I sure wish we had some exciting activity to report out here in the country at Grandpa's Farm. I tell you it is down right boring living out here in Ho Hum County so far from the big city. Granny and I have been sitting here counting the horses we can see from our house. I think we got up to about eighteen.
The agenda for today includes getting up at about 4:30 A.M. for no other reason than that I get up about that time to go to the bathroom and put more wood in the fire. By then my mind is going and I might as well forget about going back to sleep. So I sit in the chair until the fire gets good and hot, then I damp it down and try to go back to bed.
Today, as usual the old brain has too many sparks in it and I lie awake and think about all the exciting things I could do today. I need to work on my shop - both inside and out. I could fix my little red trailer which has a taildark that needs to be turned into a taillight. Or I could go to town and do some work on my son's rental house. It needs to have some insulation and siding put on it among about two thousand other things. I could work on the Honey-do list that Granny keeps on a yellow pad (but my eyes just don't focus good on yellow.) Or I could sit here and tell stories.
Did I tell you about my latest adventure with grandson No. 2? Granny and I own some property, with two other families, up in the hills about thirty-five miles. Our fall activities include firewood gathering. We go up there and cut up and haul out firewood. We have already cut the easy stuff that you can drive a pickup to so now we are trying to figure out how to get logs out that we can't get to very easily.
We tried using a tractor and that works fairly well on big stuff if there is room to maneuver. We made a road to get access to one area and hauled out the big stuff. Then we found a lot of old blowdown lodgepole pine lying on the hillside. If you've done any wood cutting you know that lodgepole pine doesn't usually get very big but it does burn fairly well. Most of this was eight to ten inches at the big end (I'm too polite to say butt) and about 35 to 50 feet long. We tried to drag them with the tractor but it is pretty slow.
We decided to use a 4-wheeler to drag them instead. We took our 4-wheelers up on my car trailer that I use for hauling hay, tractors, logs, firewood, well tile, apples and occasionally even a car, not to mention four wheelers.
We got up there, off loaded the ATV's and started to scout firewood. We had drug some logs out to the road earlier with a tractor so decided to drag these to the meadow where we could load them on the trailer. No. 2 grandson got that job while I scouted firewood. I went in to where those lodgepole logs were and began to scout around for a way to pull them out going downhill.
Did I happen to mention that there was about a half inch of snow on the ground? It was great for pulling logs downhill but not for going uphill. We could hardly get the 4-wheelers to back up uphill. Anyway, I scouted around and found the rudiments of a trail (the deer had rudimented it earlier) and I figured I could cut out the brush, old logs, scab trees and deer sign enough to get us through it. So I began cutting.
By this time No. 2 GS had dragged the logs down and was looking for work. He nosed the ATV down the trail I had been cutting just as I finished most of the trail clearing. There was one log I didn't want to cut a section out of because it was too good. He managed to get the ATV over the log and we hooked onto it with a short cable we keep for just such a purpose. I went up the log and cut the top off about 30 feet up and he began to drag it.
It slid right along to the top of the bank and then he got his first look at where he had to go to get to the road. I won't say it was straight down but it was steep. He let out a whoop, changed his position on the 4-wheeler and charged down the hill. That log is what kept him tied down, upright, straight and slow enough to make it down. He drug it off as I went about cutting the big ends (I'm too polite to say butts) off more logs and then cutting off limbs and the tops so they would drag. In no time at all No. 2 GS was back up and wanting to know where the next one was.
We did this for about an hour and then I ran out of gas (and so did the chainsaw). I decided that I could drag a couple of short logs with my 4 wheeler on the way back to the truck to fill up the saw. We hooked up three short logs and bungeed the saw onto my 4 wheeler and I began to go down the hill with No. 2 GS shouting advice. "Stay to the right. Watch out for the big rocks! Better ride sidesaddle! Watch out for the brush at the bottom!" I tell you - he sounds more like his grandma everyday.
Then I saw the trail!
It had a big groove in it from the logs he had drug already. There were two big rocks that the 4 wheeler had to go over and then there was the steep part and the brush and the sticks! I changed my position to sidesaddle, stayed to the right, ducked under the tree limbs, went over the rocks and promptly got bounced off the ATV. Now I was running downhill alongside the ATV with the logs chasing me and I was hoping I would reach the bottom before the logs caught up.
(Did I mention that I am pushing sixty? By the time I reached the bottom I think I was pushing it too fast!)
