today

I saw a swan as I was driving home. I thought it was a goose at first, as its flight was very gooselike, but as it flew over me, as I drove under it, I could see it was definitely a swan, very white and long-necked. I'm thinking it was a trumpeter swan, just because it was alone, and it was a large bird.

By the way, my grandma's (maternal side) maiden name was Swan. I think it was by choice of her grandfather, a Swedish immigrant who decided the original surname (Lindroth, I think?) was far too common.

In other news, I heard a house wren at work, and I saw a hermit thrush. White trilliums are blooming, but there are none on my 40 acres. I do have wood anemone, though.

fishing on Sand Creek

Sunday late afternoon found me in my garden, weeding and breaking up clumps of soil with my bare hands and pausing every so often to watch the harriers in courtship flight. Sedge wrens chattered, hidden, from the willows in the marsh.

Calvin and Mr. Attitude came out to see what I was doing; after seeing a few earthworms come up as I dug weeds, Calvin decided to dig for some worms for fishing. I told him to go to the next raised bed over, and pull a few weeds while he was at it. It was worth a try, anyway. He soon had five or six plump, large worms. "That should be enough for fishing," he said.

Fishing, I thought. Even though we have access to a very nice fishing hole on Sand Creek, and I know there's a brook trout or two in there, we have very rarely taken the time to go fishing. Calvin will be nine years old next month, old enough to rig his own rod and reel and head to the creek whenever he wants. C'mon. Let's go fishing.

We threw rods and reels, tangled from last summer, into the back of the pickup truck, along with the worms, a small dip net, and I'm not sure how or why the wire mesh creel basket got in there. Then a cooler with a jug of peach iced tea, and Sally, and off we went to the fishing hole.

Two rods and reels were detangled and rigged, and we decided that was enough for now. Calvin and Starflower casted, reeled in, got tangled, casted again. The pool has a slight eddy current, so the bobbers were constantly on the move. Sally bounded around, lapping water from the edge of the stream, and finally she could not resist the urge to jump in; surprised, she climbed out, shook herself off, and decided to stay out of the water after that.

We probably did not have the right strategy. The worms had dried out a little during transport and were not too lively. This was more a first-time learning experience. But we did not come up empty-handed.

A creek chub, all of four inches in length, went for the worm. We tried to keep it in the creel basket, but it swam out through the mesh. Oh well, there will be more lazy afternoons fishing, many more, I promise.

things I learned today

1. The flowering shrubs that seem to be everywhere in the woods right now are serviceberry, otherwise known as saskatoon. The berries are edible if you can get enough of them before the birds do.

2. If a butternut squash keeps all winter in the cook shed, and you decide to make squash fries for dinner, when you cut the squash open many of the seeds will be sprouting inside the squash. I saved the seeds that hadn't sprouted (this is a good keeper!) and gently scooped the rest out and brought them out by the compost bin and threw a little dirt over them. It can't hurt to try.

3. The ovenbirds are definitely back.

Springtime is just too much

Too much happening. Too much bursting forth into new life. Too much to be done, and not enough time in these precious days.

I actually broke down yesterday, broke down because there was so much I wanted to get done but my human self was lagging and wanting to just savor the moment. Guess which side won.

But this morning I awoke, feeling strangely disoriented. Hung over, maybe, if I had drunk more than normal, which I hadn't. I felt as if I had no compass, and the world was spinning wildly, a whirligig of birdsong, sunshine, and strong coffee. Another day of too many possibilities looming before me.

After breakfast, scrambled eggs and ham (all local- woohoo!!!) I wandered out to my garden, trying to put off the inevitable task of washing the dishes. I thought about planting the few potatoes left over from yesterday, the ones I had cut up because I didn't have enough Yukon Golds to plant them whole. Then I saw them. Actually, saw him first, flying overhead, gracefully diving and dipping in a flight I had never seen before, like a visitor from afar, giving a slight chuckle as he swooped on wings that defied gravity.

"What in the hell was THAT!" I found myself exclaiming out loud. The flight pattern, the white and black of the bird, seemed totally foreign to me. It had to be a new bird, a life-lister, something I had never seen before. I found myself wanting to believe that, that it was not just another ordinary bird, as if there is such a thing.

It turned out to be an extraordinary bird, and one I had seen before, a male Northern Harrier, quite common around here. But the way it flew was something I had never seen before, and soon I was to know why. This was no ordinary flight, but a dance. A mating dance. I saw him retun, soaring, with a female harrier, and they soared and swooped around each other like poetry. The dishes waited while I watched as they soared and called together, then landed just across the swamp. I waited and watched.

As I waited, I observed a pair of song sparrows, first calling to each other, then mating in one brief moment.

I saw the harriers several more times throughout the day, each time heralded by the high, thin "Keeeiiir! Keeeiiir!" call of the female. The pair seemed to be enjoying just soaring, flying together.

Springtime is just too much. Everything bursts forth, in flowering, mating, growing, and soon it will be overgrown in the vines of summer. But for now it is just enough, when I open my heart to the dance.

By the way, I am listening to the first toads trilling tonight, and I heard tree frogs today. I think I heard one ovenbird, and I put out the hummingbird feeder but no takers. I will know the moment they arrive, and isn't that knowledge awesome!

the colors of spring

little snapper

I happened to see this little snapping turtle the other day as I was walking around the fish rearing ponds at work. I could have easily missed seeing it, it blends in so well with dead leaves and mud and rocks. His (her?) shell was about four inches in diameter; I don't think I've ever seen a snapping turtle that size, although I've seen inch-long babies and large adults.

Even at this size, if the turtle decided to latch on to a finger I'm guessing it could be quite painful. So I just thanked it for the photo opportunity and moved on.

accompanied by the song of a robin

the frog chorus tonight, and a musical experience

The frog chorus is intoxicating, deafening. Spring peepers are at their peak, wood frogs are still going at it, and I heard my first toads and tree frogs today. Add to that the occasional peent of a woodcock and the winnowing of snipe wings, and you have a virtual symphony.

Speaking of music, I watched a video tonight that actually had me breathless, in tears at some points. I have admired Bela Fleck as a musician since I first saw him and the Flecktones at Telluride fourteen years ago. I have had the privilege of interviewing him personally; he is at once warm and introspective. He has brought the banjo to places a banjo was forbidden to go before. And this video, "Live At The Quick", shows how his music just keeps evolving, getting better and better just when you thought there was no room for improvement.

Imagine banjo and bassoon trading licks in a musical conversation. Imagine a throat singer from Asia who can sing three notes at the same time, jamming with the Flecktones. Imagine steel drums, soprano saxophone, clarinet, and Synthaxe Drumitar all in rhythm. Imagine Copland's "Hoedown" played on banjo, bassoon, clarinet, saxophone, steel drum, electric bass, and drumitar, and more full of life than ever. Imagine "Amazing Grace" played in harmonics on electric bass...

It's beyond imagination. You have to see it, experience it, to know that this is no ordinary musical show. It was a religious experience for me. Really.

yellow

ten beautiful birds

The "ten most beautiful birds" meme has already been on many of the blogs I frequent, so I figured it would be only a matter of time until someone tagged me, or I picked up on one of the open-ended "Consider yourself tagged!" invitations. Because, face it, I like birds and I haven't had any bird posts lately. I have now been officially tagged by Pamela at Thomasburg Walks ; this is going to be an unpremeditated, extemporaneous, off-the-top-of-my-head list of some of the beautiful birds I've seen:

1. Painted bunting- I already wrote about this one at Whorled Leaves.
2. Tree swallow- iridescent green, the joy of motion in flight
3. Wood duck- exquisite
4. Sandhill crane- a pair, alternately flapping and soaring over a bog washed in spring green and red, yesterday's blessing
5. Eastern bluebird- true blue
6. Red-breasted nuthatch- delicate
7. Common loon- wears the stars on its back
8. Great gray owl- I missed you this winter
9. Common (great) egret- serpentine reflection in still waters
10. Tufted titmouse- gray is anything but plain

I'm tagging Gina at Raising Frolic , Melissa at Between Plow and Wood , and whoever else wants to play!

mother-daughter haircut day

SORRY- PHOTO REMOVED DUE TO UNAUTHORIZED REBLOGGING BY SOME REALLY, REALLY SICK PERSON.

Sad, isn't it.

Starflower and I had a "girls morning" at the beauty salon. Her 'do was more dramatic than mine; she had a good six inches taken off and I think the results are fantastic. Hopefully there will be no more morning fights with tangles. Mine was more of a ten-minute trim than anything, but it helped. I had thought about making an appointment to get some coloring done, some lightening and highlights, because my hair used to be closer to the color of Starflower's, even a dark blonde. But then I thought of how in college I so wanted my hair to be the color it is now, a dark brown with reddish tones here and there, and then I thought if I take the color plunge then I'd have commited myself to bimonthly "touch up" jobs and regular chameleon-like changes. That just ain't me. So I'll go with what Nature gave me, even the occasional silver streak.

