Posts Tagged ‘neighbors’
A Thursday
There was an unexpected Asher adventure as we were about to feed the horses yesterday morning, involving a raccoon. While Cyndie and I were focused on the usual chores, Asher vanished without our noticing. His telltale, excited barking in the distance instantly grabbed our attention.
Cyndie stopped what she was doing and hustled in the direction of the hay shed. In the perennial garden just beyond the shed, she found Asher and the raccoon in conflict with each other. I stayed with the horses, trying to pretend that nothing out of the ordinary was going on, despite the angry noises coming from the raccoon.
She reported that Asher had the butt end of the still-complaining raccoon in his mouth and took off running when she showed up. When she caught up to him again, across the road at the end of our driveway, she said he was in the process of burying the no longer living critter.
I don’t remember seeing coon hound in the 18 breeds identified in his DNA.
Our neighbor just south of us was pleased to hear he has some help in controlling the population of nuisance wildlife. When Cyndie stopped by to deliver some Christmas cookies, he told her he had dispatched 19 possums and 25 raccoons this year.
It’s comforting to know that we may have gained some tolerance for occasions when Asher might wander onto their property, now that he’s seen as contributing to pest control in the area.
After a couple of days above freezing, we are facing another Winter Weather Advisory from the National Weather Service, which predicts light snow, wind as high as 40-50 mph, and icy flash freezing conditions. Needless to say, the horse blankets are back on.
Mia needs the added protection more than the others, but she was the most uncooperative about letting us cover her up. She doesn’t grow as thick a winter coat and ends up shivering more quickly than the others, so one would think she’d welcome the blanket.
Instead of chasing her around in an attempt to force compliance, we are inclined to patiently invite her to come to us as we stand holding the blanket. Since they were all eating from their feed buckets while we were putting the blankets on, that just meant standing close to her bucket, and eventually she stayed put while we covered her up and hooked up all the clasps.
I have every confidence that they understand why we are covering them up again. We also move hay nets from out on fence posts to up underneath the overhang. Since we only do these things during periods of stormy weather and always return things to normal afterwards, I believe they read the signals and accept the changes without unwarranted stress.
Lousy weather is stressful enough on its own, especially when high winds are involved. The Weather Service is tossing out phrases like “a conveyor belt of Aleutian low-pressure systems” and “atmospheric rivers.”
To us, it just seems like a Thursday.
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Granting Permission
During the nine days of the deer hunting season, the properties on either side of us become occupied by blaze-orange-clad individuals, and we adjust our travel patterns to avoid the edges of our woods. It becomes rare that we spot any deer wandering around.
When we first moved here, we quickly learned how important deer hunting is to the folks around us. The neighbor just to our south introduced himself to us by stating more than asking, “You’re not going to post your property ‘No Hunting’(.)?”
Our little subdivided plot was originally part of his family’s land, where he has hunted his entire life. We were okay with allowing him to continue his tradition and were interested in avoiding the awkward situation of dealing with the issue if we did object steadfastly.
I think he recognized right away that hunting was not something we were inclined toward, and he has always been respectful of that. One time, long ago, right before the season opened, he checked with us to confirm permission to cross into our woods if a deer that had been shot ran off. That was an easy request to grant.
He’s never checked again since, but long-term permission was implied, and only one time in 13 years have people from his collective of hunters needed to drive their 4-wheeler into our woods to retrieve a carcass. It’s been relatively quiet over the last five years, in terms of hunting activities around us.
Yesterday, while Cyndie was walking Asher down by the road, the neighbor stopped his pickup truck and asked her if he could hunt from within the edge of our woods. Cyndie said there was an awkward pause while she tried to figure out a response.
Our preference would be that we wouldn’t need to constrain our walks in the woods, but we do that anyway during the hunting season, so that doesn’t really make a difference. There is a small wish that our land could be a safe zone for deer to bed down to avoid hunters, but we own a dog that is always excited to make chase after wildlife, so it’s not ever really all that safe.
Cyndie said her response after the delay was a slow, uncertain vocalization of acceptance. It’s only nine days.
After the fact, I suggested she could have ditzily said yes right away, but add that she just didn’t want him to fire his rifle because the loud bang would upset the dog and horses from that close of a distance.
I almost got a deer yesterday evening while traveling over 60 mph on the way to a dinner party in the Cities. At that speed, I wasn’t going to be able to change the outcome, but the buck hesitated just enough at the last second so that our car raced past without impact. I could have reached out and touched him. It was nerve-rattling.
We are in his debt for granting us permission to pass before he continued his way across the road.
