Archive for November 2015
Capturing Images
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Three recent views from Wintervale that reflect what I get to gaze upon when wandering around our place.
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Burdensome Weather
Our weather has been chilly and wet for a few days now, enough that it is beginning to feel like a burden to face it. I suppose the fact that the temperature is dropping below the freezing point and the wind is picking up to gale force gusts, may be contributing to the desire to batten down the hatches and snuggle indoors under a thick blanket.
Today the precipitation is more likely to be in the form of snow than rain. This is a harsh reality after having been coddled for so many days of autumn with temperatures more akin to the comforts of mid-summer.
On top of that, our chimney liner has not been replaced yet, so we haven’t been able to have any fires in the fireplace. Takes away one of our favorite tools to offset the chill. A little warm air flowing from the furnace vent just doesn’t satisfy in the way a crackling fire can.
Yesterday, Cyndie got a local tree service to send someone out to assess what might be continuing to attack our long-needle pine trees. I raced home through the poor visibility of endless road-spray, a half hour early, in hopes of being here for the visit.
I just missed him.
Cyndie said it was a rather abbreviated visit due to the unfavorable conditions, and that he planned to return another day when he could more readily investigate what critters might be killing the pines.
At least he got a chance to orient himself with our specific areas of concern. In addition to the ailing pines, we are seeking advice on recommended pruning needs of several of the largest oak and maple trees. I don’t expect the assessment to render a very affordable quote, but seeing the cost of professional tree service will help us plan our next move in tending to the precious resource that is the trees on our land.
It is a burden that we are honored to be in a position to bear.
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An Addendum
Last Sunday was a beautiful warm sunny day, during which we were out and about, tending to a variety of chores. It was also the day when we received the second of our two visiting stray dogs of the weekend.
The dog was clearly interested in everything I did, spending most of the time that he was here, in close proximity to wherever I was working. My last project, prior to heading in to watch the end of the Vikings NFL game, involved the Grizzly ATV in front of the shop garage.
I remounted the plate which supports the back of the snowplow frame beneath the under carriage. I also spent time bolting the blade and associated parts to the plow frame, which had been removed for welding over the summer.
I had the first half of the football game on the radio, and both Delilah —on a leash— and the wayward visitor, milled close by as I puttered.
As Cyndie passed by after feeding the horses, she picked up Delilah and headed into the house, leaving me to finish while the stray longingly eyed me for attention. When I was finally ready to close up, I spotted the dog laying in leaves nearby. I closed the big garage door and then turned out lights and shut the shop door.
I recall purposely deciding to not head directly toward the house, thinking the stray dog would follow me to the door and make me feel bad about going inside without him. I chose instead, to head toward the barn first, and circled around toward the labyrinth, so I could get one last look at the new mowing I had done earlier in the day, widening the path along the back pasture fence line.
In doing so, I saw no sign of the black dog. Since I had wanted to lose him in the first place, I was okay with that, and climbed the hill up to the house, alone.
On Monday morning, I left for work in the early darkness and hoped to hear from Cyndie if the dog was still hanging around when she and Delilah got up. No news came. With no dog around, she had no reason to call the veterinarian to find out who owned it. We thought that was the end of it…
Until yesterday.
Just after lunch, I got a call from Cyndie with a big surprise. When she stepped out of the barn in the middle of the day after cleaning out the stalls, she heard a wailing sound and followed it up to the shop garage. She discovered that the stray had somehow made his way inside when I closed up on Sunday.
He had been locked in there for almost 2 days! I hadn’t made a visit to the shop on Monday after I got home from work and he didn’t make a sound any of the multiple times Cyndie and Delilah walked past, until she finally heard him yesterday afternoon.
It breaks my heart to know the poor guy was stuck in there that whole time. Cyndie gave him water and some food and he headed off on his own right away. Cyndie followed up with the vet and contacted the owner, who reported the dog had made his way home, but she was rather surprised he wasn’t soaking wet from all the rain that had fallen.
