Last Words
New technology can bring us multiple ways to make sports bets by the minute online, or provide endless hours of doomscrolling on smartphones, but Netflix is offering something much more worthy in their “Famous Last Words” TV series. Based on a Danish series, the shows involve an hour-long interview with notable figures that only gets published after their death.
Renowned primatologist and conservationist Jane Goodall died of natural causes last week, and an interview Netflix recorded with her in March of 2025 is now available for viewing. Cyndie and I watched it last night and found it to be very moving and profoundly impressive.
The technology they used in recording the interview included remotely operated cameras so that there were no other people in the room except for Jane and the Producer/Host, Brad Falchuk.
At the end of the interview, Brad leaves the set and allows Jane to close with her final words to the world, looking directly into a camera. It’s very powerful. She was very well-spoken.
It is easy to ignore the reality that she recorded this seven months ago and focus on the fact that she knew her message would not be seen by anyone until after her death. As we watched her speak, knowing she had died less than a week prior, there was a strong sense that we were hearing her communicate from the afterlife.
I don’t know that I could articulate such a profound message for the world to hear after my death with such solemnity and dignity. I’m no Jane Goodall, for one, and I don’t have the fame to attract Netflix, so I won’t have to worry about such a thing.
However, if there isn’t already, there should soon be an app for us common folk to record personal statements to be seen by generations to come after our demise. I wonder how many will start with the line, “If you are watching this, I am dead.” They could probably find a way to tie it in with the online gambling sites. “…Hopefully, you won some money on the bet of how long I would live.”
Joking aside, there is something very special about listening to a person’s last words. I tip my hat to Netflix for pursuing the project of recording this interview with such obvious respect. I am now curious about who else they have recorded and stored in their vault, awaiting a to-be-determined publishing date.
R.I.P. Dr. Jane Goodall, DBE, 1934-2025.
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Seeking Normalcy
No masked soldier-looking thugs showed up to violently “detain” me over the weekend, despite my unwavering stance that their motives and methods are completely un-American and patently illegal. I’m stressed with concern over the odds of unjustified force escalating in the cities currently being targeted, either fabricated to create an appearance to their liking or as a result of threatened citizens lashing out due to fear and anger in a way that triggers an even harsher response from the goons.
It all seems like such a premeditated provocation with no valid justification, were our laws being respected in this country. There is no reasonable logical excuse that explains the actions of these military attacks on citizens. It is just plain wrong, but what is more frustrating is the fact that it openly continues to happen without accountability.
Maybe if I had just agreed to pledge my $5 a month to the non-profit political organizations that oppose the philosophy and behaviors of the current administration, this would have all been stopped before it started.
Cyndie and I are making plans to participate in the October 18 protests to stand among like-minded conscientious objectors and vent some of the frustration building up with each passing day. The absence of functional checks and balances being enforced to interrupt the sullying of our democracy is truly heartbreaking.
We are looking into the possibility of protesting in Hayward, WI, on that Saturday, as we are hoping to embark on a mid-October weekend visit to the lake place. It’s been a while since we gave Asher a chance to join us there, so we are planning to include him, too.
The possibility of rain yesterday came true for us, and as expected, it ushered in more seasonably cool temperatures. Maybe in two weeks, it will feel like October up north.
Today, we are breathing a sigh of relief and putting on long sleeves to enjoy a little normalcy for the occasion.
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Summer Remnants
The end is near. The scenery is reflecting the change of seasons in a variety of places around our property. The trumpet vine sprouted one last blossom that stands out like an emphatic exclamation.
There is evidence of fruit on one of our grape vines. I fear we may have waited too long to harvest.
The spell of abnormal heat is predicted to break tomorrow, with a hint of possibility we could get a little precipitation this afternoon to help usher in the change. Any moisture will be welcome because the earth around here is much drier than our trees deserve.
Could a cold and wet October await? That would be a wonderful surprise at this point. It is time for the remnants of summer to disappear once and for all this year. That was then. This is now.
We Northlanders get a little flummoxed when the weather here stays “San Diego nice” for too long without interruption.
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Special Visitors
It was a special day. The high September heat was a bit burdensome, but the glorious sunshine provided a good opportunity to share some of the wonder and glory of our precious early autumn Wintervale sanctuary with friends. Pam and John are like family, having lived in our home and cared for Asher and the horses many times when Cyndie and I are away for a weekend at the lake or traveling to places like Iceland or, more recently, Maine and Massachusetts.
Yesterday, they came for a visit, bringing a friend, Jess, whom they met on one of their travel adventures in Egypt. If I have my facts correct, supported by her endearing New Zealand accent, Jess’ current residence in London is not where she was originally from. Having our little nook of nature and rescued horses revealed to an international audience ranks high on our scale of rewarding pleasures.
