But still not 100%. Chika is doing her very best to keep me warm and well kneeded. And Roddy is keeping the fire stoked. Homemade leek and Yukon Gold potato soup has been consumed, much tea sipped, and Gothic Cottage made more cozy since I last checked in here.

I’m not spending enough time staying warm in bed, however. There’s so much to be done. I have Chinese herbs, remedies from my Naturopath, and marks from the cupping I received on my back (my Chinese doctor introduced me to this detoxifying first - what a strange sensation when the glass cylinders are ‘popped’ off!).

I think I have all that I need… hope to be back here soon!

This is a real bedroom! And boy do I need this right now.

I can’t tell you how happy I am to be able to bed down in an honest to goodness, no faking it, real bedroom. No more sleeping in the living room, this is the real deal. We still need to take an edge sander around the floors before we treat them, but at least I tried. Have you ever used one? They’re powerful little beasts! It dragged me across the floor with such force it left Roddy and I in stitches (Roddy is trying to go easy on an injured hand you see, and I thought I could come to the rescue. Apparently not).

Failed attempts aside, THIS feels so fabulous. To look down upon Persian carpet and Grandparents’ blanket box on original pine floors. To see the quilt Roddy’s aunt started for him when he was six, the lantern we bought in Morocco, and our antique dresser - the first piece of furniture we purchased together - right where they belong, here in our bedroom. No more waiting, no more peering into “the cold room” to plot my clothing plan of attack, no more fear of what lies beneath bare feet. Makes me wonder why it took us so long to move in, but then I remember the fleeting and slightly irrational plans of first-time home renovators. We wanted things “finished” before we moved in. Ha!

Remarkably, it wasn’t easy to uproot ourselves from the living room. Nothing beats gazing at the roaring fire while snuggled up under the covers. I found a happy compromise though. I positioned the bed in our room to leave the wood stove in full view through the open door… for one of us, two cozily. We still have to paint too, but I’m in no rush. I’m actually in love with the cracked plaster and stained walls. It feels like my antiquated Italian oasis; irresistibly old and warm.

And Italy is my mental holiday too these days (and tonight, to be sure! Along with the BBC’s ‘Michael Palin: New Europe’, oh, and I’ll be in Greece too with ‘Shirley Valentine’. Can anyone recommend some favourite film escapes? My infected body thanks you!)

Monty Don is also inspiring grand garden plans (and pissing Roddy off because “he’s so bloody perfect“). Predominant right now though, are thoughts, dreams and conversations of homey touches and pixie dust scattered throughout Gothic Cottage. I’ve rediscovered the public library, and my most recent haul includes a myriad of rooting magazines: House Beautiful, Canadian House & Home, Harrowsmith Country Life, and Country Living. Please recommend favourites! I’m soaking this stuff up like a sponge.

As far as I’m concerned, cozying up for winter starts now. We have a bedroom and all is good (she smiles).

I can’t sleep.

My mom and Liz came round for dinner, and because this was Liz’s first visit over from London since we bought the farm there were tours and tales. Later in the evening Roddy flipped through dated photos on his laptop of what the house looked like when we moved in last June. I haven’t seen some of the shots in a few months and it really struck me tonight just how much we’ve transformed this place.

Since we moved in Roddy’s gone great guns to whip our Gothic Cottage into shape. On June 10th we had an overflowing toilet and a hideous bathroom. A couple of weeks later we’d ripped it all out and installed a new sink, toilet and an old clawfoot tub. Within a few days all carpet, linoleum and plyboard were on our front lawn (nice!). Six days in, a closet was ripped out. Three weeks in, the original floor boards in the bedrooms were sanded, and so on until the climax a couple of months after move-in: knocking down the wall between our future kitchen and the living room (it’s not a supporting wall, don’t worry Don). This photo was taken August 11th, and since then the wood paneling has been ripped down, the thick boards have been removed, and the walls are covered in drywall. The wood stove anchors this space now.

Our modest farmhouse is a shadow of it’s former self - the interior anyway, the exterior will come later. So here I sit propped up in bed with a full body buzz from the self-satisfied feeling of seeing real progress… or maybe it’s just the first dose of Penicillin I downed a few hours ago? Or drops of Echinacea?

Whatever it is that’s keeping me up, it’s a fantastic to see light at the end of the tunnel and get on with the more exciting work of planning our outdoor pursuits!

This is becoming a theme. I go away for a few days, a busy worker elf comes to visit, and our field is transformed!

The latest facelift is the result of a disking. And it’s revealed light, fluffy soil ready for seeding. A complete 180 from the thick chocolate brownie soil which was revealed a few weeks ago. We’ve never seen our field like this.

