All Here
Focusing on the concept of being “all here” is akin to the moment when uttering the phrase, “I’m all in.” To say you are “all here” reflects something of a simultaneous conscious and meditative state. It is a practice of experiencing a hyper-awareness of everything you feel within, in conjunction with the sights and sounds of the environment surrounding you.
It is an exercise of recognizing the energy radiating from your very core, realizing how far beyond your physical boundary it reaches, with attention to the external stimuli imbuing influence. In a moment, you can be aware of your breathing while sensing the involuntary flexing of your toes as a bird’s tentative song wafts through an open window.
Our horses are brilliant at helping me slide into a place of feeling “all here.” Silently standing among the herd in a mode of total relaxation, while also practicing the art of keen awareness to everything, provides a unique equine experience that most of our visitors miss out on, due to the natural tendency of people to be excitedly verbal.
Of course, I have the benefit of being alone with the horses. Experiencing the herd in this unique way can be achieved with a group of people, as long as there is coordinated attention of all present toward focus on the exercise.
Cyndie has a different opportunity to be “all here” with the horses when she is riding them. Here she is with Cayenne in a photo taken by Rachael Walker during a lesson earlier this month.
I feel richly blessed to be learning to practice this relaxed awareness the horses have shown me, even when away from them and involved with other activities. It is an exercise of aligning with my authentic self, breathing into being “all here.”
It generates a feeling of wholeness that feels divine, with echoes of the equine.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Two Hunters
It’s getting to be that time of year when critters prepare for the harsh realities of winter survival. With that, it becomes time for me to get back to a daily schedule of setting and checking mouse traps in the garage at the house, down at the shop, and in the barn. The varmints are making their way indoors, again.
Turns out, we happen to have two “Hunters.” One is our champion horse, and the other is the wee one who has turned into a great hunter of mice! Pequenita must be paying tribute to her former house-mate, Mozyr, whom we named for the anticipated/hoped-for trait of being a mouser to protect our domicile from rodent invasion. The past three nights she has been disrupting our sleep with robust acrobatic all-night maneuvering that has been accompanied by telltale squeaks from her prey.
It seems there might be a new breach in our house somewhere, of which mice are taking full advantage. Pequenita, the wee great hunter, has shown no mercy and dispatched two in her first two nights.
Well, I should say, we have found two. Cyndie cleaned long and hard in search of evidence of the third one, but nothing has turned up. It’s hard to say whether Delilah happily picked up where Pequenita left off, however.
While Cyndie was cleaning in our bedroom, she did suddenly report, “I found a half-eaten grasshopper!”
I can’t say that I ever expected to hear that phrase in the bedroom.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Gushing Review
I don’t normally tend to watch movies more than once, but while Cyndie was out of town, I opened up Cameron Crowe’s “Aloha” which came in the mail from our Netflix subscription, and let it run without her around. I realized immediately, it was something Cyndie should see, which gave me a chance to experience it twice in a week. I was looking forward to it.
I got to show it to her last night, and despite critical reviews that disparaged the movie as “meandering and insubstantial, …most sentimental and least compelling,” we both found “Aloha” to be gush-worthy. I liked the mix of humor with drama and romance. It never dragged for me, and the actors (wonderfully cast, despite the “white-washing” of using Emma Stone in the mixed-race role) played the characters well enough to keep me from ever thinking of them in any of their other noteworthy rolls of efforts past.
The aspect of the movie that I found most engaging was the significant use of non-verbal communication. I am most often inclined to feel a story read in a book tends to be a better experience than a movie, but in this case, reading about the facial expressions wouldn’t produce the results that seeing the situations play out on the actor’s faces does.
They moved me to tears with their performances, especially young Danielle Rose Russell, as Grace. The use of conveying messages by mere facial expressions occurred throughout the film, sometimes subtly, and other times overtly to the point of awkward. It was powerful stuff.
I can’t gush enough to express my level of joy for having been able to watch this wonderful result of the work from this cast and crew.
Bill Murray, as billionaire, Carson Welch, gets to deliver this wonderful morsel, which is used in the trailer above:
The future isn’t just something that happens
it’s a brutal force
with a great sense of humor
that’ll steamroll ya
if you’re not watching
“Aloha” is a treat that I sure hope others who feel tempted will find a way to devour.
But I’m gushing. Stop me.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Greener Grass
There was a depression in the ground where the soil had settled along the area where, 2-years ago, we had a water line buried in a trench deep enough to get below the frost line. Since we have a never-ending supply of composting manure, I have often taken to using it as fill around the property, so it was only natural that I did so in that spot to level the ground just above the larger paddock.
Then I planted some grass seed.
Take a look at how green the grass is in the area I filled.
Next test will be to spread manure in the area of older grass to see if it responds similarly. It certainly has inspired me to look into spreading some in our hay-field. It’s why we are composting it, after all!
