Abandoned Garden Update/Plumber, but?

Between true-to-form pure Kentucky Fool's Spring and the various indignities of being closer to 50 than to 40, it's taken longer to get started than I would prefer. And since I'm getting ready to head out of town... taking the old gray dog down to San Antonio to AWP, the annual confluence of academics, writers, and publishers of same, I wanted to at least get started on the Abandoned Garden by working on what we have here: the bones of it:

1. move and prepare the raised bed

2. start clearing out the shed so it can be torn down

3. begin prepping the ground to plant red clover.

What we got done was moving and turning over the soil in two of the raised beds. That took considerably longer than I planned, if only because we made the huge mistake of not keeping the beds covered since we harvested the last garden two summers ago. Between the time weather, breaking up the soil was like breaking up layers of shale in places; but the soil... which had nice mixture of compost as well... is, once broken up, rich and plant ready with very little work, which Amanda and I were both pretty excited about.  

We moved and turned two beds, leaving two beds left to move and turn. We also moved he compost bin over, giving us a chance to turn that over to get it ready to use for our planting this year. The raised beds tend to work well for greens (like chard), herbs (basil, mint, thyme), peppers (Banana, Serrano,  and Jalapeno primarily, but we've done ok with sweet poblanos, too), and one summer of rampant cukes that nearly undid the peppers and taught me to NEVER plant viny plants in a raised bed and expect them to share. The two beds to the right are the ones we moved. Anticipating some upcoming weather... because, you know, Fool's Spring... we covered those two beds with cardboard and weighed them down with some cement edging that's pretty much useless in its previous position of keeping critters out from under the shed. 

Tearing down the shed will end up being it's own mini-project; there's a huge hole in the roof (not visible in this picture) and we're thinking of using the space to either expand the garden or add some chickens to the menagerie. 

Domestic Amiss: plumber, but?

One of the things about an old house is that you inherit not only old house problems, but also the "fixes" that previous owners made.  This issue, though, is a fairly common one, and not one  I can blame (really) on the former owners. Faucets wear out. drains and pipes need to be replaced. In our case, we also need to remove the garbage disposal because it's no longer functioning as such and we are, for now, replacing it with a regular drain. We don't have many food scraps because we're pretty good about composting what can be composted and using what can be used.

Also, because the pipes need to be replaced and the disposal is basically

just something for water to drain through, we use buckets under the sink to catch water. Also, the faucet handle, while functional will not stay attached. And the faucet itself drips constantly... which is not only annoying, but expensive.

So, it's time. Past time, really. And I was intending to do this today while the Amanda was at work and the house was empty... but my recently mostly healed foot decided to remind me that I use it a lot getting down on the floor and standing back up... so, it's getting done tomorrow when Amanda's home and can ensure that I don't end up wallowing on the floor like a flipped over turtle.

Daugerrotype: Old Nazareth Road (Rock Wall and House)

The house down Old Nazareth Road is at the end of a hair pin curve, near the bottom of a hill, next to what was, once upon a time,  not a dry creek bed. The remains of a crumbling stone wall made from rocks from the creek bed and surrounding ground – dug up in an attempt to make the ground more agriculture friendly, even just enough to plant a simple garden – starts at the western corner of the small plot of land, reaching almost to the front porch before it begins to fall apart, rocks sitting on the ground with the grass and weeds growing wild around and over them. It had been a grander project once, one that had been scaled back over the years out of a growing apathy on the part of the original planner or because someone did not pick up for the planner left off.

Turn of the last century farm houses are rare in these parts, where progress and the suburban influence has a strong, albeit tenuous, foothold. They are even rarer still because even the heartiest of hands sometimes has to build out of expediency rather than a sense of permanence. The house near the dry creek bed was originally a one room house with a half story upstairs for sleeping in the winter. The porch was an enclosed summer porch, probably used as an extra room in warmer spring and summer months, back when you could sleep with the shutters open and the windows up, when people were not worried about death carried by mosquitoes the size of DC-7s or about whether one of their neighbors was going to break in for some unspoken and nefarious purpose.

From a distance, it looks sturdy. The roof shingles look almost new. Upon a little closer inspection, the outhouse – which still manages to smell like it's been recently used – is the sturdier of the two structures. The right front end of the summer porch sags like a load bearing part of the structure simply evaporated; the wooden siding – that's showing through the concourse of vines, growing up, around, and over the house in all directions – is more of a dirty gray than the shiny white it had probably once been when it was loved and cared for. Upon even closer inspection, the back end of the house – a much later addition, from the looks of it – is collapsed. The back wall is partially burned out from a long forgotten fire. The interior of the house has been overrun by the nature it was supposed to keep out. Except for two broken stools, the remains of an old rocking chair, a rusted coal bucket and dead leaves, twigs, and animal droppings cover everything. The whole other side of the house is leaning towards the creek bed, and looks like it will someday simply fall into the line of trees between the house and the parched artery of dirt and rock, erode and rot quickly like the diseased crab apple trees in front of the house.

It appears that the only thing keeping the house upright is the tangled interstate of vines. At any moment, it looks as if a strong breeze could knock over the remaining structure, and the vines would remain intact in the shape of a house, the way fossils form in old stone.