Archive for the ‘Chronicle’ Category
Just Behave
It’s been a lot of days in a row with temperatures above freezing. I’ve lost count at this point, but there has been enough melting that the labyrinth is now half uncovered.
The melting also finally exposed the dead raccoon that Asher buried in the snow down by the road long ago. Cyndie has been wanting to get rid of it, but was mistaken about its location and couldn’t find it when she brought me down there with a shovel a few weeks back, as things first started to melt.
It’s all bagged up now. When Asher originally caught the raccoon, Cyndie wondered why the critter was out during the middle of the day. I’m wondering why no other roaming predators had taken interest in the carcass when it started to be exposed by the melt. Maybe it was sick, and that’s why nothing was messing with it.
When I walked Asher past that spot with the telltale striped hide peeking through the snow earlier in the day, he was very good about obeying my “LEAVE IT!” command.
He was also very good when we made our way down there again in the high heat of the afternoon and happened upon a neighbor walking her two dogs along the road. We have no confidence about whether Asher will react aggressively with unknown dogs or not, so we do our best to avoid coming into contact with them.
I was able to have a brief long-distance conversation on the subject with the neighbor, Heather. She politely checked to see if Asher would be okay with her dogs, and I was able to express that we just don’t know for sure. Happily, the dogs all behaved while coming within maybe 10-15 feet of each other, and followed commands to focus/refocus on each of their owners every time we asked.
It was comforting that the mere sight of the dogs didn’t send Asher into a tizzy. Heather understood that Asher might be protective of his property and possibly of me, as well. It was the second close encounter in two days with them without incident, so there’s hope it could become a non-issue in time.
Speaking of protection, we are happy that the Visa credit card company contacted Cyndie yesterday by both a phone message and a text with a fraud alert of $8759.00. Always wary of phishing scams, she responded by calling the phone number on the back of her card.
Sure enough, it was a fraudulent transaction. Cyndie had just used her card earlier in the day at a restaurant in Woodbury for lunch. She called the manager to alert them of the unauthorized transaction, in case there was any connection. She had been seated at the bar, so they didn’t even have a server other than the bartender.
The manager was very helpful and looked up her receipt, offered to review the surveillance video, and volunteered to cooperate with any police investigation. Adding intrigue, the $8759 was charged to a cookware supply company. Hmm.
Cyndie chose to contact the Woodbury police by email with all the details. More information will be provided as it becomes available.
It’s kind of sad when dogs behave better than people do.
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Lotta Love
It is classically crispy and spring-like this morning, even though we are still weeks away from the vernal equinox that marks the arrival of the next season. The planet continues to melt and cook as predicted by climate scientists. Imagine that.
A couple of days ago, there was still enough snow in some spots that Asher could almost disappear in his hunt for rodents.
This morning, the high ground of the hay field is fully exposed.
Paw and boot prints in the soft, slushy snow from last night are perfectly preserved by the temperature drop below freezing, so we can see where Asher and the dog sitter walked while we were away last night. We were in the Cities for a Valentine’s dinner at the home of our friends, Pam and John, before the four of us attended “Saturday Night Love” at the O’Shaughnessy Auditorium at St. Catherine University in St. Paul.
One of our favorite humorous storytellers, Kevin Kling, and six music and theater friends offer an annual show on themes of love. This year, love was greatly needed, in light of the abuse Minnesota has suffered at the hands of brutal ICE agents’ unconstitutional provocations and murderous attacks on citizens. The collective attempt to process the trauma of the endless days of stress was palpable in the robust shared audience participation and heartfelt responses to the entertainment provided on the stage.
The hilarious familiarity of situations and word-images that Kevin Kling paints with his strong Minnesota accent is always a special treat. He harkened back to the days we drank well water directly from the hose and played with Jarts lawn darts. In classic Minnesota form, he shared a quote that if you mess with one tater tot, you mess with the entire hotdish.
The packed auditorium seemed to respond so universally to each of the occasional references to the attacks by the oppressive regime that I found myself wondering if any MAGA supporters might be in the audience. They could just as equally appreciate reminiscent storytelling, popular music, poetry, and show tunes. If so, what must they sense from the emphatic response of so many people around them?
What do they think when so much love for all of humanity is expressed with such robust enthusiasm by hundreds of others?
It’s not something I can comprehend. What I do know is that the love vibrations being shared last night were wonderfully energizing. It was refreshing to receive more than we gave for a change.
It has left us vibrating, still.
All we need is love, dat dadatta da!
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Supernatural Support
Cyndie and I have been watching the 4th season of “The Lincoln Lawyer” on Netflix, and the back-and-forth courtroom scenes influenced my dreams last night. The current level of lawlessness, in terms of the lack of consequences for millions of documents of evidence in the Epstein/Trump sex trafficking, or the crazy behavior by the U.S. Attorney General in the hearing before the House Judiciary Committee, impacts my perspective of the scenes in the fictional court case.
