Archive for the ‘Chronicle’ Category
Holiday Monday
Today is Labor Day in the U.S., a holiday that alters my life very little at this point. We will drive home after a fabulous weekend on the water on a day when high heat is expected to be baking our part of the planet once again. I’m not getting ready for a new school year or returning to a workplace routine tomorrow, both fall milestones I dealt with for most of my life.
It means a lot to me to not take the benefit of being retired for granted. I feel ecstatic to have the freedom to choose where I will direct my attention every day. It’s unlikely that I will notice that today is a holiday. I expect I will notice that the recent dirt landscaping along our driveway deserves my attention.
Now that I think of it, I may notice a little holiday traffic on the route south. Maybe a line at the Dairy Queen in Cumberland.
Not knowing how I would spend all of my time at the lake over the weekend, I brought my wood sculpting stuff and a guitar. I didn’t bring my bike. I didn’t even open my guitar case and I barely got started on sculpting before being interrupted and putting it away. I guess I spent more time at the pickleball court than expected.
Oh, um…, I got called out yesterday on that claim of “winning” the “tournament” after playing only one game on Saturday. We didn’t show up to play until after the appointed start time and the team with the dinner reservation had won two games by the time we took on the losing team.
Jennifer…, we stand corrected. You and Charlie deserve to claim that (virtual) trophy.
Steve and I played five or six games yesterday and won all of them, except one. That one we lost 11-0. I blame the wind.
The floating inflated water contraptions have been brought in for the season and buoys tied to the anchors. We are ready for summer at the lake to be declared done for another year.
The next visit to the lake place will feel that much more like fall. I wonder how soon the temperature will get the memo.
.
.
Next Game
Occupying time while waiting a turn on the pickleball court, I took pictures.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Lake life can be like this. I was told Cyndie had signed me up for a pickleball tournament the Wildwood gang announced. Someone said 4 o’clock. Steve and I made our way next door where various Whitlocks were congregating on the deck. As the appointed hour came and went, Steve and I decided to head down to the court. One of the Whitlocks went in for a nap, none of the others followed us.
One game was in progress when we arrived. They wondered aloud where everyone else was. Two of the current players had a dinner reservation at 5 o’clock, so they were done after the game in progress. The couple without dinner reservations stayed around to give us a game.
Steve and I won, 11-1. We immediately declared ourselves winners of the tournament.
Rumor has it a series of games are planned for sometime today. We will declare it a different tournament if that is the case.
Earlier in the day while I was floating on my back in the lake, an eagle showed up overhead. It circled over me at a surprisingly low height. It came around again and was so directly above me I pleaded for no poop. I kept my eyes on it as the circle descended into an attempt to grab a fish a short distance away.
No luck on that attempt. Rising from the water, empty-clawed, the eagle came around to perch on a branch in the large pine tree in front of our place. I wondered if there was an (admittedly anthropomorphic) element of embarrassment for not getting the catch but the whole spectacle was wonderfully majestic to see from such close proximity.
The eagle will no-doubt find success in its next game.
.
.
Lake Adventures
Despite a brief rain shower in the morning, Friday at the lake was filled with adventure along our shoreline. With my mind mulling over the landscaping work awaiting attention along our driveway at home, I took up the beach rake and resumed the fine art of reclaiming sand that has washed off the beach into the water.
There is a mind-boggling amount of raking and soil preparation I’ll be doing at home soon, so playing with the rake on the beach is just a warmup for the next event.
We got a glimpse of a real-life nature show when baby snapping turtles started emerging from a hole on the beach.
It’s an annual occurrence but still a thrill to witness each time we see it. Cyndie searched for facts about the process after I wondered how many survive because so many tiny turtles wandering into the water –cute at this stage of their lives, for a snapping turtle– gives the impression the lake could be teeming with the creatures.
