Melt Continues
Even though it felt seriously cold outside yesterday, with the wind making it seem like January again, the slow meltdown continues to progress without serious complications. The sand floor of the barn still stays wet where water has seeped in a couple of times when there was nowhere else for it to go. Beyond that, meltwater is all running calmly along our drainage swales as intended.
With the recent rainstorms that have moved through, the surface just beyond the barn overhang is once again as muddy as ever. When the last of the snow finally melts away I will miss the convenience of cleaning my boots in the lingering piles before returning to the house after feeding the horses.
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Looking in one direction along the driveway reveals plenty of newly visible ground.
Turning around to look up toward the house gives a much different impression.
On Tuesday night I watched the first of a 3-part PBS Frontline documentary series, “America and the Taliban,” and was impressed by the combination of perspectives provided from both sides. My viewing of this happened shortly after I had come upon a video interview with 9/11 survivor Pasquale Buzzelli where he described one of the ways he dealt with his survivor guilt.
With these powerful episodes resonating in my mind, one right after the other, I’m feeling an unexpected flashback to September 2001. I didn’t immediately know the attacks were happening at the time. In an office in the middle of a building, I placed a call to a person I knew about some mundane issue and was met with a strange response from her. It caught me off guard. She conveyed a sense of our issue being rather meaningless in the face of things.
In the face of what things? She just assumed I was aware of what was going on. This was when I learned planes had flown into the Twin Towers.
Pasquale Buzzelli described a point [me paraphrasing] in his psychological recovery when he put himself in the shoes of a friend/coworker who died when the tower collapsed. Imagining what the dead man would think about Pasquale surviving –or if Pasquale had died and was looking at his friend who survived– he surmised that the hope and desires of the deceased spirit would be that the survivor would get on with life and live it to the fullest possible extent. Doing so becomes a way to honor those who didn’t survive.
It helped Pasquale to move beyond the funk in which he had been floundering.
The Frontline documentary touches on the issue of Taliban bombings killing innocent Afghan citizens –women and children. It still seems unjustifiable in every way, but when the Taliban official being interviewed framed it from his view of the situation being a war to rid his country of invaders, I felt a moment of being able to perceive his perspective.
Two things on my mind from this throwback to the terror attacks:
- In 2001, terrorists worked on their plan for months and within our borders while I was unaware. Are there other long-game attacks in the works in 2023 that our intelligence is missing while threats from China, Russia, and an indicted past US President dominate the news?
- We should ALL be honoring those who don’t survive or those who are our ancestors by striving to become the best we can be.
We are no better than anyone else in the world, but we can become the best of ourselves if we sincerely put our minds to it.
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Hope Springs
Like the first sprout of green growth breaking through the blanket of leaves on the forest floor, reaching toward the rays of sunlight, I was full of anticipation for the scheduled delivery of my new electric lawn tractor yesterday. Seeking to assure my plan would work smoothly, I called the store in Prescott to check in and let them know this would be the day I was expecting delivery.
I was told they had received an email from the delivery company confirming that fact. The person on the phone said he could call me to let me know when the tractor got picked up. When my phone rang while I was out tending to the horses at noon, it was from the delivery company driver telling me he was 30 minutes from arrival.
Filled with hope for the approaching conclusion of this complicated purchase process, I didn’t question that the call came from the delivery company, not the store. Since I was already out with the horses and the driver would be arriving soon, I chose to wait with them and watch for the truck. The horses were understandably jumpy because the gusting wind was blowing the falling ice pellets with extra force and thunder overhead added dramatic effect.
Soon the precipitation transitioned into a heavy downpour that roared on the metal roof of the barn. I was happy to see the horses chose to endure the noise and stay under the overhang through the worst of the rain. It was taking the delivery driver longer than 30 minutes but in this weather, the driving would become slower going.
The SUV that finally pulled up our driveway looked too small to be bringing my tractor. The man asked where my tractor was located. I figured he was a helping hand who beat the truck to our location. No, he told me he was here to assemble my tractor (which I know simply involves bolting the seat on and attaching the steering levers). I asked if he had gone to the store first. No, he had come from Milwaukee! (300 miles away on the other side of the state of Wisconsin.)
Well, that explained why the store hadn’t called me to report the tractor had been picked up.
Too bad I didn’t just install a hitch on my car and rent a trailer to pick up the tractor myself two weeks ago.
The driver told me he would need to contact his office, reschedule my delivery, and he would call me back. Around dinnertime, while I was ankle-deep in mud scooping up manure, my phone rings with a call from Tennessee. It’s the delivery company calling to check if my tractor had arrived as scheduled. She was definitely looking forward to my happy reply and sounded totally shocked and was very apologetic to learn of the mixup.
