He’s Home
Of all the issues clouding our activities of late, this one feels like the most tangible: Asher is home with us again.
He seems pretty pleased to be back in the comforts of his previous territory and free from the constant distractions of other canines needing to be assessed. One clear thing the trainers noted was his constant need to determine the potential threat of the various other dogs coming and going at the kennel. That is not an unusual behavior in a dog but it did clarify that inviting visits with other dogs at our place may be a challenge.
Progressing from the assessment time with the professional trainers, we plan to now work on helping Asher to more consistently respect commands outdoors and learn that the boundaries of our property are non-negotiable. There may be a series of 3 to 5 on-site visits from one of the trainers to supervise the process.
Basically, that means she will be here to teach us more than to teach Asher. I’m sure he already knows what is expected of him. He’s just waiting for us to figure out who the bosses are in our relationship.
An unexpected outcome from two fresh COVID test kits yesterday morning indicated Cyndie’s previous positive result probably wasn’t a fluke. She still looks to be infected and intends to remain isolated from contact with others as much as possible. Thankfully, she is not feeling much worse than any other normal spring day with her allergies to practically everything in our environment, especially hay and molds, in addition to the pollens from every growing plant.
My test came out almost perfectly clean.
The instructions say to look VERY closely because even the faintest hint of a line should be considered a positive result. There is a faint hint but compared to my other test results that were clearly positive, we take this to indicate the virus is losing its command over me.
I’m left with a residual cough that has been my reality for most of my life after an illness. Based on past experience, it will linger for longer than seems reasonable but I’ll eventually get over it.
The tropical rainforest conditions we have been experiencing have the air around here filled with spores from molds, mushrooms, and every manner of flying insects.
Areas of our lawn grass that aren’t beneath standing water will get mowed with brand-new blades that I installed yesterday.
This afternoon we will install flags to mimic the installation of an invisible fence along one of our borders to use in training Asher. In hindsight, it seems so simple after we met with impressive success fencing off our landscape pond and the composting manure piles to train him that those were off-limits.
He has respected that training ever since. (knock on wood)
We are optimistic about the likelihood that Asher will respond equally well to instructions about our property borders once Cyndie and I master the art of being consistent and clear with our leadership.
.
.
Not Necessarily
Things are not always what they seem, especially when we allow our unconscious biases to run willy-nilly throughout our activities unchecked. Cyndie and I now think there may have been a flaw in our testing procedure last Wednesday that allowed for cross-contamination of our results.
She continues to try testing with kits that are beyond their shelf-life between occasions when using new tests. Last night her results were clearly negative. We both agreed that her symptoms that showed up almost instantaneously upon seeing that positive result on Wednesday could well have been psychosomatic.
In a parallel to that, last night’s negative result had her feeling surprisingly healthy. Her mind can be very persuasive.
So, if your gut has been telling you something a little different than what I describe happening in our lives, your intuition is worth acknowledging. If you have been reading my writing for some time, you may sometimes know me better than I know myself.
This morning, we finally have an appointment to retrieve Asher from the training kennel. After tending to horses, we are going to take fresh tests in separate rooms to find out if I should stay home and how careful Cyndie should be about contact with people at the kennel.
If she gets an all-clear, we will assume she never was infected. If I get a clean result, I will be baffled about how the virus works and how/when I have been shedding the virus at a measurable level. Granted, research we have reviewed indicated most people are no longer contagious after 10 days.
It is expected that my vaccinations would have significantly shortened my infection time, along with the length of time I was contagious.
I have no concept of how my sudden flare-up of a bulging disc and subsequent few days of head cold symptoms interrelate to the COVID infection that showed up in the middle of May.
I am ready to put all of it behind me. It is a new month and I am beginning to feel like my old self again, emphasis on old.
My, how quickly a few extra doses of sugar, suddenly becoming sedentary, and plenty of Cyndie’s lovingkindness in the form of “eating therapy” thickens my middle. I’ve got just two weeks to get into biking shape for the Tour of Minnesota week.
That’s not necessarily a hard thing for me to achieve, but past experience does not guarantee future results. Be assured, you will be able to read the play-by-play with each passing day.
Happy June Everyone!
.
.
Long Slog
At the rate things are going for Cyndie and me, there will be no quick fix for what is ailing us. On Day-7 of my COVID infection, we tested for the second time and Cyndie was still negative but I showed a blurry positive result. Wednesday, one week later and Day-14 for me, we both had a strong positive result on a test.
I am now experiencing head cold symptoms. Cyndie developed a headache and now has an upset stomach. We both are running on fumes when it comes to energy. Everything scheduled on our calendar of events continues to get canceled.
In attempt to keep my body moving enough to help my lymph circulation, I continue to chip away at chores outdoors as weather allows and my energy lasts. The riding mower is a pretty easy choice in terms of energy required but my attention to detail isn’t a sharp as normal.
When backing up to reach a spot of tall grass on the edge that I had missed, I heard a distinct thud. I knocked over a flower pot Cyndie had recently planted.
Most of the flowering plants were covered in dirt and smeared across the rocks. I tipped the pot back up, lifted several globs of dirt and plants and placed them back in the pot. Cyndie will never notice.