Some surprising details I learned: the female can carry viable sperm for three years. Clutches of eggs laid can range from roughly 20 to 40 or more. At dinner last night, Marie asked how many were showing up on our shore. Before Cyndie had looked it up, I answered with a wild guess that tracks and turtle sightings were numbering in the twenties or thirty.
Wasn’t far off, although information suggested a larger percentage will never even reach the point of hatching. Our batch must have been hearty survivors out of the shell. Unfortunately, only a small percentage of those who made it to the water will avoid fatal encounters.
The list of potential predators is long, including other snapping turtles. I prefer to think our trophy-sized muskies are feasting on them. One resident adult snapping turtle in our bay is more than enough in my mind.
After a refreshing swim and a period of floating on the big waves rolling in from the south, we noticed neighbor Eric’s sailboat had come unmoored and was teetering along our rocky shore. Cyndie’s brother, Steve, hustled up to report it and found Eric wasn’t around.
I joined Steve in a rescue operation using the ski boat to pull the anchored buoy farther out and then corralling the sailboat to tow just as Eric showed up. He had been in town for lunch and to buy material for improving the buoy anchor when he got the message his boat was loose.
Meanwhile, word from Wintervale is that care for Asher and the horses is a joy (don’t we know it) and all is well. That’s such a blessing for us and allows for worry-free absorption in the adventures our lake place offers.
.
.
Great Getaway
Let’s just say the lake place was sublimely beautiful when we arrived yesterday.
Downright picturesque.
Ideal breeze off the lake, comfortable temperature, and just a hint of fall coloring the landscape.
Topping it off, we received a wonderful report from home about Asher and the horses from our first-time sitters. Oh, and we had our favorite Coop’s pizza for dinner.
We are fully prepared to usher in a holiday weekend. Hello September and goodbye summer.
.
.
Mad Skills
I can’t swear that crossing our fingers brought the desired result, but we got what we wished. First, they started delivering truckloads of dirt. They came from the right.
They came from the left.
Then they started spreading the dirt so they could bring more loads.
The skid-steer driver employed mad skills, rapidly maneuvering forward and back while moving the bucket with a surprisingly light touch to tap, grade, scoop, and scrape dirt into submission. The knowledge and abilities he demonstrated served to emphatically confirm our belief that hiring professionals for this work would be smarter than trying to somehow do it ourselves
Even if I was able to rent a skid steer and learn how to operate it, I could never come close to achieving what this guy did.
In order to get it all done in one day, he did leave a fair amount of finishing work for us to do ourselves but I’m okay with that. In one afternoon he brought us a heck of a lot closer to the goal we have in mind.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
The driveway is a mess and there are a fair number of big rocks we need to pick up. It will be a challenge to turn all that new dirt into a carpet of healthy grass blades. But the problem of that sharp drop-off has been remedied and is now behind us. We are happy to be able to move on to making everything look nice.
We can start on that after Labor Day weekend. We are heading to the lake today. The dirt will still be here when we return.
Just when I thought the last load of dirt had been delivered, the decision was made to fix the ruts in the drainage swale by simply adding dirt where it was most needed.
They felt it was the least disruptive and the rest of the swale didn’t warrant being dug up to gain so little improvement. I was not about to argue with that logic.
I’m going to cross my fingers for luck that we can turn all that dirt into grass blades (and NOT weeds) swiftly and successfully. Look at me dreaming big!
.
.
Fingers Crossed
What are the odds that our favorite excavating company will actually show up today with a load of black dirt, a skid-steer, and years of know-how to professionally finish the shoulders of our driveway? It’s only been more than a year of waiting since they agreed to help us. When I checked (for the umpteenth time) on Monday and was told it would happen on Wednesday, I assumed he meant next week.
He corrected me and said this week! I wasn’t going to argue. I played along like I fully believed him. Pardon my skepticism.
Still, I have taken steps of preparation in case today really will be the day. A couple of weeks ago, I tried enticing the scheduler with an invitation to do even more work than just the driveway, hoping a bigger job would make the trip worth more to them.