Starflower sometimes wishes she had blue eyes like Mom, but I think her eyes are absolutely gorgeous. I think I'll have to get out the shotgun when she's a teenager and the boys start coming around.

And wow. I didn't realize what a week and a half out on the lake did to my face. I still have fish-belly legs, but what a tan!

photosensitivity or allergy?

I'd appreciate some input from anyone with experience with this. When I started going out on the lake every day, doing the muskie assessment, thus being exposed to sun and lake water and fish slime every day, I began to develop a rash on the backs of my hands, mostly the left (and I am left handed). It's like a bunch of raised reddish bumps, not like poison ivy, not itchy but a bit sensitive and warm. It goes away, then comes back when I go out on the lake again.

I'm thinking from the location it's a photosensitivity thing; I had something similar when I was on Doxycycline, an antibiotic for Lyme disease. But it's not on my face, which gets as much exposure as my hands. So maybe if I get my hands wet a bit it might be a combination of lake water and sunlight. I am allergic to one algae that is in this lake; one time I went tubing (towed in an inner tube behind the speedboat) and there was an algae bloom, I broke out in hives, the only time in my life that has happened. But if I am allergic to lake water, that has dire implications for my career!

I even went so far as to check the ingredients in the "natural" hand lotion I may have used the mornings before I went out; perhaps just one ingredient might cause a reaction in me when exposed to sunlight. But of course the label was unspecific when it came to "essential oils".

I should not complain; I know of others who have far worse lots with allergies and general health. But the first time anything happens, you gotta wonder.

potato amnesia

Okay. Something in me told me that I had, in fact, purchased seed potatoes online. I remembered selecting the varieties, even telling The Hermit about what I had ordered.

It hasn't come through yet.

I began to doubt myself. Had I, in a drunken stupor (and I won't say that does not happen once in a while!) merely imagined myself clicking and ordering potatoes, or did I in fact place an order which somehow got lost in cyberspace? I don't know. I checked my online debit card record, which is usually a traumatic experience for me, and I found no record of a debit being posted for potatoes. A day later, I went back in my email and found, to my relief, a confirmation email stating that I had indeed placed an order for several varieties, from Moose Tubers, an associate of Fedco Seeds, from whom I received seeds promptly. I emailed them about the status of my order. I certainly hope to hear from them soon. Potato planting time is here.

another fish tale

There were no muskies in the nets today. Maybe it was due to the fact that several of the nets had actually rolled over in strong winds, and did not fish properly, a couple of them had holes where snapping turtles or muskrats had chewed their way through, or maybe it was due to the seasonably cold weather after a week of above average temperatures.

I did get to dip out many bowfin (Amia calva) and freshwater drum (Aplodinotes grunniens), which I have written about earlier (last July or August maybe; I'm too lazy to check the archives myself) as they have the ability to make grunting noises. I also saw at least one twelve inch crappie and many others I would choose to fillet if I were fishing for fun. And lots of northern pike.

One pike in particular struck me and J and N, my coworkers, as looking rather odd. It was 25 inches in length, but very skinny, like a snake. Other northern pike that size appeared very fat and healthy, so it was not a food chain deficiency. As J was measuring it, he noticed it held its mouth open slightly. A closer look at the mouth revealed something I have never seen before. The entire bottom of the mouth was covered with a growth of some sort, like really grainy flesh. Like the top of a cauliflower, almost. He took a pocket knife and cut off what he could, saving it for possible examination by the state fish pathologist. We were able to release the fish after this surgery, and hopefully it was able to eat for the first time in months.

On a somewhat related note, I answered a call yesterday at the office from someone who was concerned about a gelatinous, slimy growth on the wheels of his roll-in dock and on some other objects that had been submerged through winter. The culprit? Bryozoans, a colonial animal somewhat like sponges but deserving, nonetheless, a phylum of their own. That is one of the critters the prof breezes over in Invertebrate Zoology class, preferring the much more glamorous corals and anemones (What phylum are they in? Damn, I forgot!) but it is amazing, the web of life that exists around here.

never try to eat anything bigger than your head

That's the moral of a story I'll be getting to here shortly. I've been really busy with work, and I even worked this morning, a Saturday, which is rare for me. We're doing our every-five-year muskellunge (Esox masquinongy) assessment on a lake south of here. We stock the little muskies in the lake when they are about twelve inches long, and the assessment is to see if some of them are growing into big muskies.

To capture muskies live, we use trap nets, which are a series of hoops into which a fish swims and cannot swim back out. The hoops are connected to a fifty foot long panel of mesh that is set perpendicular to the shore. A fish swimming along shore will encounter the panel, try to swim around it, and be led into the trap net. If all goes well, it works nicely.

Today was a pleasant day to be out on the lake, with partly cloudy skies and very light wind. It was one of those days that make me think, if I have to work for a living, there are very few things I would rather be doing. I just like being out in a boat, in the water. While checking the nets we saw buffleheads, mallards, and wood ducks, a small flock of white pelicans, an osprey carrying a fish in its talons, a large raft of coots floating in the exact same spot they've been for three days now, great blue herons, Canada geese, and one swan. Sorry no pictures; I thought about bringing the camera but also had the vision of my camera ending up at the bottom of the lake. Best not to take chances.

We had a total of eleven muskies in 15 nets, which is actually a good catch rate. Most of them were around forty inches, which at over ten pounds are pretty nice fish, but I also saw and handled, for the first time, a 50-inch muskie that weighed 34 pounds. Wow. What a fighter. I finally realized what it is about this species that makes some anglers almost obsessed with them; they are the barracuda, the shark, the wild alligator of Minnesota lakes. I decided, awesome as they are, I would rather not tangle with one that had a lure with three treble hooks embedded in its mouth, at the end of my line. I don't go looking for trouble.

We also saw some nice sized, 11-12 inch black crappies (Pomoxis nigromaculatus), 19-inch largemouth bass (Micropterus salmoides, or Hawg!), walleye (Stizostedion vitreum vitreum, which has since been changed but that's how I learned it!) and northern pike (Esox lucius). Which brings me to the title story. Today I saw a northern pike that died of gluttony. This fish, 23 inches long and maybe three or four pounds, with an elongated fusiform shape (think cylinder), had tried to ingest a black crappie that was perhaps too much for it. The crappie, which we pulled, half-digested, from the pike's upper throat, was perhaps nine inches long, maybe a quarter pound, but from dorsal to ventral a crappie that size is a good three or four inches high, a good inch or so bigger than the diameter of the northern pike. Furthermore, a crappie has spines in its dorsal and anal fins that point backwards, preventing a predator from changing its mind and regurgitating the crappie. The northern pike was still barely alive when we pulled it from the net, crappie tail hanging out of its mouth, but with such a large, non-cylindrical fish lodged in its throat it could not effectively ingest water to pump through its gills. Even after removing the crappie, we could see that this pike had attempted its last meal.

Fish never fail to amaze me. I guess even wild creatures have their unfortunate moments.

we'll wonder what we ever did without it

Yes, that's me behind the wheel of our "new" 1940 Farmall H. The Hermit found a deal too good to pass up, and, well, you know men and heavy equipment. It even came with a bucket, which will be ideal for getting the horse manure from the pasture to my garden beds. Of course, in the winter we can use it to plow snow from our long driveway; our suburban snowblower just wasn't fit for a country driveway.

Now if I just had more land to plow, to grow my own barley for beer...

spring has sprung

finally.

garden strategy 2006

And yes, I do have one, sort of.

I now have lettuce, arugula, spinach, beet greens, sugar snap peas, kohlrabi, and Swiss chard planted in the garden, as well as the garlic I planted last fall. All this a good month before the last expected frost date around here, and when the gardening books say such crops should be planted. The norm for northern Minnesota is plant everything Memorial Day weekend or later, whether it is frost tolerant or tender annual. Didn't the early settlers here ever hear of the wonders of picking the first salad greens in May? Apparently not, but I would not miss it for the world.

So my first strategy of the year is early. This is the first year I have had so much garden space available so early in the spring, and I plan on utilizing succession planting, which the early settlers also apparently did not know about. I'll give them a break; they were hard working folks, who did not have the leisure of garden "experiments" when they needed every square inch of garden space for survival. So they went with the tried and true.

While weeding some of last year's garden beds, the ones that did not have enough plant cover to inhibit weed growth, I started thinking of my second strategy: mulch. I should be out right now, raking and collecting leaves, pine needles, and whatever else I can find to keep the weeds at bay, and also a perhaps more important function, to keep the soil moist. The disadvantage of raised beds is that the soil tends to dry out quickly. I just compared my garlic bed, which I mulched heavily right after planting the bulbs, with the other more exposed raised beds. The soil was nice and moist right underneath the leaves, while I have had to water the greens bed daily.

While I'm on the M's, I'll bring up my third strategy: manure. The horses provide plenty of it; last year I filled most of the garden beds with aged manure hand-dug from the horse pasture. The only problem with that is the work involved, especially since the horse pasture is a long haul from the garden. We may have a friend come with a tractor and do some of the work. The Hermit has been looking at tractors to buy as well. Ah, men and their toys.

