Archive for July 2017
This Why
This is why we can’t have a nice paved driveway like the other folks around here whose asphalt looks incredibly well-maintained.
We have an ongoing need for dump-truck loads of lime screenings for our paddocks.
That loaded dump-truck really makes an impression on the land. As he prepared to depart, I asked the driver to NOT center his truck on the driveway on the way out, and instead to run one set of wheels right down the middle. I’ve been trying to do the same with our vehicles ever since his visit last year, but haven’t had much effect on the eruption of cracked pavement the truck left for us that time.
Household discussion last night:
John: “Should I try to spread some lime screenings tomorrow?”
Cyndie: “Maybe.”
J: “Should I pull the T-posts instead?”
C: “Maybe.”
J: “Should I move the composted manure out?”
C: “Maybe.”
J: “Should I work on dividing the chicken coop?”
C: “Maybe.”
I think she got my point, and seeing as how I wasn’t getting any help with prioritizing, I chose not to continue with the thirteen other things also deserving attention.
It’s a good thing we are so smitten with each other, or these kinds of exchanges would take on additional unstated intentions. In our case, it just added to the love already present. Her refusal to take my bait brought a smile to my face. Our current healthy communication is a return on an investment we made long ago toward a few years of couples therapy.
This is why we can have nice conversations unburdened by alternate unstated agendas.
Well, that and the fact Cyndie gracefully puts up with my endless ribbing. If she wasn’t so saintly, I’d have needed to make myself a bed out in Delilah’s kennel years ago.
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Coming Around
A day later, I’m coming around to the idea that I will be able to figure out a modification that will sub-divide the coop into two smaller apartments. I guess I just need to whine about it first. Upon further review, I’m pretty sure we can come up with something that can work.
Maybe my knee-jerk reaction of pessimism is a way of balancing Cyndie’s unbridled optimism on projects like this. If I don’t think I can do it, she will take care of it herself, regardless her rather unreliable spatial relations perception, and currently, her limit of only one available arm.
Don’t for one minute assume her having only one useable arm has stopped her from accomplishing anything. It slows her down a little bit, but she still has managed to do way more than seems possible around here.
I felt a little like the questionable photographer when I kept snapping shots of her struggling to scoop piles of grass that we had raked up. Sure, I could have set the camera down and helped her, but she was actually doing pretty well without me.
As soon as I finished raking, I took over the scooping chore from her and she wandered away to a different spot to pull weeds.
We opened up the back pasture to the horses so they could keep us company while we worked, but they weren’t our only companions. Delilah, who Cyndie had tethered nearby, alerted us to the appearance of chickens. How nice of them to come help.
I had just been thinking of them a few minutes earlier when I spotted a big juicy bug pop out from a pile of grass. I figured that would appeal to the chickens. Maybe they picked up on my thinking.
They happen to be about as good a helper as the dog has proved to be when I am working. If I move something, Delilah likes to move it back for me. The chickens checked out our raked piles by kicking them to smithereens in search of a snack.
We think the three survivors of the great chicken massacre of June 16 may have a little PTSD over the event. They no longer put themselves to bed in the coop at dusk. Many nights I would find one of the Barred Plymouth Rocks up on a branch in the same tree where I found her that fateful night.
Now she has lured the others to join her. At first, it was just the Buff Orpington, but two nights ago, it was all three of them up in that tree as the sun disappeared. Cyndie just alerts me, the one of us with two useable arms, and I come out to pluck them from the branch, one at a time, unceremoniously returning them to the coop for the night.
Last night, retraining to the coop started anew. We round them up before they take to the tree at dusk and herd them over to the coop, to be enticed inside with treats.
And we want to get more of these birds?
I’m coming around to the idea.
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Short Note
No time for blathering on this morning… Finished with breakfast, we are hustling down to rake and remove piles of grass from the labyrinth before rain arrives today.
While we work, you enjoy this image of berries and flowers that Cyndie captured.
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Beyond Me
For me, building our chicken coop was a stretch. I’d never tried any construction project of that magnitude before, and I was choosing to work from found materials and without a blueprint. It was a small miracle it turned out as well as it did.
