Roots

I just finished watching the "Fresh" documentary.  (Thank you, Netflix!)

I have to admit, I'm a little teary-eyed.

Many of the simple, natural principles explained within "Fresh", and many of the other documentaries like it, speak to my very core.

Joel Salatin is my idol.

Michael Pollan preaches the gospel.

My 'American Dream' isn't a McMansion in an H.O.A. dominated, affluent suburb. In fact, driving in housing developments give me minor panic attacks. Living in one would be like a reoccurring nightmare, from which there would be no escape.

As the years pass, my desires to return to my roots on a farm, only intensify.

 


My recent trip home, brought me back to the place where my heart is rooted the deepest.

Grandpa's farm.








This is where the very center of who I am, began. Animal-loving, dirt-digging, blue jeans-wearing, crafty, farmer, tom-boy. It's a place that taught me the values of a hard day's work & being able to sit back and enjoy the fruits of your labor.


I witnessed first hand (quite literally) the birth of my future hamburgers and bacon.

As sad as it is to see the various barns that housed these pets - and the farmhouse, itself - weather & decay over the years; there is a lasting beauty to them, as well.

Memories and lessons learned that I cherish, all of which I can only hope to pass on to my children, one day.

My American Dream is being self-sustaining.

To sit on my back porch at night, listening to the song of the cicadas & gazing at the stars.

To invite friends and family over for days of canning and cocktails.

To have a family that shares in delights of spring planting and harvesting throughout the summer and fall.

To have my own goddamn Eggmobile.

 

Gifts from the Heart

9/7/12:
Since last Monday was Labor Day, I'd looked forward to a 4-day work week to breeze through.

I was oddly mistaken.

This was one of the longest short weeks, ever.

Why? I haven't figured that out. There's no single event. Maybe I just over-anticipated how quickly the week would fly by & when it didn't...

Oh, well. It's finally Friday with roughly 2 hours of work left!
Clearly my attention is diverted from the slew of attendance spreadsheets, incident reports that need processing, and other various data entry that may very well make my brain explode at any given moment.

For the safety of my noodle, I shall write instead.

In a continued effort to strengthen the relationships with that side of the family, I'll be making the 3hr trek north, tonight, to attend my niece's 2nd Birthday, on Saturday. I'd contemplated  gift options all week.

Being a childless aunt, allows me (at least in my opinion) full authority to purchase the most obnoxiously loud gifts possible, with no fear of retaliation.

After much thought, and not really feeling up to wandering the toy isles of the nearest big box store to find an over-priced kids drum kit; I decided on a hand-crafted gift.

Of course, I waited until Thursday night after work to undertake the project I'd concocted at work that day, and high-tailed it to Menard's after work to pick up a 1x12x6 plank of wood. I hauled ass home & began digging out the other supplies I had on hand.

My mission: a growth chart

With M.M.'s help, we found a font for the numbers that we liked ("Elephant"), altered them in Photoshop into simple outlines (it's all I really needed & it was ink-efficient).

First, I used the tape measure to mark the exact measurements on the board.



I started with making tick marks for the various measurements, and decided on distinctive lengths and widths for the various intervals.

*Every foot was marked with a 3" long line, 1/2' intervals were 2" long lines, 1/4' intervals marked with 1" long lines, and all other inch marks were left as small tick marks; I just sort of guessed the widths of each of the lines, roughly making them correspond visually to the intervals




Next, I measured a distance between the end of the 'foot' marks and where I wanted the top of the number to be, slid the printed number on the paper onto the board into position, and used a pencil to trace the outlines of the numbers.

The wood was soft enough, and made sure to push extra hard, so that there was a grove in the wood from the tracing. Once I was done, I removed the paper and re-traced the groves with my pencil.

Once everything was marked up in pencil, I pulled out my pink velour make-up bag that houses my trusty Dremel. 



To say I love my Dremel, would be an understatement.



I marched everything outside, ran my extension cord, and got to work. I wanted the numbers and measurements to be slightly recessed & textured.


