Archive for February 2021
Relief Comes
The temperature climbed above zero (F) yesterday. Given the reference point of the biting cold that we have been subject to for the last couple of weeks, stepping out into the February sunshine felt remarkably comfortable. Warm, even. Though it really wasn’t.
Just a little relief from the hunched clenching posture we and the chickens have been maintaining opens up a surprising amount of renewal in mind and body. Rocky and the hens were taking full advantage of the sunny wall on the end of the barn where we clear the snow for them.
Cyndie said the yellow Buff Orpington visible in the background of the image was digging in to take a little dust bath.
In a crazy coincidence of timing, Cyndie sent me a text about how big the icicle had grown from the corner of the barn roof. I suggested she knock it down proactively to avoid it falling unexpectedly. By the time she arrived to tend to the task, it had already fallen on its own.
Apparently, the frozen stalactite sensed our plan just as we were hatching it and took matters up with good old gravity to save us any extra trouble.
I struggle to reconcile a mixture of glee and guilt over the relative good fortune we are enjoying compared to the weather much of the rest of our country is suffering. The extreme cold we have dealt with is something we have lifetimes of experience and knowledge to cope with, while the cold and snow disrupting life in Texas and beyond is bizarrely out of the ordinary for them.
I feel for the hassles they are dealing with while also being grateful we have been spared a similar level of calamity.
May the southern states appreciate how quickly their climbing temperatures will melt the uncharacteristic amounts of snow that have fallen on them as we endure the typical long, slow transition from winter to spring our latitude abides.
Either way, relief does eventually come.
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Tool Marks
I’ve reached the phase of my latest wood sculpting project where I’m happy with the shape and am ready to sand it smooth, but that goal is hampered by the straggling tool marks that remain. Each time I move to a finer grit of sandpaper, the next level of imperfections become apparent.
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I used a grinder to rough out the shape and then some rasping with a metal file to refine it before switching to hand sanding. Inevitably, there ends up being one bothersome spot where the previous tools went a hair deeper than anywhere else. That spot pretty much ends up defining the point of completion.
At least, in that spot with that grit of sandpaper.
Usually, as I move to the next finer grit, several new scuffs appear. Rinse, repeat.
It’s very meditative for my brain, despite becoming a bit of a burden on my aging arthritic grip.
If I don’t have a bright sunny day to illuminate the finest detail, I resort to a headlamp. Otherwise, it looks just fine the way it is to my old eyes.
The prefectionist in me would never settle for that.
While working to clear snow off the roof a few weeks ago, I resorted to repeatedly telling myself that perfect is the enemy of good enough. Any snow removed was better than none at all.
When it comes to a polished wood sculpture, my feelings are just the opposite. I can’t quit until tool marks are gone. At least, on the primary features, anyway. I grant myself some leeway where my design transitions from the rough unfinished bark to the smoothly shaped and polished wood grains.
I have the advantage of not being faced with time constraints in my sculpting projects. That makes all the difference, allowing me to work as fast or slow as I choose to reach the end result I seek, infusing love into the piece all the while.
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Managing Well
We managed to survive the coldest weekend so far this winter without too much trouble. Our heated waterer for the chickens didn’t fare so well, though. Cyndie brought it inside to thaw and tried a second time, but when it froze again, we put the backup unit into use.
I took advantage of the brittleness of frozen firewood logs and busted a bunch of them open on the manual splitter.
Full disclosure: That graphic wasn’t from this weekend. I keep my hat on when the windchill is minus-25°(F). Still, the exercise generates plenty of body warmth. Another reason I don’t need a gym membership for working out.
The ol’ Norwegian Smart-Splitter® is ideal for making kindling. Snaps off little bite sized pieces with one stroke. I push the limits a little bit and use it along with a separate wedge to split full-sized logs. Takes a few extra throws of the weight to coerce the more stubborn logs. If you look close, the once-yellow wedge is stuck in the wood beside the green wedge of the Smart Splitter. I’ve got a maul in my left hand and I switch back and forth between the two to increase expansion pressure until the wood finally gives.
Even though the wood was easier to split, I was less interested in being outside long enough to get it all done. Truth be told, I had a greater urge to lean back with my feet up in the recliner under a snuggly blanket.
Happily, Pequenita felt similar to me about spending the rest of the day on the recliner.
That’s what I call managing well to deal with a crazy, bitterly cold day.
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Love Lots
My tendency is to downplay the import of special dates. That isn’t meant to detract from the days themselves, but to point out the benefit of celebrating the gist of each special day on every other day all year long. Our birthday marking a year passing could be celebrated every day because each day is a year beyond 365 days before.
Of all the days I should really adopt as deserving my attention, the day celebrating love should really be the primary one. At the same time, of all the special days assigned a particular day on the annual calendar, love is probably the one more appropriately distributed across all other days to the end of time.
February 14 is all red hearts and gushing over crushes. I’m all for doing that every other day just as much.
Grow your love today for yourself and others. In so many ways, there are no “others.” We are one.
We should behave as such.
Every day.
Love you!
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Forging Ahead
The bite of persistent extreme cold weather continues to oppressively dominate life for us and our stoic chickens. There is little in the way of frivolous activity from the hens, beyond the brave layers who make extra trips between the nest boxes in the coop and the nook under the barn overhang where they have been spending the rest of the daylight hours.
Surprisingly, this cold snap does not appear to be stifling the continued development of the maturing hens into the egg-laying phase of their lives. Yesterday, we were gifted with six eggs, the most in one day so far from this brood. Unsurprisingly, not all of the eggs were found before freezing to the point of cracking.
