Natural Colors
Now for something serene to help distract us all from the inundation of political propaganda coming from all parties that has been attacking our sensibilities at an accelerated pace via snail mail, phone calls, texts, and emails. I bet my email inbox has been receiving, on average, 10-15 every couple of hours.
That blue-green fungus stood out as looking rather unnatural when I came upon it. That was a first for me.
The flower was about the size of a dime. Remember dimes? Back when we handled coins in most purchases? That cute little blossom stood out all by itself amongst ground cover growing in the small paddock at the end of October. Almost as if we were still in the middle of our growing season.
Maybe we are. It’s getting hard to tell anymore. Our neighbor was out mowing grass yesterday afternoon. Despite my hoping otherwise, our grass has grown enough to deserve cutting again, but I am trying to hold off.
The last photo represents my desire to look up. I let the focus grab the bark, which makes the leaves look farther away, even higher in the sky than they really are.
Enjoy these photos as a break from the propaganda on the last day before the election, then be sure to get to your polling place tomorrow and VOTE!
Slow Improvement
Progress is slow, but at least it’s progress in a direction of improvement. Saturday morning, as I was about to serve feed to the three horses, Cyndie showed up to help after flying to Minneapolis from Chicago at around midnight, sleeping about 4 hours at her friend’s home, and driving for an hour to Wintervale.
Mix has been receiving pain medication and was served a salty soup of mostly water and a little of her senior feed. I was feeling upbeat about her progress; however, a short time later, we found her lying down in the small paddock.
Normally, the horses lie down to nap in a deep sleep for 5-10 minutes at a time, but they will get up if someone comes close. Mix showed no interest in getting up, similar to the way I found her out in the hay field Friday morning. Even though Cyndie and I showed up to encourage Mix, and Light came over to persuade her, Mix stayed on the ground for at least 45 minutes.
We feared the worst again. Patience is helpful in times like this, as I am learning once more. When Mix was finally ready to stand up, she gave the appearance that the rest had done her good. The front leg that seems to be the primary source of her pain does not present a visible problem in the hoof, but her knee looks pretty swollen.
The time on the ground had reduced the swelling, and she was showing good interest in eating.
We were happy to find Mix upright this morning, but she didn’t want to do much walking. It’s funny that she makes the huge effort to limp her way toward the feed station, but then stops one step short and strains her neck to reach.
Cyndie gladly rearranges things to make things as easy as possible.
I suggested she try some energy healing on Mix’s knee, and Mix seemed more than happy to let her. Cyndie has also been focusing on the hoof, but there is no evidence of an abscess yet, beyond a little warmth felt externally.
We are making extra effort to keep Mix drinking because we fear the sore leg is keeping her from walking to the waterer, which triggers the problems with digestion from dehydration.
It will be nice to get her past this leg/hoof problem so we can see the 3-horse herd normalize in adjustment to the departure of Mia. Last night, when it was time for another dose of pain medication, we found all three horses out in the far end of the hay field, so there are hints of normalcy emerging.
I just need to remain patient and remember that healing will happen slowly.
Mia’s Day
It was supposed to simply be the day that Mia got adopted, but it turned out to be more complicated than we ever imagined. First off, Asher disappeared on me as we were making our way through the woods. I probably could have tracked him down, but I got distracted by this sight when I emerged from the trees:
That white smudge in the distance is Mix. She had been unusually gimpy the day before, but I was hoping she would be okay until people showed up to load Mia and they could assess the extent of Mix’s problem.
I cut straight across the back pasture, and Mix didn’t get up like they usually do when we approach.
This was bad. I called Cyndie in Chicago, and we both contacted Tom and Maddy of This Old Horse and the veterinarian, Toby. Mia came out to check on Mix, and the sprawled mare mustered a short nicker in response.
Eventually, Mix sat up, but then she laid back down and closed her eyes. I feared it was the end, but you never know with horses. When Toby and his assistant, Rachel, arrived, Mix stood up. Rachel put a halter on Mix, and they walked her back to the small paddock.
