Posts Tagged ‘family’
Gift Remembered
My sister, Mary, commented that she likes when I write about my early years growing up in our fabulous family. I always feel a little unsure about writing my version of the past for an audience that includes others who were present at the time and enough older than me that they probably were able to form more dependable memories of the actual events.
I have an impression of our holiday gift giving involving a certain amount of shenanigans. I’m sure my siblings will be able to clarify, but I have a vague recollection of someone needing to follow a trail of yarn that had been fiendishly “spider-webbed” around the furnishings of the room, to get to the prize at the end. Maybe that was just a party game. We had a fair amount of those events, too.
There is one gift I remember in particular that I was fooled by, that went on to become one of my prized possessions. I’m guessing it was the Christmas of 1967, because November of that year is when the album, “Pisces, Aquarius, Capricorn, & Jones Ltd.” was released by The Monkees.
That year I would have been 8-years-old. For a kid that age, the usual assumption is: the bigger the box, the better the present. Well, the length and width of this box were big enough to fit a record album, but it was deep enough to hold something much larger. It was thrilling. I unwrapped the present, removed the cover, and found nothing but tissue paper inside the box.
They had taped the album to the cover of the box. I think it was a little frustrating for me, but that was definitely diminished by the excellence of the gift. I don’t recall actually putting the album on the old hi-fi, but I remember studying the front and back cover of the album while listening to the songs, over and over.
I still have the 3rd cut on the second side memorized. It’s the lead-in to the song “Pleasant Valley Sunday” and it is titled, “Peter Percival Patterson’s Pet Pig Porky.”
Peter Percival Patterson’s pet pig Porky ate so much pie that do you know what he did? He popped.
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Just Acting
It’s not that surprising to me that simultaneous to the “routine” I described yesterday, I am also feeling a bit of chaos around here. There is no longer a clear reference for what day of the week it is. With Cyndie not leaving for work Monday through Friday, there is no reference for week or weekend anymore.
We have pulled out the holiday clutter, …I mean, decorations; covered counters and table with baking supplies and delicious final products; and rearranged furniture to accommodate Cyndie’s recovery period. I am trying to keep up with my usual duties while also filling in on tasks normally provided with unparalleled style by Cyndie, and I find it getting more frustrating as time goes on.
It is easy to act as the head cook for a day or two, but keeping up the charade for weeks on end becomes rather daunting. When I write “act,” I don’t mean as in doing the work, I mean literally pretending to be a cook.
Luckily, beyond my escapades in the kitchen, we have had a lot of support from Cyndie’s mom, who has cooked meals and prepared food I can simply heat and serve.
Yesterday, we were blessed by a visit from Elysa and her friend, Anne, who provided a very excellent meal on a day their visit was a surprise. It was the first day I had planned to be away from Cyndie since the surgery, without having provided cover during my absence. It didn’t feel right to me.
When I received a message from Elysa that they decided to come, I was able to relax and enjoy a movie and meal on the far side of the Cities with my precious cycling friends.
By the way, I highly recommend the movie, “St. Vincent,” with Bill Murray, Melissa McCarthy, and the young Jaeden Lieberher who does a fabulous job in his role. Moved me to tears.
It was nice to see some actors who could really pull off the job convincingly.
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Morning Routine
We are in the third weekend since Cyndie’s surgery and things are going really well. Struggles have been minor and triumphs have been many. This morning I am experiencing a bit of a longing to be able to sleep in. Normally, weekend mornings are Cyndie’s chance to greet the horses she has been missing during the week, allowing me the opportunity to wake slowly, linger in bed, and compose my weekend blog posts.
I’ve long heard stories about dairy farmers who needed to get up early every day of every week, without exception, to milk cows. I am feeling an increased appreciation for that commitment.
My morning routine has normalized for all of us and is flowing very comfortably of late. Delilah has pleasantly announced her waking with soft mutterings, remaining stretched out on the bed in her overnight crate after she hears sounds of me getting up. I switch on the kitchen light and she lolls in place luxuriously while I get myself dressed and ready to take her out and feed the horses. It is a very soothing pace to start the day.
We step out and locate the horses during our stroll to the barn. It takes the herd no time at all to sense our approach, whereupon they begin something of a controlled stroll toward their morning feed. It is as if they don’t want to appear too eager.
The one variation in the pattern happens as they select who gets which feed pan. Some days it is very straight forward, and sometimes it becomes a complicated exercise of gamesmanship as the chestnuts take turns flaunting domination by driving each other off one pan to another.
If it is windy, or something else has them already on edge, feeding under the roof overhang is fraught with multiple emergency response drills as they all erupt in a hasty dash out from under cover whenever any one of them even flinches at the slightest thing. Just as quick, they seem to figure out it was a false alarm and come right back, but that doesn’t stop another panic from happening 20-seconds later.
