The Winter of Deep Mud

Though this might appear to be complaining, it is mere observation. I do not want to be caught complaining about something as simple as mud when Colorado suffered over 300 avalanches this winter - when California was on fire last fall - when people are suffering snowfall measured in feet not inches. Let me just say I will be profoundly more appreciative when the soil between my door and the barn has solidified back into firm dirt. I must lace my work boots extra tightly to prevent them from being sucked off my feet when I wade through the deep mud on the way to the barn. And my poor horses! Wally is one big mud pie. He gets mud on his face and in his ears! Ginger gets muddy but never as messy as Wally. Their hooves have cut into the soil in the new corral and most likely the big blue stem will not come back in the worst of it. Weeds - cockle burrs and stinging nettles - will be likely all that grows if spring ever arrives this year. Again, I am not complaining. The water tank is a mere 75 feet from the faucet now and I can quickly drain the water out of the hose after filling the tank. I only had to chop ice a few times this winter before the tank was moved close enough to electricity to use a tank heater. The horses have fresh water 24 hours a day!

The beautiful wood floor in my house is covered in muddy dog paw prints from Miss Mattie coming and going and from my own shoes and boots - though I have tried mightily to limit the import of mud into the house. Every rug is filthy but no sense in hauling them to the laundromat before the world dries up. Still not complaining! I will simply be exceedingly grateful when there is grass once again covering all the mud holes around the house.

A lot of rain is forecast beginning Tuesday afternoon. As saturated as the soil is, the creek could easily flood. Though I built the house on a high point, the water could come around the house and possibly get into the crawl space, maybe even into the garage. That seems unlikely, but the strange violence and unpredictability of the weather now makes it seem far more possible. If the creek escapes the banks, it can quite easily flood the old garage, including the pit of despair where the whangdoodles reside - the portal to hell I reluctantly enter in order to plug in the space heater when temperatures fall below 10 degrees. (Okay, I am straight up complaining about the portal to hell.)

It has been a long winter, cold and frozen and muddy and dreary. Not the worst winter but I have had my fill of deep mud though there is likely another two months of it on tap. Still, mud is better than a ten day electrical outage caused by an ice storm. Mud is better than 8" of snow that stranded me for three days. Mud is better than tornadoes. Mud is a million times better than drought! There are a million things worse than mud but right now, I can only think of a few.

Just to be clear:  still not complaining...

Beneath all this pristine white is a bottomless pit of mud...

Valentine Day Memories

Remember what a big deal valentine day was in school? Someone's mother always sent sugar cookies... oh my gosh, those were delicious cookies! Everyone decorated a box or an envelope or a little paper bag so all the classmates could give valentines to one another. There was a list of all the children in the class so no one was left out.

My first valentine day was first grade, the country school so small there was no kindergarten. First through eighth grades, two teachers, one of whom doubled as the principal. We were to make our own "baskets" at home so two sheets of beautiful red construction paper was sent with me after school. My mother "helped" me. She actually did all the work, carefully drawing a perfect heart shape and cutting them evenly, using almost the whole of each sheet. Then she made a series of even slits around the outside of the heart and wove a beautiful white ribbon through to hold the sides together. The ribbon was tied into an artful bow at the top and my valentine holder was complete. It was beautiful! I could not wait to take it to school the next day.

Our teacher fastened each creation on a cord in the classroom, hung low enough that first graders could reach to place our valentines in them later. Mine was far and away the most perfect heart, the largest, the most beautiful creation hanging on that cord! Every other project was either made by a classmate or their mother was no more artistic than they were! The other baskets were lopsided, clumsily cut out and sloppily pasted together. The lettering was childish and smudged or illegible. My mother's creation alone was perfect. Pristine. Red and white. So beautiful with the graceful bow of white ribbon. I was absolutely certain that mine would be chosen as the best one. When it did not win, I was crushed for my mother! How dare they not choose her spectacular artwork, so obviously better than every other one! I felt so bad about it that I did not want to tell her. I was so concerned for her feelings! Now I suppose the reason it was not chosen as the best one was because clearly I did not make it or decorate it or really have anything to do with it. But I was still so proud of it.

