A-Maze-ing

This morning I left the house to go on a few simple errands.  It shouldn't have taken me more than two hours total.  Needing to get back home to grade several student papers, I knew time was of the essence.  However, it is October in Wisconsin, beautiful, sunny, and 80 degrees outside. Not only did I get distracted "window shopping" for shoes at the biggest and best boot and shoe store this side of the Mason-Dixon line, but I got "hung up" at the darn petting zoo that is 10 miles from my house. I can't help it! The animals are so cute and now they have two little buffalo! Surely that exempts me from my responsibilities.


Little White Deer



Goats-my favorite!



Buffalo-very warm buffalo

They also have pumpkins, produce for purchase, and brats and hot dogs grilling in the back of the store: it's heaven!! There are also wagon rides, a corn maze, and a bounce house for the kids--there were children everywhere. Even though I knew that, it was still a fun place to go and look around.

This is their huge corn maze:

Apparently, the Search and Rescue helicopter has had to find one too many of us in this labyrinth, so the Peck's Market helpers herded me over to my own, private, corn maze:



I made it out of the maze in record time!

How Real Lumberjacks Make Wood

Remember my feeble attempt at collecting firewood for Old Man Taylor (the aquastatic wood burner thingy) a few days ago? That was a laughable effort, now that I've seen how the big boys do it; well, now that I've seen how Farmer Ron does it. Farmer Ron (my dad) makes us youngsters look like senior citizens when it comes to running a chainsaw, and chopping and carrying wood.  He was generous enough to pile all of his firewood-making equipment into the old white pickup truck and make his way 1 1/2 hours south to the new Homer Homestead to help us make wood.  On the fifteen beautiful acres that we inhabit, seven of them are wooded, so we have a viable heat source for Old Man Taylor in our backyard.
Off into the woods we went:

Okay, so this isn't the woods we went off to; this is the guest bedroom shower curtain with a woodsy motif, but it's so cute that I had to work it into the story somehow. Incidentally, it is cute, but the main reason I was so happy to find this adorable curtain is that the walls in this bathroom are a bright lemon yellow. Lemon yellow should not be used in a bathroom-ever. Yellow is a kitchen color; however, I am grateful that this color isn't in my kitchen as I currently have forest green kitchen counters and I am not okay with interior decoration that follows the color scheme of a national football team.

So, off into the woods we went:

View of the back of Homer Homestead from the front of the woods

Where's Waldo? (I mean Bill)



 We jumped into the Kawasaki Mule with the chainsaw, fuel, monster maul, and log splitter hooked up to the back and tore through the field-slowly. Farmer Ron got right to work looking for the perfect tree: I had no idea there was a science to this. Why can't you just chop into the first unsuspecting giant you see? Not how it's done, apparently. You look for a tree that is dead already; that makes sense so that there's no senseless killing. Leave it to almost-Amish Farmer Ron to know just how to make firewood the proper way--he's also been doing this for fifty years.


Farmer Ron assessing the situation

With just a little apprehension I watched as the tree was selected and I was told (several times) where to stand once the tree starts to creak.

Let me tell you about the first time I made firewood with Farmer Ron: I was two years old.  All I remember is being dressed up in a snowsuit and Farmer Ron had on is coveralls and his trademark polka dot handkerchief under his stocking cap.  The next thing I remember is the chainsaw stopping and my dad bending over saying, "Go get mommy." He was shielding me from the front of himself and later I found out that he had ripped his kneecap open with the chainsaw.  I didn't want any repeats of that childhood memory! I don't remember how it turned out, but knowing Farmer Ron's pain tolerance and work ethic, the guy probably needed at least twenty stitches and instead put a bandage and tourniqet on his knee so he could go finish making firewood.

This is how you use a chainsaw:

Not this:

 And most definitely NOT this:


May 2010: Seneca and Kimi goofing around with Farmer Ron's chainsaw



Bill trying to manhandle the tree: what a He-man!

All in all we had a very fun day and Farmer Ron says we chopped enough wood for half the winter's supply: he has no idea how cold-blooded we really are. We keep our house at 75 degrees in the winter and his house is probably no warmer than 65!


