Biking Progress
A search of the area behind the cabin where Cyndie had previously seen the fawn turned up no signs of it. It may have lain down in a tiny curled ball, but since we didn’t see or hear from it the entire rest of the day, we prefer to imagine its mother returned and they wandered off to live happily ever after. The walk through the woods turned up some rewarding scenery in consolation.
The trillium is putting on a pretty good show for us. My second favorite adornment of the forests up here is the ferns. They are coming on strong this weekend.
The surprise we least expected to find was methodically pecking away on the shady side of a tree. It took some hunting to find it by honing in on the most likely direction the sounds were coming from and then staring long enough to catch a glimpse of the movement.
That’s a Pileated Woodpecker way up in the tree. They are the largest woodpeckers we have in North America, but they are a somewhat rare sighting. That makes it doubly special whenever we have one pay a visit.
I was able to take advantage of good weather yesterday afternoon and get out for a 39-mile loop riding my bike. My derailleur recalibration worked well, and I pushed my mileage to more than double my previous rides this season. My new gravel tires worked well, too, allowing me to confidently ride a road I didn’t know would be gravel. That portion offered me the chance to witness the smallest fawn I have ever seen in person. Compared to the one that was bleating outside our sunroom, this one was practically a quarter of the size.
It looked like it could have been born only a few hours earlier. I came up over a rise in the road and found the mamma and baby staring directly at me from the middle of the gravel road. As I approached them, I spoke a few words, which triggered the doe to leap off into the sparse growth beside the road. The matchstick-like legs of the fawn wobbled their way to follow the mom.
Steve arrived yesterday with guests who are friends from Sweden. We enjoyed a big feast for a late dinner after offering tours of the house and surroundings, and visiting with several neighbors for happy hour on the deck next to our place. I was feeling pretty self-satisfied about the distance I had traveled on my bike ride earlier in the afternoon, but my pride was taken down a notch when I learned a couple next door biked 55 miles, 20 or 25 of which were unplanned. They missed a turn and rode much farther south than they had intended.
My leg muscles were on the verge of cramping after my effort. I don’t want to think about the pain of riding that many unplanned miles.
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Baby Deer
In the middle of a card game among six of us in the sunroom, a strange bird call started up. Someone suggested it was a catbird. It wasn’t a chirp or a cheep. I would describe it more as a higher-pitched “Meh!” repeating singularly. Cyndie was about to pull out her Merlin bird call ID app on her phone when someone noticed a baby deer out the window.
The sound we were all hearing was this wayward fawn, presumably calling for its momma. It was cute at first, but then it quickly loomed as a sad situation. Something didn’t seem right that this sweet little thing was choosing to wander so close to civilization when no other deer were anywhere in sight. We are not far from the heavily traveled Hwy 77, where wildlife roadkill is not uncommon.
Was this youngster orphaned?
Well, the sad reality is that when Ben and Beck arrived, they commented about seeing an eagle feeding on a deer carcass nearby. It’s not entirely an obvious confirmation, since the remains look like they have been there for a long time. Although it’s not clear that this fawn has only recently been left alone.
As evening settled in, Cyndie went for a walk and found the fawn still alone, hanging around in the woods between our place and the road. We plan to take a stroll soon to see what we might find. With luck, maybe another momma will show up and adopt the lonely little Bambi.
Cyndie put out some water in the area, but her research helped confirm that the best thing we can do is leave nature to take its course. By staying away, we actually increase the chance that another herd will come by and take it in as one of their own. However, this morning, she got a call back from a wildlife rescue organization, and they asked her to take a closer picture if possible. If there are flies around it and/or poop around its butt, it is a confirmation that no mother is taking care of it.
If that is the case, they seemed interested in taking some action.
Ben and Beck just returned from town with fresh donuts and reported that there are even more dead deer along the road, with eagles feeding on them. The wildlife must not be used to all this new traffic showing up to kick off the summer season of northwoods vacationers.
It would be best if we didn’t keep hearing the sad bleating of the poor thing for much longer today. That’s rather heartbreaking.
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Shooting Troubles
Our first day at the lake for the summer season was not one of total relaxation. In fact, it was a series of mysterious issues that required solving. Granted, some were notably first-world problems of unnecessary convenience. The electric blinds in Marie’s bedroom wouldn’t open. Since Cyndie and I are unfamiliar with this effort-saving phenomenon, she needed to contact her brother to find out how it worked.
