Monday, February 28, 2011

Gathering Firewood

I don't spend a lot of time watching video clips on the internet or any site that doesn't specifically have information I am needing at the moment. Usually that means what I am looking for is work related, animal related, or I'm seeking the occasional recipe that I will attempt (attempt !) to make.

I am convinced, however, that mine and Gunnar's antics this morning would have made a fairly decent YouTube video that might have gotten a few hits on the internet. We wouldn't have been able to submit this video to "America's Funniest Home Videos" because that is, after all, a family show and I'm pretty sure there were a few choice, small words that echoed through the woods this morning that wouldn't have won us the $10,000 prize for funniest video--if you know what I mean. You know, words like "oopsy daisy" and such.

I wish I had even one decent picture of this event, but only Gunnar and I were awake, The Littles were in a dog food coma in their little beds in the kitchen, and the patriarch (Mr. H) was asleep in his chamber. As always, he's never around when I pull crazy--or just stupid--stunts.

What took place occurred almost two hours ago now, so I think enough time has passed in order for the angry frustration to have washed over me and left, being replaced with the humor which is intended. Because, when White Husky and I returned from the woods I was in pain from turning and twisting every which direction, and I was exhausted. These events seem to always take place before breakfast (or way too soon after a meal), and with no coffee in my system, thus making every moment excruciating.

Mr. H and I still have a few tiny piles of firewood left in our woods from when Farmer Ron helped us chop down a couple of dead trees. Our firewood store alongside the barn is extremely low and so I thought I'd be resourceful, Laura Ingalls Wilder-style, and take my big white sidekick, and my trusty orange sled, up into the woods to retrieve firewood.

I'm not stupid: I knew taking Gunnar with me would in effect render the left arm and hand completely useless in gathering firewood and pulling the sled. He is all over the place attached to his harness and 20-foot lunge line and there were so many animal tracks to put his nose in and deer in the woods to look at. Why don't they run when they see us? Idiots.

Halfway up the path to the woods I asked Gunnar (told him) to stop and wait--which he can do, by the way.  I clumsily tied the two ropes attached to the sled around my body, slipping one side through an overall strap, otherwise it would just slide down my body wrapping my ankles together and causing a fatal injury--similar to the one you'd get if you were in the restroom, pants around ankles, and had to run out of a burning building.

We made it up to the top of the path and I laid the sled next to a small pile of firewood, cut last September. Luckily, this part of the path was level as opposed to the incline we had just walked up; I knew this would make going down with the sled--and white Husky--very interesting. And it did.

While I was prying firewood chunks loose, as everything is iced together right now, Gunnar wrapped himself around small trees sniffing for little animals he could prey on. Did I mention the ground is covered in a hard-packed snow/icy mix right now? Luckily, there are patches at the bottom of the path that expose significant amounts of grass: I knew I wouldn't slide all the way to the road and into the culvert, as the soft brown grass and muddy areas would break my fall.

Finally I loaded the sled full and untangled Gunnar and my left arm, did a farm-girl pirouette to bring him around the the correct side of me, and wrapped my right hand in the sled's ropes, praying that the sled wouldn't pull us down the hill too fast.



The White Husky--not looking very white or Husky-like
at the moment.

This was excruciating, as the sled was heavily loaded down, the ropes were cutting into my hand even through my winter gloves, and Gunnar was pulling my left one, trying to tangle himself in branches and rusty barbed wire.  There is nothing about this scenario that would make my life insurance company keep me signed up. In fact, if they read this, my rates will probably make a sharp increase!

Gunnar and I are safely, yet painfully, halfway down the path when we get to the decline I was afraid of. There's no way to keep the sled going straight, and frankly, there's no way to keep Gunnar going straight either. G-man darted to the right which made my left arm cross over the width of the sled, causing me to lose balance a bit on slippery ground. I instinctually grabbed for his leash with my right hand as well, which made the sled break free, find an icy truck tire path made by The Hunters last week, and speedily made its way down the path. Gunnar looked at the sled racing toward the gate/metal bar across the path at the bottom; then he looked at me. He looked at me as if to say, "Did we plan on doing that?"



Gunnar watching the orange sled speed away with our firewood.

I was just thankful I hadn't fallen, or lost my footing, or punctured a lung yet. We watched the bright orange sled racing toward the house. I was laughing hysterically, and just hoping that the sled wouldn't crash and dump all of its cargo.  It didn't, and when Gunnar and I finally caught up to the sled, we placed the wood back on the sled in an orderely fashion and dragged it down toward the barn, now only on grass and gravel. Not surprisingly, without ice and snow, that sled was a bugger to pull.  Towards the last 100 feet of this journey Gunnar was pulling me, and I was pulling the sled. I got within 50 feet of the barn, said, "Forget this!" (or something similar), and the white Husky and I kept heading toward the barn, where his breakfast was waiting.

