Happy Solstice

The shortest day, a long soft night.  We've had busy social times here, and more travel, festivities, and family time are planned.  The next few days--actually, next week or more--will be packed.  But right at this moment, after friends over for dinner have left, the house clean, warm and cozy, it's a moment of quiet, the right sort for solstice--a moment to breathe.  It snuck up a bit this year, seeming sudden.  Though it's the official start of winter, it's also the start of a long sigh of relief, to be turning back towards the sun.  From here on out, it gets brighter.

Winter light through hoarfrost on the fence wire.  

I'll leave you with a section of a traditional Irish blessing, from the collection Earth Prayers, edited by Elizabeth Roberts and Elias Amidon:

May the blessing of light be on you, light without and light within.  May the blessed sunshine shine on you and warm your heart till it glows like a great peat fire, so that the stranger may come and warm himself at it, and also a friend.  And may the light shine out of the two eyes of you, like a candle set in the two windows of a house, bidding the wanderer come in out of the storm.

As I move into winter and more moments of sunlight, I hope to bring them in with that goal--to let that light shine out as well, welcoming and warm.

Happy Solstice, everyone.

Local remedies

Sometime on Sunday I made the mistake of commenting to Noah that despite our rustic living, travel, and pretty high stress levels, neither of us had really gotten sick this fall.  Within hours I was slightly congested, by bedtime I had a bit of a headache, and I woke Monday morning floored by fever and aches and a general inability to think clearly or stay very upright.

One advantage of working with your partner/ for yourself/ at home is that rather than simply propping myself up by whatever means necessary to soldier on through lectures, teaching lab, or writing exams, I actually did what you are supposed to do when starting to get sick--I went back to bed.  I made an attempt at working, at first, because we did have a lot of coffee orders to still get roasted, packaged, and mailed out, but after an hour or so Noah wisely suggested that I just go sleep some more. So I did, fitfully and feverishly for another 4 hours of the day (cats love this).

That helped, especially when combined with an ancient but new-to-me herbal treatment recommended and delivered by our neighbor and old friend Cedar.  When we cancelled the dinner we'd planned to share that evening, because I was feeling crummy, she instead brought over a bag full of yarrow (Achillea millefolium) that she'd harvested this summer, recommending it highly as a treatment for cold, flue, fevers, or infections.  It's a pretty strong and bitter brew, but steeped with peppermint and licorice and ammended heavily with honey and lemon, the taste is not so bad.

So common I don't have a closeup photo of it (something to
fix this summer!), yarrow is the white bloom at the center.

Of course, being a scientist, I am always curious of the evidence of effectiveness, wanting something beyond my own one-time feeling that it helped. It's not that I don't believe folk remedies or alternative medicine, but I sometimes want something more concrete--a little research, or at least knowing that someone has really looked into how it was used.  Herbal-remedy websites plastered with ads, riddled with spelling and grammar errors, and lacking citations tend to leave me with little confidence (though they said such glowing things).  So I turned to a quick search of academic journals and immediately found a peer-reviewed article in the journal Economic Botany that gave yarrow tea an interesting bit of academic credibility.

You can follow the link below to read the whole article "Yarrow (Achillea millefolium L.):  A neglected Panacea?  A Review of Ethnobotany, Bioactiivy, and Biomedical Research"   if you really want to see it yourself:

http://link.springer.com/article/10.1007%2Fs12231-011-9154-3?LI=true

If you're not into reading whole, dense articles, the two-sentence summary:  The ethnobotanical evidence for yarrow being an active plant is very strong, since it has been used in so many different cultures, for such a long time, and for similar types of ailments.  The chemical profile varies greatly across the range of the species, but it contains many bio-active compounds, though there have been few studies of yarrow effects on humans; the study recommends it as a high priority for testing as a medicinal herb.

It's enough to convince me to do some collecting of the blossoms this summer--we'll have quite a bit of it growing our yard and pasture, as well as many of the surrounding open areas, so supply should be good.  So far I'm pleased with the results, and with much of the bag left from Cedar's gift, I'll definitely be trying it again--I'm not so optimistic as to assume that this was the last cold of the season.