The shades needed to be plugged into a USB charging port and then paired to the remote control. The remote needed new AAA batteries, too. There’s always one more step.
More pressing for Cyndie’s temperature sensitivities, we discovered the furnace(s) didn’t bring the house up to temperature overnight. It was a chilly 63° F indoors, which was definitely noticeable after climbing out from under the covers. There are two furnaces because a second one was needed when an addition was built to create a master suite on the main level, when stairs became problematic for Cyndie’s parents. Neither furnace was producing heat.
More calls to Cyndie’s brother, who installed thermostats that he is able to control and monitor remotely. Aah, smart technology. Too bad it’s only “so” smart.
I was impressed as heck at Cyndie’s wily problem-solving research after multiple power resets did nothing to fire up the burners. Speaking of burners, we had used them on the gas stove, so we felt lack of propane probably wasn’t the problem. Just to be sure, I trekked out to confirm the percentage of fill on the gauge on the tank.
Reading down the list of issues Cyndie found online, our memories about regularly changing the filter were triggered, and I was certain this would bring the heat.
Nope. It didn’t.
After the insanity of trying several things multiple times and expecting different results, Cyndie called for professional HVAC support. The best they could offer was emergency service after 4:00 on the Friday of this holiday weekend. She said, “Put us on the list.”
I built a fire in the fireplace and kept it stoked while Cyndie made a run to town for groceries, hoping to beat some of the Friday rush of the Memorial Day weekend vacationers. Her research had taught us what the number of flashes from the red LED on the furnace control board indicated (contact a service person), and she asked me to call the company to report our findings, in case that would help in any way.
I tried and tried, but couldn’t get through. Imagine my surprise when I looked out the window and saw one of their trucks parked next door.
There is new construction underway where the old lodge was torn down, so I assumed they might be installing a furnace. None of the guys working at the new place knew anything about the service truck. I walked into the existing cabin next door and found the man was servicing a plumbing issue. He didn’t do furnaces.
The good news/bad news result of the craziness yesterday was that a cancellation ended up freeing a furnace guy to show up early, but both furnaces needed control boards replaced, and those would need to be ordered.
They should arrive next week, when the temperatures are forecast to be in the upper 80s F, and furnace heat will be the last thing needed up here.
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Rewarding Things
As I was making progress with the string trimmer along the fence line yesterday morning, I had the thought that it’s one of the most rewarding things to see the fence freshly trimmed.
On my walk back toward the shop, I found Mia and Mix lying down while napping in the tall grass of the hay field. Light was doing the same thing inside the large paddock fence. I thought, one of the most rewarding things is, seeing the horses feeling so safe and content and lying down together.
Before I started packing for the lake, the backyard needed mowing. The dandelions were getting as tall as small trees. Not wanting to leave the mower deck all weekend without being cleaned, I parked the mower on two planks so I could scrape the accumulated grass clippings off the bottom of the deck the moment I finished. It led to the thought that it’s one of the most rewarding things to so easily scrape the deck clean while the gunk is fresh and damp.
We then packed the car, left Asher and the horses in the care of our friend, John, and headed to Hudson for the “Taste of the Valley.”
It was a beautiful night for a picnic. We enjoyed repeated rewards of flavors and textures. It was almost impossible to keep track of how much we’d eaten. Cyndie and I shared a lot of bites with each other.
The most rewarding thing came at the end of the day, as we arrived at the lake just after sunset and successfully avoided colliding with any wildlife when driving during the hours of low visibility. Still, we spotted one black bear in a distant field and one deer grazing precariously close to the road.
We stayed up late to watch Stephen Colbert’s last Late Show. Poor CBS. The broadcast company has become a shameful shadow of its former self. It’s been rewarding seeing how many people of good character have voiced their support of Stephen Colbert, and that his popularity has only grown since it was announced that CBS had canceled his show.
It was a good end to a very rewarding day.
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Dandelion Seeds
’Tis the season of dandelions gone to seed. In the soaking wet of morning dew, the wispy white remains crowning the tall stalks of old dandelions cling to our shoes in massive amounts.
The story in pictures:
Today, we are finishing preparations to be away from home for a long weekend. I have a small portion of mowing to complete. Cyndie is organizing things to ease the work of our house/animal sitter who will be staying here while we are gone.