With a little bit of a stretch I can keep up the M motif with my fourth strategy: days to Maturity. I learned the importance of selecting short-season varieties last year, when we were hit with frost in August, just as my Kentucky Wonder pole beans were starting to set pods. The other pole beans I planted, Ohio Cutshort, had just begun to flower. I did some research later and found that Ohio Cutshort took at least 85 days to produce beans. That just won't do around here. While last year I was trying to save space by planting pole beans with squash underneath, this year I will have to take up more garden space and plant earlier maturing bush beans.

Speaking of more, that brings up my fifth strategy, which is...more. More raised beds, more of everything, because I have never had too much of anything from the garden. Yes, even zucchini and tomatoes. Of course I realize that will mean more work for me, but there is a certain minimum amount of effort required just to have a garden; planting six beds instead of three does not necessarily double the work involved. In theory, anyway. I never keep track, and I don't intend to start.

Some time after the first frost next fall, I predict I will look back on this post and have a good laugh. "What was I thinking!"

Monday morning birding

I had, in birding jargon, two "lifers" for the yard in one morning! The first one, a rusty blackbird, is one I'm surprised I had not seen before. I heard a strange, loud call coming from the top of an aspen, and I looked up to see a black bird that was not a starling and not a red winged blackbird. Rustys are not nearly as common as either of those, but they do nest in spruces near swamps or bogs. Definitely a lot of habitat for them here.

Then, as we were eating breakfast, I glanced up at a branch in the dead spruce just in time to see a small hawk with fine reddish bars on its breast. With much assurance and a calmness that masked my excitement, I announced "There is a sharp shinned hawk in the spruce." I usually second-guess myself with hawk identification, but I had just been studying the hawk section of Sibley the other day and it was fresh enough in my mind that there was no doubt. Of course the camera was not within reach.

Other sightings included ruby crowned kinglets, dark eyed juncos, a tree sparrow, purple finches, goldfinches (now turning very yellow) blue jays, chickadees, and ravens. I heard a snipe winnowing, but did not see it, and also heard sandhill cranes and turkeys.

I took the day off to be with the kids on their holiday from school, but my to-do list keeps growing. I'm hoping to plant seeds indoors and out, but there are the dishes that have been neglected all weekend, laundry to sort, and that pesky state tax return I put off filing because we owe money.

UPDATE- 10:54 am This just in...a yellow-rumped warbler sighting has been confirmed! That has got to be the earliest I have ever seen a warbler here; usually they come in around the first of May.

And don't ask how the chores are going...

buying local, and real estate

We bought a half hog yesterday, all neatly cut and wrapped, from a friend who lives about 20 miles away. This does my soul good, knowing that the freezer is very full (and God knows in the event of a prolonged power outage I will have the canner going 24 hours a day!), knowing that the animal did not spend its life in a hog confinement building, nor did it travel several journeys to get to my table. And, with those prejudices in mind, I would still rate it in a blind test as the best pork I have ever tasted. We grilled chops last night.

We spent Easter afternoon at my brother's house, in a very prosperous suburb of Minneapolis. He works for a major computer disk drive company, with his Ph.D. in physics. We don't get together that often or call each other up to chat much; we're just not that way. But still we get along fine and have a nice time at family get togethers.

Their house is currently on the market. They somehow decided that, with three daughters and a three bedroom house, they would do better buying something else nearby than adding on. Okay, given that they live fairly modestly for their means, they're not looking for a McMansion or anything. But still I think it's a losing proposition. Even with the profit they will make thanks to nothing but the whims of the market, they will probably still end up with a higher mortgage payment in the end. Oh well. Perhaps they know something I don't.

Madcapmum had a post recently about real estate agents and their sometimes unscrupulous tactics. I'll be quite frank about this: I have never had a good dealing with a realtor, and I'll be damned if I ever buy or sell property through one again. I hate the whole real estate game, the cosmetic bullshit they tell you to do to enhance "curb appeal", like I want to sell my house to some moron who thinks the vase of fresh cut flowers in every room makes the house somehow worth the overinflated price that the market demands. I hate being called on a whim and being asked to vacate the premises for an hour or so while some looker gets shown through. And I hate having a buyer specify on the purchase agreement that they want my stuff off the premises two days before closing, two days before they take ownership, or bank subservience as it may be, and my selling agent not rejecting that as total bullshit, not doing their job to represent me. That still hurts.

Oh well, none of my business anyway, nothing to get worked up over, just another thing that makes my visits to the city so memorable and stressful. Makes me glad I am so far out, so where I am.

another pupdate

I'm afraid I have been replaced...

It was a beautiful April day here at Sand Creek. Many trees were budding out and flowering, including this young maple. Unfortunately we don't have any mature maples here, or we'd have been syruping the last few weeks.

After a few chores and gardening, we spent our first afternoon of the year at the pond. I was the only one who did not go in past my feet. After all, the ice just went out last week. I walked around the pond and saw many minnows, of unknown origin. I was hoping to see some sign of the crappies I threw in last fall.

These are remnants of last years' times spent at the pond. Pablo should be familiar with one of these.

all is not lost

This is my cold frame experiment from last fall. At that time I was ready to write it off as a failure, being that I had neglected to consider that maybe glass frames should be placed at an angle, to avoid excess pressure from ice and snow. You can see what happened.

On th brighter side, note the spinach plants, two of them, that survived a Minnesota winter under cover of plastic! So Eliot Coleman's four season gardening tactics might work here after all.

getting in-line

A few things you may not have known about me:

I like in-line skating.

I live over a mile from any pavement, making in-line skating an unlikely pastime for me.

But my workplace is close to the head of the longest paved recreational trail in the world.

So sometimes I take a long lunch break and go skating.

That's what I did today. My skates have been in the back of my car since last summer, and today I had no excuse not to go. It's sunny and nearly 70 degrees, I had the time, I needed the exercise, and I felt like doing something more intense than walking. I suppose I could have backed out because my helmet and wrist guards were left at home, but that's never stopped me before. I know, probably not wise to go without.

I made it a short skate today, turning around after just one mile. I had forgotten how much my shins start to hurt when I haven't skated in a while. Not having cross country skied at all last winter, and only having ice skated once or twice, my legs were not used to the sudden burst of exercise. At least the trail is mostly uphill on the way out and downhill on a gentle grade coming back, so I can relax and glide along more then.

I did see a couple unidentified little brown birds, one red tailed hawk, and I heard a loud symphony of Western chorus frogs with a few wood frogs singing along.

Now if I can just do this three times per week or so.

return of the kinglets

It's a warm, windy evening here. I was looking forward to maybe doing some gardening, but I do not like working in wind. Before sunset I'll at least walk down and see if the greens seeds I planted need any water, and maybe after dinner I'll start some more tomatoes and other seeds indoors. But wind and me just do not get along.

As we were migrating to the cook shed to start dinner (grilled mahi mahi from the freezer, organic brown rice, and broccoli) The Hermit asked me about a bird song he hadn't noticed before and didn't remember. I looked up just in time to see a ruby crowned kinglet presenting itself obviously; its crown was fully exposed and glowing ruby in the evening sun. I remembered posting about them a year ago (well, April 18th), noting their precisely phrased, melodic song. There was a whole flock of them, flitting among the growing buds in the aspen trees. I tried to take a picture, but even with 12x optical zoom it's hard to capture something so tiny, and so active.

I have now gone through my annual frog song re-education. It should be simple, we only have four or five species of frogs here, but it seems I can never remember which is the Western Chorus frog (think running your thumb along a comb) or a green frog (loose banjo string) or a wood frog (resembles a fragmented duck quack). The chorus frogs tend to inhabit the roadside wetlands, while the wood frogs are in the bog near the house. There are not too many green frogs around here, but spring peepers are everywhere, and loud. Toads and tree frogs won't chime in for a week or two. I learned today that chorus frogs are indeed "explosive" breeders, taking advantage of the first available conditions to complete their annual orgy. We also have leopard frogs, but they seem to be quieter and more difficult to distinguish.

A single blue winged teal was on the pond yesterday evening, and I heard a woodcock and a Wilson's snipe at about 4 am, displaying in the near-full moon. Spring is good.

open water

Over this warm weekend, most of the lakes in the southern half of Minnnesota lost their cover of ice. I heard that Grindstone Lake, near Sandstone, lost its ice the earliest in thirty years. The lakes north of my place may still have a mass of slush floating on them for another day or so.

It is such a thrill to see open water, after five months of frozenness. It's an amazing transformation, when you can walk on water one month and float a boat on it the next.

I spent my work day on what my elder fisheries professionals would call a "gravy run". That is, you drive a lot, go pick up fish somewhere and dump them someplace else, not much work involved. In this case it was muskies or muskellunge (Esox masquinongy) , an esocid predator fish that some people in this state are obsessed with. It's not considered a food fish; the minimum harvest length is 48 inches, so if you kill one it generally ends up on your wall. I don't get it, but whatever pays the rent.

