Musings on Sun and Slush

Some snapshots from the past week.  Last week, we decided to walk in the other direction than usual on the Greenbrier River Trail, which took us by this old tower which provided water to the engines on the steam locomotives, back when the trail was a railroad.  I love that the sluice is still in place.

Then, over the weekend, it rained.  And rained.  And rained.  Then, for good measure, it snowed, too.  To say that Knapps Creek swelled a bit would be something of an understatement.  This photo was snapped of the exact same spot as this one.  Goodbye, little island.

We met the town's wandering pup (who I call Gypsy because I am mad creative) along the trail.  I adore this guy.  To pieces.  He's got an owner somewhere, though I don't know who it is, but if I thought I could get away with it, I'd scoop him up and abscond in a second.  Vista loves him, so no complaint there.

We held part one of a two part youth class last evening.  Mikey's daughter attended, and felt that Vista should be wearing her heart on her collar.  When that didn't work, she settled for her chest.

Mikey and Elizabeth jamming on the band saw.

So that's been the week.  My body can't seem to decide if it wants to be sick or not, and I've been sleeping badly, dreaming weirdly, and waking up feeling like someone beat me with a 2 x 4.  Added to that, it's been slushing all day.  Like, slush is literally raining from the skies.  That's about the definition of unpleasant right there.

In conclusion, today's personal struggle:

I'm stronger than the cookies.  I am.

Highboy in Progress

One of my projects at Pocahontas Woods has been getting a new website up (notice I'm not linking to our current website here, it's that awful).  Since I personally am not a designer of graphics or for web, that has lately meant waiting on our actual, qualified web designer.

I'm not very good at waiting.

I've been looking forward to getting to post about the projects in the woodshop on the new website, but since I can't at the moment, I'm going to post here.  Also, I'm a little bored.  With the waiting.

Our college student, Jerrill Vance (previously glimpsed here), has been putting his heart and soul into this, his final project.  It's a highboy cum secretary desk.  A high secretary.  And it's lovely.

 Clearly, it's currently in two parts, but you can get an idea of what the end result will look like.  The wood is curly cherry with walnut accents.

The best part, in my opinion, is that the desk locks.  There's not nearly enough locking furniture on the market these days, if you ask me.

Here it is with the drop-front open.  Actually, I lied when I said the best part was the locking.  The locking is pretty awesome, but the real best part is that it's going to have a secret compartment.  That's right, this piece of furniture is already cooler than every other piece of furniture you've ever owned and it's still in two pieces.  And guess what?  I know where the compartment's going to be.




And I'm not telling.

Overheard in the Woodshop

One of my favourite things about commuting on the Metro every day was the conversations I'd overhear.  I keep up with the conversations via a couple local blogs, but I overhear some pretty hilarious things in the shop.  So here's your first edition of Overheard in the Woodshop.

John: Last year I grew an eggplant that looked like Richard Nixon. (It's true, he brought us proof.)

John: I went looking for sandpaper in my van and found an ear of corn.


A client has brought us a castle "room box" to repair, and it's pretty impressive.  Three stories with an attic and a tower.  However, the tower, we found, has a disturbing tendency to fall over.
Colt: I guess Rapunzel lives up there.
Mikey: Guess we gotta rescue her so she can marry a frog.
Colt: I thought we had to marry her.
Mikey: Oh, alright.
Colt: Reaches for the tower, toppling it over.  Dang, I killed Rapunzel.  He picks it up and finds it unbroken.  Nevermind, she's okay.
Mikey: When you get out of the hospital, I'm marryin' your ass.


Jessica (Mikey's wife): I've got a bee problem--all these bees keep getting in the house!
Mikey: You know why they keep getting in, right?
Jessica: No, why?
Mikey: 'Cause you got a sweet husband.
Jessica: ...
Mikey: They're honey bees.
Jessica: You stop that.
Mikey: You ain't never gonna get rid of them.

Shop Dog

As you may have noticed based on the backgrounds in the videos I take, Vista comes to work with me.  She's a very good shop dog.  Quiet, calm, extremely friendly, and she's learned not to wander into the workshop when the door is open and only occasionally darts out the front door after birds.  Which means I really only get a mini-heart attack once a week.  When people learn she comes to work with me, the question I am most often asked is if the loud noises bother her.  Since today has been a pretty noisy one, I decided to take a little video to illustrate.

In Which Love Is Lavished

We had a little shelf-making class at the shop today.  These lovely ladies were waiting for us when Vista and I arrived early in the morning, which made for a very happy dog.

In Which It Figuratively Rains AND Pours

A few fun things happened in Marlinton this weekend.  A play was put on at the Opera House.  There was a farmer's market Saturday morning.  Nearby, a Civil War battle was re-enacted.  I was looking forward to these things (as well as checking out the Presbyterian church in the center of town), but I was in Charlottesville, VA, watching my little brother graduate from the University of Virginia.  Casey and I checked out some of the MANY used book shops in town Friday afternoon, and I spent far more money than I should have.  His fraternity put on a party for the families in town, complete with a slide show.  On Sunday, fun times were had by all (especially the graduates--the bars in C'ville open at 6 am on graduation day), but I'll admit that it was nice to get back to Marlinton yesterday morning.

I came in to work for a few hours, talked to the guys, and snapped some photos of Larry and Mikey sanding down an old chair to be refinished (those are Mikey's hands above).  Since I hadn't gotten much sleep all weekend, I decided to head home early.  However, once I was there, it seemed a shame not to whip up a batch of blondies (or, as my grandmother called them, "congo bars"), since I finally had all of the ingredients.

Sadly, I have no photos of the finished product.  By the time it came out of the oven, I was too distracted by a bleeding finger and a leaking washer to grab the camera.

While the bars were in the oven, I decided to start a load of laundry, my first attempt since installing the washer myself.  I was feeling pretty good about my housewife-y afternoon, so I tackled the dishes.  It was then that I heard what I thought was water, outside the washer.  I turned off the faucet and checked, but didn't see anything.  Huh.  Returning to the sink, I dunked my left hand in a bowl of sudsy water...and sliced the tip of my finger open on my one sharp knife.

Here's where the massive blood loss enters into the story.  My finger would NOT stop bleeding.  No amount of pressure seemed to do the trick, and I was bleeding all over the place.  And since nothing is ever easy, it was then that I realized that the water sound I'd heard earlier was being caused by the hose coming out the back of the washer spraying water all over the place.  Long story (and lots of bleeding) short, I figured out that someone at some point had jerry-rigged the thing so that while the washer would leak, it would be a CONTAINED leak, draining through a hole in the floor to the cellar below.  Fantastic.

Finally, the blondies were ready.  At this point, I had my finger wrapped in a paper towel and bound with masking tape.  It was the only thing that seemed to work.  I finished the dishes one-handed, cut the blondies into bars, and carried a plate of them over to Mr. McCarty's (a lovely gentleman who let me use his bathroom when we had no water).  I assured him that the blondies contained none of my blood, and the bars got the Charlie McCarty seal of approval.  I delivered the second plate, talked to the dogs who barked at me as I passed, and returned home for my first foray into hanging clothing to dry.

 Is there a proper way to hang clothing to dry?  If so, it's not something that was ever included in my education.  I worked by instinct and the fervent desire to shield my underwear from the road.  I think I succeeded.  It may take a mite longer than just throwing it all into the dryer, but it sure is prettier.

But I swear, if it starts raining, someone is going to pay.