It’s interesting that my presence is sometimes a contributor to their alarm, but more often completely ignored. I need to stay alert to be out of the way when they panic, and they surprise me that they don’t react at some of the clanging and banging noises I make when I am fumbling about.
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While they are focused on the feed pans, I wander over to the hay shed to fill the wheelbarrow with flakes that I distribute to the two feeders. As soon as the horses have licked the feed pans clean, they come munch hay. Hunter most often chooses to wait until the other three dive into the first station I have filled, then he chooses the other one. Sometimes another horse might meander over to join him, sometimes not.
After horses are fed, Delilah and I head out on an exploration of our trails. I will often let her choose the route, and I just follow along, stopping wherever she chooses to linger, examining the source of some scent that has dramatically grabbed her full attention.
Once back to the house, both she and Pequenita are served their breakfast, after which there settles a wonderful calm over the house.
When Cyndie gets back to full mobility, and we get back to the old weekend morning routine, that calm moment will be about the time I think about finally getting up.
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Day After
It feels like an accomplishment to get through the day after Thanksgiving. It has become such an event unto itself. My preferred way of coping with the bombardment of consumerism-run-amok is to not go anywhere or do anything that could in any way be construed as partaking in the buying frenzy.
When Cyndie appeared from the bedroom yesterday morning, she informed me that I would be making the 1-hour drive to the city to pick up a prescription for her. My plan for the day was foiled from the get-go. In addition, daylight had revealed a new covering of snow that arrived overnight, so I had some plowing and shoveling that demanded attention as well.
It didn’t end there. As I was driving home from the pharmacy, I noticed some rain drops on the windshield. We were receiving sporadic bouts of timid precipitation all afternoon that alternated between wet drops and icy shards. Never enough to make a major impact, but enough to leave a trace. If it got any worse, I would likely need to put the horses under cover of the barn overnight, which meant I needed to clean the stalls from their previous stay.
Such is life on the ranch in the winter. When Cyndie returns to full activity, these projects will be minor demands on us. Prior to that, the combination of tasks needing simultaneous attention complicate my routine significantly. I am not able to help Cyndie at the same time I am out doing chores.
I walked in the door this afternoon and found her working in the kitchen. As time passes in her recuperation, she begins to grow weary of asking for assistance and naturally tries to do more and more herself, as she feels able. I begin to feel like a nag from frequently asking if she needs my help, but then think I’m neglecting my role as care giver when she has worked past her comfort level.
We make a great pair. You’d think we were married or something.
Friday came and then disappeared in a blink. I safely navigated traffic for a few hours on the road, then we enjoyed a flatbread pizza Cyndie created for lunch. I got the stalls cleaned, Delilah walked, driveway plowed, and trash/recycling wheeled down to the road.
In the end, I decided the horses didn’t need to come in overnight. I’ll find out this morning whether they were okay with that plan, or not. It wasn’t exceptionally cold overnight, and the prediction is for above-freezing temperatures today, so I’m hoping they aren’t finding the weather too bothersome.
If I’ve got the energy for it today, there is some old firewood that needs to be hauled to the house and new firewood to be split and stacked. With a little luck, maybe I’ll even get back to that slow hay feeder box project that has been stalled for a few days now.
I’m happy to have it be the day after the day after.
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Concocting Thankfulness
Amid the backdrop of societal problems of racial injustice, religious violence, political corruption, patriarchal rape culture, unbridled banking industry crimes, insane sports and entertainment industry salaries, over-commercialization of holidays, and overall people’s misplaced priorities, we pause in the US today to give thanks.
Our Thanksgiving holiday harkens back to a time when one tribe of people gathered together with the indigenous people whom were seen as lesser-than, to feast over their bounty and good fortune. Somehow, the feast became an annual tradition, despite the despicable behavior of the dominant group that whitewashed deeds to allow themselves to feel okay with their means to an end.
Today I enjoy the luxury of living with horses. They give me many reasons to be thankful. I am acutely aware of the privilege that contributed to the opportunity for me to achieve this luxury. It requires some mental exercise to get beyond the guilt and shame over the behavior of the people who came before me to pave my way.
Our horses help me focus on the present moment. They live without pretense, ask for little, and give to no end.
For the American holiday of Thanksgiving, I struggle to identify with the thanks being brandished about, but for the genuine art of being thankful, I am all in.
There is much love and plenty of family and friends to be thankful for, and in that regard I am richly blessed. My solution to dealing with all the ills of the world is to send love equally in all directions. Where I don’t feel love, I can produce it. From that effort comes genuine feelings of love, suddenly manifest. It’s not unlike thankfulness.
