#recycled wood fence

[valdotafencecompany]

Eco-Friendly Fencing Options in Georgia: Sustainable Solutions for Your Home

In terms of construction or improvement of the fence, the increasing number of homeowners in Georgia think of green fencing. Sustainability is becoming an increasing concern because people are now aware of the effects of the conventional fencing materials. Whether you want to decrease your carbon impact or you just need an appealing and long-lasting fence that makes a natural and harmonious integration, green options are gradually becoming more available and cheaper. Here in this blog, we are going to discuss some of the top environmentally friendly fences you can use in Georgia, with the aim of helping you make the right choice for your premise.

Why Choose Eco-Friendly Fencing?

Selecting eco-friendly fencing options in Georgia does not only mean that you will have to be selective with the type of fencing that has a good appearance, but it is also an opportunity to make a right choice that will benefit the environment. Some common fencing materials like vinyl and wood that have not been sourced sustainably has a large impact on the environment. For instance, they may be in a position to compound the problem of deforestation; pollute the environment and contribute to the congestion of the landfills. In contrast, the environmentally friendly solutions for fencing are produced from reused or recyclable products so they cause little or no damage to the environment or lack of natural resources.

By choosing eco-friendly fencing in Georgia, you're making a statement: you care about the environment, and you want your home, your children, your neighbors, and generations to come to live in a better world. Now let us take a look at some of the best green materials that are available in Georgia.

1. Bamboo Fencing

Bamboo is fast becoming a common material for environmentally friendly homeowners in Georgia. This grass grows very fast and can regenerate very fast hence can be used as a substitute to the traditional wood which is not renewable. Bamboo fencing is incredibly strong and versatile while also providing a warm tropical look that is well suited for Georgia.

2. Recycled Wood Fencing

Another green product that a lot of environmentally conscious homeowners opt for is recycled wood fencing. Recycled timber, unlike new timber, is obtained from reclaimed sources such as old barns, factories and demolished buildings. This way, you’re saving trees from being cut down, and giving a new chance to the wood that was already processed.

3. Composite Fencing

Composite fencing is another great green option of fencing in Georgia. It is constructed from recycled wood fiber and plastic, which means it looks like wood but does not require toxic chemicals to be applied to it. Composite fences are strong, do not get easily spoiled by water and therefore are long-lasting and can hardly require any maintenance.

4. Living Fences

The most natural way of solving this problem is to plant a living fence. Living fences are created from shrubs, hedges, or trees, and are an organic solution to a fence. Not only do they allow you privacy and set the parameters to your property, but they also become homes to birds, insects and other wildlife.

5. Metal Fencing (Recycled Steel or Aluminum)

In case you want a long lasting fence that is also friendly to the environment, metal fencing is the best option. Many fences are made of recycled steel or aluminum, and the material can be reused when these fences reach the end of their life cycle. These fences need very little maintenance, withstand the harsh weather in Georgia and can be painted with environmentally friendly paints by powder coating.

Maintenance and Repair of Eco-Friendly Fencing

Regardless of which environmental friendly type of fence you decide to put up, it is important to maintain them in order to extend their period. For wooden and composite fences, it is recommended to seal or stain with environmentally friendly products in order to avoid damage by the weather conditions. Some of the metal fences may need to be cleaned after some time in order to avoid cases of rusting or corrosion.

If your fence is in poor condition or has been destroyed, you should hire a fence repair service to fix it. Valdosta Fence Company offers both installation of new fences as well as maintenance and replacement services of any type of fence including the ones made from sustainable materials. We make sure that your green fence remains functional as a fence as well as remains environmentally friendly.

Choosing the Right Fencing for Your Home

In today’s world where people give a lot of importance to environmental issues there are a lot of options available when it comes to the green fencing solutions in Georgia. When you opt for bamboo, reclaimed wood, composite, or a living wall, you are building your house and the earth at the same time. It means that sparing the environment and developing renewable resources, you are contributing to the improvement of the future for Georgia and other states.

At Valdosta, GA , Valdosta Fence Company is proud to present customers with many green products and fence repair services. Our team of professionals will ensure that we meet your fencing needs using the best quality and durable products.

[teddy-bear-naps-and-random-snaps]

[hedgehog-moss]

I’ve been having a bit of a hay shortage lately—January was very cold and snowy so the animals ate a lot, plus I have an extra mouth to feed this year, and I hadn’t realised Poldine would eat so much in her first year! Next summer I’ll make sure to buy enough hay for 4 animals rather than 3 and a half.

In the meantime I’ve been offering various hay substitutes, such as brambles, or my Christmas tree. It was waiting on the pile of green waste I intend to burn in early spring, until I remembered seeing someone’s ad in the local paper that went “if you want to recycle your Christmas trees, give them to me, my goats will love them!” I figured well, llamas are tall goats, maybe they’ll enjoy a bit of Christmas tree, and they did !

(Baby Poldine is always very circumspect about new foods, but she did end up tasting it.)

Pirlouit was also pleased with this unexpected breakfast. They all took turns nibbling at the tree until only the trunk was left :)

Still, I was trying to contact nearby farmers to ask if they have some hay to spare (it’s not that I’ve run out, I just want to be prepared in case of another cold spell), and I also moved the animals to my other pasture down the road, as there’s still some dry grass there. It’s not well-fenced though, and I wasn’t very confident in this pasture’s ability to contain Pampe, but I figured—there’s no grass to be found in any nearby pasture, so why would she try to leave this one?

(Because Pampe.)

I left the llamas & donkey frolicking in this exciting new place (Poldine looked enchanted to explore a new pasture, she was bounding around like a baby goat!), and I went skiing today, as a (late) birthday gift to myself. The skiing station is just half an hour away and this has become a very anticipated birthday ritual since I moved here! This year I waited until I had found some way to keep the animals busy before taking a day off, so there would be no llama leaks in my absence.

