It started as–what I thought–was a pretty hilarious April Fool’s Day prank, and now I’ve got a family full of people that seriously want to add another McClung to the world and well, you guys, the Bell’s Palsy is kickin’ and I just don’t think I can take care of one more living thing.
Spring is off to an amazing start. Firstly:
Secondly, our third round of duckies, and their new enclosure:
Add what is officially the start of a barn (Caleb and I dragged and set two giant telephone poles in the ground–team building: it’s what’s for dinner) and we’ve got ourselves a pretty friggin’ sweet little farm.
My other project of clearing out all the old dead weeds and sticks and rotten tree from our front yard is going better than expected. Let me set the stage for you: when we first decided to build a house, I knew I wanted it nestled between what I thought were two glorious trees.
Turns out, they were two giant, twisted, side-lying dead willow trees, surrounded by wild sunflowers and elm sprouts. Because we were so busy over the following two years with the construction process and having babies and changing jobs and moving and real life stuff, we let the weeds take over the dead trees.
The grass got taller and taller but at least it was green; and the weeds became really thick but hey–they did eventually produce cute little sunflowers and provided us with a sort of privacy screen. So, like with many things around our house and yard, we operated on a standard procedure: ignore, ignore, ignore.
…Which seemed like a pretty solid game plan until the coyotes came and hid all up in the weed-bushes, waiting to eat small dogs and children. And, an even more hideous prospect: rodents of unusual size.
Holy rats of NIMH. Right next to my house!
For the past month or so, I’ve been raking; pulling. Shoveling. Piling. Laboring, in the wind. Trying beyond all reasonable hope to clear out all the weeds surrounding those giant decaying trees–with a fair amount of success actually. And now we just have about fifty piles of dead limbs and leaves and stickers to burn in a state where wildfires start just by thinking about lighting a match.
Owning land requires freakin’ maintainence…much like any relationship. You gotta do the work in order to develop a safe place for love to grow. It’s so easy to get busy and get complacent and let things slide; oftentimes you don’t even realize something is a problem until it’s completely out of control. But the hard stuff has to be tackled head-on, nonetheless. It can definitely be exhausting, but it is so worth it.
There’s my casual word of stumbled-upon wisdom for the day. You guys enjoy your April Foolery and maybe don’t text a picture of an old ultrasound to someone.
That is all.