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Hugo remains a cuddly kitten. |
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Guido does not trust people much. |
In the week following the goat show, our kids drove to California. Lisa started
releasing test balloons in the spring about wanting to go on a "road
trip". Sid and I proposed various spots that we could visit — but it
became obvious that Lisa did not picture spending her vacation in the company
of boring geezers.
Thus she figured that she would attend to a graduation ceremony of her
California friend Lucy — but her idea of driving twelve hundred miles on
her own did not sit well with us. Eventually Lisa hooked Tom as a compromise
between driving alone or with one or both parents. Tom's participation also
solved the problem with Lisa still being a minor — to be able to book
a room and stay at a hotel.
I don't think I need to explain to anybody how much nerves and sleep it all cost
me. On the other hand — I understand the desire for self-reliance, and for
a vacation. Tom has completed his freshman year at the University with all A's,
he certainly wasn't slacking. Lisa graduated from high school and received
a university scholarship — while, for the last two years, worked three
days of a week at a veterinary clinic. We considered it a good mental hygiene
to give them a few days to take it easy. I won't keep you suspended, they did
return all right — with 2,700 added to the odometer. They visited
the ocean, redwoods, even the graduation ceremony — and in the end,
with a group of California friends, an amusement park.
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We have to adjust our trips to weather. |
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Lakes in our state park are set in a pretty landscape. |
During their absence, my chicken named Pepper began to fade. Her comb went gray,
she kept away from other chickens and suffered "diarrhea".
Since I am a hipster kind of farmer, I took the chicken to a vet —
regretting bitterly that Lisa wasn't around and I could not send the chicken
along when she goes "to work". I had to drive her there in the morning
and leave her there, until the vet would have a moment between scheduled
appointments to check our patient out. I had hoped that she would tell me that
the chicken needs de-worming. I only give them diatomaceous earth, don't de-worm
them chemically, because I find it absurd to half-poison the birds (and not to
be able to eat their eggs for two months). Unfortunately, it turned out that
Pepper had been egg-bound, and at some phase the retained egg
perforated her internal organs — what I was observing was consequence in
the form of a systemic inflammation. Thus I lost a chicken. No, she did not end
up in a soup — in principle because I would feel like a cannibal,
consuming a member of our family, but I don't tell that to our hard-core friends
— I claim to be squeamish about consuming a SICK animal. Which I am,
after all.
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Dead end. |
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Sid, too, checked out the kayak. |
After our kids came back, Lisa and I journeyed to Ashley in Colorado —
and were issued cats. In fact, since moving to our ranch in Wyoming, we have
been considering an acquisition of a barn cat. We have goats and chickens,
and consequently we warehouse hay and grains — and besides wild bunnies
and mice, a flock of sparrows moved into the goat shed in the fall. That they
eat of the feed, I don't mind as much as the fact that they burrow in the shed's
insulation and make a horrible mess. We hope that cats would keep these vermin
in check. Nature has probably witnessed an imbalance, and so I spotted a stoat
by the compost — which might be fine regarding rabbits and mice —
but what if this weasel finds fancy in our chicken coop and eggs?
For three years we had been vaguely hoping that a cat would find and adopt us
— but it did not happen. And then suddenly Ashley, our friend from
California, called whether we want Hugo and another, "Old Cat". Hugo
is a kitten who found himself in 2020 in our goat-boarding stables in
California, together with his brother. The sibling soon disappeared (we're
afraid he got eaten by a coyote or something like that) and lonely Hugo kept
wanting to play with our baby goats — Pluto, Rocket and Casper. The goats
did not have much affinity to cats' games, but we, humans, took to liking this
friendly feline. Then the mountains burned in the summer and the stables got
evacuated — and Ashley managed to grab Hugo and another, older male cat
— neither used to living inside people's homes — and evacuate them
together with her own two cats. Now, three years later, Ashley was moving to
a rental place in Colorado, which would not accommodate that many cats —
and it occured to her to ask us whether we'd take Hugo and Guido (for that's
how we named the old cat). Thus it came all nicely together.
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Parking in front of Bunkhouse. |
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Trainspotter's dream come true. |
So far the cats stay with the kids in the basement — we plan to releas
them soon outdoors. Hugo retains his friendly kitten-like nature — but
being the offspring of semi-feral cats, he's also relatively small — they
just hadn't eaten well for generations. Guido is still relatively wild, and at
the beginning he just hissed at us from some corner. Three weeks later, he lets
people touch him sometimes, but he's never going to be a cuddly cat. But he's
Hugo's companion, and we will manage — especially since we really mostly
need him to keep wild animals in check.
Should you have come to a conclusion that we had totally buried ourselves in our
ranch and property, you'd be only partially correct. We still tend to escape
from it all and run for the mountains — unlike in California, were where
we could leave practically anytime, we must now moderate our desires with
respect to weather. This year's summer storms that illuminate whole skies, have
been very picturesque — safely from behind a window pane, knowing that
your car safely parked in the garage won't be smashed by
hail.
Then we need to adjust for my shifts at work — Sid can do his work at ten
in the morning just like by eight in the evening; I must show up for specific
hours — and the situation keeps changing; I receive my shift schedule on
Saturdays, which does not favor any planning. On the other hand —
beautiful (Rocky) mountains lay about ninety minutes drive from our house
— thus we can go there on a day-trip, as soon as circumstances allow.