Toby pointed out that older mares can be incredibly stoic and avoid showing how much pain they are in, but their heart rate can’t hide it. Mix’s was twice what it normally should be. They sedated her and “tubed” her through a nostril to pump in water. Before Toby got to the arm-length glove to check the back end of the digestive system, I got distracted by barking from a neighboring property.
They assured me they had Mix under control and sent me off to find Asher. As I crested the hill on the driveway, I shouted commands and activated the tone on his e-collar. It worked like a charm. He came running out of the pine trees on the far side of the farm field across the road.
I didn’t notice it until I grabbed his collar as Toby and Rachel were driving away, but he had rubbed (an unidentified) animal shit all over himself, his scarf, and his collar(s).
Now it was on my hands, and soon on my phone. I marched him up to the front yard and tethered him to a tree where I served him his breakfast.
My phone was getting heavy use to communicate with Cyndie in Chicago and all the people involved with the horses. Mix was sedated and under observation for the rest of the day. She was still strongly favoring a front foot that appeared to be really painful, but without an obvious visible issue.
In the middle of all this, it was finally time for Mia’s trailer ride. While all the attention was on Mix, Mia ended up out in the middle of the hay field, grazing peacefully. Maddy commented that she would need to walk all the way out there to get a halter on Mia.
However, when the trailer pulled into our driveway, Mia lit up like an excited little kid and ran toward it, then turned as it passed and sprinted directly into the paddock and up to Maddy for her halter and lead rope. They cut through the small paddock, out the gate, and directly up and into the trailer before any of us could blink. It happened so fast, I couldn’t get a picture.
Mia’s already happily inside when I snapped that shot. It was better than I could have ever hoped, and the best part of the day, by far.
Especially since the next task for me was trying to clean up Asher’s disaster.
Try as I might, I couldn’t get rid of the smell, so he was not allowed back in the house all day. I made a nice spot for him to sleep in the garage last night. We’ll take another crack at bathing him today when Cyndie gets home.
We received a photo of Mia already getting along well with her two new geldings at their new home.
She was never able to eat that closely between two mares at our place.
Swings, Light, and Mix didn’t seem at all distressed by Mia’s absence. Light and Mia called out to each other as the trailer left, but that was it. I don’t think Mix noticed anything going on in her drugged stupor.
I’m anxious to see how she is doing this morning. We are hoping for the best. By last night, she had made a heroic improvement from the condition I found her in yesterday at dawn.
Good Results
It’s that time of year again when the invasive Common Buckthorn becomes easier to spot because its leaves stay deep green while most other growth in the woods fades. I brought Asher with me on an exploration through the middle of our woods in search of rogue sprouts that have established themselves since last year.
As we descend the slope toward the edge of our property, it is easy to see the difference between our woods and the neighbors’ woods. They don’t make any noticeable effort to eradicate the buckthorn.
Uncontrolled, the invasive will continue to dominate the understory, excluding native growth over time. Unfortunately, any of those trees with berries create potential for birds to spread the seeds throughout our woods.
Since I try to stay on top of new sprouts on an annual basis, most of what I find can be pulled out of the ground by the roots.
When I pull them up, I turn the sprouts upside down and hang them up in nearby branches. I tease that I do so to serve as a warning to other buckthorn what their fate will be if they try to grow here, but in truth, it is so the roots dry out and to help me identify that those green leaves have already been dealt with.
If I let them lie on the ground, the green will keep catching my eye unnecessarily, and there’s an outside chance the roots could find their way to the soil again. The plant is tenacious enough as it is; I don’t want to give it an opportunity to live on after I’ve already pulled it up once.
My efforts are producing good results, as can be seen in the photos above, but the best compliment came from a visitor who noticed on his own and commented on the impressive lack of buckthorn we’ve achieved.
It’s good to get that kind of confirmation from an outside source.
Storm Drama
With the temperature and dew point climbing to summer levels once again, Asher and I headed out to chop down tall growth in the drainage swale. I try to knock that down each fall to remove any hindrance to water flowing when the spring melt occurs. That implies an assumption that we get enough snow for that to be an issue.
Since we lost track of Asher the last time we were working on this project, I tethered him to a fence post with a long leash. He was impressively patient for much of the time, right up until he wasn’t. Then the irritation of his whining stopped my progress.
