Archive for the ‘Chronicle’ Category
Final Details
We are at that point in the story where the main characters are working multiple lists simultaneously in preparation for their adventure vacation as tourists visiting Iceland. Test packing happened Monday night. All systems are a go.
Now I am in the second-guessing mode. I packed once, but now I’ve been into the bag a few times to get toiletries or grab something out of my carry-on bag. I also thought of a couple of things to add. Will I remember to put everything back? Will I remember where I packed everything? No. No, I won’t. Based on past experience, I have a terrible time recalling what nifty little pocket I’ve stashed certain things, thinking it’s such a clever location.
Meanwhile, I’m ticking away at the property work I want to finish before we go.
One valuable task that is less visible than others is the management of manure composting. It has been so wet this year, I’ve had a tough time keeping the piles active. As a result, I can’t move them out as often as I’d like to make room to create a new pile for the never-ending supply of fresh manure. Since we are going to be gone for almost two weeks, I wanted to provide ample space for our horse sitters to dump the manure they will be cleaning up every day.
Yesterday, I crossed that goal off my list. New space is achieved.
That was much more rewarding than my fruitless attempt to dig again in search of the buried power cable. That project will be waiting for me when we return.
I did successfully complete the trimming of grass beneath the back pasture fence line with enough gas left over to also clean up a portion of our trails. Then I mowed the front and backyard around the house.
This morning, I need to drive to Hudson for a windshield replacement before returning home to finish off the last of the grass cutting. If there is something unfinished after that, it will need to wait until we return stateside.
For the record, last night Cyndie was very busy finding new things to bring and rethinking what was going into her suitcase. It served to heighten my second-guessing about what I “test packed” the other night.
In my opinion, managing the manure composting area is a lot easier than packing for a trip to visit Iceland.
.
.
Thrice Foiled
I’m not afraid to admit when my methods fall short of success. I’m feeling a little sheepish that three different attempts have failed to locate the buried power line between the barn and the shop. My low-cost DIY method is lacking the technology of underground cable locators.
I have an eleven-year-old photo of the power cables coming out of the ground when they were accidentally cut. I know where the cables come out of the barn. What I am unsure of is how deep they are buried. I would be a lot more zealous about digging deeper if I was more confident I was in the right location.
My assumption that the cables –there are three– aren’t buried too deep is based on where they were cut in 2013. However, I didn’t witness the repair and reburying that occurred afterward.
First, I started a trench across the direction of the cables. The soil is heavy clay which makes the going difficult. Cyndie came to help and we discovered the ground on the slope above where I was digging was more forgiving dirt. We switched to probing the hill, meeting with several false alarms in the form of rocks.
After spending too much time getting nowhere, I gave in and decided to dig down at the spot where the cables come out of the barn so I could then trench along the cables to the location of the failed repair. I had hoped to avoid trenching across the lane behind the barn until we find out when an electrician can do a professional repair.
Doesn’t matter now because yesterday my digging beside the barn also proved futile. I got as deep as my arm could reach, which is the depth I know it should be from digging on the inside, but didn’t find the cables.
At this point, I’m thinking I should have spent money to rent a cable locator long ago because that’s probably what I’m going to end up doing if I can’t find those dang wires after one last try later this morning.
I can’t spend much time on it because we have two days left before our Iceland adventure vacation and there is grass to be mowed and compost piles to be moved among other miscellaneous things deserving my attention.
On the bright side, the weather for such projects has been glorious of late!
.
.
Wild Plums
We hadn’t put much focus on the wild plum trees growing on our property until last year when the yield of fruit was so high we couldn’t help but gather bowls full for making jam. This year the yield looks as good or better. Maybe that’s because we are more focused on it now.
It seems like the plums turned red really fast and the trees near our trails started dropping fruit over a week ago.
Cyndie has demonstrated great interest in gathering this year’s crop so we have been making frequent visits to shake trees and bag what comes loose.
