--and that serve as little havens for pesky chickens. We'll probably plant a few shrubs and grasses, mainly low-growing evergreens and ground covers.

Between these projects and the garden, we'll have plenty to keep us busy this summer. My mind is already there--to that place called summer. But I know full well that time moves plenty fast without me wishing it away. So I'll concentrate on celebrating this moment, chicken potholes and all.

Chasing the Sun

On sunny days, when the temperature makes it to around 40 degrees, we're finding ourselves spending lots of time in this little space. It's surprisingly warm in here, roughly 25 degrees warmer than the outside temperature. And what a boon this place has been when the wind is howling!

The kids make runs back and forth from the house to the porch, bringing in all the necessary "supplies" for art projects and house play, race tracks and bridges. And when the three biggest kids do venture out, Amelia keeps tabs on them from her post inside. I know when she leaves the window that the "bigs" have moved onto another area of play.

A few bits of nature inside our home remind us that spring is ever-so-close. In the meantime, we'll be hanging here, chasing the sun and feeling thankful for this little sliver of space.

A Paper Crown Kind of Morning

These sunny rooms are a ruse; the temperature has barely been above zero during the day. At night, we've dipped to 20 below zero. This has resulted in four stir crazy kids and one mama who rests decidedly in the same category.

To make the most of all this family "closeness," we've been trying a few new things to keep us all sane. Paper crowns were a little bit of magic, if even for an hour. The kids were transformed into kings and queens, knights and princesses, dragon slayers, and circus performers. They sported daggers and capes, swords, and handbags (What princess, after all, would be without her accessories?).

A bowl of "story stones" (smooth stones decoupaged with themed illustrations) have helped to keep us occupied, too. (The idea is not my own, but one I saw online.)

I clipped illustrations for our story stones from a 1950s children's book that I picked up at a thrift store for a few pennies. The storyline was peculiar enough that the book wasn't exactly a good read. Nevertheless, the brilliantly-colored evergreens, the wee woodland creatures perched on toadstools and stumps, and the clumps of wildflowers were captivating enough that I saved the book, not yet knowing what I would do with it.

Our stones are sitting in a handmade pottery bowl I got at Goodwill for $.50. Though the completed project is low on cost, it isn't short on entertainment value. We've heard many tales already about a chipmunk, bird, and extra-leggy frog who live in the forest. Even William, who is three, has woven a story or two of his own.

The simplest of things always bring us the most joy around here. Cheers to paper crowns and smooth stones of the storytelling variety.