Posts Tagged ‘home alone’
Cyndie Leaves
It’s not the first time this has happened and it won’t be the last. One minute she was here, the next minute she was gone. Cyndie has flown to Florida to spend a little time with her mom and our daughter where the water isn’t frozen.
Before she left, Cyndie took advantage of one of our pleasant afternoons to visit the horses and seized on an opportunity to untangle some of the “fairy knots” in Mix’s mane.
Mix almost stayed put long enough for her to get them fully separated. Combing out the rest of the mane with some conditioner will have to wait for another day. I look forward to a time when Cyndie has regained her full mobility and can return to bringing her precious energy to the horses in the paddocks every day again.
Hopefully, a little sunshine and exercise in the swimming pool will do wonders for the rehabilitation of her ankle.
Her scenery has definitely changed. One might even describe that as an improvement. (Individual opinions will vary.)
I am holding down the ranch on my own in her absence, which isn’t all that different from the previous four months of her restricted ambulatory abilities. The main thing that changes is my diet becomes a lot less fancy. She did make a point of baking a fresh batch of cookies before she left, so the management of my self-control and willpower won’t be getting a break.
Full disclosure: The primary incentive for managing my consumption of cookies is not for health reasons. I need to pace myself so they will last until Cyndie’s return.
.
.
Slow Slide
Life for me on the ranch is slowly moving away from needing to be Cyndie’s primary caretaker toward our usual partnership in life’s adventures. Her recent advances in regaining independence, by way of driving again, allowed her to attend a gathering of some of her friends and to spend an overnight with another which granted me a little time on my own.
I found an entirely forgettable shoot-’em-up cowboy movie to watch last night that she wouldn’t have enjoyed.
It was the first time I have been truly alone in the house for over a decade because we no longer have any indoor pets. Of course, I miss Delilah and Pequenita but it would be misleading to imply I don’t love the freedom from the responsibilities of tending to them.
The warm February weather has restarted the snowpack’s slow slide from the shop/garage roof. In the shadow of late afternoon yesterday, I saw that a chunk had fallen to the concrete apron below.
This morning, the crust on the snow was frozen enough to support my weight as I pulled broken branches out of the pine tree that suffered the most damage from one of the heavy snowfalls. There were a LOT more branches than I realized.
The tree looks a little worse for the wear but not as bad as I feared. I plan to trim the remains of the broken limbs back to the main trunk. Don’t know if that will make it look any better, or not.
Yesterday afternoon there were hunting dogs roaming our woods and howling off and on between scrambling around with their noses to the ground. These are from the coyote hunters that patrol the area and as such, are always a welcome sight. From my vantage point, it looked like they were roughly following the usual traffic pattern of the elusive fox that roams this area. That doesn’t mean the coyotes don’t travel the same pathways, but I’ve yet to catch sight of those ghostly predators.
At least I’ve seen and have pictures of the fox.
Never did hear any gunshots so their level of success yesterday is unknown.
It feels like we are on a slow slide toward the end of winter. Knowing full well that doesn’t mean we won’t experience more winter weather in March or April, I am holding back on any wild plans for our landscape post-snow.
I’m just going to lean back and enjoy riding the slide.
.
.
Getting Out
I’m burnin’ daylight, what little there is today. I have a full day of work ahead of me clearing snow and entertaining the “every-hour-I-need-attention” canine. I need to make this post short and get outside to shovel, plow, rake, and shovel again. Oh, and I need to reattach the mailbox, as usual.
The plow had only made its first pass by the time Delilah and I made our way down to the road to find the mailbox tossed down into the ditch. I won’t bother reattaching it until the plow passes one more time to clear snow off the shoulder.
Do you think this will inspire me to install a “plow-proof” mount that swings away? Probably not. I’ve toiled seven years already like this, so I suspect the most I might do is take another crack at erecting a legal obstruction to deflect the force of the snow spray away from the vulnerable surface of the mailbox.
At least the plastic sliding grooves are designed such that the box just pops off the base each time, so it can be replaced again with relative ease.
Time to go outside and play!
.
.
Weekend Alone
Cyndie is out of town with her parents this holiday weekend, so I am the sole pet guardian. Was this supposed to be easier after we no longer had horses? A certain high-energy dog has shown no problem filling in the space. The invisible protective border we need to maintain between her jaws and our flock of free-ranging chickens complicates my including Delilah as a companion for many of my projects around the property.
I let her tag along when venturing to the far side of our land with a wheelbarrow (we haven’t replaced the ATV trailer yet) to fetch some black dirt from a pile left over from the first year we moved here and had fence work done. I have been mixing dirt with composted manure to fill some holes in the yard. One was started by burrowing rodents and the other by spinning wheels of the New Holland tractor, both voids then expanded by rainstorm flowing runoff.
I need to leave Delilah behind when collecting compost because that task is a chicken magnet. They love helping when worms and other crawly critters might be involved.
Heading deep into the western woods is far enough from chicken territory that I’m comfortable hitching Delilah’s leash to the wheelbarrow, half hoping she might consider helping to pull in the desired direction. We hauled more pavers to the ever-expanding length of our trail that is messy mud.
Originally, I laid it out with a wider spread, but after walking on it and navigating the ATV on the trail, I’ve changed to more of a single file pattern. Simple stepping stones is all that’s needed in keeping up out of the sloppy muck.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Do you see how nicely the moss adorns blocks that have been there a while?
