You know you live in a Holler when . . .

. . . it's been raining all day and your son says, "Hey, that means we can take a bath in the BIG bathtub!"

We have a garden tub with jets in our bathroom that the boys like to get in. But it takes so much water to fill it that we only let them in it when the cistern is full and overflowing from a lot of rain and we have water to spare. With over an inch of rain (and therefore over 500 gallons of water), today was such a day. Except that bedtime came before they could take their bath. Maybe tomorrow . . . if it's still raining . . . .

You know you live in a Holler when . . .

. . . you're chatting your neighbor and, in the middle of the conversation, he says, "That smell you're smelling? . . . That's my horse. She done died over the winter. And it's illegal to bury a horse so she's out in back of my house. When it's done raining, I'll put some lime on her and that will help with the smell."

And we were, indeed, smelling his horse. Hashtag HollerLife.

Our excitement for the day

Today started out like most other Thursdays -- I took Kieran to his speech and occupational therapies at his school and then returned home. Since Seth had had a torn meniscus in his knee repaired on Tuesday afternoon, he was still home recovering from the surgery. So, I set Kieran and Seth up with some schoolwork to practice while I started washing dishes and putting things away. 

One of the areas that individuals with Williams syndrome tend to struggle with is spatial relations -- being able to describe an object in relation to another object. My mom found some manipulatives that help with teaching and practicing those concepts and I usually pull those out on Thursday mornings to go over with Kieran. Seth helped him this morning (the photo below shows Kieran working with one of the sets earlier this month). 

As I was washing, I occasionally heard some popping sounds outside and eventually heard enough that I decided to investigate. When I went outside and peered around the corner of our barn, I was met with the sight of our neighbor's pole barn engulfed in flames. Heart-stopping.

I ran back inside and tried to call 911 but realized our phone wasn't working for some reason and although I briefly talked to the 911 operator, the signal dropped. (I assumed the fire had somehow cut off our phone line but later realized that a GFCI had been tripped [when I was washing dishes?] and the section of outlets our phone was plugged into wasn't working.)

And since the phone line wasn't working, we didn't have WiFi, which meant my cell phone wasn't working, either (we don't get good cell reception in the Holler). So, I got in the car and drove up the hill where I could get the cell phone to work and called 911 and let them know what was going on. I don't know if it was my first phone call that got things started or if someone else called the fire in, but the dispatch said someone was already on their way. As I headed back down the hill, I got passed by a police car with its sirens on. 

He missed the turn onto our lane, so I waited at the end and flagged him down after he turned around and came back our way. And then I waited some more for the fire engine I heard in the distance to arrive and pointed the way out to them. 

Then, I drove down the lane, found that the son of the neighbor had been home and was in need of calling his parents, hopped back in the car, and drove him up the hill so he could make the phone call. While we were doing that, other fire trucks had arrived and were doing what needed to be done to put out the fire. 

Seth was outside directing traffic and answering whatever questions needed to be answered. When the first truck pulled up with just two volunteer firefighters, they were happy to see another of their own -- Seth -- on the scene. And then just as unhappy to see that he had a bum leg and wouldn't be of much help to them. 

Of course, the incredible irony is that Seth doesn't make it to many fire calls because we live so far out of town -- the trucks are usually gone by the time he gets the call and gets to the station. And this one time when a fire is right in his own backyard (or neighbor's yard), and he was on the scene, he was unable to help because of his knee. 

One of the things I love about Seth, however, is his diplomatic response to such things. "Well, if it weren't for the knee, I would have been at work otherwise and wouldn't have been able to help anyway," was his response when I mentioned the irony to him. 

Our little town sent several tanker trucks and two neighboring districts also sent their tanker trucks. One guy from a town south of us said that he had been harvesting soybeans when he saw the black plume of smoke and began heading in. He was already on his way when he got the call.

Our front yard looked like this for several hours.

They needed so many tanker trucks because we are so rural; we don't have city water on our property, which means there are no fire hydrants in the near vicinity to draw water from. That leaves drawing water from the creek (which is dry), our cistern (which is almost dry), or the fire hydrant that's about a mile away. The tankers took turns filling up at the fire hydrant and bringing the water down the lane. A modern-day bucket brigade.

They dumped the water in this dump tank and the firefighters pumped it out from there.

In the end, the barn wasn't able to be saved and our neighbor lost two pick-up trucks, a couple quads, a lawnmower, other lawn equipment, his tools, a winch (which Seth had just wired up for him on Saturday), and some irreplaceable heirlooms . . . among other things.

The boys stayed inside during all the excitement, although they looked out the windows at what was going on. Cael was so frightened by our initial frantic reactions -- and somehow got the thought the our house was going to burn down -- that he didn't want to go outside at all.

Note Seth's wrapped leg that he

walked on all day.

