Posts Tagged ‘neighbors’
New Discoveries
Quite a while ago, we discovered that a person we knew from our school days in Eden Prairie was a volunteer for elections in our township. She and her husband own a log home nearby on the Rush River. We plotted getting together for lunch, but somehow failed to accomplish it for years.
Yesterday, we finally made it happen. Ann and David showed up at our house, and the minutes flew by as we shared snippets of our life stories over a fantastic meal and a tour of portions of our property. We found Dave to be a wealth of knowledge about our plants and trees.
I queried him on the demise of the maple in the labyrinth, but he was stumped (no pun intended) as to why it died so mysteriously.
Right away in our woods, Dave spotted golden oyster mushrooms on a downed tree and alerted us that they are good eats. We gathered a bunch to try cooking up.
That is definitely a discovery for us, as we’ve never considered eating mushrooms growing in our woods. When we first moved in, we spotted some that looked like the coveted morel mushrooms with the irregular honeycombed surface, but we weren’t confident enough to try them.
We learned later that it was very likely that they were morels, and we could have consumed them. Sadly, we’ve never seen them growing here after that time.
Dave went on to share his experience cooking down wild plums, making juice from wild grapes, creating a lotion for skin out of jewelweed, and he pointed out one other edible berry I didn’t know about on our property of which I’ve already forgotten the name.
The most important discovery is that we need to get together with them again soon, as we share many commonalities and a similar respect for the natural world in which we live. We are looking forward to seeing their property and strengthening the surprising number of connections we discovered during this initial all-too-brief visit.
.
.
Horses Unconcerned
One day after that hilly adventure with Rich on our bikes, I found myself greatly lacking in my usual get-up-and-go. After a forced effort to plant some grass seed, in which we later discovered we didn’t have the seed we thought we had, I came back to the house and conked out on the deck for an impromptu nap. Neither Cyndie nor I ended up completing plans we had discussed at breakfast by the end of the day, but we still chipped away at a few tasks.
I’m particularly pleased we finally cut back the Japanese Silver Grass shoots from last year in all four of the places they are now established around our property. We walk past them every day, and I’ve been looking at that job needing to be done for weeks. That triggered me to cut some grass in those same areas, and while I was there, I decided to haul away one last pile of branches we had skipped the last time we were working on that project. Those are all tasks that provide rewarding visual feedback in our frequent jaunts along our many pathways.
While I was in the woods between the house and the back pasture, I spotted evidence that our trillium is alive and well for another year.
The fawn lilies and bloodroot flowers will soon have some competition.
All that was well and good, but it all got eclipsed by the drama after sunset. Cyndie had taken Asher out for his last walk of the day, and suddenly, I received a phone call from her about a fire at a neighbor’s property. I found her and Asher down by the horses. She was very disturbed by the sight of so much flame, but I immediately recognized the visuals of a controlled burn of their field.
I thought it interesting that the horses didn’t seem the least bit perturbed by the unusual sight.
The neighbors had chosen an evening of absolutely perfect conditions, as we are just now starting to dry out around here, and the undergrowth is still damp, and last night there was no wind. Cyndie decided to spend a little time giving the horses massages, and I stood with Asher and watched the flames in the distance.
At least they won’t need to do any mowing in that field for a while. As I stared at the spectacle, I noticed myself feeling some envy.
.
.
Valuable Miles
Saturday afternoon was darn near perfect for our World Labyrinth Day walk for peace. We had 8 people join us, which isn’t the smallest number of folks we’ve hosted for this annual event. They were all precious individuals, but the one person who was a particularly pleasant surprise was a neighbor we’d never met who dropped in after seeing an invite I posted on the Nextdoor app.
If anybody is wondering, my annual measurement of the trunk of the transplanted maple tree in the center of the labyrinth revealed a 3/16ths of an inch increase in circumference since my initial reading a year ago.
Yesterday, I took the day off from chores and went for a bike ride with Rich Gordon, one of my special friends from the annual bike ride in June. He was kind enough to drive all the way to Beldenville to join me in a loop of country roads over hills and through valleys of the driftless region around our home.
We are always looking for opportunities to season our butts against our bike saddles in preparation for days of long mileage in June on The Tour of Minnesota.
The Rush River valley offers some beautiful scenery after ten miles of farm fields.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
I was pointing out the top of the ridge visible through the trees that will soon be obscured by leaves. Climbing out of that valley was probably the most daunting of the many climbs we pedaled up, as may be discernible in the graphic above showing the elevations we traversed. We weren’t even halfway into the loop, so that effort made the rest of the route seem a little more taxing on our now-tired legs. When we reached the top, we paused for a snack break in the shade and quickly made friends with one of the residents who lived at that address.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
The second biggest climb came when we departed from El Paso. Rich made it look easy.