Love and thanks are not far apart. I am thankful for very many things, and today I will contemplate that. I send my love to you all, and hope that you find much to be thankful for, too.
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Precious Family
I am so lucky to have the support of family to help care for Cyndie during her initial recovery period. Today is the 1-week anniversary of her hip replacement surgery, and by all accounts, her convalescence is right on track. Having family here to contribute their energies to our routine is one of the reasons for her progress.
It also has enabled me to simultaneously accomplish some weather-dependent projects that were on my list of things to do if the temperature ever rose above freezing. The weekend became my chance.
I do have a proclivity for letting non-essential tasks linger untouched while my attentions are directed toward things I find more appealing. Once classic chore I struggle with is, cleaning out the stalls in the barn. It’s been a long time since the horses were last held in there, and I have been walking past the open doors for over a week without doing anything about the messes they left behind.
When the weather forecast threatened the possibility of rain and sleet, I realized I couldn’t afford to ignore that chore any longer. While Julian and his girlfriend were around on Saturday to keep Cyndie company, I was able to finally get the stalls clean and readied for occupation by the time rain arrived last night.
The horses gladly moved in.
Yesterday, Cyndie’s parents came over and I was able to fix a couple of spots on the electric fence that were arcing, and then also work on something that I thought wouldn’t happen until next spring. The warm temperatures of the last two days obliterated what little snow cover that had accumulated.
I seized the opportunity to clear out a good portion of our manure composting area to make space for the loads filled with wood shavings that come from the barn in the winter. By dumping the composted manure behind the shop garage, I doubled my accomplishment, as that location had eroded and was sorely in need of fill.
Cross two more things off my “to-do” list, thanks to family support.
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Fire Fun
Sunday was no rest day from work, even though we were graced with a visit from family. We started a fire to burn a couple of tree root bundles along with the remains of the brush pile we chipped the day before. While that was burning, I used the chainsaw to cut logs out of the tree trunks that were too big for the chipper.
We had the ATV down there with the trailer full of tools, the tractor for lifting one of the tree roots onto the fire, and the pickup to carry all the logs back uphill for splitting into firewood. It looked like quite the activity center.
When visitors arrived, they were welcomed at the fire. While I stayed to supervise the burn, they headed up to the house for some lunch Cyndie had prepared. Bless her heart, she brought me down a serving of a fabulous stew/soup she made in the slow cooker using meat from our CSA share, courtesy of our neighbors at Walker Farms. It tasted extraordinarily good to my hungry appetite, standing in the great outdoors beside a stoked fire.
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Nieces and nephews brought all their youthful enthusiasm to interact with Delilah, walk the horses in the round pen, and help around the fire. Where there is fire, Cyndie’s container of s’more supplies is never far off.
Beck unknowingly handled the working end of the stick that had been used to stir the coals. Is it that obvious? Doesn’t really matter when there are marshmallows to be roasted.
The weather was perfect, with just enough wind to keep the fire energized, and just enough sunshine to feel comfortable outdoors.
After everyone was gone, and most of the equipment was put away, I walked back down to get the truck and to make sure the fire was done burning. It wasn’t, and I didn’t have the heart to extinguish it. It was a beautiful evening and I became mesmerized by the serenity of the fire, the horses nearby, the vista of fall colors, and the quiet that the end of the day offered.
Looking up at the trees that still block a view of our house, I noticed that we are at about 50% foliage. The last few days the leaves have been raining down heavily from some of the trees. The rest are not going to hold on to theirs much longer.
The season of more and more fire fun is upon us. Time to get that woodshed back up to cover our firewood. Probably also time for Cyndie to re-stock her tub of s’more supplies.
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Chippin’ Brush
With the lawn mowed and the piles of composting manure all in order, yesterday I was able to focus my attention on changing brush piles into wood chips. Once again, I found myself processing several preliminary steps to reach the point of being able to start working on the primary thing I intended to do.
I decided to let the chipper create a pile on the ground, so before I started chipping, I wanted to cut the long pasture grass down to the ground at the location where I would make the pile. I planned to use the Stihl trimmer to do that, but first I needed to change from a metal blade to nylon line for the job.
Next, I needed to solve the problem of a missing pin on one of the stabilizing arms of the 3-point hitch, before I could move the tractor and chipper down to the designated spot. When I was putting the tractor away after the last time I used it, I noticed the stabilizing arm was hanging loose, and the pin that was supposed to be holding it in place was missing.
