I have had zero luck trying to vend my organics at local venues, including craft fairs. I tried the farmer's market, but people here do not care about natural or organic and still want bling and blitz and artificial scents. So, I came up with an idea.
I am going to make camouflage natural soap with many organic ingredients and some liquid soap too. One camo soap will be brown, white, black and beige and the other white, dark pink and pink. They will smell great, the "boy's" brown camo scented with birch tar, clove, black pepper and nutmeg and the two different pink camos with two different blends of florals. That way, the folks will still see what they want, which is camouflage stuff, (and I for the life of me have no idea what the appeal is there) but they will be introduced to natural soap. I have made a lot of natural soap already, but have these camouflage soaps to make, then some bath salt that will follow that line with milk added for gentleness and smooth skin and the liquid soap. Some will be natural and unscented and some will have mica colour and strong absolutes (made from plants) for fragrance. Then hopefully the locals will give natural a try and be hooked. It is a plan at least. I am booked into two craft fairs, one this month on the 28th and the other December 10 and 11. I will be very busy trying to get the farm chores done on the two days so will have to make sure everyone has enough feed to last at least 2 days and just manage the water in between, no extras. I am interested in teaching the locals about the value of natural and organics in their lives and have not given up yet. Wish me luck! The farm means a lot to me. It was a dream, a desire of the heart, to share my life with animals, whom I love so dearly. Every sheep, every goat, the cows, even the bunnies and birds, each, are important and cherished. The little piggies make me smile with their silly antics and best of all, my fuzzy dogs with the big swishy tails simply make my life whole. I do not want to sell the farm, not yet.
So, I got a job, just like everyone else who has a small farm, for without the second income to pay for the farming costs, the farm cannot exist. That is so very contrary to the way it should be. My grandfather raised a family of 11 on his quarter section. They were not wealthy, but they had enough and once in awhile, he would even bring a bolt of satin back from town for the girls to sew beautiful blouses and dresses. Such a luxury must have been so very appreciated. We have no concept of that these days because we can go the store and buy anything we want. The job appeared promising at first, but then the numbers of days were not there and I began to think of new ways to earn some money. Today brought some hope though. I got up at 6 am to do the chores. It was still dark and I stumbled around trying to fill water bowls and fill the dishes with grain for the birds. There was no time to feed the sheep that had been separated for breeding, so I tossed some straw in. They will munch on that and at least have full bellies, though it has not much nutrition. Then I went to school and had a great day. The teachers were so welcoming at the high school in Elk Point, and the kids were generally respectful. The best part though, was that the teachers indicated there was a maternity leave coming up and a job opening will surface very soon. Maternity leave is a year in Alberta, with the possibility of returning part time as well. The wheels began to roll in my noggin. I do not want to teach full time and run the farm full time. I could do it, but it would not be easy, especially in winter when the days are short and the weather is so cold. But, I could do it for a year, that is, if they even would consider hiring me. I don't know what the policy is for hiring in Alberta, whether they seek young teachers or whether they happy with the wise experienced ones. The field that the teacher is in is Home Economics, and while I can sew anything and can also cook well enough, I have no formal training in teaching methodology for this. Maybe it would all depend on whether or not the administration liked me well enough and thought I could do the job to their satisfaction. Then I discovered another staff member is also pregnant and will be on maternity leave before April. Whoot whoot! Maybe, just maybe there would be some one who would want to share the job, say, each 2.5 days a week or 3 days one week and 2 the next. That would be ideal for me. There may be some hope in store after all. My fingers are crossed and there is tape on my mug so I do not open my mouth and spout off about things people do not want to hear. I am smiling and quiet, sort of, and thinking positive. Yes! Everywhere I go, everyone I speak with, it seems is in need. I met a neighbour at the post office today. She and her husband have a wonderful family and an acreage on the next range road over. She is a delightful person, as is her husband and their children are some of the most pleasant and well behaved young men I have met. But, to my surprise, they are not doing so well right now either. They are actually thinking of abandoning their business and shutting the doors to go live elsewhere. I don't recall which country he is from, but she is South African, I think, so moving long distances is not formidable to them, or moving at all. But these are two beautiful people whom would have been the last ones I would think were feeling the recession. And who isn't?
