Archive for July 2025
Ruthless Trimmer
I suspect gardeners with more skill and knowledge would cringe to witness my barbaric technique when wielding the ferocious blades of my hedge trimmer. I don’t so much as prune the ornamental growth and surrounding woods in and around the labyrinth as ruthlessly hack it back from impeding the pathway opening.
It had been too long since I last shaped the variety of plantings that decorate the walk through the labyrinth, and they showed it. I wasn’t going to get away with leaving a few odd trimmings on the ground as mulch because there was just too much of it.
Out came the rake and, eventually, even a pruning saw to remove some real branches before I could get around to pushing the mower along between the rock borders. The thick grass and dampness of humidity made the cut less than ideal as the mulched cuttings became a sticky mess, but the bottom line is, it has been mowed, which it wasn’t at the start of the day.
There still remain plenty of unsightly weeds and some tall grass in the nooks and corners around the rocks that the mower can’t reach. That will require some focused weed pulling or deft application of a string trimmer to bring down, but that will need to wait until I finish clearing the rest of the hay field and back pasture fence lines.
I am just as ruthless with the STIHL trimmer with the small gas engine when it comes to growth around the fences. It’s a great way to burn off any aggression if a person is so inclined. But that’s not me. I may trim ruthlessly, but I do it with love. Tough love, you could say!
.
.
Sunrise Ride
Watching 13 stages of the Tour de France provided ample inspiration for me on a beautiful morning bike ride over the hills and past the cornfields of my neighborhood in the driftless region of Wisconsin.
The low angle of the sun created shadows that proved irresistible for me to pull out my phone while riding, which I am VERY reluctant to do. The odds of my dropping it are extremely high, but I got away with it this time.
I was probably feeling a little cockier than usual because I had chosen to ride in the opposite direction of one of my usual routes, which put me immediately into several big climbs, and I found myself pulling it off without feeling noticeably abused. Maybe all the miles I trod back and forth on our hilly property are keeping my cycling abilities fit.
Since I had failed to test my bike since I picked it up from the shop almost a month ago, I was also energized to find my pedaling was as quiet as ever. It would have been a massive disappointment had it been otherwise.
By riding first thing in the morning, so that I could get back to feed the horses at their usual hour, I still had the whole day open to take on whatever chore I wanted. The one that seemed to offer the greatest return for the effort involved cranking up the diesel New Holland with the brush cutter to knock down the uncut areas along the edges and corners of the hay field that the hay mower couldn’t negotiate.
That is an exercise that takes only a few minutes, but it serves as a precursor to moving into the back pasture to trim the weeds before they go to seed, which takes more than three hours.
After giving my legs an early workout, the extended tractor time may appear to be a more forgiving endeavor, but hour upon hour of pushing the clutch pedal, then the brake pedal, while spinning the steering wheel around and back on every turn, was almost as exhausting as conquering Pierce County hills on my bike.
I had closed the gates to keep the horses out of the back pasture, but they were free to graze in the recently mowed hay field. I always love seeing them out on the grass instead of standing in a stupor under the overhang, which tends to be their preference much of the time. That’s Mia all by herself in the image.
This morning, I’m riding bikes vicariously through the pros racing Stage 14 of the Tour. They are a great inspiration.
.
.
Light Wounded
Whose brilliant idea was it to write about healthy horses yesterday? Cyndie and Asher are both away for the weekend, leaving me home alone to tend to the horses and the mowing. When I popped out of the house first thing in the morning and headed toward the barn through the trees, I found Swings and Mia lying down, napping in the paddock with Light standing over them.
Right away, I noticed something looked odd with Light. She was twisting her head and neck, and looked really uncomfortable. I recorded some video of her gyrations and sent it to Cyndie for her opinion. I was unsure about serving their morning grains if Light was unwell.
When I did put out their feed buckets, Light showed no interest whatsoever, but the other three carried on with their normal morning routine.
