The Fish Shack

Move over Man Cave, the She Shed has arrived.

For some time now, Monica wanted a She Shed, the latest craze that is sweeping over America. It is used by women for painting, reading, yoga, meeting and partying with the girls or just a place to leave the house and the household behind for a sanctuary of their own. It is in a way dovetailing with the tiny house craze although a she shed is not for permanent living. But…I guess it can be.

On Facebook there is a She Shed Shop. On Google you can buy the She Shed ebook. Now Lowe’s and Home Depot sell them and these backyard beauties are featured in House Beautiful magazine. The she sheds range from a converted wooden potting shed to rustic enclave, to specially constructed, nearly all glass buildings to invite nature in. From a soulful escape from husband and kids to a total party place with the girls.

So a few months ago M bought a small basic wooden cabin (12 x 10 feet) with a small front porch and it was positioned at the pond on Lily Rose Ranch. I added some steps and insulated it. Initially she had a working title for the place of le Petit Maison (the tiny house) with the intention to decorate it in a Shabby Chic décor and all Parisian, I think. But after it was all fitted out with bead board ceiling and walls it turned into The Fish Shack with a nautical theme.

But erase that image of a basic cabin on a frozen lake with a hole in the floor for ice fishing, a bunch of ruddy guys and cases of beer and bourbon in the corner. Oh no, this fish shack is painted a soft shade of pink inside, decorated with M’s effervescent style and a 16-foot deck that stretches to the edge of the pond for bug-free and slipfree fishing. It is still a work in progress because I still need to add the nautical rope to the deck posts and put some finials on the day bed.

She really took fishing and a fish shack up a notch!

And it even comes with battery operated globe light and candles for just the right romantic ambiance

for night time visits.

It will be the closest she can bring the beach to Kentucky.

 

   

My next project is to plant grass and build a fire-pit and picnic area on that brown peninsula in the background that juts out into the pond. Last year most of the trees were cut down and now I have to cleanup and beautify. 

The tiny porch is perfect for catching the late afternoon sun.

Two days after we decorated The Fish Shack, seeing that the start of spring was one day away, winter once more acted out its recurring visiting act of barging in and "...oh, and one more thing..."

The Morning After a Snowy Night

 

There are few things in nature so rewarding as getting up in the morning after a shroud of snow fell during the night. This morning was no exception on Lily Rose Ranch.

 

 

A poem about snow by Emily Dickinson

 

It sifts from leaden sieves,

It powders all the wood,

It fills with alabaster wool

The wrinkles of the road.

 

 

It makes an even face

Of mountain and of plain, —

Unbroken forehead from the east

Unto the east again.

 

 

It reaches to the fence,

It wraps it, rail by rail,

Till it is lost in fleeces;

It flings a crystal veil

 

 

On stump and stack and stem, —

The summer’s empty room,

Acres of seams where harvests were,

Recordless, but for them.

 

Road through a snowy woods

The icing on a hay cake

Waiting to be fed

Cabin is a snowy woods

A shed at a frozen pond

 

 

 

Sielskos en Theuns Jordaan in 'n Perdeskuur

Daar het dié week so ‘n klein stormpie in die Afrikaanse musiekbedryf se koppie boeretroos uit gebreek. Gert Vlok Nel, skrywer, digter, sanger, en ‘n diep seun van die Afrikaanse taal, het die sanger Theuns Jordaan daarvan beskuldig dat laasgenoemde glo sy liedjie Beautiful in Beaufort-Wes, 18 jaar gelede gesteel het en slegs skamelike tantieme van ongeveer R8,000 aan Vlok oor betaal het. Ai toggie! En dit terwyl Nel gekrepeer het van armoede in die Karoo en Jordaan meer as 500,000 eksemplare van die liedjie verkoop het.

