Journal: November 21

Another quiet day.

Thanksgiving thinking and planning.  Windy Brow Orchards only had a few gallons of cider left.  Concerned that they might not get more--I bought two to get us through the festivities.  And four quarts of fuji apples.

moon caught in walnut tree

Then a wandering through Weiss for spices and other random items.  The day started bright and sunny--but turned dark, chill and gray.  This appears to be normal November behavior.

Full moon tonight.  A blue moon.  Not the second moon of the month, but another variety.  Here's a definition: A blue moon can refer to the third full moon in a season with four full moons, or the second full moon of a calendar month.The November 21, 2010 Blue Moon is the third of four full moons between the September 2010 equinox and December 2010 solstice.

Journal: November 20th

Woke up with no voice.   George and Johnny working on siding.  The side of house is almost finished.

A  very quiet day.  Although I felt fine, the no-voice situation was permission to act a bit like a sick person.  I did go to the library and made a quick stop at Wal-mart (sometimes I just have to go --it does occasionally have a surprise or two).  The surprise today was a little package of chopped dates from Pakistan which I used to make a quite delicious dark date nut bread.


I have sunk into many levels of food nostalgia and was hoping to re-create the very dark very moist date nut bread I used to have at Schrafft's with cream cheese.  My bread was not quite as dark and moist as I'd wanted--but it is quite good.  Perhaps I'll photograph my breakfast slice tomorrow.

In anticipation of drive across, I'd taken out many cds from library--mostly of old half-forgotten albums and put them on my ipod.  Caught up on various things and , cleaned a bit, mostly sat at computer....oh last night watched double bill--of young people's movies i love you man, set in venice beach--streets around home--and nick and nora's infinite playlist new jersey high school kids in new york city--two geographically relevant films--very urban--perhaps I'm ready to take a break from winter rural life.

Journal: November 16

Going back to the city--after this long summer of never leaving the house, I'm trying to catch up on urban time before the long drive west.  But first a stop at Lowe's to buy new mouse traps.  I'm catching a mouse a night these days, and due to the new improved mouse trap model, can both easily set the traps (the actual old-fashioned trap is in a plastic box) and dispose of the victim.  Still, it's never a pleasant process---I'm hoping the mice can just learn to stay clear of the kitchen--I don't set traps elsewhere--but too bad for them, the kitchen is the only room in which they have any interest.

They did not have the mouse traps I wanted, so I left the death aisles where all sorts of devices of extinction are sold for the now almost empty garden area.  While looking for mulch,  I spotted a last call clearance sale of  hardy mums.  I'd already learned that many neighboring gardeners make two major plant purchases a year--in the beginning of summer they buy pots of pansies, lobelia and other pastel purple, pink and blue flowers which bloom through the warmest months.  As fall approaches they replace their summer plants with pots of yellow, orange and purple mums.

My summer plants had given me great pleasure--they're now all dead--but given the construction havoc around the house, there hadn't been much point to replace them with a fall purchase.

Now, on this chill and rainy day, when thoughts were far from gardening,  Lowes was selling enormous pots of mums for $1.00 each.  After questioning one of their garden experts, I decided I could buy enough to brighten the entire house for Thanksgiving.

Here they are in the parking lot--this entire field of flowers cost $6.00.  A fiscal flower miracle.

I lined them up in the front parlor--on the coffee table and on the floor before driving  to New York City.  It was so cold, muddy and foreboding, I couldn't bear to change into city clothes.  I couldn't even imagine there was a city on the other side of the river.  After successfully finding a parking place on Thompson Street, I knew I'd erred.  The rains had ceased (for the moment), the air was a bit warmer.  I couldn't do anything about changing my pants (oh, if it was truly serious, I could have managed to change pants), but I did leave my muddy rubber boots in the car before meeting Chiquita at a Vietnamese restaurant in Chelsea.   Next year I'll have to work a bit harder on my country/city transitions.

Journal: November 15

in case we forgot--june, 2010

front siding almost complete

Things are moving along.  Returning after Sarah's birthday and extended stay in the city, I found the house --at least the front--completely transformed with its new siding.  

So much had to be done before the siding could be put up, months of rebuilding the porch, the patching of many holes, building of windows, it was hard to imagine it would ever be done.  And of course, every step was such an improvement over the completely collapsed porch, the flapping white vinyl siding, the crumbling chimney, that it scarcely seemed necessary to get to the next step.  I was almost content with the green Lowe's foam insulation. 

In fact, when I returned home late last night, I circled the house and was thrilled to see the insulation installed on the north wall.  It wasn't until this morning that I noticed the siding on the front.
Praise be.                      

foam insulation, siding imminent

Journal: November 4. Turkeys Circling Camry in the Rain.

As forecast, it's been raining all night and day.  Cold, gray and muddy.

I heard the wild turkeys scratching around the side of the house as I was waking up.  They usually scurry at the slightest human noise, so I was surprised to see them a bit later loitering around my car.  In fact, they kept circling the car in what might have been a pre-Thanksgiving ritual.

It was pouring rain.  They were very absorbed in their circling--and barely noticed when I, in rain boots and jacket tried to record their activities from my muddy post on the front lawn. You have to look closely but there are three turkeys in each picture carrying on their turkey work.

However inadequate these pictures, the rest of the day fulfilled all promises.  Dentist

Espinosa patched up my tooth in about a half hour and John and Brian, working for about six hours installed a new motor for the boiler and a new switch for the pump.  The rain too continues as promised, but now I can watch it falling from a house with working heat and running water.  Praise be. 

Journal: November 3

Front of house insulated

Election news doesn't get much cheerier (except for California--when did that loony state  become a last outpost of sanity), but great strides on the house.  As we know, preparation takes forever, but once that is done, all moves relatively swiftly.  The entire front is now covered with hard foam insulation.  Neatly cut and tacked up, it does strike me as an almost acceptable wall-covering.  But they will not let me stop there.

