another weekend in paradise

I normally try to steer away from bitter sarcasm here and look on the bright side, but it's been one of those mornings. The Hermit is away for a few days, taking a long-overdue trip to visit his parents. There's plenty of dry, split firewood ready to go, no problem with that. Yesterday the kids and I went to the storage shed and into town for a few errands, then I went to Fred and Missy's to drop off some eggs. I just happened to get there when they were cooking dinner, so they invited us to stay, and we had a great time as always.

I was too tired to start a fire when we got home, so I thought no problem, that's what the propane heater is for. I turned it on medium heat to get the house warmed up for the night. I fell asleep reading Ishmael while Calvin and Starflower stayed up for their usual Saturday night Red Green show. When I came out to turn off lights at about 11:30, they were both asleep under blankets on the couch, and the propane stove was...out. Ran out of fuel. I was still too groggy to start a fire then, much less stay awake long enough to ensure it was burning well. The house was still fairly warm, so I thought maybe we'd make it all huddled together under the big down comforter, then I'd get up early and tackle the fire building process.

I made a mistake in assuming there was enough suitable kindling lying around. There wasn't, and I wasted about half an hour and several matches trying to get something going with too-thick, too-damp wood. The other mistake was in assuming we had a tool lying around that I could handle splitting kindling with; a seven pound splitting maul might work for a 6 foot tall man who's used to splitting wood, but I felt like I was trying to shell peanuts with a bowling ball. I also had the perfectly rational fear that I would end up severing a digit and never being able to play a musical instrument again. Despair set in, and I may have shouted an expletive or two. Or three.

I called The Hermit, who seemed somewhat incredulous that I could not handle such a simple task as splitting kindling. I probably was not nice; it was 50 degrees in the house and I had not had my morning coffee. I ended up saying "Never mind, I'll figure something out." As I was trying once again to maneuver the Splitting Maul of Doom, I saw the neighbor from across the road coming over. The Hermit had called him, and I was beginning to feel stupid about the whole thing, like I'm this helpless little wife who can't even start a fire. The neighbor was nice enough, and in about a minute split enough kindling to get me through the next couple of days. I stopped short of having him start the fire for me; with the proper kindling, even I can do that.

The Hermit had also called the owner of the gas station where we get our propane, and explained the situation. Even though it was 8 AM on a Sunday, and the station isn't even open on Sundays, he came and delivered a 100 pound LP tank, hooked it up, and even got the pilot light going in the heater. Thank goodness for people like him.

The morning wasn't over yet; I still had to feed and water the horses, battle ferocious hissing geese, and feed the Meat Chickens From Hell. I was going to maybe clean out the chicken coop a little today and put fresh hay in their nest boxes so their eggs stay clean, but I think maybe I'll just go for a walk with Togo. A long walk.

We're goin' DSL!

High speed Internet comes to the sticks! As of next Thursday, we will be hooked up to 512,000 kb/s, roughly ten times the speed we have now. This a result of a petition in the town of Bruno, four miles away, to get high speed Internet. Woo-hoo!

tamaracks

the garden path, Part 2: My first garden

After college, I managed to be accepted to graduate school, complete with a research assistantship, at South Dakota State University in Brookings. My major was Wildlife & Fisheries Science. I ended up doing research on a couple of minnow species that make up a significant part of the food chain on Lake Oahe, a Missouri River reservoir. Enough about that, what I did there certainly won't change the world. But what I learned while I was there changed my world.

For the first time, I was on my own. No roommate, no dormitory social structure to report to. I was free to think for myself. I found myself hanging out at bookstores and buying titles like Mother Earth Spirituality by Ed McGaa (Eagle Man). Who ended up coming to my 26th birthday party, playing drums and singing cowboy songs. But again, I am getting ahead of the story.

I had a funky apartment, all to myself, on the ground floor of this big old house. It was basically a kitchen, a living/bedroom, and a huge closet under the stairs that led to the second floor. Orange shag carpet, at no extra cost. I loved it. Anyway, the people who shared the ground floor with me, two couples who were also studying Wildlife & Fisheries, had garden plots in the community gardens just north of town. I had just started dating The Hermit, and he suggested that I(we) get a plot too. On Memorial Day 1990, we planted. Never mind that he lived 200 miles away, and I would be doing all the work, it was just meant to be.

The soil was rich, black, and crumbly. I don't remember exactly, but I know we planted corn. And tomatoes, beans, cucumbers, whatever. I remember eating the corn most of all. At that time, I bicycled everywhere. There was just no point in driving my car, a very fuel efficient Nissan Sentra, any place that I could not ride my bike. So I found myself riding out to the garden plot in the evening, shovel and hoe in hand, to tend to the garden. My schedule that summer was that I spent one week on campus, one week 200 miles away on Lake Oahe. I spent my weekends at The Hermit's, another long drive. So I didn't have much time to tend the garden.

It was what it was. A beginning. Sometimes I find myself yearning for that fertile Dakota soil, for the sense of community I found among people tending garden plots in the same area. For my little apartment, and the 20ish sense that everything is possible.

the garden path, Part 1: the early years

With my thoughts turning to gardening and seed catalogs this time of year, I realize that growing food has gotten to be more than just a hobby for me; it's a way of life. Now that I am on land where I can sink my roots, I have settled into the cycles of the seasons so well that it comes without thinking. It's not a question of whether I will plant a garden this year, it's a question of which varieties I will plant and how they will be arranged.

How did I come to be this way? I was not a born gardener, I did not grow up on a farm. I wasn't even remotely interested in gardening until I was an adult. In the next few posts, I am going to explore and share the path that leads to my garden.

You could say, at least on my mom's side of the family, I was of the first generation removed from the land. My mom grew up on a farm until her teens, and although my grandpa was never a full time farmer, they had a garden and a cow. But I grew up in the suburbs, with a back yard just big enough to play a very limited game of wiffle ball. We had a few flowers growing in beds next to the house, and raspberry bushes, which provided a good quick snack during those ball games. When gardening became somewhat popular in the 1970's, my dad tilled up a 6 by 15 patch in a corner of the back yard. He and my mom would plant tomatoes, cucumbers, and green peppers from plants bought at K mart. One year we planted sunflowers and ended up with some giant plants over ten feet tall.

My grandparents had a small garden too, at their lake place where I spent many weekends. They grew tomatoes, onions, cucumbers, radishes, and green beans, the usual Minnesota garden fare. I remember my grandma canning tomatoes and applesauce, and she made the best dill pickles. Later on, after I was married and had a house and garden of my own, I would learn the basics of canning from her. But that's getting ahead of the story.

So I grew up with a little exposure to growing things, although I was never particularly interested in helping out or having my own garden. I was in 4-H, but my projects stayed far away from any livestock or horticulture. I was into rock collecting, photography, and sewing.

Later on in college, I would major in biology. I wanted a work study job in the biology department, but the only job available was in the greenhouse, watering and repotting plants. I was not specializing in botany, but it was kind of fun being in there among the tropical plants in the cold days of winter. Looking back, the college should have been starting vegetables and growing salad greens for the cafeteria, which I hear it has started to do now, but such ideas were uncommon in the mid 80's. I certainly did not have any such innovative notions; I did not even know what I was going to do with my biology degree after graduation until the second semester of my senior year. I guess you could say I kind of drifted aimlessly through college.

What I did not know was that one year after I graduated from college, I would be planting my first vegetable garden, sowing the seeds for the future. But that will be the next installment.

old house

I wonder what stories this house has to tell.

I pass by this abandoned house just about every day. It sits there, its empty windows gazing into the sunrise, brush growing all around. I can't tell how many years it has been empty, but it looks like it was a nice, cozy house in its day.

The land around here was logged off around 1880-1900, then the cleared land was sold off mainly to immigrant farmers. The 1915 plat map, from a local history book, shows that this land was owned by a Nielsen; Scandinavian, most likely Danish, as the township of Partridge was settled by Danes. The town of Askov holds its Danish tradition proudly, even in this age of homogeneity. A note for you Prairie Home Companion fans: Garrison Keillor's brother resides in the area.

Askov used to pride itself in being the "rutabaga capital" of the state, or maybe even the nation. If you like rutabagas, they were grown here. There was a major rutabaga processing plant, right by the tracks in Askov. They still hold a Rutabaga Festival every year, although probably very few rutabagas are still grown in scattered family gardens. I don't think rutabagas are on the menu at the school or local restaurants.

The post-war policies of the USDA, coupled with the relatively low yield of the land when farmed by "modern" practices, spelled the demise of many family farms in the area. There is still a dairy farm here and there, or a beef operation, or scattered cornfield, but most of the agricultural land is in hay or pasture. Much of the land is tax forfeited, managed for timber harvest by the county, who is not really qualified to know how to do such things. Private land is generally owned by people from the cities, who come up to their cabins for deer season in November.

For some reason, this little house still stands, a remembrance of a time of hope and growth in this area.

