Twelve concentric circles completed. All that remains is to adjust the path to create the labyrinth.

  If there’s any justice in the world, this business of picking up, transporting, and laying down approximately 800 feet of rocks should be good for the waistline.  Can’t remember ever doing so much bending, and I’m feeling it in my knees and hips.  Still, every rock moved the labyrinth closer to completion, and they look so good in their precise formations.  Rocks are endlessly fascinating to me.  I thoroughly enjoyed placing each of them in the circles, to the delightful accompaniment of my iPod.  I thought sedate instrumentals like Sibelius, George Schutz, or Carlos Nakai would be the perfect music for the task—and they are—but equally good are Eva Cassidy, Willie Nelson, Randy Newman, the Lovin’ Spoonful, and the Jefferson Airplane.  Sixties’ rock-and-roll is particularly fine, but, really, when isn’t ‘60s rock-and-roll sublime?  The ‘80s have a lot to answer for, and music from that decade is certainly high on the list.

The mountains of rocks I’ve collected over these past months proved to be insufficient.  I completely depleted the piles of rocks, much to the consternation of a snake which had taken up residence in one of them.  Bill coaxed him into a bucket and then released him in the woods—another tremendous example of how essential a husband can be. 

With the labyrinth path four-fifths laid, I spent several more hours (with help from Bill) harvesting bucket after bucket after bucket of rocks from the pasture, stepping carefully around the cow pies and other droppings (some of which, when aged, look disconcertingly like rocks).  The cows and horses thought we were deranged and kept nosing the buckets to see if really we were transporting oats or hay. 

At last, or perhaps, alas, it is done.  I took the first labyrinth walk just to verify that the path was laid down as it should be and that it flowed without impediment to the center.  Once that was confirmed, the second walk was taken with intention and gratitude.  Pausing at the bench in the center, I sighed into the amazing view of trees and mountains … and then my eyes were drawn closer, to a trio of rabbits playing tag by the side of our house.  Oh, yes, this labyrinth is definitely a gift!  I look forward to walking it in the early morning, as the sun rises above the trees in the east and the birds begin their cacophony.

Having answered the call of the labyrinth, I welcome the next steps on the journey…  Here’s the final photo:   

Labor of love completed ... welcome walkers!

 

The site chosen for the labyrinth

I was one of countless high-school sophomores who sat in Mr. Glandon’s geometry class thinking, “What possible use could I ever have for this stuff?  When will I ever need to determine the circumference of a circle? Why do I need to know that A = πr²?”   And “Why does that man wear those awful sleeveless undershirts under his transparent white shirts?”

I am here to testify that geometry does come in handy.  I’ve used it to calculate the length of each piece of ground cloth that I needed to cut to lay down the circle.  I used it to calculate the number of yards of bark needed to cover my 43-foot circle to a depth of 3.5 inches (15 yards), and I used it to calculate the number of 12-inch landscape bricks needed to outline the circle and contain the bark (138).  I confess I hadn’t retained all the needed formulas in my head, but they were readily available; plus, it doesn’t hurt to be married to a mathematician.

The pictures below show some of the progression of the labyrinth:

Groundcover placed in a 43-foot circle

15 yards of bark; spreading it proved to be the most grueling part of the process

Bark finally spread!

Starting to lay the stones in concentric circles

The original spot I had in mind for the labyrinth no longer seems like the best place to build it.  That would have been in the open, grassy area right in front of the house.  It has a slope which would need to be leveled, plus it would be tight unless we removed a tree or two, which I’d prefer not to do.  On top of that, once we do the house remodel, the north view from that spot will be cut off by the house.  I had been envisioning sitting on the bench in the center of the labyrinth and looking north to the mountains. 

There is a spot to the west which seems to be calling me.  It is relatively flat (the labyrinth doesn’t need to be completely level), views are spectacular in every direction, and there is plenty of room for a 43-foot circle without having to disturb any trees or plants.  The ground-cover I ordered has been delivered and I’m ready to start.

This is a project that has been calling to me for months, maybe even years.  I want to approach it as I hope to approach the labyrinth once it is finished—with intention, joy, openness, and playfulness.  Anyone who plans to spend a lot of time walking around in circles shouldn’t take themselves too seriously.

Over the last six months, I’ve spent much of my free time at the house collecting rocks from around the property—from the open expanses and grassy meadows to the cow pasture.  All in all, it’s adding up to a small mountain of stones, actually several small mountains.  It may not be enough stones, but it’s a start. 

