Neither here nor there puts me nowhere. That’s the summation of the last few months of waiting to move into the bunkhouse at Stray Arrow, jonesing to dig a hole or two, commiserating with the cats cooped up in the condo. I like to blog about what I’m doing, not what I might do someday. Embarrassing but true, I haven’t been doing much worth blogging about.
But spring will come eventually, no matter how interminable winter may seem. We moved into the house on Sunday, officially in, as in we have moved the cats and brought two cars so R can return to the city without me and start the commuting life. We’ll worry about that another day. Yesterday we got to work:
- pounded stakes to outline our mini-orchard for our peach/plum/cherry trees,
- de-Clampettized* the junk pile that had accumulated between the camper and the bunkhouse. We had piled firewood, empty flowerpots, a rusted-out RV water heater, basically anything that could take the elements, on top of the septic field to keep the contractors from driving over it,
- piled rocks and boulders around the farmer’s water hydrant near the future greenhouse to prevent additional tractor accidents from knocking it over again (see above),
- located a temporary spot for stuff going to the dump, like a rusted out RV water heater,
- planted seeds for insectiary plants, like bergamot, echiniacea and gaillardia,
- discovered earthworms under a cardboard box in the debris pile,
- secured some of the extra building materials for future projects, like a chicken coop.
And then our friend Wayne stopped by. Wayne knows some stuff about orchards and is helping us not make too many real dumb-ass mistakes as we get started–at least where he can prevent them. Starting out with 75 different varieties is not rational in any commercial operation, but I take full responsibility for that.
Yesterday evening we walked the pasture again, looking at the water flow and talked through the layout of the rows one more time. Then we asked Wayne to drive in stake #1 in the apple/orchard, from which we will mark out the spacing for all the trees. It felt good to get started, even better that we could do it with a friend.
“to Clampettize” is a word R invented which roughly means putting all your random crap out in the field for everyone to see, living like the Clampletts of the Beverly Hillbillies. Not a desirable state of tidiness.