Ek persoonlik het natuurlik geen haan in dié geveg nie. Tewens, ek het nog nooit voor vandag na die liedjie Beautiful in Beaufort-Wes geluister nie. Na ek die storie gelees het het ek na albie se weergawe van die liedjie gaan luister op Youtube en ek kan eerlik nie verstaan waaroor die bohaai gaan nie. Nog minder kon ek verstaan hoe op dees aarde Jordaan 500,000 eksemplare kon verkoop gekry het, each to its own I guess. Maar volgens my kennis van die musiekbedryf is dit nie die sanger wat ‘n ander sanger se musiek opneem se plig om tantieme oor te betaal nie, maar die oorsponklike musiek uitgewer se plig. Dit werk so wêreld wyd. En hoekom die musiek bedryf anders werk as die boek bedryf waar skriftelike toestemming verkry moet word van die skrywer om sy or haar werk te gebruik, dit kan ek ook nie verduidelik nie. So Gert Vlok Nel sal maar aan ‘n ander deur moet gaan aanklop om sy tantieme te herwin. Good Luck! Onthou wat gebeur het met Sixto Rodriguez.

 

Vanoggend, terwyl rëenbui na rëenbui oor Kentucky uitgesak het, ek die storie op Maroela Media raakgelees het en ek ‘n ongewone Saterdag “vry” het op die plaas, het die geskarrel in die Afrikaanse musiekskuur my laat heriner aan ‘n Saterdagaand so amper ‘n jaar gelede toe ek en M en ‘n klomp ander Suid-Afrikaners opgetrek het Shelbyville toe om na ‘n konsert van Theuns Jordaan te gaan kyk in ‘n perdeskuur. Hy was deur ‘n Suid-Afrikaner wat nou hier in Kentucky boer uitgenooi om te kom op tree op ‘n perdeplaas met die gepaste naam van Singing Hills Farm, natuurlik sonder enige bedoelde woord speling. Voor die konsert het ek geen idee gehad wie Theuns Jordaan is nie en ek en M moes eers na van sy musiek gaan luister het. Ons was nou nie juis bowled over nie maar ‘n saamtrek is ‘n saamtrek. Hy kon wel daardie aand Beautiful in Beaufort-Wes gesing het, ek het geen idee nie.

 

Ek sê “’n vry Saterdag” want die afgelope twee maande met elke vrye oomblik is ek, M en my seun al besig om die plaashuis se sederhout huisbedekking te “power wash’, af te skuur, te sandpapier en te verf  terwyl dit die warmste, natste, bedompigste en mees insekte-besmette somer is die afgelope 18 jaar in Kentucky. En enige iemand wat al hul huis buite om geverf het sal weet wat se enorme taak dit is. So ‘n reëntjie op ‘n Saterdag is eintlik ‘n verwelkoming. Ongelukkig was daar ander werk wat ek toe gaan gedoen het in die werkswinkel. Daar is nooit regtig iets soos ‘n vry Saterdag nie.

En die ongure weersomstandighede gedurende die somer het ook veroorsaak dat die groentetuin maar ‘n skrale oes voort gebring het. Vorige jare het ons altyd ‘n oorvloed van groenboontjies en tamaties gehad wat ingelê kon word vir kerrieboontjies en pastasous, maar vanjaar is daar te min. Dit wat geoes kon word moes dadelik gebruik word in ‘n dis. So terwyl ek op die agterstoep sit en ‘n koppie boeretroos drink en die rëen beloer met droewige oë, dink ek wat ek sal maak met die emmertjie tamaties wat ek twee dae gelede geoes het. Daar is eitlik maar net een oplossing. Iets wat ek al weke voor lus is. Tamatiebredie! Wat is dan nou lekkerder as skaapskenkel en tamatiebredie. Ek besef skaapnek is seker ‘n beter snit maar om skaapnek in ons geweste by ‘n kruidenierwinkel te kry is soos om vir kudobiltong in Amerika te soek. En die skaap wat ek laas geslag het, net soos alle ander skape, het ongelukkig net een nek gehad en dit is al lank gelede in ‘n Franse bredie verorber. 

