Posts Tagged ‘humor’
Humble Pie
It’s fair to say that we have passed the peak of fall colors at Wintervale, but we are still a ways away from bare trees with brown as the primary hue across the landscape.
This tree just outside the barn has covered the ground below with leaves, but it looks like the majority are still clinging to its branches.
It serves to demonstrate just how incredible the number of leaves there are on a tree. Multiply that uncountable quantity by hundreds of trees, and you get a sense of why there are many inches deep of leaves on our pathways.
This time of year, it becomes a challenge to walk in the woods without twisting an ankle on a hidden root or hole in the ground that fools a planted foot without warning.
I enjoyed a fresh, humbling dose of embarrassment yesterday morning after pointing out to Cyndie that the clip was missing from the remote control for Asher’s e-collar. She wasn’t aware. As I headed out the door with Asher for morning chores, I suggested she check the pockets of her pants for it.
Maybe 15 minutes later, as I was walking beside the back pasture fence, I kept hearing a faint “click” that almost sounded like the electric fence was on. I knew that it wasn’t, so my mind considered other possibilities.
I reached down and found the control was tapping against the loose clip in my pants pocket. [rolls eyes/slaps forehead]
When I got back to the house after feeding the horses, before I could say anything, Cyndie reported that she had checked the pockets of all her pants and couldn’t find the clip.
“Yeah, about that…”
Luckily, she found the whole thing laughable and not an annoyance, which I would have deserved. Will I ever learn to check myself first before automatically assuming she is to be blamed for things? Hmmm. Not sure I have a great track record of such self-awareness when it comes to issues between us.
Then more servings of humble pie it shall be.
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No Explanation
Cyndie and I did another couple of rounds spreading compost on the hay field yesterday.
After the second load had been dumped, I steered the Grizzly ATV from the hay field into the large paddock, stopping at the far gate. Hopping off, I unchained the gate and let it swing wide open while the horses were standing under the overhang of the barn, completely ignoring me. I then drove the ATV through the gate, making sure to pull far enough ahead so I could close the gate behind the trailer.
Hustling to pull the gate closed before any of the horses took notice, I spent an extra minute fiddling with the chain to get it untwisted and hooked around the post just right. When I turned around toward the Grizzly again, I was shocked to find there was no trailer there.
Imagine what that felt like. D’oh!
The trailer had come unlatched back in the hay field without me noticing, and I proceeded like nothing was amiss.
I had been so focused on dealing with the gate that I didn’t realize the trailer was missing. I had even purposely pulled ahead far enough after passing through the gate so it could close behind the trailer, without ever looking to see the trailer was no longer there.
Sheepishly, I undid the perfectly latched chain again and backed the ATV through the gate once more to return to the hay field and fetch the trailer. Geesh.
I’m sure glad there are no post-workday press conferences, because it would be really embarrassing trying to come up with a reasonable explanation for that strange bout of cluelessness.
Maybe I could blame the heat. The temperature reached 86°(F) for the high yesterday afternoon. Clearly, I wasn’t my usual sharp self.
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Asher Grazes
He’s a funny guy. When he runs, he leaps like a deer. He likes to eat everything the horses eat. He lies down and stares just like the cows in the field next door. He wants to ride in the car just like people do.
I wonder if I could teach him to drive the zero-turn mower…
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Guess Contest
Despite what the two words, “ice” and “out,” have come to mean in 2026 with respect to Immigration and Customs Enforcement, used together, these words have long had a different connotation in places where winter resembles Arctic conditions that last for many months.
For many lake communities, the question of when a lake will become ice-free has launched a time-honored tradition of friendly wagers on predicting the exact date. Thus, I have decided to open a contest for you, my dear readers, to guess the exact date of ice-out on Paddock Lake in 2026.
This photo shows the ice’s condition as of yesterday morning. It was frozen solid. Mia was already making close observations toward settling on her best guess. You will have to rely on what you can deduce from the image.
Here are the Contest Rules, as determined by a committee consisting entirely of unbiased representatives of Wintervale Ranch. In other words, me:
- Your guess must be submitted in whatever way works best for you and your level of connection with blogger, *this* John W. Hays. That may include an email, a text, a comment on today’s post, or telepathy, if you think I can be trusted to receive it. Don’t count on that.
- Comments on this post should include your initials, nickname, or some unique identifier of your choosing since unfamiliar commenters show up to me as “anonymous.”
- To be as fair as possible (and as a reward to contestants who are regular daily readers), your guess should arrive to me before the end of the day today, March 3rd. If you only miss by a small amount of time, go ahead and guess anyway. The judge may allow it in the case that nobody else has chosen to participate.
- In the event of a duplicate date being guessed, the first one to pick said date will be granted an advantage. However, there remains the possibility that I might split the prize if the situation seems warranted.