All these small projects were diversions from mowing grass, hoping that waiting a day might allow a small fraction of drying to occur. That is despite my knowing from experience that it takes more than two days for the slow flow of excess groundwater to trickle down and out of here.
The sun can be shining bright for two days after a spell of rain and that’s when the low areas will be at their wettest. If we are lucky enough to have two more dry days, the footing starts to firm up again. Too bad that won’t be the case this week.
Delilah will be stuck in the kennel again. I gotta mow today.
.
.
Not Fun
You know that part about me driving multiple times to Cyndie’s parent’s house for Christmas events? Didn’t happen. Chalk this one up as “Worst. Christmas. Ever.” for me. At least I didn’t have any problems with trying not to fall asleep behind the wheel.
A dastardly nasty spell of weather foiled my best intentions. We experienced sleet, rain, freezing fog, lightning, thunder, heavy rain, and as a cherry on top, high winds with scarily intense gusts. My Christmas was spent home alone. I might as well have been a character in the movie.
Knowing the impending freezing rainstorm would wreak havoc on roads, we headed out on Christmas eve prepared for Cyndie to stay the night at her folks’ house. I drowsily made my way home through the beginnings of the freezing mist on Saturday night so I could take care of Delilah and the horses.
Sunday morning dawned with a perfect glazing over everything, quickly convincing me I wouldn’t be trying to drive to the cities for the grand gift exchange extravaganza that Cyndie’s family executes with incredible flair. Actually, it was Delilah who convinced me, as she did an immediate slipping-on-a-banana-peel spill off the front steps before she realized the hazardous conditions.
I could have tried to warn her better, but we all know she wouldn’t have listened.
The horses were way out in the hay-field, happily grazing through the snow, so I left them out in the mist for much of the day. The temperature actually climbed a bit, melting some of the glaze by afternoon, but you couldn’t see the difference between frozen and not, which made it doubly dangerous.
I navigated my way around our property by changing my gait to something that looked like I had aged several decades over night. Even with that adjustment, there were still frequent moments of heart pounding panic as I’d catch myself from going ass over teakettle.
By the time it had turned to real rain and become obvious that I needed to get the horses inside for the night, I was fighting both them and the elements to accomplish the task. They stayed out in the field while I prepared their evening feed in the stalls. They made me trudge out in the soaking wet to guide them back to the barn.
The wind howled something awful all night long, making my longed-for uninterrupted night’s sleep an impossibility. At some point around zero dark thirty I figured out the spooky clunk that kept occurring was from a bird feeder hitting the house outside the bedroom. I wasn’t about to get out of bed to do anything about it at that hour, and in that wind, so I just had to get used to the sound enough to ignore it and get back to something close to restful sleep.
Yesterday morning presented with a diabolical combination of standing water (much of it hidden beneath cover of snow), freezing temperatures, and continued strong winds. The slopes around the barn were coated with very slippery ice. I tried spreading sand over them before offering Legacy a chance to bring his herd out for the day. He stopped and surveyed the surroundings, put his nose down to the icy surface, and then turned around to lead me right back into his stall.
They would spend the day indoors.
Cyndie ended up spending another night at her parent’s house. Delilah did well with the crazy weather, too confused by the inclusion of thunder in December to even bark at it. She happily agreed with me to cut our walks to the shortest distance necessary. She and Pequenita became my silent companions, waiting out what nature was serving up, clueless to the joyous family gatherings I was missing.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
She braved the gales with me to inspect the drainage ditch that is backed up a bit with a mixture of snow and water.
It’s going to take some time to get back to decent snow conditions around here, but probably not as long as it will take for me to quit moping about my sad fate this holiday. Only 363 days until I get a chance to replace this year’s Christmas memories with new ones.
Here’s hoping we end up with better weather next year.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Fine Fellowship
Cyndie has left the building. I got home from the day-job yesterday and jumped right into ranch chores, during which I received a message she was on her way to the airport. Of course, I am not alone in managing all the tasks while she is gone. She enlisted the help of two pet-sitters who will be covering for me while I’m away at work.
Even though they will be cleaning up after the horses, feeding all the animals, and walking Delilah, I couldn’t resist the urge to do extra work to get everything looking especially well-kept during my shift. Honestly, I did want to reduce the amount of work they need to bother with, but part of me also hoped to avoid giving the impression we don’t put much effort toward good housekeeping.
Kind of like cleaning your house before your hired cleaning person shows up to work.
With the primary chef of our household on leave, you might think I would be forced to resort to reheating leftovers in the microwave on the very first night of being home alone. If you would think that, you’d be wrong.
George wasted no time in contacting me with an invitation to dinner at his house. I ate like a king! In addition to that, I was presented with the additional pleasure of meeting a friend of his who showed up to join us. Much to my surprise, Ed happens to have spent plenty of time in our house, before we lived here.
We bought this place from his sister. Yes, it makes the world seem another increment smaller to me today.
I think Ed and I have a pretty similar knack for talking, and we commanded most of the conversation while getting to know each other. Meeting him was an added bonus on top of getting together with George and consuming another delicious sampling of his fine culinary skills.
I almost feel guilty over giving Cyndie a full description of the fabulous food and fine fellowship I enjoyed in her absence.
Maybe it would be best if I choose to paint a picture of suffering that I endure whenever she is away from me, instead.
I’ve seen enough sitcoms in my lifetime to know how these things go.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Relative Something 