We are almost done stitching the warehouse’s innards together: its skeletal (framing), epidermal (walls and roof), neural (electrical), and digestive (plumbing) systems are nearly complete.  If the warehouse were actually a person, she’d be fairly Rubenesque – enough insulation went into warehouse no. 2 that I have no fear of bone chilling December evenings spent bottling honey – layers and layers of scratchy yellow and pink insulation were unrolled on her walls.

I’ve found it interesting and educational to watch Brother Dear, Honeydew, Dad, Darling Summer Help, and the construction crew create all these systems, particularly the electrical system.  One quiet Sunday morning, Brother Dear taught me to wire an outlet and I felt as though I’d reinvented sliced bread.

But my general impatience and my specific fear of being unable to extract our honey crop, and therefore likely making a do-not-pass-go-do-not-collect-$200 trip straight to Bankruptcy court, has clouded much of my enjoyment of watching the warehouse rise from dirt to insulated steel.

Until today.  The warehouse’s necessary extras arrived today,  her washing machine and dryer and double basin sink, her tub and shower and refrigerator.

Her range.

Her dishwasher.

And her No. 1 Supervisor, Mr. Cain, approved mightily.

As did I.

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