Small Barn, Big Project

The front of the relocated/repurposed barn.

An overhead door has been ordered.

A bit of background for those who may be new to our story.

When we purchased this property in autumn 2018, it consisted of 20 acres [more or less] a trash and rubble filled site where the former owners' house had burned, [mysteriously, we were told]  a pole barn with open-ended extensions on each side. The dirt floor was packed with dried manure, both interior sides were lined with crudely built animal pens/stalls. 

On the edge of the north wooded ravine, near the site of the burned house was the small barn we took to calling the 'snake shed.'

Gaps under the eaves and under the swing-out doors gave easy access to large black snakes who found it an ideal place to retire while shedding their skins. 

{ I entered the shed only in winter when I assumed the serpents would be sluggishly hibernating elsewhere.]

Inevitably the shed became storage space for a rotation of equipment and tools, other oddments that hadn't found a permanent place.

From time to time I mentioned that it was a shame some good purpose couldn't be found for the building. We even mentioned how an ell could be added, windows and doors installed to make a studio apartment. But--we didn't want a renter and there were always other projects ongoing.

Jim put considerable effort into refurbishing the pole barn, sectioning off a large workshop area and cementing a floor, having foam insulation installed, as well as a mini-split for heat and A/C.

The side extensions housed an ever-changing succession of project tractors, garden and lawn equipment, a wood splitter. Further attachments were a lean-to greenhouse and woodshed. 

I'm not going to dwell here on the fire which took the building, three vehicles, three vintage tractors, and all of Jim's considerable inventory of carpentry and mechanical tools and supplies.

It happened.

Dealing, or trying to deal, with the insurance company has been ongoing frustration.

Weeks of laborious and dirty cleanup, the hauling away of burned out vehicles, tool chests and scarcely recognizable objects were necessary before a decision could be made about how--and how much--to rebuild.

Jim explored the option of a new metal building, decided that by the time he purchased one, had it set up and then finished the interior, the cost would be more than he wanted to invest.

I cautiously mentioned the small barn as a replacement, didn't get much feedback.

Jim likes to keep his schemes and plans to himself until just ready to implement them!

The little barn tucked at the edge of the woods.

Deer and wild turkeys often foraged around the barn. In the left of the frame is a second-hand 'skid building' that Jim bought several years ago to hold yet more overflow of tools and such.

The smaller building is now positioned behind the barn with a covered connecting 'alley.'

When Jim decided to repurpose the building, he removed the loft, saving all the lumber.

The wooden doors were dismantled and the boards added to a growing stack.

 

Weeks of labor in hot weather before the building was reduced to a roofed shell.

A new cement pad was poured sized for the small barn.

Our grandson donated a day or two of helpful labor;

Our son and grand daughter showed up early on Father's Day to facilitate the grand move. 

They were likewise here to lend their hands after the barn had been relocated.

Last minute considerations.

Of course the dogs were here for the event!

Halfway up the lane--and caught on a hummock.

Howard also had to lop some branches that were overhanging the lane.

Not sure if the videos of the actual move will post.

It was a tense but ultimately triumphant half hour! 

Blogger is protesting that the videos I wanted to include of the barn move 'exceed file limit.'

I'm working from my small laptop with the few photos and videos I've managed to load from my iphone, juggling cords and plugs to transfer some hastily taken photos from my Canon Power Shot.

My desktop PC has gone to the computer shop to have its contents [hopefully] transferred to a new unit. 

Techy stuff isn't my forte, but I hope this post can serve as a partial update for those who have asked for a progress report.

Walking After Rain

Torrential downpours on Sunday, but no rain on Monday or Tuesday. 

This will be remembered as the summer of rain!

We expect drought through July and much of August here. This year our lack of rain was in early spring.

Yesterday [Wednesday] started as a day of sunshine with clouds occasionally drifting across the sun.

I spent much of the afternoon downstairs working on a quilt in progress. The large windows face south onto the back porch and the tree covered ravine beyond the now grass-grown lane.

Taking a break to stretch, I stepped out to the porch; the sky to the west was overcast and a slight breeze was bringing the scent of rain. Moments later the rain arrived, a half hour of staccato bursts.