Remember those packages of valentines your mother would buy for you every year? I would sit at the kitchen table with my brother, going through every single valentine in that package to find the absolute perfect one for each classmate. If I did not like someone, that person got the valentine with the skunk on it. When I got the skunk valentine from someone else, I knew exactly what was going on! Sometimes the valentine itself was so stupid that I did not want to give it to anyone but in order to have a valentine for everyone I would have to use it. I would give that stupid valentine to the kid I liked the least. It was a really big deal to me to get the right valentine matched with the right kid as far as how well I liked or disliked someone! So, for people who know me now, who know I am an opinionated asshole, trust me, I was born this way. It is simply in my DNA.

Valentine's day became a lot more complicated when I began to like boys in earnest. The complications persisted through serious boyfriends and even husbands. I have been free from the tyranny of this awful holiday for many years now. I do not have to choose the perfect valentine for each friend and thank God for that. I do not have to pretend to like some guy's idea of what the perfect valentine gift is. Honestly, the best valentine and Mother's Day gifts I ever received were chrome parts for my Harley! Now THAT was the way to my heart!

For all the people who are suffering through the surprises and disappointments of this celebrated, expensive day of "love", best of luck to you. I am out!

Of Course...

I am assuming this is from the Hubble website, though I have not taken the time to verify it.

If I have ever run across the term "solar noon", I surely do not recall it. It refers to the moment the sun's apparent position in the sky crosses an imaginary line of longitude locally, which is not necessarily noon on local clocks. I had simply never thought about it but of course it would be relative. I continued to read and discovered that the earth's spin itself is not precisely constant due to the shape of the earth's orbit, which also is not precise and constant. Humans have normalized the year, the day, noon and even time itself. That started me thinking again about the nature of numbers. We evolved numbers when we settled into agrarian societies so we could equitably exchange our goods. Taxing the population boosted the evolution of numbers and arithmetic. Numbers prove various geometries and physics in reality and in theory. Numbers provided Einstein a language to express and to prove the theory of relativity. Now we have evolved numbers all the way into quantum theories of fantastical and amazing possibilities. What is it about numbers that they can accurately express features of reality? How do numbers allow us to plumb the depth of physical reality?

Numbers must be the "language" of physical reality. We use them to measure speed, motion, distance, time, weight, light, gravity in the physical and use them to calculate possibilities - kinetic energy, rate of growth of all manner of things, rates of decay and decline. These are things that have not happened yet but we can use numbers to accurately determine what will happen in the future, or what is most likely to happen. And, as a species, we are so damned good at numbers that we can launch a spacecraft from earth, hurtling through space full of imperfect orbits and imperfect rates of travel and accurately land that spacecraft on a tiny asteroid also hurtling through space, also likely not traveling at a perfectly constant speed. If you honestly think about this for a few minutes, it is unbelievable - or highly improbable - and goddamned amazing.

What is the true nature of numbers? I have been thinking on this for a long time. It is a zen puzzle. What do numbers tell me about the nature of reality? I can follow the idea of numbers as far as simple equivalencies, that is, one sheep = one finger on the shepherd's hand. I can theoretically understand how numbers can represent massive, complex physical forces such as a nuclear explosion or a black hole. What I cannot grasp is HOW numbers allow us to know these things or WHY numbers can be extrapolated into quantum theories. That is a very, very long way from a shepherd keeping track of his flock!

The next question is what is the nature of our human consciousness that we can even entertain these theories and ideas in the first place? Did we invent numbers so we could understand the physical universe, or did we evolve to the point of recognizing numbers as the formulas of physical reality?