Now, Cyndie is telling me we need to modify it to have a divider that will allow us to introduce unfamiliar birds to the existing flock of three. Today, a functional version of her vision is completely beyond me. I have no idea how I will secure all the nooks and crannies with chicken wire to a point where two unfamiliar flocks of birds will co-exist for a while in that one coop.
On to something I can do. Yesterday, I put the old F150 to work doing double duty. First, it was a road trip to the cities to pick up a load of unwanted used pavers from a staff member at the day-job. Drew was nice enough to offer them up for free if I would go to his place and make them disappear.
I had a plan to use them on one of the muddy spots on our trail through the woods. Before I could get to that step, I needed to reclaim a pile of rock that I had stumbled upon when creating a path to the new chicken coop last year. There was an old rusty box stove in the woods that I believe was used to boil syrup. It looked to be generations old, and the area around it had some old busted cinder blocks and a pile of landscape rocks.
Those rocks would serve nicely to fill a spot in the trail that tends to puddle, so before setting the new paver pieces in place, I wanted to transfer the rocks.
The chickens showed up to help, but were almost too eager to get after the creepy crawling creatures revealed when I scooped a shovel-full. They were more interference than they were helpers, but they sure are cute to have as company.
While the hours of the day vanished, one after the other, I hustled to get the pavers moved out of the truck. We had an appointment to pick up a load of hay around dinner time.
Hoping to minimize the handling, I wanted to transfer from the truck to the ATV trailer so I could deliver pavers directly to the path in the woods.
After a cursory two trips of distributing pavers, I had a good start on the trail, but needed to stack the rest up by the shop for use at a later time. The appointed hay hour was fast approaching.
Given this morning’s new assignment with the chicken coop, I am thoroughly enjoying the mental ease and physical feasibility of yesterday’s projects. New hay is stacked in the shed and pavers cover the muddy trail.
Next time it rains I’ll be excited to walk the enhanced surface of the trail at the bottom of the hill.
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Berries Galore
When the fruit matures on all the wild raspberry bushes around our property, you can’t pick fast enough to keep up with the supply. It becomes a full-time job for about a week or so.
Too bad neither of us are able to give it that kind of attention.
Cyndie does a more than adequate job to collect a reasonable amount.
Last night the berries were turned into a few miniature pies and a batch of homemade pop-tarts.
I’m going to be picking tiny seeds from my teeth on a regular basis for a week or two based on her ambitious efforts to put the berries to good use.
One of my strong favorites is spreading her black-cap jam over cream cheese spread on a good piece of heavy grain toasted bread.
It’s a taste and texture extravaganza!
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Another View
I have been known to tip a few rocks over the years. It is simultaneously both invigorating and calming, if that is possible. An energizing meditation of balance. It’s unexpected, sometimes mind-boggling, captivating, and often photo-worthy.
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What’s not to like?
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Well, quite possibly, several things. I can totally understand another way of thinking about this topic after reading a post by Brent McDaniel for the Friends of the Smokies blog.
Titled, “Don’t Move Rocks!” it provides a perspective from the “leave no trace” philosophy, offering many very logical reasons for consideration.
The simplest might be, “If every one of the 10 million people who visit the Smokies every year decided they should build their own cairn, do you think that’s a park you’d want to visit again, up to your ears in stacks of rocks?“
Think about it. If a little is good, more must be better, right? It’s art. Who doesn’t want more artistry in the world?
Going forward, I have decided to be more thoughtful about the places where I choose to move rocks.
I’m also now inspired to want to walk in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park.
Thanks for that alternative perspective, Brent!
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Dust Bathing
While I was busy sprucing up the property, the chickens were sprucing up themselves with a rousing dust bath yesterday afternoon. Apparently, two of them had simultaneous interest in the exact same spot of sandy ground. If it hadn’t been for their two different colors, I wouldn’t have been able to tell where one left off and the other started.
The three of them were pretty cute in their companionship earlier in the day when I was turning the piles of compost. They would climb up on the pile I was working on, startling a little bit each time I tossed another scoop on the heap. Not intending to alarm them, I would switch to a different pile to work, after which they would migrate over to help me on that pile.
After a few hours of compost management, I pulled out the Grizzly with our towable grader/rake and did some laps in the round pen to disrupt the uninvited weedy grasses that love taking root in the sand. Maybe the chickens will take a liking to the newly raked sand over there.
