Posts Tagged ‘change’
Unknown Future
For the first Monday in a long time, I am back at the old day-job and Cyndie is at home. We are reversing roles again. I won’t be doing the laundry today, she will. I hope she hangs my dri-fit items to air-dry.
We need to shop for health coverage. We need to figure out a new financial plan, because I only bring in a fraction of what her salary was. We need to leap into this next chapter of our adventurous dream.
The horses are ready. Delilah is mostly ready. Pequenita doesn’t care one way or the other, as long as I continue to vigorously scratch her from head to toe each night. The property is well-able to support activity, and will always be in process of becoming more ready than it is.
Yesterday, I finally got the last portion of our muddiest trail covered with wood chips. Now it is time to move on to the second muddiest spot, although that will require our making more chips, …unless we steal from the cache designated for use around the labyrinth. I suppose I could take from there and pay it back later.
I got started on trimming the growth around buildings and fences, but needed to take a break partway to allow for a brief thunder shower to pass overhead. I saw it coming and decided to forge ahead until I had used up a tank of gas. The timing turned out to be perfect, and I made it to shelter before getting wet.
I did pause briefly while trimming, to take a picture of the sky over the grazing horses. It didn’t cause them to alter their behavior one bit. They gladly continue munching grass, rain or shine.
I get the feeling they have no misgivings about what lies ahead for us. Ours is not an unknown future to them.
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The Twentysixth
On this day, many, many years ago, I was born. I wonder if I subconsciously knew what I was getting into at the time. In so many ways, I am still the little boy who was trying to figure out which way to go.
I haven’t ever noticed any maturation of my inner consciousness. In my mind, I have always been the same age, or ageless. I have a recollection of one day realizing that I was able to reach the Dixie Cup dispenser in the kitchen of my childhood, on my own, but that was strictly physical growth. It was a memorable milestone for me.
It meant I could drink milk whenever I wanted, because we also had a milk-can refrigerated cooler/dispenser with a heavy knob lever that pinched a rubber hose to control the flow of milk. Lifting that lever brought very cold milk that flowed so quickly it would create a froth on top.
Eventually I would be holding bowls of cereal under that hose and getting ice-cold milk on my Cocoa Crispies, or Sugar Puffs, or Cap’n Crunch. My sugar habit started way back then, back before the introduction of corn syrup. In the 1970s, things began to change in the food industry and my addiction was off to the races.
I consider myself lucky to have let my sweet tooth run free for so many years and not suffered outrageous weight gain. I have no idea whether it would be accurate to blame my prolonged high-sugar diet for my depression, asthma, arthritis, and belly fat, but more than one source I have read seems to implicate it as a potential cause for those afflictions, and more.
It makes sense to me that we are dealing with something we don’t completely understand, given the relative short span of our entire human history in which we’ve been consuming such dramatic amounts of sugar annually. Sugar was a rare luxury for most of the world until the 1800s when granulated sugar was invented.
I don’t believe our bodies have evolved enough in the last few generations to effectively deal with the onslaught of glucose that is altering the balance of enzymes and minerals which regulate bodily functions and deliver nutrition to our cells.
In many ways we are healthier than ever before, yet at the same time, we may be undermining the best of our health by the over-sweetening of the majority of packaged and prepared meals and snacks which we consume today.
I’m now closer to 60 than I am to 50 years old. This year I am working to undo the years of accumulated sugar consumption in hopes of reversing a trend toward diabetes and possibly clearing up a few other nagging ailments. It’s a little like being born all over again. It’s not the first time I have made a conscious decision to change course and start down a new path toward better health.
As always, I seek optimal health. It’s one of the best birthday gifts that I can give myself. Happy June 26th!
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Full Disclosure
I came home to some good news yesterday, and some bad news. Both involve growing things. The good news is that our berries look to be coming in with gusto this year. The bad news is that the poison ivy I sprayed has come back to life already. Full disclosure on that organic weed killer that I was so excited about: It will take more than one application to kill poison ivy all the way down to the roots.
I haven’t looked closely enough yet to know for sure, but at first glance, it looked to me that at least 80% of what I had first sprayed as my test case has sprouted new leaves from the same stem. I don’t think that’s a big deal. Now that I know, I will be more studious about returning to stifle any new growth with another spraying as soon as it appears.
