Tucker running full-speed out of the woods toward me when I call for him.

When his ears flip up in the wind I call it his border collie impersonation.

In the past few weeks I’ve gotten a few major projects mostly crossed off my list. First up was the back porch ceiling, my personal bete noir thanks to an invasion of starlings (see here, and here). My dad and a couple of carpenters put it in, and it looks great. Now I just need to caulk and paint it, purchase and hang a ceiling fan, install the rope lights that will run in a tray around the ceiling, and reconnect my outdoor speakers.

Next the guys moved on to fixing the garage, which entailed cutting out and replacing some rotten trim. I used MiraTec again for the trim, to match the house.

Now I need to either pay a couple of thousand bucks to have the building power washed, scraped, sanded, windows reglazed, nail holes filled and joints caulked, and repainted, or I need to do it myself. The jury’s still out on this one. I also need to order new garage doors.

Last weekend my dad and a friend finally took care of the huge pile of black walnut that had been in my field for more than a year. My brother had milled some wood from a couple of storm-fallen trees, and this farm proved a good place to store the limb wood until it could be cut for firewood. So a day of fun with a neat little skid steer and a couple of chainsaws and I have a shed full of ready-to-burn limb wood, as well as a double-thick row of logs outside waiting for the wood splitter.

Finally, I took a day of work last week to knock out a project that’s been more than a year overdue: trimming out the chicken coop. Again my chainsawing friend helped as we drove over the mountain to pick up lumber and metal roofing, which we strapped to the top of the station wagon. Farm use tags, here I come!

Once home, we had the coop trimmed in no time, even with an intervening rainstorm. We also added a bit more metal roofing to create better overhangs on each end. Today I cleaned the interior of the coop, and filled nail holes. I ran out of steam while sanding them, but when I get geared up again I will finish sanding, and caulk and paint the building. The coop looks a lot better, and I am thrilled with the progress.

I am so happy to have these projects underway. They were all hanging over my head, bothering me in their various stages of incompleteness. I know I have a long way to go still, what with all the finish work and painting, but to have made this much progress is worth celebrating.

My goal for the rest of the fall, or at least until cold weather hits and outdoor work ceases, is to have the back porch ceiling painted and complete, have the garage fixed and repainted and sporting new doors, and to have the coop trimmed and repainted. If I can get these major projects accomplished, I will happily rest in front of the wood stove for the winter. All the while, of course, plotting next year’s improvements…

Even clean-up was pretty.

At 4:00 in the wee hours of Thursday morning I was awakened by a familiar scrambling in my bedroom. At this point I should know better and just roll over and go back to sleep. But the responsible homeowner/vendettive bitch in me just can’t resist the call of a good MOUSE RODEO!

So up I sprang to find my four-legged assistant already on the case. Kitty was chasing a poor little mouse to and fro around the bedroom. I swear she was playing with him, and I haven’t seen a mortally cuter sight than the mouse staring up at her, impotent boxing fists at the ready, chattering hail Mary’s in mouse-speak while Kitty watched, tail twitching. This went on for a few minutes, with me shouting encouragement from the sidelines. I know it’s gross, but I wanted nothing more than for the cat to sink her teeth into this thing and be done with it so I could go back to bed. But it soon became apparent that I’d woken up for a spectator sport, not a blood sport.

But damned if I was giving this invasive creature the chance to continue its life in my palace. So into my closet I went for The Shoe Box. And then I chased that damn mouse around my bedroom, in and out of my closet, until I finally grabbed him:

Trouble was, I only managed to get his body in the box while his poor wee head stuck outside. What to do?

It was now about 4:15 in the morning, and I was buzzing from my adrenaline-induced hunt. There was no way I was going to let the mouse escape, and I knew that if I tried to get him properly in the box odds were he’d escape. So I grabbed a roll of packing tape and with one hand sealed him halfway in his cardboard coffin.  And then I slipped him into a plastic bag and went to do what I do with all small mammals I am out to dispatch: put him in the freezer. Only my freezer was too full with chilling beer steins and venison sausage, so this guy met his end in the fridge. And I went upstairs to wipe mouse blood stains off my floor. Turns out this actually was a blood sport for Kitty.