The above lake was the rearing pond for muskie. I arrived at the lake at about 10:30, whereupon I waited about two hours for the guys that were pulling the nets to have any fish for me. I spent that time exploring the lakeshore, enjoying the warmth of the sun. The call of the sandhill crane was constantly in the background, and I observed four of them flying around. A frog chorus erupted from an adjacent shallow wetland, with Western chorus frogs, leopard frogs, and spring peepers performing a symphony. On the water I heard a loon give its laughing call, and I watched a small group of bufflehead ducks dive and fly. Buffleheads are among the most beautiful of ducks, in my humble opinion. They are a contrast of white and iridescent black. On the land I saw a red headed woodpecker, something I just don't see where I live. That, and some tree sparrows.

After I received the fish, it was a long drive and an exercise in contrast. The lake I stocked them in is on the northern edge of the ever-expanding Twin Cities metropolitan area. I endured city-like traffic, and monstroso-mansions built where there used to be humble little weekend lake cabins. I hope they enjoy their trophy fish.

Back to the office at last, ten minutes after quitting time, and on the drive home I had a perma smile on my face. I love this day, the welcome warmth of spring and being able to drive around and see so much of it. I love that I don't live in one of those cookie cutter houses on the edge of suburbia like I used to. It could be no other way for me.

I forgot to add, the frog symphony tonight is absolutely intoxicating. Breathtaking. I'm going outside for more. Who cannot be overwhelmed, joyful over this?

Unfortunately, I think I know. But hey, if you can't appreciate the first evening frog chorus, well, you're not goddamn alive. What have you got to lose?

pupdate: eleven weeks

farmers' market is coming to town

The Hermit was talking to a neighbor couple yesterday afternoon, in usual style; they were out for a walk and he was on his way back from some errands in the pickup truck, so a fifteen minute conversation ensued in the middle of the road, with no passing traffic during that time.

Anyway, they said that the local Audubon center is taking the lead in organizing a farmers market in town this year. This is good news, since the nearest thing that can resemble a farmers market around here is about an hours' drive away. I think this community needs a farmers market for several reasons: 1) to promote and provide locally grown produce and handcrafted products; 2) to help shift the economy to a more local one and encourage more local agriculture; and 3) to add an opportunity for the re-creation of a sense of community.

It's a given in my mind that I want to participate, as a grower. Being a startup market, I'm sure I can probably get in without too much commitment, but there is enough lead time now that I can plan my planting to include some marketable stuff as well as produce for the family. I want to provide some unique items, beyond the usual cucumbers and green beans and big zucchini I'm sure will show up on tables. I'm thinking salad mix, heirloom tomatoes, small, gourmet-size zucchini, maybe some basil and other herbs.

As if I don't have a lot on my plate already! But this is something I have wanted to see locally for so long, I can't let the opportunity slip by; I need to be a part of it.

first pond activity

Yes, that is ice on the pond behind Starflower. She didn't seem to mind the water temperature, which could not have been too much above freezing. The last swim was sometime in October, which means there are only five months out of the year that are considered unswimmable.

As for myself, I'll wait until the water is comfortably warm and the air is unbearably hot. But I did get in some gardening today, cleaning out some of the raised beds and planting lettuce and arugula seedlings. I couldn't wait, it was too nice. While I was working in the garden, I saw my first butterflies of the year, a White Admiral and an unidentified orange one, a fritillary perhaps. And my first fox sparrow of the year, doing its scratch dance in the leaves in the woods.

the cleanup crew

awww, I kind of liked that tree

But alas it fell victim to the wind. That, and maybe carpenter ants; this is the same tree I posted about a month ago: Woodpeckerage. Too bad it's not Christmas; the fallen top would make a nice tree, or lots of wreaths.

whew, that was close!

Looks like it could have been a lot worse.


At least the wind chimes and bird feeder, not to mention the house appear to be relatively unharmed. By the way, the house isn't really all rainbow colored like that; that happened when I resized the photo for some odd reason.

wind and tigers and spruce trees (oh my!)

My neck of the woods is making news headlines this morning. About ten miles southeast of here, a woman was mauled to death by a Bengal tiger yesterday. The good news is, that does not mean there are Bengal tigers roaming loose in the woods. At least I hope. The tiger was kept penned up on the woman's property; apparently she was licensed to keep it and she used to run a wildcat breeding program. The only clue I had that I was living so close to Bengal tigers was the large chain link fence enclosing that property; I had often wondered if they were fencing something in or keeping something out.

The woman was discovered in the tiger cage by a man who had come to do some burning on the property. The tiger was walking around looking "agitated"; eventually law enforcement and a veterinarian arrived and the tiger was put down in order to reach the victim. According to the sheriff, who usually does not venture out into these parts, the cause of death was "obvious", but he "did not elaborate". Oh, the mental image that conjures up.

Why people choose to keep big exotic cats is beyond me. Besides the obvious safety issue, and there have been several maulings around the state recently, I just don't think these animals belong in cages. It is sad that their natural habitat is disappearing, but keeping wild cats for breeding or other purposes in confinement is sad too.

Another question I have is why the guy was even considering burning yesterday; it was windy! The Hermit has seen one "controlled" grass fire, tended by people who supposedly knew what they were doing, get out of hand in a light wind and burn down a barn. Ah, but it's that time of year, and for some reason rural folk just can't stand the sight of last year's growth of grass or cattails in ditches and swamps.

The wind continued all through the night and this morning. Which brings me to spruce trees. I just received a call here at work from The Hermit, who informed me that a fairly large spruce tree had broken off halfway up the trunk and hit the cabin. Wow. Apparently there's little damage, and he and Mr. Attitude are fine, but I know who's going to spend the afternoon with the chain saw. Pictures soon, maybe.

the "fifteen foot" beach

I don't know where the "fifteen foot" name came from; The Hermit named it, either for fifteen foot waves or fifteen foot high dunes leading down to the beach. Either way, Manchester State Park Beach in northern California holds many wonderful memories for us, and will be known as the "fifteen foot" beach.

I am a water person. It is amazing that I can live in the middle of the continent, as far away from an ocean as you can get. I have Lake Superior a short drive away, and numerous smaller lakes so I can get my water fix, but I have this thing about oceans.

We lived, for a brief but momentous time, in northern California, twenty miles from the coast. It was a stop on our inevitable journey that led us here, to this life. It was not meant to be there, but we had to go there to get where we are. And the beach was a big part of it.

On a Saturday or Sunday morning, we would load up the car. Calvin had just turned five, Starflower celebrated her third birthday on the beach, and Mr. Attitude was under a year old. We always stopped at the Navarro Store for snacks, and a six pack of Hop Ottin' IPA, Anderson Valley's finest, and maybe even a 22 ounce "roadie" of Poleeko Pale Ale. The store was run by a nice couple; the man always smiled and had jokes for the kids. He was missing one hand; the local story was he used to dabble in explosives as a hobby.

Then it was off down a winding road through a tunnel of redwoods, following the Navarro River to the coast. There was a beach there at the mouth of the river, which made for a nice half day trip, but when we wanted a real beach experience we turned south and took the hairpin turns of the highway that followed the cliffs of the coast. Eventually we came to the town of Manchester, and just beyond it, Manchester State Park. The fifteen foot beach.

It was at least a half mile hike over the dunes to the beach. You could not hear the roaring of the waves over the dunes; it was silent until you came to the crest of the last dune. I carried Mr. Attitude, either in the backpack or the sling. We encouraged Starflower to walk, but somehow she always ended up on Daddy's shoulders. And someone had to carry the cooler.

It was always magical, topping the crest of the last dune and finally hearing the roar of the waves. It was loud, deafeningly loud, but a relaxing void, a rushing, a calmness at the same time. It washed away all that did not matter. At the beach we did not agonize over the trivial; we rejoiced in the moment. We did not care where we set up the blanket, or what the plan for the day would be. We were there, and that is all that mattered.

Long walks were always part of the day. We would spend some time at the edge of the waves, running back and forth, chasing the surf. We would look for treasures washed up: polished stones, shells, jellyfish, long strands of kelp, and once, the perfectly dried body of a sea star.

Our base camps always ended up near driftwood, for some reason. There was plenty of driftwood scattered along the miles of beach, and we were drawn to it. We were intrigued by the washed out forms, the muted colors, the hollow sounds the wood made when pounded against larger logs. Pretty soon we were drumming, caught up in some ancient rhythm we felt with the crashing of the waves. We lined up circles and structures of smaller sticks, leaving them for others to discover and wonder at. Somehow at those moments, I felt closer to God than I ever have.

I always felt such calm there. For the previous few years of my life, I had always felt under stress of some sort, but the beach was where I learned how to lose myself, to find myself, and to relax again. The rumble of the surf against the long open shoreline made a noise that drowned out all but the present moment. I didn't worry about anything, didn't think about anything I was just there. It was a great comfort. For the most part, we were alone on that beach. Even if there were others there, it was never crowded, and we had plenty of space.

There are a few places on this earth that I count as my home. The fifteen foot beach is one of them.

first frog!