While insulating, they've made new window frames which greatly improve things.  Needless to say, over the years the windows were never properly framed.  The insulation was the good news of the day.  The bad part of the day was continuing news analysis of the dread mid-term election. As I listened to the bad election news (against my better judgement), the bit of bonding on my front tooth chipped off--creating a fine witch-like appearance.  I luckily managed to snag a dentist appointment for 10am tomorrow, but a bit later, turning on the faucet to continue my baseboard labors--no water at all.  I assumed (hoped) that Johnny and George might have turned it off, but they had not.   George did discover that the switch for the pump circulator was completely corroded.  He was able to get it to work by poking around with a screw driver, but again, I am waiting for tomorrow when John will be coming to put in new motors for the four heating zones.

window with insulation

While waiting for tomorrow, I took to the country roads last night, despite my aversion to driving after dark, and met Margaret at the Byram town hall where they were showing King Corn, a quite excellent documentary about the total dominance of corn in our diets--and a good way to get through the potentially water-less night.

Journal: November 2. Heat Loss. Insulation. Baseboards

Journal: November 1. Feels like winter.

Monday.  I'd vowed I'd continue cleaning the baseboards, but they are so grimy, and the cleaning is so deep and secret, I let the whole day slip by without one squirt of cleanser and no vacuum inhalations.

Johnny and George spent a long day getting rid of the siding on the north side of the house and puzzling over and patching up all sorts of rotting patches.

The revelation of the brown clapboard, hidden for so many years, is quite splendid.  If it weren't so worn and battered, and if there was another way to insulate, I'd be tempted to leave it forever, but I will just post these pictures for the record of lamentations.

Journal: October 31. Sunday walk. Swan story.

Karen Altman drove out from Boonton with her friend Elaine who was interested in painting the house (as in making a picture of, not painting the walls).

The day began bright and sunny.  I even a hung a wash on the line, but by the time they arrived, the sun was ducking behind thick clouds and it was cooler and windier than I might have preferred.

But that is the Californian in me talking.  Karen and Elaine didn't seem at all concerned.  It was not yet true winter cold and while I may have forgotten the difference, they have not.

As Elaine drew the house (on what it turned out was its final day without insulation covering the brown clapboard, Karen and I took a long walk, even venturing down paths I'd never tread before.

The lake was covered with birds and I presented her with the latest swan gossip:

Anyone who has been closely following the sad swan saga will recall that months ago, long after three of the four baby swans had expired, one of the parent swans was killed.  The likely suspect was a snapping turtle.  We didn't know if it was the mother or father, but the surviving parent with its only child seemed content enough circling the lake, often stopping at the far end in the company of one or two great blue herons.  It was not clear what would happen. 

My father, when we were children, and other swans summered on the lake every year, rarely let a week ago without declaiming that swans were monogamous for life.  How did these devoted swans deal with bereavement?  A mystery.

A few weeks ago, despite their often combative swan natures, they seemed to welcome the scores of Canada geese and ducks who spent their days looking for corn in the recently cut fields and arrived at our lake with great honking each night.

Last week the visitors were joined by another pair of swans.  For a few days there were three adult swans and the one growing cygnet.   It was impossible for an outside human observer to know what was going on.  Were the visiting swans a happy empty-nesting couple?  Were they two swan guys out cruising for a new lifetime mate? Two female swans on an analogous mission?  None of these questions have been answered, but within a few days, there were two adult swans sticking close to each other, while the cygnet, almost full grown, but still plumed in gray was sometimes nearby, but often by itself, as if giving the grown-ups a bit of privacy (hard to maintain with all those geese and ducks).

Was a new swan couple established?  Did the empty-nesters toss out the single parent?  How is the child coping?  From my shore-side perspective it seems to be working out, but who can pierce these mysteries?

My guests  reflected on this a bit, but for the most part they were delighted that they enjoyed perfect weather for both walking and painting.  A fine time was had by all.

Journal: October 28th. Second thoughts on siding.

Johnny and George back at work.  I had expected praise aplenty for my excellent siding removal and clean-up efforts, but not a word was said, though great progress is being made on getting rid of all siding on northern walls. 

As I was now once again obsessing, I spent too much time  reading about how dreadful vinyl siding is for the environment.  This, of course, confirms my own feelings.  Who but a Lego master would want a plastic house?  George has explained to me many times that it would cost about three times as much to use wood, would be much more complicated and expensive to insulate, etc. etc., but I keep hoping we will figure out an alternative

I am so taken with the revealed bottom layer of clapboard, now a very aged, slightly rotting dark brown, I wondered if I could find such a color and this search for dark brown vinyl plunged me into a world of articles listing the seven or sixteen or four hundred and thirty-three reasons you shouldn't use vinyl siding.  Should I forget the whole thing?

Hoping for enlightenment, I drive to Northwest Siding for samples of dark brown siding, keeping my eyes open along the way for houses in darker tones.  I don't see any houses darker than yellow or light blue.  My internet researches have revealed that until quite recently vinyl faded rapidly, so light colors were the only ones available.  Now, they have figured out how to retard this fading, and are marketing darker colors, but they have not really spread to Sussex County.  Most houses I saw were in various hues of beige and yellow. 

I got the samples.  Realized that the brown, aiming as it does to look like natural wood was just too fake.  It's bad enough that I want to find siding that looks like painted wood--but somehow the fakery gets doubled if its siding that is meant to look like wood au natural --if that makes any sense.

So--the decision is made again.  Glacier Blue Siding (which looks like a dark gray) will be tacked over the aged brown wood.

Journal: October 27. Aquastat.

A warm and drizzly day.  John, the boiler man, arrived with his brother Brian to install a new aquastat on the old boiler.

This aquastat will instruct the boiler that it is no longer necessary (due to installation of water heater in May) to keep turning on to create hot water.  Its sole job is to heat the water in the heating system. 

