House renovation

5. There were sure to be foxes in the woods…

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It was a slow week at Apple Hill as far as actual work goes.

I’m still sanding (but I’m on the LAST cabinet!) and Michael was spinning his wheels this weekend too–he needed a specific measurement from our stove in Pittsburgh that we are moving to the kitchen at Apple Hill. Gotta have a gas stove and the one here is electric, so we are switching them. But the stove was there, and we were here.

And Sunday was Father’s Day–there’s no working then! So the work goes in fits and starts just like life. We both have to keep remembering to enjoy the moment and not worry about a timeline, plans, our agendas. It’s easier said than done. So far, when one of us gets in a funk about it, the other one can do the reminding. And when that doesn’t work, Jesus Calling always does the trick. I have to quote Sarah Young here: “Learn to laugh at yourself more freely. Don’t take yourself or your circumstances so seriously. Relax and know that I am ‘God with you’…Laughter lightens your load and lifts your heart into heavenly places. Your laughter rises to heaven and blends with angelic melodies of praise. Do not miss the Joy of My Presence by carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders…” This week I read it out loud to Michael because we both needed to hear it.

So this week, we have a CONTEST: The first one to post where the title of this blog comes from (There were sure to be foxes in the woods or turtles in the water…) gets a… gets ahhhh…. gets uhmmmm…..

a free all-expenses paid vacation to Apple Hill Cottage????

No, I don’t think everyone would like that, especially after reading the rest of this post! I think I have to add a Caution here: This post is about critters and it’s not for the faint of heart, the bug-a-phobe, or the die-hard city slicker. I’ll start off with the cute little furry critters and then it will go downhill from there, so the reader will be able to tell when to stop reading…

Cats and Kittens

He is the friendliest, most mellow kitty we’ve ever met. This picture was taken about 5 minutes after we were first introduced.

Our kitty got a name this weekend courtesy of granddaughter Olivia (Joce, Pedro and the kids celebrated Father’s Day with us with grilled hamburgers and a day of fun in the country.) We haven’t committed to the name yet, but we both kind of like it. As Michael says, we have to do some research on it. She suggested Phineas, and I added a T, so we’ve got Phineas T. Her Phineas is from the kids tv show Phineas and Ferb. I added the T for Phineas T. Fogg, an adventurer who goes Around the World in 80 Days. It’s a Jules Verne classic, which I now have to admit to never reading. (Ouch!) Of course, it could also be for Phineas T. Barnum, but he was a known swindler… We have already spent quite a bit of money on Phineas T., this part-time cat (well, he’s really a full-time cat–he’s only ours part-time) but I think we’ve both felt that naming him was a big commitment. A name signifies ownership for sure, instead of just feeding him and enjoying him when he shows up (or when we show up…)

We’ve got a big dinner bell on the porch that we ring when we get here, so he knows we’re home and he can come and get it. Michael suggested an electronic kitty feeder???? Footnote: Amazon says I can get Around the World in 80 Days and read it for free on the Kindle; but the reviewers all call the main character Phileas Fogg. This is most disturbing–I was sure it was Phineas–and this is why Michael said we had to research it…

Foxes in the Woods

These long nights in June are so wonderful, although on at least one occasion I have bemoaned the fact that I was so tired, I couldn’t even sit on the porch and enjoy them. On Saturday evening though, we ate late and were still sitting at the table at twilight enjoying the fireflies and the birdsongs, when a small red fox came out of the wood’s edge and sauntered along the tree line right in front of us. I mean 20 feet away! We didn’t get a picture of him; I quietly opened the door and grabbed the binoculars, but our phones weren’t handy. We are really hoping he returns, and I’ve been trying to keep my phone within easy reach.

Moles

Oh, the devastation!

Yep, we have ’em. They make terrible pesty divots in our otherwise perfectly manicured lawn. Michael has purchased Mole-Away sticks, but then the moles just move away a short distance and another part of the yard is dug up!

He also tried drowning them out of their holes with the hose. We’ve been watering our precious new fruit trees every day we are here. Michael was walking by a mole hole, carrying the hose, and just thought he’d try it. It didn’t seem to work, BUT he did discover a new technique for getting rid of them with a hose! A few days later he was moving the hose so he could mow the yard. While standing under one of the older apple trees and investigating one of the holes, a mole popped up. Michael had nothing in his hand but the hose, so he bopped that mole with the hose nozzle. Got him! Broke the hose nozzle, but score Michael 1, Mole 0. (Think Whack-a-mole–you can play it here: http://www.addictinggames.com/action-games/whackamole.jsp)

We had lunch the next day with Diane and Jim at the Panera in Washington and as Michael was telling the story we were all laughing so hard we were snorting Iced Tea out our noses. People were staring. You know, readers, we’re supposed to have a good belly laugh at least five times a day. As Joce said the other day, “I’m way behind!”

