Emotional Downsizing

I sold my Harley today.  I never really thought this day would come.  I won this beauty in a raffle in 1998 with a ticket purchased by my mom as a Christmas Gift.  Seriously.  The kicker is that I had yearned for a motorcycle for over half my life, and was in the process of buying one when the good universe delivered this to me nearly free of charge.  This bike was loaded with symbolism for me--of luck and gratitude and freedom and independence.  And then, of the challenge of letting things go.

Once I learned how to ride a motorcycle this big, I rode it quite a bit--but never enough.  I put her in the back of my truck and went to Alabama with my dog.  I rode the Fall River Road through Rocky Mountain National Park with a boyfriend on the back.  I spent time in Southern Colorado cruising through farm land.  I traveled to a friend's wedding in Winter Park, experiencing true cold weather riding.  I had leather chaps and steel toed boots.   In other words, I was a single lady with no small children!

Based on how my mother is, I figured that being a mother would mean obsession with keeping my kids alive.  I never anticipated it would spill over into a need to keep me and my husband alive.  Mason came out of me and I knew I could never ride that beautiful bike again.  I wouldn't be the mother who died on her motorcycle.  But, how to let it go?

A man wanted to buy it.  I sold it.  I watched it drive away from me on a trailer.  I cried a lot.  Not really about the bike, because I hadn't ridden it in over 8 years (gulp!).  I cried about what the bike meant to me and represented about me. I cried about the memories and the fantasy of driving down the road whenever I want to.  By myself.  I churned through all the ideas and emotions that were preventing me from letting go of something I never used.  Then, I thought about the two little boys and grown man who are my world.   And I felt clear.

Stay-at-Homesteading

8 pounds!  Rhubarb Jam anyone?

Ready for winter in 09

Good thing our neighborhood allows clothes lines!

I was at a party a few months ago, and when a woman asked me what my job is,  I answered, "I'm a stay-at-homesteader." She replied, "you must have chickens!" Well, I don't have chickens (yet), but it did get me thinking about what I mean by calling myself this. After all, it's a pretty heady designation given that  I don't live on anything close to a ranch or farm. Or have any edible livestock cavorting in the back yard. (If you don't count the cat, who I consider barbecuing sometimes.  Just kidding, Luna!)

For me, this all started when I was home with my first son, and was deeply confused about what I was doing with my life--I had left my career behind to do what???  I felt completely lost. My self-concept changed for the better for two reasons:  I had unconditional support from my Mom and Husband,  and I read an interview with  a woman named Shannon Hayes.  She wrote a book called  Radical Homemakers: Reclaiming Domesticity from a Consumer Culture. 
The publisher's description: "Mother Nature has shown her hand. Faced with climate change, dwindling resources, and species extinctions, most Americans understand the fundamental steps necessary to solve our global crises-drive less, consume less, increase self-reliance, buy locally, eat locally, rebuild our local communities.In essence, the great work we face requires rekindling the home fires.Radical Homemakers is about men and women across the U.S. who focus on home and hearth as a political and ecological act, and who have centered their lives around family and community for personal fulfillment and cultural change. It explores what domesticity looks like in an era that has benefited from feminism, where domination and oppression are cast aside and where the choice to stay home is no longer equated with mind-numbing drudgery, economic insecurity, or relentless servitude.Radical Homemakers nationwide speak about empowerment, transformation, happiness, and casting aside the pressures of a consumer culture to live in a world where money loses its power to relationships, independent thought, and creativity. If you ever considered quitting a job to plant tomatoes, read to a child, pursue creative work, can green beans and heal the planet, this is your book." 


 Hell, this is not my book, this is my life!  The cover even has a buffed out lady waiving a rolling pin in the air in a power salute!  Oh yeah!


So, for me, Radical Homemaking and Stay-at-Homesteading, means unplugging in as many ways as I can from having to buy things, so that I am not pressured to make money.  It means living in a 629 square foot house.  It means energy efficiency.  It means pulling the boys in the bike trailer all around town.  It means working at the gym day-care so we don't have to pay for a membership.  It means washing diapers, making my own wet-wipes, and  growing my own potatoes and rhubarb.  It means canning and freezing and preserving as many things as I can to see us through winter.  It means kissing and thanking and thanking my Husband and Mom for helping bring in the money so I can pursue my radical life.  And, one day soon, it may mean chickens.  Or not.  Luna may have other plans for the chickens. 

The Barn

Do you see what these two photos have in common?  

