May in Photos

RIP little Schatzie, the ancient thorn in my side.  We had to have her euthanized at the beginning of March, and somehow I never found the words to tell the blogosphere.  Her health started to deteriorate rapidly, and rather than prolong the inevitable, we made the decision to end her life in a humane manner.  She lived with us for 8 years, and considering she was 20 when we adopted her, she lived a good, long life.  I always joked that I gave her palliative care for the last 8 years, but in truth, the last 3 were very demanding.  We miss the old girl, though.

Somehow, going from a dead cat to a turkey vulture seems morbid beyond belief.  These birds are so big, it's hard to comprehend.  When they circle the thermals, they are immense in the sky, and dwarf all other birds.  I've zoomed in here - the astute will notice the light standard in the bottom right of the photo looks like it's that close, but in reality it's over a kilometre away.

I waited and waited for my swallows to return this spring.  Maybe Cappie gracing the beams in the barn beside the house didn't look like the welcome committee they imagined, because for the first year in over a decade, we're swallow-less.  I'm really, really worried about this.  We've had a hard spring so far, with a really big frost about 10 days ago that annihilated the asparagus and grapes.  As it is, it's the end of May, and for the record, it was 8C this morning, and tonight, the wood stove is on.  Things don't bode well for the swallow population with conditions like that.

Tessie's quite the character.  The three cats have found their new places in the house sans Schatzie and Cooper.  I call the new dynamic "BobCat and his Harem".  The two girls provide Bob with just enough attention, and while the younger Capucine pounces on Tessie quite relentlessly some days, it's a very harmonious, easy-going sort of peace that reigns supreme.  Tessie's our sensitive, independent one.  Capucine's boisterous and pats me on the shoulder when she needs petting.  And BobCat's staked Cooper's spot on the bed, and most mornings, I wake up to both Bob and the Cappers, staring at me from the foot-end of the bed.

Spring sprang suddenly, and at some point in April, we traded winter boots for sandals.  We went from heating to using air-conditioning in the space of a week, but then things normalized.  The heavy frost mid-May even frost-bit the tender ash leaves that had just begun to sprout.  In 12 years here, it was the first time I can remember something like this happening.

Capucine is such a regal looking cat.  Her personality is larger than life, and she loves being petted and fawned over, but only on her terms.  She has so many little chirps and meows, and is very vocal.

It's hard to believe Tessie the scrawny stray became such a chunky girl.  She has the nicest, fluffiest fur I've ever seen on a cat.  It's funny how I'd never, ever had a tabby cat, and within a year, we find ourselves with two.

We've had a lot of rain in May.  For the first time in a long time, the field across from the house is planted with wheat.  I think it's been corn for the past 5 years, and if memory serves, it's been wheat only once in the last dozen.  It seems to be the flavour of the year, since most fields in our area were planted with wheat this spring.  The fields are now verdant and brimming with life.

Speaking of brimming with life, this was our tap water about a week ago.  The town even had the gall of putting a notice in our mail saying it was perfectly potable, but there were some "clarity issues".  You don't say?  I don't even want to shower with it, much less drink it.  Since then, the quality has improved, and hopefully with the added rain filling reservoirs and lakes and rivers, we won't encounter another 5 month-long boil water advisory like we had last year.

And that's May, in a nutshell.

Shattered.

Cooper died this morning, with me whispering into his ear what a good dog he was.

To my dearest, dearest boy Cooper:

From the moment I found you as a puppy in a snow bank over 10 years ago, every day with you has been filled with little indescribable joys.  I didn't think it was possible for a dog to make a person want to be a better person, but that is exactly how you made me feel.  You worked your way into our hearts, and added brightness and life to our little home.

No one could have asked for a better dog.  Tolerant, smart, loyal and patient are but a few words used to describe you.  You loved us unconditionally, and your excitement as we walked through the door each and every time was unwavering until the end.   So many people commented that you were an unbelievable dog, and they were spot-on.  A dog like you comes along but once in a lifetime, and you were our lifetime dog.

Thank you Cooper, for being our best friend through thick and thin. 

Thank you Cooper, for opening our hearts.

Thank you Cooper, for helping me through some of the darkest days of my life, and for sticking by my side as I'd cry into my pillow, trying to console me by thumping your tail as hard as you could.  Your concern was not lost on me.

Thank you Cooper, for being there with us, each and every day.

 Thank you Cooper, for your curiosity, your drive and your devotion.

Thank you Cooper.  You were our foreman, par excellence.  We couldn't have done it without you.

Thank you Cooper, for humouring us.  We never laughed at you, but we always laughed with you.