Are you kidding? I immediately took a picture and texted it to her with my apology.
I may be sick, but I’m not insane.
.
.
PWHL Champions!
Congratulations to the Minnesota team in the Professional Women’s Hockey League for defeating Boston in a best-of-5 series to take the first Walter Cup in the inaugural season of the league.
Professional women’s sports once again destroy the myth that Minnesota teams can’t win championships!
You Go Girls!
.
.
Intermittent Soaking
Making plans to do anything outside in the kind of weather we have been experiencing of late is something of a crap shoot. At least we have the consolation of not yet dealing with the threats to life and property from tornadoes like folks to our south have been facing.
What we are getting is tantalizing sunshine that almost dries the grass enough to mow before the skies switch to gloomy clouds.
Just when you figure out those clouds on the horizon are sliding past to the south, another batch of heavy gray clouds show up from the north.
In the seconds after serving the horses their grain, the cloud drops its contents in a soaking downpour.
As soon as the ground is sufficiently saturated, the rain ends and sunshine returns to evaporate the water in steaming clouds off the asphalt driveway.
Rinse and repeat. Good luck finding grass dry enough to mow without difficulty.
If it is too wet to mow, I should go for a bike ride. I don’t like riding in the rain so I am really happy I didn’t get lured out by the temporary sunshine yesterday afternoon.
.
.
Methodical Research
Since our weather pattern yesterday offered just enough periods of rain to keep grass too wet to mow, Cyndie and I busied ourselves with indoor pursuits much of the day. While Cyndie unleashed her creative artistry on making spectacular custom cards for persons known and to be determined, I resumed an attempt to gather local news reports from the 1800s that mention the names of my ancestors.
I find myself easily distracted down rabbit holes of stories both trivial and dramatic on the pages of the old editions of The River Falls Journal, even though they don’t contain family names.
There are simple, yet creative mentions of babies born, comments of individual comings and goings, reports of illnesses and serious injuries, and brief mentions of crop successes and failures. Occasionally, there are official statements of “found” livestock on one’s property that will be kept for their own if not otherwise claimed.
There was a report of a horse that attempted to leap a picket fence but it was unsuccessful and did not survive. In another incident, a man allowed horses pulling his wagon to enter a lake for a drink of water. They began to sink up to their necks! In that case, somehow all were saved.
I decided to transcribe just the portions in which my ancestors were named and sort them by date to better organize the information I was uncovering. I regret that in this form it lacks some of the exciting drama of others in their community being mentioned simultaneously.
These should really be in an olde-timey font, but here is what I gathered yesterday afternoon:
River Falls Journal March 29, 1877
Esdaile
Mr. Betcher has the largest and best stock of hub and spoke timber on hand now that has ever been in this place. S. W. Hays is foreman here for Mr. Betcher at present, and evidently understands his business.
River Falls Journal November 15, 1877
Esdaile
The officers of Green Valley Lodge, I. O. G. T., installed last Wednesday evening are S. W. Hays, W. C. T.; Miss Alice Butterfield, W. V. T.; K. W. Lewis, S.; J. Sleeper, T.; Miss Effie Isham, I. G.; J. P. Johnson, O. G.
River Falls Journal May 5, 1881
Esdaile Echoes
S. W. Hays is at home again for a few days visit with his family
Joseph Sleeper has sold his house and lot in this village to C. Betcher, of Red Wing, for $450.
A little daughter of Mr. Sleeper received so severe a fall the other day as to render her senseless for some time, but she is now all right again.
River Falls Journal June 12, 1881
Esdaile Echoes
C. Betcher has recently been remodeling his horse barn.
E. Hoover has rented a part of S. W. Hays’ house and is now occupying the same.
Henry Bently has decided not to occupy the Sleeper house as was stated a short time ago.
Messers L.C. Rice, L. H. Rice, Joseph Sleeper, and L. Turner, are building a saw mill and bending machine at Brookville, St. Croix county.
River Falls Journal May 25, 1882
Brookville Brevities
S.W. Hays, of Esdaile, called on us last week. He talks of making St. Croix County his home.
Esdaile Echoes
Mrs. Church and mother, Mrs. Sleeper, of Minneapolis, are spending a few days in town.
For reference:
Joseph & Abigail Sleeper are 3rd-Great Grandparents
Charles & Sarah [Sleeper] Church are 2nd-Great Grandparents
Stephen W. Hays (wife Judith [Waite]) are 2nd-Great Grandparents
John W. & Minnie [Church] Hays are Great Grandparents
Charles Betcher (unrelated) was the lumber baron who Stephen W. Hays worked for
.
.
Filling Gaps
Last night our internet connection was down so I did some reading in the most recent book I bought from the Pierce County Historical Association, “Log Buildings and Logging in Early Pierce County, Wisconsin.” In excerpts from journals and newspaper accounts dated in the early to mid-1800s, bits and pieces of what life was like in this specific locale materialize in my head where they mix with cinematic versions I’ve seen from movies depicting the same period.
