Coming home from Bend was better than the vacation itself this year.

The three-hour drive was spectacular: the sun was shining, the air was warm, the scenery beautiful. The peaks in the Santiam Pass were blanketed in white, but the Willamette Valley was verdant with new life. I drove with my window down from Stayton to Oak Grove, cutting through the countryside to take in the fields, flowers, and trees, breathing in the sweet smell of spring.

At home, when I opened the front door, I was surprised to find that it smelled the way I always think it should, like a hundred-year-old house. (When I’m home every day, I become inured to the odors of old wood and musty carpets; it takes some time away to make me notice these smells again.)

In the afternoon, Kris worked in the yard, planting geraniums, pulling weeds, and watering flowers. I sat on a chair in the sun, surfing the web. The cats, locked up for days, enjoyed their return to freedom. They bounded across the yard, chasing bugs and each other. They paused now-and-then to roll in the dirt.

We took a walk in the late afternoon.

Down the street, we passed an old woman who was washing her truck. She wore shorts and a t-shirt. In one hand she held the hose, in the other a cigarette; an open can of Budweiser rested on the rear bumper. The truck itself was not in need of washing — it was in need of demolition. It was one of those old Toyota pickups, and once had been painted grey or purple or maybe black. Now it was mostly the color of thirty years of use. A blue tarp was draped over the truck, and the woman peeled the plastic back in spots to wash her vehicle. She was in no hurry, and I calculated that it would probably take her until sunset to finish the job, which was probably her intention all along.

We walked through Risley Park, where parents played with children, and younger couples walked their dogs. A group of boys played at the base of a large maple. One boy had a rope that he was casting into the branches above him, trying to get it to come back over. The other boys might have helped him except they were too busy wrestling with each other. In the middle of the field, a teenage boy was pitching a baseball to a teenage girl. She swung her bat and missed. She picked up the ball and tossed it into the air, swung again, and missed. After another miss, she tossed the ball back to her laughing boyfriend.

We walked down Concord — a street I’ve only seen at thirty-five miles per — and admired the houses and the interesting lots. We picked up a real estate flyer for a 4,000-square-foot Tudor home ($488,000), and though the house was nice, we agreed that we would never give up Rosings Park for such a place.

We walked down River Forest Loop, past a father throwing a football to his son, past barking dogs, past towering oaks, past the empty lot that is filled with boulders, past the house that I do covet. Kris stopped every few hundred yards to smell flowers or to examine plants.

Back at Rosings Park once more, I took a cool bath, and I realized that finally, after nearly two years, this place feels like home.

We have one squirrel who has figured out how to climb the birdfeeder, by-passing the squirrel guard. He’s decided that suet is a tasty treat.

Kris, dissatisfied with the current state of our gardens, recently ordered a dumptruck load of barkdust mulch. It was delivered early Saturday morning. In the back of a truck, 7.5 yards of the stuff doesn’t look like much, but once it’s dumped in your front yard, it makes an intimidating pile.

Tiffany came over to help us haul load after load after load of mulch from the road to the various garden beds. We worked long and hard. At first, I did a good job of sparing Kris’ precious plants, but after about fifty wheelbarrow loads, my ability to care about tender shoots diminished greatly. I do well at the start of big tasks, but am kind of whiny by the end.

Fortunately, we had enough barkdust mulch left over after covering the rose gardens and the herb bed that I was allowed to use some for my grapes and blueberries. I’m sure my plants will be happy.

After three hours and seventy-five wheelbarrow loads of dirt, Kris took us to Red Robin for lunch. The women had hearty appetites, but all I wanted was a light meal and a sweet drink. (To be fair, the night before we’d had a rather large Lebanese meal with Paul and Susan, followed by dessert at Papa Haydn.)

In the afternoon, Kris took a two-hour nap upstairs on the futon, cats at her side. I dozed downstairs in a sunbeam.

There’s still more yardwork to come!

An unexpected sunny weekend means photos from Rosings Park, including a rare bird fight!

On weekend mornings, Kris puts out birdseed. There’s a certain hierarchy in who gets to eat first. The jays usually have first dibs, and they dominate the feeders until the peanuts are gone. Next come the smaller birds like the chickadees and the sparrows. Last of all come the stupid, stupid rock doves, which are like flying stones.

(Every week it’s as if the rock doves have never seen the main feeder before. They land on the roof and peek down at the food. “Wow! Look at that! Snacks! How do we get them?” “I don’t know, Vern, how do we get them?” “I don’t know. Let’s pace around a while and maybe something will happen.” Eventually they do find a way to the food, and then the idiots cluster there: six, seven, eight rock doves at a time. The poor feeder sways under their mass.)

Today, though, things were a little different. The jays found their domination of the feeder thwarted by a hungry woodpecker; the flicker fed first.

The squirrels love the sunny days, too. They come out to play, forgetting that there are three cats roaming the yard.

