Archive for the ‘Chronicle’ Category
Imaginary Problem
When something’s not right, does your mind wander toward the worst-case scenario? Mine did last night. Yesterday, we were “gifted” with a rain shower that would have been perfectly normal in the month of May. Unfortunately for me, it was the 27th day of December in a location that used to get snow instead of rain during the winter. Harumph.
I pulled up the images from our surveillance cameras and found nothing but a black screen from the barn view. It was late and rainy, and I didn’t want to trudge down to investigate, so I imagined what the problem might be. One possibility I came up with was that water had infiltrated my protective cover over the wiring to the camera and shorted out either the power or signal lines.
The other much worse possibility was that the remaining power line to the barn had failed, and the whole barn had lost electricity. That meant no lights and, more importantly, no heat on the water fountain for the horses. I would need to run a temporary cable from the shop and somehow hang it over the driveway high enough so delivery trucks wouldn’t snag it.
The moment this morning when I flipped the light switches up, my heart skipped a beat, but the lights came on, to our great relief. Also, a green indicator light on the camera showed it still had power. Hooray!
I unplugged the power to the camera for a minute or two to reset it and solved the problem with minimal effort. So much for my fatalistic imagination.
We continue to be blanketed by a thick fog that has the poor horses on edge because they can’t see the horizon to scan for threats.
Yesterday, there was still some ice in Paddock Lake, but it was all water this morning and topped to the brim.
I sure wish the warming climate was an imaginary problem. Maybe if we unplug insatiable greed and constantly increasing demands for land and air travel in fossil fuel-powered vehicles, we can reset things. Hahahaha!
I made myself laugh.
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Holiday Socializing
Cyndie and I did the old back-and-forth routine again this Christmas, starting with the hour-long drive to the Cities on Christmas Eve to gather with family from Cyndie’s mom’s side, then returned late to sleep at home. On Christmas morning, we fed the horses (Asher is away at a trainer’s kennel for a week) and then drove back to her mom’s for the classic Friswold breakfast and an opening of gifts exchanged.
From there, we drove home again for a brief rest in the afternoon, which allowed us a chance to feed the horses before driving back to the Cities for food and fun at her brother’s house.
Up past our bedtime for the second night in a row, stuffed beyond sensible with scrumptious foods, and buzzing from the precious energy of socializing with people we love so dearly, we hopped in the car one last time to drive home and crashed into our bed to sleep deeply.
I am ever so grateful that this was the only crashing we experienced because we witnessed some crazy speeding and risky maneuvering occurring on the highways yesterday. No one wishes for a traffic ticket on Christmas, but that doesn’t mean the Highway Patrol should take the day off.
It didn’t appear there was any enforcement in place during our cautious commuting, and some reckless speed demons were taking full advantage. Thankfully, road surfaces weren’t excessively slippery, and no bumpers were bumped throughout our many trips to and fro.
Every last trip was worth it for the treasure of special holiday time with our peeps. For those who love solitude, it provides a healthy reference for how nice it is to return to the calm and quiet of our own homes after periods of intense socializing.
Down in the paddocks, there was some unique social interaction going on between one particular pigeon and the horses and me.
I first noticed it walking around me as I rolled out the wheelbarrow to do some housekeeping under the overhang. It showed up on a fence board as I was sweeping off the placemats under a feed station.
When I arrived to tie a hay bag, the pigeon didn’t move away from its puffed-up position where I wanted to be. So, I took its picture.
Friendly little guy. When I stepped out of the barn with buckets of grain, it was sitting on Swings’ back. After it stayed perched there while Swings walked over to eat, I pulled out my phone to take another photo of the friendly bird.
I was too slow. It had hopped down to see if Swings was sharing any holiday cheer on the placemat below.
The rest of the pigeon flock is much more flighty about the presence of humans, but this one seemed to have no fear. Much as they tend to annoy us for the racket and mess they create, not to mention the temptations they are for Asher, I chose not to shoo this one off.
It was Christmas, after all. That wouldn’t have been in the holiday socializing spirit.
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Escape Puzzle
’Twas the day before Christmas, and what am I doing? Playing with the new gift I’ve already received from Elysa!
It’s an “escape puzzle” from Ravensburger. The information says the puzzle is different than the image on the box. I assumed that might mean completely different, so I didn’t closely look at the cover at first. Eventually, I noticed it’s mostly the same with a few minor differences.
The assembly was just easy enough to keep me engaged all the way to the end in one afternoon. Knowing where some of the details don’t match the cover image doesn’t automatically solve any riddles for me, but at least I have a good idea of where I should be looking.
Now comes the hard part. There are indications that it’s a numbers game and math will be involved. Oh, joy.
Here’s hoping you can enjoy some diversions from the real world this Christmas Eve and make an effort to have visions of sugar-plums dancing in your head.
