Monthly Archives: May 2009

A time to grow

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I had a variety of topics from which to choose this week, however I choose gardening. I did not choose it because summer has begun; I chose it with hopes that you will read this column on a nice day and prior to our next frost or deluge. Gardening lasts but one day here in Northern Minnesota, so read this column then get to work immediately after proper application of coffee to your morning.

I built another garden box for Lisa and I this spring. I really thought raised gardens would have caught on but it’s not often that I see them. Our climate is perfect for raised gardens because the black dirt inside the box will warm sooner than below ground and you can control the moisture of the soil more easily. Actually, a little drain tile in the box might be a good remedy for excess rain or watering; I may consider that in the future. We have many rabbits on patrol in our yard, and they’ve yet to scale the walls of a raised garden and make off with any vegetative booty, either.

Our first garden boxes were made of railroad ties, a horrible idea. Railroad ties are heavy, dirty and best left to those who crave back pain. I’ve never seen treated lumber any cheaper, so that is what I used this year. I made our raised gardens four feet wide by eight feet long. Compacted dirt will push the sides of your box out if not built sturdy, so make firm your corners by screwing your planks into a nice, chunky, vertical four by four. I built our raised garden three planks high, and so united all three by attaching a two by four vertically to each long side. I then ran two by fours crosswise from each long side to prevent bowing. A nice touch is to attach another two by six (or two by eight depending on the size of your bottom) on top of the structure to provide a bench to rest while weeding.

We planted early this year despite Lisa’s legitimate protests. So far we’ve avoided frost but we had a scare on Wednesday morning when I noticed frost on the windshield of my car. Kim Swanson, at the Extension service, said our peppers would be okay as long as less than half of the leaves died and that we’d know the amount of damage by evening. I worried most of the day until I went to see Dr Sayler, at which point I focused my anxiety on the tooth he was about to fix. While they waited for my face to slump from the Novocain, we all talked about gardening. I voiced my worry about frost and Dr Sayler explained that as its condensation evaporates, a windshield can develop frost, even at temperatures above freezing. This is similar to the concept that makes air conditioning work; an explanation that made me feel better, which was good. He fixed my tooth also, which was even better.

Robert Herrick wrote “gather Rosebuds while ye may,” as a reminder of how life is short. I would add that time to grow is second only to gathering in its brevity. Show courage in the garden as you should in life; plant today even should frost come tomorrow.
 

Letter to Dave

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Hi Dave,

This letter is going to be a laundry list, therefore it will be like most of the letters I send your way.

First off, I have a video recommendation. I recently received “President Reagan: The Great Speeches,” from my Netflix account. I sometimes forget that I am now old and that there are voters who were not alive when Reagan was president and I assume everyone remembers him. It’s was so nice to listen to a government official who didn’t carefully talk his way around words like “religion” and “morality.” Reagan had such strength and conviction and didn’t seem to think the Constitution or the Bible were meant to be interpreted but were rather rocks upon which to cling. It all reminded that doing right isn’t always easy but it certainly is more simple than to justify doing wrong.

There was a vintage snowmobile show in town last week at the Ralph Engelstad. Our nephew, Jamie, and I stopped by for about an hour Saturday morning. Although there are a few large manufacturers left, there once we dozens of snowmobiles made in the world. Snowmobile dealerships were ran from one car garages, gas stations and agricultural dealerships. Arctic Cat and Polaris were well represented however our beloved John Deere’s had only on sled in attendance, however it was a Minneapolis to St Paul I-500 race contestant. I think most people like race sleds but I prefer consumer sleds and the unique restorations. Some of these sleds were basically the same product but with different paint and decals. The was an old “Johnson” sled (very similar to an Evinrude Bobcat) which had been painted in “Caterpillar” black and gold. Another sled I really liked was the purple “Viking” which had been restored by Greg Hestekind of Viking. Greg and I went to school together and he had painted the snowmobile in honor of Marshall County Central high school, once know as the Nordics.

I’m not sure if you heard, but Lisa’s mom recently had to have some surgery done. We went to pick her up afterward and bring her home and she was recovering nicely. The doctors had estimated she wouldn’t be out for three to five days but Jeanette surprised them and left in two. Jeanette has many nicknames but almost of all them make some reference to her amazing fortitude. At age 70, Jeanette cleaned then painted her house prior to surgery so she could focus on getting better when she got home. I think she is testament to the importance of staying busy and how it relates to good health. Jeanette’s sister, Joann, is taking care of Jeanette during what I’m sure will be a short convalescence. As Jeanette is a nurse, I’m sure Joann is being schooled by her patient on how to be a good caregiver with some regularity.