Rocks will be the “walls” of the labyrinth we intend to build, denoting the path that will meander in, out, and around—eventually taking the walker to the center and back to the entrance point.  Unlike a maze, a labyrinth has no dead-ends or misleading turns.  Once you enter it and follow the path, it will lead—ultimately—to the center.  A wonderful metaphor for life.  That’s undoubtedly why so many cultures have employed labyrinths as a contemplative tool; they’re often referred to as a walking meditation.  I have always found walking a labyrinth to be enormously peaceful and relaxing.  As soon as we saw this property, I knew I would build a labyrinth on it.  I think it’s been waiting for me to do exactly that. 

When all is said and done, using the classis Chartres design, there will be 12 concentric circles outlined in rocks.  The outer circle will be about 43 feet in diameter, with smaller circles inside, each spaced 16 inches apart, and allowing an average of 4 inches for the stones dividing the paths.  There will be a bench in the center circle.  A better mathematician than I could certainly calculate the circumference of all these circles, and from that extrapolate the amount of rocks it will take to complete the task; I’ve made a cursory estimate and determined that we will need a shipload of rocks.  I can probably harvest several canoe’s worth from our pastures and hillsides; I’m hoping there will not be a need to purchase any rocks.

Laying down the rocks comes fairly late in the process.  First, I will need to determine exactly where the labyrinth footprint will be and then lay down some industrial strength plastic sheeting to prevent the growth of weeds and grass.  Next, I’ll cover that with something that will discourage weed growth and not decompose too quickly—I’m leaning toward bark.   Only when all these steps are done can I begin the task of methodically laying down the rocks to outline the labyrinth’s path.  This will be arduous and tedious, but I find the prospect strangely appealing.

 The Three Tenors are gone.  It was a bittersweet moment—actually 7 days—watching the enormous piles of stumps ground to bits and hauled away by the countless truckloads.

 We had begun to think that our three mountainous wood piles would be with us always and had explored creative ways to disguise them: covering with dirt and planting grass-seeds to create grassy knolls; screening with fast-growing hedges or trees; trucking in snow and promoting them as giant moguls….

Fortunately for us, the current state of the lumber industry has made the grinding and removal of stumps an attractive job for idle excavators.  And the wood chips are sold for energy use to large manufacturers that use them for fuel.  Where we originally were given bids of $20,000-$30,000 to remove the piles, an outstanding excavator agreed to do it for a mere fraction, so he could sell the wood chips.

 The pasture is now wide open and huge.  Our neighbor’s cattle have not resumed grazing on it, but they are most welcome.

 Spring has come early to these hills.  Every weekend when we come up here, something new is in bloom.  And the sticky, green leaves are emerging from branches that have been bare since last fall.  The birds are dancing and diving, their songs starting early and going on until evening falls.  An eagle patrols the property—a menace I’m sure to smaller rodents and nesting robins—but majestic and sure-winged.  There’s nothing more beautiful than an eagle soaring in languid circles above.  I can tell we’re going to love spring up here….

I haven’t posted much in several months.  During winter, we didn’t have a lot to do on the house, plus foot surgery kept me from being very mobile for about three months.  With spring upon us and the foot on the mend, we’re spending more time outside.  Bill has been clearing the land, getting rid of the remains of blackberry bushes (oh, yes, we know they’ll be back), and pulling out stubborn roots and plant residue that will impede mowing.  And now that grasses are once again growing, he’ll be riding around on that mower a lot.  Whenever he mows, we both find ourselves humming the theme from Green Acres.  Given the amount of truly good music on our i-Pods (Satchmo, Ella, Tony Bennett, Randy Newman, Art Tatum…), this is both a travesty and a tragedy.  Nonetheless…

 I’m collecting rocks.  More about that later.  The photos below show the final appearance of the Three Tenors in the Snohomish hills.   Arriverderci….

The bathroom as it looked when we got the house. Fortunately, you can’t smell what it smelled like.

At last.  We are spending weekends and sometimes longer up here in our little house.  There’s still plenty of work to be done, but it’s cozy, clean, and warm.  The bathroom is beautiful—a joy to behold.  An ordinary bathroom by anyone’s standards, but to us a palace by comparison to what was here when we bought the place.

 It was dirty, and dark, and smelled so foul that I couldn’t enter without gagging.  This appeared to have been ground zero for the two cats that were abandoned in the house for six months while the previous owner thought he would regain his health and be able to return.  A neighbor fed the cats, but they never went outside and soon stopped using their litter box.