 

Ek weet dit is nie winter in Kentucky nie, maar die bewolkte, renerige weer het my laat voel ek is genoop om ‘n bredie te maak. En wie het die reël neer gelê om te sê bredies is net winterkos? Sielskos bly sielskos, winter of somer.  Tamatiebredie is een van die egte tradisies wat Suid-Afrikaners van die Hollanders geerf het. Dit is so tradisioneel Suid-Afrikaans soos braaivleis, biltong, malva pudding en Hertzog koekies. By sommige mense is daar die persepsie dat die Maleiers bredies na Suid-Afrika gebring het, maar dit is eintlik ‘n dis wat seker in die Midde Ooste by die oer-oue mense ontstaan het en toe weswaarts na Europa gereis het. Ek is seker die Franse Hugenote het ook hulle stempel op sekere Suid-Afrikaanse bredies geplaas, maar die Hollanders en later die trekboere en hul swart driebeenpotjies het die grondslag gelê om bredies ‘n lekkerbekkig en ‘n kulturele erfstuk van te maak. Dis seker hoekom swaarboompotte, swart gegote yster vir die vuur of gekleurde Chasseur vir die stoof of oond vandag nog bekend staan as “Dutch ovens”.

 

En om bygaande impak te voeg by die gemoedstoestand van tradisionele Suid-Afrikaanse kookkuns het ek my kelder besoek en ‘n bottel Groot Constantia 2008 Cabernet Sauvignon gaan uitkies. Wat kan nou meer tradisioneel wees as voggies van die oudste wynplaas in Suid-Afrika, die een wat die grondslag gelê het vir wynbou in die land. Ek het die bottel gekoop tydens ons laaste besoek aan Suid-Afrika in 2010 en dit gehou vir ‘n spesiale geleentheid en sienende dat my swaer Godfrey vandag sy 50ste verjaarsdag daar in die Suidelike Halfrond vier, is dit ‘n ideale geleentheid om dié bottel Groot Constantia van sy opgekurkte aromas en smake te verlig.

 

Sielskos!

Kaapse Tamatiebredie saam met Kaapse rooiwyn! Altyd ‘n uitstekende kombinasie!

Nou sit ek hier na aandete en in die woorde van daardie Worcester boytjie met die rooi veldskoene, David Kramer, “stoksiel alleen op ‘n Saterdagaand” maar gelukkig saam met M, op die agterstoep en sip aan my eie tuisgemaakte koppie Italiaanse cappuccino. Die tamatiebredie het fantasties uitgekom en die wyn was topgehalte. Definitief die hoë prys werd. Die storm in die Afrikaans musiekbedryf is vergete. Dit reen nog steeds en meer word voorspel vir die res van die nag. Maar die oomblik om te waardeer is nou. Die lewe is eenvoudig te kort vir margarine, geproseseerde kaas, TV dinners, Budweiser Light en goedkoop rooiwyn. 

PS: Ek sien nog 'n Afrikaanse troebadoer, Valiant Swart, is ook aan die kla oor booking agents en venue-eienaars wat maar traag is om te betaal wanneer hulle moet. Ek skat daar is ietsie wat stink en vrot is in die Afrikaanse musiekbedryf. 

A Brutal January

Good Morning New Year

There is an old folklore about predicting long term weather. Some believe the first 12 days of January foretell the weather for each month of the year, while others say use the 12 days of Christmas, that is December 25 through January 5. Well, both interpretations missed the spot by a mile this past festive season. Christmas was actually a rather nice winter’s day. Cold, but sunny. And New Year’s Day was similar. But January, which supposedly is represented by either one of those days, depending on your interpretation of the old saying, was and still is anything but nice winter weather. Most of January was brutal. Especially the 5^th, 6^th and 7^th. Thus, are we not going to have any form of summer this year?

[Uhmmm…]

It is 11:06 pm on a Monday night.

It could be any given Monday night in early January. It’s winter. Outside a layer of ice covered by a blanket of 3 inches of snow lay silently in the black night. The 15 mile per hour North wind has been blowing steadily the whole day. But the snow is not your usual soft, fluffy stuff that kids like to pick up and make snowballs from. No one is making snowballs with this snow.  The ice from below, the 15 mile wind and the teeth-shattering cold air have turned the snow into snap crackle and pop when walked on.

Animal watching through the window. Not much else to do.

It is -4 Fahrenheit /-20 Celcius outside according to the Skyscan weather station in my kitchen. And it can only go down from here. It tells me I could also be seeing a quarter moon, but not tonight. A thick wall of low clouds have waltzed in on the rhythm of the howling wind and settled over the gentle rolling hills of the bluegrass. More snow is imminent. Now add the wind-chill factor and suddenly it feels like -22 F / -30 C and the bone-crunching cold turns old bones into acute arthritis pain in joints you didn’t even know you had.