During my lunch hour walk, I was treated to the sound of a single western chorus frog calling.

rocks

We have an abundance of rocks in most of our soil here. I say most of the soil because we have two very different soil types on our 40 acres. Out by the road the soil is sand and gravel, evidence of perhaps a much larger Sand Creek during the melting of the last glaciers. However, as you come up the driveway near the chicken yard, the soil composition abruptly becomes different: darker, a bit more clay, and boulders, ranging from fist size to several feet in diameter.

The most abundant rock is a pinkish sandstone, which also makes up the bedrock in this area. There is also a greenish rock that I don't know the name of; it is a dense, fine grained rock. Occasionally there is granite or gneiss, or basalt with various inclusions.

The soil is so rocky that I have given up using the rototiller and instead opted for raised garden beds. But there are many potential uses for the rocks: flower bed edges, walkways, walls, terraces, perhaps even a garden shed or greenhouse in the future. Some of the bigger ones could be strategically placed in Sand Creek to enhance fish habitat. Most of the pile above is reserved for facing the half wall that will be built behind the wood stove; the rock will provide thermal mass, helping to moderate temperature and store heat. It's nice to be able to use some locally available, free building materials in the house.

whoaaa...Site Meter, you scare me!

The latest hit on this blog was from a Google search string:

"mystical beach near Point Arena"

That would be Point Arena, California, and... I have spent many wonderful, mystical hours on a beach near there. BUT....to my knowledge, I have not blogged about it. Or have I? The entry page was the archives for October 2005, a very eventful month in other ways, but in scanning it I found no mention of the beach.

Does Google know my mind or what?!!! Scary indeed.

And, I will post about the beach some day. Significant spiritual moments definitely happened there.

Edited to add: Okay, I might have mentioned it briefly in a meme post. But, like, wow man. That caught me off guard, totally!

PUpdate

Ten weeks old, and GROWING! We got Sally four weeks ago today.

new growth, and new fridge

I can barely remember planting daffodil bulbs last fall, but here they are!


And, I must really be getting old. Getting a new refrigerator excites me. :)

Our old fridge, which we bought used for $29, was sounding like it was in the throes of a tormenting death, and the freezer, well, didn't freeze in most places, except for the mound of frost in the middle. So we took the plunge and bought a new one, not from the big box store sixty miles away but from a local mercantile that happens to carry appliances. Nothing fancy, although Starflower and Mr. Attitude were both disappointed that it did not have a water/ice dispenser in front. Fred can tell you a thing or two about how Mr. Attitude likes ice dispensers. :)

It is pictured above in its new place in my cook shed, next to the shelf that will, in a few weeks, be full of new seedlings. I got two seed orders in the mail today, from Baker Creek and Territorial. I gotta love the way Baker Creek does business; they were out of two of the varieties I ordered, so for a refund they stapled three dollar bills to my invoice. I so want to travel to one of the two shows they have annually at their headquarters in Missouri.

The real thrill of the day, new fridge and all, came as we were unloading it from the back of the pickup truck. Just then a flock of about fifty tundra swans flew directly overhead. It absolutely does not get any better than that!

high water on Sand Creek

At pablo's request, I took this picture of Sand Creek from the road while walking Togo this afternoon. (It is very difficult to take a clear photo, in low light, when you have a very strong husky pulling at the leash!) When the water is this high, we can hear it rushing over a big beaver dam way back in the swamp.

About halfway up in the photo if you look to the left of the creek you can see the remains of an old logging railroad crossing. The logging railroad was in operation for a short time in the 1890's when there were still vast acreages of white pine around here. We have a friend who has found many artifacts of the railroad with his metal detector.

In front of the railroad crossing, which is much steeper than it looks in the photo, is the swimmin' hole. Twelve feet deep or more, with spring fed, cold water in the middle of summer. I'm sure a brook trout or two find refuge there. We have not been swimming there recently; we want to be confident that the kids can handle the deep, cold water. But if you have a big inner tube, there is a nice eddy current that will take you in lazy circles as long as you want.

At normal water levels, the nearest part of the creek would be about half that width, and run in two almost distinct channels.

I think this is as high as it will get; most of the snow has melted and run off. Our cabin and new house site are located on somewhat higher ground, a hundred yards or more away from the creek, which is mostly confined by old ditch banks. In other words, flooding has never been a concern.

It was incredibly quiet today as I walked with Togo. I think the frozen ground amplifies every sound, while the damp, thawing ground mutes sounds.

phenology

I awoke early this morning to something I had not heard for months; the sound of raindrops on the roof. It stayed well above freezing last night, so this rain will help to wash away what's left of the snow and ice. Sand Creek is running high from all of the recent snowmelt, although it's not flooding as of yet. Although the pond is still definitely ice covered, water is flowing out the outflow culvert. When the pond froze last fall, it was after a heavy rainfall and the water level was very high.

Goldfinches, purple finches, juncos and evening grosbeaks were making a lot of noise this morning, but the song I enjoyed most was that of a robin perched high in a treetop. Although I had seen robins over a week ago, this was the first robin song I heard.

Yesterday it seemed bluebirds were everywhere, which is unusual for this place; they generally prefer more open areas. I guess if you count marsh and alder swamp as open area, we do have a lot of that. On my to-do list this year (as if it isn't long enough already) I want to plan and put up bluebird nest boxes, near the garden and also across the creek where I saw bluebirds two days ago. The creek would also be a good spot for a wood duck box or two.

a blessing

At least that's how I see it.

I had to get to the post office by 4:00 to mail something. Calvin and Starflower were out front already, where I had parked the car, with Sally. Mr. Attitude was looking for his boots; he thought he maybe left them out in the mudhole we call our parking area, which is why I parked the car out front. Since he had no alternative footwear handy, I grudgingly agreed to go out to the mudhole to look for the boots. I saw them, ten feet out into the mud. As I was making my way out there, I looked up just in time to see a bald eagle gliding low, just ten feet above the upper floor of the new house. It headed out towards the chicken coop, which created no small ruckus, then off over the tamaracks towards the creek. I was breathless. Wow.

A second later I heard the excited shouts of Calvin and Starflower: "Let's go tell Mom! Mom, we saw a huge eagle! Its wings were ten feet across!"

Could it be anything but a blessing on this wonderful spring day?

Update: Another blessing, this time at 4 am when I was taking the puppy outside. The first woodcock of spring, peenting in the dark!

the garden revealed

So it wasn't all just a dream There really was a garden under all that snow!

With the warmth of the sun, the snow and ice have been melting fast this week, revealing all of the forgotten memories of last fall and renewing the promise of a new growing season. This time of year requires patience however; the snow never melts as quickly as I'd like it to, and then there's the mud. It will be at least two weeks before the soil is thawed and dry enough to work so I can plant the first greens. I did get a head start on greens, though. I have arugula, corn salad, chives, cilantro, and lettuce seeds planted in flats indoors. The first tiny sprouts of arugula appeared this morning.

A flock of purple finches and juncos arrived at the feeder today; I had not seen these birds since perhaps January. Now I awake to a chorus of Canada geese and sandhill cranes as well as chickadees and evening grosbeaks.

The kids are finally playing outdoors in the warm sun; it's nice to have a quiet break indoors without the TV or video games. I'm still moving a bit slowly, but at the same time enjoying the opportunity to take it easy.

placeholder post

I'm feeling sore and crabby today. My entire body hurts, no doubt related to my efforts yesterday to remove as much snow and ice as humanly possible from the floor of the new house. My rationale was that it would hasten the melting, and more importantly, the drying process, so we could restart our building efforts sooner, but I neglected to consider the fact that repeated kicking, stomping, lifting, throwing, and other physical actions beyond my normal routine could cause stress to joints and muscles. On top of it all, I have swollen glands in my neck, the indicator of a virus trying to take hold.

It's also the first day of spring break for the kids, and The Hermit is away on business until Wednesday, so I'm taking the days off to be with them. My mind, therefore, is not in a place where I can write anything coherent, let alone thoughtful. Although I have ideas. I heard the sandhill cranes today for the first time, and I saw two bluebirds when I was taking Togo for a walk. Hopefully I will regain my will to write soon.

go hawks

I normally am oblivious to sports, especially prep team sports. But I just found out my alma mater Robbinsdale Cooper is in the state 4A (biggest schools) boys basketball championship for the first time in thirty years. My mom's hometown team, Braham, won the 2A title this afternoon. Cooper plays for the title tonight; I don't know if I will be able to watch it here, or if I will be able to watch my other secret favorite sport, figure skating (World Championships).

by the way...isn't that cool, the Cooper Hawks? Although I bet not a member of the team has seen a live Cooper's hawk. Where I live right now, it's the East Central Eagles, another cool mascot. I could not relate to the Lions or the Tigers or something that does not exist here. Minnesota professional sports teams have done well lately, naming the Timberwolves (basketball) and the generic Wild (hockey, although I much preferred the North Stars. )

I really don't know if I would be able to pay attention to a full basketball game. I played basketball in junior high, until I realized I basically sucked at basketball, and was much more cut out to be the flute player in the pep band in the stands. I hate watching basketball, either live or on TV. Too much action, too fast; baseball is more my pace.

