Chopping Wood

After the Christmas gifts were opened, we went off in somewhat separate directions.  I headed to the kitchen, Kyle curled up on the couch with his computer, my dad listened to the Christmas music -- and Camille went outside with Brett to chop wood.

They hauled the log splitter into the pasture with their gloves and protective eye-wear (sunglasses). Brett gave Camille some basic instructions and they went to work.

After a while, Brett put Camille in charge.  She was in her element.

They split a lot of wood.

Brett is still recovering.

While I was at Work

It feels like forever since I have been able to enjoy the ranch.  We were out of town the last two weekends, and during the week I am gone from pre-dawn dark to night-time dark.  Last weekend, we were at my dad's house on the central coast to celebrate Thanksgiving.  It was pretty rough...

While I was at work last week, Brett was very busy.  One of the things he did was plant ten Giant Sequoia trees out by the front gate.  Not that we'll live to see them to full maturity.  Giant Sequoias can reach 350 feet in height -- and live to be 3,000 years old. 

Why, you ask, did we plant trees we won't see in all their majesty?  Partly because they are native to our area, but there aren't many left.  There is a big (famous) grove of them in Yosemite -- the Mariposa grove.  You know, the place where you could drive a car through one (before it fell).  There are a few smaller stands of these redwoods between Yosemite and Georgetown, just north of us. 

That's Camille and I standing in front of a smaller (ahem) one, a few years ago in Yosemite.

Plus, they are drop dead gorgeous trees.  They will grow two or three feet per year, after the first few years when they are busy stretching their roots into our soil and getting comfortable.  The trees grow tall before they grow wide.  So, we will get to enjoy them.

While Brett was planting the trees, some deer came onto the property.  They are always hanging around outside the gate, but they usually only venture onto the property at night when we aren't outside.  This time, they made themselves at home while Brett worked.  At first, they jumped into the pasture with Lucy and Pistol.  Lucy wasn't too thrilled about that and promptly chased the deer from one end to the other.  Pistol watched.

Later, Brett was in the house and Kersey was resting on her bed on the front deck.  Brett heard Kersey bark and looked up from what he was doing.  Kersey only barks at deer and skunks.  Then, Brett heard hooves clatter across the front porch. 

I'd say those deer are getting pretty brazen.  And, that is why we have wire cages around the trees.  I love the deer -- and they love our plants.

Summer Schedule

There isn't much to blog about in the heat of summer.

Pistol and Jackson, headed to dinner.

We are up before the sun to feed and finish barn chores before the heat of the day starts settling in -- around 7:30am.

Brett bringing in the hay cart.  Pistol has her nose in it -- they all ignore the manure cart.

During the day, we hide inside (I hide at work during the week).  Brett tosses more hay at lunch, but other than that the name of the game is trying to stay somewhat cool.

Wait for me!

In the late evening, we venture back outside to feed.

Brett always has cookies.

There isn't much else going on.

That's all?  Just one cookie?

Stupidly Happy, Tired and Sore

As Brett and I drove out the front gate this morning, on our way to the corner market so he could get mushrooms for his scrambled eggs, I looked over at Lucy, Pistol and Jackson contentedly grazing and said, "Is it stupid that I am so happy that they are back in their pasture?"

Pistol

Brett has been working on replacing the fence that came down under the weigh of the falling oak tree.  It's been slow and difficult work for him -- getting the holes dug, the posts set (perfectly straight), and the rails up -- all by himself.  He had about half of it done, including a new gate to go with the new pedestrian bridge (made from the oak tree), at the start of this week.

Thursday, his friend Marty came up to help put up the rest.  It looks awesome.

Saturday morning, I helped Brett clean up the piles of old fencing, old bent and rusty wire, and the pieces of left over wood.  It took us a couple hours to get the pasture horse ready.

And then we brought them over, out of the confines of the small arena.

Lucy and Jackson

We brought Jackson over too.  The weather is warming, and the ground is dry in most places.  I did find him, this morning, standing in the one marshy area eating away.

Jackson

The water in their water trough had turned a lovely shade of green in the three months since the tree fell and we moved the girls out.  All the gold fish had died, and the water looked disgusting.  I emptied it, throwing bucket after bucket of water over the fence since the drain doesn't work.  We refilled it with fresh water and bought some goldfish.

Lucy

I think we're set.

The Bridge

There are a number of small streams running through our property.  We live at the bottom of a small valley, that opens out to a larger valley (Pleasant Valley), that is connected to a series of valleys marching down the Sierra Nevada mountains to the Sacramento valley.  We are situated at the very back-end of our valley, with steep hillside on both sides and the back.  All of our streams meet at the front of our property, where they merge, flow under our road and continue on to join the Cosumnes River.  Which is impossible to pronounce.  (I tell myself that it rhymes with "go sum this")

The largest of the streams runs the whole length of our property, entering at the back of the Back 40 pasture, running alongside the dressage court, down past the chicken pen, my garden, the house and the next to the girls' pasture fence before going under the front fence, making a hard left, flowing under our driveway (or over it) and merging with the other streams.  Just before the stream reaches the chicken pen, it passes under a bridge that crosses over to the girls' pasture and the compost piles.  When we moved in, it was in decent shape; wide enough to drive the tractor across and sturdy.