Down to the studs and sub-floor

Bill ripped everything out—ceiling, walls, floor, fixtures.  It was down to studs and the subfloor.  And then he rebuilt it, installing new tub, toilet, sink, vanity, medicine cabinet.  With the new floor, fresh Stillness (mint green) paint on the walls, it is a joy to behold.  Perhaps it is a sign of age, or my need to get a life, but I am excessively delighted by our new toilet.  It is one of the new, higher models.  That extra two inches makes a big difference to tall people, and people with knee problems.  Now that we baby boomers are aging, these toilets appear to be surging in popularity.  Rather than adapt to the world as we age and our bodies begin crumbling like saltines, we are adapting the world to us.  In some ways it’s narcissistic and even a bit pathetic, but in the case of taller toilets, it’s a watershed achievement.  Vive la difference!

 Bathroom in progress…. ..

Tub, tub walls, and floor in

It's done! Note the higher toilet...

Clean, fresh, and inviting!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Our view still takes my breath away.  Each morning I can’t wait to get up to watch the day emerge.  A few of the days have been clear, and the sun rises through our small forest of trees on the eastern slope of the property and shines across to the hills that are covered in evergreens and a dappling of birches and maples, still bright in their autumn cloaks of yellow and persimmon.  There’s always a morning mist in the valley that changes shape gradually as the day progresses.  On the clear days, we can see across the valley and hillsides to the mountains beyond, now well-blanketed with snow.

Most of these November days have been cloudy and rainy, or at least overcast.  Those days, too, are beautiful.  The mountains in the distance are sometimes not to be seen at all.  At other times, they are a faint silhouette through the clouds—a looming promise of brighter days ahead. 

View from the deck on a crisp, autumn morning

Watching this property change with the seasons will be a never-ending pleasure.

Kitchen on Day One - it's going to be a while before we do any cooking here!

It was so much easier to write about the house before we actually owned it.  Now, every spare minute is spent working on it, and the energy to blog is scant.  We’ve been working at the house four days a week, from about 10:00-4:00 each day.  For some reason that couldn’t possibly be related to our advanced age, our bodies get stiff in the car on the drive home and we hobble into the house like Gandhi’s grandparents. 

 

We’re looking forward to a time–soon, we hope–when we can spend the night up there, rather than drive back and forth daily.  The only impediment to that right now is the bathroom.  Bill is putting it back together, but we are still without a toilet.  We ordered one from Lowe’s a month ago, and were told it would be delivered to our home by October 6.  So, on October 7, we headed down to Lowe’s to track down our toilet.  Turns out, they’ve been sitting on it … it was delivered to them on September 17.  Unfortunately, it was smashed in shipping.  There’s another one on order and they’re going to try to expedite it.  They were very nice about it, gave us a partial refund and even offered us a “loaner.”  That was just a little to weird to contemplete.

 

These photos may convey some of what we’ve accomplished in our little house.  It’s becoming less of a disaster area (and toxic disposal site) and is showing the potential of becoming a cozy home.  Best of all, I no longer hear the voice of my long-departed mother saying, “What were you thinking? Are you completely nuts?”

House on Day One--not exactly staged for a quick sale

Midway through installing floor in kitchen and dining area

Pretty good for a first attempt. Carpet's next.

Clean kitchen ... ready to roast

Carpeted living room, and comfortable chairs, at last!

Sunlight in our new den ... and more glorious chairs!

After a period of rather invisible progress, we’ve had two weeks of very visible effort, and things are starting to look quite different! We’ve painted the whole house—in colors that reflect the light and make everything look crisp and, especially, clean.

We put down a wood laminate floor in the kitchen and dining area. It looks really good, if I do say so myself. The instructions show a smiling young father playing on the new wood floor with his beaming toddler. “It’s simple, no tools required, do a whole room in just a few hours.” Don’t believe it. It took both of us most of two days, much of it not smiling as we endeavored to fit the pieces together seamlessly, and cut them to fit around doorways, walls, and the kitchen island. What they don’t show is the “before” photo where Dad whacks the kid’s SpongeBob doll with a rubber mallet and vows never to let the words “do-it-yourself” cross his lips again.

We were originally going to rip the island out to open up the kitchen to the rest of the house, but without it there is virtually no counter space, so it stays. We have painted the dark wood to match our off-white (“Enlightenment”) walls. It looks good and considerably lightens up the room, so now we will probably paint all the kitchen cabinets … but not immediately.