In the late afternoon, I called a young friend who sometimes is gracious enough to help me do tasks that are tough for one person. He came right away to wrangle and move the last 5 sheep, along with his mother, whom I met for the first time. She is from Newfoundland and lives in Elk Point. She and her husband, like so many east coasters, came for work in the oil patch. I do believe he is still employed there and so is this young man. They are fortunate, because thousands are not. Yes, thousands. The school classes have half the students they were projected for. Who knew the recession would result in a mass exodus of individuals and families? They had to leave or starve. Many went back home because, as they said, " If we are going to be unemployed, we might as well be sitting at home." The young man's mother absolutely hates this area, finds it terribly unfriendly and hostile even. What? So does my friend, who is from Ontario. Are the only people who love it here originally from here? Why is it the newcomers feel so abandoned and left out? That is not how it should be and in times of need, we are going to have to band together as one. In times of need...yes, as in now. Everyone is suffering. Many want to move, but the low price of real estate is prohibitive and they are sitting still, or trying to. Not everyone is as fortunate as my friend to be in the position to close the doors and go elsewhere until the economy changes. What if it doesn't change? What if this is the beginning of a long, long state of downfall? What if we suddenly have to rely on one another and learn to share and be nice? In times of need, people get desperate and they do crazy things that in a normal state of mind, they would likely never do. So, the thefts of vehicles and other large, valuable items is way up. People have stolen hay out of fields, with the price of hay over triple what it was just last year. Even livestock are being wrenched from their pastures and loaded on trailers in the dark of the night. Oh oh. Will it be so bad that we will have to fight to protect what is ours? Is it that way already? Lots of questions arise, but there are no answers. The question most are wondering now, is when the recession will end. Will it become a depression, not just a recession and how will they survive? City people are in the worst situations. They do not have land to grow gardens or keep small livestock and totally depend on the services for food. That is bad. Is it all doom and gloom? I guess we won't know the answers to any of these questions for a long time. Yes, Canada has made a drastic change in the government recently, however; large scale changes take time to implement, if there will be any. We are at the mercy of authorities now. At least most are. Those who cannot pay their utilities will be cold this winter. I surely hope that the area does not get to that state. Please put it in your mind to see how you can help change occur and help the economy recover. I am not sure any of us can do much, but I am trying to manage better here on my little farm. It will be a winter of eating meat and potatoes, because I grew plenty and the freezers are full of meat, but luxury items will have to wait. For those of you suffering due to job loss or a forced change, what will you do to cope? God bless all of us! Let's pray the Creator find a way to keep us all from freezing and have food on the table this winter. And if you do not pray, well, then at least put good thoughts out to the universe for those who have mouths to feed and no way to do it. Thank you. Thank you all. It is Sunday and I was up very late into the wee hours of the morning creating body butter and soap, so I slept in a bit and did not go outside to do chores until 1 pm. There was no big ruckus in the barnyard and everything appeared normal, that is until I saw one of the chickens by the wood pile. But, no, wait, that is not a chicken. It is a Snow Owl or Snowey Owl. What is he doing here in the middle of the afternoon in broad daylight? I approached him and he turned his head without turning his body, one eye half closed. He looked relaxed and totally unafraid of me. I was only about 10 feet away and still he did not move. I lifted my arms and looked right at him and he flew up and over the wood pile, but not more than another 10 feet from me. I ran at him with my arms up and he flew up to the top of the power pole, where he stayed the rest of the day, digesting the beautiful Rouen duck he just devoured half of.
