I Know an Old Lady Who Swallowed a ...

I inhaled as as I straightened up from pulling a weed last evening, and (too late) saw the small triangular moth as it disappeared into my mouth, and felt it as it fluttered down my windpipe. The song, "I know an old lady who swallowed a fly..." came to mind. Thankfully it was not a fly, and it was not swallowed, but I choked and spit and coughed up moth bits for an hour. My advise to you, dear reader, is - keep your mouth shut in the garden!

I have been preoccupied with that garden, which has fed the neighbourhood with chard and greens all spring. I need to go clear out the last feed of chard and allow the tomatoes a turn. But I have both flower and vegetable gardens. The flowers are going crazy, and the vegetables are flowering. The tomatoes are heavily laden with pea-sized tomatoes and hundreds of blossoms, the squash are putting on buds, the beans are lifting buds, the potatoes are blooming, and everywhere you look is abundance and sheer abandon.

But I haven't talked about the house in ages, and I should. Work on the wee abode creeps along at a snail's pace. I'd love to have everything I envision done in a massive week-long swoop, but at this rate five years, maybe ten, is a more realistic goal. sigh

The "Tiny House" crowd is generally dismissive of the RV as a dwelling, but with a bit of retrofitting they make comfortable and efficient housing for people who are happy in a small space. Our RV is cozy, if a bit chaotic. The structural changes are complete and what remains to do is largely cosmetic; painting, new flooring in the kitchen/entry, some resurfacing of new construction.

Unlike most "Tiny Homer's" we are retired, so our place functions as a full-time home. It's heated 24/7 in the winter and cooled appropriately in the summer. We prepare and eat our meals, shower, sleep and do our laundry here.

We have already talked at length about installing the washer/drier combo unit, and insulating, but more recently we built a platform for the drop-leaf desk we had shoved awkwardly into the living room corner. It's elevated by nine inches to clear the wheel well on the outside wall, thus creating some storage underneath, and allowing us to push the desk back against the back wall. Much better.

As you can see, the platform still needs finishing, the shelf to the left still needs a bit of finishing, the desk is in line for a repainting, and I could have tidied. I'm still thinking about window coverings. Venetian blinds are nice for controlling light, but these are old (metal) and somewhat the worse for wear. They conduct cold like crazy, so we'd like something a little more insulative. Any suggestions that don't involve yours truly sewing, which is definitely not my thing?

We replaced the broken down sofa with the eye-popping zebra patterned one, the only one I could find which would fit into the truncated space. But then I found the perfect wall unit to drop into place in the five inch space at the end, giving us room to display a couple of treasured mementos, and a bit of protection for my curio shelf filled with the collected miniatures from four generations of family members.

These are the things that say home to me, paintings we've hung, little gifts crafted by loving hands of mother, grandmother, husband, child. Touches that are priceless in any setting, small or large, humble or palatial.

Ian tore out the banquette bench seats and table, and built a shelving unit against the kitchen wall. Very handy. On the top shelf a few of the cups and saucers passed down from Tony's Grandmother, the teapot given to me by my late friend Audrey, tea caddy and flower bowls. On another shelf, the family altar. Below, storage for canned goods, pots and pans, crock pot. Oh the joy of not having to climb a ladder to get to these daily items!

The small table and chairs suit us much more than the difficult banquette ever did. We still need to change the flooring, but all in good time. Little by little it's taking on less of a "factory-installed" look and more of our personality.

Two in love can live on the edge of a sword

It just occurred to me that we began this journey four years ago this month, when I got the crazy notion that we should ditch 90% of our material possessions, move into a trailer the size of my brother's walk-in closet and head for a place we'd never even visited before.

And so older son Ian and I found ourselves on a cold March day, in a sodden parking lot, inspecting a battered 35-year-old trailer that smelled like well-aged piss and deteriorating foam cushions. It was horrible, but had a good floor plan and appeared structurally sound. We bought it before we could talk ourselves out of the idea.

We spent the next several months ripping and renovating, and in July I started this blog. But lately I find myself floundering. What's the point? Time to go back to the beginning and start afresh.

Back in July of 2006 I began my first post with this:

I've come to a point in life where the material accumulations of a lifetime are weighing on me. And, though I speak in the singular, I think "We've come". Thankfully for my mental health my significant other shares my feelings. So, we have begun to divest ourselves of the collected bits 'n pieces of 40 years together. Early in our marriage we could move house in the trunk of the '59 Ford we'd named Rocinante (after Don Quixote's reluctant plow-nag). Two in love can live on the edge of a sword.

