River Running
Winter has loosed its grip. When we walked the perimeter yesterday morning while the temperature was below freezing, there was little evidence of a meltdown unleashing the spring runoff. By mid-afternoon, the drainage ditches were alive with running water.
The air temperature probably hit 50°F for a bit, resulting in water flowing as if there was an actual river along our southern property border, not just a swale that sits dry most of the time.
The bridge I built along the back pasture fence line was doing its job to perfection as the flow of water across our land poured beneath it into the main ditch just beyond.
If I didn’t know better, I’d be looking to see if I could spot any brook trout flitting around in the current.
From the looks of the extended forecast, we should have a nicely controlled meltdown in the days ahead, with overnight temperatures slowing the thaw for a few hours and daytime warmth climbing well into fast-melting territory.
Manure droppings in the paddock are no longer able to hide beneath snow cover. I’m actually looking forward to getting the place cleaned up again to our usual high standards. The only complication with that plan is that I don’t have a lot of open composting space to dump the couple of wheelbarrows-full it will require. The winters-worth of accumulation doesn’t break down so we’ve already got quite a few stacks that will need to be tended once they thaw. I need to stir the piles up and reshape them to get the composting action heating up so they will break down and shrink enough to begin merging piles together.
The fertilizer factory will be back in full swing before the trees leaf out.
Walking around with no coat on yesterday had me wondering if now would be a good time to take the plow blade off the Grizzly ATV. I don’t like to tempt fate. My mind quickly flashes memories of our first spring here when it snowed 18″ in the first few days of May.
A lot could happen weather-wise in the next month or so. I know from experience not to put away shovels just because the winter snow has all melted away. The plow isn’t hurting anything right where it is for now.
In the meantime, the new road bike I bought over the winter is about to get multiple outings to test how well we get along with each other.
When rivers start flowing through the snow, my bicycling season is nigh.
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Complex Threads
When headspace is getting cluttered by whatever the catastrophe of the day is, it becomes a struggle to maintain a healthy effort toward cultivating daily awareness of the goodness that surrounds me. The innocent joy visible in Delilah’s eyes reveals she isn’t thinking about the ills of war currently happening in Ukraine. I’m not so lucky.
I wish I didn’t have to know about the complexities of what Russia’s Putin will do if he doesn’t get what he wants.
My present concerns about the challenges faced by the people of Ukraine bring up complicated questions I find myself asking about why this deserves any more attention than similar traumas in all the other regions of the world where large populations of civilians have been displaced by lethal conflicts.
Meanwhile, the calamities unfolding every day from the impact of human-driven climate change rage undiminished by any other distractions that succeed in grabbing my attention. How many billion dollars of damage occurred somewhere in the world from flooding rains, wildfires, or wind storms this week?
That doesn’t take anything away from a blissful moment of interaction I was able to experience with Mia yesterday. While a very spring-like snow shower made it look like we were in a snow-globe scene, I wandered up to one of the paddock gates to visit the horses. Mia came up to meet me.
In a rare instance where she didn’t choose to make it a short visit, I found myself looking for ways to give her whatever attention she might desire. After she satisfied herself with facing me and breathing in my smell, she turned around and very obviously waited to see if I would scratch her butt.
How could I resist? While it is true that presenting their butt can be a way a horse shows disrespect or harmful intent, given the circumstances, I read Mia’s behavior as totally benign.
It was snowing and she was wet, plus my reach was limited through the gate, so she received a rather rudimentary scratching. Regardless, she definitely seemed receptive to the attention and followed it up by turning around again to present her mane, which I spotted had quite a dreadlocked snarl.
To my great surprise, she stood patiently while I feebly struggled to make meaningful progress toward detangling the incredibly tight twists of several sections of hair. I did what I could, trying to take advantage of her willingness, but this was a project that needed more than I could provide through a gate amid wet, falling snowflakes.
She decided to present her butt for more attention one last time before I departed from my little impromptu visit.
Before bedtime last night, as I stood at the mirror in the luxury of my bathroom to brush my teeth, I thought about the complexity of my joys and comforts as they contrast with the simultaneous hostility others are suffering.
Somehow, it seems I shouldn’t allow the ills of the world to squelch the goodness I enjoy, but it would be easier to reconcile the dichotomy of the two if my happiness had influence toward easing the difficulties others are forced to endure.
Complex threads, indeed.