I have received a fresh batch of concentrated weed killer and will be mixing batches of it for use in my new backpack sprayer to apply on the next warm, sunny day that I am home. This is a fight that the poison ivy will not win.
There are other good things blooming at our place right now. I wish I could offer up the amazing aroma emanating from our Japanese tree lilac for you to enjoy. That tree puts out one heck of a powerful perfume.
There are other bad things happening here, too. That cute little stunted spruce tree in the foreground of that image is a favorite location for several nesting birds. Last night as I was holding the front door open for Cyndie to step in with her arms full, I spotted Delilah up on her hind legs under that short tree.
Our sudden shouting at her to get down did nothing to dissuade her from plucking a poor innocent bird out of its hiding spot. One of my first thoughts was that this was a precursor to the challenges we will face if/when we get around to having chickens.
That dog is just a natural-born predator. It may be overly callous, but since the damage is done, I guess I can look at it as one less bird trying to get our berries before we do.
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What’s Next
With my vacation over, I find myself feeling a mixture of calm and uneasiness. My mind is surprisingly quiet and my body is somewhat tired. I hopped right into the routine of chores yesterday, with a trip to Hudson to pick up supplies and then an afternoon of mowing grass.
I finally received some irrigation tubing I have been waiting for, which will allow me to bury a water line from the house down to the labyrinth garden. Just to keep me from getting too cocky about my plans, almost immediately, I allowed the line to kink while working with it. Curses!
The day of working on the endless number of things that deserve attention —not the least of which is the management of growing things that never pause in their attempts to extend their reach— exhausted both my mind and my body.
It troubled me a bit to be feeling so burdened by the daily chores after having just enjoyed a week-long break. Shouldn’t I feel renewed and energized to get back to the tasks at hand?
Part of it, I think, might be related to my sense of a lack of progress toward launching an actual income-generating business from our horses and the place we have created. I have noticed it causing me to feel my efforts to prepare and manage this place were becoming an exercise in futility.
That may be about to change. When I got home from my trip, I found a copy of Cyndie’s resignation letter from her job as Chief Academic Officer of Anoka-Hennepin public school district on our counter.
Uh oh. No wonder I’m feeling some uneasiness. What will happen next?
Are we going to make that leap of faith?
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Sophomore Slump
I don’t think sophomore slump is necessarily the best description for what I am feeling, but it is what came to mind for me. We have had our horses for a little over a year and a half now, and that just so happens to be the same amount of time for which I have experience with most everything to do with horses.
I came to this gig as a novice and have been relying primarily on intuition as my guide on how to care for them, beyond what I have gleaned from watching and listening to Cyndie, our farrier—George, and the two equine veterinarians who have been here.
If anything, I have leaned toward growing somewhat cocky over the success I have had thus far with our herd of 4, but I am very aware of how limited my experience really is. There is a lot more left to know than the limited understanding I have acquired thus far. What I’m trying to describe is that I feel like I have gained enough experience to no longer be a novice, but not enough to confidently guide my actions beyond the simple acts of feeding and brushing them out.
Yesterday, after brushing Legacy from head to toe because he stepped up and indicated a desire for it, I set down the brushes and took off my gloves to work on a tangle in his mane. With my attention on the twisted knot, I missed any hint he might be displeased with my activity. Suddenly he nipped my pant leg and pinched some flesh.
It brought out an involuntary yell of, “Ouch!” which startled all 4 of them. I angrily backed Legacy off and cut short my attention to all of them.
I am well aware that I have neglected to effectively teach Legacy to respect my space. I find myself in a bit of limbo between mastering the art of communicating with the conscious awareness I have come to believe horses possess, and the more traditional ways of repetitive lessons to establish desired behaviors in horses.
I see it as my sophomore slump that I know a little bit, but not enough to be as effective as I would like. Something tells me that if I continue to allow the horses to be my guides, Legacy will continue to have the upper hand. It’s back to the books for me, to refresh what I already know and then expand beyond that toward a new level of skills and confidence.
In no time I will find myself into my third year with the horses, and by then I would hope a sophomore slump to be a thing of the past.