Merry Christmas, Charlie Brown!
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Needing Love
I woke up with the chorus of Stevie Wonder’s song, “Love’s in Need of Love Today,” looping in my inner soundtrack, which is impressive since it needed to worm its way past all the Christmas songs moved into constant rotation this season.
“Run, run, Rudolph!” Thank you, Chuck Berry.
While I was lavishing oodles of tender-loving care on the horses this morning, it occurred to me that by choosing to care for rescued animals, we are essentially cleaning up a mess that other humans created.
“Ooh, Merry Christmas, Saint Nick…” Thanks, Beach Boys.
For all the neglectful, malicious, and evil behaviors of unhealthy people in the world, the rest of us end up becoming the parental figures who must do what needs to be done to mend the damage they cause.
“Chestnuts roasting on an open fire…” Thanks, Nat “King” Cole.
Sorry, Christmas songs, I’m going with Stevie today.
…It’s that love’s in need of love today
Don’t delay, send yours in right away
repeat
repeat
repeat
The traditional holiday tunes will loop back into my brain soon enough.
“I love those J-I-N-G-L-E bells…” Thanks, Frank Sinatra.
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Winter Sunbathing
After the beautiful snowfall, we got some sun, and horses know to take every advantage of a clear sky in the winter. When I glanced up from hauling bales of hay from the shed to the barn, I had to stop to take a picture of three of the mares all lined up and looking like they were all business about sunbathing.
It was interesting to me because they normally align themselves perpendicular to the rays to catch the full advantage broadside. It wasn’t that cold at that time so I figure they were more interested in bathing their minds in all the benefits of the sun’s full-spectrum energy.
Mia chose to take it up one notch and parked herself where she could also enjoy brunch while she bathed.
That’s how smart horses do sunbathing in the winter.
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As Expected
The National Weather Service warnings were spot-on for our area yesterday. Asher and I headed out for the morning walk into the snowstorm, fully prepared for the worst. It wasn’t the most difficult of conditions we’ve faced, but it was challenging. My legs got a good workout trying to keep up with Asher as he pranced through the snow with little in the way of extra effort.
There was just enough snow to make my trudging in stiff boots much less efficient.
The horses looked like they had chosen to spend the night outside the protection of the overhang despite the heavy precipitation.
There was enough snow blown into those spaces that it probably didn’t matter either way. The wind was blowing from the wrong direction for the overhang to provide its best shelter from the elements.
I spent much of the day plowing and shoveling. Got the driveway cleared just as Cyndie was pulling in, which was nice for both of us. The road didn’t get plowed until late afternoon. It knocked the mailbox off its base, which surprised me. I thought it was dry enough snow it wouldn’t pack such a punch.
I guess not everything went as expected.
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Fairy Flakes
Contrary to what is headed our way today, (…WINTER STORM WARNING REMAINS IN EFFECT FROM 3 AM THURSDAY TO 3 AM CST FRIDAY… * WHAT…Heavy snow expected. Total snow accumulations between 5 and 7 inches.) there was no evidence of precipitation visible on the radar yesterday. Yet, all day long there were perfectly formed snowflakes floating down out of the sky.
The beautiful flakes weren’t melting on the horses, which teased me to try getting some pictures. Unfortunately, none of the mares were interested in accommodating my attempts to zoom in close.
They didn’t want to stand still with me holding out my phone camera toward their backs. I don’t blame them. It did seem kind of creepy.
There were times when the clouds overhead were so thin I could see blue sky, yet those flakes kept falling. I decided to call them fairy flakes after the “fairy knots” that show up mysteriously in the manes of horses. These flakes didn’t appear to be coming from snow clouds, so fairies seemed like the next logical explanation.
I eventually noticed I could capture some of the crystalline flakes that landed on the surface of our frozen landscape pond.
If we are going to get a plowable amount of snow today, that will be too much to get a clear picture of one individual snowflake.
I mounted the plow blade onto the Grizzly ATV in preparation and pulled out snow shovels in advance of today’s activities. Wouldn’t you know it, Cyndie spent the night in the Cities after a holiday gathering with some friends. It’s probably for the best. I’d have let her help do some shoveling, and that wouldn’t look good on my record, putting her to work out in the cold so soon after her recovering from pneumonia.
Sure would be nice if there were such a thing as “fairy snow shovelers.”
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Almost Healthy
The splitting headache is no longer splitting, and her vital signs have returned to normal. Cyndie seems back to reasonably functional. She helped with horse chores and has taken Asher for a couple of walks in addition to a trip to the Post Office as Santa’s little helper. Goodies are in the mail, and the neighbors will find a bag of holiday cheer has been dropped at their doors.
At this stage of holiday preparations, it’s hard to tell that Cyndie was off her game at all.
