A short post with sub-par pictures.

This past weekend was a busy one. I helped shingle a roof, which seemed simple enough at the outset: there were supposed to be many hands to make light work, it was a small roof comparitively speaking and, it wasn't supposed to rain. However, some of the volunteers didn't show, the roof stayed small, but there were -- wait for it -- FOUR(!) layers of shingles to be stripped and the previous owner had cheated with his fascia flashing, so I had to cut off the little lip he'd fashioned, which went all the way around the eaves, and then put on a new edge. Add to this the unexpected removal of an old, brick chimney and you have a long day of roofing in store.

It actually took two days to complete the roof. All of Saturday and most of Sunday, even though we started at five thirty in the morning to try and beat the rain, which didn't happen.

Aside from all of this, Jenn and I bought most of the materials for the chicken coop, we went out to a fantastic dinner at the home of some friends and I went to Killarney again to get some fish on Sunday.

Yes. The stray is still here. And getting a little to comfortable, at that.

Where there was once a shed, now there is nothing. I tried to move it because we had wanted to use it for a chicken coop, but it fell over twenty feet into the move, so I guess it wasn't as sturdy as it should have been. I salvaged what lumber I could and carted the rest off to the dump.

Before:

After:

Here is what I have managed to get done as far as my own chores go. Note the string layout in the foreground. It is the outline of the chicken coop. The patch of dirt at the front corner is where I had started to level out the ground for the blocks we will use to set the coop on.

Hunter is standing inside for a size comparison.

Bunnies, Chicken and Fish oh my!

A few days ago, when Jenn and I were actually home together and preparing to have dinner, there was a knock at our door. We knew it wouldn't be our neighbours as they call before they come over, or at the very least, they ride over, very slowly, on their 4-wheeler as a means of announcing their arrival. I highly doubted it would be any of our friends stopping in, and besides, it didn't sound like a knock my friends would make: it was tentative, as though the knocker were unsure at the last second if this was such a good idea, after all. I went to the door and there was a lady standing there, very apologetic looking, and before I could say anything, she said "You have dogs, right?" The humour of her question was not apparent to her, but to me, looking out over her shoulder and into my dog yard, not a hundred yards beyond our house, I couldn't help but smile. I thought to myself that she was either here to ask about buying a dog or to complain and although we don't sell dogs routinely, I would have rather dealt with that question than a complaint. However, she had driven into the yard in an unfamiliar car and had walked, in plain view of the dogs, to the house and yet, not one dog barked. I don't even think that she saw the dog yard. So I doubted she was here to complain.

"Is one of your dogs missing?" she asked. I had, minutes before, just come in from feeding the dogs and I knew that they were all there, so I said that no, we were not missing a dog but thanks for asking. Jenn, by this point, had come to the door and she and the lady, Diane, as we later were introduced, began to discuss this loose dog that had been dropped off at her place. She was pretty sure that someone had come out and dumped their dog; "it happens all the time." she claimed. Before I could wish her luck finding the owners of the dog or suggesting that she call the shelter, Jenn had offered for us to go over and pick up the dog because we have the room for him. So, now we have eighteen dogs and a stray who has made it pretty clear that he has no intention of leaving. He has more than ingratiated himself to Hunter and Jenn; he has a tendancy to come when called, even though we haven't a clue as to his name and he is by far the 'lickiest' dog I have ever encountered. Non-stop, in fact. The only thing that goes more than his tounge is his tail which can sweep a mug of coffee off the table, a bowl of soup, and pots with plants in them off the windowsill. I think that his tounge and tail are somehow connected for they seem to work in concert: the harder the tail wagging, the more furious the tounge licking. If you are somehow missing a dog, or know who this guy belongs to, please, come and get him! I don't think I can take much more slurping. Here he is, just in case you might recognize him.

The stray dog we have somehow adopted.

This weekend, I managed to complete the bunny pen. It was more than past due. Certainly the rabbit must be happy. When we got him, he was in a rabbit cage that was pretty small and he stayed there until Jenn started leaving the door open so he could have the run of the back hall and bathroom. The rabbit patrolled this area faithfully and would chase Molly, the cat; a cat, I might add, that not only will not back down from a dog, but who also killed a weasle a few winters ago with a single, well placed bite on the neck.

It was while I was in the midst of putting up the fence that my friend dropped by. He was in to show me his new truck, but when he saw the fence going up he wandered over, curious as to what I was doing. "It's a bunny pen." I said by way of explanation. He asked how big the bunny was. I guess the pen is a bit large: it is 24 feet by 24 feet in dimension. There is only one bunny in it right now.