Having been clued in to Jess’s fondness for caramel rolls, Cyndie baked up her standard wide variety of versions, with or without raisins and nuts, chopped or whole.
When the company arrived, Cyndie turned over control of the kitchen to Pam, who produced a divine quiche for lunch, such that the delectable foods we were enjoying competed almost evenly with the great outdoors and interactions with Asher and the horses that were the primary draw. Pam’s key lime pie for dessert was award-worthy.
Asher was his adoring self, leaning heavily into Jess to make sure she felt well-loved while not so subtly seeking affection for himself.
Even though the horses were noticeably sweaty and likely not that happy about the heat, they were surprisingly attentive to our presence at a time of day that aligned more with them napping. Light was first to arrive and leaned her head over the top board, remaining there at length to engage and nuzzle with each of us in turn.
Mix eventually did the same over the gates before we headed back indoors.
John Bramble gave us mostly good grades on the state of things in and around the barn. He chastised me for the cavalier level of security on the gate chains, as I had only secured one of the two.
We have trained him well.
I showed off my composting process for Jess, producing the thermometer probe to display the middle of the pile was cooking away at 70°C (160°F). I should be embarrassed to be so proud of our piles of shit.
The day was a classic win-win as we felt as grateful to be able to share our love and peacefulness with them as they expressed being grateful that we did.
Putting our Wintervale “LOVE” flag at the driveway entrance to greet them when they arrived and for them to carry when they departed wraps the day up perfectly.
Travel safely, Jess!
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Custom Solution
We were moving our gas grill off the deck when one of the doors fell to the ground. Cyndie found a bolt with a nut on it lying there, but I couldn’t figure out what had broken or how it had been attached. As far as I could tell, the bolt was just functioning as a post that the door pivoted on. First impression was that a new bolt would solve the problem, but I knew it was more complicated than that.
There wasn’t a way to screw a replacement bolt back on, so the trick would be to mount the bolt in a way that would leave just the threaded portion exposed to mate with the hole in the bottom corner of the door.
Based on the space I was working with, it would likely require a very thin nut. One possibility would be to grind down a standard-width nut to something much skinnier, but I had another idea.
I found a washer with a center hole one size smaller than the replacement 1/4-20 bolt I was going to use. I planned to try tapping threads into that washer. My first challenge was how to hold that little washer in order to cut threads into it.
After a couple of failed attempts to clamp it directly into a bench vise, I pinched the edge of the washer with a vise-grip pliers and then clamped the pliers into the bench vise. The little washer was just thick enough to accept a fraction of threads, and that proved to be enough to spin it on the bolt.
I don’t know if you were able to follow all that, but in the accompanying photo, the little washer I tapped is directly between the bottom of the door and the brown portion of the grill frame. Somewhat to my surprise, it worked to hold the bolt that is coming from below to protrude up into the door.
That’s all I needed. Color me chuffed. I had paused mowing to help move things back onto the deck and then ran into this nuisance of a task. My goal was to find a quick fix and get back to mowing. Given all the steps I ended up taking, it was quick enough and successful enough, and gave me a boost of satisfaction that my ingenuity produced a custom solution that worked on the first try.
The experience acquired from a career in manufacturing continues to pay dividends in my retirement. I bought us a little more time with that old grill, but its days are numbered. It is admittedly well beyond its “Best If Used By” date.
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Different Textures
Natural
Growing
Alive
Variations
Pointy
Green
Rows
Repetition
Furrows
Pattern
Rumpled
Beige
Choosing to capture an image can be a random decision for me. There are many more times when something catches my eye but I don’t take a picture of it than the occasions when I do. Oftentimes, the reason I don’t try is related to the limitations of a camera lens compared to the naked eye.
Long ago, I learned how often a fascinating spectacle for my eyes ends up becoming a very ho-hum image in 2D on a flat surface. That may explain why my interest evolved toward an affinity for close-up images that fill the frame with textures.
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A Struggle
Reconciling the precious and serene beauty of our little sanctuary property with the unsettling reports of the US Supreme Court decisions and White House announcements of a threatening nature is simply crazy-making. Even as I attempt to limit my exposure to the awful news of the calculated steps to erode our Constitutional guarantees, the reports get mixed in with popular culture.
My email inbox receives a constant flow of sensational clickbait subject lines that do nothing to alter the slide towards destroying our democracy. It all feels like, “Republicans Hate This One Trick That Will Stop T@#mp!” Yeah, me pledging $5 a month to “the cause.” That’s the trick they are alluding to. That’ll stop him!
Yet, life at Wintervale is as embarrassingly pleasant as ever. Cyndie and I are both retired and can pick and choose whatever we want to do each day. As caretakers of the fabulous property and the animals residing with us, we put care for both as a top priority. When that is under control, we get to put our energy toward each of our creative art hobbies.
