On this day, in 1994, I met my husband. Bowling. At a singles club.
I'd seen an ad for The Single Gourmet in the paper. A singles club? Ugh! Knowing that thinking about it would stop me, I shut that part of my brain off and called. I paid $60 for the first three months' trial membership and $19.95 for the bowling evening. I didn't have a car, so the club owner picked me up.
Rick looked like a tweedy history professor. Long hair, jeans, tweed jacket, cotton shirt, beard, glasses. He was on my bowling team. He and one of the other guys spent much of the evening showing off. I wasn't impressed. After bowling they were all heading off to a singles bar. Really? I shut my brain off. "Just go," I told myself. I knew I had to get a ride quick. He was the first person I saw.
His Bonneville had all kinds of bells and lights and whistles. Still not impressed. The bar was a few miles away, to the west. He turned east out of the parking lot towards the outskirts of the city.... I kept an eye on the doors and mentally figured out the best way out of the car should a problem arise. We got talking about cycling and things turned out, well, fine.
When I asked him to marry me, four and a half weeks later, he said, "Sure. Why not?"
I started moving boxes in at the end of March.
Between then and July of 1995 life went a little like this:
I was teaching full-time in the city and at the end of June, I was heading into a full year's leave. I had already booked my summer holidays in British Columbia and had rented a friend's house on Cortes Island for two months starting in September. Plus, there was Music Camp in August. Neither of us suggested that I give this up.
The Farmer (Farmer Rick)... well, he had to plant in the spring and harvest in the fall. Neither of us suggest he give that up either.
Between the end of June and the beginning of November, I was on the Gravel Road for about three weeks. My boxes remained strewn about the house; however, as the house was in such a state of elegant unfinishedness there wasn't anywhere to put much.
We took our honeymoon in February in Jamaica. (no, you haven't missed anything: we did the honeymoon first when flights were cheap)
Through the winter, Farmer Rick became Builder Rick and he toiled away on the house. We had no kitchen to speak of. All the pots, pans and dishes languished on my old steel storage shelves in the vestibule. We ate every conceivably remotely healthy microwaveable dinner. I remember the excitement the day my 500 sq ft studio/office was officially ready! The renos? A whole other story.
Spring came, I planted a garden and Farmer Rick planted the farm and kept on with the house.
The wedding was set for July 22. The water in the kitchen taps came on on July 19.
We went all out for the wedding, which wasn't a 'real' wedding. We're not 'really' married. We wanted to have great food and great photography. We ditched all the pricey doodads and party favours, the showers and a host of other traditional stuff, because we thought they were a colossal waste.
Farmer Rick wore shorts and a brand new short sleeved white shirt from Mark's. I re-dyed my favourite white sandals, had my hair up and a summer dress, sewn by a friend. Guests brought their own lawn chair and sat in a circle on the front lawn. We were in the middle of a major heat wave, but we'd planned things so the sun would be behind some tall trees.
We had pastas and salads catered, guests boiled their own corn on the cob in a black pot over a fire, and a couple of friends offered to barbeque the chicken. I knew the Chocolate Mousse wedding cake with butter cream icing and raspberries (thanks Canadian Living) would be excellent because Doreen and I had baked a trial cake a few weeks earlier. Dad went out that morning to collect the fresh raspberries.
Friends tell us it was the most unique wedding they'd been to.
Eighteen years later, this is still pretty much how we roll. Things are pretty casual and easy going. A little atypical in many ways.
The renos on the house continue. We haven't been bowling.
Showing posts with label farmer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label farmer. Show all posts
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Friday, April 3, 2009
5 Reasons I Love Gravel Road Country
1. It's close and it's far.
We live about 10 minutes from the highway. I consider those 10 minutes, (turn right out of driveway, follow curve, take second left, right at the STOP sign onto the county highway, take ramp, increase speed) like a very long driveway. When I come home, once I get on the tar chip it feels like 'I'm home.' For city friends, it feels like they're heading into nowhere land. And yet, it takes 15 minutes to get to the villages, 45-60 minutess to get to the city. Sometimes the drive drives me crazy.
2. It's quiet and it's noisy.
We can hear the highway from our house, though it's white noise, and when the wind is very still or slightly from the north- almost nothing. Nighttime is a special time, after the birds have calmed down and the crickets or peepers step up. No matter how many birds and critters there are, and there are hundreds and hundreds of birds around, it feels very still and quiet. We might see a dozen vehicles pass by, unless it's planting or harvesting time. A traffice jam is when two cars pass each other going in opposite directions.
3. It's simple and it's complex.
A friend just spent 30 minutes or more trying to decide which lawn care service he wanted for this season. He had information from 4 or 5, all with just enough difference in their service to render the decision somewhat crazy-making. We don't do lawn services in the country. We roll, and then cut and cut and cut. Also crazy-making.
