In the Crib, Out of the Rain

I'm not sure this photo can accurately portray the sense of calm and organization I get when I enter the corn crib now.  I've finally sifted through the layers of stuff stashed away in here, moved all the old carpet rolls and stacks of lumber I've been hoarding, and raked up a giant pile of mouse generated debris.  Whew!  It feels good to know what's in here, and to make sure all my junk precious possessions are accessible.  

We are fortunate that this property came with enough outbuildings that Brandon and I could each claim one for our ourselves, and still have enough shared space that we don't feel put out by each others objects.  We don't always agree about what's important to hang on to, so having a space of my own to fill as I like is liberating.  Yes, Brandon, I do need an electric towel warmer, a busted bird feeder, a stack of cat litter pails, a broken patio heater, and a fireplace mantel!  Duh.  As an artist, he's an object lover too, but now that I have my very own building, my treasures don't overlap with his junk treasures.  If good fences make good neighbors, then separate junk piles treasure troves must make for happy marriages.  

My crib isn't rain proof during a big storm, since there are gaps in the walls, but it is a nice place to escape a normal rain.  When I'm there, the door is open and my chicken friends can wander in out of the rain too.   

Please, just make yourself at home.  

Cogburn, I think you look more awesome by the day!

The turkey and the guineas don't seem to the mind the rain.  

The chickens seek shelter in the coop, in the barn with the tractor, or under the trailer full of metal scraps we've been collecting as we clean up around the farm.  

I like to refer to this collection of metal as the tetanus pile.  We've tried to cordon off the tetanus pile by placing it between the tractor barn and the big trailer, and leaned some pieces of fencing that a friend gave in front of it, just to make sure any visiting kids can't easily climb on it.  A big pile of rusty metal with chickens perched on it is classic hillbilly, right? 

To celebrate the crib clean up, I opened a bottle of persimmon wine that was bottled in 2011.  I can't believe my wine is that old!  Where does the time go?  I remember collecting the persimmons from Brandon's uncles tree, and it doesn't seem like that was five whole years ago.  The wine tastes as good as it ever did - which isn't exactly a compliment.  Cheers, turkey!