Chicken-dusting

Some lessons we are lucky enough to learn from friends, so we avoid the worst of the ramifications.  A few examples:

1.  When there are flames licking the beans as you pull a roasting drum off the grill, DO NOT dump them onto the cooling screen, as you normally would.  As our friend John Sheffy recounted his story of the melted fan, burnt roaster handle, and singed garage siding from a beyond-dark roast, it was easy to see why forcing more air into smoldering beans with a cooling fan would lead to a 6-foot column of flames and a near-disaster.  We were grateful for that story the first time we burnt a roast.  As flames rose from the drum that first time, Noah and I locked wide eyes, but quickly and wordlessly worked together to dump the beans onto the ground and smother them with a wet rug, not even needing the fire extinguisher we always kept nearby when roasting.  We lost some valuable coffee, but not the giant, beautiful, and highly flammable cedar tree nearby.

2.  The oil pan of a Jetta is very close to the ground, when driving gravel roads to trailheads in Montana.  When Noah called me for a ride home, he said "remember what happened to Kim? Well, I stopped before the oil all leaked out and the engine ran dry.  I think it will be OK."  Just days before ripping a hole in the oil pan on the way to a trail ride, our friend had told us how she did the same thing, but ruined her engine by running the car all the way to the bottom of the road--but with the oil light on, till the whole thing seized up, requiring a very, very expensive repair.

Other lessons we seem to have to learn on our own.  The latest:  no matter how cute they are or how badly they need to stay warm, a home office is not the place to house a brooder full of 18 baby chicks.  At least not without some kind of serious particle containment tent.  Baby chicks are incredibly dusty. On Noah's return from China the other day, we spent hours cleaning up the office--not just from the usual clutter of papers, books, and receipts, or even from the non-standard chaos of coffee bags, labels, and freshly roasted beans.  No, in order to work there again, we had to wipe down every surface, everything that had been exposed, cleaning off the fine layer of dust that had settled during the two weeks of the office doubling as a chick-rearing room.

The chicks have moved to the garage, where they are a little colder but much more isolated from our electronic equipment.  Next time, we are waiting till spring or a warm barn space!

Corners of Home 1: Sewing desk

Noah is off in China, so things are both quieter (no late-night construction projects) and busier around here lately (solo care of 2 cats, rambunctious dog, and 18 chicks that are getting a bit feisty themselves).

But as we have finally eliminated most of the cardboard boxes from our living space, I thought I'd share a few of our homey corners with you over the next few days.  With all the moves over the last few months, we've pared down a lot of things, so a lot of what is left is what one or both of us insisted on keeping, sometimes because of its history or story.

This desk, which anchors the sewing corner in the upstairs of the house, has a US manufacturing stamp on the bottom, dated Dec 1948.  It's solid, and it is not light, but I've moved it from Missoula to Oregon and back now.  I found it with a free sign in my 4th year of grad school.  At the time it was covered in a rather ugly olive-brown coating somewhere between a varnish and a paint.  I took it home in my station wagon, set it oustide and proceeded to sand the entire thing down by hand and re-finish it.  I'd decided it would be the dissertation desk--and I did write much of my PhD dissertation sitting at that desk, in the house on Chestnut Street.

I'm grateful that its new incarnation involves fewer papers and more creative putting together of things. The bright orange bit on the corner is one of the first priority sewing jobs--replacing a broken zipper on an orange jacket Noah hasn't been able to wear for almost a year now.  I'm hopeful that a good setup lets projects like that happen, rather than lingering for months!

(other details:  chair, salvaged from my parents' attic, has also made several multi-state moves and been treated to some repairs with wood glue.  print above the desk is an image of a wild ginger leaf captured, of course, by Noah, and printed specially for me as a gift last Christmas.)

Snowbirds

It's blustering with direct reminders of the Pacific blowing constantly over the mountains into our little valley.  I spent the weekend in Seattle, Washington, for a friends' wedding, but some of the weather found its way back here too.

On the morning walk, Malaya charged a few flocks of Dark-eyed Juncos, though, so I know that higher up in the mountains that wet is falling as snow.  The first flock of those little birds, we saw on the way to check on the chickens, and I realized that the chicks have passed that milestone--they are now definitely larger than our little outdoor songbirds.  (my new computer doesn't have such as easy connection to the camera, but hopefully more chicken pictures will appear soon, once I get the connectors back!).  They have real live little wings now, and are just getting quicker and quicker (and harder and harder to catch, consequently).

