Posts Tagged ‘solitude’
Extra Day
Since circumstances led to Cyndie and me each having a car up at the lake over the weekend, we didn’t need to go home at the same time. I asked for an extra day at the lake and Cyndie headed home to relieve the animal sitters. With no responsibilities, I opted for a bike ride in the middle of a Monday in the north woods of Wisconsin.
There are some wonderful stretches of good pavement passing through wooded acres that offer a rewarding combination of forest bathing while sailing along on two wheels. It feeds my mind, body, and soul.
Returning to the Wildwood driveway brought me up to the empty house where I could enjoy the best of everything it provides in precious solitude. After a quick dip in the lake, followed by a shower, I stretched out diagonally across the bed under the sunshine coming through the skylight window for a luxurious nap.
For those of us who don’t live alone, having a spare day every so often when you can leave a trail of your belongings anywhere you please and eat and sleep when the whim arrives is invigorating. I also chose to watch a movie in the middle of the afternoon while eating a sandwich and some West’s Dairy Praline and Caramel ice cream.
Sure, having pets can add a lot to a person’s life, but being free from any need to tend to precious critters often gives me just as much joy. I wouldn’t have been able to finish a full-length movie while devouring delicious bite-sized portions of ice cream if Asher had been staring up at me with his big eyes and whining to play.
How do you describe eating ice cream from a spoon (I’m not usually a cone person), but not ever biting it? I don’t actually lick it. Am I lipping it? Sliding the spoon back out from my mouth while silently scraping a portion of the creamy goodness with my lips to be held back for my tongue and mouth to absorb it with glee. The spoon then goes back in for a second pass, maybe a third before it is clean and ready to be reloaded for another iteration.
Maybe there is a word that better describes the technique. If I weren’t so inclined to avoid interacting with AI sites, I might find such a descriptor by searching.
The movie I watched lasted much longer than my ice cream and it was almost as much fun, given the subject of Sherpas and Mount Everest. I highly recommend the documentary film, “Mountain Queen – The Summits of Lhakpa Sherpa,” which I found on Netflix.
Lhakpa was the first Nepali woman to climb Everest and survive. She holds the record for most Everest summits by a woman. What she has accomplished in her life outside of climbing is maybe even more remarkable. She is an inspiration of great strength, both physical and emotional.
She and her children deserve much broader recognition, which I hope this film will bring.
.
.
Great Rides
I had one job to do this weekend: go for bike rides with Paul. The rest of the hours were agenda-free and I made the best of my time by relaxing to the maximum degree. While the twelve other guys were golfing, I had the place to myself, which rarely happens at the lake. The solitude was magnificent. I had a range of Olympic event options for sports spectating keeping me company indoors and gorgeous weather to lure me outside where I explored the surroundings alone.
Friday morning started with a mysterious sound coming from the woods in the pre-dawn hours that my waking self took a long time to diagnose. I deduced it was coming from somewhere very close so I forced my eyes open and spied through the trees to catch a glimpse of movement on the roof of the property next door. There was a crew of guys ripping off the old shingles. The rest of the day was filled with the repeating rat-tat-tat of new shingles getting nailed.
I walked the mini-labyrinth Cyndie and I created in the woods and soaked up sunshine on the deck. A short nap might have happened to the rhythmic sounds of a roofing crew hard at work.
When Paul returned in the mid-afternoon, it was time to ride. On Friday, we started on gravel which was a challenge on my Trek Domane with slick tires. Paul has a new gravel bike that handled it well. I felt like I was trying to hold my bike on the edge of a ski boat wake and more than once had to muscle the front wheel back in place to avoid calamity. When we popped out onto pavement at the end of the fire lane road, the smooth ride felt like a new world. We sailed along for more miles than we’d planned because the roads and surroundings were so nice.
On Saturday, the radar indicated we had limited time before a storm would be arriving so we skipped the gravel and chose a different route that still connected with the latter half of Friday’s ride to enjoy that great rolling ribbon of pavement a second time. Made it back before raindrops started to fall.
This weekend was the first time I’ve been on my bike since riding the Tour of Minnesota in June. I surprised myself with how strong I felt on our Friday jaunt. My muscles in the latter half of yesterday’s excursion let me know they hadn’t been used at that intensity on consecutive days since June.
The legs get a rest today. I’ll be driving home this morning to trade places with Cyndie as she comes up for a few days with a friend.
This year’s guys’ golf weekend has been a treat, made all the more special for me by two great bike rides in the woods with Paul. I’m lucky the group has included me in their long-running annual tradition.
.
.
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.
.
.
Being Horses
This morning I am feeling overwhelming awe over my opportunity to live in such a beautiful place and care for these four rescued thoroughbred mares. In a conscious effort to compartmentalize all the ills and angst-inducing news roiling our planet, I am focusing on the peace and tranquility of my immediate surroundings and soaking up the soul-nourishing thrill of it all.
Being home alone with our animals brings on plenty of opportunities for contemplation. Half of me is thinking about which of our unending projects I can tend to on my own –chainsaw use is not allowed when I am alone– and half is wallowing in the bliss of all the pleasantries of solitude.
Partial solitude, that is. Delilah frequently reminds me that I am not totally alone. She also influences which projects I choose to tackle and when because some tasks don’t lend themselves well to having a leashed dog along. I am extremely grateful for her patient tolerance of my extended lingering this morning after tending to the horses.
The completion of the morning routine at the barn is regularly the trigger for returning to the house to feed Delilah breakfast. That she would accept any delay in being fed is absolute generosity on her part.
While the horses were calmly consuming their morning feed servings today, I quietly made my way down to open the gates to the freshly cut hay field. I was dumping a wheelbarrow of manure onto the most active compost pile when the horses took advantage of the renewed opportunity to roam the front field. They were just making their way over the hill and out of sight when I returned to the barn.
Curious about what was drawing them to immediately head to the farthest reaches of the field, I convinced Delilah to walk away from the house toward the high spot in the driveway to see what the horses were doing down by the road.
They were munching on the grass along the fence line as if in a gesture to demonstrate that they could. It was as far from the barn as their confines allow. With Delilah’s generous patience providing me ample opportunity, I just stood and watched our herd of four gorgeous horses being horses. Mix turned first and began to make her way back up the rise in the big field.
She stood at the top for a moment and looked absolutely regal, then moved into a happy trot down to the gate into the paddocks. The other three walked along behind. They appeared to be reveling in the regained access to the full reaches of their current home.
It is such a rewarding honor to be able to give them as much autonomy as possible throughout each day.
Their happiness is contagious.
.
.
Relative Something 