Archive for October 2025
Silly Horses
We give them this fabulous sail that casts a large shadow and filters 95% of the UV rays, dropping the temperature by an easy 10 degrees F, but they can’t give up their affinity for that damned willow tree.
Gotta love ‘em.
Maddy, from This Old Horse, came by yesterday because we reported Mix was looking like she was hurting again in her back end. The consensus is that it isn’t one leg or the other, and it isn’t either foot. It’s possible her issue is arthritis, but Maddy felt it seemed more muscle-related. She massaged Mix around her hips and butt and lifted her hooves to do some stretching while I held a lead rope attached to a halter.
We decided to start giving Mix the same pain management dose that Light has been getting each morning to see if it will provide some relief. All we can do is watch to see if she appears to start moving a little easier. They’re all old horses, though Mix is the youngest of the bunch at 21. They all tend to move like old creatures at this point. The fact that they can behave so spry most of the time lulls me into forgetting they are justified in having age-related aches and pains.
I should probably say, spry when they aren’t napping, since that is how they like to spend most of their time.
Yesterday, I had a wonderful exchange with our friend, Patty, who astutely observed a curious sight in the photo of Cyndie and Mix between the fence boards. I noticed it, too, upon seeing the image on my computer. How many of you other horse-savvy readers spotted something? If you did, can you identify what it is?
Patty guessed correctly.
Here is the image, again, for your reference:
If you have no idea, click here for a clue.
What could that be?
.
.
Sitting There
.
From my spot in the grass outside the small paddock, I took two pictures of what I was seeing.
.
I like them both.
Framing the primary subjects of Cyndie and Mix in the background between the two boards of the fence in the foreground produced a result that I am very pleased with. The added features of the two metal gates being aligned so perfectly parallel, and the visible weathered textures of the two wooden boards, add a lot to the appeal for me.
Asher’s distant stare with his stoic posture from his position in front of the barn was definitely portrait-worthy. The propped-open door contributes some life to the image with an implied reference to ongoing activity underway. He is not alone, but he is in charge of himself in this moment, free from the constraints of a leash.
And I was just sitting there, close to them both, taking it all in. It’s a tough life, but I’m doing what I can to get by.
.
.
Finally Frosty
There will be a little break from my whining about how hot it is for this time of year because normal temperatures have returned for a while. In fact, the air temps made a jump from too hot all the way down to freezing in rather short order.
The horses were looking forward to the first rays of sunlight reaching them so they could soak up that solar warmth. The thickness of the frost was impressive in places, particularly on top of the wood post of the hay field fence.
I crouched down to get a shot of the frosty grass by holding my phone close to the ground. It wasn’t until I saw the image on my computer screen that I noticed there was one rogue grass blade standing tall among all the freshly mowed grass around it. How did that one dodge the cutting blade?
I have no idea. Ya gotta give it to that grass blade, though. It found a way to stand out among the crowd.
So, we are at the awkward season of transition between always thawed and usually frozen. Do we shut off all the outside water and drain everything now, or wait and risk being forced to do it all at once later, when the next string of cold nights arrives? We’ve decided to do a little of both. We have drained and rolled up some hoses to store for the winter. The landscape pond pump will continue to run for a while longer.
It’s a bit like deciding when to rake up leaves. Too early, and more will fall back onto the lawn. Too late, and they could freeze up and get buried by an early snowfall.
I’m not complaining (even though it may seem like I am) because the four changing seasons are one of the most wonderful aspects of living where we do. The challenges of the transition weeks are not a bug; they are a feature that builds character.
It’s funny to me that I forgot I needed to dress more warmly when I stepped out the door yesterday into the predawn frosty environment. Where are my insulated gloves, anyway? Oh, yeah, I forgot I have a fleece vest for cold weather. That reminds me, I bought new quilt-lined flannel shirts last year.
I think all that summer-like heat of the last few weeks lulled me into an aimless indifference about preparing for cooler weather. Last year at this time, we had just returned from Iceland, where I had packed all sorts of layers for outdoor adventures. I was already in cold-weather mode when we got home.
Frost is supposed to mark the end of the growing season. With luck, maybe I won’t need to do more than a few spot mowing sessions to finish off managing our grass growth once and for all in 2025.
Remind me to check on the status of our snow shovels soon.
.
.
