The Ides Of March

Wraiths of powdery snow blow in translucent veils across the surface of the dark asphalt as I drive Sora home from school this evening. Now, one year ago, we were crossing the mountains trying to stay ahead of the cloud of radioactive fallout that was blowing across the Kanto plain from the devastated nuclear plants in Fukushima. The snow which falls here today is just snow, beautiful and quiet, just snow. It adorns the trees and covers the lantern with the broken leg that I rebuilt in our garden. Our garden. Somewhere safe for the children to climb trees, have snow fights, play chasey. 

This winter has been long and cold, and though I have made plans, schedules are beyond my control. I take each day as it comes, do what I can, try not to stress over what I cannot do. I remind myself to take time to breath, to take notice of the ephemeral beauty of the world around me, live in the moment.

The ice on the puddles in the morning form growth rings as they freeze and expand, freeze and expand.  There is a simple, subtle beauty that nature creates. We humans tend to over work our art, making art about things, instead of making things like nature does; it is what it is. I have always been saddened by humanities insistence on separateness from nature, as if we are somehow exempt from its rules. We are not; to the contrary, we are the product of nature, dependent on nature, part of nature itself, conscious and aware, looking at itself and striving to find meaning. That is why we find such beauty in the world around us, if only we have eyes to see, and why we all recognise the same fundamental beauty of, say, a sunset, regardless of the superficialities of race or creed. We all share a common understanding, and it is that which I strive to express through my art.

Whether it is the snow on our cobblestones or the wood stacked for the stove, there is beauty there for those who choose to look for it. Now, more than ever, we must understand that. We can no longer afford to squander the earths resources in profligate consumption. We must husband this world so that our children and theirs have a healthy and beautiful world in which to live.

It is not a matter of if there is an earthquake, or tsunami, or typhoon, but when there is. Nature has extremes, and they will occur. Just after the earthquake, after I had evacuated my family here to Minakami, a radio announcer in Australia asked me "What do you think about the nuclear power disaster?" 

"I think they were stupid to build a nuclear power plant on a beach in an earthquake zone," I replied. Now, a year later, the fear of radiation contamination still lingers. As we walk around the supermarket we check where the food is from, knowing that there is a great deal of difference between "no detectable radiation" and "within safe limits". Yes, there are still earth tremors, aftershocks, everyday, but if we build wisely we can live peacefully.  The radiation, however, is an insidious poison that will accumulate in your system if you are not constantly vigilant. We are constantly worried for the children, and strive to keep them safe.

Work on the kiln shed continues. Rebuilding after the earthquake is hard enough. Dealing with radioactive contamination is a much more difficult challenge. It is not confined to Fukushima, the exclusion zone or even the Tohoku area. Over the past year, contaminated beef has found its way into the market place, into supermarkets and consumers mouths, and even into school lunches. Fish from lakes and rivers are not safe, milk has been contaminated. We buy milk from Hokkaido, Australian beef, American pork, Brazilian chicken. Seafood is off the menu for the time being. 
   

We have a Geiger counter now which measures the gamma radiation in microseiverts, and we have checked our immediate environs. I can now watch the children playing in the garden without the worry of radiation. At least atmospheric radiation. The issue now is the radiation in the soil, in the wood and leaf mulch, in the vegetables. The soil has been tested in the areas surrounding us, showing no detectable radiation, and so we feel it is safe to buy local produce. We have not had mushrooms, however, for a year, and spring herbs like Fukinoto are very suspect. Yesterday, Tochigi prefecture announced that harvesting of Shiitake mushrooms has been prohibited in Mashiko, Ichikai, Haga and Mohka due to unsafe levels of radioactive Cesium 134 and 137. If there are unsafe levels of radioactive materials in the logs for mushrooms, the fallout in that area must have been significant enough to contaminate the forests.Thus far there has been no such problem in Minakami. It seems we were right to move here, and I hope that our friends who remain there are taking precautions.     

Mashiko has sent a letter to all of the potters warning about the radioactive materials present in fire wood. The radioactive materials remain and become concentrated in the ash.

