Testing the roosts

The opening question is priceless: “Do you have to have a rooster if you’re gonna have chickens… if you wanna get chickens for eggs?”

Answer: “Chickens are just like us they in the fact that we will cycle through our own eggs whether or not we are dating someone.”

A "For Sale" sign marks the beginning of a new rural life

My son sent me a link to an AskMetafilter thread about moving to the country.  The author’s question begins:

25 year old single female (kinda) city mouse might go country mouse. How well advised is this move?? I would like to hear from people that have done this and loved it or hated it.

The best response, from the author pseudonym “MonkeyToes” is linked here; and you can read the original question in detail, along with the other replies to the thread.

I’ve posted about a “Typical Day” here at Two Mile and “The Other Kind of Typical Day“.  It’s an interesting blend of work ethic and play ethic that comes from living on a small farm.  There are always things that must be done; hard things that leave skinned knuckles and permanent stains on clothing,   The kind of things that if someone asked you to do for a job, you might quit.  But doing these tasks for yourself becomes a game and a challenge and a riddle to solve.

The AskMetaFilter inquisitor asks a question many others may ask this holiday season and as we push into the new year.  Is it time to make a break?  Is this the year to build a country life?

An excerpt from the MonkeyToes reply:

* The work is endless. Entropy works overtime on a farm, and there is always a fence to repair, a hose that needs replacing because you hit it with the mower, wood to split, weeds to pull, vegetables to can, bread to bake. Sounds delightful, yes? It is, when you can do it by choice. When you’re out of wood in the house and it’s sleeting outside, *you still have to do what needs doing,* whether you want to or not, sick or well, no matter what time it is. Your discretionary time will disappear because you’ll always be trying to keep up with your To-Do list. No TV? That’s fine. I miss sitting down with coffee and The New Yorker–I’m too busy tending the fire and rooting around the barn for the heated pan so the chickens’ water doesn’t freeze.

* Animals are complicated. With each animal, factor in: the expense of feeding; potential veterinary care; housing; and transportation. Do you have the right fencing? A dry barn, or run-in shed outside? Is there a feed mill nearby? How do you haul animals when you must? How do you provide water in freezing temperatures? Are you prepared to put an animal down if necessary? Sheep and goats and cows only look like they just stand there when they’re in someone else’s field and you are driving by, admiring their beauty. Are you hands-on enough to do your own processing, or do you have a butcher nearby? Do you have the knack for picking up weird skills (maggot-picking, chicken-catching, coop-building)? If not, then I hope your friends do.

I share three books (Available from Amazon if you want to help us pay the bills here).  Great gifts for yourself or the friend looking to make the move.  Be forewarned,  giving any of these books to your soon-to-be-rural friend implies tacit permission to  expect you to work when you visit their new rural home.

Lou posted this Q & A with Mark to his New York Times blog:

Before taking on construction of a timber-frame cabin, he was already a woodworker, building guitars and cabinets. He uses hand tools — planes, saws, chisels.

via Q & A With Mark Van Roojen, a Philosophy Professor and Cabin Builder – Times Topics Blog – NYTimes.com.

Progress in Maine by Lou Ureneck

It’s a fair question. The idea of living alone in less than 700 ft. is a far cry from typical. Readers familiar with Walden think of Henry David Thoreau, carving out his existence on Ralph Waldo Emerson’s back lot on the edge of Walden Pond. Astute readers of Walden know that Thoreau spent time in the local town almost daily, and had a continuous stream of visitors throughout the 2+ years he lived on the edge of the pond.

Like Thoreau, and others who live a rural and solitary life, I’ve found “alone” is far from lonely and often, isn’t so alone.  Saturday was a typical day.

I woke Saturday morning after hearing the wind blow beginning about 1:30 in the morning. I slept fine but no no one was blowing, meant a change in the weather was coming. After yesterday’s torrential rain, a day of sunshine would be a welcome break. Indeed, the clouds broke early in the morning and most of the day after noon was sunny and bright.