The show depicts the Prosecution as trying to pin a murder on the main character, himself a well-known defense lawyer. The drama of the show involves him trying to figure out who committed the murder while simultaneously defending himself in court against the evidence framing him.
It’s like a game, but the Lincoln Lawyer tersely points out that it’s no game, it’s his life. Meanwhile, he works it like a game, setting traps to reveal misconduct on the part of the Sheriff’s department, police, and detectives.
In my dream, I was moved to recognize that all the outrage being fomented by the current Administration serves as a ruse to avert our attention from the rest of their global crimes underway. That insight doesn’t solve anything except to alter the level of emotion I want to give to the tidal wave of horrific evidence being painfully trickled out.
It’s already so horrendously offensive that I don’t need to hear any more. My attention is better spent on helping and healing wherever I can contribute. I can only hope that someone with the power to enforce the law is upholding their oath and working behind the scenes to eventually turn the tide toward making things right.
The light of day is really obvious this morning on the ranch. I wish blatant malfeasance were as equally recognizable to the general public.
That seems like a dream, imagining a time when wrongdoing is punished and virtue rewarded. A world where the Olympic Games are held without concern that rules are being violated.
Nobody said life was going to be easy. I am going to go out and hug the horses. It’s another sunny, melty day in February. Valentine’s Day, in fact.
Send out some extra love to all who are striving to do the right thing to uphold rules and enforce our Constitution in 2026. Supernatural support is desperately needed.
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Old Horses
Even though the racing world considers January 1st the birthday for all Thoroughbreds, we still know the actual date our horses were foaled. Today, February 13th, is Mia’s real birthday. She was born in the year 2000.
Our friend, Michelle, is planning to stop by with a treat for the birthday girl later this afternoon.
All four of the horses have been pleasantly mellow lately, and we have been thoroughly enjoying their peaceful spirits.
As we lingered with the mares after feeding them yesterday morning, Cyndie and I remembered the descriptions of the desperate situation Light had been rescued from (twice!), and the level of food insecurity three of them had endured. The most critical of their physical health concerns had been addressed before they were brought to Wintervale, but their residual trauma still lingered large in the first months after they arrived.
The first day they were with us, we found them standing together in the middle of the small paddock, and even fresh apple slices we offered didn’t entice them to greet us. It looked to me like they were showing us that they had had enough of human interaction. This location was just another stop on a lifetime of being trailered to places they were forced to run, places they were forced to be bred, or eventually, to places they were neglected to near starvation.
Swings began to repeatedly pace back and forth along the paddock fence anxiously. Mix would lash out when a horse or human got too close during feeding times. Mix is also the one to react in panic whenever we’ve tried enclosing them inside the barn stalls. When we set out pans of feed for them, they rarely stayed in place, setting off a “musical chairs” rotation of moving from one pan to another to eat each other’s serving.
Over a period of years, we’ve enjoyed the blessing of witnessing their behaviors gradually normalizing as they rediscover their true equine nature.
They are so much more comfortable in their horse-ness these days. We have learned plenty along the way, adjusting our care as their responses dictate. Long ago, we ditched feed pans for buckets we hang at feeding time, always following a set pattern that positions each horse in a specific location.
Now, each time they calmly take up their positions before we bring the filled buckets out, it brings us such a feeling of appreciation. Giving them open access to the fields most of the time allows us to enjoy them choosing to stay by the security of the barn overhang or journeying out to the far reaches of the fields, depending on their whim.
On the eve of the big day of lavishing Valentine’s love on those you hold close to your hearts, I’d like to offer you a way to show some love to horses being rescued by the private, volunteer-based non-profit organization, This Old Horse, through a link to their donation page:
DONATE
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We donate our fields, facilities, and time and labor caring for Swings, Mia, Light, & Mix, but This Old Horse covers the costs of hay and feed, maintaining their hooves, routine checkups, and as-needed vet visits. If you have it in your heart to help give horses a chance to live out their days with dignity and surrounded by love, this is a truly deserving organization. ❤️
Oh, and tip your hat to our Mia as she reaches 26 years old today! Momma Mia!
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Above Freezing
As our planet spins its way away from the winter tilt, the minutes of daylight are getting noticeably longer. The horses show signs of appreciating the freedom from blankets. Despite my love for winter, my advancing age brings a new level of acceptance for above-freezing February days with sunshine and dry pavement.
I’ve been reading reports from friends who had to deal with “snowcrete” to our east after the big winter storm “Fern” two weeks ago. Has me counting our blessings for how easy we have had it in comparison.
This month will mark the two-year anniversary of my crash landing on a walk with Asher when the temperature climbed to record warmth and thawed the first inch of turf, making the ground too slippery for my boots to grip. My shoulder never fully healed from that fall. That was back when we kept him leashed. I couldn’t dig in my heels to slow him down.
