Guess Contest
Despite what the two words, “ice” and “out,” have come to mean in 2026 with respect to Immigration and Customs Enforcement, used together, these words have long had a different connotation in places where winter resembles Arctic conditions that last for many months.
For many lake communities, the question of when a lake will become ice-free has launched a time-honored tradition of friendly wagers on predicting the exact date. Thus, I have decided to open a contest for you, my dear readers, to guess the exact date of ice-out on Paddock Lake in 2026.
This photo shows the ice’s condition as of yesterday morning. It was frozen solid. Mia was already making close observations toward settling on her best guess. You will have to rely on what you can deduce from the image.
Here are the Contest Rules, as determined by a committee consisting entirely of unbiased representatives of Wintervale Ranch. In other words, me:
- Your guess must be submitted in whatever way works best for you and your level of connection with blogger, *this* John W. Hays. That may include an email, a text, a comment on today’s post, or telepathy, if you think I can be trusted to receive it. Don’t count on that.
- Comments on this post should include your initials, nickname, or some unique identifier of your choosing since unfamiliar commenters show up to me as “anonymous.”
- To be as fair as possible (and as a reward to contestants who are regular daily readers), your guess should arrive to me before the end of the day today, March 3rd. If you only miss by a small amount of time, go ahead and guess anyway. The judge may allow it in the case that nobody else has chosen to participate.
- In the event of a duplicate date being guessed, the first one to pick said date will be granted an advantage. However, there remains the possibility that I might split the prize if the situation seems warranted.
- Sour grapes are considered bad form, so if the horses choose to mess with the lake before ice out is declared by the judge, no complaints will be tolerated. Plus, such action by the paddock dwellers could possibly help some guesses. Did you consider that?
- Any rules that have been overlooked will be left to the whims of Mother Nature to ignore as she sees fit.
In the event that anyone actually bothers to guess, and if a guess of the exact date is successfully submitted, this contest is prepared to offer the following as a prize:
The winner will be awarded a custom word painting of vague length that may loosely resemble some manner of prose frequently referred to as a poem, ode, or rambling free verse creative writing that will somewhere within, somehow contain four words submitted by the person who guessed the correct date.
If a tie is deemed permissible, each person will be submitting two words to be combined in the victory verse composition.
The following context is being provided for consideration while deciding on your guess:
.
.
Pretty Pleased
Traveling from -11°F to +19°F in the hours required to drive home to Wintervale, and from a weekend of too little sleep to a full night’s slumber, has left me feeling dizzy.
I found the landscape at home to be confusingly reduced in snow cover, regardless of the temperature remaining well below the thaw point. Did it all evaporate? The snowfall threat for our county didn’t happen as predicted on Saturday. Cyndie had the horses all blanketed in advance, then needed to remove them first thing the next morning.
I’m not unhappy that it didn’t snow. There was no shoveling required. It was a relief.
Alas, the one who greeted me right inside the door when I got home was Asher, wagging his tail, making sure he saw me before Cyndie did. In short order, it was time for me to commence with my first-of-the-month tasks. The month of March has arrived. Spring is on the way soon. I guess this qualifies as March coming in like a lamb.
I am mentally preparing for Cyndie’s departure in a couple of days for Florida to visit her mom for almost two weeks. That means I will not only be in charge of all the animal caretaking, but I will also become the head cook, as well. That will align well with my new diet. I ate so many cookies and coffeecake she provided for the weekend that I would like to use her absence to return my caloric intake to reasonable levels. I need to offset my recent excess and stem the tide of my expanding middle.
How quickly my mind has jumped out of “vacation” and back into reality mode. Granted, it was only three days, but it felt more like an epic adventure. Partly because it’s been so long since the last time I went fishing, and partly because I have spent very little social time with these schoolmates before.
It was a blast, but fun as it was, I’m feeling pretty pleased to be back home once again.
Icy Fun
For a completely different variety of outdoor adventures from managing Wintervale Ranch, I have been given an introduction to my friend Brian’s YouTube channel, “Miks Retirement Adventures.” If you want to tag along on his real-life escapades with cooking, self-reliance gardening, living off the land-game and fish, as well as tapping trees to make maple syrup, visit the link and check out some of his videos.
