Archive for May 2014
Amazing Growth
The growth of tree leaves, grasses, and weeds has been happening at an incredible rate the last few days. We have been experiencing some warm, sunny days after several weeks with plenty of rain, and that seems to be the ticket for massive growth.
During periods of rapid growth like this, it is even more important that we limit the time our horses have to freely graze on the fresh green grass. Yesterday, when I opened the gate leading to the small square of grass we fenced off, Legacy was hesitant about going for it, which caught me by surprise. Usually he is overly anxious to get on that grass. I wondered if he might actually be self-managing his diet. As an older horse, he is more susceptible to ailments caused by eating too much sugary grass.
Cayenne was interested enough to move in from another angle and pass through the gate. The other two chestnuts found themselves stuck behind Legacy, and showed no signs of stepping past his authority.
I began to wonder about Legacy when I spotted him alternating taking weight off his back feet, and decided to ask Cyndie to come out to see what she thought. None of the horses changed position while I was gone to get Cyndie, but when she arrived, Legacy walked right toward her.
After a brief visit, he turned and walked through the open gate. The others followed. I monitored their time and kept it brief, but by the end of the day, none of them showed any hint of a problem, thank goodness.
The rest of my day was spent using the gas-powered trimmer, interspersed with runs to the local auto repair site with our vehicles and my leaky ATV tires.
I cut all of the growth down in the round pen, making it available for immediate use —barring any new rain. Then I knocked down some weeds growing in the grazing area, to keep them from going to seed. I just kept following weeds and eventually made my way back to the labyrinth. Oh. My. God. The growth there is insane. It is so long and thick that I couldn’t have forced the reel mower through it. I resigned myself to clearing the entire length of path using the power trimmer. It took forever.
I finally ran out of gas, as in, with the can totally emptied, with just a short distance left to go to reach the center. We were on the way to town anyway, to pick up cars and repaired ATV tires, so I refilled the gas container and finally finished the chore before we headed in for the night.
With all the amazing growth happening down there, it is now glaringly obvious that the only new leaves popping from the transplanted tree are going to be the ones down on the trunk. No sign of life in any of the branches above. We have decided to try another time with a tree from a slightly different location.
Maybe it was an unconscious way to solidify the decision, but I accidentally tore through the protective paper around the trunk and ripped open the bark on that tree with the trimmer as I was trying to knock back the jungle of growth happening along the path.
I finished the day with a little good luck, though. While killing time waiting for Cyndie to pick me up to shuttle a car back from the repair shop, I successfully hunted down the hitch clip that I had dropped a few days ago. It’s a good thing, too, because if I had waited any longer, it would have been completely lost in the jungle of fast growing grass happening here lately.
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Got Rocks?
Our neighbors are slowly getting familiar with our peculiarities, and don’t seem all that fazed by our interest in collecting rocks. It is an easy request for them to fill, because farmers are always trying to get rid of rocks. I got a call yesterday afternoon from the man who lives just south of us, and he said the guys who rent his field have a truckload of rocks for us. They just needed to know where we wanted them.
The options on where they could deliver on our property are pretty limited by the wetness, so he had to stay on the driveway. I had him dump them on the edge of the new loop that runs around the hay shed.
There were two skid loader tractors maneuvering in the fields next door all morning, collecting rocks. One had a mesh drum that rotated, which could dig out large rocks that were still half-buried. When it got the rock up out of the ground, it would spin to drop the dirt and hold the rock.
The man who delivered the rocks said some of these have been underground for a long time. He had broken up the hard ground last fall and these rocks pushed up as a result. It will take a couple of good rainstorms (just what we need [end sarcasm]) to wash them off and allow us to see what we’ve really got here.
There is a good chance a lot of them will end up being used under the opening where that culvert is visible, in the background of this image. The others will need to be given a ride in the bucket of our tractor, back toward the area of the labyrinth.
It is a great feeling to value material that other folks are constantly trying to get rid of.
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Exhaustion Accumulates
It happens every time I have been up at the lake. For a week following, my mind is pulled away from the here and now, continually yearning to return to that precious body of water. Our lake has a special allure that is definitely lacking from the otherwise idyllic surroundings of Wintervale.
It has been a tough week for me at the day-job. I’m so exhausted that I struggle to stay awake during the commute, and my mind has noticeably lacked focus. Poor Katie has had to repeat things multiple times for me, and even then, I’m not sure I’ve properly tracked the pertinent facts.
The added responsibility while Cyndie has been convalescing from her hip procedure has definitely taken a toll on me, and I’m noticing that the effects have been accumulating. I am so looking forward to my vacation of biking and camping with my cycling clan in a couple of weeks. I will be more than ready for the refreshing reset that will provide.
