Archive for the ‘Chronicle’ Category
Tragic Ending
We had a really brilliant day yesterday, tending to things around the lake place. A large limb that had fallen into the yard was cut up and tossed back into the woods. Felt a little like I was still at home. Elysa and I tended to a portion of the labyrinth path, dispatching the lovely plants that were growing where we didn’t want them. A second trip to town to buy flowering plants occurred, so I spent some time moving giant planters and garden hoses out of the garage where they had been stored for the winter.
The caretaker was planning to come to swap the storm windows around the sunroom for screens, so I spent time clearing a pathway in the garage to the back wall where the screens are stored. Everything seemed to be humming along smoothly.
Speaking of humming, the hummingbirds took an instant liking to the flowering plants and the fresh serving of sugar water Cyndie put out. A robin momma was ever-present on a nest on an outdoor light by the sliding door to the deck.
The four eggs explained why the bird was hanging around despite all the human activity. Unfortunately, the strong breeze of the afternoon resulted in tragedy for our feathered friend.
Many sad exclamations were uttered over the awful scene, but we soon carried on with our landscape primping and garage cleaning with stoic tenacity. I brought out the benches around the fireplace, which inspired us to build a fire for cooking dinner. Ladder golf apparatus came out, and Elysa and Ande put them to immediate use.
Raindrops teased in the middle of the afternoon, but never became real rain until the middle of the night last night. Today, we expect to do fewer chores and more lounging around, enjoying the gorgeous scenery and the pretty flowers, smartly arranged.
An embarrassment of riches amid the occasional natural tragedy.
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Wilting Trillium
While Cyndie and her mom were in town, shopping for a new gas range for the kitchen, I went out for a walk around the property and came to the spot where Cyndie and I created a labyrinth in a wooded space off the driveway. The pathway was barely discernible. Knowing the general route, I made my way to the center and found it to be reasonably intact.
I removed some of the growth that had sprouted there and rebalanced a couple of rocks before taking the picture. Now, if only the rest of the pathway looked so well defined.
To my great joy and some dismay, there is a strong presence of trillium growing without any concern for the path. The flowers have mostly wilted by this time, but that doesn’t make it much easier to switch my mindset from adoring them to plucking the sprouts from the earth.
We have been tending to the pathway multiple times each year, but not being around in the early spring has allowed the forest to make great gains in reclaiming its territory. We’d like to accomplish a better-established walking trail in the least invasive way, so a little extra tending each spring is to be expected.
A feature that I really like with this little labyrinth among the trees is that the borders that define the pathway are much wider than the walking lanes, which is the opposite of our labyrinth at home. There, the border is a narrow line of rocks creating wider walkways. It had to be that way at home since we were fitting an 11-circuit pattern into a defined available space.
Since our pattern up here at the lake is only 3 circles around the center, we had plenty of room to make the natural alleys between paths much wider. Thankfully, that is allowing the ferns, ramp onions, and trillium in the area to thrive.
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New Steps
With visions of bucking tree trunks still in my head, we left the chores of home behind and drove up to the lake yesterday afternoon.
The highlight of the drive was our traditional stop for an ice cream treat in Cumberland. That triggers the feeling that our summer trips to Hayward have officially kicked off.
We topped that off with a dinner at Coop’s Pizza. If that doesn’t scream Northland, then it would have to be West’s Dairy that would. We didn’t double up on ice cream, so a visit to West’s was postponed until later today.
This spring, professionals were hired to repair the front steps, and yesterday was our first in-person viewing of the finished work.
It looks really nice.
Upon arrival, one of the first things we did was check on the gas oven. Cyndie’s brother had reported it wasn’t working, and we wanted to know whether we would be able to order our Coop’s pizza and bring it back to the house for reheating. Soon, I found myself crouched behind the range that probably hadn’t been pulled out for some 40 years, with all of the accumulated grease and decades of accidentally spilled messes gunking up the sides.
I wasn’t able to deduce the cause of the failing oven after checking the troubleshooting guide online and running through the test codes, so a visit to appliance dealers in town is on our schedule for today. That convinced us to choose dining in at Coop’s, where we did some preliminary research on what replacement free-standing 30” gas ranges might cost in the current market.
It’s possible that oven technology has changed since the early 1980s when this place was built. Maybe we could get one that heats more evenly than this one ever did.
