Tombstone Willie

The last weekend of July (I know, I'm a bit late but hey, we've been remodeling a house. No, a Jungle House) is the Burk****** Family Reunion. It, second to Thanksgiving, is my favorite holiday.

It's fairly easy to get to the Reunion. You turn at Willie's Tombstone. (Then you turn at the barn, but this post is not about that turn. It's about the first.)

Willie's Tombstone? Who's Willie? And why does he have a tombstone?

First, there's the tavern.

And why does the tavern spell Willie wrong? Willey? Really...

But across the street from the tavern, is the real Tombstone Willie. The Willie you probably have never heard of, unless you live in SW Washington.

This is the "turn here for the Reunion" heritage marker.

So, Willie, along with Lewis & Clark (who dominate the plethora of other heritage markers here in the area), came West.  

A bit morbid, for sure, but here's to you, Willie...

You made it West to this spot.

 

And you are the annual marker for the Reunion. My second favorite holiday of the year.

Painting By Moonlight

First things first...I'm not sure I like the blue color of The Jungle House. But for the moment, we are stuck with it. But stuck with it does not mean we aren't working on it. Because yes, we are repainting the house...blue.

The blue I do not like. But I'm learning to like it.

Part of why I don't like it is because it's peeling and faded and just sorta blah. But as we've painted new siding with brand new paint (yay for the ability to match old paint with new paint) it's growing on me. Really what the problem is is that it's peeling and faded and just sorta blah.

New paint seems to fix it.

Last week in anticipation of the new front porch we needed to paint the bottom section under the overhang that surrounds the front door. We needed the siding that was being covered up to have a fresh coat of paint. Why you ask? Well, it needs to not rot...and paint helps that. (The things you learn when you remodel a house and actually pay attention to every inch of where you live.)

And in typical Farmer & Brunette style...we don't seem to do much typical...we painted by moonlight.

Good thing The Farmer got me a lantern...actually, a CUTE* lantern...for Christmas last year.

*Cute was key. The Farmer makes fun of the fact that I frequently ask if something is cute or say I want something cute. So my lantern...it was red...and cute.

Gettin' Jiggy With It

I did a jig on my front porch last night. Well, it might have been a jig. I'm really not up on my dance genres. In any case, know that there was lots and lots of joy to be had.

Because this was what we started with:

This was what the in-progress has been:

This is what things looked like last week:

And this was yesterday:

Yep...You are welcome to dance too...

There's No Crying Over Front Doors...

I'm channeling Tom Hanks.

And who knew it would be over a front door. Oh, don't worry...it was good crying. I'm a "leaky person", according to The Farmer. And today...when the door went in...I got a little leaky.

The Farmer just shook his head.

I had no apologies.

Ever since we moved the front door we've had a temporary door. "Dan's Emergency Door" as it's known around these parts. It was taken out of another house (by Dan, of course) and now just makes its way around the area, door to door, when needed for the next construction project.

One of the most amusing things about this door is that everyone...and I mean everyone...thinks it's our real door.

People...did you look at the door? Did you notice the paint sprayed all over it? Did you really think THIS was our new front door. Yeah...no...

THIS is our new front door...

The new doors (the side door is new too) arrived a few weeks ago, and The Farmer has been diligently staining them. The doors are fiberglass as a wood door would last about 63 seconds around here with all our wind and rain. I - as usual - obsessed over the doors for weeks. And in the end, I couldn't find a stain color I liked. The doors already were fake wood...we didn't need to amplify this fact! I'm not kidding...the stain colors available from the door companies were hideous.

So we bought the doors unfinished and we have been staining them ever since.

I think The Farmer still loves me, but I think there's been a few swear words attached to my name at times.

Staining itself is not the challenge. It's the taping. And re-staining. And drying. And re-staining. And drying. And flipping. And taping again. etc. etc. It's quite the process.

I got good at taping.

And The Farmer got good at staining.

I don't think we'll be keeping those socks.

Staining fiberglass we discovered isn't hard, it's just frustrating. As you might imagine, the fiberglass doesn't take the stain quite as well as wood. So you find yourself putting on multiple coats. After the second coat on the first door - on a day I was not around (this was important) - The Farmer did an experiment.

In his words he "slathered it on really really thick to the point of thinking you had ruined it. ... And walked away."

After letting it soak in and *almost* dry, he came back and wiped it off. Success! The color stuck.

But I was really glad I wasn't around to see the experiment in progress.