This took awhile, but I got it done by about 9pm!


Once I got everything cleaned off and the tools put away, I marched the board back upstairs to my crafting lair to be painted.









I chose a sage(ish) color of green, that I'd picked up (for a previous project) at the Habitat For Humanity Re-Store.


 I only applied one coat of paint for both looks and time constraints.

Then, it was time for the more detailed painting of the dremel'ed areas. This took some additional effort due to the textured surfaces; and some touch-ups after I took this picture & could see the spots I missed.

By this point it was about 10:30pm, and I needed to let everything dry overnight.

I did take the opportunity to write an inscription on the back to her wishing her a happy 2nd birthday followed by this quote by Benjamin Franklin: “Without continual growth and progress, such words as improvement, achievement, and success have no meaning.”


Since I had to work today, I carefully loaded it up when I got home, packed my bags & a can of varnish and headed north!





9/9/12:
The party was on Saturday afternoon, I had that morning to lacquer it up at my mom's house.






This was the finished project ->




I slapped a silver bow on it and was ready to go.
















Party Time!


























I remember my family marking my height over the years, in a doorway, at my great-grandmother's house. That house has long since been sold, and I'm sure the measurements have painted over. Clearly, this wasn't a gift she could appreciate now (so I threw in some crayons, coloring books, bath crayons, and a box of sidewalk chalk) but my motivation behind it was the hope that after years of my sister marking her growth; that she'll be able to look back on it as an adult as a memento of her childhood & something she can take with her!

Project Costs:
    1"x12"x6' board : $8
    I had everything else on hand! I buy varnish by the gallon to use for various projects, the green paint was $3 from ReStore that I'd had leftover from a lobby table I refinished for my office, and the black paint was a $1 bottle of craft paint from Michael's that I had leftover. 

Family Dynamics

"Friends are the family we choose for ourselves" - Edna Buchanan

Last year the phrase "blood is thicker than water" was put to the test, for me.

In summary, an issue of child abuse divided one branch of my family tree in two. There were those that sided with the child (or mentally handicapped young adult, rather) and those that sided with the abusers.

It was a long, stressful, and at times heart-wrenching split; but things seem to have settled on their respective sides of the fence.

As an adult, to me there is a certain value to be put on the adults that influenced me and cared for me throughout my childhood. That has been the hardest part of the familial divide. But in the same regard, as an adult I can see more clearly the tainted, borderline-sociopath tendencies of some of those people & know that I'm better off having pruned the family tree.

I've come to realize that many of my friends are simply better human beings, and closer to my heart; than those recently expunged members of my bloodline. They (and my remaining biological family) are true to themselves and to those around them. They are loving, compassionate, giving, honest souls that I can say I'm a better person for having them in my life.

 At roughly the age of 18, while in college, I wrote a letter to my biological father, introducing myself & giving him the option of meeting me, if he chose. It was an introduction my mother always offered up, throughout my childhood, having nothing but the best of compliments for him. His lack of a presence in my upbringing was simply a matter of circumstance. Needless to say, he was as eager to meet me, as I was him. After nearly a year of "getting to know you" meetings, I was introduced to most of the rest of my "new" family.

Packaged in that bundle were younger half-sisters.

Having spent my entire life as the only child of a single mother, I was more than excited to bond with them!
Unfortunately, this is where further circumstances have stunted the relationships I'd hoped for. (1) Distance: I lived 3hrs away for the first few years while going to school, then moved to the other side of the country for 9 years. (2) Differences in general family dynamics: My mother and I have a very close relationship, where the family dynamic & communication within my dad and his wife's family is slightly different enough, that seems to make it difficult to connect with them. (3) Lack of childhood bonding: not having shared vital moments together growing up, we seem to generally lack the ability to bond over memorable moments. 

I'm still learning to accept that these relationships must be allowed to grow & flourish at their own pace, over time; and to continue to love & cherish those in my life whether they are my genetic family, or not.