UPDATE, 2/07: The house is gone. It was torn down last summer when developers bought the land and subdivided it into ten or twenty acre hunting cabin plots. I miss it.

hairy woodpecker

This handsome cousin of the smaller downy woodpecker is another regular visitor to my feeder. They are nearly identical in markings, but they can be told apart by size and the proportionally larger bill of the hairy. As I was trying to photograph this one, I also noticed that hairys tend to be more skittish than downys; I could not get close to the window while he was at the feeder. I have noticed occasionally at the sunflower seed feeder, the hairy woodpecker will put its bill into the seeds and sweep from side to side, scattering seeds everywhere, without appearing to take any sunflower seeds. Maybe it is looking for something else among the seeds? I don't know.

the road to Duluth

No, we don't have mountains here, although the hill directly ahead is called Spirit Mountain. The city of Duluth, population about 86,000 and the furthest inland port on the Great Lakes, is a beautiful 50 mile drive from my house.

twilight road

This is the east/west road that leads to my north/south road that leads to my home. One mile down, 3/4 mile south. Sometimes driving home, I feel like I'm way out there.

garden plans

It's Groundhog Day, the days are getting longer, and I'm starting to think gardening. I know I won't be able to get out and dig in the dirt for at least two more months, and I should hold out at least another month before starting seeds of any type, but I'm starting to make lists, sketch little diagrams, and compare varieties.

My goals for long-term additions include adding to the two blueberry bushes I planted last year, planting raspberry and lingonberry, and one or two Haralson apple trees. I miss making applesauce, and I have not found a source for apples nearby.

Instead of planting squash in raised beds this year, and having them ramble every which way, I am going to mound up compost from the horse pasture here and there on the acre that surrounds the raised beds, and plant the squash in hills.

I would like to try sweet potatoes this year, in a covered tunnel. I have seen photos in the local newspaper of huge sweet potatoes grown nearby, so I know it can be done.

My plans for the other raised beds are as follows. Each of the raised beds is 4 x 8:

1 garlic (planted last fall, although I won't remember until spring which bed it's in!)
4 tomato (32 plants; I keep telling myself that will be enough, but I know I'll end up planting at least 2 more beds ;) )
1 broccoli/cauliflower
1 cabbage
1 greens/herbs
1 onion
1 carrot/parsnip
1 peppers (mostly jalapeno) with maybe some eggplant.
1 Daikon radish/rutabaga
1 sugar snap pea, followed by a successional planting of fall greens
2 or 3 bush beans, although that just does not seem like enough. Or maybe I'll hedge a bet and try the earliest variety of pole beans I can find in one bed.
oops...almost forgot cucumbers! And tomatilloes! And dill for the cucumbers! Better build some more beds.

Now for the task of figuring out seed orders; one catalog never has everything I want, but I hate ordering just one packet from a catalog, so I end up buying more...

I and The Bird 16

Birdstock is the theme of the latest edition of I and the Bird, hosted by the Dharma Bums. Head on over for a great lineup of peace, love, and bird blogging!

fun with Photoshop

(Click on images to view full size)
I finally made some time to get to know Photoshop today. These filters are fun!

I just finished writing the most boring report ever

Very few people will ever take the time to plow through all 61 pages of text, figures, and tables, which is longer than my Master's thesis was. It will never get published in a professional journal. My laborious hours of data entry, analysis, and fighting with Microsoft Word (WHY does it insist on applying formats to everything?) will probably not add much to the body of knowledge or change the course of recreational fisheries management history. Do I care? Hell no! It's all behind me now, at least until my boss reads it and finds something he thinks should be said differently. Which he will.

The reports I write are results of creel surveys, which measure recreational fishing effort, catch, harvest, and various demographics of anglers on lakes or rivers. I have been analyzing similar data (with the same 1995 DOS-based software!) and writing similar reports for the greater part of ten years now. It should be easy, almost automatic, but for some reason this whole project has taken much longer and come along with more difficulty than any other. Not that the subject matter is any more difficult to deal with; in fact it may be the similarity, the repetition, that makes it more difficult. I'm the kind of writer who wants to be creative, I want to write new, interesting stuff, but even my writing guidelines for this type of report seem to specifically discourage any creativity whatsoever. I'm just burned out on this gig.

What's more, there is no incentive to do a particularly good job on these reports. My inner perfectionist editor gets picky about typos, wording, and table layout, but as long as the basic information is there, in a somewhat clear, readable manner (and I am better at doing this than many of my colleagues) the report gets signed, I get a satisfactory performance review, and I get my paycheck. My job does not operate under a real economy, such as gardening, where my yield is proportional to the effort and expertise I put into it.

So for now, blogging and music will have to be my outlets for creativity.

the cat that defies all odds

This is Dorf. Guess how old Dorf is. If you guessed in the neighborhood of eight months, you are right. And yet, Dorf looks like a kitten half his age, hence the name (remember the Tim Conway character?) The Hermit took this aesthetically pleasing photo of Dorf today, lounging in the woodpile in the sunlight.

Dorf, by all reasonable odds, should not be alive. He is the only surviving progeny of the year (thank goodness), of at least three female cats that had kittens here. He is a thoroughbred, that is to say Whiter Biter and his sister mated, and Dorf is the result. He does not grow, no matter what treats we leave out for the outdoor cats. He has been in the jaws of Togo, my husky, several times. He follows me out to my car in the morning and climbs up on one of the rear wheels, or else hangs out in the path of certain doom.

We have tried to have sympathy for this little waif. We have brought him inside on several occasions, but Puffball, who is roughly the same age as Dorf and four times his size, threatens to shred Dorf to pieces, and perhaps more importantly, Dorf does not understand the concept of a litterbox. When temperatures dipped to ten below (F) in December every night, we tried to bring Dorf in the cookshed, setting up his own food bowl with fresh raw eggs, and a litter box. Nothing ended up in the litter box. Dorf was back outside to fend for himself.

So Dorf survives, assuming his place in the small herd of outdoor cats that hang out here. I don't think Dorf could identify, much less kill, a mouse to save his life. Dorf is just, well, Dorf. He is cuddly and affectionate, but what does that get you in the real world?

the (partly) homegrown dinner

This is one of two "Rainbow" winter squash that I harvested. They are rather small, about 6-8 inches, with medium orange flesh and a rich, aromatic flavor. They obviously store well, as I just used one last night in one of the unnamed, stew-like concoctions I like to cook.

With all of the posting I did last year about gardening and canning, I realize I have not posted much about the good part--enjoying the harvest. And with garden planning time at hand, I thought it would be useful, even to myself, to post about some of the meals that I enjoy from my own garden.

I don't have a name, or even more than a vague recipe, for last night's fare, but I noticed even the kids, who tend to eye my new creations with suspicion, enjoyed it. I started with some leftover ham and three precooked chicken/apple sausages which I cut up and heated in a Dutch oven. I put in a quart of canned tomatoes, drained, and half a pint of tomato sauce (all tomato products homegrown!). Then some chopped onion and garlic (not homegrown; hopefully my garlic crop I planted last fall will yield more this year) and celery, which I have never tried growing. Then I peeled and cubed the Rainbow squash, added some oregano and basil, a splash of red wine, and let the whole thing simmer until the squash was tender, about 30 minutes or so. The stew was served over organic brown rice. Delicious.

The Rainbow squash seeds came from Sand Hill Preservation Center in Iowa, although I could not find them in last year's catalog; I'll have to save the seeds from last night. I don't know if I've ever had a squash with such rich flavor.

a walk in town

I had to buy lunch today; normally I bring in leftovers from home but there wasn't much of anything left over in the refrigerator. The town where I work is along the freeway halfway between Minneapolis/St. Paul and Duluth, so there are several fast food options out by the interchange. However, my office is located over a mile away from Fast Food Row. Getting fast food necessarily involves driving, and I already drive nearly thirty miles one way to get to work, so I like to avoid any further unneccessary use of my car. The grocery store, three blocks away, has some pretty good deli sandwiches, so I walked to get one.

As long as I was out walking in the warm (40 F) January air, I decided to stop by the thrift store. As in many towns these days, you can't buy new clothing in town; it's all at Wal Mart, fourteen miles down the freeway. I like browsing in the thrift store, and occasionally I get lucky and find something nice. Most clothing is $3 or less, which is all the more reason to shop there. Today I did get lucky; first in the book section I found a copy of Daniel Quinn's Ishmael, which I have been wanting to read, and a Garrison Keillor novel, Love Me. Then I found two pairs of jeans, Levi's and Eddie Bauer, my size (grudgingly admitted) and my style (none of this boot cut, low rider crack-showing stuff for me; I'm into the "relaxed fit" years!) For all of that I paid $7.50.

On my way back to the office, after getting my sandwich, I heard a cardinal singing. That's something I would not have heard as I was waiting in the drive-thru across the freeway!

Sometimes I wonder what the world would be like, or even what this little town would be like, if more people chose to walk places instead of hopping into the car and driving across town for lunch.

Oh yeah? DEFINE "lazy"!

I must give Calvin the credit for taking this fine photo of Whiter Biter.

post deficit disorder

I have come to one of those points where I feel I have nothing to say, so I have (probably wisely) said nothing. Until now. I feel like posting, just for the heck of it, and just because if I don't post, people will probably think "Why don't that gal at Sand Creek Almanac post no more?"

