Posts Tagged ‘adventure’
‘Tis Season
‘Tis the Christmas season for sure, as we’ve reached the final week before December 25th. If you sense anything about me, it might include a perception that I am a bit mall averse. I do not like going to shopping malls. I avoid them on weekends whenever possible, and I especially seek to stay clear during the holiday season.
Nonetheless, I try to stay flexible enough to go with the flow when events lead me to places I might not choose on my own. So it was, that I found myself yesterday, facing the double whammy of going to the Southdale Shopping Center on the Saturday before Christmas.
No, make that a triple whammy. I was also going to a movie theater there to attend a showing of the latest mega-event movie, Star Wars: The Force Awakens, on its opening weekend.
I figured it was a recipe for every possible challenge related to having too many people in one place at the same time.
On top of preparing to face this adventure, my mind was also occupied with peripheral planning to deal with our animal care and a goal to also attend, on the same day, a holiday party in the evening, some 50-minutes away in a different direction.
We had a fabulous day. I credit Cyndie’s precious ability to send love to all around, and especially to those afar. We also did some intense planning which involved arriving to the movie theater early. It all played out flawlessly.
I was surprised to find that it wasn’t as crowded as I imagined it would be. We were second in line at the theater door, and when the doors finally opened, we discovered that being early enough to line up hadn’t been necessary.
Despite my ability to imagine the plan for our day being ripe for one hassle after another, it turned out to be nothing but peace, love, joy, excitement, and a fair amount of extra highway miles.
My movie review: classic Star Wars, doing justice to the genre and paying nice homage to the original.
It was sweet to see our kids and Cyndie’s family. Thirteen of us showed up for the flick. From there, we raced home to give Delilah some much wanted attention, feed and clean up after the horses, grab a quick bite for dinner, and then headed out into the darkness to find a holiday party at a home we’ve not visited before.
I negotiated one obstacle in a shortcut I had chosen, and we arrived in good time for a sweet visit to a BIG holiday party in a beautiful home in the country.
The day turned out just the way you would imagine it, if you were to choose to expect the best possible outcomes.
It serves as inspiration for me, to see if I can’t improve on the tenor of my visualizations going forward.
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Weekly Expedition
Thursday evenings is the usual time when we move our garbage and recycling bins down to the road by our mailbox. Our driveway is about a quarter of a mile long, so it can be a feat that requires some preparation.
Early on, I contemplated a variety of options for managing the bins for trash day. Plenty of rural folk permanently keep their bins near the road in a designated location, and then devise ways to haul their trash down.
I don’t want our bins in plain sight all the time, and I definitely don’t want to haul trash the long distance to them.
One of our close neighbors always drives his down in his small pickup truck. I figure it would work okay to haul ours down in a trailer behind the Grizzly, if need be. We have contemplated, off and on, about the driveway becoming gravel in the future, to avoid the expense of new pavement. The bins might not roll so well over gravel.
For now, just we have for the past 3 years, we continue to walk them down every week. It might seem like quite a chore, and I’ll admit there are times when I’m not mentally prepared when that thought occurs to me, but the effort always ends up being a rewarding experience.
I can’t count the number of times when I have felt awe over taking that ‘forced-chore’ walk outside, at a time when I didn’t think I wanted to, because the experience ended up being so beautiful, fulfilling, and inspiring.
That simple action turns into an epic journey.
I have had the opportunity to spend a week learning winter survival skills at Will Steger’s homestead, to travel to see Olympic games in Norway, to hike in the Himalayan mountains in Nepal, and to experience a few weeks at Ian Rowcliffe’s Forest Garden Estate in Portugal. I returned from each of those experiences a changed man.
There is something about routinely rolling heavy bins of refuse from our house to the road that changes me, too. Every time. Honestly, I’m not entirely sure how to describe it, but I’m pretty sure it is what keeps me from putting any serious energy toward devising a more mechanized method of moving them.
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Didn’t Miss
I was wrong. Turns out, the rain didn’t miss us. It was simply delayed. When it finally moved over us, it arrived with a vengeance.
The precipitation began in the early morning hours yesterday, and thrashed down with significant gusting winds. I was awakened about a half-hour before my alarm by the tempest, allowing me a chance to lay and wonder how the horses were handling the assault.
The nasty weather added unwelcome drama to my commute through the cities in the early darkness, reducing visibility to the point that most decisions become mere guess-work, while my car was shoved to and fro unexpectedly by the extreme gusting wind.
The temperature hovered just above the freezing point, and throughout the day the precipitation oscillated between wet, icy, and flaky.
