Election Again
Every four years, whether people like it or not, our country holds an election for a President. Today, if you are a US citizen and haven’t already, VOTE!
Thinking about the last time the bum, whose name I don’t even like to mention, stumbled into an election win, I looked up my previous posts from November 2016 to see my reactions. I was too upset for words and simply posted an image two days in a row.
Reading old posts from 8 years ago, I was also reminded that that was when we transplanted the tree to the center of the labyrinth and finished building the chicken coop. At least I had good distractions back then.
Today, I am ready for a landslide victory for sanity and our democracy. Let the lying cease. Put an end to the political ambitions of the worst version of a candidate I’ve ever seen garner public support in my lifetime.
Cyndie and I plan to wait for the crowd of people voting before they go to work to thin out before we head to our polling place to join the crowd of retired folks showing up to beat the crowd that will show up over the lunch hour.
If the mean guy loses, he has prepared his followers for the old lie that the election was stolen from him. I’m busy trying to wrap my head around the inexplicability of him not being incarcerated for even one of his many crimes.
May today be the beginning of my phone no longer pinging relentlessly with desperate campaign pleas.
May the United States of America accomplish the milestone of electing the first woman President in our history.
May all the exaggerated fears of the cultish followers and spineless Republican politicians who have kowtowed to the mean guy for the last 8 years be swiftly proven unrealistic and overblown.
Most of all, may the outcome of the vote tally be so obvious that little delay is needed for the results to be made official.
Let’s do this thing.
.
.
Perfectly Wet
Precipitation fell slow and steady all day yesterday, giving us the perfect moisture for growing roots to soak up before the ground has frozen solid for winter.
We didn’t let the shift of clocks back to standard time influence much of our normal routine, but our later morning arrival at the barn seemed to surprise a large rodent. We had entered through the back door, and as I was moving through the darkness toward the light switches, I heard a squeak and noticed Asher hop and twist.
A flip of the switches revealed a rat out in the middle of the floor. I suspect Asher had chomped the poor thing once as it was making no effort to dash for cover. I scooped it up with the manure rake and, after one last bonk to end any suffering, offered the barn pest a hot burial in a compost pile.
Based on the vast network of tunneling occurring in the sand floor, it is easy to assume that there is probably more than just that one culprit lurking about. It is really difficult to discourage unwelcome pests when feeding horses cracked grains that result in endless spillage.
The mares aren’t very fastidious about constraining the leakage from their mouths exclusively within the edges of the mats we put out for that purpose. There are cracked oats and corn scattered far and wide in the vicinity of the barn overhang.
The barn pigeons are in their glory, and the flock has grown to city park proportions with this abundance of food. The rats are probably getting their fair share.
We are employing a variety of attempts at eradication or, at the very least, discouragement to avoid the rats reaching a population approaching the pigeon flocks. Apparently, the neighbor’s cat that regularly prowls our grounds doesn’t put much pressure on rats residing in the barn.
Walking toward the house after chores, I noticed Cyndie chose the grass over the pavement. The wet conditions have left the paddocks muddy, so striding across the grass is a way to wash some of the grime off boots before entering the house.
The moisture was so needed, so perfect; I’m of no mind to complain about a little autumn mud.
.
.
Absolutely
.
wistful waiting
for absolutely nothing
all day long
for days on end
while occupied with everything
twenty-four seven
in the sun
the rain
the wind
the light
the dark
the reasons undisclosed
overindulged expectations
notwithstanding
small suppositions
never fully realized
lives lived
in a breath
involuntary
evolutionary
unabashedly discretionary
involuntarily evidentiary
mildly aghast
nothing
never
comes
.
.
Random Distribution
Our wet driveway near the big willow tree served up an interesting display of randomly distributed fallen leaves yesterday morning. Nature providing opportunities for digital desktop wallpaper patterns or something along those lines.
By this morning, everything had dried up and most of those leaves had been scattered by the wind. What a difference a day can make.
Thursday, stepping outside was an exercise of stoicism in the face of 40 mph wind gusts blowing sleety rain and snow into our faces. Hunching against the onslaught, we wrestled our trash and recycling bins from the house to the end of the driveway.