From there I fall into the rabbit hole of relativity - and I do not mean Einstein's theory (proven in our lifetime thanks to astrophysics.) I mean mundane things like putting on my necklace. The pendant is hanging on a chain that forms a circle which theoretically-speaking has no beginning or end. It seems illogical then that the pendant will always face outward no matter how I place it over my head. If I open the circle and put the pendant on "backwards", then it will always face inward regardless of where it hangs relative to my neck. It is not rocket science and I know how to make sure the pendant always faces outward. What kills me is that while I cannot turn the circle of the necklace inside out or put it on backward, the pendant still maintains it relative position to the theoretical center of the circle. It is the same necklace even if I take it off, lay it in a straight line and pull the ends together in a different direction. Whether I put the pendant on the chain face up or face down dictates whether it faces outward or inward relative to my body and relative to the theoretical center of the circle EXCEPT if I take gravity out of the equation. So, what is the relative moment here? What precisely determines whether my necklace hangs correctly or incorrectly? Gravity? Whether I am standing on my head or standing on my feet. Easy to say it is when I slide the pendant on face up and forget about gravity. But then I think about the fact that the pendant itself spins in a circle around the axis of the chain, forward and backward, as well as along the length of the chain now an infinite circle. It seems counter intuitive to me!

I think perhaps this is how multiple universes can be nested together in the same space. If I entered a universe consisting of the infinite circle with the pendant facing outward relative to the theoretical center of the circle and with a constant force pulling the pendant downwards, nothing different could ever happen, no matter what. The pendant would always face away from the center when constant gravity pulls it . To change it, either the constant force of gravity could be suspended or made opposite, or the circle would have to be broken apart, the pendant turned 180 degrees relative to the line and the circle reformed and then a universe with the pendant facing inward exists. Or maybe there are multiple pendants on the chain, some facing inward and some facing outward, some with a constant force causing them to hang up or down, depending. Though they travel the same circle, they are not aware of the fundamental differences of neighboring pendants. Maybe they are even theoretically aware of other pendants but everything is backward or opposite and so cannot be seen, only theorized.

And sometimes I even go further down the rabbit hole in this thinking, wondering about the relative force of gravity pulling something up or down (or in any direction). What markers would indicate a direction? In this case, it is the pendant relative to the theoretical center of the circle. Without the pendant, it would not matter and likely no one in that universe would notice. If the pendant was identical on both sides it would not matter and no one would notice.

This is why understanding "relativity" is such a monumental achievement, in my small necklace-wearing mind...

Winter!

Rare photos of a brutal ceremony to end winter.  

Oh, it is cold today at ye olde farmstead! Due to an unfortunate juncture of genes (knees) and a dismaying lack of will power (steak and gravy) and age (old) I have one speed when tending the horses: 1 CCTf. That is, 1 Chore Completion Timeframe. On a brutally cold day like today, with the wind blowing down the long slope to the north, I operate at maximum locomotive rate but even Jake gets tired of waiting for me. That rate is only minimally faster than normal - probably need an atomic clock to discern the difference. I dread going out but it has to be done. Once there, it is not so bad. It is invigorating, but that brutal wind takes my breath away. It is so cold that Ginger does not even pace or paw the ground in impatience. Trust me, that is cold.

I have insulated work boots and a pair of hunters socks I got at the farm store a few days ago. My work gloves were left at the barn when Ginger was ailing and only one glove was found, full of horse manure and mud. (Even gloves have a lifespan.) The new leather gloves dye my hands Caterpillar yellow. (Come on, China! Just try!) The piece de resistance is the Carhart ball cap with ear flaps. It is insulated. I look sooooooooo stupid, but I have to say, those hats are magnificently utilitarian! The bill keeps the sun out of my eyes. The flaps holds my hair over my ears and they do not freeze. When I take it off, my hair is not full of electricity. I have tried stocking caps and scarves over the years, but this hat is perfect. It is easy on, easy off. I just look as dumb as box of rocks. Animals are not given to making fun of human beings, so it all works out.