I hope to find out tomorrow what their new delivery date will be. I definitely didn’t need the mower today but if the weather forecast for high temperatures to hit the 60s(F) this weekend and 70s next Tuesday proves accurate, lawn mowing will become a thing again real soon.
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Branch Removal
The weather was pleasant yesterday and enough snow had melted at the top of the driveway that I was able to cut up the branches of the big limb that came down in the last storm. That meant I needed to fire up the chainsaw that hasn’t seen any action in months. It was a little reluctant to start which involved enough pulling that I required a break to catch my breath but the second effort was the charm.
I cut up the fallen limb to three different levels: logs to split for firewood, branch trunks 4″ or less saved for the chipper, and branch tops to pile along our north property border. I trimmed the broken stump back to the main trunk of the tree and held it up for Cyndie like it was a trophy.
Looking at the tree after I was done, the overall shape seems pretty healthy. It’s as if this limb deserved to be removed for the overall benefit of the tree. That’s the way I’m going to frame it from now on, anyway.
Today, Cyndie departs to Puerto Rico for a week with our daughter to celebrate a milestone birthday this year for Carlos. I will go on a John diet for a week. The meals I prepare for myself are a lot simpler than the feasts Cyndie serves.
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My Reality
Each day when I describe details of my experiences it is a function of a basic tenet of writing: write what you know. One thing I know about is the perceptions I have of the activities of my days. Yesterday, I turned my back on the NCAA Women’s national championship game when it became obvious to me that Iowa would not beat LSU and I went out to tend to the horses.
A glance at the reading from our outdoor thermometer surprised me with the number 51. Looking for a second source, I opened a weather app to see what it offered for a current temperature. The reading from Red Wing, MN –twenty miles to our south– was 57°F! I did not expect this level of warming yesterday. The new snow remaining on the ground from the blizzard Friday night was quickly being transformed into water. Our drainage ditches were flowing like rivers.
I have no idea how this fits into the entanglement of the quantum mechanics of our physical world, but I do know that this quick melt significantly increased the level of mud in the paddocks. At the same time, I cannot describe how I occasionally get a sense of someone in Nepal practicing an endless recitation of the mantra “om mani padme hum” as I breathe our air and take meandering steps half a planet away.
The horses were giving me the impression of being spectacularly patient about the slow melt we’ve been having this spring while they were also slipping into behaviors of being annoyingly impatient about getting served pans of feed after I showed up. The impatience is easily soothed by the arrival of their food and the quartet of munching sounds conveys a new meditative peacefulness that I gladly absorb.
It is April and there is a reason to think we might be gardening soon. Does this image look like our garden is eager to get going?:
I’m trying to absorb some of the horses’ patience about the uneven transition from the snow season to our growing season.
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Tree Scenes
After Friday’s overnight blast of rain and thunder that swiftly transitioned into a heavy blizzard dropping 1-to-2-inch per hour of snow, Saturday delivered a blue sky with enough sunshine to reduce the snow cover by half.
I was getting pelted by snow and ice chunks falling from the branches as I wandered around taking pictures of the after-effects of the spring storm. The icy tree branches caught most of my attention.
The gaping wound on this ornamental maple tree at the top of our driveway exposes the harsh reality of the toll these kinds of weather events dish out on the greatest assets we have on our land.
Similar to the way some trees hold the leaves at the very top in the fall after the lower branches have become bare, several of our trees had crowns of ice reflecting the sunlight.
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I’ll conclude with a tree that showed no sign of life last year, failing to sprout a single green needle yet still has enough structure to support the snow like a healthy tree.
There will be a lot of branch-collecting to be done across our acres after the snow finally melts away this year. I’m looking ahead to the days when our tree scenes return to their green best.
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Not Fooled
April. Really?
Fool me once…
I thought I was going to shovel snow. APRIL FOOLS!
It was more like cement. Maybe stucco. Plaster?
Just to add to the ruse, nature makes it look gorgeous.
I fear this mess will be un-plowable. How fast will it melt? I’m going to clean up around the edges and see how conditions change after the sun shines on it for an hour or two.
I don’t think the horses see much humor in this kind of practical joke. Our trees don’t think it’s very funny, either.
My new zero-turn mower is due to arrive on Tuesday.
Happy April everyone!
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Additional Detail
We enjoyed the day after Cyndie’s performance with a sigh of relief over her having accomplished the feat she had devoted so much time and energy to.