Although the storm was brief it left  us with an early green dusk, a shimmer of fog and the muttering of distant thunder to the northeast. 

A shelf of cloud floated in the western sky.

I've not walked the meadow loop often in the extreme heat and humidity of the past weeks, but felt the urge to pull on my boots, walk to the mailbox and back through the upper meadow.

Hay has grown rankly since the Beachys last mowed and baled.

Jim has been too busy with barn renovation to bushhog the edges. Black walnut seedlings have sprung up along the north edge of the meadow, no doubt a product of the busy squirrel population. 

Rain has revived the flowers in tubs and pots near the front steps--rain working a magic that is seldom equaled by efforts with watering can or hose.

I didn't save the tag for these--hoping to recall the name, or at least recognize the plants another  year at my favorite nursery. They have bloomed, undaunted by heat.

My sunflowers are canted in all directions, still blooming.

Goldfinches are already gathering, keeping watch on the seed heads.

Every year I plant sunflowers designated as 'dwarf' and every year they tower above me. It occurs to me that perhaps it is the flower heads that are 'dwarfs, not the stalks.

Coming down the path I find that two clumps of purple coneflower have seeded along the edge of the woods. Perhaps birds carried the seed.

It was only a bit past 6 p.m. EDT but the lower meadow was haunted by green darkness. 

Pokeberry has flourished in the moist shade of under-story bushes and trees.

The south ravine is deepest here providing a boundary between our property and that of our neighbors.

For several seasons the power company came through and sprayed the area in an attempt to provide clearance for the electrical lines. I was surprised to see how this summer's unrestricted growth has filled the gulley with sumac, sassafras, and small, crowded tulip poplar.

The first heads of Joe Pye-weed are in bloom with goldenrod in the background. 

The undergrowth is so thick that it would be perilous to attempt walking down the slope. 

The 'gap' filled in with rampant green growth.

We worked outside this morning, Jim at his barn project, while

I dead-headed the small butterfly bushes which have thrived in these large pots placed just below the front porch.

The blooms are a lavender-blue.

The white buddleia, not as spectacular as those I've had in shades of fuchsia or purple, is cherished for its persistence in living through several hard winters.

I noticed it on a 'reduced for sale' table at Sunny Day Nursey several  years ago and felt it deserved a chance. 

Looking east a few minutes ago.

These great spangled Fritillaries don't mind that the coneflowers are prostrate.

A perfect Swallowtail on a coneflower in the overgrown wall border.

I fret about out of control weeds, but birds and butterflies don't mind the untidiness. 

Something of a lesson there [?]

 

The Colors of a Heat Wave

Many of these photos were taken in late June and early July when the heat wave began. Temps in the high 90's F. July is usually a month of heat and near drought in Kentucky, but this year heavy rains have turned gardens into mud and encouraged weeds to grow out of bounds.

Cucumber vines have run wild in defiance of my insistence that we always plant too many. 

Corn has come on, we've been eating new Yukon Gold potatoes. Tomatoes are ripening--and inevitably some rotting. Green peppers are thriving and there are beets raised from the 'plugs' that Matt got at an early spring auction. 

I've picked green beans several times; these were planted in the big bins this year as I can no longer crawl along the ground to pick bush beans and J. had no time to put up a trellis. The beans aren't as tender as usual--stressed by early drought and then assaulted with pounding rain and bean beetles. 

There won't be enough to can.

Hummingbirds are consuming a quart or more of syrup per day. I buy sugar for the hummers!

The outdoor cats sprawl on the porch--or under the steps or in the tall grass that has overtaken the front wall garden. I put ice cubes in their water bowl several times per day.

Inside, cats are sleeping more than usual--on the beds and chairs in rooms with curtains drawn against blinding sun and heat. We are thankful that the A/C functions!

Our extended family is grieving the death of our niece, Susan, from pancreatic cancer. There remain many issues for her husband and children to sort.

Such words as I could muster during the past month have been offered to her siblings and others who loved her. Some of those words became part of the obituary and the eulogy given by her sister's daughter. 

Since it is too hot even to think of gardening or staying outside more than necessary, I have turned to a quilting project abandoned on the day of the fire.