Just a Simple Morning Walk

After taking Noah to the airport in the small hours of this morning, Malaya and I had a little morning walk.  She loves the walks, of course, and it's also part of my time for trying to watch and observe our place here.  We walked, as we often do, down the driveway, through a gate, and up back through the pasture.  She  gets to be off-leash much more now than she used to, but she knows that she gets extra freedom to run in the pasture.  On the roads we have to keep her in close formation, if not on the leash, so she doesn't suddenly take off after deer, other dogs, or horses. The pasture fence though a little flimsy, seems to stop her even when she scares up a deer.  She knows this walk well enough now that I rarely put her on leash for this route, so she dashes to the end of the driveway, doubles back, and stops hopefully at the pasture gate.  Inside, she gets the "okay!" signal and tears off at a dead run, ears back and nose down.

While she runs, sniffs, and goes through her usual routine of checking and following deer tracks, I walk a bit more slowly.  We are both observing and taking data, in our own ways.  For her, it's all smells.  Who was here last night, where did they walk, sleep, pee?  I tend to be more visual.  This morning, though,   it's a bit dark, grey, and my eyes are still feeling the 4:00 am wakeup for the airport run.  So instead of working hard to 'look' I concentrate on the feel under my feet.

Every night lately has been right at the edge of freezing, and there's a rim of ice on fences and gates, but no ice on the ground.  The bare patches have a bit of crunch; top layers of soil breaking up nicely from a freeze-thaw cycle. I wonder how deep it goes, whether it will help the compacted soil work up more easily in the spring, when we start to work up garden ground.  In the low corner, where the thistle is thick and the soil seems to stay more wet, the under-foot is soft and spongy.

The paths worn by the horses are firm, and I follow one along the row of black walnut trees back toward the house. Sensing the possibility of breakfast, Malaya comes tearing from the far corner and waits smiling at the gate; together, we walk home.  

Guess what?!

The baby girls arrived last night, very very early this morning.  18 (we think, it's a bit hard to count them) are pecking and peeping in a big horse-trough brooder in the office right now.  Expect the full story of their arrival, and updates on their progress, over the coming days and weeks. 

Keep the kayak, sell the car

We are now officially a one-car, two-bike household.  For the first time since I bought that silver '86 Subaru in my last year of college, I do not officially own a car. Of course, I'm not totally car-less because Noah and I share the Jetta, but even going to a ratio of fewer vehicles than people in the household is a big jump, and a very non-standard move for 'normal' Americans. We also have access to a small pickup to borrow for farm tasks, so when we need to make a haul of strawbales, manure, lumber, etc., we have some flexibility. 

Part of equation in cutting back on jobs to make room for our own work has always been trying to reduce expenses and complications.  The car cut-back is a part of that.  The Toyota was pretty reliable and low-maintenance (2.5 years of running solidly with no repairs needed--just some basic oil and filter and fluid changes), but it still had some operating costs.  Fuel (and its mpg was half what the Jetta gets), oil changes, insurance...and the constant possibility that we'd continue to depreciate it with incidental body damage while building chicken coops, etc. (have I told you that story yet? hmm).  Luckily that dent in the rear gate from our late-night chicken coop construction last fall didn't actually take its value down too much, and it sold easily. 

The Toyota Rav4 (or as Noah always called it, "The Rave" served well for several years, but has been passed on. 

I had hardly used that car over the last year, so it's exciting to have it out, have the insurance charges for it off the budget, and not need to worry about servicing, repairs, or even just where to park it.  Having just one vehicle does require a bit more creativity and advance planning, but since the home office is now just a short walk from the home kitchen, I think we can make it work.  It's part of a process of paring down and simplifying a lot of things out of my life and space, and so far it's going well.

In good company

Missoulians will often tell you, with a mix of pride and rueful head-shaking, that our town has more not-for-profit organizations per capita than anywhere else in the country.  I don't know if that figure is verified, but I do know it certainly feels true.  Drop a glass of wine at any social gathering here (odds are it will be a potluck), and you're just about guaranteed to splash at least one non-for-profit employee, director, or board member.  Maybe a few. 

