Archive for the ‘Chronicle’ Category
Spring Storm
Sometimes our spring storms involve rain, but it’s not strange when they come as all snow. Last night, we got the all snow variety.
Let’s review. Last weekend I was adding a bedding of manure around the base of some of our pine trees. It looked like this:
Just days later, a spectacularly defined winter snow storm spread out across the middle of our country and rode right over the top of us.
When I left work in the afternoon, there were hints of snowflake flurries, but nothing showing on the ground. Driving across the metro area, I arrived in the thick of falling flakes, but the roads remained snow-free. It was wet, and my windshield wipers struggled to smear aside the salty spray blowing up from the vehicles around me.
As I came up the driveway, I spotted Dezirea standing in the wet blowing snow, but the other three horses were wisely tucked under the overhang of the barn. Cyndie moved them all inside to their stalls when the snow began to accumulate.
We stoked the fireplace and dined on a gourmet spread of coconut chicken and rice with lentils, barley, and quoting Cyndie’s description, “a whole bunch of other stuff” that she whipped up with her typical professional flair. We watched a fascinating documentary film, “Finding Vivian Maier” that arrived in our mail from Netflix. We stayed cozy and warm while the definitive spring snow storm blustered its beautiful best outside.
This time of year, it is always a laugh to think back to whether a ground-hog saw its shadow, or how long winter would really last. Winter comes and goes in fits. It has been 70° (F) here already, and we’ve had days of greening grass and drying soil. We also have enough snow to look like it’s been here forever and the previous days were simply a dream.
I’ll venture out this morning in the darkness of the early hour, and traverse the miles that go from almost a foot of snow, across several counties to the day-job where it will still look like spring.
Thus is the nature of the narrow gradient of frozen precipitation on the north edge of a late winter/early spring storm in this part of the world.
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Not Much
I moved the trail cam over the weekend and am not happy with the results. I wanted to try a more open area so there would be less branch clutter in the foreground of the view.
I chose the labyrinth garden.
I’m not sure why, but the result was picture after picture with no discernible activity. Over a hundred in two days.
Birds, maybe?
There were surprisingly few images during darkness. However, we did get a tiny glimpse of one animal that was conspicuously absent from all the images captured when we had the camera stationed on the trail in the woods…
Shy little bugger, she. That was all the further she moved into the field of view at 4:30 in the morning.
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Preventive Medicine
We have now received three diagnoses for what has possibly been killing our pine trees over the three years that we have lived here.
The first guy thought it might be related to spider mites. He offered to treat all our trees with over $1000 worth of insecticide.
The second guy became very alarmed over the visible damage from sap suckers. I am grateful that the second guy was at least thorough enough to have also taken needle samples back for further analysis and consultation with other experts.
We are feeling most confident with the follow-up diagnosis he came up with of a fungus. Given that we are not interested in applying toxins in hopes of treating our remaining trees, I have responded to advice from the arborist to give our remaining healthy trees plenty of food and water for the best chance going forward.
When he suggested giving them a good bedding, I pointed out that I have plenty of composting horse manure.
“That would be great for bedding.” he said.
Done.
Well, one done. Many to go.
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Horses Sense
The weather has been a little cantankerous lately, dishing out some horizontal precipitation in strong winds, with temperatures hovering uncomfortable close to the cold freeze-point. The kind of weather that a horse might not particularly appreciate.
I drove home from work on Thursday at a time between showers. The pavement was dry and the overcast sky looked less glum than the rest of the week. When I came over the hill to the first view of our place, there was no one in sight. Over the first rise of our driveway I discovered a distinct absence of horses.
Hmm. I whimsically asked myself if maybe Cyndie had sold them.
Why would they be inside the barn at this hour?
Sometimes the weather at home and the weather at work can be dramatically different, but all indications showed it to be equally dry. It occurred to me that the horses might be making up for the fact we had left them out the night before, when enough windy precipitation showed up that it exceeded their level of tolerance.
We had put them in the barn two nights ago, due to a cold rain, but Wednesday evening they were dry and seemed content with things, so I left them out. My sleep was disturbed later that night by the sound of blustery precipitation —I couldn’t tell if it was rain, sleet, or ice balls— hitting the bedroom window. My first thought was of the poor horses out there with their heads down, enduring the insult.
I asked Cyndie how they were in the morning and she reported a fairly normal routine and appearance. She said they weren’t necessarily dry, but they weren’t chilled-to-the-bone dripping wet, either.
At the same time, Cyndie did have a fascinating report to offer from that afternoon. She had left Delilah in the house and wandered down to be with the horses for the specific intent of listening to what they might have to offer. With a lot of concerns on her mind lately, she wanted to stand among the herd with no other cleaning or feeding agenda as distraction.
It was early in the afternoon, and like I described, not a bad day outside compared to the rest of the week. The message she got from the horses was insistent and unmistakable. They wanted to go inside their stalls. Now.
By the time I arrived home, it looked like nobody lived there. Cyndie was surprised they would ask to be inside so early, but gave them what they wanted.
A short time after I got home, the snow started flying. Sloppy, wet flakes that painted the deck with moisture. The kind of precipitation that a horse would probably be tired of enduring this week.