So of course I got a text from a neighbour in the afternoon, telling me my llamas had been spotted on the road, going towards the village. (“Pampe looked determined. She was going to the grocery shop to get muesli.”) (Pampe is so famous, people even know her favourite snacks 😭)

Since I was literally on a ski slope I decided to turn my conscience off and pretend I hadn’t seen the text. I thought, if the llamas do end up in the village I’ll get more texts updating me on their position and I’ll be a responsible llama owner and go home (promise), but they’ll probably get off the road and into the woods somewhere between my house and the village and they’ll spend the afternoon eating communal shrubs and they’ll be fine.

When I went home a few hours later, I found my donkey alone in the pasture where I’d left him in the morning—we both had to wrestle with a moral dilemma today, and Pirlouit’s was “do I loyally follow my friends and potentially starve to death, or do I stay by myself in this place with very adequate dry grass to munch on?” He really hates being alone, yet he chose food over friendship.

I brought Pirou back to his normal pasture (he wouldn’t have liked to find himself alone after sunset) and went looking for the girls. I’d had a neighbour on the phone who had talked to someone who’d talked to someone who had seen the llamas and had “shooed them in the general direction of your house.” That was some very helpful shooing, because I found them just a couple of kilometres away, and indeed going in the right direction.

Pampelune leading the way, determined to go home before night; Pampérigouste last, internally grumbling that it was still early and they could have explored the world some more.

I usually jog with the llamas when I bring them home so we don’t spend too much time in the middle of the road, but there aren’t many cars when the road is icy and also after a day of skiing, you don’t really feel like jogging a few km at a brisk pace in heavy snow boots. So we went home in a slow and solemn procession.

I called the people who had told me about the llamas’ whereabouts to thank them, and explained that this escape was the result of a failed attempt to move the animals to my poorly-fenced second pasture because I don’t have a lot of hay left—and one of them told me he could spare a bale and he’d bring it to me tomorrow!

“So I’ve done everyone a favour” (is probably Pampe’s conclusion.)

I gave them hay as I figured they hadn’t had time to graze much in the other pasture, but only Pampe was hungry. Well, Pirlouit is always hungry, but Pampe indignantly rebuffed him. “You chose food over adventure. You don’t get to eat the food I’m getting as a reward for a successful adventure.”

Pirlouit is completely resigned to the fundamental unfairness of a dutiful donkey’s life.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

This is unique- the building started out as a local store, but the current owner bought it and converted it into a 1bd, 1ba home in 2020. They're calling it a barn-dominium, but it looks like a shipping container to me. The town of Windsor, SC is a trail riding community and this home comes with horse stables and 1.15 acres of land for only $235K. The interior decor is most unusual.

When you walk thru the front door there are hooks to hang coats on the wall. The bedroom is on the right. You can see the bed right there out in the open.

It's nice, and I guess if there's only 1 bd, there's no need to worry about privacy.

Walk in the front door and there's also the living room.

The living room and kitchen are open concept. Note the architectural salvage columns on the right. There's architectural salvage throughout the house. I love that look and the recycling concept.

The stools are wearing jeans. That's pretty cool. According to the description: Some furnishings, art and decor are negotiable. I would have to ask about those stools.

The kitchen sink.

The kitchen is cute- the cabinets are actually tool chests. You can see the loft above with the wrought iron railing.

They make attractive red and black cabinets.

If you've ever bought a tool chest, you'll know that they're not cheap. I think that this is a clever alternative to cabinetry.

These are Craftsman and they're definitely not cheap. It looks like they put wood counters on top of them

I saw the towel bars and got confused. Is this the bath?

Then I saw the washer & dryer. But, looking at the black metal nook, I realized that's the shower. It's not very deep.

Interesting.

I hadn't noticed the sink on top of the antique mail boxes until this closer photo. That's a bit of architectural salvage- love that so much. I don't see the toilet. I hope it's not a composting situation.

Here we are up in the loft. It's filled with storage, but it's pretty roomy.

Now, we're heading to the stables. So, there's a fenced area for the horses.

It's nice and clean. Room for several horses and it looks roomy.

Looks like there's an office in there.

Large garage/barn.

This must be the hay loft.

There's a road right here alongside the property.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/683-Windsor-Rd-Windsor-SC-29856/316702349_zpid/?

[stardewremixed]

Alex headcanons

Wanted to be a knight when he was a child. Horse and lance, sword and suit of armor. Shiny. Made one out of tinfoil, scraps of Evelyn's fabric, and a broom stick. Neighbor kids made fun of him. He didn't dress up again.

Joined a yoga class on a dare. Well actually because he saw a pretty girl through the window and straight up walked into the glass. The instructor made him take the class. Something about balance and coordination.

Almost thought about joining the army right outta high school. He barely passed and wasn't sure college was for him. But the thought of dying while his grandparents (his only relatives) still lived qnd didnt have anyone to take care of them was too unnerving. He didn't want to leave them all alone. Still likes war movies sometimes.

Conscientious about his scent. Keeps his pit hairs trimmed. Religious about showering after working out. Keeps a spare deodorant in his truck. Leaves a trail of cologne - clean, just-out-of-shower scent, not too weighty, a bit soapy, rainforest mist like.

Has helped Sam out with his community service before because this man weirdly loves digging fence posts.

Also loves carrying things - groceries for his grandma (or the pretty farmer), barrels of ale and whiskey, folding tables from festivals, tools up a ladder, etc. Both arms full. Things normal people can carry on multiple trips. Alex gets it all and doesn't break a sweat. Would carry the farmer too (if she'd let him - and you know he's carrying her bridal style on their wedding night).