This must have been the owl that was here in the winter, now back from his summer haunt and back at the Fat Ewe Farm to dine. That he showed absolutely no fear of me was uncanny. He watched me the rest of the day. The ravens, frantic with the invader in "their" territory flew at him, but not too close. He remained as he was, steadfast atop the post, watching me. In the winter he took about a dozen ducks, always a duck, usually a big drake, and ate the crop and neck, then left the rest. I had to research the critters that ate this way. The owl was top of the list and likely the only one, being a sky predator, that could easily escape the watchful eyes of the dogs. Most of the farm birds do fly, so an owl would not be something they would pay attention to. I looked up the symbolic meaning of an owl visitor, since he seemed to be watching me, and although he was busy eating my duck at first, he did not try to return to her. Owls are purported to bring news of death or change. The death is usually of a close loved one. My mother comes to mind first, since she is hanging by a thread these days. But then I read more, and the death could be a drastic change in the way of one's life, or work too. Interesting, since the palm reader I saw in White Rock said I would be doing a new job, one that I have never done before, that I would absolutely love. Hmmmm. So, I spent a good deal of time getting the birds into their respective pens and closing the doors. The way I discouraged the owl previously was not to let the birds out until 10 am, hoping that he will have fed long before that and not bother the farm. The plan worked and he gave up coming and then left for the summer. Back now, the birds will be on lockdown for a few days, then only let out after 10 am again and put to bed at dark. Hopefully the owl will not turn to the pot belly piglets or 3 remaining baby bunnies that I cannot catch, for his supper, but leave. He has a strong penchant for duck anyhow and has never taken a chicken. The chickens are locked up just in case. Magical visitor or not, and beautiful as he is, he is not welcome here. I told him so in not so many words. I hope he gets the message, because I do not like to have to lock up the birds all winter, and possibly part of the summer. On a good note, Karin Llama, whom I could not find anywhere yesterday, came home and was muching hay with the cows today. Hurray! All are accounted for and it is time to think about winding down for a long winter's sleep. Zzzzz. TMamma bunny had 5 babies for her first litter. I left Petey with her because I was not sure she was bred. She was with the other doe and the two of them dug a burrow under the ground for their babies. This is the way rabbits prefer their nests. The burrow goes quite far usually and then it goes up. I imagine the elevated section where she has her kits is higher in case of flooding. The reason I know how this looks is because last year I dug up a rabbit burrow and was very surprised at how far it went and then the raised portion. The doe then carries hay and straw down the hole to her nest and finally pulls her fur from her breast to line the nest for the babies. They are born in a nest much like a chicken nest, only lined with soft fluffy fur, but the babies are basically on top of one another. Again, this design keeps the young in their place and allows them to stay warm from the body heat of each other. The babies are born hairless and with their eyes closed. Mamma rabbit goes only once a day to feed the bunnies and she stands over the nest to allow them access to her teats. She is not in a hurry and will stay there a long time until the bunnies are no longer interested.
One of the does actually covered the entrance to her burrow every time she came back out and then dug it free when she went down to the kits. In the wild, this is the way the kits are protected from outside predators. The mother rabbit goes about her business during the day and will visit the kits towards evening when she feels it is safe. If she feels there is danger, she will run away and return much later, though she will come daily to nurse her babies. This little mamma had 5 babies. I have caught only one and there are four running around the barnyard. Fortunately, I have trained the dogs to leave them alone. That is really hard for Robbie, so he just follows them around and herds them from place to place, but her really wants to catch them instead. They are getting a little bolder and I have the fishing net ready to pounce on them with. For their own protection from hawks and owls, they are safer in the large hoop cage than running free. But then I noticed that the mamma rabbit was taking staw down to her burrow again. The little rabbits were busy running here and there, and would still visit mom at home, though she was no longer nursing them. Petey must have gotten her right before I took him out of there, because it sure seemed as though she was nest building again. Then I didn't see anything more, so figured it was a false alarm. But yesterday, I did see a little bunny. Today I spent some time at dusk lurking about the big cage. First one little bunny came up the rabbit hole, then 2 more, then 3 more and in total there were 9! Wow! They are eating and drinking on their own and trying to nurse, but Mamma bunny is not having anything to do with that. The moment I moved, they were gone in a flash back down the rabbit hole. I need to stay in the cage and then cover the hole before they go down it and catch them too. I know what they mean when they say multiply like rabbits. This Mamma has had 14 babies in a few months. It actually was 15 because I found a dead baby brought up from the burrow. It must have gotten cold and out of the nest and the Mamma brought it topside so as not to contaminate the den. Rabbits have to be one of the cutest animals. They are sweet and gentle and soft and cuddly, and they taste excellent too. Unfortunately, I cannot sell all the rabbits. The ones I have left over have gone into the freezer and as much as I love them, I also love them roasted, sigh. Do you like rabbit? The photos were taken on the phone late in the day, but you can see the little ones starting to emerge from their burrow. ,I have been thinking of my father quite a bit lately. He was my hero, a great man. I miss him every day. I wrote this little story from the details he disclosed to me. With Remembrance Day so close, I thought you might like it.