- Sour grapes are considered bad form, so if the horses choose to mess with the lake before ice out is declared by the judge, no complaints will be tolerated. Plus, such action by the paddock dwellers could possibly help some guesses. Did you consider that?
- Any rules that have been overlooked will be left to the whims of Mother Nature to ignore as she sees fit.
In the event that anyone actually bothers to guess, and if a guess of the exact date is successfully submitted, this contest is prepared to offer the following as a prize:
The winner will be awarded a custom word painting of vague length that may loosely resemble some manner of prose frequently referred to as a poem, ode, or rambling free verse creative writing that will somewhere within, somehow contain four words submitted by the person who guessed the correct date.
If a tie is deemed permissible, each person will be submitting two words to be combined in the victory verse composition.
The following context is being provided for consideration while deciding on your guess:
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I Survived
After a whirlwind of a special wedding weekend in Chicago, we made it home a little before 10:00 last night and were able to get a full night’s sleep in our own bed. Man, did I need that. Waking up Sunday morning after only four hours of sleep was woefully inadequate.
We endured an almost three-hour flight delay before being able to board our plane and depart from O’Hare airport. In the end, we and the Minnesota contingent of Cyndie’s family all made it home around the same time, despite half of them driving back in two different cars and half flying. Hardly seems fair.
Over the three days we were there, we attended three gala events, two of which I needed to tough out in formal attire.
Somehow, I managed to survive unscathed. It’s a good thing Cyndie was willing to dress me up for the occasion. I didn’t follow through with a threat to wear my manure composting boots with the suit to the wedding Saturday night.
All my complaining was overblown. We had a great time at all the fabulous events, despite the sad fact that Julian wasn’t able to be there with us. If I could just get over my miserly objections to the money that gets spent on dressing so fine, I could even be talked into doing it again sometime. Hopefully, sometime far in the future, though.
I’m not a guy who has any inclination toward wearing a suit on a regular basis.
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Not Exactly
Imagine my surprise when I was mowing along the fence line and came upon an unfamiliar sign attached to the top wire of the hay field fence.
To the best of my knowledge, we don’t have a donkey. This would be one of several types of wonderful surprises that tend to appear whenever we leave our property in the capable care of our friends, Pam and John. Such whimsical good fun.
Somehow, the eleventh day of July has arrived while I wasn’t looking. Minutes, hours, days, and weeks pass in a blink when you are having fun. I don’t have a clue how I coped with working a day job on top of everything else in life, since I am having trouble keeping up with daily life in retirement.
I’m on a swingset that goes all the way around, and all I get are glimpses of my surroundings as I sail past. My body feels older. Like it’s no longer mine. My mind and my body are on two different treadmills that roll along, each at a different speed.
Everything that I have learned over my lifetime tells me that the separation between opposites is so much more delicately thin than too many people are willing to accept. Often, things might not be exactly as they seem.
We don’t actually have a donkey, but if we did, I’m pretty sure it would be highly trained.
If I had a logical train of thought, you might find it easy to follow along to wherever it is I am headed. One thing that might help would be my having any idea where it is I intend to go. Quite honestly, I don’t. It’s not exactly a fine science.
It could benefit you to think of this post like the lyrics of a song. As you follow along, some portions might speak to you, and others just seem to fit the verse. Of course, this idea may only serve to detract from any sense of logic that may have existed before I started rambling.
If I were to somehow wrap all this nonsense up with a bow of intelligent thought, it might be this: I had no idea what I was going to write about when I started this post, and that does not exactly lead to a stellar composition.
Happy Eleventh of July!
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New Steps
With visions of bucking tree trunks still in my head, we left the chores of home behind and drove up to the lake yesterday afternoon.
The highlight of the drive was our traditional stop for an ice cream treat in Cumberland. That triggers the feeling that our summer trips to Hayward have officially kicked off.
We topped that off with a dinner at Coop’s Pizza. If that doesn’t scream Northland, then it would have to be West’s Dairy that would. We didn’t double up on ice cream, so a visit to West’s was postponed until later today.
This spring, professionals were hired to repair the front steps, and yesterday was our first in-person viewing of the finished work.
It looks really nice.
Upon arrival, one of the first things we did was check on the gas oven. Cyndie’s brother had reported it wasn’t working, and we wanted to know whether we would be able to order our Coop’s pizza and bring it back to the house for reheating. Soon, I found myself crouched behind the range that probably hadn’t been pulled out for some 40 years, with all of the accumulated grease and decades of accidentally spilled messes gunking up the sides.
I wasn’t able to deduce the cause of the failing oven after checking the troubleshooting guide online and running through the test codes, so a visit to appliance dealers in town is on our schedule for today. That convinced us to choose dining in at Coop’s, where we did some preliminary research on what replacement free-standing 30” gas ranges might cost in the current market.