Farmers are moving quickly now through long hours to get small grains planted. Row crops will be next and there will be now break prior to spraying. Equipment gets bigger as the planting window gets smaller and I’m sure you’re seeing plenty of the same at Case/IH in Carrington, North Dakota.

Finally, it was nice season you and your family at mom’s birthday party. We all get together so rarely that it’s really quite nice. The only bad thing is taking pictures, or rather having pictures taken of you. After that Sunday, I think I understand why some primitive cultures refuse to have their picture taken. You’re little bro’

 

Hay Trolleys

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(This picture is

one of the hay trolleys that hangs from the perimeter of our porch-GN)

Most of my collections are farm related, and fairly unique. If I were
an unsupervised single man, I would probably have a collection of
bull chips in the shape of famous people or something equally odd.
Fortunately, I am supervised (that would be Lisa,) and as such censor my own quirky
interests to reflect my farming background and keep the “uniqueness”
down to a dull roar. One of my collections is hay trolleys, and it’s
this week’s topic.

Hay trolleys are the little sled that rides a steel or wooden rail in
the peak of a barn roof. I used to help my dad put up loose hay so my youthful memories include holding the rope to keep the trolley straight while dad pulled it up to the peak of the barn with the old Farmall tractor. The trolley is like a block and tackle that allowed farmers to pull a load of hay from a rack to the overhead
peak of a barn roof, and then transport it far back into the hay mow. The
hay trolley is basically a series of pulleys through which a heavy
rope is threaded. In between the mechanism of pulleys is a latch or
“register” which is mounted to another pulley that rides the rope and can be
lowered to the hay load. There it is connected to a net filled with hay, and then pulled by the
rope to the trolley where it locks into the frame so the trolley can take it for
a ride down the rail. Eventually a trip rope is pulled manually to
release the load of hay to the floor of the mow. Hay trolleys began
to disappear from farms, along with hay stacks, when good square balers appeared
in the 1940’s. There were some farmers who continued to use the
trolleys with a grab fork to lift small square bale into their hay
mows, however that mostly ended in the late sixties or early
seventies.

Hay trolleys have now become something of a family heirloom. Many
ended up as scrap iron but some folks pulled them out of the barns
and saved them as a reminder of simpler times. When I look ay my
collection of trolleys, I see a mirror of those times in the simple, tough
construction. Hay trolleys were made to be installed then ignored for
their service life. Still, there is the occasional graceful arch, a decorative
maker’s emblem or even an angle cast to strengthen the mechanism
disguised as industrial art. Some older trolleys were designed to follow
a less expensive wooden rail down the center of a roof’s peak while
those created later followed a steel rail when steel got a little cheaper.
Most of my trolleys are from the steel rail era and
they are unrestored, rusty and dignified; I do not wish to make them
fancy.

I like a world ran by computers, servos and unseen gizmos less these
days and I love the honest, transparent workings of a hay trolley.
The workings of a trolley are at one time simple enough for a young
person to understand yet can make an engineer pause and appreciate
their genius. The trolley is homage to mechanical advantage; each
time the rope wraps around a pulley the force required to move its
given load is divided in half. Its incredible strength is further revealed
in the gangs of steel wheels that carry both trolley and hay;
some larger trolleys were rated at nearly two ton capacity. I guess you could
say a hay trolley is both strong and beautiful.

A hay trolley, seen rightly oriented, appears almost as an upside-down steam locomotive. This might be appropriate as it too can be a mode of transport. When I look at my collection of hay trolleys, they take me back to the days when I helped dad load loose hay into the barn. Perhaps it’s the simplicity and strength I see in a hay trolley that reminds me of the simplicity which brings strength from growing up on the farm. Maybe, I just like hay trolleys
 

Cottage Cheese Cats

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I write my column at a twenty one inch computer screen, it fit into our computer desk like a jet engine fits into a Chevy Vega. I should benefit from the extra screen space but I only see what gets under, around or past our cats, Magoo and Twitch. They have learned, from years of association, that to sit in front of the computer screen is to access the world of dairy products.

Now the cats aren’t surfing the internet to locate the finest in cottage cheese or yogurt, it’s a much more simple process. I love yogurt and especially cottage cheese, to the point that I wonder if people are staring at me when I’m in the dairy section “yet again” at Hugo’s. I almost always eat my curds and whey in front of the computer and surf the net like with the voracity of a nerd back from summer camp. I like my cottage cheese with pepper sprinkled on top and my choice of yogurt is vanilla with granola sprinkles (sprinkles may be a kind description-I use quite a bit.) Both of these dairy superstars are filling and full of calcium and protein and they just plain taste great.