Wasps

There’s one in every corner of the porch!

Yep, we have these too. IN ABUNDANCE! They seem to have an affinity for my cabinet-sanding workshop. In fairness to them, they were there first. In fact, they have been able to be there, undisturbed, for probably at least five years or so. But the newcomer wins out here–the wasps have to go.

I know that we are supposed to be green and all that; I know that all insects have a purpose; but I draw the line at a wasp dive bombing me while I’m sanding cabinets. The sander is very loud, so I can’t hear the wasp’s warning whine. I have on my safety glasses and they are steamed up because I’m also wearing a breathing mask, so I can’t see it very well either until it buzzes my head. Nope, the wasps have to go… Luckily, Michael has in his bag of “ungreen” materials–Wasp Killer! (There’s poison ivy killer in that bag, too.) He pointed at the nest, sprayed the foam, and the wasp fell down dead with a thunk in three seconds. Part of the nest fell down too. Score Michael 1, Wasps 0.

Inch long brown worms

Not the greatest shot, but I didn’t want to get too close!

Well, I don’t really know what they are. But they are IN THE HOUSE. In the bathroom; in the basement. We’ve only just started finding them this past weekend. There were three in the bathroom (on the ceiling!) Michael said he found a whole parade of them in the basement going from the hot water heater to the (unused) shower. Michael’s vote was for millipedes, and millipedes do like water/wet/damp, which is where we seem to be finding them. It seems too fuzzy to be a millipede, though. They curl up into a ball when you try to scoop them up or step on them. Inchworms are brown also, as well as green, but these don’t exactly hump up like inchworms do when they are moving. Ugh, they are disgusting.

Bugs too odious to call by name

This is the most horrible to admit. Ron found the first one in April, so we can blame him, at least for the discovery. I don’t think I would have known what they were, if he hadn’t pointed it out and looked disgusted. (Thanks Ron!) Since then, we’ve been very careful about food, and garbage, but taking out the walls of the kitchen seems to have disturbed them. I wouldn’t say we’re infested–we didn’t see any last week, but this week I saw one in the kitchen sink. Neither one of us can actually call them by name–we just call them “those bugs”… No pictures of these either, you’ll be glad to know. We are just hoping that covering holes, tightening up walls, and putting in new floors, ceilings, and cabinets will get rid of them. Otherwise, we’ll just have to send Michael out to buy Roach Killer. (Read Gregor the Overlander by Suzanne Collins–her “other” series–for a great cockroach main character!)

So now, don’t you all want to come and visit? Put your finger on the comment button and tell me where this lovely title came from! And the winner is….

2. The Sanding Queen

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Fast forward to April/May of this year. A lot of stuff happened in between, and we’ll get to that in later posts, but for now, we are working on the kitchen. As in taking out walls–that’s a later post too–but for the past few weekends, I’ve been sanding. Not just smoothing rough edges, but taking off 4 coats of paint and the original varnish of kitchen cabinets. Oh did we dither about kitchen cabinets! They are so expensive, and I want white. The white cabinets that one can purchase at the BB stores are not wood; laminate, thermofoil, melamine, lacquer, acrylic–they have all sorts of fancy names and initials for what is really just junkboard. I’m a purist; I like real; I like old; I like authentic. So I wanted wood cabinets. The unfinished cabinets at Home Depot and Lowe’s were oak. It seemed a shame to buy oak cabinets and paint them white… So we haunted the Habitat for Humanity Restores in Washington and Edgewood and Construction Junction in Point Breeze. It took several visits in all places–and we found some other cool stuff in the meantime–but one day we came upon Really Ugly Cabinets. They were so ugly, we almost passed them right by.

Looks like a square robot from The Flintstones to me…

But when we stopped and figured it out, they were almost a perfect fit for the sizes of cabinets that we needed. Straight out of the early fifties–made from sandable birch plywood all through. They weren’t quite the doors I wanted, but for $225 they will work. Since we saved so much money on cabinets, the plan now is to buy really expensive countertops!

So now I am the sanding queen. You know the song. Unfortunately the only words I know are the sanding queen, da da da da da, she’s the sanding queen, da da da da da da the sanding queen. I didn’t even know it was an Abba song until I saw Mamma Mia! with Meryl Streep. But in my defense, it probably came out in the late seventies, early eighties when I was busy with babies.