Not that I spend much time using kitchen appliances to prepare meals, but this oven holds a particularly fond memory for me. It was a guys’ weekend in a series that became an annual sports competition we titled, “Boborama.” Someone put a frozen pizza in to bake when there were too many cooks in the kitchen. My brain noticed the multiple chefs supervising the progress and failed to hold my tongue from commenting about opening the door to check.
I’d read that you could lose 50°F each time you open the oven door to check on what is baking, and I announced it to the room. My precious friend, Paul, seized the moment and opened and closed the oven door while looking at me and said, “3oo.”
He opened it again, “250.” Again, “200.” He did it enough times, the theoretical temperature passed zero and went to -50, I think. Maybe that was just in my mind.
It was hilarious, but humbling. I’m not sure I learned to refrain from trying to police the activity of others after that, but it did help me hear what I sounded like on such an occasion. Touché.
A replacement oven might work better, but it will lack the character of the original that has been in this kitchen from the start and has been part of many memorable stories over the years.
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Lotta Tree
It happened again. This time, the big willow tree by Cyndie’s perennial garden lost a third of its trunk when the added water weight from the more than 2 inches of rainfall brought down the section with the most lean.
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To make clean-up more interesting, it dropped into one of the more hearty patches of poison ivy on our property. Generally, we avoid setting foot anywhere the poison ivy grows. Yesterday, with a heavy dew soaking everything, we found ourselves up to our elbows in poison ivy. I fell down into it once when a branch I was tugging on broke free. Cyndie got splashed in the eye by moisture from the mix of ivy and tree leaves as she pulled branches out of the tangled mess.
It will be a miracle if one of us doesn’t break out in a rash in the next few days. We vigorously washed with special soap and tossed our clothes aside for segregated laundering.
I worked my way into the now-horizontal crown of the tree with the big chainsaw, being careful to avoid cutting something that was under tension that would either pinch the blade or shift the heavy trunk. When I had cut as much as I could reach, it became clear I would need to get the pole saw.
After I had removed as much of the weight as possible from the extended limbs, I started in on the biggest parts of the trunk. At one point, a trip up to the shop garage was required to get a pry bar to roll the beast so I could finish cuts. Throughout the entire effort, which consumed our whole day, we only needed to wrestle free the pinched chainsaw blade three times.
It seemed a little unfair that we were doing this again so soon after wrangling the fallen maple tree in the backyard. It was doubly worse because of the added hazards of poison ivy everywhere we worked. However, the saddest part about the timing of all this was that it was Cyndie’s birthday. Cutting up and tossing branches was not the spa day she would have preferred.
That was a lot of tree to process. We put all three sizes of our STIHL chainsaws to good use on the relatively soft wood. Man, that battery-powered trimmer saw is a handy tool for pruning branches.
Our priority of getting that work done was related to the fact that we are heading up to the lake today for the weekend with Cyndie’s mom, Marie. After the big physical effort to get through all that tree, we are looking forward to a few days of R & R on Big Round Lake.
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Best Outcomes
One of my very favorite property maintenance projects is converting unsightly piles of tree branches into valuable piles of woodchips, and on Monday, we did just that.
It made a huge difference that we had previously staged a pile of limbs we had cherry-picked exclusively for their perfect size for our chipper. It kicks the level of efficiency for making useful chips way up when excluding small branches that can plug up the chipper and inevitably add long sticks to the chip pile.
It was pretty hot out, and I’d already snapped one shear bolt by the time we finished that stack of limbs, so we decided that would be enough chipping for the day. However, while I had the tractor out, I felt it would be a prime opportunity to mow the back pasture, and my time out in the heat got extended for a few more hours.
Over the past few years, we have waited well into the summer before mowing that field. We always hoped that the farmer who cuts and bales our hay field would also do the back pasture, but he’s made it obvious he doesn’t want to mess with the smaller field due to the short distances between fence lines. Since it will be up to us to mow it before weeds mature and go to seed, it’s to our benefit to do it much sooner in the growing season.
Knowing that the following day would bring rain made it that much more rewarding to have jumped on the chance to knock that chore off our list in a spur-of-the-moment decision.
The horses took great interest in my activities in their field and watched over me much of the time.