Loves a challenging ropes course. Can rappel down a wall or a mountain side. Can complete a obstacle course faster than anyone else. Would give Kent a run for his money at army crawling. Absolutely goes nuts about hiking, bouldering, free climbing too. Would probably do spelunking too if... he wasn't a teeny but afraid of the dark... because...

Kept a nightlight in his room until he was a teenager. It's why he never did sleepovers with the other kids. That and he hit puberty early. Towering over grade schoolers was only cool for like a minute. But you can reach things on the top shelf, I guess.

Occasionally freelances for the Adventurer's Guild. Gives guided hiking tours up into the mountains above the Valley or secret woods for tourists. He would be enthusiastic too - swinging his arms and waving his hands around while telling stories and pointing out cool sights.

His hugs are big, and leave you feeling wrapped up, but in a good way. Like a cozy warm blanket. You feel safe and loved.

He's a cuddler... while you watch TV together, while you read books together (yes, he likes sports magazines and biographies of his heroes), and while you sleep. He's definitely the big spoon and makes you feel cherished. That's until he starts snoring... lightly. You'll have to nudge him to stop. And those arms do get... heavy. And he's definitely elbowed his companion in bed before.

He's a bit of a wimp when it comes to shots. It's why he would never get a tattoo or get his ears pierced. He doesn't like needles. (They might also remind him of his mom and her treatments when he was little).

He once posed for a campaign poster for a lumberjack festival. Lewis had little success. Only a dozen young girls showed up on the bus that day. No actual woodchoppers. Needless to say, Alex kills it in plaid. Think Brawny paper towel guy vibes without the facial hair.

Also did a modeling gig for Pierre once to sell some winter gear. Haley took the photos. Alex is a natural in front of the camera. Again, lots of female visitors... erm... customers to the town for a period of two days. He may or may not have autographed the ad for one of the ladies.

He's shouldered a lot of responsibility from a young age. His dad ran out on them. His mom was sick. His grandparents aren't the healthiest. Alex has picked up odd jobs since he was eight. Recycling bottlecaps. ♻️ Washing cars. Lemonade stand. 🍋

Delivering newspapers was one of his first real paying gigs. Granny gave him one of George's old newsboy caps. Alex wore it with pride. He's got an incredible swing for it. Also led him to be interested in baseball. He played three seasons in Little League as a pitcher before he became fascinated with gridball. 📰

It was actually Grandpa George who got him into gridball. Watching games together on TV, critiquing the players, talking technique. Male bonding stuff. He wants to take George to a pro game one day, proudly wheeling his Gramps into the stadium. 🏈

One of his first jobs as a young adult was at the local hospital. It's how he paid for his first apartment. He wheeled people up from their appointments to get picked up at curbside. Just like with his mom when he was a young teen. It felt like a good way to keep giving back even after she was gone. New moms. Dialysis patients. Kids with broken legs from falling off a skateboard ramp...

That's how he met Sam actually. (I like to think these two would be sort-of friends). Sam talked about music and boarding and surfing. Alex talked about the high school Alma Mater fight song and baseball and weightlifting.

Sam and Alex built an epic sandcastle village on the beach one year at the Luau. Both were bored. Vincent helped too. It was impressive... until high tide came in. Haley snapped a photo first at least.

Inspired by Grandpa George, he took a dance class. That's how he met Haley (when they were late teens). He was her favorite dance partner. He could actually lift her without dropping her. And he didn't step on his toes. He's actually pretty light on his feet. Tried tap dancing too but that wasn't as successful (or cool looking).

Named MVP for his high school gridball team. Would've gone on to play in uni but just didn't have the grades. And he needed to stay close for Granny and George. Still keeps his trophies from every sport he's ever played in his room.

Would challenge anyone to an arm wrestling contest any day. Has actually made some money at the Stardew Valley Fair this way. Out of towners might underestimate him. Amateurs! Shane is the only one who's come close to besting Alex and only then because he was drunk. Sober Shane might have stood a chance.

Bought George a big recliner with his very first paycheck from his adult job. Comfy cushions, high quality leather, great arm rests. George never sits in it because he had his mining accident shortly after and so it sits unused in a storage closest somewhere collecting dust. Still every once in a while, George wheels by and thinks about his grandson's thoughtfulness.

Will carry any of the Farmer's picked produce back to the bins, trekking across the fields, or will personally deliver products to Pierre's. By the armful. Corn, lettuce, bushels of broccoli, squash, grapes, tomatoes. He can carry 3 or 4 buckets at a time. Or by the basket. The big round baskets that the average person can only carry one at a time.

Likes the smell of freshly washed cars. And the air after it rains. New leather on a ball. Granny's freshly baked cookies.

Would literally be your shoulder to cry on. No seriously, people have. His mom before she passed. Evelyn after her frustrations with George. Haley after a boy she liked dumped her. Even Emily after one awkward moment as she was taking out the trash behind the Saloon and felt overwhelmed about a disturbing vision she had. He is always willing to comfort those he cares about.

Doesn't really cook but he can make a mean cheesy macaroni casserole. It's one of the few recipes he learned as a boy that has stuck with him.

Feels strongly about cheating in sports. And popping pills to make someone stronger. Especially because his mom was ill. He knows there are people out there who really need medicines. Illegal drugs are a disgrace to the profession.

Would absolutely spend his days fixing up the farmhouse, repairing the barn, sprucing the greenhouse, patching up the chicken coop while the farmer worked the fields and orchards and took care of livestock. I have this longstanding belief that Alex would make an excellent handyman in the Valley. Maybe it starts out as an apprenticeship with Robin. He's gifted with a sander, a wrench, a saw. And this man looks great in a backward cap, tight jeans, and a tool belt. He likes to feel useful, stay busy, and work with his hands. Painting your bedroom and repairing your shower leak would be his first projects once moving to the farm.

[abi-cosmos]

Abi’s weekly Destiel fanfic retreat!

kissing is the most fun dean winchester can have without taking his clothes off (but it’s better if he does)

Dean should've kissed Cas before the empty took him...