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Week Before
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‘Twas the weekend before deer hunting opener, and all through our valley
Neighboring hunters were sighting rifles, firing sequences of annoying volleys
With a snap and a caar-ACK!, the serenity kept being interrupted
Our precious peace and quiet, over and over was corrupted
For some reason, this year the gunshots appear to unsettle Asher more than we’ve seen in the past. The horses always get a little jumpy about the discharge of firearms. The annoying repetition of startling rifle reports is a fact of life around here this time of year, but this weekend was particularly bothersome. From the sound of it, the neighbors who hunt must have spent a chunk of money on ammunition this weekend.
I assume the reason the shooting was so noticeable is that they were doing the sight aligning in closer proximity to their residences and not off in the woods in their deer stands. The week before the deer opener is probably more unsettling than the two weeks of the actual hunting season.
We don’t have a heavy influx of gun-toting hunters flooding our area, so the numbers are limited, and the sounds of shots being fired tend to be restricted to the hours around dusk and dawn. Plus, they are only shooting when they see a deer, unlike what we experienced over the weekend.
You’d think all this shooting would chase away the deer to far safer places to hide.
I’m guessing it’s a buck who has been rubbing the bark off the young poplar trees in the north loop field, but I haven’t spotted him yet. In six days, the Wisconsin deer herds will begin having their numbers reduced. I wonder if someone will get him. It’s an annual event that has never been a part of my life. Since living here, it’s become a minor nuisance we observe for two weeks in November just beyond our borders.
The weekend before hunting season serves as a warning to our nerves and a reminder that it’s time to pull out the blaze orange outerwear.
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Harvest Rumble
After dark Tuesday night, the familiar rumble of a harvest tractor at high RPMs revealed that we have entered the time when the neighboring farmers are bringing in their crops. They do not pause for darkness, giving evenings a sort of mythical energy not normally present.
It’s weird to walk out in the morning and see the landscape abruptly scraped clean to the soil.
I watched yesterday afternoon as they finished a field of corn just to our south. The high RPMs of the big engine reverberates across the distance when the tractor turns, pointing the raw sound directly toward us. It dulls again as the combine swings around for the next pass. A dusty cloud follows behind.
That harvest rumble is both annoying and comforting at the same time. It’s not unlike the roar of a vacuum cleaner in the house. It’s great that our floors are getting cleaned, but each additional minute of the loud, droning VROOM! ratchets up the involuntary tightening of neck muscles, inducing an unconscious angst.
It feels soooo good when that noisy motor stops.
The tractor left that field, and the sound resumed from the next one down the road. A fading harvest rumble.
While we were feeding the horses, I lingered for a moment to listen to the four of them munching away and realized the tractor rumbling had stopped. It was remarkably serene.
With the low sunshine of late October illuminating the tops of the colorful trees on the horizon, the incredible quiet settling over the land now that the rumbling had stopped, and the calm, contented feeding mares radiating their peaceful energy, it was perfectly blissful.
The harvest rumble is a good thing, but an even better thing is the sound of the silence when it stops.
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Not Solved
It was probably wishful thinking on my part to believe the barking dog issue was permanently solved.
3 a.m.
4 a.m.
5 a.m.
Then it stopped. In my semi-conscious wish to be still asleep, I imagined maybe the closer neighbor had reached their limit and called for official intervention in the predawn darkness when spiders are manically spinning spectacular orb webs.
At 6:11, it started again. Poor dog. Doesn’t take a breath between yips anymore. Just constantly screams for something.
If the cops got them to bring the dog inside, it only lasted for a short time after they’d left. Of course, this is all my addled, sleep-interrupted mind making up one scenario. It’s equally possible the dog just got tired and shut up for a spell.
Since we live out of sight from the source of this angst, I don’t have a vision of where this dog is located while endlessly yapping for attention.
In supreme contrast, I walked pleasantly with Asher through our woods and on to the barn, where the horses were serene as could be. They appear to find the new senior feed much to their liking compared to the corn and oats that were being served prior. We have completed the transition, and they get 100% processed pellets.
They gobble it up much more quickly, licking the buckets clean and spilling much less on their placemats.
We are looking forward to having less “food” lying all around for the critter pests that consider the area around the overhang to be their free buffet.
The senior feed looks to be a change that does solve at least a couple of issues for us. The distant neighbor’s barking dog problem remains a work in progress.
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Barking Dog
After multiple nights and too many mornings of an unhappy dog endlessly barking somewhere in our valley, it was quiet last night. Was it something I did that finally brought peace? Possibly.
Due to a variety of weather conditions, the sound of the barking changed a few times between seeming far away and almost within our property border. Asher got worked up several times in the night, barking back from his bedtime crate.
Yesterday morning, I walked to the corner of our property to get a better read on where the barking was coming from. I deduced it was a property on the other side of the road, between two closer neighbors whom Cyndie and I had initially suspected.
