Archive for the ‘Wintervale Ranch’ Category
Dirty Pants
If I venture outside on our property, especially if I expect to traverse the horse paddocks, I will trash my pants with mud. When we walk in the door, we remove our muddy boots, but my pant legs will sometimes be just as bad as the boots. I have been known to remove my pants at the door, too.
It doesn’t make sense to me to put these in the wash every day, as the next pair I put on will get just as dirty in a single outing, so I have taken to wearing the same pair for days, or even weeks. They pretty much stand up by themselves after a day or two.
When I decide to finally wash them, I will lay the pants on the driveway and spray the mud off with a hose, before running them through our washing machine. They get that bad.
It feels a little weird to be saving my dirty pants at the end of each night. It’s even weirder to be climbing back into them the following day. I have to be delicate about sliding them up when putting my boots on, to minimize how much debris breaks loose and falls on the floor, or into my boot. When I come in for lunch, I can’t sit on the couch or nice chair, and try to step carefully around the house.
Our cat, Pequenita, isn’t bothered by the mud at all, and climbs on my leg regardless how grimy they are. As an indoor cat, it’s her chance to be close to the earth.
I suppose I could step into the kiddie pool we have out the front door for washing Delilah before she comes in the house. It seems only fair. Of course, the mud I get covered with is incidental to the tasks I get involved in, whereas Delilah’s mud is a result of her deliberately getting herself into the worst areas and marching back and forth or digging. She needs daily washing —sometimes multiple washings in a single day.
My system of keeping dirty pants gives me many more wearings between eventual necessary washes.
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It’s Alive!
We have tried to be patient about finding clear evidence that the maple tree we transplanted last fall has survived the shock. It is tall enough that we can’t do a close inspection of the tips of the branches, where we are hoping to see this spring’s new leaf buds appear, but I have been watching for signs of growth.
When other trees around us first started showing tinges of new green sprouts, I hiked down to check on our patient. The results were decidedly inconclusive. A week later, I looked again, and was frustrated over not being able to discern any progress. At that point, I decided I should use the many trees still located in the area where this little guy had come from, as reference for when they start sprouting buds.
My anxiety was calmed when I found they all looked just the same as the one we transplanted. Compared to most of the other trees on our lot, these appear to be late bloomers.
Last weekend, I spotted the first obvious signs of life. It wasn’t at the ends of the branches, it was half way down the trunk. Last evening I hiked down to take a picture and found the sprout had clearly burst out.
I think we are going to be able to make this one work. We will provide a lot of tender loving care and attention to make things as easy for it as we possibly can.
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Shifting Priorities
I have not attempted to do anything with the remains of the woodshed yet. Since it wasn’t raining yesterday afternoon, I stepped out to take some more pictures.
It is too heavy to lift on my own, so I will either need a lot of helpers to pick it back up or use the power of our diesel tractor. The problem with relying on the tractor is that I can’t drive it back there until the ground dries up enough to support it. Not that it’s really a problem. I have plenty of other things to work on while I wait to be able to drive the tractor around on our property.
I have noticed a strong desire to get back to clearing the south drainage ditch, but the lawn grass that we try to keep mowed around the driveway and township road is growing so fast I was forced to make that the next priority. It is a rather challenging task right now because of how wet it is. I tried to stay off the worst areas, but still found myself getting stuck a few times, and leaving muddy tire tracks in my wake. Regardless, it looks better mowed with a few tracks, than it does not-mowed at all.
Clearing the south ditch is not the only thing clamoring for my attention, either. Over the weekend I started creating a spot by our labyrinth to use for storing compost that we plan to feed the growing things we have planted. I have been ever-so-slowly replacing the concrete landscaping blocks Cyndie bought for marking the first layout of the labyrinth, with stones we have been collecting from around our property. I am going to build a 3-walled nook using the landscape blocks pulled from the labyrinth, to contain the compost.
Of course, to haul manure back there I will need the ATV and trailer, but I can’t get in the paddocks with that equipment until it dries up some and Cyndie gets off crutches to open gates and manage horses while I drive in and out.
That’ll probably happen about the time I will need to switch priorities again to mow the rapidly growing lawn grass everywhere. It’s a great exercise for the part of me that wants to do everything in a sequence. I get to flex my flexibility skills, instead.
