It’s like a piano – a giant 20,000 pound piano


I’ve mentioned I started a new job – but I’ve done little more than that here.

Let me tell you about it.



I’m an engineer.

I work on 40ft long laminating vacuum presses, and glue applicator machines.

I roll I-beams around and generally get in the way of the guys actually doing work.

I design parts, I call vendors and place orders, and check and double check and triple check measurements.

40ft beams with 1/32” tolerances – it’s like a piano – a giant 20,000 pound piano.


I’ve got to know how it goes together so I can help the guys on the floor get it right.

I make Gantt charts and timelines.


I try to stick to them.




I’ve got to make sure stuff comes in so my guys have stuff to do.

I’ve got to make sure I’ve communicated what we need done, in a way that A) is correct, B) understandable and C) doable.





I’ve been at it for almost 6 weeks - it’s so much work and so much fun.



And there are more perks – these presses, they are shipped all over the world.  And the engineer often travels with the press to help with the install, setup and training.



I was asked if I had a passport when I was hired.











So that work these days – somedays long, somedays challenging, every day something new.




Sunset in the sheep pen
















The last few weeks have been . . . busy - 60+ hours a week busy. 

New job.

New place.

New people.

New duties.

New roles.

New expectations.

New noises at night.

New shower.

New diet.

New views.

New music.

New understanding.

New hard things.

New challenges.

New tape measure.


And in all of this newness I find myself searching for the familiar.


Nights were I come home and collapse.  Only a few more weeks I tell myself.  This too shall pass.



Change happens. 

It just happens.  Unheralded.  No drumroll – no anticipation – it stuns you how quietly, how quickly and how completely it happens.



And you find yourself wondering if in all this change – if you’ll change.  If you’ll change quietly, quickly, and completely.






It’s a different journey I find myself packing for.  One I never expected.  One I honestly never desired.  The road is just as long, I don’t expect it to be any harder – just different hard.  One which I think will grow me in ways the path I planned never would have.




Lady bugs make an odd noise as they crash into the lamp in my room. 


The noise used to stand out, a light flutter and a soft, high pitched plink which now is settling into the back ground noises of my new place – my new life.  I used to hear the rain, and cars on wet asphalt, and sirens, and loud voices walk past my window.  I used to hear the muffled thump of a dropped shoe or book, coughs, or the hum of a neighbors bathroom fan.


now – now I hear frogs.  Now I hear roosters, and sheep, and lambs, and cows.  and wind.

now I hear songs, and crashes and cries, and adventures, and stories, and bangs, and bumps. I hear little feet, and cats and refrigerator doors open and close.  I don’t live near people – I live with people.



I live on a 13 acre organic farm in the Yakima Valley.  A stream runs past my bedroom window.  At night it gets dark. 






I have a wood stove.




I’m excited to get the camera out and to start taking pictures of this place as spring starts to erupt.

I’m excited to rest.

I’m excited to work.

I’m excited to plant a garden.

I’m excited to raise some form of livestock.

I’m excited to raise bees.












I’m designing a large table – with the ability to seat 16+ . . . . . . .