4. It's natural and it's... not
City friends have received quite the education on country living over the past 15 years that I've lived on the Gravel Road. Yes, it's a natural setting. No, country people aren't in better shape, by definition just because they inhale all the fresh air. Yes, we can grow a lot of our own food. No, many don't. They eat pizza and packaged food at least as much as 'normal' people. Yes, we live in farmland. No, we don't all know how all our food is grown. Yes, we live in the fresh air of the 'green' country. No, we're not all rabid environmentalists. Yes, we are close to the ground. No, we can't name all the weeds that grow in our environment, and no, farmers generally DON'T want to eat all the edible weeds they spend a lot of time trying to get rid of.
5. It's easy and it's hard.
Because the population is small ( 5,000 in our 'municipality', which includes two villages of about 1 000 people each, and the surrounding country), it's easy to get to know people and to get involved in the community. One of the first volunteer activities I did was to help with some craft setup at the local fall fair. I joined the community band and have been directing it for 12 years. I started a women's choir, have worked on a Cultural Arts Roundtable to create an online cultural map of the area. The Chambe of Commerce is a great way to work... it's so easy to get involved. It's easy to start something. You don't need to have an advanced degree, or 25 years' experience. You can experiment.
Because the population is small and because it's always the same group of people doing everything, we get a little overdone at times. Things can only get so big. You can only ask so many people so many times. Because the population is small, it's hard to be anonymous unless you do nothing at all. Sometimes it's just hard to get things going.
We live about 10 minutes from the highway. I consider those 10 minutes, (turn right out of driveway, follow curve, take second left, right at the STOP sign onto the county highway, take ramp, increase speed) like a very long driveway. When I come home, once I get on the tar chip it feels like 'I'm home.' For city friends, it feels like they're heading into nowhere land. And yet, it takes 15 minutes to get to the villages, 45-60 minutess to get to the city. Sometimes the drive drives me crazy.
2. It's quiet and it's noisy.
We can hear the highway from our house, though it's white noise, and when the wind is very still or slightly from the north- almost nothing. Nighttime is a special time, after the birds have calmed down and the crickets or peepers step up. No matter how many birds and critters there are, and there are hundreds and hundreds of birds around, it feels very still and quiet. We might see a dozen vehicles pass by, unless it's planting or harvesting time. A traffice jam is when two cars pass each other going in opposite directions.
3. It's simple and it's complex.
A friend just spent 30 minutes or more trying to decide which lawn care service he wanted for this season. He had information from 4 or 5, all with just enough difference in their service to render the decision somewhat crazy-making. We don't do lawn services in the country. We roll, and then cut and cut and cut. Also crazy-making.
4. It's natural and it's... not
City friends have received quite the education on country living over the past 15 years that I've lived on the Gravel Road. Yes, it's a natural setting. No, country people aren't in better shape, by definition just because they inhale all the fresh air. Yes, we can grow a lot of our own food. No, many don't. They eat pizza and packaged food at least as much as 'normal' people. Yes, we live in farmland. No, we don't all know how all our food is grown. Yes, we live in the fresh air of the 'green' country. No, we're not all rabid environmentalists. Yes, we are close to the ground. No, we can't name all the weeds that grow in our environment, and no, farmers generally DON'T want to eat all the edible weeds they spend a lot of time trying to get rid of.
5. It's easy and it's hard.
Because the population is small ( 5,000 in our 'municipality', which includes two villages of about 1 000 people each, and the surrounding country), it's easy to get to know people and to get involved in the community. One of the first volunteer activities I did was to help with some craft setup at the local fall fair. I joined the community band and have been directing it for 12 years. I started a women's choir, have worked on a Cultural Arts Roundtable to create an online cultural map of the area. The Chambe of Commerce is a great way to work... it's so easy to get involved. It's easy to start something. You don't need to have an advanced degree, or 25 years' experience. You can experiment.
Because the population is small and because it's always the same group of people doing everything, we get a little overdone at times. Things can only get so big. You can only ask so many people so many times. Because the population is small, it's hard to be anonymous unless you do nothing at all. Sometimes it's just hard to get things going.
Friday, March 20, 2009
I Miss My Greenhousey Thing
It's on days like this when I miss the contraption that The Farmer built a few years ago to support my gardening addiction. The 'Greenhouse' as we called it was, essentially that. A plastic structure built on a wooden frame, nailed into the side of the house, it had holes along the wall edges, but it also trapped the sun.
I had wooden benches in there, all my planting supplies, pots and trowels, containers and labels. It was also a convenient storage area for my bike and its carrier, and it served as a drop off/pick up place for when we weren't around.
Once I was ready to start seeds, I could muck about in there for ages, spilling dirt and playing with water to my heart's delight. Then the Greenhouse became, well, a greenhouse, keeping the new plants all cozy and warm. I could sit out there, even on bluster February days when the sun was out and stay warm. On a day like to day, I could open the studio door and let the warmth and the bird songs in. In the spring and summer I put my yard tools inside- even the wheelbarrow.