It was a good thing the Vet was already scheduled for an appointment later in the morning. Light was fighting some invisible battle. Cyndie said it looked like maybe something had gotten inside one of her ears.
I thought it looked neurological. Before the Vet arrived, Maddy, our handler from This Old Horse, showed up to help get things prepared. She is the one who spotted a brief glimpse of a wound under Light’s mane, between her ears. We couldn’t get Light to settle down enough to check it, but at least now we knew what we were dealing with.
The Vet started in with checking teeth and vaccinating the other three horses. Swings went first, and as soon as the sedative kicked in, the doc had her hand in Swings’ mouth and pulled out a tooth.
Sounds like it’s time for Swings to be eating soft senior feed. At the ripe old horse age of 29, she is already down a couple of other molars. She looks so great outwardly, I tend to forget that her internal parts could be wearing out. Maybe we need to start treating her with a little more respect for her elderly condition.
Mia was next and tolerated the dental work stoically. Mix, the youngster of the herd by a year, didn’t need any tooth care and was done after a couple of vaccine shots.
That left Light, who did not want to let us touch her, but needed attention more than all the others. It took quite a few tries to get her cornered under the overhang where the Vet could administer a sedative and provide some sweet talk while the drug took effect.
It was not obvious how Light received this gash, but they suspected she had knocked her head into something. She was given something for the pain, and they went right to work filing her teeth. The doctor felt around for any other sensitive spots on Light’s head and mentioned the possibility of a minor concussion, but generally felt it wasn’t any worse than just the obvious wound.
The injury received a water-resistant aerosol bandage to protect the exposed tissue from dirt and flies, yet allow the wound to breathe to promote healing.
Now I just need to watch the horses for any negative reactions to the vaccine shots and keep an eye on Light’s wound to make sure it is getting better and not showing any signs of infection.
By the evening grain serving, Light was eating normally, but all the horses seemed a little less perky, like maybe the way humans feel after a dose of flu vaccines.
Just another day keeping four horses healthy and happy. Sheesh!
.
.
Healthy Horses
While I have been distracted by the significant growth occurring all over our property, I didn’t notice that the surrounding corn fields have suddenly gone from little sprouts to full stalks. They must have doubled in height a couple of days in a row. They’ll be over our heads soon.
The horses seem to be loving the high grass in the back pasture. I’ve caught them romping around back there several times lately. Too bad it’s going to get cut again soon before the weeds can go to seed. I tried recording a video of them running back there, but only captured a few seconds of a sprint back into the paddocks.
Last night, while I was retrieving feed buckets, Light suddenly squealed and spazzed out as I was standing among them in the tight quarters of one side of the overhang. I was able to back away and give her room to kick and flail as the other horses did the same. It looked like she was hurting severely. I couldn’t find any obvious physical evidence, but my suspicion is that Mix bit her.
Her reaction looked a lot like mine did that time Mix nipped me on my back when I didn’t see it coming. I wanted to be mad at Mix for hurting Light, but since I didn’t see what happened, it wasn’t fair of me to judge. There hasn’t been much in the way of infighting among the horses lately, so I’m passing the incident off as inconsequential.
A Veterinarian is scheduled to be here today to administer shots to the horses and hopefully file down their teeth. We think Swings, in particular, is not chewing well, most likely due to sharp high spots that can develop on their teeth. She has also been “quidding” a lot, which is dropping partially chewed wads of hay from her mouth.
I tell ya, sometimes it can get complicated keeping horses healthy and happy. The rest of the time, caring for them is a breeze, and we get to sit back and enjoy watching them in all their glory.
In the woods lately, I’ve been seeing evidence of another herd that spends time with us, just mostly out of sight.
It’s fun to watch the variety of sizes of hoof prints that show up in the mud from deer using our trails. We’ve found several occasions of itty bitty prints that look like recently born fawns. When we come across some that look huge, I always hope it might be a buck that will shed its antlers on our property in the winter.
