Teenagers...What A Bunch Of Competent Individuals

We're screaming up on the heels of birthday season as it is, but then my wee babes have to go and look all adult-like, suddenly. What the hell? DON'T THEY LOVE ME?



Look at this guy, would ya? Wasn't he in some blockbuster summer movie? No? Well he should be! I took this photo while he was on his 87th run to tend to the ducks and chickens that afternoon, because he does things like that, I guess.



Though Olivia has had her driver's permit since she was 15, the last 18 months have thrown us some curve balls here, so Olivia simply renewed her permit and never scheduled her driving exam because life can be tedious that way sometimes. But she sent her card in a week or so ago and got her date and off she went on Monday to take her exam and pass her test all in one go like an almost adult or something (I had to take mine twice, wanna fight?)

And then she goes out all yesterday afternoon on her first solo trip to run errands and attend the Youth Activism Gathering meeting-because she's on the planning team-like she's just trying to prove how responsible and competent she is. (She also designed the YAG poster. Because. Skills.)



This was after she spent the morning sorting our older seeds testing them for germination. GAWD. Teenagers. With their patience. And abilities.

Whatever.

It's not like I'm proud of them or anything.

February Days

So much snow. So. Much. We had more this morning. More is coming. It's just going to be one of those Februarys, I guess. And I show you snow and the short-lived sunshine and eggs (so. many. eggs.) and what you don't see here are the conversations that begin at breakfast, that are sustained throughout the day, threads of which are picked up and wrapped with a variety of topics. You don't see the laughing or the yelling, because there's that, too, or the frustration or the fourth or fifth drafts of important letters written, the worry for friends, the tears that spring when we realize we're down to one guinea pig who has been receiving lots of extra devotion, or the cats who follow us, hoping we'll sit and cuddle with them for a spell. You won't see how wishes become concrete plans in a single photo, or even in words because my children's lives are their own. Our days are still as rich, full, intense, and hands-on as parents to two older teens as they were when our children were small. There's a self-reliance about our teens, though, that is different from when they were toddlers, of course. Our teens make meals, tend to the feeding and caring of animals, embark on projects, immerse themselves in media, books, music, and art. They extend themselves to friends. They make profound discoveries about themselves, realize inner truths. And they initiate plans that will take them years and miles beyond our kitchen table. And it's all astoundingly right and good.

Our Bedroom Project Thus Far

One of the major undertakings here at the farm is creating a space for me and Alex. As it stands, currently, the teens each have a bedroom upstairs, as does Papa, and that's it for bedrooms. The room that is being made into our bedroom is the space referred to as the ell chamber - it's the long room over the kitchen. Up until last summer (2013), this room had always been used as an attic/workshop/catchall. In the meantime, we're back in the den downstairs and our bed serves as a giant ottoman most of the time.

Before we could even begin thinking about starting much needed renovations, we had to slowly and painstakingly, empty the room of its contents. A lot of the things in the room amounted to seasonal storage - coats and boots, canning supplies, picnic baskets, camping gear, luggage. Some of it was old, forgotten projects - sewing supplies, gutted radios, maps, maps and more maps. The rest? Papa's things. Books. Papers. Endless ephemera from decades past. Bits and pieces of wire, bolts and tubes. And genealogies. And all of it needed going through the filter of several pairs of hands and eyes. Much of it was unearthed and sorted and put into clear, labeled boxes to be put into Papa's extra closet, easily accessible for whenever he feels the need to lay hands on something. The rest, with approval, of course, was sorted into piles for donation, keep and trash. This is the state of the room last year, spring 2013.































By autumn, we had the space partially emptied, mostly clean, and we set it up so that we could accommodate the occasional overnight guest.  For Yule, we put our bed up there so that we could enjoy the den as a family room for the holidays.







By the end of January 2014, Alex had finished emptying the room. The major work could begin.



The plan: 

• empty room
• scrape off popcorn ceiling (unless we raise it to the attic? Tabled for some other year.)
• tear up rotting particle board subfloor
• lay down new plywood subfloor 
• pull away drywall, run new wiring
• insulate
  
  drywall
• install new window
• demo hall linen closet
• build bedroom closet
• frame new opening for bedroom
• more drywall
  
  mud, sand, prime drywall
• add finishing trim, hang door
• paint entire room
• lay down new hardwood floor
• varnish floor
• load and decorate bedroom

We discovered lots of water damage that was the result of a roof left to leak for far too long. So Alex removed rotted beams and added new, pulled out moldy insulation and added new and otherwise made sure the walls were sound.



















Then Alex ran completely new wiring.







After scraping the ceiling, he began tearing up the rotted subfloor that was installed during the 1975 renovation. He sometimes had help from Adam and Olivia, too.

























Then it was time to lay down the new plywood subfloor.









Then the new sheetrock could go up, and work on the wiring could continue.







This is where the main house and the ell connect, and this is also where much of the water damage was.







Alex has completed more of the sheetrock work, especially around the bedroom entrance and closet, and much of the sanding has been done. Then outside called. Spring arrived, finally. We found ourselves pulled outside frequently, with necessary chores, like mowing, making garden beds, planting and maintenance.

Then in May, our six ducklings arrived, and since we do not have a mudroom or barn or ready space for poultry brooders and there simply isn't enough space downstairs, the ducks moved into the bedroom. They were followed by fifteen chicks three weeks later. It makes sense to have our birds there for now, but it's meant completely stopping work on our bedroom.

I'm certain we'll continue work on our bedroom throughout the summer, as the ducks will make their transition to their outside pen, soon. This is part of the problem for most farmers, old house renovators, parents...there's only so many hands, bodies and energy to go around, and our efforts will be delayed, waylaid, and divided over and over again. It's alright, though. This is just how it is. There will always be work to do, here. The projects won't end, there will always be improvements to be made. That is the point, after all, the continually moving forward, of leaving things better than we found it. We are optimists. We have things to do. We revel in the doing.

The Return

I'm easing back into this space, snatching little chunks, reclaiming time to put my thoughts down and to do what is so dear to me, photographing and capturing how we spend our days. This transition to the farm has been a doozy in so many ways, both heartbreaking and heartwarming at turns, and I haven't always felt the desire or ability to write, here. To say our days are full is trite, but nonetheless, they are. And as just about everyone in the U.S. knows, this winter has been rough weather-wise, and rough on five people learning to live together in this new old place, this one filled with ghosts and haunts, some cold with longing and rigid with bitterness, at that.

I miss, too, the scent of our other home, our Mermaid House, the familiar corners and light, where spaces are now empty, shelves hold no books, and nails stick out from plaster as accusatory reminders of our abandonment.







That's what I think and feel on the hardest days. A homesickness so deep it draws great sobs up and bursting out of me until I am doubled over with...change. It's not loss, truly, it's only change. Change that we asked for and sought and work so very hard for. And it is wickedly wicked, some days.

Then there are moments, hours, days, where this change seems easy and natural. When order is created out of chaos, when photos and art find homes here on these farmhouse walls, when meals are eaten together, cooked in this kitchen, when new skills are acquired, when we spend hours rebuilding this place, and when we explore our greater community and extend ourselves.





























In these moments, I know that home is us, not the house. I clutch that knowledge, cling to it, letting it settle in my bones. Home is us. Not the house. And winter is almost done.