Posts Tagged ‘spring’
Clock’s Ticking
We are quickly running out of time to accomplish any of our goals that require an ability to see clearly into our woods. Leaves and flowers are about to burst forth like a volcanic eruption.
Grass is growing enough already that I did a little mowing with the push mower in front of Cyndie’s perennial garden and the sunny spot behind the barn that always grows faster than anywhere else on our property.
While I was tending to compost piles mid-morning, I looked up and found three of the horses on the ground napping with Light standing watch.
I finished the afternoon with a shift clearing out downed branches that have accumulated in the area where we recently pulled out a few miles of grape vines. All the time I spent in there battling vines revealed just how many branches were on the ground.
We keep going back and forth over wanting to pick up dead wood that falls or leaving it to decay. We soon discovered it’s a fool’s errand to think we could stay ahead of the number of branches that are constantly dropping. The problem is that ignoring the situation for very long gives the place a neglected look and makes the clean-up job much more work when we finally decide to do it.
I made piles that must now be hauled away from the lane around the back-pasture fence. Anything dry can be run through the chipper, but the rest will be tossed onto the natural fence wall where we just piled all the willow branches we cut down on Monday.
If we don’t move all these branches today, I worry we will get distracted by other projects. Suddenly, the piles will be swallowed by grasses and brambles, and we won’t see them again for a year.
We are on the verge of a green growth explosion. If we listen closely, I think we could hear leaves unfolding all around us.
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Feeling (C)old
Three days ago, our temperatures were around 80°F. Welcome to spring in the Northland. That unseasonal warmth brought an overnight storm with heavy rain and loads of lightning and thunder. Most of the day yesterday dragged on with a dreary occasional mist and temps hovering in the very chilly mid-30s.
Around dinnertime, the temperature dropped below freezing.
Just 47 minutes later, it looked like this outside:
Hot and cold weather always bounces back and forth this time of year, so we should be well-adjusted to coping with the changes, but the return of wintery chills and snow never fails to feel like an undeserved punishment.
It’s the final day of March. I could hope that this is the last blanketing of snow we will get for the season, but ever since going through the extreme experience of receiving 18 inches of snow on May 2nd, 2013, I won’t assume we are in the clear until the calendar flips to June.
Cyndie tried convincing Mia to wear a light blanket for protection against the wetness, but Mia wasn’t interested. I figure she didn’t want to look different than the other Mares. All four of them seem to be coping just fine, as they almost always do.
I’ve got coping skills of my own that I’ve been executing. Lounging in the recliner by the fireplace, eating more than I should, adding a few inches and pounds of insulation around my middle, and napping whenever my tired eyes keep trying to stay closed. It feels an awful lot like my impression of what getting old must be like.
My initiative to maintain an exercise routine for back health and strong core muscles has done a disappearing act. Now in my mid-60s, I seem to have experienced a shift of my own from hot to cold. My morning workouts now tend to involve more cerebral pursuits like Wordle, Strands, and Connections in the NY Times games suite and sporadic stabs at Words With Friends competitions.
My aging is getting more obvious now that mental exercise has become just as tiring as my physical workouts once were.
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Duty Done
Today is the conclusion of my solo duty on the ranch, as Cyndie is due to return from Florida this afternoon. That means I’ll be vacuuming, doing the dishes, changing the sheets, running a load of laundry, and hiding all evidence of the ridiculous parties I’ve been hosting while she was away. Asher has been sworn to silence, and the horses have promised to keep my secrets.
What happens in the paddocks stays in the paddocks.
What happens in the sky ends up becoming photos John captures when the clouds form interesting shapes.
If you are reading this in the northern hemisphere, spring has sprung. Yesterday was the vernal equinox. The long, dark nights of winter are becoming a distant memory.
I’m looking forward to a break from being the only person available to entertain Asher. There are too many times in a day when he seeks attention, and my dwindling reserves of energy would prefer I take a nap in the recliner. Plus, this weekend is non-stop March Madness games to be followed. Asher always seems to need to go outside when the exciting final minutes of a close game are playing out.
I take the duty of watching college basketball tournaments seriously. Having Cyndie home will take some of the pressure off of me trying to do two things at the same time. I just have to remember I’m sharing living space again and stop living like a slob around here.