The horses are so observant, I’m curious about whether they get to know the deer that regularly frequent our land. I wonder if wildlife has opinions about domestic livestock, maybe feeling sorry for their confinement. At the same time, wildlife might wish to have food delivered twice a day, like the horses do.
I hope our rescued Thoroughbreds recognize they are living the high life here.
.
.
Just Learned
After a lifetime of identifying as a tail-end Baby Boomer, I have recently discovered that I am a member of Generation Jones, a distinction coined by an American cultural commentator in 1999. Consisting of people born between the years 1954-1965, the issues we faced during our coming-of-age years were different from our older Boomer siblings. I certainly recognize the characteristics of pessimism and cynicism in my young self that are generally attributed to Jonesers.
I remember being told in a class in high school during the energy crisis years in the ‘70s that it was unlikely we would ever live in single-family homes by the time we would be having kids of our own. The use of DDT had made bald eagles nearly extinct. We were burning a hole in the Earth’s ozone layer. The Watergate scandal led to the US President’s resignation. Classic rock music was getting squished by disco and punk. It was all rather depressing.
When Cyndie and I started dating, I held the mindset of not wanting to bring children into the messed-up world. In reality, we did buy single-family homes, I landed a good job, we raised two wonderful children, and thankfully, their development helped me to discover the need to seek treatment for depression.
While reading about Generation Jones, I saw this tidbit that made me chuckle: What does Elvis mean to these three generations? Boomers > King; Jonesers > fat; Gen Xrs > Costello.
My Boomer siblings remember when phone numbers started with letters. When I was starting high school, we had a second phone line exclusively for teen use. Boomers watched the “Mickey Mouse Club” on TV in black and white. I watched “The Banana Splits” or “The Monkees” in color.
The distinction makes sense to me. The span of time originally associated with the Baby Boom generation was too long. Things changed so fast, we Jonesers grew up in a different world compared to the main Boomers.
It’s all a far cry from life today. Cyndie and I are currently navigating the complications of avoiding driving on the fresh sealcoat on our driveway for a couple of days by parking in the back yard and driving through the back pasture and the hay field to get to the road.
While Cyndie was closing gates after I had driven her car through, she took a picture of Mia coming over to see what the heck we were up to.
When I made the second pass of cutting all the overgrown lawn areas a few days ago, I left out the labyrinth. Not only does the grass need cutting in there again, but the bushes are in dire need of a visit from the hedge trimmer.
I wonder how much of my drive to have our landscape look well-kempt aligns with the traits of being in Generation Jones, or if it’s more a carryover Boomer trait.
I’ve learned enough things in my life to sense that there are likely as many similarities between the two generations as there are differences.
.
.
Scary Moment
If I haven’t already ranted enough about how long the grass had grown at home while we were up north for ten days over the Independence Day holiday, let me add one last exclamation point. After I completed a second round of mowing, there were still enough leftover grass clippings to rake into windrows for making yard bales.
While I was playing around in that small plot above the barn, I heard some knocking on one of the horse’s feed buckets. We try to bring the buckets in after the horses have finished their grain, but I had left one out because there was a portion uneaten, and Mia was showing interest in it. If we leave the buckets indefinitely, the horses have a history of messing with them, and the metal handles get all bent out of shape.
After three knocks, I decided I better retrieve that last bucket before it gets wrecked. To my surprise, when I stepped through the door to the overhang, I saw it was Swings who was knocking the bucket in the spot where Mix usually eats, and she was standing with one foot in it.
Thankfully, she appeared totally calm with the situation, but at the same time, in a somewhat precarious position. Concerned that things could quickly take a turn for the worse, I bent down to assist her in getting out of this predicament. I reached through the fence boards and grabbed the sides of the bucket with each hand to hold it down, hoping she would then simply lift her foot out.
It didn’t work that way. I couldn’t tell if she didn’t want to pull it out or couldn’t pull it out. I got the impression her hoof might be wedged in the bottom, but it wasn’t clear since I couldn’t tell if she was pulling up or pushing down. The bucket was moving around and eventually pinned my gloved hand against the fence board hard enough that I began to bellow at the pain as Swings appeared to try standing on the hanging bucket with all her weight.