I made the mistake of putting stripper on the first one. Oh, it worked okay, but it was very messy. Turns out, the coats of paint were put on right over the varnish, (NO PRIMER!) and they just peel right off with a scraper, which is much easier!!! 4 different colors–grey, red, lavender, green, and then the varnish. Any takers for those porcelain eyeballs?

We set up my cabinet shop on the side of the back porch until this past weekend when the temperatures soared into the nineties. I moved into the air conditioned comfort of the living room and Michael hooked up the sanders to a vac. It’s a complicated system of hoses and extension cords and duct tape. He’s done it for me twice now, and the last time I was supposed to be paying attention so I could do it myself next time. I think I’ve got it. The biggest problem is that the two main sanders I use have different sizes of exhaust holes and I have to figure out which one goes where with what vacuum hose and they all get entangled with the extension cords. But Michael was the original Mr. Tool Guy–and he can always rescue me. The best part about the vacuum is that I can take off my breather mask! Always wear your safety glasses (AWYSG).

Just for variety, I’m also sanding the four doors to the built-in kitchen cupboard in the corner.

These doors have antiquing from the seventies, bright orange paint, and then two layers of green. On both sides!

Here’s a better picture–you can really appreciate the color.

I have also learned about grit. The lower the number on sandpaper the rougher it is. For instance, if one is taking off 4 layers of paint, one wants to choose 80 grit or below. Once the piece is down to bare wood, 180 or 220 is for finishing and making the wood really smooth. I’ve been liking the little “Mouse” sander that has a point and gets into corners. (Michael just returned from HD this evening as I am writing this with a new sander for me. A square “finish” sander. He said it was for me, but the second sentence out of his mouth was “I’ve never ever had a finish sander.”)

BEFORE

Michael must have been jealous of all the fun I was having sanding, because he got into the act also. Last fall we bought a big table at the Restore for $35.00 — a great deal. It’s been sitting in the living room with a table cloth over it (protecting the beautiful finish!) I was planning on staining or painting the top dark, dark green and calling it an old reclaimed table. But just see what Michael the carpenter can do–(even without a finish sander).

AFTER

Now my old reclaimed table idea has to be rethunk! I’m not sure what to do with it now. Michael likes natural finishes, but I sort of wanted it to be dark. I went to look at all the stains, but just couldn’t decide yet. That’s for another day when inspiration hits.

Sanding is boring. The arm gets tired. The sander is loud. The vacuum is louder. The back starts to hurt. The mind wanders. There’s plenty of time for thinking, for praying, for counting blessings, for wondering, for comparing sanding to real life. Cleaning off layers of grime, old paint, and junk to expose the beautiful wood beneath. That’s what trying to live a holy life is like, isn’t it? Always we’re scraping off the gunk that the world leaves on us. Some of it’s been there for years–applied incorrectly, but still it sticks until we really try to scrape it off. And, oh boy, is it hard to get out of the corners! I’m thinking of the book I read last year called Somewhere More Holy by Tony Woodlief. It is some of the most beautiful writing I’ve ever read; he talks about home being where the sacred and the mundane meet when we search for God in the small everyday things–like sanding, like cleaning, like taking something ugly and reclaiming it. Next weekend I’m going to be sanding again. And the week after. And the week after. I’m sure I’ll tire of it. I just have to keep remembering what the finished product will be. Beautiful. Free of gunk. As good as I can make it. And I’ll post some pictures.

1. The Story of Apple Hill Cottage

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It’s hard to start writing a brand new blog when it’s, well, brand new. I’m brand new at it also, which makes it doubly hard. But Apple Hill Cottage has come into our lives. It is a cottage with history — combined history for both Michael and me — and I want to write about it — document it — as we try to respectfully honor those who lived in it before, as well as making it our own.

Apple Hill Cottage, Late fall, 2011.

Apple Hill’s Story–the brief version (Longer versions will appear randomly later…)

Originally built as a little bungalow in the forties thirties by my grandfather (we called him Pa), it was a place “out on the farm”, which later became his apple orchard, Longanecker’s Fruit Farm. Pa added an indoor bathroom when the orchard became successful, and someone needed to live there to help run the orchard and sell the apples. Later on a back bedroom was added and a partial basement under the bedroom. Oh and a garage. “Growed like Topsy” my dad said.

My grandmother’s brother, Leslie, his wife Mary, and their son Bob lived there from sometime in the fifties until 1974 when Pa sold the orchard. I remember being there many times as a kid–we spent time at the apple orchard “helping”. Pa always paid us: fifty cents, a dollar, sometimes two dollars if we really had helped!

