New Again

At 6:47 in the evening  I found myself 4,000 steps away from my Fitbit goal. No bueno. 

I did what any crazy Fitbitter would do: Put on some comfortable boots and decided to take a walk. Camera in hand. 

No rest for the weary, I thought to myself. 
Or, those included in a public challenge where other people can see your daily steps...

Spring has finally showed her pretty face around the farm.
New blooms, new green, new life.

While I walked the fence row, I wracked my brain to come up with a blog idea. It had been a long time since I made it to 7:00 on a Tuesday night and just didn't feel anything humorous or inspiring to share. 

Ask, and you shall receive. 

Suddenly, everywhere I looked I was reminded that we're in the midst of Holy Week and just exactly what that means. 

I can't put the gift into words, 

but I can share with you my favorite song that puts this week 

- and His sacrifice - 

somewhat in perspective.

Like spring on the farm, He has made all things new again. 

It is beautiful. I hope you'll listen. 

New Again by Brad Paisley & Sara Evans

You may view it larger by clicking here. 

Video compiled by Blake Bowden. 

The Compromising Crib

Perspective is everything. 

As we walked the farm that would eventually incur our debt, Cody and I both found things we loved about it, and things that we could do without. In true BowSankey fashion, the things I had to keep were the things Cody wanted gone - and vice versa. 

We passed through every gate, every room and every pasture. On the multiple visits that followed, our list of prospective changes grew - but unfortunately our budget didn't. 

Still, we dreamt on. 

One of the first sincere disagreements we've had while working to make this place our own was over the old corn crib. 

Cody looked at it and saw an eye sore that wasn't going to hold corn anytime soon; we're turning our tillable acres into pasture. 

In the middle of corn country. 

And black soil. 

Yes, we're crazy. 

About cattle. 

I looked at the old crib and saw a story - a history - of this old farmstead and the days that have passed by. 

I appreciated the rays of light that passed through the structure and wondered how many hot days and cold winter nights this wood had seen. 

It certainly served it's purpose.

I wondered who had built it.

It was weathered. 

It was worn. 

It was perfect. 

I believe we had four discussions regarding the future of this old crib. 

Real, serious discussions. 

So serious that when I was away for 1-2 days I had sincere concerns that I would come home to a pile of ashes and and shoddy explanation from Cody about "lightening."

Like any gal who wants something really badly, I racked my brain for creative ways to use that crib. 

It's like justifying that pair of shoes that you adore, but you'll likely never wear. 

They encompass everything you'd like your wardrobe to be.   

10% of you knows they're probably not worth the internal fight. 

Still 90% of you wants them really badly.

So, you charge on. 

The poor floor and warped south side presented its challenges. 

My strategy became not mentioning the crib if it didn't come up in conversation.

Out of site and out of mind?

False. 

It's right in our way and the first thing you see as you pull into the farm. 

Out of conversation and out of mind?

Yeah, I was going for that. 

Sunrises passed quickly and the moon made his appearance earlier every single day as this fall (and winter) we spent our hours at the new Sankey homestead. I think it was right around the time that our entire upstairs looked like this that the idea came to me. 

What if we moved the crib into the house?

No longer an eye sore, but part of our story?

I presented the idea to Cody and as well as pictures of what it may look like.

Thank you Pinterest, you precious little ally. 

Slowly, my patient husband began to ask questions. 

If you know Cody at all, you know that when the wheels are turning, he asks questions. 

Like, a lot of them. 

How?

Where?

When?

And most importantly: Why would this make sense?

I'm fairly certain I prepared myself more for this opportunity than I did for any final at Purdue. 

Priorities. 

I was prepared to answer everything. 

And I didn't know it yet, but Cody was already prepared to make my vision come true.

He had done his research.

In a weekend Cody and I carefully removed every vertical board off of that ancient corn crib frame, careful to not splinter the wood or shatter the boards. 

That was far more difficult than either of us anticipated when we started the project. 

That old corn crib was fragile. 

I told myself that it was proof that it needed us. 

Yep, if you rearrange the letters in "Lindsay Jean" it spells "Justification" --

I cannot believe you just tried that. 

