Archive for the ‘Chronicle’ Category
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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Unexpected Fun
Forgetting for a moment that citizens of our country are under attack from our own government was more fun than we expected yesterday. While the bowling by the unpracticed novices of our family qualified as comical, it takes a measurable level of personal strength to laugh at one’s own foibles displayed so openly among strangers. I’m pretty sure I accomplished rolling a gutter ball following a previous frame strike. D’oh!
After surviving the sensory overload of overly rambunctious youngsters, a pop music soundtrack, clanging and banging arcade machines, and plenty of crazy lighting effects, we made our way to the Namaste India Grill & Brewhouse for laughter around the table. With a menu of enough delectable choices to make my head spin, I don’t think there was a duplicate order among any of the six of us.
I treasured hearing an impassioned conversation from a booth nearby in a language I didn’t recognize. We arrived before the dinner rush and were able to witness the gradual increase of customers from a variety of nationalities filling the tables, which bolstered the atmosphere of fun.
Alone with Cyndie on the drive home after precious time with our kids, we discovered the best surprise of the day. Turning her attention to her phone for messages, Cyndie discovered calls from a friend from graduate school in San Diego, some 46 years ago.
Cyndie and her two best friends from that time in graduate school had lost touch over the years and miles, but Susan and Lupe were moved to search for Cyndie’s information to offer their support for the ongoing conflict in Minneapolis.
Apparently, I have written enough times about our life adventures that this blog, along with the details of our labyrinth location that we have submitted to the Labyrinth Society, provides enough clues to reach us. For the record, that is by design.
Cyndie was moved to tears to hear Susan’s voice on the message in the car and could hardly wait to call her back when we got home. I could see years melting away from Cyndie’s aura as she flipped through old photographs from such a long time ago.
I recognize that feeling of a bond with friends who shared such a significant time of life, the challenges of higher education, and the unknown places it might lead to for all of them.
The reconnection was an unexpected bonus of fun on our day. I picked up the excitement vicariously through how vividly it reinvigorated Cyndie. Finding out that this blog helped the three of them rediscover their friendship connection again warms my heart.
Thanks for your keen sleuthing efforts to find us, Susan and Lupe! LOVE!
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Feels Wrong
Amidst all the blatant misuse of power, the lies, and the unending obfuscation of the current U.S. administration, there seems to be little cause for hope among the average citizens. Unfortunately, this latest version of oppression that is being dished out for the greatest effect is not new to a large portion of the population that has been discriminated against for generations.
Those of us who never suffered the constant disdain from proper society folk aren’t used to dealing with this developing vilification and the increasingly violent actions against our constitutional rights. A good number of the recently offended are standing up in protest, making our voices heard. That’s a struggle to do day after day, especially when the Federal offenses continue to intensify.
My inclination this morning was to curl up with my head beneath my pillow, where I could pretend I am not living in the middle of the decline of our democracy, even though I know it would only help the oppressors to achieve their desired outcome.
Luckily, I have Cyndie in my life to help me carry on against the ugliness. She is not taking me by the arm to march in the streets today. No, she is applying a lesson she learned long ago from someone with first-hand life experience in being discriminated against.
Sometimes, even when you don’t feel like it, it’s important to get out and dance.
I guess I can see the logic, but it just feels so wrong to seek out joy when so many are being mistreated. Then it occurs to me that people have been suffering all the other times in my life when I was out on some grand adventure. How would this be different?
At least we are combining our plans to have some silly fun with our kids and their life partners today, with a goal of supporting small businesses that are experiencing focused abuse from the authoritarian crackdown.
We are thumbing our noses at those who want us to suffer. Our form of protest today will be achieved by not wallowing in our sorrows over the abuse from the tactical military outfitted thugs stomping on citizens’ rights. We will be laughing, loving, and feeding each other’s souls with happy energy at a time when all of our resources of these gifts feel low.
If it starts to feel wrong to be happy, maybe we will chant “ICE OUT!” a few times before sharing our smiles with an immigrant server or their neighbors in a suburb of St. Paul, Minnesota. We aren’t actually attending a dance. I’m afraid I will need to pretend I remember how to throw a bowling ball down a lane toward ten pins.
I’m guessing it may feel cathartic to knock things down in a harmless way.