The Old Soldier By Eileen Wosnack He stared ahead with unseeing eyes, now cloudy from years of life. His wheelchair was all he had known for many decades, but today, he was young and free, a soldier of Canada going off to war to do his patriotic duty for his beloved country. Ah yes, sure, they were farm boys, not soldiers. Born and raised on a bare subsistence farm in the province of Alberta, he and his brothers and sisters rarely had enough to eat as children. Winters were terribly cold in the old wooden farmhouse, chinks patched with manure, straw and clay, and money was scarce. Those were the good days though, the days when Sunday afternoons were reserved for baseball and beer - when they could afford it. Most of the time as a young boy, bedtime found his stomach growling with hunger pangs, and his youthful body was fatigued after working hard on the farm all day, then working at the neighbour’s too, to bring home a little extra something to help feed the younger ones. Sure, shoes were hand me downs and threadbare pants were too short, or too large and patched, but suspenders could hold them up. He was remembering baking bread in a huge wooden trough, because his mother was not well and the little ones had to be fed. He was remembering the bad spring thaw too, not sure why that popped into his mind, but he let the memories come as they would. There was a lot of snow that winter and it was so very bitterly frozen over. Just thinking of those days sent an icy chill up his broken back. The Redwater River had swollen over its banks that spring, and the decrepit wooden plank bridge was submerged under freezing water. Large chunks of choppy ice flowed swiftly, crashing into one another as they chortled and burbled along the way. The river was not far from the farmhouse. Pete heard some desperate yelling while he was outside doing the morning chores and he ran down to the river. In those days he could run, and run faster than most boys his age of 14 or even 15. Pete could run, skinny as he was and always hungry, he was fast. He could swim, too. Living so close to the river gave the boys many opportunities to swim and dive and compete with one another as youthful males often do. So, with a bit of snow still on the ground and icy patches here and there, Pete ran down to the river to see what was wrong. There was old man Bodnar trying to get his ancient, tired horses across the bridge. The team and the man were under the icy water and the man’s hat flew off in the wicked wind. Pete dove in the turbulent river, retrieved the hat, pulled the team to shore and shook the old man’s hand. He remembered that today, Pete did. Old man Bodnar offered him a dollar, but Pete refused, knowing full well that the man could not afford a whole dollar or even a few cents, and he turned and waved as he ran back to the farmhouse wood stove to get warm. But today, he was in his wheelchair, legs long broken and withered away, tongue unable to form the words in his mind and his thoughts were dwelling on better days. That day the troops were dispatched overseas was a sad day for all. There was fierce pride in Pete’s heart, but who would look after his family? Yet, like the other boys, he knew his duty was the most important at that time, and he was sorely proud to serve his country, so onto that train he jumped and as it chuffed away, he waved to those left behind. Only, Pete never served in the war. On the way, just outside of New York harbor, the train was tragically derailed by sabotage. The wreck twisted, steel piercing the banks and taking bodies with it, crumpling trees and turning the steel rails as though they were pretzel dough. There were screams and yells, violent sobbing, and lights flashing, and then the pain came. His left leg was caught in some of the twisted metal of the steel rail car and he was horribly trapped. There was a sickening smell of diesel fuel and steam, mixed with the dying screams of the men and women bound to serve their Canada. Pete thought he should help them, but he was pinioned down and the weight of the car was on his leg. Suddenly the train car moved. Then all went black. Pete woke up the next day, or maybe a few days later, he could not recall exactly, with a terrible agonizing pain in his leg. His entire body ached and was covered with cuts, abrasions and bruises. He was lying on his back on clean white sheets in a bed somewhere. A woman was approaching him. She was dressed in white, a crisp, stark uniform with a little white cap on her head and it occurred to him that the cap was too small and he wondered what kept it in place. She spoke to him, but he did not understand her. She had been giving him morphine and then a man came in. He made sure Pete was awake and understood what he had to say. “Young man, your leg is rotting with gangrene and we have to amputate it to save your life.” Pete quickly had years of running races, swimming, ploughing the fields and walking down the aisle with his wife rush through his mind’s eye and he shook his head and muttered an emphatic, “NO!”