Finally, I cranked up the lawn tractor to mow the yard and all the nooks and crannies from the house to the road.
I feel ready to return to the day-job. The next big task demanding attention is the labyrinth. With Cyndie reduced to one working arm, that garden has been mostly neglected. It is something I can probably do after work one of these nights, if I have any energy for the project. The grass and weeds have gotten tall and thick, so it won’t be a quick and easy job.
When that is completed, I need to get after the north pasture, where Cyndie has already removed the fence webbing. I want to pull the T-posts that remain standing and then knock down the shoulder-high growth with our brush cutter. That will be an adventure in mowing what you can’t see.
Sure hope the chickens stay out of that field.
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Pickin’ Time
Today is Independence Day in the U.S. I’m not sure whether there is added significance about the holiday this year, but it feels more complicated than usual with the turmoil over the bizarre turn our national government has taken, starting early in the Presidential campaign season, then through the change of administration and beyond, and all the while, compounded by the apparent ongoing meddling of foreign nations.
Did someone say “Russia?” Cough, cough.
Are we still an independent country? “One nation, under multinational corporations, indivisible…”
Regardless, we will be celebrating the day by mowing grass, composting manure, and picking raspberries. We returned from the lake yesterday afternoon, despite the gorgeous conditions beckoning us to stay. There was just too much work to be done at home.
Unfortunately, more than gets done in one day, but what a difference a day can make. I’m confident I will feel just fine by the time I throw in the towel tonight and head in for a shower and some dinner.
We took a little reconnaissance walk around the property last evening and found horses and chickens in good order. Most noteworthy was the amount of progress visible in the raspberry bushes compared to how they looked when we left on Friday.
Without delay, Cyndie got a bowl and started collecting berries. Soon, the chickens arrived to join her. It appears she will have some added competition this year on picking raspberries.
Another new addition to our landscape is bursting open like 4th of July fireworks! The first of the many colors of lilies at the top of our driveway are in full bloom.
It was a nice treat welcoming us home.
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All Games
It’s all fun and games at the lake this weekend. The 4th of July celebration at Wildwood is a tradition of classic competitions between teams of bats (blue shirts) and mice (red shirts). Under a spectacular sunny summer sky yesterday, we waged battle of kicking shoes, eating watermelon, tossing water balloons, a sponge brigade, a scavenger hunt, and moving a greased watermelon across a goal line in the lake.
It almost always comes out a tie, but both teams tend to claim victory over the other. I guess that is part of the tradition, too.
There’s a rendition of the National Anthem around the flagpole and a parade up the driveway past all the homes and back again.
The grand finale is a world-class dinner in the lodge after some spectacular appetizers on the lawn out front.
It doesn’t feel like the American political system is all that great lately, but the energy of people celebrating our independence was as great as ever.
Cyndie and I retired early to keep Delilah company in the loft bedroom under the soothing white noise of a loud fan while the banging and popping of small-time fireworks rattled the night.
It feels like a summer holiday.
Saturday evening the immediate family held a rousing tutorial of the game Tripoly with two of Cyndie’s nephews who, to our surprise, somehow made it to their late teens without ever playing the game. It was a stellar first-time exposure as the game involved some major drama in the last two hands.
Two different rare hands were dealt in the final two rounds, but neither player was able to play them out and collect the reward, because another player used up their cards first and ended the rounds.
We dealt a couple of poker hands to divide up the unclaimed chips and Steve’s son, Eric, came out on top. To my great relief, the chips were issued at no cost, so my pocket book was spared the damages that I would have otherwise suffered.
It’s all fun and games, until someone gets hurt.
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Slowly Motioning
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At the lake
moving slowly
family
generations
friends
food
fun
laughter
stories
memories
hugs
tricks
napping
dogs
noise
sunshine
water
wind
clouds
sand
birds
grass
games
plans
groceries
treats
books
cards
chips
Tripoly
ice
cake
snacks
cookies
revelry
teaching
telling
talking
walking
waiting
reading
grilling
steak
smoke
barking
driving
inflatables
towels
speedboat
waves
kayaks
paddle boards
photos
basketball
sleep
sweetness
whatever
writing
listening
and a whole lotta love
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Relative Something 