Cyndie sent me some pictures and reported that the horses were soaking wet, jumpy as heck, and shivering to beat the band when she arrived to offer the morning feed. Poor Hunter was beside himself, looking thoroughly undone and having a tizzy about getting into the barn. When he is cold and wet, the first thing he does upon entering the confined space of his stall is to lay down and roll in the wood shavings we use for bedding.
It makes a scary racket, because he inevitably hits the walls with his feet in his wild gyrating. Cyndie said he successfully got himself covered with wood shavings from head to tail.
By afternoon, the rain gauge had captured 2 inches. As I neared home on my return from work, I began to see water flowing in ditches that are usually dry. Every creek I crossed was spilling out beyond its banks.
Delilah had to traipse along beside the trails in places that were under water.
If we get a quick freeze, I’m afraid Cyndie will need to wear skates when she walks the dog in the days ahead.
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Many Thanks
On this eve of our Thanksgiving holiday, I wish to extend my heartfelt thanks to you, my readers, for venturing into my world and joining in my adventures and explorations of Somethings occasionally Relative. You may have arrived to view my stories of a Himalayan trek, our visit to Portugal, my annual bike trips, pictures, poetry, Words on Images, or tales of a transition from the suburbs to our Wintervale Ranch paradise. You may be family, friends, coworkers, fellow WordPress bloggers, poets, photographers, wordsmiths, or happenstance searching link-clickers.
You are my audience, and I thank you for your participation, silent or otherwise.
I hope that regular followers have grown familiar with the usual cast of characters that populate the content of late. A certain dog seems to get the most mention. Long ago I began a move toward dropping constant use of orienting descriptions for people and animals that show up in my tales of adventure and woe, hoping that they were becoming established and familiar to readers over time.
We are many chapters into a book that you are reading as it is being written. What will happen next? I can’t make it up. The drama plays out with little concern about how I might be able to narrate it.
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I purchased a replacement GFCI breaker for power to the waterer in the paddock. It failed, too. My “spidey” sense tells me there is leakage current, after all. Removing the access panel on the waterer revealed an incredible amount of moisture present. No wonder. I saw a statistic that we are currently running in 7th place for wettest November on record.
In the previous two years of having that waterer during the winter, we’ve never faced needing to have the heater on when it was so wet.
I’m temporarily bypassing the GFI safety feature to keep the ice off the water source for our horses. Cyndie had a heck of a time breaking off the ice for them yesterday morning, after I tried a night with no power at all.
It appears the solar-powered battery supplying electricity to our arena fence is successfully keeping the horses from wreaking havoc on the barrier.
I found a picture I had taken with the intent of showing how wet the ground was, and discovered it caught Legacy in the distance, mouthing the fence. Busted!
Don’t forget, you can click on the smaller images to bring up the full-size view for closer inspection.
Our house is already filled with the aroma of traditional holiday feasting fare. Cyndie has been busy cooking and cleaning in preparation of hosting Thanksgiving dinner here tomorrow. Family that are planning to come should consider bringing mud-boots.
The weather shows signs of possible precipitation, in addition to the water already saturating our grounds. I’m hoping we don’t all end up stuck indoors watching parades and football games, and eating way more than we should as a result of more rain. It would be a shame to miss out on walks in our woods, exercising Delilah to tire her out, walking the labyrinth, and visiting the horses.
I’m guessing we won’t let a little rain stop us from getting out for a little bit.
Thank you for reading!
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Flash Booms!
Holy cow, did we experience a flurry of lightning and thunder last night. If I didn’t know better, I would have guessed we were in the month of June, based on the lightning laced downpours I traveled through on my commute home after work.
By the time I pulled in our driveway, Cyndie already had the horses in the barn for the night. Subsequent checks on them through the evening revealed signs they were appreciative of the shelter, yet still needing to manage some nervousness over the fireworks of the storm.
Someone else was failing miserably at managing her nervousness about the cracking and booming that repeatedly burst forth overhead. Poor Delilah couldn’t keep herself from trying to out-shout the mysterious noises erupting from the high heavens.
We reacquainted her with her Thundershirt and let her sample some doggie downers in hopes of saving her heart from premature failure. There was no pausing the thunderstorm, so she needed other sources of relief.
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Dinner time occurred at one of the storming peaks, but she soldiered through the inhalation of her meal (which actually should have required some chewing) and kept up her “defense” against the noisy invader without hesitation.