After installing the aquastat, he pointed out the rusting switches for the ancient motor system that controls the four heating zones and convinced me that I should re-do that system so that all four zones are on one motor (they will still be separate zones).  The new system will be much more energy efficient and will, perhaps even more importantly, greatly reduce the possibility of sudden collapse of deteriorated parts. 

Brian, John's younger brother, worked for many years as a landscaper and I signed him up to prune the two surviving apple trees in what was once a small orchard of apple and peach trees.

As the leaves fall off the trees, the lake feels much closer.  With its noisy and ever-fluctuating bird population, it's host to many grand bird take-offs and landings throughout the day.  Instead of showing the aquastat (a metal box), here's the view from the window.  You can see the water ruffling from the geese. 

Journal: October 26th. Massive Siding Removal

I have been shamefully derelict in these postings--but will try to make amends.

I've been keeping notes (of sorts) and will try to fill in past days (oh I am addicted--in theory at any rate--to staying true to the chronological record though no-one cares but me).

Johnny finished painting the columns yesterday and began removing the siding in the front of the house, but didn't come in today due to a dental emergency.  George had work elsewhere, but when he called in, I asked him if it would be alright if I tackled the siding removal.  I'm always a bit concerned that my helping with construction efforts might lead to irreparable damage, but he assured me I would do no harm. I'd been planning to continue with my vacuuming of the baseboard heating fins and removal layers of soot, but the day was balmy, so I abandoned all indoor cleaning efforts for some serious outdoor work.

Equipped with two hammers and a tall step ladder, I began the chore.  I'd read somewhere that a good worker removes the nails from discarded wood, and although close inspection of the debris Johnny had piled up yesterday revealed he didn't do that particular chore.  He, unlike me, doesn't have to prove he's a good worker.  Alas, I have so much to prove.  In any case, I began pulling off as shingles, removing all nails, those that came out with the wood, as well as those that stayed behind, as I went along.

Not particularly pleasant work.  The vinyl siding above the cedar shakes had been put up so poorly, and the cedar shakes have been on so long they have provided housing for bats and insects and who knows what else for decades--lots of bat guano, foul smells, rotting wood.

But, it did have its pleasures and satisfactions.  Along the way, I found a label on one of the shakes--including the excellent message:

"It is not intended that Creo-dipt shingles give a uniform appearance.  Uniformity is monotonous. A little irregularity is artistic." There you have it.

As I've learned from watching the work around me, everything takes a long time, and as I am assuredly slower than most, it took the better part of the day for me to finish.  The nail removal adds time and I did have to pile all the debris away from the house. It was after six, almost dark, and beginning to sprinkle a bit when I finished, but the house looked great.  The dark brown wood makes me think I might be happy with brown siding instead dark grayish blue I had chosen.  I will have to drive around a bit and see if I spot a brown I like.

It's possible I just like what's in front of my eyes at any given moment.   Right now the brown looks more natural--but brown siding might look like fake doubled.  We shall see.

Journal: October 21st. Floorboards, sanded and not.

We decided that all our efforts at sanding the screened in porch were fairly worthless.   One more do-it-yourself effort hits the dust.  The explanation is that layers of  paint have been sinking into that floor for centuries.  Too much for our poor scraping abilities to handle.  Instead, I hired Walter, who came with both his father and son.  Armed with appropriate machines, the restored the boards to their original milled state.


I am tempted to just polyurethane it, but it will in fact be painted like the rest of the porch.  It does look quite splendid.

Of course, this sanding inspired me with hope for the restoration of the wide black flooring in the hallway and the two parlors (which will eventually become kitchen, dining/sitting rooms).  Unfortunately Walter thinks those old planks will not take well to a serious sanding.  They might just have to be buffed and re-painted, but that project is far in the future.  

Journal: October 17. Sam visits and scrapes.

The cold is continuing.  Sam has arrived for the day.  I picked him up in Sparta at 11am. 

We had big plans for garden preparation and assorted tasks, and he did do some reconnaissance work in the garden. 

But it was more a day of rest.  We did spend a few hours scraping, but I am slowly beginning to think that is a fool's project.  At the rate we remove the many layers of old paint, it would take months to get the floor ready to paint.

Instead, we walked around the lake.  The leaves are providing a fine fall display.  

And, of course, we did have two fine meals--a breakfast of eggs poached in tomato sauce, topped with feta and a dinner of chicken with couscous and a north african vegetable stew--also acorn squash with a cilantro-lime-garlic vinaigrette.

Journal: October 16. Heat on the way.

Oh--summer is indeed over.  Cold and blustery weather continues.   The dirth of heat is now painfully apparent.   Today, Karl, the plumber returned to finish installing the oil tank.     Lots of jack-hammer work--as he has to drill through many inches of concrete ceiling.  He tells me that he thinks this might have been built as a bomb shelter--but since my parents owned the house during most of World War II, I tell him that is highly unlikely.    

Once I get oil delivered,  I will have heat and will also be almost an environmental criminal--with a GIGANTIC carbon footprint--but I am told it's very difficult to retrofit an old house like this.  I could (and probably will)supplement the oil with a wood stove, but at this point, it is impossible for me to bypass the oil.    Nonetheless, concerned that I might never have any real heat, I finally  unpacked the electric heater I bought last week.  I have it  plugged in next to me like a little puppy dog. Uh--oh I was thnking it was getting warmer in here, but just noticed that i had the thermostat turned to zero--so there is no heat at all. Viva the placebo effect.

Journal: October 15th. George working on columns. Brief appearance of oil tank.

Karl the plumber came today to install oil tank.  The old tank, removed from beneath the decaying porch, was never installed properly.  The plan is to put the new tank (holds 330 gallons) in the pump room next to the kitchen.  This means a hole has to be drilled through the concrete roof, and who knows what else.  Karl's son is with him.  They tell me there will be lots of noise, but in fact, they soon disappear.  I assume there was some sort of emergency.