. “I hate to lose young men like you, but it is your choice,” quipped the doctor and with that he turned on his heel and left with the nurse wearing the cap that was too small following behind him, desperately trying to plead with him about something. Then Pete slept. Pete fought his own war then, a raging battle for his life and also did mortal combat with feelings of guilt for disappointing his country and the folks at home who knew he left to protect his country. He repeatedly chastised himself for not being more aware, for not being faster, for not being able to heal this leg and yet he fought those internal battles, too. The gangrene was terribly excruciating and finally, he refused medicine and did the most remarkable thing. He healed himself. Pete said he would walk out of the hospital on two legs. Six months later he did. There was no one there to cheer him on, no one to visit him while he was in the infirmary and to encourage him to recover. He had himself to rely on, only himself. The agony he suffered due to the wrenching of the steel and twisting of the metal through his leg was suffered alone, in silence, with stern determination that he would still run one day, that he would walk his bride down the aisle and that his children would know him as a normal father with two legs. The leg was one thing. The battle with his emotions for not having participated in the war and fulfilling his duty, in the real war, was another. That seemed like yesterday. He couldn’t recall exactly when he arrived where he was or how long he had been there. Pete gazed down at his legs, both of them, and remembered that instead. He served his country, sure. He was ready to give his life, but somehow fate grabbed him and knocked him flat, yet gave him all the pain and discomfort that any veteran suffered. At least, he was thinking, that he did not have to face a man and kill him, because he was on the other side of a trench. He was the lucky one, really. Pete stepped cautiously and proudly onto the ramp at the train station at home on two legs, a soldier with an honourable discharge, six months after departing for the front. And oh, that leg healed just fine, or so he told everyone. Admittedly, he did limp and at times, the terrible pain was there again, out of nowhere, until he steeled his mind and sent it away. One thing for certain though, because he grew up in hard times, he learned never to complain. There was always someone less fortunate than he was. He never did complain because of the leg injury or anything else. He was a true soldier, after all. Pete, the old soldier died. There were hardly any people at his funeral. No one knew of his train wreck in the war, except his family and even then, he chose not to share the details. He did give his daughter some photos of the sabotage. The incredible twisted accident and the months of recovery, well, those memories died with Pete, a great man who was one incredible battle soldier for Canada. Dori, first left, Mattie in the middle and Ritchie on the right. They will produce some very fine Nubian cross babies. Dori and Mattie are milk goats and are halter trained and trained to milk. They were not well enough to breed last year, but after a year of respite and care, they are ready this year. The sheep and goat have been in rut for a month now. The male goats pee on themselves and the hormones they produce seem to attract the female goats. The girls rub up against those stinky boys and love every minute of it.
Little Stevie Wonder got to go visit the majority of the girls today. He is very young to breed and some of those goats are likely too large for him. The cashmere goat will be a first time mother and I will remove her to have the Angora buckling breed her and have Cashgora babies, babies with curly cashmere. They must be so cute. Stevie and Timmy, the Angora, oh and the Kiko, Ari, have not bred before, so it might take them a little time to figure it all out. They will stay with their group for 6 weeks, then I will switch the bucks around in case they have not done their jobs. Hopefully the girls will all be bred for delivery 5 months from now, which will be April, when our winter weather is finally saying goodbye. Ari is with Lily, just the two of them. They are both pure bred Kiko goats. Matty and Dori are with the new buck, Ritchie, who is supposed to be a Kalahari Red, though I don't know of anyone who has those around here. Ritchie and Lily had they hooves trimmed today, but I could not catch Ari. I plan to trim two or three animals per day until they are all done. The goats I did today were done standing up. I haltered them and tied them tight to the fence post, then body checked them to the fence and brought the foot back at the knee. It was more comfortable for me than flipping them and trimming while on the ground and I think it was more comfortable for the goats too. The goats were out of their pen twice today and headed straight for the grain that was out for the pigs and birds. It is a good thing I was home and caught them. Wilbur, the pot belly boar liberated them both times, but then I chained the gate so he could not dislodge it and all is well. Bonnie, the cashmere goat, is very bonded to the Nubians, who were sort of like surrogate mothers to her when she was little. She is calling for them all day, though they are happy with Ritchie in the pen far on the other side. Over the next week or two, the sheep will be divided for breeding too. I had to drag Lily the entire way across the barnyard to get her to the pen where she needed to be. She basically dug her four feet in and it was a drag the goat fest from there on. She weighs probably 125 pounds, so it was not a simple task dragging her all the way through the mud. I hope the sheep are more cooperative. I have an idea of how to separate them. I plan to feed them some grain in the corral set up in their pen and grab those I want and send them out of the coral. Then I will lure them with a bucket of grain to their new digs. They are not fed grain normally, but this year's hay is not up to par, so they will get a little to supplement them over the winter. I have not seen any keds, wingless biting flies that live on the sheep only, so far. In the dead of winter is when they multiply and become visible. I will treat them immediately with pour on Ivermectin this time. They ruined some of the fleeces last year and I don't want it to go that far again, now that I know what to do. The sheep will be checked for parasites (worms) and treated if necessary using the FAMACHA system, which looks at the bottom of the eyelid for anemia. Pale pink to white eyelids mean a high worm count, pink to red means that the sheep is managing