Archive for the ‘Chronicle’ Category
Minimal Damage
It was close to the dinner hour when suddenly both our phones erupted in startling alarm tones. A tornado warning was issued for our location. I was upstairs in the loft and Cyndie wondered aloud about heading to the basement. Looking out the skylight window, I could see there was no rain or wind yet so I checked the weather radar and listened to the details from the meteorologist.
A big gust of wind blasted over us just as the big raindrops came pouring down. Before I could even think about making a move, the wind was gone. We hadn’t heard a thing but Cyndie glanced out at the deck and saw our glass table with an umbrella in the middle had been tossed over along with a bench glider.
Surprisingly, the glass appeared to have survived intact. I commented that we left the umbrella up, but Cyndie said it wasn’t open before the wind got under it.
Soon the TV weather guy was hyping the location of a Doppler-indicated tornado in our immediate vicinity. Based on the conditions right before our eyes, I deduced it was most likely a bit north and east of our property, heading away from us. I think we lucked out by a very thin margin.
We’ll do a broader survey of the property when the sun comes up, but as of last night, it looked like tossed deck furniture was the only noticeable disruption visible from the house.
I have no idea why we didn’t hear a thing when the furniture on the deck went tumbling.
.
.
What Odds
What are the odds of receiving a book as a gift from a friend and discovering it was written by someone you know? For me, it is 100%. Our friends, Pam and John found a book they thought I would appreciate, “Nutshells: Diversions in a Time of Pandemic” by Doug Wilhide. I do appreciate it. Doug was a regular participant in the annual June biking and camping week back when I started riding what is now the Tour of Minnesota.
Our joint participation overlapped for a lot of years. Doug shares my interest in several passions, including writing. There is also singing and, of course, riding bikes. I just saw Doug again last June at the social/reunion held in Waconia on the rest day of our 50th anniversary ride. That was a special treat.
What are the odds of finding a fancy-colored maple leaf on the driveway before the leaves on our trees show obvious signs of changing?
Pretty good, I’d say, especially after a big storm wind that could carry leaves great distances has recently blown.
There were 2” of rain in the gauge yesterday morning after two rounds of lightning, thunder, and heavy rain pounded us overnight.
There was also standing water on our trails in the woods and the tall grass that is overdue for mowing stayed wet all day since the dew point remained high.
What are the odds that the whole body itching that Asher is dealing with is from some environmental cause? He’s going to visit the vet later this morning to see if they can come up with a diagnosis. It’s been bothering him for days and it seems to be getting worse instead of better.
He seemed feverish yesterday which triggered our request to get him seen between previously scheduled appointments. Poor guy can’t get comfortable and frequently stops on walks to scratch.
Since the grass was too wet to mow yesterday, I resorted to using the power trimmer to clean up beneath the wires of the electric fence.
Looking back at the distance I covered is rewarding.
Looking ahead at the amount still to do is not as rewarding.
What are the odds I can get the rest of that distance done on one tank of gas? I’d say about 50/50 if I don’t get distracted and start cutting more than just the fence line. Sometimes tall weeds grab my attention or I follow a side rut that’s been dug to encourage water to flow to the main drainage ditch along our south border. Those other areas deserve to be trimmed, too, but it just means I don’t get as far down the fence on a tank of gas.
Like so many projects on our property, I think I benefit from not trying to finish the entire fence line all at once. The odds are better for my body if I mix a variety of activities in a day.
This morning I will be starting with a visit to Physical Therapy for my shoulder and aching leg to improve the odds I’ll get over the pesky pains I’ve been living with this month. We are down to 8 days until departing for Iceland to become tourists on that scenic island country.
What are the odds I’ll be able to hike pain-free after trying to sleep sitting upright on a plane for long hours? This would be a good time for me to dwell in [positive] possibilities.
.
.
Light Show
Last night the sky was flashing constantly yet I only heard thunder periodically. When I took Asher out for his last walk of the day, we stopped at the barn to collect feed buckets and close doors for the night. According to weather radar, the storm’s heavy rain was just approaching Minneapolis at the time, but the leading edge of the wall of clouds had already arrived straight overhead.
The horses headed out into the hay field and I wondered if they had an inkling of what was going to happen in an hour or so.
Back in the house, warnings on TV talked about the possibility of hail and to expect a strong gust of wind when the storm arrived. We didn’t get either, thank goodness.
By the time the rain arrived, it was dark outside. I could hear periods of heavy rain falling but couldn’t see much of anything beyond how far the outdoor lights shone.
I expect this morning to be an adventure of discovery as I check rain gauges and survey for fallen branches. That will define a storm’s significance, more than the amount of visible lightning that occurred.
Here’s hoping we came through that batch of threatening weather unscathed.
.
.