The new corral is great! The grain buckets are on the new fence, so I pour their grain first. That gives me plenty of time to get up the hill without horses jostling me, or Wally getting too close to Ginger causing a minor horse quarrel with me in the middle. By the time they are ready for hay, it is all served up south of the hay stack, mostly out of the wind. The very best part is that finally, after all of these years, there is a tank heater for their water. I do not have to chop ice every single day, twice a day. They have liquid water to drink 24 hours! I am sure I will swoon when I see the electricity bill but it will be worth every cent. I have chopped hundreds of gallons of ice out of the tanks over the years. One time I had to call my son for help because an icy snow glacier formed instead of simple ice. I could not break it apart with an axe nor a sledge. He was 26 or 27, and he had to work at it. Otherwise, I would have had to carry buckets of water up the hill. I cannot do that any more - not in cold weather. Probably not in any weather.

Even though it is difficult, I enjoy the winter for its clean, clear skies and the fresh winds. There will come a day in a few weeks when the wind will come out of the south and I will be able to smell the humidity of the warm ocean. I will know spring is on its way to Kansas then.

(Photos taken from the Chive who stole them from some other site.)

Get Pretty and John Deer and the Honorable Y Chromosome - All in One Place!

Pretty girl!  No longer ill, and definitely not paralyzed nor with a back injury!  

My beloved little red mare on her feet and beautiful as ever! I am thankful she is well again. You cannot imagine how much I would miss her bossy attitude and her demanding ways. She simply will not brook any foolishness. I wish I could ride her - wish I was supple and strong and physically confident the way I once was. She would have been a perfect horse for me. I am simply glad to have her now. Maybe she was a queen in a former life and reincarnated as a horse that would have to tote humans around to balance her karma. Instead, she is queen once again. All she has to do is eat, sleep and boss Wally and me around. Good work, if you can get it.

John Deere Gate!  Niiiiice!

Of course I wanted a real farm. I wanted to recreate that time in my life when my mother and father were alive, when they were young and busy with life. I wanted to have a barn with a hay mow, and horses, just like when my grandparents were alive and happy and busy tending to the work at hand. Life was once yellow and golden, slow and sweet, surrounded by a large family I loved and who loved me in return. I was safe and cared for and looked after. Those times were torn asunder when my father died and from that day forward, it was one enormous loss after another, in some manner or fashion. And then I was responsible - for everything. For raising my children and paying taxes and buying tires and going to work and dealing with all the responsibilities of adulthood. Instead of cousins, my kids had day care. We did not live five miles from their grandparents. They never went fishing with their grandfathers. I took them fishing but it was not the same. So... I grew up, bought some land and got the horses and the tall grass and a goddamned set of John Deere gates! Close enough.

Look at this!  Notice that there is a stack of missing junk - a missing big pile of huge logs - a missing assortment of limbs and other detritus - and missing trash cans?  More man power happened!

I have often extolled the virtue of the mighty Y chromosome. It is what causes men to grow into handsome humans of the male gender. They do amazing things that womenfolk swoon over, like saw big trees into firewood. Build fences. Own and operate expensive machinery that tames the wild prairie. They heal big animals and small. They build houses and barns and posses amazing knowledge of furnaces and electric switches and car engines. And the best thing of all, if they can not fix something with their intellect, they are strong enough to "manhandle" a beast or machine or a problem into submission! So... yes, beginning with B cleaning out the old garage with 18 years of junk and in it - with my son and my good friend K hauling a ton of junk off - it ended with the fence guy coming back to saw downed limbs and carry them to a huge burn pile and cleaning up the last of the trash. I like looking out the front window again! Of course, NOW all I can see is the work still needed on the old garage building. It needs a new garage door installed and a new door on the north end. It needs new boards under the roof replaced, too. It will require a LOT more Y Chromosome!

I Guess I Belong Here Now

Duke the Good Dog and King the Stray (who murdered my cat and tore up my son's 1987 Cadillac in a fit of blood rage)
Front porch of the old house.

