Big Unveil
If all goes as planned, today should be the unveiling of our new chimney crown after 4 days of curing. It was Monday when the guys hauled bucket after bucket of cement up three ladders to pour into the frame they constructed around the rocks of our chimney.
All week we have had the doors to the fireplace open along with the flue damper to allow warm air from the house to rise up in an assist toward fully curing the cement. The new crown has been covered with a tarp to keep off the rain showers we experienced yesterday.
I hope everything looks good up there when they peel back the tarp because I have no intention of climbing up to have a look for myself.
Since they have been very eager to share pictures they’ve taken of the old crown, I am expecting they will be equally happy to show off their completed handiwork.
Meanwhile, I was outstanding in my field with horses. I mean, out standing.
Cyndie and I walked out to spend some time with them in their space when we had no specific demands to ask of them. They saw us approaching but otherwise acted as if we weren’t there, which was just fine by us. We enjoyed observing them just being horses and not changing behavior because of our presence.
Ultimately, about the time we were turning around to head in, Light came up to each of us and put her head to our chests. We weren’t going to turn down a personal greeting.
Yesterday afternoon, it was time for a weigh-in. A special tape is used to determine a horse’s weight by the inches measured around its body. Our representative from This Old Horse, Johanne, did the measuring.
Our mares all have maintained a steady weight throughout the year.
The big unveil of the results…
- Swings (age 29) = 1225 lbs.
- Mia (24) = 1200 lbs.
- Light (21) = 1305 lbs.
- Mix (20) = 1275 lbs.
It’s sobering to see the actual numbers after standing among them and having one step up to you and put their head in your chest.
Sometimes, when I am cleaning up around them under the overhang and they try walking into the space I am occupying, I stand my ground to see how they will react. Knowing those giants wouldn’t even notice if they pushed me over makes it all the more precious when they have been kind enough to respect my presence and stop.
Now, it’s a whole nother thing if there are two horses moving together under there. In that case, I do need to get out of the way because the first one may not have an option of stopping if the horse behind them is forcing the advance.
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Falling
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it’s the way sunlight comes through the window
when no one is home to see it
like a song playing
when no one is bothering to listen
without waiting
your eyes close
catching up with your mind
that already went to sleep
recording layer upon layers
afterthoughts
under cover of darkness
dipping into all those sun rays
raising suspicions
stridently emphatic
snowflakes are falling everywhere
and no one is bothering
to listen
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Eagle Visit
It was a cold morning yesterday and if we had any pumpkins there would have been frost on them. We do have a lot of leaves, though.
The temperature dropped far enough below freezing that the surface of “Paddock Lake” developed a layer of ice.
Since I’ve been pondering our role in the ongoing rescue of our four thoroughbreds, I took a few pictures of them in the early sunlight as they were gobbling their mix of cracked oats and corn.
Swings with her fresh application of mud.
Mix’s nose.
Mia
Light
Eight hours later, we showed up for the afternoon feeding. I was out scooping manure, and Cyndie was inside, measuring portions into their buckets. Mia was halfway down the slope toward the waterer, munching hay from one of the nets hung on the fence. Suddenly, I noticed Mia had flipped around 180 degrees and was standing on alert, looking to the south.
I scanned the distance to see if I could find what was grabbing her attention. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, my eyes moved back toward Mia, and that’s when I spotted what she was reacting to. A very large bald eagle was standing about five feet in front of her on the shore of the now iceless Paddock Lake.
It’s odd that I hadn’t noticed it when I looked around the first time. The eagle’s bald head stood out with its bright whiteness, and it was so incredibly tall compared to all the little pigeons that are about to get their own zipcode due to a population explosion.
I couldn’t be certain how long it had been there, but because Mia had just noticed, I’m guessing it hadn’t been very long. I don’t even know if it had enough time to drink because, as Mia approached the eagle took off.
Luckily, I had gotten Cyndie’s attention quickly enough that she came out just in time to see the big bird’s departure.
A huge eagle landing in our paddock while we were milling around felt like a nice ‘hat tip’ of appreciation from the universe to let us know things are good here.
It also tells me I’m not the only one noticing that little puddle seems to be forming into more than just a puddle. I’m feeling all the more justified in granting that watering hole a real name.
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Rescued Forever
How long does it take to rescue an animal? I suggest that it takes forever. Once a horse is rescued, it is (hopefully) never not rescued after that.
Think of the hypothetical question: How long will you be a parent? Forever, of course. Kids don’t stop being your children when they turn into adults.