Because I teach graduate students, and the semesters just getting started, I began the day looking over e-mails and reviewing the online course websites. I made a scrambled egg burrito and look forward to a few months from now when the eggs will be from my own flock of chickens. With a couple coffee in hand, I drove north in the town to spend time in Bob’s Barn, the local meeting place where men my age and older swap stories about the week and generally look after each other. At 48 years old, I’m a youngster there. “Frosty” is pushing 80 years old, and talks and acts younger than many of my co-workers half his age.

This morning’s conversation was nothing special, but this group is covered such topics as stem cell research, CABG surgery, the economy, foreign policy, and angiograms. Today’s chat included the pros and cons of Windows XP versus Vista.  And a little bit of “tractor porn” as we talked about new machines some of the locals are using in the fields this year.

When the conversation wound down and everyone headed off to do their chores, I returned to Two Mile to move some mulch and plant my final 10 trees. After launch I spent some time online, helping a few graduate students find their way in their new course. Later in the afternoon, I picked up some dirt, and a flat of flowers to plant in the feed trough I’m converting to an above ground planter. Soon after, Norman my friend and occasional man-who-keeps-an-eye-on-the-place-while-I-am-gone, came by to do some morel mushroom hunting in the trees.

Saturday’s dinner was a stir-fry of chicken, peas, and peppers, all of which will be home grown by this time next year. With garden planting just days away, I look forward to seeing what does well in the new garden space. While Bob Wills music played in the background, my friends Eli and Caroline drove by in their horse-drawn buggy. Seeing their buggy reminded me that I want to buy some baskets from Caroline next time I drive by their home on Elk Chapel Road.

The ducks, chickens, and pheasants are all fed and watered. The sun is beginning to move towards the edge of the hill across the highway. The iPod plays Bob Wills, Asleep at the Wheel, and a collection of country music. Lyle Lovett sneaks in a tune now and then.

Just another day in paradise. Just another day at Two Mile Ranch.

Scaling back is the new black.

According to the National Association of Home Builders, houses started in the third quarter of 2008 averaged 2,438 square feet, down from 2,629 feet in the previous quarter. That’s a whole extra room — poof!

via Cut your square footage in half – MSN Real Estate.

The topic is timley in that is offers a different view of the isolation of the rural counties in America.  He is responding to a Washington post article on maple syrup makers in Virgiina in which the Post’s David Fahrenthold describes  Seltzer’s home county of Highland  as cursed with isolation.

But Seltzer counters with some interesting observations:

In what sense, if any, is rural America isolated and empty? And what difference does it make?

We seem to be about as plugged in as other Americans with television, high-speed Internet and cell phones. We are subject to the same laws, taxes, gasoline prices, global warming, interest rates, stock markets, foreign-policy adventures and telemarketers.

As we’ve shared, the above may be true with the exception of high-speed Internet .

It takes us less time than city folks to do many routine things like see a doctor, but more to be greeted at Wal-Mart or eat Thai, both of which are an hour’s drive away.

Like many communities, we are isolated from blue-collar manufacturing and high-income, white-collar jobs. We are also largely isolated from gangs, drugs and sirens. A couple of kids were arrested for shooting cows…with paintballs.

Seltzer continues with these points:

To casually characterize us as isolated and empty is, I think, implied code for saying we don’t quite measure up because rural is different.

The increasing number of urban people moving to the countryside quickly understand that they have not entered a vacuum. Their neighbors are people—not quaint relics, not noble rustics. Like everyone else, we are individuals with good points, bad points, and all points in between.

When off-hand descriptions marginalize the 50 million who live in rural America,
harm is done. We become the outback other, zoo specimens that are interesting to observe but dangerous in the wild.

Most Americans now live in metropolitan areas. That’s the norm. Because we’re here, not there, it’s easy to consider us a little abnormal.