its parasite load on its own. Tapeworms are the one thing that the FAMACHA test does not account for, so the droppings must be observed for tape segments, the telltale sign of the worms. Then the groups will be busy until the new year, when the rams can go back home and the ewes can again join one another preparing for their babies. At that time they will need good food and warm shelter so they can support their pregnancies the very best. And so, with the short days, there are events to be anticipated and little hooves to be watched for in the new year. Spring on the farm is such a wonderful time of the year with the new babies and the outpouring of emergent life everywhere. I am grateful for my farm and my stewardship of the animals. What a blessing they are to me. And so, the breeding begins. Eucalyptus and Rosemary 100% pure coconut soap with French Grey salt brine. This whole production of the coconut soaps were difficult to work with. The soap is not my favourite, though it is a good one for cleaning greasy, dirty hands. The batter set too quickly to put it nicely into the molds. I still have two molds in the freezer which have to come out shortly. Freezing helps the soap slide out of the mold. This is Solseife brine soap with a little natural colourant and Shamama attar from India. Attars are painstakingly made over a long time, with flowers, herbs and spices. Under the pink soap is Aleppo, laurel berry and olive oil, one of my absolute favourites. It is mild and beneficial for skin and I shampoo my hair with it too! The bright yellow is canola solsiefe (brine soap) with paprika infused oil. That is it for from scratch bar soaps. I have double this amount already boxed and curing. There is some melt and pour soap base left and I will do some of those with pretty colours and smells that are popular and some liquid soaps too. The shea will whipped with various oils for body butter and I will make some solid lotion bars and that is it. The big craft fair is the best attended in St. Paul usually and is November 28th this year. One good thing, soap is not a perishable commodity and improves with age, so if it doesn't all sell, it will only get better. Are you coming to the craft fair?
I guess the main reason I do not feel at home in the other house is that I resent the people who built it. They were university educated and had zero common sense. Today I was washing down the sidewalk to the house and cursing under my breath the whole time. Half the time I have to wonder what they were thinking or if they were thinking at all. Who, in the north or Alberta, would even try to hand build a sidewalk with hand placed cut rocks? What do you do in the winter time when there is ice to chip off and how does one even get the snow off the very uneven surface? Every time I shovel that walk I curse under my breath some more. Shiza! Who does that? So, I was washing down the sidewalk and I know that they had to tear out the steps of the other side, which likely sank down the slope as the house has fallen in that direction too. The fact that the cement they used was not the proper mix to act as a mortar contributes to the problem, because the whole thing is eroding and falling apart. So is the concrete in the garage, which I suspect they either poured themselves or cheaped out on the quality of concrete. The garage is horrible. The salt from the road contributes to the erosion of the cement, but a simple rubber matting would have solved that problem. Did they think of that? No. Every time I have to do anything in that house I get frustrated. It is hard to believe that two smart people would be so ignorant. They did choose to build much of the house themselves. They shouldn't have. Everything was wrong and it took me a year just to right those wrongs to bring the home to liveable standards. That was without renovating. The plumbing, wiring, and heating were incorrect. I could go into the messes I had to fix, but that will be best saved for another rant. No wonder I cannot live in that house. It is terribly designed without proper ventilation or opening windows that allow cross ventilation at least. They thought it was passive solar, but there is no heat sink area and the sun shines incessantly through the large window in the living room that has extremely high ceilings. Hmmm, I wonder where the heat goes. Even with the new fans I installed, the air is still stagnant. There is no furnace so the air does not move and the in floor heating in the basement was malfunctioning and had to be disconnected this fall. Another problem! There was a leak in the plumbing somewhere under the floor, so the plumber suspected. So, the lower floor currently has no heat and no air movement, except the Redwell infrared heaters that I put there(but are not on now), and which do function very well. They, those people, used to vent the dryer into the house! Shiza! Who does that? Seriously? in winter in Alberta? Gads. But today, after I cleaned the walkway and washed the stones, I realized that I will have to replace that walkway next year. It has deteriorated beyond repair. There was likely no proper foundation laid down, just concrete on the ground and the slabs have heaved too, not only the stones dislodged and the cement disintegrated. One has to wonder why some people do things at all if they cannot first research the methodology and do them right. Common sense? Missing? These were the front steps. The steps that are there now do not conform and are dangerous with one being too deep to step down safely and the next not being the same size step. I have blocked the stone steps off and just use the wooden stairs, which are properly built and I am sure not built by the homeowners who did nothing properly. |
Categories
All
AuthorFluffy writes daily about the experiences on the farm and with the bed and breakfast patrons. Archives
October 2020
|