Thank goodness we’ve moved on to an e-collar so he can run around untethered. Yesterday afternoon, he spent a large amount of time snuffling around the chunks of the willow tree that still lay where we cut them last summer.
An unidentified critter was under there somewhere, but it wouldn’t come out. The horses used to react with heightened anxiety when Asher was in pursuit of prey, but lately they seem less bothered by it. Maybe that’s because of his low success rate in his predatory endeavors.
Cyndie reported hearing some wildlife screaming during the night between Monday and Tuesday. I recently read that this time of year is mating season for skunks, and they can make quite a racket. The animal shrieking we usually hear sounds a lot like cats fighting, but I think it’s either raccoons fighting or negotiating their consummation.
As long as those nocturnal animals all avoid a run-in with Asher, we’ll all be better off. I’m not confident that he will pay attention to our pushing buttons to activate his collar during any close encounter with a creature he considers potential prey.
Please, please, no skunks during this February thaw.
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Big Wings
A slow disappearance of snow is happening right before our eyes this week, despite the sky being mostly cloudy. Each morning, we find ourselves surprised by the appearance of more exposed ground.
Yesterday morning, we had an eagle soar just above our heads on our walk to feed the horses. The herd was milling around just outside the large paddock, and the arrival of the large wingspan so close overhead unnerved Light and sent her running back inside the wooden fence line.
The eagle looped around and landed on the high point of the hay field, quickly revealing that a field critter was about to be breakfast. Instead of running away, Mia took a few steps toward the regal raptor and stared confidently. It looked to us like she was flaunting her absence of intimidation from the great predator.
Asher was oblivious to it all, keeping his attention to the ground where the residual scent of all the nocturnal wildlife activity that had occurred the night before still lingered.
I have watched eagles soaring so far above our land that they look like a little dot in the sky that becomes invisible if you look away, and then try to find it again. Having them also fly so close that you can almost reach up and touch them is a memorable experience.
The wing pattern in yesterday’s Words on Images post was made by a much smaller wing than that of the eagle in our hay field, but it was in the snow near the top of that same hill.
This theme of wings is a recurring one this week. A couple of days ago, as Asher and I were strolling past the old chicken coop, our arrival flushed an owl out of the branches right over our heads. I had no idea it was there until the whoosh of its departure. It soared straight away from us, and I was granted a clean view of the graceful motion of a grand wingspan propelling the bird through the air.
The bounty of walking among these revered winged creatures leaves me feeling a little small as I plod along the packed snow of our frequently traveled pathways, but it also fills me with an appreciation for being able to share space with them.
It serves as a reminder to look up more often to see what might be perched in the branches overhead.
Rarely are we ever as alone as I sometimes feel on these rural acres.
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Survival Mode
I hardly recognize myself lately. What’s changed? Well, try as I might, my usual fascination with the Olympic Games just isn’t occurring this year. If I were to guess, the main culprit is probably this feeling that our country is at war with itself and is an embarrassment on the global stage.
Being a fan of athletic competition has been a big part of what brings me joy throughout my life. Having that passion fade feels a little too similar to depression. At the same time, I readily admit that the collapse of ethical guidelines we’ve witnessed since a certain sick-minded portion of our country has enacted its selfish dominance over the masses is very depressing.
Having overcome the deadly grip of the dark disease of depression allows me to recognize that there is a difference between being stuck in the affliction and merely feeling depressed about something. I thank the Universe for the lesson of becoming conscious of my self-talk and how it has given me power over the mental dysfunctions of depression.
Instead of thinking about sports last week, I allowed myself to become immersed in the survival exploits of participants in Season 11 of the reality TV series, “Alone.” Originally broadcast on the History Channel, I came across the show on Netflix, where I binged 13 hours in a few days.
I think I was appreciating the escape from current events. The resulting influence on me was a change from walking into my day with a spring in my step after some heroic home-team victory in pro or college football, basketball, or hockey, and mentally reliving some valiant run, kick, or shot in my mind’s eye. Those moments that lead to a call or text to a comrade to share a “Did you see that!?” reliving of the thrill.
No, as I don my “space suit” of winter outerwear and begin the journey along our snow-packed trails through the woods, I now hear myself narrating our survival tactics as if my life is under the same constant camera surveillance as the competitors of the show.
Why else would this series appeal? As viewers place themselves in the role of the survivalists in an attempt to perceive the epic battles for adequate food, shelter, and mental stability being undertaken, it begins to seamlessly parallel each of our daily lives.
Imagine if you had to film every action you take and narrate the hows and whys.
I am going to build a fire in the fireplace in a few moments, and I do not doubt that the activities of the contestants will be on my mind.
And it won’t be in the least way depressive. We will survive!