Every time we serve up the buckets of cracked grains in the morning and afternoon, I feel the sensation of rescuing these horses from a time in their past when they weren’t being given enough to eat.
In the three and a half years these horses have been living with us, we’ve witnessed a lot of changes in them. However, even after all that time, I don’t believe they have fully processed the neglect they suffered. They all still show disinterest in being hugged, although they now allow us to get face-to-face with them and occasionally accept some hand scratches.
Nurturing their horse spirit as often as possible is part of the forever rescue. I watched them strike poses of high alert when I showed up outside the back pasture fence line on the ATV pulling a trailer filled with broken blocks of the demolished old chimney crown.
I’ve seen them lay down to nap when I am roaring around on the 4-wheeler plowing snow so I don’t think that was what they were reacting to. It was more likely the trailer that was bothering them. Plus, I was lifting blocks and tossing them into the drainage ditch. That may have looked suspicious to them.
It’s good to see them run around and then move in for a better view. This is their environment, and they are policing it accordingly. If something potentially threatening is unfolding, they want to know as much about it as possible.
The good news is that they are able to settle down quickly and get back to lounging around like royalty once they determine the odd thing in the area is not a threat.
And isn’t lounging like royalty something every forever-rescued creature deserves to be able to do?
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Quality Hay
We received a delivery of new hay on Friday afternoon. Since we are caring for horses for the rescue organization “This Old Horse,” the hay was procured by one of their staff. I don’t believe we have ever received hay twice from the same source in the years we’ve had these horses.
Of the last two batches we’ve received, one was much better described as “straw,” and the other was primarily a hair-like grass blade of little substance. Each time, we believe it will be just fine, but the horses soon demonstrate whether they think it’s good hay or not.
Friday’s batch showed up in a hay wagon, not strapped to a flatbed trailer, and the farmer, Josh, radiated a feel-good energy that both Cyndie and I perceived. These were promising first impressions.
Johanne told us this was organic hay because the field where it was grown is leased from a farmer who operates under completely “organic” principles. Works for us.
We tossed and restacked 150 bales from the hay wagon to the shed, and I didn’t notice a single bale that looked odd. One thing Cyndie and I have learned over the years is that our impression of hay being “good” doesn’t amount to a hill of beans if the horses don’t like it. That would prove to be the ultimate test.
Once the wagon was empty, we swept up a full wheelbarrow of loose scraps that had fallen from bales. Cyndie then included a mix of those scraps along with the old hay in the nets she topped off when we served up the horses’ evening feed buckets.
When I checked on the horses later, I found them all feeding on the hay bags even though they hadn’t finished the grain in their buckets.
They must have smelled it and couldn’t resist. They obviously liked it!
I’ve written before about how much incidental grass grows in the packed gravel driveway where hay scraps fall in front of the hay shed. I couldn’t get grass to grow there if I tried, but doing nothing resulted in more turf than gravel.
That gave me an idea. In October, I added compost fill to the slope of our new lookout knoll to cover the barren, sandy edge of the slope and, ultimately, improve it to become a mowable grade.
We were planning to plant grass seeds on the improved slope in the spring, but why wait? Cyndie raked up as much of the leftover hay scraps as possible from the ground where the hay wagon had parked. Logically, much of the grass seed probably stayed behind to thicken the grass already growing there, but any fraction remaining is now moved to the lookout knoll.
We’ll still probably toss more seeds on the slope in the spring, but it feels like we are helping nature to work with us a little bit by covering the surface with hay scraps.
Especially since the horses are showing us that it’s good quality hay.
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Crown Replacement
The latest, and hopefully last, home improvement project of the fall is a replacement of the concrete crown on our chimney. The structure is 34 years old and was cracking and headed for increasingly problematic water penetration. On Friday, work began in earnest, beginning with the demolition of the old crown.
Just because it was starting to crack in places didn’t mean it was going to simply fall apart in Jason, the contractor’s hands, after a few blows from his heavy-duty hammer. The old masonry put up a fight that forced him to spend twice the time he expected the demo to take.
Watching his partner, Charlie, muscle the massive chunks down three ladders over and over again made my muscles ache in sympathy. Especially knowing he is going to need to muscle buckets of new cement up three ladders over and over again when they pour the new crown.
Luckily, he gets the weekend between each phase.
From a safe vantage point on the ground, I watched them work up there and several times felt my nerves wobble as they moved around in awkward positions with awkward loads or wielding power tools with dangly power cords.