We sometimes joke with people, as we explain why we've returned to Montana, that we just thought there weren't enough non-profits or coffee roasters in the town yet.  It gets a good laugh.  But the great thing is, that glut of organizations, which might seem a strike against locating our here, is also the very reason to land here.  Because, amazingly enough, as we've met with people working for and running so many of these other non-profits, one theme emerges:  they want to help, and want to see us succeed.  Maybe it's because no one else is doing quite what we propose, or maybe it's because they like the coffee samples we give them. Maybe it's because we offer to help them too (Noah donates prints to the benefit auctions of quite a few of our local non-profits).  I think it's just part of the culture here, people wanting to support other folks also trying to do good work. 

Our latest round of supportive enthusiasm and offers for help came from a young couple who have created a small non-for-profit organization to run student travel courses (sound familiar?).  They run 1-2 courses a year taking college students to the Indian Himalaya through Nature Link, their organization, granting credit through the University of Montana.  (their org website, student testimonials, and lovely photos from courses, are here:  http://www.nature-link.org/ ). 

We met them over beers at a local brewer (also something of no shortage in Missoula) where we talked no only logistics and advice, but also the excitement and reasons we all want to run these courses.   It can be good, when we are spending other hours trying to get internet connected to our office in the Toolshed, or cramping our brains trying to understand what accounting software will work best, to sit back and talk with likeminded people about the impact an experience like a travel course can have on a student.  To remember that the kids get so much more than they bargain for, that some are completely transformed and empowered, that their presence and perspective can mean a lot to the host family too. 

Our first course won't be till May, at the earliest.  That's a long way off, but conversations like these, remembering what a great opportunity we can offer, will help us get through those details of how to offer it.  I'm grateful for the good company, the community of support. 

Making space for home

It's been quiet on the updates recently, because it has been anything but quiet in our daily activities.  After two months in the Toolshed, four months since we packed up and left our Treehouse home in Oregon, the end of the four-month move arrived in a big burst.  We've been moving. And moving again, and again and....it's a bit complicated. 

It was a bit of a Rubic's cube of a puzzle; our office rental and storage unit rentals in town expired at the end of October, but the cottage was not quite ready for us on the first of November.  So things from the office got stacked temporarily in the chicken coop, while most things from the toolshed moved to the house...then office things into the toolshed, storage unit boxes (containing a lot of our office books and Noah's prints and art materials) went into, well, first several piles on the lawn.  Then split between goat shed, chicken coop, and corners of toolshed.  Luckily none of the animals for which these spaces are named are actually in their locations yet! 

Finally, late last week we started to move into the little cottage house, wtih great delight at things like warm running water and a sink for dishwashing.  We haven't been this clean in months.  The place is small, efficien, and very bright; we're excited to have such a sweet little house.  As soon as we started moving in, though, we realized a few challenges and a lot of work lay ahead. 

The bedroom is in a daylight basement, the base of the house, and had a very cold, hard, and hard-to-clean cement floor, so project #1 was laying a new bamboo floor.  Then painting the white walls a warm yellow.  It also, um, had no closet.  In fact, after moving in boxes and bags of books and clothing, we looked around this sweet little place and realized we had no place to put any of those things!  So the last week has been a craze of building:  long bookshelves for the living room, a bread-baking station to extend the skimpy counter space of the kitchen, a table to feed the cats on, save from Malaya, clothes storage, shoe shelves for the entryway....and a closet rod/ shelf for the bedroom.  There's still a lot more to do, but with books unpacked, a couch to sit on, bed to sleep on, and food stocked in the kitchen, we are at least starting to feel a bit, well, at home. 

More photos to come as we clear out the last boxes and truly settle in, but a few for now.....a glimpse of how we have been making home:

Noah hard at work putting together the butcher-block 'bread baking station.'  A good place to knead bread is a key part of our home kitchen.  In the background is the cottage where we, finally, are living!