The discovery of 40,000bq/kg of radioactive Cesium in ash from wood stoves in Nihonmatsu city in Fukushima Prefecture has raised the issue of radioactive materials in fire wood and charcoal for food preparation and domestic heating, but also for the fire wood, charcoal and wood ash used in the production of ceramics. Potters are asked to not use ash that they have prepared themselves until it has been tested, and to only use materials and firewood that has been checked and declared safe. Controls of the source and route of firewood and charcoal, and the disposal of domestic wood stove ash are being strengthened. The acceptable limits of radioactive Cesium are; 40bq/kg of dry fire wood and 280bq/kg of dry charcoal. The wood we have used over this winter has been under cover, either inside the green house or inside this building, since before the earthquake, so we are safe for now. Our future wood supply, however, must be carefully controlled and tested. Even here in Minakami we are requested to take the ash from our stoves to the town office, though they have no plan as to how to deal with it yet. Japan is inundated with radioactive waste.  

I have always striven to live in harmony with nature and to draw beauty from the simplicity of a natural lifestyle. That is why I fire with wood, why I work in the mingei tradition. As the kiln shed takes shape, as I draw closer to building my new kiln, I become more certain that my path is true. The future of my family, of their children and generations to come, depends on this generation choosing to pull back from the brink of annihilation, choosing to draw on the wisdom of tradition and combine that with advances in technology to create a new society, a new aesthetic, in harmony with nature. 

It is not the easy path, perhaps, but it is the right one. I believe that I do not walk it alone, and I have many friends who support my efforts, who have faith in me. Without them I could not have come this far, and difficult though it may be I know that we will win through in the end.  

There is now only one nuclear power plant left operating in Japan, and I hope and pray that it, too, will shut down soon. Japan can survive, nay, flourish, without nuclear power, and the decommissioning of all its nuclear power plants is imperative to the safety and welfare of the population. Japan is a land of earthquakes and tsunami and typhoons. There are questions even now as to whether the reactors in Fukushima were badly damaged by the earthquake even before the 23 metre high tsunami, but the radiation is still too high to investigate... the damage that has been done cannot be undone. As long as there are nuclear power plants there will be nuclear accidents! The consequences are too dire, we must find a better path.  

My path remains clear. It is not enough to just rebuild. We must learn from our experiences, the good and the bad, and build a stronger and better future. I hope to finish the roof of the kiln shed this month. I should begin the kiln at the start of April. It is a year since the Ides of March, when the nuclear reactors exploded and we evacuated here to Minakami. We have come a long way, and there is still some way to go, but it is that journey that is important, each and every day.  

One Year, One Day, One Moment

The fire glows dull gold through the opening at the bottom of the wood stove in the predawn darkness. The sound of the flame within roars a muted bass note to the soprano singing of the metal expanding with the heat. The kettle joins the ensemble and, if I listen very closely, I can hear the steady rise and fall of my family breathing in their futons on the tatami floor in the washitsu beyond. The fragrances of wood smoke and heating metal join those of tatami and coffee. I pick up my yunomi, it's surface hot against my fingers, the subtle texture of the chattered hip counterpointing the smoothness of the shoulder. Taking a mouthful of coffee, it's complex flavours flowing hotly round my tongue, I can feel it's passage as I swallow, it's warmth soaking into my chest.

None of this is extraordinary, at least not in the common understanding, but every moment of every day, every experience that touches my senses, every feeling that moves my soul is precious. I have always known this, that is why I chose to become a potter, why I live the life I do. I have not made pots for several months now, instead I have been a carpenter or a plumber or a myriad of other roles that a man must be in order to ensure the welfare and safety of his family. I have been a father, and a husband, and a friend, as best I could, for these are occupations which take precedence over all others.

Soon, I will be a potter again. My studio awaits me beyond the shoji screens, free now of the timber for the kiln shed. We have finally finished cutting the joints in the preloved posts and beams, and though they are not the work of a professional, they will do. Yesterday's snow will melt in a few days and I can begin the task of building the kiln shed, and then the kiln. But that is not today.

Today is for my family. A year ago today our lives were changed by the great earthquake. We were spared, and I am grateful for that blessing. So many have suffered so much loss, and my heart still goes out to them. It has been a long and twisted road this far, but we have not walked it alone and I am grateful for that blessing too. Thank you.

The road goes on, one step at a time, and we are moving forward. We have come a long way, and looking back it is a miracle that we have come this far in just one year. We have a long way to go, and though the way forward is unclear sometimes, we know it will open for us if we remain faithful and resolute. It is important not to forget the here and now, though, by dwelling on the past or longing for the future. Today is good and blessed, full of love and beauty.