They are locked out of that pasture for a few days until the cuttings dry out, but I believe they will find the freshly trimmed grass to be a best outcome for their grazing purposes. It’s a nice reward when the end result is one that makes everyone happy.
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Twelve Years
Have you ever heard of a granuloma?
gran•u•lo•ma | granyə’lōmə |
a mass of granulation tissue, typically produced in response to infection, inflammation, or the presence of a foreign substance.
Twelve years ago, this happened to me:
“…I started to get careless and impatient. I stepped right into the needle-sharp point of a wood thorn on one tree branch. It punctured the side of my knee and left me in a lot of pain. I checked more than once to make sure the tip hadn’t broken off in there. It didn’t look like it, but it sure hurt like something was still in there.” – Relative Something: Day Off, July 23, 2013
The site of the puncture became reddened and eventually purple. On occasion, I was able to drain some pus or clear fluid. My doctor looked at it once and decided it didn’t look concerning. After a while, it calmed down and just remained a purple dot on the side of my knee that I lived with, unconcerned. I would have guessed maybe five years had passed. Possibly seven.
A couple of weeks ago, the site began to swell up anew. It became hard to ignore, and I picked at it a bit. The top dead layer of skin over the site would flake off. When I picked at the skin recently, it opened up and released clear fluid again. I told myself I would give it closer attention when I next had an opportunity.
That opportunity was Sunday evening. After I’d done some squeezing around the area, I noticed a dark spot. I grabbed a pair of tweezers and prepared to see what I could accomplish.
This was the result:
For twelve years, that thorn was poked straight into the side of my knee so deep it was not visible. Apparently, my cells had walled it off to isolate it, and the situation became a standoff. I am lucky that it didn’t interfere with the knee joint and became easy to ignore. The only reason I figured out it had been in there for twelve years was because I knew I had written about it in this blog when it happened, and found the post by searching for the words “thorn” and “puncture.”
As I attempted to grip it with the tweezers, I worried it would be mushy and break apart, but it was completely solid and hard enough to be easily grasped.
At almost 2 cm long, I could barely believe my eyes as it exited my knee in one long, smooth pull. I’ve been feeling giddy over having it out ever since. It’s kind of funny to me that I had grown indifferent to the purple spot for more than a decade, but now feel so overjoyed to have the cause of that dot extracted. I’m curious as to why my body decided it was finally time to push it to the surface. Maybe it was just so deep it took this long to do.
None of that matters now. It’s out! And I am incredibly happy that it is.
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Visible Air
Between Canadian wildfires and tree pollen, our air quality is visibly contaminated of late. Cyndie took this picture yesterday:
The difference in clarity of the closest trees compared to the fainter color of the more distant ones makes it pretty obvious.
Yesterday was one of those days that makes me feel guilty for driving our car when signs over the freeway are posting alerts and suggesting people make fewer trips. I’m afraid smoky air in the summer is becoming a regular thing.
I got 80% of the mowing done, and we were able to make a brief appearance at my grand-nephew, Drew’s, high school graduation party yesterday. Today we are hosting two couples whom we know from Cyndie’s time working with the Eden Prairie schools. We are looking forward to sharing the beauty of our place with the couple who’ve not been here before.
In the time I just spent on Wisconsin State Trails and in DNR campsites, I noticed how the properties are tended, yet also what I consider to be a little neglected. It showed me what a difference we make by tending to our land with such constant effort. As I was mowing yesterday, I kept spotting areas where I wanted to use a string trimmer to clean up or where I needed to use the hedge trimmer.
At least we only have 20 acres to manage, and my time isn’t money. It doesn’t cost any more if I take one or two days to finish a task.
I can spend all of my energy tending to the growth around here, but I’m not able to control the quality of the air that moves in.
Last night, there were a couple of really loud frogs croaking away their musical trills just outside our windows. They can go on endlessly, it seems. One of them seemed to start losing its steam. The staccato chirps began to drop off toward the end in a humorous way, almost like he was running out of air. I wondered if the pollution was getting to him, too.
Cyndie got her phone to record it because it was making both of us laugh. Of course, in doing so, she fixed it. The frog upped his game and went back to producing a perfect repeating pattern of prridit.prrrridit.prrridit.prrrridit chirps as soon as she touched the button.
Show off.