In support of all her Elf-ish energy, I have been mining the far reaches of our Apple Music offerings to find appropriate holiday sounds. The first few notes of an Andy Williams Christmas album instantly transported me to a big old farmhouse on the border of Edina and Eden Prairie, MN, and the 5-year-old me arose from within my depths with visions of leaded tinsel being draped across branches from outstretched arms of a person standing on a folding ladder above me.
The result of that surge of nostalgia left me feeling lonesome for the clamor and banter of my siblings buzzing around me.
The branches of that family tree have sixty years of growth that have spread us out beyond the conveniences of frequent contact.
That 5-year-old me would only have his father around for 17 more years. I will always remember the time he almost convinced me that he had heard something on the roof in the minutes just before I showed my face one Christmas morning. I was old enough to know better, but I’d never experienced my dad putting on such a believable act before and was gobsmacked by it.
I like to think he was rewarded by the innocent astonishment that must have shown on my face.
Much less astonishment came over me when I stumbled upon news of a school shooting recently in Wisconsin. That innocence is long gone.
Looking at our trees, I was grateful they don’t need to know such things happen. Same with the horses. Then, I realized how attuned trees and horses are to the universe, which means they probably sense each and every atrocity through the connectedness of all things.
They keep calm and carry on their existence, and so should we. I’ll pretend we are almost healthy.
And now I miss the innocence of my 5-year-old self more than ever.
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An Honor
For horses that have suffered neglect under the watch of humans, witnessing them now demonstrating trust in us is beyond precious. I know I have said it before, but it is such an honor and a privilege to stand among them while they eat the grain I have just distributed. When they allow me to encroach on their space to hang hay bags or clean the ground beneath them, it feels like they’re granting me a mystical connection.
I’ve seen them get ornery with each other, and it can look downright wicked before a quick return to calm. Some mornings, it’s not strange to find one or more of them all worked up about something until I finally get their grain served. Then, everyone settles down and focuses on the business at hand.
Yesterday morning, they were all chill as could be when Asher and I rounded the corner of the path around the back pasture into sight of the barn. They stood patiently while I cleaned everything up beneath the overhang, sometimes watching me but usually appearing to ignore me as they kept their eyes on the distant landscape.
It felt more damp than cold as the temperature hovered around the freezing point. That temperature range creates a situation where it is hard to tell if things are going to be wet or frozen. The driveway offered a little bit of both.
The circular spots were slippery, while the rest of the pavement wasn’t. It made it tricky for me to walk on. I chose to stay off to the side as Asher entertained himself by trying to maintain forward momentum when every third step would suddenly lose purchase.
In the time it took us to finish our last portion of the morning dog walking routine, the horses were done with their feed buckets, allowing me to reclaim them in avoidance of unwanted shenanigans from the mares. Given a chance, they have a knack for bending the handles all out of shape.
At that point, the horses’ attention switches to the hay bags they had just seen me fill.
As I unclip each bucket, I like to imagine the horses are thanking me for the fresh hay.
“It’s an honor,” I tell them.
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Time Out
Even though my home team didn’t play football yesterday, I watched games all afternoon and evening. The Vikings will play tonight. Might as well watch that one, too. There was a time when I wanted to be done with the NFL. I guess I’ve gotten over that.
I watch differently now, though. Outcomes are interesting but more meaningless for me. The fanaticism of some ticket buyers is almost scary by the looks featured in glimpses on the network broadcasts. I’ll wait until my team makes it to the Super Bowl to become fanatical.
If that were to actually come about somehow, win or lose, the results would still be meaningless.
Some NFL players have taken to wearing a puffy soft covering over their hard helmets. I hope it solves something for them enough to justify how silly they appear. It got me thinking: why don’t running backs wear soft outer padding over their torso? Entire uniforms could eventually start looking like the Michelin Man.
As a fan of spectator sports, I’ve developed a love-hate relationship with the NFL, but this year, I’ve been watching more games than ever. I’m not really sure why. Maybe it’s an attempt to reconnect with my youth. I grew up watching the games. I used to study the faces of the team roster in the gameday magazine programs and tear out the full-page portrait of featured players when I was a kid.
One of the things that annoys me about the present version of the NFL is the confusing variety of uniform variations for each team. Garish colors and hard-to-identify helmets disrupt continuity and mess with team identity in highlight reels. When it comes to team uniforms, I’m an old fuddy-duddy. One dark version and one light works just fine. Home and away colors. Leave it at that.
What I do appreciate about the games is that they provide a time-out from real life. It’s an escape for a few hours from things that matter. Like watching a movie or reading a good book, except it is happening live while I watch, and tens of thousands of other people are sharing the same experience simultaneously.
And sometimes, it can be a train wreck, yet I can’t get myself to look away. The NFL corporation has me under their spell despite my better judgment. And it’s because they hooked me when I was young.
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Relative Something 