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Again, Anticipate
I’m thoroughly under the weight of the oppressive symptoms of a cold, and have grabbed an old “Words on Images” for today in place of boring you with the gory details of my day in bed. Here’s to better days ahead…
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White Flakes
Ladies and gentlemen, let the record state, we have snow. Ready, or not, the white flakes of winter have made their first appearance here. You can hardly see them in the image, but I had to take the picture anyway. It’s the official portrait recording proof of the occasion.
Maybe if you squint a little bit and shake your head back and forth while looking at it.
Not really. I just wanted to see if I could get you to do that.
I came home from work with the full intention of building the last of four slow-feeder hay boxes for the stalls in the barn, for Legacy’s “apartment,” but the weather had degraded early enough that Cyndie moved the herd indoors before I even arrived. He’ll eat his hay out of an open tub for the time being.
I got the night off, which was quite all right with me. I wasn’t that interested in venturing out into the cold and wet blowing mess, preferring instead, to climb under a blanket and take in one of the rented movies that came in the mail.
We had a good laugh over “Life of Crime,” with Mos Def and John Hawkes, among other notable names in the cast. It was a fun distraction from anything that matters, like …the cost increases for medical insurance, or when the chimney repair company will be able to fix it so we can burn fires in the fireplace again.
When the movie was over, we put on outdoor gear that hasn’t been worn for over half a year and went down to the barn to check on the tenants. My headlamp revealed some snow was finding a way to accumulate on the leaves and grass. The horses seemed happy to be out of the elements and a lot closer to dry than they were when they came in, hours before.
I was able to watch the three chestnuts navigating the new hay boxes, while Cyndie worked around them to clean their bedroom floors. It’s nice to see them be able to eat with their heads down, in the natural position of grazing, as opposed to the old system that involved racks that held the hay up high.
I dumped the wheelbarrow of manure and wood shavings, with the thought that this was the beginning of the season where we collect significantly greater volumes to be composted. After just a few loads already this season, the space set aside for this purpose looks like it will never be enough for the whole winter. That is, unless they don’t need to come inside overnight very many times.
I’m thinking El Niño may help keep the horses outside a lot this winter. If that happens, we have plenty of compost space to support our operation for another year.
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Decidedly Different
From balmy Sunday to blustery Monday we experienced an almost 40° (F) temperature swing, factoring in the “windchill” reading that resulted from the strong northwest gusting wind. Nothing says October like a cold, cloudy, windy day.
I took Delilah out for a short trek around the property when I got home from work, during which we fed the horses and then wandered a few trails in the woods to check for downed branches.
At one point, even though I didn’t feel as though I was seeing anything, I sensed there was motion occurring through the trees, and I kept my eyes glued in that direction in hopes of picking up some confirmation.
Was it a bird? Likely possibilities included grouse, pheasant, or even wild turkey. Something led me to believe it was big. Something else gave me the impression it was right in front of my eyes, but I was not seeing it. Honestly, what came to mind was the movie effect of “Predator” in camouflage mode.
All these mental gymnastics happened in a fraction of a second. Putting it all together, I discerned the white I thought I had seen was, in fact, the tail of a deer.
We had just come down that hill a short time before, and ended up circling back on our path in a way that may have surprised the keen senses of the shy animal. I was energized to find it had stopped its movement at a place that gave me a clear view of the head and face, as the deer looked directly back at me from an incredibly short distance away.
It was probably the closest I have been to a live, wild deer in years. I glanced down at Delilah, who was nose-to-the-ground busy, following the myriad smells that surely exist on our well-used trails, but she showed no evidence of detecting how close we were to something that would no-doubt thrill her to the extreme to pursue.
When I looked back for the deer, I realized how difficult it was to detect it through the trees while it stood motionless. I started to walk again, coming around the corner to climb the hill where Cyndie and I had just been working on the fence, hoping to get a better perspective on where the deer was standing. I was also scanning in hopes of finding others, under the assumption deer are usually in a herd.
What I discovered was that my movement was enough to drive the deer off and I had been unable to detect its departure. Delilah didn’t show any sign of sensing the scent of immediately fresh traffic across our trail. I wondered if the deer had been surprised by the recent appearance of the fence we just put up over the weekend.
There were no other deer in sight as we climbed the hill toward the house, and toward the respite from the wind it would provide. Had I not picked up the fleeting images of that whiteness and the almost imperceptible motion of the body through the trees, I would have missed it altogether.
Allows me to imagine how often I have probably done just that on these trails in the last few years, and been within similarly close proximity to wildlife, while being entirely unaware.
