Archive for July 2021
Trail Riding
It has been a very long time since I have ridden my beloved hard-tail mountain bike. So long, in fact, I forgot how much more work it can be compared to my road bike. I bonked yesterday in a 16-plus mile ride with my life-long friend, Paul Keiski, whose biking condition is much stronger than mine.
Luckily, I was still close enough in contact with him to enjoy the spectacle of his slow-motion crash as he let out a little laugh over the predicament of tipping in the direction of the down-slope into the scrappy growth, wheels up, and on his back for a second.
The Makwa singletrack is a hairpin winding hardscrabble trail of big roots and jutting rocks that frequently will bring momentum to an abrupt halt where I would find myself in an unwelcome pedal stand and needing to muster the gumption to somehow kick the bike forward over the obstacle on the incline before me.
Yeah, I got tired. If I was on my road bike, I would coast for a while and catch my breath, but there is little time for relaxed coasting on this kind of trail. Arms constantly flexed, absorbing the concussions with obstacles and desperately working to hold the bike on the trail.
We chose to circle back to our starting point by way of a gravel fire lane road that had been re-graded not too long ago and was softer than preferable. I was already exhausted, but being well aware of the mostly uphill grade we needed to accomplish to get back to the pavement added a psychological burden that caused me to walk up more hills than I care to admit.
I was in the company of a generous friend in Paul, who was very patient and smart enough to have some energy supplements along for the ride which relieved my fatigue for a bit.
The last leg back to our lake place was on the pavement which felt great for the comparative ease but I was acutely aware of the fact this bike lacked the better geometry and larger wheels of my other bike.
Don’t get me wrong. I love my trail bike. It is wonderfully responsive to my moves in the woods and probably saves me from calamity despite my lack of experience on more occasions than not. I only inadvertently wandered off-trail several times when I failed to control my momentum and negotiate a turn, twice successfully carrying on anyway and riding back onto the trail without interruption.
That quick response of the bike made my soft gravel road riding a little squirrelly which only added misery to my fatigue, but overall, I am grateful for the way this old refurbished Trek performs for me.
It deserves to be ridden more often and my skills and conditioning improved enough to do it justice, but I am afraid being on the upper side of 62-years-old has me more inclined to just settle for hopping on the road bike and coasting down paved roads.
Many thanks to Paul for inspiring me to join him in the adventure and adding one more precious trail riding memory to our shared life experiences.
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Orange Spots
The smoke from Canadian forest fires played havoc on both breathing and visibility yesterday. It also led to orange spots on the land.
Cyndie provided these wonderful shots of the way the sunlight looked as it speckled its way through leafy branches to reach the ground below:
I’m up at the lake for the annual “Golf Weekend” hosted by Cyndie’s brothers, Steve and Ben. I don’t golf, but I provide bicycling companionship to any of the guys who opt out of the afternoon tee times to do some trail riding in the woods.
We are hoping for less smoke today, even though it can make interesting design patterns when it filters the sunlight.
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For Free
It has been a while since I became enamored with an entire album of recorded songs by a particular artist. With everything coming at us in streaming form these days, listening to a complete album seems a little archaic. Doing so throws me back to my days working in a record store and devouring music on vinyl LPs, one side at a time.
This month I was lucky to stumble upon news of David Crosby releasing his latest effort, titled “For Free.” I navigated to my Apple Music account for a listen and a day later found myself replaying the chorus of the opening song in my head as a pleasing earworm. I always take this as a good sign when I’m not yet familiar with a song but my mind is already hooked on a part of it.
Very often the song that does this for me aligns with the eventual “hit” song that ends up achieving radio play and wide popularity, but not always since my tastes are a little broader than average.
That pleasant looping refrain in my brain usually leads me to follow-up listening sessions and with “For Free,” doing so quickly hooked me on multiple cuts. I’m a fan of most music David Crosby has created and thoroughly enjoy the sound of his singing.
One aspect of his vocal sound on this album impressed me for the way it belies his age. David is almost 80 and can still sing like his younger self. At the same time, I detected occasional words with a pronunciation that hinted he’s not 29 anymore, but instead of that being an unpleasant aspect, I’m finding it more endearing and intimate when it occurs.
The lyrics are engaging, the musicianship inspiring, and David’s familiar singing voice a true gift to the ears.