It was a long shot, but I decided to look for the pin down near the spot where I had noticed the chipper swinging wider than normal when I was driving to put it away last time. I figured the unusual behavior probably started happening soon after the pin fell out. It was a little worse than looking for a needle in a hay stack, so I didn’t look for long.
I borrowed a pin from the ATV snow-plow blade, and was on my way. It was another beautiful day, and I remembered to take a photo before I started chipping, so I would have a comparison for how it would look afterwards. Little did I realize that it would also provide reference of how the beautiful day later turned gray in a matter of about an hour.
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I started working by myself, pulling branches from the pile and feeding them into the chute of the chipper, but soon recognized how much quicker it would be to have another person helping. Elysa and friends had come over for the afternoon, so I took a short break for lunch to see them, checked in with Cyndie, and mentioned I could use an assistant.
They were generous enough to come to my aid after they completed doing some exercises with the horses. Extra hands made a big difference, turning that pile of branches into chips in less than half the time it would have taken me on my own at the pace I was going.
It brought to mind this: I completely understand why farm families benefit from having a lot of children.
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Work Friends
Other than feeding our animals in the morning and again when I got home, yesterday was not a Wintervale day. I drove into the cities to spend a little time at the old day-job, allowing me the chance to again be with the fabulous people with whom I was previously employed. As wonderful as it has been to spend my full-time days managing our property, I suffer a great loss by no longer being able to work with the people who, in many ways, had grown closer to me than family.
Working 8-hours a day together for many years, through thick and thin, sharing responsibilities toward a common goal, has a way of bonding a diverse group of people. I wish I could bring them all home with me to help manage the ranch.
When done right, a healthy response to problems becomes a work of art. During my visit, an issue was discovered during final inspection, which was calmly investigated, and a solution devised. I watched the activity travel seamlessly from person to person, with ease. It was a joy to behold.
In the end, I don’t feel that I contributed any tangible value to the output of product. I served as a second set of eyes to review a completed new project. In fact, I was more of a hindrance to getting things done with all my chattering and catching up. They ordered pizza and we had a company gathering for lunch. (Don’t tell Cyndie, but it was her favorite from Gina Maria’s.) What’s not to like about a ‘work day’ like that?
It means a lot to me to not have to drive that long commute anymore. Despite the stop-and-go afternoon traffic coming home yesterday, the trip wasn’t annoying at all, because seeing them again had been such a rewarding pleasure.
They are no longer my work-mates, they have become friends from that place where I used to work.
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New Tricks
Just like when I was a little boy, I have once again been inspired by my big brother, Elliott. He taught me new skills in tree trimming while he was here to rope climb into our trees and cut hanging dead limbs. Ever since that day, I have wanted to emulate the techniques he demonstrated for tossing a line over a high limb, and for handling ropes.
On a (now-regular) shopping errand to Fleet Farm for equipment and supplies, I picked up a weight from the fishing department and several hundred feet of small gauge woven line as my new method for getting a rope over a tree branch. I can now look back and laugh at the time I tied a heavy pad lock on the large rope we had, and repeatedly threw it aloft in attempt to snag a hanging branch. It was laborious and inefficient, although ultimately exhaustively successful. My new skill has made that exercise ancient history.
I was able to use the new weighted line, and technique learned from Elliott, to get a rope around the huge limb that came down in recent winds. The heavy end of that limb made it to the ground, but it was so big that most of it remained hung up in the branches of the neighboring trees. As I cut the lower portion with the chain saw, we wanted to pull the top over, getting it out of the branches in which it was held, hopefully without causing any additional damage. It worked like a charm.
With that task accomplished, I was able to practice the braiding technique Elliott showed me, gathering the rope in a method that allows it to quickly come undone next time it is needed. For some reason I haven’t figured out yet, I’m doing something that causes the ends to be uneven. Happily, it gives me an excuse to keep practicing. I’ve discovered I really enjoy handling rope.
Since my current tree branch trimming methods primarily involve keeping my feet firmly planted on the ground, my new rope skills caused me to reconsider the high-limb rope chain saw that I previously looked upon as having questionable viability. Comically, what I didn’t recall was that I already owned one.
While searching for a container to hold my throwing rope, I spotted a short bucket on the floor in my shop that was exactly what I wanted. Inside it were a pair of worn out gloves that deserved to be thrown out, several rags, an old ratcheting pruner that has been missing, and lo and behold, a rope chain saw I had never used and forgotten I had received as a stocking-stuffer gift (I think) some years ago.
Dispelling my previous doubts, I have discovered that it works GREAT! Thanks to the new tricks Elliott showed me, I was able to get that chain over a branch that was higher than I ever imagined I could reach from the ground and cut through it with relative ease.
Look out lofty dead tree branches… here I come.
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Relative Something 