Rachel continues to do great work on the floors. The living room is now done; we can start moving furniture back in by Monday. The floor is pine, which is notorious for rough grain and not taking stain evenly. Some people say it’s a mistake to stain pine but I think it looks great. Another thing about pine: it turns orange as it ages. In our case that means our stain—Minwax “early American” which is brown—actually ended up looking more red. Two coats of polyurethane as a finish.


Had breakfast with the distinguished author today.


Gave blood today at a drive across the street. Thanks to @JohnBrady for posting that one article that one time that encouraged me to set up the appointment. I’d link it but I can’t find it now because of his sand mandala blogging model. 😂


I hope you’ve had the experience of listening to someone recall people and places as you pass through the countryside. I also hope you were not bored or impatient with the experience–because you were experiencing the conjuring of a living landscape through the magic of memory.

For all of our society’s embrace of a mobile workforce, its stereotyping of those who never move away from their hometown, and its elevation of travel to the sacramental, there are certain experiences only available to those who have settled into a place long-term. One such is the perception of a landscape spread across space and time. Beautiful places become such through the infusion of a place with the awe and gratitude of a thousand generations. Houses become projects undertaken by hands that never shook in greeting but meet in the intimacy of shared work. Maybe we have ceased to believe in an enspirited universe because we so rarely remain in a place long enough to meet the neighbors.


When we first began our garden in 2020, we intended it not only as a collection of pretty flowers and vegetables but as a flourishing habitat. One of the keystones of that habitat is our tiny wildlife pond. We were amazed at how quickly life starting showing up in it; even larger critters started drinking from it regularly.

This is Morty. He’s a raggedy neighborhood cat who first showed up last winter to drink from our pond. He disappeared by the spring and then returned a few weeks ago, again to drink from the pond during the late summer drought. This time, though, he seems to have decided to stay.  

Rachel was the first to notice that he is blind in one eye and hard of hearing. That combined with his shagginess makes us think he’s pretty old. After he started showing up every day and laying by the pond, Rachel named him Morty and started feeding him. While he never lets us get near him, he has stopped running every time we go outside.

He’s almost always by the pond, either napping or watching whatever is going on in it. At first we were concerned he would kill a bird, but he doesn’t seem to have enough energy for that.

Our garden is only peaceful if you’re an apex predator—but that cycle of life and death is part of the deal when you’re trying to build a flourishing habitat. I’m glad Morty is spending some part of that cycle in our backyard.


We’re finished with the floors for today. Now I’m sitting here in this upset of furniture waiting on Rachel and Darcy. There’s the most delicious breeze, stirring the wind chimes into a sound like singing bowls. All originating in a ferocious, deadly hurricane 750 miles south of here.


Two rooms ready for sanding. Both have a rectangular section in the middle with an older finish. Like something semi-permanent was there at one time and someone finished the floor around it. A mystery. Also, we’ll replace that plywood patch by the window with some good flooring cut from a closet.


You never know what you’ll find when you pull up the carpet on a 114 year old house. Someone covered a hole with a peanut lid. We plan to leave it; the bookshelves will cover it anyway.


We’re pulling out the carpet in the front half of the house today. In every project Rachel and I have worked on she has three essential tools: needle nosed pliers, a crowbar, and a butter knife. If it can’t be done with one of those three, she says, it doesn’t need to be done.


Rachel is repainting the front half of our house. All the books (plus some records and CDs) had to be moved to the dining room. Quite a pile! I’ll be taking this opportunity to thin the collection and rearrange them before reshelving when the project is done.