Mother Oak
We will be driving home today, leaving the comfort of lake-cooled air to barrel straight into the much-ballyhooed heat wave. I look forward to spending time among our big trees in the cool(er) shade beneath their canopies. Last week, I did a survey of many of our largest tree trunks to verify measurements of the circumferences.
The largest reading was 145” around a giant old oak that we already consider the mother tree of those woods.
From that measurement, calculation puts the tree’s age in the 220-230 years range.
If that’s accurate, it means that the tree started growing in that spot around 1800. The first thought this brings to my mind is curiousity over how it escaped being cut for lumber back when that was the primary industry. The second thought is that my ancestors were cutting and milling lumber in the county in the 1850s to 1880s.
I wonder if logs from this land we now own were ever skidded to the Isabelle Creek valley and the mills my ancestors, Stephen Hays and Joseph Sleeper worked near Esdaile.
I’ve been reading about the lumber industry in that era, including lumber baron David Joyce (1825-1904) and his son, William (1860-1909). I’ve reached the point in history when they were establishing Shell Lake, WI as a major hub of production.
It’s added perspective about a town we have driven through for decades on our way to and from our lake place. Shell Lake seems like a nice little family-vacation-on-a-lake spot these days, primarily due to the many RV campers parked along the shore.
Contemplating lumber history has me also feeling added perspective about our mother oak at home that our “Middle Trail” passes beside. My mind jumps to the 1800s when I look at it and contemplate its start. I find myself comparing it to the new saplings we keep discovering in our North Loop field.
Will they survive to still be around in 200 years?
I have a feeling the current heat wave will have me missing our lake today, despite my appreciation for being back among the big trees in our woods. No cutting of lumber is planned on our property any time soon.
.
.
Less Hot
The weather alerts that keep pinging my phone warn of excessive heat. Sounds ominous. Medium heat would be tolerable, but excessive? Yikes. We better be very careful. Except, the breeze coming off the lake this morning is about as perfect as a person could ask.
The filtered sunlight with dancing shadows of tree leaves projected on the logs of the sunporch wall augment the ambiance of serenity to a wonderful degree.
If I wasn’t inclined to think about how much the horses at home will be sweating today and Asher thrashing against his itchy skin, my life today would be downright heavenly. Comparing my usual grimy activity of constantly groundskeeping 20 rural acres to our getaways north where I laze around luxuriously highlights the significant difference in my experiences.
There is no lack of appreciation for this privilege on my part.
In fact, were I to imagine a time when Cyndie and I no longer chose to live in the situation where we needed to do so much work to maintain Wintervale, I’d gladly lobby to become the caretaker of her family’s property on this lake.
That might be the excessive heat warning talking. Check with me in the midst of a January deep freeze to see if that visualization of a possible future still stands up.
We are enjoying conditions that feel a lot less hot than what the weather app warnings keep beeping about. In today’s blurb by Paul Douglas in the Strib, I see that Saudi Arabia saw a midnight temperature index of 134°F when the dew point was 95.
Hot conditions, like so many other things in this world, are relative, aren’t they?
.
.
Difficult Simplicity
Why did I come up with that silly two-word combination for today’s post title? Physical therapy exercises, that’s why. Yesterday morning I received a phone call before 7:30! Who calls anyone that early? My doctor had news about the MRI of my shoulder confirming a small tear in my rotator cuff. He has referred me to an orthopedic specialist for consultation.
Regardless, I’ve already started seeing a physical therapist to address the shoulder and (not necessarily related) sciatic pain radiating down my left leg. The initial exercises the therapist has prescribed are along the lines of “flossing” the nerve. Inherently simple. They involve only slight motions to be repeated ten or twenty series twice a day.
For something so simple, I am finding it really difficult to accomplish. It’s too easy and doesn’t feel like I am doing anything perceivable in the way of progress. It bores me and I am easily distracted from the task. I find myself inclined to rush things. The 3 or 4 routines for the shoulder and then the same number for my leg/lower back issue are no match for the energizing effort of my long-duration planking or strength poses I regularly do.
Some simple things are difficult to do.
At the same time, I am doing something very easy this weekend.
Guess where we are.
The weather is supposed to become steamy hot for a few days and there is no better place to cope with high heat than on a lake.
Maybe I’ll see how many of my simple flossing motions I can pull off while floating half-submerged in the cool water of Round Lake.
Don’t look now, but there is something going on with the trees up here that hints of a change a-coming.
.
.
Wider View
It occurred to me, after the fact, that yesterday’s post would have been well-served by a photo of the entire gazebo. I hadn’t taken such a picture when I was capturing the flower blossoms earlier so I stopped down there yesterday to remedy that.
Pause and enjoy the image for a moment. Place yourself there, virtually. Hear the quiet that is gently visited by occasional bird songs.
