Withy Dell

Well, I just found out my house lied about its age… many of us middle-aged do that, so I can’t hold it against her (homes, being the realm of Vesta, are female). I ran into someone who had come back to take photos of the neighboring house and told me he’d lived there (in the neighboring house) in ‘51, and my house was there, a good four years prior to the supposed build-time of the place… It was fun to hear about the neighborhood and how it looked then. I have always been a home historian -- if I can find out about how the place was built, or changed or who lived there, I have a great time. I can’t find any permits on record for the building, so I’m guessing it was all gerry-rigged. The last owner was a retired Boeing engineer, and we all know what that means! I’m finding “engineering kludges” all over the place, such as the old truck topper used as a shed, and what looks like a miniature railroad segment used to hang tools in the garage… oh, yes - and the iron pipe that sticks out of the wall on the outside of the kitchen which (I found out four months after I got here) actually drains all of the water from the kitchen sink… and since the water barrel that he must have had there was sold in the estate sale, has been pouring water down under the foundation all winter! I’ve duck-taped an old gutter pipe to the outlet “for now” - truly ugly, but a classic kludge, so I’m kinda proud.

Anyway, the place has the feel of a cabin, mainly because of the knotty pine walls and the old iron woodstove with the cabin scene embossed in relief on the side. It’s cozy because the former owners did insulate; I’m grateful for that, especially since the two bedrooms are unheated… but there’s another classic “kludge”: an old motor rigged to an old box fan has been “inset” (okay, jammed) into a hole in the wall near the woodstove that opens onto the back hallway. Now anytime I want to enjoy the sound of a busy airport, all I have to do is flip a switch and the fan will send the warm air from around the stove through the hole and into the hall at speeds that turn it into air conditioning…

Also, unlike me, the house got a facelift sometime in its past. Recently, one of the 50’s style concrete shingles came off, and I discovered solid pine beadboard siding underneath. So now I am in a careful but exuberant process of taking off the retrofit to reveal the cottage underneath. All things become fashionable again… but you won’t find me wearing hip-huggers or mini-skirts, even if they are all the rage!

So far, the excavations haven’t revealed too many nasty surprises. Still, I feel like those scientists who are checking out the near-miss comets: will “Comet Repair” impact my wallet, or will I be able to adjust the flight path to a near-miss?

Oh, and in case you’re curious - I’ve named the place Withy Dell, using the centuries-old tradition (still widely used in real estate) of giving a sow’s ear the name of a silk purse. I have enough saplings in the yard to create a small woodlot by the time I croak, and although I am cutting them down as fast as I can, I am trying to re-use my “withies” for various staking tasks. And it’s low enough to count as a dell -- nothing to do with the computer company, you nerds. Although… with all the kludges… who knows??

The Sweet Sounds of Country life

As if I needed reminders that I have joined a rural community based on the lumber industry, the nearby wood processing plant started up some antiquated bit of machinery today, with a drive that screamed like a banshee and gears that rattled like a tank going over a mountain of scrap metal. This, I hope, will not be a machine that is operable after dark, tho with the kleig lights that most places have, there is no such thing as “after dark” anymore, not really. At least it doesn’t sound like it is close by, so the volume isn’t at ear-damaging levels. But it’s a reminder that in rural settings, you are either in the million-plus bracket and create a McMansion in a homeowner’s association-ruled area where ecru is a daring color and noise is only allowed from the migrant yardworkers’ leaf blowers (I suppose they consider it soothing?), or -- like me -- you’ve chosen a place for its “good value” (code word for no yuppie would touch it) and you put up with the local neighborhood, hoping that all the real nasty surprises will reveal themselves before you close on the house.

Quiet middle class neighborhoods are being squeezed in very much the same way as the middle class itself; girdled into smaller and smaller plots… either through in-fill -- building another house in your backyard -- or by new developments designed to reduce any worry about escaping a burning building: you just put a plank out your window and crawl into your neighbor’s. I am all for conservation and not over-consuming the earth, but why does that always start with the lower and middle class and then run out of steam before it ever moves higher??

Anyway, I finally cut down the waist-high weeds and grass in the back yard. I was thinking how the place must have been a garden recently, because there was such soft soil underneath… it wasn’t until the “haying” was over that I realized I’d been stepping on mole-mounds. I have always had such clay soil that moles were discouraged, and so I’ve never worked with them, but I do know that they are a scourge of the garden. This is gonna take some thinking.

The Septical Inquirer

[written just previous to closing]
The Septic Tank; the topic of many a rural essay and the morbid fascination of many rural homeowners. Mine is starting out as a hassle; like a colicky baby, I hope it settles down and becomes a darling member of the new household. It is leaking, very much like a baby diaper, but I’m lucky that it’s happening before I buy the place. I’ve been watching from the sidelines as the seller works to get a new tank in. I’m getting an intense education in the county building code and permitting system as well. But mostly I’m getting a very frustrating game of “Telephone”: I ask my realtor for news and within the day she emails or calls the seller’s realtor, who, within a day or two, calls the contractor, who - within a day, etc. - calls the seller’s realtor… eventually, in a week, I get some variation on my question answered, which of course brings up another question and the next week is spent answering that.