It occurred to me that there was a possibility the owner could need help, and the dog was sounding an alarm. Cyndie and I talked about asking the Sheriff for a welfare check at the home.
At the same time, I felt some responsibility to check ourselves before involving the police. Cyndie decided to drive by the property and possibly stop in to talk with them directly. She returned with a report that the place didn’t look the least bit inviting and there was nobody out and about. She chose not to pull into their driveway.
I verified the address of the place and then found a phone number for one of the people who live across the road from there. The neighbor acknowledged the problem property but didn’t have any relationship with the owner either. The barking had kept them from sleeping well for several nights and they had already reported it to the Sheriff’s office once.
I sympathized with their plight, because if it was bothering us on the far side of the valley, it must be exponentially worse for them to listen to the unhappy dog constantly barking. She encouraged me to add my complaint to the Sheriff at the non-emergency number.
The dispatcher was very nice about gathering as much information as necessary and then confirmed she found a record of previous complaints. She assured me an officer would stop by to make a welfare check on the dog and the property owner.
It’s funny, but after the call, I found myself hoping the dog would keep barking so the deputy would hear the problem. I conveyed to the dispatcher that there are moments of quiet between the long periods of barking that have been carrying on into the nights and early mornings for more than three days.
The only evidence I have that my call might have led to a solution is the blissful peace and quiet that commanded the evening as darkness settled over our valley last night. The lack of barking made it a lot easier for me to hear the owls conversing in the woods around our house.
Here’s hoping the dog and owner are both okay and that something good will come from this for everyone who has been coping with it for days.
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Return Flight
It’s been a grand time at Barry and Carlos’ camp on Colcord Pond, but this morning we need to pack up and drive back to Boston to drop off the rented wildebeest and get to the airport for our flight home.
We made the best of our last full day at camp yesterday by hiking to the top of Bald Ledge, which overlooks the lake. Before heading out for the trek, Mike and I walked down to the water, where I snapped today’s featured photo. Soon after, I noticed our shadows and took a picture. Mike provided me with the classic bunny ears.
The trailhead is within walking distance of their cabin, allowing us to hike for about an hour to reach the summit at 1185 ft.
The sky changed from clear to cloudy several times during the hike and throughout the rest of the afternoon, casting shadows over the treetops covering the landscape all the way to the horizon. A clear overhead view of Colcord Pond is impossible to miss. It is an interesting contrast to the picture I took when standing on the shore just over an hour earlier.
It won’t be long until the color scheme changes from green to shades of orange, yellow, and red. The coming transition is already visible around the edges of the crowns of some of the trees. Down below the canopy, where the trail meanders over roots and rocks, the change doesn’t seem as imminent.
We sustained ourselves with a light lunch upon our return to the camp before taking a refreshing dip in the lake one last time. After a little siesta, the masters of food preparation rustled up a first-class spread of crackers, cheeses, spreads, olives, and salami, accompanied by some before-dinner beverages.
Neighbors John and Bethany joined us for a feast of grilled burgers, baked beans, and corn-on-the-cob. Laughter and lively stories flowed joyfully along before we entered into some friendly competition with playing cards.
Now we must stuff our suitcases and load the SUV to begin another day of travel. Look out, airport security, here we come. I can’t wait to receive my two cookies with a cup of water mid-flight. If there are no delays to mess up our plans, we will be having dinner with family to celebrate Cyndie’s mom’s birthday soon after we land.
It shouldn’t shock you to read that I am really looking forward to reaching our home again a few hours after that.
Massive beams of love to Barry and Carlos for allowing us to clutter up their living spaces and for their gracious hospitality to the nth degree in every aspect of our visit. Also, to Mike and Barb for being wonderful travel companions once again.
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Around Cornish
Pausing outside Barry and Carlos’ place for a moment, waiting to load into the huge rented SUV for a jaunt to Cornish, I balanced some rocks. How long until they’ll topple becomes a subject of interest each time we pass.
Before we reach Cornish, the closest hub of commerce for the summer camps in this area, the vehicle that we’ve been referring to as “the wildebeest” (as in BEAST) made a stop at the waste transfer station. Carlos carried the bag of recycling in one direction, and Barry took the bag of trash somewhere else.
Carlos returned directly, and Barry didn’t. After a brief delay, he reappeared with an apology. He ran into someone they knew, and they had a chat. This was a hint of what we soon learned is common wherever Barry and Carlos go in the vicinity of both their place in Boston and here in Maine.
Mere seconds after Barry parked the beast in Cornish, we were standing in the road, being introduced to someone they knew. Most of the antique or craft shops we browsed included a pause for Barry and Carlos to catch up on news or introduce us to someone with whom they have a connection.