Finally, he gets another chance.

tags: non-graphic smut, post confession, sex in the impala, top Cas/bottom Dean.

you can read this drabble on ao3, or below!

Kissing has always been instinctual for Dean, it follows a rhythm.

Firstly, you meet someone. They’re hot; they get you buzzing in all the right ways and maybe you buy them a drink. Soon enough, their touch comes and the night is written in the way they soften their eyes.

A move is made, often by Dean, but sometimes he’s just along for the ride.

Sparks fly, kisses deepen, the desire to tighten and feel and pull becomes overwhelming, then it’s kaboom; over and adios.

He was used to it.

But somewhere along the road, he stopped wanting it and never bothered to question why. Hell, it was easy to blame age and hunts, until the reason—the real reason—was swallowed by a chasm right in front of him.

It’s hilarious that life is often a bag of dicks like that.

There was a list of questionable people he'd kissed—demons, Sammy’s girlfriends, his Dad’s past hookups, djinn nightmares—but his biggest regret was the one that he didn’t.

The one that got away.

Thinking about Castiel like that goes deeper than any touch he’d ever experienced, and he does think about it. In fact, he thinks about it most nights until the whiskey knocks him out. It hurts more than every cut, bite, or broken bone, because Cas was the one that got away, and Dean didn't do squat to stop it.

Which is why he’s here now. Why he’s followed every lead he could find, made as many deals as he could, and ended up right where all this started. An abandoned fill up joint in a town nearby to Pontiac, Illinois, with nothing but disbelief in his eyes.

“Dean.” Castiel murmurs his name, low and quiet, and for some reason it feels like nobody has ever said it before him, and nobody ever will again.

Fuck, it feels good to hear his voice.

Dean walks up to him before he can stop himself, grabbing him with one hand and pulling him into a hug. It’s really him, his body has weight and his chest moves with each movement of his lungs. He’s warm too, his breath catches on Dean’s neck and leaves goosebumps in its wake, and he curves inside Dean’s arms, because he’s real.

Over and over again, for nine months, Dean clutched and grasped and was defeated at every turn, waking up in cold sweats with empty liquor bottles littering his bedroom like a friggin’ glass recycling plant.

He had tried to move on; sought a normal life for Cas. He couldn’t do picket fences, but he could help Sam put up his. They’d toasted to him most nights, until the weeks grew into months, and suddenly Dean found himself alone in the bunker. Raising a glass to the love that only he knew he’d lost.

Sam’s invites came every day, they still do, but Dean wasn’t gonna blacken his brother’s days with Eileen. He was happy, and he deserved every second of it.

Cas rests a hand on Dean’s back, reigniting the familiarity of this; of being held by him. Nobody ever warns you when it’s the last time, when to memorise how gentle or rough they are, how warm or cold, or if they use fingertips or the palm of their hand to hold you to them.

This hug is light. Cas doesn’t squeeze or grip too hard. Probably afraid; worried about everything he said the last time they saw each other.

But he doesn’t need to be.

Dean closes his eyes, nestling into the crook of Cas’ neck. He breathes in the smell of smoke and wood and something he never could put his finger on, and it’s so Cas. He chokes, twelve years hitting him hard and fast; the tear rolling down his cheek doesn’t even register.

“I’m sorry.” Dean says under his breath and with a tremble on his voice.

“You have nothing to apologise for,” Cas replies quietly. He’s still holding tension in his body. Uncertainty, maybe. It’s a barrier between them, one Dean could knock down if he could just clear his head. But all he feels is Cas. All he knows is that Cas is here, in his arms, and he ain’t ever letting go.

“I missed you, man,” Dean says with a fraction of how bad he actually means it. Needing to be as close to him as he can physically get, he squeezes. If Cas didn’t come with the strength of an angel, Dean would’ve probably crushed the life out of him, wanting every bone to connect and fuse.

But Cas can take it, he can take every bit of Dean and then some; he’s proved it time and time again.

“I tried to get you out.” Dean says with the anger of someone who is being questioned, except nobody is asking anything of him. But Cas doesn’t know, he doesn’t know how hard Dean tried, how badly he wanted him here. He doesn’t even know why Dean’s stomach is upside down and trembling.

“Dean—”

“And I never, never, stopped loving you. Not once.”

Cas freezes in his arms, but Dean can feel the hard swallow down his throat that comes with hearing the admission. He doesn’t ask Dean to clarify, because he’s good like that, he knows Dean inside out. Accepts that Dean won’t wanna talk about this, what Dean wants is to do something about it.

Their grip naturally loosens enough for their eyes to meet, and Dean’s breath hitches at the sight of him. He's flesh and blood. His big, blue, open eyes staring as deep as they always do. Soft at the corners, curious at the center; he blinks because he’s alive, and narrows his eyes.

“You…you’re a son of a bitch, you know that?” Dean asks, moving a hand around Cas’ neck and triangling over his face. Checking for the final time that he’s real. “You don’t tell a guy all that and then leave.”

“What else was I meant to do?”

Dean hears his cue, taking a deep breath and wetting his lip. “Take a guess,” he replies.

“Dean—”

On second thought, Dean does it for him. Cutting him off like he should’ve done a year earlier. Stops him from saying anything that might detour things to a place where they're no longer touching, because that would be wrong.

It’s somewhere around the realisation that Cas is kissing him back that his brain slows down, and his body takes over.

There’s the drum of Cas’ heart against his, a rapid beat that is felt in the way their lips harden against each other. Not with disinterest, but with too much. His hands have already bunched up the fabric of Cas’ trenchcoat from where they’ve taken residence on his hip, and he’s white knuckling to stop his knees from buckling.