Kieran, on the other hand, would have been outside fellowshipping with the firefighters and checking things out the whole time if we had let him. When the fire was out and everyone was packing up, I took him outside to walk around. He met the firefighters and decided he wanted to wear his own fire gear, so he went inside and put it on.

When the guy in charge of the scene saw Kieran in his get-up, he said, "Hey, are you a fire chief? Every fire chief needs a radio!" and handed his radio to Kieran to wear for a bit.

He loved it.

They think the fire started when a wood stove in the barn that the son had lit earlier in the morning got too hot and caught surrounding items on fire. We are glad no one was hurt in the fire but sad for our neighbor's property loss.

And I was thankful for the reminder that we needed to have the contents of our barn (and house) documented, which I did this afternoon with my camera.

You know you live in a Holler when . . .

. . . the property assessment website lists the "Neighborhood Life Cycle" for your property as "Static." Apparently, what moves in to the Holler stays in the Holler for the rest of their lives . . . .

You know you live in a Holler when . . .

your idea of one-upping your neighbor goes like this, "So, I checked out the specs on the truck we just bought and it will haul twice as much water [for the cistern] as [neighbor]'s truck does!"





So, there you go. Apparently, bragging rights in the Holler go to the guy whose truck can haul the most water/gravel/dirt/stuff.

You know you live in a Holler when . . .

. . . your son asks you to add a cistern to the picture you've been drawing with him.

Saving the Holler from itself

Over the past few years, one of our Holler neighbors has fallen on hard times and has been asking us to buy some of his land in order to give him cash flow (and us, uh, land). Although that particular piece of property would be necessary should we ever decide to build a house on our land, we've been stalling because we didn't want to part with such a large chunk of money from our savings account.

And then the neighbor forced our hand. He gave us an ultimatum: buy my property or I'll sell the whole thing to someone else. We may have been okay with that except that our other neighbor (who's friends with Hard-Times Neighbor (HTN)) knocked on our door and explained what would happen.

Apparently, HTN found a buyer for his property who was willing to pay cash and take immediate occupancy. The problem was that the buyer wanted to turn the place into a "party house," which the neighbor took to mean there would be lots of drinking and smoking and yelling and partying and general nuisance-ing and he was concerned about how this would impact our boys ("I know how you like to take walks down the lane with the boys. Not sure you'd be able to do that as much if they turned it into a party house."). And, furthermore, said buyer was already feuding with our third neighbor (there are enough feuds going on in the Holler without adding to the mess).

The Holler was threatening to become just that . . . a holler.

So, we sighed, decided to take the bait, and Seth went to talk to HTN about purchasing the property. And then we sat down together to talk about how we were going to save money so we could replenish the savings account once we bought the property. He suggested I start hypermiling. I suggested he stop going out to eat so much for lunch with his coworkers.

And then we both looked at each other and laughed. We knew neither of those things was going to happen.

Our biggest monthly expense is our house payment. On a whim, I started looking for local banks that would refinance our type of house--a modular home. We'd checked into it before but after the housing crisis, no large mortgage lender would refinance modular homes. So I started looking locally. There are plenty of these types of houses around the hills and hollers of where we live, and I figured someone must be financing them. Lo and behold, one of the local banks emailed me back in the affirmative and with the even better news that we could refinance at 3.75% instead of the 7.25% we'd been paying! We quickly jumped on the offer and found out several things in the process.

1. We've been living a lie. We do not own 26 acres of land. We own 21. Our dreams of being land barons were dashed. (And then buoyed again at the thought of acquiring HTN's 2+ acres.)

2. Land titles in hollers are . . . hollerish.

3. We saved almost $700 on our house payment (our only debt) by refinancing. With that kind of savings, we could potentially pay off our house in 10 years even while stashing money into our savings account to replenish it from purchasing HTN's property and using some of it to help others. And there was great rejoicing.

In the process of saving the Holler, we ended up saving ourselves quite a bit of money. I'd say that's a win all around.

You know you live in a Holler when . . .

. . . you're telling a long-time resident of your small town where you live and they say, "Oh, down in the holler?"

Well, yes. Yes, we do live in the holler.

"So, how many people live down there now?"

Well, there are four houses on our lane.

"Wow, that's almost enough for a grocery store and movie theater!"

You know you live in a holler when . . .

. . . the deed to your property (which I just found because we're in the process of refinancing) reads, in part:

"Beginning at a stone found at the northwest corner . . . thence S along the quarter section Line to a pipe in the center of a branch . . . thence along the quarter section line to a railroad spike in the road . . . from an iron pipe found in place at the northeast corner along the north line to an iron pin . . . thence Northerly along the approximate center of a creek."

Sure hope those pipes and rocks and spikes and branches don't move . . . .

You know you live in a Holler when . . .

as you're having your arm pricked by the phlebotomist for yet another blood donation, the phrase you use to make small talk is, "My brother-in-law shot a deer this morning."