For now, it has just been a lot simpler to use it as fill. To spread it on the big field will require my borrowing a manure spreader from George and filling it with the loader bucket on my tractor. It’s not an impossible feat, but it does take things to another level.
Small loads by pitch fork in the ATV trailer just happens to be easier to pull off in a moments notice.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
She’s Home!
My fellow blog readers, the week-long nightmare of my whining about Cyndie being gone is over. May life return to the usual chaos that masquerades as normal around here. May Delilah go back to having two people from whom she can constantly demand attention.
There were a couple of moments last week when I began to question whether I truly have what it takes to be a responsible dog owner and caretaker. Delilah pushes me to my limits, and I haven’t put in the effort required to command the obedience from her that would allow me to relax and enjoy her company.
I am really happy to have Cyndie back to resume her role as primary dog handler. I’m a little sheepish about all the burrs that were waiting to greet Momma on her return, but in my defense, I had them all brushed out earlier in the day, yesterday.
There is a confused racoon that I have to thank for the burrs. At least now I know what Delilah was so obsessed with when I took her outside Sunday night for a failed attempt at one last pee before confining her to her Crate-bed-den for the evening.
She went nuts the second we got out the door and pulled like her life depended on it to go after something that was completely invisible to me, given the short distance my head lamp projected.
Delilah was so freaky about this that it scared me a little bit. I didn’t know what was going on. In the morning on Monday, we headed out for the sunrise walk around the property and had only taken a few steps when Delilah cornered a surprised racoon behind our backup generator.
At the sound of all the snarling and growling, I gave her leash a yank and that was all the racoon needed to sprint for the nearest tree. The weeds at the base of that tree are where Delilah picked up her first batch of burrs before I could convince her she was at a stalemate with the critter and resume a walk with me.
Fast forward to late afternoon, after I finished a battery of property management tasks during which I had let Delilah nap in her kennel outside, I headed over with tennis balls to fling so she could get a little exercise before going inside for dinner. During exercise time, I usually get away with letting her run off-leash, because she is so fixated on the toys we throw that she stays engaged.
Not this time. She completely ignored the second ball I threw and ran past it in a sprint with a mission. In a blink, she was gone. It made no sense. I circled the house, calling and whistling, wondering where on earth she went with such intense purpose. Then I heard her bark. That is not usual behavior when she runs away on us. Next, I spotted the horses running away in the pasture.
Was she chasing our horses? What’s gotten into her, I wondered. I arrived to find the answer. It was that dang racoon, again. Twice in one day, during daylight hours? I’m concerned that something might not be right with that critter. Especially that it would hang around when it is obvious there is a threatening dog that lives here.
They ended up with another stalemate when the racoon made it up a tree again.
Cyndie kept Delilah on a short leash for her evening walk last night, and experienced no further excitement, so maybe the racoon got the message that it should seek refuge somewhere else.
Today, I return to my routine at the day-job, and get to do so without fretting about how Delilah is doing at home all alone while I’m gone. It’s so nice to have Cyndie back.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
More Mowing
Does it look like the labyrinth was in need of being mowed?
I can assure you, it definitely needed it. I worked long and hard to conquer the task, but remained cool and comfortable the whole time in the September sunshine.
I looked up at the world around me when I finished and discovered that the leaves of some of our trees had changed color in just the span of the day.
I expect it will take a couple of frosty nights to finally get the grass to take a break for the season, but trees have begun their shutdown. The autumnal equinox is just days away.
I’m lovin’ it.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Gorgeous Here
It is absolutely gorgeous here right now. Among the reasons we chose September for our wedding, the biggest one for me is, it is my favorite time of year. The humid heat of summer is breaking, and the air is crisp, with cool nights and warm days. When the sky is clear, the blueness is exquisite and it’s no longer so necessary to avoid the toasty sunshine. In fact, it practically begs a person to pause and soak it all in.
The challenge is, there is barely a moment for pause. The daylight grows short and preparation for winter weather requires new projects be added to the list of others already underway or planned. This year, I am feeling as though the growing grass didn’t get the memo about the arrival of September.
It is hard to get ready for winter when summer won’t back off and make room for fall.
I spent most of the afternoon mowing lawn yesterday, after filling that dang right front tire on the tractor with a green slime leak sealant.
Today I face the need to work the power trimmer to knock down the robust growth along edges and fence lines. It’s a chore that resonates of mid-summer responsibilities, with one improvement:
That crisp and gorgeous September air doesn’t cause it to be such a sweaty, sticky job.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Really Me
I watched a movie last night about a person who went undercover, and the discomfort it created for me led me to realize how much I prefer being authentic. You can ask me a question about my life and I won’t have to make up an answer, I can tell you what really happened. Or at least, the version of what happened that my mind conjured up for storage in my memories. I fully admit to the fallibility of my perceptions.