And yes, that is saran wrap. Did I mention The Farmer is an anal as I am? After he painted the frame white he didn't want to get any stain on his new paint. So I taped saran wrap over the sides.

And finally today arrived.

Front Door Day!

And The Farmer has already washed the window.

I told you he was anal.

Mini-Me...Work Boot edition

It's a well-known fact...I have small feet and hands. It's hereditary; my mother is one of the only people (sans those under the age of 15, of course) who has smaller hands than I do. The rub? I'm just shy of 5'10". My extremities don't match the rest of me.

Now this is not a big deal, just something my family usually makes fun of. And it is funny. I have the smallest feet in the family, and when I was little I couldn't wear salt-water sandals on our trip down the Pacific Coast; they were too wide and my little feet just fell right out of them. I had "special" sandals that didn't feel all that special. They were brown; my sisters' were pink.

Current day result...The Farmer's pinkie is bigger than my thumb.

*****

One of the first "gifts" The Farmer gave me was a pair of work gloves. Size small.

He's very romantic.

His most recent gift for me was my own pair of work boots. I know, girls, you are all swooning! But in reality it really is a big deal, this gift o' rubber boots. It means I don't have to borrow his sister's. I have my OWN PAIR. I belong.

Of course, the cynics could also be thinking...sucker!

I'll choose the first. It's a sweet...if not advantageous for The Farmer...gift.

I ordered my boots from Big George, who is a travelling salesman. Yes, they still exist. He shows up on the farm with his trailer full of items for The Farmer. I'll admit, there's not much in there for me. Except boots, of course.

The Farmer had given Big George the heads up that I needed a miniature version of work boots, as he doesn't normally carry a size 5 men's. He still didn't have my size, but I tried on two different pairs to see what I wanted.

The final purchase?

A mini-me version of The Farmer's boots.

Famer Quote #98: Salad Tongs

Farmer: "We have salad tongs?!? You've been holding out on me."

Brunette: "Uh. Sorry. I didn't know you liked salad tongs so much."

Farmer: "They are a TOOL."

Thinning The Herd

The Farmer is really really really excited about this post. He's been waiting for this post for months. He's been planning. He's been scheming. He's been dreaming.

Because what guy is not excited about bagging something from a hunt. OK, perhaps not all guys are excited about killing a large animal or fish and taking a picture with it. But around here...it's a big deal.

In truth, the most The Farmer hunts are nutria. And the occasional sparrow.

But fishing on the Columbia River a mere 75 yards from our front door? Nah. Not so much.

And shooting one of the many deer* who use our yard as a lunchtime diner? Yeah...he has better things to do. So the fish and the deer are safe from The Farmer.

But the cable dishes that grace our roof? Those didn't have a chance.

In truth, these are just half of what we had atop our gables. Yes, we had two more of these things on the Jungle House. The process of installation apparently involves leaving the old dish up on the roof to add to the decor of the home. When we moved in we had six (counting the one we added that actually works)...count 'em six...dishes or dish brackets on the Jungle House. This is in addition to the large 50 foot radio antenna that still is in the backyard. The Farmer wants to see if it works. OK...whatever floats his boat. He doesn't know it isn't really staying long...I'm just letting him think so for the moment.

This weekend the final three dishes were removed by The Farmer. He had a blast. He crawled all over the roof, chasing cable and hunting dishes. And he got to throw them off the roof into the bushes.

A man's dream.

Of course he did all this while I was unaware of the situation. So no photos. So sorry.

In addition to the dishes above, he pulled hundreds of yards of cable. Because one dish was on the east side of the house, but served the apartment on the west side. And another had cable strewn across the roof to serve another cable box on the opposite side. We might start our own cable company from the amount of cable we pulled from the roof.

While I didn't see the hunt in progress, I did discover the results: A hole in my paint job.

Yes, The Farmer just pulled when we came to the end of a cable line that disappeared into the house. And at one point wondered what the noise was that came through the outer walls of the house.That would be the cable outlet, loose from painting, flying across the room as he yanked out the able it was attached to. Oops. But nothing a little spackle and re-painting won't fix.

So now...we are a one-dish household. Yay!

And The Farmer got to take the photo he was dreaming about. Scheming about. So excited to take.

Here are his prizes. He bagged his hunt.

I just need to be sure this is not our Christmas card photo.

*The Farmer would like to clarify the white-tailed deer that do hang out in our neighborhood are protected by federal law. We do not really hunt them. While I explained to him that this is what I said in the post, he wants me to clarify. So...

No actual deer hunting was conducted in the writing of this post. Or at any other time as well.