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Feed Delivered
On the days we expect delivery of feed for the horses, there is usually a text alert providing an ETA for the truck. Yesterday, I kept one eye out the window and one eye on the phone messages. I even got up to check if Asher was barking because the delivery had arrived, but it was just another of his regular outbursts over some invisible trigger that we fail to see or hear.
I did get distracted for a short while by a movie on my laptop that caught my attention while I was having lunch. When Asher showed up on my hip with insistent signaling that he needed to go out, I prepared to be outside with him until the truck showed up or we needed to feed horses, maybe both at the same time.
In the woods, he decided to take on a snag that was four times his height because his senses told him there were critter snacks inside. He worked tenaciously for the longest time, despite it looking like a useless effort to me.
It doesn’t really bother me that he tries, because it entertains him with one of his great passions: destroying toys (or trees) to bits. It’s always a bonus to occupy his mind and burn some of his energy while he is out in the great outdoors.
To my surprise, after about twenty minutes of his manic pawing and gnawing, what I suspect were small flying squirrels began popping out of holes and racing to the highest point before making a flying leap for the next large trunk.
Asher would catch a glimpse and race to the other tree, but he almost always missed when they would scamper up that one to a dizzying height from which they made amazing leaps, floating down toward the next big tree a safe distance away.
When my feet started to get cold, and it was close enough to time to feed the horses, it took a concerted effort to convince Asher to give up and move on. Eventually, he got the message and joined me down the trail toward the barn.
As we rounded the corner to the front door, we found the delivery had happened without my noticing, having not received any messages in advance. I don’t know if it was while we were in the woods or still in the house. I fully expected to hear the truck if it happened while we were outside, so I’m guessing it was during my lunch break.
At least I didn’t need to make a decision about where to have them leave the pallet. He set it right in front of the doors that are frozen shut. That meant I ended up moving 2000 lbs of feed, one 50 lb bag at a time, through the small door and restacked them on two pallets inside.
Just another day of fun at Wintervale that negates the need for a gym membership!
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Optical Illusion
Objects out the window may be further away than they appear. Is that a thing with optical illusions? What makes something look closer than it really is?
At two different times this winter, I have been fooled by what my eyes saw and what my brain concluded. From the farthest window in the back of our house, with a view to the north, it is possible to see a building that appears to be on the edge of the plowed field adjacent to our property.
The first time, I was flabbergasted. How did someone put a building there without us noticing? It couldn’t have been constructed there, so I made the assumption it must have been moved into position intact. I tried to get a better view with binoculars and checked the view from all the other windows on the north side of our house. Through the bare tree branches, I couldn’t discern much more than what I saw with just my eyes. I also couldn’t find it from any other window.
That should have been my first clue.
I asked Cyndie to look at it when she walked Asher on the driveway after feeding the horses. She told me she couldn’t see it. That didn’t make any sense, so I checked for myself. It wasn’t there, so my imagination solved the mystery by deciding they must have been in the process of moving it and had continued to some other location.
Another week or two passed, and I found myself reading in that back room while Cyndie was working on an art project. That building was back again! Looking out the window, I could clearly see it, just like the time before. I did get up and search from all the other windows, just like before, and it was still only visible from that one back window.
I wasn’t going to be (completely) fooled twice. Applying a little logic and overruling the confusing visual and my brain’s perception of what I was seeing, I realized we were seeing the barn across the road on our neighbor’s property to our northeast.
Up close, it looks like this:
That front face with the red siding and the door and the arc of a roofline had me thinking maybe a Quonset hut. Now, if you asked me if there was a red barn on the neighbor’s farm across the road, I wouldn’t be positive. In fact, Cyndie was certain there is no red barn there when I explained what we were seeing.
So, when we saw it suddenly appearing in the trees, looking unbelievably close, we didn’t recognize it for what it truly was.
I’ve added a line depicting the direction between the two points and placed a clone of the barn in the red circle to show the location it appears to be when viewed from our back room.
When there are leaves on the trees, we can never see our neighbor’s property. I’ve never sat where I could see that view until Cyndie started using that room for artwork. The front face of that barn, suddenly being visible from our house, threw me for a loop.
If anyone can explain why it would appear to be closer than it really is, I’d be happy to learn.
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Relative Something 