We stacked the old frail crib into a pile and continued on with our lives. Work travel, the North American and other obligations left that stack of wood in our barnyard for a few weeks. Then we moved it into the house to dry out, per direction of our contractor. 

You see, while Cody and I are fantastic at burning things to the ground, we're not so well versed on building them back up. Our contractor shared our vision as soon as we opened our home to him and tried to paint our picture in his mind. 

He didn't laugh at the idea of moving the the corn crib into our house. 

At least, not in front of me?

Smart man.

His craftsmanship partnered well with our vision of making a new home for us that tells a fantastic story.

Every board was cut and fit into the best possible place as part of this Indiana farmstead. 

No longer weathering the rain and wind, the Compromising Corn Crib now adorns our home. 

Perfectly.

New Windows!!

While the landscape of this old farm has changed with the removal of the corn crib, it's not been ridded of the history that we appreciate so much. 

This entire experience of moving the dear old corn crib that I fell in love with into our home has taught me much as we navigate this stage in our marriage. 

It's all about perspective - and compromise. 

We both lived independently long enough to create our own styles and preferences. But happiness lies in learning to appreciate another person's perspective, which could be quite different from yours. The things I love are the same things Cody would like to use as fire starter. The things Cody loves are the things I'd like to see in our next garage sale. 

75% off. 

Communication and compromise are both pertinent. 

Creativity pays. 

Just because something has age on it doesn't necessarily mean it's life is over. Who doesn't like a story? Who doesn't like to reuse or incorporate something that has stood the test of time? 

No one proudly starts their home tour by saying, "And this has a special story. We bought it at Lowe's right after we ate at Bob Evan's two Februaries ago..."

We still aren't done in the remodeling process, which is why the photos reveal very little past the Compromising Corn Crib woodwork. 

And we haven't moved in yet. 

The cows have officially made the place their home, but not us. 

Not. Quite. Yet...

I just can't pull the trigger on packing my hairspray and toothbrush until we have an operational sink. 

And mirror?

And shower?

Every night, we move a little more into this house. 

At this point, I just hope Santa knows where to find us come Christmas. 

Old World Romance and Brown Saddles

Do you remember that blog I did about choices and how those decisions have the ability to change the course of our lives?
Well, let me tell you. 
We've made approximately 1,393 choices regarding the new (OLD) home in the last 45 days and I have really high hopes that the color we paint our bedroom has nothing to do with our future endeavors.

We'll see.

I've learned this about myself: I can look at a pile of 5 paint samples for an hour and still not have the ability to make a choice. 
Too similar. 
Too dark. 
Too bright. 
Too bold.
Too blah. 

Frustrated, I can set the same 5 samples in front of Cody and he has his decision made in twenty seconds.

"Easy. Saddle Brown," he said, flipping back to his Angus Journal.  
How did he do that? So effortless. I thought to myself. 
I liked Saddle Brown, too. And we went with it. 

We had a very similar experience just days later as I nearly formed an ulcer determining the north wall color. 
What took me two agonizing days to determine, Cody mastered in less than a minute. 
Puzzled by his swift response, I asked him, "What do you like about Peanut Brittle over Old World Romance?"
"Just sounds more appealing," he responded, "More us." 

After taking him to Lowe's with me, I began to see a trend...

And it wasn't in the shades of color. It was in the names. 
If it were up to Cody, we'd be decorating our house based solely on what is on our grocery list and in our barn. 

I could see it now, proudly giving our house tour, "And this is the south wall, covered in Spicy Mustard...and the closets are done in Flannel Blanket."

But I couldn't blame the guy. There was just something more appealing about paint that you could relate to. It made the home more ours. It allowed us to connect to the place. Still, on a few choices, I just couldn't do it. I dreamt that night that I was trying to find my way down the stairs after a girls’ night staring right into the face of Nacho Cheese. Misery. 

I reminded Cody that no one but us is going to know the name of the paint on the walls. It's the visual appeal that mattered. Trying to drill my point across, I presented two more swatches that I thought may make his decision more difficult:

Bingo. 

After two minutes he admitted he didn't see any different and he'd be happy with both. 

I learn something  everyday in this marriage deal. 
One day I learned the hard way that Cody will not toss a breed publication until the next year's issue (same month) has arrived. 
Another day I learned that no matter how hard I try I hide the vegetables in Mexican dishes, he will find them. Can you find the green bean? Yeah he did, too. 