The Bunny and the Bunny Pen:

I told my friend that it could also hold a goat, should Jenn see a kid that she wanted. Maybe even chickens, I continued. At this, my friend mentioned that his brother was selling a few of his chickens and he asked if I wanted any. I said that I wasn't really ready for them as I have no place to house them yet but I'd ask Jenn and get back to him. I really ought to know by now that to ask Jenn about getting animals is useless. Of course we have room. And, so, this morning found me barely finished my coffee, still bleary-eyed from a short nights sleep, ripping two by fours into two by twos and building a chicken tractor.

A bit about chicken tractors, which, unlike the name suggests, is not a wee piece of farm machinery suitable for a chicken. It is, rather, a portable chicken coop with no floor. It is a great idea, actually, and allows one to move the chickens from spot to spot so they have a clean area as well as fresh grass and weeds to eat. This chicken tractor is only a temporary measure until the larger area is built. Mine, which is a fine example of carpentry, was cobbled together quickly out of scrap lumber, an old tarp and just about every screw I could find. I was even reduced to using roofing screws for part of it. I shouldn't complain: it cost me absolutely nothing to build it. It measures 8' long by 4' wide by 3' high.

Chicken Tractor and Chickens:

Chicken Tractor and the Bunny Run - for size comparison.

Not only did I build the chicken tractor today, but I was in a rush because it was our first run of the season down to Killarney for fish. I had hoped that we could all go, the three of us, and have lunch at the fish and chip stand but I took a lot longer to finish my little construction project and Jenn had to leave for work so it was just Hunter and I who went down. Hunter likes going to Killarney to see the big boats that come in. There have been, in the past, some fairly impressive yachts, catamarans and sailboats in the harbour but there were none today. The fisheries people had saved us two and half packers of fish though so as far as I was concerned, the trip was worth it. Hunter was a little disappointed at not seeing the big boats: she had dreamt of them last night, even, but she got over it. I had the camera with me in case we saw moose or bear or other wildlife, but there was nothing other than the palest, slinkiest, skittish-est fox I have ever seen. It was the color of tea with milk in it, not the usual red and it ran in such a manner that it looked like a weasle. I did get a good look at it on the side of the road where it stopped, so I knew it was a fox but it didn't hang around for a picture.

Even though we were in a rush today and there were no boats to look at, apart from a locals twelve footer with a kicker on it, Hunter and I got out for a bit of a walk down to the water.

Blackflies. I had forgotten about them.

It was inevitable that with the warming days and flushing buds would come the blackfly. One day, there were none, the next there were several million of the tiny little vampires buzzing around our heads and the heads of the dogs. The dog run has started to dry up nicely, but there are still a few wet spots here and there.

The title of this entry could well have been "Yep. Still too wet, Part 2" or "The Tractor and I: How I managed to bury it, yet again, to the axles." I was trying to bring some sand and gravel in to Horton, the last dog who has a wet area, and I was using the tractor because it sure beats pushing a wheelbarrow. Because Horton's area is still spongey and wet, I had to more or less pirouette the tractor into position to dump the bucket in Horton's area. I had successfully managed to bring, deposit and leave three times, but on the fourth, as I was reversing, the tractor began to roll down the slightest of inclines and in doing so, sink in sloppy, soupy muck. I tried to go forward, I tried to go backward; I put the tractor in high range and low range. I piled logs (yes, actual logs. In a pile, as in several layers of logs, so deep was I stuck) under the tires but none of this gained me any ground whatsoever. It was so bad that I contemplated cutting down a few trees, cutting the fence of the dogrun and pushing myself out with the bucket, like last time. Fortunately, only one tree had to come down and no fence. I finally got out, parked the tractor and went about my day doing other non-tractor things.

For the first part of the week, Taiga was in the house for a few days. She noticed herself in the window one night, so Jenn went and brought her the mirror. That was entertainment, pure and simple, for all of us. We need to get out more, perhaps.

Much of my time this week has been spent constructing some sort of contraption that allows me to more easily remove the dogbox from the truck. I made it from timbers and wood that I milled last week and the week before. It is fairly large; the four timbers that make up the 'A' part of the frame are 14 foot long 4x4's. I have a pulley at the mid-point on the horizontal beam which allows me to use a wire cable and my come-along to lift the box off the truck. Once off, the box sits on a frame, also constructed from my own lumber.