Of course, our best cat is silent and immobile:

It’s not just animal life rejoicing in our yard. The plants are happy, too. The camellias are exploding with color. The big camellia by the road is so heavy with blossoms that the branches are sagging to the ground. Our first garden vegetables are showing signs of life:

The blueberry plants have hundreds of buds. The raspberries are verdant and vigorous. This afternoon we tilled both the new vegetable bed and the new herb garden. Kris spent most of the afternoon planting herbs and berries.

Our morning was productive, too. We had a pleasant bite at Ken’s Artisan Bakery; we sold $150 of books to Powell’s, and I picked up some cool Flash Gordon compilations; we popped in on the Briscoes; we bought a bunch of plants at Portland Nursery and Pistils; and we had lunch at Cha Cha Cha, my favorite cheap Mexican place. Best of all, we took the long way everywhere, driving down side streets, the windows down, soaking in the sun and the cool spring air.

Today is shaping up to be one of those perfect days: a pleasing blend of work and fun. I had intended to post about our Foodie Field Trips, but that will have to wait until tomorrow . We found time midday to perform a much-needed yard chore: clearing sod for more garden space.

In the past — at this house and the house in Canby — I’ve dug up sod by hand. I’ve used my shovel, wheelbarrow, and back to clear space for flower beds, berry patches, and vegetable gardens. Kris and I have been itching to expand our current vegetable garden, and to add an herb garden, and the sod-removal for these spots has been daunting. “We should rent a sod cutter,” she keeps telling me, but I pooh-pooh the idea. Why rent when I can do it on my own?

Well, when Mike and Rhonda expressed interest in splitting a four-hour rental with us, the idea became more appealing. And when we realized that it was a gorgeous afternoon, and that tomorrow (our planned sod-cutting day) is supposed to be wet and windy, we shifted into high gear. The four of us tackled both yards, ripping up sod like pros.

It’s amazing how quickly the work goes with four people on the job. We had our garden space cleared out in forty-five minutes.

When we were finished, we had cleared a space seven feet by thirty-five feet, 250 square feet of new garden, all of it already in full sun for most of the day.

We’d also cut a smallish (80 square feet?) angled patch for the herbs.

At Mike and Rhonda’s house, we took up most of their back yard, as well as the parking strip in front of their house. It’ll be great for Rhonda to have some room to garden. For her, the worst part of their recent move was sacrificing her lavish established vegetable and flower gardens.

It was great for us to squeeze in some much-needed yardwork between delicious food excursions (about which more tomorrow or Monday).

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On the way to Mike and Rhonda’s, the pickup truck in front of us lost part of its load: a long narrow box fell into the road. I had about two seconds to decide what to do. I couldn’t veer to the left (oncoming traffic), and I couldn’t veer to the right (parked vehicles). I could have tried to slam on my brakes, but I was worried that I wouldn’t be able to stop in time or that the car behind me would have trouble. I chose to run over the box, and pull to the shoulder. The box scraped along under the car.

I hopped out of the car, but the car behind me — an upscale sedan driven by a posh young woman — was cranky with my open door and honked. I could read her lips: “Fucking asshole.”

I leaned over and said “Relax!” as she drove by. To my delight, the back windows were down.

The driver of the pickup had run to the box, which contained a brand new weed-whacker. “You think it’s okay?” I asked.

The young man punched the air. “It’s shit now,” he said, and for a moment I thought he was angry that I’d run over it. (I realized after a few seconds that he was just mad at the situation.)

“What an adventure,” Kris said as I got back in the car. We drove to Mike and Rhonda’s for more sod-cutting fun.

As meteorological spring approaches, so does the yard work. Rosings Park is bursting at the seams, ready to explode with life. You know what that means: no rest for the Roth-Gates.

Kris and Tiffany spent most of Saturday working in the yard. They pruned the roses, fertilized them, and put down a layer of pine needle mulch (from our redwood). They pruned the fruit trees. The planted daylilies and clematis.

Meanwhile, I spent four hours enduring the hell that is pruning arborvitae. I hated this chore in Canby, and I hate it in Oak Grove. We don’t actually have any arborvitae on our property, but Curt and Tammy have a tall hedge on the border next to our vegetable garden. As you may recall from last year’s garden science entry, this hedge casts a long shadow. They let us trim the hedge by a couple of feet, and we hope that this will be enough to give us better sun on most of the garden. If it’s not, we will have to extend the garden further into the lawn than we’d already planned. We must have room for Kris’ army of tomatoes!

After Tiffany helped us pick up all the arborvitae debris, we found ourselves drained. Exhausted. Fortunately, Courtney (and Andrew) had prepared a wonderful southeast Asian dinner for us to share. We didn’t have to cook! We just had to drag our tired bodies a few miles and force ourselves to eat delicious food like Indonesian chicken and mango with sticky rice.

We slept well last night.

Today we walked up to the store to purchase miscellaneous garden supplies. I got a new pear of gloves and another grape plant. We really want an Interlaken; the flavor is fantastic. We’re not certain which varieties we actually planted in 2004. There were Interlaken cuttings in the mix, but it’s kind of crapshoot as to what actually got planted. Now we have one for sure.

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Though the yard has laid dormant for most of the winter, there has been a little activity. There are always birds. There are always squirrels. Over the past couple months I’ve snapped a few photos that I keep meaning to share.