Before leaving town, we have a date with friends in Hudson for the “Taste of the Valley” food and beverage event at Lakefront Park. I see 25 different providers listed for a dynamic selection of “all-you-can-enjoy” artisan foods. We plan to leave directly from there to head to the lake.
I’m bringing my bike along to take advantage of riding the less hilly roads through the forests of northern Wisconsin’s lake country. I will not lie about looking forward to having the option to linger in bed in the mornings for as long as my body desires, since we won’t have a dog to walk or horses to be fed for a few days.
If I still have an appetite over the weekend after tonight’s food extravaganza in Hudson, both Cyndie and I are looking forward to some pizza from our fav, Coop’s Pizza, and ice cream from West’s Dairy.
So, basically, I am going to the lake to eat and sleep in, and possibly do some bike riding. Any other adventures that present themselves will be icing on the cake.
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Stream Thoughts
Some things never seem to change.
Everything is constantly changing.
Hummingbirds have returned to our feeders.
Baltimore Orioles continue to hang around them, too.
People in the area have been reporting bear activity wrecking their bird feeders.
Our portable dehumidifier in the basement conked out.
The downstairs bedroom started getting damp soon after.
We are getting quotes for a more robust solution.
I found out my dental insurance isn’t accepted by our dental office because it’s a Medicare plan.
The chipped molar I’ve been living with for months will cost over $400.00 for them to repair with a filling.
If they fix it and the fix lasts for the rest of my life, I can spread out that expense in my head so it doesn’t seem all that much.
The last two overnight thunderstorms each dropped less than a half inch of rain.
The grass stayed wet all day long yesterday, so I couldn’t mow areas that are in need.
Instead, I used the string trimmer to finish cutting our trails through the woods.
On my last bike ride, the derailleur wouldn’t shift into the lowest gear I wanted on the steep hills.
I tried using the barrel adjustment for a quick fix, but that wasn’t the right solution.
To do it right, I need to start at the beginning and recalibrate the entire system.
If possible, I hope to complete that before taking the bike to the lake for Memorial weekend.
Somehow, we’ve reached the beginning of our summer schedule of spending weekends up at the lake place.
This summer, I am not going to be riding the Tour of Minnesota in June.
Instead, friends are planning our own rides and tent camping at different locations on different dates.
The Sparta/Elroy trail system will be our first destination in early June.
In August, I will be Cyndie’s plus one at her 50th high school class reunion.
Next week, I will attend the initial planning meeting for my 50th class reunion in 2027.
Historically, I’ve found the planning to be as much fun as the reunions, so I’m looking forward to it.
As I was walking toward the barn upon completion of my trail trimming, Asher didn’t seem to recognize me.
When I got close enough that he figured it out, he was suddenly bounding toward me with flopping ears and a smile on his face.
That kind of greeting from a dog is unparalleled.
I sure hope he doesn’t come upon any bears roaming around our property.
Some days, a writer just decides to write individual thought sentences.
It’s like a story poem.
Less lyrical.
More informational.
But creative, in its own way.
Don’t you think?
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Just Why
If you ever drive south on Hwy 63 toward Ellsworth, WI, you can see this view to your left a few miles before reaching town.
Don’t ask me why there is a line of what appear to be derelict trucks of various styles and sizes jutting into the middle of that farm field. While hoping this weird display of someone’s creative statement isn’t an expensive thing to pull off, I imagined the “artist” must be well-known in the area for the project, as I pedaled past the crazy spectacle yesterday.
With that in mind, I guessed people must be in the habit of volunteering to donate rusting relics to the person as a way to have them removed from their property. Once people learn you collect rusted junk trucks, I suspect you find out there is an endless supply available, whether you want them or not.
But that doesn’t bring me any closer to answering the question of why.
I should offer to show the person responsible how they could arrange them to create a very large labyrinth in that field.
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Too Good
If you are even a vague fan of actor/comedian Martin Short, I highly recommend the documentary, “Marty, Life is Short,” now streaming on Netflix. What a wealth of home movies they had to work with for this chronicle of his life and career. And what a treasured variety of other successful, hilarious actors and comedians he has maintained a friendship with throughout so many years of home movie-making.