I made it just barely.
I decided right then that it was time for a division of labor. Cutting the logs loose was my exciting job and No. 2 GS could have the boring job of dragging the logs. (He is six foot two and 210 pounds so you can see that dragging logs - with or without a 4-wheeler - is obviously his strong suit.)
Well, I am sorry if I got your hopes up that something exciting might happen out here in Ho Hum County. This place is just so laid back! If you want quiet and peaceful days filled in with a little monotonous activity you should come here to live. Ho Hum is the term for this kind of life...... and I like it that way.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Ashes
The news from the laid back in Ho Hum County. (Laid back ain’t quite laid out, but it might be smoked.)
Ashes are real easy to come by. First, you crumple seventeen newspaper pages, put a log on each side of the firebox, throw in a wastepaper basket worth of wastepaper, find a match, wad up thirty-two more pages of newspaper and stuff them in the firebox, then throw in forty-three small sticks, strike a match and smoke up the whole house. It works every time!
You would think that a grandpa who has lit fires in brush piles, camp sites, rainstorms, roadsides, and burn barrels, would remember to open the draft on the stove. I can only say, in my defense, that brush piles, campsites, rainstorms, roadsides and burn barrels have an automatic draft built in so you don’t have to open it. But, I digress from the subject at hand - mainly that watching the woodstove turn firewood into ashes is quite a process (if you can ever get the stubborn thing lit to start with.)
I’m not quite sure that I like the process of turning wood into ashes. I spend a lot of time in the woods scouting trees, dragging out trees, cutting trees and stacking tree pieces in old apple bins on a trailer. Then I take it home, unstack it and split it, stack it back in the bins and then stack the bins in a stack on top of each other. Then, in cold weather, I pull it from the stack, take it to the porch and re-stack it so I can pack it into the house and stack it in the woodstove. Once in the woodstove it all goes up in smoke and all you have to show for it is some ashes. You might even say it gets cremated (which can lead to some minor misunderstandings - read on.)
Ashes are very useful if deposited in the right place, which is on your raspberry vines. (I am talking wood ashes here, not cremated remains ashes - to prevent a minor misunderstanding.) The only problem I have with depositing ashes is this - who has fifteen acres of raspberries to put all their wood ashes on? My little patch needs about two buckets of ashes a year. I needed another way to get rid of too many ashes.
My son’s mother-in-law came up with an old but new use for ashes (which is what caused the minor misunderstanding.) She wanted some ashes to use on her sidewalks and driveway. Being the nice person I am I agreed to save some for her. She even gave me an empty kitty litter bucket to put ashes in. (She isn’t the only person who uses empty kitty litter buckets to put stuff in. I find them handy for holding all sorts of stuff except kitty litter. I have several I keep in my shop for some such anonymous purpose.)
I emptied the woodstove, in preparation for smoking up the house again, and I saved some of the dead ashes and put them in the plastic kitty litter bucket in my shop. This was no problem until I was looking for a container to carry some wood scraps and grabbed the kitty litter bucket. (It happened to be the one closest to me.) When I pried off the lid I found the wood ashes and almost spilled them all over the shop. Being the person of great foresight that I am I thought that if I just labeled the bucket then I wouldn’t make that mistake again. If I also put them on the back step then they would be out of my way and handy for her to pick them up the next time she stopped by.
SO...... I wrote “LINDA’S ASHES” on the top of the bucket and put them on the back step where she would see them and take them with her the next time she came by.
I, of course, innocently, had not made any connection with the term “ashes” used to mean a person’s remains after being cremated. I also did not laugh about what an officer might have thought had he stopped her (for one of her many traffic violations) and found “LINDA’S ASHES” in her trunk. (Now, whose ashes are these, Lady?)
Or even better, what if my daughter-in-law had decided to deliver “LINDA’S ASHES” to her mother and been stopped by this nice officer? "You are carrying your poor mother’s ashes around in your trunk in a kitty litter bucket?" (The thought never even crossed my mind.) Also, I did not even think about how funny it would have been if I had delivered the ashes to her door and left them out front for her guests to see as they entered her house for the regular Thursday evening Bible Study.
So, as you can see, I remain entirely blameless in my small part of this minor misunderstanding. (My liking for the whole process of wood to ashes did improve as I got into it, though.)
