Archive for the ‘Chronicle’ Category
It’s Starting
In September, the shortening of days becomes more noticeable. The temperature swings between morning and afternoon force clothing adjustments from jackets to shirt sleeves. Tree leaves begin to reveal that their growing season is coming to an end.
The tops of some of our trees are starting to show some orange. Cyndie has set our thermostat to “Auto” to cool the house if the daytime gets too warm and bring heat when the nights get too chilly. Schools are in session, and fall sports are underway.
Advertisers peddling goods via Christmas themes won’t be far behind.
I experimented with relaxing my perfectionistic tendencies yesterday in order to get enough mowing done to feel like our place is ready for us to be gone for a week. The grass remained damp enough that it was difficult to get a grip with the riding mower’s tires.
It didn’t feel like I had time to carefully navigate sideways slopes, so there was a fair amount of failure to keep the free-spinning front wheels of the zero-turn from uncontrolled turns downhill. It was a haphazard, frequently circular route to getting all the grass blades trimmed.
The wet soil and slippery grass resulted in a far greater occurrence of spinning wheels when I simply wanted to execute a turn. Normally, this causes me a lot of angst and a fair amount of foul language, and inspires me to try many ways to prevent it from happening. Not yesterday, though.
I chose the alternative of not caring in an effort to accomplish the greater goal of having the whole place mowed before we leave. I’m the only one who will even notice the increased number of skid marks.
It’s September. People’s attention will be on the trees, not on the dirt marks in our grass.
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Wet Mowing
Wetness abounds this morning. After a first round of mowing yesterday, I parked the rider, put the batteries on their chargers, and went in for some lunch. A peek at the weather radar revealed I had limited time to make much more progress on mowing. While the tractor batteries charged, I grabbed the push mower and hustled down to the labyrinth.
I was maybe 4/5s of the way through when the droplets started sprinkling down. I finished anyway, hoping that the electric mower wouldn’t be hypersensitive to working in the rain. The shower was of short duration but long enough to make it too wet to do any more mowing.
Cyndie put a rain cover on Mia because the last time it rained, the old mare shivered significantly when she got wet. This time, it wasn’t as cool or windy, but Cyndie chose a little extra caution, just in case.
I didn’t think it was necessary, but soon after, another round of precipitation arrived and soaked things even more, and my thinking changed. It’s a good thing Cyndie’s intuition is so keen.
As we emerged from the woods this morning on our rounds, it was hard to tell whether the moisture droplets on the horizon were steam rising up from the heat of the rising sun or fog settling down toward the ground.
Water droplets were clinging to new spider webs, accenting the mastery of the intricacies of the structures.
Just a couple of steps in the yard had our boots soaking wet. Hopefully, the declining angle of September sunshine won’t delay the drying of grass blades too long. I have plenty of mowing left to do and dwindling days to accomplish it all. We need to leave somewhere around zero-dark-thirty Tuesday morning to meet Mike and Barb for a ride to the airport to catch a flight to Boston. Today and tomorrow are all I’ve got left to finish another week’s worth of groundskeeping tasks.
It seems like travel adventures with the Wilkuses in September are becoming an annual event. Last year at this time, we were all headed to Iceland together. Much earlier this morning, I was dreaming we were already underway and driving to a destination that took the car around a corner too fast while Cyndie and Mike were somehow joint-driving in classic reality-defying dream logic.
I felt myself clinching in preparation for a crash as the car rounded a corner on only two wheels, with the rest of the car hanging in mid air over a dropoff. Thank goodness the gravity in dream-world didn’t pull us down.
It’s not like I have any lingering subconscious aversion to traveling or anything…
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Usual Elevation
Home again at an elevation my lungs are more accustomed to, my mind lingers in the Black Hills of South Dakota and the priceless fellowship of precious friends sharing an affinity for bicycling.
Yesterday, I drove from sun-up Mountain Time to sun-down Central Time in a completely different muscle-stiffening endurance exercise than pedaling nonstop for hours on end. I crossed most of South Dakota and Minnesota to get back to Beldenville in Wisconsin, where Cyndie and Asher were awaiting my return.
It’s good to be home.
The wide open expanses of South Dakota offered a stark reminder of how small our little rectangle of fields and forest really is. The massive hay production underway for mile after mile was remarkable to see now that I know a little more about the process.
The horse ranches are just as impressive. We saw real cowboys wrangling cattle as we whizzed by at over 80 mph on I90.
As I made one of the last few turns around a cornfield toward our driveway, the clouds looked busy in the sky. When I pulled in, I came to Cyndie walking in my direction. She was looking for Asher, who was chasing after a cat that appeared on our property.
He came running to me soon after in a special “welcome home” that only dogs excel in performing to such a degree.
This morning was a treat to reconnect with our horses. I smirked to myself while cleaning up their manure after a week of dodging cow messes on the trail. I’m glad I don’t have to clean up after cattle herds.