They move into each other, and Dean's acutely aware that it’s Cas’ nose pressed against his own, and the roughness on his cheek is from the stubble along Cas’ jaw.

Fuck. He’s kissing Cas. This isn’t some dream, it’s real.

“Cas.” Dean mumbles his name, leaving their lips touching—not wanting to venture too far in case they’re ripped apart.

“I know,” Cas replies. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Dean kisses him again. He kisses him pressed up against the Impala, with none of his blood available except for what's now in his pants. He'd be embarrassed, maybe, if Cas wasn't pressing into him twice as hard. He kisses him in the backseat, with hands interlaced and skin on skin. He kisses his shoulders, kisses his collarbone, kisses his wrist and his hands and his neck and his nose, only stopping to scoot down the cushion and gasp when Cas fills him in the literal sense.

Tangible and undeniable. Cas is shaking, mumbling Dean's name like a broken record, clearly just as mystified as Dean is that this is happening. His face flushes, and he lowers it with heavy breaths, both watching as his hips take him in and out from between Dean's thighs.

It's messy, it's noisy, it's sweaty. It's all these things, because they are fucking with a capital F.

“Kiss me.” Dean requests, already nudging Cas' chin up as their bodies sink and snap into one another at quickening speeds, chasing the orgasm that they both desperately want and need.

Castiel does, his body jolting as he fills Dean with a pleasure that'll be felt for days, leaving handprints over the upholstery as he clutches onto it. The kiss isn't stable, and Dean lets him break away only to watch him shudder and groan as each wave passes over him. When Cas' eyes are open, looking at him like he came to life in this very car, Dean reaches around his jaw and gives him a tight kiss that only stops when he comes over his fist, gasping and moaning and wishing that he didn't need oxygen to live.

Cas kisses him through it, soft and slick, until Dean whimpers with overstimulation. His spent everything left to shiver with the absence of Cas inside him.

In a heap, with the leather of the car seat sticking to him and breathless from everything they just did, they let the afterglow burn their half exposed skin. Dean, spread out with Cas resting on his softer-than-he’d-like tummy, reaches to sit him up and bring him face to face.

“Welcome home.” Dean says, kissing him once on the lips. He tastes salty and he smells like sex, but Dean can't believe it. Not even as Cas wraps him up in large, strong, real arms and sighs against him, one that mirrors Dean's own sense of hurtling confusion. Clinging to him, Dean buries his face over Cas’ shoulder, breathing slow and steady.

He ain’t never letting go.

Also on ao3

[bignaz8]

The amazing story of Tovrea Castle in Phoenix Arizona and the shattered dreams of the man who built it.

In 1903 Frederick and Lizzie Warner homesteaded 160 acres of land and built their home on a beautiful hilltop in the desert southeast of Phoenix along VanBuren Avenue and 52nd street. Along with their son they eventually held title to 320 acres and in 1928 Lizzie sold 277 acres of that homestead to Alessio Carraro.

Alessio Carraro, an Italian immigrant and San Francisco businessman came to Phoenix with his family in 1927. Carraro had hoped to develop a prestigious hotel and resort when he purchased 277 acres of prime desert land from the Warner family east of Phoenix in 1928. He saw great potential in the property, which offered beautiful mountain views and fronted the main route from Phoenix to what was once the popular Papago Saguaro National Monument.

Carraro's plan for the land was to build a grand hotel and use it as the center piece of a first-class residential development that would be called "Carraro Heights." The hotel, he dreamed, would provide him a steady flow of potential home buyers.

The hotel, which took the shape of a three-tier castle, was built without any specific plans. Carraro made it up as he went along. Two granite knolls were leveled with dynamite and a third was blasted open to form the bed for the basement. Much of the granite was crushed and made into concrete blocks for the foundation. The building was framed with wood and covered with stucco sheathing.

Inside, Carraro went for many recycled materials. The maple flooring throughout the hotel came from a house in Phoenix that was being torn down. The kitchen cabinets were made from mahogany and oak salvaged from the Phoenix National Bank, which was being remodeled. And, a vault from the bank was turned into a basement wine cellar.

Outside, Carraro had developed a spacious desert garden, filled with more than 300 different varieties of desert plants.

The hotel was just about finished as the 1930 Christmas season approached. Carraro celebrated by installing 1,000 red, green, yellow and blue lights on the split-rail fence that surrounded the property and topping the arched gateway with a 10-foot electric tree. The display won The Arizona Republic Newspaper’s holiday decorations contest and the newspaper called the entry a "brilliantly lighted castle in the desert." It was the first time the building was publicly referred to as a castle, a label that would last to this day.

Alessio Carraro's dream of a resort hotel and a subdivision of fine homes was shattered a few months later. For some time, Carraro had tried unsuccessfully to buy the 40 acres adjacent to his land that would serve as an important buffer between his property and a stockyard and the meat packing plant of Edward Tovrea. Edward Tovrea and his wife Della secretly wanted to buy Carraro’s castle and use it for their home. When the acreage finally was sold, it went not to Carraro, but to the owner of the nearby packing company, Edward Tovrea.

Tovrea promptly put up sheep and goats pens on the 40 acres right next to Carraro’s castle. That was the end for Carraro’s dream. He realized that no one would want to stay in a hotel, buy land and build a nice home next to a flock of sheep. All attempts to negotiate with Edward Tovrea and his wife Della were futile. In June of 1931, Carraro accepted an offer from a real estate agent for his castle, the hotel and much of the property. Unknown to him, the buyer was none other than Della Tovrea.

The Tovrea’s quickly turned the castle hotel into their home and moved in before the end of the year. The following year however, Edward Tovrea suddenly died. Della later married William Stuart, the publisher of the Prescott Courier, and they lived in the home until his death in 1960.

Della stayed on living in the castle alone. She always had a terrible fear of someone breaking in and locking her in the big safe that Carraro had gotten from the Phoenix National Bank. Della had workmen remove the doors from that safe so she could never be locked inside.

