Archives for the month of: October, 2009

Country Driveway Gets a Face Lift

October 28, 09 //

We’ve done everything ourselves with our own hands.

We sold our urban condo without a realtor. We drove across Canada hauling all our junk in our own trailer (in the middle of Winter) and moved across the country. We bought a house with no advice. We replumbed the entire house. We reshingled the steep roof. We carried out buckets and buckets of old plaster. We carried in and hung over 100 sheets of drywall. We puttied. We painted. We tiled. We cleared snow. We carried a 500 pound wood-stove. We’ve done it all.

But there comes a time when you need to ask for help. And we did. When it came to our driveway, we needed help.

Oh, we tried to deal with our driveway ourselves. Cameron used our tractor to eliminate the bumps and muddiness. Our few attempts only made the driveway worse; it was bumpier, ruttier, and softer than ever.

So we asked for help. We called in the big guns. I was happy. We’ve got a lot on the go and anything that frees up Cam’s time is a good thing.

But, for Cameron, it was hard. He likes to do things himself; he likes to be in control. He wants projects done to his standards on his schedule. After much cajoling from my part, Cam agreed that we should hire a local company to improve our driveway. All Cameron could do was look on. It was hard for him.

But these guys knew what they were doing. They arrived with huge equipment and got to work. Cam looked on from the sidelines.

What would have taken him weeks with our equipment was done in a matter of hours. It was exciting to see the experts in action.

Once the project was almost complete, I was inside the house while Cameron and the crew were outside. Suddenly the screen door slammed and work-boots clomped up the stairs two at a time. It was a breathless Cameron.

“They need an extra body to drive some equipment down the road!” He said. “I’m going to be driving a huge piece of equipment down the road!!”

I paused, then said, “Did you tell them that you’ve never driven anything like that before?”

“Yes, but they didn’t seem to mind.”

I laughed, grabbed my camera, and followed him outside.

After a crash course in Heavy Equipment 101, he was driving the giant loader on our property.

Soon enough I was waving from the end of our driveway and watching a parade of yellow machines fade off into the distance, with Cameron bringing up the rear in the giant loader.

From then on Cameron relaxed, and the driveway project was a success.

This whole episode leads me to wonder, “Why couldn’t we have hired people to do everything??”

But, as Cameron points out, you’ve got to know when to do it yourself and when to ask for help. Our financial freedom has been based on Cameron’s knowledge, gung-ho, and willingness to do work himself. Without his willingness to learn and do, we couldn’t possibly be living how we’re living. That being said, there’s always a time to ask for help, and the trick is to recognize the time and not be too stubborn to act on it.

Happy Thanksgiving from Whimfield

October 12, 09 //

Being thousands of miles away from our families this Thanksgiving reminds me that it’s really not about the holidays.

To me, it’s about the everyday. It’s about being able to call your loved ones when you’re bored, when you’re upset or when you just want to talk. It’s not about the holidays. It’s about the every day.

That being said, I do like to give thanks on this Thanksgiving weekend.

I’d like to give thanks for:

1. My family and loved ones.

2. Our neighbours and friends.

3. My good health and good fortune.

4. Having had the chance to experience every high-and-low of the past two years.

5. Having a warm and cozy home as winter approaches.

6. Feeling better about life these days.

7. You.

What are you thankful for this Thanksgiving?

A Frog in the Hand

October 12, 09 //

I was upstairs, inside, thundering away on my keyboard. Fingers flying, ideas flowing.

I heard Cameron calling my name from outside. I opened the window in our office and hung my head out Rapunzel-style. Looking down, I saw Cameron smiling up at me, saying “Frog, I’ve got a frog!”

I smiled and bent my head back inside the house. I scooped up my camera. I craned my neck out of the window again. He was still standing there, smiling.

I took this picture. I then retracted my Rapunzel hair and faded back into the house and began thundering away on my keyboard. Fingers flying, ideas flowing.

PS: This post reminds me of another frog I watched up close. And it also reminds me of another day when I got called outside for a different reason.

This is our Bedroom

October 10, 09 //

This is our bedroom.

I wake up, without an alarm. Without moving my body, I glance at the clock on the slightly knicked bedroom dresser. The clock, a maroon, analogue knick-knack reads 8:15am. The second hand is nearing the half-hour. The noise is audible as the hand beats out its message second after second. The bedroom window is open a crack, even though it’s a crisp, Autumn morning. Through the gap in the window I can hear a blue jay crow shrilly and the breeze rustling the leaves of the overgrown poplar trees that line the driveway. I glance over at the back of Cameron’s head. Even though he’s facing away from me, his steady, calm breathing lets me know he’s still asleep. I try to keep still so as not to wake him.

From my place on the inner-side of the bed, squished between the wall and Cameron’s sleeping body, I peruse the bedroom. There are a few dirty socks scattering the room and three books tossed on the floor beside the bed: pleasure reading for Cameron (The Book of Negroes) and practical self-help books (Midlife Crisis at 30 and What Should I Do With My Life) for me. A dresser drawer is one-quarter open. In pairs, clean white socks make their presence known from above the gaping drawer.

There’s a small, ornate oak chair in the corner. The chair was an affordable find from an indoor-garage sale. The oak was refinished and lightly stained, and the seat and back were stuffed with thick foam and recovered in a rich mustard and silver-colored fabric. In the corner, the fancy chair is barely visible underneath an anthill of my clothes.