This is what the house looked like when Uncle Leslie and Aunt Mary lived there, and how I remember it as a kid.

We spent time in the big barn grading apples, taking the apples to the cider mill, and then helping store the jugs of cider in the little barn, which was refrigerated. There’s a picture of me with Pa in front of the apples for sale on the stand that was built around an oak tree. (I’m looking for it…) Occasionally we had family picnics in the front yard.

Mom and Dad at Apple Hill, ca. 1949.

My Dad (1921-2012) said he first met all of Mom’s extended family at a family picnic here, but he couldn’t remember whether it was before they were married — September 18, 1949 — or after. While looking through old photos for Dad’s funeral, we came across this one, which was taken at the cottage. I like to think it was taken that day of the family picnic.

In 1974, Pa was 82 years old and wanted to retire from the orchard business, so he sold the apple farm to Joe and Clara and their partner, a local attorney. Joe and Clara’s son, Michael, was a senior in college and helped them do various remodeling projects. One of the projects that he has confessed to helping with was wallpapering the living room. It pains me to say we didn’t take a picture of the wall paper before we stripped it off — one of the first things we did — but I’ve found a picture of the wallpaper in the background. It was ORANGE. Seventies Peter Max Orange. And I’m told it’s back in style, but …you decide.

We are in Clara’s living room just after we got married in 2002. The wallpaper was on most every wall, and even on the ceiling in the section of the living room not pictured here. Michael said putting that wallpaper up caused him to be color blind.

I remember thinking it was a bit strange when Mom told me that Pa had sold the orchard to Joe and Clara. Michael and I had dated in high school for two years and had a tortured break up when we were freshmen in college. But in 1974 I was only 22 and not ready to go back to run an apple orchard that I knew nothing about. I do remember wishing I was a bit older and wiser and ready to take it on…

Joe and Clara remodeled the cottage in the seventies style. They turned the garage into the “garage bedroom” and put the ubiquitous paneling on the walls. They replaced a lot of the windows, but not all, and installed 5 (count’em–5!) sets of sliding glass doors — one at every entrance! When we took out the carpeting in the garage bedroom (orange shag) we found they had dated the underneath of the step down into the room. It said, “Joe and Clara started remodeling. March 1, 1974.” We added our names next to theirs —  “Michael and Carol started remodeling, August 11, 2011.”

They also built a wonderful, huge deck at the back of the house, which we are reaping the benefits of now.

View of the little barn from the porch

It looks out over the hills of Greene County. To the left is the little barn where cider was stored. Now our neighbor stores his tractor there. There are wild cherries, oaks, maples, hickories, walnuts, catalpas, and honeysuckle. The birds sing all day. We have a family of bluebirds! I haven’t seen bluebirds since the last time I lived in the country! The binoculars just stay on the porch and the bird book sits nearby on the porch swing. It’s peaceful and serene for these two folks who’ve lived in the city for ten years. The porch looks east and there’s nothing better in the early morning than sitting on the swing drinking coffee and reading Jesus Calling. Yes, I can hear creation singing.

Not just breakfast coffee, but every meal…

Joe and Clara also enclosed the Oak Tree Apple Stand in cedar shakes that matched the house and painted the inside turquoise. It was the seventies, after all… They used it as a garage and also as a permanent garage sale where Clara sold her treasures. They called it the Gazebo; it will have its own post later on. Since Joe died in 1995, it has fallen on hard times. Every once in awhile one of us will come up with an idea for it, but so far it is just storage for carpet, tile, and a couple of unfinished kitchen cabinets. Sister Diane (interior designer that she is) suggested a guest house. Friend Rick was more down to earth — “This is just what Michael needs to store his junk,” he said. Yes, we’ll talk about that later, too…

As Clara got older she couldn’t manage living in the country anymore, and the house sat vacant for several years. Her good neighbors kept an eye on the place and mowed the grass. When it seemed obvious last year that she would never go back to the house, Michael and his sister Rita put the house up for auction. It was to be auctioned on July 12th, but first it had to be cleaned out. A dumpster was rented and almost everything was cleaned out or sent to the auctioneer — including all her Fiesta ware. I will forever be sad about that…

Clara died on Friday night, July 8th. On Saturday morning Michael and I sat up in bed, looked at each other, and simultaneously said, “We don’t have to sell the house anymore…” We called the auctioneer and cancelled the auction; Michael had to write him a check for $5200 (that was a hard check to write…) but all in all, it was a small price to pay for a house with such a story. We buried Clara on the day that the auction was supposed to take place.

I think she is smiling.