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There is so much going on here today! A truck arrived with the drywall delivery. Dave and Matt unloaded.

They got right to work!

But that’s not all! Sean and Sean are here working on the field fencing.

I’m also really, really fortunate to have Eugene here. Eugene is an experienced, lifetime farmer. Here, Weston is helping him re-set the gate to the Park field.

I’m so lucky to have Eugene here because he knows what he’s doing and can help me with correcting some pesky areas, such as this creek crossing. There’s nothing like an experienced farmer.

He’s also going to be setting up the electric in Patriot’s field and replacing the gate there. They’ll have to re-set one gate post. They broke for lunch and Weston came in and asked what I had for him to eat for lunch. I offered him some homemade macaroni and cheese, and he said no, never mind, he didn’t want anything. Then he followed that up by saying, “You don’t have a spud bar.” I thought, wow, is he spoiled in college. He doesn’t want lunch unless he can have a baked potato bar! Then he said, “It’s going to be hard because there’s a lot of rock. You need a spud bar.”
OH.
I’m off to pick up a spud bar!

Keep them out of the house while I’m gone, okay?
The picket fencing is SO CUTE.

Picket fencing makes me happy.
I’m working on the painting now. (I’m doing the painting myself.)

I’ve got the first coat on the gate posts. The gates were removed to make painting easier. I’ll finish up today and the gates will go back on, along with the lights on top. (The lights are solar, and just slide into a hole drilled at the top of each post.) The driveway was graded a little yesterday to make way to open the gates inward instead of outward. (I thought that would look better.) Then I’ll start painting the support posts on the picket fencing. But other than those details, the fencing-in of the house and studio grounds is complete. Today, on to the other fields! (I’ve got three other people here today to fence. Dave and Matt are back on the studio.)
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"It was a cold wintry day when I brought my children to live in rural West Virginia. The farmhouse was one hundred years old, there was already snow on the ground, and the heat was sparse-—as was the insulation. The floors weren’t even, either. My then-twelve-year-old son walked in the door and said, “You’ve brought us to this slanted little house to die." Keep reading our story....
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