Archive for the ‘Chronicle’ Category
Taxing Effort
It took a toll on our patience and stamina but yesterday, we finished installing barriers to all the rafters under the overhang to stop pigeons from roosting there. Our hands took a lot of abuse from the stabbing ends of hardware cloth we cut into short pieces we attached to the beams.
Amid the clatter of banging aluminum ladders, two cursing adults, and my noisy power driver, the horses accepted all the racket as white noise to help them nap.
I quickly realized how much of a total body workout it is to work overhead while standing on a fully extended ladder. I had switched from a staple gun to driving screws to secure the pieces of metal mesh. Reaching above my head meant I barely had enough leverage to put sufficient pressure against the head of the screws. That forced me to flex every muscle in my body to stiffen up enough to keep the driver engaged with the screw head.
Meanwhile, the bottoms of my feet on the ladder rungs kept getting increasingly irritated from needing to hold all my weight on such a narrow portion of my sole. When I climbed back down to solid ground, my right knee let me know it was unhappy with the stress of standing on the ladder.
All that abuse sure better produce the result we are seeking. We’ll soon find out if the pigeons will get the message we are sending. I’m looking forward to working on our next project with my feet on the ground.
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More Splashin’
If there was ever any question about how Paddock Lake seems to keep getting deeper and deeper over time, the following video provides a pretty clear demonstration of what it’s like when the horses decide to play in the water.
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When we first heard the ruckus, all three of Mia, Light, and Swings were kicking at the water at the same time. That was quite a sight. By the time Cyndie was able to pull out her phone to record the action, Swings and Mia were yielding their time to Light.
Light went at it with gusto. I am curious about whether she was trying to accomplish anything or just splashing for the sake of splashing. She certainly was achieving at least that much.
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Public Protest
Sitting beside two women I didn’t know, I asked them if they ever imagined this would be happening in our lifetimes. The response from the elder of the two was that it was her second protest of a President because she previously took to the streets in objection to Nixon.
I didn’t know what to expect in terms of numbers but it seemed a little thin at first. We had no difficulty finding a place to park our car. Walking a short distance, we found a line of sign-carrying folks coming down the sidewalk toward us and chanting.
As they reached us, we fell in with the marchers while passing cars honked on our way to the small park where a soap box would be presented for people to speak their minds.
While people robustly expressed their deep dissatisfaction with everything the current administration has been doing, passing cars continued to honk in support of the “Hands Off!” theme. This occasionally triggered those gathered on the other side of the road to start chanting, which drowned out some of the words of the speakers, but we always got the gist of each message.
The small gathering in River Falls drew people from Minnesota on the other side of the St. Croix River, from Hudson, and from Red Wing. It was inspiring.
I learned of the somewhat subtle silent protest of “8647” on a sign, which I think is clever. There were plenty of other witty and creative slogans I found entertaining, as well. Among the many spoken messages shared by citizens, I was particularly pleased to hear one gentleman describing having just returned from a trip around Europe. He shared that the people of several countries they visited were not thinking poorly of us –sympathetic, maybe– but their beef was with our leaders, same as us.
“How are those cheap eggs working out for ya?”
The most moving speaker was a Hispanic immigrant who talked about working long, hard hours milking cows and searching for work that others don’t want to do. She just wanted a little compassion amidst the callous aggression being doled out by masked, plain-clothed ICE agents who are “disappearing” people with no acknowledgment of whether or not violations had actually occurred.
Most of the people who stepped up to the microphone were retirement-age so one guy put up a challenge to the crowd that the next person to speak needed to be under 30. It worked, and soon we were hearing the opinions of several from younger generations.
A lot of people expressed pride in our country and that is why they are protesting. I’m more inclined to admit I was protesting because I’m not proud of my country at this point.
At least, for now, we were still granted the freedom to assemble and exercise our right to free speech. No AI bots and no fake news. Just real people telling it the way they see it. It was cathartic if nothing else.
Rating: 10/10. I’d do it again.