The brain interprets the harsh conditions, triggering the autonomic response to put the body into survival mode despite the lack of that extreme level of threat. The difference this morning is striking.
Asher and I were on our own for morning chores and enjoyed calm and comfortable early November conditions. The horses were angelic and mostly calm. Mia was a little jumpy about approaching her feed bucket because it was hung under the overhang where we had moved her due to the rain and snow. The electric fence near there can be annoyingly snappy from moisture and she doesn’t like it when that happens.
I unplugged the power to appease her and allow feeding time to commence without further fussing.
On the way back to the house, as the sun’s rays were just beginning to appear through the thick pine grove that forms our eastern horizon, an almost perfect orange circle with a shadow in the middle lit up on the green shingles of our roof. It honestly looked like someone was shining the “bat-signal” distress alert on our house.
I wondered if someone had mistaken me for the caped crusader.
As I got closer and more sunlight was beginning to speckle other places along the peak of the roof, I could actually discern the outlines of the pine branch that was creating the bat-symbol-looking shadow across the curiously circular spray of sunlight.
Very unexpected from so far a distance to the trees.
A random distribution of a fascinating moment bestowed upon us to complement the wild weather conditions experienced just two days prior.
.
.
Barely Noticed
We knew it was coming, so when snowflakes started to fly, we didn’t make much of a fuss over it. While Cyndie was in the middle of a phone conversation, I noticed her gesturing to direct my attention toward windows. The rain was changing over to sleety flakes.
Not a big deal, but it was enough that I decided to take a picture of the first snow of the season. Then, we got on with some rewarding indoor activities. I cleaned out some drawers of accumulated clothing and successfully took action on several things that have been stored for years and rarely worn anymore.
We were in the closet of winter gear, digging for coats to walk Asher and feed the horses in blowing rain and snow that was strikingly similar to Icelandic conditions. Cyndie decided to sort and give away worthy items discovered in there, and soon, we were on our way to earning a decluttering badge for the day.
The next time we looked out the window, we were surprised that we’d barely noticed how much the snow had intensified.
I thought it was still too warm for us to get any accumulation.
Alas, it was too warm for snow to last very long, and as fast as it arrived, it melted away again. It was a bit surprising to find we collected almost 2” of moisture in the rain gauge by the end of yesterday.
Like she often does, Cyndie found a way to squeeze in some baking between closet cleaning and crafting her latest secret art projects. She made a dozen small loaves of bread –six cranberry orange and six banana nut with chocolate bits.
The house smelled delicious when I woke up from an afternoon nap in the recliner.
Not a bad way to close out the month and usher in something that feels a bit more appropriate for November. Uncharacteristically, all my winter coat options are neatly organized and hanging in the freshly cleaned closet before I actually need to put them to use.
Mia got an early chance to wear her winter coat yesterday after Cyndie found her shivering excessively in the cold rain. Some days, I wish we could just bring Mia up to the house with Asher and us when the other horses are behaving like mean girls to her.
Swings stands under that overhang, warm and dry all day long, Light often by her side. Mix moves in and out a lot and rarely stays dry. Poor Mia barely sneaks her head under to eat bites of hay from a net bag, always ready to retreat if one of the other three decides to claim that space.
The precipitation moved away to the east last night, so all four horses probably headed out into the fields where Mia would be able to claim whatever space away from them she wanted.
We had the heat on and slept snuggly under warm blankets all night, barely noticing how far below freezing the temperature ultimately dropped.
.
.
From Here
There are many days when life around here feels like we should be mentioned in a Prairie Home Companion Lake Wobegon monologue. Oftentimes, that is because nothing particularly noteworthy has transpired. I could start out with, “It’s been a quiet week at ranch Wintervale…”
The sun came up about when we expected. The unseasonably warm weather that is becoming more seasonable every year hung in there to the last minute before a front of clouds and cooler air showed up yesterday afternoon. Cold rain is expected this morning. Last I checked, the conditions didn’t look all that promising for comfortable trick-or-treating tonight.