A couple of days ago, we had someone came out to mow the land. Having been abandoned for nearly two years it was overgrown beyond our ability to restore it. Now that it has been mowed, we’ll have to get a riding mower and keep it that way. It’s amazing how wide open it all looks with the grass cut to ankle height, rather than shoulder. We also saw our first deer standing in the front yard munching on an apple. That’s a sight I hope to see frequently.

Yesterday, the carpet was installed. We debated doing it ourselves, but found installers who were quite reasonable and able to do in three-and-a-half hours what would have taken us many days. Suddenly, the house looks home-like, just in time for autumn.

Two big projects remain: a condition of the sale was that we replace the damaged deck rail within 90 days, so we’ve bought the wood for that and it should be pretty straightforward. And then there’s the bathroom. Bill had stripped it down to studs, and now has put in a ceiling, plus we managed to maneuver the new bathtub into place. A toilet and vanity are on order and should be in soon. Bill will get each of these installed, as well as walls and flooring; we’ll paint it a tasteful mint green (“Stillness”) and we’re good to go!

It shouldn’t be too long before we can spend weekends up there—seeing a multitude of stars at night and waking to morning stillness. The view still takes my breath away.

There’s still a ton of work to be done, but we’re almost at the point where we can take our time and not feel the pressure to finish each project and move on to the next. Somewhere I heard that we should never be afraid to pause on the road; many times it will be the best part of our journey.

So far, this journey has been filled with lessons, surprises, and just a few reminders that we’re not as young and agile as we once were. But the aches and pains fade quickly, and we are left with a feeling of accomplishment … and a home where deer brunch in our front yard and eagles circle overhead.

Heading out of town for a few days. Next post will have photos.

On the surface, it may appear that little progress has been made in the 2½ weeks we’ve been working on our little house in the hills.  Our progress can be measured by what we have eliminated, rather than what we have added (what a profound life lesson that is!).

We have disposed of carloads of rubbish, some to Goodwill, but most to the dump.  We have ripped up all remaining carpet, thus eliminating some really repugnant odors.  We have completely torn out the crumbling bathroom—toilet, tub, vanity, walls, floor—again eliminating some persistent and potent smells.  We have scrubbed, disinfected, and scrubbed some more, then painted floors, walls, ceilings, and closets with Zinsser—a primer paint that covers stains and eliminates pet odors.  We have washed two years of grime off windows and doors, inside and out.  We have at last reached the point where we don’t feel compelled to wash our hands after touching anything in the house.

Now, we are getting started on painting the rooms in preparation for putting down flooring and laying carpet.  Bill is starting to think about putting the bathroom back together.  We have been roaming the aisles of Lowe’s and Home Depot looking for best buys on toilets, tubs, vanities, and all the less enticing but equally necessary supplies that will enable us to rebuild walls, re-lay the floor, and connect all the plumbing.  A measurement that the economy may be improving is that no one offers to help at Lowe’s or Home Depot anymore.  There was a short window of customer-service where, upon entering the big-box hardware stores, one would be accosted with a friendly offer of assistance.  Now, they see you coming and they turn down an aisle and connect up with another sales associate for a spirited discussion on turf builders.

As I go through the paint samples I marvel at the color names.  Bright white with just a soupçon of yellow is “Enlightenment,” or “Pina Colada,” or “Champagne Tickle.”  The choices of yellows for our kitchen were mind-boggling.  We’ve settled on “Toasted Wheat,” but it was a close call for “Sunglow” and “Maple Cream.” 

It seems as through paint color names seem to fall into certain creative categories:

There’s the descriptive, not a whole lot of imagination needed for these: Pale Plum, Moss Green, Bright Red, Light Khaki, Brick.  And then the whimsical: Grapolicious, Splish Splash, Pitter Patter, Peach Tickle, Sweet Nothings, Garden Fairy. 

The geographic: Parisian Taupe, Key Largo, Bermuda Sand, Mexican Moonlight, Pismo Dunes.  And, of course, the gastronomical: Applesauce Cake, Toffee Crunch, Lime Meringue, Guacamole, Caramel Latte, Lemon Curd.

There are evocative names: Nostalgia, Bliss, Sentimental, Garden of Paradise.  And historical: Woodrow Wilson Linen, Churchill Hotel Maple, Mayan Treasure.

