Sunsets and Other Stories

It's mid-December.  I haven't downloaded any photos since July, so emptying the card on the digital camera is sure to provide a lot of surprises.  I finally hit 10,000 photos with our trusty Canon.  I better get busy and try to redeem myself by posting a few of them.

Without further ado:

The sun is so pretty in the morning.  A bit of fog, bright blue skies, and corn in the field this year.  It was a good summer.

Obviously, I take a lot of sunset photos.  Sometimes, we have people over and the sun puts on a show.  We usher our guests to the living room window and make them watch the sun go down.  Maybe we're not normal.

Clearly, we are not normal.   Now that we've cleared that up, I look at this photo and remember trying to capture the luminosity and how the golden light bathed the air.  I failed.

The day-glo effect evaded me here, too.  Maybe it is time for some photography lessons.  Or maybe, 10,000 photographs later, I should read the manual?

We had a lady-bug invasion this fall.  Unbelievable.  We have a few days in fall where they typically congregate, but this year, we had a bumper crop of them, and for weeks on end.  It's months later and we still have them all over the inside of the house.  You just need to turn on a lamp, and they appear as if by magic.

Nothing strikes fear in my heart like a hole in the house.  (You don't say?)  Here, we changed out a kitchen window.  The three kitchen windows and sliding glass door all date from the early 90's.   These are the only windows that haven't been changed in the 12 years we've been in this renovation purgatory.  One down, three to go.  Eric was only confident changing out one at a time, and one was all he had time for this summer.  Observe the beam directly above this window.  We weren't sure if it was held in place by fear, a common feature in so many things we've found over the years.  We removed some drywall, found a metal plate that supports the transverse I-beam and decided it was good enough.

We've learned a bit about what is ideal in our climate over the past few years in this house, so we custom-ordered a triple-pane, argon-filled window.  While I'm not happy with the argon, (it's a question of when, and not if, it will fail), I do admit the triple glazing should be standard.  All our other windows are double-pane argon-filled, and while they're acceptable, if we were to do this again, we'd go triple pane all the way.

 Oh look!  Pretty clouds that match the tree line!

 More pretty clouds!

Oh!  I could write a saga about this young bat and how it caused me to lose two nights' sleep.  I'm not prone to fits of flailing and screaming, but this tiny thing nearly did me in.  Only AFTER the fact did we learn that our friend Isa used to volunteer at a bat rehab centre and handles these little beasts like you and I handle kitties and puppies.  I tried my best to capture it in a Tupperware container, and successfully caught it, only to close the lid on those TINY LITTLE hooks they have on the tips of their wings.  The little bat squealed (I didn't know they could do that) and flailed, and I screamed like a little girl and let it loose again.  Of course the designated bat-relocator (that would be Eric) was traveling, so I had to deal with this little bat on my own.   Every plan I had failed, and while I managed to get the bat out of the house, he was back within 10 minutes.  Of course, all of my hysteria was regaled to Eric long-distance who confidently stated that he would "handle" things upon his return.  When Eric finally came home, he donned his overalls with aplomb, a hefty pair of leather gloves with trepidation, and got up on a step ladder to within inches of it.  Then he matter-of-factly stated that he, (and I quote), "Don't have as much courage as I thought I had".   Defeated, he stepped down from the ladder and called a neighbour.  Thus the little bat was caught in a sheet and relocated to a forest about a mile away.  Insert bat mobile joke here.

Phew.  We're back on track again.  Another gorgeous evening.  Wispy cirrus clouds and lots of contrails.

 We had a lot of rainfall, but no torrential downpours, save for this occasion.

I think this one's my favorite.  Savouring the end of another glorious day in paradise.  It never gets old.

And here we are, months later, with memories of summer fading as the snow and cold sets in again for another round of winter.  So far, so good.  A fair amount of snow but with bearable temperatures.

Eric is still plugging away on the drywall upstairs.  My knitting needles are humming as I try to stay ahead of the avalanche of wool I've managed to procure this past year.  (Let's just say I went ballistic in the yarn-hoarding department).

Hopefully, within a few weeks, I will regale you with more tales from the farm, more accomplishments in the knitting department, and a few pet photos to round things out.

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.

Renovation Day 1388

Yes, it has been 1388 days since we started the Knotty Pine Purge.  But who's counting?