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Filing Objections
It is April 5th, a “national day of action” the banner professes. Cyndie and I intend to join the mix of college students and rural folks from around River Falls to express our dissatisfaction with the destructive chaos that has been underway since the inauguration in January.
There isn’t a sign big enough to hold my objections.
I object to the President of the United States of America being a blatant small and large-scale grifter.
I object to people making decisions that impact millions of others based on greed and their ill-informed prejudices.
I object to our government disrespecting our allies.
I object to people trying to force their religion into this country’s laws.
I object to government leaders behaving like bullies.
I object to the decisions and behaviors of everyone who has enabled or abetted foreign interference in our elections.
I object to the discounting of the severity of the global climate crisis.
I object to blind adherence to ideologies.
I object to people ignoring their hypocrisy.
I object to the ugly confidence to publicly display hatred for others.
I object to the blatant disregard for the rule of law.
I object to the blatant disregard for human rights.
I object to the blatant disregard for proven science.
I object to the assumption that this administration can simply state that we are going to own another country.
I object to unilaterally issuing orders to deny equity and inclusion of our diverse populations.
I object to the assault on education and the sweep up of graduate students.
I object to the allowing of an unelected appointee to dismantle government institutions.
I object to the incarceration of innocent travelers by our immigration officials.
I object to the intentional destruction of our national and global economies.
I object to people lapping up mis- and disinformation like it was Kool-Aid that keeps them alive.
I object to the theft of good people’s sanity through the unending flow of drama and excrement coming from Donald Trump and every single person who supports him, including every billionaire or foreign leader controlling him from behind the scenes.
It’s time to go stand with the crowd to show how we really feel.
I’ll let you know tomorrow if it makes me feel any better.
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Willow Buds
The maple sap should be flowing this weekend with our overnight temps dropping below freezing and daytime rising above. Yesterday, we noticed the big willow tree was looking rather anxious to be getting on with spring.
It inspired me to take a closer look at the buds getting ready to pop.
I sure hope the tree knows what it’s doing. Growing things don’t tend to waste time when the hours of sun increase in spring, and many of our trees look like they want to burst forth with leaves.
It breaks my heart when the weather messes with their timing and a hard freeze ends up killing new buds.
Reminds me what it’s like to have tariffs mess with my investment portfolio.
Instead of paying attention to that, because if I think about the state of things beyond the borders of our property it makes me cry, Cyndie brought out her bird-identifying app and we let her phone listen to all the birdsongs during our morning walk.
Of course, the song that was most prominent and wonderfully dramatic stopped as soon as she pulled out her phone. All the regulars were in full form but there were others of which I wasn’t aware and we couldn’t officially confirm.
Here’s a list of all the birds identified:
American Robin
Northern Cardinal
Blue Jay
American Crow
Red-winged Blackbird
Northern Flicker
Song Sparrow
Brown-headed Cowbird
Dark-eyed Junco
(later in the day… Red-Tailed Hawk)
I’d like to get a look at that Cowbird if it was truly present. We saw very few of these feathered friends listed while walking Asher. Without the use of an app for identification, it would all simply be the background soundtrack to our great outdoors.
Since we hadn’t made it to the barn yet, no pigeons were detected during the morning stroll but they are still around. Just not nesting in the eaves of the barn anymore.
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Mostly Obeying
Among the behaviors we were able to train Asher to obey rather easily upon adopting him, the one his is most prone to testing is having him stay out of the kitchen. We do not trust his loyalty on that one when we are not around and make a big effort to keep all food stashed out of view and out of reach when we leave the kitchen.
Asher knows to stay out when we are in the vicinity and he impressively will not go after his ball when it rolls into the forbidden zone. However, he is very consistent about taking a step or two across the line to see if the invisible wall may have been relaxed when Cyndie is busy cooking.
This is how I found him when I came down from the loft for dinner after Cyndie called to me:
He should not be past the refrigerator/freezer doors.
Mostly obeying, you might say.
Regarding the recent Wisconsin election that went the way of Susan Crawford who didn’t offer anyone money for a vote, we are feeling deep satisfaction to have been able to cast our votes for a chance at a better future. A chance is better than none.