Then came babies who became growing boys. We needed some things and wanted others. He built model ships, planes and lovely furniture. I sculpted, painted, quilted, collected dolls, china and antique linens. Our children made wonderful things for us. We inherited beautiful things from generations past. We clutched at our possessions and they clutched back. Like fractious infants they demanded tending. I worried about spots on the crystal, wrinkles in the tablecloth and dust collecting on 200 "objects d'art".

One day it dawned on me that everything I own owned me back. That's fine when you have the interest and motivation to keep up with your mutual ownership, but time marches on, and I find myself without either. I would rather spend my energy elsewhere. Our children thought we had finally flipped our collective lid when we said we were simplifying our lives enough to move into a 25' long travel trailer, and head for warmer climes. I suppose time will tell. Lids may have been flipped, but, in our own minds, we are preparing to move back onto the edge of the sword.

---

Surprisingly the transition has been almost painless. We've had a huge amount of help from our sons, from friends, and from people we've hired to fill in the occasional gap. The tiny trailer has been swapped out for a newer, larger and much better equipped one, but the principle remains the same. Live as simply as is comfortable. Enjoy every day, every hour, even those which are uncomfortable. Listen to your body and follow its wisdom. Stretch your boundaries.

As we enter year five, who knows what we will discover?

Photo Essay - The Lake Where We Live

For the 30+ years we lived in Calgary, and struggled through the long bitterly cold, snow-and-ice laden winters, we talked about moving "someday" to the Okanagan Valley. But there were always reasons we couldn't. Work, finances, an elderly M-I-L, health issues, the boys and their schools, friends, spouses.

Then in early 2006 we decided that it was now or never. Tony was retirement age, and I was not far behind, and could work from anywhere at any rate. But anxious to try a more simple life and hesitating to commit ourselves fully to mortgages and property ties we might regret later we made the decision to jettison a lot of stuff, buy a small travel trailer and give the Okanagan a trial run.

We bought a small 35-year-old trailer, ripped out the inside and rebuilt it. (We should have just bought a larger new one, but hindsight is 20-20.) For the entire story on that go back to the beginning of this blog. We bought the trailer in March, and left Calgary at the end of August.



If we have ever regretted it I can't remember it. We liked living in the trailer so much we swapped out the 35-year-old tin can for a larger and newer model two years ago this month, and we are living the life of Riley. There is nothing happening in the garden now so I thought I might share a pictorial synopsis of where and how we live in the next few posts.



We live on the shore of Okanagan Lake. According to the Wikipedia entry Okanagan Lake is 135 km (84 miles) long, and 5 kilometres (3.1 mi) wide at its widest point. It has a surface area of 351 square kilometres (136 sq mi), an average depth of 76 m (228 ft) and a maximum depth 232 m (696 ft). The Okanagan is one of a series of large lakes which give this part of British Columbia its character.



Our little bit is situated in a cove formed to the west by clay cliffs which were laid down as sediment when this area became part of a huge lake formed by melting glaciers. When the waters receded, the clay was exposed and began to erode, forming the fanciful "hoodoos" seen today. This erosion continues. Dead fruit trees from a cliff-side orchard above us fill the high gullies, where they ended up after the soil under them washed away.

Though we are inside the municipal boundaries, this is a rural area. The park's neighbours are the 100-year-old Landry Cabin, and an apple orchard.



We're a two-minute walk from the beach, though it usually takes half an hour to complete it, because you stop to chat with every neighbour you pass. This is the way to the beach. You'll often find a group of neighbours visiting in the shade along here. This arcade of mock cherry and willow trees is a popular meeting place. Bring a lawn chair and a bevy and pass the time visiting on a sunny day.



In the summer the Okanagan's beaches are full of kids and grownups too. Cool water is irresistible on a hot summer's day. This was taken in May, before the summer season.



The beach itself is 800-1000 feet long, but only the centre section is used for swimming. Part of it is used for launching boats, some is left natural. The piers are what's left of a dock which a storm destroyed a few years ago. The kids love to jump off these in the summer.



A lovely trail leads east from the beach down toward Trout Creek. The trail winds through several different environmental zones. It begins in a dry area, just sand and a few plants which tolerate dry soil.



It moves on through a wet zone, into an area of dense forest, and eventually crosses a creek where cattails and wild flag (iris) grow eight and nine feet tall. The trees are heavy with wild wisteria vines, which put on a spectacular display in the spring.



And here are Mr. T and Salvador the cat, enjoying a ramble on a sunny day.