The cats LOVED the greenhouse. I'd find one or the other of them curled up in the Lee Valley dirt tray or in a bit pot, filled with dirt, that was waiting for plants or seeds. Sometimes, they'd just sit on the bench, head stretched up to the sun.
It's gone now, of course. It went as part of the brick removal Event.
I miss it. I have to walk the bike back to the barn. The plant containers are still in the shop. The cats sit on the doorsill, but when it's cold, it's cold. With all the rearrangements around here, I'm not quite sure how I'm going to manage the seeds and things. I'm sure it'll work out.
In the meantime.. I miss my Greenhouse.
I had wooden benches in there, all my planting supplies, pots and trowels, containers and labels. It was also a convenient storage area for my bike and its carrier, and it served as a drop off/pick up place for when we weren't around.
Once I was ready to start seeds, I could muck about in there for ages, spilling dirt and playing with water to my heart's delight. Then the Greenhouse became, well, a greenhouse, keeping the new plants all cozy and warm. I could sit out there, even on bluster February days when the sun was out and stay warm. On a day like to day, I could open the studio door and let the warmth and the bird songs in. In the spring and summer I put my yard tools inside- even the wheelbarrow.
The cats LOVED the greenhouse. I'd find one or the other of them curled up in the Lee Valley dirt tray or in a bit pot, filled with dirt, that was waiting for plants or seeds. Sometimes, they'd just sit on the bench, head stretched up to the sun.
It's gone now, of course. It went as part of the brick removal Event.
I miss it. I have to walk the bike back to the barn. The plant containers are still in the shop. The cats sit on the doorsill, but when it's cold, it's cold. With all the rearrangements around here, I'm not quite sure how I'm going to manage the seeds and things. I'm sure it'll work out.
In the meantime.. I miss my Greenhouse.
Friday, March 13, 2009
So, How is the House Coming Along?
The tar paper looked much better than the bricks- in September. On a sunny springish day in March, it's looking like worn out tar paper. There has been wind. There has been rain. There has been sun. Tar paper does not like any of these. The house is looking worse for the wear. Sheets of tar paper have been torn from the house and lie about the yard. The paper that remains is dog-eared, weather-worn, faded and pitiable.
On top of the shabby country chic look, the roof over the vestibule leaked during the most recent flood. There was a dry day between teeming rain and a snow storm. We had 5 guys on the roof, one weilding (professionally) a machete, and another who even knew how to roof, getting a new roof on before sundown. They finished the roof and beer at sunset. It snowed the next day and was cold enough that clean up was an unfathomable option. While most of the old shingles are piled in a tough old red grain trailer behind one of the tractors and sits in the backyard, the smaller pieces of debris remain on the ground. The snow has melted, the crocuses are sprung up among the brick bits and cement leftover from the brick removal process, which also did not get the clean up needed.
While one of the squirrels that was living in the attic that was shooed out and then returned, was dispatched, the second one was doing some renovations the other day, using a saw, I'm sure. I'm expecting a deck or something stylish to be built up there, with the amount of noise that's been leaking through to the bedroom. Rick says it's the an old squirrel. A friend asked how he knew it was an old squirrel... saggy skin? grey hair (it's a grey squirrel)? balding?
While there was the intent to finish over the winter, (and intent does count), the winter was abnormally cold and snowy. The ground was covered and there was not much hope of the walls getting done. Can't hold the farmer responsible for any of that.
It's about 6 weeks til the Farmer gets machinery in the ground.
Stay tuned. Any bets on for it getting done?
On top of the shabby country chic look, the roof over the vestibule leaked during the most recent flood. There was a dry day between teeming rain and a snow storm. We had 5 guys on the roof, one weilding (professionally) a machete, and another who even knew how to roof, getting a new roof on before sundown. They finished the roof and beer at sunset. It snowed the next day and was cold enough that clean up was an unfathomable option. While most of the old shingles are piled in a tough old red grain trailer behind one of the tractors and sits in the backyard, the smaller pieces of debris remain on the ground. The snow has melted, the crocuses are sprung up among the brick bits and cement leftover from the brick removal process, which also did not get the clean up needed.
While one of the squirrels that was living in the attic that was shooed out and then returned, was dispatched, the second one was doing some renovations the other day, using a saw, I'm sure. I'm expecting a deck or something stylish to be built up there, with the amount of noise that's been leaking through to the bedroom. Rick says it's the an old squirrel. A friend asked how he knew it was an old squirrel... saggy skin? grey hair (it's a grey squirrel)? balding?
While there was the intent to finish over the winter, (and intent does count), the winter was abnormally cold and snowy. The ground was covered and there was not much hope of the walls getting done. Can't hold the farmer responsible for any of that.
It's about 6 weeks til the Farmer gets machinery in the ground.
Stay tuned. Any bets on for it getting done?
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