Posts Tagged ‘Wintervale’
Mission Creep
It shouldn’t come as a surprise, but our simple project to install fences on our property, in preparation for safely securing horses (in case we should ever get any horses), has grown well beyond the scope of our original intentions. Planning and budgeting doesn’t really factor into dreams and inspirations as well as we need it to. Now we are in the midst of a water management project, that was triggered when trying to finish the front fence, and it became obvious that we could benefit from a gate in the front corner, but the access from the township road was on the other side of a drainage ditch. How are we going to pay for this? Creatively.
My favorite camera returned from the Canon service department yesterday afternoon, so I took some pictures of the new culvert being installed, to test the camera out.
Not Pretty
Not everything about our life here in paradise is pretty. Last night we sat down and worked on some of the nitty gritty details of payments-made and payments-due related to all our projects underway. A dirty kitchen seemed like the perfect place for such an unpleasant reality.
I am feeling mopey, because my life has been taken over by the demands of a new puppy who seems to have constant needs, and because I tried to replace my all-time favorite boxer briefs underwear, shopping online, only to find out they are nothing like the original (even though the description includes the word, “original”).
I am so attached to the old style that I tried searching the internet for the possibility of a long-lost pair still lingering on a shelf somewhere. The results where humorous.
I started searching the two most prominent groups of digits that look like model numbers. What I found for search results was a number of poor souls engaged in the same search as me. From my informal survey of the forum discussions that turned up in my results, I see that I am far from the only one who became frustrated by the undesired changes that exist in the design of the current offerings under the description of “original.”
I also discovered that those prominent groups of digits are not the right numbers. Further inspection revealed the location of the number I am supposed to use for searching the old style I seek. Too bad it doesn’t do me a bit of good. I got exactly zero hits on that number in a search query. Not one. Not even a bad result! Doesn’t that seem kind of strange?
I’m back to wearing the old pairs, and that is not a pretty sight.
It’s Infected
Why did I disregard the training I received long ago, and not take serious action to treat the puncture wound I received on Monday evening? I mentioned in yesterday’s post that I had stepped into a wooden thorn protruding from the bark of a downed tree. It bothered me at work yesterday, and I complained to a coworker about it. She asked if I had done anything about it. I washed it when I took a shower. Other than that, no. I received the “typical man” reply.
After work yesterday, Cyndie and I dove into the chore of clearing the trees off the rise behind the barn where we will be creating a new driving lane. As I was stumbling through the tangle of downed limbs (again, wearing shorts instead of long pants) my legs were suffering new abuses. I, again, complained about the pain from Monday’s thorn. Cyndie asked if I had done anything to treat it.
“No, I didn’t probe the wound, rooting around in search of any leftover thorn fragment.” She offered to disinfect it for me.
As I stepped into the shower, I spotted the inflamed area around the tiny puncture hole.
I guess I should have given this more attention at the time of the incident, like I was trained to do.
If there is any leftover thorn in there, it’s turned to mush now. I did my wimpy, timid best to see if I could get a hold of anything with a tweezers, but to no avail. I resorted to pressing and squeezing around the wound to drain pus. We tried some Hydrogen peroxide, a little rubbing alcohol, and then, an antibiotic ointment.
Luckily, we are not so remote that I can’t just hop in the car and quickly arrive at an urgent care facility. But, that is not an excuse for being nonchalant about caring for wounds that are often considered insignificant. I know better. I intend to use this as a lesson to renew my diligence about giving every assault on my protective shell, proper attention, regardless the perceived seriousness.
Day Off
Recently, I was able to return to a schedule that provides me an extra day off from the day-job, and Monday is the day I choose. However, even though it was a day off from going into the Cities to work, it isn’t quite a day off from actually working on things. We started the day slowly, by current Wintervale standards, and did some indoor chores. My first priority was contacting Canon to get authorization to return my PowerShot camera for repair. They informed me I needed to write a letter describing the issue and then box it up for shipment.