Last Words
New technology can bring us multiple ways to make sports bets by the minute online, or provide endless hours of doomscrolling on smartphones, but Netflix is offering something much more worthy in their “Famous Last Words” TV series. Based on a Danish series, the shows involve an hour-long interview with notable figures that only gets published after their death.
Renowned primatologist and conservationist Jane Goodall died of natural causes last week, and an interview Netflix recorded with her in March of 2025 is now available for viewing. Cyndie and I watched it last night and found it to be very moving and profoundly impressive.
The technology they used in recording the interview included remotely operated cameras so that there were no other people in the room except for Jane and the Producer/Host, Brad Falchuk.
At the end of the interview, Brad leaves the set and allows Jane to close with her final words to the world, looking directly into a camera. It’s very powerful. She was very well-spoken.
It is easy to ignore the reality that she recorded this seven months ago and focus on the fact that she knew her message would not be seen by anyone until after her death. As we watched her speak, knowing she had died less than a week prior, there was a strong sense that we were hearing her communicate from the afterlife.
I don’t know that I could articulate such a profound message for the world to hear after my death with such solemnity and dignity. I’m no Jane Goodall, for one, and I don’t have the fame to attract Netflix, so I won’t have to worry about such a thing.
However, if there isn’t already, there should soon be an app for us common folk to record personal statements to be seen by generations to come after our demise. I wonder how many will start with the line, “If you are watching this, I am dead.” They could probably find a way to tie it in with the online gambling sites. “…Hopefully, you won some money on the bet of how long I would live.”
Joking aside, there is something very special about listening to a person’s last words. I tip my hat to Netflix for pursuing the project of recording this interview with such obvious respect. I am now curious about who else they have recorded and stored in their vault, awaiting a to-be-determined publishing date.
R.I.P. Dr. Jane Goodall, DBE, 1934-2025.
.
.
Seeking Normalcy
No masked soldier-looking thugs showed up to violently “detain” me over the weekend, despite my unwavering stance that their motives and methods are completely un-American and patently illegal. I’m stressed with concern over the odds of unjustified force escalating in the cities currently being targeted, either fabricated to create an appearance to their liking or as a result of threatened citizens lashing out due to fear and anger in a way that triggers an even harsher response from the goons.
It all seems like such a premeditated provocation with no valid justification, were our laws being respected in this country. There is no reasonable logical excuse that explains the actions of these military attacks on citizens. It is just plain wrong, but what is more frustrating is the fact that it openly continues to happen without accountability.
Maybe if I had just agreed to pledge my $5 a month to the non-profit political organizations that oppose the philosophy and behaviors of the current administration, this would have all been stopped before it started.
Cyndie and I are making plans to participate in the October 18 protests to stand among like-minded conscientious objectors and vent some of the frustration building up with each passing day. The absence of functional checks and balances being enforced to interrupt the sullying of our democracy is truly heartbreaking.
We are looking into the possibility of protesting in Hayward, WI, on that Saturday, as we are hoping to embark on a mid-October weekend visit to the lake place. It’s been a while since we gave Asher a chance to join us there, so we are planning to include him, too.
The possibility of rain yesterday came true for us, and as expected, it ushered in more seasonably cool temperatures. Maybe in two weeks, it will feel like October up north.
Today, we are breathing a sigh of relief and putting on long sleeves to enjoy a little normalcy for the occasion.
.
.
Summer Remnants
The end is near. The scenery is reflecting the change of seasons in a variety of places around our property. The trumpet vine sprouted one last blossom that stands out like an emphatic exclamation.
There is evidence of fruit on one of our grape vines. I fear we may have waited too long to harvest.
The spell of abnormal heat is predicted to break tomorrow, with a hint of possibility we could get a little precipitation this afternoon to help usher in the change. Any moisture will be welcome because the earth around here is much drier than our trees deserve.
Could a cold and wet October await? That would be a wonderful surprise at this point. It is time for the remnants of summer to disappear once and for all this year. That was then. This is now.
We Northlanders get a little flummoxed when the weather here stays “San Diego nice” for too long without interruption.
.
.
Special Visitors
It was a special day. The high September heat was a bit burdensome, but the glorious sunshine provided a good opportunity to share some of the wonder and glory of our precious early autumn Wintervale sanctuary with friends. Pam and John are like family, having lived in our home and cared for Asher and the horses many times when Cyndie and I are away for a weekend at the lake or traveling to places like Iceland or, more recently, Maine and Massachusetts.