Compared to the biggest beast of a hill, it was a little bit easier. There was also the psychological boost of knowing we were that much closer to our finish line, and none of the remaining hills would be as long.
I’m encouraged by the fact that I was able to accomplish all the climbing without needing to rely on an assist from the battery I was lugging along in the frame of my Trek Domane e-bike. Having a friend along on the ride was a morale boost that prevented my usual lack of determination to push myself quite as hard.
My body will likely offer up some complaints today in the form of muscle stiffness, but I’ve got plenty of my usual physical activities on tap, tending to things around the ranch to keep me moving.
I’ll probably wait another day or two before my next conditioning ride of any substantial miles. Maybe I’ll opt for a nice flat trail ride to complement yesterday’s hilly terrain.
.
.
Annual Occurrences
The smell of blueberry pancakes and delicious breakfast sausage frying on the outdoor grills lingered in my senses all day long yesterday. Under a beautiful blue sky, we mingled with locals, leisurely devouring the sweet maple goodness while enjoying one of the great storytellers I’ve had the pleasure of knowing. Tom Sherry owned “Best Built Fence” when we moved here, and he and his wife, Sue, helped us design the layout of our paddocks and pasture fence lines.
Tom is one of those people who radiate the fullness of life with dramatic tales about his many adventures. He will always define, in my mind, our experience of moving to rural Pierce County, and what it is like to live here. I always feel better about being here after spending time with him.
Another annual event kicked off yesterday as our neighbor to the north plowed the field adjacent to our property.
Asher was barking up a storm over the presence of the highly revved big tractor slowly making its way back and forth on the other side of our natural fence of piled tree limbs. I spotted the son following along on an ATV, picking rocks, and saw it as an opportunity.
When Raymond stopped to survey his progress, I hollered to him, and he trudged across the field to appear friendly. I see him as being the opposite of Tom in terms of storytelling. Getting information from Raymond requires a sweet-talking effort, and even then, the responses sound a bit like forced confessions.
He tells me he intends to plant alfalfa in the field this year, but he seemed to feel it was unlikely to happen. I gather it had something to do with how wet the field is. There was no concern about the value of the fieldstone his son had collected. My place was as good as any other to dump the small wagonload he had amassed.
I hope the threat of possible thunderstorms tomorrow doesn’t result in us experiencing one of those downpours that wash his freshly tilled soil over Cyndie’s perennial garden again.
The first forest wildflowers of spring are showing up. The annual blooming of Bloodroot blossoms is always a fun accent to the orchestra of greens emerging after the ground truly thaws.
Just a few hours later, with the sun dropping lower into advancing clouds as the day was coming to an end, the flowers were folding up their glory.
The speed of growing grasses and leaves is picking up, and soon that patch of bloodroot will be a carpet of large leaves dominating the vicinity. Watching it all unfold in a few days’ time is one of the many rewards of walking a dog multiple times daily through our woods. Daily throughout the twelve months of changing seasons is a pretty great perspective to gain about a lot of things.
Nature’s annual occurrences are always fascinating performances to witness in person.
.
.
False Alarm
That didn’t happen. Not only did we dodge the threat of snow, but the winds barely rose above a typical spring day. I am not complaining. It was an interesting phenomenon where the weather radar showed precipitation in the form of snow overhead for most of the day, but nothing was making it out of the clouds.
One day earlier, I captured a picture of sun rays making it through the clouds.
Yesterday wasn’t very photogenic while I was walking with Asher. When we came out of the barn after feeding the horses and came around the corner of the hay shed, we found the neighbor’s cat crouched with its attention focused on something other than us behind the shed. Asher lurched and startled the cat, who then made a hasty sprint for cover.
Poor Asher let loose with a series of his whiny barks that sound like a really distressed dog is being abused by its owner. The only abuse I was guilty of was not letting the poor guy run after the cat.
The pictures I was taking yesterday were indoors, where I captured the latest view of the new shoot on our bird of paradise plant…
Compare that to how it looked a month ago:
We’ve got another new leaf in our future with this amazing transplant and that is no false alarm!
.
.
Like Fireworks
The multiple colors of lily blossoms exploding around here lately look a little like a fireworks display.
Rumor has it that our hay field is going to get cut today. We’ve waited a long time for this to happen and we heard this same rumor about two weeks ago so I’ll believe it when I see it.
While we look forward to having our fields cut, I’m not happy that my neighbor who mows at the shortest possible setting chooses to cut grass well beyond his property’s border. I set my mower at the highest possible setting, so when this neighbor expands into my turf, his cut really messes with the visual of my landscape.