In April 2019, I will have been a twenty-year resident of the Newbury Township in Wabaunsee County, Kansas. It is the longest I have ever lived in one place in my life. Five years was the longest stretch of time before, and usually it was far less. I had some initial doubt of the wisdom to move here. I bought the place on an impulse because it felt right in my heart. When there was no turning back, my brain begin to offer up second thoughts. I left behind a wonderful old two story house just a few blocks from my office. I moved into a small two-bedroom double-wide set on a foundation with a "real" roof. I was taking my son away from his friends in Topeka, most of whom he had known since day care. I was now committed to about a 56 mile round trip commute to work in all weather. Maybe it was a bad idea. My son certainly thought so.

Soon after we moved, our neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Merl Lietz dropped by for a visit. They welcomed us to the neighborhood, invited us to attend their church, and warned us to drive far to the right up any hill. Their friendliness was a godsend. I never suffered another moment of doubt again.

I try hard not to bother my neighbors but sometimes I have to ask for help. One bitterly cold morning I was changing a flat tire and discovered the spare was flat, too. I called Mr. Lietz to ask for a ride down to the gas station so I could air up the spare but he came with an air bubble instead and helped finish changing the tire. I was only a few minutes late to work thanks to him.

When my son and I went to Hawaii for ten glorious days, Mr. Lietz fed my dog and looked in on my cat. (Boy, those were the good old days - before chickens and horses!) When my son wrecked his car on our road, it was Mr. Lietz who called me to say everyone was safe. He diplomatically suggested calling a tow truck right away. The car was in a dangerous spot for anyone coming over the hill. When I came to collect my son and his friend, Mr. Lietz asked if I needed a hug, and you know what? I did need a hug.

Mr. Lietz owns a construction company with caterpillars and road graders and earth movers. He kept our township road clear of snow and terrible ruts in wet weather. He graded the snow from my drive without being asked and wanted no money for it. He was shocked when I offered. "Jackie! It's what neighbors do!" He would grade my drive after he had cleared the roads, apparently on his own time. Thanks to Mr. Lietz, I only missed work one time due to snow.  After he was retired and someone else was grading the road, he called me after a particularly deep snow and asked if I was snowed in. I said I was. One of his relatives with a big tractor (who passed by feeding his cattle every day) graded the drive the next morning. He did it in five minutes. I was so thankful that Mr. Lietz remembered me! I hate to bother the men around here because they have real jobs farming and ranching - not tending data in the cube farm. I probably would have been snowed in until it all melted rather than ask for help.

Mr. Lietz has done a lot of good things in the neighborhood. The winter before I bought the place, a terrible rainfall caused the little creek to come out of the banks. When it rains hard, the creek becomes a blasting, roaring monster, sweeping away anything in the terrible currents. It picked up an eight passenger station wagon from beside the garage and carried it about a mile downstream. My son and his friends would always trek down the creek to see it. I learned just last year that Mr. Lietz was responsible for finally pulling that car out of the creek. I am sure it was polluting the creek for all those years.

Any time I needed advice on who to hire for plumbing, construction, fencing or mechanical work, I would call Mr. Lietz. His recommendations have always proven to be excellent choices. Bill's Plumbing and Heating in Paxico - excellent work for a decent price. Dan Roth, Paxico, built my barn and later my house, and replaced the roof on my garage. All work well done, reasonably priced, and finished right away! Merl Lietz himself has done site work on my property. I was not sure if he would consider clearing the site for the hay shelter enough work to bother with. He grinned and said "It's what we do!"

Merl's recommendation for a mechanic was Don William in Maple Hill. He was a great person to do business with. He was honest and did excellent work. He was tragically killed in an accident on a terribly icy night while trying to tow a car from a deep ditch on I-70. Don was like Merl, both are men who take care of their neighbors. Don made a lot of repairs on my son's car when he could have simply replaced parts much faster and more easily for him, but far more expensive for me. He was a good man. So many folks attended Mr. William's funeral that the minister remarked on it. He said it was unusual for someone of Mr. William's age to have so many folks at the funeral. He said, "This is what happens when you take care of people."