Thank you Cooper, for being dignified.  We meant well with the Muttlucks, we really did.

Thank you Cooper, for being Cooper - always willing and ready to please.

Thank you Cooper, for convincing me to lay on the grass with you and watch the skies.

Thank you Cooper, for loving your girlfriend Tika like you did, and all the hours you spent jumping off her dock.  I know she's waiting for you on the other side, wagging her tail.  May you now both run like the wind - together forever.

Thank you Cooper, for your grace and acceptance of all those cats who came after your arrival. (See the little melted paw-prints besides Coopie's feet?  They were Amelia's).

Thank you Cooper, for always being game, and thanks to our friends for spoiling you.

This is not how I expected things to end, and I don't know what more to say to you all.  To know Cooper was to love Cooper.  He melted hearts, he won over those afraid of dogs, and was an all-around amazing doggy ambassador.  The best of the best.

We were so lucky to have you in our life, and so, so sorry to see you go.

You were such a brave, brave boy, never showing us you were sick.  I am so, so sorry...words fail.

Godspeed, my boy, Godspeed.

May you now run like the wind.

Run like the wind, Cooper.

Here We Snow Again

It's practically not possible, but we had another 25 centimetres of snow yesterday, with more forecast over the next few days.  If I trust Environment Canada's statistics, we've had 270 cm of snow, or over 105" this winter, breaking a 30-year record.

It's winters like this that make us want to pack up and leave, folks.  We won't mention that it's March 20th, and the official start of spring.   Just don't go there -  our sanity depends on it.

To add insult to injury, last year at this time we were wearing t-shirts, and this year, we're wielding shovels. 

It's been a cruel, long winter.

The days, however, are getting longer, brighter and milder by default.  We know the figurative end is in sight, but I think we're all so tired, we feel like we're crawling towards the finish line.

Even the cats go outside in the snow these days, where they race to the barn so they can poop in the gravel.  It makes so much more sense than going inside, in a litter box that gets cleaned 4 times a day, doesn't it?  Mental note to self:  pick up poop in barn while it's still below freezing outside.  Warmer temps mean...well...mushy cat poop to sort out of gravel.  Truly, the things I do for these animals...

There are a few exciting new developments, though.  Eric made true on his promise to move the drill press upstairs.  It was gracing the middle of the living room, so you can understand my delight that it's now out of sight.  Of course it needed to be taken apart to be moved, and my fear is that it will lie in pieces for a while.

Same thing goes for the lumber we had stored in the living room.  It's upstairs as well, so we've regained this huge amount of space in our living room.  The possibilities are now endless!

This clears the path for finishing the floor downstairs.  We're not quite sure what we're going to put down in terms of wood flooring, but it will most definitely be hard wood, and sanded and varnished in place if I get my way.  None of that micro-groove, pre-varnished junk we have in the kitchen.  Whoever thought a micro-groove would be a nice way to finish the edge of a piece of wooden flooring should be forced into hard labour that involves cleaning out said micro-groove with a paring knife.  It's especially challenging when you have several cats that track litter all over the house.

On that note, I leave you with tonight's sunset:

And, to add credence to my incessant bitching about the weather, here's an early morning picture of the same field taken exactly one year and one day ago:

The astute among you will notice a complete and total lack of snow.

The glacier can recede any day now.  Any day.

We'll be more than ready.

Is It Over Yet?

Things sure have been mighty quiet at Shim Farm Central this month.  I had considered writing a post about snow shoveling, one of my prime occupations this month, or whining on about the weather, but we've "been there, done that" with a few posts too many already this year.   Still, I don't want to turn the calendar page over without commemorating February with one more post.

Today we woke up to more snow - really, what's new?  Snow.  That's what's new.  I'm not complaining, just stating the obvious with a tone of resignation (and slight despair) in my voice.  It did look glorious outside, the trees were all heavily snow-packed, and as an added bonus, it was hovering just around the freezing mark which is a nice change from -20C.  The power flickered on and off all evening the day before, but we didn't lose power, so there's that to be grateful for.

This has been a long, hard winter, and February is the jewel in the crown of the season.  Everyone's remarked on it, so it's not just a figment of my imagination.  Hopefully, spring is just around the corner because I'm about ready to crack at the seams.

I've played a rousing 2,540 games of Freecell this month, just the sort of repetitive crap my gray matter needs to keep firing during this time of year.  Of course, I could be doing infinitely more interesting things with my time, and although I'm already regretting the time wasted, I consider it therapy.  Yeah, therapy.  That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it.

(I did manage to get the ribber for my CSM up and running again, but that's another tome for another day).