I made a quick trip to Ellsworth to deposit my package at the UPS drop box in town. It didn’t fit in the drop box, so I stepped into the insurance office at that location and asked if there was a way to get it picked up. The young man working the reception desk said to just leave the box on a chair in their office, then he gave me a pen and note pad to write a note to the UPS driver indicating there was something to pick up in the office. I walked out to this drop box, with my little post-it note, and then tried to imagine how I could attach it so that it wouldn’t blow away, or get melted by a rain shower. It’s a cute little system they have here. I hope it works.
Afternoon view, taken with my old camera
Cyndie and I combined our efforts to finish off the final details for the wood shed I built. She drove the tractor down to one of our brush piles to dig out some dirt for me to finish filling around the foundation stones. I caulked the seams of the roof panels with silicon sealant. We cut down a branch that was growing over the roof line of the shed, by way of me climbing a ladder to reach with a pole saw, and her pulling on the branch with a rope we had thrown over it. It was pretty large, and way up there. A nice feat of accomplishment.
I got out the chain saw, to cut up the branch, and since we were in that mode, we decided to head down the trail in our woods to finally begin clearing the debris left from the damaging snow storm last May. Instead of heading straight to the biggest timber, and using the chain saw, we chose to start with the first obstructions we arrived at, and use other tools we had brought along. Cyndie cut down the tall growth with her battery operated trimmer, and I cut back the smaller branches that drooped in the way, using our ratcheted pruner.
Eventually, I found opportunity to cut larger branches with the chainsaw, but I had gotten way out ahead of Cyndie, and left to my own devices, I started to get careless and impatient. I stepped right into the needle-sharp point of a wood thorn on one tree branch. It punctured the side of my knee and left me in a lot of pain. I checked more than once to make sure the tip hadn’t broken off in there. It didn’t look like it, but it sure hurt like something was still in there.
Then I got the saw pinched. Time for me to call it a day. I walked back to find Cyndie, needing her help to lift the limb so I could get my saw out, and then headed back to wind up our work day, while she finished off cutting away the small stuff with the pruner.
Today, I am back at the day-job, which is great, because now I could sure use some days off from the work we do at home.
Progress Applenty
We had a lot of progress yesterday, and one big failure. My favorite little pocket camera has failed me. I did a little research and discovered a Product Advisory was issued that defines the exact failure that I experienced, and I hope to be able to have it repaired at no cost to me. 
Unfortunately, I didn’t get all of the images of progress that I would have liked. Some shaky cell phone images will have to suffice.
I finished getting all the roof panels attached to the wood shed. I hope to be stacking wood in there soon.
We assembled a dog run for Delilah. She spent a little time in there yesterday, 
seemed at ease in the space, and she appears to be doing well, following her surgery last Thursday. She has been a bit more vocal the last two days, barking to get our attention. We were a bit distracted yesterday, so she was justified in trying to redirect our focus back to her.
The crew arrived to finally make some real progress on raising the hay shed. It looks like a game of pick-up sticks. All the vertical posts are buried and braced.
Power Outage
We had some extra excitement yesterday. It was our first chance to see our new backup power generator in action. I had returned home from work at an early hour and Cyndie had just come in from mowing the lawn. She mentioned that she could hear that someone from the fence crew was working down near the barn. That was good, because I didn’t see anyone there when I pulled up the driveway, and I was expecting someone to come drop off some equipment, and maybe start digging out the hill for our new roadway behind the barn.
I was planning to head down to see him after we finished our little lunch break. I didn’t have to wait that long. Our power went out. It didn’t seem all that surprising, because the day before it had gone out long enough to mess up all the digital clocks, but then it came back on so fast I didn’t even realize it had been out.
I figured the outage was related to the intensity of heat wave we are experiencing. This time, power went off long enough for our new generator to kick in and provide backup. I figured I would need to call the 
power company to report the outage, but first, my intuition told me I should go check on the fence guy.
Just as I had hoped, he had successfully cleared out the hill to create new access behind the barn. And, just as I had suspected, he had cut wires feeding power to the barn. We had both forgotten to account for that line. Since it was a privately installed feed, after the meter, it hadn’t been marked by the crews that have been marking buried lines. Still, we should have thought of that.