When George arrives in the afternoon, they are gone.  The tank is not installed and we assume they were called away for some plumbing emergency.

I am a bit out of it due to assorted painkillers but continue my scraping, while George continues working on the porch columns.

Here's a close-up of the column detail. 

Journal: October 14. Naomi's tooth pulled, John recovering from pulled back, George working on porch.

Scraping.  scraping.  scraping.  Instructions from the dentist to take it easy--and not do strenuous exercise.  Is scraping strenuous? 

I don't think so.  It is perhaps mindless, but perhaps I am so dreadful because I am not thinking about it enough.

That's probably not the case.  George, who does know about such things, says that paint that has been sitting as long as these many coats is almost impossible to remove.

Karen A. has suggested using a heat machine (like a hair dryer, but hotter).  George seems to think nothing can make this job any easier.  He laughed at my most recent purchase of a soy based paint remover.

             Triptych of porch floor in very ragged state

In fact, the stripper, while not breath-taking, did make it a bit easier. Some paint did leave the floor.  Eventually results will be posted--but for now--floor scraping with not that much to show.

Journal: October 10th. Giant Buddha. From Peekskill to Eastchester. Trader Joe's.

Woke up in Peekskill apartment of Gilda and Joan.  Spectacular autumn views of Hudson and beyond.  No major plans for the day so was delighted when Gilda suggested we go to see the Giant Buddha at the Chuang Yen Monastery in Kent, New York.
Here's the website:  http://www.baus.org/en/?cat=18

This Buddha is the largest indoor Buddha in the western hemisphere--or perhaps it is the largest indoor Buddha in the world. In any case, it is enormous and imposing, surrounded by 10,000 little tiny Buddhas.

We had a fine time wandering about the Temple and the grounds.  There is a lovely little lake-Seven Jewel Lake, with a boardwalk and many pagodas as well as a cafeteria, which at lunch appropriate hours serves inexpensive buffet meals, an even bigger bargain if you provide your own plate and utensils.  As we arrived without plates or appetites, we didn't partake, but were happy that option was available. 

In the gift shop, stuffed with earrings and trinkets of many lands and persuasions--Buddhist, Chinese, Indian, etc.,  Gilda bought me a good luck charm, guaranteed to help with all renovation efforts and family happiness. 

We passed up visiting Cold Spring, which is supposed to be a lovely town, and after dropping Gilda off, I drove on to visit Brian, Heather, Grace and Gabriel in Eastchester.  My goodness, that navigator on my phone worked hard leading me through many Parkways--the Merritt, the Sprain, the Taconic and the Hutchinson--without a hitch.
Had an excellent visit which included a trip to Trader Joe's, the collective cooking a North African chicken dish and an unexpected sleepover, as it felt too late for me to head back to New Jersey.  I think a fine time was had by all.

Journal: October 8th. Paper sorting, erands and more scraping

Friday.   Another day of many chores.  John is working on wall, George and Johnny deliberating over various porch questions.

I spent hours scraping.  Results scarcely visible.

I did finally sort through piles of random papers, letters and photographs.  Sort is perhaps the wrong word.  I looked through them, marveled and oohed and aahed and then stuffed them into two plastic boxes which are now neatly stowed on closet shelves. I am calling this progress.  
                                                                       Headed out on a round of errands.  Ideal Farms for veggies, post office, and then back to scraping.  

Journal: October 7. Second wall on its way. The return of Trooper Joe.

The day started gray and drizzly.  The skies soon cleared enough for me to hang my clothes out to dry, but the temperature never rose as high as promised.  I haven't yet unpacked the heater, but much talk and pondering about heat.  Carl, the plumber, will come some time next week to install the new oil tank.  I've placed a call to John Wallis, whom I hope will inspect the boiler before that occurs.

My thoughts are turning again to wood stoves.  John Meyer, the wall builder (he is making great progress on the second of the three retaining walls on the side of the house), told me that he has put in a wood burning stove which he's quite pleased with.  It works well and has reduced his oil consumption.

Late in the afternoon, Joe, the state trooper and friend of Scott, stopped by to ask if it was alright if he walked around a bit to stake out a good spot for the opening of duck hunting season on Saturday.  As we chatted, noting the pile of wood on the front lawn, he asked if I needed a wood stuff.   He highly recommended his own stove vendor, who supplies both used and new stoves, so perhaps that too will happen in the coming days.

Journal: October 6th. Rain ceases. Front yard cleaned.

It wasn't quite as cold today, but I am going to go ahead and get some kind of space heater.  

This morning, John, the grader, arrived before eight.  The ground was too muddy for wall building, so instead he was going to make a dump run.  Taking advantage of the sun, I'd showered (the house wasn't exactly cozy, but it was easy to imagine it warmer, so a shower wasn't quite so intimidating as it had been yesterday.  After my coffe, I joined John in his truck loading activity. These jobs all take so long.  Labor really is laborious.  No way to load the truck but to pick up all those bits of wood and insulation,carry them to the truck and toss them in. Over and over and over again.

 

It took a while, but we loaded up everything.  I'd thought George might have wanted some of the cleaner wood, and sure enough, as he drove up, he instantly lamented that the wood he'd hoped to use for kindling was now deep in the truck. I'd even thrown in some of the black plastic sheeting that I'd been steadily removing from the garden.  Off to the dump with all of it.  Praise be.

Oh, so very much to do.  It's true that in all my house planning, I really never got much beyond bat removal--all this grading, cleaning, and wall building was never on my agenda--and yet, that is the work of the summer.
With the front yard clean, time to once again think about space heaters.  I thought I'd do some very serious shopping and stop all stores in the neighborhood. I left the house with a huge plastic bag of sheets to donate in one of the many donation boxes that appear in most of the stores parking lots.  That accomplished, I went to Lowe's.  I thought this would be the first of many spots, but they were selling  an oil-filled radiator for $40.00.  George had said these were good, the sales person was more than enthusiastic--warning me to stay away from all higher priced models, so buy it, I did.