I haven't taken a lot of photos this month, and they're prime blog fodder.  No photos - no posts.  But the other day, I snapped this one of Crappy Cappy and the Tessalator:

This is as close to a still-life as they come in our house.  Plywood floor.  Two cats.  A vacuum cleaner.  Tools.  Plus a suitcase.  That pretty much sums up our lives.  (And the green mallet?  Our favorite tool, bar none.  The base is stamped WOOD IS GOOD and that's all I'm gonna say about that).

Crappy Cappy (I really should stop calling her that, because she's anything but) is such a sweet, curious cat:

Just look at her.  You just want to take that fuzzy little face and squee-squee-squeeze it.  She's on the tiny side, so we're calling her a Vermont Coon Cat.  That's just like a Maine Coon cat, but half the size.  Bless that little Miss-Stripey-Pants, because she sure is a dear little cat.  Here she is gracing the drill press conveniently (not!) located in our living room.

Eric's still working on the proverbial missing link upstairs, namely the frame around the master-bedroom door, hence the tools on the living room floor.

Eric says he's going to make true on his threat to move the drill press upstairs.  That would mean we could theoretically finish the floor downstairs, even if the upstairs isn't quite done.  Actually, I'm not sure I'd qualify the status as "not quite done".  Let's just call it "construction rustic".  That's our decoration period, and we're probably stuck in it for the rest of our lives.

This is going to be the structure around the door frame upstairs.  I'm not even going to entertain the thought of nagging Eric to get the job done, because I of course have played exactly 2,540 games of Freecell this month.  Everyone's on the path of least resistance in February and collectively, we're no exception.

BobCat, for his part, has made a new enemy in the neighbourhood.  Some unfixed male cat keeps wandering around our farm, marking his territory.  Soon, very soon, our Havahart trap is going to be set up, and that tomcat is going to find himself at the vets for a quick snip-snip and that problem will be solved, too.

With the weather getting milder, Bob's main occupation is going in and out of the house so often I need to grease the hinges on the front door before they wear out.  The unfixed tomcat is not helping his case.

This is what the little bugger does when he wants to be let in, about 3 minutes after he's let out:

He puts his face in the window, and using his paws, swats at the front door.  With the melting snow, his wet paws make a "kwee-kwee-kwee" squeaking sound, alerting me to the fact he wants to be let in.  It's not at all irritating, no...not one...little...bit.

Upon coming in, he'll walk to his food dish, because his servant might have added a few kibble, and then about 27 seconds later, he'll go back to the front door and asked to be let out again.  Sometimes, though, he'll go to the front door, ask to be let out, but will then make a beeline for the patio door, which obviously annoys me to no end.  Or maybe it's Bob's way of telling me I need more exercise this time of year.  Thanks, I suppose.  Whoever said dogs have masters and cats have servants was very, very astute.

Bob's mellowing out though.  He still spends most nights on the bed hogging my hot-water bottle, and has only once woken me at 5AM  this winter, asking to be let out.  When he starts doing this on a regular basis, that's my cue to let Bob sleep in the barn at night.  This spring, we'll see what Bob likes better - the barn or a warm bed?

Right now, Bob's settled in on the back of the sofa, right behind my head.  His purring is non-stop and I'm grateful he seems to have settled down for the night.  Now I better go and fix him his hot-water bottle, and hopefully beat him at his own game.  If I make things perfect enough, he won't entertain the thought of going outside again tonight, and I'll enjoy a night of uninterrupted sleep.

And on that note, lest you fear I've completely lost my get-up-and-go, here's a February sunset for your viewing pleasure:

With a few hours left to go, I'm going to turn the calendar over to March, and rejoice like I've never rejoiced before.

Out, February, out!

Snow Daze

Ahhh, yes.

It's mid-February, the most hap-hap-happiest time of the year.  I hope my facetiousness is shining through bright and clear.

(And I have no clue why I'm breaking into rhyme, but I'm blaming the weather for my insanity).

(And what, pray tell, is a street sign doing out in the middle of a field?  Why, it's a marker to indicate the snow mobile path).

We had another big dumping of snow last Friday.  It was tame compared to what most of the East Coast got, yet it was still a prohibitive amount even by our standards.  By this time, we have so much snow accumulation, we go outside with fists raised when it starts to snow, and yell, "Bring it on, bring it ON".

Talking to the elements is generally the first symptom of Cabin Fever.  It's all downhill from here, skis optional.

All joking aside, this winter feels interminable.  For the first time, we've actually uttered the words, "We should sell the farm, move some place warm, some place mild...temperate...sunny", as our voices trail off.