I could post about our new home computer. The old one, which we bought reconditioned a year ago with Windows ME or something like that, was starting to go really slow. It always sounded like it had hamsters running on little wheels inside, but I think one of the hamsters maybe died. At a very inopportune time, since The Hermit had some important e-business going, so he went back to the same shop and traded for something with faster hamsters, like many gigahertz of them. Also many gigabytes of storage, Windows XP, and a DVD/recordable CD drive. I like the look of it, but I do miss the sound of those hamsters running around on their little wheels.

Or I could post the gory details of my 24 hour flu bug, which hit at work on Monday, but...I've already posted a photo of me in a towel headed for the shower. Enough for one week.

Nothing new on the nature observation circuit, except maybe the pair of eagles I observed yesterday while I was lying in my bed recovering from the flu bug. I guess it doesn't get any better than that.

OR...I could post about the strange phenomenon of cat blogging. Somehow my picture of Puffball lying in the sun got posted to the 96th Carnival Of The Cats, and the needle on my Site Meter was buried. I got a record 150 hits on Monday, about 3/4 of them were referred from the cat carnival. There are people who post pictures of cats from time to time, and there are people who actually spend time looking at other people's pictures of cats! This blogging world continues to amaze me. By the way, whoever was responsible for that, it's quite alright, just next time post a picture of Whiter Biter instead; he's getting quite jealous. :)

the do-it-yourself shower, Northwoods style

Step 1: Obtain water. This is our main water supply, a sandpoint well with electric pump, insulated in this pump house and kept from freezing by a space heater on a timer.














Step 2: Haul water to shower and to water heating system (see Step 3). In the summer this step can be eliminated by running a hose to the shower.













Step 3: Heat water.




















Step 4: Fill the shower tank. The tank is a plastic laundry tub with a drain. The Hermit fitted a pipe valve and a shower head to the drain. It takes about ten gallons of cold water, plus six gallons of boiling water, to make a ten minute hot shower.















Step 5: Enjoy a hard earned shower. Yes, I am walking barefoot in the snow; it takes too much time to put on and take off slippers, bathrobes, etc. And it's a balmy 20 degrees so I don't mind. :)

note: this obviously takes a lot of preparation and work, so to conserve energy, The Hermit and I shower together.

downy woodpecker

one year ago...

...Sand Creek Almanac was born. I started it after I read a post on a message board about blogs. I had never even read a blog before, and I was pretty vague on the concept of what one was. I thought it maybe was a way for self-centered people to say "Look at me! Look at me!" :) And now, well...look at me! A certified blogaholic.

What I didn't expect about blogging, aside from the fact that I'd be still doing it one year later, is the community of people I've gotten to know through their comments here and their own blogs, many of which I read daily. Just this week The Hermit got to meet Madcapmum personally, and even though I wasn't there I felt like I'd in some way connected with an old friend. I've gotten to know about different parts of the world, through the daily experiences of people and their eloquent words and beautiful photos.

Blogging has also been a way of communicating with real-life friends whom I do not see every day. Just yesterday I stopped by the organic food store in town and a friend was working there. "I've been reading your blog, Deb," she said, "and I just wanted to let you know when you posted about how hard it was doing the chores alone, I know just how you feel!"

So to all of you who read this, thanks for your interest in what I have to say! I always appreciate your thoughtful comments.

strummin on the old banjo

This quaint little instrument is a banjo mandolin, which sounds like...well, probably the worst of both. Remove the strings and head, and it doubles as a saucepan. But I can take it places I wouldn't think of taking my LaPlant, and Mr. Attitude can strum away as he pleases. He was singing the most fun, totally original song last night; wish I had an audio of this!

yellow goldfinch in winter--new photo!

After teasing and taunting me all morning as he came and went with his flock, this very yellow American goldfinch finally paused long enough for me to get a decent photo. See my previous post for background information on this unusually colored (for winter) bird.

I've been thinking about possible explanations why this male did not molt to olive drab like most of the flock (there are a few individuals with varying degrees of yellow; this one is the most striking). Either he, for some reason, did not molt completely in the fall, or perhaps something caused him to start molting early. I had not noticed a goldfinch with a black forehead patch before yesterday, although I've had an unusual amount of time to sit and look at the bird feeder this week, so maybe it's the result of more observations. But if it were a molting issue, I would think maybe the yellow would be far more patchy. The normal time for males to begin their spring molt to yellow is around mid March here.

Or it could be an odd genetic trait; maybe this fellow's feathers just do not know how to be dull in color. That would put him at a disadvantage with predators, as his bright color contrasts with the muted colors of winter.

In other feeder observations, I observed Common redpolls at the feeder for the first time this winter, although they've been reported elsewhere locally. And very briefly a female Evening grosbeak came to the feeder. I've seen small flocks of them, but this is the first one at the feeder.

Lest you think I've come upon some fortune and now have nothing to do with myself but sit and watch birds all day (don't I wish), Calvin has been feeling under the weather so I am staying home with him and Mr. Attitude. I may be getting the bug myself, but at least I don't have to go out and do chores tonight!

solarcat

I know, there should be support groups for people who compulsively post photos of their felines. But, come on, this is classic! Cat in a southwesterly facing window in full sunshine! It doesn't get any better than this!

Actually, Puffball was being quite the bad pest kitty in the AM, but redeemed himself by being irresistibly cute in the sunny window. This is the same cute kitten I posted pictures of in July, now an obnoxious adolescent. Or, perhaps, a college student (Thanks, dharma bums, if I wasn't on my slow dial-up I'd link to your post!)

unusual winter male goldfinch colors

The American goldfinch is one of the more common visitors at my bird feeder. Male American goldfinches are bright lemon yellow with black and white wings and tail and a black forehead patch in the summer. Normally they will molt and look like the much more drab females in winter, with olive gray replacing the yellow. However, I have noticed several males this winter that look abnormally yellow. Two of them even have the black forehead patch, which is usually absent in winter males. I had the opportunity to photograph one of these today, although I apologize for the poor image quality. The camera with 10x optical zoom is currently traveling with The Hermit, so I had to resort to digital zoom, through a somewhat dirty window, in a very unstable position for me. Nevertheless:

The black forehead is clearly visible in this head-on shot.


Blurry, yes, but look at that yellow!

I'm not sure whether there are regional differences in goldfinch coloration in winter, or even if there is a range of normal for winter color. Does anyone else have more information on this? My bird books are fairly old; I must get a copy of Sibley or one of the other latest ones.

soaking it up

After a long day (or night) of tomcatting outside, Whiter Biter enjoys a good fire. Any closer and we would be smelling burned cat fur.

My major accomplishment of the last couple of days (besides surviving chores) is becoming good at building a fire in the woodstove. Believe it or not, in over three winters here, I have hardly ever had to start a fire; usually that's the Hermit's job, and exactly how he does it has been a closely guarded secret. I have had some miserable attempts before; not enough kindling, not enough paper, too large of wood to start. My first couple of tries since The Hermit has been away were far from perfect, and very frustrating.

Like anything else, it takes practice, which you don't get if you refuse to set yourself up for possible failure. You gotta take a chance. When the incentive is warmth in the house (although I do have a Plan B, a propane heater), risk taking becomes essential. So this morning I hopped out of bed in the darkness and sat in front of the stove. It got down to 9 degrees F outside last night, and the fire probably went out about 2 or 3 AM, but it was still comfortably cool in the house; I don't like sleeping in a too-warm bedroom. But it was time to start a fire, so I placed a thick piece of kindling down, crumpled two sheets of newspaper over it, arranged about five sticks of thin kindling over that, lit a match, and held my breath. The paper ignited, blazed, died down a little, and...success. The kindling was burning nicely, in no danger of going out. I put in two larger sticks, and soon had a perfect fire going.

Shortly thereafter, Whiter Biter came indoors from a night out and about, and settled in his favorite place.

warmth

this is what keeps me warm

the reality of the "simple" life

The short answer: It's anything but simple. It ain't pretty. And what I wouldn't give for a hot bath and a dishwasher right now.

The Hermit is away for a few days pursuing a job opportunity at a location disclosed only to one of my blogging friends. Too much explaining to do otherwise. So I have been living something like the Zen proverb of "chop wood, carry water". The Hermit chopped enough wood before he left that I should be spared the first part, but I'm getting my fill of carrying water, to critters and to fulfill my very hedonistic needs of personal cleanliness. Oh yeah. Add to the first paragraph, A drain, and some very luxurious water-holding fixtures. And some plumbing to fill them. Except a toilet, I still think I don't need to waste water on crap.

I have already decided I'm not cut out to raise animals, other than cats and dogs, for food and/or pleasure. Okay, maybe a FEW chickens for eggs, but I don't want to try to feed anyone else. And don't get me started on horses...

