Improbable Happens
On the morning of the title game of the 2022 FIFA World Cup between France and Argentina, my mind is clouded by the unlikely outcome of yesterday’s NFL game between the Minnesota Vikings and the Indianapolis Colts. You’d think I’d be used to it from this year’s Vikings team, having squeaked out so many other wins by one score in the final moments, but this one was a record-breaking epic.
I had given up hope for the Minnesota team early in the first half of the game, not just because of the lopsided score but because of the humiliating way it was playing out. An NFL record-breaking come-from-behind victory seemed more than improbable.
Final score: 39-36 OT, Vikings win.
It was a game that had recently been moved up to Saturday from the typical NFL Sunday fare in what is basically a marketing move. Unfortunately, not everyone tracks each decision sports leagues make. Imagine you are a music student showing up at your downtown Minneapolis music school for your usual Saturday lesson and discovering the cost of all the reasonable parking options has mushroomed to a $30 event fee.
I bet that felt improbable.
This morning, I really didn’t want to climb out of my warm bed to go out in the single-digit cold air to feed and clean up after the horses. Maybe it wasn’t all that improbable, but I certainly wasn’t expecting to be rewarded with some cherishing views of nature’s glory.
The gorgeous sunshine was made possible by a cloudless sky that allows the temperature to drop to bitterly cold levels, but the sunlight still makes it seem warmer, even if it’s not.
Improbable?
It happens.
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Frustrating Amount
If a little is good, more must be better, right? Certainly not. Not lately, anyway. I could sure use a break from plowing and shoveling.
Of course, getting the ATV stuck at the end of the driveway didn’t do much for my cheerful outlook. When I came over the hill to see the state of things at the end of the driveway, I wasn’t surprised that our trash and recycle bins were knocked over by the snowy blast off the blade of the township snowplow.
The surprise was that our mailbox was still securely attached to its post. I think it was saved by the trash bin.
I plowed just enough of the snow at the end of the driveway to restore order with the bins but I got carried away thinking I could push the massive amount of snow well off the driveway. Suddenly I couldn’t back up. The front wheels had gotten beyond the pavement and the blade was stuck in the accumulated pile of new and old snow.
A long walk back to the barn for shovels was required. As long as I had the shovels, I decided to work by hand to clean up the area around the mailbox and the heavy wash of snow that came off the big snowplow. It’s easier to find the edge of the pavement using shovels.
After digging out the snow beneath the ATV and around the plow blade, it backed right out of the predicament with ease. On my way back up the driveway (after two successful passes plowing) I ventured too far to the right and dropped two wheels over the steep bank. You know, the banks where I wanted to add enough fill to create a more functional shoulder beyond the pavement.
Yeah, we didn’t get that fill added to the lower half of the driveway before serious amounts of snow arrived. I’m now dealing with the very scenario I dreaded. I can’t plow wide enough to protect the driveway from getting narrower and narrower with each successive snowstorm.
That interesting-looking snow sculpture above is actually a spruce tree. Of all the years to start off the snow season with epic accumulations.
What could be a fun feature of winter is mostly a frustration for me this year. It’s not being made any easier by Cyndie’s inability to walk and help out with horse care and snow clearing. It’s a one-man operation this year.
Yesterday, I made it halfway around the house pulling snow off the roof eaves with our Avalanche roof rake. Still to go, the other side of the house, and then I need to shovel off the deck and plow around the barn and hay shed.
If it is still snowing, I then need to start the whole cycle all over again. Rinse and repeat.
I miss having time to read the daily newspaper in the morning before starting my day.
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Not Waiting
Woke up yesterday morning to a winter wonderland.
It was sticky snow and continued to fall pretty much non-stop all day long.
The stickiness was creating some interesting viewing. One little branch could hold a surprising amount of snow.
The same thing was happening to the cable I strung between two trees to create a leash run for Delilah on the slope of our backyard.
She never liked it when we connected her retractable leash to the pulley over her head on the cable. I think it scared her. Now that she’s no longer with us, I suppose I should take the thing down. I’m sure the tree trunks would appreciate not having that constant pressure on them.