All of this was very easy to understand. What didn’t make any sense to us was how, or why, this had taken out power to our house, too. I needed to call in the big guns from our power company.
It turned out that the incident of cutting the power lines to the barn caused a fuse to blow in the main power transformer on our property. They opened up the access panel to the transformer and used a long insulated pole to open a vent that relieved pressure, and then pulled a fuse out from within an oil bath. Very interesting procedure. One that I have no desire whatsoever to do.
They had power restored in minutes to everything but the barn. We’ll need to be digging a new trench and splicing some wires before we get power back in the barn.
Brush Hoggin’
After the excitement of having our hay-field cut by a team of 3 horses last week, we were very happy to learn that our neighbor got 1 and 1/2 wagon loads of bales out of it. That is a good result. He has inspired us to consider keeping the front field for cutting hay, instead of using it as pasture. He said it would save us a lot of money if we are able to produce our own hay.
He only cut the front field, so I needed to knock down the uncut growth on the back portion. There used to be a fence between the two, but that is now gone, so I was able to make a clean line by cutting straight through, making the fields look like one. By cutting the back field, we can get rid of the weeds, and let more grass come through. Hopefully, we can include that portion when it comes time for the second hay cut of the season.
I also needed to trim portions of the front field where he wasn’t able to steer the horses precisely enough to avoid missing spots. Now it is all ready to grow into an excellent second crop.
We have learned that the second cut is a much better hay, for our purposes. Not all hay is alike, and what we have growing on our property should be just what we want to have. The first cut commonly includes more grass that has grown tall and develops a woody stem. Some of that won’t grow back a second time. What will grow in after the cut will be more of the soft, wide blades.
The key to how much of our fields we cut for hay in the long run will be, what portion of our fields do we need for pasture. If we are lucky, and manage things well, we should have just the right balance to support our goal of keeping 4 horses. I don’t think we’ll really know for sure until we get them here and see what they eat.
I’m looking forward to that, because then I won’t have to do so much dang brush hogging. You know how much I dislike cutting grass!
Frustrating Lessons
I’m sorry, but I need to vent some frustration. I’ve taken on the project of building a woodshed, guided by a rudimentary plan I found on the internet, using mostly found materials, my meager collection of construction tools, and my distinct lack of experience with carpentry. One of the draws for me to undertake this effort on my own was the encouragement I read online at the site where I found the building plan, pointing out that a shed like this makes a great first attempt at constructing a building, because there are no codes to meet. Anything goes.
And what’s the worst that could happen if the shed fails? The stack of split firewood might topple over or get wet temporarily. It’s a pretty low-risk construction project.
What I am finding is, it has a high risk of causing me great frustration. Have I mentioned that I tend toward perfectionism on just this kind of task? I gotta admit, that very tendency toward perfectionism is a significant contributor to my lack of experience in doing something like building a shed out of found materials. I know in advance it is doomed from the start. Why would I choose to put myself through the exasperation?
Of course, Cyndie points out that this kind of thinking is my first problem.
I can’t argue that. I’m my own worst enemy when it comes to thinking like “the little engine that could.” It is hard to meditate on the “I think I can” mantra, when you already embody the notion that you “can’t.”
I didn’t just dive into this project willy-nilly. I hemmed and hawed over it. I trolled for friends with skills to do it for me. I let the idea of doing it myself stew for weeks, hoping time would either reveal another solution, or I’d magically become skilled by just thinking about it a lot. I thought about the materials the project would require, over and over, trying to determine the likelihood I could come up with everything I would need.
Here comes one of my first frustrations: It is only a simple woodshed. Why does my mind make it seem so complicated?
Eventually, I committed and began gathering materials. That phase took additional weeks for me to accomplish, between familiarizing myself with shopping lumber yards and making a decision on what to use.
Now, as I’ve already written about here, I have the frame up, and as you can see, the rafters in place. (Thanks are due to my friend, architect Mike Wilkus, for teaching me how to mount the rafters to a log beam… cut a “bird’s-mouth” notch in the rafter!) After the exercise of this phase, my perfectionistic traits are irritated like a raw-rubbed blister.