Mr. Lietz recommended Shawn Ebert from Paxico for installing the barbed wire fence around my restored pasture. Shawn has a full time job and a family so I figured it would take most of the summer to get the fence in. In an unbelievably short amount of time, Shawn had that fence in. All these years later, it is still straight and nice looking. Shawn also built the new corral and hung the John Deere gates. It looks so good! He also spent about 45 minutes under my lawn tractor, wrestling out the Kong toy that had lodged between the shroud and the mower blade, effectively stopping a 26 horsepower mower. I bought a floor jack so I could do this myself, but after seeing how hard Shawn had to work at it, there is NO WAY I could have done that myself. He saved me several hundreds of dollars and I did not have to tow the mower to Shawnee County. Shawn also set up the heater in the water tank for the horses. Who does such kind things for an old broken-down woman?

The farmer who sells hay for my horses came to check on me after the last terrible wind storm. Many big trees were down in the roads. The men in the county were out with their chainsaws clearing the roads. My hay supplier came by to make sure I had not blown away. It was comforting to know I was on someone's radar.

I have called my next-door neighbors to help load a couch into the back of my truck. The same neighbor helped push my lawn tractor when I got it high centered on the road and I simply could not push it out myself. They looked in on Mattie when I had to leave her in the big pen during a terribly hot summer day.

I called the only young man left in the entire neighborhood to help me change a tire one night not long ago. I tried to give him money but he insisted I take half of it back.

Years ago, after an ice storm, my repaired electrical generator was in the back of my truck. I backed the truck to the pole so I could use the generator. After 5 days without electricity I could not wait any longer to have heat in the house! That thing was sooooo heavy that there was no way I could possibly move it myself. I called the neighbors to the south and before long, two very strong young men showed up.

I do not know if people groan inwardly when I call to ask for help. I do not call unless I am 100% sure I can not do a thing myself. Without fail, they have come right away and cheerfully done whatever was needed. Often people do things without being asked. I am sure to have forgotten all the kind things people have done for me over 20 years. I try not bother other people but sometimes I do need a little help. I guess I have been here long enough that I am a genuine part of the neighborhood. It absolutely feels like home.

Miss Mattie on the new front porch, still a puppy.

Thinking About the New Corral

When I first purchased the adjoining 20 acres, just east of the original 6 acres and house, it was farmed land. Farming occurred on a small portion of the 6 acres, too. The land was mostly planted to milo. It is customary to give the farmer a year's notice if you do not intend for him to farm the land any longer, so I did. He prepared the land for a last crop by spraying all of the broken ground with herbicides prior to planting. Those herbicides are effective. Not a twig grew in that soil after it was sprayed. Unfortunately, the farmer became ill and was unable to plant that year, so that bare ground was at the mercy of at least two years of heavy rains. I helplessly watched topsoil being washed into the creek.

I signed up with the United States Department of Agriculture for aid in replanting the prairie. I ordered a mixture of native grasses and forbes and was to receive an 80% refund of all costs once the planting was accomplished. I rented the equipment needed to plant the seed from the County. I hired a farmer with a tractor. In order to get the reimbursement from the government, I had to follow their rules. I had to plant either corn or milo then leave the stalks in the ground after harvest to help stabilize the soil while the new seeds took root. Simple? Not really. And it took another two years.

Somehow, amazingly, all of the things that needed to happen occurred on time and eventually, I had a new prairie. The soil was still good in some areas, but where the soil had washed from the rocky ridges nothing much grew, not even weeds. I eagerly waited for the big bluestem to come in. It is the tall grass that gives the Flint Hills the beautiful russet color from fall to spring burn. Some of the wild flowers came up the first year, the Indian Blankets, a few sunflowers and some of the shorter grasses, but I could not find any big bluestem. It was slow going for three seasons. I was beginning to suspect that perhaps the expensive native seed mixture had been switched with a much cheaper mixture. I halfway suspected collusion between the co-op and the guy hired to drive the tractor. But on the fifth year, the big bluestem gloriously sprouted from the abused soil in a magnificent towering florescence. Though I had two horses grazing the emerging prairie, the big blue came in, almost filling the entire 20 plus acres and grew to be well over 7 feet tall!