I'm rethinking this whole homesteading thing. Actually, I'd like to be a rich heiress who lives out in the woods by choice, and strives to leave a smaller ecological footprint while enriching the world with my music and writing, but at the same time having the (carefully chosen for their impact) modern conveniences. I don't mind tending a garden, just for the reason that homegrown tastes better and I know where it's coming from, but...and this is the big revelation: I don't think I can be totally self sufficient, nor do I want to strive to be. I would rather have a network of local growers and animal farmers who I can trust to supply my food. That is not a reality here, unfortunately. But it is a nice vision.

Meanwhile, I'm just trying to get through the daily grind here. I hate to sound like I'm complaining, but it definitely has me thinking.

p.s. I want to be in my new house so bad right now. Can you tell?

good morning!

in January?

Yes. Pussy willows already budded out. Unreal.

I was feeling well enough, aided by a few drugs, to venture out this afternoon with The Hermit and Mr. Attitude to our storage shed, which is about twenty miles away, to put away Christmas decorations and get a few things. On the way back we were looking at the landscape, commenting on the unseasonably warm January weather (normally we'd be looking at a major cold spell of -20 F right now) and how global warming will affect our winter weather. We were driving by a large shrub swamp, and The Hermit commented how by late February we'd be seeing the pussy willows budding out. I looked out the window, and what did I see...but pussy willows budding out. Not a lot of them yet, but a few scattered bushes.

Oh well, all is not bad. I adore tufted titmice, which venture as far north as southeastern Minnesota, but we're predicting within ten years we'll be seeing them in our neck of the woods.

pain in the neck

I have a big pain in the neck today, and it's not just my spouse. ;)

Normally my life is fairly pain-free. I'm not befallen by illness too often, and aside from the occasional offspring hurling themselves into my lap and scratching my corneas, I've not sustained any major injuries. But this morning, as I sat up in bed to check the time, I suddenly had the most horrible, sharp pain in my neck. It's been aching the last couple of days, but the way I slept and/or sat up suddenly really did it in. I fell back on my pillow, and literally could not move for the longest time without suffering.

Driving to work was out of the question, so I popped a couple Tylenol codeine that I had left from the eye incident and propped myself up on the couch to watch a couple Northern Exposure episodes we got from Netflix. I'm going to be at the computer just long enough to finish this, then I think I'll pick up Bernd Heinrich's The Winter World, which I'm reading with the gang at Whorled Leaves, and try to catch up with Ontario Wanderer.

white pines, part 3

we don't need no stinkin' ID

The USDA is currently developing a National Animal Identification System (NAIS) that, when fully implemented, would require livestock owners to register all livestock, including poultry. Walter at Sugar Mountain Farm has written an excellent summary of the implications this program could have on small-scale farmers, or even people who want to keep a few chickens in the backyard for eggs or meat. You can read his post here .

My first reaction to this possibility was "forget it. Why bother raising chickens at all if you have to go through all the government paperwork?"

Which is exactly what the government, and industrial agriculture, want me to think. Self-sufficiency is under attack.

white pines, part 2

what a difference a sunny day makes. We hadn't had a clear day like this in weeks.

the white pines

wildlife observations

I took a little drive today at about 3:30 in the afternoon, mainly to see if the great gray owl I'm absolutely positive is hanging around here would be visible. No such luck, but I did see a coyote about a mile from my house. I knew it was a coyote, and not a timberwolf, because there was an inch of fresh snow, perfect for observing tracks, and the tracks were not big enough to be a wolf. The coyote had beautiful reddish/tan fur.

Tonight I was treated to the sound of two great horned owls calling to each other; I presume they were male and female. Are they starting to mate already? They were so near I could even hear them from inside the cookshed; probably in the aspen woods just across the swamp. A beautiful, haunting sound.

skating pond

I took this photo from what would be our swimming beach in the summer. Now, on the other side of the year, I spent the morning trying to get the ice in suitable condition for ice skating. In an ideal year, there would be a week or more of below freezing temperatures, without precipitation, to build up some good clear ice, then after a snowfall it would stay cold enough that the snow would not turn to slush on the pond before it could be shoveled off.

This year we had the cold weather, we had the snow, but then the day before I was going to shovel the pond, Christmas eve, the temperature went above freezing and we had over a week of unseasonably warm weather. Our driveway turned into an ice slick, but the several inches of snow on the pond turned slushy. The best thing to do in that case is to wait until it is cold enough to let the snow crust over, then try to shovel it. It helps if, once shoveled, there is a sunny day to melt the surface a little, and then refreeze it nice and smooth.

This morning I decided the conditions might be right to shovel. I certainly got my exercise, as pushing the steel shovel through crusty snow takes a lot of energy. I got the ice cleared in about an hour. It's not perfectly smooth, but if there is good weather and not much snow in the next day or two it will work. Although note the snowflakes in the photo. As soon as I laid the shovel down, it started.

The kids came out to the newly shoveled pond and had fun playing "penguins", after seeing March Of The Penguins. I figured after enough video games, they would be ready to seek out some outdoor fun and fresh air on their own.

Will play for beer, etc.

I spent a good part of today undoing the effects of the Christmas frenzy. That is, the house should be clear now of stray bits of tinsel and those annoying wire ties that come bound to every present these days. The kids have been doing video games all day; another cloudy dreary day, the 13th in a row, not much incentive to go out. I myself ventured as far as the mailbox. A flock of about ten evening grosbeaks taunted me with their cheery calls from the top of an aspen, but as soon as I pointed the camera at them they disappeared. Why don't they come to my feeder?

The Hermit went to Duluth to buy some dress shirts for upcoming job interviews. He informed me that on the cross road about a mile from our house, he saw three spruce grouse. Spruce grouse would not be unheard of around here, but definitely uncommon. I saw a spruce grouse once, when we were cross country skiing near the Gunflint Trail on the Minnesota/Canada border. It was sitting in a spruce tree (what else?) at about eye level, and didn't mind that I stopped and stared at it for about five minutes while the rest of the group caught up with me. I'll say that again: While the rest of the group caught up with me. Did you get that? ;) By the way, I was four months' pregnant with my first offspring at the time! Spruce grouse are very tame birds. I'll have to go out tomorrow and see if I can see them. Dang it, The Hermit is winning in the bird sighting category so far this winter. Something must change.

Last night's gig was probably the most fun so far, although for some reason I always had the sensation that the pick was rotating and about to fly out of my right hand during the mandolin duets, and my guitar sounded perpetually out of tune and my capo wasn't always tight enough. Besides that...as if anyone noticed, we had some groups there that really seemed to get into the music, and really appreciated the Irish flute/mandolin duets we added to the set list. It's a strange gig; mostly a dinner crowd, not really a stand-alone bar, so you want to do your stuff but not encroach on someone's dinner too much. But I noticed that, as each party left, and they had to walk right by us to get out the door, they attempted to make eye contact and smile as if to say thanks. Some even left thanks in the tip jar, which was nice.

That said, I have one complaint. A big complaint. The past two times we have played there, beers were on the house. That's kind of standard; If you don't pay someone to entertain your dinner customers, the least you can do is give them free beer. But last night, during our break, I stood at the bar for about ten minutes before this snarky looking blonde gal bartender finally looked at me and said, "umm, did you want something?" I ordered a Summit Pale Ale on tap, what I've had there before. As she gave it to me she asked "Did you want to start a tab?" A tab? Did my music suck that much? At the end of the night, we had a couple more, and ended up being charged for every one. I felt like The Blues Brothers at Bob's Country Bunker: "Your pay for the night is one hundred dollars, and you guys drank four hundred dollars worth of beer..." I don't know. I like playing there, but before we play there again I think we need to work out some sort of agreement. Will play, for beer.

Irish flute

I have been playing the flute since just before I turned twelve; that is, more years than I care to count. It wasn't my first instrument, piano, guitar, and violin (surprisingly) take those honors, but it is the one that I got to know the best, and at which I became most proficient. I have public school music programs, which favor "band" instruments, and college "band", now known as "wind orchestra", to thank for some of that. After college, I played in church, for community theater, and in a community orchestra, trying to keep my music alive.

But at the same time, I was discovering folk music. The 1992 Telluride Bluegrass Festival was a major turning point for me; I fell in love with bluegrass and roots music. I was inspired to learn the mandolin, and rediscover the guitar. But my flute, which I knew so well, was somehow foreign to all of that. It was not welcome at "bluegrass" jams. I had to find a way to work it in to the music that was now a part of me. It was then that I happened to purchase a copy of "The Fiddler's Fake Book".

It's not a fake book, it's a real book filled with really good roots music, intended to give primarily fiddle players a resource for learning the rich tradition of tunes that can be described as "fiddle music". I, having abandoned my violin/fiddle long ago to pursue the flute, used it as a resource for mandolin tunes. Then, I happened to discover something. There were some Irish tunes in there, and they were really fun to play on my flute. I became proficient at a few of them, just playing by myself. I thought it would be really fun to play this stuff with others some day. I listened to Altan, The Bothy Band, Matt Molloy, The Chieftains, and The Gaels, thinking "wow. this is FUN!"