Believe me when I say I revel in the change of seasons.  I love spring, summer, fall...and...wait for it...winter.  But this year, we've had a prohibitively cold winter.  A snowy winter.  A windy winter.  This morning, it was -8C and it was RAINING - the kind of rain that hits your windshield and freezes instantly.  The only antidote is to crank your car heater full-bore, super-heating your car to ensure you can look out the windshield.  Of course, you're in your winter regalia:  a down coat, a sweater, a muffler wrapped three time around your neck, and a pair of shearling gloves.  You reach your destination stifled, over-heated and parched, silently cursing this infernal season.

Ahhh, winter.

The cats are fed-up.  The dog is depressed.  I'm suffering what I've termed BWS:  the dreaded Beached Whale Syndrome.  (I can safely diagnose Tessie with the same illness above).  I am in love with the sofa, the wood stove, and have been eating myself into a chocolate-induced stupor.  Next stop: scurvy.

I don't know what the antidote is.  Maybe it would be a week down south.  Maybe it would pass if I didn't have to leave the house until April.  I went out for a nice long walk with Cooper yesterday, about 6 kilometers over the fields.  It was beautiful outside, but when I got back, I felt like I'd over-done it.

This morning, even Cooper stood at the top of the stairs and let out a long, protracted high-pitched whine, the kind he makes when he's hurting.  I know just how he feels.  I felt the same way, buddy.

Ahhh, winter.

I'm going to take a cue from BobCat and Schatzie, and go find myself a warm sweater, a warm spot and a sunbeam, and roll with Mother Nature's punches.

Freeze Farm

The early-morning skies last Sunday were quite ominous.  It was a very unseasonal +7C that morning.  Dark skies like this aren't exactly common during winter-time.  I watched the weather roll in, and within minutes, the first of many snow squalls hit:

Snow squalls are interesting if you're inside warm by the fire with many furry friends at your feet.  If you're on the road and one of these babies hits, you'll gain new appreciation for road delineators, and if you can't see those, there are always hydro poles to guide you, preferably before they make contact with your front bumper.

You can't even make our barn out in the above photo, but it's there where it always is when I look out of my wide screen TV, a.k.a. the kitchen window.  When I was joking about the Transport Quebec mouthpiece talking about vizzie-billie-tee zee-roh in my earlier post, this is what he means.  Zero visibility.  The tractor might be 50 feet away from where I took my photo, and it's barely visible.

We had a great sunset Sunday evening when the skies cleared up:

Snow squalls are generally harbingers of colder weather.  But just how cold, well, let's just qualify it as c-o-l-d:

Conditions of -27C on Wednesday.  This morning the mercury read -24C.  Well, my zest for life just flew out the window with a forecast like that.  That pretty much sums things up these days.

I went to get our weekly flyers out of the mailbox when I got home this afternoon.  Eric was out in the woodshed splitting wood, and Cooper was shivering outside on alternating legs, (he spends a total of 60 seconds outside these days), so I figured I might as well make the trek to the mailbox and bring the flyers in.  The proverbial wimp in me wanted to rush into the house and cast my layers aside, and hug the wood stove like my life depended on it.  However, the true Canadian in me, said, "go ahead, get the flyers in the house, it won't kill ya".

With a windchill hovering around -30C, it's not just cold, it's freezing cold.  I wish I could adequately impress upon you how cold that feels, and unless you've experienced it, you can't possibly comprehend.  You know the dreaded brain-freeze you get from eating ice cream?  Well, you get the same thing during these temps, but you get it from simply inhaling.  That's how cold it is.  I could have thrown myself in a snow bank and let a swift death overcome me, and trust me, at these temps, it's just a matter of time before exposure does a person in.

It's not all aches and pains, though.  My new-used car?  It came with a remote starter.  Wheeeee! is the sound I make these mornings, watching my car start from the comfort of our warm house.  Actually, wheeee (minus the exclamation point) is also the sound the car makes when it starts on days this cold.  Hearing a car start in weather like this is painful.  Even the LCD display on the dash takes a while to come to life.

Another upside?  The sunsets:

Absolutely fabulous.  The peaks of snow in the forefront are man-made.  The city comes by with their big snow plow and blows the snow into the field across the street.  Given the windy conditions, our road would become narrower and narrower with each passing hour.  It basically buys the snow-plow operator a bit of time between his rounds.

Monday's forecast shows a high of -7C, which, while not T-shirt weather, will feel positively balmy when this cold spell finally breaks.

In the interim, I'll have to keep myself occupied by throwing yet another log onto the fire, picking up my knitting, and brewing another cuppa tea.  Survival of the fittest, Shim Farm-style.