Yesterday, they came for a visit, bringing a friend, Jess, whom they met on one of their travel adventures in Egypt. If I have my facts correct, supported by her endearing New Zealand accent, Jess’ current residence in London is not where she was originally from. Having our little nook of nature and rescued horses revealed to an international audience ranks high on our scale of rewarding pleasures.
Having been clued in to Jess’s fondness for caramel rolls, Cyndie baked up her standard wide variety of versions, with or without raisins and nuts, chopped or whole.
When the company arrived, Cyndie turned over control of the kitchen to Pam, who produced a divine quiche for lunch, such that the delectable foods we were enjoying competed almost evenly with the great outdoors and interactions with Asher and the horses that were the primary draw. Pam’s key lime pie for dessert was award-worthy.
Asher was his adoring self, leaning heavily into Jess to make sure she felt well-loved while not so subtly seeking affection for himself.
Even though the horses were noticeably sweaty and likely not that happy about the heat, they were surprisingly attentive to our presence at a time of day that aligned more with them napping. Light was first to arrive and leaned her head over the top board, remaining there at length to engage and nuzzle with each of us in turn.
Mix eventually did the same over the gates before we headed back indoors.
John Bramble gave us mostly good grades on the state of things in and around the barn. He chastised me for the cavalier level of security on the gate chains, as I had only secured one of the two.
We have trained him well.
I showed off my composting process for Jess, producing the thermometer probe to display the middle of the pile was cooking away at 70°C (160°F). I should be embarrassed to be so proud of our piles of shit.
The day was a classic win-win as we felt as grateful to be able to share our love and peacefulness with them as they expressed being grateful that we did.
Putting our Wintervale “LOVE” flag at the driveway entrance to greet them when they arrived and for them to carry when they departed wraps the day up perfectly.
Travel safely, Jess!
.
Custom Solution
We were moving our gas grill off the deck when one of the doors fell to the ground. Cyndie found a bolt with a nut on it lying there, but I couldn’t figure out what had broken or how it had been attached. As far as I could tell, the bolt was just functioning as a post that the door pivoted on. First impression was that a new bolt would solve the problem, but I knew it was more complicated than that.
There wasn’t a way to screw a replacement bolt back on, so the trick would be to mount the bolt in a way that would leave just the threaded portion exposed to mate with the hole in the bottom corner of the door.
Based on the space I was working with, it would likely require a very thin nut. One possibility would be to grind down a standard-width nut to something much skinnier, but I had another idea.
I found a washer with a center hole one size smaller than the replacement 1/4-20 bolt I was going to use. I planned to try tapping threads into that washer. My first challenge was how to hold that little washer in order to cut threads into it.
After a couple of failed attempts to clamp it directly into a bench vise, I pinched the edge of the washer with a vise-grip pliers and then clamped the pliers into the bench vise. The little washer was just thick enough to accept a fraction of threads, and that proved to be enough to spin it on the bolt.
I don’t know if you were able to follow all that, but in the accompanying photo, the little washer I tapped is directly between the bottom of the door and the brown portion of the grill frame. Somewhat to my surprise, it worked to hold the bolt that is coming from below to protrude up into the door.
That’s all I needed. Color me chuffed. I had paused mowing to help move things back onto the deck and then ran into this nuisance of a task. My goal was to find a quick fix and get back to mowing. Given all the steps I ended up taking, it was quick enough and successful enough, and gave me a boost of satisfaction that my ingenuity produced a custom solution that worked on the first try.
The experience acquired from a career in manufacturing continues to pay dividends in my retirement. I bought us a little more time with that old grill, but its days are numbered. It is admittedly well beyond its “Best If Used By” date.
.
.
Different Textures
Natural
Growing
Alive
Variations
Pointy
Green
Rows
Repetition
Furrows
Pattern
Rumpled
Beige
Choosing to capture an image can be a random decision for me. There are many more times when something catches my eye but I don’t take a picture of it than the occasions when I do. Oftentimes, the reason I don’t try is related to the limitations of a camera lens compared to the naked eye.
Long ago, I learned how often a fascinating spectacle for my eyes ends up becoming a very ho-hum image in 2D on a flat surface. That may explain why my interest evolved toward an affinity for close-up images that fill the frame with textures.
.
.
Relative Something 