Calorie Burning
We have tried to pay better attention to controlling how much food the horses get daily, ever since our last vet visit revealed they still need to lose more weight. It’s not as easy now as it is in the winter, when the only food they get is what we give them. Now there is more than enough grazing available, unless we lock them in the barn.
I’m not going to do that. It creates way too much mess for me to clean up. Early last week we had a cool day with wind and rain that set the herd to shivering. We put them inside overnight to dry off. Next day, since I was out of the routine of cleaning the stalls, I forgot all about it. Then I forgot the day after that. When I finally got around to it, the weather had warmed considerably and the humidity had climbed. It was nasty ripe inside the barn.
It gave me new appreciation for all the times I have had to do that chore in frozen winter temperatures. It’s much less stinky.
Back to controlling their food… our herd leader, Legacy, is rather persistent about asserting his authority over the others by way of moving them off their feed pan. If I put less out for him, he just finishes it quick and moves on to the next pan, forcing off anyone who happened to be there.
Since he seems to always get the most food, we’ve decided to balance that by getting him the most exercise in hopes of compensating. Sunday afternoon, Cyndie led Legacy to our arena space to do some longeing exercises. He is funny because it is quickly obvious that he knows the drill, and even seems to light up and enjoy proudly prancing around, but after barely finishing one circle he stops and turns toward Cyndie as if to say, “I’m done! That was great. How’d I do? Where’s my treat?”
In fairness to both of them, he and Cyndie are out of practice and it was distractingly windy. Also, the surface was wet and thus a bit slippery. She restarted him a few times, but eventually cut the session short, for his sake and hers.
Yesterday, I was walking Delilah and when we popped out of the woods, we found three of the horses on the ground, napping. It took them a bit to become aware of us, and after they did, the two chestnuts decided to get up. Our exercise-needing herd leader did not. He decided to stay on the ground.
He doesn’t seem very fired up about burning any extra calories.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Positive Identification
At the risk of belaboring this subject of my ongoing struggles with poison ivy —a topic which I would really prefer people not automatically associate me with [so why am I writing about it?]— I made some progress yesterday on learning to better identify it on our property.
I have been writing about it in my online community, Brainstorms, and one of the responses I received there bolstered my confidence that I would figure out how to positively recognize it. Armed with a fresh review of images available online for reference, I enlisted Cyndie to join me as a second set of eyes and opinions and we set out on a reconnaissance mission along our northern property line where I suspect my most recent exposure occurred.
After several cases of “See, this has the features, and also these, but not quite,” BOOM! We came upon an unsettling amount of easily recognizable 3-leaflet clusters where the back two leaves have a single notch that gives them a mitten-like appearance. The leaves were a little shinier than other plants, and the newest sprouts had a red coloring. It suddenly seemed very obvious to me.
It was a weird feeling to still have a significant rash in the process of healing, and be finally staring from a short distance away, directly at the plant that causes it. I had to resist the urge to just reach down and pull it out by the roots. All I could do was stare. I didn’t even want my boot to touch it. Heck, I didn’t even want to breathe if the wind blew past.
The longer we walked, the more plants I located. I think I liked it better when I remained oblivious.
My discussion on Brainstorms brought up the point that if I don’t take any action against the plants, they will just spread. That got my attention. I’ve been operating as though my efforts to ignore it might somehow make it go away.
See why I don’t want to be remembered for this?
Anyway, since I prefer to avoid the extreme option of attacking it with a harsh chemical herbicide like Roundup, I looked up natural ways to kill the poison ivy plant.
Number one option: goats.
Hmmm. But how do I get them to eat around the desirable plants? Actually, although Cyndie said she thought poison ivy was on a list of things a horse shouldn’t eat, I found information that horses can graze on it. That would be nice. I don’t think I will walk them around encouraging them to eat the plants growing along our trails, but I think some is growing out in the fields we have designated as pasture for them, and I’d rather not have to worry about it being there.
There are also options of potions containing white vinegar, mixtures of salt and soap, and even one that uses gin and apple cider vinegar that can be sprayed on the leaves. That doesn’t seem too harsh, although I don’t know that it won’t also kill other growing things in the same vicinity. I’d prefer that it not end up looking like we just poured Roundup on it.