And on this day I learned that we have to make a decision such as paint colors on a full stomach. 

I'm certain, however, that no matter what food or ranch necessity we slap on our walls, in the end this place will no doubt be 

A quick look at progress since last time.

Ceiling raised, drywall hung, lights mapped out, new windows installed and one anxious couple closer to moving in:

Twelve Mares and a Gelding

Welp, safe to say the honeymoon is over. 

One day not long ago, Cody and I gathered crowbars and dust masks after church and headed to the great unknown. 
Nope. 
Not Alaska, again. 
Our new (old) house. 

We knew what we bought. 
We knew what we wanted for our home. 
We (kind of?) knew how to get there. 
We had no idea what we were getting ourselves into. 

I guess...I may have had an inkling?
Growing up, Dad called this "building character" - we called it tearing down the very house we lived in with tools we could barely lift. 
It's where we learned how to play 52-pick-up. 
And also extract nails from one another's shoes without telling Momma. 

Fast forward 25 years and I realized that love makes one do funny things, like repeat history. 

Once we ripped through the dreaded plaster and lath (several days later), we found the old frame of the the home that we've already grown to love. Round pegs and all. 

It's all fun and games until you have to restore these puppies. 

Three walls down in this old homestead, 

we found more horse hair than a barn housing twelve mares and a gelding. 

Like, more than the Quarter Horse Congress. 

Just, a lot of horse hair. 

Trapped in the Dirt Devil filter.

I'm no stranger to the horsehair 
I'm a friend of sheet rock
Friend, is it any wonder plaster chokes me
I've fought the Dirt Devil
Got down on it's level
But I never gave in, so it blew up on me
I'm no stranger to the horsehair

Nearly a week after re-writing Whitley's classic during deconstruction time, the work got a bit less meticulous and the urge to put a FOR SALE sign in the yard drifted into the wind. Along with approximately 200 lbs. of ancient insulation. 

Friends and family alike were kind enough to comment about how much they enjoyed seeing the interior of our home throw up on our front yard. What can we say? We've never been great at landscaping and the guts had to go somewhere. 

As I type this, the ancient rafters have been coupled with new to stand the test of time for the next 100 years. 
Same with the electric, insulation and windows.

Using heavy duty tools to demolish the very thing you've spent your combined life savings on has been a great teacher in early marriage. 

I've learned you can't can't kiss in dust masks and strangely, while wearing those masks, you have absolutely no desire to. 

I've learned a whole new vocabulary from Cody. 

And he's learned of a side of me I'm fairly certain he prayed he'd never encounter. 

Can't always get what you want, cowboy. 

You think I wanted to purchase an old fixer-upper and invest every last dime and second of free time into it?

You're right - It's Genetic

Until next time, a preview of our progress:

The Little Mower That Could

Like most men, Cody is a man of projects. 
He dreams them up. 
Then starts them. 
Then usually finishes them. 
Then moves on to the next.

But when he told me he found a lawn mower in one of the barns at BSG, I had reservations. I couldn't remember a spare lawn mower in any barn, but if you read a previous blog, you remember that there are many things in BSG inventory that may not be accounted for. 

Then I remembered the lawn mower. 
The orange lawn mower. 
And the tenant that rented a house off of Momma and Dad. 
And how he would drive that junker orange mower to town for necessities. Like alcohol. 
Because he had lost his license for certain reasons. Like alcohol. 
And years ago he left. Without his lawn mower. 
And...it stayed.  

Cody was pretty excited about this restoration project. In fact, Sunday afternoon he was completely out of sight. Mainly because I was cleaning out flower beds, but also because he wanted to salvage this beast. 

Yep. This bird-poop-covered, hoodless, beltless, oil-less, and other things-less beast. It did have a string. It was holding on the blade deck. It also housed many nests. Nice little mouse resort. 

I tried to talk Cody out of taking on this project. The mower was known around Clay Township by many because of the fellow who brought it to town. He held up traffic more consistently than the Amish and he swerved more than George Jones. But he sure didn't sing like Jones; more of a slur. 