Easy Steps to Create Your Very Own Moat™

 Part II b - Summer 2005 

A promise is a promise.  It's an absolute white-out outside with snow squalls forecast for the rest of the afternoon.  The winds are gusting to 90 km/h and I can't see the barn from the kitchen window.  I had planned on going out this afternoon, but suddenly, knitting and sipping tea by the side of the wood stove is my only option.

Life's tough like that sometimes.

Eric made a good point reading my last post regarding our foundation work.  Given the fact the work took three summers, we needed to protect the uninsulated parts of our foundation from frost heave.  Our sweet old neighbour, the venerable Monsieur Lefebure, suggested an old-time method.  We used hay bales piled up against the sides of the foundation, effectively preventing frost-heave from shearing insulated and non-insulated portions.  Again, while unorthodox, it worked marvelously.  We must be trend-setters too, because the hay-bale concept is popping up all over our neighbourhood.  People are using this method to keep their water mains from freezing, their septic drains from freezing, you get the idea.  Monsieur Lefebure was definitely on to something, and we miss his pragmatism.

So, for those of you who are still with me, here's the Reader's Digest Not-So-Condensed Version of our work during summer 2005.  We excavated and exposed the entire 24' western side of the foundation.  The white pipe in the foreground served to drain the sump-pump chamber that collects ground water from the french drains that surround the house.  This pipe is now buried, I'm happy to report.  One less thing to mow around.

I know, just by looking at Eric, that he's dejected by the size of the holes in the foundation.  Trees and shrubs belong NO WHERE near your foundation, and this is why:

These are roots from a juniper shrub that was planted about 12 feet away.  While privacy and wind protection are one issue, there's little point in planting a tree if the roots are going to force their way like tentacles through your foundation.  Believe it or not, these roots went right through the foundation and into our crawl space.  In the spring, they proved an awesome entry point for run-off water. To compensate for this, we buried a water collector in our crawl space, chucked in a sump-pump, and when the water level rises, the pump kicks in and pumps the water out through the black hose right beside the little window in the photos above.  This pipe is now buried, and since the foundation work is done, the sump-pump actually never kicks in anymore.  It's good to have redundant systems though.  Only in extreme cases, say when our water table rises during a spring thaw, does the pump go on.

Once the foundation was repaired to Eric's exacting standard, he covered the entire wall with mortar.  The black hose that runs along the top of the foundation is a soaker hose that we ran to keep the mortar wet while it was curing.

Then, we added polystyrene insulation, our fabric-wrapped french drain held in place with gravel.

And then, we added tons of sand to create a smooth and level base for yet more polystyrene insulation.

Here we can see the ensemble of insulation with polyethylene sheeting covering everything.  (Remember Christo? Eric's channeling him and doesn't even know it).  It's just an added layer that water needs to seep through to get to the foundation.  By this time of year, it's dark early and we just want to back-fill everything before the snow starts to fly.  It's been another long, mucky summer.

To finish the surface above ground after we back-filled, we cut the polyethylene sheet at the ground-line, and used that horrible red Tuck-tape to affix it to the pink insulation.  That stuff ain't going anywhere.  We then covered this with a waterproof aluminum membrane.  We used a two-part epoxy-based mortar from Sika to protect the pink polystyrene.  If memory serves, we applied a layer of adhesive fibreglass mesh, and then Eric troweled on the mortar.  Then we capped the top with an aluminum flashing that's tucked under our siding, and Bob's your uncle, as Eric is wont to say.

We'll get around to changing the siding of the house at some juncture.  While aluminum siding isn't our product of choice, it's still doing the trick so we don't see the need to change for esthetics only.  We've got bigger fish to fry.  Eventually, we'll replace it with a fibre-cement covering, something like James Hardie shingles or paneling, or a combination of both.  Our house is crooked, so uneven shingles could nicely mitigate the fact we're not working with right angles or straight lines.  But that will be for another decade.

We'll move on to part III, or the summer of 2006, when we tore down our entry (I use that term lightly), with plans to replace it with a 10' x 12' timber-frame structure built on an actual foundation and basement we can stand up in, unlike our non-functional crawl-space.

Again, nothing goes as planned, and while the foundation and slab are complete, we didn't expect what we found, which is why we moved our renovation show to the inside of the house again.

Remember I told you that if you listen closely enough, your old house will tell you what it wants done?  Well, our old house told us we needed to pay attention to the upstairs.  So did the government.  Before they decided to can their Ecoenergy retrofit program, we moved indoors, where my hammer-blow-by-hammer-blow account of our upstairs renovation, AKA The Knotty Pine Purge, starts.

And I'll also try to explain why there's still a drill press in the living room, but that's another digression all on its own.