Lots Happening
A lot of things are happening all at once for Cyndie and me this week. Yesterday, Cyndie got her first COVID vaccine shot. I have an appointment for tomorrow. Cyndie said she was so happy to be receiving the shot, her greetings were overly loud and friendly to the staff, despite her conscious attempts to calm down. As she tells it, one of her replies to a query came out sounding like Tony the Tiger.
“Grrrreat!”
It may have simply been her unbridled glee, but she said it was the most painless shot she has ever received.
I was a little distracted yesterday with thoughts of my annual week of biking and camping with the Tour of Minnesota bike tour. After a one-year hiatus due to the pandemic, this year’s ride is going to happen and registration opened yesterday. It will be a compelling reason to get me back on the bike again this spring.
I let the entire riding season pass last year without bringing either of my bikes down off their hooks in the shop. I don’t want to go another year without riding. I might forget how.
Of course, I’m writing all that to try to imply I’m not totally thinking about new horses we are hoping will come to spend the summer on our fields. Yesterday, Cyndie spoke with our renter and settled the issue of our fields no longer being available for cutting hay this year. That removed one last concern we had about potential conflicts to this actually happening.
When I received a text yesterday from Cyndie with an image of what she bought from the feed store during an errand to pick up some chicken food, I knew the horses were even more of a sure thing. Somehow, horse treats and mineral blocks made their way into the back of Cyndie’s car along with the sack of chicken kibble.
Founded in 2012, This Old Horse is a private, volunteer-based 501(c)3 nonprofit organization whose mission is to support and serve horses while they continue to serve as ambassadors to the positive effect of “horse power” in the lives of people.
We received a wonderful introduction to the planned horses from our new partner, This Old Horse.
Photos provided by This Old Horse
Four retired Thoroughbred mares who did some racing early in life and then went on to be broodmares. My intuition tells me they will be a perfect fit for our place. That has me thoroughly (pun intended) energized to bring this plan to fruition.
Somehow, I’ll get around to thinking about biking, too, but I bet while I’m biking I will be thinking about these horses.
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In Motion
In a matter of just a few days, a decision to take the next step toward inquiring on the possibility of offering our fields to a horse rescue organization set in motion a series of steps that has us surprisingly close to having horses back on our Wintervale pastures much sooner than we imagined possible. They are very interested in adding us to their existing locations providing summer grazing space for their rescues.
It is happening so fast that Cyndie and I are finding ourselves dizzied over the mixture of glee and cautiousness washing over us all at once. We are thrilled over the vision of horses grazing our land again, but we need to get ahold of our renter and alert him of the loss of access to our fields for his hay. There are gates to reinstall and the automatic waterer needs to be turned back on and checked out. The electric fence hasn’t been turned on in a couple of years and will need some maintenance to restore proper operation.
I know what I will be working on this weekend.
We have already been given a preview of four Thoroughbreds that are being considered for transfer to our place. They are all mares that range in age from 15 to 26. Interestingly, they all have a hint of familiarity with the four Arabians that were our first Wintervale herd that came to us in the fall of 2013.
I’m obviously holding back on announcing this as official and providing a proper full introduction, but it’s such powerful news that I couldn’t stop myself from sharing at least this sneak preview rumor.
Now you will have read it on the internet, so it must be true.
I’ll share more detail as the situation develops. Probably tomorrow. How will I be able to write about anything else while this excitement is unfolding right before our eyes?
Where did I leave my compost-turning pitchfork?
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Another Heart
I believe my latest heart sculpture from a section of one of our pine trees has reached completion, at least as far as I’m feeling moved to take it.
The wood color has a lot of grey to it. More than I expected. The top view shows the star pattern radiating from the center.
There is another view of that center down toward the point at the opposite end of the heart.
I intentionally aimed to avoid having the exact tip be aligned with the center, partially hoping it might reveal a more interesting wood grain. The result did not “wow” me as much as I hoped it could.
One primary feature of the sculpture that the photo is not able to adequately convey is the tactile pleasure of feeling the hefty weight and glossy smoothness of the contoured shape. In the case of this piece made of pine, that feature is more rewarding than the visual of the colors, grain patterns, and knots.
The end result of having created this heart out of pine is that I now have a strong desire to return to a chunk of ash wood for my next sculpting project.
Also, I was very interested in working on a piece where I finish the whole thing without leaving a portion natural. Having done that, I find I have a strong urge to consider a return to my old ways. That is something I can decide when I settle on the piece of wood and a potential shape that will become the result of my next inspiration.
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Wood Pavers
Over the weekend I processed the latest accumulation of pallets that I salvaged from work this winter, removing the blocks from the top for use as pavers on a stretch of trail prone to being muddy.
It frustrates me that the company that sends their equipment mounted to these pallets doesn’t want them back. The least I can do is find additional uses for them. I’ve already built an entire chicken coop out of dismantled pallets. My other common use has been to place them on the ground in the hay shed to allow airflow beneath stacked bales.