Today started off auspiciously:

This was our sunrise this morning.  Glorious.  I never, ever tire of our views.

Today Eric installed the new culvert in the drainage ditch that divides our property in two.  With the building of Highway 30 and the drainage work that was done earlier this year, our old culvert was removed last February.  Now that the soy is cut and our field  is accessible again, the new 25 foot-long and 5' diameter pipe could be placed:

Eric still needs to place some rocks around the edges to prevent the clay from washing away, but the biggest part of the job is done.  Our two lots are now accessible again, and heavy tractors can access the back field without having to make a big detour over neighbouring properties.

Here's the back field:

If you "embiggen" the above photo, you can see the two ginormous light standards lit by the setting sun just behind the forest.  Using Google Earth's handy measuring tool, I can tell you they are just shy of one kilometre away from where I'm standing.  This is where the new Highway 30 will pass just before it goes under the Soulanges canal, and then over the mighty Saint-Lawrence linking Cedars with St-Timothée.

Walking back to the house,  I captured this shot:

The phragmite  grass is as beautiful as it is annoying.  Short of using napalm, we can't get rid of it, so we might as well sit back and enjoy it.

Here's a view of the sun setting behind the house:

All's right with my world today, how could you tell?

And if that progress wasn't enough, Eric started work on the final (well, not final, but getting there...) stage of our upstairs renovations.

The missing link is the frame around the door to the master bedroom (behind the formidable plastic zippered door).  Although the master bedroom is finished (well, again, finished but not done to our liking...), the frame around the bedroom door is proving to be quite the production for many reasons.  Part of this is our fault, and our high-falutin tastes.  At some point in time during the upstairs renovations, we decided to finish the master bedroom with a sliding glass door.  Our chosen product is made in France by Sadev, and the hardware has been sitting in a huge tube in the living room for the past 3 years.

Part of what makes this work challenging is the fact Eric is working at critical part of our house.  The unfinished wall you see in the above photo is the old exterior of the original house which has already been butchered by previous owners.  Also, the door leading to the bedroom is not a standard size, and to top things off, it's located right beside the stair and close to the chimney.  It's like a trifecta, a perfect storm of sorts, where more head-scratching, planning and procrastination are needed to fix the various issues.

Of course, the fact we're using a product like the Sadev sliding door rail compounds things even more.  By this point in my life, I don't think we're complicating things, I know we're complicating things.  But when that door is finally rolling on smooth stainless rollers, I'm convinced we will have made the right decision.  I say that with the ease of someone who hasn't had their knuckles ground off against rough-hewn wood, of course.

Eric, who over-engineers something fierce, set about putting up a frame composed of 5"x5" BC fir.  The beams need to fit squarely against the original structure of the house, which, being about 170 years old, calls for some fiddly framing work:

Here's a look behind the chimney, where we have legal clearance of just over 4" (really not obvious from that angle, but the clearance is there).  The old wall needed to be notched and carved out to fit the new beam, but thanks to our new Fein tool, even this onerous task proved do-able.

Again, we can't laud the Fein MultiMaster enough.  We actually hold it and shake our heads in dismay, wondering why we didn't buy it earlier.  We'd probably be finished our renovations by now, come to think of it...

Here's another view of the ensemble, where I'm letting it all hang out, so you can get a good impression of the hovel we somehow manage to thrive in:

Once the frame around the door is complete, we can finally finish the insulation and vapour barrier.  The white thing taking up valuable floor space is but a tiny corner of Eric's massive drafting table.  I'd love to hurl it out the window, but Eric's somewhat disturbingly attached to it.  I fully intend to offset the drafting table with my junk when the upstairs is finished.  That should serve as a warning to Eric that my three sock machines are heading upstairs, along with my sewing machine, and a table large enough to let me work comfortably.

Anyhow, we still have a way to go before finishing the upstairs, but the start is made, and Eric is back into the swing of things.

Hopefully, my next report won't be 1388 days in the making.

As Eric likes to muse, "This is not a race, it's a marathon".

Truer words have never been spoken.

September in Photos

Because, dammit, I am not going to let the calendar roll over to October without a post:

This is what the soy looked like on August 19.  Last Friday, the new Case combine harvester came and cut the soy at warp speed.   I don't even know how many arpents of land we have planted, maybe 34 or 35, but our two fields were cut in under two hours.  The wind was blowing from the east, i.e. towards the house, and everything got covered in dust.  At least I had the fortitude of mind to close the windows in time.

