Late night Ozark shenanigans and my brush with the law ...

There’s a phenomenon in our family we like to call “The Ramsey Curse”, which isn’t really a curse at all, but just the good Lord keepin’ us on the straight and narrow (or something). I blame the fact that Jim and I are both firstborns from large families, and everyone knows that if something goes down, or gets messed up, or not done…the firstborn carries the most responsibility (fellow firstborns, am I right?). How this looks on a practical level is that Jim and I can’t really break the rules, or fudge the law, or go into any gray areas (Jim is much better at coloring in the lines, I on the other hand, never seem to quite be as good as I intend).

Last night I was supposed to pick up some curly hair products and stuff from a friend. Clearly earth shatteringly important. But I’ve been trapped in a jail of fevers, aches, and congestion for what feels like an eternity at this point (really only 4 days), and even though Jim tried to stop me from going and told me he would go pick it up, I had been fantasizing about how wonderful the double seat warmer would feel on my aching bones and so I practically snatched the keys from his hand and made my escape. Thank goodness my internal firstborn alarm bells went off, because I had forgotten my wallet, and my first thought was I don’t need it, I’m just going a few minutes down the road. But the "Ramsey Curse” notification dinged in my brain, and I went back, got my wallet like a good dutiful law-abiding citizen, and settled in to enjoy some relaxing alone time with just me and the heat blasting at 89 degrees and the seat warmers on full blast. A sweet luxury when you live in a small house with four boys who are all also recovering from being sick.

Got the stuff, and made my way back at a nice comfortable speed of 10 miles below the speed limit (it’s hard to drive fast when you don’t feel good). So there I was, traveling up my deserted country road in the middle of the Ozarks, where you know…the crime is so high, the most annoying things that can happen are hitting a deer or running over a skunk, when suddenly a car whipped out behind me, and started tailgating me. I was so startled I swerved, tried to speed up, then decided his redneck, punkass self could just wait, and slowed back down (I thought it was just some young speedy kid!)

That’s when the lights went on and I realized I was being pulled over.

That’s also when I realized that this brave, road warrior law enforcement officer was going to get the rare treat of seeing an unshowered middle-aged mom in sweats, fuzzy pink bathrobe, frizzy bun, and purple slippers with a wracking cough, and a bright red nose. Let’s just say that when he got to my window, he took a full step back. In his defense, he was very young and very kind. He offered to drive me home, or call Jim (I assured him I thought I felt well enough to navigate the remaining harrowing five minutes home). He made sure to ask if I had my heater turned up and to keep my window rolled up so “I wouldn’t catch a chill”, while he ran my driver’s license. He parted with the wise wise instructions of, “Just let your husband go pick up the stuff next time, you look terrible, shouldn’t you be in bed?”.

Look mister, moms don’t really get to be “in bed” when they’re sick, I still am trying to cook and clean, homeschool, and kiss booboos over here. This IS my version of being in bed. Although fair enough, I did have a husband able and willing whom I completely sacrificed on the altar of wanting some heated seat therapy. Lesson learned.

Also, so glad I went back for my wallet. I’m telling you, the curse is real.

Babies, Babies, Babies!

One of the reasons I didn’t want to homestead is I thought it would be lonely…or at least too lonely and quiet for this ambivert. I should have known better, I don’t think we’ve had a quiet week since we got here. In February the Tallmans came to pick up Karsten and got stuck here in the ice age apocalypse for almost two weeks. I’ve told friends, it was a bit like reenacting a Game Of Thrones version of Noah’s Ark. 6 kids, 2 cats, 1 puppy, and 4 adults in a tiny house taking turns keeping the wood burning stove going around the clock so the pipes wouldn’t freeze and burst. On the plus side, no one was cold, rather it was like living in a Native American sweat house. Most of the kids wore shorts and no shirt. You couldn’t go outside though, even to play much because it was so bitterly cold and we didn’t have the gear to last more than a few minutes without danger of frostbite. In the middle of it all, my pre-ordered box of 25 baby chicks arrived. I don’t know what I was thinking. My research online had said it was perfectly ok to start chicks indoors in February here, but clearly they hadn’t accounted for half the country being taken out by a record breaking storm. Our little “Noah’s Ark” thus grew by 26 extra mouths to feed…albeit tiny cute little chick beak mouths. The only problem was, the ones that survived the U.S. post office promptly all tried to die on my watch (thank you to the unnamed person who put them in a heated truck for me, that helped give me a leg up). We quickly turned the wood burning stove area into a chick NICU, keeping them warm and force feeding them drops of diluted ACV, whipped yolk and molasses. We lost a handful, but thankfully most of them survived. Keeping the cat and the puppy from viewing them as squeaky, tasty snacks was a little more challenging. Looking back, I don’t know how we survived that week, but not only did we have fun, we ate like kings since we had to get creative with the pantry and food stores.