The kind of weather a horse would have enough sense to get out of if it had a barn for shelter.
All ours had to do was ask.
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Added Detail
A few days ago I wrote about the attempted fraud using my Wintervale credit card number, and how the bank had neglected to notify me. At the time I wrote that, I didn’t have all the facts. Well, I may have had some of them. I just forgot a pertinent detail.
Cyndie pointed out that she thought the bank did contact us, by way of her phone. She remembered it because she thought it weird at the time, that they called her to question use of my card.
She was visiting her parents in Florida when the call came, so she contacted me while I was at the day-job, a little confused over the details of the banks concern. She gave me a number to call, along with a case number for reference.
Given this additional detail, my fuzzy memory began to recollect snippets of the occasion. The fragments I dredged up led me to paint the picture thusly: I called and talked over the situation.
I do remember the feeling that nothing was amiss and my account was fine, which is probably why shortly after it happened, I forgot the call had even occurred.
Looking back now, it makes total sense that the problem I confirmed recently is related to that odd call in January.
Obviously, nothing was amiss with my account, except that my card wouldn’t work if I tried to use it. No transactions were ever approved, so I never saw anything suspicious on my monthly statements. Cyndie’s card continued to work just fine, and we carried on blissfully ignorant.
Yesterday, I received an email from an online forestry products retailer with this title: “Notice of Data Breach.”
Following an extensive eight week forensic examination, we have recently learned that the cyber attacks actually first occurred in December 2011. The forensic examination shows that beginning in December 2011, a person or persons without authorization accessed and possibly stole credit card information from our website belonging to our customers. The thief or thieves accessed our website remotely and overcame our firewall and security protections.
I did make a purchase at this site. This is where we bought our Swedish log splitter and a device that holds long branches for cutting logs with a chainsaw.
Their message went on to describe “…types of information stolen appears to include credit card numbers, cardholder names, CCV numbers, credit card expiration dates, addresses and phone numbers, email addresses, log- in and password” to their site.
Well, apparently they didn’t get my CCV number! That is why the multiple attempts didn’t go through, according to the person I spoke with at my bank.
I find it interesting that I was so quick to discount that anything was wrong back when I made the call in January to see why they were contacting us about our account. My Spidey sense™ was not tingling.
Maybe I wasn’t properly honed in on “the moment.”
Ya think?
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Too Common
This time of year we start to see the bountiful harvest of flies blooming around our manure factory, and it triggered our first order of the year from our online source for fly control supplies. I provided the card number for our Wintervale account that I used last year and the order was entered.
A week later I received an email and phone calls indicating that my card number wasn’t working. After checking that they had all the correct information, we decided the problem may be with our bank.
Last night I called our bank and learned my card had been placed on alarm status for possible fraud activity. The representative for my bank spoke so matter of factly about the situation that it occurred to me, this was normal activity from her perspective.
I was aghast! What!? When!?
Since I have been back at work for almost a year, I haven’t had much need to use the Wintervale account. I had been unaware of the unauthorized attempts to make expensive purchases in San Francisco in January. When the culprit wasn’t able to produce the correct code from the back of the card after multiple attempts, my bank was alert enough to suspend the card.
I’m not quite sure why they didn’t see a need to contact me about the situation.
Several more attempts were made at different locations for lesser amounts, continuing into February, all failures.
The only way I found out about it was that I finally attempted to use the card myself, and had to call to find out why it didn’t work anymore.
I guess credit card fraud is so common, the banks don’t even get riled up about it anymore. At least they are swift about disallowing questionable requests.
Maybe, since they don’t bother letting the card holder know about the situation, I should call them every month to ask if anyone other than me has tried to use my card. Especially if fraud is so common it is expected.
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Canine Visits
So much for using our trail cam to capture images of all the wildlife wandering our trails. Nothing but dogs this last time, traveling in pairs, even.
I have a whole new respect for what Delilah’s been sensing every time we walk our paths. I’m sure she is entirely aware of these scofflaws who regularly take advantage of our easy access to wherever the heck it is they are going.
There are 3 different dogs that have been making themselves at home on our trail at the southern edge of our property. I suspect that 2 of them are likely owned by a close neighbor. Driving past their place last week, I noticed a line of white flags across the front yard that looked a lot like the kind used to mark invisible fence installations.
Maybe they are working to keep the dogs off the road. Apparently they’ve left the back door toward our place wide open.
There’s no real harm done by their trespassing, but after all the fretting we have done over Delilah doing the same thing to others, it feels like they are getting away with something that they shouldn’t.
At least I now have a better idea of what Delilah is up to when she goes astray. I always figured she was chasing wildlife, or neighboring livestock. Now I suspect she is probably trailing along on the route of other dogs, returning the favor of marking each other’s passage.
I have no idea what this guy is carrying. It looks like a big branch, but it brings to mind the mysterious frozen cow’s leg we found laying in the middle of the trail down in that area last winter. It gives me new insight into how it could have possibly gotten to where it was that we stumbled upon it.
Other than the weekend we had two strange dogs show up by the house last fall, we haven’t been aware of how many and how often we have had uninvited canine visitors.
