New Sound
Like a new squeak appearing on my bike, standing out like a crying baby on an airplane, a ratchety trill erupting from the vicinity of our landscape pond heralds the next phase of spring. Fresh green sprouts are bursting from dirt and branches at a dramatic pace each day. The sounds of migrating flocks of birds echo above the usual calls from resident pheasants and turkeys. Passing pairs of sandhill cranes offer a distinctly loud, rattling bugle call. But all those signs of the seasonal progress get overshadowed by a frog in the pond.
Yesterday, we pulled back the winter netting that collected fallen leaves over the last six months.
Before we even started to move the rocks holding the net, there was a very noticeable grunting chirp emanating from the immediate surroundings.
He kept it up after the net came off, as if thanking us for our service. Much of the time he was near impossible to spot but eventually, he swam out into the open and floated for a while. As Cyndie worked a net and rake to clean out old reeds and residual floating debris while I wrestled to position and hide the pump, filter, and tubing among the rocks.
The whole time, we were hearing from the frog. It began to feel like he was going to become a fixture there. I asked Cyndie if we should name him, offering “Oscar” in tribute to the famous croaker who lived up at the lake place when Cyndie and her siblings were spending childhood summers there.
She said it would need to be “Oscar Jr.” because the size of the sound he was making fell far short of fair comparison.
If he continues to hang around, I suspect I will refer to him as “Junior.”
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Future History
Our favorite network, PBS, has offered up a gem of a new series that Cyndie and I are really appreciating. “A Brief History of the Future” hosted by renowned futurist Ari Wallach, presented me with a wonderful opportunity for reframing right from the very start.
What kind of world is presented in the majority of movies about the future? If it’s not entirely apocalyptic, it tends to be overcrowded, polluted, and generally scary. If that is the only way we envision the future, we are likely to doom ourselves to achieve it.
What kind of future world would we like to live in? That is the one we should be envisioning.
“This series challenges the dystopian framework embraced by popular culture by offering a refreshing take on the future. The docuseries asks us all: how can we become the great ancestors the future needs us to be? “A Brief History of the Future” weaves together history, science, and unexpected ideas to expand our understanding about the impact that the choices we make today will have on our tomorrows.
Each episode follows those who are working to solve our greatest challenges. The series also features valuable insights from a wide range of thinkers, scientists, developers and storytellers including French President Emmanuel Macron, U.S. Secretary of Transportation Pete Buttigieg, U.S. Surgeon General Vivek Murthy, sailor Dame Ellen MacArthur, musician Grimes, architect Bjarke Ingels, climate scientist Katharine Hayhoe, legendary soccer player Kylian Mbappé, and more.”
Even though we are currently living in a climate crisis –admittedly the primary doom I allow to color my impressions of what humankind will be coping with from now until forever– some ideas for possible constructive solutions provide hope that a worst-case scenario is not a guaranteed outcome.
I’ve already taken steps to create the possibility of a giant maple tree someday standing as a stoic natural canopy over our 70-foot diameter labyrinth. I like to imagine what it might look like in a hundred years if the tree we transplanted to the center of the labyrinth survives to a healthy old age.
The increased diameter of the trunk will have forced some adjustments to the path and rocks at that point, I presume. By the time that begins to become an issue, it will be someone else’s challenge to address. I will be long gone. Unless the antidote to aging has been invented before I pass, that is.
Take a look at the preview below for a taste of what the episodes explore. I hope you will feel inspired…
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Impact Crater
Just a few days after someone alerted me to a local site of an impact crater, I got out for my first bike ride of this year and explored a route that traveled nearly through the center according to the maps.
I was exploring roads that I was unfamiliar with and ended up riding on an unpaved road for a while. It meandered through a beautiful forested area that felt far removed from the many open farm fields that dominated much of my views.
There were so many undulations on almost every road, I never got any sense of the actual geological structure of the crater that was created by the hypervelocity impact some 450-433 million years ago.
It being my inaugural ride of the season, I relied on the electric assist almost the entire time. Without the marvel of the heavy battery and motor, I would never have been able to complete over 37 miles of such hilly terrain. And at just under three hours, my butt was wishing I’d have chosen a much less arduous distance and route.
The motor was particularly appreciated when I turned into the west wind which seemed to keep increasing with the climbing afternoon temperatures. When I got home, our thermometer indicated 74°F.
It didn’t feel that warm to me, but I blame the wind. By bedtime last night, my face felt windburn and my arms and legs felt like they had been taxed to their limits. Excellent indications I had enjoyed a great adventure.
