136. The Mail Came Bringing Me Old Photos…

Not much exciting comes in the mail these days.

Yet hope springs eternal, and I always walk out to the mailbox with an anticipation that is rarely fulfilled.

Until yesterday — the mail came bringing me an unassuming envelope with a hand-written return address from Texas. I  knew immediately what it was and who it was from: my second cousin, Buzz, who visited last October had promised me some old photos of the cottage, taken when he was a boy visiting the farm.

Precious old sepia photographs spilled from the envelope. Carefully numbered, he had labeled each one with names and sometimes a date. The cottage is older than we thought.

Apple Hill Cottage, circa 1936

I wish I could tell what kind of flowers and shrubbery that is. When we first started work on this side of the house, I pulled out a sad looking, old-fashioned thorny white shrub — bridal veil I think it’s called. The pump is long gone, but the well is still there. Mr. H.C. is forever mad at his mom for selling that pump…

Buzz is hanging on to the pump handle, and that’s his older brother Jack next to him. This is circa 1936 or 37, and those are the kitchen windows we lovingly restored. The landscaping around the house makes me think that the cottage is at least a few years old when these photos were taken. That puts it considerably older than the early forties, which we had estimated.

Here’s a shot of what the windows looked like after Mr. H.C. put up the storm windows. You can tell the window on the right was not quite finished. I guess I should take another photo…

Kitchen windows from outside

I love the simple trim around these windows. If you look carefully at the old photos, you’ll notice all the windows were trimmed like this.

This is the front door of the cottage where the living room windows are now. There’s no way to bring back that charming little entrance with the lattice and the vines — at least in that spot. But I’m thinking on it…
buzz mariam mom

I especially love this photo because that’s my mom on the right with her cousins, Buzz and his older sister Mariam. I knew right away it was my mom, because, I have a photo of myself at that age, and oh my goodness, we could be twins. Mr. H.C. took one look at the photo and said, “That looks like you!” My Mother, My Self…
buzz Jack Mom
In this photo, if you look very hard, you can see the awning that is decorating the kitchen entrance. That’s Buzz, and his brother Jack in the wagon, and the little giant girl next to them is Mom. Mariam is in the background, and you can also tell that there aren’t many trees in the side or back yard yet, and the huge sycamore in the front yard is not yet planted.

Old folks at the cottage

That’s the old folks sitting out in the front yard by the road. The fence was gone by the time I was a girl and playing in the front yard. My grandma Carrie is on the left, then her mother Laura, sister Edna and her husband Jim (who I always heard was in the circus) and sister Ethel and her son Buzz are on the right. He dates this photo ’36 or ’37 also. It’s hard to tell where in the front yard this is, but again, there aren’t many trees…

So one of my secondary categories on this blog is 40s houses. I guess I’m going to have to change it to 30s houses.

Here is a painting that Joe and Clara had done of the house when they bought it in 1974, before they started renovating. Painting of Apple Hill Cottage, ca.1973

And here’s what it looks like today — still under construction. We haven’t really gotten to the outside of the house yet. But we hope to have the gray cedar shakes all painted white by the end of the summer, as well as replicating the trim around the front windows.

Oh yes, and siding over the Tyvek, and new gutters, and a repointed chimney, and… and… and...

Oh yes, and siding over the Tyvek, and new gutters, and a repointed chimney, and the sliding glass doors replaced… and… and…

But for now, there’s nothing like old photos to bring home the amazing circles of life.

135. Hard work down on the farm

You’ve heard the saying that if you cut your own firewood it warms you twice?

Our friend, Joe, offered it to us — free trees already cut down and trimmed and dragged to the side of the road.

So, a couple of weeks ago, on the hottest day of the year so far, we cut and hauled and stacked firewood for next year.

Warmed us, yes…

Even Joe teased us, “You aren’t supposed to be cutting firewood in May,” he laughed.

But we were grateful for it — and we will be especially grateful when it warms us that second time next January… Thanks, Joe.

The entire time we were working on firewood, I kept anxiously thinking of the garden, which was supposed to be perfect beds completed in April, but were still very unmade. No spring lettuce or greens or radishes or peas here.

So now the  7 ft  fence is in –though Mr. H. C. is still fretting that our herd of deer will be able to jump the low side — there is a beautiful gate (awaiting permanent fencing in the future) and a summer garden is planted.

garden gate

It’s a first year garden with only some random compost dumpings from last year, and some mushroom manure, so we were excited to find a nearby farm that offered CSAs. That will take the pressure off our poor, small, first-year garden plot (and the gardeners too…)

It took hours days weeks of work just to get these two beds dug, free of grass, fenced, and the third one tilled up. The third one is outside our fence, so it has to be filled with veggies and herbs the deer won’t eat; I know from experience, there is no plant alive that a deer won’t nibble on and perhaps ruin. At the city house, I gave up vegetable gardening the morning I discovered one bite taken out of all the green peppers. They also ate the hairy, spiky zucchini plants that they aren’t supposed to like. So I’m skeptical even about onions and garlic, but I took the chance. I’m also going to plant some rhubarb there in the hopes they will eat it and die.

Okay, I know that sounds rash, but fencing is expensive, people! And it takes time. And it is awkward — I’m bumping up against the Industral Deer Strength Netting all the time.

But truly, the deer are also eating our fruit trees, which I foolishly set free from their cages too soon. They looked so lovely, wild and set free from their prisons.   

until overnight, this happened:

 

So the trees are caged again to protect them from the evil deer, and Mr. H. C. is reading up on solar electric fences. 

And though I’m not counting the peaches before they’re ripe (there’s 16) the peaches look hopeful.   

And there are walnuts on the walnut tree…

133. No Time to…

So what happens when one finally gets settled into a routine at the cottage where one has spent three years preparing to live?

Life.

Yes. Life.

Yes. Life. Happens.

There’s a new job.

There’s a volunteer commitment one made before the new job happened.

There’s cooking to do, gardens to plant, flowers to grow, pillow covers to make, Bible to study, VBS to get ready for, neighbors to visit, friends to talk to, firewood to haul, and, yes, there are still boxes to unpack, files to organize and a room to paint. As well as the bathroom to gut and redo, and the back porch to finish.

And suddenly, there’s no time to write.

Ha, silly me. I thought perhaps after we moved here, I’d have spare time to finish that novel… Now I can’t even find time to write 500 words for a blog post.

It’s the rhythm of life. Suddenly there is much going on, but it is the routine of day-to-day, interspersed here and there with a gorgeous full moon, the bloom of a new starburst flower, the scent of peonies, a gentle sunrise.

But that is life, isn’t it? Making the most of those boring bits of life in-between the great, amazing stuff that, if we are honest, doesn’t really happen all that often.

It’s what we do with the routine and the interruptions to our routine that are important. Read this C.S. Lewis quote and put it on your fridge.

 Yes, the unremarkable, the humdrum, the commonplace — that’s the life God is sending us. And do we sing on the way to work, or grump about the trucks that are making us late?

Do we gripe about having to fix dinner on a day when we don’t get home until 6:00, or do we look into the fridge and make it a game with ourselves to come up with the best we can with what’s there?

Do we go to visit the neighbor when we really should be…  (insert really important thing to do here.)

I have to admit that I’m only good at loving the uneventful life sometimes. I try to remember that God has given us this ordinary life to live for him. He sees when we grumble at our husbands for no good reason except a mood; he knows when we choose to be in a funk, rather than pray; and best of all, He understands when we chafe against the boring bits of ho-hum pfhh that so much of life seems to be…
Bare hill
and he graciously gives us new eyes to see beauty in the familiar.