While I was out building this thing, Hunter snuck out of the house while Jenn was napping. I heard the door close and out came Hunter, wearing only her pink camo boots. It wasn't long before she was in the mud and water and it wasn't long after that that the boots came off, too. I was watching her, but I was also working and as long as she didn't come near my tools or the wood, she was okay I said. I suppose I should have watched her more because she paraded into the house to show Jenn the worm she had found. I guess Jenn wasn't too upset; at least she managed to get a few photos of the kid.

Yep. Still too wet for the tractor.

If I have to live with no snow for part of the year, I'd like to put my request in now for all the days to be like today: mild temperatures that are around 14 degrees, brilliant sunshine and a slight breeze. It is the perfect kind of day, as far as I am concerned, because it is a great temperature to work in, but it is also the sort of day that begs for a coffee, a comfortable chair and area to enjoy both that preferably faces southeast. Unfortunately for me, I was only able to work today; the coffee will have to wait.

As I have mentioned in a previous post, I have been planning on hauling and milling some of the blow-down and wind-thrown trees that are around the property. Today was that day. A chainsaw in one hand and the keys to the tractor in the other, I set out to salvage some wood.

Things looked promising as I bolted the radiator shroud back on to the tractor: I actually had bolts that fit. My good luck continued as I tried to turn over the tractor. The battery hadn't drained itself of its charge in a week or so of disuse. Imagine my delight as the tractor coughed and wheezed itself to life (with an encouraging spritz or two of ether) like an old man arising from a deep sleep. I was off and trotting.

The tractor:

My first tree was one that was on the edge of an open field. It had blown over and the roots had pulled themselves out of the ground. I put the chain around the soon-to-be log and cut it free. Then I went to the top of the tree and cut it free of the crown. I now had a 42-foot log to drag out of the bush. My original plan was to haul the log whole to the area where I do my milling, but it was soon pretty obvious that I was going to have to revise my plan. I couldn't get the log high enough off the ground using the 3-point hitch on the back of the tractor. Although the tractor is more than capable of hauling such a log, it would have hauled it down our gravel road and I don't want dirt, much less gravel, sticking to the logs because it will dull my chain on the chainsaw and sharpening a chain every two or three cuts is really, really tedious. Instead, I decided to cut the log into three 14-foot sections and chain them to the bucket on the front so that I could carry them to my log pile. Once I had decided to do this, things went rather smoothly. I cut down a second tree that had had its top snapped off about 35 feet up. I dragged this out of the bush and carried it to the log pile, as well.

It was at this point in my day, when things were going so well, that the level of production ground to a halt, or, more truthfully, became bogged down. To a standstill, in fact. There was a monster tree that I have had my eye on for months now. It was rotten for about ten feet up and when the winds came, it just collapsed. It fell across a gully and was easily two feet in diameter. Learning from my previous experience that cutting it into sections before trying to drag it out was easier, I proceeded to do so. Once I had it cut into what I thought were manageable sections, it took me about half an hour to drag the butt-section out of the gully. I had cut this particular section extra long because I noticed it was hollow through the middle for a ways up. I measured fourteen feet from the top of the log and cut off the hollow, rotten part. It was still hollow. I measured twelve feet from the top: still rotten. Ten feet: rotten. Eight feet: worse, if you can believe it. Six: the same and I gave up after that. If I ever need a four foot log, I know where I can get one.

Running adjacent to the gully is one of our trails. It looked as though it would be much easier if I dragged out the remaining two sections of the tree from the trail, so I drove down it, hooked on to the first section and slowly worked it up the bank. That is as far as I managed to get. Jenn, if you are reading this, please don't go any further. Really. Stop reading now. Please. For the rest of you, this is where I buried the tractor. In the middle of the trail and on a slight downhill slope: so slight it is barely noticeable, but it was enough. The ground being wet, soaked really, and the weight of the tractor had me making huge ruts in the trail. I tried to reverse back the way I had come, but I just spun the tires. Then, I made the mistake of deciding I should go ahead, find an opening and turn around and drive out. I had planned on using the lowest gear since it would be less likely to spin: reverse is a faster gear than the tractors low gear. This was a bad idea. I sank the tractor about a foot and a half into the soft, mucky ground and all I could do, both in forward and reverse, was spin the tires. My only option at this point was to use my bucket to push myself backwards, which I did, for roughly three hundred feet, gaining a foot to two feet at a time. I made a huge mess of the trail (see, Jenn, I told you to stop reading) and I never did managed to get the rest of the tree out.

I think I'll wait until the ground dries out and hardens up until I drive back there again.

This is what I managed to get hauled to the log pile: