I've pretty much given up on seeing a mallard hen with her ducklings on the pond this year. The frantic flyovers while quacking up a storm by both her and the drake last month told me something was amiss. Likely a skunk.
I thought about this loss last night when the wife called me on the intercom to tell me a pack of coyotes were yapping it up not fifty yards east of our bedroom window. Out by where the two turkey hens had their nests. I went upstairs and out the back door to give the canines hell. But they were already gone. No eyes shone back in the light of my flashlight.
The turkey hens were walking around the property this morning, so I'm going to hope we see some little ones pretty soon, provided there are still eggs. Yet, the big tom is still hanging around as well, fluffing himself up whenever he sees me, so if the nests are destroyed, there may be a second chance at a clutch (if that's what turkeys have).
And I would be remiss if I did not mention the Barn Owl. Except we cannot be certain there is a chick in the box. The wife says she may have seen a ball of down. If I have heard a soft squeak for food, it did not last long. All the better, a low profile, for there is a Great Horned hanging in the hood.
Meanwhile, I'm trapping a lot of gophers.
Wednesday, June 25, 2014
Saturday, June 14, 2014
...for the trees
36 writes to wonder the fate of the tree in his mother's yard. This on the heels of thoughts for another post already in the making.
The local high school is about to receive a large bronze sculpture of their mascot, provided the private donations can be found. The bird will be making a sharp right turn, or so the drawing suggests. I would have to go upstairs to confirm the talons spread or tucked. A drive-by of the site other construction projects are planned for the summer break yet I don't believe there is a percentage for the arts in this community, as pragmatic bonds are tough enough to pass without prettying up the place. (I wonder if the local prisons have mascots, let alone art, and certainly more money is spent per capita for these institutions.)
But yes, the trees.
We've removed a number of trees from the property over the last couple of years. Mostly sour cherry, which need little encouraging beside the jays' penchant for their fruit. A few hawthorn of size, making sure to poison the stumps. And back when we first bought the place, three 70-foot big leaf maples we were assured were on their way out anyway. All have provided warmth during our winters.
So, as with the oak I mentioned last post, when I saw that the middle school had removed four large decorative plum tree from the front parkway, my first thought was sadness, followed by wondering what happened to the wood. Fruit wood is hard to split but burns well, you know.
And then my mind returned to that lone oak in the field, not so much it standing there against the sky and bare ground, but to the hundreds of Christmas trees that went up in smoke. I would not have to buy mulch this year. Nor would have anyone else in the neighborhood. Now, that would have been a fine gesture!
Still, efficient usage aside, I understand a strong emotional attachment to some trees. I have fond memories of an apple tree in my grandparents' front yard. It, along with a maple and cedar, long gone and, so I am told, replaced by renegade rose of sharons and weeds so high the front porch I painted in 2000 is hidden from the road. I have not been back to verify, and since an uncle still lives in what's left of the house (termites), my mother has forbade the trip.
Yes, things change.
On a brighter note, I cannot let a post go by without saying how absolutely overjoyed I am for Dave "Memphis Mojo" Smith for his third place finish in the WSOP seniors event. I made sure I bragged on him some at my home game last night. (No such showing for me, down $20 on the night.) Again, congrats, Dave!
The local high school is about to receive a large bronze sculpture of their mascot, provided the private donations can be found. The bird will be making a sharp right turn, or so the drawing suggests. I would have to go upstairs to confirm the talons spread or tucked. A drive-by of the site other construction projects are planned for the summer break yet I don't believe there is a percentage for the arts in this community, as pragmatic bonds are tough enough to pass without prettying up the place. (I wonder if the local prisons have mascots, let alone art, and certainly more money is spent per capita for these institutions.)
But yes, the trees.
We've removed a number of trees from the property over the last couple of years. Mostly sour cherry, which need little encouraging beside the jays' penchant for their fruit. A few hawthorn of size, making sure to poison the stumps. And back when we first bought the place, three 70-foot big leaf maples we were assured were on their way out anyway. All have provided warmth during our winters.
So, as with the oak I mentioned last post, when I saw that the middle school had removed four large decorative plum tree from the front parkway, my first thought was sadness, followed by wondering what happened to the wood. Fruit wood is hard to split but burns well, you know.
And then my mind returned to that lone oak in the field, not so much it standing there against the sky and bare ground, but to the hundreds of Christmas trees that went up in smoke. I would not have to buy mulch this year. Nor would have anyone else in the neighborhood. Now, that would have been a fine gesture!
Still, efficient usage aside, I understand a strong emotional attachment to some trees. I have fond memories of an apple tree in my grandparents' front yard. It, along with a maple and cedar, long gone and, so I am told, replaced by renegade rose of sharons and weeds so high the front porch I painted in 2000 is hidden from the road. I have not been back to verify, and since an uncle still lives in what's left of the house (termites), my mother has forbade the trip.
Yes, things change.
On a brighter note, I cannot let a post go by without saying how absolutely overjoyed I am for Dave "Memphis Mojo" Smith for his third place finish in the WSOP seniors event. I made sure I bragged on him some at my home game last night. (No such showing for me, down $20 on the night.) Again, congrats, Dave!
Sunday, June 1, 2014
Things change
One of my favorite sayings comes from Freud via Mari Ruti: "It is impossible to love life without loving transience." As with most noble sentiments, acknowledgment is easier than bringing action, yet aspiring is half the fun of the struggle.
Sometimes the consequences are largely sentimental. For instance, there is a field about 20 acres in size northwest of us that has for years been used for growing Christmas trees. It's not a very good field for such, evidenced by the gradual decline in the number of trees, even though no harvest has occurred. Earlier this spring, the remaining trees, along with the latest diseased fatalities were cut down, piled and burned. That is, all but one tree, a sizable oak and the only one of its kind in that field.
Word came over the fence that the field had been rented out to another farm of a family whose name is known throughout these part, and the three confirmed bachelors that still live with Mom would be putting in wheat. Gentle souls, these men, hard workers and known to lend a hand to widows and the like who choose to remain on their homesteads. They are well-loved and highly respected. (I may have written about them in the past; I cannot recall.)
I took interest in the field as it stood after the burns. I wondered at length about how they would go about removing the thousands of fir stumps.
Well, as it turned out, the stumps were left and gone over with a contraption behind a large tractor, which, I suppose, more or less mulched them back into the soil. I have no idea how far down into the ground this machine went, and did not stop to examine the work for those brothers were there dawn to dusk. I did not care for them to wonder why the gentleman ex-farmer would find it necessary to examine their work.
Still, I drove by daily to rubberneck, yet I never thought to see if what I had most feared had happened. With this in mind, I made a special trip. Yes, the oak was gone. Or rather, it now laid on its side up by the matriarch land owner's house. By the looks of it, it was unceremoniously dragged intact across a couple hundred yards of field, a quick dispatch so as to not delay the field prep any longer than necessary.
Judging by the amount of stacked firewood both alongside her house and in her garage, the elderly woman heats with wood, so I bear her no grudge. Nor do I the brothers. They farm a couple thousand acres and this tree was understandably insignificant. Still, as it has become clear to you by now, I had taken a liking to that tree.
At one time, most of the land around here was oak savannah, so I saw this tree as defiant in grace. There are still patches of its kin scattered about, enough that those fallen by disease, age or progress have heated my own home for the last eleven years.
In my complicity I am complacent. Still...
Sometimes the consequences are largely sentimental. For instance, there is a field about 20 acres in size northwest of us that has for years been used for growing Christmas trees. It's not a very good field for such, evidenced by the gradual decline in the number of trees, even though no harvest has occurred. Earlier this spring, the remaining trees, along with the latest diseased fatalities were cut down, piled and burned. That is, all but one tree, a sizable oak and the only one of its kind in that field.
Word came over the fence that the field had been rented out to another farm of a family whose name is known throughout these part, and the three confirmed bachelors that still live with Mom would be putting in wheat. Gentle souls, these men, hard workers and known to lend a hand to widows and the like who choose to remain on their homesteads. They are well-loved and highly respected. (I may have written about them in the past; I cannot recall.)
I took interest in the field as it stood after the burns. I wondered at length about how they would go about removing the thousands of fir stumps.
Well, as it turned out, the stumps were left and gone over with a contraption behind a large tractor, which, I suppose, more or less mulched them back into the soil. I have no idea how far down into the ground this machine went, and did not stop to examine the work for those brothers were there dawn to dusk. I did not care for them to wonder why the gentleman ex-farmer would find it necessary to examine their work.
Still, I drove by daily to rubberneck, yet I never thought to see if what I had most feared had happened. With this in mind, I made a special trip. Yes, the oak was gone. Or rather, it now laid on its side up by the matriarch land owner's house. By the looks of it, it was unceremoniously dragged intact across a couple hundred yards of field, a quick dispatch so as to not delay the field prep any longer than necessary.
Judging by the amount of stacked firewood both alongside her house and in her garage, the elderly woman heats with wood, so I bear her no grudge. Nor do I the brothers. They farm a couple thousand acres and this tree was understandably insignificant. Still, as it has become clear to you by now, I had taken a liking to that tree.
At one time, most of the land around here was oak savannah, so I saw this tree as defiant in grace. There are still patches of its kin scattered about, enough that those fallen by disease, age or progress have heated my own home for the last eleven years.
In my complicity I am complacent. Still...
Sunday, May 18, 2014
Say...
I'm taking a break from my usual routine today. It's been five weeks since my last confession...
What to say? Not much changes, and I suppose that is reason enough to not come back with tales of frogs, birds and weeds. Sprinkle in weekly trips to the city for art and medical stuff, meals, lawn mowing and such. Oh, and facecrack, naps and late night essay writing. (If you want to read my latest review.)
It's not that I'm bored as much as maybe boring, off in my little world as I am. And, believe it or not, things are pretty good.
Still, I have thought from time to time to log in with this alternate g-addy, which is a bit of a pain in the ass (and is why I don't comment on your blog posts) and tell you about the big home game in which I came home with five times the cash I went with. There was an interesting hand in which I utilized implied odds and left the looser mumbling into his cocktail. And another, O-8, for which the perfect river fell for a scoop. yet I would be remiss if I did not mention the game last week found me breaking even right before I packed it in for the night.
Otherwise, my priorities have been elsewhere.
Tomorrow is the wife's birthday and there is a little clay sculpture of our remaining dog drying. It will be presented unpainted, which means the sentiments in the cards will have to do double duty.
And speaking of sculpture, my exhibition in Chicago, while still four months away, takes up brain time. Knowing me, I will not have it fully planned out until a week or two beforehand, yet I am making some interesting photos and sculpture that give me hope for a show that will boggle some minds. Plus, I will be showing in one room while a dear friend will have the other space, and together we will make an even stronger statement. Yes, I'm excited.
The in-law situation is still fucked up as ever. Can I share with you I've been going to Al-Anon in order to gain a better perspective? July will be a year, and it's working.
Well, I think that's about it for now.
What to say? Not much changes, and I suppose that is reason enough to not come back with tales of frogs, birds and weeds. Sprinkle in weekly trips to the city for art and medical stuff, meals, lawn mowing and such. Oh, and facecrack, naps and late night essay writing. (If you want to read my latest review.)
It's not that I'm bored as much as maybe boring, off in my little world as I am. And, believe it or not, things are pretty good.
Still, I have thought from time to time to log in with this alternate g-addy, which is a bit of a pain in the ass (and is why I don't comment on your blog posts) and tell you about the big home game in which I came home with five times the cash I went with. There was an interesting hand in which I utilized implied odds and left the looser mumbling into his cocktail. And another, O-8, for which the perfect river fell for a scoop. yet I would be remiss if I did not mention the game last week found me breaking even right before I packed it in for the night.
Otherwise, my priorities have been elsewhere.
Tomorrow is the wife's birthday and there is a little clay sculpture of our remaining dog drying. It will be presented unpainted, which means the sentiments in the cards will have to do double duty.
And speaking of sculpture, my exhibition in Chicago, while still four months away, takes up brain time. Knowing me, I will not have it fully planned out until a week or two beforehand, yet I am making some interesting photos and sculpture that give me hope for a show that will boggle some minds. Plus, I will be showing in one room while a dear friend will have the other space, and together we will make an even stronger statement. Yes, I'm excited.
The in-law situation is still fucked up as ever. Can I share with you I've been going to Al-Anon in order to gain a better perspective? July will be a year, and it's working.
Well, I think that's about it for now.
Monday, April 7, 2014
Excuses
I've been holding my breath.
And, BTW, fog is rolling in, which is allowing me this moment when I am able to put aside "should" while other things "must wait" and "do."
Lots of nothing, it seems, but this is an illusion I perpetuate, for in truth, I've been somewhat busy. Not busy enough to stop dropping a note here, but I will beg one's forgiveness with an explanation: I'm only good for about 500 words a day, and that includes editing/rewrites. (And working on another.) I'm reading much more than that, retaining little, but, drip-drip, every little bit helps in the requisite need to be au currant.
The frogs are still at it (above link), the mallard hen is sitting on eggs, our old dog died and the blind adopted mutt thrives. A lot of weeds have either been killed or pushed back, and once this fog clears, more will perish.
Packing up the extraneous and redundant so that we might get this place on the market has slowed. No, strike that. Ground to a halt. No reason, really, which brings me back to the "should." Courage.
I have a story in me. Not much of one, mind you, as it involves a saloon with assorted characters, including tweakers and an attentive barmaid, plus an expensive jukebox. I just don't get out often, otherwise I'm sure I'd be somewhat inured. Hence, a difficult time mustering the tale.
I received word this morning that my show in Chicago this September is a go. A fellow on the east coast has requested photos of the field burns and flags to sell in his little shop. I've been sending out my poetry to friends. Near as I can tell, no heads or tails of it. Perhaps the world goes too fast nowadays for that form unless one can find a depression in the landscape in which it can settle. Thinking about sending some out if it turns out I have the wherewithal to continue writing it.
Poker? Played a little free PLO a week or so ago. Stupid hand sent me to bed nursing Thumper, so no.
Know that I'm still looking in on you folks as well.
And always more photos. Shooting at night with my phone and available light.
And, BTW, fog is rolling in, which is allowing me this moment when I am able to put aside "should" while other things "must wait" and "do."
Lots of nothing, it seems, but this is an illusion I perpetuate, for in truth, I've been somewhat busy. Not busy enough to stop dropping a note here, but I will beg one's forgiveness with an explanation: I'm only good for about 500 words a day, and that includes editing/rewrites. (And working on another.) I'm reading much more than that, retaining little, but, drip-drip, every little bit helps in the requisite need to be au currant.
The frogs are still at it (above link), the mallard hen is sitting on eggs, our old dog died and the blind adopted mutt thrives. A lot of weeds have either been killed or pushed back, and once this fog clears, more will perish.
Packing up the extraneous and redundant so that we might get this place on the market has slowed. No, strike that. Ground to a halt. No reason, really, which brings me back to the "should." Courage.
I have a story in me. Not much of one, mind you, as it involves a saloon with assorted characters, including tweakers and an attentive barmaid, plus an expensive jukebox. I just don't get out often, otherwise I'm sure I'd be somewhat inured. Hence, a difficult time mustering the tale.
I received word this morning that my show in Chicago this September is a go. A fellow on the east coast has requested photos of the field burns and flags to sell in his little shop. I've been sending out my poetry to friends. Near as I can tell, no heads or tails of it. Perhaps the world goes too fast nowadays for that form unless one can find a depression in the landscape in which it can settle. Thinking about sending some out if it turns out I have the wherewithal to continue writing it.
Poker? Played a little free PLO a week or so ago. Stupid hand sent me to bed nursing Thumper, so no.
Know that I'm still looking in on you folks as well.
And always more photos. Shooting at night with my phone and available light.
Saturday, February 22, 2014
Three things
There was a home game last night. Same host for the past three years or so, Mike, so we figured. Ever since Randy gave up that favor to the group.
Long time readers may recall my concern the handwriting was on the wall when Randy's girlfriend moved in with him. yet, when she began to join us at the table and appeared interested in learning the game, those worries were eased. And in fact it was Randy, not her that ended it with his habit of retiring to the bedroom after getting felted. One buy-in and off to pout, leaving her to hang with his pals.
Pals. Randy comes to the new game on a regular basis. He walked in last night and I said "Hello." He looked at me but did not return the greeting. Something was different about him, but it wasn't necessarily his demeanor.
And, as is usual for randy, he had his phone out to play Solitaire during the game. After about a half hour of play, someone asked Randy about his work. That was when he informed the group he had been in bed with bronchitis for six weeks. No one had been aware of that fact.
His girlfriend is really a lovely, friendly person.
The game is usually held the second Friday of the month, but since this month that day was Valentine's Day, Mike had scheduled the game for the 7th. Except we had sixteen inches of snow on the ground, so he cancelled it. He called this Wednesday to recruit me for last night.
Mike was already drinking when the crew showed up. Something in a tall glass. About two hours into the game and another drink, I look up to see a .45 revolver holstered in front of him. And, oh yeah, I am sitting directly across from him.
Me: Hey, Mike, wanna put away the gun?
Mike: Make ya nervous?
Me: Yeah, it does. I have an uncle who was shot at a poker game.
Phil: He don't have on his glasses so you don't have to worry.
Steve (to my right): It comes out of the holster, I'm ducking under the table.
At this point the crew erupts in its go-to latent homosexual joking: Oh, going under the table? Look out Spot!
Me: If I thought I was gonna die, I think I might let him.
I doubled up.
Long time readers may recall my concern the handwriting was on the wall when Randy's girlfriend moved in with him. yet, when she began to join us at the table and appeared interested in learning the game, those worries were eased. And in fact it was Randy, not her that ended it with his habit of retiring to the bedroom after getting felted. One buy-in and off to pout, leaving her to hang with his pals.
Pals. Randy comes to the new game on a regular basis. He walked in last night and I said "Hello." He looked at me but did not return the greeting. Something was different about him, but it wasn't necessarily his demeanor.
And, as is usual for randy, he had his phone out to play Solitaire during the game. After about a half hour of play, someone asked Randy about his work. That was when he informed the group he had been in bed with bronchitis for six weeks. No one had been aware of that fact.
His girlfriend is really a lovely, friendly person.
The game is usually held the second Friday of the month, but since this month that day was Valentine's Day, Mike had scheduled the game for the 7th. Except we had sixteen inches of snow on the ground, so he cancelled it. He called this Wednesday to recruit me for last night.
Mike was already drinking when the crew showed up. Something in a tall glass. About two hours into the game and another drink, I look up to see a .45 revolver holstered in front of him. And, oh yeah, I am sitting directly across from him.
Me: Hey, Mike, wanna put away the gun?
Mike: Make ya nervous?
Me: Yeah, it does. I have an uncle who was shot at a poker game.
Phil: He don't have on his glasses so you don't have to worry.
Steve (to my right): It comes out of the holster, I'm ducking under the table.
At this point the crew erupts in its go-to latent homosexual joking: Oh, going under the table? Look out Spot!
Me: If I thought I was gonna die, I think I might let him.
I doubled up.
Monday, February 17, 2014
Changeable
The snow's been gone some time now. The winds and rains have returned, squall after squall announced and sent on their way with a fit of sleet.
But to set up the shot, I have to return to the snow.
But to set up the shot, I have to return to the snow.
This is what I happened upon out back after worrying the night before about some of our prettier tress up front and taking action before a half inch of ice sealed off the sixteen inches of snow.
One might wonder why I waited this long to post this. Embarrassment that with time turned to forgetfulness that turned worse to I thought I already had.
A lot on my mind.
This morning I went out and bought a sawzall.
Frank Gehry building in the making.
Yeah, I suppose I could have rented one but I'm thinking I might not start to feel better about things in general dismantling just one structure.
But after the rain lets up a bit.
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