While I was sweating away in the afternoon heat, I made frequent checks of the sky for the arrival of the stormy weather that had been predicted. It didn’t look very threatening, but we did start hearing thunder in the distance when feeding the horses.
When I came in for dinner, I turned on the news and looked up a storm chaser streaming live on YouTube. I found a guy driving toward Ellsworth, and the TV offered a radar view of the most intense activity aimed right at us.
The TV broadcast was hyping the intensity of the hail core and mentioned the possibility of up to baseball-sized hail. The fact that we had just paid to have our roof re-shingled heightened the drama in our minds.
Cyndie was texting me from Chicago to get updates. She asked if Asher and I were going to the basement. I told her I wanted to get a picture of the hail first.
Alas, the drama ended faster than it had started. We received a few minutes of heavy rain, but that was all. No hail. Little in the way of wind. No lightning. Barely any thunder.
Thank goodness. I prefer to have our new shingles last more than one week before getting pummeled by large hailstones.
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Different Routines
One of the things we strive to give Asher and the horses is regularity of routine. It suits me well because I tend to prefer routine over less predictable randomness. It also works well that I would rather stay home than travel, because that makes me available to continue to provide the animals with a consistent pattern of care.
Cyndie is headed to Chicago for a few days with friends, taking the train down for variety and then flying back. Unfortunately, the timing is such that she will not be here on Friday when Mia is scheduled to be moved by trailer to her new adoptive home.
We think the adoption will be good for Mia, but there are plenty of questions about how the horses will behave when a trailer shows up and we segregate Mia in preparation. Will Mia be cooperative about loading into a trailer? Will Mia and her two new horse-mates all get along and adjust to their new quarters without too much stress?
Michelle, the person adopting Mia, and Cyndie and I have been doing our best to mentally prepare the horses with visualizations about what’s to come. I will be thrilled if they all accept the process of this change calmly and without surprise, to show us they all “heard” what we’ve been trying to communicate.
In communion with the changes the horses will be experiencing, I’ve changed one of my routines that has been static for a very long time. Possibly in reaction to the software changes I am striving to figure out related to Block Editing on my WordPress blog, I decided to update the lock screen on my iPhone. I have no other idea why I suddenly chose to do this simple thing now, after multiple phones with the same unchanging water droplets image that served me well enough that I never before considered a change.
I feel like I have a whole new phone! Our good boi will be the face I see every time I swipe my phone awake. I’m good for another several years.
Shout out to my long-time cycling friend, Rich Gordon, who is departing the Twin Cities today for Nepal to do some trekking in the high Himalayas. I lingered for a few hours on the possibility of joining him before coming to my senses.
I’m not lying about my level of affection for the routine of staying home to care for our animals and tend to our property.
Accessories
sometimes
when I'm pretending
to myself
that I'm a celebrity
that I admire
it occurs to me
I can't remember
the lines
or how I even got here
from the previous dream
without the right glasses
befitting my station
giving away the truth
of my vivid fashion senselessness
aghast
the masses
must be
to see
such a boorish sight
as me
in this dream
missing the mark
of accessories
Tick Scares
In the 14 years we have lived here, I have never seen as many tiny adult deer ticks crawling on me (4x), biting me (3x), walking on the keyboard of my laptop, and walking on Asher’s leg as I have in the last month. It’s crazy-making. They keep showing up everywhere I turn. The extended warm weather this month must be treating them well.
If I were going to a scary costume party, I’d go as a deer tick.
Cyndie’s party Saturday night had an Americana theme. There are plenty of scary possibilities, but from the photos Cyndie showed me, this was a happy, silly, and creative view of our country’s history.
The “Flintstones-looking” gavel I made for her survived the evening. If I get it back from her, it could become a mallet for use in future woodworking projects.
At the very least, it could serve me well in dealing with the ticks that keep showing up on and around me.
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Night Scare
This morning, I am contemplating fourteen years that have passed since we moved from the Twin Cities to western Wisconsin. It’s good for me to look at pictures from when we first arrived to see how much the trees have grown. It happens so gradually that it’s easy to lose sight of the change.