Regardless what method we employ, it requires that I be able to identify the culprit, and I am now finally feeling confident I can pick it out among the myriad other innocuous and desirable flora carpeting our glorious acres. It’s been a rude awakening.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Quintessential Spring
The winter snowmelt was pretty easy to deal with this year, almost to the point of leaving things too dry for a short time. Then we got a few bouts of spring rain and our ground moisture began to show signs of life. Now we are in the classic battle of grass growing so fast that it is hard to keep up with the mowing, and occasional rain storms that hit on the days when it would have been nice to mow before the grass gets too long.
The horses are doing their part to keep things mowed (when we give them time on the grass) munching down the area we have fenced off for an arena.
Since we don’t do any jumping with our herd, we may end up leaving the area in its uneven, sloping natural state. We’ll see how it works for our purposes, once Cyndie actually starts holding some seminars.
The spot we picked for that arena is within the field we have designated for hay, and the narrow lanes that resulted beside it in that corner and along the drainage swale are now isolated from what will be cut and baled. We decided we may as well make it accessible for the horses to “mow.” I just need to put up a short length of fence to contain the horses in that alleyway and keep them from venturing out into the main hay-field.
When I finished mowing the grass yesterday, I spotted the horses already out in part of that space. Cyndie had put up a rudimentary barrier and given them access to one side. I still need to get a more secure version of a temporary fence there, though, as they will certainly challenge it in time, especially as the grass continues to grow more enticing out in the greater field.
In another classic sign of spring, I got a call from my hay supplier on Friday, checking in on how many bales we’d be interested in this year. He sounded a little crestfallen when I told him the much smaller number of bales we felt we would need. Between not wanting to be short and then getting higher yield than we expected from our own field last year, we got ourselves overstocked.
Other spring milestones include my being startled by the first garter snake of the year and the number of rabbits and raccoons visible romping again. Obviously, Delilah can’t find every rabbit’s nest when she is confined to being leashed the majority of time.
The temperatures have been bouncing classically between warm and cool, appropriately mixing at times to create thunderstorms, but so far, this year we are enjoying a perfect spring climate with few unsettling extremes. It is a nice change from the previous two years.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Flower Blossoms
Our crab apple tree is fuzzy with flowers today, and the giant allium beneath it is making its way to spectacular. The changes at this time of year are noticeable almost by the hour. A little rain, followed by warm sunshine, and growth practically explodes in every direction.
At the same time, I am discovering that we have a few late-blooming trees, maples, I believe, that look dead next to others that have already leafed out completely. This is our third spring here, and I am becoming aware of more and more about our property that escaped my attention the first two years, due to my being overwhelmed by it all. Does that imply I am becoming dulled to some of the glories of this place? That would be sad.
No, I don’t think that is the case, although there are certain aspects of managing 20-acres that tend to take less mental space when you gain the experience of a couple years. Even though I’ve seen trees die every year, I’ve seen so many more sprout, some of them at a surprising rate of growth. I am less inclined to fret over individual incidents now that I have gained the perspective of a few cycles of the growing seasons.
Even the snapping branches during previous storms, which caused me significant trauma to witness at the time, has been revealed to me to be a common and often recoverable situation. I have come across trees in our woods that look to have been severely damaged years ago, but which have simply sprouted new growth off the fractured limb and although funky looking, are functioning as much like a normal tree as all the other damage-free trees around them.
Our late-blooming maple trees are sporting buds now and will catch up in a blink. I don’t have to worry about them, which allows me to better absorb the beauty and wonder of all the blossoms decorating or fields and forest this year.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Forward
.
.
we move forward because
regardless how drowsy
it has to be done
I know someone
who writes it all down
composes as she goes
in a way that has life
that is life
the way it should be told
and it stops me
in my tracks
as I realize
despite all the here and now
I know from before
and of what will soon be
it’s deep down in my cells
existentially
but I busy myself
clouding their sense
helping them to be distracted
with their processed cravings
for sugars and complex carbs
and we burden each other
with our petty demands
in a side plot
of the great big grand scheme
my cells and me
dancing forward
clumsily
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Poisoned Again
I’ve gone and done it again. I got a new poison ivy rash on my arms just as a previous outbreak was reaching the end of its healing process. You’d think I would know better, but my vigilance tends to be inexplicably cursory. Why is that? I have no idea. I wear a seatbelt when in a car and a helmet when I ride my bike. Why would I behave so cavalierly when it comes to this poison that grows all over our property and to which I am so sensitive?
