Archive for the ‘Chronicle’ Category
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!
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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…
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Not Exactly
Imagine my surprise when I was mowing along the fence line and came upon an unfamiliar sign attached to the top wire of the hay field fence.
To the best of my knowledge, we don’t have a donkey. This would be one of several types of wonderful surprises that tend to appear whenever we leave our property in the capable care of our friends, Pam and John. Such whimsical good fun.
Somehow, the eleventh day of July has arrived while I wasn’t looking. Minutes, hours, days, and weeks pass in a blink when you are having fun. I don’t have a clue how I coped with working a day job on top of everything else in life, since I am having trouble keeping up with daily life in retirement.
I’m on a swingset that goes all the way around, and all I get are glimpses of my surroundings as I sail past. My body feels older. Like it’s no longer mine. My mind and my body are on two different treadmills that roll along, each at a different speed.
Everything that I have learned over my lifetime tells me that the separation between opposites is so much more delicately thin than too many people are willing to accept. Often, things might not be exactly as they seem.
We don’t actually have a donkey, but if we did, I’m pretty sure it would be highly trained.
If I had a logical train of thought, you might find it easy to follow along to wherever it is I am headed. One thing that might help would be my having any idea where it is I intend to go. Quite honestly, I don’t. It’s not exactly a fine science.
It could benefit you to think of this post like the lyrics of a song. As you follow along, some portions might speak to you, and others just seem to fit the verse. Of course, this idea may only serve to detract from any sense of logic that may have existed before I started rambling.
If I were to somehow wrap all this nonsense up with a bow of intelligent thought, it might be this: I had no idea what I was going to write about when I started this post, and that does not exactly lead to a stellar composition.
Happy Eleventh of July!
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First Pass
We had a blast yesterday morning connecting with people currently living in the area who share a history of growing up in old Eden Prairie. It is reassuring to find there are like-minded folks who are actively working to make life better locally. I liked it when one of them said his contributions to helping people around here were a way to get back at the current President, who is constantly busy making things worse all over.
Amen.
When we got home, I hopped on the mower, hoping to complete a first pass cutting all the spaces that needed mowing by the end of the third day.
Conditions were ideal, but the exceptionally long grass necessitated a change in tactics, resulting in everything taking longer than normal. Some of the finished results were not pretty, but at least it looks better than not being mowed at all.
I decided to work late in order to finish the last of the mowing for this first pass of the long, long grass we faced on our return from a 10-day stay at the lake. Why do I always save the labyrinth for last? Now I can start the whole place over again, cutting reasonably long grass this time.
Working late down at the labyrinth brings an additional challenge, as the mosquitoes were becoming active in the shade, and apparently, I made for an appetizing target.
When I finished mowing, I stepped into the woods to check out the downed oak limb that Cyndie has been “nibbling” away at with the hand chainsaw.
It’s made it much easier to see what I’m going to be up against when I get around to cutting it up with the big chainsaw. You could say that Cyndie has made the first pass on the oak limb.
I think I’m going to let the tree cutting wait until I’ve finished using the hedge trimmer along the sides of pathways and the string trimmer along the fence lines.
There will be no rest for the weary during the growing season.
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Nonstop Mowing
When the order of the day involves cutting the grass or trimming the sides of our trails, there isn’t much in the way of adventures to write about. It was hot in the direct sun, the mower worked perfectly, I accomplished a little more area than I thought I would yesterday, and I still have over a day’s worth left to finish. That’s not counting the fence line trimming that usually takes several days to fully complete.
Even though I have so much groundskeeping work to do, we won’t get anything done this morning because we have a brunch date in River Falls with some old Eden Prairie acquaintances. To my family and old EP friends, the names Herzog and Westerhaus might ring a bell. You never know who you might come across in life after a move to the country like we did over twelve years ago.
That’s about it. Since that’s all I’ve got, I’ll throw in a photo Cyndie took of the horses grazing in the freshly cut hay field.
One added note: Cyndie just described a successful exercise with Asher off-leash while she was trimming small branches from the large oak limb that fell. (We don’t see much of each other on days when I mow and she is busy with other projects. I hear about her adventures later.) She said he busied himself exploring the woods for a while as she worked, then eventually wandered over to sit upright nearby on the trail and waited until she finished.
Good dog.
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Detail Oriented
Someone made a reference to me being anal in some of the things I do, in this case, related to my methods tending to the horses’ emptied grain feed bags. I’m not going to argue with that assessment, though I might use other words to describe my proclivity for order. I can come across as rather particular about how I want things to look around here. Maybe even fussy. Meticulous. Discriminating. Fastidious?
I can be detail-oriented. The height of the unmowed grass when we arrived at our driveway was rather shocking. That was a detail that was hard to miss. A less astute person might not pay attention to the grass growing in the seam of the concrete apron of the shop garage.
Was I being anal when I got on my knees and plucked all of those out before setting off on the riding mower? At least it looks like someone actually lives here again.
The grass blades were ten inches tall in some places along the driveway where I started cutting as soon as we got home yesterday. I needed to let go of my usual fussiness about achieving a clean-looking cut and settle for a version I’ll call: at-least-it’s-been-cut.
The mower balked a little at the complications of such long grass, but I think it still did an impressive job for an electric. The exit chute plugged once, and one of the blade motors overheated a couple of times. I needed to use the higher blade speed setting, which drains the batteries faster than normal, so I didn’t get as far as I wanted before quitting for the day.
There was a thunderstorm last night, so I don’t know if the grass will be dry enough to start mowing right away this morning. If it’s not, there is plenty of trimming to be done with the string trimmer and the hedge trimmer that I don’t mind doing when it’s wet.
I’ll be playing catch-up for a few days before starting over without pause to get a more reasonable, cleaner second cut before it has a chance to grow much.
The freshly cut hay field looks great, but that makes the tall grass left along the fence lines stand out that much more as needing to be addressed. Beyond that, the work of cutting up the giant oak limb remains as a large burden on the to-do list.
Lazy days on the lake are definitely over. For a couple of weeks, anyway. We plan to head up again for a 4-day weekend in the middle of the month. Then, again, the week after that, so don’t feel sorry for me in the least.
I look forward to seeing what the remains of the lodge destruction will look like upon our return. I like paying attention to the details of the work they are doing.
Before we left yesterday morning, we stopped down to watch the start of the serious demolition getting underway.
Might be time for an update to the song I wrote about Wildwood.
The old lodge don’t look the way it used to look…
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Relative Something 