Brian has been our primary host for this weekend’s adventures in ice fishing for perch on Cass Lake.
Despite the threat of challenging weather, we lucked out, both up here and, per Cyndie’s report, at home. She says there was no snow at Wintervale, contrary to the predictions of 2-4 inches of snow possible. Up in Cass Lake, yesterday was not as windy as predicted. That challenge actually swooped in on Friday afternoon while we were driving up.
We saw pine branches falling from trees as we drove, a large sign toppled over, flags hanging on for dear life, and a whiteout of snow blowing across the lake.
Yesterday was much more reasonable, which was good because too many hands made the setup of one of Brian’s portable fish houses infinitely more complicated than it is supposed to be.
The air temperature was around 7°F, which wasn’t a problem. Adding the shelters and turning on a small heater made bare-handed functioning perfectly comfortable.
Using a battery-powered auger, Brian drilled through the 30 inches of ice with relative ease. The shelters were moved into position over the holes, hooks got baited, and the waiting for the fish to bite commenced.
There was a fair amount of activity from perch that were embarrassingly small. We started to make a game of trying to catch the smallest one. I reeled in a little guy that fit pretty well into the bait bucket with the minnows.
I did catch a couple that were kept and included in the batch that Brian ultimately filleted for whoever was most interested. We already had plans for a spaghetti dinner with a delicious homemade sauce.
There is a quick turnaround on this trip, and we are heading back to the Cities already this morning. My return to home life doesn’t mean I won’t still be able to enjoy fishing trips with Brian. He chronicled a recent adventure in winter camping in the BWCA and his pursuit of lake trout in this video:
.
I can watch him do all the hard work of recording and narrating while seated comfortably in my recliner. I hope those of you for whom this appeals will check out his channel, and if you find it a fun watch, subscribe in support of his efforts. You’ll be doing the world a favor by keeping one more retiree occupied and out of trouble.
.
.
Magical Mystery
In no time at all, upon arriving at the resort in Cass Lake, the weekend was already magical. Between the good-natured, occasionally coarse ribbing that goes on between lifelong guy friends, some heartfelt news gets shared, and personal stories are revealed.
Talking late into the night, sharing YouTube videos of classic music that each other haven’t seen, waking early this morning to pick right up with tales from life experiences and shared wonder over the ways of the world.
At this point, I don’t really care if we go out on the ice and fish, except that what that really involves is hanging out together and carrying on with more tall tales and childish shenanigans.
The magic is people. Laughter. And the undertone of it all, whether identified or not, is love.
I guess that’s not really magic, but it is magical. It’s better than news about bombing other countries.
.
.
Mystery Trip
I’m going fishing.
Back in December of 2025, I was invited to join a March ice-fishing weekend that a bunch of high school classmates have been doing for years up north out of a resort on Cass Lake in Minnesota.
I don’t do a lot of fishing anymore, but I love northern Minnesota and the great outdoors, and I am a big fan of these guys. The thing is, I have not done anything socially with most of them. I will be the ‘new guy,’ unfamiliar with the resort accommodations and the typical routines for the guys throughout the weekend.
So, it’s something of a mystery trip, but I am catching a ride with two veterans of the event, which will give me a few hours to hear some tales of previous escapades that should give me some idea of what to expect.
Since I am new to this affair, Cyndie has kindly provided me with a contribution that might buy me some goodwill with the boys, should I come up short in any other way.
A cranberry-orange-pecan coffee cake…
and three different kinds of cookies: Oatmeal Raisin, Chocolate Chip w/ Pecans, and Ginger Shortbread.
If it turns out that I make a terrible ice-fishing partner, I figure Cyndie’s baked goods should earn me a modicum of cred in an alternate capacity.
.
.
Photo Serendipity
A few days ago, I unexpectedly received a photo from a cycling friend, Curt. It sparked a brilliant bout of serendipity for me.
In the photo, I am playing guitar, surrounded by people I recognized from years of riding the annual June “Jaunt with Jim” bike adventure. The image failed to trigger any specific memory of the moment depicted. Curt texted that 2003 was written on the back.