When we were communicating with friends about the news of our desired outcome in the election Tuesday night, the topic of overt offers of money for supporting the other guy came up.
Cyndie commented, “I think illegal stuff should be illegal.” It really struck my funny bone. In a logical world, such a phrase shouldn’t need to be uttered. In today’s reality, I would like to wear a T-shirt with the thought printed across the front.
Gosh, imagine if there were enforceable consequences for violating just and ethical laws.
Imagine if the police didn’t seem so willing to fulfill the diabolical edicts of a wannabe dictator. I suppose they are mostly just obeying orders.
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Tolerance Reached
We have tolerated the ever-increasing number of pigeons roosting in the eaves of the barn overhang for the last few years but we’ve reached our limit. Their panicky flapping of departure and arrival each time they come and go gets incredibly annoying but the constant build-up of their shit coating every surface is the worst.
Short of resorting to methods of lethal force, we decided to put up barriers to close off their access to the eaves. Before covering the open areas, we decided to clean out the accumulation blocking the slots in the soffits.
That ended up being more nasty than we suspected it would be. If we don’t end up getting some form of bird flu or other illness from exposure to everything we found up there, it will be a shock.
In addition to the slabs of petrified pigeon droppings, there was a surprising amount of dismembered wings and other pigeon parts, including one entire body. We succeeded in doing some population control by removing several eggs. I was startled several times when a pigeon I didn’t know was still in there suddenly felt the time had come to escape, blasting past my face and almost knocking me off the ladder.
Now when they show up to roost, there is a lot of fluttering like a hummingbird as they struggle to figure out that their favorite spot is no longer available. Cyndie found a whole bunch had chosen to make do by perching on the 2-by-4 rafters for lack of other options.
If they persist there, we will need to add some disincentives to those spaces, as well.
I’d rather not spend any more time on a ladder for a long while. It was exhausting work to wrestle the hardware cloth into position and operate the staple gun at imperfect angles with my back and legs aching and my feet growing more tired of the rungs on the ladder by the minute.
The dang DeWalt heavy-duty stapler I have is supposed to have an “anti-jam magazine to prevent jams and misfires” as well as “easy squeeze technology.” Not on my model. I struggled mightily with both problems. It made for a frustrating combination up on the ladder where leverage is greatly compromised at extended reaches.
The horses were surprisingly calm tolerating our intrusion on their space and showed reasonable patience while we made them wait longer than usual for their afternoon feeding. They may understand what we were up to and appreciate the effort, although they will end up suffering some increase in frustrated pigeon wing-flapping for a little while.
I think they have tolerated the pigeon population explosion about as well as could be expected, but won’t be disappointed if the birds find other places to roost.
If this works as we hope, I will be overjoyed.
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Stupid Bots
Based on the first-hand evidence of my direct experience, I can confidently proclaim that the bots programmed to spam cell phones with calls and texts are missing a key morsel of intelligence. Especially the ones trying to mine votes for the candidate Musk and Trump so desperately seek in the Wisconsin Supreme Court election.
“Help elect… and get rewarded for it. Earn $20 for each Wisconsin voter you recruit – they get $20 too.”
The messages have been relentless. We may have received one or two for Judge Crawford –I delete all of them, regardless of the candidate– but the flood that has been begging (and bribing) for votes for Schimel to serve the power grab by Elon and his pal, Donald, has come non-stop by the quarter hour.
The brilliant technology doesn’t take into account that the campaigners are targeting a person (me) who objects to their message and methods. Smart tech would recognize where the message gets deleted before being read, especially after three, four, or even five tries, and stop trying that number. Move on to a fresh target.
If there is any mercy left in the world, I hope it will bring an end to the relentless annoyance of campaign calls today now that election day has arrived for us. I would dearly love to return to my expedition in a political-news-free wilderness.
April Fool’s Day. Well played, Universe.
Cyndie and I will do our part to save the country by our votes. I’m sure we will be key to swaying the election away from the fascist billionaires who seek to rule the world with their buddy, Putin, by eliminating any obstructions still hanging by a thread in the U.S.
