Giddy about Gardening

I know Homestreet will sell my loan, but I have to hand it to 'em...I've heard so many horror stories about poorly explained deals or scary loan officers, and Charlie-the-bank-lady has been FANTASTIC. She's been right on the ball explaining any little questions, replies to e-mails within the hour, often within 30 minutes, and has been willing to walk me through every step of the math and general economic factors that go into payments, rates, and the whole financing process. If you know how my mind works, you know I like LOTS of background data -- basically I want to be able to build the entire end product from scratch, or get there by first principles - and she's been amazingly patient at providing that. Yay Charlie!

Anyway, Charlie-the bank-lady gave me a gardening book (not the edition linked) when I went in to make formal application and lock my 5% rate. It's really a sweet thing to do (I saw the pile, so I know she gives one to everyone who signs a loan...I wonder if the condo-buyers get one on containers?). It's a cool book, and if the absolute worst happens, and I pour money in to this and then an foreclosed on years down the road, it will be the single most amazingly expensive book I'll ever own.

All this has me thinking about gardening, especially garden planning. I've done some shit garden design in the past, and this time, damn it, I'm going to do it right. I won't let myself buy stuff on a whim before I have a plan. Garden design, like almost all other art, needs to be painted in broad strokes FIRST. I have the opportunity to make something beautiful, and I do NOT want to screw it up.

I do want a to-scale plan of the current yard and where all the trees are, though. Oh, for a 100' tape measure!

In the belly of the beast

Until this afternoon, my knowledge of crawl-spaces was limited to the grimy point of entry; dirty little hatches from which swearing emerged, followed eventually by my father.

Citing his already vast experience, my father declined to see the underside of my house-to-be. "I've been in more crawlspaces than I can count, and the nastiest places in Oregon State University. Have fun!" He then set about to some serious relaxation, with two plastic yard chairs pulled up under the maple tree, and binoculars in case an interesting bird flew by.

The inspector was surprised and a bit pleased that I was planning on following him under the house. He helped strap on the Darth Vader face respirator, and I tested it.

"Bill."
*heavy breaths*
"You are my father."

"Yup. Have fun!"

I emulated the inspector's slithering under the house technique. The "crawl" in this crawl-space is a marine crawl. I sympathize with gastropods. I am in touch with our brothers the snakes. I am now convinced that plumbers who work in 18 inch crawlspace deserve their exorbitant fees. Aside from the filth, I didn't actually find it that bad -- I'm reasonably compact and maneuverable -- but I wouldn't want to turn my face up to the insulation and work. Maybe with goggles.

The underside of the house looked just fine, and if I ever have the opportunity to go caving, I know I'll be able to face small chutes without a qualm. "What, it's just thousands of ton of rock over me? Not insulation dust? Let's party!"

There were a few issues with the house, but nothing too nasty. I have some negotiating to do around the giant water-damaged spot in the living room floor. We think someone spilled rather a lot of water, then they finished the floor without letting it dry, then covered it with a throw rug. It definitely didn't come up from underneath. We pulled the rug off to help it dry off, and we'll ask about what happened there. Water balloon fight? Kiddy-pool for a home birth*? Localized internal weather system?


*I always thought home-birth sounded painful. I mean, babies heads are big enough - have you seen the size of the average American HOME? Holy SHIT, passing one of those can not be pretty!