Prep Monday—How Do You Know If You’re Done?


You’re never done prepping. You could have all the gadgets and tools, all the skills, all the food storage and everything else, but you still carry on. Why?

First, because the work is never done. Oh, sure, you can store MREs and shelf-stable food for months or years, but you probably want better than that, right? So, a garden doesn’t plant and weed and harvest itself, it doesn’t prepare its own soil for the next year, and I can certainly testify that it doesn’t build its own deer-proof fence!

Thirty rows of crops this year, plus a six-tree orchard, a couple grape vines, and some strawberries and blueberries—and, if it came down it, that would maybe, just maybe, be enough to feed us throughout the year until the next harvest.
Of course, yes, we do have stored supplies, things that aren’t easily made from scratch and a few treats, not to mention supplies to make other things. But those are supplements, not three meals a day. Providing we have a good crop, along with our storage, we could likely hold out for a year or so . . .

If we’re willing to eat ketchup sandwiches.

I jest. But food is only one thing to keep up with:
You’ll always have housework and laundry and cooking. And gardening.
Assume you have a security system, fencing and whatnot. You have to check that fencing, and probably repair it from time to time. Along with that, you have defensive skills to practice, knives, guns, your weapon of choice.
Vehicle and tool maintenance.
Clearing and cutting firewood. That’s a chore, and it takes a long time because you’ll need a ton of firewood if you have no power—it gets used up quickly, especially if you have no other heating or cooking sources.
Learning and practicing other skills, like baking or canning or small engine repair. We have a lot of those, it seems.
Plus, if you have animals—which we don’t, yet—there’s daily feeding and training and care, besides medication or first aid when needed.

Of course, if you’re like us, you’re still in the developmental stage. There were things here, yes, like a house and a barn, but we haven’t quite finished remodeling the house, and that barn, remember when it was packed full, and then empty?

Um, it’s kind of filling up again!

My point is that while you’re building, you’re also maintaining. And maintenance will be a bit easier when the building is finished.

Work Wednesday—Flippin’ Rocks


No, no. We are not “flipping” rocks, although we certainly have enough that we could apply almost any meaning to that term and still have plenty of leftover rocks; we ordered gravel for our driveway.

Talk about a fiasco.

My insurance agent recommended we call this guy, so we did. He was supposed to come out Tuesday around five o’clock, but never showed. The next night, his DAD came over around 8:00 p.m. when it was getting dark.

So far, so good. Sorta.

My husband went out to talk to the dad; we’d already discussed what we needed, which was gravel to top off the road. Period.

The two of them walked the driveway and my husband came in and asked me what color I wanted . . .

Um, gravel-colored? I didn’t care. Really. Brown or white, what was the difference?

The next night, the dad showed up around 4, not 5 as he’d said, and I was down in the woods when I heard the truck start dumping. They left shortly after spreading the entire drive, and I went to take a closer look.

O. M. G.

Repeat. Several times.

Throw in a few cuss words.

Repeat again.

They had dumped road-bed sized rocks—boulders, compared to gravel—all over the driveway. ALL the way down.

I was furious. FURIOUS.

I paced. I bitched. I moaned.

Okay, actually, when I came back inside and my husband said, “What do you think?” I replied with “fine.”

And we all know what THAT means . . .

So I expanded on that. A lot. Several times.

Honestly, I thought I would cry—and I never cry—and why? Because it’s a done deed. The solution? Use the blade and then—oh, Lord—use rakes.

Because we don’t have enough to do around here, right?

So I called “the guy” and naturally had to a leave a message. Okay, I left two. I was pissed.

The next day, the guy shows up around 5:00 with a load of gravel, even though I’d told him to CALL ME. My husband was at the barn and called me down there to meet the guy and talk to him.

I was loaded for bear.

And then—

Then I saw the guy. Close to seven feet tall, yes, really, and probably 300 pounds. I’m guessing. Holy crap. Maybe I should have tempered those messages a little, right? Yikes!

Of course, turns out he’s a really, really nice guy and we finally determined that my husband was confused or clueless and that his dad is blind or clueless.

Long story short—oh, wait, maybe I should have started here? Anyway, the guy brought gravel, now in two piles until we finish RAKING the damn drive and mashing it down into the existing roadbed.

I figure it’ll be September before we can lay the gravel.

Good grief.