Today I finally bared my Irish soul to another and shared the sound that had previously just served to annoy my cats. I played some Irish tunes on my flute, with Fred on mandolin, and it sounded really good. Incredibly fun as a matter of fact, so fun that we are playing some of them tomorrow at our now-somewhat-regular gig at the Hanging Horn. We have gotten to be rather eclectic; we do everything from Bill Monroe to Greg Brown to Townes Van Zandt to Kate Wolf to John Prine to old fiddle and Irish tunes. With a little practice we are ten times better than our original recording of "Early" that I shared. And I'm having a heck of a good time doing it.

2005 Christmas Bird Count results for Pine County

The Pine County Christmas Bird Count was done last Wednesday, December 28th. Unfortunately I was not able to participate; Patty had invited me but I had to stay home with the kids that day. The results were recently posted on the Minnesota Ornithologists' Union listserv. In keeping with my goal of having this blog be an almanac of local natural phenomena, I'll share some of the findings, and how they differ, surprisingly, with my own observations.

A total of 33 species were seen. The top ten, by numbers, were:

1. Common Redpoll - 383
2. Black-capped Chickadee - 284
3. European Starling - 218
4. Evening Grosbeak - 212
5. Blue Jay - 122
6. Rock Pigeon - 108
7. American Crow - 80
8. Pine Siskin - 71
9. House Sparrow - 68
10. American Goldfinch - 55

I have yet to see a single redpoll at home or at work! And those elusive Evening Grosbeaks; I hear them in the treetops occasionally but so far they have stayed away from my feeder. The chickadee numbers come as no surprise; I have seen groups of ten to fifteen chickadees every day at my feeder. It seems there are more chickadees around this year than I have noticed in other years. I have seen one pine siskin sporadically, but goldfinches are regular visitors and number nearly as many as chickadees. Fortunately starlings, pigeons, and house sparrows are not common at my house; they prefer the barn loft and plentiful hay and manure at the place across the road.

The report goes on to say pine grosbeaks and purple finches were common at feeders; I have one lone purple finch that has been visiting, but no pine grosbeaks as of yet. I tried to photograph the purple finch without much success; the 10x optical zoom should be arriving shortly!

An interesting note was that downy woodpeckers were hard to find this year. I have at least one male and one female that have been visiting the feeder every day.

Uncommon species included one black-backed woodpecker, and one boreal chickadee in an area about twelve miles north of me. I saw a black backed woodpecker three years ago here, but have not seen one since. A boreal chickadee is on my list of birds I would like to see. The report said it was "called in"; I'll have to learn how to do that!

Another notable sighting was that of five golden-crowned kinglets. Ontario Wanderer has provided some good information on this species over at Whorled Leaves, the group nature/writing blog I'm a part of.

No northern owl species were reported; I have been scanning roadsides and fields on my way to and from work, although the light is still pretty dim then, hoping to see a great gray, northern hawk owl, or snowy owl. And I just know that great gray is hanging around somewhere near my place!

I had told Patty about my robin, and since then The Hermit has seen a couple of robins at a different location, but no robins were noted in the report, at least in the summary, which does not give a complete species list. Also, we have a ring-necked pheasant hanging around our horse pasture, very unusual for here.

I'll have to try to make it for the count next year. I could probably learn a lot from the more "hard-core" birders that participate, like how to call in a Boreal chickadee.

different stuff here!

Two major differences when I arrived home tonight. First, the one I could perceive when I walked in the door, was the heat. It was not wood heat. The Hermit had hooked up our new propane heater, and now we don't have to feed a fire every two hours if we don't feel like it. And we can be gone from the house for a day or so and not have to come home to a cold house and the prospect of building a fire. I like my wood stove, but I also like the convenience this heater will offer.

The second was the Game Cube. Yes, video games. The kids hardly took time for dinner. They are enthralled. Usually, while we're in the cook shed preparing dinner, one or more of the kids will come out and encroach on our small space more than once. Not so tonight. i'm thinking I may even be able to play some music.

I know, I've thought long and hard, but I think as long as we adults impose some reasonable limits, video games are not necessarily a bad thing. For once they are, all three of them, focused on one thing, cooperating a little, and giving each other tips. The games will not replace a sunny day outside in the snow, but since the sun has not shown its bright face here in about a month, no one feels like venturing out, and I cannot blame them. It's downright dreary out there!

I just returned from a trip out to the composting toilet/outhouse with Starflower. When it is dark, I must accompany. We encountered a mouse that had fallen into the near-empty wood shavings bucket. Starflower freaked, I dumped the offending vermin outside. Such is life here!

Sand Creek, 3:30 pm, January 2nd

Looking east from our road



Looking southwest from a tributary about a mile directly across the swamp from my place. You can just barely see the outlines of the white pines at my home.

Note: I edited the original photos for color saturation and reposted them today. They look much more like the original lighting now, way less blue. Digital photography is so fun!!

didn't Bob Dylan mention something like this?

Puffball, being a pest kitty. As usual.

Towards a joyful 2006

New Year's Day seems at the surface to be a superficial reason to have a holiday. After all, what's to celebrate about the turning of the calendar, which after all is just one more turn in the endless wheel of time?

But there is something different about this day, something contemplative and mystical. It is a time for inevitably looking back at the previous year, analyzing its successes and downfalls. But it is also a clean slate, a time for looking ahead, a time for realizing that every day is a new one full of hope. Perhaps this feeling is also brought on by the as-yet subtle but increasing amount of daylight. We have been under cover of clouds for way too long, so the increasing light is not noticeable, but maybe it's the idea that counts.

It was in this spirit that I celebrated "out with the old, in with the new". The family celebration reflected this. The loss of my mother was the major event of the old year, but time is passing and we are healing. Our belated Christmas was certainly more festive than Thanksgiving. My dad even laughed and joked about the thoughtful gift of new bath towels that my brother and sister in law gave. I remember every single towel in that house; Mom would never throw any one of them away, nor splurge on new ones. There is memory, and there is life that goes on.

I don't make a habit of making resolutions, but a few "revelations" came to me on this turning point. Simply stated, they are:

In the coming year, I want to:

1. Live a more joyful life. Appreciate the joy there is every day, while not wasting time on every negative thing that happens. Find ways to reduce the feeling of living day to day drudgery.

2. Do things that really make me happy. I won't elaborate too much, but in the past I have made way too many excuses why this has not been done as much as it should.

3. Be more adventurous. Beyond, that is, the daily adventure that is living with three vivacious children. I want to go cross country skiing, canoeing, traveling, exploring, camping. That we did not use the tent once during 2005 was a tragedy.

2006 was certainly brought in joyfully, in the company of friends that are THE BEST gift of 2005. We shared good food, some music, laughter, and conversation as the kids got a chance to "run wild". Calvin and Starflower ended up spending the night with their friends, while The Hermit and I went home with Mr. Attitude to tend the home fire, but we returned in the morning to collect offspring and once more share in a relaxed meal and conversation. A wonderful time was had by all; we were almost sad to see it end. On the way home we kept scanning the bare trees, hoping to perhaps see a great gray owl. In the days of winter, we miss their presence that was a joy starting about this time last year.

Happy New Year to all!

It looks like I won't have any more blogging time until next year, so I wanted to take this opportunity to wish a happy new year to all who visit this site. Some of you I know, and I'm thankful for the friendships we've managed to create online. I would list names, but I don't want to leave anyone out! Some of you I don't know, yet, and I'm thankful that I have this way of sharing a bit of my world with you.

We're off to my brother's house to celebrate a belated Christmas with my family. I'll try to not underestimate how difficult it may be without my mom there for the first time. But then after that we will be in the company of friends, music, and good cheer as we ring in the new year at Fred & Missy's. The friendships we've made this year have been a real gift.

Happy New Year! :)

a walk by the river

here's to the new snow that led me to the river



here's to the sound of flowing water in the stillness of winter



here's to the beauty that is everywhere when we look for it. This river just happens to be just a few steps away from my office.

These bugs are good for something

Every winter we end up with a few of these Asian beetles flying around the house. No matter how many I suck up with the Shop Vac, there are always more. They are kind of a nuisance; they have a habit of drowning themselves in my water glass at night, and they don't taste very good. But the other day I noticed this one apparently feasting on the bugs (aphids maybe?) that infest this poor bedraggled spiderplant. That plant may live despite my best efforts at neglect!

Really I just took this photo to test the macro capabilities of my camera. I am not disappointed! By the way, The Hermit (aka Mr. Analog Kodachrome) is so impressed with digital photography that he ordered his own digital camera on eBay last night. Always having to outdo me, he went for one with 10x optical zoom, at only slightly greater cost. By the way, Hermit, Merry Christmas, I guess that saved me a trip to the store to buy you a present! Sorry it's a bit late.

now THIS brightened my day!

This bald eagle behaved wonderfully for the camera, first announcing his/her presence by soaring over the car, then lighting in the top of a spruce tree and posing. This is with the full optical and digital zoom capabilities, 14x total zoom.

robin dreams

Ever have one of those experiences where you can't quite remember later if it was a dream or if it was reality?

I thought I saw a robin here at home on Christmas day. I remember the exact place I saw it, at the beginning of the trail that leads from the cabin out to the front of our property. But later, thinking back about it, I could not remember if I had actually seen it, in which case I think I would have gone running inside, yelling like a lunatic. A robin on Christmas Day! Usually they are gone until the first day of spring, which is also my birthday. Days later, I still cannot determine if it was dream or reality.