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Disappearing Delilah
My inability to master the art of dog training is revealed in our lovely canine’s increasing confidence in behaving any way she pleases. Just two days ago, I was lamenting our failure thus far to stop Delilah’s behavior of jumping up on people engaged in hugs during greetings or departures.
She just wants to participate in the hugs, of course, but her nails on unprepared backsides are not something we feel our guests should have to deal with when they are otherwise occupied. Both Cyndie and I recognize that we have failed to gain the upper hand on demanding compliance with our instructions. The formula of training by way of rewarding good behavior, as opposed to a focus on punishing bad behavior, evades us when it comes to the current challenges.
Cyndie has been doing a heroic effort of conditioning Delilah to stay close to us when we allow her the freedom of being off-leash, frequently calling her back for check-ins and rewarding her with treats when she promptly complies. It had been working well for quite some time, until I distracted Cyndie in the barn yesterday when I sought her assistance installing my first half-sized slow-feeder box in Cayenne’s stall.
That brief period of our distraction from Delilah’s whereabouts led to the hunter girl wandering off in search of irresistible prey beyond the borders of our property. Cyndie didn’t want to give up without a fight and scoured our trails, blowing her whistle and calling Delilah’s name.
She even drove the truck in a search of the roadways immediately surrounding us. The only thing that came out of that effort was a texted greeting from George, after he saw her drive past their place. Once again, Delilah was in the “dog house” with us. From past experience, I knew our dog would eventually show up at one of the doors, happy as could be, covered in burrs, and clueless to the level of transgression she had pulled off.
After a long spell, just as I expected, Delilah did return home. We treated her matter of factly, allowing her a long drink at her water bowl, after which, Cyndie took her outside to remove the burrs.
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I don’t know how, but she seemed to recognize our displeasure. Her behavior for the rest of the day and evening was akin to her having put herself on a “time-out” all on her own. She didn’t demonstrate any of her usual playful behaviors, repeatedly seeking attention by bringing a ball or other toy to us, or simply walking up and putting her head in our laps.
She demurely laid low the whole time. I can only hope she was using that time to think about what she had done wrong, and was feeling entirely remorseful. Sadly, the other possibility is that she was just so exhausted from having had such a fantastic getaway that she needed the rest and was saving up her energy for the next opportunity to do it over again.
Trust me, she is back on full-time leash protocol again, and will be for the foreseeable future, whether she understands the correlation, or not.
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Double Double
I am doing double, double-duty this week: at home, I am covering for Cyndie while she is visiting the west coast with friends, and at the day-job, I am filling in for a vacationing employee. What an unfortunate coincidental timing for these two situations to occur.
I am taxed with not being able to leave home before rush-hour traffic builds, because I need to tend to our daily morning animal-care routine first, while at the same time, I have twice the work facing me at the day-job, which realistically requires I spend extra time there. Not gonna happen. I need to get home early to rescue Delilah from the confines of her outdoor kennel and then feed the horses their afternoon nutrition.
Somethings gotta give, and I’m afraid it’s going to be service to our customers for a few days. Maybe they won’t notice.
At home, I fear the never-ending grass growth is likely to be my ongoing nemesis. It needs mowing again already! I didn’t have time yesterday after work. Between needing to give Delilah a healthy amount of attention and cleaning up a day’s worth of manure, the ever-shorter evening daylight hours were easily consumed.
Now that I am checking the temperature of the composting manure pile every day, I am finding that I need to turn it over with the pitch fork much more often that I had been doing.
I took a picture of the thermometer displaying that it was over 160° (F) again, after I had just mixed it around on Sunday. What a fascinating phenomenon that heat generation is.
Speaking of heat, we are enjoying a spectacular rendition of warm September days this week. Yesterday felt like warmth of a summer day, but there is no mistaking the subtle clues that frame it as autumnal.
I expect that the changing angle of the sun contributes greatly, but the actuality of that is not entirely obvious. Around our place, we’ve already got enough crunchy leaves over our trails that they are contributing a distinct fall-like aroma to go along with the auditory serenade that happens beneath footsteps.
We are in a period of high winds, as well, and something about the way the rushing warm air felt on my skin last night gave me a feeling that this is something special to be appreciated. It was hot, without being hot. Seriously. That may not make sense to you, but it explains the impression that warm September air can produce.
I am challenged with needing to luxuriate in this brilliantly spectacular weather for more than just myself, but for Cyndie, too, since I’m absorbing her share of bliss while she’s gone. It’s the least I could do.
It wouldn’t make much sense to only take on the burdens her absence presents, would it?
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