Anyway, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it. As you can see life goes on in its typically routine boring fashion out here in the country where even a minor misunderstanding is not enough to generate any excitement. Even my cell phone says “Borrring, Borrring". Howdy from Grandpa’s Farm where the only action is inaction. Grandma and I have been sitting here watching the woodstove turn firewood into ashes. Quite a process.
Ashes are real easy to come by. First, you crumple seventeen newspaper pages, put a log on each side of the firebox, throw in a wastepaper basket worth of wastepaper, find a match, wad up thirty-two more pages of newspaper and stuff them in the firebox, then throw in forty-three small sticks, strike a match and smoke up the whole house. It works every time!
You would think that a grandpa who has lit fires in brush piles, camp sites, rainstorms, roadsides, and burn barrels, would remember to open the draft on the stove. I can only say, in my defense, that brush piles, campsites, rainstorms, roadsides and burn barrels have an automatic draft built in so you don’t have to open it. But, I digress from the subject at hand - mainly that watching the woodstove turn firewood into ashes is quite a process (if you can ever get the stubborn thing lit to start with.)
I’m not quite sure that I like the process of turning wood into ashes. I spend a lot of time in the woods scouting trees, dragging out trees, cutting trees and stacking tree pieces in old apple bins on a trailer. Then I take it home, unstack it and split it, stack it back in the bins and then stack the bins in a stack on top of each other. Then, in cold weather, I pull it from the stack, take it to the porch and re-stack it so I can pack it into the house and stack it in the woodstove. Once in the woodstove it all goes up in smoke and all you have to show for it is some ashes. You might even say it gets cremated (which can lead to some minor misunderstandings - read on.)
Ashes are very useful if deposited in the right place, which is on your raspberry vines. (I am talking wood ashes here, not cremated remains ashes - to prevent a minor misunderstanding.) The only problem I have with depositing ashes is this - who has fifteen acres of raspberries to put all their wood ashes on? My little patch needs about two buckets of ashes a year. I needed another way to get rid of too many ashes.
My son’s mother-in-law came up with an old but new use for ashes (which is what caused the minor misunderstanding.) She wanted some ashes to use on her sidewalks and driveway. Being the nice person I am I agreed to save some for her. She even gave me an empty kitty litter bucket to put ashes in. (She isn’t the only person who uses empty kitty litter buckets to put stuff in. I find them handy for holding all sorts of stuff except kitty litter. I have several I keep in my shop for some such anonymous purpose.)
I emptied the woodstove, in preparation for smoking up the house again, and I saved some of the dead ashes and put them in the plastic kitty litter bucket in my shop. This was no problem until I was looking for a container to carry some wood scraps and grabbed the kitty litter bucket. (It happened to be the one closest to me.) When I pried off the lid I found the wood ashes and almost spilled them all over the shop. Being the person of great foresight that I am I thought that if I just labeled the bucket then I wouldn’t make that mistake again. If I also put them on the back step then they would be out of my way and handy for her to pick them up the next time she stopped by.
SO...... I wrote “LINDA’S ASHES” on the top of the bucket and put them on the back step where she would see them and take them with her the next time she came by.
I, of course, innocently, had not made any connection with the term “ashes” used to mean a person’s remains after being cremated. I also did not laugh about what an officer might have thought had he stopped her (for one of her many traffic violations) and found “LINDA’S ASHES” in her trunk. (Now, whose ashes are these, Lady?)
Or even better, what if my daughter-in-law had decided to deliver “LINDA’S ASHES” to her mother and been stopped by this nice officer? "You are carrying your poor mother’s ashes around in your trunk in a kitty litter bucket?" (The thought never even crossed my mind.) Also, I did not even think about how funny it would have been if I had delivered the ashes to her door and left them out front for her guests to see as they entered her house for the regular Thursday evening Bible Study.
So, as you can see, I remain entirely blameless in my small part of this minor misunderstanding. (My liking for the whole process of wood to ashes did improve as I got into it, though.)
Anyway, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it. As you can see life goes on in its typically routine boring fashion out here in the country where even a minor misunderstanding is not enough to generate any excitement. Even my cell phone says “Borrring, Borrring". Howdy from Grandpa’s Farm where the only action is inaction. Grandma and I have been sitting here watching the woodstove turn firewood into ashes. Quite a process.
