Cymande is Thirty!

Cymande's sister Shannon thoughtfully sent us some previously unreleased photos of Cymande's childhood. In celebration of her birthday I present age 5 and 9.

1981, Rooftop Elementary, San Francisco. Favorite activities: counting and pretending to be a pigeon or ant.


Four years later, still at Rooftop. Madonna's influence has clearly been established. So damn cute!

Pears, Birdwatch, Pressurewash

The annual pressure wash nearly coincided with Cymande's annual birthday. For her 30th celebration multiple items were presented including pear scones baked in JB's Boston apartment. She also knit a couple of amazing little pears.


After pear consumption we went on a birdwatch with Four Rivers Audubon. We were allowed access to PCS (a land owning company that that extracts phosphorus from the earth with massive torrents of water) and saw some lovely birds including: avocets, greater yellow legs, white pelicans, terns, tree swallows, snowy egrets, great blue herons, common yellow-throat warblers, swamp and song sparrows, hooded merganser ducks, pied-billed grebes and a harrier. Until you see beyond the gates of PCS you will never know what a strange environment exists out there.


After the bird watching ended the ritualistic chicken temple construction commenced. Modest progress was made followed by an evening of tapas and wine in Gainesville. The next day was all about pressure washing.

The Chicken Temple Nears Completion

We will begin with the obvious. I am soley focused on the construction of a chicken coop (recently refered to as the chicken temple) that may actually rival our home in terms of structural integrity and luxury. I am finishing this project soon. With its completion I will search for further meaning to my existence.


Existential condolence to my previous statement...


Our field is home to bobwhites, turkeys and deer.


The lawn tractor with a steaming cup of coffee.


During the summer these stands held our peas while the sun burned them to a post-vegetable crisp. Now they stand as a monument to rural minimalism as the WDO's (wood destroying organisms) dismantle them slowly.


Our field becomes congested with equisetum every fall. Equisetum is actually the only scientific name I remember from my plant physiology course fifteen years ago. I also remember the term 'xylem' and 'phloem' and I'm pretty sure they involve moving sap. I'm also pretty sure my professor had a vanity plate involving one of them.


Our winter bird population has returned. Goldfinches, towhees, chickadees, tuftedtitmice, cardinals, mockingbirds, etc. They enjoy their bath (built for Cymande's 28th Birthday.)

Christmas Retrospective

Last December we traveled to Ajo, Arizona to visit our parents. We drove through the Sonoran Desert and played pool under the stars. I baked soot covered bread in the outdoor wood oven that no one ate while my mother's cat practiced his St.Vitus dance to everone's delight.


We travelled to Mexico and learned to scream "Alto!" at my father. He would simply laugh and barrel through yet another intersection. It was fun and exciting.


Ah, Ajo.

"What you got there?" Well, clearly not a rental car...Our Vacation in Massachusetts.

If it were not for the generosity of our dear friends, Ross, Sarka, and Sam we would have spent our vacation criss-crossing Massachusetts on a greyhound bus. This is what happened: Upon our arrival at Logan Airport we came to the sudden realization that one should always reserve rental cars, especially on holiday weekends, and especially especially during leaf-peeping season in New England. After receiving no information and a good dose of Revere-style rudeness from the "information and welcome" desk, we called Ross to invite ourselves to his home in Ipswich. Luckily, our invitation was accepted.


Beer and nachos were consumed over a mini-nervous breakdown (gnashing of teeth included) as we theorized how we would get to a wedding the next day in Springfield and then to Kripalu the day after that without a car. But, by the end of our respective pints we were laughing and shrugging off this unplanned event, opting to go with the flow. We got ourselves to North Station, taking note of the missing elevated green line trellis. We then rode our old commuter rail train to beautiful Ipswich. Ross instantly allayed our transportation fears when he offered his car for the week.


The next day, we attended Patrick and Anne's lovely wedding. We both wept openly during the ceremony. It was wonderful to see old friends and many hugs and laughs were shared.


Then we drove through the Berkshires, staying at a hotel in Great Barrington. The next day, we ate breakfast at the historic Red Lion Inn in Stockbridge (circa 1773!?).


Later that day we traveled to Kripalu in Lenox. There we relaxed and renewed with a 90 minute massage that left us like two piles of bliss, ate amazingly healthful meals and purposefully did not do any yoga. I did get a nice heart chakra meditation cd though! I didn't really have the energy for more.


