Archive for March 2024
Impressive Overachievement
It’s been over two weeks since Asher and I discovered a fallen tree leaning across one of our trails in the woods. At the time, Cyndie was in Florida and I needed to wait for her to get home before bringing out the big chainsaw –a tool I’ve agreed to never use when home alone– to clear the path.
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Alas, this many days later and I’ve allowed myself to disregard that project. In my way of thinking, I should get out the Grizzly ATV and hook up the trailer to haul the saw into the woods and carry the wood back out. Then, I realized I should be resting my shoulder to allow it to better heal, and holding the big saw seemed a bit much.
I decided the tree could hang there for a while since it was easy enough to duck under. It is unsurprisingly easy for me to put off chores for some other time.
With our continued dry weather and the forest as dormant as ever, each time we walk around in there I spot another vine to be removed from smothering one of our trees. Cutting down vines takes a lot less effort since I can easily hand-carry the trusty Stihl mini chainsaw on walks with Asher.
I remembered to grab it yesterday to cut out another gigantic woody grapevine that I’ve walked past countless times and somehow ignored until now. I didn’t even try to pull it out of the tree. Just cut out a six-foot section of it and carried on with following Asher along the path.
Then we came upon the tree leaning across the trail. Hmm. Mini saw in hand. Fully charged battery. Could it handle a job this size?
Yes, yes that little branch pruner could. You may notice there were already a number of cut sections of fallen trees on the ground in that spot. For now, I cleared the pathway and left the freshly cut pieces on the pile.
Asher became fixated anew on whatever the heck might have been living in the dirt under all the chunks of wood.
Our dog is tenacious when it comes to digging for critters, but that Stihl GTA 26 is an even more impressive overachiever.
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Record Year
It’s a dubious honor, indeed, as our planet continues to simmer to increasingly frightening degrees (pun intended).
It’s pretty extreme to see the data so far above any previous record for such a consistent duration. You’d think the weather might start to reflect the conditions by growing more dramatic in intensity, bringing stronger hurricanes/typhoons, more intense hail in thunderstorms, and soaking rains that trigger flooding.
Oh, wait. That’s already happening all over the world. Yikes.
At least we got the rotting truss replaced on the log house up at the lake place.
All that remains is getting the new logs stained and sealed to match the rest of the structure. The roof is once again safely supported in case any wild climate-intensified weather makes its way to Hayward (WI).
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Some Songs
Yesterday afternoon, a song popped up on my random shuffled library playback and triggered a visceral response that none of the songs ahead of it did. My reaction wasn’t immediate beyond appreciating that I hadn’t listened to it for quite some time. Then I noticed it was building to an ending that has always been one I adore. The last two minutes of the 4-minute and 52-second song grabbed me.
I spontaneously told Cyndie, “Play this at the closing of my funeral.”
Now, I’m not currently in the thought process of planning for my funeral, so I don’t know where that idea came from. I also don’t know what it was in that moment that triggered my brain and body to react to the end of the song in the way I did.
Some songs just do that for us. Last night we coincidentally watched the 2018 version of “A Star Is Born” with Bradley Cooper and Lady Gaga in which there is a scene that talks about the 12 notes between octaves…
…music is essentially 12 notes between any octave. Twelve notes and the octave repeats. It’s the same story told over and over forever. All any artist can offer the world is how they see those 12 notes. That’s it.
Sam Elliott’s character, Bobby, talking to Ally (Lady Gaga)
There is an article posted (Dec. 2022) on Psychology Today, “The Amazing Power of Music in Our Lives; Seven great reasons to incorporate music into your daily routine.” Music is good for our health.
I don’t know why some songs stand out more than others for us or why a particular moment I hear a song can have such a distinct impact.
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Yesterday, “Opposites” on Eric Clapton’s 1975 album, “There’s One in Every Crowd,” resonated deeply for me.
Some songs just do that.
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Puppy Energy
In February, our rescued shepherd mix, Asher, turned 2 years old. That is commonly considered the beginning of the end of the puppy phase for many large breed dogs. Anecdotally, I can report we are noticing an increase in more mature behavior from Asher, however, that hasn’t eliminated his moments of wild or chaotic romping.
Last night, Asher bolted from Cyndie, disappearing into the darkness when she tried to take him out for one last pee before bed. Luckily, she found him shortly after, down in the trees near the labyrinth. I guess we should take it as promising progress that he didn’t instantly take off for the neighbor’s property.
The other day, he sat down on a walk with me and surveyed the paddocks and fields for a long time. I sat down with him. It felt like a version of himself that was beyond the puppy phase.