The closet door is still open. Every shade of the earth is represented in materials in that closet. It’s the original closet from this house’s original construction over 100 years ago. The closet is three-feet wide and we’re jamming six-feet worth of shirts and coats and skirts and dresses into its small space. The wooden clothing-rod bows in the middle, weighed down with outfits fit for every occasion. The closet’s floor is littered with an unlikely combination of shoes and gadgets and boxes stuffed with forgotten but seemingly important cards and papers and mementos.

“This is our bedroom,” I think.

I close my eyes and concentrate on the noises outside. I hear the now familiar sound of a chainsaw in the distance, the blue jays’ short jabs, the garbled calls and strong flapping wings of the ravens overhead, the whoosh of cars, trucks and tractors traveling along the road. A dog barking in the distance. The rustling of those trembling poplars and aspens. Lost in the sounds of life going on around me, I join Cameron in the steady, calm place that is sleep.

Timing is Everything

October 9, 09 //

Timing is everything.

On our way to the big city of Charlottetown for a night on the town (dinner at Mavor’s and then a movie), we crossed the Montague River bridge at sunset. The light was just…perfect. There was no discussing it; we had to stop and take pictures. I veered the car off the road and pulled over, while Cameron groveled around in the backseat for the camera, in its makeshift purple Crown Royal camera bag.

We walked up to the bridge just in time to snap four pictures before the sun dropped down behind the trees–right in front of our eyes. The sky turned dark in what seemed like a second.

Timing is everything. A minute or two later and we’d never have seen the most glorious Montague River moment that I’ve ever experienced.

It got me thinking. How much of life is just chance, luck, timing? Fate? Destiny? A higher power? Randomness?

How much of our lives do we have to thank–or curse–because of timing? “If I’d only turned right instead of left” or “If I hadn’t ran into Sally” or “if I hadn’t taken that job” or what if, what if, what if.

What if Cameron’s parents and my parents hadn’t lived in the same city, which caused us to meet? Both of our lives would be completely different.

What if Cameron and I hadn’t moved to PEI, but moved to New Brunswick instead? Imagine all the people we would never have met! The places we’d never have seen!

Everything would be different. We’d be different people. I believe that all the tiny experiences that we go through and witness mold us into who we are. One tiny choice sets off a chain reaction of different experiences, choices, and results.

The mind boggles.

How do you make sense of this stuff?

Another Year’s Worth of Firewood

October 5, 09 //

Between working, preparing for another winter, sleeping, eating and cleaning (ahem, yes, I do clean. Sometimes.) there are very few hours left in the day.

So when I do have free time, I make sure that I’m doing something productive or that brings me joy.

Lately, our spare time has been spent cutting, hauling, splitting and stacking firewood for yet another winter. It seems to me that it wasn’t very long ago that I was showing off last year’s wood piles. But, sadly, most of last year’s wood is gone and we had to start all over again for another winter’s worth of heat.

Hauling firewood is obviously productive, but it also brings me a smidgen of joy, too.

Hauling firewood means we get to spend time together out in our woods, a place I don’t go as often as I’d like.

Hauling firewood means tangible results one piece of wood at a time: one-piece-of-wood = a-warmer-winter-day.

At the end of a long day in the woods, we’re tired, muddy and damp from the misting rain.

But such a day makes it feel so good to come home to a warm house, a welcome meal, and a cozy evening inside having known that you’ve put in a good day’s worth of tangible work.

That’s not to say that sometimes I’m grumpy and sometimes Cameron goes out to the woods on his own while I stay inside and write blog entries.

But the principle of the thing still stands.

This year we anticipate that we’ve got two years worth of firewood ready to go. That means that next year all of our wood should be seasoned, which, of course, is wise.

So that was this past weekend: hauling and splitting firewood.

Meanwhile, we were in the paper! I am overwhelmed by the kind and interesting comments in the previous post. Welcome to all new readers and I hope you continue to follow our progress and share your perspective and stories. I do my best to respond to comments and email, but I can be slow as I am often splitting wood, running a business and trying to answer life’s big questions! Until next time…

Your friend,

Laura-Jane

Whimfield in the Guardian Newspaper

October 3, 09 //

Last year I got to tell the Whimfield story on “Definitely Not the Opera,” a national CBC radio program. This year, we were privileged to be contacted by the lovely, generous, charming journalist Mary MacKay from Charlottetown’s The Guardian newspaper. During her travels on the internet she somehow arrived here at the Whimfield farm blog and thought that our story may be of interest to readers of the newspaper.

So we arranged for Mary to bumble down our disturbingly bumpy lane and come to our humble home to hear our story first hand. We shared our story and Mary listened intently, asked good questions, and oohed and aahed at precisely the right moments. It was a perfect interview.

As a result, Mary MacKay wrote a wonderful article, which was published today in The Guardian.

This morning we drove out to buy a copy (or two or maybe five) of the paper. We drove home and promptly sat on our tractor to read the morning news. These are the kinds of things you can do in the country: read the local paper sitting atop farm machinery.

Thank you Mary for your interest in us and for telling our story in a kind light!

If you, dear reader, arrived here for the first time as a result of reading Mary’s story in The Guardian, we’d love for you to say hello and share your story by leaving a comment below.

PS: If you’d like to continue reading, you could start from the beginning here.