I went out to visit my favorite local greenhouse the other day in search of a few perennials, and I came home with more than I bargained for.  Well, I didn't exactly bring it home that day.  It wouldn't quite fit in my car.  But let's not get hung up on the specifics.  Here's the overview...

I stop by Shirks Greenhouse and Produce just north of Barnett, Mo about twice a month.  I'd like to go twice a day, but that might seem obsessive.  And how many plants does one person need, really?  That answer is debatable, so let's move on.

So I'm wondering along, meandering through the hoop houses fill with pots of flowers, shrubs, and vegetables, basking in the warmth of the sun, when I notice this thing laying on the ground by the workshed.  "Hmmm", I thought.  "That looks like a butcher-block table.  Funny place for it.  Wish I had one for my old general store..."  And then I got distracted by the field of roses nearby.

Two weeks later I was back again, wandering through the hoophouses (sweating in the heat this time, the basking was over) and I casually on purpose walked by the workshed.  Guess what--it was still there.  Nothing had changed.  "Hmmm", I thought, before turning my attention back to the flowers yet again. 

I carried my chosen plants down to the checkout counter and chatted with the owner, Phillip, as I paid for my goodies.  I casually on purpose mentioned how I liked his butcher-block table up by the shed, and he said "Oh do you? Would you be interested in that?" 

What?!!!  He's willing to part with his table?!!!  Ok, pull yourself together, you need to respond to the question.

"Yes!"  I mean, "Yes."  Play it cool.

"What's your price?", I asked him while trying to rearrange my expression into something resembling a poker face. 

"Well, I'll just give it to you if you want it..."

AACCKKKK!!!  What did he just say????!!!

"Really??!!!", I squeaked.  All attempts at a poker face were out the window at this point.

"Yeah, a guy offered it to me so he didn't have to burn it, and I took it because I thought somebody might find a use for it.  Since it was given to me, I don't want to charge anybody for it.  I just hated to see it burned."

My kind of guy.  A kindred spirit.  I told him I had a use for it, and we'd be back with the pick-up truck the next morning.  And then I thanked him.  Profusely.  I'm not ashamed of it.

As promised, we headed out the next morning in the pick-up (without Esther--just thought this was a funny pic), wondering for the entire five-mile drive how we were going to load a 400lb-ish table into the truckbed.  My husband's strong, but that was a bit beyond his weight limit, even if I was helping.

I needn't have worried, though.  When we pulled up at the greenhouse, Phillip already had the table sitting on a forklift and moved into place, ready to be lifted into the truckbed.  Those Mennonite folks are on it.  They don't waste any time. 

He hopped on the iron-wheeled forklift, pulled a few levers, lifted the table high in the air, and then slid it right in the bed. 

"Well, glad I could help.",  I sputtered, and was rewarded with a grin from Phillip and a sigh of relief from my husband. 

The relief didn't last long, though, because everybody knows Murphy's law:
What's Loaded Must Be Unloaded. 
Or something like that.

We realized the challenge we faced when we pulled in our driveway, got out, leaned against the truck, and contemplated what lay inside the truckbed.  The table filled it almost completely--5ft long, 2.5ft wide, and 1ft deep.  With six solid maple legs.  And no iron-wheeled forklift in sight.  

And then a lightbulb came on.  In my husband's head, of course.  That's usually where it happens.

He rounded up a few barrels we were saving for a new rainwater catchment system, laid them on their sides behind the tailgate, climbed in the truckbed, and gave the table a shove. 

I have no photos of this.  Somebody had to be on the other end to catch everything if things went south.  And that somebody couldn't hold a camera at the same time.

But you get the gist.  The barrels created rolling leverage, balanced out the weight, and enabled us to negotiate the insanely heavy object easily into position without lifting anything.  At all. 
It just rolled right out of the bed and onto the barrels as smooth as pie.  Mmmm, pie. 

And there it sits.  I know it needs a lot of work, and some might think it would've been better off in the fire.  It's weather-cracked, warped, weighs a ton, and is coming unglued.  But who isn't?

I think it can be mended. 
It's a big project. 
It's gonna take every bit of my non-existent woodworking skills to get it in shape.  

But I can do it.  I'm visualizing it all gussied up, on display in the hundred and ten year-old general store, surrounded by life and given purpose once again.   I can do it.

I think I can, I think I can, I think I can...

I fell off the wagon yesterday.  The chicken wagon, that is.  I went over to the hatchery and brought home twenty-five freshly hatched baby chicks.  Again.  Even though I swore I was done with chicks for the year.  Don't ever believe me when I say that.

But look how cute they are... 

So clean and fluffy, my son couldn't resist bringing them inside before they went out to the brooder box.  Just look at that face.  And that cute little egg tooth on the end of his beak.  Now tell me you could resist that.

I think he's checking me out.  I know Poppy's checking him out.

Whoops! I guess I made him mad.  Maybe I shouldn't have mentioned the egg tooth.  Don't worry Chicky, it'll be gone in a few days.

A nap makes everything better.  Especially when you're snuggled up to Poppy. 

But, don't nap too long.  There's a party going on in the brooder box, and I hear there's a buffet!  What a nice way to start your life on the homestead. 

There comes a time every summer on the homestead that I like to call the "Mid-Summer Slump".  The frenzy of spring chores is over, the summer garden has yet to produce, and the fall harvest is still a few weeks away.  The sun blazes high and hot.  The animals lounge lazily beneath the shade trees.  I find myself wandering around the homestead doing nothing but piddly stuff, and my son spends every moment on the couch, glued to the iPad.  That's when I know it's time to escape the heat.  And this year we knew exactly where to escape to...