So great, I’m going to give myself a day off today from taxing my muscles any more than what it takes to accomplish some dog walking and manure management. Maybe I’ll read more about the Rock Elm Disturbance.
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Shedding Underway
’Tis the season of flying tufts of horse hair. It gets a little complicated when their heavy shedding coincides with their days confined to the massively muddy paddocks. The tufts don’t fly as much when they are caked in layers of mud.
Cyndie spent a little time yesterday brushing all four horses for as much as the mares would allow. Each horse has a different level of acceptance for being brushed.
I watched Cyndie try to win over Light with offers of treat bites with varying degrees of success. It got me laughing to see Cyndie trying to multitask brushing Light’s hindquarters with one hand while fending off Light’s face with her other hand. Light kept turning back to beg for another treat.
It is no small thing to fend off an insistent Light where treats are involved.
I leaned over Light’s back and snapped a close-up of the layers of hair.
We both knew that freshly brushed horses rarely stay clean for very long. By the time we returned to the barn to feed them in the afternoon, Cyndie reported they had all taken a roll in the mud.
Thus begins the cycle that will repeat multiple times in the days and weeks ahead.
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No Shadow
We were in the wrong place to view the eclipse yesterday. I made the assumption that 74% coverage would still dim the light through the cloud canopy blocking our sightline but we didn’t perceive any effects at the expected hour.
Before we went outside, Cyndie and I scanned the television channels to see the reports from Texas. They provided some wonderful images of the totality.
This is what it looked like for us:
We didn’t need our fancy viewing glasses.
I guess that means spring will come early this year.
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Moon Shadow
Today is the day of the solar eclipse! May those of you in the path of totality find clear skies for optimal viewing!
We are located in a region of approximately 74% coverage so the plasma of the solar winds won’t be as visible as they are from vantage points under the total shadow. We’ll take what we can get, but the odds aren’t looking good for us due to cloud cover.
I hope to loiter around outside and observe how the daylight beneath the clouds changes and whether the horses show any visible signs of awareness about the unusual phenomenon as it plays out.
No matter what transpires today, remember the advice on the cover of The Guide: “DON’T PANIC.”
It’s not like a hyperspace bypass is being created or anything.
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Confusing Days
Don’t be confused. Today is Sunday. The solar eclipse will happen tomorrow. The championship game of the Women’s NCAA Basketball Tournament tips off today.
I don’t know why I’ve been so disoriented this morning, but I mixed these up at least twice before finally realizing where I was in time and space. Maybe it started yesterday. Cyndie and I huffed and puffed to drag the tangles of vines we’d collected up to a temporary staging area.
Before I attempt to craft an entryway arbor out of them, I will need to spread them out to see the individual twists and turns.
When I went in for lunch, Cyndie stayed outside to putter on other projects weighing on her mind. I got a text from her that she came upon a pile of vines we had missed.
Absentmindedness? I thought we had gotten them all.
It’s the kind of thing that leaves me thinking, “What else have I forgotten?”
My past is getting mixed up with the present recently because we have decided to “declutter” the remaining 100 record albums from our life-long combined collection. Long ago, I sold a majority of our library in the transition from vinyl to digital music, but I couldn’t part with the works of our most adored artists and a few one-of-a-kind records that would never be re-released.
After 45-50 years of holding most of these albums, we are ready to send them back into the world. Since our collection wouldn’t bring an impressive amount of money from buyers, Cyndie sought (and found!) an interested party who would appreciate them in a spirit commensurate with how we feel.
I’m not agreeing to this step cold turkey. For one particularly rare Eric Clapton album, I checked online for the availability of every song and then created a personal playlist in the exact order for my digital library. Attaching the artwork to the file gave me the comfort of a memory that will serve as a special link between albums of my youth and the digital library I’ve switched to as I age.
We’ve successfully saved our children from any guilt they might feel if they had to throw these away after Cyndie and I die.
Now, what else am I forgetting?
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Country City
Out here in the rural countryside, Cyndie and I spent yesterday morning wrangling unwanted vines in an area of our woods that has received little attention during our ownership. We rewarded ourselves for that effort with a trip to the big city for dinner with friends and live music at a new venue.
I have a new project in the early stages to make some changes to the landscape around the house. One of the important fixes will be the routing of a downspout at the corner of the garage leading to our front door.
The plastic conduit didn’t work. I’ve decided to change to an overhead route for the downspout and will try constructing an arbor out of vines to support it. We’ve been cutting down so many large, woody vines this year that I would like to make use of the wealth of interesting wood.
Pulling the vines out of all the branches they were clinging to was an exhausting effort. I’d like to use as many of the small runners coming off the main trunks as possible to tie things together for an arbor. I didn’t want to just cut them off, which would have been much easier.