The sun has risen from beyond the mountains, beams of golden light spear across the room to the dark wooden panels of the room beside me where my loved ones sleep. As these rays of light pass, the steam from the kettle on the wood stove dances with them and motes of dust sparkle in the eddies roiling above the hot stove. I will cook breakfast soon, and spend today quietly with my family, in gratitude. We will mourn for those who have been lost, pray for the relief of those still suffering and be thankful for our blessings. Thank you all for sharing this journey. The simple beauty and joy of an ordinary day is the most precious gift of all.

     

The Mayors Speech

 It is still dark as I drive through the snow to Tokyo on Monday morning. In the back of the little truck, wrapped snugly and packed safely in boxes, are 107 pieces of my pottery for the exhibition at the Tokyo American Club. The exhibition of five master potters from Mashiko is being held to launch the next stage of Mashiko's recovery after the great earthquake.  Ken Matsuzaki, Tomoo Hamada, Akihiko Ishijima, Akiko Tao and I will be exhibiting in the Frederick Harris Gallery for four weeks, and the Tokyo American Club will be donating the proceeds from sales to earthquake relief. Now that many of the kilns are rebuilt in Mashiko, the task will be to get back in production, get the vessels out to the world, and get mashiko back on  its feet again. 

I arrive at 9:00 am, having navigated through Tokyo peak hour traffic to the club which is situated between the Russian Embassy and the Afghanistan Embassy, and pull into the secure car park. My dirty little truck seems incongruous amid the luxury cars, and the valet seems to enjoy the novelty!  

The other potters arrive around the same time and we set to the task of unpacking the work and setting up the exhibition. Several of the gallery committee members show us the ropes and help us get organised. Each potter has one of five large glass cases to display the work, and we joke and laugh as the exhibition starts to take shape.

Akiko Tao's display

The potters represent different aspects of Mashiko pottery and our work is quite different. I think the balance is very good, and say so to Ken who agrees;

"この展覧会は非常にバランスの良い５人です不協和音ないのが珍しいです、海外でもやってみたいですね."　松崎健
("This exhibition is an extraordinarily well balanced 5 person show without any discord, which is rare. I'd really like to show this overseas."　Ken Matsuzaki)  

Akihiko Ishijima setting up his display

A spectator sport! I watch  Tomoo Hamada in action setting up his display.

Tomoo's work on the carpet

The exhibition is opened by the president of the Tokyo American Club, Lance E Lee at a formal reception. Each of the artists give a speech, introducing themselves to the guests and explaining the process and philosophy behind their work. The speeches need to be translated into English on the spot, and I find myself as interpreter and artist!

Ken Matsuzaki making his speech.

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The Mayor of Mashiko, Tomoyuki Ohtsuka, with Hamada, me and Ishijima. 



The Mayor of Mashiko, Tomoyuki Ohtsuka, makes an official speech as part of the opening ceremony. He is well prepared, with an English speech that he delivers with great sincerity. He calls each artist to stand beside him as he introduces them.

"Good Evening, my name is Tomoyuki Ohtsuka, I am the Mayor of Mashiko

I would like to thank the historic Tokyo American Club for opening the Mashiko Potters Recovery Exhibition today.

As you all know, Mashiko was severely damaged by the Great East Japan Earthquake in March of last year, but with the support of the international community Mashiko is gradually recovering. Supporting exhibitions such as this is a great encouragement for the recovery of Mashiko. As representative of the town of Mashiko, I offer our sincere gratitude.

Cultural power is the power to create something, is it not? I believe in the cultural power that Shoji Hamada and the potters who followed him have nurtured in Mashiko. It is fair to say that the work of the potters introduced here today (at the Frederick Harris Gallery) is the fruition of that cultural power.

I would like to introduce the 5 Mashiko potters introduced here today.

It is said that Japanese pottery is firing first, clay second and craftsmanship third, and Ken Matsuzaki’s pottery, of course skilfully crafted, incorporates the merit of the Oriental Noborigama climbing kiln and Anagama tunnel kiln through his personal wood firing process, to create vessels which could only be made by Ken Matsuzaki’s hand.

Tomoo Hamada is, as I’m sure you all know, the grandson of the potter Shoji Hamada, but, while using Mashiko clay, Mashiko glazes, and firing in a Noborigama to preserve the Hamada tradition, without copying the work of Shoji, is creating the next generation of Hamada pottery.