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Flower Blossoms
Our crab apple tree is fuzzy with flowers today, and the giant allium beneath it is making its way to spectacular. The changes at this time of year are noticeable almost by the hour. A little rain, followed by warm sunshine, and growth practically explodes in every direction.
At the same time, I am discovering that we have a few late-blooming trees, maples, I believe, that look dead next to others that have already leafed out completely. This is our third spring here, and I am becoming aware of more and more about our property that escaped my attention the first two years, due to my being overwhelmed by it all. Does that imply I am becoming dulled to some of the glories of this place? That would be sad.
No, I don’t think that is the case, although there are certain aspects of managing 20-acres that tend to take less mental space when you gain the experience of a couple years. Even though I’ve seen trees die every year, I’ve seen so many more sprout, some of them at a surprising rate of growth. I am less inclined to fret over individual incidents now that I have gained the perspective of a few cycles of the growing seasons.
Even the snapping branches during previous storms, which caused me significant trauma to witness at the time, has been revealed to me to be a common and often recoverable situation. I have come across trees in our woods that look to have been severely damaged years ago, but which have simply sprouted new growth off the fractured limb and although funky looking, are functioning as much like a normal tree as all the other damage-free trees around them.
Our late-blooming maple trees are sporting buds now and will catch up in a blink. I don’t have to worry about them, which allows me to better absorb the beauty and wonder of all the blossoms decorating or fields and forest this year.
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Creatively Repurposed
We lost 8 long-needle pines in the last couple of years due to a combination of dry summers that sandwiched one long and very harsh winter. It was pretty obvious last fall that they were beyond recovery, but I just didn’t have the heart to take them down until this spring.
When the time came to finally face that chore, I decided to see if I couldn’t find some creative way to honor the memory of the pines. It just didn’t feel right to cut them all off at the ground. Of course, I have some history with this ploy of not cutting a tree to the ground and then using the remaining stump for something new.
At our home in Eden Prairie, I saved the 2-3 inch diameter trunks of a cluster of 3 choke cherry trees that had sprouted in an unwelcome spot of our yard, and then balanced rocks on them to create an interesting visual display. I liked the results enough to resurrect the concept again. In this instance, however, I have one item that will be more functional than a rock. It’s a birdhouse (Thank you, Mel & Greg!).
We have some really nice rocks here, so putting a few up on tree stumps is irresistible to me. While I was cutting down this tree which was leaning significantly, I discovered a twiggy young oak tree growing beside it. If that oak survives the abuse that some critter has enacted on the bark of its skinny little trunk, someday it may tower over the end of our house beside our bedroom in the spot where this pine was unable to survive.
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Not Stinky
Pondering smells…
I didn’t live with cats until Cyndie and the kids successfully achieved adding one to our family unit. I didn’t have a strong aversion to cats. It was more what I would describe as a lack of interest in them. When I found myself facing the reality of having one in our home, my main concern was the smell of the litter box. I didn’t want to know it existed in our house. In time, I came to appreciate cats, but the litter box remained Cyndie’s responsibility unless I absolutely couldn’t weasel a way out of it.
When Cyndie landed work that provided good income, but would demand most of her time and attention, I was approved to take on the role of Ranch Manager. I didn’t give it much thought at the time, but the reality of tending the litter box was included in the many daily tasks about to become my sole responsibility.
I seem to have adjusted my sensitivities and am having no difficulties managing the chore of regularly cleaning the litter box.
I didn’t live with horses until just a year and a half ago. I knew manure would be a significant issue to manage, but I tended not to dwell on it. I figured it would be nasty necessary evil. I have come to realize the I don’t find it nasty at all.
Since the snow melted off the fields, we have slowly worked on spreading the droppings that had accumulated over the winter. I’ve tried a variety of different tools for the job, but so far the best results come from simply kicking the piles apart. While I was fervently flailing away in the back pasture yesterday, I became aware of what I now find to be a pleasant smell of the dry manure being broken apart.
There are certain smells typically associated with the keeping of horses. When a barn is well maintained, the aroma is a combination of hay, maybe a little dust, and probably some remnants of dried manure. To a horse-lover, it is an appealing smell. It resonates like wood smoke or the scent of leaves on the ground in the fall.