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Loft Makeover
Yesterday was a day of furniture upheaval in our house, demonstrated first thing in the morning by the sight of the overstuffed chair that used to be in the loft suddenly occupying the floor of our kitchen.
Cyndie and I made the drive to Edina and met two of her brothers, Steve and Ben, who made this one-day project possible for us. The primary goal was to move the big sectional corner sofa from their mom’s basement back to our house. As long as we were there and Steve had made a truck and trailer available, other large items were included. We also moved a recliner, twin beds, a beautiful old glass-doored bookshelf cabinet, lamps, and several bags of linens.
In order to accommodate the furniture that is coming our way, we are passing some of our old things on to others who have expressed interest and/or are donating pieces to local organizations in need.
The challenge that loomed largest appeared to be how we would get the bigger items moved up our spiral staircase to the loft. It actually turned out to be rather straightforward and involved taking advantage of the railing to support and slide the couch sections on the way up.
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Honestly, the biggest complication of the day was caused by the icy driveway hindering Steve’s ability to move the truck and trailer as easily as we would have liked.
Once we had everything in place and the guys had headed back to the cities, I tested the new seating by checking out Iowa vs. Purdue in the men’s Big Ten Championship basketball game and promptly fell into a wonderful slumbering nap.
The new setup passed with my full and highest approval, although laced with an underlying feeling of disorientation over sitting in Marie’s basement furniture while now in my loft at home.
I blame the hour clock change yesterday of Daylight Saving Time. Makes everything seem out of whack for a few days until I get used to it.
A couple more naps on the couch while pretending to watch television will go a long way toward mentally adjusting to the changes accomplished yesterday.
Many thanks to Ben and Steve for coming all the way to our place and helping with the heavy lifting to make it all possible!
I’m now very ready for NCAA March Madness…
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Hockey Hangover
Of all the days to stay up later than normal, last night was one that compounds the cost because clocks moved one hour ahead last night. Color me sleep-deprived.
I blame hockey. Not just any hockey, though. The Minnesota State High School Hockey Tournament hooked me this year for no specific reason. I had no connection to any of the school teams involved but I was entranced by the excitement and competitiveness on display. Last night’s championship game went to a second overtime period that kept me glued until the winning goal was scored.
The entire tournament offered a refreshing dose of pure hockey with minimal distractions of post-whistle shenanigans and remarkably few penalties.
I saw a player get knocked completely off his skates and he simply got back up and kept playing as if checking is no big deal. How can a high school kid play with more maturity than NHL professionals that retaliate like it’s obligatory?
Four days in a row of high-intensity competitive games was downright intoxicating.
I’d like to say I could just sleep it off but no such luck today. It’s moving day! We are getting rid of some of our old furnishings and two of Cyndie’s brothers are helping us to bring back a couch and chairs and whatever else fits from Cyndie’s mom’s house. The Edina home has been sold and needs to be cleaned out.
We are happy to do our part.
The couch will go up in our loft where I can settle in to watch the NCAA March Madness basketball tournament games until I’ve had my fill.
Replacing one vice with another? Yes, that’s my plan.
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Satisfying Breakage
You know that almost uncontrollable and usually insatiable urge to pop bubble wrap? I suggest that whatever drives that urge also drives our compulsion to break overnight ice this time of year. The fact that the action can often sound like breaking glass, but happens without the pesky need to meticulously clean up every last shard, probably contributes to the attraction.
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With childlike glee we stomp our way along the driveway, unleashing faux carnage against the aging ice that shatters with each strike.
We can thank the wild swings of temperature for the excellent ice-breaking conditions we have been enjoying lately. This morning it was a mere 1°F outside and felt every bit as bone-chilling cold as below-zero days can feel. I suspect our bodies are already down the path of adjusting to springtime weather. Certainly, our minds have already made that leap.
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In the fields, the snowpack is morphing into an artistic archipelago of grass and snow. The firmly frozen surface now frees us to wander away from the usual paths so we can explore the surroundings at will.
But really, as fun as that is to be able to do, it doesn’t hold a candle to the unmitigated glee of smashing old ice to bits.
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Slippery Stepping
It’s ‘walk like a penguin’ time out on our trails, taking super short steps and placing each foot carefully. As we started down the big hill of our perimeter trail yesterday morning, I noticed the pathway had gained a decorative border from boot prints on each side. We have both been choosing to step in the deeper old snow on the sides instead of taking our chances on the icy, packed center lane.