Some of the plums look pretty big but after biting into one, I quickly discovered the pit takes up about half the size.
When making jam out of wild plums, removing pits ends up being the majority of the work.
The few that I ate while collecting the best-looking specimens weren’t as sweet as what I remember from last year, but they weren’t sour or bitter either, so they should still make for good jam.
Collecting plums provided a nice diversion from another project I was toiling away at for a second day in a row. In addition to spending an hour a day trimming portions of fence line, I started digging a trench in search of the AC power lines feeding the barn.
We still need to fix the break in one phase line that was discovered last winter. I suspect there is a failure at the point where the wires were reattached back in 2013 after they were accidentally cut by a skid-steer tractor. We have been reviewing photos from that time to determine roughly where the broken cable is routed but it is still a bit of a guessing game. We don’t have the luxury of a device to precisely locate buried cable.
I’m also not sure about how deeply the cable is buried. I wish I had paid more attention to what was going on when they fixed it over ten years ago.
.
.
Webs Spectacle
On our walk Friday morning, emerging from the woods with Asher on our way to feed the horses, we witnessed a spectacle I don’t remember ever seeing before. Spider webs. Lots of them. Admittedly, spider webs in the morning are not that special. I posted a picture of a dewy web just a few days ago.
Two things made this display of webs stand out more than ever: the location and the incredible number of them.
Like so many times before, I immediately decided that the glorious display couldn’t be adequately captured in a photo. Thankfully, Cyndie does not share my perception and fearlessly points her phone camera at any and all attractions that catch her eye.
She graciously shared them with me.
I tried zooming in on one of the images to provide a better view.
We have often been greeted by a vast number of funnel webs in the grass on our morning walks but these webs were completely different. These were the classic orb webs standing vertically above the grass in the back pasture.
They show up as white-ish smudges in the image and there are at least 14 visible in that shot. It really was a spectacle to see with our eyes. The low angle of the morning sunshine illuminated the webs so that they stood out dramatically as we stepped into the open from the woods.
It’s nice to see webs in the grass instead of strung invisibly across the trails in the woods. It is a regular occurrence that whoever is leading on our morning walks will offer many utterances of “you’re welcome” when breaking imperceptible strands of webs across our faces, saving the other person from such a fate.
.
.
Missed Spot
I did a lot of mowing yesterday and took the batteries of the riding mower right down to the limit. Like so many gas tanks and their gauges, the second half-tank of fuel seems to run out a lot faster than the first. I run for a surprising amount of time before the indicator on the e-mower changes from 100% to 99. When I hit the 40s, I might miss glancing to find a number in the 30s. Suddenly it’s 20-something and then I can almost watch it tick down one percentage after another.
I was hoping to finish one particular section before pausing to charge the batteries so I started accelerating my maneuvers to get to the end. By skipping two finishing passes that I could do later, I cut the essential area and limped the tractor back to the garage on battery fumes.
By switching to the push mower and its fully charged batteries, I mowed the labyrinth while the riding mower’s batteries charged. Just over an hour later, I was back on the riding mower and cutting down by the road. As the shadows were getting longer, I finished along the driveway and was ready to call it done. I don’t know how I suddenly remembered those two passes I’d skipped earlier but I realized it just in time to wheel over to the back of the barn and reach the completion of a big day of mowing.
While at the barn, I hopped off to bring in empty feed buckets and tend to some manure clean-up. I spotted something as I pushed the wheelbarrow out the back door.
There was a sprout of uncut grass a little bigger than my footprint that I had missed. It brought a laugh because this was in a spot I had been mowing well before I had hastened my progress due to low batteries.
Describing to Cyndie what I found humorous about the oddity, I told her, “It looked like the way Cyndie mows!”
For those unfamiliar with our myriad differences of thought and behavior, I am very methodical about my mowing routine, whereas Cyndie is inclined to employ a much more creative way of getting the job done.
Vive la différence.
.
.
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?
.
.
Relative Something 