But one of the things I adore about Cody is his determination. Nothing I could have said (about my reputation, his reputation, the diseases you can get from excessive bird poop exposure) was going to change his mind. 
Darn. 

The next evening I was packing a suitcase for work when I heard the neighbor dog, Liberty, going nuts. 

I went to the front door just in time to see this beauty rig pull up in front of my house. 

My jaw dropped. 

He really did it. 
(Do you see the string?)

And if you look closely, you'll see Cody chatting with my neighbor, Rick, who welcomed him to the Greens Fork Lawn-Mowing Club by giving him a cold Natural Light for the task at hand. 
Cheers to good neighbors. 

Cody came back across the road and stood behind the trailer. 
"You ready to to hear this hog purr?!"
If there was one nearby, I would have crawled under a rock. 
"Cody!" I yelled from the front porch, trying to advise, jaw closed. "You cannot call that thing your "hog" - I live in a town with a biker bar. My neighbors all have motorcycles. This is a spark plug with a orange pop can wrapped around it!!"
I think I offended him. 
I felt bad. 
I encouraged him to "fire up his hog" and unload it...

Listen to that baby purr...

For the next hour Cody was in man heaven. 

Drinking free, cheap beer. 

Mowing a little piece of green land that he doesn't have to pay taxes on. 

All on a piece of equipment he brought back to life with his own two, dirty hands. 

He wasn't a big fan of my photo documentation 

I learned a few things Monday evening from this orange drunk-man-hauler turned 

second-life Husqvarna:

1. Never underestimate the motivation, determination or 

work speed of a man on a mission if it involves tools.

2. A little supportive faith goes a long way. 

3. Everyone deserves a second chance.

4. Crap will buff out, always does. 

Literally. 

Life Lessons Learned From The Remodeled Home

You can learn a lot in life. 

• Do not wash reds with whites. 
• If you don't want anyone to read it, you better not write it down. 
• If you step on a nail, go tell Momma. Fast. 

Two weeks ago I began telling the story of The House That Built Me. Today, I continue with a set of tried and true lessons learned from that home. 

Life Lessons Learned From The Remodeled Home

1. Goats don't like stair steps. 
2. Even if you clean the carpet well, Momma always knows when you were too lazy to take off your work boots before running upstairs to get a hair tie. 
3. Anything rolled under the stove or behind the washer has been sacrificed in the name of fun and will never been seen again. 
4. I have known no greater pain than when stepping on a Lego. 
5. Saw horses have deceiving names are not nearly as fun as real horses. 
6. Ask permission before laying duct tape across the carpet to simulate a balance beam for routine practices in your bedroom.
1. When laying duct tape on aged carpet, the carpet snags/tears quite easily when trying to remove said duct tape. 
7. Dust bunnies are not the most ideal kindergarten show-and-tell animals. 
8. During the remodeling process, when Dad instructs you to only step on the beams, do not step on the pretty, pink insulation "just once, to see how it feels on your feet".
9. Pretty, pink insulation does not taste anything like pretty, pink cotton candy. 
10. Whoever restores our home next will find approximately $17 in silver dollars that have fallen between the wall and the woodwork of the stairwell. Lucky ducks. 
11. When in doubt, check the junk drawer.
12. Playing 52 pick up with asbestus shingles will not kill you. 
13. I'm thankful porch swings can't talk. 
14. Just because your older siblings tell you to, does not mean you should.
15. Those who grew up with a Tupperware cupboard are identified early in school; they're always the winners of the match game. 
16. It is pertinent that you take the time to ensure the pillows have been properly placed on the landing before sliding head-first down the stairway in a nylon sleeping bag.
17. Registers are excellent conductors of sound. 
18. "A guy called for Dad" is not an acceptable phone message. 
19. The medicine cabinet has all you'll ever need for the basis of a successful science fair project. 
20. There is no place like home. 

Then, Daddy Gave Life To Momma's Dream

No introduction needed this week - 

just a very special thanks to Nate at www.natelogston.com. His creative abilities far exceed the plans I had for this video, which was given to Momma and Dad last week for their 34th wedding anniversary. 

"Linda wants me to get some pictures of 'This Old House'" - Dad

View larger on Youtube

Tune in next week - this story isn't over, yet. 

Song property of Miranda Lambert.