For one thing, every time I research what the plant looks like, I get so many variations of leaves of 3, all looking frustratingly common and innocuous, that I gain little to no confidence that I could know it when I see it. I suppose I could try behaving as if every growing thing around here were hazardous.
Actually, I probably just give up too easily. After looking at pictures for a couple of hours last night, I believe I may now be able to recognize enough key features that I can identify it when I see it. Seeing it becomes the challenge. Honestly, there are so many things growing all over the place here that it tends to boggle my mind.
Speaking of my boggled mind, I have no idea how I have been able to avoid getting a rash after the number of times using the power trimmer when I have been sprayed head to toe with wet green shrapnel of the growing things being mowed to the ground. It makes no sense that I have somehow been lucky enough to not have trimmed places where poison ivy was present. It is pure hubris that I have forged ahead carelessly with this and gotten away with it.
Last Saturday, in a rush to try to finish clearing brush from the last section of our northern property line, I scrambled to cut and clear a wide variety of unidentified growth, both on the ground and as small vines and trees. With arms bare and wearing a t-shirt, I dragged through the undergrowth to cut and pull anything that stuck up. I grabbed piles of brush and branches in my arms and hauled them a short walk away to toss on a pile. It was hot, I was sweaty, and I worked hastily in a rush to finish before showering for a visit to the Walker’s bonfire gathering.
A day and a half later, I knew the rash on my arms was going to be bad. It was so head-slapping-D’oh obvious, it was embarrassing. Of course I put myself at risk with that thoughtless behavior. And I was just getting over a rash, probably from the same dang project when I started it a couple weeks before.
I’ve been treating the rash with my favorite method of super hot water, as hot as I can stand, on areas of rash to release histamine from the cells. It feels great at the time, and then calms itching for hours. In the past, doctors have treated me with the steroid, prednisone, which works really well, but I hate the side effects I experience. To avoid that, I have been taking an antihistamine, per one doctor’s suggestion, which seems to dry up the worst areas which would otherwise be oozing. Other than that, it’s simply a matter of enduring the 1-2 weeks it takes my skin to heal.
Ultimately, avoidance is the best way to deal with being sensitive to poison plants, so I intend to up my game of knowing what my nemesis looks like, and take prudent precautions when it is likely that my activity will put me at risk.
Obviously, simply trying to avoid hugging Delilah has not been a sufficient plan for keeping my skin from being poisoned again.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Still Hoping
I wrote earlier about being on my third attempt to successfully transplant a young maple sapling to the center of our labyrinth. Each time, we have tried something a bit different from the time before, hoping to eliminate issues that contributed to those failures. This time, our method was to dig out as big a root ball as possible and transfer as much intact soil as we could, and to do so before the tree had leafed out.
We were a few days later than I had wanted, as the buds were just starting to open, but it was still better timing than the previous two attempts we had made. I was greatly relieved to see the buds continue to open and full leaves unfold about a week after we moved it.
I’m a bit like a nervous parent now, checking on it every chance I get, as if peeking in to see if our little baby is safe and sound while she naps. I thought the leaves looked a little droopy yesterday afternoon, but looking around at all the other trees of that size, plenty of them have that same look. I wondered if it might be a result of the shift back to colder temperatures.
There were frost warnings posted last night for central Wisconsin. No wonder the leaves are experiencing a little shrinkage!
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Not Again!
When it comes to birds, I don’t know why I thought I might get away with doing nothing about keeping them away, after destroying the first nest I found in the gutter downspout on the barn a week or two ago. I’m noticing a theme the last two days, having to do with my neglect to take timely action.
Washouts!
Regarding the gutter downspout, I actually talked about putting some kind of screen at the opening to the downspout, but just talking about doing it didn’t turn out to be very effective prevention.
I don’t think it rained very hard overnight Sunday, but there was plenty of evidence yesterday morning that the downspout was plugged, because the water overflowed out of the gutter and created washouts in the lime screenings on the ground in the paddock.
We received less than a half-inch of rain in the gauge up by the house, but that was enough water coming off the barn roof to make a significant impact. This is the whole reason why I wanted a drain tube attached to the downspout and buried underground down to the drainage swale outside the paddock.
A downspout nest.
With more rain likely this week, I dared not hesitate another day before doing something about this, so out came the ladder and off went the electric fence, and up in the air I did go to pull screws and dismantle the downspout. I’m proud to report that I thought to bang on the downspout before climbing up the ladder, which chased out the bird that would’ve startled me into a calamitous fall, had I not.