I’ll be thinking a lot about the previous week while I am mowing the overgrown grass that grows so thick at our much lower elevation compared to where I huffed and puffed while pedaling that marvelous gravel Mickelson Trail.
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To Deadwood
We are back on our bikes again today, riding north on the Mickelson Trail, this time to Deadwood.
Our much appreciated day of rest included a drive along the Needles Highway.
The rock formations are a wonder to behold. They look cool, too.
Rich and I took a moment to do a little bouldering.
Gary was happy to stay in the car, where the chance of taking a tumble is significantly lower.
After the Needles, Rich drove us up the precarious gravel curves to see the fire lookout tower on Mount Coolidge, 6023 feet elevation.
Climbing the steps to the observation deck left me short of breath.
It definitely feels like I’m not in Beldenville anymore.
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Reality Bit
We got bit by a great big dose of reality yesterday. All that easy gliding down the trail we enjoyed on Sunday was wiped out by our plan of reversing direction and riding back the way we came. That meant climbing 3009 feet one day after draining our bodies with 63 miles of riding the day before.
It was incredibly exhausting which made it harder to take in the glorious scenery.
Spectacular rock formations.
Pine tree forest.
Cactus and yucca plants.
Mule deer right beside the trail.
Wild turkeys.
Beautiful cattle herds.
Freshly cut and baled hay fields.
A hawk sailing overhead and darting around trees.
Horses ranches and riders all over the place.
Odd sightings of abandoned junk cars seemingly in the middle of nowhere.
Crazy Horse carving in the rocks that has barely changed in decades.
Fellow cyclists sharing greetings and gladly visiting when opportunity presents itself.
We are having a great time, but got our butts whooped yesterday.
Today will be a day of rest as planned all along. A much needed rest.
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Exceeded Expectations
I could list all the superlatives I know and it wouldn’t capture how great our first day on the Mickelson Trail was yesterday.
There were so many spectacular scenes that I got frustrated I only had eyes on the front side of my head.
I’m really grateful for our plan to backtrack the way we just came because I can have another chance to take it all in again, this time from the other direction.
Failing on the idea of picking just one photo…
63 miles, but who’s counting?
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New Volunteers
Last night we found ourselves on something of a little home vacation. On the cusp of Labor Day weekend, we have successfully enlisted full coverage for the horses with volunteers from This Old Horse (TOH). Also, Asher is on an extended visit to the facility of one of our favorite trainers.
We were home but didn’t have any animal responsibilities. Of course, that didn’t stop Cyndie from checking on the barn after dinner so she could drop off some freshly-baked cookies as treats for the different volunteers who will be stopping by over the next few days.
After an extended period of time had passed before her return, I turned on the surveillance camera to see what was up. How long does it take to drop off some treats? I got my answer.
There she was in her dress and sandals, doing some additional housekeeping around the overhang.
This morning, the feeding will be done by a first-timer whom I just provided an orientation session to on Wednesday. Cyndie didn’t want the person to find the place looking less than its very best.
We provided orientation sessions to two new volunteers recently, and both of them asked if they needed to wash the feed buckets after collecting them. Of all the things we are considerably fastidious about, on that one, not so much. However, since they both asked, I got the impression that is how it is done at other TOH barns.
I washed out the buckets after the horses finished eating yesterday morning.
Tomorrow, I head out for a week of biking in South Dakota, and Cyndie heads up to the lake place. There will be four different people covering the morning and afternoon feedings through Labor Day. It will be interesting for us to see how things go, since we haven’t had TOH volunteer support for this many days in a row before.
Personally, I’ll be surprised if any of them tidy up to the degree we like to maintain. Both Cyndie and I can be a little compulsive about it. I’ll be the first to admit it. I like the way a well-kept place looks.
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Different Realities
The world is a collection of independent realities simmering away at varying distances from one another. Currently, I am home alone for a few days with our animals. It feels so very far away from when I was in Chicago for the wedding last weekend. Cyndie is gone for a few days with a friend who will be having a surgical procedure done.
The countdown has reached three days until I depart for a week of biking in the Black Hills. That will definitely be a different reality. Shortly after I return from that, we travel to Boston to visit the world Barry and Carlos inhabit.
Yesterday, a friend shared a “Letters from an American” entry by history professor Heather Cox Richardson that featured Illinois Governor Pritzker’s response to tRump’s announcement that he was planning to send troops to Chicago. The sorry excuse for a President is definitely living in a unique and independent reality.
The Governor addressed the members of the Press who were in attendance, asking for their “courage to tell it like it is.” If only the media were able to present one true, unquestionable reality to the world about what exactly is going on behind the curtains in Washington.
I like to dream of a reality where Republicans at every level start rising up to admit that their king has no clothes.
At Wintervale, a current reality unfolding before our eyes involves the ripening of a robust-looking crop of fruit from the wild American Plum trees scattered across our property.