His collaboration with Sarah Jarosz on the title track cover of Joni Mitchell’s song is a gem and provided my first introduction to her artistry. I’ll be exploring her recordings in the near future, for sure.
Several places throughout multiple songs I found myself enthused with the enticing momentum provided by a pleasing bass and drumset energy, for which I assume Crosby’s son James Raymond deserves credit as album producer.
I’m consuming this album in numerical order from beginning to end, on repeat. If you are a music fan with any appreciation for David Crosby, I invite you to give the whole album a full listen.
The old man turns 80 in August, for heaven’s sake. Everyone should hear what he is still doing at this age.
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No Sound
Was there a sound made when the large limb of one of our oak trees snapped and tipped to the ground sometime yesterday? Cyndie didn’t hear anything.
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Right now, I’m feeling inclined toward leaving it as it is. The upper portion is well above my lumberjacking abilities. Maybe after all the leaves are down it will become easier to assess the tangle of small trees that were victimized by the crash. I’ll gladly delay a decision on what to do until some time in the future.
Especially if it continues to make no sound.
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Empty Coop
It wasn’t long ago that we were renovating the coop in preparation for housing the two groups of chicks at the same time when we moved them out of their respective brooders.
Now the coop stands empty. On Sunday, my brother and his wife stopped by to pick up the three survivors of the massacre that took out 22 chickens.
The ghost predators that have been taking advantage of us for several months will not find one more chicken dinner here this year. Maybe that will provide incentive for them to move on to some other property.
We will take a year off to mull over the possibility of trying again. At this point, it feels like our methods will need to involve something less than free-ranging given the increasing priority of not experiencing any more losses like we’ve endured this year.
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Happy Grazing
Late yesterday, Cyndie captured some great shots of the horses out on the big field as the sun was low.
Mix was walking around with only one fly sock on.
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It was nice to see Mix out there with the others because she has been lingering back under the overhang for a few days whenever the others wandered out. It’s difficult to gauge her reasons so our concern rises a little bit and we watch for any indication it is health-related.
Maybe she just doesn’t want to venture very far in the heat of the day.
The other possibility might be the low value of grazing that is available during the increasingly troublesome drought.
I wondered if she just didn’t feel like walking that far, so I’m very happy to know there doesn’t appear to be any physical limitation keeping her from moving out there.
I ended the day doing some trimming along the back pasture fence line and by the time I stopped, I didn’t feel like walking any further than necessary.
We are prone to repeating an old phrase around our house with respect to how our feet feel at the end of a long day: “My dogs were barking.”
After getting covered in dog shit shrapnel from the power trimmer upon inadvertently hitting a poo Delilah had previously deposited, I had a strong interest in doing just enough walking to get myself into a shower as fast as possible.
Living a privileged country life isn’t always a glamorous endeavor.
At least our horses maintain a pretty respectable sense of decorum when they are out grazing on the big field by the road.
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Cooking Compost
Does horse manure attract flies?
Yes, it does.
It also cooks at over 160°(F) given the right conditions. Just the right amount of moisture, air, and shape of the pile trigger the microorganisms to go wild. Unfortunately, at that temperature and above, the microbes start to die off and the pile can go inert.
I did a little cooking of my own in the hot sun yesterday, working in front of the hay shed. I’m cutting up old cedar boards ripped off our deck to make a small woodshed for up at the lake place.
I’m creating a kit of cut boards that I can fit in my car for transport up north where the plan is to assemble it in place. It’s a little tricky because I tend to make design decisions as I go on my building projects. I’m wrestling with the mental challenge of envisioning each step in advance and knowing what pieces and precise dimensions I need for each step in the process.
I anticipate the assembly will stretch over several different weekend visits up north. As if we need excuses to spend more time at the lake in the months ahead.
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Got Flies?
Why, yes. Yes, we do. We have so many flies that it makes us want to get chickens to help control the insect population around here.
Oh, wait. Yeah, that.
I had a weird thought about devising a way to put a predator poison around a chicken’s neck in such a way that it wouldn’t bother the chicken but would either take out the predator or teach them that these chickens are no longer desirable prey.
In the meantime, our horses are donning fly masks and leg boots in an attempt to give them a break from the incessant insect harassment.