I miss being able to say that our phones rang off the hook. They buzzed and pinged with dramatically increased frequency from messages related to the election campaigns. I have no idea what any of them were because I instantly report them as spam, block the number, and delete the calls and texts in every instance.
It brings me great pleasure to not look or listen to any of them.
There are a lot of things that I get pleasure out of not doing. Plenty of them would be obvious, like not falling off a cliff. I love it whenever I don’t do that.
I like not picking up after the horses in the fields.
We took some time on Tuesday in the middle of the afternoon to give the horses extra attention. We brought along some carrots, which they seem to like more than the dry processed treats we keep in a cupboard in the barn.
Cyndie believes Mix may be experiencing arthritic pains. The last time the farrier was here, she thought Mix was showing some muscle knots. The farrier doubles as an equine massage provider. A few brief moments of her technique produced a quick response of approving signals from Mix, such as a big release with an audible exhale and dropping her head down.
Mia continues to be the odd horse out. The other three horses are very consistent about keeping her aware she is at the bottom of the herd hierarchy. Her response over the years is to simply spend more time grazing in the fields while the others choose to stand around under the overhang.
Now that we have some chilly rain happening, our concern will be whether they allow her to get under the shelter or not.
If not, we will intervene on her behalf.
That’s the news from here on this final day of October. Happy Halloween to all the little costumed candy seekers and their parents! (I love not taking kids trick-or-treating.)
.
.
Shared Fatigue
Take a deep breath and see if you can make it through this paragraph-long opening sentence:
I relish coming upon an online discussion thread shimmering with a shared public expression of fatigue over daily reports of insanity from the cultish acceptance of unhinged statements and behaviors of sycophants worshipping at the alter of one depraved and narcissistic old man campaigning for the Republican party.
Never forget, we are many. We may be exhausted, but we will still all make it to the polls to vote by next Tuesday in the USA.
How many people in the world have questioned over and over how such unsavory and historically abhorred ideas could be finding so much open acceptance in this day and age?
Buddy Hackett and Robert Preston, Warner Bros. Pictures
How is it that ethics guidelines have so easily become arrogantly discounted? Where is the “rule of law” when so many people simply ignore subpoenas, judgments of significant fines, or DOJ warnings of illegalities?
Seems like we should all re-listen to Harold Hill sing to the good folks of River City about “trouble with a capital T.”
What happened to common sense, neighborliness, and adherence to the Golden Rule? How did society allow “do as I say, not as I do” and religious hypocritical lifestyles become the dominant guiding themes?
Is it really that difficult to understand and respect the importance of the separation of church and state?
The majority of us are tired of false equivalency. We are tired of whataboutism. We are fed up with fear-mongering. We are jaded by endless pants-on-fire lies. We are worn to a frazzle by the perpetual whining about being the victim.
How much repeated grifty shenanigans can one country take?
We need a break. We deserve a break.
Hey, billionaires. Pay a fair share of taxes, would ya? You can still boast that you gave ten million dollars to a charity. You can do both!
I suspect that somewhere in all this, there is a lesson to be sussed out. I don’t know whether it will be a unique one for each group or individual or something grand for all the people of the world. (What do you bet it has something to do with love?)
On November 5th, we will cast votes that will determine whether things get worse before they get better or whether our democracy holds together on a course toward ideals envisioned by our best and brightest.
For the common folks of this nation, the decision should not be difficult. This ain’t rocket science.
We need to tune into that generational intelligence we all carry and open our eyes to the snake oil elixirs being pitched. Don’t buy a pig in a poke. Help bring an end to the constant ravings of a pathetic lunatic.
Let’s make the US of A better than it’s ever been.
All of us are looking forward to the possibilities. Vote to keep the outcome out of any courtrooms.
Amen.
.
.
Lethal Precision
My goal of policing our land for signs of the invasive scourge, common buckthorn, is in full swing this time of year. Yesterday, I headed back to an area by the road where I had already made a first pass through a few days ago. I was aware of several spots well into the thicket where sprouts of buckthorn remained.
Soon, I found myself on my hands and knees, doing battle against a tangle of branches to reach the swaths of still-green leaves. Some are very short and get gobbled up into fistfuls as I pull them from the dirt.