I don’t know if Cyndie’s reality for the near future involves producing some wild plum jam or not. It feels wasteful just to let all the fruit drop to the ground. But harvesting can be laborious unless we are both around to spread out a sheet to catch the plums as one of us shakes the trees. It’s possible we won’t both be at home until we get back from Boston in the middle of September.
This morning, I hope to meet another new This Old Horse volunteer who might be able to help feed horses when I leave for my bike trip. It’s pretty easy to train folks who are familiar with horses. Introduce them to the herd, then show them where the bags of grain are. They know the drill from there. The horse world is a more universal reality than an independent one.
Yesterday evening, I witnessed some beautiful “mutual grooming” going on between Light and Mia. It really warms the heart to see signs that members of the herd are taking care of one another.
I sure wish there was a more universal reality where all humans took good care of each other. I’d like to see a reality where anger and fear of others are replaced with a universal love and acceptance for all people.
Sing it, Jesse… “Come on people now, smile on your brother, everybody get together, try to love one another right now.”
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Still Resonating
Our weather yesterday was about as nice as could possibly be. Whenever the humidity drops in the summer, we are rewarded with fantastic days for getting things done. I jumped on the riding mower and cut grass. That exercise leaves plenty of room for my mind to wander.
Without attempting to direct my thoughts to any particular topic, the people and events of the wedding weekend in Chicago kept spinning around in my head. I am well familiar with the way good vibes linger after a hearty dose of happy people cultivating new connections and sharing time and stories.
There is only a slim chance I will cross paths with most of them again, but having been introduced to Haley’s relatives helps me to feel more familiar with who she is. I already know Alec’s side well, now coming up toward Cyndie’s and my 44th wedding anniversary.
One positive I can take from the annoying flight delay that had us stuck in the airport in Chicago for extra hours is that Cyndie’s brother, Ben, and his boys were on the same flight. It triggered more conversation than usual with the nephews. It’s not often that I, in my mid-60s, engage in more than a brief exchange with someone in their teens and twenties.
When I was stuck with all the people in Chicago for the previous three days, I longed to be home in the solitude of our fields and forest. Now that I’m here, my mind travels back to the good times we had with them. I think that is the power of love vibrating still.
Rolling along on the mower, I found myself returning again and again to the scenes and the sounds my brain was still processing. Our arrival at the wedding venue and claiming our seats as the string quartet performed off to the side. Taking in the view of Lake Michigan sprawled out to the horizon beyond the platform where the vows would be exchanged.
Feeling tears of emotion on my cheek as I watched the groom’s reaction to his bride’s first appearance on her father’s arm. The loving touch as the bride wiped his tears with her hand when she arrived to stand with him. Flower petals blowing back in our faces as people showered the couple after they joyously stepped off the platform as newlyweds, pausing for a bent-over kiss for emphasis.
Mingling for a moment in the absolutely perfect weather with drinks and appetizers before being ushered toward the dinner tent. The incredible dance band kicked off their first set with an energy that pulled guests in, seamlessly moving them directly onto the dance floor.
Food would have to wait. One song after another without stopping until it seemed like dinner might as well be entirely skipped. Finally, the band allowed the energy to subside, and folks moved toward their assigned tables.
Precious speeches from the father of the bride, the maid of honor, and the best man. First-class service bringing top-quality salad and entrees with an orchestration so precise it felt like a Hollywood production.
All the while, the band was expertly serenading diners as they enjoyed their meals, and the bride and groom worked their way around each table to personally greet everyone who had come. After the traditional series of sentimental first dances, the band revved things back into high gear, and the high-octane dancing picked up where it left off before the food was served.
It was a celebration for the ages. A wedding that will linger long in the minds of all who were in attendance. A rather exceptional distraction for me while I steered my way around objects to mow our grass on a similarly spectacular sunny August day.
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I Survived
After a whirlwind of a special wedding weekend in Chicago, we made it home a little before 10:00 last night and were able to get a full night’s sleep in our own bed. Man, did I need that. Waking up Sunday morning after only four hours of sleep was woefully inadequate.
We endured an almost three-hour flight delay before being able to board our plane and depart from O’Hare airport. In the end, we and the Minnesota contingent of Cyndie’s family all made it home around the same time, despite half of them driving back in two different cars and half flying. Hardly seems fair.
Over the three days we were there, we attended three gala events, two of which I needed to tough out in formal attire.
Somehow, I managed to survive unscathed. It’s a good thing Cyndie was willing to dress me up for the occasion. I didn’t follow through with a threat to wear my manure composting boots with the suit to the wedding Saturday night.
All my complaining was overblown. We had a great time at all the fabulous events, despite the sad fact that Julian wasn’t able to be there with us. If I could just get over my miserly objections to the money that gets spent on dressing so fine, I could even be talked into doing it again sometime. Hopefully, sometime far in the future, though.
I’m not a guy who has any inclination toward wearing a suit on a regular basis.
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Relative Something 