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Fighting Frustration
I know that I can just give in and stop trying to make progress when barriers repeatedly frustrate my attempts to advance toward a goal, but I seem to have an ingrained attachment to that angst of repeatedly banging my head against the problems that arise. Eventually, I will go back to grazing, but for now…
Yesterday was a day to give up and go back to bed, but I forged ahead regardless, and bashed headlong into the fruitless exercise of trying to get something done anyway. It probably wasn’t as bad as I’m making it seem, but the final straw was trying to write this post live online when our internet connection was doing an endless dance loop of resetting, creating a repeating pattern of pages hanging mid-load, and slamming the brakes on any attempts to actually achieve something productive.
Talk about frustrating! We were trying to research costs for materials for our next phase of pasture fencing, to compare with the quote we have received from our fence contractor. We also got stopped in the middle of trying to do online research for information on improving the surface of our paddocks.
The reason we were indoors doing research is because it is raining outside again. Speaking of frustration, the rain gauge revealed 2 more inches fell overnight Sunday to Monday morning. The wetness around here is crazy-making!
Since I couldn’t work on anything else, I walked right down to the wettest area of our planned grazing pasture —probably out of spite— where two dead trees had toppled over in the storm that destroyed my woodshed (I think the woodshed failure is frustrating me more than I am admitting to myself), and I started cutting them up and creating a new brush pile. Man, will it feel good to ignite that bonfire. Too bad it will have to wait for months because the pile is currently located on an area of standing water.
I let my focus wander to the drainage ditch that forms the southern border of our property, where the water of the last few storms is still flowing along in an irritatingly pleasant manner. Standing in water up to my ankles, I began the work of cutting out the 1-to-2 inch volunteer trees that were allowed to grow unchecked to clutter the ditch, making a perfect snow-stop that creates dams and backs up flow during the spring melt.
The plan is to clear the ditch, and the junk trees that have been sprouting in the area just above it, because above is where we will run the southern leg of our new grazing pasture fence.
While I was down there working, our delightful dog, Delilah, was happily exploring to and fro, prancing in the running water, and generally being a sweet companion… until she wasn’t. She disappeared on me while I was engrossed in aggravating the tendonitis in both elbows, working our ratcheting pruner to cut down the forest of unwelcome growth.
After Delilah’s performance on Sunday —moments after I had received a subtle comment from our neighbor about her frequent visits to his place— where she ran away from me to interrupt that very family’s Mother’s Day picnic on their front lawn, she has me so frustrated that I have decreed that she must be on-leash now when outside and not being directly watched.
It’s all got me plenty frustrated, I tell you, but the regression to need to leash Delilah again is at the top of the heap.
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Desperation Move
On Saturday we took steps to provide our horses access to some dry ground by stringing temporary electric fence around a section of the gravel drive between the barn and the hay shed. As you can see in the image, they were most enthralled by the small area of green grass that was available in one small corner.
Eventually, they spread themselves out and each nibbled on hay we distributed in 4 spots, hoping to entice them to stay long enough to dry out their poor muddy feet.
It’s not a very big space, but it is better than nothing and they seem to appreciate our effort. With rain storms continuing to roll through, the mud situation just gets worse every day. We had to come up with some option to give them a break. The areas around the feeders where they previously found refuge, standing atop the buildup of spilled hay, has started to fail them and their hooves are beginning to push through. There was nowhere else for them to go.
That area of the driveway is solid, and they can stand there to give their hooves a chance to dry out. It is a bit of a desperate move, but it is a means to an end that buys us time while we await a change of conditions that doesn’t look to be arriving any time soon.
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Disappearing Act
It is that time of year again when piles of brush get burned into oblivion. This pile was on the top of the hill on the north side of our driveway. There was a moderate collection of fair-sized branches that had been there since before we arrived. A couple of days ago, I tossed on some cuttings I recently cleared that were leftover from when I mowed this area last fall.
That created a collection that was half-fresh-cut and half-long-dead. I wasn’t sure how it would burn, because the old wood was damp from the recent rain, and there was a gusty wind that could help, or it could possibly drive it out of control.
I started daintily, pulling a small amount of debris off the pile to create a moderate fire, although, up wind of the rest of the fuel. I started on that side to take advantage of the wind, because I felt I needed it to cause the green wood to burn.