Deer came looking for food

Tonight is going to be Killer. Humans with inadequate heating, exposed animals on farms around here, sickly trees, and tender plants not hardy enough for this “polar vortex”, the latest buzz word in meteorology, that is flexing its muscles way out of its normal orbit. The polar Jetstream has shifted, again, (it happens nearly every winter, in some form or fashion) and brought the North Pole, on a nice day, down south to us. 

[Thanks, but no thanks.]

I was hoping to have the porch done before the end of January, but no such luck

I wrote about it several years ago. But this year the phenomenon is slightly different it seems. It’s pissed off! Most certainly the worst in my 17 years here. If you just have to go from car to house or office to car and being only briefly exposed to it is fine, however, having to go outside and work with water and feed to ensure the chickens survive in the coop it feels more like being on a different planet. Crunching snow under foot, icy winds creeping through every fissure of my coat’s down material and the intense cold and dry air on the exposed parts of my face brings tears to my eyes and freezes ones nose hair after barely a minute or so.

[This is probably how it feels at the North Pole.]
 

 Encapsulated

We have had it all this winter. Well, nearly all. Ice, rain, very strong damaging windstorms, far more snow than usual, and the coldest temperatures in more than 30 years.  The only weather phenomenon still missing is a white-out, a blizzard.

I’ll be glad to see  January’s backside. What will February bring...? It is usually our coldest month in winter so is the worst still coming?

 The pond on January 4, 2014

By January 26 is was totally frozen over and snowed in

[PS: We enjoyed glorious sunshine and a temperature into the high 50’s on the first day of February, just like the 1^st day of January, alas, first, the rain, then the cold, again rain, which turned into ice, and then eventually into snow, returned on the 2^nd day of February.]

 Make it while you have it

It is winter and I am not waiting with abated breath for better days to come. It will come by itself. When nature is ready for spring it will show itself. It has always done so in the past…

I suppose you could say my glass is half full.

 New Year's day evening. A last look at green grass.   

Last Autumn Colors - Part II

Last week it was too cold for a walk down to the pond. Yesterday, although windy, was probably one of our last nice days for a while. From here on freezing weather or thereabout is in our future.

Reeds in the Wind.

Under the Big Tree

 

Empty Chairs at the Pond

Blazing November



Nag ou grote.

Last Autumn Colors

It was a bleak and frosty landscape that greeted us upon our return on Saturday from an over-exposure of our senses in France. But we seemed to have brought Paris’s cold, wintry weather with us to Kentucky.

While the peasants played bourgeoisie for a fortnight and autumn only starting to take a grip on France, in our absence our maison campagne was transformed to the simpler beauty of nature in late autumn. Sunday I went for a short walk.

The stands of White Ash trees surrounding the house turned bald and it now looks like Gulliver bombarded Lilliput land with wooden darts with spiky feathers. Their grey bark against a grey sky made them ghostly. But the twisted road to the house still looked welcoming and inviting with thick layers of leaves leading the eye and islands of autumn in an ocean of green and brown.

 

This could be some of the last autumn colors for the year because possible strong winds from Hurricane Sandy might reach us the next few days and clean the trees of leaves in preparation for winter. Luckily we came back 2 days before the mess that Sandy is creating with all the airports on the eastern side of the country closed. Paris airport was already a mess on Saturday morning due to striking airport workers.   

The road to the pond looked inviting but the breeze was cold and my hands were freezing. With more than 20 species of trees around the pond it probably would have been very colorful, but that’s for another day, another time.

But by just walking around the house there were enough splashes of color against the bleak sky to appreciate autumn.

And it felt good to stand on top of the hill again overlooking a freshly cut and baled field and my neighbors cows in the pasture. France was excellent, it will stay with us, but it’s also good to be back home again.

Tiny splashes of summer's colors still exist at the front porch. What’s up with David’s bust in the garden soil? It’s there by design. He stepped down. He is tired of being put on a pedestal all the time.