It’s a sound that I appreciate a little more than normal lately. I’ve been staying up well past my usual bedtime this week because I’ve become an unlikely viewer of a national political convention. The residual echoing of high energy motivational speaking happening one after another has me appreciating the soothing quiet of our natural sanctuary spaces anew.
Watching a political convention is something I can honestly say I’ve never done before in my life. I tell myself the reason I find this litany of endless partisan cheerleading so captivating is that it offers a soothing antidote to the years of stinking dreck coming from a weird doofus who lies for a living.
However, the real truth about why I would now choose to watch this convention might more accurately be that I’m just getting old.
It doesn’t hurt that Kamala Harris selected the Governor of my home state of Minnesota to run as her VP. I’m a big fan.
I sure hope their effort succeeds. If there was ever a time for logic to manifest in the universe, let it happen for this November’s US presidential election.
Just one more night of convention speeches. I’m looking forward to a return to my old person’s sleep schedule starting tomorrow.
.
.
Trumpet Vine
It appears we have succeeded in transplanting a vine to the gazebo beside the labyrinth. That metal frame used to have a canvas cover that provided shelter from sun or rain but it succumbed to the elements a few years ago. We decided to try crafting a natural roof, starting with weaving long sticks through the frame and then filling spaces by threading in old grape vines.
We have since transplanted multiple versions of vines in hopes they will climb the frame and take up residency in and around the sticks and old vinewood. The trumpet vine is showing the most vigor and recently began bursting forth with blossoms.
I suspect it may take a year or two more to fully cover that gazebo but we are in it for the long game. Heck, we’ve got a maple tree in the center of the labyrinth that I dream will command dominance over the space in a hundred years.
We can wait a little while for the gazebo to gain its full green crown. At least that can happen while I’m still alive. The maple tree… I’ll just have to imagine what that will look like when is has soared to its maximum height and largest diameter trunk.
.
.
North Loop
I spent a fair amount of time in our north loop field yesterday morning and made an energizing discovery about how many young volunteer trees are thriving there.
For years after we moved here, we mowed down the tall growth in that section to the north of the driveway to control troublesome weeds from going to seed. It seemed like the prudent thing to do. Time has brought a change of heart for me. By not mowing the field anymore, we intend to nurture a future forest. There is still an issue with weeds to be dealt with but balancing that with embracing the appearance of new trees is a challenge we’ve decided to accept.
I was wading through the chest-high growth on a quest to pull vines that were starting to climb the existing pine trees in the area.
Almost immediately, I spotted a young sprout of oak leaves.
After uprooting any vines I could see, my mission shifted to clearing space around all of the young trees I could find.
There were an impressive number of poplar shoots that didn’t need any help in reaching sunlight. I found an elm. There are a variety of long and short needle pine trees showing up.
Of particular interest to me is the appearance of two sprouts of cedar trees, of which there are none anywhere in the surrounding area. I have no idea where these seeds traveled from.
When I finished my impromptu tree survey, I felt inspired for the future of this field. I also felt a mild trepidation over having visibly served up these gorgeous young trees as enticing nibbles for the resident deer herds that frequently bed down in the surrounding tall growth. Since the trees all showed up naturally, I’ve decided to let nature take its course, and if deer munch the tops off of some of these, so be it.
The final project I undertook in the north loop field was to mow a new viewing area where we’ll keep a couple of chairs for taking in the vista looking south from this high spot.
This idea came about from our animal sitter, John Bramble who mentioned that spot was a favorite for pausing to observe the view. He said it would be well-served to have a place to sit. I couldn’t agree more.
.
.
Pickup Sticks
Those of us who love having trees in our yards enjoy an ongoing demonstration of how much branch-shedding is regularly happening. There are always sticks and twigs landing on the ground beneath the canopy. Often there are finger-sized branches down. Occasionally, we find bigger branches in the mix, and every once in a while, a full limb drops.
I admit to subjecting the blades of our mowers to far more sticks and small branches than they deserve due to the sheer volume always hiding in the grass. When I wait too long between mowings, the number of branches gets too big to ignore. We’ve endured several days of on-again, off-again rain that stymied my plans to cut the grass around the house as soon as I wanted. Before I finally got around to the job yesterday, I needed to pick up sticks.
It doesn’t look that bad through a camera lens, but grasping each and every one by hand is an exercise of repetitive motion. Every time I turn around, I seem to find one that got missed. A wiser person might use a rake.
There is a mental reward for taking the time to clean up before mowing: peace of mind from not abusing the mower blades.
Of course, peaceful mowing is blissful mowing. And now the backyard is looking rather sharp (and stick-free) after yesterday’s cut if, I do say so myself.
.
.
Relative Something 