While I was looking back, I liked seeing how the inside of the house looked before we filled it with furniture.
For the first time in all these years, I had an uneasy feeling that someone might be lingering around the house in the middle of the night. Cyndie spent the night in the Cities at a friend’s house after the costume party they attended, so I was alone with Asher. I had fallen asleep at a reasonably early hour and was deep in slumber when Asher interrupted the serenity with a sudden outburst of barking.
That alone wasn’t all that unusual, and I chose to ignore him and keep sleeping, assuming it was a passing raccoon or herd of deer that he sensed. Maybe whatever it was wasn’t actually passing. Asher kept barking. I kept trying to sleep, mostly successfully, while his shouting became my white noise.
Sometime after 1 a.m., I came to again and realized he was still barking. Poor guy. He must be getting hoarse. I got up to pee, and he noticed and came to find me. I tried soothing him, and he followed me back to the bedroom to settle down and go back to sleep. Unfortunately, I didn’t. As I lay there, my mind decided I could smell cigarette smoke.
It took a while to clear my head, but it sent me down a rabbit hole of wondering what imaginary scenario might be playing out. It helped that Asher was no longer bothered.
In all the years we have been here, there have been no known prowlers. It is a very unlikely probability. I’m writing last night’s anxiety off as a momentary loss of confidence due to Cyndie’s absence. In reality, she wouldn’t have let Asher keep barking as long as I did, and we all would have been back to sleep much quicker.
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Didn’t Do
Soon after I married Cyndie and settled into a routine of occasional dinners with her family, I noticed a pattern in their table conversations. When her father asked, “What have you done for your country today?” it was time to recite a list of worthy accomplishments you’d achieved that day. Cyndie tells me he was asking that since they were little kids.
The question was loaded with the implication that you had better have done something worthwhile or face the shame and embarrassment of receiving a disapproving scowl. I’m confident that Fred was well aware of my frequent attempts to fluff my reports by stretching my descriptions or playing devil’s advocate and admitting I did nothing.
I’m a fan of the thought that happiness is doing nothing all day and, at the end of the day, resting.
Some days, I’d like to get credit for the things I didn’t do.
- I didn’t drive my car and produce auto exhaust, and I didn’t contribute to traffic or wear and tear on our roads.
- I didn’t make any non-essential purchases.
- I didn’t take an airplane flight.
- I didn’t get into any arguments.
- I didn’t yell at any kids.
- I didn’t harm any animals.
- I didn’t send any campaign spam messages to clutter people’s inboxes.
Yesterday, I didn’t nap and barely had a chance to do nothing.
Cyndie volunteered to clear excess leaves from the grass around the barn and hay shed where I hadn’t mowed the last time I cut all the rest of the property. It looks a lot better now; cropped shorter than usual to be ready for winter.
With the mowing done, I decided to take a chance and park the mower behind the ATV in the garage, in case I’m done mowing for the season. Before I did that, though, I figured I should bring the plow blade forward to where it could be reached in case it ever snows more than a few inches at a time this winter.
We also had several packs of extra shingles that I wanted to stow away in the back of the shop garage. That triggered a full-on garage cleaning with Cyndie’s help that neither of us had planned on doing. Luckily, we were both in similar mindsets about things we uncovered that weren’t deserving of taking up space anymore.
Now the recycle bin is full, the garbage bin is full, and there is a bunch of stuff at the end of the driveway beneath a “FREE” sign.
As light was fading on the day, I hustled to finish a woodworking project for Cyndie that she needed to have before she leaves this morning for an overnight with friends. She needed a gavel for a costume party, so I offered to make her one.
It looks like it’s from “The Flintstones,” but her costume is a famous judge who was known by three initials. It’s a rustic gavel. The handle is a section from a grapevine in our woods, and the head is a piece of insect-carved branch from an ash tree.
One thing I’m hoping she doesn’t do is pound the gavel with any force because the glue hasn’t had sufficient time to cure all the way.
With Cyndie gone today, there’s a possibility that Asher and I could turn this into a do-nothing day without much effort. [see what I did there…?]
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