The final product--the bread station!  (Never mind the chaos of still-full boxes in the background.) This is all reclaimed lumber:  a maple top and some reclaimed 2x6 timbers from Home ReSource, our local building materials recycling center, and barn boards from the sides from a stock piled in the barn here on the property.  Working with these materials makes design and sometimes leveling and alignment a bit challenging, but the results have been great.

Flurries

We just passed the milestone of two full months of Toolshed living, and as the seasons continue to tilt, we are having a variety of types of flurries here on Sundown Road lately. 

Flurries of: 

:: snow 
A winter weather advisory for the area this morning, and fast enough snow showers this morning to build up just a bit.  Just enough to make us rush through cleaning up after breakfast cooking (when snow is piling up on the olive oil and the salt, it's a different sort of cleanup!).  As we pulled a tarp over some half-finished construction projects, Malaya kept jumping on it and snapping at snowflakes.  She's putting on the fluff in preparation for winter. 

:: building
More compost bins (one very special one we won't discuss just yet...).  A platform bed to hold a brand-new locally made wool and cotton futon made, by special request, without flame retardants.  Note: this took

:: learning and planning
How deep are the underground irrigation lines?  Where are all the sprinkler heads?  How can we use the existing system for new garden space, but make it a bit more efficient? 

:: connections
When we mentioned the coffee roasting at a MUD* workshop last night, the woman running it said "Oh, I know who you are.  I know all about you--I just knew we'd meet at some point."  A dynamic and passionate local-food advocate with her hands in all kinds of good stuff, and a self-described "do-er, not talker," we are sure she's going to be a good ally and resource.

:: upcoming transitions
Including the most anxiously-awaited move into the cottage!  The farmhouse renovations are supposed to wrap up this Friday, with a cleaning crew scheduled for Monday, and the beginning of the grand housing shuffle on Tuesday.  We'll help Anita move from the cottage to the farmhouse, we'll move our living from the Toolshed to the cottage, then we'll move our office from in-town (and storage unit) to the Toolshed.  Next week may be a flurry of moving, but I am looking forward to finally settling in indoors.  


* Missoula Urban Demonstration  Project--a local sustainable living resource organization that hosts classes on all kinds of practical skills, and also runs the tool library that allows us to borrow,rather than buy seldom-used tools like a jigsaw or sawzall or caulking gun (just to name a few, lately)

A time of precious sunlight

Please forgive the absence of posts lately--it's been farm-to-be work time here for the last several days.  We drove back to Montana last Sunday hauling some 15 gallons or so of apple juice pressed in Oregon last week, and ever since have been fully immersed in trying to get systems set up here on the place.  We're still in the toolshed, but taking advantage of some nice fall day weather to get stuff done outside.  Our friend John is visiting from Wisconsin, we've put him straight to work....a new metal roof went up this morning on a great old pole building we refer to as the "goat shed."  It's support timbers are sound but shingles had blown off ages ago, and one more winter would have done in the wood on the roof.  We're aren't sure, really if goats will be the first thing it houses, but at least now whatever lives in there (not us, thankfully) will be dry! 

It may be quiet here for the next few days again as we build nest boxes and roosts for a chicken coop, dig garden beds and plant garlic, and, um, run a small workshop on Permaculture this weekend.  And of course, we'll be composting, as always.  Noah is officially compost king this week, because he won the wager we had of how hot the compost would be when we returned (the measured 136 was closer to his 140 guess than my 130).   

Currently On The Road

Team Toolshed is on the road.  We left Monday morning (cats staying behind, of course; we are grateful for Anita taking care of them for the week).  It's a combination of work and family visiting, a week on the road.  A few snippets from the trip so far:

Montana is an early morning start, straight from the bed to a down jacket, the cold metal of the roof racks bite fingers as we load the car in slowly brightening fog.  Gallons of extra veggie oil fuel cram the trunk, and containers for buying more in Portland. The wildfire smoke seems to be creeping back in, so it may just be a good time to get out of town. 

Idaho is easy.  We breeze through the skinny part of this state on veggie oil in the time it takes to have a few conversations: another debate about pigs, scheming over tractors, cover crops, speculating about compost.  