It is time to reshape the drainage swale that passes through both the hay field and the back pasture on the way to moving water off the property toward the closest river. Yesterday I mowed the area to provide a better view of the current topography and, most importantly, to clearly indicate the direct route I want shaped up for the most effective flow.
Looking up to the culvert that brings water under the driveway:
Looking down at the route across the back pasture:
They actually did this for me about ten years ago when I was hoping to permanently establish a well-defined, wide, slow-flowing grassy swale. How naive of me to think any waterway could be permanently shaped. In the years since, two things have happened: an accumulation of sediment has created a high spot beyond which a series of deep ruts have washed out.
After they finish improving the shoulders of the driveway, I’m hoping they will be able to re-grade the drainage swale.
Fingers are crossed. For them to get both jobs completed and, more importantly, that they actually show up today.
.
.
Fence Bit
Because I can, I turned on the US Open tennis tournament last night and caught a very entertaining first-round match between Coco Gauff and Laura Siegemund. It’s a treat to escape from thinking about what needs to be done around here for an hour or two and lose myself in a dramatic battle between two athletes.
I didn’t realize I would also find a ceremony honoring Billie Jean King on the 50th anniversary of her efforts to convince the US Open to give equal pay to women. It is easy to forget that I have lived through as many changes in the world as have occurred in my lifetime. Yet, it seems like there are still so many ways the human race falls short of ideals.
Asher is showing how to lose oneself in a nap.
Cyndie caught him in the landscape pond again. She said this time he went under her makeshift barrier and since she saw him going in, was able to stop him before he destroyed another intake filter. She also reported that he finally got shocked by the electric fence around the pasture.
He seemed pretty subdued to me the rest of the day. I hope he learns to avoid it from here on out.
Shortly after his fence incident, I had the power off while I weed-whipped around it. His timing was just a little off. I’m guessing he doesn’t sense the electric field like the horses can when the wires are “hot.”
I didn’t get bit by fence electricity but I walked into plenty of invisible spider webs yesterday.
Here is one of my phone camera shots where I couldn’t get it to jump to macro lens focus:
The web that wasn’t in focus is one of the few traps I was able to see and thus successfully avoid. The rest are all stuck to my clothes or peeled off my face.
It rained for a few seconds last night, despite the weather radar failing to depict any precipitation overhead. It was too brief to even get anything wet.
I called for an update on the schedule for getting our driveway shoulders professionally finished and was finally given a date.
“Wednesday,” he said.
I assumed he meant next week but, no, he told me it would be this week. I’m not going to hold my breath for that to actually happen.
.
.
Spidey Senses
If I were more industrious about capturing snapshots of the endless number of spiderwebs we encounter this time of year, I might luck out and do one of them justice. Alas, I find myself lamenting the shortcomings of my undisciplined methods when we happen upon a most spectacular specimen of a web but cannot get the iPhone camera I’m carrying to pick up the detail of light reflecting off the individual strands of silk.
Nothing I capture with a lens can compare to the real-life stereo-vision image that my eyes and head movement provide.
The time I came upon a small leaf that appeared to hover in the air on a single line of silk across one of our trails, I had to resort to recording a video and moving the phone around to show the leaf was “magically” floating in the air.
I took a crack at this web on the side of the barn because the lines reaching out to the ground were particularly interesting.
I ended up liking this picture more for the angle of the fence and background field, trees, and sky, and how they contrast with the repeating lines in the metal siding of the barn.
Still, I gave another try to get those strands to the ground.
Just doesn’t come close to what I was seeing with my eyes.
I sure hope all the spiders are feasting on flies around the barn. We are definitely noticing the lack of free-ranging chickens around here by way of the increased amount of nuisance insects since we paused keeping hens.
August isn’t over yet and here I am yearning for a good hard frost to kick off the season without irritating flies and mosquitos. A momentary lapse in my being fully present in the moment.