The bearded fellow over my shoulder is Doug Willhide, who happens to write and share regular snippets of his own “take on things and experiences,” which he calls “Nutshells.” For some reason that I’m not overtly aware of, I decided to share this picture with Doug. The response I got back was not on my radar.
He wrote that he believed that picture was from Ladysmith, WI, and included “notes” he’d found about that second-to-last day in 2003. A mere six paragraphs depicting in detail the entire day, from breakfast to crawling into his tent that night.
To my utmost surprise, Doug’s notes captured the place and moment when Jim Klobuchar gathered everyone on the lawn of the church outside of Catawba after lunch to read a poem I had written about the trip. That was a memory that I had lost all specific details of, beyond how it felt to be standing beside him as he read it, and the wonderful responses from folks afterward.
The serendipity of Curt randomly sending me this photo, my arbitrarily passing it along to Doug, the picture being from that very day when Jim read the poem to the group, Doug having found his notes from that year, and his capturing the pertinent details… it gives me chills.
It makes me feel like we are all more connected than we tend to notice.
Backstory:
On the Friday night that all the riders gathered at the start in 2003, I had asked Jim if I could read my poem to the group. He took it from me, pocketed it for the moment, and wandered off to greet others. The next day, he approached me and said he liked what I had written and wanted to read it to the group himself.
My first reaction was resistance. Would he get the cadence right? Was he unwilling to share the spotlight for even a brief moment? How could he even ask?
But just as quickly, my respect for his reputation as a writer and his journalistic credentials had me thinking, “Jim Klobuchar wants to publicly recite poetry I wrote?!” I was definitely honored. I had no idea he would end up making me wait until the following Thursday. I also had no clue that he would call me up to stand beside him while he performed it.
Between struggling not to blush too much, I was rewarded with seeing the reactions on people’s faces.
He couldn’t have timed it any better. It’s long been one of my most treasured moments.
I eventually wrestled that prose to fit into a melody and turned it into a song with a sing-along chorus. A friend helped me record a multitrack version of the song, which I combined with a slideshow of photos from the bike trips.
It was a special day when I knocked on Jim’s door to present him with a video about the bike adventures he conducted for 39 years.
.
.
Small Dramas
It’s wacky to see so much snow in New York while we have so little near the twin cities of Minneapolis and St. Paul in Minnesota. We are not far across the border in Pierce County, Wisconsin, where the rolling countryside is gradually losing what little snow most recently fell.
We experienced barely an hour of precipitation yesterday morning, in the form of a freezing drizzle. It created a glossy coating on the meager snow that remains, but it dried right off the pavement by mid-afternoon. The wet speckles showing up on the glass doors to the deck added a little drama since that started happening just as Cyndie was preparing to drive to Hudson for a painting class.
However, that drama was secondary to the bigger issue we were facing at the same time. We lost electric power for just over an hour for a reason that was never explained.
The disruption to us was more psychological than actual because we have a backup generator that automatically kicks in to maintain power for our well, the furnace, the kitchen appliances, and a couple of outlets. That hour was the longest the generator has run since it was installed 13 years ago, after we had been without power for more than a day.
Adding a little stress to this drama was the fact that our propane tank is dropping close to the trip point, signaling the time to order a fill. We don’t have any experience with how much propane the backup generator burns per hour. On my last monthly check, I discovered we are using more propane than the last two times we’ve ordered a fill. The most likely reason would be weather, since none of the other uses have varied much over the years.
This comes on the heels of a sizable rate hike from our electric coop. We have reached the phase of our lives where the cost of living increases feel more intimidating with respect to our fixed retirement income.
Adding one more drama to our expense concerns, yesterday Cyndie found that the cover of one of the side mirrors on her car was missing. It’s beginning to feel like the universe is trying to tell her something. First, the rear spoiler was ripped from her car, then a fraudulent purchase of over $8000 was made on her credit card. Now the mirror cover needs replacing.
I don’t know about her, but it’s starting to give me a complex.
Although, I’m probably being a little overly dramatic with that statement.
.
.