As they cut into the point where stones end, and concrete began, the dust blew into the air, looking like smoke coming out the top.
When Jason finally arrived last Wednesday, several weeks after it was hinted they could fit us into the schedule, he was alone and warned he would probably only be able to complete initial preparations. His partner was out unexpectedly that day due to a death in the family.
The next day, Thursday, would be unavailable because of doctor appointments. I had told the company that Wednesday was a good start because we had company coming over the weekend, hoping they would be done by then.
What can ya do? On Friday morning, Jason checked one last time before showing up to ask whether I wanted them to wait until Monday to start making a mess of things since we had people coming for a visit.
“No!”
I didn’t want any more delays, and the weather was supposed to be perfect, and it was just Cyndie’s brother bringing his new “friend” and her kids to see the place for the first time, and it would be no big deal if the place looked under construction. Get ‘er done.
The original plan was to break up the old crown in the morning and pour the new crown in the afternoon, but that isn’t the way things worked out. After they got the old crown removed, they needed to do some additional grinding of the stones around the top to create a flat surface to secure the framing for the new pour.
It’s very satisfying to see that every aspect of this project is beyond my DIY capabilities. It makes the not-insignificant expense easier to accept.
In the end, it will probably be similar to the cost of a new crown from a dentist, which is a steal because these guys are installing a crown in the equivalent environs of a circus high-wire act.
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Long Trip
By the end of my third blissful day of isolation from any news, I was briefly thrown back into the repugnant reality of our election outcome by a video post someone shared with Cyndie. We watched it together. A man speaking directly to the camera, speaking to the majority who chose to elect a person who, in my opinion, is so unfit to lead this country that what just happened wouldn’t be believable as a plot in some fictional story.
The harsh reality of our situation –sane people, marginalized people, everyone in countries around the world who didn’t even have a vote– came rushing back to my consciousness in a flash.
I feel like I am living in the movie “The Sound of Music,” and a car of thugs from the new regime might be showing up any day to insist we fly their flag above our doorstep.
If I were to respond in the manner of my personal philosophy, I would conjure feelings of love for the people who have chosen the next President. I’m feeling rather hypocritical in my failure to achieve this for them as a group at the moment. Maybe on an individual basis, I could muster some meager successes. Love the person, not their intentions?
Stop the madness; I want to get off.
In an attempt to return to my happy place, my vacation from the daily news cycle, I recall camping trips where I was completely isolated. There would be no news if I were on an expedition to a remote place. I would be justified in a sole focus on watching my steps, guarding myself from the elements, eating for fuel, and absorbing the beauty and wonder of my surroundings.
I would like to get back to my odyssey of living free from depression on a small rectangle of forest and fields, caring for the land and a few rescued animals, and exploring ways to share love with family, friends, and strangers alike. I’m interested in returning to being able to sleep through the night.
I’m not confident I’ve amassed the necessary provisions. I’m not aware of having any trustworthy maps. I guess I haven’t really planned for this journey. It wasn’t my idea. I guess my expedition is more like being lost at sea.
Ah, but I’ve got my dignity. I’ve got my pride. I’ve got millions of like-minded people who know exactly how I’m feeling. I’m confident we can get through the challenges of the days ahead. But no one likes platitudes. We can’t phrase our way through this trip.
We need to feel our feelings and be honest with ourselves in our choices about what comes next. For my mental health, I intend to continue avoiding the site and sounds of one person in particular until such time I feel better able to cope.
I’m hoping the mountain I am about to climb will be for singing and not as an escape to a safer place.
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Appreciating Here
Day two of my intentional news avoidance exercise was a smashing success yesterday. The resulting calm was doubly rewarding when compared with the week before when junk mail and phone spam were at an all-time high. The morning began with a thick fog, which gave the early routine a wonderfully mysterious feel.
Sometimes, the fog puts the horses on edge because they rely on visibility to survey for potential threats. Yesterday, they weren’t showing heightened nerves and promptly buried their noses in their feed buckets, which puts them in an almost vegetative state after one mouthful.
Asher was incredibly patient with me as I traipsed around the paddocks, scooping manure into the wheelbarrow. I rewarded him with an extended walk in the north loop field before heading back to the house for his breakfast.
We revisited that field later in the afternoon, and he went wild following the scent of some creature. There were several circles where deer had laid down that interested him but it is known that bunnies live in that field, too.