But yesterday, it was reality. I definitely saw a robin, and even have The Hermit as witness. It was not where I saw it in my dream/Christmas vision; it was along a road about a mile and a half from our house. We even saw it twice; at about 10:30 AM and 4 PM.

So where does that leave the Christmas robin? Was it a dream? If so, was my dream actually a foretelling of the sighting yesterday? If it was, was it purely coincidence, or do some of my dreams come to me as visions of the future? That could be scary; it means I may be going back to high school, being late for class, and somehow forgetting I was taking a particular class (Physics or Calculus) until the week before finals. I have that one often.

Note: This post is an example of what gray, dreary weather, staying indoors all day with the kids, and taking Tylenol with codeine can do to a person. I apologize, and promise to do some real writing soon.

My axe

1987 Lloyd LaPlant, number 26. The top is spruce, and the back is tiger maple from Washington state. The fretboard is ebony. It sounds as good as it looks!

well, I almost survived Christmas unhurt

As I was signing off the Internet for the night, Mr. Attitude came up to me in his pajamas, ready to go to bed. As he reached up to give me a hug, he accidentally poked a finger into my left eye. Ouch. The same thing has happened to me before, involving Starflower and the other eye. This time it hurts much more. So on my holiday I'm off to urgent care, with The Hermit driving.

wild + crazy = christmas

Well, it's on the downside/relaxation stage. The kids are playing with new toys, fighting with each other, the stepkids have come and gone, and we enjoyed a delicious meal and company. Here's the whole crew:

From left to right: Sarah (my stepdaughter, age 23), Joe (Mr. Attitude, sleeping), Tom (my stepson, age 21), Abby (Tom's longtime girlfriend, age 20) Nina (Starflower), Vincent (Calvin), and Ryan (my stepson, age 26). Nice looking group, aren't they?

Oh, and this is Boner, Ryan's bulldog. Yeah I know, nice name. All I know is, his hair is way too short for Minnesota winters.

The kids are all thrilled with toys, which to my great delight include a baseball/video game which involves swinging a bat dangerously close to the TV and Christmas tree, a Furby, electronic stuffed toy that talks and actually learns your name, and a Nerf dart gun game (projectiles in close quarters...Yay!) Starflower also got her own digital camera. The prize present, in my opinion, was a personalized Louisville Slugger baseball bat that Calvin got from his grandparents. He is rapidly becoming Mr. Baseball.

I've decided that Christmas Day is for the kids. The day after Christmas is my relaxation day. :)

Christmas eve

Merry Christmas everyone. I hope the family gatherings and such are tolerable !

Sorry I don't have any pictures from last night's gig. My designated photographer decided not to show, and I forgot to give the camera to someone during our break. It went well, although the vibe was somehow different than the first gig--fewer people, less response. We also didn't follow the order of the set list, which was basically the same as last time, so there was some hesitation between songs as we decided what to play next. But I think we played better together; there were a few songs where my guitar playing felt automatic, like I didn't have to think. I even got brave and took a guitar break on a song or two; I can't say what I did was great, but it was there, if it mattered. I don't care; I absolutely love doing this, and I want to be good at it. Every experience is a stepping stone.

So today I cleaned house, we cut a scrawny Charlie Brown balsam from our land, and decorated. I made a few cookies, not as many as I'd hoped to. It seems like there's never enough time, but Christmas happens anyway.

note-I wrote this when I was in a bit of a funk, so I edited a few things on Christmas morning. I'm feeling much better now.

It's a gray, dreary day, but I wanted to go out and play with my new toy. This is the view looking across the swamp from my garden area.

And now for some Friday cat blogging:


Whiter Biter

My Christmas vacation has begun

I'm taking the day off tomorrow (Friday). For sanity's sake, I think it is the best option; after all, my to-do list before Christmas is way too long, and if Christmas preparations aren't enough, I have the music gig with Fred tomorrow night. I'm looking forward to it, because I feel some of the songs are starting to come together nicely, which can only come through practice and repetition. I'm also doing some nice things with the guitar that I have not been able to do before, mostly because I have not had a reason to push myself to learn them. I'll try to have The Hermit take some digital photos tomorrow night. ;) Supposedly he could also record a short video, complete with audio, but taking still photos will be enough new technology as it is for one night.

So my to-do list includes the following:

Clean house (never ending job)
Bake Christmas cookies
Get Christmas ornaments from storage shed; decorate
Practice music a little
Shovel snow off the pond
Try to do something with my hair, which is not cooperating lately
Begin preparations for the Christmas feast
Manage three offspring on their first day of Christmas vacation (praying for nice outside weather here!)

I haven't had the chance to play with the new camera much; hopefully I will get a few photos taken in the daylight tomorrow and share them here.

testing 123

Calvin, Starflower, and Mr. Attitude


Starflower, Puffball, and Whiter Biter

Deb goes digital!!!

I got it today, my digital camera! Woo-hoo! For those wondering, it's a Canon Powershot A-520. In an incredibly out-of-character move for me, I braved the crowds at Best Buy Co. in Duluth, although I was glad I had researched things ahead of time and didn't have to stand at the counter trying to compare models. So far it's incredibly easy to operate, although it has manual controls for when I'm feeling more creative. As soon as I got home of course the kids wanted to play with it, so we have some miscellaneous kid and cat photos taken, all appearing to be very good. And why is it that the kids can figure out more controls and features than I can? I don't have what it takes tonight to load the software and upload photos, but I'll try tomorrow. My first impression: digital photography is a lot more fun than film, because you have instant results. I've already erased a few less-than-flattering self portraits. ;)

This is different for me. I have not experienced wanting to buy something, for a long time, then actually going out and buying it. I just don't buy things if I can help it!

early Christmas blessings

What a surprise there was waiting in the mailbox today. I've come to dread opening the mailbox lately, as it seems nothing good falls out into my hands. We've been in a bit of a financial tight spot lately, what with trying to build the house and even just keep warm without going into serious debt, and just this morning we ran out of propane for the cook shed and payday's not until Friday. I had given up on entertaining any thoughts of Christmas presents, big or small.

So I reluctantly opened the mailbox on my way home from picking Mr. Attitude up from preschool. Inside were three seed catalogs. Hooray, but I'm not in the mindset for looking at them until after the holidays. No bills; that's good news. And a Christmas card. From my Dad.

At first I thought, God bless him. I didn't expect him to even be in the frame of mind to send out cards this year; we just lost Mom two months ago. Mr. Attitude was anxious to open it, so I let him, reminding him to be gentle. As he opened the card, which was signed simply "Merry Christmas, Dad" I caught sight of something else. A check. I looked at the amount, and nearly fell over. This is the last thing I ever expected this Christmas.

I certainly didn't do anything to deserve this, but it is just what we needed, when we needed it. Not a windfall, but enough to get caught up on a few things and go ahead with more building. Enough so we can feast on Christmas day. And enough so tomorrow I'm going to order that digital camera I've had my eye on for way too long, and start sharing more of my world with all of you wonderful bloggers out there. God bless us one and all.

Just when I was ready to go bah humbug, I think I believe in Santa. I've received the gifts of friends, and the gift of grace.

A friend is a friend...

I met a new friend today, who lives a half mile down the road from us. Never mind that this new friend, and her husband and two daughters, have been here since we came here over three years ago, and we have met on several occasions. I just didn't realize until today that the potential for friendship existed.

Maybe I was being too judgmental, or maybe it was the inner hermit in me that wasn't keen on frequent contact. I didn't know what to think the first couple of times we met. Our kids didn't hit it off right away, a year or two ago, which cancelled the potential for playdates. The Bush/Cheney campaign sign at the end of their driveway certainly didn't help things, neither did the chop job forestry they had done on their land last year. Maybe I was making excuses why we could not find common ground. And for that I apologize.

Today the kids wanted to bring some eggs to Dick and Patty, but they weren't home, so The Hermit took them to the next house down the road. When they came back, the kids were excited; they had been invited to come over and go sledding and snowmobiling in the afternoon. Oh great, I thought at first. My weekends are precious, and I wanted to get some music practicing done. But don't I do that every weekend, and don't the kids just sit in here playing video games too much anyway? So we bundled up and headed over there after lunch. We ended up staying until after dark. The kids went sledding (their land is not flat like ours) and B took them riding in the sled behind the snowmobile on the trails they have through their 80 acres.

H and I ended up talking a lot. Mr. Attitude and their younger daughter are in the same preschool class, and it turns out they are best friends there. Their house is warm and cozy, with enough room for the kids to play when they came inside. We started out with tea, then graduated to spiked eggnog, then rum & Coke. It was hard to finally be the one to say we had to go home. I invited them over for ice skating when I get the snow cleared off the pond.

I realized something today. We are all reaching out, crying out for companionship. It can be tough sometimes out here in the country. Here we are outsiders; we don't have the privilege of having grown up here and having family ties. We are just "those new people that moved up from the city". B and H and daughters don't have friends with kids in the area; it was a treat for their daughters to have other kids over. It was a treat for my kids, to enjoy some time outdoors and play with other kids indoors. And it was a treat for me, to have some adult talk with a fellow mother.