The Mule blows the little white cart out of the water!



Dairyland: very similar to Disneyland

Shortly after Bill and I arrived back to the land of four seasons, we went to Richland Center for lunch and to get our fishing licenses at the local Walmart store. It was almost as exciting as getting the marriage license. The reason it was a little more dull than getting the paper for our nuptials was because almost nine years ago in Chicago, Illinois, we were standing behind a lovely foreign couple who were trying to explain in broken Spanglish that they needed to alter a license they had just applied for two weeks prior. The frustrated little woman was explaining to the marriage license clerk that yes, she still needed a license, but needed it to read her name, next to this guy's (enter the wide-eyed man next to her) and not the man from two weeks ago. Bill and I were speechless.

I apparently got offtrack: back to the butter and cheese store. As we drove out of the little downtown area looking at everything in amazement from little beer breweries to strange church architecture and shops run out of people's homes, we came upon this building and I screeched to a halt because I had to get a picture. This is a cute little shop-Alcam Creamery- that ONLY sells butter! Only in Wisconsin would a shop make and sell their own butter, successfully for more than 50 years! That explains some of the delicate physiques that wander these back roads; I thought it was for insulation as the weather gets colder.

And, on the fishing license front, Bill and I each needed to submit documentation that was almost identical to getting our marriage licenses with the exception of Bob-my new Walmart buddy in the hunting department-not needing to see our birth certificates. It took just as long, but I pumped Bob for information too: he told me how to get to the closest shooting range, I checked out his stock of bullets, AND got to pick out my very own nightcrawlers for the day's activities. In the end, I am convinced we didn't catch anything because they were Canadian nightcrawlers--our fish don't want foreign worms. But, be on the lookout over the next few months for some more worminess as I actually take a good hard look at the local bait shops. I am dying to get into the one called The Firm Worm: yup, I'm not making that up. The Firm Worm sells bait AND liquor--I'm very excited. It's like a whole other country up here and apparently living in Wisconsin on and off for twenty years wasn't enough time for me to actually see how much fun (and free entertainment value) there really is up there. Let's just make sure I'm still entertained when I have any exposed skin stuck to metal objects while trying to free my car from a snowdrift in a couple of months!

Domestic Crap

Feel free to stage an intervention.

I made Ratatouille and then I made Meatloaf Cupcakes with Creamy Potato Frosting (awesome recipe from one of my favorite bloggers, The Pioneer Woman). This is getting a bit ridiculous! I've made more than four whole meals in this house. I believe the kitchen is bewitched: please send an exorcist--or get me a job-- or Bill may come home from work and find me in a kitchen apron with...gulp...ruffles. Or worse: we will look like Roseanne and Dan Connor (from the Roseanne Show) in six months!

From Oven To Icebox: This Is Not A Drill

If anyone wondered if there would be a precise moment when Bill and I would really leave the oven and transition to the icebox, it occured at approximately 6:52 this morning.  However, I had an inkling that it was happening at somewhere around 4:30 this morning.  Why? I could not feel my ears, and there weren't enough covers to keep me and the three Littles laying against me, warm. There is a reason we have chihuahuas, and utilizing them for their body heat is one of them: they are content to crawl under the covers near our feet, our knees, and our backs and this is essential, in my opinion, for winter survival.

Winter, you ask? You're not even into winter yet! Um, yes I am. It was 32 degrees fahrenheit when I threw on quilted Carhartt bib overalls, a fleece sweatshirt, coat and hat and went out to walk Mr. Gunnar. I bought Bill and I each a pair of those overalls last winter and we each probably wore them once: to the Tucson Rodeo, which was unseasonably cold.  I am now realizing just how wise that purchase was and plan to live in quilted pants for the next eight months.

Yeh, that's frost: frozen water!

As Gunnar and I made our way down the road, I looked up and not more than a couple of hundred feet away from us sat a red-tailed hawk perched in a tall tree.  He was beautiful and we watched him for a while: actually, I watched the hawk while Gunnar scoped out which ditch he wanted to fling me in next.

