I love California

I love California.  It is beautiful with its hundreds of state parks and beaches, cold coastal waters and tide-pools filled with wildlife, mountains, rivers and lakes.  There are theme parks to explore, slopes to ski, vineyards to visit and so much in between.  But... I am so glad we moved to Iowa.  Sure I miss my friends, family and the wonderful diversity that lies in California.  I wonder if we will ever go back to our favorite patisserie in Pacific Grove or if my mom can send some of my favorite foods that can only be purchased locally at the Davis Food Co-op or Farmer's Market.

Now we have a new life in Iowa that I am falling in love with too.  One of the things that I love the most is our home.  Now this is not the house I would have designed and I wouldn't call it my dream home.  It doesn't have a gourmet kitchen or a hidden passage.  It doesn't have rustic wooden beams across the ceiling or gorgeous hardwood floors.  But it was built by hand by my grandfather.  Literally. 


For more than a decade after moving to the farm, my grandparents and their four children lived in the old farmhouse.  I heard stories about grandpa wrapping the house in plastic each winter to keep the cold winds and snow from creeping in.  I can only vaguely remember the black wood stove in the living room, the steep stairs to the second floor and sitting around the kitchen table eating grilled cheese and tomato soup. 

 I opened a drawer the other day and inside is a file labeled "house plans."  In the file is a hand drawn picture with labels written in pencil.  My grandpa was not an architect or engineer.  He was not a contractor or carpenter.  But he so loved my grandma and wanted to build her this home that didn't have snow creeping in, that he learned how to do it by reading books about plumbing, electrical and everything else. 

When construction began, I remember the fluffy pink insulation was so inviting, but forbidden.  My aunts, uncles, cousins, parents and neighbors were all on deck digging the basement, pouring concrete and framing the house.  There were wires and pipes to install, walls to sheet-rock and paint.  A roof to shingle.


And now it is our turn.  It is our turn to take care of the home built both physically and emotionally by my grandparents.  There's no lack of projects to keep us busy and there are reminders in unexpected drawers.  But that is what I am loving about our move to Iowa.

Future basement

Pouring concrete walls

Everyone pitching in

Grandpa smoothing the concrete.

Look at me helping build the house.

Groundhog Day

I'll bet you're thinking Groundhog Day is in February.  Right now we are in August, so what gives?  It seems to be groundhog day everyday in our yard.    We have what the kids call "the creature" (aka groundhog or woodchuck) living under our shop, burrowing in the yard and making appearances in the barn.  Sean wouldn't go out in the yard for a several days because he was worried about being bitten by the creature. 

We tried trapping the groundhog, but apparently they don't go for cat food like the neighbor thought.  Hubby tried shooting the thing, but is pretty sure he missed and the puppies have even chased him, all to no avail.  Although not the same animal, it's starting to feel like we are precariously close to a scene from Caddyshack...

Bill Murray, Caddyshack 1980

Caddyshack, 1980

Each morning, the kids like to point out the freshly dug mounds of soil in the yard.  They even like to stomp on the mounds.  Well we've been doing some research and are now prepared to trap the creature, enticing him into the cage with all his favorite foods.  If that doesn't work, there's always dynamite :)   

The Cave

We have a cave.  Ok really, it's a root cellar underneath the meat shed.  But my grandparents always called it a cave and that sounds way more awesome, so I am going to keep calling it the cave.  The cave was built by my grandfather in the late 70's to hold pickles, jam, other canned goods and homemade wine. 

When we arrived here this summer, after an unusually wet season, the cave was musty, dusty and full of water.  I decided that cleaning out this building was going to require some extreme measures.  I was going to have to take off my flip flops and put on some boots!

And so that is what I did.  It took several hours of me working in the cave while the kids "helped" their daddy upstairs in the meat shed, but now it is all ready to be restocked.  Canning is something the hubby and I have enjoyed for years, so we are looking forward to trying out all those new recipes and methods that Pinterest has introduced to us.

Here's me not wearing flip flops.

Free range

A couple months ago, while watching the kids climb at my parents' house, my uncle turned to me and asked "have you ever heard of free range parenting?"  I laughed and said "I think we invented it."  I think my kids are smart and capable and that they need a chance to be independent and figure things out without us grown-ups hovering.  Now that we are on the farm, they have even more space in which to run around and explore.

One day, the kids were outside doing what they do best.  Playing.  Running.  Exploring.  Building.  And I was focusing on unpacking or cleaning or something boring.  At some point, I realized it had been a while since I heard Sean, so I thought I'd better check on him.  I checked on the porch.  I looked in the back yard.  I checked inside the workshop, around the workshop and in the barn.  And the garage.  And basement.  Even the chicken house and the front yard.  I asked the girls if they knew where he was.  I asked my youngest brother who finally told me Sean had followed him out past the apple trees into the corn field.  So I walked up and down the entire edge of the corn field yelling Sean's name.  I didn't hear a response.

We like to give the kids space to play, but at this point I became a bit uneasy.  I wasn't worried about all those creepy things that happen on crime dramas on tv.  I was worried that Sean was walking along the gravel road to visit the neighbors and their horses.  I was worried he climbed up too high or in a hole.  I was worried that he was stuck in a place that only Sean could weasel himself into.  So I ditched the corn field and ran toward the road, with a baby on my hip.