Taller shoots that I’m able to yank up by the roots get treated like trophies and as such, I hang them upside down in the branches of other trees to display the awesome dominance we have over the invader.
Actually, hanging them like that started as a way to ensure that the roots dried out and make it easy to see the unwelcome leaves had already been dealt with. If I just drop them on the ground, the green of the leaves continues to catch my eyes for a few days, making me think more attention is needed when it’s not.
I thought this effort would become easier every year, but I’m finding that hasn’t been the case. I don’t have to deal with large trees anymore, but the new little sprouts show up in new and different places every year, many of them deep in brambles and hard-to-reach places.
Basically, anywhere that birds like to perch since they are spreading seeds after eating the berries. They definitely like sitting in the protective confines of thick tangles of branches.
Keeping our land from being overtaken by this invasive nuisance is worth the effort based on the way our property looks compared to properties around us where we’ve never seen any effort made to address it. The buckthorn on surrounding land only gets thicker each year, while our property will become progressively more impressive in comparison.
I say more impressive because, in addition to removing buckthorn, we are also nursing along every volunteer oak, maple, poplar, cedar, elm, butternut, hickory, and several versions of pines that we find with equal precision.
.
.
Sweet Treats
Just three days to go until the great trick-or-treat traditions burst forth on countless doorsteps. In the twelve years we’ve been here, only one time did someone show up at our door. It was a neighboring couple and their young son from a mile or two down the road. After that, silence for all the years since.
This is just fine with me. It’s a good event for kids, but there aren’t many kids I know about in the surrounding vicinity. It would be an extra burden on my sugar addiction to have an excess of candy in the house for possible giveaway. I have not been very diligent about managing my daily sugar intake lately.
Just a few repetitions of allowing myself to cheat triggers the return of cravings that are so much easier to succumb to than exterminate. I am my own worst enemy.
Since we don’t keep a lot of candy in the house, my brain simply points me to alternative carbs that I love dearly and will happily binge in excess. The healthy choice of snacking on unsalted nuts, which I am also a fan of eating, interestingly becomes less satisfying when my good practices lapse.
Bagel chips have a much greater allure to my addicted brain.
My mischievous mind lets me think I’m getting away with a few days of consuming an increased percentage of unhealthy sweetness until an expanding paunch around my middle soon exposes the inevitable outcome. When my mirror reveals the return of a growing belly, my awareness of the relentless craving comes back into focus.
Thankfully, I don’t fool myself indefinitely.
If we somehow do get surprised by a costumed trick-or-treater Thursday night, I have a half-bag of bagel chips left that I’d happily share.
.
.
Home Vacation
It’s been a little over a month since our adventurous trip to Iceland, and the thrills of the experience are still resonating. As I was sitting in our newly established lookout knoll with the horses grazing nearby yesterday, I recognized a feeling in me that matched those thrills of standing in the presence of incredible waterfalls or striking basalt columns or the spectacular ice formations of a glacier.
Listening to the quiet natural sounds of distant bird calls, feeling the combination of the warm sunshine and the cool breeze, and watching the little details of how the horses were behaving filled me with a sense of gratitude for the moment.
In Iceland, after flying for hours across an ocean, we drove long distances and walked for miles to reach amazing sites that presented a similar sense of awe. I only need to open my door and step outside to find myself in a place that offers me equivalent satisfaction.
It is as if I am on vacation at my very own home.
Plenty of people prefer travel adventures for fulfillment. I am not one of them. An occasional road trip serves me just fine, but more often than not, I prefer to stay home and soak up my immediate surroundings.
It is not lost on me that we are living in a place of exceptional natural beauty.
With our log home on the top of the hill surrounded by forest and fields, combined with the magnificent energy of the herd of four horses, this place makes me feel like I am on vacation every day.
It probably doesn’t hurt that we’ve put a lot of sweat equity into improving and maintaining some of the features. That’s just part of my nature. I saw several opportunities on trails in Iceland that I felt an urge to tend to as well.
Taking care of the land fits into the kind of things I like being able to do. It’s pretty great I get to include that in my vacation life on our glorious acres at home.
.
.
Relative Something 