The cabinet below was made from the very barn siding you see above.  We have the most amazing cabinets thanks to many people: Blake Sander, my mother, my husband, Pat Zabinski, Erik Kemp, Kenny Bradley, and Mitch Porter.  In 2006 my mom was talking to her friend Blake Sander, who mentioned he was looking for someone to deconstruct his family's 130 year old barn in Ohio in trade for the wood.  So, Scott and I traveled to Ohio to meet Pat, Eric and Kenny to perform a HUGE job.  This year, our friend Mitch built these pieces of art for our home.

In 2008 I wrote an article for Homelink Magazine that tells the story best: 

Barn StoriesBy Megan Moore-Kemp

We cannot predict where some things will end up. Once I am finished with that sweater, bike, or casserole dish and pass it on, I imagine myself casting it from dormancy back into life.

The second life of wood-or third, rather, because it was a tree first-isn't something I thought much about before I met my husband. He is a carpenter, so providing a future for unused wood is one of his callings. Currently, our community is surrounded by unused wood. As we embark on the challenge of finding a second life for the beetle-killed pines around us, it is exciting to imagine the future this wood may have. As an illustration, I'll tell the tale of Blake Sander's Ohio barn as a lovely example of the unanticipated ways old wood can be put back to use.



Blake Sander's Grandfather, Ed Sander Sr., took ownership of the family barn in the 1890s, ten years after it was built. He ran a farm and housed dairy cows under its massive timber-frame shell. Three generations worked and forged a life beneath the huge hand-hewn timber. Mr. Sander may have predicted farming would fade as a way of life for his family, but I don't believe he ever could have predicted the future of his hard working barn. 

When Blake assumed responsibility for his family's farm, he learned that a barn that isn't working doesn't work. After years of spending money to maintain the roof, siding and grounds, the old structure was becoming dangerous to both his savings and curious by-passers. Some neighbors-folks he grew up with-dealt with their family barns by knocking them over and burning them. Blake's vision was different; he wanted the land and barn to have a legacy. He wanted the land to become wildlife habitat and the building to pass into someone else's vision. So-he set out to find someone who cared about wood.

When Blake mentioned his quest to my mother, she called me right away. “He's looking for someone who loves wood. And I said, 'my son-in-law is passionate about wood!'” After many phone calls, several reconnaissance trips, a visit to our bank, and a long drive, we stood in front of the behemoth we agreed to deconstruct-more than a bit daunted by the task before us.

We set up camp near by, grabbed our gloves, nail pullers, and pry bars and got to work. In addition to a month of sweat, dirt, blood, bug bites, danger and discovery, it took hands-on help from family and friends, a man-lift, a forklift, an excavator, a dump truck, a semi, and some money to bring 40,000 pounds of century-old timber to our home in Colorado.

Now, the wood is living up to Blake Sander's vision. The maple from the granary is window and door trim; the pine siding, a bookcase; the oak knee braces, a table; and the oak and birch beams will be worked back into a residential timber frame. If most products in our lives go from the cradle to the grave, this wood has avoided its fate and hopped right back into the cradle.

The first time I stepped into the barn it spoke to me. It told me of its history as huge trees brought down by men and horses, then worked by hand into a frame and raised-a home for dairy cows, hay, and plows. I learned of the times the Sanders had need of more space; additions were put on after things like concrete and lumber mills were invented. Both in construction and deconstruction, the barn's stories prove that legacies are a collective effort and take time. As it turns out, we have many to thank for the unexpected beauty which comes our way. I find it exciting the way the barn keeps telling its stories in ways Ed Sander never would have imagined. And, I'm looking forward to the stories our own beetle-killed pines have to tell in the future. 

© 2008 HomeLink Magazine | Park Range Publications All Rights Reserved.

The Swings at Little Toots Park

We had Fergus' first birthday party yesterday at Little Toot's Park.  It's about a five minute walk from our house.  As my Mom said, "it's the perfect place to have a party."  For so many reasons.  Grills.  Picnic tables.  Good Shade.  Baby Swings.  Slides.  Sand.  Lots of soccer playing space.  Public art that's fun to climb on.  Never mind the best reason: I don't have to clean the house!

It has me thinking about public space.  Since moving in to our place, I've used parks, the library, the pool, the bike path, the restaurants and the river much more.  I think common grounds are under-utilized in our lives.  Is this connected to the size of our homes?  I am reminded of two Latin cultures I've lived in where the homes are much smaller and people outside more.  Granted, climate may have something to do with this.  But for me--rain, sleet, snow or shine--when the walls start to close in, I treat my town like an extension of my living room.  Because I have to.

Gracie and Fergus swing while their mamas get some talking done.