Progress was ideal and I enjoyed a fine afternoon by the fire. Cyndie made the trek all the way out on her crutches, and kept an eye on things while I took a break to walk the horses, one-at-a-time, off that damn muddy paddock and out where they could graze for a spell on the grass. After that last storm and its additional inch of rain, the little spot of grazing I fenced off for them is too soft for their weight and they will tear it to shreds if we let them on it.
When I got back to the fire, I found Cyndie had outdone herself with the cutest little burn pile ever, all clean around the edges, safely pulled away from the main one, making me think I may have over-stated my concern that she do it my way. She was sitting on a chair, weaving a basket out of the vines that were growing all over the ground up there. Being forced to use crutches does little to stop her ambitions, it just redirects her energy toward more creative pursuits.
It had turned into an absolutely gorgeous evening for a bonfire, so we decided I should head to the house to feed dog and cat, and then bring back a picnic dinner. That meant washing the manure and mud off of Delilah, before letting her inside.
That done, I picked up my bag of food and headed for the door. Before I even opened it, I could see the flames through the glass. The entire pile was ablaze something fierce. I know the feeling of standing next to that. Elysa and I were present last year when one of our burn piles went rogue and roared alive with incredibly dramatic energy. I pictured Cyndie in that chair, hobbled by the healing hip, and my heart jumped a bit.
Luckily, this pile wasn’t quite that large, and although dramatic, it was not a catastrophic event. I arrived with the bag of food and prepared to make a joke about her little clean pile burning safely on the side. She asked if she could tell me something funny.
She was sitting there as the fire appeared to be burning itself out, and was fretting over having let it burn out while I was gone, by not adding enough new fuel to the side fire. Knowing I could just re-kindle the burn, she decided to stay seated. Without doing a thing, the core of the pile ignited!
Fire is not to be trifled with. Kids, don’t try this at home.
We dined by the warm fire on a chilly evening at sunset, lingering until after dark, when our shadows eventually appeared in the moonlight. A spectacularly magnificent experience for us once again at Wintervale. Cyndie used my camera to take a few more pictures after dinner…
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Acknowledged Risk
Yesterday was supposed to be the day I took Cyndie back to where her surgery was performed, for an appointment to get her stitches out. We ended up rescheduling, when the risk of severe storms loomed large for the time we would be on the road. It turned out to be a smart decision.
Our dog, Delilah, has been demonstrating an extreme anxiety over rumbles of thunder. Unfortunately, the thunder-booming storms started here on Wednesday evening, and her panic-barking kept me up until well past midnight. I was at the veterinarian’s office yesterday to pick up some new tick repellent, since our previous product isn’t doing the trick, and when I happened to mention Delilah’s anxiety, they asked me what we “give her” for it.
Hadn’t entered my mind to medicate her. Their first recommendation was Benadryl, but they also reminded me of the “thundershirt,” a hugging body wrap that calms dogs. Good idea.
Shortly after I returned from the vet visit, our predicted rough weather rolled in. I’ve been through worse, but we did receive a blast of wind, small hail, and heavy rain that more than convinced us we made the right decision to stay home. If we had gone, Delilah would have been trapped outside in her kennel during the worst of it. The folks at the vet’s office said dogs can, and do, injure themselves in their efforts to escape whatever is causing their anxiety.
That wind would have probably put her into a tizzy, especially when it picked up and rolled over my woodshed, which is located right next to her kennel.
Lesson learned on the heartiness of simply standing the structure on stones in the ground. That was the design I chose, even though I knew it was a risk. On the bright side, it gives me a chance to try building my second structure ever, using what I learned on the first one. I guess the next one will have posts buried well into the ground.
I’ve discovered an interesting fact about how I see our woods. No matter how familiar I think I am with the views, after a big wind storm, I have difficulty identifying what is new damage, and what is old. There are plenty of downed or leaning trees and broken branches. In the area near the up-turned woodshed, something doesn’t look right to me, but I’m not certain if it is damage from yesterday’s event, or something previous.
Actually, with another inch of rain increasing the saturation of our ground, it’s a wonder there are any trees left standing at all.
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Animal Images
We can look at these guys each day, but you have to wait for me to post pictures. Here are some shots taken in the last two days…
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Yesterday, when we put the horses out to graze on grass, Cyndie and Delilah and I had a little picnic lunch beside them. It was rather idyllic. Well, truth is, every day that we get to enjoy the views of these fine animals could be described as idyllic.