I’ll take consolation in that. At least he was warm and dry during his unintended 2-day imprisonment.
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Another Visitor!
What a strange coincidence we witnessed this weekend when, for the second time in three days, a stray dog showed up and lingered all day. Again, this one had a collar with license and veterinary information, but it being Sunday, there was no way to get a number to contact the owner.
This guy was friendly, and when it became obvious that he was happy to hang around, I let Delilah out to meet him. In minutes, they successfully navigated an introduction and seemed comfortable with each other’s presence.
What are the odds that we would have two stray dogs visiting us in such close succession? As Cyndie and I watched Delilah and her new pal playfully running together, it occurred to both of us that maybe we should be thinking about getting a 2nd dog.
The interesting thing about that idea is, Friday we decided to go to the feline rescue organization during the weekend to see if we could get a young kitty as a companion for Pequenita. As soon as we made that decision, a series of situations played out that repeatedly disrupted that plan, culminating in a surprising change of thinking from the possibility of another cat, to considerations of another dog.
We aren’t sure what we will do next, but I believe it will involve queries into what kind of dogs there are at nearby shelters that might be awaiting a new home and canine companion.
Sorry, Pequenita, your new pal will have to wait.
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What Joy?
What joy is there to be had when terror is sown to disrupt normalcy in places defenseless and random?
Is it possible to feel joy over the vast number of young people who do not fall prey to the sickness of mind that leads a person to justify becoming a terrorizing murderer? Most people are actually sane, after all.
Oddly, yesterday, almost as if in reaction to the illness that revealed itself in the acts of terrorism in Paris, Delilah spent the day vomiting, over and over. Her energy dwindled with each episode, eventually culminating in her putting herself to bed two hours early.
Yet, healthy joy continues to exist, despite the never-ending ripples that disrupt it. It started for us this morning with the happy expression on Delilah’s face and her ability to eat some scrambled eggs.
Yesterday afternoon, I stood in the paddock while the horses finished their afternoon feed, and absorbed their calmness. They didn’t exude joy in that moment, but they offered peace.
The world recoils in horror for the moment, but joy and peace rise from the dust. If it starts in distant rural areas, like ours, it can make its way back to the cities and people who live on the front lines of conflict.
There is joy. Feel free to allow it to sprout again and blossom for you. Let it glow and grow for the rest of the world.
The world will feel it.
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Visiting Stray
We came upon a stranger on the perimeter trail through our woods yesterday morning. Cyndie and I were walking Delilah when I spotted a dog facing us on the trail ahead. We paused and started a dialogue with the mutt, but I got the feeling he wasn’t hearing us. He simply stood his ground, no matter what we did, so I decided we shouldn’t approach.
We turned around and headed back in the direction from which we had come, which pretty much involved dragging Delilah sideways, because she did not want to take her eyes off the stranger.
By removing the pressure of our presence, the stray was able to let its guard down enough to turn its back on us and head off in the direction from which he had come. With that, we reversed ourselves again and followed to observe where he would go.
At our southern border, the visiting dog crossed under the old barbed wire fence and kept going on our neighbors property. We finished out our walk and then got the wood chipper hooked up on the tractor to grind downed branches into wood chips for the labyrinth.
While we were working, the stray dog showed up again, this time exploring around our house. I headed after him, trying to sweet talk him into letting us check out his tag, but he didn’t want to have anything to do with me.
I went back to work, but Cyndie continued to try making a connection, eventually succeeding in getting a leash attached. The dog’s tag included an ID number and contact info for a local veterinarian. They checked their records and provided the name and a phone number for the owner. Cyndie left messages and then put the dog into Delilah’s kennel.
Eventually we learned the dog’s name was, “Blue” and he was very old, and hard of hearing. He had been missing from home since Wednesday night’s “Flash-Boom” event of a thunderstorm. He ran off to catch that booming invader, and ended up in our neighborhood a day-and-a-half later, over 2 miles from home.
