Haven’t heard of singer/songwriter/musician Olivia Chaney? You will.

March 2, 2019 |  by  |  Comments Off on Haven’t heard of singer/songwriter/musician Olivia Chaney? You will.

“You must hear this”, said I.
Oh…”, with a knowing lilt – “I can see why you like her.”
“What do you mean?” I replied, perhaps too earnestly.
“Well, she isn’t hard to look at, is she?”

Indeed no…and with a smile that could stop time.  Try to get past this – Olivia Chaney is beyond talented.  She is very special.  Don’t take my word for it, however:

February 23, 2019 |  by  |  Comments Off on
Nothing like having three witnesses to everything I do…

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Following family tradition, our strung popcorn and cranberries are “up-cycled” for the birds!

February 23, 2019 |  by  |  Comments Off on
Someone came up with this job all on her own

February 23, 2019 |  by  |  Comments Off on
Did you hear the one about the Walnut in the fence?

February 23, 2019 |  by  |  Comments Off on
Weather Hill at approximately 4 a.m. on 21 February

Snowbells Make Their First Appearance!

February 20, 2019 |  by  |  Comments Off on Snowbells Make Their First Appearance!

The venerable Snowbell (at least that is what I call them), made their first appearance at Weather Hill two days past. While a harbinger of spring, currently we are experiencing an intense snowfall and expecting close to 6″ at Weather Hill.

Weather Hill’s Log Joinery

February 18, 2018 |  by  |  Comments Off on Weather Hill’s Log Joinery

A close examination of the area where vertical corner posts meet horizontal log layers reveal that each log is matched to the corner post, evidenced by the roman numerals clearly visible in the logs. Proof the house was disassembled and moved at one point in it’s long life? Not so. Eric Sloane in An Age of Barns illustrated how barn raisings (and house raisings) were coordinated by a professional jointer (barn wright or house wright), who was responsible for ensuring that the structure went up according to plan. His apprentice and helpers cut the timbers, hewd the logs, and gathered the sundry other materials to fashion a barn or a house. The farmer was responsible for rounding up neighbors on “raising day”. When that day finally came, everyone assembled needed to quickly understand how everything was to go together – you didn’t want to have to ask a lot of question when a 16′ oak beam is 18′ in the air. The roman numerals were struck into each log (incidentally, roman numerals were used as they could be formed easily with a chisel) by the house wright upon final inspection – and while everything was still in the ground and had been test fitted. When the moment came, everyone involved understood how the pieces fit together, making for a comparatively quick and safe community effort, one that would be repeated many times.

Christmas Tree at Weather Hill Farm

January 5, 2017 |  by  |  No Comments

Looks like someone is happy with her Christmas tree choice!  Merry Christmas!

A morning walk at Weather Hill

August 23, 2016 |  by  |  No Comments

Yesterday morning dawned cloudy and humid with a light southerly breeze. I decided to forgo a light coat as the weather has been quite warm and humid recently and the thought of getting caught in a shower wasn’t an unpleasant one. As I walked along the lane, I was struck by the difference in sound the wind made as it swept through the leaves of various species of trees. I found that Shagbark Hickory leaves have a heavy, lusty sound to them as the southern wind blew through the limbs, while the leaves of the Grey Birch presented a sound much like a whisper. Both sounded different than that of the Cherry tree. Each was special, different; each with a distinct sound resulting from that southerly breeze. It struck me that, much like a connoisseur of classical music, each tree sounded different. Each difference was important. A connoisseur of classical music can listen to an obscure piece of music a few seconds in duration and, having never heard the piece, can identify it as written by Bartok or Schuman. I wonder if it is the same for trees. As I walked along towards Weather Hill, the breeze stiffened, the clods thickened, and rain began to fall. Perhaps the most harmonious sound I heard on my morning walk was the rain water falling from the roof of a nearby barn. The farmer had seemingly never installed gutters on the barn’s roof, so the rain rolled of the edge of the roof and fell unimpeded some 30′ before reaching the ground. There it fell into a small trough created over decades, I suppose, by thousands of rains. The sound it made was so distinct, so lyrical, so magical. Just as beautiful as any symphony.