With the time-limited storytelling out of the way, I’d like to add a little behind-the-scenes context to the drama of that moment when the wedding cake crashed to the floor. Yeah, she wanted to scream. Consider these added tidbits…
- Cyndie had taken a full day off from work to bake the cakes on the Friday before the wedding. She hadn’t planned on having a distressing day at work on that Thursday triggering a decision to seek an immediate change of employment. That decision was linked to an opportunity with an application deadline of 9 a.m. Friday morning. Cyndie started her day at 4 a.m. to update her curriculum vitae and compose a cover letter by 8 o’clock for a courier to deliver in the nick of time.
- Then, she started baking cakes for the planned 12-hour project. Random interruptions pushed that allotted time to nearly 18 hours. Somewhere in there, our daughter, Elysa came home feeling unwell and I crashed with her in our bedroom. When Cyndie came up to sleep, she found Elysa in our bed so she moved to Elysa’s room instead. A short time later, after midnight, our phone rings and Julian answers. His young cousin is sick and wants to talk to Cyndie.
- Julian comes into our room looking for his mom and is totally confused about not finding her there. We get the phone to Cyndie in Elysa’s room and find out her brother’s kids are being watched by a grandparent with limited English skills while the parents are traveling. The boy is suffering a terrible bout of flu and asks if Cyndie would come over because grandpa’s only solution is to go to the hospital.
- Cyndie drives over and is basically up the rest of the night assisting with bouts of vomiting.
- She finally makes it home early on Saturday morning to thoroughly shower any and all sickness off her before preparing to depart with cakes for the wedding venue.
She had reasons to scream before she even started assembling the wedding cake that day.
Only a few people enjoying Cyndie’s storytelling at The Moth slam on Wednesday night knew the full detail of how stressful that dramatic disaster really was for our hero.
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Cyndie’s Story
Two weeks ago, I wrote about us attending a Moth story slam in advance of Cyndie’s plan to submit her name for an opportunity to tell her wedding cake story at the Amsterdam Bar & Hall in St. Paul. For those of you who weren’t able to hear her tell it in person last night, she has allowed me to post a written version for you.
Cyndie’s name was selected tenth –the last slot, out of twenty that had signed up for the chance.
Imagine Cyndie walking up on stage, standing under the lights in front of a microphone, and addressing a packed house. She is allowed only 5 minutes…
When my niece got engaged, she asked her mother to sew her wedding dress, and her grandma to knit a shawl and asked if I would bake a simple wedding cake. Thrilled, I said yes immediately… even though I’d never made a wedding cake before. Friends expressed concern over the huge responsibility I’d taken on given my lack of experience with wedding cakes. But I love to bake and was inspired by my niece’s invitation. I embraced this cake-baking opportunity with equal measures of optimism and naiveté.
That year, I baked dozens of practice cakes to test out on family and friends. I was blamed for inches added to waistlines and my reputation for baking in excess soared to new heights. It took me about 40 hours to mold sugar paste into candied pearls and colorful, edible flowers. With all that practice, my confidence grew and so did the cake. What started as a simple wedding cake had become a five-tier, white chocolate, lemon-raspberry layered masterpiece, stuffed with extra love.
Days before the wedding, my friend asked me how I planned to transport the cakes to the venue. I’d been so focused on baking, I hadn’t given it a thought. I quickly discovered that my mustang convertible with bucket seats is NOT the car for the job. My friend bails me out by loaning me her practical 4-door sedan as long as I drive and relieve her of any responsibility for the safe delivery of the cakes.
On the big day, I load up the car with boxes of cakes, buckets of extra frosting, edible decorations, and fresh flowers. I’m so nervous about transporting the cakes that I drive like a Sunday driver, on a Saturday! Thankfully, all the cakes arrive intact.
I carry the boxes of cakes like they are newborn babies and begin to carefully assemble the tiers of cake with the stands and pillars. I’m so meticulous about frosting and decorating each level to perfection that it takes me 2.5 hours just to finish the first four tiers. But I’m happy- already the cake is nearly 3 feet high and it looks as stunning as I’d hoped it would be.
As I reach to place the final tier, I hear a loud snap and then another one, as the pillars give way under the weight of the cake, and, in horror, I watch the cake topple over and crash onto the floor. A busboy says, “You are so [effed]” as he and the wait staff all run for cover in the kitchen. I can barely breathe but I manage to warn my friend, “DO. NOT. SAY. A THING.” She doesn’t and takes cover behind the bar.
I can’t believe I have just ruined my niece’s wedding day. This is exactly what my friends had warned me about. I can hear all the “I told you so’s” and the “what were you thinking’s” and see the evidence of not being enough piled high on top of the inglorious mess. I want to scream but I can’t because the only thing separating the wedding chapel from the reception hall is a thin, moveable partition.
