As I enter the grouchy stage of surgery recovery (which is somewhere between exhaustive pain and the actual ability to function), I figured I would finally write a “little” post about what I’ve been up to. Because July was simply a whirlwind that I can barely even remember.
From what I’ve heard, July is the hottest month of the year here in Vermont. And because June gave me miserable days in the 90s, I set myself up to endure a month of unending suffering. We bought AC units, I got all my yard work done, and we got set to spend the month happily inside in comfort.
And that’s when it started raining.
For a month straight.
To the point where we were experiencing yet another mud season. But I guess, in all, we ended up indoors anyway so it worked out. But I was well over the rain very quickly.
I started out making my first trek away from home since we left Utah. With Covid numbers down (at the time) my sister and I were finally able to make the trek west to Idaho and Oregon (which were the original “low population states” in my life until I moved to Vermont) to finalize some of my dad’s affairs (8 months after his passing because having a family member pass is the worst, but having a family member pass during a pandemic is like pure evil). This was really my first step into “city life” since moving out to the supa-rural end of rural Vermont (yes, there are different levels of rural which no ones understands until they see Vermont).
Now, I’ve heard many stories lately about people who ran away to the country during the pandemic, who are now finding themselves looking again for homes back where they came from because they missed the conveniences and people proximity of their old suburban or city lives. And after heading back to civilization, I can honestly say I don’t miss it.
I kept thinking things like “what is that smell?”, “why is it so noisy?” and “why are there so many people everywhere?” Which makes me think I have settled well into my new life and I’m in it for the long run.
As things started getting wet around here, I was getting very antsy not being able to do any work on the house. Our floor leveling situation was at a standstill because of a miscommunication. So there was very little I could do inside to fix things up. That was when I got the uncontrollable urge to fix up my front porch (which isn’t really a front porch, but looks like a front porch, even though no one actually enters it like a front porch).
The things is, Tyler wasn’t interested in helping one bit. He was too busy with work. So I hitched up my overalls, slapped on my muck boots (that’s right, Vermont has made me a muck boot person) and said FINE, I’ll figure it out myself.
And I did (well maybe 95% because some things were too heavy for me). In between rain showers. I picked out paints and stains. I took the screen door off all by myself in order to make the front door more of a focal point. I painted the front door. I cleaned spiders, spiders and even more spiders off the area. I painted the swing a cheery yellow for a nice color pop. Cleaned off even more spiders. I painted the railings a warm white to give it a nice clean look but keep the idea of the old Colonial style white porches. Cleaned of yet some more spiders because I swear to god there’s an entire spider civilization on that porch who isn’t ready to give up their home. I sanded down the wood on the porch itself, and I even took off rotted wood, cut new pieces and replaced them. And then stained them.
Then I spilled white paint on the stained porch which I am claiming was intentional but can’t think of a reason why it would be intentional but clearly no one would pour white paint on their freshly stained porch accidentally and admit it. Regardless, I stained it again. And as I finished putting the stain on the steps, it began to rain and I ran inside.
When I came out later, I found that the rain has washed away my stain. Not in a nice weathered way, which might have been rather pleasing aesthetically, but in large splotches all over the steps.
So I once again stained the area.
And I finally got to enjoy my triple stained, not going anywhere, porch. I added a hanging plant of petunias (Which died a week later because apparently I can’t handle hanging plants). And I sat on my cheery swing to enjoy my garden and new happy place.
The porch looks over the crabapple tree which is now growing small little berry sized crabapples. Back in the spring, I had read an article about a nearby town who was decorating their trees in bird houses. And I thought how adorable that sounded! So I dragged Tyler out there to see what I envisioned was dozens of trees with hundreds of colorful birdhouses dangling below them.
But when we got there, we found approximately 10 trees scattered around the block with 1-2 little birdhouses in them. And I felt like they really missed an opportunity.
An opportunity I was ready to take on.
I bought myself 24 little birdhouses and set out to have them hung in the crabapple tree as it blossomed. And it was going to be magnificent.
It didn’t happen.
I didn’t get those houses done in time. And then the blossoms were over and then the opportunity, and the motivation, passed.
But as I sat there in my swing, I decided it didn’t matter. Those houses will be just as charming in a green tree as they would be in a blossomed tree. And I finished painting all 24 of them and hung each and every one up in that tree.
And they were just as darling as I pictured them!
Until the rain came and some of them started falling apart despite all the weather proofing I did on them. natural art is fleeting folks.
But they are still adorable and I’m leaving them up until fall!
But despite the fact that July didn’t turn out to be as hot as expected, it did bring many new blooms to the garden. Because July is apparently lily month. July 1st hit and lilies just started blooming. In all colors. And shapes. They were around the house, in the woods, in the wild, and everywhere.
There is an island in front of our property that the driveway makes a U shape around. You know, one of those driveways that you get to choose which entry you want to drive into depending on your mood and an access point for every lost person ever to turn around in. This island is covered in grass. I had asked my neighbor what they usually did with it and she said they always waited to mow it because so many terrific flowers grew there. So I set out excitedly to watch and see what came up.
As I watched, a couple irises popped up, a lupine, but mostly it was just clover and grass that was now growing in masses. So I thought to myself, well, yes those are neat flowers, but I can move the to the main garden in fall and then we can keep this grass mowed.
But July proved me wrong.
Suddenly, that island burst forth with a full rainbow of wild flowers. Lilies, purple clover, milk weed, black-eyed susans, holly hock, queens annes lace, it was all there and all gorgeous in a wild, untamed way. And now I can never imagine mowing this all down. So it stays at least until they all die off in fall.
My sister got to be my first official Vermont visitor. I was determined to take her around all the things I’ve wanted to do in vermont but haven’t yet because I’ve been busy with the house and the rest of my family would rather spend weekends sleeping. We hiked and got extremely lost taking 3 hours to go .8 miles because color coded spray paint on trees is apparently their way of marking trails instead of actual signs, ate lunch in what was most likely private property but is was all we could find and it was amazing, canoed on a mostly empty lake, hiked along white water, wildflowers, and large dam, and a lake we dubbed “Lilypad Lake” because it was a blanket of lily pads. And we ate honorary maple creamies.
Which brings me to my surgery. I actually had done a long post about meeting my surgeon. There was an entire story about how I got lost 4 times in that building. And the questions I asked him that were mostly ridiculous but I wanted to know. But facebook ate it and even though I had saved it in my notes, apparently only half of it got saved. So it got tossed and you will just have to imagine the story of why I’m not allowed in public on my own. Ever.
But in brief, when I drove to my new surgeon, I found myself driving up to a barn and I thought to myself, “they do surgery in a barn? How very Vermont!” But it turns out it was in the next building over, which I admit looked a bit more surgery friendly.
My surgeon greeted me and handed me a booklet with a smiling woman cutting vegetables, clearly very happy to have gotten her gallbladder removed. But I said to him, “If you really want to sell your gallbladder removal services, shouldn’t she be eating a burger or something?”. Donovan was pretty appalled that I questioned my surgeon’s marketing, but really? Who’s gonna get an organ removed if you are still stuck eating nothing but vegetables?
My mom came out to help out and keep me company while I recovered. Which isn’t the funnest trip for her but she at least got to finally see our farmhouse. And I got to lay around.
Until I was done laying around.
But my body wasn’t done.
And now, I’m just grouchy.
So she’s probably ready to leave.