Unfortunately, we haven’t been stacking bales for a couple of years now. That doesn’t mean we won’t be doing that again in the future, should we have another chance to have horses on the property, so I need to keep some percentage in reserve.
I plan to offer up any growing surplus to the surrounding neighborhood. What farmer couldn’t use more pallets when they are free for the taking?
Most of the boardwalk that we already created out of the blocks is three-wide. I’ve decided to change things up now to cover more distance by placing them single-wide. We basically walk down the middle anyway, and the 4-wheeler is wide enough to straddle the boards so driving the trail won’t dislodge them.
I have to drive timidly over the existing portion of the “boardwalk” to limit the disruption.
Originally, I imagined the blocks would push down into the mud to become “grouted” in position, but that has only barely started to occur. Now I’m just waiting for decaying leaves to fill the seams between them. Hopefully, the wood won’t all rot before the blocks finally become more firmly seated in place.
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Chilling
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but you had beef jerky in your pocket
and I didn’t know that
six strange ways we wasted one chance
late that night
in the forested swamp
it wasn’t even cold
nothing like the bitter biting icy burn
we faced up north every January
where ice fractures when it freezes too hard
it was damp
creating a different chill
one that pulls out warmth
more than it pushes in cold
and ideas start to vanish
common sense vaporizes
as it certainly did
late that night
or we would have probably lived
to tell about it
and why this had anything to do
with the cupola on the roof of that barn
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Yard Pests
As the saying goes, “this is why we can’t have nice things.” Sure I’d like to have a smooth green carpet of inviting lawn grass to run my toes through as I frolic in the yard with our dog or play croquet and bocce ball, but no, I don’t want to exterminate a throng of burrowing pest to achieve it.
We pick our battles and this is one I don’t want to fight, so we live with the ongoing dirt mounds and raised tunnels of destruction scattered widely across all of our mowed areas.
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With so much real estate available for the critters to thrive, we willed the marauders to move on to open fields by stomping their tunnels and mounds in our yard last year, but as the snow receded and the topsoil begins to thaw, the evidence appears as if their numbers have tripled.
They aren’t getting the message.
The wind is blowing warm air our way today and bringing with it fire warnings because the ground is very dry this spring. Almost all of the snow has melted and we don’t have any muddy areas along our trails. The drainage ditches had water flowing in them only two times this year. It is surprisingly uncharacteristic compared to the previous 8 spring seasons we’ve lived here.
If we observe the yard at a distance, it looks just fine. There remains one dwindling pile of snow near the front door, but that’s about it. Today is officially the first day of spring.
Warm sunshine will beckon for us to romp in the yard and toss the old horse toys for Delilah to chase.
The season of mowing draws nigh, but we are going to need some rain or I’ll be able to trim the lawn with a pair of scissors.
Although, that might just be enough to drive the yard pests back toward the open fields. Either way, it seems we don’t get to have nice lawns.
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Depth Perception
Whether it’s a movie or a particular song, or sometimes a tragedy reported on the news, messages with impact can hit us in the gut. I watched a program last night that touched a personal nerve in its depiction of a powerful memory I have about my experience of depression. It involves the illogical behavior of pushing someone away when what you actually want is just the opposite.
I would shun connection when all I wanted was to be connected. It’s dysfunctional, to say the least.
The healthy alternative to that involves reaching an authenticity that brings behavior and desires into renewed alignment. Say what you mean, mean what you say, then act that way.
It is a function of becoming perceptive to the full depth of what we are truly feeling. Learning to be entirely honest with ourselves and observant enough to direct our thoughts toward a healthy interpretation of reality.
There is also a valuable component of becoming aware to avoid fabricating perceptions that lack any evidence of truth. Don’t make shit up.
I am happy to proclaim the incalculable reward of profound joy and blessed peace of mind available to a person who learns how to treat their depression and do away with dysfunctional thinking. I owe a debt of gratitude to the medical community that contributed to my recovery over two decades ago.
Yesterday, Cyndie discovered the depth of our chickens’ disdain for carrots after tossing them some mixed vegetable leftovers.
A little while later there wasn’t a single scrap of anything other than carrots remaining. I suppose the overnight scrounging critters will be happy to clean up after them.
We’ve noticed that the processed chicken feed we put out gets passed over by pretty much all the wild birds along with our chickens in favor of anything else we make available. The chickens LOVE the cracked corn and mealworm snacks, so there is never any of that left lying around, but leftover or spilled chicken feed even gets passed over by the overnight scavengers like raccoons, stray cats, possums, and a fox that have shown up on the trail cam.
I had no idea they would have such a discerning palate.
I should give them more credit for the depth of their perceptions.
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Speed Perception
Did the year 2020 feel like it took a long time to transpire? Does it seem surprising that we are past the middle of March already? We all know that time passes slowly or quickly depending on how we consider it, despite the fact it ticks off at the same rate no matter what. It’s our perception that changes.