I must admit, though, it can be fun to live like that for short stints every once in a while.
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Budding Signs
We are beginning to see hints of color on the tops of certain trees on the horizon. Many shrubs and bushes at eye level are sprouting tiny new leaves. Looking straight up, signs of life appear at the ends of high branches of tall trees. It won’t be long before we have trees with leaves again.
It’s been a while since we’ve experienced any high-heat days. Recently, our mornings have hovered around the freezing point but I don’t think it has been harsh enough to kill new sprouts. Grasses are going gangbusters and will require mowing soon or some areas will get out of hand.
In yesterday’s glorious sunshine, Asher stopped in the middle of a walk to lie down in the shade and watch the natural world unfolding before us. I decided to sit down with him.
In less than 30 seconds, I spotted a wood tick walking across the front of my shirt. Despite that unwelcome reality, we enjoyed the spectacle of a bird in a tree over our heads that seemed to be practicing every call or song he had ever heard. I never once noticed a repeated sound. Up and down; high and low; trills, chirps, whistles, yodels, slides, chatters, singsong melodies… it seemed to have it all. The “Rich Little” of bird calls.
I guess the budding sights of spring were inspiring that bird to sing in the extreme.
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Underwhelming Opening
It was what one local meteorologist called a “San Diego weather” day for our region yesterday. Blue sky, light breeze, gentle warmth, comfortable humidity, few in the way of pestering insects. Julian graciously agreed to help me pound fence posts that our freeze/thaw cycle pushes up. 
It’s very rewarding to experience easy success when a post drops a half-inch with each strike, especially because plenty of others barely move an eighth of an inch at a time. Our main goal is to get the bottom wire of the fence back down to less than 18” from the ground, per a guideline I read for horses. Mission accomplished.
In the middle of the afternoon, Cyndie agreed to open the gates to the hay field for the horses to start adjusting their digestive systems to fresh grass again. I took a position to record their reaction to renewed access to their fields.
They didn’t even notice. Maybe they were purposely ignoring us. My video was pretty underwhelming. With a little coaxing from Cyndie, Mia and Mix started an approach. As they picked up some momentum down the slope from the barn, Light and Swings took notice and soon followed.
They barely walked beyond the wood fence to begin feasting on fresh chomps of grass. Nothing wrong with that, but we always compare it to the time they took off running like the racehorses they once were upon that first opportunity on the field in spring.
We only gave them a short first shift before bringing them back in. Interestingly, that got them running more than going out did.
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New Sound
Like a new squeak appearing on my bike, standing out like a crying baby on an airplane, a ratchety trill erupting from the vicinity of our landscape pond heralds the next phase of spring. Fresh green sprouts are bursting from dirt and branches at a dramatic pace each day. The sounds of migrating flocks of birds echo above the usual calls from resident pheasants and turkeys. Passing pairs of sandhill cranes offer a distinctly loud, rattling bugle call. But all those signs of the seasonal progress get overshadowed by a frog in the pond.
Yesterday, we pulled back the winter netting that collected fallen leaves over the last six months.
Before we even started to move the rocks holding the net, there was a very noticeable grunting chirp emanating from the immediate surroundings.
He kept it up after the net came off, as if thanking us for our service. Much of the time he was near impossible to spot but eventually, he swam out into the open and floated for a while. As Cyndie worked a net and rake to clean out old reeds and residual floating debris while I wrestled to position and hide the pump, filter, and tubing among the rocks.
The whole time, we were hearing from the frog. It began to feel like he was going to become a fixture there. I asked Cyndie if we should name him, offering “Oscar” in tribute to the famous croaker who lived up at the lake place when Cyndie and her siblings were spending childhood summers there.
She said it would need to be “Oscar Jr.” because the size of the sound he was making fell far short of fair comparison.
If he continues to hang around, I suspect I will refer to him as “Junior.”
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CSI Wintervale
The only crime to report lately is mud shrapnel showing up inside the house. This spring, it hasn’t happened as often as it used to. The primary traffic in and out of our house has been limited to just Cyndie and me. That is about to change with the plan to adopt Ash, a rescued Shepherd Mix. More mud in the house will be a small price to pay.