Washington is still smoky, but bright rabbitbrush in bloom lines the roads through the Palouse country.  We are headed for Quincy, a small town in the middle of fields watered by the Columbia, with blue labels on the fences informing drivers what is growing in each field.  My favorite reads "PASTURE: HORSES."  While Noah interviews a bean farmer and consolidator, Malaya and I wander a strange region of ag warehouses and offices.  Tons and tons of food are being gathered and stored here--apple trucks loaded with the giant wooden crates come and go, but the whole complex has no living plants except the green grass in the adjacent cemetery, so we walk there instead.  Diesel fumes, smokestacks, and acres of mysterious cement buildings are all somehow part of the food system.  It's a bit large. 

We know White Salmon, with our good friends, dinner, and bed, is south on 97, but we don't quite know how far.  A traffic back-up near Toppenish appears to be from an accident involving an apple truck. The vehicles have been dragged off the intersection, but a galaxy of smashed apples remains on the pavement. 

Dropping down hills into the start of Oak tree country on the Yakima Nation, wild horses graze ont he side of the highway. Lights flash when we let the downhill get to fast, but the officer is hiding a smile behind his grey mustache.  Holding the license, the worst we get is a warning: "You're going to have to take it down by about 10 miles an hour, or we'll make you brush your dog." We promise to behave.

We make it to the Columbia Gorge in dark, tired and grateful for friends to take us in. 

The time of first ice

We are feeling the shift here, the tilt away from sun and summer.  Each day is about eight minutes shorter than the last, and we've already been caught by surprise by a few early sunsets.  Noah and Malaya ended a bike ride last week in the almost-dark; it somehow snuck up on us all. 

And it's noticeable, the effect of those shortening days.  Not just a few drifting leaves now, but a fall of them.  A few nights ago we got the first rain in well over a month, which turned to slushy snow in the early half-dark morning. I am most grateful for the clarity that came back to the air after that, as the wildfire smoke finally blew out of the valley and the fires settled down with snow in the higher hills. At the edges of forests on Blue Mountain and Mount Sentinel, a fringe of white is still visible in the shade.  The hills that for weeks we could hardly see are again clear and defined--and now the smoke has lifted, I notice the larches are starting to turn yellow. 

It's not just changing colors and air clarity, though.  This morning when I woke up I found a solid layer of ice topping the water left in our plastic dishwashing tubs.  The soup pot left in the tub after last night's cooking was frozen in place.  It's a thin rim of ice, so far, but the cold is definitely creeping in. Indoors, Mabel and Hershey are clinging more solidly to the bed with each cooler night, burrowing under the covers and refusing getting harder to budge.   

Our toolshed is still pretty cozy, but getting cooler,and the outdoor kitchen and shower are becoming a bit more, um, refreshing.  We've taken to heating some water in the electric kettle to add to the dishwater,and even sometimes using the propane stove to heat a large water pot for showering (pretty luxurious). The semi-outdoor life is evident more in cold fingers than in sunny cheeks now, a contrast to when we moved here in late August. 

It's a time for burrowing in a bit.  We think we will be moving into the cottage house within the next few weeks, which will be especially welcome after after a few more icy mornings.  Till then, we'll take a cue from Mabel, soaking up some warm outdoor sun during the day(even in chilly air), and nesting under an ever deeper layer of blankets at night.

View of the paper birch through this morning's layer of ice.

The Toolshed Roast

This morning we looked at our coffee supply and realized we were down to just one more morning's worth of beans.  That means that, in the midst of all the rest, it's time to roll out the roaster again and roast, at least for ourselves.  It's been a funny discovery in this summer (and now fall) of moving, that the roaster, the process of roasting, even in new and less than ideal locations, has been a familiar and comforting thing.  It makes a place, whether it is an awkward summer-rental apartment or a tool room off of a garage, feel a bit more like home. It has been good to do something that feels familiar and normal, and have it go well. 