When I got the mouse out the next day he was good and dead, and one little eyeball was frosty white from freezing against the bag. I chucked him into the woods for the fox, and then went inside to give my partner Kitty a well-deserved scratch about her ears.

I took a birthday journey last weekend and turned 32 on Friday in a boat on a misty mountain lake with good beer, a good friend, and my fantastically good dog.

It was the first I’d been away from the farm for more than a night since this chapter of my life began two and a half years ago. Although it was wonderful to be on the road, camping and exploring through beautiful Southwestern Virginia, coming home to the farm was a sweet new pleasure. Never before have I lived in a place in which I was so invested—physically, spiritually, emotionally and creatively. These investments return a feeling of rootedness and connection to this very particular patch of earth, which is exactly what I was seeking when I left my transient life of roosting in anonymous apartments around the country.

In fact, I like the feeling of returning so much that I am going to start traveling more, just so I can come home.

And while we’re celebrating comings and goings and getting older and moving deeper instead of faster or more often, I’ve made it to my 200th blog post!

I spent today working on my fall garden—probably half a month late but what the hell. The half inch of rain we got courtesy of Hurricane Irene made the soil perfectly moist for planting. I sowed seeds of brocolli, kale and chard, bok choi, mustard and assorted greens. Then I covered two rows with wedding veil fabric. It’s pretty, but I don’t think it’s a great choice since it’s fragile and already ripping. Plus I ran out with only two rows covered.

One “submit order” click later and the real deal, Agribon 15, is winging my way. I am really excited to start experimenting with row covers. Particularly after tonight I turned over a ripe watermelon in the garden and smashed an entire palmful of squash bug nymphs that were hiding out there making lace patterns in the watermelon skin.

More planting to come—the faster-maturing salad greens that will take the place of the summer crops (beans, peppers, cabbage) as they fade.

Today we had a big earthquake not too far from here in Mineral, Va. It was a whopper for Virginia, a 5.8—the largest quake in Virginia since another 5.8 in 1897. I was at work, sitting at my desk, staring at my computer when the filing cabinets began to walk across the floor.

And just now an aftershock came through as I’m at home, on my computer. The casings around my front door and windows creaked, unflappable Tuck cocked his head to the side and regarded the vibrating that seemed to fill even the air around us, and then it was over.

The thing that amazes me more than the earthquake is how fast everyone knew about it, around the world! It was listed on Wikipedia’s Virginia earthquakes page within minutes of occurring. Just now that 4.2 aftershock was posted on the USGS site and the data tweeted by the Capital Weather Gang within 17 minutes of the event. I can get every bit of geological post-game with a half-second online search, and if that’s too much for me to process, there’s always some humorously competent professor on NPR who’s happy to break it down for me.

And that’s just the scientific stuff, the islands in the swamp of sensationalist journalism that proffers such astute observations as:

A helicopter inspected the Washington Monument, and it was found to be structurally sound, the National Park Service said. The grounds were being reopened late Tuesday afternoon, but not the plaza and monument itself, where the interior was being inspected.

U.S. Park Police spokesman David Schlosser said to his eye, the monument was “clearly not leaning. It’s standing tall and proud.” via CNN

and

Christina Summers, a young mother who lives in New York City’s Greenwich Village, said she thought the shaking was caused by construction in a neighboring apartment.

“Holy cow! My couch was wiggling like those beds you put a quarter in,” Summers said. via Reuters

So much information, so fast. How far we’ve come from cowering before the power of angry, trident-wielding gods!

Or have we really? Now we just worship at electron altars—as the temples crumble around us.

With my perfect trifecta of summer foods:
Tomatoes, peaches and corn.

From Holloway Farms, via the Crozet GreatValu—thanks to a hot tip from a coworker. Best corn I’ve had in years.

While the sun was doing this off the front porch…

it was doing this off the back porch:

I never get bored here.