Nevertheless, I wish them luck. When I was in high school we were the perennial last place team in the conference. I had the coach for a teacher in algebra, and his teaching skills were on par with his coaching skills.

A discussion of Boyle's Law over lunch, with Calvin the Genius

Who needs public school?

Calvin has been home the last two days with a slight, but aggravating, virus. I grew up thinking that fizzy lime drinks e.g. 7up are good for such ailments. Who knows. Anyway, as we were having lunch, staring at a 2 liter bottle of Sierra Mist, he says to me:

"If you went diving way deep, and you came up too fast, would you die?"

"Well, you'd have some serious problems." I was certified for scuba diving many years ago. I started explaining about gases in the blood, and how they responded to changes in pressure.

"What would happen if I took this bottle way up in the atmosphere in a helicopter and threw it out the window?"

"Ummmm...it would explode, I guess." I could see the light bulb in the imaginary cloud above his head.

For a certain mass of an ideal gas at constant temperature, pressure*volume=constant. Boyle's law. Calvin gets it already. This is high school physics here!

By the way, Starflower brought his report card home for him. Straight A's. Of course. The trick is to keep him interested.

And, speaking of Starflower, what do you do when your 6 year old daughter remembers more of "The Big Lebowski" than you do, and implores you to watch it again tonight? She says: "Other parents don't let their kids watch movies with swear words, but you do!" I explain to her that the words are not there to tell people how to talk, but to accentuate the characters that are portrayed. I think she understands. I read somewhere the F-word is used like 278 times or something in that movie, dude. ;)

at peace with the "farm" life

I have never wanted to "crow" on this blog about how I've found the ideal, simple, sustainable country life. Because I'm still working out the many details and mental adjustments of it.

In fact, more often than not, I'm raising my hackles about one aspect or another of animal husbandry.

I will even tell you I'm not much of a horse person.

But, truth be told, the more time I get to spend with the animals and thinking about my gardens, the more I like it, the more I gain the confidence that I can do this.

I have had the last two days off of work while Calvin goes thru yet another mild virus, enough to keep him away from school but not enough to keep him off video games. Go figure. But, instead of blogging the day away and wishing I was at work, blogging the day away, I have found a lot of things that need doing around here but haven't because I or The Hermit have been at work. And I have found the ambition to actually do some of them.

I wasn't raised on a farm, and it's been an adjustment having animals to care for. Also, we pretty much jumped in over our heads, to put it mildly. If I had it to do all over again, we wouldn't have horses yet, and our chicken order last spring would have been much smaller. But you live and learn.

It is a lot easier, however, caring for animals when it's not -10F outside and you have a bit of time to putter around. On a nice spring morning like today, I can go out there without bundling up; even the jacket over my sweatshirt was a bit much. And without having a time schedule to adhere to, I do things that otherwise would not get done. I pitch up the hay the horses have torn loose from the round bales and rolled in and spread all over. I gather the hay that has been too trampled and dirtied for the horses to eat (spoiled creatures, they are) and bring it over to the chicken yard. The chickens appreciate having a layer between them and the mud, as well as the occasional grass seeds to eat. I gather all the old dirty eggs from the nest boxes (a couple broody hens have made this more difficult) and put fresh hay in the boxes so the eggs will stay cleaner.

I stopped short of cleaning out the floor of the chicken coop today, that's a task in itself, plus there are a few mean roosters that make the job more challenging. A few too many; chicken soup, anyone?

I'm starting to think I don't really miss my job on a day like today, a spring day with fresh air and the smell of damp earth so full of possibilities. If we had the house done, and all the bills paid for, would I really need to go back to that job and do mediocre things for fisheries resources? The satisfaction of placing my online seed orders this morning far eclipses anything I could do at work. I got my heat mat out today, the one I put under my seed flats, and the smell of the rubber warming in the sunlight really got me going; it brought me back ten years when I first started starting my own tomatoes and other plants. I may plant lettuce and greens yet today; I'm warming the potting soil in the sun right now.

Ah spring, so full of possibilities.

p.s. I found out today it's really, really hard to take good chicken pictures. Believe me.

signs of spring/sightings

It's starting to look a lot like spring here; the major indicator is the driveway which is appearing from under a crust of snow. I know better than to even try to wash my car until things dry up a bit; right now there are mudholes and puddles in various places. It is much improved from last year, however, when I could not even drive all the way back to the house.

Another indicator is the chicken yard, which is a mudhole. Since I have an unexpected day at home with two sick boys (who aren't quite sick enough to not play video games!) I may go out there and try to scrape up some old hay or other cover to make things less messy. The geese and duck don't seem to mind though.

Male red winged blackbirds are beginning to take their places on old cattail stems and shrubs, claiming their territories before the females arrive a couple weeks later. I saw my first kestrel yesterday, and robins and bluebirds are appearing here and there.

In one of those "if I only had the camera ready" moments, I saw three bald eagles perched in one tree, their white heads brilliant in the sun. Then, Calvin exclaimed from the passenger seat, "There's another one in the air!" Sure enough, a fourth was soaring nearby.

In another "missed camera opportunity" I got a good view of a northern shrike perched in a shrub by the side of the road. I very rarely see these.

2006-1967...do the math

If there's anything in particular that I want to accomplish before I turn 40, I have one year left to do it, as of today. I better get busy!

But today I'm taking the day off, relaxing, and The Hermit is going to make a dinner of seafood fettucine and margaritas. Maybe we'll get around to watching The Big Lebowski, which recently arrived from Netflix.

nice day for a walk

Here's the family, sans Hermit who was taking the photo. Sally, in my arms, is eight weeks old and has been a part of the pack for two weeks today. She has grown so much, and she enjoyed our family walk down a logging/snowmobile trail two miles south of our house, running and romping most of the way.

It was a nice mild almost-spring day despite the snow, but maybe the snow was a good thing; we saw lots of tracks. Cottontail rabbit, snowshoe hare, bobcat, and even, I'm pretty sure by now, wolf. I posted a photo of it on Whorled Leaves, apropos to our book discussion of Barry Lopez' Of Wolves And Men. I am thrilled.

inspiration from strange places, part 2

While randomly paging through a compilation book called Earth Prayers this morning, I came across this meditation from Wendell Berry:

At start of spring I open a trench
in the ground. I put into it
the winter's accumulation of paper,
pages I do not want to read
again, useless words, fragments,
errors. And I put into it
the contents of the outhouse:
light of the sun, growth of the ground,
finished with one of their journeys.
To the sky, to the wind, then,
and to the faithful trees, I confess
my sins: that I have not been happy
enough, considering my good luck,
have listened to too much noise,
have been inattentive to wonders,
have lusted after praise.
And then upon the gathered refuse
of mind and body, I close the trench,
folding shut again the dark,
the deathless earth. Beneath that seal
the old escapes into the new.

I guess I'm not the only one who has had a religious experience cleaning the outhouse.

spring cleaning

I had the urge today.

The urge to clean, that is.

I'm not posting pictures, lest anyone actually find out how hideously small this place is to begin with. It is small, and it was cluttered, and that clutteredness sent me into mental tormentitude. I need some semblance of simplicity and order. So, armed with the Shop Vac and two wastebaskets, I set out to find order.

The Shop Vac now contains the bodies, living or otherwise, of probably a thousand Asian beetles that were clustered in the windows. Not to mention other unmentionable residues. Lets just say it had a workout today. And it just may contain the occasional Lego or spare penny or other such treasure. I don't care. And the house is as clean as it has been in months.

I also took the bold step of taking out the winter jackets and coats of the adults in this house. I don't picture myself wearing my long Indian blanket wool coat any more this year, nor will The Hermit have reason to don his Carharrt insulated coveralls to do chores. It is nearly spring, after all.

I got into one major battle along the way; Calvin was utterly distressed by the fact that I had changed the sheets on his bed. So distressed, that we reverted to the original ones. I don't know, I still claim Asperger's runs in the family. Resistance to change, major symptom.

My stepdaughter came for dinner. My totally cool stepdaughter, who is on her last day of spring break from graduate school (environmental studies) in Nebraska. We all enjoyed her visit.

Starflower is a little under the weather; she is sleeping on the couch with a fever. Poor girl.

I will post a picture of Sally, the rapidly growing puppy, tomorrow. Smart dog, she is.

Blogger bad

My apologies to all for the blogfuckery that has occurred over the last 24 hours or so. Hopefully all has returned to normal. I am very forgiving, but considering paying the few extra dollars to have my blog on my own server, thus avoiding further uncontrollable blogfuckery.

Will resume my normal schedule of abnormal posting tomorrow. I'm too Bigfooted tonight. ;~)

frosty morning

This is quite a wintery scene for one of the last days of winter, but it did get down to 5 degrees last night. On the other hand, I saw a huge flock of robins in town yesterday, and one solitary red winged blackbird this morning. Slowly but surely, spring will arrive.

surprise! I'm in I and the Bird #19!

