OK people. It’s been forever since I wrote, so I’m merging two posts into one monstrously long one. You may need a comfort break around the paragraph about druidic rituals. Stretch your legs, that kind of thing. So, here goes: Anyone that knows me will attest that I’m not a man to say no to something free. Especially when the freebie is 30 laying chickens, delivered in the back of a truck no questions asked and they’re able to pay…
It’s now three months since we broke ground on this build way back in May. Half of the time we’d allotted has been consumed with the big stuff: earthworks, wells, foundation and basement, framing, roofing and chicken coops. The remaining months are, to put it poetically, like a fat Geordie in a lycra dress: squeezed in way too tight and at serious risk of collapsing in an ugly mess the minute things get too funky. Or, to put it another…
I’m half way through a blog post but to be honest, I’ve just been too tired and busy to complete it. So instead, here’s some rather nice pictures of the land wreathed in mist that I took on my iPhone when I was there tonight putting the Ladies Who Lay to bed. Enjoy the peace.
As a boy growing up in the 70s and 80s there were certain indicators of a privileged life. The first was that you had a Tonka toy. Not one of the modern mostly-plastic jobs. No, we’re talking the steel-plate, scaled down construction-grade dump trucks, diggers or cat-tracked beasts. Real toys for real men’s sons. But now I’m a father, I know the truth. Those toys were bought not just for their earth-trembling awesomeness in the sand-pit, but because as Dads,…
Triumph. Not just the name of my rather awesome motorbike, but also the natural state for a Jedi Knight. Behold the foundations of our new home. From here, I will plan and execute my inevitable domination of the world, or at least the Ontario niche alcohol and heritage farm products markets. The clock is ticking!
Back in 2001 we still lived in the UK in a rather uninspiring “executive” home in Newcastle. Not very much happened until one day, the postman delivered a Census Form. It was the first time I remember it happening, or at least the first time I got to fill one out as a real live adult. The man of the house, so to speak. Now perhaps I should have taken it a little bit more seriously because in 200 years…
In a strange kind of way, today is an appropriate time to be writing the post about the house we’re planning to build on the land. That’s because today, after nearly 6 months of planning and bureaucracy, we’ve offered up the children’s inheritance to the City of Ottawa in exchange for a Building Permit. This rather disappointing piece of paper is more precious than a golden Willy Wonker ticket and arguably harder to get. I’d expected big wax embossing, or at least…