While walking it on a warm afternoon break it’s tempting to tuck right in and get planting! (anyone know a local garlic supplier?)

Our farmer friend doesn’t have enough time to get a cover crop in, though. This is unfortunate, but he believes that our soil won’t suffer as a result because it’s been fallow for 15 years. I don’t want to argue with a farmer who’s lending us a hand out of the goodness of his heart.

But I’m still hesitant to trust this advice. Soil needs a legume blanket for the winter, no?

I didn’t even realize until tonight that I miss using a pencil. I don’t think I’ve used one since the second year of my undergrad. I can still picture myself in the UNB gymnasium writing the final exam for Arts 1000, and plugging my multiple choice answers into a Scantron sheet with heavy, dark strokes of an HB so there was no margin of error. By the end of exam period I had always developed a giant, hardened callous from writing memorized material so frantically. I miss that adrenaline rush.

These days we’re studying and writing proposals for various farm courses we’re taking. Tonight we’re doing homework from a 2-day Ontario Ministry of Agriculture, Food and Rural Affairs course Roddy is taking - Growing Your Farm Profits. Upon completing an action plan, the Ministry will refund 50% of our costs for implementing environmentally-friendly farming practices. I won’t go into the finer details but basically we’ll get funding for courses, consulting, and making improvements to our farm.

If you’re a registered farm business in Ontario (or on your way to becoming one) check out the course. A little money from the government is a major boost to aspiring tiny farmers!

I really want laying hens. I want to collect my own eggs everyday, fry my own eggs, bake with my own eggs, and share my eggs. I want to see chickens running around parts of our farm. I want to break from my work, head outside to an adorable chicken coop, and gather eggs into an antique basket. Someday I want to sell my eggs.

We thought we would get a few chicks when we moved to the country last June, but our old Gothic Cottage took all of our attention away from farm pursuits. A recent visit to Mike’s farm near Peterborough brought me close to feathered friends again, and thinking about expanding our little animal family next summer. But something happened since our visit with Mike. We got real.

We’ve never kept chickens before, and we’re going to be taking on a lot next year as we develop an organic market garden business. I also work full time, so our hands will be full. I’d love my hands to be full of eggs too, but we’re chickening out. We’ve decided to hold off until 2011 - veggies first, then hens.

But this thinking sensibly business is not my style. I usually live dangerously, and really, we’re just talking about birds, not goats or pigs (yet).  What do you think? Should we dive right in and get a couple, just to feed us?

Not this afternoon, unfortunately, but on a Friday afternoon in early October Tori, Nancy, Nancy’s Aunt Susan and I tasted Niagara’s finest. It’s Fridays like these I cherish my 4-day work week.

There is only one certified organic winery in Southern Ontario’s Niagara region - frogpondfarm - but we didn’t make it this time. Instead, we followed our noses to the expansive vineyards of Jackson-Triggs and Inniskillin.

First stop, Jackson-Triggs. My impression of the winery? Bold, with hints of snobbery, forward notes of perfectionism, and a clean finish. Their wine? Not as nice as the architecture and staff. Of the seven we tasted, only two were winners. One, however, was outstanding buttery perfection. So unbelievably delicious, in fact, that none of us blinked an eye at dropping $20 each for a bottle. They had one case left of their 2008 Chardonnay… maybe if you run now they’ll still have a bottle. It’s the best white wine I’ve ever tasted and I wish I’d bought three.

Jackson-Triggs are savvy winemakers. They have one of the most technologically advanced wine making facilities in Canada, and I must admit I was captivated by all the shiny silver.

Remember the scene in Strange Brew where Bob McKenzie gets trapped in a huge brewery tank at Elsinore Brewery?  That would never happen here. Jackson-Triggs is squeaky clean to the point that you check the soles your shoes before entering the impressive new building.

From processing to cellaring, it was quite a tour. A fine start to our afternoon!

Inniskillin felt more traditional, but we weren’t there to admire cellars and grapes. Toured out, we headed straight to the bar for our free tasting (free coupons from J-T, nice!).

I wasn’t overly impressed with Inniskillin’s merlot, shiraz, or pinot gris. They were watery or acidic, and quite forgettable. But I did learn two new things about myself at the winery:

1. I do like icewine after all

2. I have very expensive taste

The vintage I fell for goes for a cool $300 a bottle! I can still taste the rich apricot notes… If we can produce a couple of wines from our land which are half as divine I’ll be a very happy vintner!