You can always tell where the combines are by the clouds of dust swirling on the horizon.  This is the first year I've noticed that, and it's also the first year so many of the neighboring farms were planted with soy.  Maybe it's a coincidence - maybe it's just the soy, or maybe it's the new combine.

Now, it's hard to get an idea of scale from this photo, but this combine is nearly 15 feet wide.  It takes up the entire width of the road when it's going from farm to farm, and impressive just starts to describe it.  And the cost?  About $450,000 CAD.  Don't wonder why your Wonder bread just got more expensive.  (You shouldn't be eating that crap, anyhow).

Moving right along...

I don't know why I find the weathered cedar shingles on the chicken coop so mesmerizing, but I do.  I love them.  Crazy...I think I could finish a wall inside the house like this and live happily ever after.

Here's a sunrise for your viewing pleasure.  It's scary just how quickly the days are getting shorter.

 And, to balance things out, here's the sunset, almost exactly 12 hours later, give or take a minute or two.

And, because we have the technology, here's the same sunset, a mere 12 minutes later.

Cooper and I have started our daily walks again, and that evening we encountered a coyote.  The sun was setting in my eyes, and I didn't see him until we were within spitting distance.  We had a bit of a show down, and the coyote wasn't going to cede his ground.   He sat down and started barking and howling, and given his size, we weren't about to stick around to see what was next on the menu.  We turned around and headed back, making a mental note to take our walks a bit earlier the next day.

The coyotes in our area are considered as wolf/coyote hybrids, and they're not small.  I've seen them up close, and I'd put them over 80 pounds.  While I've watched Cooper chase them off our property, I wouldn't like to meet more than one during our evening walks.  Actually, one was enough.

Speaking of one being enough, this baby blanket fits that category.  Never again:

Although I consider this baby blanket as the epitome of awesome, it was a challenge.  Intarsia and I will never get along.  NEVAR.

Here's a close up of the little sheepies:

Cute as hell, eh?  Love the 3D effect of the sheep, but this project was not the most fun to knit, unfortunately. Who am I kidding?  I'll probably start another one next week.

Segueing into the "cute as hell" category, this little creature is under our skin in a big, bad way:

I brought home a new litter box, plunked it down on the counter, and within seconds, Capucine AKA Cappy AKA "The Pin-Up" thought she had a new abode.

Cappy is one of the cutest cats I've ever had.  She's affectionate, playful, uncomplicated and scary-smart.  A huge spirit in a furry body.  I've got her purring as a perpetual surround-sound while I'm sitting on the sofa, and from time to time, a little paw will tap me on the shoulder.  It's Cappy, and she wants to watch YouTube videos of Maru.  OK Cappy, let me get this post in the cyber-sphere first.

One day, I'm going to do a review of kitty litter boxes.  Lord knows I have the qualifications.   I'm still trying to find the perfect box to prevent our old hag Schatzie from peeing outside of the litter box, and this model nearly fits the bill.  When I put the litter scooper at the front of the box in just the right position, she's forced to actually get into the box, and turn around before peeing.

What?  No more pee on the floor?  It can't be!

Well.  That's another major Life Goal checked off the list.  When Schatzie finally ambles over the Rainbow Bridge, I don't know if I'll be crying from sadness or utter glee.  Schatzie, the ancient thorn in my side.

I still don't know HOW I managed, but I locked BobCat into an out-building for (ahem) FOUR days.

Yup.  Four days.  Four days spend canvassing the neighbourhood again, and four days convinced I'd never see him again.  I was certain, no, make that 100% positive, that I'd seen him AFTER I locked the shed up.
  
Mea culpa, Bobby.   Sorry 'bout that.

So, dear readers, that's September in a nutshell.  Cappy's waiting to use the lap top, so I better hit the publish button or pay the piper.

The Barn

Our barn took a bit of a beating during our most recent windstorm.  Considering the severity of the storm we had, we were surprised to even find it standing the next morning.