We woke up early the next day and meandered up to North Adams where Mass MOCA was closed (its closed on tuesdays). We didn't really mind, considering the nice ride. So, we continued on the colorful back roads eventually arriving back in Ipswich.


The next day we walked to Russell Orchards and found some old friends. We ate the legendary apple cider donuts of our youth and visited the barnyard animals. Then Ross and Gregg played Whiffle ball, each blowing out his pitching arm.


The next day we went over to Rockport and Gloucester to find friends and visit family. Our 3 year old friend Sam came along and tried to help his father consume about four thousand calories worth of carrot cake pancakes, but he mostly stuck to the chocolate milk (known in Sam-speak as "chokit nilk"). We had some coffee on the deck of the Strudel Shop and admired the Autumn Atlantic.


We drove the Back Shore and stopped at the Ocean View and watched Ross save Sam from rogue waves.


From there we walked Appleton Farms where Sam grabbed the low voltage electric fence against the rules, twitched and said, "who just kicked me?". This was both funny and scary.


We finished the day with a date at Essex Seafood (fried clams and calamari!). Farnham's was way too crowded.


The next day began at the best breakfast place in the world, Stone Soup (did I mention that we ate while we were on vacation?).


We met up with our friend Jenn and did a little walking and talking through some antique shops in Essex.


We drank some wine, ate some cheese, talked and found ourselves at the Franklin later that night. Sam didn't quite appreciate the low light levels or the lack of chocolate milk. He fell asleep mid-sentence on the ride home. The sentence was probably "what you got there?" or "what are you doing there?". I was teaching him to say "squander money" and something quasiprofanic involving George Bush. I'm sure Ross has already picked up where I left off. Cymande taught him about Argyle socks. Someone had to do it.

Jenn treated us to a fantastic breakfast at a South End bistro the morning we left. Thanks JB! You rock. Love those socks! We're gonna have babies just so that you have to knit us something fabulous because you love us and you would be obligated to in such a situation. Just so you know. We loved meeting Daniel, finally. Someday, he will be forced back to the southern U.S., and he will like it.

Overall, it was a trip full of color and memories and cable tv and great food and Sam and friends and walking around Ipswich and more food and more Sam. In short: perfect.


Today, back in Florida I started back on the coop. I managed to avulse a goodly piece of flesh from my finger in the Lowes' parking lot, but a little masking tape and paper towel and all is well. The tin roof is nearly complete! My finger hurts.

If I Eat This I Might Die: The Fungi of Old Wire Road

I have always thought mushrooms and lichen were worthy of interest, but who knew they were worthy of obsession?


Turns out, we have at least 50 different kinds of mushroom in our field and at its edges, so we thought we'd try to document and share them with you, you know, naturalist style. Right now, we only have 1 mushroom field guide, the National Audubon Society Field Guide to North American Mushrooms, and, sadly, it is inadequate. We could only identify 3 out of 50 of our fungi with certainty using this text: the tiny Velvet-Cap Marasmius, the gelatinous Beefsteak Polypore and the freakish and very stinky Stinky Squid.


We will be ordering Mushrooms Demystified this week and hope it can help us better determine edibility. I mean, there's one called the Fried Chicken mushroom, and it looks like some we have growing near the future chicken coop, which would be, you know, funny as well as fun to eat...but, you know, not so funny if we ate it and died. For all we know these could be brand new Dirty Trichs masquerading as Fried Chickens and that would be a dirty trick indeed.

With Autumn, the Chicken Coop

Autumn in Florida; a time when a man's fear of heat stroke wanes and thoughts turn to the construction of a moderately sized chicken coop. This is the update that few have been waiting for. The concrete block compost foundation has been laid and the framing is well underway. I hope that the future chickens will come to appreciate the asthetics and avian comfort I have created, alas, the fickle chicken.













Interestingly and slightly menacing is the sharp cry of two hawks that seem to be anticipating the arrival of fresh chickens. Luckily our resident crows have been harassing them. The migratory and not so migratory birds (tufted titmice, vireos, chickadees and mockingbirds) have been announcing their arrival at our feeder and bath.













Witness to the construction is Lula and her more-ever-present boyfriend, whom we refer to as "lula's boyfriend." They engage in mock civil war battles much to the delight of no one. Lula proudly represents the Union.