I now have two friends who live within a mile of me. Not bad for living way out there in the country.

snow, part 3

As promised, I spent some time enjoying the snow and the beauty of a sunny (almost) winter day today. My place here looked exactly like the photo I posted below; all of the spruces, balsams, and pines were draped in a blanket of snow; even the birch and aspen branches were outlined in white. Every time a chickadee landed on a branch, a shower of snowy crystals fell glittering in the sunlight. It was breathtaking.

In the afternoon I tied Togo up to our big Otter sled, and the kids took turns riding. It is amazing watching a breed of dog do what it does best; Togo looked like he was meant to pull a sled. Being the puppy he is, however, and not having been out enough lately, he didn't want to run a straight line, instead exploring all the scents and treasures buried in the snow. Still, when he took off running, even with a 60 pound child in the sled, he could outrun me. He pulled the sled, then I took him off the leash and let him run loose in the powdery snow on the pond. The kids made snow angels, I just looked at the sunlight on the snow-draped pines, breathed the cold air, and felt alive. My heart was pounding from running alongside the sled, and from laughing.

When I wasn't outside, I made some time to practice guitar and mandolin. Yay! I also tried to play my flute, but decided the instrument is in need of mechanical attention. A keyed flute is slightly more technical than a stringed instrument; there are numerous screws and springs and pads that something could go wrong with, and I think some key is leaking air. I'm not getting the pure tone I'm capable of, and it is frustrating. Hopefully $50 worth of repairs will do the trick.

I made up for it on mandolin and guitar. I finally solved my pick dilemma by moving to a lighter pick that is easier to hold on to for both instruments. The mandolin duet tunes sounded good, and I finally worked out guitar solos for a couple of songs (Fred, if you're reading this, you can breathe a sigh of relief!). I have been playing guitar longer than any other instrument, going on 30 years this spring (!) but flatpicking is still something foreign to me. Like Townes Van Zandt once said, "I learned to play guitar at age 15, and ten years later I learned my second chord." Or something like that.

snow, part 2

We ended up with over a foot. That's if it is over, which judging by the forecast, is not clear. We're just close enough to Lake Superior (about 50 miles inland) to get the tail end of "lake effect" snow. I'm going out for that long-promised romp in the snow tomorrow with Togo.

The chickens are blissfully unaware that this is the darkest time of the year. We have a light in their coop that runs on a timer, so they think there's enough daylight to lay 15+ eggs a day. Even the Aracaunas are starting to lay their pale greenish-blue "Easter eggs". Can you say, "Fresh eggs 4 sale"?

The Hermit braved icy roads and Mr. Attitude today to drive to Duluth, to get a few necessities and pick up my earring. It probably isn't worth a lot monetarily, but I'm glad the staff at the auditorium saw fit to pick it up and hold it for me. Sentimental value is everything.

But the darkest time of the year will soon lose its grip. Tomorrow, according to the charts, the sun starts setting LATER in the day, by a minute. In a week it may even be noticeable.

I've been busy getting ready for my next music gig. Fred and I are playing a week from tonight at the Hanging Horn Inn near Moose Lake, the same place we played before. All I can say is, I've got some serious practicing to do this weekend. We've added some mandolin duets, which would sound nice if I could only loosen up and get over the feeling that the pick is about to fly right out of my clumsy hand. And my guitar solo ability leaves a lot to be desired. Just relax and have fun, I keep thinking. That's what it's all about.

Speaking musically, I really, really want to do some songwriting, and I have some vague ideas for songs, I just need to get beyond that point somehow. I get my best ideas when I'm driving home, without music playing in the car CD player, but by the time I get home and settled in, everything is diluted or gone.

Otherwise, I'm hanging in there. Not a lot of Christmas spirit to be found, at least yet. As if I'm supposed to somehow summon it up from the depths of myself, just because 'tis the season. I'm not big on Christmas spirit to begin with, but that's another post.

baby steps in customizing

I've been experimenting with different color schemes for Sand Creek Almanac, hoping to come up with something that is more personal than a straight Blogger template, yet not too hard on the eyes. I'm no HTML wizard, but I thought this background color was nice.

Snow

This photo was taken last winter, but it shows what my backyard will look like when the sun comes out. We ended up with about 8 inches of fresh snowfall yesterday; some areas along the north shore of Lake Superior received up to 25 inches, and more is expected today.

The adult in me says, "Oh great. Shoveling to do, puddles of melting snow in the house and cook shed, and a dangerous, messy drive to work".

Shut up, adult. You'll never make it through the winter with that attitude.

The child in me says "Isn't this absolutely beautiful! I can't wait to put on my cross country skis, or just flop down and make a snow angel, or have a snowball fight!"

Togo is just bouncing up and down and rolling, delighted. Huskies live for this kind of weather. I can't wait to take him for a romp in the snow.

Last night, the clouds broke just enough to show a veiled full moon illuminating the freshly fallen snow. In the moonlight, I looked out and saw two deer right outside the window, by the bird feeder, digging for sunflower seeds. By the tracks I saw this morning, these same deer visited the chicken yard and the edge of the horse pasture, looking for any grain or hay they could find. If the snow continues to pile up, this could be a difficult winter for these deer.

moon of dark days

We have reached the point in the year where the sun sets at its earliest; 4:28 at my longitude, if the charts are right. It will remain this way for a week or so, then even before the winter solstice, the sun will start to set later. By New Year's, we will have a full ten minutes more on the afternoon side of daylight, although the sun will still be rising later and later in the morning.

I still feel, especially on gray cloudy days like today, that the sun makes at best a token appearance. When I leave for work at 7:30, it is just starting to get light. When I leave work at 4:30, it is just starting to get dark. Which means I don't get much of a chance to look for wildlife or enjoy the beauty of snow on bogs while I am driving. I keep my car CD player well stocked with good music to pass the time.

Today, on the way home, I wondered about the driving habits, and what it says about character, of so many. A pickup truck, presumably driven by a young male, pulled out off the freeway exit ahead of me, not bothering to stop for the intersection. No danger to me, but the way the engine revved through the nonexistent muffler left me to think: This guy probably lives for driving like this. Nothing else matters, nothing else can fill the void in his soul like revving that engine. That kind of despair is what we are dealing with.

I was looking at the full moon early this morning, about 2:30 or so, veiled in wisps of clouds that backlit the silhouettes of white pine branches. I thought about how the moon, far away as it looks, still pulls on the oceans, controlling the tides, controlling the blood within all of us. I thought about how it is the same old moon that all of us see, and how that somehow brings us together.

It is a time for huddling around a wood fire, for enjoying the warmth of a cup of tea during the day and a warm comforter at night. The earth is waiting for the return of the light. How important that must have seemed in the days before the perpetual light of electricity.

Mr. Attitude goes to the ballet

(subtitled: Mom needs another beer. NOW!)

Wow, what a day. Dick and Patty, our neighbors whom I've decided I'm adopting as surrogate parents/grandparents, they're that wonderful, offered to take any or all of us to see "The Nutcracker" in Duluth this afternoon. Calvin and Starflower had gone with them two years ago; at the request of Starflower at the time, I did not accompany them then. But today I decided Mr. Attitude was maybe old enough to get something out of it and not drive anyone crazy in the process, so he went. I went along, because I had never seen "The Nutcracker" performed live, and because I wanted to remain on speaking terms with Dick and Patty re: Mr. Attitude. Since we all would not fit in their Escort sedan, I offered to drive in our Astro van.

It was a beautiful day for the drive up Highway 23, the back route to Duluth. I kept my eyes open for owls, hoping to see a snowy, great gray, or hawk owl. The Hermit claims to have seen a hawk owl yesterday; Patty thought she had seen a great gray recently, and another friend of ours saw a great gray yesterday. I have not had much luck with owls so far this year, although there have been reports of snowys throughout the state. We saw beautiful sunlit forests, but no owls.

I'll start by saying the performance was brilliant. It amazes me that a city the size of Duluth (95,000 or so, not counting the other Twin Port of Superior, WI and outlying "suburbs") can support a ballet company of such caliber. The scenery and effects were wonderful, and the talent of the dancers amazed me.

That said, Mr. Attitude's performance was less than stellar. I'll give him the benefit of the doubt; it was a completely new situation, and he can be sensitive to aspects others of us may not notice, such as light level (he didn't like being in the darkness of the audience), noise level (he said the orchestra was too loud), and overall juju. Perhaps he takes after me; I have been in some situations where I just get a bad vibe somewhere, and all I want to do is bolt for the door at the nearest available opportunity.

So I sat through the performance with a noticeably uncomfortable, very squirmy Mr. Attitude. After the first five minutes he started repeating "Mom, I don't like BEING HERE!" Just as I had feared. I managed to hold him, reassuring him when necessary, and keep him from disturbing others too much. I had to drag him in after intermission.