It looks like we added a bit of unintentional ventilation, didn't we?  The metal roof that's stored in the fore-front of the photo above is destined for the south side of the barn, after we tear down the dairy addition that was probably added at the turn of the century.  The half-wall is the original outside wall.  When we tear down the addition that runs the length of the barn, this will be the outside wall once again.

Here's how things looked on the north side of the barn in spring 2007.  That's the year we had this side of the roof re-done:

There's nothing like a good patch-job, is there?  I'll never understand half-done jobs, but this is not a philosophical discussion, I'm just voicing my opinion.  (That doesn't explain why today, five years later, just half of our roof is done, but at least it's the whole half!)

Moving right along...ahem.

When we re-did the roof of the house (remind me to tell you how that went someday!), we were encouraged to buy the roof for the barn at the same time, because metal prices were set to jump 30%.  We knew what needed to be done, and although we didn't have a clue who would do the work, based on the gong-show of workers we had for the house, we went ahead and ordered the metal roof.

Entire sections of the roof needed to be replaced before the metal went up.  Working with our local wood-pusher, we kept the sawmill humming with lots of custom orders.  The white pine used to make the repairs was cut on order and delivered as needed.  It's experiences like this that make you realize you've got friends in your suppliers, because I don't know anyone who would turn around and deliver wood the next day like our sawmill does.  Our wood-pusher is rooting for us, of this much we know.  The fact I ply him with home-canned goods might have something to do with it, too.

The roofers we found were methodical, thorough, and got the job done in a timely manner.  I think it took about a week to re-do this side.  We were happy with the roofers' work and professionalism.  You'll notice Cooper in the above photo, too.  He made many new friends, and shared many a lunch.  It was win/win all around.

The north side of the barn is looking good.  It's re-done, it's solid, and now we really need to concentrate on the demolition of the lean-to on the south side of the barn, and bring the barn back to it's original state.

Here's a view of the inside of the dairy addition after this latest storm:

We've got a bit of a cave-in happening here.  (Notice my optimism - a "bit of a cave-in" is like saying, "a bit pregnant", perhaps).  Let's face facts here.  If we don't do something - soon - we'll be shoveling sawdust before long.

I can't tell you how many builders we've had look at the barn in the past 10 years.

They all say the same thing: "We'll call you".  And then they peel out of the driveway, kicking up gravel, and looking in their rear-view mirror as they shake their head in a combination of sympathy and despair.

That is why I see myself with my hard-hat, a harness around my middle, dangling from the roof as I take my tin-snips to the metal in a feeble attempt at destruction.  Eric's read about 20 books on timber-frame construction, and the wood for the repairs is already stored in the barn.  We're this close to doing the work ourselves.

Stay tuned for yet another saga in our lives at Shim Farm.

September Morning

Colligite Fragmenta Ne Pereant

We've pretty much ascertained that our house was built around 1850.  We don't know much about the history, although Eric has spent some time at the local museum and the land registry office making inquiries.  We have a few pieces of the puzzle, but not enough to make a complete picture.

Imagine our surprise this past weekend, when a complete stranger pulled into our driveway and brought us two photos from the late 20's or early 30's.  His great-grandmother lived in our house, and sadly passed away on August 21, 1929, having hung herself in one of the out buildings.  (I give the date because it happens to be my birthday).  Mélina Ménard (née Léger) was just 55 years old and the mother of 10 children, 6 girls and 4 boys.  Two of her sons predeceased her, one at the age of two years, and another at the age of 18 months.  Her husband Avila died in 1927 at the age of 65.  From the land registry information, her son-in-law, Amédée Ménard, who was married to her daughter Emeline Ménard, took possession of the house on January 14, 1930, only to sell it 10 days later.

It must've been a long, hard winter.

Emeline would have been 29 years old at that time, and married for 7 years.  Emeline and Amédée were cousins many times removed; they shared the same great, great, great-grandfather, Jean-Baptiste Ménard, who was born in France in 1732.  Ahhh, the wonders of on-line genealogy.

Rural legend has it that Mélina was sad that none of her children expressed interest in the farm.  Considering her son-in-law and daughter had possession of the farm for only 10 days, this legend might have some credence.  We will probably never know the truth, since the cause of her death had remained a mystery to even her family members. Our late neighbour's father purchased our farm in 1933, and I'm sure the rumour mill was still churning at that point.