It’s not gotten any calmer since then. My parents arrived to help build our barn, we’ve got some friends parking their RV here while they look for property, and Jim’s dad will be here in a few hours to also help with the barn raising fun. I’m not sure where he’s going to sleep, but he’s of Finnish blood so I’m sure he’ll find a hollow log or bear cave to sleep somewhere (only partly kidding).

We’ve also added some more farm babies to the mix. Another friend hatched some ducklings for us, and a friend of a friend gave us a Great Pyrenees puppy. We apparently do things backwards around here, because usually the livestock begets the need for a Livestock Guardian Dog, but in our case, the LGD necessitated the need for livestock. So now we have 2 sheep and hopefully some incoming lambs.

We’re all in love with Thorbin (our GP puppy) and there’s a large contingency of us who want to bring him in the house and treat him like a royal puffball princess. However, he is happier outside doing his job and we’re grateful at how awesome he’s acclimating to the sheep. We had been told that GP dogs are notorious for being escape artists, but we didn’t realize just how true that is. They were bred that way on purpose because in the old world, they’d be with a shepherd, off in the hills, constantly scouting around and looking for high ground from which to protect the flock. In this modern world of fences and neighbors, that’s somewhat frowned upon so keeping them contained is like going up against a chess master of ancient origins. We thought we had check mated Thorbin only to hear him yelling at us in the middle of the night that he’d gotten stuck again….and then again. Jim and I finally gave up sleeping and worked through the middle of the night, reinforcing the fence and making it safe for the baby furball in training. I didn’t have boots that could handle mud and large amounts of water (I know…I know), but it’s been fine because I am largely impervious to cold and prefer to scamper around barefoot. But spending the night in the freezing drizzle with numb toes and fingers as I twisted wire fencing together went past my idea of a good time. Although Jim and I did get some good laughs in and came up with our own rendition of “What a Wonderful Night”, I kept accidentally stepping in giant mushy piles of dog poop that squeezed up between my toes. Nope to the nope. I now have rubber boots.

All in all I feel like we’re learning a lot and accomplishing a lot. I’m sure we have a lot of ups and down in front of us. I feel like I’m living that Castle Leoch scene in Outlander, where Mrs. Fitzgibbons is dashing around cleaning and cooking and patching everyone up.

Good thing I like cooking and patching…I could do without the cleaning.

BHO is tu is Buachiaill thar an treuid
Iomain fein shin do chleidh ’s do chaimir,
Seun sinn fo do bhrot riomhach reidh;
A Sgeith dhidinn, dion ri ’r mairionn.

{As Thou art the Shepherd over the flock
Tend Thou us to the cot and the fold,
Sain us beneath Thine own glorious mantle;
Thou Shield of protection, guard us for ever,}

Things I love and don't love about moving to Missouri

Well, we’ve been here a little over two months, and no regrets yet. Granted, I sometimes wonder how crazy we were/are to move from our city suburb home in San Diego to squashed between two Amish Farms on a piece of wooded, undeveloped land in the middle of the Missouri Ozarks. Our entire San Diego neighborhood is smaller than my backyard. Sometimes I feel like I’m living in the novel Christy, and sometimes I feel like I’m a millionaire who owns their own Central Park. I can literally go for a run and never leave my own property. Excuse me while I pinch myself over here.