I know it would be prudent to have a conversation with him about the fact that it irks me, but who wants to tell a neighbor to stop mowing your grass? It does bug me that he tends to expand the distance of his overreach with each successive instance.
I wonder if planting lilies along the line of our property border would give him pause.
Most likely, they would never have a chance to bloom before he shaved them off at ground level. For now, I’m choosing to grin and bear his actions out of an abundance of caution to avoid upsetting him in any way.
If I never say anything, maybe he will eventually mow the whole width between the road and our fence someday. Before I let it get that far, it would be smart if I could persuade him to lift the blades to a higher setting when he cuts beyond his property line.
Based on the visual evidence of his extensive range of mowing, he seems strongly committed to cutting everything to “putting green length.”
He must consider me some sort of lawn barbarian.
.
.
Neighborly Advice
In our ongoing consultation with experts about the possible source of water on the basement floor, I reached out to the realtor who found this property for us. She consulted with her cousin who lives in this area and came up with the name of a home inspector for us.
I recognized the name as a neighbor who lives around the corner. He and his wife and one of their sons are the only people who have stopped by our place (1 time) on Halloween night since we moved here in 2012. He recently made a transition from Realtor to Inspector and after a brief phone conversation offered to come look at our place at no charge.
Cyndie quickly baked a batch of small hand pies to share as a thank-you. Turns out his wife is an avid baker. We have invited them to dinner to get to know both of them and visit without the agenda of formally inspecting our house. Informally, who doesn’t “inspect” a home they visit for the first time?
The general consensus about water issues around our house is that the landscaping should be updated to compensate for the settling that has occurred. We came up with nothing definitive to explain why our basement floor got so wet a week or so ago.
I have a new theory regarding the area around the geothermal lines that come up through the concrete floor. Those were added since we moved in and they cut through the slab. I don’t know how tightly that opening was sealed when all their work was done. It’s the first place I’ll check next time it rains.
There’s no rain in the immediate forecast for us. Snow is expected this afternoon, followed by days of Arctic cold temperatures.
A while back I think I mentioned we were going to meet a new volunteer for This Old Horse who wants to connect with horses closer to where she lives. In addition to loving horses, she happens to be a big fan of labyrinths and has a deep passion for trees. She told us her husband was home prepping logs for a house they plan to build on their land.
We intend to invite them for dinner soon, too. Their last name is Asher.
Really.
We are looking forward to making some new connections with folks living on this side of the St. Croix River. That hasn’t happened as often as we’ve hoped it might over the years.
.
.
Around Again
Sitting on the cold, hard ground with a pile of dog treats beside me, I watched as Asher passionately made another manic pass around the neighbor’s outbuilding. Their cat had dashed under a tiny opening to avoid capture. Sure, I was feeling angry. He had clearly disrespected my commands for the last twenty minutes as he freely trotted along well beyond the repeatedly demonstrated limits of our property, but that wasn’t entirely unexpected.
No, what was irking me even more was the way our horse, Light, walked right up to my face while I was cutting through the back pasture and without warning, reared up on her hind legs giving me a much too close encounter with one of her front hooves. WTF, girl!
My startled audible response was enough to get all the horses to react, rearranging themselves to different positions. I didn’t have time to deal with them at the moment because I was on a mission to regain control of Asher while thinking about what model of shock collar I wanted to convince Cyndie we should buy.
When I crested the hill of the hay field, I caught sight of Asher and saw him turn toward me in response to my call. Then he crossed the road and continued his illicit sniff-fari along the cornfield’s edge in gross defiance.
I phoned Cyndie and asked her to ring the “dinner” bell at our front door because we’ve trained him to return to that and sometimes it actually works. He definitely heard it. He turned and began to run. I thought we had him and I started running for the gate near the driveway to meet him, but he kept going along the road and headed directly for the neighbor’s place with the cockapoo and the barn cat.
Did I mention it was cold? I really didn’t want to be sitting on the ground, but it was obvious that Asher was not going to allow me to catch him. I needed him to come to me. Offering food was not enough enticement. Each time he came around the building, he returned to the spot the cat had snuck under. Each time he took off around again, I moved closer to that spot.
Finally, I was able to reach him and attach the leash to his harness. I am not proud of my performance as I practically dragged him back the long walk to our house on that leash.
The ambiance in the house was warm and pleasant as I whipped dog and leash through the door before slamming it angrily to go feed the horses and pretend I wasn’t thoroughly pissed with Light’s unsafe behavior.
I was triggered, majorly. My old self would have proceeded ignorantly. I wanted to shut down. I didn’t want to look at the dog ever again. I didn’t want to be the only one feeding the horses every day. I didn’t want animals. I didn’t want to be married.
You see where this was headed. But, I know better now. My depression has been treated by professionals.