At the risk of revealing a spoiler, there is a gem of a scene that I find priceless and worth the viewing, even if you hesitate to sit through a review of someone’s life. Martin, as his character, Ed Grimley, and Tom Hanks, performing as the character, Forest Gump, reenact a moment from the movie, “Butch Cassidy & the Sundance Kid.”
It doesn’t get any better than that. I must say.
I wasn’t up to anything funny yesterday. Wielding a string trimmer, I did a 2-battery shift in the woods, clearing trails.
While trying to watch videos on YouTube, I was forced to wait through an ad for an aftermarket attachment for string trimmers that replaces the plastic line with sections of twisted metal wire. Everything about it radiated “gimmick,” but it did trigger a lightbulb moment where I suddenly became aware of how much microplastic debris we must be creating with our trimmer use.
The ad came across as being “too good to be true” and left me wishing I could see how long the metal lasts and what they look like after hours of use. I’m always interested in reducing our use of plastic, especially in this case, where the spinning plastic line is getting constantly vaporized into microscopic shrapnel.
I hate falling for these kinds of product pitches, but I will admit to being in the target audience they are attempting to seduce.
If anyone reading has seen or used a replacement cutting head of twisted steel cables for string trimmers, I’d love to learn from your experience, good or bad.
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Precious Pause
The fine art of knowing how to pause to enjoy the beauty of a moment is not lost on me. Tall grass is already swallowing the bottom wire of our fence line and making it difficult to discern some of our trails through the woods, but the weeping crabapple tree beside the freshly mowed labyrinth is flowering.
Asher and I decided to take a break from landscaping chores and bask in the shade beneath the falling flower petals while being serenaded by our new resident Baltimore orioles.
It was blissful to the extreme, right up to the point where the fabric of the rocking chair ripped, sending a surge of adrenaline coursing through my reaction system.
That chair is the second of a pair. The first one is up in the shop garage, currently beating me in a challenge to remove the remains of its ripped old fabric in my overambitious intentions to renovate it. Well, now there are two. It’s a shame, because the rocking frame still looks like it has life in it.
At this point, we will be better off buying replacements and leaving the remains of the old ones to be turned into some funky art conversation piece. I always wanted to learn to weld. Hmm.
The pause was cut short, and we got on with the next cutting project that caught my attention. I had already done a fair amount of work with the string trimmer the previous day, so I pushed the riding mower to its limits, knocking down the tall grass on each side of the North Loop trail.
For the record, I was able to trigger the error code for the blade motor overtemp toward the end of the effort. At least now I know what I’m dealing with and have a solution in the works. I can still get the machine to work if I avoid cutting where the growth is too thick or tall.
As a bonus, allowing the mower time to cool down will give me more opportunities to pause and bask in the beauty of our surrounding scenery and its wildlife serenades.
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Slowly Expanding
On a walk back toward the house from the labyrinth, I spotted this remnant in the trail, but no visible nest in the immediate vicinity. I imagine there could be multiple explanations for how it ended up here. I’m hoping for one that includes the successful hatch of a baby bird.
I like how the mottled shadows of emerging leaves made it look like there was a spotlight on the shell.
I don’t know why, but this made me think to check on our patch of trillium we transported from the lake place up in Hayward, WI. Over a series of years, we were bringing back batches of these wonderful flowering forest plants after Memorial Day weekend.
They are so prevalent up there that the white flowers carpet the forest floor this time of year, creating a mesmerizing scene. It’s hard to imagine we would ever reach that level here at home, but even a small patch is rewarding. In this spot, I counted twice and came up with 19 plants, but I knew I wasn’t getting them all. The longer I looked, the more I noticed.
Final count: 24. I’m pretty sure that’s more than we planted. It will be most rewarding to find they are now spreading naturally in their new home.
It’s not always easy to keep track of where things are in the woods. I know we tried starting an establishment in at least two other areas, but they didn’t take. After a couple of seasons, I figured out we will be better off focusing our attention on one main spot. Still, I thought there was another grouping just a few feet away from this one.
I eventually spotted it.
There weren’t many flowers yet, and a tree branch had fallen into the area, but there’s trillium there. It looks like a bit of competition from trout lilies, which are the most widespread ground cover we have here, followed closely by jewelweed.
I look forward to a day when these two trillium groups merge into one as the transplants slowly expand their new Wintervale establishment and take command over all other contenders in this area. We may have brought them here, but I leave it up to nature to decide the eventual outcome.
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Relative Something 