Now I have a space heater.  It is however a bit warmer tonight and as  I'm not that eager to develop a heater habit,  it is still sitting snugly in its box.   It might not be ready to show off its heating capabilities, but it is ready for its close-up.

Journal: October 5. Cold and Gray and Rainy.

The rains continue.   The house is chilly, but I have finally closed all windows.  I do seem to have a high tolerance for a nippy interior, but have begun to look on-line for ratings of electric space heaters.  It looks like most people have never met a space heater they like.  Both George and John said they do some good, but it's been such a gray, cold and foreboding day, I couldn't bear to head out (a little loony, since the house is so chilly, stores would be warmer and brighter, but couldn't make the leap and  home I stayed.   I'm between oil tanks  (the old one was in an untenable position under the porch, and Carl, the plumber, has not showed up with his estimate for a new one)  and haven't figured out what to do about wood stoves, so for the moment I am dwelling in an illusory zone of hoping that warm weather will return and it won't get really cold here until I'm en route to California.  

The geese are mirroring my confusion.  For years now they have not left for the south, but have lingered on golf courses and suburban lawns into the winter.  Many are loitering on our lake--they head off, but keep returning with a great honking and whirring of wings.

Journal: October 4th. Rain. Rain. Mud and Rain.

A dark and rainy day.  As most excellent parking place on Thompson and Spring was good only until 11, it made no sense to linger in the city.
I had some large screen movie cravings (induced both by the proximity of so many new york city theaters and the sadness of the closing of newton theater) and decided that if traffic co-operated, I could make a 10:30 am showing of The Social Network at the Rockaway Mall.  So many worlds so near, and yet so far.  I'd never been to the movies there--my new jersey movie memories are rooted in the great movie palaces of journal square--the Loew's and  the Stanley and then there is that tiny Newton theater--but needless to say, the AMC 16 at Rockaway Mall could easily be in the San Fernando Valley.

So many bonuses--all showings before noon are $6.00, for which you get seated in an enormous stadium style theater with four other people.  The movie crackled from start to finish, and after a stop for a "Hollywood Burger" at the Jefferson Diner just down the road, I returned home to a cold and damp house on Hampton Lane.

John, the landscaper, was just leaving as I arrived.  He'd begun the second wall, but the rains were heavier, and he was calling it quits.  It was clear that he was going to need another pallet of stone, so before settling in, I stopped at the stone yard and placed my order for pallet #3 of rattled weathered blue stone.   

Journal: September 27. Rain. Geese landing on lake.

Scores of barely visible geese in rain

Oh the noise of those geese.  Scores of them are arriving nightly.  I've been told that the geese migration (due to climate and habitat changes) is now from northern to southern Sussex County, but wherever they are going, they do seem to spend the night on what I continue to think of as "my" lake, even if it does officially now belong to the state of New Jersey.

Johnny, the grader was here for a very few minutes this morning (before the rains began).  He drew some orange and white chalk lines in the dirt.  I was heading out to offer him coffee, but by the time I got there, the rains had started and he was gone.  It rained all day.  I did some minimal sorting, but it was a basically a day of no house progress and honking aimless geese.

The day was so long and gray, it seemed a good evening to go the little movie theater in Newton.    To my dismay, discovered that the theater, which was built in 1924, and was in operation not that long ago, seems to have gone the way of small town movie theaters in America.  I didn't think it was a good sign that all seats were always $7.00, but did appreciate that it was still there.  Alas, I just learned that it closed for good last Friday.   According to an article in the New Jersey Herald, there are no plans to re-open it and the site is being considered for a bank.

Journal: September 26. Hunter in a tree.

My old friend Elaine (we went to elementary and high school together--drove out from North Bergen.  She arrived around two--we repeated the yummy meal we'd eaten the day before (plenty of left-overs as you might have noted)--and then headed out for the hyper-humus walk.  I assured her we would not repeat the errors of the day before (she had been appropriately horrified at the tale of your mud immersion)  and also added that it was an especially good day to walk, as there is no hunting on Sundays.

Cleaning and laundering and sortings of blankets and laundry this morning (oh--I am the slowest in the world at these tasks--well--not slow folding--but it does take me weeks to get to it).  These minimal efforts at home improvement ended when Elaine arrived around 2pm.  She had been here the very first day I was sleeping here--when all was chaos and filth, so I was eager to show off all progress.  We had a grand feast of yesterday's left-overs--augmented by wine that she had brought (felt very lady's lunch in the country)--then headed out for a reprise of the Hyper Humus walk.  I assured her we would steer clear of off-trail adventures as I had no interest in repeating the muddy adventures of yesterday.  I was in the middle of an attempt at an explanation of my increasing tolerance for the many hunters who now populate my world when Elaine, glancing upwards, gasped.   Following her gaze to the upper branches of a nearby tree, I saw a man in full camouflage.   "What are you doing?"  I asked, with what I hope was only a slight tremor in my voice.  He replied that he was hunting. I had been told that hunting was not permitted on Sunday.    It turns out that since there are so many deer, they have lifted the no-Sunday hunting regulation.   I can't exactly recall our conversation--I told him we'd probably be walking back this way.  He replied that he'd been sitting in his tree since two (it was then about four)--and implying that our prescence would have scared off any deer for hours, he added that we had completely ruined his day.  This is not something you like to hear from a man with a bow and arrow sitting in a tree above you.  We apologized, and headed off.  Rather than return that way, we decided we'd be better off taking the longer, less scenic route home along the highway.  As we crossed the dam, we got a very close view of some hyper humus swans, evoking the calm, I've felt on this route prior to this very dramatic weekend.  I do believe that I was  more shaken by that encounter than I was by yesterdays wandering in the mud.