One dark and cold winter night in 1969 two men did break into the castle and surprised Della in her kitchen. Della struggled and was beaten and one of the men fired a shot at her which thankfully missed. The bullet hole can still be seen today in the kitchen. Della in a panic ran outside in the frigid cold and rainy night to ring the caretakers bell. Then she hid for hours outside in the elements. Della caught pneumonia that night and died a few weeks later on January 19th, 1969.

Relatives of Edward Tovrea moved into the castle following Della’s death and lived there for many years.

Today, the interior of the castle is virtually as Carraro constructed it. It appears to have been marred only by areas of deterioration from water damage, vandalism and, in some cases, the removal of small items such as door handles. The exterior, too, is generally intact, but suffered from years of neglect. Most of the window sashes have been replaced with single pane reflective glass and two additional layers of stucco surfacing have been applied to the original walls.

In 1994 the city of Phoenix drew up development plans for the castle to include a fully restored first floor that would illustrate how each room would have been used as a hotel and how it actually was used as a home. Historical artifacts were obtained as they were located. And, today there are tours and exhibits of the castle for visitors.

For nearly 90 years now, the grand Tovrea Castle has stood out among Phoenix historical and architectural wonders. Thousands have admired it from afar, awed by the imposing picture it forms atop a small desert hill in the heart of an urban setting. Few were ever beyond its fenced surroundings and permitted inside its granite walls. Today, visitors can enjoy the castle in all its splendor.

The city of Phoenix, which acquired the landmark and some of its adjacent property in 1993, came up with an exciting plan to open the three-tiered castle and the sprawling Carraro Cactus Gardens that surround it to the public.

Work to restore two of the historic garden sections at the Tovrea Castle were completed in August 2000. The city restoration has transformed one of the sections back to the Carraro era with its dense cactus plantings and varied species. The other garden area has been restored back to the Tovrea area featuring a reflecting pool, patio and formal garden.

The garden restoration work was completed in 2000. Exterior restoration of the Castle itself was completed in 2001. The ambitious plans, developed by the city's Historic Preservation Office and Parks, Recreation and Library Department, included three key elements -- the purchase of as much of the 43-acre compound as possible, the restoration of the castle and the redevelopment of the gardens.

Alessio Carraro, an Italian immigrant saw great potential for development and tourism in 1928 when he visited the area east of Phoenix in search of a business venture. His dream was shattered by a flock of sheep and the Tovrea- Stuart family left all of us a historic landmark for everyone to enjoy today.

[avaantares]

They say to write what you know...

Here's a little Easter Egg for my readers! (And also for history nerds! Or people who just like personal stories!)

There's a bit in CotFA about Nero creating makeshift building blocks for their foster kids by cutting up scrap lumber and letting the kids draw fences and brick patterns on them with crayons, because he can barely afford food for them and doesn't have money for toys.

The characters may be fictional, but the blocks are real. When I wrote the story, I was drawing on my own childhood memories, but recently I found a few of the blocks in a box (pictured above) and thought I'd share their history.

First, you must understand that my family's generations are EXTREMELY spaced out, due to multiple generations having children very late in life. My own great-grandfather was alive while Abraham Lincoln was in office -- and 159 years later, his youngest daughter, my grandfather's sister, is still with us. (In fact, I saw her at a family birthday party just a few days ago.)

For me, the American Civil War (1861-65) was just three generations ago. My aunt grew up during the Great Depression (1929-39). This is relatively recent history, from a personal memory standpoint.

What this means is that my grandparents, born in the first decade of the 20th century, were married shortly after graduating high school in the mid-1920s. They were a young couple with a toddler (my aunt) when the Depression hit. Though my grandfather was fortunate enough to keep his job, money was still extremely short, and sometimes they ran out of food or other essentials before he got paid. That experience instilled in them a deep-rooted thriftiness, bordering on dogma, that has been passed down to my generation (nearly a century later, I am STILL comparing cans of beans at the grocery and buying the one that costs three cents less, even though at this point in my life I can afford the national brand).

For the rest of his life, my grandfather did not spend a single cent that he didn't absolutely have to, and he saved and reused things religiously. When a shirt wore out, he saved the buttons (I still have his button tin) and then repurposed the fabric as patches or cleaning rags. He recycled wood from packing crates into things like storage boxes and tool trays, some of which I'm still using in my house today. (See the end of this post for a gallery of some of his work!)

Much later in life, my grandparents had my mother. Born in the 1950s when Westerns dominated the American consciousness, she grew up playing with toy horses and wagons and farm sets, and was (*cough* still is) generally the OG horse-crazy girl. She did have some commercial toys, but her father also provided her with blocks made from scrap wood to use as farm fences and jumps for the horses, because why spend money on expensive toys when there's perfectly good wood in the garage?

Fast forward a few more decades: My sister and I inherited my mother's old farm toys and added many of our own. We were used to having assorted old, reused and recycled things around, because that was just the family culture -- you don't throw things away if they can be repaired or reused, and you don't spend money on something if you can find a way to fill its function without spending money. (Today's consumers could learn a lot from my grandfather, I think.)

So, using several decades' worth of toy fences and fence substitutes, my sister and I built massive horse farms and show jumping rings on the living room floor for our toy horses to inhabit. We were very precise with our building, and different kinds of fencing (wooden blocks vs. molded plastic fences from a farm set vs. Lincoln Logs, for example) meant different things -- for example, the gates had to be a different kind of fencing than the fence proper so you knew which part could open to let the horse walk through. Children are extremely serious about such things. It never occurred to five-year-old me that you could make a play farm out of just one kind of fencing. Why else would we have all these different materials to build with?