There have been tracks visible on occasion, but we weren’t quite sure whether it was coyotes or domestic dogs leaving the impressions. From now on I will be much more inclined to suspect stealthy dogs are the ones cuttin’ through.
At least, until our trail cam proves something different.
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Already Late
My least favorite day of the year is the day our society moves the clocks ahead one hour. That first day, this first day, I wake up already late for the day.
Time travels too fast for me on a regular basis. It becomes uncomfortably amplified when the clock is adjusted to steal an entire precious hour for which I can do nothing to account.
Yesterday I read that there is a myth that the adjusting of our clocks is something that helps farmers, but that the myth is not true and the majority of farmers actually dislike Daylight Saving Time. It is supposed to have something to do with saving energy, since Germany first did it for that purpose during World War I.
It appears it doesn’t actually save energy. The other thing it doesn’t do is save daylight.
It annoys me that real proponents are the retail industry, which profits when more people go out (drive vehicles and use gas) to do things (spend money for barbecues and recreation) in the evenings during the longer day-lit evenings.
The most ridiculous reason I read was that it moved daylight from the morning when people are asleep, to the evening when they are awake.
Just get up when the sun comes over the horizon if you have a problem with it! Who cares what time that is?
Our horses have the luxury of completely ignoring what time we set our clocks to. They do what they do, whenever they see fit to do it.
Yesterday, Hunter wanted to sleep deeply in the middle of the day. Once again, my first reaction is alarm. It is always shocking to discover the horses so entirely unconscious.
It was an uncharacteristically warm and sunny March day. The air was calm and the other horses were up by the barn, grazing on hay when we approached with Delilah. Not wanting to startle Hunter, we paused to take in the serene scene. Delilah laid down by the wood fence of the paddock and looked on.
Horses don’t stay down like that for long, so we waited to witness a behavior that would show us he was fine. The very first thing I did was zoom in my attention on evidence he was indeed breathing.
Not long after I started taking pictures, or maybe, because I started taking pictures, Hunter picked up his head and looked around at the world. Yep, still daylight out.
Moments later, he went right back down where he came from. I figured he probably wanted to finish a dream that had been interrupted.
He wasn’t late for anything.
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March 11th
I had forgotten the significance of March 11, until one of my sisters emailed a note that our sister, Linda, would have turned 64 this year if she were still alive.
I have a precious picture of Linda standing with me at my high school graduation. The event was not a significant achievement in my family, and as such, treated as more of a formality. I was the 5th of 6 kids. By the time I reached the milestone which marks the completion of high school, it had already been done enough times in my family that it was old hat.Watching Amy
We watched the documentary, “Amy” last night, about singer Amy Winehouse, and it triggered a recurring sadness for me that you can’t instantly remedy whatever it is that drives a person to make unhealthy coping choices. You can send love to those who are hurting, but if they aren’t able to love themselves, health and healing can only wait on the sidelines to be invited in.
I’ve had moments of grandeur where I thought the environment we have created at Wintervale, the horses, the labyrinth garden, wooded trails, and our dog & cat, combined with the life experience and emotional intelligence Cyndie and I have gained, could serve as an intrinsic salve to any and all who visit.
Reality isn’t that simple. I have had opportunity to discover my acquired peace doesn’t automatically transform others merely by proximity. I found that it is possible not only for me to be helpless about inducing healing in another, but I am as susceptible as anyone to being drawn down by contagious unhealthy energies.
Being a positive healing influence on the world is something that requires definite effort.
Detangling from a general pattern of unhealthy behaviors requires a definite choice. We have to make an informed decision to change our life for the better. It doesn’t happen by just spending some time at a healthy place.
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The movie about Amy Winehouse includes a significant amount of footage showing the frenzy of paparazzi she faced. It was tough to witness. Nobody deserves that abuse. Take a moment to cherish the anonymity that allows for normal daily life.
Cyndie and I were talking about situations of celebrity hounding and recalled the amazing surprise we felt years ago, when we spotted Eric Clapton on a street in Chicago, unnoticed by anyone but us. We were killing time on a weekday visit and strolling the shops along The Magnificent Mile, or possibly some side street just off Michigan Avenue, when two guys stepped out the door of some apparel shop.
They were carrying large bags of their purchases, which was one of the first aspects that caught my eye. Two guys on a little afternoon clothes shopping expedition? Seemed somewhat off gender-usual to me.
As my surveying glance traveled up to their faces, I wasn’t able to mask my shocked recognition at the face of one of my musical idols, just inches away. In a split second, I chose to avoid spoiling Mr. Clapton’s moment of walking the street like any anonymous bloke.
As they passed I looked at Cyndie and she was looking at me with that same wide-eyed shock over who was walking by. It didn’t seem possible. We immediately began debating our decision of not saying anything to him.
I consoled myself with the vision I will never forget: the look on Eric Clapton’s face when he saw our shocked expressions and knew he’d been recognized, …yet not hassled.
I wonder if Amy Winehouse ever enjoyed the pleasure of being recognized, but not hassled, in the brief time after her music became wildly popular.
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