First it was November… The plans were coming together just fine.

Then it was December… After a bit of tweaking the direction we were heading looked even better…

Then it was January… Doesn’t everything look good on paper?

February… Everything’s set and the days seem to be getting a few minutes longer.

NowitisMarchandOMGthingsarestartingtobloomandnothingisdoneandthefuckinggreenhousedidn’tworkandit’salmostAprilandthere’ssomuchmoretodoandthesunstaysoutuntileightatnightandthechickensareshowingupinamonthandWTFthebeesarehereNEXTWEEK?andeverythingshouldalreadybeplantedinthegreenhouseandWHATISTHATBIGPILEOFCOWSHITINTHESOUTH-FORTY(squareyards)?

Which is why I don’t put much faith in plans.

It seems so easy sitting in front of a fire in the dreary depths of December. Sketching things out. Imagining high summer and a carpet of flowers absolutely caked in bees, butterflies, and hummingbirds. Dreaming.

But between drawing lines on paper and drizzling home-built honey over baked, home-grown squash is the period of time that always sends shivers up my spine. The Time of Work. Sure, Ecclesiastes and Pete Seeger might offer some other alternatives, seasonally speaking, but by and large, once you’ve tossed the pencil back in the drawer, you are in the season of work.

Which sucks.

Part of the problem is my fault – there I’ve said it. I may have bitten off more than I can chew; but I needed to write about something and the brochures and books made it all sound so easy. So doable. For some reason, though, they all leave out little details like how much time it takes a clinically incompetent bozo, such as myself, to figure out little things like: When building a greenhouse out of plumbing supplies one eighth of an inch is really something that can have an effect on the outcome. Or: When installing a package of bees you need to also consider feed concentration, feeder type, foundation type, number of frames, Housel positioning (which still makes about as much sense to me as what makes someone decide to become a proctologist), along with bee subspecies, paint scheme, water supplies, ad nauseum. Or: When designing the oh-so-clever moveable chicken coop you must also consider the fact that all the freaking bird feeders you installed back in the fall and which attracted all those pretty little chirpy birds which themselves, in the way of nature, attracted a red-tailed hawk, a peregrine falcon, and a pair of majestic bald eagles all of which will look at your free-range chickens as nothing more than an easy-to-access organic buffet. Get it while they last.

And what am I going to do with that giant pile of cow shit out in the south-forty (square yards)?

So this week, in the interest of finishing the blog up in an hour or so, I’m going to give an update on all the detailed plans and where all of the projects I painstakingly revealed to you back when I wasn’t really thinking about the consequences, really stand.

With pictures.

First of all, I am happy to report, that the bee side of the project is ready to accept bees which are currently scheduled to arrive on April 7. As you can see from the picture, the “bee yard” also required a stand – a separate project in and of itself – as well as a bit of landscaping to keep the noxious weeds at bay. In the past few weeks I found out that bees also want a source of clean fresh water – to what end I am unsure – for their bee activities. I guess it’s to provide them an option from drinking at puddles in the street, from septic tank outflow pipes, or the bird bath/toilet option on the bird pole; none of which sounds like a good source of anything to put into honey. I also learned from a friend that bees are prone to drowning when just give them a plate of water to drink. So I – in what is becoming trademark overkill – built a bee resort. It is simply a bi-level pool made from concrete and will be filled by rainwater or, in a drought, by an inverted bucket providing a long lasting reserve. There are feet and feet of beach and the dangerous offshore waters are strewn with large rocks for the bees to safely land on so they can drink their fill. In the event of a water landing, safety is never more than an inch away; a distance I think even a bee can flop. I may put up little cabanas to complete the resort ambiance.

Everything is ready for the bees to arrive. I’m just glad they don’t know where they’re going. Yet.

And while we’re on the subject of noxious weeds. The other day I found myself picking dandelion seeds from one part of the lawn and scattering them in another. Plants, which at one time I would shoot to kill, have now become friends and partners in the Feed the Bees campaign. The wildflower seeds we planted to this end are beginning to germinate and, at this point, I have convinced myself that dandelions and clover might make a nice counterpoint to the rows of stately blooms. I can envision the day when the meadow really is covered with flowers, but, right now, it’s still too soon to tell.

Then, are the things planted in the garden: asparagus, potatoes, and onions so far. Nothing is growing yet so there’s nothing to report.

Which brings us back to the greenhouse.

As you no doubt remember my “you can build a greenhouse in three days” experience was less than as advertised. After those three days I was left with a pile of too-short plumbing supplies stacked in the carport. After calming down for a couple of weeks I did an inventory and found out what the problem was: I didn’t get enough stuff. One of the parts vendors shorted me a critical fitting (I paid for eight but only got seven) and, mea culpa, I neglected to accurately add up the lengths of pipe that I needed. The upshot of this was that I only had half of the pipe I needed to build a greenhouse.

Which is why I ended up with a hamster ball.

So I contacted the vendor for the missing fitting and schlepped up to The Home Depot for an additional 120 feet of pipe and got down to it.

I first rearranged the pile of chaotically stacked parts into something approaching order. I cut the bits I was missing, meaning the other half of the greenhouse, and got out my tools.

At this point I must digress briefly and give you a little background on my Philosophy of Construction. My basic premise is that there is no problem encountered when building something that cannot be quickly solved by the use of either a very powerful electric sander or a very large hammer. Or both.

I bought a three-pound rubber mallet – with which I could totally wail on the plastic without inflicting too much damage – and got out my power sander with a rather aggressive grit paper and set to it.

Three hours later we had a greenhouse. Okay, it’s still just the frame but I can’t put on the wall and roof panels until I move it into the garden and anchor the thing to the ground. Which will happen today.

So, the current construction projects should all be finished sometime this weekend. I’ll be able to move some seedlings into the new greenhouse and finally start the plants which have been waiting for that auspicious day.

But it won’t all be over. I am now on the clock to get the “chicken tractor” built, painted and up-and-rolling during the next few weeks. It doesn’t seem like it will be that big a deal, which is exactly what I thought when I started the beehives (December of last year) and the three-day-greenhouse (three weeks ago). The first batch of chickens, the French ones, is arriving in four weeks and they’re going to need a safe place to sleep. So, if you happen to be a hawk, falcon, eagle, coyote, raccoon, or the neighbor’s dog…

The buffet line starts right over there.