Icy conditions were even more dramatic on the north loop trail near Cyndie’s perennial garden beneath the big willow tree. That spot is located at the low point of the neighbor’s plowed field where runoff water pressure is high. It flows up out of the ground there during heavy rains and obviously pushes up and freezes this time of year.
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Conditions were certainly good for growing ice crystals Wednesday night. Cyndie captured these closeups as I continued ahead with Delilah on a trek to the mailbox.
We continue to experience profound swings of temperature between melting during the days and deep freezes overnight.
A sure sign maple syrup season is just around the corner.
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Wrinkle
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the wrinkle in all this
while blinking back tears
endlessly waiting
bated breath
and all that
spinning around
to take a second look
all of us asking ourselves
how
why
not again
never again
it was supposed to be
never again
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Time Ravaged
More than I can remember in my lifetime, we have been cycling above and below the freezing point this winter, taxing everything exposed to the extremes. As I’ve written many times before, everything moves, including what is often referred to as “solid ground.”
Terra firma is not so firm a.
This is the current state of a base I installed for an outdoor sink on the backside of the barn.
It used to be level.
In some places, the ground sinks. In others, it rises up. And it changes back and forth about as often as the freezing and thawing cycle is playing out. Of course, the base in the image above never happens to return to level. Oh, no.
I have no idea what happened in our pile of limestone screenings. It looks a little like maybe it regurgitated all over itself.
A while back, Cyndie posted a bunch of our furniture for sale on the local neighborhood app. Quite a lot of furniture, actually. The app offered a suggestion that she could also post it on another app to be seen by more than just our neighbors. All it took was the push of a button. So she did.
Soon we had people from far and wide contacting us to ask if everything was okay. Why was she unloading all this furniture?
It’s nice to know concerned friends will check on us if we start showing signs of distress.
The reason Cyndie is looking to jettison our old furniture is that her mother is moving from the family home of many years into a smaller unit in a senior living community. We will be taking some of the precious furnishings that didn’t make the cut for her mom’s new home.
In preparation, we have already started to move things around in our house. We took possession of the old flat-screen TV that had been in her mom’s basement and put it up in our loft, replacing the smaller one we’ve had since it was our main television mounted on the wall in our Eden Prairie home.
Here in Beldenville, the old television was in a stand on a table. In a classic domino effect of one change leading to another, we decided to relocate that TV to the bedroom to replace a smaller one in that room. There, it will be able to be mounted on the wall again. That means I needed to find the old wall mount bracket.
I didn’t know if we’d even kept it, but Cyndie remembered seeing it on the top shelf in our storage room. With her direction, I found two of the three primary pieces. The ravages of time have taken a toll on my memory and I couldn’t recall if we’d detached the base plate from the wall when we moved out of the old house.
I actually started researching online to see if I could replace just the base plate before one last double-check in the storage room, where I was actually checking old packaging for information on the name of the wall mount manufacturer. That’s when I spotted a tiny corner of the base plate on a different shelf.
As far as I can tell, we actually do have everything needed to proceed.
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Measured Gait
When I was a kid in school, I noticed there were others who walked with their feet angled toes-in or toes out and it led me to think the same thing could happen to me. It didn’t look right to me. I didn’t want to walk like that. As a result, I tried consciously aligning my feet with the seams of the floor tiles as I walked down hallways in hopes the practice would keep my gait from becoming misaligned.
How I place my feet as I walk hasn’t been something I constantly think about, but stepping straight ahead in line with those tiles did become a permanent memory that I’ve returned to thinking about many times over the years.
Fifty-some years and too-many-ankle-sprains-to-count later, I’m beginning to notice my right foot “toes out” a little bit in the prints I leave behind in the snow.
What I found interesting yesterday after I noticed my old footprints on the trail was that when I put conscious effort into paying attention to place my right foot straight, it felt like I was toeing it way too far in.
I’m not talking extremes here. The amount of difference is very small. A fraction of an inch. It’s fascinating to me that such a small percentage of change would feel so much larger than it really is.
This kind of correction reminds me of my never-ending quest to achieve an even pedal stroke on my bicycle. I’m decidedly right-side dominant in my pedaling which contributes to a “wobble” of the bike as I unconsciously push stronger with my right leg.
I dream of expending equal power with the push-pull of each leg, but if I’m not specifically thinking about it or I start to get fatigued, I can sense my effort becomes lopsided.
At least I never have to worry about the position of my feet when I’m clipped into the bike pedals. While I wobble down the road on my bike, my toes on both feet are always pointed straight ahead!
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Relative Something 