Home Alone

April 23, 2012 § 5 Comments

Penny took the boys down to Massachusetts to visit her folks, leaving me in charge of, well, everything. Except, she had the boys, so everything but them. Which is an admittedly big “but.”

It’s not often I’m home alone for longer than a few hours, and when it happens, I can find myself paralyzed by the possibilities. So much to be done, and no one to answer to but the ever-hungry maws of our animals, clamoring from their respective paddocks/pens/shelters for the day’s sustenance. The cows at least are fairly polite about it, but the pigs? Good lord: You’d think their lives were just one grave injustice after another, with me being the sole perpetrator of their daily suffrage.

With the family away, and finding myself thrown somewhat off-kilter by their absence, I devoted my weekend to physical labor. We had plans to clear a small section of forest between the north wall of the small greenhouse and the stream, a tangle of balsam fir, some mature, some not, some dead or dying, and a few healthy and prime for the sawmill. The fir will be replaced with nut trees, a humbling proposition if ever there was one, as some of them may not come into their prime in my lifetime. Or at least, while I still have the teeth necessary to eat their offerings.

On Saturday, I rose early and did chores, happy to find all the critters – including Rye’s two-day-old trio of newborn doelings – hale and hearty. And while it’s probably my imagination, it seemed that for once the pigs were actually grateful for their milk and grain slurry. I rushed through breakfast, a bowl of kefir and blueberries eaten while standing at the kitchen counter, and found myself in the woods by hardly a hitch past 7:00, the saw gassed and oiled, hungry for the stand of wily fir. It was a job inflated by the mass of intertwined tops, the trees stuck together like Velcro by their gnarled branches. Plus, there was the greenhouse to consider, and of course because the greenhouse was in the light and to the south, all the trees leaned slightly in that direction, because as it turns out, trees are just like humans: They turn their faces to the sun, too.

I ran the saw, skidded logs, and piled brush for nearly five hours, at which point I broke to wolf down a few bacon-fat-seared venison steaks and a handful of greens purloined from the greenhouse. The steaks were a gift from a friend, and damned if they weren’t the tenderest animal bits I’d eaten in full moon or two. The greens weren’t bad, either, though probably could’ve done with some sort of dressing. As it was, I used them to mop up deer juice and this was a perfectly tidy arrangement.

After lunch, I hit the chainsaw again, and ran it hard until 3-ish, at which point it seemed reasonable to take a break. I’d burned through 7 tanks of fuel in the saw, a fair day’s work by anyone’s measure, and what with all the brush moving and log skidding, I was starting feel a bit peaked. Chores again, and 20 minutes of stretching to ease the kinks from my back. I’d somehow gotten Metallica’s “Ride the Lightning” in my head whilst working, so I slotted it into the player and turned it up loud, but after a while it began to wear on me and I shut it off. I guess I’m getting old, after all.

Chores again, and then I grazed for a while, ate some nuts, drank about half a quart of cream, and fried a few slices of what Penny endearingly calls “jowl junk,” brined and smoked bits of pig jowl that can almost pass for bacon. Thus fortified, I returned to the woods to drop a few more trees. At 7-ish, I called it quits.

With the boys home schooled, and me working at home, and Penny at home, our family’s lives are interconnected in ways that have become unusual in contemporary America. Most days, we eat three meals together, and the soundtrack to my working life is the near-constant clamor of the boys as their adventures – both imagined and real (is there a difference?) – unfold. You might think it distracting, and some days, it is. And I’d be lying if I said that I don’t look forward to their occasional absence, to the opportunity to absolve myself of responsibility and sink into whatever I choose.

Yeah, I look forward to that. But you know what I look forward to even more? Their return.

 

 

§ 5 Responses to Home Alone

  • Chris says:

    ‘this piece of land that I stand on is my battlefield and home
    my hoe and my plow is my gun
    clothes don’t make no difference at all
    we are workers and fighters all
    my uniform is my dirty overhauls’

    …is often in my head during days like that. you can turn it up loud. the harmonica rocks. and it suits an old man.

  • Dirk says:

    You should have called me. I would have come over with some beer and a lawn chair and watched you work.

  • Vonnie says:

    Hi Ben,
    I know, it always feels odd to me when my boys are gone. They are a constant flurry of noise and activity, and I distinctly notice their absence when it occurs. But, you made the most of your alone time, lots of progress, and hey, perhaps some fuel for the winter in that work as well. Seems to me there should have been a nice cold home brew at the end of that work day! ~Vonnie

  • Aspendance says:

    It is a strange irony, isn’t it? Paralyzed by possibilities… I feel the same way whenever my family is away and I am home.

  • Sounds like the way we eat.
    Our family lives on a homestead and works at home too. We’re always together and we love it that way.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

What’s this?

You are currently reading Home Alone at Ben Hewitt.

meta

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 642 other followers