I know that it is in my best interest to consider things like keeping it level and square. I would love to be able to do that. As a novice, I am struggling because the only straight line I have is a piece of tightened string, and my level. The log posts and beams are imperfect. The flat rocks I picked are imperfect. The lumber I have is all warped and twisted. I rarely have been able to reference anything trustworthy.
It hardly matters to the overall structure, but it matters to me, because I notice where it is off. Drives me nuts.
I don’t like hammering nails. They go most of the way in, then stop and bend. They go all the way in, and the head breaks off. They split the wood. They somehow repel my hammer and make me leave dents in the wood, all around the nail. Just when I think I’m getting the hang of it, my hand and arm get fatigued and the nails start bending again, and the wood gets more dents in it.
I prefer screws. My screws also can split the wood. The heads strip. The screwdriver bit strips. The screw goes 90% of the way in and then seizes. Finally, the head breaks off.
Both nails and screws jump out of my hands. They fly out of the wood as I’m starting. I drop the drill-driver from the ladder. I can’t reach from where the ladder is. I don’t have scaffolding, so I am up and down that ladder an uncountable number of times. I move it back and forth, bumping the beams overhead, knocking the rafters out of place.
Can I complain about the bugs? They aren’t unique to a carpentry project, but they have been adding to my frustration in this case.
The woodshed may be a good first structure to build, but I’m thinking I should be building a boat. I found myself cursing like a sailor at the frustrations over the weekend.
Cyndie is sweet to point out, regardless my frustrations, we’ve got the majority of the project accomplished, and I have to admit, I am pleased to be getting the shed I have all along envisioned for this spot. I think it will be perfect, even if it isn’t “perfect.”
Sweet Delilah
Every day we seem to get a step closer to acclimating Delilah to her new surroundings, to us, and to our routines. Well, I guess nothing is routine for us lately, but we are trying to discover something of a routine involving her.
I am feeling grateful that, of the options available to us, we ended up selecting the older dog. She already has been widely socialized, and is house trained and used to sleeping in a crate. She seems to have quickly accepted our night routine, and sleeps well for the hours that match our schedule. She has a cute cuddly cow and a squeaky lamb that she snuggles with in her crate, and last night, before we had headed for bed, Cyndie discovered Delilah had pulled her lamb and cow out of the crate and was wrapped up with them, falling asleep on the tile floor. Cyndie ushered her into bed in the crate.
I think the activities of the day had used up all her energy. That’s good to see, because otherwise, I worry that she will keep moving at her rapid puppy pace (for a 9-month-old Belgian Shepherd) long after we are out of gas.
We are keeping her on a leash, indoors and out, for the time being, allowing our indoor cats a chance to still have the bedroom as their protected sanctuary, and to develop a sense of the boundaries of our property outdoors. She almost pulled my arm out of the socket when a rabbit bolted out from under cover as we walked by. I get the feeling she won’t recognize any borders when it comes to pursuing bunnies or other potential prey.
Her demeanor is generally a pretty calm happiness. She rarely barks, which I am very happy about. Pretty much the only problem we are facing initially, is her desire to gnaw on anything and everything. She waited a full day, to allow us to grow complacent about the possibility, (which we did, leaving her way too many options of things on which she could sink her teeth) and then she surprised us by choosing to rip into the couch by the front door, the basket of slippers nearby, the dining room rug, a box outside by her doghouse, the corner of her new doghouse, and a couple of times, pulling things down off the counter in the kitchen.
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Sweet as she is, we’ll need to stay diligent about policing the things that she devilishly finds interest in testing to the crunch of her teeth.
Wild Strawberries
When we were in our hay-field where our neighbor was doing the cutting the other day, we found out just how far our wild strawberry patch stretches. It is an impressive spread! But does it produce fruit?, you might ask. Cyndie did some hunting. I’ve been told that wild strawberries will be much smaller, and won’t taste as sweet. She got a chance to test the veracity of that claim, when she found fruit.
She agreed.
Here is the sum total of her harvest:
Relative Something 