Today something just snapped and I demanded the phone number of the contractor, and spoke directly to him (or his assistant, hopefully the next best thing.) He informed that the permit finally arrived in the mail Saturday (do people still do things by mail?? Apparently so…) and he immediately put in an order for the tank. Since I’d heard two weeks ago that the permit had been gotten and the work was to be done last week, I was -- to be honest -- disappointed, but managed to be polite, appreciative and asked 5 more questions that would have taken a month to have answered the old way. Turns out the tank should be delivered by Friday latest (don’t they always say that, so when it’s late, you can’t call and complain?), and would be put in “immediately“. His logistics sounded somewhat 6-dimensional, but he promises all the tank work would be done by Friday afternoon, ready to inspect -- which legally must be done in 5 business days. That sets us out to exactly the closing date, and the title company won’t give me the amount of money I need to wire over -- and if I don’t do it by Friday, I start to run out of time to move from my apartment on time! So naturally, I feel like Luke Skywalker when the garbage compactor started to move inexorably inward. “Just keep moving upward” doesn’t begin to cover it…

Next Door

I have met the neighbors, briefly. They seem to be taking a lively interest: one neighbor mentioned they were taking bets on whether I could fix up this dump or be buried by the costs of repair. I suppose after they banned cock-fighting, the locals have to have some sort of fun. I’ll know whose side they are on as soon as I ask to borrow a ladder… They seem to be typical in their rural archiving habit (“I’ve got an acre, I’ll just leave this sink here in case I need it in five years”) so I know I won’t have to worry about keeping the grass trimmed to a Marine buzz cut. After living for five years in a place where no matter what I did it offended someone, I’m looking forward to that! Not that I’m a slob, but I do have an appreciation for the beauties of wildlife (my house, for instance, is a wild dust bunny sanctuary).

And I love recycling, whether it’s composting or re-using containers… so when I saw the white and yellow 30wt oil jugs dangling from the neighbor’s metal fence poles (apparently as “reflectors” for after-dark steering), I knew I could feel easy about my collections, whatever they turned out to be (yes, I have a real soft spot for junk yards, second (okay fourth) hand stores and thrift shops). My yard art-in-progress will at least be more creative than those bottles… I’m planning a giant Fairy scarecrow; it was in my mental hopper for years, but the community living group had a hard enough time of my using a kid’s yellow rainslicker for a scarecrow, and it never got past the lawn committee. I have a vision for the outside yard that I know is unlikely to be realized, but if even a few pieces make it (like the scrap fence compiled of neat recycled windows, fence parts and wooden art), I will be as happy as a pig in compost, or a FOX talk show host in Republican rumors.

I’m currently neighbored by three uninhabited houses: one is for sale, and the other two apparently not… one is uninhabitable (tiny, floors ripped up -- a do-it-yourselfer’s failed project?), and the neighbors say the owner gave up on repairs about a year ago and hasn’t been seen since. The other is a full size house, completely painted in metallic silver, which luckily has been dulled by the years because the neighbors say on a sunny day you could see it from airplanes passing overhead. It’s owned by the lady who has a herd of goats one house over from it; someone says it’s her studio… my point of view is that since I basically have all the land that I can see from my yard completely to myself, all‘s right with the world. I am apparently the youngest member of the housing group on these two gravel roads, so I can reasonably hope to avoid loud modern head-banging music that is the Song of the City… my new place is about as countrified as it can be and still be within a mile of the town proper. On a nice day (presumably sometime next July) I will be able to walk to town and get all the groceries I can carry home (and that, my friend, is the Country Home Diet…)

Please Don't Eat the Green Acres...

It is the pipe dream of my generation: go back to the land, eschew commercialism in all forms and get down with the earth… and the Earthlink, of course (how else will the world at large know about the wonderful rural, non-technical life you’ve created??)

I fell for it in my 52nd year… signed the counter offer on the house on my birthday, on a house that was created in 1955, just like I was (such signs are portents, or else really silly reasons to buy an old house)… in a town with such a cute name that I cringed when I told my savvy city friends (and was astounded at how many were immediately envious), a town with one main street… a town without a coffee shop! (alright - one drive-through espresso place… but for us metro Oregonians, that’s like the only rib joint in town being a Tony Roma’s!) And I grew up in New Jersey, so I know what you guys are thinking about now -- stop laughing! Espresso is a necessity. So immediately, I made a list of all the things I’m giving up (and how far a drive they actually are… just in case). I listed all the things I’m gaining (the opportunity to personally weedwack the waist-high weeds on this neglected place being near the top ten -- yes, country air has already addled my brain), and compare the two, ostensibly to be sure it’s balanced, but really just to smirk at my foolish friends who feel chained to their lifestyles (this will come back to haunt me, I predict).

But the road is never smooth -- first things I run into are the well and septic issues. I was looking for a place that was as independent as possible (with an eye to being mostly off the grid), and this place is great for that… but the well has bacteria and the septic tank is cracked… I know the leak wasn’t too bad, because the inspector confessed to me that he’d eaten all the remaining raspberries before he realized they were growing over the tank and we have not received a lawsuit. We are now in negotiations to get all that dealt with before I take ownership, but just to be sure, I’m getting a water filter and reading up on septic systems -- I suppose all of this appeals to the engineering part of me, the part that does like to tinker with (simple) machines. Before they went nano, I used to switch out my own computer hardware, tho I never built a system from scratch, and I understand the basics of a car (minus the computerized crap), a house electrical system and plumbing. I just know that I’ll be learning a lot more soon…

Anyway, welcome to my new blog about the joys and insanities of living a self-sufficient life!