After work yesterday, I was taking care of some mowing. It was a simple enough task, but I found ways to complicate it. The grass is growing so fast now that it had gotten too tall between mowings and I ended up with unwanted rows of clippings laying on top of the grass. I have been long overdue to figure out the sweeper attachment that the seller included in our purchase of the lawn tractor, so I decided to give it a shot.
It actually seemed to work pretty well, until I got stuck when trying to force the tractor over some of the deep ruts that still haunt us from the skid loader tracks left by the fence installers. I had to get off and disconnect the sweeper and then push the tractor out of the ruts. When I went to re-attach the device, I didn’t have the clip that locks the pin through the hitch.
I have absolutely no memory of where I put it when I disconnected it. In a pocket? No. Dropped it on the ground? No sight of it. It vanished into thin air.
As I pulled the sweeper forward over the ruts to bring it up to the tractor again, it dumped all the grass clippings that had been collected. I decided to laugh at the absurdity of my situation and forge on.
I connected the sweeper without the locking clip. At the first jarring bump, of which there are so many they are practically continuous, the pin jumped out and the sweeper fell behind as the tractor got stuck in another rut. I left the sweeper there and drove back to the garage to get a trailer to haul away the grass. That done, I came back, with a borrowed clip, to retrieve the sweeper and bring it back to the garage. In front of the garage, when I disconnected the hitch pin, two metal bushings that the pin passes through both dropped to the pavement. I picked up the one that landed in plain sight and began searching for the other one.
It had vanished. Did it roll? I hunted far and wide. Did it land on the mower deck? Not that I could find. Where the hell…?
Exasperated, I threw in the towel for the night. Simple tasks had gotten just too darn complicated for me.
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Risking Exposure
Photos don’t do justice for how much better it looks around the paddock after I mowed yesterday. This is the same spot that irked the horses last time I mowed it. Once again, they were watching me closely, sending signals of shock and indignation over seeing tall grass (and mostly dandelions) go to waste when they would gladly take care of it themselves.
Before
After
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After I cut that area with the lawn tractor, I mowed down the grass in front of the other paddock using my Stihl gas-powered trimmer. I’m not sure that was a good choice. The section nearest the paved driveway was mostly weeds, and everything is pretty wet, so the pulverized plant matter gets sprayed all over me. If there was any poison ivy in there, I’m thinking that was a good way to give myself a lot of exposure.
I’ve been hoping my skin might get desensitized if I keep experiencing regular exposure, and with Delilah likely brushing past the plants in her daily explorations and my inability to be careful about handling her, I assume that has been happening. I haven’t had a verifiable breakout since the first time it happened earlier this spring.
Lately, we have been confining Delilah to being leashed, so her forays into poison ivy territory have been reduced. Based on that, I should be able to determine whether my reckless exposure to the spray from the trimmer involved any PI or not. You’d think I would’ve developed some skill at identifying the culprit so I could avoid cutting it, but that hasn’t been something I’ve ever felt confident about.
I tend to assume it is everywhere until proven otherwise. In this latest case, time will tell.
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Returning Home
“Yes, Pequenita, I will feed you. Have I ever missed a day?”
Boy was she persistent this morning in her attempts to wake me as I tried to sleep in a bit on this Memorial Day holiday in the US, kneading and pushing her face into mine.
I drove home in the middle of the day yesterday, probably passing Elysa as we exchanged locations; she, driving up to the lake, me heading home to take care of our animals. The horses looked thoroughly contented, happily munching hay in the paddock.
Delilah was sleeping so soundly outside in her kennel that I left her there until dinner time, in order to give the horses my full attention.
I am back in our paradise, after leaving our other paradise. The two locations are very similar in how special they are to us, but that large body of water up at Wildwood definitely sets it apart. I already am missing the lake.
The growth down here continues at a rapid rate. The lawn will need mowing again, less than a week after I last cut it. The little path I use as a shortcut to the barn is becoming a tunnel through the trees, with the leaves filling out to obscure our view of the paddocks from the house.
I still have a lot of growth to clear along our southern border, where we will be putting up the next fence. Now the project becomes a bit more work because the branches all have leaves. It has me focused on finding a wood chipper that will allow us to consume the brush piles we create without burning them, which would allow us to use the chips for ground cover over the trails in the low areas that are often wet, and for other applications around the property.
Now I am off to run Delilah a bit and get on with the day’s chores. It’s a holiday, but work here never really pauses. Luckily, it is work I enjoy.
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Pure Joy
Even though there was much in the way of work being done on the main day of ‘Work Weekend,’ at the lake place we call Wildwood, there was no shortage of fun in the endeavors of the day.
After toiling away on the beach to reclaim the area from the unending processes of Mother Nature to take over our sandy little oasis, I pitched in, literally, to help others in improving the landscape in front of the lodge. The grass grows really well in the spaces near the building where it isn’t wanted, and I assisted with digging it up using a garden fork that looked like a very close relative of the pitch fork that has become one of my primary tools at home. A beautiful array of perennials were planted into the newly turned soil.
