Relying on Miracles

Hubby dropped me off at the church to spend ten days working on various projects. So far I've raked the entire side yard (hardpan duly broken up and smoothed, and about half of the million baby maple trees removed). I've seeded with microclover, because it will reduce the mowing and watering requirements, though with the number of rabbits I've seen lately, it will likely just provide them with good feeding. And I'll likely have to mow sometimes anyway, just to behead all the baby trees I've missed.

In this area, the maintenance of beautiful lawns appears to be a competitive sport. Our neighbours have vast stretches of the most smooth, perfect, amazing green lawns, and our yard now looks like I'm about to plant potatoes.

Our yard is big, though, and our hose won't reach all of it, so I've been wondering how to water the new seed. But last night we got a light rain, enough to dampen it all down, and the forecast is calling for three more days of rain later this week.

Thank you.

Side Yard Seeding

The weather has finally turned cold and damp, bringing winter a bit late, but it won't last long. The leaves are coming out on the trees, the spring bulbs are blooming, the garlic is five inches tall, and the other day I counted 35 robins standing around in the park like they were schmoozing at a sales convention. So I think it will soon be warm enough to seed the side yard at the church.

We have plans for a garden there, eventually, but until we can do that project, we need to do something about the field of mud left behind by the septic installation. If I put it to grass, it will need mowing. I thought about investing in the expensive low-mow/no-mow varieties of grass, but it seems silly to do that if I'm going to be ripping it out again in a year or two to do the garden. I've thought about planting the whole thing in saffron crocus or strawberries to get a cash crop out of it, but there are so many dogs running loose in the area that it wouldn't succeed. I considered a field of wildflowers, but I think the roots would be too deep and interfere with the septic system. I think we've landed on seeding it with white clover for now, which has to be mown less frequently than grass and will build up the soil with nitrogen. I can chop-and-drop whatever is left for compost after the garden goes in (and yes, the garden will have a fence to keep the dogs out). 

When I harvest my broccoli and cauliflower from the garden in the city, I know chickens would love those leaves, and so I feel the need to one day get chickens. Verlyn Klinkenborg, in his book The Rural Life, writes that the idea that cattle would eat his tree seed pods will haunt him until he gets cattle. Similarly, I know if I have clover, I'm going to end up with a beehive or two...

Movie Premier February 17

Spreading the word!

Warwick resident Paul Janes and the Parks and Recreation Department invite all to attend the film premier and screening of The Township of Warwick: Our Journey Through Time. Paul worked tirelessly over the last 3 years to create this unique film following a fictitious family and their journey in settling into Warwick Township. The film covers Warwick history from approximately 1832 to 1952. Paul gives great credit to those who freely used their skills to add to this project (you'll even hear a certain bagpiper I know providing background music in one segment).

Light refreshments and popcorn will be provided. There will be two screenings, one in Warwick and one in Watford:

A peaceful rainy day

Filled the gouges and dents in two bannisters with wood filler. Sanded. Stained. Varnished. Will let it dry and sand again tomorrow and apply another coat. I don't want to eliminate all the wear and tear on them. I like the patina, the evidence of a life well-loved. But I had to do a little work to keep us from getting splinters from them.

While waiting for the polyurethane to dry, I wrote for a while and sent off another manuscript. The dog is patiently curled at my feet under the desk. The rain patters the windows. The air still smells of the jerk pork I cooked for dinner. Nothing else needed, nothing required or expected. Quiet and cozy and solitary.

I was made for evenings like this.

Oh yeah!

We have been so used to making do and doing without, here at the church, that we forget sometimes how far things have progressed. It brings moments of humour. For example, my husband was about to head upstairs to the bathroom when I reminded him that we now have a functioning bathroom on the lower level. Oh yeah! He'd forgotten! I fumbled my way down the stairs in the dark a few times before remembering that we've had lights installed in the stairwells. I forgot and overpacked clothing because I forgot the washing machine is hooked up now, so I can do laundry halfway through our stay. There's a stove hood vent with a functioning fan that I completely forgot to use when cooking. We're so used to doing without heat and light and other essentials that it's astonishing when things actually function the way they're supposed to. It will take some time to get used to it all, and to trust things to keep working.

There is an element of trust to it, too. Each time we drive up from the city, we wonder aloud what disasters we will encounter when we arrive. Has the sanctuary ceiling collapsed again? Has a tornado taken the whole thing out and scattered asbestos across the countryside? As soon as we get to the church, we tiptoe around and scan the whole place to look for water in the basement, a defunct sump pump, or at least a dead fridge. But no, it's all okay, everything is fine, there's nothing to fix, nothing to scramble to deal with. Everything is as it should be. There's no emergency. And that's the most astonishing thing of all! It will take getting used to.

When to make the leap?

We now have occupancy permission for the church, other than the balcony, which needs a higher railing. After three years of work and waiting, I'm suddenly caught off guard. There's nothing theoretically stopping me from moving in now. But suddenly there are all kinds of thoughts and questions to sort out that I haven't wrangled yet. 

When do I jump from city to village? What do I do with my city house? Am I ready to leave my current garden (my happy sanctuary for 20+ years) to establish a new one from scratch in Warwick? The plan has always been to rent out our city house and not sell it. Do I truly entrust my home and garden to a renter? I can't possibly ask a renter to deal with our Hedge-from-Hell, so I'll still need to come do the pruning 3-4 times a summer. I still have to go into the office in Toronto occasionally, and my husband has band 2-3 days a week, which means we need a place to stay when we come back to the city. If we rent to our children, that would solve that problem -- we could just crash with them when we come into town. We only have one car, so coordinating our trips into the city will take some creativity. Do I move all my stuff up to Warwick or leave some of it behind for when we're in town or for the kids to use? Do the kids even want to rent at this point? A lot has changed in their lives too, in the last 3 years. A swirl of questions!

No doubt it will all get sorted out. But I suspect I've focused almost entirely on the physical aspects of preparation and not enough on the emotional/mental. Can you imagine the look on my husband's face after he's put so much labour and money into readying this church, and I say "Yes, but I can't move yet. I just planted the garlic!"

Time for the little things

Now that the flurry and fuss of the big projects have subsided, it's time to focus on the smaller, bite-sized things that don't require permits and backhoes and licences. Winter will be pleasantly spent on the little things that make the place homey -- bannisters and towel hooks, bookshelves and molding. My husband and I enjoy working on these sorts of things together. In day to day life, we don't always communicate as well as one would expect after 37 years of marriage, but when we're woodworking or doing other similar projects together, we meld well. Maybe that's because he's the natural leader, being clearly more experienced in this stuff than I am, and I'm the pupil. I love being the pupil, in any subject. At any rate, we are looking forward to spending time together doing these little, manageable, creative tasks.

I've never been one to sit idly. Even if I'm watching a movie or sitting and talking to someone, my hands have to be busy knitting or crocheting or doing needlework or cracking nuts or shelling beans or something. I foresee in between the woodworking projects being occupied with weaving rugs or sewing curtains. Painting little signs for the Book Nook ("Treat yourshelf to a good book!"). Doodling kitchen layouts. The fun stuff!

And ignoring the missed publisher's deadline and the dust bunnies under the bed back in the city...