The hawk spread its wings and it almost sounded like he was laughing. I thought I heard him say something like, "...ridiculous in the winter pants and coat..." And then he fell off his branch.

Let me tell you what poor Bill was doing while Gunnar and I were gallavanting: due to the unusually low temperature in the house, we thought something may have gone wrong with Old Man Taylor, the wood burner.  Our house temp is set for 74, but when I woke up--and woke everyone else in the house--the thermostat read 69 degrees. NOT ACCEPTABLE! What could be amiss? Our friends that service the wood burner had just been out two days ago: Smoker Tom and Mullet Rod were very thorough and checked everything and explained everything about that burner. They were such characters, but very nice guys and knew their stuff.  By the time they were done, it was pretty apparent there was a leak in one of the radiant heat floor tubes in the workshop, so we turned that one tube off. Apparently, there are more leaks up there: once Bill called Tom this morning (at 07:00am) and got the command to shut off all tubes in the workshop floor, the house heated up and the floor in the garage started to as well--which it is supposed to do.

That's not very exciting information, but when you've come from weather that was in the 100's (not 100, but in the 100's) four weeks ago, and now have to resist the temptation to stick your tongue to an icy dog kennel--just curious- it is quite a life adjustment.

Gunnar the Greenkeeper

As mentioned before, chihuahuas don't tend to hunt snakes when they go for a walk; Gunnar did so the fifth day we had been in the new neighborhood and came up for air with a garter snake.  Chihuahuas also aren't ferocious diggers. They can get curious, but the chances that one of The Littles would dig out of their fence in less than fifteen minutes, just isn't likely: with Gunnar it is very likely, and I've seen him do it when we were back in Arizona.

Today, little Carl Spackler (Bill Murray's character as the greenkeeper in Caddyshack, chasing the rabid gophers) and I were walking down the road and he decided to start meandering in the ditch. Not a problem, he wasn't being too obnoxious about it; then, he caught the scent of a gopher, mole, mouse, or woodcock. Wait, a woodcock is a bird.

In the time it took me to get the camera out of my back pocket and turn it on, the "Greenkeeper" here had dug through the gopher tunnel and under it up to his forehead. Most of his head was emerged in the soil and when I finally stopped him--I was in shock--he just popped up and continued on his way...with not a speck of dirt on his pretty white fur!

For all intents and purposes, this Husky is a completely different species from the little hairy rats that share our bed and lay around on the couch all day.

Little Red Riding Hood

Up in the woods that is my backyard, lies the heat source for our Taylor oven. Old Man Taylor requires at least five pieces of wood per day, or my shower is lukewarm.  Feeling ambitious today, and determined to not run the water for twenty minutes to warm it up before each shower, I strolled up into the woods with my little white cart in hopes of finding an offering for cranky Mr. Taylor.

...and then I realized that if I walked up the hill with an empty cart and collected wood on the way down, I would not be as out of breath!

You didn't miss part of the story. Why would I have to elaborate? You know how I came to that conclusion. Oh-you do realize that I didn't go up there with a chainsaw or any other wood carving device? I still have all of my fingers and toes. I even took the precaution of trying to research what poison ivy looked like. As I got up there, I realized all of the foliage along the path looked alike! So, I spent most of my walk enjoying the view and wondering if marijuana had five leaves and poison ivy had three or vice versa.  I should probably add Calamine lotion to Bill's grocery list.

As I continued up the hill with my cart, I started snapping pictures; the woods is so beautiful and fall is definitely starting to take hold. Still a bit out of breath from dragging even an empty cart up this trail -it's steeper than it looks- I stopped a lot to catch some photo opportunities.

 

After collecting some fairly wet, moldy wood, probably not suitable for burning, I headed back down the hill. This entire time I can hear Gunnar in his kennel, howling like a wolf, because he is distraught that for the first time I have not taken him into the woods with me. Gunnar's chilling howl sounds like a wild animal baying at the moon. In real life, this Husky mix is the sweetest dog, but if any of our scary chihuahuas had a howl like that, I'd start running!

...and so Little Red Riding Hood braved the deep, wide, woods to bring home some kindling for Old Man Taylor. The End





 

Little white cart delivery for Old Man Taylor