Cyndie is currently taking a class on watercolor painting. I am sanding wood into enticing, silky smooth shapes. Asher is settling into a sweet companion with a much-reduced urge to run off without us. The horses are a dream to feed now that we have switched their offering to processed “Senior” nutrition for the morning and afternoon servings.
Cyndie got the deck sealed yesterday. I filled a couple more cracks I found in the driveway.
My brain struggles to process the great goodness we are able to enjoy while the government of this country is behaving in both petty and important ways towards destroying our rights and anyone it deems unfavorable.
If there is any possibility of confusion about my opinion on the subject, let me emphatically state that I OBJECT to everything and anything being said or done by the current administration, its advisors, and its puppet majority in the Supreme Court.
I wish to be included on any lists of enemies the government is compiling. If you succeed in taking away our rights of free speech, please arrest me without delay. My hunger strike will commence soon after.
To citizens of the rest of the world, I offer an apology for whatever ways my country has done you wrong, past or present. I’m sorry that the country that fought to stop the fascist Nazi regime has inexplicably flipped and is now acting in the very same manner as what we previously rejected.
Reconciling this is nothing but a struggle for my little brain. I try to avoid beating on this zombie of a subject, but it builds up sometimes to a level that I need to release. Also, I never want my silence on the topic to get misconstrued as acceptance.
If I somehow avoid incarceration for my objections to this administration, be assured I will sign up for the underground resistance to support whatever alliance forms to free the world from a new version of autocratic fascism led by a grifting narcissistic racist xenophobic misogynistic homophobic convicted rapist pedophile.
Such a struggle.
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Summer Heat
September is a great month for planting grass seed. Yesterday, with the high temperature reaching 86°F, the baby grass blades sprouting in the area where Cyndie had scattered seeds needed a big drink of water.
I pulled out the ATV and hooked up the trailer with our water tank and sprayer. I don’t think we’ve used this watering system in a year. The battery that drives the pump was still good, but the spray mechanism sure wasn’t.
There must have been water in it over the winter that froze and cracked the plastic. Cyndie operated it like a hand-held sprinkler. It got the job done. A replacement is on order.
Even though we got two coats of sealant on the asphalt driveway earlier this summer, there continue to be some small cracks emerging that I fear might be related to tree roots pushing up from below. I picked up some crack filler and took advantage of the high heat to apply several patches.
An 80-degree day in the fall feels a lot hotter than it would during the summer. At least we get the benefit of a quick cool-down as soon as the sun drops below the horizon.
If there weren’t so many ongoing crazy issues related to the destruction of our democracy, I might notice that the planet is still getting overcooked by the unabated burning of fossil fuels.
You’d think the fresh bit of sunburn on my nose yesterday would maybe have gotten my attention.
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Different Perspectives
Some horses get no respect.
That is Mia’s placemat. It’s hard not to interpret this scene as having been done intentionally. Especially because it tends to happen with some regularity. I’ll be embarrassed if I find out that it’s Mia who is doing it. Although I wouldn’t be surprised if it was her sending a message that she doesn’t like that spot.
We know she prefers being at the nook just beyond the overhang, but when it rains, we specifically don’t want her standing out in it. For the most part, she copes well enough there.
My gut tells me it’s other horses soiling her mat, but I have no idea whether any message is intended. As a general rule, their distribution of manure is pretty random. I have always thought that animals had a natural aversion to pooping where they eat. These horses long ago learned that I pick it all up, no matter where they dump it, so maybe they figure it’s not something they need to concern themselves with.
I took a couple of photos yesterday to share that we have a tree showing signs of color in its outer leaves, and Asher was supervising my mowing job. When I looked at them on my computer screen, I noticed something interesting about the way the hay shed looks.
From that view, it appears to be tipped backwards. Perspective is everything.
Same hay shed from a different angle. Straight up. And color showing up on the fringes of the maple tree!
Maybe perspective explains the horse apples landing on Mia’s placemat. It could be that the horses just don’t see it from their angle.
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Living Good
This weekend, I am home alone with our animals while Cyndie is up at the lake place with friends. I’ve only lost track of Asher twice so far while I have been tending to the horses or mowing some grass. After walking to the house across the road up the hill, around our home, and up and down our driveway without finding him, I went back to what I was doing, and he showed up soon after both times.
I’m claiming, “no harm, no foul.”
We are getting along like a couple of guys home alone for the weekend. He lets me watch football games with the sound on too loud, and I have been keeping him entertained with his squeaky chew toys and Kong balls.
We both have taken naps.
The weather has been about as fine as September can offer, making it a joy to be outside, and as I mentioned yesterday, the horses have been looking as calm and contented as ever.
This morning, Asher hung around the barn the whole time while I went through the usual routine, cleaning up after and feeding the herd.
We are enjoying the good life for the moment. It’s what all creatures crave, no?
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Relative Something 