On my commutes, I find myself surprised by how easy it is to spot a car ahead that is traveling significantly slower than the rest of the traffic. It comes in handy for making lane changes well in advance of needing so to do. Spotting vehicles in my mirrors that are traveling much faster than I am usually provides a lot less time to react.
It is common knowledge that water takes longer to boil if you watch and wait for it to happen.
How fast is the impact of rising greenhouse gases on the earth’s climate? It is occurring right in front of our eyes. We are living it. The thing is, I remember hearing about this threat decades ago from explorer Will Steger‘s first-hand eyewitness accounts of changes in both polar regions of our planet. We know the ice is melting. We know weather events keep getting more intense.
Will climate change take longer to happen because we are watching it? I wish.
Yesterday, I had a meal inside a restaurant for the first time in a year. That was a long time in coming. So long that it exceeded my ability to perceive whether it felt like a long time, or not. It just felt strange.
Let’s hope we are racing at breakneck speed toward a post-pandemic world that includes less poverty, more equality, zero emissions, greater social justice, the end of food insecurities/homelessness/violence/hatred, and reaches record levels of love beaming throughout the world.
That’s something I’d really like to see coming up in my rearview mirror faster than I expected.
I wouldn’t need to get out of the way.
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Irish Maybe
Growing up, I had no clue about my family’s ethnic origins. I’m pretty sure my father responded with “American” when I brought up the question. Today, since it’s St. Patrick’s Day, everybody is a little bit Irish, aren’t they? I’ve never really identified with the occasion, but I probably should.
Even after my many sporadic plunges into my family ancestry, I’m still not convinced about the ultimate origin of the “Hays” name. When a second cousin enlisted the help of professionals, they pointed to a pretty focused area of the counties of southern Ireland, yet the result from my DNA hint at the surrounding region excluding Ireland.
At this point, I’m more inclined to cling to what I know and claim my obvious Canadian heritage.
Cyndie occasionally shares a wonderful recollection of her earliest query about her family ethnicity. The simplified version from so many kids where it gets described as half of one nationality and half of another led her to ask her father, by way of a written note slipped under the bathroom door, “What am I half of?”
She was shocked when the answer came back, “Half-wit.”
I am half my mom and half my dad; a quarter of each of my grandparents. Sometimes I feel a little like a half-wit.
On March 17th, I’m possibly a little Irish.
Don’t tell my DNA.
Happy St. Patrick’s Day!
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Snow Returns
It is March, after all. We expect it to snow after the weather has been warm and gorgeous for days. It is one of the foundations of the prevailing expectation that “the other shoe will drop” when things are beginning to go too good in the weather department around these parts. Mother Nature wouldn’t want to let us off too easily with a quick and painless slide directly into spring, don’t ya know.
I watched the weather radar most of the day from the workplace and it looked like Beldenville was getting just as much snow as the sloppy mess that was covering my car by the time I was ready to leave. As soon as I got underway in the limited visibility due to heavy falling snowflakes, I phoned Cyndie to find out what was waiting for me on the other end of my commute.
She shocked me with a report of zero precipitation falling and just grey skies all day long. Well, that is, except for first thing in the morning.
Cyndie had sent me that image earlier in the day. “Red sky in the morning, Sailor take warning…”
For all the radar signals I’d seen over our area most of the day, none of the precipitation was reaching the ground. I hardly believed her, especially given the intensity of the blizzard I was driving through at the time. Then I reached the halfway point of my commute and the falling snow abruptly stopped.
The road was dry. The rest of my drive was clear sailing. I drove right past our place to arrive on time at my dentist’s office for a regular 6-month appointment, stopping just as little white flakes started to fall there. The precipitation finally was reaching the ground.
By the time I made it home, the snow was just beginning to cover the ground, although, it was already drifting off the roof.
As darkness fell and Cyndie trudged out to close the chicken coop, she wondered if it would be necessary to clear them a path from the barn overhang to the coop.
Nope. They took it upon themselves to muster the gumption for a mad dash bee-line route through the white stuff for the shortest distance between two points.
So much for Rocky’s usual prissy refusal to walk on snow unless momma shovels a path for him. I knew he didn’t have some medical condition that prevented his feet from being able to touch snow, but I think he had convinced Cyndie with his act.
Once all the birds were accounted for in the safe confines of the coop and all the eggs had been collected, Cyndie reported a record of ‘most-eggs-in-a-day’ for this brood: Eleven eggs from thirteen hens.
They’re not going to let a return to a little cold and snow slow them down.
Just in time, our new extra-large ice cube trays arrived yesterday for Cyndie to use for freezing eggs, sans shells. Convenient storage for future use in baking or cooking egg dishes when we no longer get a dozen eggs a day.
What can be said, except, “Eggcellent!”
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Relative Something 