Saturday, October 2, 2010
A Dark and Stormy Night
It was a dark and stormy night. The wind was howling in the willow tree and spooky shapes were reflected on the barn wall and, as usual, nothing was happening out here in the country. We have just been sitting here listening to the refrigerator run. Actually, we just got home from a football game in the Small City (about 40 miles away) so we are too tired to do anything else.
It was a good game. Grandson #2 got to play every time the team made a touchdown. He is on the point after touchdown (P-A-T) special team. At six foot three and two hundred thirty pounds I guess it takes a lot of time and energy to move him and go after the ball. On extra point kicks you don't have much time so mostly it is wasted energy. They made five touchdowns so he got to go in a few times.
Football season is very interesting. It starts in early September when the weather is still mild and the sun doesn't go down until later. By the time the season ends the weather is downright cold, the wind blows and the sun disappears right after dinner if you eat early enough. The real interesting part is that one week it will be warm and the next week cold so you never know what to wear.
"Shall we bundle up and sweat to death or shall we go light and freeze?" Granny asks.
In my usual highly intelligent manner I say "Let's flip a coin and go with it!"
You can come just as close and maybe closer doing it that way than trying to guess what it will be. What we finally do is dress in layers so you can add or subtract depending on how far away you parked the car.
There is a science to parking the car closer. You first have to look at who the opponent is and guess how many fans will show up. (This number is usually in direct proportion to how well the team is doing plus or minus 6 or 7 hardcore grandparents.) Then you decide how early you have to go to park close.
Hardcore grandparents usually ignore how the team is doing. If Junior is playing they are going to be there. Wisdom is one of their long suits since they have already been through it with one of the grandkid's parents so they know the outcome doesn't matter that much but what counts is the support of just being there. There are sometimes scheduling difficulties that occur when more than one grandchild is in high school or when every night is taken up and the GP has other responsibilities. Sometimes the GP has been known to stay with younger siblings so Dad and Mom can go to the event. By now you probably get the picture. Now that you have had instruction we expect you to become a hardcore grandparent when your time comes if it hasn't already. (So start practicing now and don't forget the aerobics to stay in shape for walking from the parking lot to the event.)
Well, as you can see nothing exciting or interesting ever happens out here. By the way, we did win the game so now we can go to bed and get on with the rest of our boring lives (pun intended, Oh, bad). Nighty-night from Ho Hum County where nothing ever happens in football or grandparenting.
Did I say - "We like it that way?" (I do!)
It was a good game. Grandson #2 got to play every time the team made a touchdown. He is on the point after touchdown (P-A-T) special team. At six foot three and two hundred thirty pounds I guess it takes a lot of time and energy to move him and go after the ball. On extra point kicks you don't have much time so mostly it is wasted energy. They made five touchdowns so he got to go in a few times.
Football season is very interesting. It starts in early September when the weather is still mild and the sun doesn't go down until later. By the time the season ends the weather is downright cold, the wind blows and the sun disappears right after dinner if you eat early enough. The real interesting part is that one week it will be warm and the next week cold so you never know what to wear.
"Shall we bundle up and sweat to death or shall we go light and freeze?" Granny asks.
In my usual highly intelligent manner I say "Let's flip a coin and go with it!"
You can come just as close and maybe closer doing it that way than trying to guess what it will be. What we finally do is dress in layers so you can add or subtract depending on how far away you parked the car.
There is a science to parking the car closer. You first have to look at who the opponent is and guess how many fans will show up. (This number is usually in direct proportion to how well the team is doing plus or minus 6 or 7 hardcore grandparents.) Then you decide how early you have to go to park close.
Hardcore grandparents usually ignore how the team is doing. If Junior is playing they are going to be there. Wisdom is one of their long suits since they have already been through it with one of the grandkid's parents so they know the outcome doesn't matter that much but what counts is the support of just being there. There are sometimes scheduling difficulties that occur when more than one grandchild is in high school or when every night is taken up and the GP has other responsibilities. Sometimes the GP has been known to stay with younger siblings so Dad and Mom can go to the event. By now you probably get the picture. Now that you have had instruction we expect you to become a hardcore grandparent when your time comes if it hasn't already. (So start practicing now and don't forget the aerobics to stay in shape for walking from the parking lot to the event.)
Well, as you can see nothing exciting or interesting ever happens out here. By the way, we did win the game so now we can go to bed and get on with the rest of our boring lives (pun intended, Oh, bad). Nighty-night from Ho Hum County where nothing ever happens in football or grandparenting.
Did I say - "We like it that way?" (I do!)
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