• the un-quotidian (3.18.24)

    Once in a great while there are a few days, or even a whole week, that is so extraordinary there is no way it can be called “quotidian.” Last week was one of those weeks — so much goodness, so many big feelings, so much hard work. So today, in place of the quotidian post, here are some photos* of the days** leading up to the barn raising.

    *Many of the photo credits (I’m not even gonna try to figure out which ones) go to the children.
    **I already wrote a little about Monday here.

    ***

    TUESDAY
    While I pulled a pastry shift at Magpie, the rest of the family tore down the sides of the old barn, and the lumber company delivered the wood.

    When I got home, the new barn was fully exposed. It looked so small and clean, a feast for the eyes! I hadn’t realized how much I’d grown accustomed to staring at that eyesore. What a relief to have it gone.

    No one was outside, but inside they were as I’d found them on Monday, sitting around drinking coffee.

    Coffee finished, they went back outside and put up the first wall.

    I made a Manchego and obsessively scribbled lists, which was my (semi-futile) attempt to tamp down the rising panic.

    Also, the central vac died. Why do these crisis always happen at the most inopportune times?

    But then my husband (as if he didn’t already have enough to do) resurrected it.

    ***

    WEDNESDAY

    The second wall went up.

    The metal roofing got delivered.
    The guy came with a huge trailer which held a forming machine and a huge roll of gavalum. He set it to the correct measurement, and while the machine spat out sheet after sheet of roofing material, he stacked the strips in the yard.

    Cheese Group came for the afternoon.
    (We really need to come up with a name. “The Blesseds,” anyone?)

    The third wall: up.

    ***

    THURSDAY

    The fourth wall going up.

    Beam getting hoisted.

    Cousin Kenton arrived!

    Birdseye.

    Prepping the center post.

    And setting it.

    Cutting rafters …

    … incorrectly, oops.

    Sawdust squint.

    They were racing the dark and wouldn’t take a break, so I had to take installments of food to them.

    Now that is the appropriate face to make when handed a thick slice of fresh sourdough bread.

    Balanced.

    Moon’s out!

    Smoothies.

    Almost ready.

    The final push.

    Good night!

    To be continued….

    This same time, years previous: soup and bread, any-cut-of-beef pot roast magic, the milking parlor, the quotidian (3.16.20), the quotidian (3.18.20), fresh ginger cookies, good writing, all things Irish, the last weekend, smiling for dimples, warmth, cornmeal blueberry scones.

  • two things

    Tomorrow’s the big day and I’ve been baking all afternoon. You wanna know the funny part?

    I didn’t even realize it was pie day!

    ***

    My cheese group met at my house yesterday.

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    I wrote about the event for Splashed!, my YouTube channel’s newsletter. (I’ve been meaning to catch y’all up to speed here, but I keep getting distracted by some sort of construction project that appears to have taken over our lives…) The letter goes out every Friday afternoon, and you can sign up here, if you’re interested.

    More later!
    xo

  • crunch week

    Remember my husband’s birthday? Remember his cake? Remember his gift?

    To recap: I handed him some money attached to a shit-ton of work, and ever since, my husband has been tied up in knots. (Aren’t I sweet?)

    This Friday, March 15th, is The Big Day — a friend dubbed it “The Ides of Murch” — so in recent weeks, my husband has been spending his evenings and weekends crawling around on the second floor of the new barn framing up the new second-story walls with the old roof pressing down on top of him, his stress levels at a fever pitch.

    I’ve popped my head up there a couple times, and it pretty much looks exactly like his birthday cake.

    All this week, my husband is working on the barn. The kids are helping, too: it’s spring break for the college kids, my older daughter already works with my husband, and my older son took off.

    When I got back from town early afternoon on Monday, I found them huddled in front of the fire, drinking coffee.

    That day, they tore off the roof, never mind the gale-force winds that blew up out of nowhere.

    Today, the the framing material for the roof gets delivered. They’ll spend the next few days building walls and cutting rafters, and then Friday, a horde of local carpenters, family, and friends will swarm the property and get. the. job. done. 

    And what am I doing, you ask? Feeding people, naturally. Along with all the regular kitchen tasks — i.e. cheesemaking, because my husband is still milking three cows, remember — I’ll be feeding anyone who shows up to work during the week and prepping for the Friday event: lunch, birthday pies, homemade doughnuts, etc. It’s gonna be a party! 

    We are watching the weather like hawks. The entire week looks dazzling except for — you guessed it — a chance of rain on Friday. [cue muffled, panicked screams] The big question: is it a passing chance, or a blossoming one?

    Either way, it doesn’t much matter. There’s not much we can do about it anymore.

    There’s no going back now!

    This same time, years previous: cherry bounce, for science, opening, adventuring, the quotidian (3.12.12), for all we know, dunging out.