Notes from Cottage Hill Farm

March 2006........continues

It is official. The "Great Renovation" has begun. It has started with a low rumble. I hear the trucks coming. First the dumpster is driven in. Of course, the pre-arrangement to have it gently place outside the flower border, fails dramatically. I should have taken this as a sign. How naive' one can be. In one crushing blow, they are smashed, GEORGE!! What are they doing? becomes a common theme. We are suppose to live here?
"Oh, Mrs. L, Paul says, " You won't have any problem living here. The work is going to done in such a way, You will hardly notice we are here". That is of course, if you don't mind not breathing! The dust incredible. So,against my better judgement, we decide to move to the tenant farmers house. One bedroom, one bath, and the smallest kitchen known to man. I have so many boxes, we can't move. I brought too many pots and pans and kitchen paraphernalia. I can put on a five course meal, but I can't find a clean blouse.

It is freezing. I thought spring was just around the corner. Duped again. Paul, the general contractor is here. Why, do you asked. I am not sure, this is unusual. He usually calls. I open the front door: "Mrs. L", we have a problem. Can you come over to the house? "Sure". Puzzled, I slipped on my coat and Sorrel's, and follow him across the road. The first thing I see, is the crew standing around in a circle, looking intently at something. Dave is scratching his head. They all look up and let me within the circle. Seven or eight marble slabs, that used to be my walk way, are turned over. My heart stops! "Here lies Ethan Post b. 1838 d. 1859". YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!!!!! All the slabs have names on them. I look at Paul and ask:"Do we have a bunch of dead people under my house?!" Well, Ma'am..... it wouldn't be THAT unusual. This is a farm and people would bury their loved ones where they lived. Ya,know, to keep them close!" I am dumb founded. This can't be happening.

After calling Constable Wharfelle, the Clerk of the County, and the Historic Society,and delay of a week, (Mrs. L, we can just keep digging' and see what we come up with). We discovered, the tomb stones, were rejects from the Proctor Marble Company.Broken or misspelled names, the tomb stones were salvaged and used for walkways and foundations,etc. Thank God! I have not slept for a week. Visions, horrible visions. You can imagine. All of them are carted off to the upper barn. We may want to reuse them. Maybe we can "freak out" the next generation.

Well, back to work. The crew is off for the weekend, so George is over at the house in full winter dress, painting clapboards inside of the house. I am so glad. I needed some peace and quiet. I am laying on the couch, watching my favorite, HGTV. After an hour or so, I hear George coming across the frozen front yard. I rise to meet him and unlock the front door. Now remember, George is a very educated man. Twelve years of college and a wonderful physician, but he is not the handiest man around. Love him to death. He was using a Salamander for heat. It is a heater that is low to the ground and uses gasoline to heat our very open house. Well, George is standing at the front door and I notice smoke rising in two columns from behind him. A strange burning smell like that of fur being "put to the flame", is also apparent. George! your boots are on fire!!!!! Apparently, George had the Salamander behind him while he is on the floor painting and he didn't notice, he had gotten a little too close. Since his boots are laced up, I grabbed a pot full on not so cold water, (it was on the stove), and poured it over his boots. Needless to say, we finally got the fire out. No harm to George. Just maybe his pride. Again, love him death.

That night, we are snug in our bed. George, is "purring quietly". I sneak out of the tenant house and make a quick dash to the farms' side door. Slipping inside,the fresh smell of paint fills the room. I decide to have a chat with Mr. Hall:"If you are around when George is over hear working, can you check on him occasionally? I would really appreciate it". I am freezing, so I tighten my collar and start to walk across the road. Stopping for a minute, I look over my shoulder. Mr. Hall waves at me from an upstairs window. Smiling and reassured, I slip back in the tenant farmers house and back into my warm bed. George is still "purring" and before you know it, so am I..........