Journal: September 25. Yoga on the mountain. Sinking in the swamp

Very Busy Day.  No work on house--but many adventures.

Woke up early to drive to High Point State Park--the highest point in New Jersey-where I'd signed up for yoga class to salute the equinox.  I had a vague memory of going there once many years ago--perhaps when I was learning to drive--it's little over a half hour north, almost at Port Jervis--but much higher elevation, with spectacular views across the Delaware into Pennsylvania.  The class was fine--on the glassed in veranda of  an old stone lodge--now the park's interpretive center--the teacher was euphoric about the views, the proximity to real trees as we took tree pose, etc.

The class was followed a walk (with many fewer participants) through the forest and to the site of the old hotel that once sat atop the mountain (demolished, according to a placard, after much controversy in 1995).  I was excited to discover  that the park was designed by Olmsted--though later learned it was the firm of the Olmsted sons that actually did the work--still a surprise--and quite lovely--with its mix of man-made lakes, rocky cliffs, grand vistas and leaves drifting from the rusty yellowish, reddish trees.

Quick drive home to make lunch for Debbie, who was planning to arrive around one.  Gazpacho, chicken salad, grilled asparagus, zucchini, eggplant and onions.  She called around 1:30--she was with David and they were lost--their gps got hampton lane mixed up with something else--I did a little counseling--they arrived starving around 2--got to show off the house--porch floor is all there--just needs another coat of paint, wall is built.  Years ago, when taking her daughter Sarah to ride in the Sussex County Horse Show, she'd stopped by the house (no-one was there), so she'd gotten a sense of the complete deterioration, and could now marvel at ongoing improvements including the newly installed porch floor.

Marveling continued over  that splendid lunch in the backyard, and then, as David settled in with a fat volume of Solzhenitsyn's memoirs, Debby and I headed out for a hyper humus hike. 

The old hyper humus property (where they dug out black earth through my childhood) now belongs to the state--the eighty acres we sold to Green Acres are officially connected to it.    There are more walking paths than there were in days gone by--but, despite its designation as a wildlife management area, we never see more than two or three other people.  It remains pretty wild.    We walked across the dam and onto the Sussex Branch Trail and were about to turn back at my usual turning point (a rusting bridge across a canal that I'd always assumed led to nowhere) when we decided to see if we could find another route back.  I knew a path that once existed had been long overgrown, but in recent weeks, new trails had been cut by hunters, and it was slightly possible that the exact route we wanted might have been opened.  The worst that could happen, I told Debby, was that there we would find ourselves blocked by swamp and would have to turn around.  So--in we plunged.  We bravely bushwhacked our way through the reeds--much easier than brambles, balanced on logs to cross little canals and were doing quite well even as we longed for easier going. 

And then it looked like we'd found it.  Look, here's a path, Debbie exclaimed, stepping happily onto what looked like a gray gravel trail.  But the trail was not a trail at all, it was most likely, a semi-dried canal, and in a nanno-second Debbie was up to her waist in muck and sinking fast.

Luckily, my stronger-than-expected yoga arms and my desires to be a good hostess (first hostess rule, i imagine, is to not lose any visitors in quicksand), I managed to pull Debbie out, and she then of course, had to work with me to extricate my left leg which was on its own journey to the center of the earth.  But we made it.  We were well muddied, but managed to find our way back to the rusting bridge that we'd crossed not that long before, and made it back to the house well before dark.

We cleaned up a bit, had a quick snack of smoked oysters and tea before Debby and David headed off on their long drive back to Boston. 

Journal: September 24. Stone Wall.

Not so easy to build a stone wall.  Shopping for stones, I was assured by Flo, the proprietress of Polowy's Stone Suppliers, Inc., my neighborhood stone venders, that it would not be difficult for me to build a classic stone wall--the kind that line the roadsides in New England--flat rocks miraculously resting atop each other for centuries.  Good fences make good neighbors and all that.  In my assorted fantasies of restoring the house, I've imagined myself hamering  and painting, digging and planting, etc.  I hadn't thought about building stone walls, but the truth is aside from massive cleaning efforts, a little weeding and lawn mowing, and a bit of labor intensive but not terribly successful scraping of layers of paint from the screened in porch floor, most of the work around here has been done by the pros.  I did like the idea of building those walls--like a jigsaw puzzle they told me. 

Once the stones were delivered, and John had pushed around enough dirt with his backhoe to start building, despite my misgivings about my wall building abilities,  I put on my work gloves and joined him.  In about two seconds I realized a stone wall, at least a short sloping wall like this, is really built by one person.  And in this case the person wasn't going to be me.

Journal: September 20th. Back to New Jersey. Stone Delivery.

Thanks to the gift of the extra three hours of parking, didn't rush out first thing Monday morning, but did get a call from George en route.

He was wondering about the stone--seems its just about time to put up the wall--so before pulling into the house, I stopped at Polowy's and ordered two palettes of weathered rattle blue stone which was delivered a few hours later.

 One advantage of having the stone yard minutes away--free delivery.  We'll probably need more palettes--but we'll order them when necessary.

No work on the wall today--despite my grand intentions--it is clear that I will be fairly useless in wall-building--it's appealing because (I'm gleaning this from my internet researches) it's slow and contemplative, but I suspect if I embarked on this project, the slowness would be legendary.  It could take years--and I do still have to sort and store the linens!

Journal: September 17th. Kol Nidre.

Kol Nidre tonight in the city.  Breakfast tomorrow night at Jackie's.  I'm carefully timing my departure to arrive on Wooster Street just as parking becomes legal at 6pm.  Services at 7.  Many chores before I leave.  Regular garbage day.  That is something that is now routine and manageable.  Buying more tomatoes for gazpacho.  I already have pounds more than necessary, but it is coming to the end of the tomato season so it seems appropriate to bring bushels into the city to distribute as new years gifts.