I joke that we live in the “Little House in The Big Woods” because we have six people and a puppy living in a small, slightly decrepit, eleven hundred square ft house, and there’s nothing around us but woods. When the weather is nice, it’s fine. When it’s not I spend my days mopping up mud tracked everywhere and dodging snowballs. I particularly love that my washer and dryer are within tossing distance from the kitchen. If I look at Pinterest, I start to get discouraged, but when I think about my ancestors living in dirt huts or little log cabins, I perk up a bit. Honestly, I wasn’t happy in San Diego, so it’s much easier to have a good perspective. So let the record reflect (for future perusal) things I love and things I don’t love about living here (in no particular order).

Negatives:

1. We inherited two cats. The sellers never mentioned them, but apparently they came with the house. We are not cat people, but we’re learning. The kids have named them Lightning and Tiger. They’re very fat and happy cats, so I assume they’re living their best life as rodent sheriffs.

2. Our back porch is rotting. You have to pretend you’re in an Indiana Jones movie and step on the correct planks otherwise you risk dropping through to the septic tank…which also needs cleaning out and relocating.

3. There is random trash everywhere. The property was maybe a little too well loved and self identified as a garbage dump. The sellers cleaned up most of it, but there’s still a fine dusting of Dorito bags and miller lite sprinkled around. We’re working on it.

4. There is no Thai food here…or sushi.

5. You have to drive between a half hour to an hour to get anywhere. (This doesn’t actually bother me yet because the roads and countryside are so beautiful, but I’m assuming I’ll have to come to terms with it eventually)

6. Our California family and friends aren’t here and we miss them. We console ourselves with lures of visits, and my parents are coming out in a few weeks so there’s that carrot hanging out in front of us. (if you’re reading this, feel free to visit anytime! We offer great accommodations of tent camping and pond baths.)

Affirmatives:

1. We inherited two cats! Which means we have zero problems with mice. (knock on wood) They seem to have developed a vague league with a possum and armadillo. Not sure if this is concerning or not, but they all hang out on the back porch/yard with a bunch of bluebirds and cardinals, making the kids think we live in a real life Disney movie.

2. I learned how to use my wood burning stove! The thing is a behemoth, and after I finally cleaned the chimney, I still couldn’t figure out how to get it lit. I did grow up with a wood burning stove, so this was somewhat embarrassing. A couple from church learned of my dilemma and came over. They gave me a lesson, (my problem was there are FIVE dampers, and I only had the two I knew of open) and they brought us a truckload of fire wood…and eggs…and meat…and donuts, which leads me to my third thing…

3. People are unbelievably nice here. Far nicer than I was expecting since we wear the cone of California shame. So far I’ve been given bacon grease, quilts, farm fresh food and a whole host of other small things, like help with banks, explanations of how things work here, offers of loaner vehicles, tools and chimney equipment etc. I start to tear up if I think about it too much. We haven’t however met our neighbors yet (Amish or otherwise) so there’s that sword of Damocles hanging over my head.

4. Everything is inexpensive here (except for produce). You can take the whole family out to eat for less than $40. The kids are taking Jiu-jitsu which also comes with a gym membership for Jim, Jamie and me for less than a quarter of the price it costs in California. For the first time in my life, I can lay in a tanning bed or sit in a sauna while my children are being taught how to immobilize bad guys. I definitely call it a win win.

5. Our property is gorgeous. I don’t know if it’s one of those things where I just bonded and imprinted on it so I’m biased, or if it actually is that amazing. When we came out in September to look at properties and houses, I always slipped off my shoes and escaped away from the realtors to see if I could really picture myself there…like sense the bones of the place (hey, I know it sound’s super woowoo). This place was just magical. I would be fine if I never had to go anywhere… which really helps with long drives thing. Ahem.

6. Life is (mostly) normal here, like it’s still 2019. Even though 2020 was a great year for us, I didn’t realize how much we missed all of the little things that give us humanity. Crossing fingers that it stays that way, but if not, there’s always the possum and armadillo to talk to. (not counting the woods full of deer and wild turkeys).