Great taste is where Magoo comes into the picture. Cats love milk and it’s the basis for cottage cheese and yogurt. I can eat a bowl of yogurt without attracting either Magoo or occasional dining partner, Twitch, until I’m near the bottom of the bowl. I have a habit of scraping the bottom of the bowl which creates a keening, black board screech that apparently mimics a cat dinner bell. Magoo makes his overweight entrance then sits in front of the computer screen and waits for me to finish. If Twitch shows up, the cats take turns licking the bowl for five seconds at a time until the bowl is pre-cleaned and ready for the dishwasher. If Magoo goes solo, he just buries his beautiful black head in the bowl, comes up frosted, gulps some air, then checks for encroachment by his brother, Twitch.

I love this little tradition; even if it means everything appears in bold cat-shaped relief on my computer screen. I love to “mother” the cats by wiping off their milk mustaches after they eat and helping them share what they find at the bottom of my yogurt bowl. The whole experience opens up a lot of warm feelings that mirror what a parent must feel; I won’t feel silly when I tell you we love our cats. Pets offer so much too people; they are more than the stupid little clowns people make them out to be. If you take care of them properly, you learn the joy of embracing responsibilities in life. If you love them and are affectionate, you’ll find that loyalty is something you earn and not something you demand. Unfortunately, animals also detect the bad in people as evidenced by cases of abuse, which teaches us to be careful of whom we trust to be near our loved ones-especially children who are defenseless as are pets.

My relationship to animals has always been a learning experience but like many friendships it’s good to keep things fresh; maybe next week I’ll give the cats a new reason to sit in front of the computer screen; you think they like Chinese food?

A Tree’s Revenge

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Trees provide shade, cattle need shade; trees and cattle are a good combination. Cattle can be hard on trees however, so maybe trees get the short end of this relationship. Last week one tree evened the score at our little farm.

I came home from work in the mid-afternoon. The cattle are now out on the leftover corn stover from last fall and it’s a pleasant sight. They like being on pasture and so it was a surprise when one little heifer was not on pasture but rather standing amongst the shade on a cloudy day. There are ruts by the water tank, so I assumed she’d twisted an ankle and wished to walk as little as possible. I went inside and changed clothes.

Before I’d left town that day, I went to work out at the gym. I worked out pretty hard because I had no tough chores to do when I arrived home, at least until I went to check on that heifer. The little heifer had somehow wedged her head in between the crook of a tree where two nine inch trunks met. She was caught and she knew it as she hardly fought her situation.

I tried to lift her head higher to a spot where the trunks became further apart but it wasn’t enough to release her. I considered a chainsaw but that would cause her to thrash about and she could get cut. There was no answer her but labor; brutal, hard hand labor. I struck out for the garage to get a hand saw. I keep about three of those little camp saws around for trimming the trees so I knew I could cut the tree. I sat on my rear and slowly began cutting just under the heifers neck. Cattle know when you are there to help them and she settled down and let me work. The rest of the cattle formed a circle around us so I kept a stick near me in case someone stumbled into the scene.

The first saw broke at the blade, almost right away. I headed back to the yard for another, it was the first of seven round trips I made that afternoon. The second saw broke at the handle after about fifteen minutes. I used it anyway, until the spring sap made it too gummy to saw which caused me to change positions. I felt my biceps balloon and my left elbow ache as I pursued the heifers release.

There came a time of diminishing rewards as a result of my efforts with the saw. I could have pulled the tree down with a tractor but I didn’t have enough chain to thread it through the other trees to open space. I had already decided against a chain saw. I came upon a new plan. First I used what was left of my saw to scrape the bark from the inside of each trunk to get a little extra space for her head. Then I headed back (again) to the garage for my handyman jack. The handyman is a mixed blessing as it can either do tremendous things or open a door than leads the uncautious to injury. I positioned the jack above the heifer in between the two trunks and carefully pumped the handle once. It caught on the both trunks and moved them a little. I believe you can lift about four or five thousand pounds with a handyman and by pump number three it was getting tough. I was worried that the base would lose contact with the trunk and smack me in my head. I watched the lynch pin carefully as I made the final pump. Controlled strength is difficult and I slowly eased the handle until the pin fell into place, safely-perhaps.

The heifer lifted her head and was free. She hadn’t been caught too long as she wasn’t stiff or drooling from lack of water. She reminded of a cat who’s been caught doing something stupid: she had that look like “what, I meant to do that.”

In the end it all worked out. The heifer was free and uninjured, I got a little extra work-out which made Tuesday night’s beer that much better and the tree got a little payback. I love a happy ending.

 

 

(my radio program will be up in just a bit at www.ruralreflections.net