Then there is Akihiko Ishijima who, in the functional pottery town of Mashiko, rather than functional work, creates works which appear to be three dimensional vessels trapped in two dimensions, and his expression through clay is fascinating.

The pottery of Euan Craig, who studied in Mashiko, with an Australian sensibility and a Japanese spirit, creates ceramic art which combines both beauty and function in pottery for use.

　And recently the world of pottery has seen the advance of women, and Mashiko has nurtured many female potters. Akiko Tao, a lady potter, uses the now rare kick wheel to produce her fresh and powerful vessels.

The work of all of these artists is rich with the fragrance of Mashiko, and I’m sure they will bring pleasure to you all.

In closing, I would like to express my deep thanks to everyone at the Tokyo American Club Frederick Harris Gallery and all those involved in bringing about this exhibition."

He calls me to his side and puts his arm around my shoulder as he speaks of me to the guests. "An Australian sensibility and a Japanese spirit," he says, then looks at me, gripping my shoulder stronger. "A Japanese spirit," he repeats...

I am proud and humble to be a part of this exhibition. Even though I do not live in Mashiko now,  it will always be a part of me.  

The Winter Beast

The stinging cold strikes my face as I open the shutters to the predawn light. It is snowing, again...still...I have never known so much snow. My first winter in Minakami is proving to be a challenge. Closing the sliding window, I bend down to the wood stove. I drag the last embers from last nights log to the front of the stove and add kindling and heavier wood on top. I close the hatch and open the draft, coaxing it into flame. Before long it is roaring, chuffing through the draft vent like a steam engine. I stand beside it, looking out the window at the burgeoning dawn, letting the room warm a little more before getting the children out of bed. There is a sooty brown icicle hanging from the end of the chimney, the condensation freezing as it exits the chimney, how can the smoke cool so fast?
Each morning I watch the sun rise beyond the valley, a little earlier every day, a little further east. It rises like a golden orb between the horizon and the heavy blue grey clouds, a halo in the misty distance through the crystals of the snow. The white surface of the snow sparkles like a sea of diamonds as the light catches the icy crystals. Movement in the garden catches my eye. A cock pheasant walks across the snow in the front yard. His feet leave a small trail of stars behind him, I wonder that his bare toes don't freeze. He stops beside the compost heap, looks around and begins to chirp his raucous call. With each squawk a small puff of steam escapes his beak. He begins to scratch in the compost, occasionally raising his head to call his mate. She does not come, let us hope she has the good sense to stay in bed.

Further beyond, a flock of starlings gathers in the leafless branches of the persimmon tree. They peck and feed on the dried remnants of the fruit hanging there. We did not pick the fruit last year, not knowing the levels of radioactive material in our own garden, but knowing that it would concentrate in the fruit. We will have the soil tested when we can afford it, the levels vary so much from place to place...so far as we know Minakami is safe, but one must be cautious.

A white heron wings its way down the valley through the snow as the sun disappears within the cloud bank. The sides of the stove glow red, the kettle begins to sing. It is time to wake the family. 

The concrete foundations were poured last month, and we let them cure under an insulated tarpaulin with flood lamps underneath to keep it from freezing. The cats have been curious, occasionally playing tag through the tarpaulin, chasing each others movements as if they were mice under a blanket. Once the slab was revealed, Jiji (the alpha male) made an inspection, and, satisfied, they have now lost all interest.

It is a thing of beauty.

This is where the chimney shall be...

and here shall be a fire box!

The next snow was only shallow, and made the slab look like a fresh, white, stretched page waiting for the artists brush. The snow continued, though, and parts of Minakami had 130cm. We only had 30 or so, sheltered in our valley, but it has been a challenge none the less. The little truck is only two wheel drive, and getting through the snow to fetch the timber for the kiln shed has been an adventure!
 

Our friend Raku has been helping, but it is too cold outside to do much constructive work, so we have moved the timber inside, into the room with the holey floor. There I will cut the joins so that, when the snow clears, we can fit the frame together quickly.

But the snow seems to linger, and even as it melts it forms great icicles which hang from the eaves and threaten to pounce upon the unsuspecting who may happen to pass below.