As soon as I finished feeding the horses in the morning, I decided to plow the snow off the driveway in hopes of taking advantage of the daytime warmth to melt new snow that was falling. For the most part, the plan worked as I’d hoped. At least the bottom layer hadn’t frozen solid yet, so that was a plus.
There was so much snow stuck in tree branches that warming daytime temperatures caused large amounts to fall out of the trees and mess up the freshly cleaned pavement.
Because the snow was sticky, I resorted to a fair amount of hand shoveling in areas where I couldn’t run the ATV at a good speed to get the snow to slide off the angled blade. That made for some heavy shovel strokes where the plow had rolled up big blocks of plowed snow.
Based on the weather forecast and the radar images of the precipitation spinning around the low-pressure center of the storm, I will get to do this all over again today! That’s okay. I was well aware of that likelihood as I toiled away yesterday. Everything I accomplished yesterday will be that much less snow I will have to deal with today.
I learned long ago –the hard way– that it doesn’t pay to wait until the very end of multiple-day snowfalls to start clearing snow.
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Sloppy Snow
After reading in yesterday’s paper that the warming of the Earth is bringing rain to the Arctic regions, I feel a little sheepish about my whining over getting rain in December at our latitude. Honestly, I could adjust my thinking to accept the rain if that’s all it was but the reality is that we get rain mixed with sleet which then turns to snow. Usually, heavy, wet snow.
My work area just beyond the overhang in the paddocks has turned into a muddy mess again. The horses take it in stride but the sloppy footing makes my maneuvering much less pleasant.
Cleaning off the driveway is a whole other battle in these conditions. When a small amount of snow falls, it isn’t worth bothering to plow, however, shoveling the area in front of the house keeps it from becoming messy.
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Trying to plow the water-logged slop may have cleaned the pavement nicely, but by the time I was able to consider it, the slushy snow was starting to refreeze. The duration of this precipitation is predicted to last a couple more days so I expect I will need to plow at some point. Too bad it will be a frozen mess underneath any real snow that eventually accumulates.
I tell ya, it’s the in-between conditions of mixed winter precipitation that are the most frustrating to deal with. That is until we receive massive amounts of snow in one dump. Then that is the most frustrating to deal with.
Today, it is the rain mixed with sleet that eventually turns to snow that is crimping my style. It’s getting to be almost as bad as the Arctic around here. Not that I would whine about such a thing as crummy weather.
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Grim Grip
With temperatures hovering just above the freezing point, snow is slowly sliding off our slanted rooftops. As I was returning to the house from the barn, I spotted what looked like the large bony fingers of the Grim Reaper about to grasp the edge of the short roof over the entryway of the shop.
The rest of that section had broken off and dropped to the concrete surface below.
I would like to have recorded a time-lapse video of the slow melting as the snow slid off the roof. It is fascinating that it created that bony-looking curl.
Speaking of bones, I’m driving Cyndie to an appointment this morning to have her bone density analyzed. The trauma surgeon who repaired her ankle put in the order to have her bone density checked in light of the way her broken bones splintered into fragments.
Yesterday, Cyndie’s physical therapist massaged some of the excess fluid out of her foot and gave her a few more non-weight-bearing exercises to try. The options are pretty limited until she gets permission to put weight on that foot. The exercises are rather simplistic and uninspiring otherwise, at this point.
It’s pretty tricky crutching weather out there while this wet weather system is spinning over us. We have been getting mostly spotty light rain since yesterday late afternoon, but with the temperature lingering so close to the freezing point it is hard to know when the footing is merely wet or has become dangerously slippery.
There is something about going in for a bone density test that begs for a person to not fall and break anything on the way in. The Grim Reaper doesn’t get into the business of influencing us before the final calling does he/she/it?
Some days I feel like I should wear a couple of protective boots similar to the one Cyndie has, as a proactive prevention of possible foot/ankle injuries. Or I could keep eating a healthy diet that maintains a strong body. Are Christmas cookies good for our bones?