It felt a little like we were enjoying the honor of walking around with the local mayor(s).
After walking the shops, the wildebeest made a stop at the grocery store so we could augment our food stores in preparation for hosting neighbors for grilled burgers tonight. The highlight of that stop was Mike’s noble deed of quietly buying a batch of bananas to gift a mom and her son after he overheard the boy’s request get turned down because she couldn’t afford them. Mike said he got a hug from her as she mentioned that tariffs are killing them. Ouch.
Back at camp, we ate a light lunch, saving room for our early dinner reservation at Max’s Restaurant & Pub at the romantic Snowvillage Inn located in Eaton Center, NH. Cyndie and Barry decided on an earlier-than-usual timing to allow for daylight viewing of the majestic Mount Washington and the White Mountains out the window of the dining areas.
Before settling down for a short pre-dinner nap, Barry guided us on a walking tour of the neighboring camps, describing all the owners and relationships to a degree worthy of a scholarly genealogist. I’m afraid I would miserably fail if there were a test on all that we might have learned.
Since dinner was early, there was plenty of time for a frivolous card game on the porch after we got back. Snack almonds were designated as a method to tally our losses. When you lost a hand, you ate a nut. Luckily, the bag was close by for Carlos to replace his “chips” each time he accidentally ate one in the middle of a hand.
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Destination: Camp
We have fled the big city for the scenic forests and laid-back living of rural Maine, where Barry and Carlos have created a glorious woodsy retreat, a second-home vacation-getaway-lake-place that is referred to in these parts as “camp.”
To get all six of us here in one vehicle, we rented a huge SUV and packed our luggage to the brim. Then we stopped for groceries on the way and tucked those bags in any space around our seats. It was a quick two-plus-hour drive to camp near Cornish, ME, not far from the border with New Hampshire.
It didn’t take long for the four people with a passion for swimming to don their suits and hustle down to the water for a dip. The featured photo for today is how I found them when I made my way down from the cottage. I told them that I took a picture of them “swimming.”
Eventually, three of them made their way fully into the water, and then Barb and Barry got in their laps of various strokes.
We met some neighbors and enjoyed a wonderful visit while their hyper dogs flailed their energy in every direction. The reason we checked in with them was because a third neighbor had offered up an extra bedroom in their place, but the key they gave Barry wasn’t the right one.
The key was meant to be a “just-in-case” backup because they were going to leave the door unlocked, but the cleaner had come and locked things up when she left. Luckily, she lived close and was able to come and open up for us to use.
As soon as the sun got low in the sky, the temperature began to drop, giving us a wonderfully cool September night. Barry grilled pork tenderloin, and we dined and told stories on the porch.
Today, hiking in the region is the plan. Maybe I’ll find something to photograph while we are out and about.
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Shouldn’t Compare
We had a wonderful lunch opportunity yesterday. It was a first-time visit to the home of friends who live just a few miles north of our place. It’s not fair to compare our worlds, but it is hard not to, and it has given us a fresh perspective about everything that we have accomplished on our 20 acres.
It feels like they have achieved a dizzying amount more on their 40 acres, particularly in the realm of landscape plants and an incredible garden of vegetables and flowers. After lunch, we got a tour of their gorgeous log home –with an impressive finished basement that they did themselves– and then walked some of their property.
They hired a crew to burn one of their fields to replace it with a variety of healthy prairie plants. Many of the grasses and beneficial pollinator plants are as tall as me or taller. It is beautiful.
I am humbled by how many impressive improvements they have achieved on their land, even though they have lived there half as long as we have been at Wintervale.
I was particularly inspired to see the number of new plantings they’ve put in, including quite a few apple trees that are producing fruit for the first time this year. The produce in their garden, and the developing squash and pumpkins out beyond their modest stand of field corn, look bigger and better than anything I’ve seen in a grocery store.
When it came time for us to go, they loaded us up with pickles, green beans, carrots, purple cauliflower, basil, cucumbers, and two varieties of apples, plus an arrangement of flowers.
As soon as we got home, I went out and mowed some grass. Suddenly, that feels like much less of an accomplishment to me than it did the day before.
If it ever seems like we get a lot done around here in terms of upkeep, just know that it’s a drop in a bucket compared to what plenty of others around us out here in the country are doing.
The best takeaway for me from the revelations we saw yesterday is that I am not alone in tending to a little piece of this planet by nurturing nature. We are both helping desirable trees and plants succeed and controlling the spread of troublesome invasives.
It is great to have found such a close neighbor with a similar mindset. It will be good for me to keep in mind that it’s not a competition.
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Relative Something 