I drive the boys to the bus stop, and Sora to school, for I feel it is too cold to make her walk. Above the highway there is a digital temperate display. It tells me it is -12C. Not as cold as parts of Europe this year, but cold enough for me. I return home, careful as I enter the house to steer clear of the talons of the winter beast that lurks on the roof. His great clawed hand reaches across the guttering, and I have taught the children to be wary of his grasp.
 

Inside, our home is warm and safe, and little by little we are returning to something close to normal. It will still be a while before my pottery is in full swing, till the kiln shed and kiln are built and I am firing again, but those things will come. For the moment there are more important things to do; to keep the fires stoked and my family warm; to put hot food on the table and provide a hot bath to follow; to listen to them, to hug them, to tell them that I love them and that everything is OK. To make silly jokes with them and laugh till we cry. I will protect them from the winter beast, and nourish them with love. When the time comes to pot once more, it is for them that I will make my work, and what a joy that will be!

New Year, New Foundations

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

YES! We have begun the foundations for the kiln shed and kiln! Now that the family are truly safe and settling into our own home, I can start the task of getting my work back on track. It is, of course, the firing of the kiln that finally defines the potter. So, after ten months in limbo, the joyous rebuilding begins!




In the corner of the front yard, behind the existing shed (which is currently home to a bevvy of cats) and at the end of the driveway, is a triangular space begging to be used. It is away from the house, which is important for fire safety, but much closer to the studio than my kiln was in Mashiko. It was always a challenge carrying pots to the kiln during rain, as my vessels are glazed raw and even one drop of rain can cause the glaze to crawl. During the four months of winter here the issue will be snow, which is unfamiliar territory for me. The first time I saw snow was the day I arrived in Japan, 22 years ago next week, and even in Mashiko we only had two or three snowfalls on average each year. It has been snowing to a greater or lesser degree every day here since Christmas, and I am told to expect at least a metre of snow by February. The children have been having snow ball fights and building snowmen and igloos to their hearts delight, and there is no greater joy than to hear children's laughter echoing through the flurries of snow in the garden.




I had arranged for the local contractor, Shimojo san, to start the foundations last month, before the ground froze, but the best laid plans...

As fate would have it, he arrived first thing in the morning on January 11th, and amid light flurries began setting up his theodolite.



The first day was spent taking levels, setting squares, driving pegs and putting up the outer guide frame. The kiln shed will be 3.6 metres wide by 4.5 metres deep. Once the outer framing was completed, he parked the back hoe ready for work the next day. He assured me that we can complete the job despite the snow, and I must trust him on this as he was born here and knows his craft well.




By 6:00AM the dawn lights the sky with amber and gold beyond the mountains to the south east, those mountains we crossed ten months ago, but the sun does not show its face over their peaks till after 7:15 as the kids go off to school. At 8:00AM the work begins in earnest. Excavating with the back hoe to lines drawn in calcium on the snowy ground, it is hard to tell the calcium from the snow! As the sun warms the ground the snow begins to melt.




By the time Sean is ready for preschool the main excavations are well underway. I cannot help but dance for joy, and Mika happens to catch a snap shot before I realize I'm being watched! It has begun, after all the trials of last year, it has begun!




A five centimetre layer of gravel is spread over the foundations next. We use recycled crushed concrete, rather than new gravel. Apart from my stance in terms of recycling for environmental reasons, it's cheaper! The truncated pyramid form of the foundation and the gravel are important for proper drainage.



The gravel is compressed and compacted with a vibrating roller, and levels are rechecked.




Once compressed, a damp proof sheet is spread over the foundations, and set in place with 5 centimetres of concrete.



Patches of concrete on top of the damp sheet will act as supports for the steel reinforcing. By 3:45PM the sun vanishes through the trees beyond the ridge to the south west and ice crystals stretch their talons across the puddles from the melted snow in the driveway. Shimojo san covers the foundations with tarpaulins, and assures me it will be OK overnight.

Overnight was minus 11 centigrade, and the tarpaulins are frozen to the surface of the concrete. I wait with baited breath for Shimojo sans arrival. "No problems," he says. "It's perfect."

Day 3, today, we frame the outside with the formers for the concrete and set the steel reinforcing. One of the many lessons which I learned from the earthquake was the importance of a strong foundation. That is why I have asked a professional to do the job.

The square and level are checked and double checked.