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Hazardous Working Conditions

I am about to prep for a few more hours for the class I’m teaching tomorrow, and realize that no one knows the types of adventures I end up on while working—or teaching, for that matter. Why? It’s not near as entertaining as the antics I can get into at Homer Hollow or Farmer Ron’s ranchette (Scapegoat Farm).
Frankly, I will never be able to top the stories I used to tell (all involved given fake names to protect the innocent, of course) while working in the medical field. How does one top a poo-flinging senior yelling at the top of his lungs that you stole his pork chop? I think you get my point. But, I do still have those days…sort of.
Safely arriving in Milwaukee at my “economy” hotel, I was thankful there was a Mexican restaurant adjacent to it. Having no food since 7:30 this morning, and it being three hours after lunch, I was in a mood. Specifically, I was in a mood that didn’t allow me to deal with the “swelling door,” as the hotel keeper called it, and a small emergency back at Homer Hollow.
I staggered over to see what Jose had in his Cantina.  Jose’s Cantina was a very chintzy restaurant but I knew it would be, and I didn’t care. I would have eaten almost anything at that point. Literally a second after I sit down a Latin god in an apron and salmon colored shirt comes over and asks me what I would like to drink. What I hear him saying is, “Would you like hot or mild salsa?” What I see him thinking in his mind is, “Hello there my bonita lady; I am more fertile than anyone in my family and you will be impregnated before your nachos hit the table.” Seriously, he’s that cute and it’s that kind of grin. Luckily he’s not pouring the machismo on, he’s just very anxious to be a good waiter. I did exaggerate a bit. Hell, it’s what makes me colorful.
Ricky gives my nacho order to the kitchen staff then he and two much shorter Mexican gentlemen duck out the front door. They do this rather quickly and at first I think, “Oh, how nice, the waiter is helping the kitchen staff carry garbage or stoke the smoker.” Then the real Kimi starts to think and almost aspirates a chip while thinking, “There go the rims on my precious FJ Cruiser.” I know-it’s a horrible thing to assume about anyone.
The three amigos took a while to come back and I swore when they all walked back in that one of the little ones walked past me and said, “Vroom, vroom!” Is that Spanish for “enchilada plate with hot sauce?” I nodded and thought to myself, “Yeah, this will surely want to “vroom vroom” right as I get in front of my class tomorrow morning. Oy. I’d better stick to the mild salsa!
Meanwhile, back in my cheap room—cheap because I paid for it—lacking certain amenities like heat and extra pillows, I cranked the heat (again) put my scarf and hat on, and hoped that my laptop would overheat while I was holding it so that my nose would thaw out.

It’s all worth it though: my bathroom is periwinkle blue.

Thursday, February 17, 2011

Loki H. Gets A Checkup

Loki and his sister Lily went to the doctor for a checkup today. I have been hesitant to take The Littles to the vet since we moved here. I was under the false assumption that these country vets would only be used to seeing cows and horses and cattle dogs. Apparently, there are other rural dwellers that cohabitate with ankle biters. Frankly, I thought we owned them all--there's so many of them running around my kitchen! I guess four isn't such a large number, considering there were five--talk about excessive fur. Speaking of numbers, a certain fluffy white Shit-huahua got on the scale in his exam room and weighed "666." I am NOT kidding! Bill and I had Loki on the "baby" scale--you know dogs under a certain weight can't stand on the big boy scale--and just shook our heads when "6.66" showed up on the digital screen. As if we didn't know Loki carried the mark of the devil. (Evidenced below):



Our vet--Dr. B at the Spring Green Animal Hospital--was not only great with the two littlest family members, but he looked like he was having a great time with them. Chihuahuas are notoriously scary but our vet grabbed 'em by the ears and dove right in! Go Dr. B! (Once I've obtained his permission, by the way, you will see a big plug and a Web site link to our wonderful vet clinic. Or, they could be completely embarrassed to be associated with the blog or the crazy Chihuahua owner that harrasses them for dog treats every few weeks).

Aren't these two of the cutest guys you've ever seen? Loki's getting his heart murmur checked out here:


Psst...mom! I think he touched me...


"Hmm, yes doctor, I hear it too..."

Thursday, February 10, 2011

Modern Art

Briefly, I have been extremely busy with work and maybe a little bit of life too--not near enough time spent working in the barn or lolly-gagging in the snow. I will leave you with the ice sculpture that Mr. H facilitated last week:

Friday, February 4, 2011

Up To His Eyeballs In It

This poor guy has a front row seat of the blizzard we just got that pounded the Midwest--and Homer Hollow.

Thursday, February 3, 2011

Herodotus Homer

"Neither snow, nor rain, nor heat, nor gloom of night--nor snowshoes-- stays these courageous couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds"...Herodotus, 2500 years ago (also used today as the postal carriers oath).

I thought while trying to get the mail today, I'd get creative and also learn how to use snowshoes. Apparently, this wasn't the right type of snow, because I didn't delicately balance on top of a frosty crust. Instead, I sunk ten inches into the snow, then had to bring my foot, leg, and the additional weight of a snowshoe back up with every step. From a cardiovascular standpoint, I'm a-ok though.








Honestly, I don't remember going to get the mail this way in Arizona!




Bottoms up! I'm checking out the natural spring that runs under
our yard through a culvert and across the street. The Bluebird Hollow Creek
flows through everyone's property, and it's quite pretty in the winter with
all of the watercress still growing in it.



Wednesday, February 2, 2011

White Out!

The blizzard continued on through last night, so Gunnar and I went for a walk this morning (of course).


Even more fun than walking through a foot of snow with the White Husky who can't understand why I can't move faster, was Mr. H and I taking turns shoveling a potty path for The Littles. Wow, that takes energy!



The next photo is graphic: all audiences beware!

Loki using his newly remodeled bathroom



Beautiful Hill House across the unplowed street




WHEW

P.S. I could not even shovel down far enough to dig Punxsutawney Phil out so that he could (or could not) see his shadow!

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

Blizzardy

Yup. Bluebird Hollow--like most of Southern Wisconsin-- is under a blizzard warning: the White Husky and I went for a walk, of course. (We're expecting ten more inches of snow)!