Due to a rather dry spring/summer our love bug explosion never really happened, but there was a small swarm that seemed attracted to NPR. Clearly, these are godless humanist insects with a penchant for Terry Gross.













The construction continues with post-workday framing and a considerable amount of self inflicted wounds. While building the trussing my antique circular saw finally died. I consider myself a preservationsist, but I am glad this beast is gone. It had two features that I will miss: it weighed about 40 lbs. and it provided random electric shocks. Now, I'm guided by lasers.

Introduction

Less than three years ago neither Cymande nor I had ever heard of Lake City, Florida; now, we call it home. Yes, I had floated down the otter infested waters of the Itchetucknee Springs many years ago, and Cymande had visited the Mouse as an adolescent and vowed never to return, but alas, now here we live. The feds sent us here via the National Health Service Corps and now we can say we truly understand northern Florida...it's true what those Floridians said about having to go north to go south.


Charlie and I drove a rather large moving truck. Most of our delicate belongings were pulverized but riding with the big boys was worth every cracked dish and dead houseplant. I also experienced gastroenteric torment provided by a Frosty from some lone wendy's (note to self: beware of the lone standing southern fast food restaurants). This sordid frosty led to the following scene: me, in the woods, changing into Cymande's pajamas within striking range of a irritated rattlesnake. We arrived on Old Wire Road in the midst of an erosive deluge. We found that our keys did not open the doors and had to break into our own home. Some might have taken this as a message, but I challenge all the voodoo and supernatural that any minor demigod can muster.


We spent the first month working tirelessly and near heatstroke refinishing the floors and painting the walls. This was Charlie's first major contribution to our existence here. He left, returned and left again. His contribution can only be measured in the amount of mayonaise consumed, paintings deconstructed, tim-e ball games won, free psychotherapy provided and the substantial increase in our standard of living. Anyway, Thanks Charlie!


Lula is our dog. She adopted us one day while I was mowing the lawn. I thought she was a coyote. She offered her belly. She never left the yard after that day. She is possibly the best dog in the world: fearless, sensitive, gentle and sneaky. We are catching on to her though.


One of our first major works was the restoration of what we call the barn. This is a source of semantic debate. Ok, it really isn't a barn, but there was hay and horse poop inside once. We constructed a raised floor, repaired the roof and installed new doors. It now functions as the art/yoga/music studio and shop. Carolina wrens raise their babies in the walls and rats occasionally call it home. We have instituted a relocation program for the rats.

After restoration of the barn was complete we moved to the house. This initially involved sealing and insulating the crawlspace which is also known as the craw-space. Several days were spent in the dark with insulation and duct tape. We then moved to insulating the attic which was unpleasant in an entirely different way.

The most emotionally damaging project was the bathroom restoration. This began with the quick realization that beyond new hardware we needed new walls, floor and ceiling. We spent days trying to replumb to no avail which left us waterless during a drought in late May. This was the nadir of home restoration at Old Wire Road. I made five trips to the building center in one day and left the plumbing section in a condition that could be best described as an atrocity.
With the completion of the bathroom a sense of serenity and well being overcame us. This also ended the need to bath outdoors in the former indoor tub, known while outdoors as the hillbilly bathtub. This was usually an enjoyable experience except at 6am when the sun hadn't risen enough to warm the water and the shampoo. Cymande mourns the loss of the hillbilly bathtub, but will feel better when the luxury outdoor shower is created next spring.

We recently began construction of the garden/chicken coop/compost supercomplex. This will replace our experimental garden of this past spring and summer. The Floridian sun can dessicate a bean in one hot afternoon and a few days without rain can turn lush greeness into something brittle and inedible. To inhabit the coop we have decided upon the gentle and handsome Buff Orpington. They will arrive by mail at three days of life (they are called 'peeps', because, you know, they, ummm, peep). If the chicken thing works out, we might get guinea hens and/or Plymouth Barred Rock chickens and, of course, a black rubber abbatoir outfit for Gregg. From there the projects are numerous and range from the esoteric-and-dependant-upon-decision-to-stay-here-forever-or-not-gray water pond and Japanese or Swedish modern box addition to the mundane exterior siding.
Anyway, we expect to create great things here on old wire road (and, I mean, so far so good and all). Maybe next year some baby or another will show up. His or her future chore has already been determined: dishes!