When I bury the pitch fork deep into the pile of composting manure and turn over the portion that has been breaking down, the smell is far from stinky. It is a rich, earthy smell that I find very appealing. It is a rewarding success to take fresh horse manure that can be offensive smelling and, in a relatively short time, convert it to something that smells pretty good.
It is an interesting twist that I tend to find the smell of perfumes irritating. Along the lines of beauty being in the eye of the beholder, I guess appealing aromas are in the nose of the breather.
Although, who doesn’t like the smell of fresh-baked bread? That one must be universal!
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Already Behind
I recently bought a compost thermometer with an 18 inch probe to check the temperature in the center of my composting manure piles. My first test had me worried that the device was broken when the needle moved the wrong direction. I moved the probe to another spot and started to get a positive reading, so it wasn’t a total bust. I just needed to find a true hotspot in the pile.
A couple of days later I discovered why the needle moved the wrong direction. Not only was that spot not warm from actively composting, it was still snow-packed! With daytime temperatures in the 60s (F) lately, I allowed myself to be fooled about how much melting had occurred.
Only the main core of the pile really stays warm in the winter, and even that can go cold if the composting process stalls. Plenty of the accumulating pile on the fringes is mixed with snow when it gets picked up, or the entire pile gets periodically covered with new fallen snow.
When the spring thaw begins, the visible snow is the first to go. It takes a lot longer to melt piles of snow and ice. I somehow was lulled into the assumption that our low amount of snow cover would mean a complete thaw would happen almost immediately.
The transition from winter to spring is a frustrating one for me. In some ways it seems to take a long time, but in other ways it happens faster than I can react. I noticed yesterday that the landscape pond beside our deck was more water than ice. I need to buy a new in-line filter for the water we pump up to a little waterfall.
While walking Delilah, we came across evidence that moles have already begun their activity of tunneling in the lawn. I meant to buy some stinky deterrent to drive them off into the woods and out of our yard. Haven’t done that yet.
Even though we are drying out nicely, there is still a lot of soil moisture, which will be good when it comes to getting our hayfield to grow, but it means we can’t drive around on any of our machines without making deep impressions in the soft earth.
I would like to clean out the winter accumulation of manure in the paddocks, sooner than later, but that is a huge project and it is inviting a muddy battle to drive around pulling a heavy trailer this soon after the melt.
On top of these concerns is the always possible threat that we could yet receive a significant wallop of a winter storm. The example I repeatedly refer to now is the 18 inches we received on May 2nd in 2013. So even though I feel like I am already behind in being prepared for spring, the possibility for additional doses of winter weather still has a high potential to occur for another 6-weeks or so.
It’s crazy-making. Luckily, we have a trip to visit the Morales’ in Guatemala very soon. That ought to take my mind off the concern of lingering snow events for a while.
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Commuting Again
I’m going to take a little sabbatical from the full-time ranch management gig and go back to the old day-job for a couple of weeks to help them process a large volume of orders they have received. I wonder if I remember how.
I expect the change of environment might reveal how precious my work on the ranch is to me. Being able to spend every day, all day, tending to projects and caring for our animals is a very rewarding experience. Just like everything that becomes routine, it gets easy to lose perspective of just how special that routine can be.
Even though I am often bothered throughout my day with responding to the constant demands Delilah puts on me, I expect that she may be one of the things (that doesn’t sound right, she’s not a ‘thing’) I miss while being away at the work-place.
Yesterday, I needed to make a run to pick up prescriptions at the pharmacy, and I decided to bring her along for the ride. She doesn’t usually ride in the car with us, unless on a trip to the vet. To keep from putting her in the kennel (since unbeknownst to her she will have some day-long stints there starting today), I chose to give her an opportunity to ride in the car when it didn’t end up with a vet visit. She got a bonus when the pharmacist tossed a couple of dog treats in with the drugs.
Here’s hoping I am able to help the work-place get caught up, our animals will do okay with me being gone again, I manage to stay awake while driving to and from work, and that I discover how unconscious of my exceptional situation I have grown in the time since I first made the transition back in July.
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Relative Something 