By the way, it wasn’t until yesterday that I checked our rain gauge and found 3 inches to add to the 1.5 that Cyndie had dumped out Wednesday night.
Maybe Blue just floated here on the runoff.
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A Picture
A portrait today, of our Hunter, on his own in the sun.
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Flash Booms!
Holy cow, did we experience a flurry of lightning and thunder last night. If I didn’t know better, I would have guessed we were in the month of June, based on the lightning laced downpours I traveled through on my commute home after work.
By the time I pulled in our driveway, Cyndie already had the horses in the barn for the night. Subsequent checks on them through the evening revealed signs they were appreciative of the shelter, yet still needing to manage some nervousness over the fireworks of the storm.
Someone else was failing miserably at managing her nervousness about the cracking and booming that repeatedly burst forth overhead. Poor Delilah couldn’t keep herself from trying to out-shout the mysterious noises erupting from the high heavens.
We reacquainted her with her Thundershirt and let her sample some doggie downers in hopes of saving her heart from premature failure. There was no pausing the thunderstorm, so she needed other sources of relief.
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Dinner time occurred at one of the storming peaks, but she soldiered through the inhalation of her meal (which actually should have required some chewing) and kept up her “defense” against the noisy invader without hesitation.
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Mary Returns
Looch is back! Honestly, I didn’t realize how much pleasure I had been missing out on during her absence from the airwaves, until I experienced an hour of her first day back and everything, …everything! around me seemed to have a glow of happiness around it.
Mary Lucia is an afternoon host on my preferred public radio station, 89.3 The Current. Cyndie and I are founding members of the station, and have maintained a sustaining membership every year since the start. Public radio broadcasts, devoid of the noise of commercial advertising, with an eclectic mix of contemporary music, is a dream come true for me.
It was an added bonus that I ended up truly appreciating almost all of the KCMP on-air voices that moderate the playlists. Mary has always been my favorite, for reasons both obvious, and mysterious. Certainly the sound of her delivery, the way her splendid personality radiates with a mixture of warmth and brilliance upon every uttered genuine thought that she shares, is captivating to me. But there is something more, and I can’t quite put my head around what it is.
On Monday, while I was smiling with joy over how much pleasure I was getting out of having the radio on again in the background while I puttered away on my laptop, I mentioned to Cyndie that I was even getting a kick out of the song that was playing at the time.
It was something that didn’t appeal to me, at all. I recognized that I was liking a song that I normally wouldn’t like, and it was because I knew Mary had selected it for her first day back. She was having fun. You could hear it. I could feel it.
I was having fun, because she was having fun.
If Bill DeVille had played that same song, I would have hated it. Probably even if he was having fun in doing so.
Somehow, that it was Mary’s doing, made it appealing to me. It’s not entirely logical, but I understand why she might have that effect on me.
I have been a rather sad radio fan for quite some time now. Within a very short time frame, 3 of my favorite radio voices vanished from the airwaves: Steve Seel, Mark Wheat, and Mary. Mark made it back first, and much later, Steve did too, though he didn’t reclaim his old role in the morning slot.
The station has had other personality changes occur, as well, beyond just those three, and the lineup of who I was hearing seemed juggled to the point I felt like every person was filling a temporary role, whether they were, or not. I began to lose interest. My iPod on shuffle replaced the radio in my car. I stopped turning on the radio at home.
I felt no incentive to listen. The thrill was gone. For some reason, I couldn’t even appreciate hearing Wheat back in his normal slot. His glory was diminished, but not by anything of his own doing. It was simply by the absence of the others that evenings with Mark just weren’t the same.
My, how quickly that has changed, and I have Mary to thank. I couldn’t wait to get my radio on yesterday for the drive home. It didn’t even matter what music she chose.
I liked whatever she spun, even if I didn’t.
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Relative Something 