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Goodbye Trails
We said goodbye to the Rails-to-Trails in the driftless region around Sparta yesterday and made our way home. I am very happy to be writing on my laptop again instead of my phone. The horses look to be in great spirits. Cyndie sent me a picture of Mia getting some nice attention from Light as they practiced a little mutual grooming.
It probably goes without saying that the grass needs to be mowed. That meant I couldn’t dawdle upon arrival yesterday just before dinnertime and had to set in almost immediately with processing the post-trip routine of cleaning and drying the tent, the rainfly, the ground sheet, my sleeping pad, airing the sleeping bag out, and sorting out clothes that need to be washed. I’ll get to the clothes later, but everything else is cleaned and dried in preparation for packing it up again in two weeks for the Tour of Minnesota biking and camping week.
With that taken care of, I hope to snatch a few precious hours this morning to mow before we set off for Savage, MN, to attend a graduation party for my grandnephew, Drew. I’ll cut what I can. We also learned that the person who was going to feed horses and Asher while we were away is no longer able to come. Sorry, Hays clan, our visit will be brief so we can get back for afternoon chores. Maybe I will be able to do a little more mowing as a result.
We have guests coming to brunch on Sunday, and Cyndie would like the place to look respectable when they arrive.
I’m still in the afterglow of the fabulous four days with Rich. Did I mention we were the only car and campers at the walk-in campground in Sparta?
We were also the only ones in the campground in Elroy (the one with the impossibly steep hill) on our first night there. Thursday night, one other campsite got claimed. After the first night sleeping in Elroy, we figured out ways to avoid making any extra trips up that incline. We left a lot of stuff in the car parked across the road so we could shower at the trailhead after riding and before heading out for dinner without climbing back up to our tents.
Yesterday morning, we were able to bring everything down in one trip, dropping it at the gate to be loaded after Rich brought the car over from the lot.
We added 44 miles to our 4-day total, riding the “400” State Trail from Elroy to Reedsburg and back before showering at the trailhead in Elroy and heading home. Brunch in Reedsburg was at Greenwood’s Cafe, a gem of a place for breakfast with a small-town feel.
The exclusive dose of gravel railroad bed trails took a toll on our minds and bodies, so if I were to do it again, I might look to add a change of pace with some miles on a few country roads. The trails plum wore us out each day. On the bright side, though, the effort should serve us well in preparation for the Tour coming up in just two weeks.
That reminds me, I didn’t give my bike a bath yet to wash off all the accummulated grime. I wonder when I’ll find the time to get to that.
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Trail Tunnels
Morning started out wet and drizzly again so we lingered in our tents for an extra hour or so.
Walked delicately down the steep, slippery hill to start riding to Sparta from Elroy.
Had to climb long gradual inclines to reach each of the 3 tunnels.
Finally got some sunshine!
Total elevation biked for the day: 1300 ft. Not bad for railroad grade trail.
Total mileage: 51.5.
Tunnels are an interesting experience. The longest one, completed in 1873, cut into an overhead natural spring that rains down still to this day.
We met a DNR staffer who agreed to check our state trail passes while being photographed.
Since we were camping in Elroy, we turned around after making it through the longest tunnel and didn’t ride all the way down into Sparta.
Rode into a brief rain shower on the way back but didn’t get too wet. By the time we reached Elroy again, we were dry.
Meal highlight of the day was lunch at a Mexican home cooking restaurant in Norwalk. They had tubs of ice cream to choose from to top it off.
The Elroy-Sparta trail and its tunnels were a primary goal of this multi-day excursion. Mission accomplished.
We hope to ride down and back on one more different trail today before driving home in the afternoon.
It’s been a fabulous few days of adventure with Rich. ++👍 Highly recommend!
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Rained Out
Rained off and on all night to saturate everything and then drizzled all day.
Neither of us wanted our bikes and bodies to get covered with grime.
Alternate plan:
Huge breakfast at Sparta Family Restaurant.
Tour the Deke Slayton Memorial Space & Bicycle Museum.
Newest Mission Impossible movie and more popcorn than humans should eat.
Drove to our second campground in Elroy where there is an epic climb to get from the parking lot to the sites.
Needed a shower after that workout, which was handily available at the trailhead.
Tents up, but not drying out due to the persistent ongoing drizzle.
Fabulous time regardless the lack of pedaling.
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Relative Something 