I've also, with some trepidation, managed to install zoom on my laptop, transfer photos from my iphone to the laptop, download a scan application to my printer, and program two cordless phone bases and their respective handsets to work together. Techy I am not, so the fact these very elementary setups have worked is astonishing!

My least favorite month is drawing to a hot, humid and exhausting close.

August brings hot days, but also evenings that noticeably draw in, hazy cooler mornings.

Japanese beetles will have run their course; I can prune the roses and enjoy their second blooming.

I hope to post more regularly and on more encouraging topics.

Upcoming is a progress report on the refurbishment and repurposing of the small barn that is replacing the burned structure.

From the Amish plant auction.

Also from the auction, all courtesy of Matt.

Often the exotic hybrids of coneflowers disappear after a season or two.

It will be interesting to see how these fare.

A wild combination of double orange daylilies and monarda, 'Raspberry Wine.'

Somehow, colors we wouldn't wear together manage to enhance the summer landscape.

Sunflowers--before rain and wind.

Zinnias, prostrate after several nights of thunderstorms and lashing rain.

A clump of purple coneflowers beaten down.

My sunflowers are always the first to topple  in a storm, shallow rooted and top-heavy.

Someday--if I live long enough--I dream of a garden fence where they can be tied and assisted in staying upright.

8 p.m. and 86 F. as I hit 'post.'

 

Solstice

Sunsets have been lovely this month with light lingering well after 9 p.m. Tonight, after the longest day of the year, there was still a glow in the western sky at 9:45, and a pink-tinged first quarter moon hung against an evening curtain of pale blue-grey.

An auspicious day with the successful removal of the small barn from the lower meadow, up the slope of the grass-covered lane and finally to the freshly poured concrete pad where it will be repurposed to replace the shop/garage that burned on the 29th of March.

Spring flowers, peonies, lilacs, roses are long past as we settle into the heat of a long Kentucky summer. Daylilies, coneflowers, the achillea grown from seed , are now providing color, while  few nasturtiums have bloomed in the pots. 

Jim's sweet corn has responded to the last rain and to a dose of ammonium/nitrate fertilizer as a side dressing.

A much-loved niece was diagnosed with cancer this week--a weight on all our hearts.

I'm not good at formal prayer but her face, her name, have been ever in mind as I've gone about the usual tasks of food preparation, laundry, watering plants, reading at night.

Too tired to write more--its nearly 11 pm.--so I offer the link to a favorite family story shared by my Aunt Liz--the 'Lizzie' of the Larry and Lizzie stories

sunshine-days-and-firefly-nights.html

 

Mostly Flowers--And More Than A Few Words

It wouldn't be springtime without at least one bluebird coming down the chimney.

Thimble-mese alerted us to its presence in the stovepipe. Jim shooed all the cats into the sunroom before opening the stove door and capturing the bird when it fluttered out. 

He carried it to the front porch and released it.

Digging about in the newest raised bed I discovered this seedling black walnut. Every year I remove a number of tulip poplar and black walnut baby trees that have taken root in the flower strips.

 I've found two very similar nests blown from a tree. The lining is white hairs gleaned from our neighbor's elderly mule who resides in a pasture across the lane.

I'm not sure why I save fallen nests--except that I've always done so.

I placed both nests on the second shelf of an open cupboard in my bedroom.

I was aware that Thimble with her insatiable curiosity, was intrigued by the nests.

I wasn't prepared to find them both shredded on the floor in front of the cupboard.

This one is interesting because of the unfinished bottom. It doesn't appear that a cowbird or other marauder attacked the nest. Its almost as though it might have been knocked from the tree limb before construction was completed.

One of the perennial foxgloves I raised from seed.

David Austin rose 'The Poet's Wife' in her glory before the rains began.

The bush was full of blooms full blown, half open, still in the bud, more floriferous than I've ever known it in spite of weeks of drought. Heavy rains came on and the branches were beaten to the ground. All that remains of the flowers is a spread of soggy yellow petals on the surrounding soil.

Another David Austen rose, 'Queen of Sweden.' 

This is a more upright bush with thick stems. 