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Softer Days
Winter has loosened its icy grip by about 35-40° (F) [think about going from 20-below to 20 above], providing the horses with a break from blankets for a little bit. Mia’s regular blanket went back on for a while because overnight temperatures were still dipping into the single digits. I’m guessing she might be able to go “au naturel” again later today.
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The last few mornings have been a lot less stressful without the body’s natural tendency to stiffen in defense against the wicked Arctic cold we were facing last week. The first minutes of sunshine not only painted the horses in a golden glow, but it also made the labyrinth look pretty grand, too.
The low angle of light made for quite a shadow show. The days around the full moon on the 1st were just begging for us to get out and do a moonlight circumnavigation of the labyrinth, but remaining warm beneath the layers of blankets on our bed won out every time.
When Cyndie stepped out to give Asher one last chance to pee before we all turned in, she captured a view of the evening sky and moon-illuminated landscape at 8:00 p.m. on Monday.
It’s hard to know for sure how long this softer version of winter will last, but we will not be taking it for granted. I got my car in for scheduled maintenance yesterday, and it was warm enough that they were able to include their complimentary car wash, which I always perceive as a cherry on top of an otherwise dreary responsibility.
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Lookit These
Three things came across our feeds yesterday in quick succession and resonated deeply with both Cyndie and me. If you haven’t seen them yet, I’m highlighting them here for your convenience because I think they’re worth everyone’s attention. Not all of them are new, but they are definitely current.
Not in any significant order, I present:
NPR’s All Things Considered host Juana Summers interviewed Gov. Tim Walz at the Minnesota State Capitol in St. Paul on January 30, 2026.
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The Nation magazine has nominated Minneapolis for the Nobel Peace Prize. The words of their nomination letter speak volumes and are worth the time to read.
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Lastly, a list of guidelines aimed at opposing the policies of “the wannabe king who shall not be named.” [see Rule #1]
It appears to have been circulating nine years ago when it was endorsed by MLK Jr.’s daughter, Bernice King, via her Facebook page. It has been reposted many times, on multiple platforms, in the ensuing years, probably morphing a little each time along the way. I’m satisfied with the latest version that Cyndie received yesterday, although I tweaked a couple of them to match what I found from a version referencing what Bernice posted.
- Don’t use his name; EVER (47 will do, emojis also work [I’m partial to tRumpsterfire]).
- Remember this is a regime, and he’s not acting alone.
- Refrain from arguing with his supporters; it is unproductive.
- Concentrate on his policies, not his appearance or mental state.
- Keep your message positive; they want the country to be angry and fearful because this is the soil from which their darkest policies will grow.
- Eliminate helpless or hopeless rhetoric.
- Support artists and the arts.
- Be vigilant against spreading fake news; verify information.
- Prioritize self-care.
- Resist!
Addendum: Don’t assign actions to him; assign them to “The Republican Administration,” or “The Republicans.” This will have multiple effects: the Republican legislators will either have to take responsibility for their association with him or stand up for what some of them don’t like, and he will not get the focus of attention he craves.
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Gosh, I hope the Nobel Foundation gives serious consideration to the nomination of the people of Minneapolis.
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Silent Communication
The morning started out like most every other with a walk through the woods with Asher that brought us to the barn to feed the horses. Cyndie put out feed buckets, and I wandered around cleaning up manure. Then Mia walked away from her bucket and made her way over to where I was working.
The fact that she walked away before eating everything in the bucket wasn’t something new for her. Neither was the fact that she approached me, really, even though she is the least social most of the time. Mia lives in her own world to a degree, and we are getting used to her acting on a unique agenda.
Something about her behavior yesterday morning struck me differently. I paused what I was doing and stood waiting to see what she would do next. Mia moved her body so close to mine that I could touch my forehead to her side with barely a lean.
The sound of her digestive process was rumbling beneath her blanket. She was completely calm. I quieted my mind and longed to perceive something she might be telling me.
I got nothing.
When I tried putting a hand under her blanket to check her warmth, she let me know that wasn’t welcome with a turn of her head and her characteristic nip at the air. When she moved again to leave me standing squarely behind her, I opted to go back to what I was doing.
I wasn’t able to shake the feeling that she was silently communicating something to me, so when I finished all my tasks, I returned to where she was standing, leaving enough space to show respect. Mia looked my way, noticed I was without any tools, and returned her head to look forward.
She was definitely operating on her own terms. Eventually, while I stood silently nearby, she slowly moved her body so that she was right up against me again. I willed myself to sense something physically in my body or a thought or vision in my mind.
I got nothing.
Whatever Mia might have been telling me, I wasn’t picking it up. When I finally wandered away toward the house for breakfast, I was left with a feeling that we had shared something, even though I had no idea what.
Maybe she was merely giving me credit for trying.
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Relative Something 