Throughout the tasks, conversations blossomed in an annual renewing of connection with members of the community who scatter to their city lives for most of the winter.
Taking a pause from the work, I stopped back to the house where Cyndie was resting her hip and reading a book. I sat with her for a bit, until I noticed she had nodded off into a nap. Figuring I might as well go get my computer to take advantage of the time, I climbed the stairs to our room, finding my laptop beside the great big bed. Since she was already asleep, I figured I didn’t need to take it back downstairs to be in her proximity, and so laid on the bed to check in with the world.
I awoke in a slobbery mess of drool, after a most delicious unplanned nap of my own.
Hearing the words, “soccer game,” I descended the stairs to rejoin humanity and rediscovered how much joy I get from playing the beautiful game. I think it started as 4-v-4, but soon grew to include more people than the space actually allows. Maybe that is why the decision gets made that we won’t use borders, and play continues regardless the fact the ball is within the jungle gym play area, around the SUV parked on the driveway, or even behind the goals, like a game of hockey.
Slowly, in a reverse of how the numbers swelled to the maximum, players wander off to other pursuits, often without saying a thing. After battling situations that feel a lot like playing short-handed in a game of hockey, the game is paused and a player volunteers to switch so play can resume with reasonable balance. In the end, it came down to me facing one last challenge from 6-year-old nephew, Beck, for some 1-v-1.
He said, “Go over to your goal.”
“No, that’s an awful long way away. Let’s just play a small game right here,” I encouraged.
He kicked the ball around me and headed the length of the field to ‘my goal.’ What could I do? I chased after him to protect my goal. He was a tenacious foe and I soon realized he would not quit until he succeeded in getting that ball in the net. I was tired and wanted to be done, so I provided an opportunity. He missed. The ball rolled wide. A few near-misses later, the ball found the target and he was satisfied. Game over.
Pure joy.
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Work Weekend
Awake at the lake! It is always interesting to arrive in the dark of night, and then open your eyes in the morning to see that beautiful lake out the window.
Back at home, the leaves popped overnight Thursday, and I was shocked when I stepped out to feed the horses yesterday and couldn’t see clearly through the trees to the paddocks anymore. Up here, a 2-hour drive to the north, the growth is a few days behind.
The trillium blossoms are just beginning to show.
Memorial weekend at our lake place is traditionally dubbed, “Work Weekend,” as it is the time when the community of families here clean the beach, wash the boats, sweep the tennis courts, and put things in order for summer activities.
It is funny to me now, to think of it as ‘work weekend,’ since it feels a lot like the effort I put forth every day. There is one big difference: the view of that lake makes all the labor feel that much less laborious.
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Purposeful Problem?
‘Twas the day before Memorial Weekend, and all through the ranch, we are going to try to get things in proper order to allow us to go to the lake for a day. Our daughter, Elysa, will take care of horses on Saturday and Sunday morning, after which, I will come home and she will get to head up to have a day at the lake.
Getting away from home to be with family on a holiday weekend is a valuable thing, but my mind is filled with thoughts of all the things that deserve attention around here, and I am pulled equally toward both.
I tried getting the lawn mowed last night, but in my haste, I rolled too close to a metal cable we had used to tether Delilah, and it became entangled in the blades of the mower. It was a classic case of choosing not to take 30 seconds to stop and climb off so I could move the cable clear of any risk, and ending up taking an hour to struggle with untangling the cable from around the blades. I was forced into disconnecting the mower deck and sliding it out from under the tractor so I could flip it over and remove the blades to get at the cable.
I am my worst enemy. Or, could it possibly have been for a reason? Before the mowing season began this year, I cleaned the mower and sprayed the deck with something to make it easier to remove grass clippings that build up. Since it has been so wet all spring, I have needed to mow through some ill-advised areas, kicking up mud and soaking-wet debris that I knew was creating buildup far worse than what I had scraped off over the winter.
I had tried reaching underneath to pull away the mud and clippings that were sticking, but it seemed pretty ineffective. To do the job thoroughly enough, I really needed to pull the mower out from under the deck and flip it over, but I was hesitant about revisiting the routine of undoing all the clips that would require.
Maybe my decision not to move the cable to a safe spot was a way to get myself to commit to the task of undoing the mower deck. If that’s the case, it’s too bad I still allowed myself to get so riled up about the incident. Ooh, I was mad, cursing a blue streak. However, with the sun about to set, I swiftly dispatched all the clips, easily slid the deck out from under the tractor, removed the tangle of cable, and scraped off all the accumulation.
Everything went back together as easily as it had come off, and I was able to test it by mowing a small area beside the driveway before it got dark for the night. It wasn’t that big a deal. Maybe now I won’t be so hesitant about dismantling it for cleaning next time it needs it.
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Relative Something 