First a stop at the garlic farm--early Friday is the only time they actually have produce (or so it seems).  I get a pound of green beans and some garlic. 

Then another trip to Hilltop Greenhouse to pick another ten (or is it twenty?) pounds.  Ideal farms for red, yellow and green peppers.  Windy Brow for apples--because they are excellent and everyone is always pleased to have fresh country apples.

All this fruit and vegetable shopping feels extraordinarily productive--even more so, I'd imagine, as work is continuing on house.  Porch looks better every day.  Soon I'll buy stones for wall.  So much has been done, and most of the work is still ahead.  oy.  Sometimes I think it's a good thing I can barely imagine it.  If I really understood what I was in for, I'd probably have quit long ago.

Journal: September 16. Thinking about stone walls.

The porch ceiling is up and almost completely painted.  The vinyl siding and cedar shingles removed revealing original brown wood. George and the two Johnny's--carpenter/painter and grader/landscaper have been working for days, digging out dirt with the back hoe, removing layers of rotting soaked wood from the side of house, moving towards the goal of house which keeps water from seeping in.  A few missing bats have emerged from under the siding and in the eaves.  This is a good sign--it was chilling to think that after years of thousands of bats, there were none.   Maybe they didn't all die, but just decided to clear out to make room for me, leaving a few behind to keep an eye on things in case the house is abandoned once again.

Although the house is looking fairly battered, all these removals are an improvement, and it's becoming possible, even for me, scarcely a visionary in this department, to see that we are actually making progress.

All that digging and removing means we have to build a new retaining wall on the side of the house.  There is a stone supplier minutes from the house.  I drive over and wander about asking dopey questions, staring at rocks and learning about different kinds of stone walls.  Turns out the walls I most like--are just piles of rock--you buy palettes of stone and then just pile them up neatly (not that easily, George reminds me, but I think it is something I could do with help).  My choice at the moment is called Weathered Rattled Blue Stone.    We should be ready to build the wall next week.

Journal: September 14. Grading. Storage shopping. Solar Seminar. State Police

While George and the two Johnny's work on grading the hill on the side of the house, removing old siding, I head to the dentist for what I think is going to be my first root canal.  Turns out my tooth is still alive, so no root canal today (but other exciting possibilities like implants loom ahead).  Released from demands of dentistry, I buy apples at Windy Brow, go to the post office and library and spend a big chunk of the afternoon shopping for various storage systems for the piles of paper, linens, etc. that I've been swearing I'd sort and store.

Get home in time for a quick dinner, then off to a"seminar" at Home Depot, my new center of higher education, on solar installations.  Lots of data on financial incentives--here is a huge initial outlay (and I suspect the panels wouldn't work on my roof--I'd have to just have a great solar wall somewhere in the yard)--but the sales guy was quite convincing.  Aside from all the standard arguments (which he barely touched on) there is  a program in new jersey --well it is in many states, but also in new jersey called SREC--solar renewable energy certificates-I could be convinced, but it might not be the answer for such an old house.  We shall see.
 I'm thinking this might be  the kind of project my sister might be interested in a her house money into--and if the guy was speaking the truth--in addition to no electricity bills--we would be getting
cash money fr om the electric company--so we'd come out even?  Is that possible?

Back at home, I was cooking up a little chicken soup (it was after nine) and was interrupted by a knock on the door.  No-one comes to my house  unannounced at night.  Opening the door, clutching (quite inadvertently) my green ceramic paring knife, I faced two  State Policemen.   They wanted to know if I'd just come from Lousiiana.  I think that was what they said.  Turned out that another trooper had killed a deer with a bow and arrow near my house--and was out looking for his prey in the dark (when you use a bow and arrow--the deer might run off--then you have to find it--hunting ends one-half hour after sunset, but I guess you;re bound to pick up your fallen prey).  As he searched, he saw me returning from my late night at home depot--and thinking that the house was still "abandoned,"  and mistaking my california plates for louisiana ones he became  suspicious perhaps that I was a slow-moving Katrina refugee, he called his patrolling buddies.

Back hoe and trailer in repose

I sputtered about being a registered tax payer,  but eventually got my bearings and assured them that I did indeed live here. I would have thought the enormous  back hoe out front was good evidence that I was doing some maintenance and the house  was not abandoned, but in any case I  thanked them for their attentiveness to my property and bid them good night.  My neighbors at the end of the road then called--they'd been alarmed when the two patrol cars, lights blazing headed past their house-I assured them all was o.k., but despite the adrenalin rush, I am now feeling that I am in fact quite looked after, both by neighbors and the state.

Journal: September 13. Porch. Colors.

Oh dear--many days with no postings.  I'll have to start filling in the blanks.  Things are indeed moving along.  Today, George and Johnny got the tongue and groove ceiling up--lots of measuring and hammering.  The paint needs a second coat.  George asked if I wanted to be responsible for getting that done, i.e. did I want to get Sarah or Sam or another hapless visitor to put on the second coat.  As I spend a good part of my days in one house related chore or another, I'd like to think I could easily paint a porch ceiling or two.  But, truth is, I know I couldn't do it.   I couldn't think whom I might be able to recruit for a job that should be done in the next few days, especially as George pointed out painting a ceiling was harder than most painting jobs, we agreed Johnny would do it.

