"Enough about the chickens and the coyotes and the farming already! Don't you have some kids, or a move, or something else to talk about?"
I know you were thinking it...
As soon as our friend Cheryl read my Desperate Measures
post, she and her husband volunteered their holiday trailer for us to live in, as opposed to tenting throughout our transition. Thank you, Steve and Cheryl! What a blessing, especially as this has now turned into a very wet spring... tenting would not have been pleasant in the least!
Also, the trailer that we looked at and liked is the one we ended up buying. It had renters in it, so we needed to wait until the owner could give notice before arranging the move. Now we are waiting until the house mover has time to work it into his schedule.
The new trailer is twelve feet longer than this one, with a 12'x24' addition and a deck. It is in very nice condition, so the only thing we will do to it before we move in is paint it, something I hope to have finished in a week or less. (Any volunteer help with the painting would be gladly accepted!)
Our plan is to move our current trailer off a ways into the yard, gut it for anything usable, and burn it in the depths of winter. The local scrap yard will take the metal frame when all that is done.
We are partially moving into the holiday trailer for a few weeks, so some of our stuff is currently travelling around the yard. As far as the house, the plan is to only really pack up and move out the stuff that may break or fall down in the jostling that comes with moving the house. That pile will partially fit into our SeaCan, but mostly spend a week or so on pallettes under a tarp in the yard, is my guess. Then, once the painting is done, we will be moving into our new home, which will be sitting in the exact same location as our current one. (We like the view from here, and the amount of protection we get. Not to mention, all of our utilities are already laid in right to this spot.)
This is a weird move for me.We are halfway between several places, which is weird, but it is strange to only be packing some
of our stuff, and figuring out where to tuck it out of the way in the meantime. Also, the expected moving date keeps changing--right now, it looks like the 29th, but it may have to be pushed later. Then, there is the need to coordinate when our gas, power, water, septic, and internet will all be disconnected--and then reconnected
a few days later. Also, figuring out the logistics of moving the addition and the deck, which the house mover is not equipped to do. And finding a hitch for moving the trailers. Eep. No wonder I've been trying not to think about it. (I know that strategy won't work for much longer.)
The kids and I were sleeping in the holiday trailer starting on Sunday night--the same night that Jason left for a week-long business trip. And the same night, it so happens, that it started getting fairly chilly and wet. I am not experienced with holiday trailers, never having used one, but by Wednesday I decided I needed to turn on the furnace. I followed the instructions, but no heat resulted. Are we out of propane in there, or is it just not on? Not sure, but Jason will be home tonight, so he can help us figure it out.
Between the chill and the damp, the kids and I have all ended up with wicked colds, so by Thursday night, I decided that the mould inside and a good night's sleep was probably more desirable than the cold outside on hard, uncomfortable mattresses. Jason can help us haul out our own mattresses to use tomorrow--something I was not willing to attempt on my own, due to the mud and the wet everywhere.
So, half in, half out. Within the next week, we will likely be living exclusively out of the holiday trailer, so I can pack up in the house with less interference. Some dry weather for a few days later in the week would be good--if it is too wet, we can't move the trailers anywhere. Our driveway is pretty mushy with just the van travelling up and down it right now, let alone a truck and mobile home!
So, there you go... all you wanted to know, and way more than you needed to, about our moving adventure. I feel like we are in the Twilight Zone--halfway between houses, not really in either one. Also, the overcast skies have made it feel like twilight for most of the day lately--and the fact that we are only three days away from when the sun only sets for a few hours means that it is twilight for most of the night, too. (It would be, anyway, if it weren't so cloudy.)
And you know I can't leave the chickens out entirely
, not with the ongoing saga-of-the-moment. Last night, I confirmed that it is, indeed, coyotes that have been molesting my livestock. I confess to staying up extremely late, worrying and listening to what was going on outside through the open window. Around 1:30 a.m., a pack of coyotes surrounded our yard, their eerie cries echoing from the trees in several places. Koda barked valiantly, and after a few minutes, the howls faded into silence. (He even howled back at them a few times. Maybe he secretly wants to be a coyote.)
This morning I was relieved to see that there were no further molestations of either dogs or chickens, so I guess the strategy
worked. Yay! Those dogs are more than a money drain, after all! (I know they are cute, too, but that only counts for so much.)
Photos taken this afternoon:
A rare strain of oxheart tomato (I think Hungarian?) that I got this spring from my friend Doug, from whom I have bought most of my adult chickens. I haven't the heart to tell him yet that the breeding pair of rare French Crevacouers I bought from him have both been killed by coyotes. (I'm not over it myself, yet.)
A meadow full of dandelions gone to seed in the rain. Up close, their rain-bedraggled heads look pretty motley. From a distance, the effect is like a field of clouds. The field is like a reflection of the sky. Two weeks ago, the merry yellow faces were reflecting the sun. (Too bad I didn't take a picture of that.)
A broken lawnmower means our yard has been "doing its own thing" this spring. In places, this is actually quite lovely.
Like here--a natural vignette by our walkway that reminds me of an overgrown garden.