We had a lot of conversations with Mr. Lefebure about the history of our house, considering his father lived here for a period of 40 years.  The land Mr. Lefebure's house stood on was carved out of a corner of our property, and the house that stands there now was moved there from Ile Perrot at an undetermined time, probably some time during the 60's.  While it looks old, (and is old), it wasn't originally built on-site.   When Mr. Lefebure died in 2002 at the age of 77, he'd spent his entire life in two houses:  ours, and the one that was moved onto our property.

I wish I had a better understanding about the subdivisions and different obligations on the land registry certificate.  The certificate is hard to follow, considering the old script it's written in, and the fact the original property was subdivided at least 4 times.  Also, the house numbers changed as cadastral reforms happened; this just adds to the confusion in trying to back-track the various transactions.   We have a friend who is a notary; when he has some spare time, I'll have to get his professional take on things.

This is a view of our barn.  Happily, it's still standing, sans windmill and silo, however.  We thought that the addition for the cows was added in the 1930's, but this photo refutes that theory.  I'd say it was added much earlier.  This might also mean the barn was build much earlier.  Considering the Ménard family had been farming in the Soulanges parish for 5 generations when this photo was taken, we'll have to dig a bit more.

Photos like this bring a tear to my eye.  Not just for the work that still lies ahead of us, nor for the blood, sweat and tears we've already put into this place.  When I look at photos like this, I see generations of work, back-breaking, callous-inducing, physical labour of the greatest magnitude.  The respect for the people who built this place runs deep through my veins.

Something tells me that somewhere, Mélina approves of us.

Colligite fragmenta ne pereant - it means "collect the fragments so they do not perish".

That pretty much sums things up.

Before and After Photos

I haven't shown any before and after photos of our renovations downstairs because all the photos before the tear-down were lost in a hard-drive crash way back in 2001.  That was the year Eric took possession of the farm.

Imagine his surprise when he went to the bank recently, and the account manager pulled out a file of photos the building inspector took in times of yore.

Lookit what we found!

Before:

...drum roll, please:

And after!

I am giving you the Reader's Digest sanitized version of the renovations.  What I have neglected to show is tearing down all the bead-board, rebuilding the exterior wall and re-insulating, rewiring, replacing rotten floorboards, tearing down the drywall on the ceiling, adding every second ceiling joist for structural support, replacing the windows and and and...ad nauseum.

I'll be scanning in our photo album later which contains sordid photos of how the above came to transpire.

All 8,734 steps of the way...give or take a few details.

An Ode to Spring

Spring has sprung,

and the grass has ris'

Now I know where the

dog poo is.

Buh-bye March.  Don't let the proverbial door hit your arse on the way out.

I can hardly remember a colder March.  Lots of snow, really cold temps and dreary, gray days.  I haven't made an Easter tree in years, but this was the year I finally dug out my Easter decorations.  Yes, I am aware I am a tad early, but I needed some brightness to restore my sanity.  Growing up in a German household, we'd eagerly await the day we went out to our secret pussy-willow location and cut a few branches to decorate with hand-painted eggs.  This year, I needed brightness now, so I marched over to the dollar store and bought a whack of fake forsythias and decorated them.  I avoid fake stuff like the Plague, so I have to plead lack-of-spring induced insanity.  Or something like that.  But I'm done apologizing, I love my Easter tree, and so does the cat.

The snow is still not gone and probably won't be for a while considering the long-range forecast for the week, but the daffs at work are poking their heads out in a valiant effort.  No signs of plant life here at the farm, not even the chives that grow against the barn wall have shown signs of resurrection.

The Poppet, aka Popina, aka Weenie Popeenie loves to climb trees.   Here she is in the pine tree, trying to work her way to the sky and a huge flock of Starlings:

 Meanwhile, her sidekick, BobCat, sits below and patiently waits:

Schatzie knows better.  She favours her sunbeam and has commandeered poor Cooper's dog-bed in the kitchen for one of her famous naps:

Pooper-scooping aside, it's a wonderful season of renewal and rebirth.  The longer days are a true gift, and once we get a few warm days under our belt, the trees will start to show their greenery and Spring will really have sprung.

Then we'll start to complain about mowing the lawn again, the prohibitively high humidity, mosquitoes the size of helicopters, until we start dreaming of evenings spent by the wood-stove and the first snow fall of the season.

And so the cycle continues...