Take the Swings at Little Toots.  When mama needs some therapy time, it's time to get in those swings, kiddos.  I can't count how many friends I've met, and meaningful conversations I've had while pushing, pushing, pushing.  

If it looks like a day when exercise won't happen for me,  we treat the stroller like our car and the bike path like our commute.  Let's walk to Ace Hardware!  Let's walk to Bamboo Market!  Let's walk to the post office!  In this way we can turn mundane car errands into invigorating treasure hunts.   A stop at the park on the way to the hardware store where popcorn is waiting for us is much more fun than a drive in the hot car where I have to literally force the kids into their car seats (not pretty).

So, this is a shout out to all the fantastic public space in our town.  Thanks for helping to pay for it, community!  My family is so blessed to use it nearly every single day!  Hope to see you out there!

Sleep

Sleep: the thing I have ruminated over and talked incessantly about this last year.  Why the last year?  Well, about a year ago, our darling Fergus was born.  He was sent for many reasons, one of which was to put us in our place after all our bragging and credit taking for how well his older brother sleeps.  We thought it had something to do with us!  We thought we did such a great job with "sleep training." HA HA HA!  HA HA! HA!  I can laugh now.  I could also go on and on about how challenging the last year has been in that department.  But I won't.  Catch me at the swings in Little Toots Park, and maybe that will be your chance to hear about it.   But for now, I'd like to use it to illuminate a deficiency in our (marvelous) small home.  We have very little in the way of sleep options.

Take a typical night: boys (presumably) fall asleep in their room.  Fergus first, Mason second.  If we upset this order by putting them in there awake together, peek-a-boo and blanket toss and giggle fest will ensue for about two hours.  Which is cute.  But not so cute when they predictably wake up at 6 am sharp, except extra grumpy.  Then Scott and I have our romantic time which involves at least an hour of dishes, laundry, food, dishes, laundry, food, dishes, laundry, food.  Clean up the floor and put the couch cushions back.  Read between two and ten pages in our books and then pass out.  Half an hour later, like clock work, Fergus starts screaming.  And then two hours later again.  And then two hours later again.  And then two hours later again.  You get my drift.  So should one of us be loosing our minds after a YEAR of this, where would one go in our house?  NO WHERE!  The couch is even closer to the little beasties.

We've considered sleeping in the garage, the car, and the motel down the street.  I've considered going out for a pack of cigarettes and not coming back.  Just kidding.  Sort-of.

So, as you can see dear reader, there are good, sane reasons for extra bedrooms.  This is where "Nana's Casita" comes in.  Hopefully mom realizes that in addition to being a cozy zone for her, we will be in there taking turns ACTUALLY SLEEPING!!

Love you Fergus!!!  Happy Birthday!

We do need to get away!

Attempting to relax after work.

So it is a tad unrealistic to think we all don't need some personal space.  I'm just not sure it needs to be in a separate wing of our home.  I'm a big fan of leaving the house to relax anyway; who wants to look around and see all there is to do?  I, for one, thank all who voted in and are paying for our amazing public library.  It is my second living room, without the vacuuming.  I knew we were comfortable there when Mason did his first public pottying.  Or when the clerks mention they haven't seen us for a few days.

Family Space

Spurred by many, many comments on my last post (most of which were upon seeing my beloved readers around town--love comments written on the blog as well ;), I've been thinking a lot about families in their houses.  And how dwellings contributes to how families work.  Firstly, I've realized I have a goal: I don't want the size of our house to be what our kids remember about it.  I don't want them to recognize it's "smaller" or "bigger" than other homes.  Or has more or less stuff.   What I hope they remember about our home is that it is where they felt safe and loved and (mostly) organized.  Where they laughed a lot,  slept really well, and enjoyed their mother's amazing cooking :)

What is home?  Inside and outside? What do we remember about our childhood homes and how does that impact what we build on this fine earth?  Certainly, the (screaming) man mentioned in the last post who built the 11,000sf home was impacted by his upbringing: "having lots of room is a good thing. Look, he says, his wife grew up in the projects of New Haven, and he grew up without much. He always shared a room with his brother."   Uh-Oh.  Should I be worried that Mason and Fergus will be building homes over 11X as big as ours because they are sharing a room?  Contrast this man with many friends who, even though they have enough bedrooms to give everyone their own, are purposely putting their kids together.  They have such fond memories of sharing.


Certainly, I have limited control over what my boys will remember.  Here we spend all this money on activities and they'll probably just remember digging worms in the garden.  Yet, big house or small house, what's happening inside is what matters most.   Why, exactly, do we need to get away from each other?