Twice Blessed
I arrived home yesterday, shortly after noon, and found everything in such great shape I could hardly fathom our good fortune for having found our latest house/animals sitter. Not only does she provide excellent care for our horses, dog, and cat, she cares for our home in every way. I swear it was cleaner when I walked in yesterday than when we left it last Thursday.
She brings in our mail and hauled our trash bins up from the end of the driveway. We checked in with her on Sunday night when we learned there was a tornado warning and she was already aware and waiting downstairs with Delilah.
Everything down at the barn looked great. We’ve been watching and treating an open wound on Mia’s leg that I thought still looked bad so I tried to get a picture to send to Cyndie for her review. Mia did everything she could to foil my attempts.
The good news is that those with better knowledge than us about this kind of thing have a more positive opinion of the progress. Someone is going to stop by to apply more salve to assure things keep going in the right direction.
From the looks of the property, that storm threat the other night didn’t bring much in the way of wind or rain. It is very dry and the prediction is for it to be hot and continued dry for the rest of the week. That’s not very conducive to the main concern I have right now about working on the gravel edge of our new asphalt driveway.
I only have two days before I’m scheduled to head back up to the lake for some biking in the woods. I’m holding onto the possibility that I won’t be working too hard here prior to that departure.
.
.
Any Day
Lately, I have noticed I am experiencing a pang of underlying guilt over not being fully aware of what day of the week it is. It is commonly expressed that the absence of a work schedule in one’s life will bring about this phenomenon of losing track of the days. It’s truly a luxury to not know. I feel rich beyond my means when I find myself basking in the gentle breezes through the trees at the lake on a Sunday evening when the majority of weekend vacationers have returned to their homes.
There were days throughout my years of gainful employment when I suffered under the pressure of showing up day after day for the grind of my multiple different day jobs. At the same time, I found myself rather well-suited to such a routine of scheduled days. I mostly looked forward to seeing people and tending to whatever business situations required attention.
I wasn’t very fond of being told the toilet wasn’t working in one of the restrooms, but most other issues were useful fodder for doing what I had been hired to do. It’s a bit of a shame that some issues continue to show up in my overnight dreams. Saturday night it felt like I worked hard all night long through multiple dreams. I was trying to train a new employee while simultaneously attempting to cope with other side issues and periodically straining to figure out why I was back at work again after having been gone for so many months.
I found myself semi-lucidly questioning the dream whenever I surfaced toward consciousness through the night and then regretting when a return to deep slumber brought the same dream back to right where it had left off.
During my working years, I had moments of envy for the people I knew who no longer noticed what day of the week it was, but I don’t recall ever begrudging them that luxury. Now that I have achieved that same privilege, I feel bad about celebrating it when so many others still have to log their time.
Facing the undeniable shared challenges of showing up on the first day of the work week. People compare stories of what each other’s weekend entailed and commiserate over the concept of a week ahead. Then, the survival strategy of lauding the midweek milestone of “hump day.” Finally, the thrill of reaching the last day of the week with its lure of soon-to-be-reached days away from the job.
This morning is simply another “any day” of the week for me. Cyndie will be staying up at the lake longer this week and I am driving home today with her mom. I’ll be on my own for a few days at Wintervale before heading right back up on the same day that Cyndie gets a ride home with a friend.
We’ll be like ships passing in the night on any old day of the week.
.
.
Superb Escapades
Superlatives. Yesterday was as wonderful as the day before and served to amplify the pleasantries we enjoyed tenfold. The weather helped to accommodate anything and everything we found to do, including replacing an ailing screen door.
It looked simple enough until the door Mike and I picked up at the lumber yard in Hayward proved to be an inch taller than the one we were replacing. It appeared the old one had been cut down to fit so we borrowed a circular saw and did the same thing. After much searching, we found an old can of still viable stain and successfully completed the unplanned project.
We also received new insights about our trees from an arborist whose services were enlisted to analyze the health of trees around the group of properties that form the Wildwood Lodge Club, of which Cyndie’s family are long-time members. Near the end of winter last year there was a storm that brought down a lot of big branches and a few trees. The size of some of the limbs was enough to inspire seeking professional advice.
Between those events, the day allowed for paddle board and kayak excursions, we swam and sunbathed, and played a mini-tournament of games. Horseshoes, ladder golf, corn hole bag toss, darts, cards, and an encore round of “Fishbowl,” the triple-game of Taboo, Charades, and Password.
On a walk around the property, we twice enjoyed a close encounter with a doe with three very young fawns. They did not stray far after we came upon them the first time such that we found them again, a little further along in the woods where they were munching on ferns.
Cooking dinner on the fire was so good on Friday that we ended up doing it again yesterday.
Today will be a smidgeon less superlative as we adjust to the early departure of our friends, Barb and Mike as they head back for time with their grandkids this afternoon.
Superb, nonetheless.
.
.
Lake Fun
We enjoyed wonderful weather for anything we wanted to do at the lake yesterday, starting with a run to town to buy a replacement screen door for one that wasn’t holding its shape anymore. Yes, we measured first but upon arrival back at the house, we discovered they sawed an inch off the old one to make it fit.
Had to borrow a saw that will allow us to complete the installation today.
Gave us a chance to hop on the pontoon and venture out on the lake for a picnic lunch.
After some beach time and swimming, we played cards out on the deck. I built a fire in the firepit for cooking a flank steak dinner.
That gave us a chance to finally sit on the benches I built from wood left over after our deck rebuild at Wintervale, which Mike helped us accomplish.
Topped off the evening with a triple-game that Barb introduced as, “Fishbowl.” Each participant writes a word on three pieces of paper and tosses them in a bowl. You form teams and take turns playing “Taboo,” charades, and “Password,” reusing the same batch of words each time.