It was what all the pastures in the Flint Hills would look like if they did not have cattle grazing them. It was why an old friend of mine made fun of me, not believing the bluestem was taller than the roof of my truck. He had never seen tall grass allowed to grow to maturity. Once, all of this area was a sea of tall grass, and reported by the first immigrant eye witnesses as grass taller than a man on horseback. I was ecstatic to see the beautiful grass even though I could not see the horses in the pasture.

Annie and Ginger coming toward the barn through the first year of the Big Bluestem. (They have fly masks on.)

Since that first glorious year, the big blue has never grown that tall but it has often been taller than I am by a lot. It is grazed by the horses and possibly the weather conditions have not favored the towering growth. Some years my pasture looks very straggly and ugly but other years it looks like a prairie.

I paid to have encroaching trees removed last year, cedars and honey locust. Eastern red cedars are a terrible enemy to the prairie. They take over in a short time, entirely snuffing out all the grasses to become an impenetrable forest of cedars. They disrupt the water cycles, degrade the soil, and destroy habitat for birds and small mammals. The best way to control them is to burn the pasture each spring. The honey locust have evil thorns, even on the saplings, that can pierce leather. They are much more difficult to eradicate than the cedars. If they are cut down, they will grow back from the roots. The only way to kill them is to poison the stumps after cutting. The guy cut EVERYTHING down to the bare ground, which I was not expecting. I thought he would mow the pasture, not scalp it. There was not enough vegetation in the spring of 2018 to burn but this coming spring I should be able to burn. I have lined up some men with machines and knowledge of how to safely set the pasture on fire without burning down the entire county. If I do this every year, or at least every other year, I should not have to pay a fortune to have trees removed ever again.

Building the new house destroyed a big swath of some of the most beautiful restored prairie. It was allowed to exist undisturbed because it was never included as part of the pasture. It was the intended location of the new house. It was a beautiful little rise of almost 100% bluestem. It was the view from the old house as I sat at the computer. I hated to see it destroyed in the site work but there was no choice. A nice stand still existed between the house and the barn, left to re-establish itself as true prairie. I normally had to mow a path to the barn through it, but other than that, it was left alone. It often grew taller than me in wet years and I loved it. Every day I could walk in my own tiny restored piece of the prairie.

You can see how tall the grass grows when it is not grazed.  The big bluestem was about 6 feet tall when this was taken. You can see the trail I mowed through it to the barn.  This tall and this close to the house is a fire hazard.  You cannot imagine how this grass burns when it is this tall!

In an effort to make tending the horses easier for me in the winter, I decided to turn this last tiny parcel of restored prairie into a corral. This allowed me to move the water tank a mere 75 feet from the faucet and to have a tank heater. The horses think it is wonderful to be this close to the house. They get to keep an eye on any action, check out any visitors, and are just that much closer when they see me at the feed bins in the mornings. Ginger has been with me the longest and she actually loves me. Wally still remembers his first people, I think, so I am not too high on his list of valuable beings. He likes me, at least, and will take any opportunity to attempt to groom me. He will nibble the top of my head or take my shirt in his teeth so he can vigorously scrub his big rubbery horse lips on my shoulder or arm. This is a sure sign of affection. Ginger does the same. In all the years of this behavior from her, only once did she accidentally pinch a tiny fold of skin in her teeth. She realized it immediately but it still left a terrible bruise on my arm. It is amazing that they understand how careful they must be with a puny human being, but they know without being "trained" or taught.

Creating the corral and allowing the horses into it has maybe been a mistake.  The ground has been muddy for weeks and their hooves have deeply cut the ground.  Much of the grass will come back this spring, but where the ground is so torn up I am not sure if it will be grass or weeds.  I guess it is a small price to pay to better manage the water tank and to have horses so close to the house now. It is really fun for me and, I think, for them. Not to mention the best thing: two brand new, bright green John Deere gates! Almost like a real farm.

Not a good photo of one of the new gates but you get the idea!

Established bluestem just down the road.