A big shout out to Joey Peron and Roger Laporte for bringing gravel to re-build a bank against the house and fill the pot holes. This was not something I could afford. God Bless them BOTH!
This also means, fun time on the tractor with the loader for Gilles when he visits next week from Ottawa, Ontario. Yee Haw!
This also means, fun time on the tractor with the loader for Gilles when he visits next week from Ottawa, Ontario. Yee Haw!
After inspecting the culvert/bridge that I had built last year, Roger decided it could hold his truck. Man, was I nervous he'd fall through! "Come on, girls, get out of the way!
A nail biting moment but the bridge was solid. I won't forget to shake Charlie's hand next time I see him for building it from old railroad ties that were already here. Job Well Done, Charlie!
This was a great sight to see.
When Roger finished, he got out of his truck again and told me about the history of this homestead. At least nine children were raised here at Brentwood farm, originally, a hundred years ago and some of the offspring are still around.
Their family name was/is, Deuchenes (not sure if I spelled that right and yes, it's French...I think).
He told me how the homesteads around here, including this one, used to spend three to four weeks in the Fall going to each others' farm to help thrash. The four foot nothing matron here, cooked a big meal for the boys and Roger himself shared in one of them at a long table outside the summer kitchen. He said, all farmers agreed, she made the best food of all the farmers wives and her name was...wait for it...Julia.
We finished with his questions about what I was doing here. "Your goats are so friendly, I can't get over it!" he kept saying. How many do you have?" Even man-hater, Greta was showing good manners.
"Thank you, they sure are, ten," I answered, looking proudly at Greta, "six kids and four adult females." I stumble under the correct terminology.
"And you're alone? You did all this by yourself?" He was referring to how the log house farm looked now by swinging his arm out.
"No, angels like you drop in, to visit and help me out."
When Roger finished, he got out of his truck again and told me about the history of this homestead. At least nine children were raised here at Brentwood farm, originally, a hundred years ago and some of the offspring are still around.
Their family name was/is, Deuchenes (not sure if I spelled that right and yes, it's French...I think).
He told me how the homesteads around here, including this one, used to spend three to four weeks in the Fall going to each others' farm to help thrash. The four foot nothing matron here, cooked a big meal for the boys and Roger himself shared in one of them at a long table outside the summer kitchen. He said, all farmers agreed, she made the best food of all the farmers wives and her name was...wait for it...Julia.
We finished with his questions about what I was doing here. "Your goats are so friendly, I can't get over it!" he kept saying. How many do you have?" Even man-hater, Greta was showing good manners.
"Thank you, they sure are, ten," I answered, looking proudly at Greta, "six kids and four adult females." I stumble under the correct terminology.
"And you're alone? You did all this by yourself?" He was referring to how the log house farm looked now by swinging his arm out.
"No, angels like you drop in, to visit and help me out."
***
I sent you to reap that whereon ye have not laboured: others have laboured, and ye are entered into their labour. John 4:38
I shook Roger's hand in gratitude, more maybe, for the story of this homestead's hundred year old history than the gravel he brought.
Here's some free advertising for him.
If you need gravel and live up this way, (near North Bay Ontario), call Roger LaPorte. He deserves your business!
Thank You So Much, All Of You!
Here's some free advertising for him.
If you need gravel and live up this way, (near North Bay Ontario), call Roger LaPorte. He deserves your business!
Thank You So Much, All Of You!
Last but not least, I made my first pot scrubber out of the baling twine piling up from the barn.
That's not where I keep my pot scrubbers... I just didn't know how else to pose it for a decent picture. My sisters are better at decorating than I am.
That's not where I keep my pot scrubbers... I just didn't know how else to pose it for a decent picture. My sisters are better at decorating than I am.
Jacob and Samuel