It’s possible that oven technology has changed since the early 1980s when this place was built. Maybe we could get one that heats more evenly than this one ever did.
Not that I spend much time using kitchen appliances to prepare meals, but this oven holds a particularly fond memory for me. It was a guys’ weekend in a series that became an annual sports competition we titled, “Boborama.” Someone put a frozen pizza in to bake when there were too many cooks in the kitchen. My brain noticed the multiple chefs supervising the progress and failed to hold my tongue from commenting about opening the door to check.
I’d read that you could lose 50°F each time you open the oven door to check on what is baking, and I announced it to the room. My precious friend, Paul, seized the moment and opened and closed the oven door while looking at me and said, “3oo.”
He opened it again, “250.” Again, “200.” He did it enough times, the theoretical temperature passed zero and went to -50, I think. Maybe that was just in my mind.
It was hilarious, but humbling. I’m not sure I learned to refrain from trying to police the activity of others after that, but it did help me hear what I sounded like on such an occasion. Touché.
A replacement oven might work better, but it will lack the character of the original that has been in this kitchen from the start and has been part of many memorable stories over the years.
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Mostly Obeying
Among the behaviors we were able to train Asher to obey rather easily upon adopting him, the one his is most prone to testing is having him stay out of the kitchen. We do not trust his loyalty on that one when we are not around and make a big effort to keep all food stashed out of view and out of reach when we leave the kitchen.
Asher knows to stay out when we are in the vicinity and he impressively will not go after his ball when it rolls into the forbidden zone. However, he is very consistent about taking a step or two across the line to see if the invisible wall may have been relaxed when Cyndie is busy cooking.
This is how I found him when I came down from the loft for dinner after Cyndie called to me:
He should not be past the refrigerator/freezer doors.
Mostly obeying, you might say.
Regarding the recent Wisconsin election that went the way of Susan Crawford who didn’t offer anyone money for a vote, we are feeling deep satisfaction to have been able to cast our votes for a chance at a better future. A chance is better than none.
When we were communicating with friends about the news of our desired outcome in the election Tuesday night, the topic of overt offers of money for supporting the other guy came up.
Cyndie commented, “I think illegal stuff should be illegal.” It really struck my funny bone. In a logical world, such a phrase shouldn’t need to be uttered. In today’s reality, I would like to wear a T-shirt with the thought printed across the front.
Gosh, imagine if there were enforceable consequences for violating just and ethical laws.
Imagine if the police didn’t seem so willing to fulfill the diabolical edicts of a wannabe dictator. I suppose they are mostly just obeying orders.
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Missing Spoon
This is why we can’t have nice things. I was mucking manure from the sloppy mud just beyond the roof line of the overhang when Cyndie stepped out of the barn to ask if I had taken the wooden spoon.
My answer was, “What?” because every exchange between us now always starts with the second person needing questions repeated.
Why would I take the wooden spoon? We keep a cup and spoon by the water spigot in the barn for wetting down the incredibly dusty, cracked grains we put out in buckets for the horses. It was missing.
We both separately searched high and low inside the barn to no avail. What critter would abscond with a long-handled wooden spoon? There was probably a small amount of grain residue stuck to the shallow bowl, but that seems like a paltry treasure worth hauling away.
We have several burrowing pests in addition to the cats and possibly raccoons that make themselves at home in and around the barn. I don’t know if the spoon was moved outside of the barn or if it might have been stashed inside somewhere. There are plenty of nooks and crannies where it could end up out of sight.
I’d rather not start moving every item stored within to look beneath it, but I have a compelling urge not to let the thief win. I hate getting outsmarted by pestering critters.
Cyndie has already selected a replacement spoon from the kitchen. I suggested she attach a tether with an awkwardly large bauble on it, as is done for gas station bathroom keys.
Actually, I’d like to put an alligator clip and wire so we can connect it to the hot wire of our electric fence after each use. That’d send a message. I know better than to do that, though. The most likely one to receive that message would end up being my lovely wife.
Critters – 1 … Humans – 0.
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Suddenly Blades
They appeared days before our daytime temperature reached 73°F. The mound of manure I have been creating all winter in the large paddock, just a short distance upslope from Lake Paddock, has sprouted blades of new grass!
The cracked grains we feed the horses don’t all get fully digested. There are also scraps of hay that get mucked and tossed on the pile that could contain seeds.
It adds proof to my theory that I can get grass to grow without even trying, in places where it is not intended. It’s a completely different story if it’s a bare spot in the middle of our yard. Then, abject failure. Yet, blades sprout through the asphalt of our driveway.
Maybe I should pave over the bald spots in the lawn. 😑
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