I guess all the commotion of me yelling Sean's name over and over, running around looking for him brought the entire family out.  Since the corn field was the last place my brother saw him, he, along with my stepdad, hubby and the girls, went in after Sean.  Now the first thing my father taught me about corn is this old saying "knee high by the fourth of July."  Well this was the end of June and I do not know who fed the corn it's vitamins, but this corn was way taller than knee high!  And when you are 2 1/2 and only 34" tall, the corn is very tall indeed.  My little brother found Sean sitting on the dirt amongst the corn, crying.  He had heard me calling his name, but I did not hear him answer.  After one of the scariest half hours of both my and Sean's lives, Sean has vowed to never play in the corn again.

Cheerios

Have you seen the Cheerios commercial where the little boy is sitting with his mom eating breakfast and he asks her if Nana fed her Cheerios when she was little?  The mom says yes and the boys says, so when we eat Cheerios, it's kind of like we're eating breakfast with Nana.  The mom gets teary eyed and answers yes.  (see the video here).

After driving out with us cross country, my mom spent a couple weeks at the farm.  She and I spent hours going through each room, looking at the furniture, books and knick knacks; the accumulation from a combined 142 years on earth and nearly 50 years of marriage.  We were tasked with deciding what would stay and what would go.  Since we had left much of our furniture behind in California, keeping the couches and tables was an easy decision.  Family photos?  No brainer those are staying.  It's all the other things.

Standing at the kitchen sink I see the little ceramic frog that holds a yellow and red scrubby used for pans and things.  I wonder just how long my Grandma had the same scrubby.  Did she use the same red and yellow scrubby for thirty+ years or did she just keep buying ones that look the same?  It usually comes as a surprise - things you took for granted sitting on a shelf, in a drawer or hiding in a closet.  The things that just belong in that space because Grandma or Grandpa decided that's where it goes.  And now here I am, trying to fill that space with something new. I'm a slow unpacker already, (after 10 moves with the hubby I know this about myself!) and this makes me slower.  I hope hubby's patience last until I am done.

Each morning sitting at the kitchen table surrounded by these little things, drinking coffee and eating oatmeal, is sort of like having breakfast with Grandma and Grandpa.  

Riding the mowers

When I was eight years old, my grandpa sent my cousins and I out to mow the grass. He had two riding lawn mowers, which was super exciting because I don't think we even had a push mower in California! It was my turn to mow, and I was doing great, going round the trees, up and down the backyard. Then something happened. My cousin yelled at me. I can't remember what it was about, but I do remember turning around to look at him so I could figure out why he was yelling. Number one rule of riding a lawn mower? Watch where you are going. Next thing I knew, the mower was leaning a bit sideways on a hill, heading straight for the pig pen. I got up a little embarrassed and with a big bruise on my leg.  I was pretty sure I did not want to ride the mower anymore.

Everyone helps mow on the farm.

1991 - cousins

1967 - Grandma and Great-Grandma

1981 - cousin

1980 - aunt

The never-ending chore!  With as much grass as we've got here, I don't have the option of not riding a lawn mower, and anyone with legs long enough to reach gets to help mow. We warned the kids that moving to the farm meant chores and true to our word, we weren't here a week when we put them to work mowing the front yard.

 

Since the kids did such a spectacular job, I thought maybe I could handle another go round. So back on the riding mower I climbed last week. I put on my flip flops, got a quick lesson from the hubby and off I went.

I came back a little dirty.  Maybe hubby is right, I shouldn't wear my flip flops for everything?  Nah...

Moving In

When a house sits empty for several months, dust begins to settle, wildlife start to explore and grass keeps growing.  When you're moving into a house that sat vacant for months, you have to clear away the dust, shoo away the wildlife and mow grass taller than a small child.

Fortunately for us, the hubby, brother-in-law and a friend got started on the mowing before the kids and I arrived - otherwise, I know we would have lost a kid or two in there (and that is a story for another day!).  Unfortunately, the ticks had already made themselves right at home.  During our first week here, three of the kids got ticks.

I can recall sitting on the toilet in my grandparents old house, while grandma lit a match.  After blowing out the flame, she would use the hot tip to press on the tick causing it to release itself from my scalp.  Since I am such an expert on removing ticks, I too pulled out a book of matches, blew out the flame and pressed the hot match tip to the tick's backside.  The tick didn't release, so I lit another match and tried again.  After lighting and blowing out four or five matches, the hubby walks over and says "the tick is dead."  Oops. 
 

tick on my sister's neck

After my tick removal failure, I moved on to the task of clearing away some of the dust, leaving wildlife to the others.  I started out by gathering several old ice cream buckets and filling them with soapy water.  Then we handed each child a scrub brush, rag or mop.  We took them out onto the porch to start scrubbing.  After a few hours of spilled buckets, wet kids, a one year old sucking on the soapy rags and not very much scrubbing, I decided it was time to bring out the big guns - the power washer.


Now, I  have to tell you, I secretly like power washing, so it was nice to spend two whole days spraying the porch, screens and windows while someone else watched the kiddos.  Of course those two days happened to be rainy and cold, and since the water was splattering all around, I was wet and cold.  The day after I finished the porch, guess what?  It was nice and sunny, like 90 degrees.