Anyone ever tried growing their own grapes? We’d love to cultivate a few vines - just enough to produce wine for ourselves - but I haven’t done any research on the art yet.

We received a delivery at the end of September: two cords of wood which was harvested around the corner. It’s a mixture of Ash and Maple, with a little Cherry and Eastern White Cedar.

Mmmm - warm and cozy for the winter! Or will we be?

We were told by the bushy man who installed our new wood stove to bank on three cords to see us through the colder months. I didn’t question him; he’s installed over a thousand stoves in his career. We’ve got a buffer though. We acquired a tank full of oil with our house, which we plan to use as a top up for heat this winter. Our goal is to phase out oil completely next year and harvest wood from our acre of forest. Roddy wants to sustainably manage our little woodlot, which will benefit from some care and attention.

But it’s November 12th and we seem to be going through wood like the clappers already. We’ve had a couple of sub-zero nights, and I work from home so I need warm fingers to dance across the keyboard. I have no idea what “normal” wood use looks like?! Five logs per day? Eight? Twelve? Every time I take a log off the pile (most of it is stacked in our barn now) I wonder how far our two cords will take us.

Any bets? Advice?

If you’ve ever renovated your home, you know what it’s like to live in complete and utter chaos. In our house, there isn’t a single serene corner that is finished. Someday, fresh cut roses will adorn our tables.

A layer of dust falls over every surface minutes after it’s wiped clean. The rare, centrally-located electrical outlet that’s in service on any given day gets heavy play with a line up of appliances vying for power. The kitchen table is in the living room… next to our bed. It’s usually covered in drywall screws, various tools, packaging, gloves, safety goggles, and unidentifiable objects by dinnertime every day. I wouldn’t be surprised to see Roddy carving a turkey with a reciprocating saw. If I crawl out of bed and take the risk of walking across a room barefoot, I have to wipe off my feet before I climb back into bed. I can’t wait for the day when I can pad across the floor with socks on.

Our new shower isn’t installed yet, so after a sweaty run I retreat to the rudimentary plastic shower taken over by spiders in our basement. If I’ve forgotten to bring my clogs down, I slip into my running shoes and strut in them as if they’re high heels (so that my fresh feet aren’t totally immersed in sweat). I teeter on my running pumps like this up to the bathroom, where I finish my post-shower regimen, and then make my way into “the cold room” (the uninsulated front addition) where our clothes live. I dress in the frigid air, balancing on my runners so I don’t have to come into contact with a filthy floor. Then I realize that my boots aren’t within reach, so I slip back into my stiletto runners and hobble across the house. By the time I’m outfitted from head to toe, I’m freezing. I blow dry my hair in the kitchen, because there’s a functional electrical outlet beside the fruit bowl.

I’ve been able to carve out small tidy pockets of calm in our house, but I am grateful beyond words that our farm is just 10 minutes away from a buzzing community of cleanliness and order. A city that houses a hot yoga studio (my respite) with gorgeous showers. A city where we can eat off spotless surfaces, marvel at painted walls, bountiful electrical outlets, and rest our reno-warn bones for a few hours. Because while we’re loving the fact that we’re making our house our own, we’re not able to kick back and relax within our walls yet.

Need I say more?

My grandma asked me what I was up to at work. So I told her, and the conversation turned to a contest my colleagues have created:

1. Record a video of yourself calling the Prime Minister to tell him that you want him to act on behalf of Canadians at the UN Climate Summit in Copenhagen this December

2. Post it on the David Suzuki Foundation website

3. The winner receives a phone call from David Suzuki and a gift certificate from Mountain Equipment Co-op. Not bad!

Our conversation was getting quite intense. We were feeding each other’s disgust for Stephen Harper and his blind policies. My pulse was rising. I knew it was time.

I called first. My heart was pounding, hard! I was leaving a message for the Prime Minister! I told him how concerned I was that he wasn’t acting on the behalf of Canadians; about the opportunities he was ignoring in the new clean energy economy; about the lack of leadership he was showing - especially in the face of India and China now committing to stricter greenhouse gas reduction targets; and about how concerned I was that he wasn’t securing a prosperous and clean future for my children and his.

I was on a high when I hung up the phone. And even higher when my Grandma called him. She told him that in her 98 years of life in Canada she remembers a lot of important events. But most importantly, she remembers the clean air and water, the lack of focus on economic prosperity, and the higher levels of happiness during her earlier years. She told him that there was a real opportunity to turn things around, if he did the right thing in Copenhagen.

What a rush! We hugged when she finished, and I know I’ll never forget this day. The day my Grandma and I called the Prime Minister from her living room.