It also took a beating from the rains.

This morning I clipped damaged blooms and pruned the bushes back.

The nasty little sawfly larvae have begun their destructive work, so just as well to prune now and let the roses have a rest.

I moved these miniature lilies from the west wall bed and gave them a tub to share with a poppy.

I am delighted that the poppies seeded into several of the plant tubs and pots, as well as migrating to the large bins with plants moved to make space for the front porch construction late last summer.

Several poppies made the trip to our daughter's garden as well. 

Other varieties planted over the years have failed to self-sow; I wait each year for these to appear where ever they please. Often a bud opening early in the morning is gone by evening, especially if there is wind. I enjoy these plants in all their stages of growth, the buds slowly unfolding from within the sheltering leaves, open blooms, the shapely seed heads.

A bee gleaning.

A clump of poppies near the gravel walkway to the porch.

 Next years crop in the making.

Spotted [or spangled] fritillary.

The earliest of my nasturtiums to germinate, assorted seeds from last year's packets. 

These are also sharing a pot with a poppy.

I didn't buy fresh pansy plants this spring. The parent plant in this tub wintered over and produced babies. 

Sage growing in the newest raised bed planter.

I had a huge sprawling sage that lived in the scruffy raised bed alongside the front walk, a space covered over when we built the front porch. It was an amazing plant, unique among the many sage plants I've had in various gardens. It tumbled over the edges of the bed, covered for much of the summer in dark blue flowers. 

Jim did his best to dig adequate roots when it was moved, but it refused to settle into its winter quarters and promptly died.

Tri-colored sage and purple sage have never survived a winter here.

Meet Cat Ballou!

Howard knows I love solar powered garden lights. He and Shannon found this green-eyed cat at Rural King and brought her to live with me.

Clematis Jackmanii, always the last to flower, but it continues well into the summer with repeat bloom in autumn.

Petals strewn beneath the trellis.

More poppies pods, just because.

My newest planters!

Matt discovered a local handyman creating these to order.

Matt and Gina wheeled in with two of these for me, supplied the soil and many of the plants.

This one is on the front porch. 

The deep pink flowers are 'pentas' dearly loved by butterflies and hummingbirds.

Planter number 2 on the covered back porch. Pots with a 2nd sowing of tomatoes are tucked amongst begonias, nepeta and wallflowers--getting acclimated to outdoors before I pot them on.

When Matt and Gina stopped here after a foray to the Amish produce and plant auction, the back of their truck was filled with plant trays. Matt wasn't even sure what he had acquired--the trays held a mixture.

He pulled out a butterfly bush, asked if I would like to have it.

I snatched it with a shriek of delight--I lost two splendid butterfly bushes when the fire claimed my greenhouse and the plantings along the outside wall.

As Matt rummaged in the plant trays it became evident that he had a half dozen or more butterfly bushes--all labeled 'Steel Blue.' The blooms on several suggest a lavender-blue color.

Devin and Jim helped me select these large pots at the C-ville Wal Mart when I accompanied them to collect a Dodge truck Jim bought. 

These had been potted up only a day when they were pummeled with a down pour.  

My plan is to grow them on through the summer months and hopefully have a more permanent location to set them in before cold weather.

My lemon verbena moves inside for the winter and puts out a few weedy tendrils. 

Once the weather is mild enough for a move to the back porch it is pruned heavily and rewards with fresh growth.

Foxgloves wintered in one of the bins [only 5 of a dozen survived ] and tiny seedlings dug from beside the parents plants on the west wall. 

So, as I've puttered about while Jim tackled the ugly work of clearing up from the fire, I've been more than usually inspired by my outdoor surroundings. 

The poppies and roses, the volunteer plants that have survived and proliferated; the busy squirrels, the hummingbirds who are now thronging the feeders in combative groups.

I think of the refrain from the song in 'The Sound of Music'--the listing of 'favorite things' and the assurance that, 'when the dog bites, and the bee stings, when I'm feeling sad, I simply remember my favorite things--and then I don't feel so bad!'

Its been a rather rough two months since the fire [and still no word from the insurance company!] 

I'm thankful for the season of spring and its beauties to help me through the mess.