If you were to ask me what happened in my life 34 years ago today however, I would have no problem recalling the beautiful blue sky and warm sunshine that broke a chain of much less lovely weather during the week prior. 
I remember feeling a bit disoriented by all that was going on around me, because much of it was all about me. It was also all about Cyndie, as that is the day we were married in the Noerenberg Garden park on the shore of Lake Minnetonka, in Wayzata, MN.
For too many of the ensuing years, I have been the target of much grief and good-natured ridicule from my wife for the time I sought clearance from her to go away for a weekend of mountain biking with friends, having not put two and two together to determine it would mean I would be gone over our anniversary. It was an innocent oversight, but not one a husband should ever make if he doesn’t want to hear about it over and over, for many years after.
If there is any matrimonial justice in the world, a wife who chose to schedule a week away with her friends on the far side of the country during her wedding anniversary weekend would be setting herself up for an equal number of years of grief from her husband, but I don’t think it works that way.
If you happen to read this today, my dear, Happy Anniversary!
Now, if someone asked me what happened 27 years ago today, I would also know exactly what happened in my life that day. Cyndie and I received the best anniversary present we could possibly imagine. Our son, Julian was born on our 7th anniversary. I like the fact that one of my favorite memories of that day, beyond seeing his face for the first time, involves our daughter, Elysa.
I had ventured from the hospital to pick her up and bring her to meet her brother. I bet Cyndie recalls who was taking care of her and what she was wearing, but those details, I didn’t retain. I remember that little 2-year-old girl in her car seat behind me, as I pulled up to a fast food drive-through menu to fill Cyndie’s one request. She needed a specific chicken sandwich from Arby’s that she couldn’t get from the hospital’s kitchen.
I had barely completed the sentence proclaiming my order for the sandwich to the faceless wall, when, without missing a beat, a tiny voice came from behind me… “And a coke!” Elysa knew what her mother would want.
Happy Birthday, Julian!
I’m so glad I don’t have to make any of this stuff up.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Adrift
.
.
it’s like a scene from a movie
happening in real time
sublimely
inside my tattered mind
and I can’t find the stairs
even though I look
there is nothing there
but a gap that exists, instead
in the space held by images
and I look away
somewhat desperate now
over a passing thought
of a memory gone
from that time and a place
disjoining my now
leaving it adrift
untethered from a reference
of familiarity
floating solely on an energy
that plays on a look
and lasts for mere seconds
an emotional burst
of unspoken words
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Making Prototypes
Despite the time squeeze of trying to be in two places at once, filling in for two different vacationing people, I found a way to occupy Delilah by taking her to the shop for a distraction while I tinkered on prototyping a design for grates that I can use for slow feeder boxes in the barn stalls.
She seemed to appreciate the chance to be out of the house with me, despite the confines of her leash. I decided that while Cyndie is away, I will only allow Delilah off leash if I am able to give her my undivided attention, like when I am throwing discs for her to make spectacular diving leaps toward, or flinging squeaky tennis balls great distances for her to sprint after.
Before Cyndie left for the coast, she picked up some fence panels from Tractor Supply for me to make my own grates. As nice as the ones are that I had a local welder make for the two full-size boxes I built, they were a bit pricey.
The first challenge I am facing is finding a way to add some weight to the grates. The custom welded ones are made of heavier rod and also have side plates that give it a desirable heft, so it lays firmly against the bale. The horses can pretty much ignore it and concentrate on nibbling the hay between the squares. The weight helps the grate to keep dropping as the hay is consumed.
The fence panel is made of lighter gauge wire and I fear without added weight it wouldn’t tend to fall as naturally, and the horses might become inclined to mess with it when it got hung up. They have a knack for eating down on one side at a time so that the grate can end up tilted dramatically.
One thing I am considering for the stalls is that there will be no sharing. It will be one horse only that will be grazing hay, so there won’t be mixed behavior. Whatever eating tendency each horse has will define how the slow feeder works in each case.
My first shot at adding something akin to the side plates on the welded grates, was to attach a section of an old T-post that I cut to length on the band saw. By snipping off a section of fence panel so there were end wires extending beyond the area that will cover the hay, I was able to bend them over to capture the post.
In terms of weight, I think it will work adequately for what I want it to do, but I didn’t end up with the exact dimensions I had in mind. Turns out the fence panel wasn’t welded to exacting specifications. The dimension between squares varies, so I will cut another one a whole square larger and take a second stab at a method of bending the sides around a section of post.
I want it to cover an area as wide as a bale, to make it easy to fill the box with full flakes and then drop on the grate and secure it. Speaking of easy, the horses will mainly be in the barn when it is below-zero, so I’m trying to design the box so it will be possible to fill it when wearing big mittens.
That is, in case we ever again experience any below-zero days, what with the planet simmering away at a record pace now days.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