It occurs to me that someday I might miss his puppy energy so I should cherish his moments of chaos while he still has it in him. I never seem able to keep that perspective when tripping on the bedroom rug he has whirled into a pile of wrinkles when trying to hump his dog bed sideways on its end.
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Ethnicity Estimate
Kiss me, I’m [almost] Irish! I don’t know if you can tell, but I am writing with an Irish accent this morning. In honor of my great connections to the fifth-century patron saint and national apostle of Ireland, Patrick, I am acknowledging this special holiday by revisiting my ancestral links.
But, wait. Ireland has always been a dead end in my attempts to verify the origin of the surname Hays. I haven’t identified the father of my 3rd-great-grandfather John Hays. I have always been led toward Ireland because a mention in an 1860 Canadian census that lists place of origin as Ireland.
Confusion was added when information on that John Hays (born abt.1795), found on the death record of his son, John B. (born 1834 or 1837) listed the father’s (John born 1795) place of birth as Vermont, USA. I have never been able to verify that.
However, I have DNA records to connect with my ethnicity so surely that will verify this family line to Ireland. Umm, no. It doesn’t.
The missing link is whoever the father was of the John born in 1795 and where he was from.
My cells indicate the top three places matching my ethnicity are England and Northwestern Europe, Wales, and Scotland.
So, I guess I’ve actually been writing in a Scottish accent all this time. Not sure if you can hear the difference.
Regardless, Happy St. Patrick’s Day!
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Blowing In
When Asher and I set out on our routine morning walk today, the sky was filled with heavy-looking clouds that cast a dark mood over the landscape. The weather forecast warned of strong winds but we weren’t feeling that on the ground yet. The blanket of low clouds overhead, however, was moving past at a high rate of speed.
It was as if the blue sky was blowing in.
The horses radiated a deep calm as they consumed their feed from the buckets. That sharply contrasted with the barn pigeons that were cooing with an insistence that bordered on drastic urgency. Maybe it was egg-laying time.
The ground surface around the overhang is so dry I should be celebrating freedom from coping with massive levels of mud but the reality it reflects is the threat of drought that hovers near. I had time to contemplate the current conditions because Light and Mix were both taking their sweet time about emptying the feed buckets I was waiting to retrieve.
I treasure that we have settled into a routine that allows them to eat at their individually chosen leisurely paces as opposed to the racing randomness that was happening not that long ago. There are still moments when we need to convince one or two of the horses to get out of each other’s way to end up at what has become their designated positions, but once they get there, extra shenanigans rarely interfere.
The deep calm that materializes is something I don’t take for granted.
In the time it has taken me to finish my breakfast and write this, the wind has arrived at ground level and a fresh blanket of clouds has blown in. With a little luck, maybe it could blow some needed precipitation our way.
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Look Down
More often than not, my photographic experiments involve looking straight up at unexpected moments. Looking down rarely offers much in the way of surprises. We are more inclined to look down at where we are about to step than to suddenly tilt our heads to look directly above us.
Still, there are plenty of times when I point my camera lens down to fill the frame with something that captures my attention. Here are some from our visit to the lake place earlier this week…
I have been on limited duty after Cyndie did some research about the symptoms I am still experiencing since my epic “no-brakes” spill down the hill of our backyard a couple of weeks ago. I had been trying to carry on as if I’d suffered nothing more than a bruised shoulder, but my pain and arm weakness were not fading away as I’d hoped they would.
The new plan is to limit my range of motion and get on a regimen of an anti-inflammatory for a while. I’ve started wearing a sling to help me in two ways: to give my shoulder a rest from the weight of my arm and to remind me not to raise that arm to the point I feel pain.
Doctor Internet Research suggests my healing will be well served by avoiding any motion that triggers pain. That idea is the opposite of what I had been doing up to this point. I wasn’t doing myself any favors by repeatedly testing the limits of what I could do by working past a little pain or discomfort in my shoulder.
Hopefully, I can milk this to get out of throwing hay bales around when the next delivery comes. That reminds me, we should probably find out when the next delivery will be coming.
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Woods Work
While professionals were tending to the log truss, we had plenty of free time to wander in the wooded areas of the property that are usually buried under snow or overgrown with ferns and trillium. The “in-between” season is greatly expanded this year, allowing for unobstructed travel on days with very summer-like warm temperatures.
I needed to dig deep through stacked storage in the garage to reach a leaf rake that I wanted to use in reclaiming our mini-labyrinth path.
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Cyndie and Asher found a couple of trees girdled by a large metal cable. She asked me if I could do anything to save the trees. It looked pretty daunting to me at first but after pondering the situation for a while, I went back with some hand tools.