In the afternoon, we drove to Minneapolis for dinner at the home of our friends, Pam & John. We started on their front porch in the warm sunlight…
When the sun moved on and the porch became more shadowed we headed inside for a scrumptious early meal. After dinner, we drove to the new Zhora Darling restaurant at the site of the former North East hallmark Red Stag Supper Club. Pam and John’s son, Sam, plays drums in FénixDion. Last night they performed in a pared-down trio version of their membership.
It made for a very fulfilling day and contrasted wonderfully with the long stretches of days when I have [happily] done little outside the house. Sometimes it feels like I’ve been waiting the last few weeks, oh, even months to dig into an outdoor project and then go frolic around in Minneapolis.
We did make it home in time to turn on the latter portion of the NCAA Women’s basketball game between Iowa and UConn. I’m okay with Caitlin Clark and her teammates getting to play one more game. I’ll be watching.
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Bigger Boy
A week ago we took Asher to the groomer for a good cleaning and nail trim. The morning of his appointment, we noticed he hadn’t finished eating all the food in his bowl. That wasn’t the first time he’d done that, so we weren’t overly concerned. However, he continued to show a lack of interest in his food. As we monitored that and experimented with some ways to figure out the reason for his apparent change in appetite, we also noticed he was developing some bumps on his skin.
The skin issue showed up after the grooming appointment, so we suspected he may be experiencing a reaction to a product they used. With the two issues happening simultaneously, there was a possibility there was more to it than we could deduce on our own.
Time for a visit to the veterinarian.
The first thing Cyndie learned was a confirmation of two similar opinions we have heard from visitors recently. Asher has gotten bigger! Measuring in at 18 pounds more than when we took him in almost a year ago, Asher now weighs 88 pounds.
The medical diagnosis was a skin infection or allergic reaction and the possibility he simply had a stomach virus or ingested something that upset his system. He hasn’t been throwing up and is drinking water and continuing to produce normal poops.
Given the number of times I have seen him gobble up very questionable finds on our walks through our woods, it is not the least bit surprising that he would develop a digestive disruption.
It sounds like he was a real lover and won over everyone at the clinic. Cyndie gave him a massage last night with an anti-bacterial potion to calm his lesions and we will continue to tailor his meals toward guiding his gut back to normal. The vet said that dogs may associate the smell of their food with the time they didn’t feel well and lose interest in their regular food even after their tummies return to normal.
If we don’t win him over to devouring his food like he used to, we’ll transition to a different brand. I wouldn’t mind if he lost some of the weight he has gained. It’s getting harder for me to wrestle him given his increased size combined with him figuring out all my moves. He’s not as dumb as he sometimes pretends to be.
Eighty-eight pounds. No wonder it hurts when he tries to pretend he is a lap dog.
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Stepping Between
When making my way through the swampiest areas of the paddocks, the trick I employ is to choose my steps between the potholes of hoof divots. Where the horse hooves have pushed up gashes of earth, I push the mess back down. When I allow myself to be distracted by the scoopful of manure I’m carrying, a misstep into a water-filled divot delivers an immediate signal from the wetness in my sock up to my brain, reminding me that these boots leak.
We weren’t expecting to wake up to another fresh blanket of snow yesterday morning. It was mostly harmless because there wasn’t that much and it didn’t require any shoveling. By the end of the day, it had all melted, leaving behind just enough moisture to keep things messy for another day or two.
Sunshine is coming. That should brighten everyone’s moods. Maybe kick the grass blades into gear. That would make the horses happy, I suspect. They do an impressive job of finding every spot within the confines of the board-fenced paddocks where new grass is sprouting.
It’s too bad they can’t figure out a way to walk around that doesn’t obliterate the turf that they would love to eat.
In my meanderings around the paddock, I marveled over the difference between places where it appears they must step gently and the surface packs down versus the damage they churn up when stepping with urgency.
At feeding times lately, Mix has been getting worked up in anticipation and for some reason takes it out by harassing Light and Mia. Yesterday she kept chasing them into muddy areas I’m sure they would otherwise choose to avoid. That kicks up an unnecessary mess.
Swings came over and gave Mix a piece of her mind, as if to get her to leave the other two alone. That works as long as Swings stays around. When she moves back to her feeding spot on the other side, Mix ramps her antagonism back up again.
Light and Mia seem to take it in stride, albeit with muddier hooves. As soon as buckets of feed get distributed, everybody calms down and tends to their meal.
That’s when I make my rounds, doing my best to step between all their many divots.
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Relative Something 