Coturnix at Science and Politics is the host of the latest edition of I and the Bird . I've been too lazy to submit anything the last few times around, but somehow he scouted out my "more grousing" post and included it as an "editor's choice". Thanks, Coturnix, I'm flattered to be included in such a great lineup of bird-related blogging; go check it out.

too cold for spring yet

After a brief respite with high temperatures in the 40's, we are back to winter weather here; last night it got down to 0 degrees, while, of course, the surrounding area was ten degrees warmer. I've been looking at detailed topography maps, trying to analyze the effect of Lake Superior, and I can only conclude that the warming effect of the lake pushes colder air masses just a bit to the south, and we are in just enough of a valley (we're talking elevation change of 100 feet or less) that the coldest air settles in this little pocket of ours. Hooray for microclimate.

Our temperatures notwithstanding, the shipping season opened up in the ports of Duluth and Superior at a record early date this year, with the first ship going out Tuesday the 14th carrying coal. The railroad four miles west of here, which we can hear plainly, was a nonstop rumble of activity on Sunday; now I know it was trains carrying coal to be shipped out at the earliest possible date.

But this little cold snap makes me lethargic for some reason. I am so looking forward to spring, but when it drops below freezing all I want to do is huddle under a down comforter or in front of the woodstove. I was going to start lettuce and other greens, but even that will have to wait until I can step outside without freezing. It didn't help that we got about three inches of snow on top of the melting mass, with perhaps more on the way. The Twin Cities got more than we did, for once, but they had nothing to begin with. And forget about enjoying it in March; I'm not going to get out the cross country skis for a day or two of skiing, much as I miss it.

Meanwhile, I'm enjoying the signs of spring posted on blogs that are south of 46 degrees north latitude, or near an ocean.

morning song

Every morning, starting around sunrise, the evening grosbeaks gather in the upper branches of this aspen tree near the house, chirping loudly. Get about thirty or forty of them chirping, and it's a raucous, joyful cacophony. They do this for about half an hour before descending on the sunflower seed feeder in waves of black, white, yellow, and gray.

I don't know why they are called "evening" grosbeaks; they are really morning birds.

roadkill

I found this in the middle of a seldom-traveled road; from what's left it looks like a Northern Goshawk.

inspiration comes in strange places

Warning: composting toilet talk ahead. You've been warned.

I'm feeling more confident in my "spirituality", for lack of a better term, these days than I think I ever have been. I feel okay admitting I don't know all the answers, even though I'm pretty sure of how I should lead my life. As for a God, no doubt, I can see it in the daily miracles of life around me. However, I don't believe this higher power is asking me to read a certain book, follow any particular practice, or identify with any organized religion. It just wants me to realize my abilities and live in harmony with the other species that inhabit this place. To do good things.

I found inspiration this morning in the music that surrounded me: The cacophony of about 5o evening grosbeaks with their shrill chirps filling the crowns of the trees; the welcome honking of Canada geese, back from a long winter journey; the spring songs of chickadees; and what I thought was the warbling song of the first bluebird of spring.

I found inspiration in just doing a job that needed to be done: I cleaned out the composting toilet. Yeah, I know, how does one possibly find inspiration in THAT?

The composting toilet is one of those port-o-johns we bought from a relative in the business when this place was a weekend cabin. This year, instead of adding liquid deodorizing chemicals, which really don't do the job and keep things an anaerobic, gooey mess, we just went with the bucket toilet idea and added wood shavings and sawdust with every deposit. Much more easy on our senses and the groundwater. We built a compost bin, and have been transporting the products there occasionally. Well, today things were starting to "top out", so armed with a spade and a bucket, I set out to make some space. No, it didn't stink; it smelled more like the wood shavings, until I got down towards the bottom where things were saturated and anaerobic. There had been enough warm weather so things weren't all frozen together. I ended up hauling about ten five-gallon buckets to the compost pile, where the stuff will hopefully heat up and break down into rich organic matter. Returned to the earth to build the soil, rather than flushed into the ground or into a wastewater treatment facility, then to a river. Instead of stepping aside of the cycle of life, I am in it up to my elbows, so to speak. And got some great exercise as well.

And how many folks can say they cleaned out the composting toilet, THEN went to church sevices? We hadn't been to church for months, but Starflower wanted to go and I went just to see how everyone is doing there. From my above writing, you may be surprised that I would set foot in a Christian church service at all, but I do care about the people there, who helped us out at a time when we needed it, without passing judgment or requiring anything in terms of a proclamation of faith. There were a lot of people there who were really genuinely happy to see us again, and I could say the same.

The service itself was somewhat lacking; I found myself biting my tongue and restraining myself at the too-right-wing interim pastor's sermon when he talked of how drunks and homosexuals would not get into the Kingdom of God, and how he referred to a tribe of Native Americans as "naked savages". arrrgh. And the second hymn was "Onward Christian Soldiers", probably my least favorite hymn, classified under the heading "Spiritual Warfare" in the hymnal. arrrgh. But I also found that when I am challenged like that, I tend to think about why it is I react the way I do, and the thought process helps me better to define my beliefs. So I get inspired, not in a raise-your-arms uplifting kind of way, but in a roundabout questioning way.

There you have it. I managed to work birds, humanure, and church into one post.

woodpeckerage

Those pesky pileated wood-
peckers. See what they can do to the base of a balsam fir? And this isn't the first time; the smaller hole to the left is from a year or so ago.

This tree obviously hosts a population of carpenter ants, one of the favorite foods of pileated woodpeckers. I wonder which is more damaging to the tree: the ants, or the woodpecker's efforts to eat the ants? Of course, if the tree already hosts the ants it may be already nearing the end of its life and starting to decay. That's a shame, because it is a nice big tree close to the cabin. But we have plenty other balsams, and if it doesn't pose a danger to the cabin, we'll leave it standing to provide a home for pileated woodpeckers, chickadees, and other cavity nesters.

I noticed this excavation today as I was playing emergency midwife to one of the outside cats. But that's another post.

Kettle River

the Kettle River, Sandstone Minnesota

I cross this beautiful river every day on my way to and from work. It was the first State designated Wild and Scenic River, and rightly so. This view is looking upstream; the Burlington Northern railroad bridge, the same railroad that is about 4 miles from my house, is visible. On the left extending upstream are the remains of old sandstone quarries, which gave the town of Sandstone its name. The quarries ceased operation in the 1930's or so, but were the source of the stone for many beautiful Romanesque style buildings in Minneapolis and St. Paul.

The river has some nice smallmouth bass, walleye and northern pike, as well as lake sturgeon. I caught and released a 48 inch, 20 pound sturgeon out of this river 12 years ago, when we were sampling and tagging sturgeon for work. Honest, I got paid to go fishing.

Art Hawkins, conservationist, has died at 92

Art Hawkins, a retired Fish and Wildlife Service employee and former student of Aldo Leopold's, died yesterday afternoon. According to his daughter Amy, he was in perfect health for his age, sharp as a tack, and had been his usual, active, involved, good natured self right up to the end. He had been out for a hike at his farm north of St. Paul, enjoying a warm springlike day and watching ducks and geese on the marsh he loved so well and fought to save. Amy found him near the barn, walking sticks in hand and binoculars around his neck, around 5 pm. He died in much the same way as his mentor Leopold did, suddenly, without prolonged suffering, outdoors. It was how he would have wanted to go.

Many wildlife biologists are more at home outdoors in the field than indoors meeting with people and getting involved in issues related to conservation. Not Art. He was an activist, an advocate for waterfowl and habitat. He helped to form the Wood Duck Society, a group devoted to studying this species and educating people about conservation. He successfully fought developers who wanted to build on his marsh, although he was the subject of lawsuits intended to silence him. It was partly because of his fight that the state of Minnesota passed legislation against such lawsuits. He often had letters to the editor published, intelligent but sharply critical of waterfowl management policy and habitat destruction.

I had the privilege of knowing Art personally, and he was a warm, kind person. We had dinner at his house several times and I was always impressed by his knowledge, passion for life, and sense of humor. He and his wife Betty sent us Christmas cards and gifts when Calvin and Starflower were born. Just a week ago as I was driving on I 35E north of St. Paul, I looked across his marsh, his farm visible from the freeway, and thought of him. I wish we had kept in touch more. He will be missed. I hope those who learned from his example will keep up the fight for the health of the land.

Added 3/13: Here is a link to a more complete story about Art Hawkins, from the St. Paul Pioneer Press:

going hi tech

I'm blogging on wireless, dude! Just less than a month ago we only had dial-up, and now thanks to The Hermit's new job, which is an adventure in international telecommuting, he has a fully equipped laptop. And, I'm learning all about my new cell phone; for the first time we have two of them, with all the bells and whistles, all the better to stay fully connected, of course.

What I can't figure out now is who I am going to be in touch with constantly, or why in the world anyone would possibly need to reach me while I'm in the produce section of the grocery store. As it is, we rarely get land-line phone calls, even from family. We're just not the "I just had this thought, so I had to call someone and tell them!" kind of people. Which is somewhat of a paradox, because I blog and tell my random thoughts to the world.