Other visitors we’ve seen in that field include skunks, raccoons, foxes, pheasants, turkeys, and grouse. However, the culprit that probably most interests Asher is the neighbor’s cat that makes regular incursions into our territory.
Standing in the field while Asher rooted around, I felt a wave of renewed appreciation for this place we call home. We’ve had some rain to take the edge off the drought, and the sun was out all afternoon, warming things considerably.
We stopped for a pause in the rocking chair at the lookout knoll on the top of the first hill on the driveway. From that vantage point, we couldn’t see anything wrong with the world. We all know that isn’t true, but it makes the tranquility here all the more precious.
It practically obligates me to banish harsh news media from disturbing our peace.
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Utmost Avoidance
The extreme level of distress I’m feeling over witnessing the election of an authoritarian government led by such a jerk alerts me to my white male heterosexual privilege. I dared to hope. I assumed that an overwhelming majority of people in this country would choose the ethical leader and preservation of our democracy.
I am so aghast over the implications of having all the threats made by the Republican candidate for US President now able to be acted upon; it has me uncertain about how to cope.
That’s when it occurs to me that this is how it must always feel for the many oppressed people for whom this is just another Thursday. Generations of unjustly marginalized people have succeeded in carrying on in the face of enslavement, or their nation’s people being forced onto reservations or forced into internment camps, denied housing, denied jobs, and prohibited from loving whomever they choose.
At my first job after tech school, I discovered I had been lied to about a base salary. I quit on the spot. I knew I would find another job, a better job. I cold-called a company and was given an offer after one interview. No one ever hindered my ability to get a loan and buy any of the homes in the places I chose. No one follows me around a store, watching my every move. I’ve never been harassed or threatened on the street for the way I look, how I wear my pants or who I choose to love.
There is an SNL skit depicting the 2016 election night reactions of a group of white people in an apartment with Dave Chappelle (and eventually, Chris Rock) reacting; the majority being oblivious to their privilege, Dave and Chris commenting in ways that show the comparison of their perspectives and revealing the clueless viewpoints of the others.
I don’t mean to diminish the truly threatening prospects of allowing small-minded people to take control of our entire country. I don’t want my shock over the election results to dishonor others who have been living under unjust discrimination of any flavor throughout lifetimes.
It is what it is. I am resisting the urge to put up a billboard-sized sign on the back of a semi-trailer with a curse word in front of you-know-who’s name or “Not My President” like the ones that have soiled Wisconsin landscapes for the past four years, but I realize we need to be better than that.
I really do want to offer respect for those who have maintained their dignity throughout generations of oppression and rise above vindictive antagonisms at this point. As long as Cyndie and I are able, we will guard our precious property from rancor and resume cultivating peaceful and loving energy, which we will beam out into the world like a beacon of goodness for others to find and absorb.
If something happens in the news that we need to know about, we trust friends and family will let us know. Otherwise, we have decided to aim for the utmost avoidance of all news media. Luckily, we can still safely watch “Shrinking.”
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Needed Distraction
Today, we are granted a welcome distraction from election results in the form of chimney contractors reportedly planning to show up around 9:00 a.m. The crown of our chimney, which is currently more flat than crowned, is cracking to the degree that I have ordered it to be replaced.
This is an image taken by a drone, which, in addition to the cracking concrete, reveals the ceramic extension on the left is disintegrating. If the date on the side of the chimney by the floor inside the house is accurate, this masonry is 34 years old.
I’m almost twice that old, and I’ve only recently started to crack. I guess I find ways to shelter myself from extended exposure to extremes of hot and cold temperatures and prolonged abuse by ultraviolet radiation.
As long as they are climbing around up there, I’m having the entire height of stones and masonry freshly sealed against the elements in hopes of giving it another 34 years free from trouble.
Doing expensive maintenance projects in my mid-60s frequently brings me to the conclusion that I shouldn’t need to worry about it again in my lifetime. Our shingles are reaching the end of their life, so managing a re-roof will be another thing I can do for the last time in my life.
I need this distraction to keep me from perseverating on my chances of ever getting to vote for a woman for President again in my lifetime. Will I live long enough to see the Electoral College abolished? Will perception and reality ever become identical?
Never mind all that. I’m busy making sure contractors have everything they need to make quick work of this chimney job and get out of here without leaving a trace behind except for the smooth and shiny completion of their work.
Then, I’m going to hang out with our dog and the horses because they don’t know anything about an election or what difference the outcome will make. What kind of bliss that must be.
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Relative Something 