Cyndie recently showed me her solution for leaving her boots on while retrieving something from inside the house for a project we were working on outside.
Looked like crime scene booties to me. The tedious hassle of getting in and out of boots for a quick indoor trip finally drove her to bag the boots and forge ahead. Works in a pinch but I don’t think it will be the solution for having a dog living with us again.
Time to get the kiddy pool set up by the front door.
Yesterday, we brought Delilah’s crate in from the garage and set it up beneath the spiral staircase, trying two different orientations before settling on the way we had it before. We have been wracking our brains to remember how and why we chose to do things the way we did ten years ago when we brought Delilah home for the first time. We share a common yearning to catch things we might have done, or conversely, failed to do, toward establishing rules and a firm command of desired behaviors in our pet.
What would we like to do differently from the way we attempted to train Delilah to become her best self? We think there is room for improvement.
Our appointment to pick up Ash is set for tomorrow morning. Cyndie has registered for a class of obedience training for him that will start in a couple of weeks.
It would be a crime if we miss the earliest opportunity to train Ash to achieve the best-behaved potential his mixed breed is capable of after the rough start he may have experienced before rescue. The only obvious issue when he first arrived at his current foster home was food aggression related. Since we don’t have any other house pets right now, that won’t be a big struggle for us at the start.
One of my favorite behaviors Delilah mastered was her patient and reliably obedient adherence to waiting in a designated “Place” until a release command allowed her to approach her bowl of food. I fumble around with a desire to have a dog that behaves with a military level of discipline without us being good at establishing a military level of training.
Despite ever reaching the ultimate level of control we both would have appreciated having with Delilah, Cyndie and I achieved enough success teaching her that we are hopeful for that much and more with Ash. We look forward to discovering what differences his personality will bring to the process.
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Like Flying
Yesterday felt like I had boarded an airplane and soared to a vacation destination far to our south. For weeks that became months, our region languished with daily high temperatures that repeatedly failed to reach 50°F. The milestone of the first 50° day of the season took so long to occur that when the air finally warmed up, a day or two later, the highs raced right through the 50s into the 60s and 70s.
Only the largest mounds of piled snow from plowing or shoveling remain. Remember that dead pine tree that collected and held onto the last big snowfall we received?
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It doesn’t look nearly as glamorous now. There isn’t a green needle to be found on any of those branches.
Meanwhile, everywhere I turn there is new green growth appearing from the dirt or the ends of branches. I’m feeling pulled in so many directions to get after managing our landscape where possible before it all takes off and grows appendages where I don’t want them to grow.
I feel awful when I am late to prune and end up cutting a limb that a tree or bush has already put precious energy into feeding. I am fascinated by how much is going on inside these plants from the moment sap can flow.
The pine trees were all “Snap, Crackle, & Pop” with pinecones instantly responding to the summery warmth.
Looks like the tree by the shop garage is going to produce a bumper crop this year.
Since it felt like a vacation destination, I only did about a half-day of tree trimming and trail clean-up before moving all the outdoor furniture back onto the deck for lounging under the warm solar rays. With my eyes closed, there was a moment when I almost thought I was in Puerto Rico. Then I realized it was just Cyndie calling via FaceTime video.
Today, Cyndie and Elysa are scheduled to fly home. I look forward to seeing if island living was good for Cyndie’s ankle rehabilitation. Walking on sand could be an exercise that helps her adapt to walking on the uneven turf of our yard and trails.
I’m mentally prepared for news of good progress or lack thereof, either way. It will be grand to have her back home where she can enjoy a vacation from her vacation with her family and Carlos’ family in Puerto Rico.
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New Alarms
The sun wasn’t up yet on Saturday morning when my slumber was interrupted by a mysterious sound invading my dream. The second time the sound occurred, I felt myself floating up out of the dream toward the surface of reality. The sound was no longer mysterious, in fact, it was completely obvious, but I wasn’t yet awake enough to know where I was. The sound seemed far away like it might still be in the dream I was swiftly leaving.
Between rather long pauses, the sound continued.
“Gobble, gobble, gobble! Gobble, gobble, gobble!”