How does one qualify for a job naming paint colors?  Is this where all the unemployable art history and English majors end up?  I imagine it to be a highly stressful job, where you come home from work, kick your Caramel Khaki retriever out of the way and make a bee-line for your Sunkissed Salmon sofa and the Stolichnaya, still pondering just the right name for that sallow green.

And what about white?  It’s said that the Eskimos have dozens of names for snow, but that pales in comparison to the hundreds of names that paint companies have come up with for white: Moonlit Snow, Sentimental, Polar Bear, Windswept, Clear Moon, Alaskan Mist, Snow Cloud, Edwardian Lace ….and these few are just the tip of the Mother of Pearl iceberg.

As hard as it may be to do, I think it advisable to pick your colors before looking at their names.  One could fall in love with a name when truly the color is not the one you love best.  Or one could reject the perfect color because it reminds you of the garish wrist corsage your first boyfriend gave you for the 7^th grade dance, just before he dumped you. 

Pick the color you like best, then give it a new name if you don’t like the name it comes with.  I’m trying to convince Bill that a kind of blue-lilac is just the right color for our window trim, to go with the “Enlightenment” walls, “Toasted Wheat” kitchen, and “Valley Mist” bathroom.  I’m looking for a color with a manly name, but the color I’m liking best is called, “Sweet Violet.”  Bill’s already leery of the lavenders and purples, and that name doesn’t help.  I’m thinking of renaming it “Combustible Engine Grey.”

Dr. Rachel Remen tells a story of buying a shabby house in the foothills of California’s Mount Tamalpias”  “Oddly, the more I threw away, the more I seemed to have….  Gradually, the house became simpler, more empty, and the beautiful structural lines of its basic form began to emerge.  It became a container for the light.  In the end, all that was left was the wholeness.” 

It’s as true of our lives as it is of houses.  As we shed the clutter and the non-essentials, we are left with what’s genuine, we are left with what truly matters.  And the light shines in….

Enter at your own risk

Wipe your feet upon leaving...

Luckily for the cat next door, the lender finally relented on the Three Tenors and signed off on the loan.  The house officially closed at 4:00 p.m. last Tuesday, and we spent Wednesday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday at “this old hovel” starting the long process of cleaning, repairing and discovering the true depth of the iceberg before us.

The work is truly endless.  Each day we go up there with a long list of tasks for the day, but find that everything takes much longer than expected.  Our first task was to assure that we had a clean and working bathroom.  Bill spent much of the first day scrubbing the downstairs bathroom from floor to ceiling, cleaning and disinfecting the shower and the toilet, and replacing parts of the toilet.  It’s a tiny bathroom, but the essentials are in place and spotlessly clean.  It’s a relief to know that … relief is available as needed.  The fact that we have to go outside and walk down a small hillside to get to the downstairs is a small impediment at this time.

It’s going to be a while before the upstairs bathroom is usable.  Bill has ripped out the toilet, sink and vanity, and most of the floor.  The tub and tile are probably next. 

My first job was picking up rubbish from the floor and emptying garbage, food, and junk from the cupboards and closets.  We filled our van full of garbage and brought it to the dump.  There will be many more dump runs in the weeks and months to come.  We will undoubtedly be on a first name basis with the lady at the transfer station before too long.  Very little was salvageable; we found some dishes and pots and pans for Goodwill, and a few canned goods that have not reached their expiration date for the food bank, but most everything else was beyond rescue, many things even beyond recognition.

Cleaning the kitchen was a big job.  The insides of the refrigerator and freezer were a festival of mold, mildew, and caked on grime.  It appears that during the two years of abandonment, the refrigerator was turned on and off for long periods, inviting growth of substances heretofore unknown in this galaxy.  The thick layer of grime on the outside of the refrigerator was equally grim.  I scrubbed all the cupboard shelves and kitchen drawers, as well as the stove, sink and counters—washed and washed again, and still a third time.  The walls are still pretty grungy, and the floor is just bare wood underlaiment, but other than that, we have a working kitchen.

It’s clear that this house has many lessons to teach us over the next few years.  The first is probably patience.  The best words on patience I know are by Rilke, from Letters to a Young Poet. Perhaps if we replace the word “artist” with “remodeler” we have a truth just as incontrovertible:

“Being an artist means, not reckoning and counting, but ripening like the tree which does not force its sap and stands confident in the storms of spring without the fear that after them may come no summer. It does come, but it comes only to the patient, who are there as though eternity lay before them, so unconcernedly still and wide. I learn it daily, learn it with pain to which I am grateful: patience is everything!”