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Yesterday afternoon I spotted Mix having a little tantrum, running and gyrating to and fro. I suspect something got inside her mask and the poor girl couldn’t just reach up with a hand and remedy the situation. I felt so sorry for her.
I’m not as strong as a horse and nor do I have their keen sense but I do have hands with opposable thumbs.
When we were serving up their afternoon feed, I took the opportunity to use my hands to give Mix a thorough rub down and massage. I imagine after being pestered all day long by little pokes, bites, and tickles, a deep rub with heavy pressure must be a welcome change.
I know I would love that.
I would sure love it if we could have free-ranging chickens and not have them decimated by predators. I suppose it’s time for us to go back to adding fly predators to our property management like we did back when we first got horses and didn’t know a thing about keeping chickens.
We are behind the optimal control by that method as the fly predators feed on the pupa, killing flies before they emerge. They don’t do anything to stop adult flies.
One thing going for us this summer is the drought has reduced conditions that make for more flies, so I guess it could be worse.
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Home Grown
Cyndie’s strawberry patch is still in its infancy but we did get a pretty respectable first crop this year.
Toward the end, I noticed a squirrel had taken quite a liking to being inside the netted perimeter fence. Every time I walked by, the intruder would startle and panic, botching several times in his attempt to climb out before succeeding.
I think Cyndie had picked most of the ripened fruit by the time the squirrel developed its interest.
Eating a perfectly ripened strawberry that was picked from the plant that very day has me wanting to evermore avoid the overly-firm, tasteless version of the fruit available year-round in grocery stores.
There is just no comparison.
Of course, my heightened sensitivity to a problematically short window of ideal ripeness for all fruit plays a big role in determining my level of satisfaction. The duration of time between too green and too ripe for my liking when it comes to bananas is measured in minutes. For oranges and apples, it’s more like days.
Texture plays a big part in influencing my acceptance of most fruits. Growing strawberries at home and serving them shortly after they were picked has spoiled me a little.
I may need to revert to only eating fruit that’s in-season like we used to do before global shipping became an everyday occurrence.
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Really Happening
It’s happening right before our eyes. The changes currently playing out on our planet are no longer just scientific theories. They are actual events. Record high temperatures. Droughts. Wildfires. Floods. Thawing permafrost. Rising sea levels. Shrinking glaciers.
I’ve tried to mentally prepare for the possibility of any of the first four catastrophes directly impacting our property, but the thing we are dealing with currently is only peripherally related to the wildfires burning in Canada just to our north. Our air quality is so bad the Pollution Control Agency is advising we avoid being outside and breathing the smoke particulate matter.
Measurements are reaching record levels for Minnesota.
We should probably hold more meetings to discuss how we can reduce our carbon emissions to net-zero by some future date. [sarcasm]
I asked Cyndie if we have any idea what to do in the case of a wildfire suddenly bearing down on our location. She said we should paint our phone number on the horses.
I’m sure they would be fine with that if we were able to find any paint and get them to stand still during the highly emotional panic that would be occurring as a fire threat is bearing down on our property.
Even though the dramatic stories of lost lives and property in the recent floods in Germany and China and the ongoing Bootleg fire in Oregon depict the trauma at the epicenter of such events, life at home feels strangely distanced.
Our horses are calm. Their grass is dryer than optimum, the flies are a constant nuisance, the temperatures are getting too hot again, and the smoky air makes breathing less fun, but they aren’t ones to complain. I sense they may still be contemplating whether the situation they now find themselves in –living out their days in comfort and safety with us– is for real, or not.
Based on my assessment of the reality of global climate calamities playing out in plain view right now, I can understand any hesitations they might have about the comfort and safety part.
There should be no denying anymore that the ramifications of human activity causing increased concentrations of greenhouse gasses in the atmosphere are already playing out.
It really is already happening, whether people collectively acknowledge it, or not.
Every day that I don’t have to drive my fossil-fueled car anywhere is a tiny victory in my effort to reconcile still living with a carbon footprint that reflects how we got into this climate predicament in the first place.
May we all keep looking for individual ways to do something helpful, or simply stop doing things that are hurtful, long before governments and greater society finally get around to enacting more broadly effective changes.
I look forward to that really happening.
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Relative Something 