Not all of the eggs were laid in one of the nest boxes, but at least four of the layers chose the same box.
As of yesterday, we hadn’t yet made the transition to using egg cartons when collecting eggs. When it is only one or two eggs, both Cyndie and I tend to slip them into pockets for the trip back up to the house. Once we start finding a half-dozen or more at one time, our stash of old egg cartons definitely comes into play.
As Cyndie multitasked yesterday to walk Delilah, collect the emptied trash and recycling bins, and collect eggs from the coop, she was suddenly met with —
SQUIRREL!!!
With Delilah’s leash quick-clipped to the handle of one of the bins and Cyndie’s grip on each of the two bins, eggs in her jacket pocket, our alerted canine unexpectedly bolted 90° sideways over the snow piled along the edge of the driveway.
The jolt on the leash yanked so powerfully it pulled both the bins and Cyndie into the bank of snow where she toppled over and unceremoniously landed headfirst in the snow, resulting in one broken egg in her pocket.
She made her way back to upright and got Delilah under control and forged ahead for the warmth of the house.
Today is even colder than yesterday and tomorrow is due to be colder than today.
We’ll just keep on keeping on, uncertain of what frigid adventure might result next.
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Thinking Differently
I overheard a snippet of the impeachment trial yesterday and an analyst’s opinion afterward. Were any minds being swayed? The general opinion was, no. It didn’t sound like the second day added much to the impression clearly accomplished on the first. Then the radio host referenced the Democrats would finish presenting their case by the end of the day.
The Democrats’ case. Why is it their case?
There was an insurrection against our government fomented by the outgoing President. Why isn’t the prosecution supported by all legislators, regardless of political party? He threatened his Republican Vice President’s life! Why wasn’t the entirety of the GOP incensed by this?
The trial should have no party component. Imagine that. Just Senators holding the President accountable for his actions to instigate the riot and his inaction to mitigate the situation as it was raging at its worst. Where was the law and order President when his supporters were beating police with flag poles? He ultimately told the rioters he loved them.
The events of January 6 at the US Capital should obliterate any distinction between the two political parties.
I regret that the prosecution felt the need to bludgeon us so repeatedly with the evidence. One time through with the chronology of the facts would have been plenty. Saying the same things over and over again does not make a point more convincing. If entrenched politicians won’t waver from a partisan position, save us all some time and just vote on the articles of impeachment.
Get it over with and let’s move on to the next priority that deserves congressional attention.
Imagine a dream of politicians debating issues without constraints of political party affiliation. ‘Us versus us’, instead of ‘us versus them.’ What if we were all in this together instead of one half automatically opposing whatever the other half suggests?
Imagine a world of unicorns and rainbows. It would be just as productive.
An exercise of thinking different can be interesting, but the amount of change it will produce is hard to measure. My gut tells me real change is unlikely.
My heart tells me to keep thinking differently, regardless.
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Cold Enough
How many days have I been writing about this latest cold spell? Don’t answer that. I don’t want to know. I naively suspected the cold wouldn’t last unusually long, but I was wrong. According to the latest update of the forecast, not only will our cold spell be continuing, it is anticipated that it will bite even deeper this weekend than last.
The week of minor flurries and consistent wind slowly served to fill the edges of our plowed driveway with growing drifts to the point I needed to scrape them back last night.
The sides are soon reaching the limits of my blade’s ability to roll them over. I expect the next accumulation will result in a narrower overall width. At least we have made it to the second week of February. Winter is almost over, isn’t it? Don’t answer that.
I’ve lived long enough to know better than to get my hopes up about that.
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Fractious Trips
There but for the grace of God, goes my car safely through the curves to arrive at the day-job undamaged during a cold snap with overnight snow flurries. Two days this week with the same conditions both mornings. With temperatures well below zero (F) on Monday and Tuesday, combined with a faint dusting of snow, an invisible icing glazed the pavement and normally innocuous curves of the interstate became bumper car (un)amusement rides.
I was lucky to leave later than others who exposed the surprise hazards before I arrived. My first clue was from an overhead message board reporting a crash ahead causing delays.
After a prolonged wait, during which we crawled along just above idle speed in approach to the point where three lanes were funneled down to one, I reached the scene of autobody shrapnel scattered every which way blinking little reflections of the multitude of flashing emergency lights.
For the rest of my commute, each turn was marked by disrupted snow against the cement barriers, sliding tire tracks slashing across the marked lanes, and pieces of plastic and metal sprinkled about. That is, when there weren’t still emergency vehicles in place and flatbed tow trucks collecting their prizes.
Minnesota auto body shops might be busy this week. Just a little snow caused more than 300 crashes Monday morning and more than 60 drivers spun out according to Minnesota State Patrol.
The main problem: Black ice. (https://minnesota.cbslocal.com/2021/02/08/how-does-black-ice-form-in-subzero-temperatures/)
I once had to take a previous vehicle to a body shop after someone slid into me when conditions were slippery. It’s the worst time ever to need repairs. The repair shops get inundated with work all at once. No fun for the shop that can’t fix things fast enough and even less fun for the sad car owners whose lives get significantly disrupted.
I admit to frequently driving faster than I probably should in snowstorms, but I have no problem with slowing way down for curves when conditions are ripe for black ice.
Since I can’t control what the cars around me choose to do, I consider it pure luck each time I arrive at my destination unscathed by the calamity of careless spinning disaster-makers.
These fractious trips fuel a growing urge to visualize a day when I no longer need to make these hour-long commutes.
There but for the grace of God…
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Relative Something 