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Gaining Experience
It is not surprising that the horses experience a little anxiety about being surrounded by fields of fresh green grass they can’t access.
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We have to control the horses’ amount of time grazing on lush springtime grass to avoid the condition called founder, or laminitis.
For the second day in a row, yesterday we opened the gate to a small section of grass and let them freely graze for about 30 minutes. Cyndie had come out again to watch them, and I consulted with her about options for coaxing them off the grass and back into the paddock. I was hoping to avoid the panic response they demonstrated on Monday.
She suggested I try using a lead rope around Legacy’s neck to guide him, with the hope the rest would follow. Her idea was brilliant, because it worked like a charm. I figured it would be a challenge to even get the lead around his neck, so I brought a treat to encourage his cooperation. I approached respectfully, and he returned the courtesy by pausing his grazing and lifting his head. I rewarded him with a treat and he let me drape the rope around his neck. We calmly walked back toward the gate to the paddock, and without hesitation, the three chestnuts followed. Two of them came with us into the paddock, but Hunter stopped to get a few last bites of grass. I walked back around him and guided him the rest of the way through the gate.
They made me look like a pro, or at least, like someone who knew what he was doing. Obviously, I do know a little bit, it’s just that I have no previous practical experience to work from. I told Cyndie that my success with the horses is entirely based on confidence I gained from the one weekend of training I received at the Epona seminar where Cyndie, Dunia, and the other trainers did their “student teaching” at the completion of their apprenticeships.
It comes easy to me because the methods they taught for interacting with the horses make total sense to me and resonate with my intuition. The positive feedback of the horses’ responses serves to verify my perceptions.
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Grazing Gratefully
We seem to have turned a corner and there are finally areas starting to show signs of drying out. It is a very uneven process, and the spots that are still wet remain ridiculously saturated and a muddy mess.
We let the herd graze together on fresh grass yesterday! I pounded down the posts for our temporary fence to the desired depth, and when the ground around them dries out, it will be like they were cast in cement. 
With the posts ready, I was able to string up ribbon fence lines that will be electrified, but not before I first had to fix a connection on the existing fence.
I found a splice that wasn’t sufficiently crimped. While I was troubleshooting the problem, I had Legacy’s full support. I’m pretty sure he sensed I was on a project that would lead to him getting access to better grazing. He stood front and center on the spot where I focused my attention.
I wish I could have talked him into using his powerful bite to accomplish something positive for once, and get him to clamp down on that splice. My hand tools were all sub-par for the job. I achieved enough of a crimp to give me electrical contact for the time being, which allowed me to prove the concept and proceed.
Cyndie made a heroic journey on crutches, navigating the uneven and uncertain terrain, to provide moral support, showing up in time to witness the completion and testing phase. All that was left after that was to convince the horses that the gate was open.
It was late enough in the day that we needed to put out their afternoon pans of feed, and that had their undivided attention. It also seemed to temporarily satiate their appetite, so they lolled around in a just-fed stupor, paying little notice to the fact I had opened a gate to the grass.
Hunter was the first one to show some interest in why I was walking around in their paddock. I was able to entice him to come toward me, but only up to the area where the mud got thick. They will cross mud, but they need a big enough incentive to do so, and he hadn’t yet figured out why I was urging him to come across. Before long, Legacy wandered over to see what was going on.
I pulled out the trick that I learned from Dunia at the Epona seminar, walking an arc in front of Legacy until he took a step, and then I turned and lured him along by my energy. We pulled Hunter and Cayenne right behind him. I needed to go to the hay feeder in the far paddock to convince Dezirea to join the fun.
While they grazed, I wandered back to the paddocks to restock the hay feeders. When I returned, Cyndie had gone back to the house, so I phoned her to confirm how short a time they should be limited to on this rich spring grass.
“Now would be good.”
“How do you suggest I do that?” I asked.
I tried calmly coaxing them to head back into the paddock, but these Arabians move from calm to panic in a blink, and you’d think I had slapped them on the butt and fired a shot from a pistol.
Of course, they were all juiced up on fresh grass. They carried that sprint into the paddock far longer than was necessary, from my perspective, but who can blame them? They had finally gotten what they wanted for so long, and that quick, had it taken back again.
I will not be surprised if I find them lined up and waiting at that gate when I show up to put out their feed this morning.
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Relative Something 