First is a photo of a crazy sparrow. Last summer a family of sparrows made a nest in the roof above the workshop. Momma and Poppa Sparrow gave birth to a family of small family, and then the whole group left at the end of the summer. A few weeks ago Kris told me that I needed to go out to the workshop because I’d accidentally shut a bird inside. When I went out it became clear that the bird wasn’t trapped inside; he was trapped outside.

This little sparrow wanted into the workshop. Why? My only hypothesis is that he was part of the family that lived in the eaves. Whatever the case, he spent ten or fifteen minutes fluttering against the window, trying to force his way inside. He was skittish, though, and flew away any time I got close. This was the best photo I could snatch of his antics:

Last weekend we had some freezing temperatures. This made the robins cranky. They’ve only just begun showing up around the yard, drawn primarily by the bird baths. With the sever cold, the bird baths froze hard. Kris would add water when she could, but even the new water froze within half an hour. The robins would gather on top of the ice and stage mass protests. I once saw six robins on top of the ice. Here are four:

A few weeks ago I took a bath in the late afternoon. The sky was clear so that the setting sun bathed the yard in deep golden hues. The bathroom window fogged, and I thought the effect was ethereal. The camera didn’t capture it as well as I’d have liked, but still: here’s one of those abstract shots I mentioned I like (and plan to take more of):

Finally, the cats love the spring because it means family time in the yard. If you check the Flickr sidebar, you’ll find pictures of each of our children helping us in the yard.

Oops. How embarrassing. All those rainfall numbers I cited on Monday? Those are for Astoria. Let’s redo the body of that entry but with the correct numbers for Portland, shall we?

Since January first, Portland has had 4.34 inches of rain, which is 1.70 inches above the norm of 2.64 inches. Over the same period last year, we received only 0.56 inches of rain. (And, remember, between February 15th and March 15th, we had no rain and record warmth.)

Over the past twenty-three days (since the cold spell ended on December 18th) we’ve had 10.77 inches of rain, which is 6.78 inches above the norm of 3.99 inches. During the same period last year, we received only 1.94 inches of rain.

All my babbling about this being a heavy water year is nonsense. We are above average, and have had a great deal of rainfall in the past three weeks, but our annual numbers are not as off-the-chart as I thought we were.

I apologize for the previous misinformation. It’s really quite embarrassing to have posted it.

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Regardless of how much rain we’ve had, it’s still too much. Our poor house is being battered by the storm. The leak in the roof seems mostly contained, but I still suspect water is getting in somewhere. (I have no idea where, though — I went over that area of the roof in minute detail when I patched it at the end of December. I obviously missed something somewhere.

The roof worries me most in the long run. In the short run, the water in the basement is a significant headache. I may need to get in touch with the previous owner to get some tips on how to cope with it. (Of course, we could just move everything out of the basement, but that seems like an extreme measure.)

Last night we became well-acquainted with our sump pump.

When I got home, there entire basement was flooded, and the deeper spots had about an inch of water. I drained the area with the sump pump and went upstairs. When Kris got home an hour later, she went down to check things out. She came up angry. “Why haven’t you drained the basement?” she demanded.

“I did!” I said.

I went down to look. The water was even deeper than before. Throughout the evening, we took turns draining the basement every hour or so. We even set up shifts during the night. I drained the basement at 11:30, 2:30, and 5:30; Kris drained it at 1:00 and 4:00.

We have lots of questions, some of which have possible answers with severe negative consequences. For example:

Ought we just let the cellar fill with water? What would happen if we didn’t pump it? Obviously, we can’t be at the house 24 hours a day. How deep will the water get if we’re not there to pump it every ninety minutes? Is there a typical maximum depth the water reaches? Would it just rise to a certain level and stop? Or does it just keep rising indefinitely? Today before we left for work, we pulled up the sump pump and set it in a corner. (It’s not a submersible type, and the plunger thingie doesn’t work — it rises, but it does not fall.) What would happen if we just left the sump pump in the deepening water? If it became submerged, would it be dangerous to enter the water? Would it be dangerous to turn it on? Would it be dangerous to plug or unplug the pump if it were under water? Is there a way to treat the eventual mold growth? (I’ll bet there’s some liquid a person can spray that will kill molds. Am I right?) What can we do to prevent future flooding? (Or at least to minimize it.) We’ll re-evaluate the gutter system very soon, making sure everything is clear and functioning properly. We’ll also get tubing to drain all of the downspouts further away from the house. Aside from this, what else can we do? Dave has suggested digging some gravel-filled sump pits and trenches outside the house, and I think this is a keen (but daunting) idea. What’s the best method to do this? How many do I need? Where do I place them? How deep must they be? Would it help to run the well outside? (By which I mean: turn on the faucet attached to the well, activate the pump, and drain water through a hose to a spot near the road.)

These aren’t questions I’ve ever had to worry about before. They’re a little overwhelming. I’m sure we’ll be fine. This house has stood for over one hundred years, and for most of that time it did not have the sump pump. (It appears to have been set in place during the early eighties based on dates on the cord and the pump itself.)