It was a scary moment. In my increasing panic, I tried to determine what was going to give. The bucket needed to be lifted upward to come out of the latch on the strap it was hanging from. I had no way to cut the strap in that instant. The metal handle looked like it was bending a bit, but the heavy plastic bucket wasn’t looking near its breaking point. It pretty much depended on what Swings was going to do next.
Luckily, she still seemed totally calm about the mess we were in, even with my screaming. Somehow, she shifted just enough that I was able to get my hand free, and it seemed undamaged. The residual tenderness of the bruise didn’t show up until later. Just as mysteriously, the two of us did something that allowed me to finally pull the bucket down while she moved to get her hoof out.
I don’t know how she got her foot in there in the first place, and if it was intended or not, but it occurred to me that she might have been unable to lift it high enough again to get it out. I’m still not clear about whether it was wedged in or if it was just her not taking the weight off that kept it stuck.
Thank goodness for the happy ending. I was home alone at the time, so that heightened my distress during the peak drama. And hooray for the other three horses remaining chill throughout it all. Once Swings had all four feet back on the ground and I was standing there holding the mildly reshaped bucket, it was as if they were all thinking, “What was all the fuss about?”
Nothing to see here. Carry on with your normal healthy horse routines. I’m going to go back to raking up grass clippings.
.
.
Like New
One thing about having a nice paved driveway, you need to maintain it. With a long driveway, you need to maintain a lot of it. I often check out the state of rural driveways in comparison and wrestle with the decision of having asphalt on ours, but since it was paved when we bought the property, we decided not to go back to gravel.
Last winter, cracks opened up across the full width in two places, one of them just below the area where water drains from the shop garage. Neglecting that would lead to much bigger problems. I applied a superficial patch using a sealant from a caulking gun, based on the advice from my driveway guy, to buy time until they could do a professional fix.
When they first laid down the new pavement, I asked how often it would need to be re-sealed and was told every 3-5 years, but that it would help to start at the 1-year mark. Seemed excessive to me, but with such a big dollar investment, I wanted to give it the best shot at a long, healthy life as we could afford. We’d been dealing with the hassles of a failing asphalt driveway ever since we moved in.
I expressed my frustration over the first-year sealing not looking sufficient and not likely to hold up for the 3 to 5-year span. This led to a promise to return and fix the cracks, applying a heavier coat of sealant over the entire length that should last. Should, because it’s all weather-dependent, and no guarantees can be made.
Given the abuse of frequent winter thaw cycles we now face as a result of the ongoing climate calamity, maintaining a long asphalt driveway may never reach a span of five-year intervals.
At this point in my life, I’m satisfied with giving this 900-foot run of asphalt the best start possible before letting it turn into a patchwork of repairs like so many of the roads around us in this county.
On the advice of the guy applying the sealant, I was offered two regular coats instead of one thick one. Makes sense to me. He said it is difficult and messy to attempt a thick coat. When they do large parking lots, it is common to seal them in two coats, he told me.
Have at it. They plan to return tomorrow afternoon to apply a second coat. It already looks like new after just the first pass. It’s strange to see it without the usual mats of grass clippings lining the edges.
I guess you get what you pay for. It makes the place look like a million bucks, which is what it feels like we will have spent on it every five years or so.
.
.
Busy Morning
It’s the time of year when my mornings get jumbled up by live broadcasts of the Tour de France bike race. No time to play my usual morning word games. Conflicts with trying to write blog posts. And this morning, I need to prepare for the potential arrival of a crew from my asphalt company, who will be filling the cracks that appeared last winter and sealing the pavement overall.
That means I need to get the mower out early, and Cyndie needs to get her car down the driveway before they show up and keep us off the surface for a couple of days.
Enjoy this photo Cyndie captured last evening on her last walk of the day with Asher. I gotta go…
.
.
Relative Something 