I have also learned life lessons from horses. I quickly got back to grazing. Deep breaths. When Light began her spastic leg flexing that always ends up spilling her feed pan, I stood beside her and moved my hand soothingly along her chest and leg until she calmed down.
We don’t always take the time to do that for her. In this case, I was also doing it for me.
.
.
Can’t Complain
Relative to the news and analysis of my ongoing experiences being chronicled here, I can report from my thoroughly biased perspective that we are emerging this morning from the day-long soaking rain with fresh anticipation for Cyndie’s return late tonight.
One aspect of caring for non-speaking others that I deeply dread is my inability to interpret their expressions of needs or wants. I can’t say that Cyndie deals with these situations any less stressfully than me, but when she is taking them on, I am relieved of sole responsibility.
I’m pretty sure I misread Asher’s whiny pleading last night. I had made the mistake of getting too close to the road with Asher roaming off-leash and he suddenly bolted for a house on the other side of the road to harass their dog while entirely ignoring my attempts to command his obedience.
He was thrilled over being able to lap up whatever was in bowls on their front steps (cat food?) and manically sniff every nook and cranny around their property, peeing on only half of them. Their little barking Bichon Frise-like breed dog had retreated to their back deck. Luckily, Asher was too curious to be confrontational and merely invaded its personal space when conducting a full inspection of their deck.
Our wonderfully sweet octogenarian neighbor, Eileen, was bold enough to grab Asher’s collar when he finally trotted up to meet her. I was busy panicking that he was going to jump on her and knock her over. Since I hadn’t brought a leash along on this walk, I tried walking him by the collar close enough to our property before letting go so I could run with him back to the safe confines of our property.
Asher made a U-turn and went right back to their front door. Eileen stepped inside to grab a leash to loan me so I could get him home.
Inside our house, Asher whined and paced from door to door, wanting to get back outside. I assumed he wanted to go right back over to where that little dog that barks all the time lives.
All this was happening in soaking rain. I can’t complain about the long, slow precipitation. It was perfect for our recently planted grass, but it made it complicated to step outside with the dog. Asher persisted for so long that I decided I needed to put on his vest with a leash, get myself geared up for battle against the elements, and take him for a walk.
He didn’t poop right away. He made me walk several circles through the thickest woods before he finally relieved himself of what looked like uncomfortably loose excrement.
No wonder he was whining.
.
.
Double Adventures
There was no great plan for my day when I woke up yesterday but I was pondering the possibility of a bike ride on the roads around our lake place. On a whim, I checked the “Ride with GPS” app on my phone and noticed it showed options for paved routes and one caught my interest for being a nice change of pace from my regular riding routine.
I headed north toward Seeley and was rewarded with a fabulous adventure of a ride.
I thought about pausing at the Sawmill Saloon in Seeley for lunch but since I had forgotten my wallet, I decided to ride on toward the Double-Oh (OO) trailhead where the American Birkebeiner ski race trail crosses over the road where I could eat the mixed nuts and homemade gingersnap cookies snack I brought with me.
Little did I know that I would show up at a time on a day when I would get to meet the president of the Birchleggings Club, Paul Thompson, preparing for a presentation of a new electric snowmobile donation to the American Birkebeiner Ski Foundation. The Birchleggings Club is a non-profit organization and close partner of ABSF, whose members have skied 20 or more American Birkebeiners.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Paul has skied 42 Birkies! I have skied zero but shared several of my crazy adventure stories as a spectator, including the time my friend Paul Keiski got me a press pass granting us special access for taking pictures. That year we sat in front of one of the finishing booths where we witnessed a wild sprint between two world-class racers from Scandinavia.
Even though I could have lingered to enjoy the Birkie people and activities for the rest of the day, I had a bike ride to finish. The roads I picked were smooth pavement through some fabulous forest that offered a very rewarding finish to the 32-mile loop ending right back at our driveway.
After I hopped off my bike, I wanted to stretch my legs a bit which brought me to the Whitlock’s place next door where I knew a project was underway. Before I had even changed out of my biking shoes, I suddenly found myself engaged in the second adventure of my day.
The Whitlocks are installing a replacement hot tub this weekend. Another set of hands was a welcome sight at a time when boards kept shifting as new ones were tapped into place.
After the first “fit” was accomplished, it all needed to come apart and three beads of caulk were applied to each board for the final assembly. Getting the last two boards to ‘pop’ into place in order to get the metal straps attached was something of an art that required a number of trial-and-error go-rounds.
The straps were secured just in time for a dinner break, leaving plenty of finishing work to be accomplished yet today. I remain on call for assistance as needed.
Yesterday was one of those when I had no idea how much adventure awaited me when I decided to head out alone on a little bike ride. It ended up being more than doubly rewarding!
.
.
Relative Something 