I had a great time in France. A lot of that was due to amazing food, namely things with butter in them or simply the butter itself slathered (doesn't that word just imply "liberally"?) on some of that crazy good French bread. Butter is wonderful, and I will never advocate the use of margarine instead of butter. The only problem with butter is that...well...it sticks to the hips. I came back from France with hips. This isn't necessarily a bad thing, but I've decided that a few pounds lighter will be good for me (and my jeans that are on the verge of not fitting). But here's the great part--my job does it for me. I eat butter and cheese and whole milk and pretty much whatever I want (I am on a no sugar kick, but that actually isn't as hard as I had imagined it would be), but working is really giving me a workout. Then there's contra dancing. All that hootin' and hollerin' and stompin' and swingin' does a body good. It's nice to be back and kicking.
In other news, we had a gaggle of food bloggers come to the farm this week geared up with their cameras and tastebuds. It's always exciting to get some attention for something you've made with your own two hands. The oohs and aahs over the cheese were especially appreciated. We always enjoy entertaining interested individuals. The bloggers concerned were Marie from Tartelette, Todd and Diane from White on Rice Couple, Jaden from Steamy Kitchen, Brian from The Food Geek, Tammy from Running With Tweezers, and Alison from The Humble Gourmand. We're very anxious to see what they say about us, but judging from all the drooling it should be largely positive.
Continuing in this vein of liveliness on the farm, this weekend is the notorious farm tour. Last year we sold out of everything and were without bloomy cheeses for a few weeks afterward. This year we're expecting even larger crowds and have prepared accordingly (a.k.a. I spent the past 12 hours in the cheese kitchen and am ready to pass out). There are a lot of new things on the farm to be excited about. Namely, the cave, but also the new deck area that makes getting to the market room less treacherous. But you don't want to hear all this rambling. Hopefully, I'll have some photos of day 1 of the farm tour by late tomorrow night. Wish us luck!
Showing posts with label work. Show all posts
Showing posts with label work. Show all posts
Friday, June 26, 2009
Friday, March 7, 2008
Fuckin' Nail!
In case you're wondering why the title of this blog is so inappropriate...it's become our motto. This was not a conscious choice. It's just something we found ourselves saying so often and with such vehemence that it necessarily became our motto. Nailing things in over your head is not fun, especially after you've been trying to hit the same stud for 15 minutes, and all your nails keep bending or falling out before you've pounded them in securely.
But that is not the point of the blog entry. Just a little eclecticity from our trip. This blog is about how miserable construction work is in the rain and mud. It's miserable. You've got a hammer in your right hand, a tape measure in your pocket, a pencil in your other pocket, and you're helping someone carry a 4x8 piece of OSB up the stairs. My legs ache, my shoulders ache, my hands are cramped, and I feel like I could sleep for 12 hours without moving. I am covered in mud. But even a miserable day of construction makes me feel good. There were highlights. Have you ever noticed that when you're doing really tedious, even painful work everything becomes hilarious. I mean, the puniest, dumbest joke becomes enough to send everyone howling. It's that distinctly human way of dealing with unpleasantness.
There was the Tyvex incident. Tyvex is this really interesting material that is somewhere between plastic and paper that you literally wrap a house in. It comes in huge rolls--like rolls of wrapping paper, but about 3 times as wide--and you literally just wrap the house in it and secure the stuff with a staple gun. This work requires at least three people (inexperienced people, granted), a ladder, and infinite patience, especially when the wind blows. Everything about this was funny even though I could never relate what exactly was funny about it. We were floundering, and yet it was hilarious.
There was also a period when we were nailing OSB into the roof area of the house--up at the top where the apex of the roof is. So, three of my fellow workers were on a scaffolding, one of them was on a ladder on top of the scaffolding, and I was sitting in the beams in the attic, leaning out the side of the house trying to bend a nail that was sticking through the roof, preventing us from getting the OSB flush with the roof. This was not even remotely safe, by any standard, but it was pretty much the only way we were going to nail that bastard up there. And it was hilarious. We were constantly yelling things like "Where's the hammer?" Where's the chalk line?" Where's the angle?" "Where's Hunter?". And then, we were tired, our arms were cramping, and we kept losing our pencil. It was fabulous. I felt like such a renegade, hammering up in the air, my pants muddied and my boots dangling from the rafters.
Then, the future owner of the house brought us King Cake. This is a phenomenon that I was not aware existed until today. It's this circular sugar-cinnamon cake with green or purple sprinkles and white icing on top. But the best part is that somewhere inside the cake is a tiny, plastic baby Jesus. I don't know what it means if you happen to be the person who finds the Jesus, but there was, indeed, a Jesus in there. "Look, guys, Jesus is made in China."
But that is not the point of the blog entry. Just a little eclecticity from our trip. This blog is about how miserable construction work is in the rain and mud. It's miserable. You've got a hammer in your right hand, a tape measure in your pocket, a pencil in your other pocket, and you're helping someone carry a 4x8 piece of OSB up the stairs. My legs ache, my shoulders ache, my hands are cramped, and I feel like I could sleep for 12 hours without moving. I am covered in mud. But even a miserable day of construction makes me feel good. There were highlights. Have you ever noticed that when you're doing really tedious, even painful work everything becomes hilarious. I mean, the puniest, dumbest joke becomes enough to send everyone howling. It's that distinctly human way of dealing with unpleasantness.