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Winter Coat
We might be receiving a coating of ice, sleet, and/or snow this week. The large winter storm impacting much of our country may or may not reach us. We are located in a county on the edge of all the areas lit up with alerts and warnings. Among the many uncertainties in predicting the exact path of winter storms, I am well aware of the possibility we will not escape some level of winter weather hassle.
I wasn’t aware of having thoughts about the coming weather when I paused with the horses yesterday to admire their winter coats. Swings can look so regal at times.
She is the eldest of the herd, turning 28 in January. I’ve been told we increment the ages of the horses on January first, regardless of when they were foaled. At 28 in horse-years, her age compares to an 80-year-old human. I often view her as being the eldest mare of the bunch but there are plenty of times when she seems surprisingly youthful.
I took a close-up photo of Light’s winter coat. If it starts raining today they will appear much less fluffy. When they are dry like that, there is an urge to just bury your face against them and breath in their scent. The urge is not always acted upon since they are 1200+ pounds and might make unexpected quick maneuvers that don’t take into account the location of a person.
We are expected to move out of the way of our own accord as quickly as they do.
Funny how calming it is to stand among them even though the opportunity for instant chaos is always present. Yesterday, Mia startled me by doing a full-body flinch in response to the sudden appearance of a loudly flapping barn pigeon. One second later, complete calm returns.
These four still show minimal tolerance for hands-on affection. There have been rare instances where they linger and appear to be enjoying a brush or hand scratches but it is much more common for them to step away as soon as we show signs of being too “handy.”
I keep hoping that will continue to slowly change. When it comes time to shed those winter coats, we’d love to help them all out with some thorough brushing. That’s getting ahead of things, however. Today, we will all need some winter coats that shed moisture if the incoming precipitation slides just a little farther east than predicted.
If things become too unruly around here, I may need to consider putting horses inside the barn in the stalls. That is NOT something that will be easy to do by myself, so I’m hoping the horses will simply take advantage of the overhang and avoid getting too wet and cold.
Wish us luck.
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Blind Spot
In my opinion, eyewitness testimony is not as reliable as it is generally made out to be. After a recent incident of missing puzzle pieces, I have lost all confidence in my own ability to see what’s right in front of my face.
Upon completing the first of the latest puzzles my sister shared with us, there were two missing pieces. Having knocked plenty off the table while assembly was in progress, my initial response was to search the rug below. I laid down to scan the surface but found nothing.
A day later, we spread out the 2000 pieces of the next puzzle. I assembled all but one piece of the border and started wondering if that last piece might have fallen to the floor. By merely bending over to scan the floor, I instantly caught sight of one of the missing pieces from the previous puzzle.
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Where the heck was that piece when I looked for it the day before? More importantly, how did my eyes fail to see what was laying out in plain sight?
A short while later, between drying baking bowls and utensils, I spotted the last border piece that had been evading my eyes up to that point. I had abandoned the Vikings game after it became an obvious losing effort to join the party going on in the kitchen. Since my skills aren’t in the preparation of food, I make my contribution by cleaning up afterward.
Our friend, Melissa and our daughter, Elysa came for the day to help Cyndie in a second round of Christmas Cookie baking.
Unfortunately for me, I don’t seem to have any difficulty seeing the expanse of cookie options covering our countertops. My A1C levels might not be at their preferred number for a while.
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Thrown Back
The other day I was hunting for the U of MN site that offered access to a library of historic aerial images and found several different views of the farm my grandfather bought back in the early 1950s. (https://apps.lib.umn.edu/mhapo/) That property was called “Intervale Ranch” and the name became the inspiration for our choosing “Wintervale” for the land where Cyndie and I now live.
My family was living there when I was born in 1959. The farming was mostly done by then and the barns and nearby surroundings became a large playground for my siblings and me.
Looking at the various images I found of that land has thrown me back into years I recall fondly. The weather I experienced for the first ten years of my life seemed like a reliable and relatively consistent pattern of seasonal transitions. For all I knew, that’s the way it had always been and would always be.
Hah! Ten years out of the incomprehensible span of time from the forming of planets to the human-influenced environment of Earth we are experiencing today. I expect the naiveté of youth is why that time of my life seems so envious now.