Steel reinforcing rod is set at 20 centimetre intervals. The total weight of the kiln will be about 7 tonnes, and the reinforcing has been calculated to support that weight. Anchor bolts for the kiln shed are welded to the steel reinforcing. The house in Ichikai was not secured to the stone footings, so when the earthquake hit the whole house was shaken from it's foundations. The angle iron frame around the kiln will likewise be anchored to the concrete this time, but those anchor bolts will need to be embedded later. It is important to learn the lessons from our experiences in order build a better future.

On the level, on the square, framed and reinforced. We will pour the slab on Monday, and it will take at least a week to cure. I hope to begin the kiln shed on the 23rd of January, and build the kiln in February.

My plans, however, are not set in concrete. I take each day as it comes, grateful for my blessings, and I know that I am moving forward. I know how suddenly circumstances can change, and so I hope for a bright future, but I am taking care to build it on a strong foundation.

Home for Christmas

We are home. The snow has covered the world in a white blanket, the wind wuthers around the eaves, but we are home at last, warm and safe. The children sleep soundly in the washitsu, and Mika wraps presents at the kitchen table, as I write while I wait for the christmas pudding to steam on the wood stove.
This last month has been a whirlwind, and I am eternally grateful to all my friends who rallied together to get us into this house before winter. The first task was to clean the house free of dust and mold, remove the piles of accumulated trash and give ourselves a clean and healthy start. My friends travelled from all points and gathered for a working bee, working at fever pitch. Steve, who organised the event, made a video which is here on youtube. The upstairs floor was a single layer of boards with gaps between, warped with age a loosened by rusty nails. Any dust from upstairs would sift down to the rooms below, and any attempt at heating would leak up through the gaps and vanish into the rafters. Gennevieve, Debbie, Julie, Bill; Thank You.

Separating into four main groups, we tackled each challenge. One group was dedicated to the continuing clean up operation, cutting up the scrap timber from upstairs and stacking it around the old shed for winter. It is their efforts that are warming the house now. Giichi, Laura, Heather; Thank you.

Another group cleaned the mold, dust and soot from the downstairs walls and ceilings, and the children sleep soundly in that room right now. Jane, Jo; Thank you.

A third group tackled the kitchen, ripping up the old floor, laying damp proof sheeting, relaying the floor, putting in new studs and insulation, then laying a new floor on top of that. This evening the children helped me mix the christmas pudding, each making a wish as they stirred. We sat at the kitchen table for dinner and laughed and joked...Thank you.

The fourth group screwed down the ricketty floor/ceiling boards upstairs, layed new studs and insulation, then a new floor on top of that. With funds from donations from friends around the world we managed to buy enough materials to repair and insulate three rooms downstairs and the studio work space. With the cieling insulated and sealed, I can now keep the living and working space warm...Steve, Brendan, Takashi, Aja; Thank you.

We shared the work, and went where the help was needed. At breaks we would drink starbucks coffee essence (Thank you Startbucks!) while Bill played his guitar and sang...the children all helped, I gave them each a hammer, and in years to come they will be able to point and say,"That is where we fixed the floor" or " This is where I bent a nail...". This is their home, they have helped to make it real, it belongs to them.

Since then our young friend Raku has been helping, finishing the floor, filling gaps, sticking bubble wrap to windows...As I walked home from seeing the children off the school the other morning, the sound of his cello hummed across the snow, and as I entered the house it's music thrummed through the new floor, the whole house becoming a sound board.

I have made a door above the stairwell from an old sliding door, and it keeps the warm air downstairs where we need it. I hope that the upstairs will become a gallery in the future, but not this winter. It will take a lot more work to achieve that goal, this year I have more important things to do...

We moved in on the 15th of December, nine months to the day since we evacuated from Ichikai. A good time to start a new life. I bought a small fir tree that day, and this morning we set it in one of my large bowls in the washitsu and decorated it. The christmas tree from Ichikai I planted in the garden there when I returned to pack our bellongings, it belongs there. This is our new christmas tree, and I hope that it will grow along with the children. We sang carols as we strung the tinsil on the tree, hung baubles on the boughs and as I set the star on the top most point of the tree. Our home is already full of love and music and laughter, friends become family, a house becomes a home.

The work is far from finished, but that's OK. Tomorrow is christmas eve, and we will move the last of our belongings here in the morning. Because of you, who have sent us help when we needed it, we are home. Now we are truly safe, and I have what I have wished for...a home for christmas. Thank you.

God Bless, and Merry Christmas to you all.