What I want to find out first is how to download a Bela Fleck or Sam Bush ringtone. :)

misty creek

(click on image to view full size)

This is Sand Creek, about a mile downstream from my house. The undulating pattern of ice on the edge caught my eye last night as I was driving home, so this morning I did a quick drive by photo. The creek is ditched and way too straight in this section, but the pattern in the ice shows that water does not want to flow in a straight line.

By the way, Misty Creek was the name of the first bluegrass band I played in. Well, I guess it was the only one. So far.

the last Minnesota hero

This will probably seem very out of character for me. After all, I don't normally write laments about sports heroes. But today when I heard the news that Kirby Puckett had died at the young age of 45, I could not help but be sad. I think he was one of the best, and one of the last of the golden age of baseball.

Kirby Puckett was part of the Minnesota Twins team that rose above all odds to win the World Series in 1987, and again in 1991. Kirby's skill at center field, and his ability to hit home runs when it mattered the most, made him the essential part of those victories. I still remember watching him; my heart leapt with joy when I saw him make an impossible homerun-stealing leap and catch. And he always seemed to do it with such joy.

I remember failing an Organic Chemistry test in my junior year of college the day after the Twins won the World Series. And I have no regrets; who could study at a time like that?

I noticed how he always made the sign of the cross whenever he stepped up to bat. I'm no fundamentalist, but I think he truly believed that his abilities at baseball came from a truly higher power, and that sign was an act of submission to that power.

My father in law was there at the Metrodome to watch Kirby's last at bat, which was a tragic, ignominious ordeal. Puckett was hit squarely in the face with a high speed pitch. The next spring, he woke up one day unable to see out of one eye. The two events were unrelated; he was diagnosed with glaucoma, and his baseball career was over, just like that.

I truly think part of his soul died when he was no longer able to play the game he loved. He went through some troubled times in his personal life, which were unfortunately amplified by the media. I think we all realized at that point, that he was just a human like all of us. A hero, no doubt, but very human.

What makes me really sad is that I think that with Puckett's passing, we have seen the end of an era. Not just in baseball, but in a time of innocence here in Minnesota, when everyone had parents or grandparents on the farm, when The Cities were still unsprawling, when everyone listened to the Twins games on WCCO radio and cheered with every home run, when there actually were towns like Lake Wobegon, and everyone had connections to them. Major league baseball still meant something besides enormous salaries, and the players still had a love for the game. I fear all of that has been lost somehow, that this world has grown a little too big and commercialized for heroes like Kirby Puckett to exist today.

Kirby, have fun on the Field of Dreams. I know you're there.

blogging about blogging

It's almost spring, and time for a little housecleaning on the sidebar. My blogroll was getting quite large, so I thought I'd break it into categories. Easier said than done. For one thing, I find that I am quite narrow-minded in the types of blogs I read; they all have something to do with nature, appreciating nature, living in harmony with nature, gardening, homesteading, living more simply, etc. A lot of blogs I read, like the types of music I listen to, seem to defy any conventional categorization. I thought "Towards a saner lifestyle" might be a good category, until I realized that all of the blogs fell under that heading, so if you're on the list you are now officially a "Blogger For A More Sane Existence". Even though I question the sanity of some, myself included.

The subcategories are "Food for Thought", "The Art of Seeing", "Nature and Place", and "Homegrown". Again, a lot of blogs could fit more than one or all of these categories. It was a judgment call for me. I don't even know which one of these I would file Sand Creek Almanac under.

I also wanted to call your attention to the most recent addition, under "Homegrown", Raising Frolic . I had seen it once or twice courtesy of Liz at Pocket Farm, but I didn't realize until Gina commented here yesterday that Raising Frolic was another northern Minnesota blog. Through email I found out we probably live within sixty miles or so of each other. Woo-hoo, a local blogger!!! And a very good read; check it out.

may I introduce to you....

...Sally, the newest member of our family. She's a yellow lab, six weeks old, and absolutely adorable.

more grousing

The ruffed grouse were back late this afternoon, about a half hour before sunset. There were four of them, perched in chokecherry trees picking off buds. There must be something about the chokecherry buds this time of year, maybe they're just open enough to be palatable.

house grouse

I'm afraid to walk out my front door right now. Well, not so much afraid, but I don't want to disturb what's out there. Two ruffed grouse are sitting in the branches of the black cherry tree next to the cookshed door. I went out the back door to take a leak, and two more flushed from the spruce tree by the bird feeder. We are surrounded!

I first was made aware of them when Starflower, Mr. Attitude and I were walking to the house from the car, after picking Starflower up from Girl Scouts. As I approached the house I felt, not heard, an explosion of wingbeats. I happened to look up in the black cherry tree and I saw a branch swaying where there was no breeze. Then, in a higher branch, I saw the motionless form of another grouse. I tried to get a picture, but the camera would not focus in the low light.

Ah, the everyday gifts of living here.

Dog on the loose

Togo is an outside dog year round. Being a Siberian husky, he has thick fur and does not mind the cold, as long as he has his dog house (not pictured) to sleep in. But huskies have a tendency to run, so they must either be kept in a large kennel or on a long chain. For now, Togo gets the chain.

But lately he has figured out how to get off his chain. It happened at least four times yesterday, so it isn't by accident. He runs around in circles until the chain gets twisted so tight it won't even bend. Then apparently he uses the leverage from the tight chain to undo the clasp that holds the chain to his collar. Pretty clever, and I think he is proud of himself. When he gets loose he stays close to the house, waiting until I come out to see him. I can almost hear him laughing at me: "Silly human. You keep putting me back on my chain, and I know how to get loose!"

I'm thinking of a certain piece of hardware, although I don't know what it's called, that might solve the problem. It's a chain link that can be screwed open or shut; I'll have to find one.

By the way, that's the new house in the background, waiting for spring (and some extra money) so we can start building some more!

sick kid, it breaks my heart

Calvin has been home from school for two days now with some gastro bug. Fortunately he hasn't puked since early this morning, but the dizziness, headache, and fever are still there.

I, as his mom, feel totally helpless. I can't even find the thermometer, not that I need to because I know when he has a fever. All I can do is give him some Advil once in a while. I thought he was feeling better this afternoon, but then I saw him go listless and cover up in blankets and I knew the fever was coming on again. Rats.

Update: We went to the doctor today. It's always a judgment call, in your gut you know it's just some viral thing and you feel kind of stupid going to the doc, but at the same time you feel like a bad parent if you don't at least check it out. So I spent the $20 copay (and the $80 deductible, which will show up later) to find out that it's just some viral thing. We couldn't get in to our regular doctor so we saw a nice young woman doctor, fresh out of med school no doubt and probably 7 months pregnant, and she did well in investigating, I think she even tried to make me feel like the visit was worthwhile. And Mr. Attitude was at his finest; I let him stay in the playroom they have in the waiting area while we went into the examining room, only to find him wandering the rat maze of hallways twenty minutes later trying to find us. Then I would not let him go back to the playroom while we waited for test results, and he had a complete meltdown. Oh well.

turning point

I felt it in the air last night as I walked out to do chores. It was in the lingering warmth of south facing walls, in the softness of the snow and the slickness of the ice; it was in the gentle breeze sending whispers through the lofty pines and in the rich smell of earth where the snow had melted away.

The spring thaw is coming. Winter is losing its grip.

Yesterday was warmer than it has been, with a high of nearly 30, but it's not just the weather patterns of daily highs and lows. The sun is rising higher in the sky, the light is more warming and intense, light streaks the eastern sky before I wake up and the last indigo of twilight lingers long past dinner.

All of these subtle changes are etched in my sensory memory, but it is the smell that I react to the most. Damp earth and white pine needles, minerals and decomposing leaves, the way the pine wood siding smells when the noonday sun hits it. It is the smell of life, turning, cycling, returning. It fills me with new life and new hope. It makes me want to run, to fill my lungs with this new life until they are burning inside, then collapse on a south facing hillside with my face to the sun, my eyes closed, bathing in the warmth that is so welcome because of its long absence.

Last night I walked out to the compost pile just after sunset, and I listened to the silence of the lavender sky, felt the chill on the blue snow. My mind tells me snow is white, but at that moment I trusted my eyes and saw pale aster blue reflecting a deeper blue in the air. I stood looking at all the life around me, the expectation, the anticipation. Spring is coming, as it will.

bouzouki

In response to the comments on this post, which turned into a treatise on bouzoukis, rolling chords, traditional Celtic style, and diadokokinesis, here is a picture of my bouzouki being cautiously played by Mr. Attitude. This one is an octave mandolin, which means the pairs of strings are tuned one octave lower than a standard mandolin. Some players string a bouzouki like a 12-string guitar, with one of each of the sets of lower strings of a different gauge and tuned an octave higher than the other, but I just use sets of identical strings.

This one was made by Flatiron and has a spruce top with birds eye maple back and sides- very pretty wood. I can't say I'm an expert at playing it, but I love it for its deep, resonant tone.