There was the Tyvex incident. Tyvex is this really interesting material that is somewhere between plastic and paper that you literally wrap a house in. It comes in huge rolls--like rolls of wrapping paper, but about 3 times as wide--and you literally just wrap the house in it and secure the stuff with a staple gun. This work requires at least three people (inexperienced people, granted), a ladder, and infinite patience, especially when the wind blows. Everything about this was funny even though I could never relate what exactly was funny about it. We were floundering, and yet it was hilarious.
There was also a period when we were nailing OSB into the roof area of the house--up at the top where the apex of the roof is. So, three of my fellow workers were on a scaffolding, one of them was on a ladder on top of the scaffolding, and I was sitting in the beams in the attic, leaning out the side of the house trying to bend a nail that was sticking through the roof, preventing us from getting the OSB flush with the roof. This was not even remotely safe, by any standard, but it was pretty much the only way we were going to nail that bastard up there. And it was hilarious. We were constantly yelling things like "Where's the hammer?" Where's the chalk line?" Where's the angle?" "Where's Hunter?". And then, we were tired, our arms were cramping, and we kept losing our pencil. It was fabulous. I felt like such a renegade, hammering up in the air, my pants muddied and my boots dangling from the rafters.
Then, the future owner of the house brought us King Cake. This is a phenomenon that I was not aware existed until today. It's this circular sugar-cinnamon cake with green or purple sprinkles and white icing on top. But the best part is that somewhere inside the cake is a tiny, plastic baby Jesus. I don't know what it means if you happen to be the person who finds the Jesus, but there was, indeed, a Jesus in there. "Look, guys, Jesus is made in China."
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
NOLA: Workday 2
Power tools are pretty amazing. I'm just gonna put that out there. I feel silly when I hammer because I'm not very good at it--I'm too timid to whack the thing for fear of smashing a finger and my arms have never been one of my strong points in spite of lifting weights for months--but power tools I can do. I was actually surprised at how easy they are to use. The only problem is that when you saw something to pieces you had better make sure you've made proper measurements because you can't put pieces of wood back together with a glue stick or excessive cursing either. But apart from the no-margin-for-error-factor there's something really cool about using power tools. Maybe this is just my feminist GRRRRL factor creeping in on me.
The work is tedious, slow, and heavy, but you know what? I love, absolutely love, physical labor. This is what first attracted me to goat farming. I used to work in a coffee shop. And that's nice. Quaint, you know? But when the heaviest labor you do is carrying around large bags of coffee beans you get sort of physically inept unless you have a gym membership, which I don't have unless I'm at school and can use the gym. My first day working on the goat farm was a lot of lifting--five gallon buckets of milk (which, I think weighs five pounds a gallon), bales of hay, buckets of goat feed, shovels full of goat shit...lots and lots of lifting. I got sweaty, dusty, smelly, and achy, but it was the best work I had ever experienced. I felt like I was actually doing something useful and productive (because, let's face it, do we really need vanilla lattes and skim triple chocolate mint mochas with extra whip and cinnamon?), and more importantly, something that made food taste better, my bed more comfortable, and life generally better. The satisfaction I derived from my first batch of goat cheddar was almost absurd.
That is the same sort of satisfaction I am getting from building this house. I look up and see particle board that I measure, sawed, and nailed up on the side of a house. My legs, arms, and muscles ache. I fall asleep before 10 p.m. and don't wake up once. I feel truly hungry when I eat dinner. It's marvelous. And even better, I am helping someone. I am helping to fix what has been broken, neglected. It makes me happy to be doing this for my spring break instead of lounging around. I must be honest and say that I enjoy it because it feels good physically, but that isn't the only thing I'm getting out of this. I honestly care about people, and I am disappointed that community is often less important than individual concerns. This is something I can do for my (national) community that will strengthen it. Because I have been given so much in my life, I feel I owe my community my time and strength. It is not too much to ask. In fact, I don't feel enough has been asked of me. But I will give until I have nothing more to give.
The work is tedious, slow, and heavy, but you know what? I love, absolutely love, physical labor. This is what first attracted me to goat farming. I used to work in a coffee shop. And that's nice. Quaint, you know? But when the heaviest labor you do is carrying around large bags of coffee beans you get sort of physically inept unless you have a gym membership, which I don't have unless I'm at school and can use the gym. My first day working on the goat farm was a lot of lifting--five gallon buckets of milk (which, I think weighs five pounds a gallon), bales of hay, buckets of goat feed, shovels full of goat shit...lots and lots of lifting. I got sweaty, dusty, smelly, and achy, but it was the best work I had ever experienced. I felt like I was actually doing something useful and productive (because, let's face it, do we really need vanilla lattes and skim triple chocolate mint mochas with extra whip and cinnamon?), and more importantly, something that made food taste better, my bed more comfortable, and life generally better. The satisfaction I derived from my first batch of goat cheddar was almost absurd.
That is the same sort of satisfaction I am getting from building this house. I look up and see particle board that I measure, sawed, and nailed up on the side of a house. My legs, arms, and muscles ache. I fall asleep before 10 p.m. and don't wake up once. I feel truly hungry when I eat dinner. It's marvelous. And even better, I am helping someone. I am helping to fix what has been broken, neglected. It makes me happy to be doing this for my spring break instead of lounging around. I must be honest and say that I enjoy it because it feels good physically, but that isn't the only thing I'm getting out of this. I honestly care about people, and I am disappointed that community is often less important than individual concerns. This is something I can do for my (national) community that will strengthen it. Because I have been given so much in my life, I feel I owe my community my time and strength. It is not too much to ask. In fact, I don't feel enough has been asked of me. But I will give until I have nothing more to give.
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