The boys are settling in… they thought the armadillo was a bear at first, and they still run around barefoot and half dressed (even in the snow), so nothing’s changed there. Jim’s replaced and rewired a new electrical panel, and we’re working on the baseboards this weekend. All that’s left to do is remodel two bathrooms, build a garage, chicken coop, and well house, move the septic, put in leach lines, plant a garden, put up a fence, tear down an old shed and clear the road going through the woods.

At least we’ve got the fruit trees planted?

Coffee, slugs and a homestead

When you have all boys (or girls too...I have no idea), you can play a game in the morning where you pour your coffee and then try to dodge all of the flailing limbs, hugs, fights, parkouring and what-not with your coffee intact. It could be a slightly dangerous game if the coffee were hot, but “mom coffee” is never hot because it takes 3 hours to drink. It’s a perfectly safe game if perhaps a little hazardous for decorative pillows and carpets.

I listened to a podcast today that was talking about how we often outsource things to avoid the pain of dealing with it ourselves, and I think that’s part of what I’m dealing with when it comes to gardening. I don’t want to grow my own food, I want it to magically show up in the supermarket. Now that I can’t stand going to the grocery store, I’m more tempted to face the drama of growing my own food (even if it’s 1/23848 of what we eat… it’s the principle of the matter). It’s not easy though, something was eating my garden, so I dug out the diatomaceous earth from the bowels of the pantry and went outside to sprinkle it around my plants. To my horror, the flashlight revealed a scene akin to something from Stranger Things. My precious plants were covered in hundreds and hundreds of slugs all twisted around each branch and stem leaving slime, death and destruction.  Jim, Jamie and I picked them all off by hand and drowned them with salt. I think the experience may win as the grossest thing I’ve ever done. Only a few plants survived, but thankfully, I have a growing addiction to buying seeds off of home gardeners on Ebay so I’ve got lots of backup plants in various stages of development (sitting in things like milk and egg cartons because I refuse to go to the store). I just need to figure out what to do about the problem lest I allow the small slimy sociopaths to destroy more of my sweet baby plants. The DE seems to help a little, but not enough to deter them completely. Maybe as it gets warmer and drier here it won’t be a problem? 

We started out this whole Coronu thing with one pet turtle. Now our urban farm has expanded to include chickens, a pet boa, a beta fish, and a foster dog. So far everything except the snake contributes in some way. The fish fertilizes an aquaponics garden, and even the turtle water goes into the compost bin. In fact, if you count super tiny farm animals, we’re also the proud owners of a kombucha SCOBY, sourdough starter and a worm farm (although honestly, I feel more attached to the pepper plants that finally decided to sprout). 

Now I really never get to drink my coffee in the morning. 

Surviving the flood and the great chicken escapade

I’ve wanted chickens for a long time, but didn’t see any way to make it happen.

But necessity is the mother of invention, and there’s nothing like four growing boys and a limit on eggs at the grocery store (if there are any on the shelves at all) to force one to throw their shoe over the fence and figure it out. Apparently I wasn’t the only one who was thinking in this direction, because baby chicks were sold out everywhere I called. Mail order chicks from reputable places were back ordered until May and I didn’t think the chicken dream was going to happen until a friend found a mail order place that had some.

I am not one for fancy chicken breeds, I’ve tried to be the chicken whisperer in the past, but I don’t do well trying to keep up with Silkies or Polish breeds. I’ve played wet nurse, vet and undertaker to more “fancy” chickens over the years than I care to recollect, so I just wanted plain hardy Rhode Island Reds. …During this coronapocalypse I might as well have wished for the moon. 

We learned the hard way that California doesn’t allow mail order chickens in the state, and  it looked like all was lost. While I was trying to figure out a way to smuggle them across the Arizona border, my network of chicken spies alerted me that the local ranch & feed store received a new shipment of 200 New Hampshire chicks...first come first serve. I jumped in the car faster than you could say “but where will we put them” and high tailed it down there and came home like a rain boot wearing, spring version of Santa Claus, shouting “Merry Easter everyone, I’ve got presents!” and dumping out a cardboard box full of cheeping yellow fluff.  Thankfully we’ve got a giant snake terrarium (empty!) that’s been appropriated and turned into a chick brooder...which is kind of funny in a circle of life kinda way. 