The blocks pictured above were almost certainly used as toy horse fencing. The piece with the fence pattern drawn on it is actually decorated on both sides, one in a more controlled hand than the other. I think my sister (four years older than me) must have drawn a fence on one side, and I attempted to do the same on the other, but from the looks of things I hadn't quite earned my Fine Arts degree yet.

Gallery

My grandfather had a very white-collar day job, but he was also a skilled craftsman and artist -- and he labeled everything, often humorously. Here are a few of the items sitting around my house that he made.

A wooden lap desk with hinged lid for storage and a silly label (surname obscured):

A drafting board, complete with homemade triangle and T-square, both of which have their own storage slots on the back! I have used this as a drawing board, and honestly this T-square is better than some of the commercial ones I have. (The wood surface has aged poorly because it was stored in suboptimal conditions for a long time, which is unfortunate, as I love the size and convenience of this thing. I can still use it if I put a stiff plastic sheet under the paper, though.)

A silverware divider tray (which, oddly enough, is the ONLY one that fits my narrow kitchen drawers! I tried at least three "small" commercial models with no luck, and was thrilled when this one turned up in family storage)

A labeled (like everything) tool tray from his garage shelves, which I'm now using in my kitchen

A neat old food shipping crate that he dismantled and turned into a large storage box, which now holds my records

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[brontes]

tasks I have done in the last week in prep for having my in-laws (6) come and stay for 5 days: nailed up and painted lattice work on the deck, painted the new fence post, scrubbed a set of table and 4 chairs with a wire brush and repainted them, sanded and painted two small tables made from recycled deck wood, replaced a bathroom fan motor, vacuumed the pool (we replaced the pump motor the week before), and fixed the tilt mechanism on two sets of blinds, and mended clothing so I could stow the machine

[the-silent-windchime]

Midwest/Southwest Gothic

Here’s a list of things I associate with my particular brand gothic horror

My dad took us out to Oklahoma once to visit the house he grew up in. When we got there, we found a cracked concrete slab supporting the skeleton of a few crumbling walls and a nearly intact red brick chimney. There was the hollowed-out shell of an old VW Bug sitting on cinderblocks in the overgrown yard, and a barn that swayed every time a strong breeze picked up. The house, like a concerning amount of the childhood houses in my family, had burned to the ground years ago, and the title to the land was lost in the system. It’s unclear who now owns the land, and by extension, the house, or what they intend to do with it, but someone had zip tied a piece of cardboard to the fence that said “do not trespass”. There was a horse standing in what used to be my dad’s room.

One time I was riding my bike to work and happened to go past one of the town’s most notorious meth houses. They had a dog, and I’m not good with dog breeds but this one looked like it had been bred to be mean. It pulled its lead from the ground as I biked past and chased me all the way down the street, managing to bite me in the leg. Every time I tried to speed up to outrun it it got more agitated, so I just stopped. The dog stopped too, and just watched me from across the street, refusing to come any closer or let me approach. After a little while it wandered right back to the meth house and curled up under the saggy front porch. That dog was gone the next day.

Corn fields are spooky, but nothing is scarier than being in the woods by yourself at night.

Animals just wander into your space all the time. They have no concept of civilization vs wilderness. We would get deer, turkeys, coyotes, moles, groundhogs, and even once an entire family of black bears. There was a stray cat in the neighborhood that we never once saw, and only knew existed because it left dead mice on our back patio when we started leaving the door to the shed open at night.

Nothing, and I cannot stress this enough, NOTHING is more terrifying than turning on your brights when driving at night and suddenly seeing a crowd of deer standing on the side of the road, watching you as you drive past.

Cars coming on the opposite side of the road will sometimes flash their headlights at you as a warning about something, usually a cop. One time I was driving up the side of a mountain and a car coming down flashed their lights so frantically that I just found a place to turn around and went right back down. I passed someone else going up and gave them the same warning without knowing for sure what I was even warning them about.

My blog name is actually based on an item I pulled from the detritus of an old hoarder’s house I was helping clean out. The guy must not have liked the sound of the windchime, because he’d glued cut up bits of pool noodles to it to silence it. This one is less Midwest gothic and more what the fuck went on in your head dude

My grandparents have lived in the same trailer park for all my life. It’s a nice little place out in the middle of nowhere in Kansas, all the neighbors keep their places clean and quiet and they were all polite on the few occasions I interacted with them. It is Kansas, though, so the only way to get to the park is on the one cracked up old road that goes out of town and cuts through miles of nothing as far as the eye can see. And as someone who grew up mostly in urban areas, it’s a bit strange to see the plumes of smoke that go up every couple couple of days when people burn their trash (my grandpa is big into recycling, so for the longest time my grandparents used the inside of an old washing machine as a burn barrel)

Flea markets.

Pawn shops (bad and evil, full of weird taxidermy, walls of scratched up DVDs, and guys who are way too obsessed with guns)

Casinos were The Backrooms before The Backrooms were cool, and it’s completely by design. Manufactured fucking liminal space, baby

The weather changes on a dime. Sometimes after a few days of really warm weather the clouds will just close up like a trapdoor and turn the sky white instead of blue. And sometimes after a storm the clouds will blow away and the sky will be so blue it almost hurts to look at.

These were all the ones I could think of off the top of my head. I mostly did this because the search results for “Midwest gothic” were a lot of abandoned houses in the country and weird, decaying religious signs. And yeah, there’s a shit ton of that stuff in the midwest, don’t get me wrong! But that’s not all there is.

[tinyshe]

Garden Report & Frugal Living 23.08.07

It is easy to forget how much I love working in the garden when I am feeling overwhelmed. I just love it so much and even more so when I have my kids help me! We harvested garlic, trimmed up the seaberry/ sea buckthorn and picked so many berries off those bushes; two beds and two paths were reclaimed. So much was done and I am so grateful for the help. Very happy time and so inspiring to do more now that the overwhelming parts are beat back.