While they were putting up the ceiling, I'd first made another trip to the paint store with my trusty sample of Glacier Blue (color of siding)  and my little card of Constellation (color of ceiling) to choose a color for the porch floor.  Again, I can't tell if I'm bowing too quickly to tradition and history.  For years I'd imagined that if I ever was able to re-do the house, I would restore the white cedar shake shingles.  Instead I'm wrapping the house in gray blue plastic.  The porch floor and ceiling will however be wood--and I quite unwittingly chose colors very close to the colors they'd always been.  The ceiling is a much paler blue gray, that's true, but the color I picked out today for the floor, pike's peak gray is not all that different from the old porch.  So be it.

porch in process

This afternoon, while the ceiling was hammered into place, I tackled the piles of pictures and papers that have been waiting to be sorted for months.  Family pictures I'd never seen, my mother's canceled bankbooks,  (do bank books no longer exist?  I certainly don't have any), graduation programs, yellowed newspaper clippings of my father's "famous cases."
The case that I remember--the one where he saved a young man--an accomplice in a robbery that resulted in a murder--from the electric chair--was not represented.  As I recall (though this might be a muddled memory), the man's family gave us a set of Lionel Trains--the best toy we'd ever had--who knows where that ended up?  There were however articles from the Hudson Dispatch recounting my father's  successful challenge to keep the auto insurance rates of being raised a huge amount, as well as articles about the discovery of a cache of money discovered in a garage--there were many claimants--the money belonged to an imprisoned gambler--Joseph Moriarty--and had been found by the FBI.  My father was the lawyer for Hudson County--which claimed it was the rightful recipient.  The final decision was not saved--and I don't remember what happened.  In any case, I spent way too much time going through this stuff--and it still hasn't been filed away.
I did however successfully do a laundry--it was warm and sunny all day, but minutes after I took the well-dried clothes off the line, a sudden storm blew in--dark and ominous--thunder, hail--very dramatic.  I drove to my weekly yoga class at lafayette village in a huge downpour--but now all is clear and star filled with a slim crescent moon moving across the sky.

Journal: September 1. Driveway Graded. More Chimney Down.

Another hot day.  Cool in the house.  Except for some quick forays to talk with George, I stay inside until close to sunset.  It's cooled enough for me to do a little weeding both the big garden and the flower bed along the driveway.

Today is the first day of bird hunting season.  I'm awakened by gun shots at dawn--but no more for the rest of the day.  Not sure of the rules and regulations.  It's not easy wading through fish and game regulations, but it looks like most waterfowl are, as it happens, fair game.    For reasons known only to them, a flock of 13 Canada Geese have taken to our lake the past few days.  They arrive in the late afternoon--make a few grand circuits, settle down for the night in the shallow corner where the swans often rest and are gone in the morning.

They are of course now considered a nuisance bird and their hunting is encouraged.  We shall see how they do this season.

More exciting, I spotted a Northern Flicker previously known as a yellow-shafted Flicker (west of the rockies, it's counterpart was called a red-shafted Flicker--just like Hellman's and Best Foods Mayonnaise) but unlike the double named mayonnaise, both yellow and red-breasted Flickers have abandoned their colorful original names, going for the duller georgraphical appelation.

Nonetheless I think I will claim the sighting of a yellow shafted flicker as the main event of my house-bound day.

disappearing chimney

Journal: August 31. Cleaning and Digging

Taking advantage of Johnny's back hoe and truck, the first task of the day was addressing the garbage and debris, which despite my best efforts to cart out weekly remove my weekly township allotment of household garbage to the end of the road, has been steadily accumulating since my arrival.

The gathering of garbage

It didn't take long for the four of us (again, with the aid of the back hoe--particularly useful for toilet and roof tile removal) to completely clear the area.  Since I have to admit to having vague fears that I would turn into the kind of person whose yard was a collecting ground for all sorts of historic treaures, the whole thing is a great relief.  Even managed to get rid of the horrid blue bedroom rug that I'd successfully rolled up yesterday.  Halleluljah!

W

The Loading.

Who would have guessed this emptiness would be so rewarding?

The day was heating up.  I retreated downstairs and then in succession to the air-conditioned library where I returned piles of books on porches and siding, to the air-conditioned diner where I happily ate a deluxe hamburger and to the air-conditioned homegoods store where I bought another rag rug, a little bamboo mat for the bathroom and a springform cake pan.  Apples, pears and coffee from the un-air-conditioned Windy Brow farms, then home to find George, Chris and Johnny gone for the day.  Lots of work in my absence.  Plywood on Porch and due to grading, removal of grass in  back yard. No mowing for a while, but still, some absences are less appealing than others. 

No Grass in Backyard

More porch than not.

 

No Trace of Garbage Pile.

Journal: August 25. Rain, taxes and boeuf bourguignon.

Another very rainy day.  No work.  I took my mysterious tax forms to the Township Office.  All things were clarified (though I certainly cannot repeat the explanations) and I paid the property taxes for this quarter.

Lentini's farm stand, where I'd thought I might by a thing or two,  was closed--so straight to Weiss's.

I'd bought stew  meat at Ideal Farms last week.  Ideal Farms was the name of the dairy --consisting of many barns, many cows, many milkers, owned by Jacob Tanis, when I was growing up.  We used to play in the barn closest to us on Route 206.  Sometimes the milkers would let us milk the cows.  I think I remember when they began to introduce milking machines.

The barns and dairy cows are long gone, replaced by car dealers and gas stations.  But, one of the Tanis children runs a vegetable and food stand at Ross's Corner where they sell organic meat.  There was some switching, I think, from dairy to cattle raising--though comparatively, it is very small scale.  In any case, I couldn't resist buying meat there and given the first stew-ish weather of the summer, today was the perfect day to make it. I just needed a quick visit to Weiss's to buy vegetables and milk and other staples as Sam and Carrie will be coming tomorrow.

I'd thought I'd make a very simple stew, but inspired by my new Le Creuset, the bottle of good wine given by an appreciative fisherman,  and a little internet browsing, I'd switched gears, going so far as to buy pearl onions for a more or less proper boeuf bourguignon. I had a fine time chopping and sauteeing this gray afternoon.  It gets to rest tonight--- I'll finish it tomorrow.

The meat simmered, the rains stopped, and I walked around the lake.  Just before dusk, the sun appeared and the water reflected both swans and house.