The kids couldn’t be more thrilled, and it’s like having our own YouTube channel running 24/7.  Being quarantined with chicks, children and a worm farm while it rains for 40 days and 40 nights has got me feeling like a modern day Noah. Do you think he grew microgreens? Surely they didn’t live off of dried goods the whole time? Maybe he had a green house somewhere in the ark.

I was listening to a gardening podcast that talked about how seeds learn from the climate and soil they’re put in and then pass on that information genetically to their offspring. So if you have heirloom seeds that don’t do well the first year, gather the seeds and try again anyway because they probably “learned” to deal with whatever curveball you’re throwing at it. I feel like my plants this year though are getting a false sense of reality. I keep telling them not to expect rain like this next year and not to tell their children or grandchildren about it because it doesn’t happen very often. 

And yes, I am now talking to my plants. I haven’t quite succumbed to playing classical music for them yet or laying hands on them, so clearly I have retained some of my sanity. ...maybe. 

Grocery shopping, Ducking at the yards arme and The Waltons

It’s been so long since I left the house, that when I had to drop the car off at the shop, Jim asked if I still remembered how to drive. We’ve been doing the social distancing maybe a little too successfully around here, because I had no idea how bad it was out there. Had to venture out to Costco today because I stocked up for two months in January and it was time to fatten the coffers or start hunting gophers and possums. Costco had a line down one side of the building and across a little street, but they were super organized and everyone was quiet and efficient. Walmart was a bit more like the jungle. San Diego passed a new ordinance requiring/strongly suggesting masks and so with all of the home-rigged masks there was a strong Mad Max vibe going on. At one point I backed up to let a man pass, and a lady started yelling at me because I’d violated her six foot space. I don’t handle yelling well so I’m happy to be back at home and have no plans to venture back out anytime soon. Pro tip though: If you’re having a hard time getting enough food for your large family with all of the “limit 1” restrictions, try a Business Costco. They don’t have any toys, or clothes or anything because they cater to restaurants, but your regular Costco membership still works and you can get things like a 50lb bag of flour for $17, a 40lb box of chicken for $38 and 50lbs of potatoes for $10 (you can also buy peanut butter, yogurt and pickles by the bucket, but I’m not to that level yet.) Bonus, no one will judge you for your full cart.

Over here in Chateau Ramsey, spring has come, the birds are chirping, kids are happy, healthy and sleeping better than they have in months. San Diego is experiencing it’s .2 seconds of lush greenness. I’ve been loving this slower pace of life so much, I spent a day consciously videoing little snippets so I could remember this stage of life. (although I can’t even remember which day it was…Tuesday? or maybe Wednesday? I’m not sure.) The kids and I made it into a Walton’s-style montage (see video at the bottom). Man-made calendars have ceased to exist for me, but I do know we’re due for a super moon (pink edition) in four days and that it’s supposed to rain two inches next week. Give me another month of quarantine and I will be wearing homemade clothes, dancing in the moonlight and canceling our internet service.

I’m spending my extra time at home editing my nanowrimo novel and writing a book for my middle boys. They love Diary of a Wimpy Kid, so I’m trying my hand at a historical version of it in hopes it will lure them into reading more. I’m starting with Columbus since that’s what CC will be starting with next year for Cycle 3. In reading through some original documents I found this list of punishments listed by the Santa Maria’s Marshall:

“The Marshall is to punish offenders and to see justice executed according to directions; as ducking at the yards arme, haling under the keel, bound to the capsterne or maine mast with a bucket of shot about his neck, or setting in the bilbowes.” 

It took me awhile to figure out that “ducking at the yards arme” meant “tying you to the front of the ship and letting you get dunked as the ship goes up and down through the waves”. And that was a mild punishment compared to the “haling" under the keel”.

So there’s your random trivia for the day. I’m off to feed my pet sourdough (we named it “Sandy”) and contemplate how grateful I am public officials haven’t implemented 15th century punishments for corona-violations.