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I suspect there is probably an old ring of keys in the house somewhere, one of which might just match that big old padlock. Doesn’t everyone have an old set of keys stashed someplace with purposes no longer remembered? This could easily be one of those cases.
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After returning for a closer look, now wearing a good pair of gloves, I started pulling where the cable disappeared into the dirt. It had been buried for a long time but I soon discovered the length between the two trees had been cut. That meant I could pull it back through the loop and didn’t need to find a key for the lock.
On the other tree, I just needed to unwind the small wire that had been binding the cable together.
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Once that was done, I pulled the cables out of the bark up to the point where the tree had grown over the metal rope. I needed to return to the house for more equipment. I found a small pruning saw that was able to do the trick. I sawed into the bark on either side of the cable until I was able to muscle it free.
The trees should both be able to heal the wounds and continue to grow unrestrained. That would be the best reward I could wish for upon achieving completion of the rescue effort.
I would appreciate that a lot more than the tiny tick that found purchase under my chin as a result of my time in the woods. Dammit.
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Cutting Away
There’s no turning back now. The guys started cutting away the rotting logs of the truss yesterday under the hot rays of mid-sixty-degree sunshine up in the Hayward area.
The view of this cross-section shows the degree to which the log was disintegrating. They also uncovered the bees’ nest I knew was there. Good thing there were no bees present at this time of year.
We won’t be around to see them install the replacement truss components because we need to head home this morning. Alas, that gives us an excuse to return as soon as we can arrange additional coverage for the horses.
We have a new project to undertake because they also cut off the bottom of rotting logs on the front of “cabin 3,” located just behind and to the side of the main house. It was decided the best finish there would be to fill the voids with faux river rock, which is something they don’t do.
DIY much? It just so happens that Cyndie and I have an excess of faux river rock stored in the hay shed at home. As a matter of fact, some of the plastered facades of our home have fallen off and need to be re-cemented. That’s a project we have been ignoring for lack of experience.
Now we have double the reason to learn how to do this repair ourselves. The next time we come up here, I guess we will be hauling a load of one-sided manufactured stones and bags of mortar mix. In the meantime, we better study up on proper materials, tools, and techniques.
It will be tough to decide whether we should practice on our own house in order to do a better job up here, or the other way around. I could see it going either way.
My choice will lean heavily toward which option appears to be the easiest of the two. I’m hoping that answer will be revealed after we discover all the factors involved in the process.
In reality, cutting away the rotting pieces was the easiest part of this whole project.
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Icy Adventures
We don’t usually spend much time up at the lake when the ice is about to vanish from the water’s surface. I find it very entertaining. Temperatures dropped far enough below freezing Sunday night that water to the shore, which was liquid when we arrived, had refrozen solid by yesterday morning.
As the sun climbed to a mid-morning angle, the lake began making a percussive symphony of booming and cracking sounds in response.
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There is an almost mystical energy unleashed by the intensity of natural forces pressing in multiple directions as the frozen surface reacts to wind, sun, gravity, the mixing of heat and cold, and the resistance of rocks and sand on the shore. When a fracture reverberates throughout the expanse of acres of ice, rumbling and echoing for almost a minute afterward, it can be felt in your physical core.
I notice my pulse speed up when it happens, and hear myself making sounds of appreciation that don’t actually form words.
The guys –brothers, Jedediah and Caleb– showed up to work on the rotting truss and were quickly introduced to Asher and some of Cyndie’s fresh-baked scones.
They installed extra (temporary) support to the deck and the bottom chord of the truss itself in preparation for assembling scaffolding for the job. After further analysis and some outside consultation, the decision was made to change to a “hammer truss” design for the replacement.
I’m looking forward to what they come up with. It should be easier to build and will eliminate at least one of the key points that was trapping water and triggering the rot. It will change the appearance of the front of the house and may take a little getting used to at first, but I am open to the possibility it may end up being more appealing in the end.
It will certainly open up overhead space on the deck and produce a more spacious feeling.
As the warm afternoon eliminated most of the new ice that had formed the night before, Cyndie and I let Asher have some fun along the shoreline.
He had a blast breaking ice and chewing some of the chunks. Falling into the water as sections of ice gave out beneath his weight didn’t seem to bother him one bit.
Icy cold doesn’t seem to startle him either.
It looked like so much fun, I needed to keep reminding myself I couldn’t step out to join him in the shoes I was wearing. That, and the fact that icy cold would absolutely make an impression on my feet.
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Relative Something 