A name, a date, and basic details of clearing several acres to build a log cabin leave a lot of gaps in my perception of what life was really like. One person’s father arrived some time later. How were they communicating prior to that? Another man is described rather superficially as having “opened a road from River Falls” through the wilderness to a mill and later, one to Prescott for a mail route.
How did one send mail to a pioneer living in the wilderness? How does one man build a road? I struggle to compare my activity managing our 20 acres in the present with the activities and accomplishments of people who were just arriving at this place 200 years ago.
For reference, we rely on what people chose to write about their experiences. If my chronicles survive for a couple of centuries, will readers think that all we did was mow grass and whine about the weather?
Will they get a clue about what life was like when the internet goes down for a few hours?
I am curious about the specific indigenous people who were living here when immigrants started claiming land and building cabins. Not the general story of being forced onto reservations, but the equivalence of a “journal” account describing the experiences of one individual that would depict what it was like.
I am also curious about my specific ancestors who intermingled in these valleys, cutting trees, building wagons, going to schools, and living lives at that particular period of history. It’s easy for me to fill the gaps with versions of pioneers depicted in movies I’ve seen throughout my life.
How accurate a portrayal was “Jeremiah Johnson?”
Life today can hardly compare but when I listen to the birdsongs echoing through our trees in moments when no modern-day traffic, lawnmowers, or airplane noise is occurring, the sound may easily be the very same chorus that played two centuries ago.
I wonder who was standing right here listening to it way back when.
.
.
Special Treat
After a timid start, I gained confidence and began a stroll down our back hill to check on Cyndie while she re-established dominance over the labyrinth with the power trimmer. It is mind-blowing how quickly our surroundings change from hints of new leaves budding on branches into full-blown rainforest-level overgrowth.
Everything is growing faster than we can control along pathways we attempt to maintain through the forest.
As I continued my stiff saunter along the fence line around the back pasture, I was rewarded with a very special nature scene that was an absolute first for me.
In the drainage ditch I was walking beside, in the bright sun of the middle of the day, a trotting spotted fawn appeared moving toward me with a look of pure innocence. I was dumbstruck. The beautiful little creature passed within six feet of me and just kept going toward the woods beyond. It looked small enough to have barely mastered controlling its legs a few hours ago.
Where was momma? I looked around for clues as to where the fawn was coming from or what might have inspired it to move and saw nothing to explain what I had just witnessed. Then I noticed the horses grazing in the hay field were all staring in my direction with heightened awareness.
Maybe they were blaming me for disturbing the fawn, I don’t know.
I decided my exercise walk needed to move to the firmer footing of pavement and set out to plod along the road for an extended session of intentional stride.
As far as remedies for physical ailments go, there are a lot more difficult exercises from which to choose. As soon as my confidence returns, I intend to hop on the saddle of my bicycle. Rolling along carries much more allure for me over the limitations of repetitive step after step.
Granted, if I had been on a bike, I may have easily missed seeing that gorgeous fawn on its own little stroll.
.
.
Double Punch
Out of the frying pan, into the fire. I have done what I could to put the COVID infection behind me and resume normal activity but putting it behind me wasn’t supposed to be literal. I now find myself about as far away from normal activity as I have been in years.
There is something terribly wrong happening in my lower back that feels in every way as if one of my discs is bulging against the nerve that generates incapacitating waves of pain. My poor brain automatically leaps to a conclusion that the timing of these two latest physical maladies are entirely related, but I have no knowledge that this might be true.
All I know is that I am now one week away from the day my health insurance ends with the company that covered me for the first five months of the year and starts with my new choice under Medicare. I was hoping to get through the transition with a clean break from activity on either account.
Today, it is shockingly difficult to avoid stabbing pain when I cough at a time when my asthmatically reactive lungs are teetering on the backside of a virus notorious for negatively impacting breathing.
I am not a pretty sight.
If I could walk without fear of losing my footing, I’d wander down among the horses and bask in their late spring serenity.
We are fast approaching the end of Asher’s on-site training session at a kennel up north. The trainer has scheduled a call this afternoon during which we expect to learn how Asher has been faring during the previous week and what the plan is for picking him up to continue the training at home.
It would really mean a lot to me to be able to walk without pain by the time of Asher’s return.
Walking is once again the exercise that will become my primary focus.
.
.
Intractability
.
it’s hiding where none of us will ever look
please don’t tell everyone that you already know
we’ve heard the last best reasons time and again
phrases your mother used to use
heavens to Betsy
usually from the kitchen or bottom of the stairs
sucking the salt from the empty peanut shell
one last time
knowing there were some who could chew the whole thing
at least gave us pause
like when the President told the FBI to kill us too
when they had their chance
but we didn’t go bragging to the world about it
there were fires in our fireplaces
slide projector fans blowing their own hot air
pillows on the floor but we still strained our necks
for a better view
and the way the screen smelled when you got real close
with blended chocolate milk whipped to a froth in that small Dixie® cup
there was no clue a virus would show up sixty years later
reshape the world to varying degrees
leave people gasping for a breath
listening to music without any instruments in sight
no records or tapes or discs
no moving parts
practically impossible intractability
echoing from every corner
of every night
.
.
Relative Something 