And I'm not elaborating on the chain of parks and national forests that covers
forty miles and elevation gain of two thousand feet along Crow Creek to its
springs.
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Lake Marie from a drone. |
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Mirror Lake. |
The recreation area closest to the city, Curt Gowdy State Park, offers —
besides a horrible campground with camper trailers and dry toilets —
beautiful hiking and biking trails, and three reservoirs. The easternmost lake
can be also reached over a dirt shortcut from the village of Gilchrist, and
hence we chose the Crystal Lake Reservoir as the best test grounds for my new
kayak. I had expressed my desire for such a vessel last summer, when I tested
one belonging to a friendly family, during Tom's farewell party with his
shooting team. It was clear I needed a kayak optimized for lakes = unsinkable,
for one cannot rescue a sunken boat from the depth of several dozen feet —
one with a keel to hold direction. For kayaking on Czech rivers we used boats
where one sat inside (and for a wilder water one needed a spray-cover), which
had no keel, and thus were much livelier and controllable.
Another problem is the length of the boat — the bed of our pickup truck
is six feet long, kayaks mostly span ten or more... I found only one that was
mere 8 feet, and would fit our truck bed with open tailgate. I will be glad to
advise anybody to refrain from upright tailgate and open rear window —
on dirt roads and in terrain, vibrations will shatter the window on the boat
sticking out. You're welcome.
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I got company. |
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Lookout Lake. |
Besides the mishap with the window, I like kayaking — it's an outdoor
sport (other than hiking — during my workshift, I cover about six miles)
and the lakes in Curt Gowdy are surrounded by pretty landscape — beautiful
rocky outcrops. Sid recorded a drone video of my first outing, which I present
as evidence. Please note that the accompanying "Hudson River Boats"
song to an old woman paddling on a pond, was his idea.
Sid made yet other
interesting videos. At the beginning of June, one of the two
remaining functional, world's largest steam engines,
UP Big Boy 4014,
embarked on a trip to an exhibition in Omaha, Nebraska — literally under
its own steam and pulling its own train. Local and out-of-town trainspotters
registered a big event, and even in a sparsely populated Wyoming, multiple tens
of enthusiasts gathered on every station along the way, despite this being a
regular workday morning.
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This balloon's name is not Nemo, but Willy. |
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Everybody's ready, but there's no flying because of fog. |
Sid usually ventures alone on his droning trips — since he then sits
somewhere with a mask on his face, ignoring his surroundings, which get boring
for a companion. Sometimes he goes on days when I'm working. On one such outing,
this time hunting mushrooms, he sprained his ankle, which took him out of
circulation for a few weeks — thus I went alone myself to check out Mirror
Lake. Its elevation (10,600 ft) sported even in mid-June lots of snow
— yet just in the phase when deep soft snowbanks alternate with naked
possibly muddy) ground — snow-shoes would not help, one would have to keep
taking them off and putting them back on. I only made it to the moraine, from
which there's a good view of Lookout Lake. There, I sat on a rock and admired my
surroundings, when I started having a feeling of being watched. And I was
— some six yards away a marmot sat on a rock, checking me out. He was not
disturbed at all when I reached for my phone and started taking pictures.
Eventually he walked around me and busied himself with something behind a large
rock in front of me — but my presence did not seem to faze him —
and eventually he climbed under that rock and came to about two yards from me.
Besides nice pictures, I had an exciting experience with a totally cool rodent.
One of my theories is that I smell so much like a goat, I did not seem dangerous
at all to him.
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Tom and Sid, ballooning. |
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Chasing ballons has its challenges — e.g. a swamp. |
Naturally, Sid's sprained ankle coincided with a cataracts surgery on his right
eye. And with ballooning weekend in Frederick, Colorado. Our end of June was
therefore rather full. On Monday Sid got up at five a.m. and drove to a pre-op
exam to Colorado. On Tuesday Sid and Tom got up at five thirty a.m. and drove
to the surgery (Tom was the driver, Lisa and I were at work). On Wednesday,
Jeanne and her Tom came visiting with their dog Chase — and stayed over
for one night till Thursday. On Friday we got up at four a.m. for the balloons.
Before we finished building it, fog rolled in and all flying was canceled.
Meanwhile I hurried home to manage to take a shower, change and be at work at
eleven a.m. On Saturday, only Tom and Sid went ballooning — I had a double
shift at work and wanted to get enough sleep before it started. They did not fly
again, this time due to wind. Sid came back home muttering about swollen ankle
and declared he'd skip Sunday's getting up. On Sunday thus only Tom and I went
ballooning — and flying was on, and we enjoyed chasing the balloon and
similar things. In the end we did not have enough strength to stay and picnic
in the park, so we went home.
I have to say that this kind of summer seems a bit stressful. Besides physically
challenging job, I still have plenty of work on our property — mostly also
physically taxing, despite delegating many chores to Tom. Seeing it from the
position of a rancher, American system of summer break spanning from mid-May
to mid-August seems very practical — it's the part of the year when it's
necessary to plow, dig, build fences, cut, sow, and plant. I'm not sure whether
I'll manage to "harvest" by mid-August — but since I planted
things with ninety-days vegetation cycle, I should. Compared to first settlers,
I also have tendencies to interact socially (re: balloons, goat show, and
visitors), and then I harbor modern ideas and needs of relaxation — like
setting out for some self-exhausting experience like kayaking or mountain
hiking.