Ten years ago in June, I first wrote about our little house in the country. Not a house yet, just a piece of beautiful property on which slumped an old house and a sturdy barn. That was the beginning of The Wood. So it’s an appropriate anniversary to bring our little house in the city onto these pages. It’s not a house, never will be, and not a condo either. At best, it’s an apartment in the old folks’ home. Park View at Terwilliger. We stumbled over what to call it, and Allison had the idea to simply name it 862, its address in the building. Maybe that will come to be. Right now, we just say Portland. As in, we’ll take that to “Portland.” Time will tell, right? The surprise is that we are coming to love it.

Why do we have an apartment in an old folks’ home? Because we’re old? Well, yes, that. No, we’re not moving! We’ve just found that, having sold the condo, we like a place to spend the night when we’re in town to see friends, for the symphony and play tickets. And, honestly, it’s an insurance policy. Farming really is a dangerous occupation and we just may need a place where we can land when the day comes . . .

Anyway, no photos to show you, but it’s on the 8th floor, has a nice view and a tiny deck. A living room, kitchen, dining space all in one, two bedrooms, two baths. The second bedroom is now an office space. We hired a designer, so have a sofa and a couple of chairs, a fake fireplace, and are beginning to give it some personal bits and pieces to make it seem homey. Well that sounds perfectly awful, and it isn’t. Honestly.

Daughter Jenny had planned to spend the weekend at the farm, so we suggested that she get as far as Portland on her way from Seattle, then stop at 862 to have a look, spend the night. She was surprised to find that it really was better than she’d expected! So that’s good.

Then we all caravanned to The Wood on Friday morning. We did have some chores for the weekend, but first Jenny wanted to make the acquaintance of the chickens:

“You can’t really pick them up,” we told her. Jenny didn’t listen, and here she is with crabby old Grace. Jenny and her brothers didn’t grow up on an actual farm, but we did live out in the country, and her roots are showing here. Speaking of country bumpkins, if you notice that her shirt appears to be inside out, it isn’t. Look at the buttons. I guess it’s a thing in Seattle to construct clothing seam side out?

Friday was apple picking day. We have three trees that are bearing credible, edible fruit, so we got busy and collected three baskets. There are Honey Crisps, another whose name Larry will have to go upstairs to find, and Granny Smiths. Here are the Grannys:

We left the apples in the wheelbarrow by the shed, and Jenny and her dad went out to attend to the bees:

Jenny was the photographer here, so no pix of her. Everyone safe, and on to Larry’s garden to harvest whatsoever there may be:

That thing is a cucumber. A very mature cucumber. Some exotic strain, and at first I was reluctant to try it. But it’s awesome. Crunchy, fresh-tasting, mostly flesh with a small center core of seeds. You do have to peel it, but one cucumber will practically feed the whole family.

In the evening we introduced Jenny to Jeremy Clarkson, Clarkson’s Farm. It’s so damn funny, and she’s a convert. Says she’ll watch the remainder of the series at home. Sidebar: Larry and I are working with designer Chris to see if we can retrofit the Wood with a TV set in the living room. Will make it easier for 3 people to watch Jeremy, if Chris can figure out a plan.

Next day we had to do something with the apples. First choice of the resident parents, make mincemeat. Jenny was somehow born with the gene for sugar missing. Dessert? Meh. But she had to pitch in. We have a little machine which cores, peels, slices the apples, and Larry mans that on the assembly line. I curate the arriving slices, chop out the worm holes and etc., and feed them into the next machine. A doo-dah which levers the slices through a grid into small dice. Jenny mixes together the sugar, brandy, spices, and the whole recipe gets put into sterilized jars, heading for the freezer. Tiring, but so rewarding. For those of us who do like dessert. Me, for example. (Ah, Larry has just come downstairs with the information that our third apples are Gala.)