.
.
What Love
Cyndie went to see The Chicks in concert at the grandstand at the Minnesota State Fair last night. You need to buy a ticket to the fair to get to the grandstand so she got a chance for a little taste of the fair. Last year we went in the middle of the week with anticipation of touring the barn to see some horses. Making our way slowly toward our goal we came upon closed doors and access denied signs because they were cleaning the barn that day.
It didn’t take her long to find horses last night. This is the first picture she sent me after her arrival:
I was home and in charge of keeping the dog out of trouble. I didn’t score very high in that regard.
My session of being in charge started badly enough when I found him standing in the middle of the fenced-off compost area eating fresh manure that I’d dumped in there earlier in the day. The perimeter fence was perfectly intact so he must have simply leaped over it. I’m beyond caring at this point.
I opened the fence to let him out, appreciating his obvious posture of acquiescence telling me he understood he wasn’t supposed to be there. I don’t think he has a clue that we don’t want him messing with manure but that’s another issue.
After that, all went perfectly as I finished mowing and he lolled about patiently. He stayed in the house and out of trouble while I tended to the horses and put equipment away in the shop garage. I was able to shower and have dinner while he lazed around and entertained himself in a manner that was nothing short of ideal.
When I took him outside for the last time of the day, I gave him a reward for his good behavior and tossed balls for him to chase until he tired out. I tried coaxing him toward the house by moving our play to the front yard. I was getting eaten alive by mosquitos and was desperate to get inside. Asher still wanted to play.
I threw more toys for him to chase in the front yard until I couldn’t stand it any longer. I went in and watched him through the glass storm door. He chomped on a few toys, ran off into the woods for a time, came back, laid around for a bit, then disappeared again.
He showed up soon after with the filter from the pond pump in his mouth and started tearing it apart. He had pushed down the fence Cyndie erected around the pond and made a mess of things back there in a few seconds of chaos while I waited inside the sunroom door.
I give up.
I forgot. Why did we get another dog?
Cyndie brought me a souvenir from the fair. She got in long after I was asleep so I got this treat for my breakfast this morning. What a love she is.
.
.
Just Dropped
Turns out, Swings’ mask didn’t vanish after all. She just dropped it where I failed to notice, despite walking surprisingly close to that very spot during my search. Cyndie found it yesterday morning.
I will admit to looking for the wrong color mask. Thought it was one of the black ones, although the fact it was light-colored should have made it easier to see.
As we were walking back from rolling our trash and recycling bins to the road yesterday, we came upon Swings’ mask lying in the hay field. Second day in a row she has wrestled her way out of it. I guess she doesn’t want to have it on her head when the weather is so hot and humid. Meanwhile, Mia followed Cyndie around with a cloud of flies on her face while Cyndie was looking for the first lost mask yesterday morning. Mia was lobbying to have her mask on as soon as possible.
While the horses are dealing with flies, our battle has become hordes of increasingly vicious mosquitos. Yesterday they were buzzing my head and as I tried to swat them away, two of them flew behind my sunglasses. Since when do mosquitos fly between eyelids and glass lenses? Makes it really hard to swat them.
Mowing on the zero-turn was a challenge because when I let go of a lever to swat a biting mosquito the tractor immediately turned.
Time for us to start wearing our own “fly masks” of the mosquito netting variety.
I needed more than mosquito netting to fend off wasps that were showing up around the door to the shop. The solution was more of the poisonous chemical variety when I finally located the nest being built in the outdoor light over the door.
That’s where I installed an on/off switch earlier in the year but I haven’t reached up there to turn it on all summer because it never gets dark until late. When I looked up at it, finding the wasp nest was difficult through the scary-looking multi-level webs of some very industrious spider(s).
I forgot to wait until all the wasps had returned at the end of the day so the afternoon got a little dicey as the disgruntled survivors dealt with the disaster discovered upon their return. Oops.
My bad.
.
.
Relative Something 