Then the organist begins to play, “Here Comes the Bride.” I AM SO [EFFed]! My friend appears next to me with a shot of whiskey she’d stolen from the bar. I don’t drink whiskey, but on this day, I did. She asked, “What are you going to do?”
I have two choices- I can succumb to the despair of this epic fail or I have to rise up and fight with all the love in my heart to make the simple cake my niece had asked for. The fight is on. Baking in excess is now my saving grace. I have enough backup cakes. The groom’s cake is still intact and I can use fresh flowers to decorate so I kick my inner critic to the curb and ask for help.
The busboy –yeah, that one!– comes to my aid and scoops up the four-tier disaster on the floor, a waiter brings a fresh tablecloth and my friend fearlessly rips open the boxes and hands me back-up cakes as fast as I can frost & decorate them. I have to finish Wedding Cake 2.0 by the time the ceremony ends in less than 20 minutes.
I finish the second cake just in time to see the mother-of-the-bride walk into the reception hall, look at the cake, and, burst into tears. She says, “I didn’t cry at all during the ceremony but when I saw the cake… It’s so beautiful.” And it really was!
Sometimes, even I have a hard time believing the miracle that happened that day. But the radiant look on my niece’s face when she thanked me for baking her wedding cake helps me remember that anything is possible when I let love lead the way.
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Out of the ten storytellers, Cyndie’s performance earned a second place score from the judges, losing out by half a point to a tale that included both a tornado and nudity. The evening was a smashing (pun intended) success and made all the sweeter by the support of family and friends who showed up to cheer her on.
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Delay Gratification
As our snow cover recedes and the ground becomes visible again, the urge to nurse our landscape back to life grows strong. I want to rake and trim and spruce up the most-viewed spaces as soon as I can. However, my “want to” and “can” don’t line up with the timing of when we should begin imposing our will on the land.
Some insects overwinter beneath the leaf litter on the ground and they don’t all pop out at the first exposure to direct sunshine. I can’t just decide to work on the lawn instead because grass areas should be allowed to thaw completely and begin to turn green before attacking them with a rake.
Then there’s the challenge of “No Mow May.” That’s the campaign to help fight the decline of wildflowers and pollinating insects by waiting until June to mow grassy areas.
I’ll never make it until June without mowing our “lawn” areas. Grass grows way too fast here for that level of intentional neglect. In our favor is the expanse of natural areas where we never mow and the acres of pasture that are only mowed occasionally. My mowing of the comparably small fraction of grass lawn that I do cut won’t shortchange the pollinators in our neighborhood.
This spring my urge to mow is even greater than ever –and if you know me, the urge to mow is very uncharacteristic. Next week I am anticipating the delivery of a new battery-powered zero-turn mower. In the realm of delaying gratification, this purchase was made weeks ago and was subject to availability. I purchased from an online company but discovered their products have started becoming available from retail stores.
When I checked the closest Tractor Supply Company in Prescott, WI, one of the staff scoffed that I’d be lucky to find one. His co-worker jumped on their computer and looked it up to see what their system indicated for availability. To everyone’s surprise, she exclaimed, “There’s one coming into our store on our mid-March delivery!”
Neither of them was aware of any reason they would be receiving delivery of this lawn tractor. I asked if it was already committed to a customer.
It wasn’t.
I couldn’t help having a flashback to last year when I was looking for a specific Trek e-bike and eventually learned there was only one in the country that was my size and it was available in a Minneapolis store.
My goal in choosing to buy the tractor from a retail store was to avoid the substantial shipping fee online. There was just one hitch (pun intended) with that plan. I don’t have a trailer, nor even a trailer hitch on my car to pick up my new toy from Tractor Supply. Ultimately, I was able to order delivery from the company that Tractor Supply contracts with and arrange delivery for next week at a $50 discount from the online delivery fee.
After a few more days of delay, I’m hoping to be appropriately gratified.
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Icy Art
With the oscillations of our temperatures rising above freezing during the day and then dropping below each night, a morning walk offers a variety of artistic spectacles. Icy designs form over the water that was flowing in the drainage ditches. The artwork is only temporary because as the earth spins to move our view of the sun higher in the sky, the ice turns to water and flows downstream.
This art show is a bonus to the overall benefit of the overnight freezes slowing the thaw of our snowpack, mitigating the threats of heavy erosion, or overflowing the banks of our small streams and rivers.
There remains a chance of heavy rain falling in April to a degree that flooding could still happen. Having the snowpack safely melted by that time will save us from worst-case scenarios that might have resulted due to the high water content that was in this year’s snow.
More and more ground is being revealed every day and April shows up on Saturday. Green plants will be sprouting soon. Spring hasn’t quite sprung yet, but it feels like it’ll be bouncing along very soon.
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Relative Something 