While we were trimming up the thicket of buckthorn we discovered a nest!! It is like a Seal Of Approval or a major award: the birds love the garden and feel safe enough to have a nest to raise their young. We get many birds coming through but to have one that wants to set up housekeeping is just a blessed joy.

We moved an additional brush pile into the self feeder compost rack (from the last heavy pruning job -- months and months ago but the wood was still fresh and green as it has been wet and cold). Soon all the weeds will be layered in and then another brush pile. The self feeder compost “rack” is a long row area with pairs very tall metal fence stakes set every so often. The stakes guide/keep the organic matter in row while we stack and tamp it down for a fence like wall. No turning required, we just let nature do its thing and add to it as we need/have.

There are now two grow boxes that need to be repaired. The centre one I am thinking of spliting to create a ‘hi-lo’ with a barrow/walker wide path between. The ‘lo’ will be for the humongous rhubarb I can’t dig out/lift and the ‘hi’ will be walled up maybe three ‘levels’ (at least knee height) . I’m thinking for limited mobility access if necessary but it will also make an interest instead of three uniform low level beds. I will lose a bit of production ground by inserting another path but there is no saying that in several years it can be changed again (and again and again).

Sides notes on the harvest: We left the higher up seaberries for the birds but need to come back for a second harvest of the gooseberries. I like to leave part of the fruits for the birds especially if the little buggers don’t eat it all ahead of time >:) The red alpines are fruiting. One or two nibble-worths of early blackberries are coming off. Some of the kale is growing: enough for snacks for the hens or little bits for our salads and soup accents.

Still pondering the elderberries. I can see them out the bathroom window and they are so beautiful with those large white umbels waving against the sky. Daughter 1 and I discussed just leaving them for the bees (she is a great bee lover! we would have a hive if we could rest assured the spray-happy neighbor would just Stop). So I will watch and see if they will visit there -- its up very high on the north-side where the wind tunnel forms as it comes off the ocean and through the city’s buildings. If there is no bee action, I will take some flowers. The tree-shrub is just loaded with blossoms this unexpected second flush. The first blooming was slow but those bracts do have some fruit currently (but not ready for harvest -- still very green). There might be enough of those fruits to add into the firecider that needs to get started soon.

For the frugal living tip: we use to do a lot of hand washing outside so I kept a tightly crotched or knitted hand size bag/pouch tied to the outside water bib in the summer that all the bits and pieces of soap bars went. Now at this place, we don’t do that as much so what I want to do is recycle a small dish soap squirt bottle for the same purpose but leave it in the half bath to use up those tiny bits (instead of poking them down the drain!).

Hope you are enjoying your garden or even a friends garden be it in physical labour, visiting to enjoy the nature or dreaming of a future garden -- and that there are birds nesting there!

[tiritirimatangi]

You pick at the wall, curiosity shimmering at the contents of the scraped open core. It's mud under the several layers of wallpaper/paint/wallpaper, you're pretty sure. Pink batts or asbestos or newspaper or that new foam they inject into leaky homes, none of that stuff crumbles to the touch. Is it actually wattle and daub? Like, medieval? Wild. You don't know what they were doing in the 1800s, but surely not that. This isn't some European manor house - in any other country, two centuries is nothing, old enough to be annoyingly uninsulated, young enough to be nothing of historical note. Here, this is probably old of the oldest houses in the city, not that the list is either particularly remarkable or well loved. One of many reasons the price was so low.

You're too far south for there to be any here, but if your were on the other island maybe there'd be hardwood in the door frames or something, some wood to be recycled. The realter had been trying so hard to position this hole in the wall behind a curtain on all of your walkthroughs, as though that'd make any difference in what people thought of the property.

...It had though. Admittedly, not in a way that made a difference to the price, but useful to you nonetheless. And not because of whatever unknown pre-modern wall insulation was in here either - if the actually make up of the house would solve anything, someone would've taken a sledgehammer to the internal walls years ago. Number 8 fencing wire and a cultural disregard for both council planning permits and knowledge of 'structural integrity' and 'appropriate use of power tools' are too ingrained round here for someone not to have tried. Heck, the multiple layers of sedimentary buildup of wallpaper on top of paint on top of wallpaper round the edges of the hole is perfect evidence of previous owners having the normal instinct to reconstruct their house around them.

No, you'd been interested for other reasons. No one has lived here for at least a decade, obviously, but that doesn't (apparently) mean that no own has been here for the last decade. Students have apparently started using it as a party location, and while you question why anyone would want to attend a rave at lunchtime (the haunted house part is at least a far more normal student party instinct), what matters is that a bunch of drunk uninhibited hormonal messes had come in and marinated themselves in poor life choices here at least a couple times without being eaten. You can use that. By traditional haunted house standards, you'd assume it's nocturnal, but there's no real telling just based on assumptions. Time to run some experiments.

Found footage/horror/liminal space photo series but they're all just photos of the inside of your house (you didn't take them and don't know who did, trying to track the source of the images leads to a cancelled account and no further leads). The house looks how it does every day. All the comments are saying shit like "soooo creepy" and "this is the most desolate building I've ever seen" and "is this some kind of military base? Did you break in?" and "haunted ass asylum". In one photo, people are freaking out especially hard. "Left corner. LEFT CORNER." "OH MY GOD WHAT IS THAT THING???" "DUDE GET OUT OF THERE NOW." The 'thing' is you at the edge of the frame, sitting on the couch using your phone. You don't remember anyone taking this photo.

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While the upfront cost of Trex® fencing might be more than a cedar fence or wood fence, the low maintenance and increased durability can make it a more cost-effective and less time-consuming option. As always, we recommend professional fence installation to get optimal results.

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·       How Professional Fence Installation Increases Your Home’s Value

·       Mistakes to Avoid with Your New Fence Installation

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