 

Yeah, I said that.

 

It's true, though. On his third visit to the Holler for Thanksgiving, Nate finally was able to shoot a deer -- and a 10-pointer, at that -- this morning.

 

 

That one will make for some good eatin'. Or so I'm told. I'm not currently interested in finding out, but I wish my sister every happiness in preparing the meat for their meals.

You know you live in a Holler when . . .

. . . someone asks to place a political sign in your yard and you say, "Well, you could, but the reach would be about six people, including me and Seth. Seven if you count the mail lady. Eight if you count the UPS guy who only comes by occasionally."

And then they say, "Oh, ok, nevermind."

You know you live in a Holler when . . .

. . . your friends move into a house less than a mile down the road from yours and you find out that their neighbor is the cousin of your neighbor.

You know you live in a Holler when . . .

. . . after finding an almost-unbelievable deal, you break down and buy one of these

 

because . . . well  . . . you live in a holler.

The grass is always greener

 Kitchen window, day 81

So, you know you live in a holler when your son points out the back window and says, "Horsey."

We don't own horses.

Our neighbor, however, does own horses. And they sometimess decide that the grass is greener on our side of the fence.

Like today.

After Kieran let me know that there was a horse in our backyard, I went out to chase it back to its home.

And then, when I went around the side of the house, I found yet another horse munching on our grass.

Eventually they decided that the grass just might be good enough on their side of the fence, and they headed home.

You know you live in a holler when . . .

. . . your neighbor, who recycles scrap metal for money,

 hauls off your old washing machine like this.

Oh yes, he did.

You know you live in a holler when . . .

you purchase a new washing machine and dispose of the old one by taking it over to your neighbor who will proceed to store it in his yard until he decides to recycle it for scrap metal.

Neighborly kindness

Even though we've had a lot of snow the past few weeks, snow isn't enough to keep the cistern filled. On Sunday, we were running quite low, so Seth took the truck, and the 200-gallon water tank sitting in its bed, to get some water. And then it rained on Tuesday, which also helped to raise the water level in the cistern.

The neighbor also has a truck which he uses for water deliveries of his own, but his is larger and carries more water than ours. Tonight, he knocked on the door and let us know that he had filled his well and had some water left over, so he dumped it in our cistern.

Of course, you know you live in a holler when the act of neighborly kindness is filling your cistern with 200 gallons of water . . . .

HHOA

My parents, like many middle-class Americans, live in a subdivision governed by a Homeowners Association. They recently received their HOA update, which included directions for trash removal, parking cars, and arbitrating HOA policy abuses. Seeing their HOA letter made me wonder what a Holler HOA letter would look like  . . .

Dear Neighbor,

We once again sit down at our typewriters to give you an update on the latest Holler Homeowner Association meeting which was held at the birthday bash last Fall.

1. Trash removal: The garbage truck usually comes on Wednesday mornings. Please place your trash cans outside sometime before Wednesday morning. Or, you can keep them outside all week long. We only ask that, when the raccoons dig through your cans and scatter your trash, you pick up the scattered trash within a week. The garbage truck will take pretty much anything in any condition, so put it out there and if it doesn't get taken the first week, leave it for another week or so.

2. Parking: Cars may be parked anywhere at anytime, except in the middle of the lane, since that would prevent those of us with quads from riding them up and down the lane. Trucks may also be parked anywhere, although grassy areas are especially nice for parking rarely used trucks.

3. Work on property: We're always happy to see new barns built, shelters erected, chicken coops improved (especially if that means it will keep the chickens off our property), and houses enlarged. Because there is no general aesthetic to maintain, we have voted to not have rules restricting the work done on your property.

We appreciate your willingness to diligently maintain compliance with our Holler Homeowner's Association policies. As always, should an offense arise, our .22s will be waiting.

Happy New Year from your HHOA!

You know you live in a holler when . . .

. . . as you're driving down the (now-paved) lane, you notice your neighbor's car on its side in the middle of his yard with its engine in an engine hoist nearby.

I don't ask questions. I just live here.

Party in the Holler

One of the nice things about living in the Holler is that there is plenty of room for people to park when one hosts a large party. Not that we've ever hosted a large party before, but it's nice to know the space is there should we need it.

One of the downsides to living in the Holler is that there is plenty of room for people to park when one's neighbor hosts a large party. As happened Friday night. Their oldest boys, twins, celebrated their 21st birthday in true Holler style.

The neighbor kindly asked permission to use some of our parking space for their party, and we kindly consented as we weren't planning on needing it at that moment. Apparently, they decided to take over more than just the parking space, as we woke to this in our front lawn Saturday morning.

Seth didn't ask any questions; he just quietly threw the empty beer bottles and shirt (?) into the trash. A party is a party, but a party in the Holler . . . . (If you aren't familiar with the Gwyneth Paltrow Emma movie, then never mind that last sentence.)