Out to dinner. We like a local restaurant, Castor, which serves up Cajun food, so Gumbo for two of us, shrimp and grits for me. (OMG. Next time you come and visit us, we’ll take you there.) The Beavers were playing at Reser Stadium, crazy crowd, but we made it back to Llewellyn before the game ended, and we climbed up to Larry’s office to watch another episode of Clarkson. I know. We’re simple people.

This morning, Jenny gathered herself and left for the trip back home to Seattle. Larry and I are left alone to manage the rest of all those apples. Just an observation. We worked ourselves through pickle season and tomato season, but another hand in the kitchen in apple season is a rare and fine thing! Come back soon, Jenny!

Okay, test passed. STILL AUGUST published. So I will try again to post all the lovely photos I tried to show you yesterday:

But first, a little note. I thought it would be fun to search back through the blog and see what was happening back in, say, August of 2020. Seems we were having chicken drama: Apparently Burnt Toast was attacking, and hurting, the others and we determined that she had to go. Yep. To the vet, where they “euthanized” her. Cost $243. We won’t make that mistake again. The present-day chickens will simply have to learn to get along.

Anyway, here are the latest photos of the downed trees:

This is an operation run by one of Allen’s friends from church. He and his dad have a business of moving these 13 thousand pound logs to the mills. Wow.

So while this has been the Year of the Ice Storm, it has also been the Year of the Tall Grasses. In the land immediately around the house, we are advised by Jarod from Fish and Wildlife in the cultivation of wild flowers. One such being Checker Mallow, whose nectar is particularly attractive to wild honey bees. It was a lush crop, and we would want leave it until the seeds for next year were set before mowing. Thus the grasses were at least waist high when Larry climbed on the tractor:

The second shot is a turkey vulture searching the newly mown field for dead mice or similar. She’s big, huh?

Larry has been afraid that he’ll have to trade up for a bigger tractor, as this little green guy keeps over-heating. Luckily, our neighbor Ted, who is a total gear-head, volunteered to have a look and will be coming over this afternoon to help Larry take the radiator apart to see if anything can be done. Fingers crossed!

As this is actually a “working farm,” we get a tax deferral on the property. Sweet. However, we have to prove that it is, in fact, a working farm, and for this, Larry suddenly needs a copy of the contract he and Ryan, Cow Guy, have for the grazing lease. Oh. It’s just a verbal agreement. It’s worked this way for 7 years, but now the gov needs a signed document. That’s okay, Ryan says, why don’t you stop by and we’ll write something up. And you can pick up another box of meat while you’re here.

See, we do get paid in cash, but also much beef as we want, whenever, as part of the deal. So from time to time, we pick up a box, mostly hamburger and stew meat, a few roasts, and keep it in the freezer. Larry came back from their meeting with a huge box, this time including quite a lot of lamb. Where’d that come from? Anyway, now we’ll have something to use with all the tomatoes we’ve been canning this year. Hamburger hot dish! Chili! (Wonder how I can work all the zucchini into the deal.)

I should report on the bees, having mentioned them earlier. They seem to be thriving, and if all goes well, we could harvest the honey next spring. Well, that was said lightly. I have no idea what harvesting the honey will look like. I’ll let you know.

Today is Larry’s birthday. To celebrate, he wants a loaf of pineapple zucchini bread, with a candle stuck in the middle to blow out for a wish. Yes, that is a little specific for his b-day cake — perhaps he heard me groaning when he brought in yet another specimen of the vegetable that will not stop?

So now I’ll try again to post this. Deep breath. Fingers crossed!

Oh what? You allow me to open my Word Press site? Shall I try again? Fooled me once? I wrote this whole blog yesterday when it was still, actually, August, and when I tried to publish, was informed that I was apparently “off-line.” Whereupon the entire thing vanished and I flung myself about in a fit of annoyance/anger/frustration.

Seems that Verizon, my web provider, may not recognize Word Press. So I’m going to try to publish this bit and see what happens. I am definitely on line. (I was definitely on line yesterday as well) IF it goes, I’ll get back to you with the real blog, complete with photos. Here goes: