Active Day
Yesterday started a little earlier than usual for us because the farrier was coming to trim the horses at 7:30. Asher was confused by us getting out the door so close to sunrise. We wanted the horses to be finished eating their servings of feed to avoid any unnecessary distractions by the time they were supposed to be cooperating with the farrier.
After I cleaned up all the manure (equine fecal relocation), I took Asher back to the house for his breakfast and ended up missing the entire trim appointment. Cyndie said that Light was very cooperative. That makes us really happy, because it hasn’t always been a sure thing with her. I think it’s fair to say that we’ve been seeing a positive trend of willingness from Light in the last year.
Cyndie supported my decision to take my bike for a spin before heading up to the lake for a few days of her two brothers’ annual golf weekend. I’ve concluded that my bike is still noisy and now my new shoes squeak, too. That clicking is an issue that I’m tired of battling, so I may end up living with it. There are still one or two things I plan to test, so a tiny glimmer of hope remains.
The route I chose for my short romp ended up bringing me to a monster of a hill climb that had me in serious oxygen debt. It was so bad that I never fully recovered for the remainder of the ride. It didn’t help that the temperature was reaching the uncomfortably hot levels at the same time. When I finally reached home again, I was thoroughly pooped. I grabbed the pulse oximeter to see what my numbers were. Yikes! That explained why I felt so lousy.
The highlight of our day came at dinnertime. We picked up our neighbors on the north edge of Pierce County, Ann (Herzog) and David Drewiske, and headed to LoLo American Kitchen & Craft Bar in Hudson. David gave us a wonderful tour of back roads to avoid traffic caused by ongoing road construction. The menu at LoLo is laudable for the quality of every offering. I recommend it highly.
I ordered the Miso-Glazed Coho Salmon and Cyndie had the Grassfed Bavette Steak Frites. Yum!
We didn’t linger long after eating because I was about to make the drive north with my bike stowed safely in the back of my car.
I made it through dusk and into darkness without incident, arriving at the lake house a few minutes before 10 p.m.
The sky views transitioned from the orange setting sun to the orange rising moon over the duration of my drive, allowing me to wake up this morning at my favorite destination.
I plan to go for a little bike ride before all the golfers begin to arrive this afternoon. Tradition has it that we congregate at Angler’s Bar in Hayward for dinner Thursday. Hopefully, I’ll ride myself up a worthy appetite.
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Braving Futility
What is with the gall of these poison ivy sprouts brazenly making a move into the mowed path along the western fence line of the back pasture?
Is nothing sacred?
Don’t bother answering that; it was a rhetorical question. I know the way nature works. My attempts to wrangle the persistent growth on 20 acres into submission are basically Sisyphean futility.
Speaking of futile… I failed to reach success in an attempt to retrieve data from a remote hard drive with a broken USB connector. A local guy had been advertising his tech services heavily on the neighborhood app, “Nextdoor.” Cyndie suggested I contact him to see if he could help. We like to support the local businesses.
I was so happy to connect with him that I neglected to clarify that all my devices are Apple. Turns out his first strength is PCs. Still, a hard drive is a hard drive, and he took a shot at communicating with the Western Digital drive using a docking station and two of his software tools. No go. We decided to try plugging his docking station directly into my iMac, but the drive was not recognized.
It became obvious that the intermediate circuit board from which the USB connector broke, which we had been hoping to work around, performs some necessary role in communicating with the drive. That realization led me to search for a replacement assembly and/or forum discussions related to my dilemma. It turns out that the little surface-mount mini USB connector has broken off its circuit board for plenty of other folks, as well.
Buying a replacement connector won’t be easy, but it’s not impossible. Finding a way to have a skilled person solder the 5 teeny tiny pins onto the itsy bitsy pads on the board will require a fair amount of research and likely a strong dose of sweet-talking. The number of retail options for this kind of work is pretty small in this neck of the woods.
I’ve got my work cut out for me on this one. It would sure be handy if I still worked for a business that did this kind of thing every day.
What was I thinking, moving so far away?
Don’t bother answering that.
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Parched Earth
We zoomed home without incident yesterday, except for one unsettling moment at a construction site. Signs were warning of the road work ahead, so I wasn’t surprised when traffic came to a halt. The shock came when the large truck we were following began moving, revealing many emergency vehicles with flashing lights instead of construction equipment.
There was an ambulance and a firetruck, two damaged vehicles, and a significant number of former occupants congregated nearby. Behind all the EMS personnel stood all the construction crews biding their time until the scene was turned back over to them.
The dew point temperature when we left Hayward read 79°F, with temps already in the 80s. The level of mugginess was downright tropical. I checked the reading for 125 miles away at home and found the same result. Yuck.
What we found when we arrived at our property was a very parched earth. Wherever trees shaded the grass, it looked a healthy green. Anywhere the sun was baking the turf, it was visibly brittle and fading to beige.
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Asher met us with surprising calm, acknowledging our return with a mere lean against each of us in turn for some scratches. It was a greeting we appreciated. He seems so well-adjusted and content with the living conditions we are providing for him. It helps to have great animal sitters covering our absences.
There wasn’t a lot we could do to offer the horses relief from the heat. Cyndie put fly masks on to give their eyes a break from the nagging pests and turned up the speed on the fans aimed under the overhang.
It looked like the horses might have been digging for water in the dry bed of Paddock Lake. They don’t normally mess with it after the water evaporates, leaving the bottom to become covered with a cracked, dried mud base. Now it looks a bit like they are creating a sandbox.
We need rain. I’m not exactly comforted by the forecast that suggests chances of storms on Thursday and Friday after the extremely dangerous tornado that hit Appleton and Menasha in northeastern Wisconsin yesterday. We just want some moisture to fall, and not in the form of 100% humidity. Is a good soaking rain too much to ask?
Our soil is parched, I tell ya. It needs a drink!
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Goodbye Cousins
We miss them already. Yesterday afternoon was a series of hugs, salutations, well wishes, and goodbyes as most of the folks departed for their homes or next destinations.
Pick a color. Any color. Cyndie’s twin cousins, Mike and Tom, appear in all their brilliance. A rare moment when they aren’t displaying their usual smiles or infectious laughter.
The morning brought opportunities for some heartfelt sharing, adding depth to connections bolstered by this rare occasion of spending multiple days together free from any official events demanding attention. Well, that is, beyond the fabulous meals that kept happening.
I began the day with an immediate question for Cyndie when she woke up. Had she heard the dramatic clap of thunder from a lightning bolt that must have struck very close during the night? The flash was so bright that the pink glow that filled the window was apparent through my closed eyelids.
It became suspicious when she reported not hearing a thing, and I saw that surfaces out the window showed no evidence of it having rained. I checked with a few other people as the morning went on, but nobody had heard such a thing. Could it have been something I dreamed? It was so real to me.
When I mentioned it to Heather’s husband, John, a meteorologist, he pointed me to lightningmaps.org, where I could look at strikes in the last 24 hours.
There was no lightning strike for miles. What an amazing dream experience I’d had.
Cyndie and I finished off the last night of our long weekend with a couple of rounds of Hollywood Rummy with Sara and Althea. I enjoyed no luck.
This morning, we will pack up and head for home. I will only have a couple of days to ensure everything is ready for visitors on Thursday. Cyndie has invited folks from one of her drawing classes to come explore the views for inspiration toward their next works of art.
I plan to depart that day for a return to the lake, this time with my bike. It’s the annual golf (and biking) weekend hosted by Cyndie’s brothers, Steve and Ben. I will be accompanying any of the guys who want to mix in a ride after swinging the clubs.
It’s a tough job, but it’s what friends do.
Delicious Dining
One of the treats I am enjoying this weekend is the contributions of meals that have been outside of my norm. While the dinners have been from local institutions (Coop’s Pizza and “Famous Dave” Anderson’s version of barbecue from Tamarak Farms), the Brolin cousins have served up special versions of breakfast and lunch offerings.
Our weather yesterday hovered on the edge of being less than spectacular, with periods of misting precipitation and a lingering gray sky most of the day. That didn’t completely interfere with the pickleball games or the pontoon cruise, but what little swimming did occur was delayed until close to dinnertime when actual sunshine eventually appeared.
While in Norway, Cyndie and Elysa were introduced to a version of the “Hollywood Rummy” card game that I finally got a chance to play. It works really well with a large number of players and supports a fair amount of verbal action, both about the game and not.
While waiting for Steve and Ben to succeed in locating and porting a photo slideshow to the main room TV, I offered up the YouTube video I made of my family’s Intervale Ranch to give everyone a glimpse of my past. It’s been fun for me to be immersed in the pictures and stories from Cyndie’s and her cousins’ families, so I thought they might appreciate a little morsel of mine.
I can tell already that this joyous weekend will produce the residual longing for more after everyone returns to their real lives.
As always, it is the bonding with people that is such a treasure. The delicious eats are merely an added bonus.
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Little Late
Why am I posting a little later than usual today? Thrilling, touching, hilarious conversations are never-ending, and I couldn’t break away after watching the 20th stage of the Tour de France and then eating breakfast, where I became immersed in story after story.
Even Steve and Jessica’s dog, Vern, couldn’t keep pace with all the tales of life experiences being shared.
We are having a fabulous and very precious time. Truly priceless moments in life made manifest, experiencing the interactions of the Friswold siblings and their maternal cousins.
That’s why I’m a little late. I snuck in a moment to post while on my way to a pee break.
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Cousin Weekend
Not my cousins. We are back at the lake again, this time for a special weekend that will include Cyndie’s cousins on her mom’s side. Marie had one sister, Joan (pronounced JoAnne), who had four kids. The kids are each married and will be joining all of the four Friswold siblings and their spouses without any of our kids for a distraction-free weekend of laughter, memories, and bolstering of the family bonds.
Cyndie and I arrived mid-afternoon yesterday, picking up groceries in Hayward for the weekend that Cyndie purchased online from home on Wednesday night. She was so excited to discover it was possible. There was a childlike glee that had her mentioning several times on the drive up how pleased it made her feel. It’s hard to deny the ease and convenience of avoiding the crunch of other shoppers up and down aisles and getting through the checkout lanes, and instead, pulling up to the front of the store to have all our groceries placed in our car.
Some people wouldn’t want to settle for someone else choosing their produce, but for the convenience, Cyndie is willing to flex her standards. The corn I was tasked with shucking all looked more than adequate to me. When asked by someone about how they did with selections, Cyndie rated it a solid medium.
Faint praise, maybe, but certainly acceptable.
Being the first ones up, we immediately set about opening shades and windows, turning on ceiling fans, putting away groceries, and refilling hummingbird feeders. The landscape pond needed water added. The new mattress for the hide-a-bed needed to be unboxed and allowed to expand.
Most of the preparations were in place by the time Barry, Carlos, and Marie arrived. They made it just in time to accept an invitation to join folks from three other Wildwood Lodge Club member families for a happy hour pontoon cruise.
I don’t know why we bothered with a dinner plan for later in the evening. I ate more than a meal’s worth of scrumptious appetizers throughout the practically 2-hour float around the majority of the lake.
Never ones to stop a meal plan already in motion, the Friswold hosts whipped up a feast of grilled burgers, corn-on-the-cob, salad, and potatoes after we got back to shore. It was about three hours past my preferred dinner time and only about an hour away from my bedtime, but I nibbled half-servings of two options. It is difficult for me to lie down to sleep when I’ve still got a meal in my stomach; however, they serve up some irresistibly delicious cuisine.
I made a worthy exception to my usual routine.
This afternoon, all the other parties will gradually arrive, and the games, excited banter, precious memories, raucous laughter, and likely too much food will unfold naturally. It is reasonable to assume it will be sustained for the ensuing 48 hours.
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Baby Birds
While I was pushing the hand mower in front of the house, I noticed a lot of chirpy bird activity. Eventually, I spotted a momma bird with something in her mouth, coaxing a youngster that had wings to flop, but not to fly. I figured she was trying to draw her away from the danger zone, which was a good thing, so I just kept right on mowing.
Suddenly, to my temporary horror, a pair of those floppy wings emerged from the back of the mower. I had just rolled over another one. Luckily, it must have kept its head down, and the mower height was set high enough to clear the little one. I suspect it was just as surprised as I was. I decided to leave it alone, intending to check on it later.
When I came out after lunch to finish mowing, the little bird was nowhere to be found. I took that as a good sign.
After a little more mowing, I again began to hear more of that urgent chirping. This time I knew to look around for one of those flightless flappers. It showed up a few passes away in the longer grass, snuggled in contentedly, chirping as if to tell the momma it was just fine. Mom showed little in the way of agreement.
As I closed the distance on it with two more passes, the little bird showed no sign of wanting to move. I stopped the mower and walked over to pick it up if I had to. I didn’t have to. When I bent over with my gloved hands cupped to scoop it up, it suddenly found its legs, and with those stubby little wings flopping, it hopped and scooted far enough out of the danger zone that I was able to finish mowing.
At least I didn’t have to worry about Asher showing predatory interest in the flightless babies. He was in the house this whole time. Why would I make him stay indoors on such a beautiful day? He was serving his penalty minutes for misconduct. Conduct unbecoming of a good dog. Beyond-property roaming.
While I was tending to the piles in the compost area, he was on his best behavior. He followed me as I pushed a filled wheelbarrow up to our strawberry patch, where Cyndie asked me to leave a few loads for her to distribute later. He followed me back again and sat up tall, watching the horses as I worked.
When he didn’t show up on my last run to the garden and back, I called for him. I walked around the house and rechecked the barn and looked in all his favorite spots to recline. I begrudgingly made my way to the end of the driveway, pushing the beep tone on his collar. When I reached the road, I found him just cresting the hill, trotting toward me as a pickup truck approached from the other direction.
The truck slowed, Asher looked at it, and it passed without incident. I made him march directly to the front door of the house, no distractions allowed.
A smart person might stick to their guns and live up to the plan of leashing him when distracted with a task. Obviously, my hope springs eternal.
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Doomed Willow
While the willow tree “that should absolutely be dead” inside the small paddock continues to support enough of a crown of new growth to cast a reasonable shadow that the horses are so fond of, the massive beauty just a short distance away has now lost another significant percentage of its whole.
Last year, a huge portion sheared off under the weight of sopping wet branches after a soaking rain. We were concerned that the smaller limb next to that wound, which was leaning at a risky angle, might fall soon after, but it has held fast. The section that came loose yesterday was a complete surprise. It was on the other side and stood straight up before falling.
I’m afraid the remaining portion of the tree still standing is probably doomed to fail, too. I should probably chop off all that’s left and let it start over, as the undead one in the paddock has done.
The wind wasn’t even very gusty yesterday, which feeds my doubt about the integrity of the wood that remains. The tree now has gaping wounds on two opposing sides, poor thing.
I’m beginning to feel we are cursed when it comes to our large trees suffering damage of significant proportions. Only one of the four incidents since last summer was related to a storm gust.
Here’s hoping we don’t soon find out what happens when the next serious storm arrives to test the endurance of the rest of the trees in our little forest.
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Trimmer Shrapnel
It was after I had finished, soaked in sweat after two hours straight holding the trigger on the trimmer, that I noticed the slight sensation of grit in my mouth as I was walking back to the shop. Great. How much E. coli bacteria from animal feces had I just spattered all over myself? Maybe none. But the thought crossed my mind.
The work is so rewarding, though. Recovering a walking path wide enough to drive the Grizzly ATV on, clearing the rampant tall growth that leans over and covers the trail, makes for a beautiful sight. In the morning, when everything is wet with dew, taking Asher on a stroll along that path has been leaving pants and boots soaking.
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Now we can get back to enjoying our Forest Bathing strolls among the trees, basking in the cooler, cleaner air on hot and smoky days without feeling like we are doing jungle bushwhacking. However, it won’t prevent the all-too-common occurrences of walking into unseen spiderwebs draped across the path. We try to take turns each morning being the person in front, to give each other a break from the skeevy wiggle of suddenly feeling a web across our faces and strands across our arms.
I consider the trail shown in the image above to be one of our great accomplishments in our first year here. Most of the wide trails already existed when we bought the place, but at this spot, there was a dead end. With a goal of avoiding cutting down any large trees, we opened this pathway from the thick growth visible on either side, creating a route that allowed us to ultimately walk the full rectangle of our property border.
Today, it looks like the trail has been there just as long as all the other portions.
And the only reason they are still there and open is because we continue to hack away at the vigorous growth that strives to take over any open terrain.
Another of our labors of love, tending to our little sanctuary of fields and forest that we call Wintervale Ranch.
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Relative Something 