Wednesday, May 4, 2011

Barn Raising... er, Goat Shed Construction

This morning the materials for the shed were dropped off bright and early.  The two man construction crew arrived about an hour later - they had gotten lost on the way here, a common occurrence.  They immediately got to work.

After breakfast, I longed Jackson at walk.  He did great.  It was a beautiful, warm - hot - day.  I think the high was 85F. 

I spent most of the day inside, working.  In between checking work email and taking calls, I checked my dashboard for new posts.  I was surprised at all the comments I received on my OBL poem.  Yep, I finally managed to write about my reaction to his death.  The core of my grief bubbled up at the end and completely took me by surprise.  And then, of course, all I wanted to do was to hold Brett.  He liked that.

I decided to try making pickled beets.  I love, love, LOVE pickled beets.  I am Hungarian on my Father's side and grew up eating pickled beets with Hungarian sausage (rice & pork).  I have to find some of it -- serious craving going on.   I had a huge beet in the garden (forgot to take a picture pre-pickle) so I roasted it and canned it.  I'm curious to see how it tastes.  Childhood memories can be hard to match.

By noontime, the shed looked like this:

The horses were all hanging out in the barn where it was cool. 



Brett took pictures of his Tucker saddle (that no longer fits Flash).  I helped him put it on eBay.  It's a shame that it no longer fits Flash - such a pretty, comfy saddle.

The guys kept working on the goat shed.  They almost finished.  Tomorrow they will build the storage closet and put the goat shelf inside.  Brett will buy siding and paint and finish it off. 
We joked about sleeping in there tonight.  Seriously.  If the workers hadn't stored their tools in there, I think we might have.  That's what happens when you have BBQ pork chops and wine for dinner on the viewing stand as the sun goes down.  You get crazy ideas like that - ideas that sound reasonable even if your bones do ache a lot more than they did when you were 20.



10 comments:

  1. What can a poor boy from the UK say? I`m lost for words.


    Well almost! That was a post for reclining in nostalgia! A testament to a days hard work. I`m feeling all hungry an` thirsty,
    "Liz?....lets have a BBQ!"

    ReplyDelete
  2. Annette! Love the goat palace! Now I see what you mean about Brett and Gary. As for you and me! Pickled beets are one of my favorite things. We grow many rows of beets...aren't they better than candy? Your dinner would have made us very happy too. 85???? I'm so jealous.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Wow! What a happy little goat home your spoiled goats are going to have. Dinner looked yummmmm.

    ReplyDelete
  4. Oh my goodness-what a beautiful little barn! I cannot wait for your goats to arrive! I LOVE baby goats! Congrats on getting so close!! Hoping everyone stays sound and that the gimpies go away!

    ReplyDelete
  5. It's looking good! I can see why you'd want to sleep in it. I want one for my goats now.

    ReplyDelete
  6. As usual - hungry and thirsty after visiting your blog Annette.

    I could live in that goat house ;)

    ReplyDelete
  7. Shed is looking good and so do the steaks. Just went out and bought steaks and wine for the weekend. I have not been able to grow beets here, I keep trying because I have my mothers pickled beet recipe that I have wanted to try. I may just buy some at the farmers market this year.

    ReplyDelete
  8. The goat shed looks great! I'm sure you'll have very happy goats.

    ReplyDelete
  9. That goat shed is going to be totally cute! I can't wait to see what color you paint it. Sure wish I could have joined you for supper. Looks so good. :)

    ReplyDelete
  10. oh i woudn't mind me some of those beets! and... i was wondering....
    where can i find that saddle on Ebay?? i was wondering how big it is, my dad still needs a good saddle and it really looks comfy!

    Thanks
    Leontien

    ReplyDelete

Thanks so much for commenting! I love the conversation.