In the most recent ten years we have experienced increasing instances of rainfall during winter months (instead of snow) to the extent it is no longer a bizarre occasion.
I was also thrown back to fond memories of the media commonly on in our home. There were a mere five channels of broadcast television to watch. Walter Cronkite on the national news. Dave Moore on the local station. Boone & Erickson on the radio. If you wanted to know if school was closed due to a snowstorm, you listened to WCCO radio. After they gave the ag reports, they’d read the alphabetical list of communities with school districts that were closed or running two hours late.
On my transistor radio in my bedroom I would tune in KDWB or WDGY to hear the latest hits of popular music.
We moved from the house on that property to a neighborhood of around twenty houses when I was ten years old. It was my first exposure to the fact that the world wasn’t as static my young perspective believed.
Slowly, but surely, television changed, personalities came and went, and I grew into my teenage angst.
In a way, nothing holds a candle to the first ten years of my life for the bliss of being surrounded by my family on the remnants of that farm near the border of Eden Prairie and Edina in Hennepin County, Minnesota, U.S.A.
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Disturbing Delivery
One of Santa’s elves working at FedEx has found their way onto our naughty list. I don’t know if the delivery confirmation email that was sent to Cyndie was supposed to impress us but the fact it was reporting on Thursday night that our package was delivered on Friday morning at 2 a.m. left us mildly confused.
After we were already in bed, Cyndie requested I get up to check if a package had been dropped off in the time since I had been out watching the moonrise. Seemed unlikely to me but it is the holiday season and shipping companies have been surprising us with Saturday and Sunday deliveries lately. Middle of the night hours was a possibility, too, I surmised.
Since my “pajamas” are strikingly similar to what I was wearing when I was born, I hastily barefooted my way through our dark house to the front door and checked the front step for a package.
Nothing visible.
Knowing half our deliveries get left around the corner against our garage doors, I decided I needed to go outside far enough to see if they left our package there.
Now came that moment of hesitation about how to proceed. Seconds ago I was comfortable in bed, winding down my mind, getting ready for a long winter’s nap. This tended to befuddle my decision-making prowess. I could go back and put on some clothes but that seemed like overkill for just a quick peek around the corner at the end of our walkway. And I was already standing at the door…
But, it was cold outside and I’d already left the warm confines of our bed to stand in the chilly air of the front entrance of our house. I didn’t need to push this to the next extreme. So, what’s a guy to do?
I lifted my bare toes into my boots and grabbed my insulated flannel shirt that has become my coat for most outdoor activities and hustled outside to learn there was no package in front of the garage doors. Thankfully, the delivery didn’t suddenly show up right then because my pantless condition would have made the situation a lot more awkward than it already was.
We guessed the package could have been placed at the shop/garage but after returning to our bed, I decided it wasn’t worth me going that far to check. We chose to sleep with the mystery unsolved.
In the morning, as I walked toward the barn to feed horses, I noted nothing had been left at the shop/garage. While putting out hay for the herd, I saw the garbage truck arrive to pick up our trash. On the way toward the road to retrieve our emptied trash bin, I caught sight of our package.
It was in the snow behind our mailbox. The long cardboard box had been slipped into a clear plastic bag that covered about three-quarters of the box, as if to show, albeit pathetically, their concern for protecting our package from the elements.
I’m left wondering, did they toss the box in the ditch at 2 a.m.?
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Moon Ablaze
I needed to walk our trash bin down to the road last night, a trek that would normally have been time spent with Delilah. [sad face] The moon has been so bright the last few nights, I was looking forward to seeing if we would get another good viewing. As I crested the hill before the road, there was no moon in sight.
It was too early. The sky to the west was speckled with clouds but I figured the moon would show through enough to see in the east.
By the time I had walked the rest of the way to the road and back to the top of the hill again, I turned to find the first hint of the rising moon. Having caught sight of it just as it appeared on our horizon, I decided to stand and watch the rotation of the Earth bring it higher in our sky.
When the full circle of moonlight was visible, I took a picture of how it looked.
It was as if it was on fire!
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Relative Something 