I only had to take him out once during the second act, during the Waltz of the Flowers. We were back before the Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy, and the Grand Pas De Deux, which I did not want to miss. But in the process, I noticed I had lost one of my earrings. They were the largest earrings I owned, hand crafted titanium with a forest scene, that The Hermit had bought me in Vermont. I was sick. I own more single earrings, that had once been part of a pair, than I care to mention. But I decided to be positive; perhaps we would find it, or we would notify the facility and perhaps they would find it while cleaning up. Or maybe it was gone forever, and that would not be too bad. Whatever.

As it turns out, we notified an usher, who was more than kind, and I left my phone number and a description of the earring should anyone turn it in. By the time I got home, there was a message on the answering machine; they had found it!

So we got home, and the kids started immediately into their usual efforts to dismember each other despite my loud vocal protestations. I informed them I would not be taking any sides, not offering any sympathy should one be hurt. I had had enough. Bedtime is in ten minutes; I am counting the seconds.

what I've learned from Site Meter

There are a LOT of people out there wanting to learn how to make a snowball launcher. I should have Calvin draw up some bona fide plans and sell them on Ebay...;)

Whorled Leaves

I just realized I have not made any mention on this blog about a new cooperative blogging venture I am involved in, Whorled Leaves. Lene at Counting Petals had the wonderful idea of getting together a few bloggers who share a common interest in the outdoors and nature writing. We all feel pretty much like old friends anyway, we read and comment on each others' blogs fairly often. But Whorled Leaves gives us a chance to explore the craft of writing, share info, tips, and writing exercises, and once a month one member chooses (with some group consensus) a book that we all read and discuss. This month, courtesy of the dharma bum, it's Sigurd Olson's The Lonely Land. I am somewhat embarrassed to admit, as a Minnesotan and fan of nature writing, I had only read one other book by Olson, Listening Point. I am several chapters into The Lonely Land now, a fascinating account of a canoe expedition down the Churchill River in northern Saskatchewan, and I am rediscovering Olson's powerful prose. My reading today inspired some thoughts which I posted on Whorled Leaves; check it out!

the ultimate irony (well maybe not the ultimate, but irony nonetheless)

100% organic cotton "yoga pants", $15 at Sam's Club (aka Evil Sam's).

I am now wearing a pair, and darn it if they aren't the most comfortable pants I've worn in a while.

Hermit and Attitude went to Sam's today. Glad I wasn't there. We maintain a membership at Sam's, just because their prices on perceived staples for us (milk, cheese, and bacon) are too low to beat. For anything else, I maintain Sam's is a ripoff. Being forced to buy in bulk quantity, with all the excess packaging, for something I don't need a huge amount of, is robbery.

However, there are certain offers that are too tempting to resist. Starflower needed a winter jacket ASAP, and there were none to be found at the local thrift stores. Sam's had one for less than $30. It has a zipper that is less than to be desired sometimes, but where else can you outfit kids for Arctic cold for less?

And my yoga pants. And my Jones jeans. Durable, comfortable, and by my standards, stylish (very loose standards there!) What am I supposed to do, wait until someone gets tired of theirs and donates them to the thrift store? A thrift store is a crap shoot at best. I have found great values there (REI Polarfleece vest for Starflower, $2) but the selection leaves something to be desired in my size.

So here I am. Maybe I'll take up yoga now that I'm outfitted. :)

mandolin breakthrough

I just had the best mandolin practice session I've had in a long time, perhaps in years. That I had a practice session on a week night is a miracle itself, especially since I had to locate myself in the dark and sometimes cold porch, in front of the computer which is on top of a low dresser because that's what we have space for.

Maybe it was because I was relaxed. I wasn't thinking "I NEED to practice, I have x number of songs to work through and I need to learn them note for note." Instead, I had a couple of ideas of songs that I'd been listening to in the last few days, songs I somehow knew I could do. And I'm still riding high on the Mike Compton/David Long workshop and concert I attended two weeks ago; I keep listening to their style, keep grooving on it, keep thinking "oh so this is how it's done!" And their way of doing it comes a lot more naturally than memorizing a bunch of notes on sheet music and trying to expand from there.

And maybe it was because I found a very happy song. It's an old time fiddle tune called "Johnny Don't Get Drunk", potentially a very unhappy topic, but it's a very uplifting, upbeat melody. Anyway, I really got into the melody, and variations thereof, in a free manner that I hadn't experienced while playing in quite a long time. I decided to end the practice session while I was still on top of things.

There's so much music I want to do these days, and so little time. But if I could have a time like this every day, which is every bit as good as meditation for me, I would look forward to these long winter evenings!

John Barleycorn and Jack Frost

Here's a tragic but interesting account of life (and death) in the lumber camps that operated around Sand Creek in the 1890's. From the Pine County Courier, December 3rd, 1897:

John Barleycorn and Jack Frost conspired last Friday and took the life of Joe Fitzpatrick, a cook in McGraw’s lumber camp near Mansfield (Bruno). Joe had been to a neighboring camp where, in company with a few companions, he looked long up the bowl of cheers, the fiery liquid having been brought to camp by visitors. After spending some time at camp, he started back to his own quarters. About two miles from McGraw’s camp he laid down, or fell, and arose no more. He froze to death. He was found by the lumbermen the next day. To all appearances, the effect of the liquor made him drowsy and he laid down to sleep. His remains were sent to Stillwater for burial. He was well known in lumber circles in this district where he had been employed as cook for several winters by William O’Brien and other lumbermen.

Local newspapers must have been so much more entertaining to read in those days! I found this in a recently published local history: Courage in a Rugged Land: Bruno MN Old Settlers' Memories and Newspaper Stories, compiled by Edna Bjorkman and Robert David Olson.

soul soup and cornbread

Forgive me; this post is not going to sound very Minnesotan. If you're looking for fruit soup and lefse, you'll have to go someplace else, ya sure you betcha.

It's a paradox we have around here these days; if we want to see sunlight for a few brief hours, we pay for it in bitter cold. Today the sun made an appearance, and it did not go unnoticed or unappreciated! However, the mercury dipped below zero before sunset. Madcapmum and all you other Canucks out there, thank you so very much for your air. We sure do like it this time of year! (Throwing another log on the fire)

Soup sure feels good lately. Tonight it was heaven; we had some leftover salmon from a few days ago, and some wild rice begging to be cooked. So voila, salmon wild rice soup. I sauteed some celery, onions, and carrots (Wish I could say these were all from my own garden, but alas no...) in butter, added some garlic, flour, salt and pepper, and a little chicken broth, then added the cooked wild rice and the flaked salmon (the outdoor cats got the skins...their lucky day indeed!) and cooked for a while. Then some half-and-half and a can of cream of chicken soup, and a little bit of the merlot we had left in a box (don't worry, it's all gone now!). Simmer for a while, and in the meantime, bake cornbread. Enjoy. And I will enjoy it tomorrow for lunch as well.

evening grosbeaks

The evening grosbeaks have shown up on this wintery morning. A flock of three or four, all females, sat in the top of the dead spruce for about half an hour before approaching the feeder. While they were in the spruce top, they appeared to be eating something from the tips of the dead branches. Lichens maybe? Evening grosbeaks are birds of the boreal spruce forest, so our little woods probably seems like home to them.

The first time I saw evening grosbeaks was at my grandparents' lake home about fifty miles south of here. I was about nine years old at the time, and had been reading and memorizing the copy of Birds of North America that my other grandma had given me in Florida. The bird feeder was in front of a large picture window overlooking the frozen lake. I had spent many hours watching the feeder, seeing chickadees, nuthatches, and goldfinches. But on that day, suddenly a large flock of black, white and yellow birds descended, as evening grosbeaks do, dropping like leaves from the trees above. Without a moment's hesitation I cried out "Look! Evening grosbeaks!" I had such a definite picture in my young mind, from studying the bird book, that I instantly recognized them.

It is rare to see such large flocks these days, and so far south. Some years we have gone a whole winter with only seeing one or two, or none at all.

heat, birds, and more gigs

Heat: The Hermit got another $35 load of wood today. He estimates that one load lasts us one month under these conditions, so it's a very economical source of heat. Also, our indoor propane heater arrived, the one The Hermit bought on Ebay, so if we're gone for a while the place won't freeze, it will be kept comfortably warm.

Birds: According to Hermit, and I wish I was here to see it, the pine grosbeaks arrived today. While he was unloading the wood from the truck, the grosbeaks perched above him, chirping, as if to say "We're here, and we've noticed the feeder is quite empty." He took care of it, and with any luck I will see a few grosbeaks before I have to leave for work tomorrow. Also, the deer made an appearance, as is becoming habit. The Hermit purposefully spilled a few sunflower seeds on the ground for them.

More gigs: I had the chance to play music with Fred today. Starflower had her school Christmas music program (and yes they did call it "Christmas"), and a Girl Scout meeting after school, so it made sense that I not waste gasoline driving back to work or home in between, since school, and Fred's house, are between work and home. My soul is always nourished by sharing music with others, particularly talented others. While we were playing, the owner of the place we played before called up and booked us for December 23rd and January 6th, both Friday nights. Awesome! That gives me something to look forward to in these dark pre-Solstice nights.