Wordsmith Arts
When no intended meaning is applied to the assembly of words and phrases conjured from the empty cavern of an idle mind… this is the kind of outcome that might result:
.
one more photo
this and that
frick and frack
a thousand pin pricks
partially intact
sounds swirling
soaring
effortlessly advanced
lied about incessantly
never given a chance
happening rather fast
captured there on video
in the absence of a plan
echoing reality
in fading light
waving everybody off
with nary a casual glance
.
It may, or may not, stand on its own as a work of poetry, but if these words were lyrics of a song and surrounded or augmented with an interesting melody and enticing instrumentation, the words in all their obscurity could be granted a completely different essence.
∏}{|∏}{|∏|}{∏|}{∏
When there is a sudden, unexpected loud sound, [BANG!] it is common to hear the response, “That scared me!” I find myself preferring to say that it startled me. I’m not scared that there was a loud bang, but I wasn’t expecting it. When it is a person who suddenly appears when you didn’t expect, wouldn’t it be nicer to tell them you were startled, not scared by them?
Now, if it is a demogorgon that startles you, then it would be better to say that it scared you!
Words.
∏}{|∏}{|∏|}{∏|}{∏
There are two responses that Cyndie and I have noticed are commonly used in text communication with those who have grown up with smartphones.
“No problem.” At first, it seems like a perfect informal acknowledgement, but when it is the same response to a range of different texts back and forth, it starts to come across as lacking. The ones who are quick to produce a silly meme GIF get a pass.
“No worries.” I wasn’t worried. I was just clarifying. Don’t scare me like that.
Are you implying I am old? Why in my day… our elders taught a required phone etiquette. I remember feeling awkward after our kids got old enough to have friends over, and I was addressed as “Mr. Hays” by one of them. Seemed way too formal. It got easier when Elysa and Julian got into soccer, and kids could call me “Coach.”
It did seem wrong to let them call me John. I was always happy to be addressed as “Elysa’s Dad” or “Julian’s Dad.” Yeah, that’s me.
I suffered when trying to correct Julian’s choice of “me and my friends” over “my friends and I” only to be informed that he knew the proper usage, but that’s not the way the kids talk with each other, and it would sound out of place among them.
Cue the “Music Man” scene… “Are certain words creeping into his conversation? Words like “swell” and “so’s your old man?”
.
.
National Competition
Let the withdrawal begin. After two weeks of non-stop daily broadcasting of Olympic sports events, it is time for life to get back to normal. The NHL season will resume, so I suppose I could turn my attention to the Minnesota Wild [men] or Frost [PWHL women] for hockey entertainment. I see that the US goalie, Conner Hellebuyck, who repeatedly stymied Team Canada, will be returning to play for the Winnipeg Jets. I wonder if that will be awkward for him.
Yesterday’s overtime victory for the Gold Medal in hockey by Team USA was a really big deal for a lot of folks. There were plenty of references to the last time the US won gold in men’s hockey, 46 years ago. As thrilling as this win is for the US, I don’t think it compares to the 1980 Miracle on Ice.
That team was made up of amateurs who needed to defeat the larger, stronger, professional-level USSR team to reach the Gold Medal game, which they eventually won, triumphing over Finland. Now professionals are allowed, and the most competitive teams are filled with players from the NHL and European leagues.
The skills and experience in yesterday’s Gold Medal game were a lot closer to even between the two teams. If there were miracles to be found, they were probably related to the number of times Canadian shots missed an open net or how the puck slid barely wide of the post after deflecting off Hellebuyck’s incredible flailing stick.
Did the US team survive being shorthanded 5-on-3 by their skillful penalty kill, or did Canada fail to execute their power play opportunity?
I don’t mean to take anything away from Team USA and their winning the Gold Medal. It was absolutely thrilling. I have no doubt it will become one of the greatest life-long memories in the lives of all involved. I just don’t think it’s on the same level as what that team in 1980 pulled off.
I’m going to miss the adrenaline of the excitement and anticipation of national team competitions. Good thing I only need to wait 108 days for the 2026 FIFA World Cup soccer tournament to begin.
.
.
Game On!
Sorry, can’t talk right now. The Gold Medal game of Men’s Olympic Hockey between the USA and Canada is on!
.
.
Relative Something 