Immediately below the gutter there is an elbow, and then a short, straight section before another elbow. The bird had packed that straight section completely. I assume the little trouble maker must know to get out of there during the rain or it would drown for sure. The water would have filled that first elbow before backing up and overflowing the gutter.
I found some bird netting that Cyndie had used for covering her garden back in Eden Prairie and cut off enough to cover both ends of that first elbow. I will have to keep an eye out for the bird, because I have no idea if this will work or not. I suppose it could decide to just put the nest on top of the elbow at the drain cutout in the gutter, using the netting as a nice starting base.
I know better than to think they won’t try again because the sliding doors on the other end of the barn have a new nest on top of them every day. It doesn’t cause any damage, so I can forget about it for a few days if we don’t open those doors. When we finally do, it generally results in, sadly, the falling of eggs.
At least I never need to fret over cleaning up the messes that result with Delilah around. When she has eggs for breakfast, she eats the shells and all.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Quick Fix
I paid for my neglect.
Cyndie pointed out something yesterday in our back pasture as we were strolling the grounds toward the labyrinth, after visiting the horses with her parents and our kids. We had just enjoyed a scrumptious Mother’s Day brunch at our house before heading out into the cool, blustery wind. Rain had been predicted, but the pending arrival was moved to much later in the day.
It’s a good thing that most of the day was dry, because it gave me a chance to remedy a situation that occurred because my failure to follow through on a plan. When the drain tile was installed last fall, it was left up to me to place grids over the trenches in high traffic areas. I didn’t do anything about it in the days after the contractor had finished his work, and then winter arrived and it all became buried in snow and ice.
Honestly, I just haven’t been concerned enough about it this spring to take any action yet. Then Cyndie alerted me to how the recent heavy downpour of rain had washed away stones at the end of the line that runs into the pasture. That left some of the tubing exposed, which revealed areas where the weight of the horses had pushed through the wet ground deep enough to collapse the tube in several spots.
Luckily, the damage occurred at the end of the line where it just runs out into the pasture, and the installer had run the tubing far enough out that I could shorten it without putting the areas I was trying to protect at risk. As soon as visiting family departed, I set about installing the fix that was always meant to be in place.
I pulled up the portion of drain tube that had collapsed and then cut it off to make a new end. We had some of the plastic landscape grids available that were left from previous projects, so I just needed to do a bit of digging to seat the grids level with the ground surface, and then backfill them with stones and dirt to keep them in place.
.
.
.
It was quick enough work to make me regret that I hadn’t been more disciplined about just getting it done before any damage occurred. The silver lining is that I now have a chance to protect the other high traffic areas before horses will be stomping around the vicinity.
The other spots aren’t as high-risk as this one in the field was. The area where the damage occurred is where the line drains to the surface, so the tubing was getting closer and closer to ground level. Nonetheless, I will be upset with myself it I don’t install the grids in the other locations before something happens again.
Wouldn’t it be nice if I found out the grids were on sale?
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Early Attention
It may not be 4 a.m., but it always feels like it when Pequenita, our cat, decides she has had enough with our being asleep and tromps on us before daylight is visible, kneading and purring, as if being cute and sweet will offset the annoyance of unwanted attention at such an early hour.
She puts her face in mine and tries a few head butts to make sure I know she’s there, but I practice the art of remaining comatose to convey to her that my sleep is not to be interrupted. It is the kneading with those front claws that I am forced to react to if the covers don’t sufficiently cover my sensitive skin.
Some mornings she decides to settle back down and join me in continued slumber, unbeknownst to me since I was practicing being comatose, and I will suddenly fling her off the bed unintentionally when moments later I realize my bladder can’t wait until sunrise for relief.
I am surprised by the amount of abuse she tolerates from me, continuing to lay and sleep at my feet as I jostle her rudely while moving my legs in search of a position my body will accept as sleep-worthy at the beginning of the night. Maybe it is because she knows she will have her vengeance in the wee hours of the following morning.
It is not entirely unlike the relationship of a mother and her child, though it was not my original intention to write all that as a segue to get to acknowledgement of all mothers and their loving sacrifices on this Mother’s Day in the US. Yet, even the title I chose for today’s post, before starting the first paragraph, could be interpreted as an homage to that which all mothers give.
Our kids are grown and gone, but with our dog and cat, we have accomplished a way to feel as though we are still parenting infants, just ones that never grow up.
Happy Mother’s Day all you moms!
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