The last roast we did, we offered mail batches to our past supporters, and mailed out boxes right before heading to New York.  That was our first roast at the farm on Sundown, and it was a bit of a celebration of finding our new place.  We called it the Toolshed Roast, and included some of the story from the very first nights of our arrival there.  This is the text and image from the label:

When we tell friends and new neighbors that we have moved to the small farm on Sundown Road, we don't generally let on that at the moment we are actually living in a toolshed. It's cozier than you might think, but we can't recommend it for everyone--cooking off a propane stove outside, carrying water in five gallon jugs, running our fruit dryer off borrowed power, the continual sweeping from the dry yard which the animals track through our various zones from the outdoor kitchen into the sitting area and bedroom corner. The proximity to horses is another matter. On a recent evening after dinner with neighbors, we followed the path through the pasture back home, only to find ourselves surrounded by horses. With one hand on the dog, and another on the horses, we just had to talk our way through the matter, both softly and strongly.

This roast is just like that, soft and strong, from our friends in Papua New Guinea, who dig down, working with the community to build up their own farm, really from the soil up, just the way we work here in Missoula, Montana. So, to celebrate our temporary living situation, until we move into a real farmhouse, the toolshed roast is good for simple work, or when you need a bit more. It's been tested over coffee with neighbors, running meetings, designing our new chicken coop, and talking to horses.

We'll always make room for a little more (especially a little more coffee).

In the last few weeks our Toolshed has served as home-office workspace, print shop, coffee packaging/ shipping warehouse (the actual roasting happens outside), as well as hosting all our normal daily functions.  You know: sleeping, eating, housing two cats and the dog, making applesauce, drying plums, etc..  Just the basics.  I’ll be honest, there are times when it feels a bit cramped.  While shuffling boxes to extract the one large pot to heat shower water (too much smoke to heat the solar shower lately), or putting all other operations on hold till the photo prints spread over all surfaces are dry, it can feel like there is not room for one more thing or operation in this space.  By all logic, there probably is not.  So why not order over 800 pounds of coffee to be delivered to our door?

When we first started roasting, one of these bags seemed large.

Back in the Grove, we used to just pick up our Papua New Guinea coffee ourselves from the small warehouse that Larry and Aarlie import through near Seattle.  Driving on veggie oil, we’ve gotten up to three bags crammed into the backseat.  We usually managed to combine those coffee trips with some other meetings and errands in or near Seattle, so it worked out pretty efficiently, getting a few bags at a time.  We are by far the smallest customer at the warehouse, so it was always fun to see our one or two bags brought out to the loading dock.  But now that we’re hundreds of miles farther away, the direct veggie-oil fueled pickup isn’t so feasible.  Added to that is the fact that this year’s crop is looking to be pretty low at the Madan farm, so we’ve had a bit of worry about having a good supply over the next year.  So, just to be secure, we decided to take the new action of having some coffee shipped to us.  And if a truck is going to come to our house, even though the freight is shared with many other things coming to Missoula from that region, we want to maximize the efficiency of fuel.  So, of course, with nowhere really to put it, we ordered 8 bags of coffee. 

 

It arrived yesterday, while I was working at home (fortunately) and Noah was at the office.  The freighter truck couldn’t get up the driveway, but one of the builders working on Anita’s house was happy to drive his pickup truck out to the street to pick up the pallet of coffee for us.  A pallet of coffee.  Eight bags, piled up, strapped down, and marked with “Forest Voices” on a wire-and-paper tag.  A whole pallet of coffee is a bit exciting, and a whole new scale for our operations.  

I was tempted to start wrestling bags off the truck and into our living space right away, but since I’m still supposed to be on lockdown for any strenuous ankle activity (something I need to get better at obeying), I called Noah home from the office, and we tackled it together with the wheeled dolly that has proven to be one of our most valuable pieces of equipment.  I thought for a while we might have to pile these in one corner of our living space, reducing the access pathway to our bed to a small corridor, but with enough shuffling, we managed to squeeze them into a garage storage space between Anita’s furniture and boxes.  We are still proceeding with pretty much all activities even in this toolshed homestead, but I’m looking forward to the day when there are more distinct zones for all these different business and activities.  Till then, we’ll just continue this shuffle, doing our best to make that Toolshed Shuffle into some sort of dance. 

 

  

The handcart purchased for the multiple moves proves invaluable for wheeling the coffee from the truck through the kitchen and toolshed for storage in the garage. (note that Noah is similarly versatile, transitioning easily from being a sustainable agriculture consultant on skype video calls, to coffee freight transfer without so much as changing clothes.  We're bit on versatility here.