You’d think that would make the solutions easier, but the belly laughs came from how many times people goofed up despite the obvious answer if we don’t stray from the 15 choices we created. Simple pleasures.
We are having tons of fun! Now it’s time for a waffle breakfast before cutting the bottom inch off the new screen door…
.
.
.
.
Nature’s Best
Stormy skies can be a scary thing for some people but rainclouds also provide the backdrop for one of nature’s best spectacles. The weather pattern yesterday was a little chaotic with many periodic episodes of rain rolling by amidst hours of otherwise sun-bathed summer scenes.
It was the perfect recipe for a rainbow and that is precisely what we got.
Another highlight of the day involved multiple viewings of videos captured when Joni Mitchell surprised the world by showing up at the Newport Folk Festival. What a triumph at 78 years of age, after her brain aneurysm in 2015.
Joni is another one of nature’s best.
.
.
Not Kidding
I wasn’t kidding around when I described the drama of my getting stung on Tuesday. Whatever it was, there is a chunk of flesh missing from the middle of the large inflamed area on my back.
This is how it looked last night, over 24 hours after the bugger got me:
I should probably have been researching anti-venom or something. On the other hand, maybe it will give me a super power. I mean, a new super power, different than the other ones I already had.
Cyndie suspects it could have been a horsefly bite. I’ve already been bitten on the back by a horse and that didn’t give me any new senses. I’ve never experienced this reaction from a horsefly before and now I’m thinking I don’t ever want to experience it again.
As luck would have it, I can soak my back in the lake for a few days again, starting this afternoon. Due to Cyndie’s good sense to plan well in advance, she locked in multiple weekends with our house/farm sitter throughout the summer that have us up north two weekends in a row this month.
Actually, I will be enjoying three weekends in a row because I plan to join two of Cyndie’s brothers and a bunch of their golfing pals in Hayward the following weekend. I will be biking with anyone who chooses to skip one of the rounds of golf, most likely in the woods on my mountain bike. No battery to save me on that machine.
That would be a good time for the insect bite to give me a super dose of extra stamina and climbing ability. On one hand, I hope the residual effects of the wound are long gone by that time, but on the other hand, I could use all the help I can get when pedaling the off-road bike on the hilly trails in the Chequamegon National Forest.
This weekend we are driving up with Cyndie’s mom and will meet our friends, Mike and Barb Wilkus for a few days of water worship and good eats.
Further progress on the driveway shoulders will have to wait.
.
.
Low Shoulder
I have a new appreciation for the road work signs that announce a “Low Shoulder.” We have almost 1600ft of low shoulder up and down the length of our new asphalt driveway. At one point I had visions of attacking the project with a vengeance to get all the edges finished in as short a time as possible.
Now I am thinking about doing small sections at a time and letting the completion drag out to as long as it takes. Preferably before we reach days of freezing temperatures.
Yesterday, I worked to fix the edging at the two turnouts of the loop around the hay shed. I got about one and a half done.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
The gravel of the base layer that remains visible beyond the asphalt has dried and gotten rock hard already, making it a struggle to scrape up and relocate. It would be great if we could simply rake the small rocks up against the asphalt edge without needing to muscle through breaking them loose from concrete first.
A quick onset of fatigue is one of the reasons I’m now thinking it will be accomplished in small portions over a long period of many weeks. I blame the unseen insect that stung me in the back yesterday for stealing my motivation to power through and get a lot done.
It’s funny how I can stoically maintain my poise while being stuck by a needle when getting a shot at the clinic but when that burning sensation of a sting hits while walking near the barn my arms start flailing, tools go flying, gloves get violently shaken off while high-stepping and wailing, hat and glasses get unceremoniously tossed, and shirt comes flying off.
It wasn’t clear whether whatever stung me was inside the shirt or out but I knew having the shirt in my hand instead of wearing it would give me something to slap my back with to address the pain and hopefully thwack any possible insect that still happened to be in the vicinity.
I don’t blame Delilah and the horses for staring at me like they were seeing a world class tantrum spectacle of epic proportion. The evil creature got me low on the back side of my shoulder where it is impossible to reach.
Poise was not an option.
.
.
Naught
.
being home
and not just noticing
but actually listening
to each and every sound
of a peaceful summer evening
with windows opened wide
the distant passing engine
of a small aero-plane
fading faster than it arrived
the modulated buzzing
of insects and frogs
chirping along in orchestral song
stopping and starting
unexpectedly at times
and beneath it all
the sound of quiet
a distinct absence of noise
pleasant reverberations of nothingness
floating on cool night air
echoes of naught
purring
like a cat
one notably happy cat
.
.
.
Staying Longer
There was a lot of energy this weekend among a large number of visiting guests who happened to be between the ages of newborn to 14. Suddenly, by late afternoon yesterday, everyone had left to return to their homes. It was Sunday night and Cyndie and I didn’t need to go anywhere. The immediate surroundings suddenly took on an entirely different ambiance with the change from squeals and giggles to nothing but ripples on the lake murmuring against the shoreline and the buzzy fluttering of hummingbirds outside the deck door.
As glorious as it is to experience the community of families that are Wildwood, it is a priceless privilege to know the serenity of this place when we are able to be here alone in the unrivaled north woods environment.
We only stayed one night longer than everyone else. This morning we will drive home to spend a few days at our other paradise.
Counting our blessings all the way.
.
.
Feeding Frenzy
Yesterday, Cyndie captured this video of the incredibly heavy traffic we’ve been witnessing lately at the hummingbird feeder. How they navigate without colliding is beyond me.
.
.
.
.
Relative Something 