According to the Associated Press, Wisconsin’s “high-stakes race has become a proxy battle over the nation’s politics.” It reports that more than $90 million has been spent on the race. If I would just sign Musk’s petition and recruit others to join me, I could earn my own chunk of that heavy spending.
Damn, I miss the days when politicians needed to hide their bribery schemes.
Even though I have been avoiding news media, I am well aware that on Saturday, April 5, people who object to the attack on the citizens of this country by the current administration will be protesting across the land. Like the rallies recently held by AOC and Bernie, like-minded conscientious political objectors can gather and assure each other we are not alone.
I wish it would have more power to actually stop what is going on since nobody else seems to be able to do anything. When do we get to the part of the script where the hero shows up and once and for all dispatches the villain? I mean, at least until the next sequel gets released.
Ethan Hunt? Is this an impossible mission? Jason Bourne? Reacher? Bond? Rambo? Harry Potter? Beuller? Anyone? Someone?
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Feeling (C)old
Three days ago, our temperatures were around 80°F. Welcome to spring in the Northland. That unseasonal warmth brought an overnight storm with heavy rain and loads of lightning and thunder. Most of the day yesterday dragged on with a dreary occasional mist and temps hovering in the very chilly mid-30s.
Around dinnertime, the temperature dropped below freezing.
Just 47 minutes later, it looked like this outside:
Hot and cold weather always bounces back and forth this time of year, so we should be well-adjusted to coping with the changes, but the return of wintery chills and snow never fails to feel like an undeserved punishment.
It’s the final day of March. I could hope that this is the last blanketing of snow we will get for the season, but ever since going through the extreme experience of receiving 18 inches of snow on May 2nd, 2013, I won’t assume we are in the clear until the calendar flips to June.
Cyndie tried convincing Mia to wear a light blanket for protection against the wetness, but Mia wasn’t interested. I figure she didn’t want to look different than the other Mares. All four of them seem to be coping just fine, as they almost always do.
I’ve got coping skills of my own that I’ve been executing. Lounging in the recliner by the fireplace, eating more than I should, adding a few inches and pounds of insulation around my middle, and napping whenever my tired eyes keep trying to stay closed. It feels an awful lot like my impression of what getting old must be like.
My initiative to maintain an exercise routine for back health and strong core muscles has done a disappearing act. Now in my mid-60s, I seem to have experienced a shift of my own from hot to cold. My morning workouts now tend to involve more cerebral pursuits like Wordle, Strands, and Connections in the NY Times games suite and sporadic stabs at Words With Friends competitions.
My aging is getting more obvious now that mental exercise has become just as tiring as my physical workouts once were.
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Missing Spoon
This is why we can’t have nice things. I was mucking manure from the sloppy mud just beyond the roof line of the overhang when Cyndie stepped out of the barn to ask if I had taken the wooden spoon.
My answer was, “What?” because every exchange between us now always starts with the second person needing questions repeated.
Why would I take the wooden spoon? We keep a cup and spoon by the water spigot in the barn for wetting down the incredibly dusty, cracked grains we put out in buckets for the horses. It was missing.
We both separately searched high and low inside the barn to no avail. What critter would abscond with a long-handled wooden spoon? There was probably a small amount of grain residue stuck to the shallow bowl, but that seems like a paltry treasure worth hauling away.
We have several burrowing pests in addition to the cats and possibly raccoons that make themselves at home in and around the barn. I don’t know if the spoon was moved outside of the barn or if it might have been stashed inside somewhere. There are plenty of nooks and crannies where it could end up out of sight.
I’d rather not start moving every item stored within to look beneath it, but I have a compelling urge not to let the thief win. I hate getting outsmarted by pestering critters.
Cyndie has already selected a replacement spoon from the kitchen. I suggested she attach a tether with an awkwardly large bauble on it, as is done for gas station bathroom keys.
Actually, I’d like to put an alligator clip and wire so we can connect it to the hot wire of our electric fence after each use. That’d send a message. I know better than to do that, though. The most likely one to receive that message would end up being my lovely wife.
Critters – 1 … Humans – 0.
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Relative Something 