There was a tom turkey in the vicinity. Reminded me a bit of the good old days when our rooster, Rocky, would announce the impending arrival of daylight.
I scanned the woods out our bedroom window but found no visible signs of life in the early light. Coming out of the bathroom, I was startled by a clear view of the tom through the deck doors, struttin’ his stuff out in the backyard.
I watched him slowly parading toward the house until he turned and wandered into the trees. I figured he was gone but soon spotted him through the den window on the other side of the house.
The images through the glass were sub-par but still do a fair job of representing his size and his proximity to the house.
By the time I was dressed and out the door to feed the horses, there was no turkey in sight.
It’s nice to know the coyotes haven’t killed all the big birds in the area. I suspect wild turkeys have a much more effective sense of preservation against predators than our domesticated chickens did.
We also have another new alarm that goes off in the mornings on the other side of the house. There is a robin who has decided to do daily battle against its reflection in our sunroom windows at too early o’clock. Before Cyndie left she put a few Post-It note sheets on some of the windows to disrupt the bird’s-eye view.
Yesterday, I noticed he had just moved over a couple of windows. He doesn’t bother me so much because my arrival in the sunroom to put on my boots before going outside shoos him away. By the time I return from feeding horses, he tends to have moved on to other pursuits.
In honor of the first day when it was warmer outside than it was in the house, I celebrated by leaving a door to the deck open for a few hours yesterday afternoon.
All sorts of spring sounds made their way inside on the fresh breeze, including one of my new favorites: pine cones clicking as they gradually pop open. I was not aware of the sound of this phenomenon until living here with pine trees just off the deck. Yesterday, I was hearing it from the cones in the large White Pine tree by the shop garage.
The first few days of dry warmth are such a fine reward after winter finally lets loose its prolonged clenching of our senses. I’m feeling a certain kinship with the pine cones.
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Hope Springs
Like the first sprout of green growth breaking through the blanket of leaves on the forest floor, reaching toward the rays of sunlight, I was full of anticipation for the scheduled delivery of my new electric lawn tractor yesterday. Seeking to assure my plan would work smoothly, I called the store in Prescott to check in and let them know this would be the day I was expecting delivery.
I was told they had received an email from the delivery company confirming that fact. The person on the phone said he could call me to let me know when the tractor got picked up. When my phone rang while I was out tending to the horses at noon, it was from the delivery company driver telling me he was 30 minutes from arrival.
Filled with hope for the approaching conclusion of this complicated purchase process, I didn’t question that the call came from the delivery company, not the store. Since I was already out with the horses and the driver would be arriving soon, I chose to wait with them and watch for the truck. The horses were understandably jumpy because the gusting wind was blowing the falling ice pellets with extra force and thunder overhead added dramatic effect.
Soon the precipitation transitioned into a heavy downpour that roared on the metal roof of the barn. I was happy to see the horses chose to endure the noise and stay under the overhang through the worst of the rain. It was taking the delivery driver longer than 30 minutes but in this weather, the driving would become slower going.
The SUV that finally pulled up our driveway looked too small to be bringing my tractor. The man asked where my tractor was located. I figured he was a helping hand who beat the truck to our location. No, he told me he was here to assemble my tractor (which I know simply involves bolting the seat on and attaching the steering levers). I asked if he had gone to the store first. No, he had come from Milwaukee! (300 miles away on the other side of the state of Wisconsin.)
Well, that explained why the store hadn’t called me to report the tractor had been picked up.
Too bad I didn’t just install a hitch on my car and rent a trailer to pick up the tractor myself two weeks ago.
The driver told me he would need to contact his office, reschedule my delivery, and he would call me back. Around dinnertime, while I was ankle-deep in mud scooping up manure, my phone rings with a call from Tennessee. It’s the delivery company calling to check if my tractor had arrived as scheduled. She was definitely looking forward to my happy reply and sounded totally shocked and was very apologetic to learn of the mixup.
I hope to find out tomorrow what their new delivery date will be. I definitely didn’t need the mower today but if the weather forecast for high temperatures to hit the 60s(F) this weekend and 70s next Tuesday proves accurate, lawn mowing will become a thing again real soon.
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Relative Something 