Since then, its been steadily eroding.  Ground squirrels have been excavating the top and sides.  And, we had a bit of flooding action going on this past February.

The bridge had never been quite wide enough to drive a truck across comfortably.  After this winter, driving anything but the tractor across was flat out impossible.  And to make matters worse, there were huge holes in the top, initially dug by squirrels, but enlarged by the exceptional amount of rain we have had this winter.  It made me nervous, walking Lucy and Pistol across.  It felt like crossing a mine field.  It needed to be replaced.

Brett doesn't do a half-way job with anything.  He builds beautiful and sturdy structures.  After countless sleepless nights, where he tormented himself with different designs and calculations, he got to work.

I think its pretty dang impressive myself.

Remember the Oak that Fell?

We're finally getting to work on its removal.

Of course, all the rain has not helped speed matters along.

And then, there was the issue of the insurance company needing to make a determination on what it would cover.  I suppose it is a good thing that the tree smashed up the fence and blew up the patio Brett built around its base... property damage meant we qualified for some assistance.

Brett has a small chain saw that he uses for projects like fence building.  For his birthday, I bought him a big chainsaw -- for cutting oak trees.

The tree service sent out three guys with massive chain saws and a chipper.  The spent an entire day cutting up the tree and will come back in a week or so and spend another day.  Brett said that they had a lot of trouble cutting the trunk; their chain saws kept getting stuck.

When they finished working that first day, there was wood everywhere.

Today, Brett spent the morning loading pieces into his tractor bucket and making piles of logs around the pasture.  Eventually, he will split them and then we'll stack them for firewood.  He had to take down more of the fence so the tree guys would have access across the stream.  We moved the girls into the small arena behind the barn where they will "live" (when it isn't raining or snowing) for the next few weeks.

A Mary Poppins Day

You know: Practically Perfect in Every Way

Weather: Sunny and 60F.  SUNNY!  60F!  Patches of dry ground, even.

The Plan: Ditch all other options (wine tasting, for example) and play outside.

Breakfast: French toast and coffee

Morning activities: Brett worked on pieces of reclaimed barn wood he is going to use for the guest bathroom window frame.  I cleaned out the refrigerator in the barn -- despite being on the lowest setting, cans of root beer froze and exploded.  It looked like diarrhea... thankfully, it smelled like root beer.

Then, we rode.  I rode Lucy who was practically perfect in every way.  She was relaxed, but forward.  I remembered how to ride.  (honestly, I was worried about that)  All the years of taking lessons paid off.  As soon as my butt hit the saddle, the voices of my trainers chimed in: legs on (because she's a sensitive mare), sit up straight, Velcro those elbows to your hips...  Brett rode Pistol.  As I was trotting along feeling unimaginable joy at the fluid ease of Lucy's trot, Brett called over, "It sure feels good to be riding."  Exactly what I was thinking.  I love riding that mare; more than any other horse I've ever had, or had the pleasure to ride.

Lunch: in the garden with goldfinches flitting in the branches above my head.

Afternoon activities: we rode, again.  Brett rode Flash and I rode Tex.

They were both good as gold.  Tex was relaxed and affectionate.  He stood, ground tied, like a statue while I set the saddle on his back.  He lined himself up at the mounting block (okay four tries, but still) and stood quietly while I mounted.  We walked around for a bit.  My goal was to have him relax at the walk.  I won't work on trot until he is relaxed and supple at the walk.  He did relax and, while he struggled with bend and never got to supple, he did lift his back underneath me and carry himself in an excellent frame for brief moments.  Its a place to start.

Dinner: Brett treated me to dinner in town, at a new restaurant.  It was excellent -- Czech owners and Eastern European food -- reminded me of my Hungarian grandmother's cooking.

I don't think life gets any better than this.

When the Sun Shines

We've had a brief respite from the rain.  Clouds are moving back in, and the wet stuff will return tomorrow afternoon.  But, we had a wonderful weekend of sunshine.  All of the animals were doing this:

Brett and I did the morning chores in our heavy coats and warm hats, ate our breakfast, and then headed back outside.  By 10 am we didn't need jackets or hats anymore.  I worked in the garden and groomed the horses in a sweatshirt.  Brett finished up the chicken run reinforcement.

I think we hit 53F.

Brett's next project is rebuilding the bridge that crosses our largest stream, giving us access to the girls' pasture and the compost piles.  Brett needs to be able to get his tractor and truck over there to work on cutting up the tree that fell into the girls' pasture.  So, the bridge has become priority one.  Yesterday, he was busy buying supplies. He was telling me about his bridge plans last night -- as is typical, the bridge will be strong, sturdy and plenty large.  I'm thinking a semi will be able to rumble across when he's done.

Pistol Fought the Mud and the Mud Won

Friday night I drove up our driveway at dusk.  Brett was standing in the pasture with Pistol, in the twisted limbs of the fallen tree.  I thought, how sweet.

Then I noticed that Pistol was wearing her halter, and Brett was holding the lead line.  Odd.  I rolled down my window and Brett called over, "She's stuck and I need help."

I parked the car, walked quickly (but carefully) over the frozen porch, in the back door, dropped my computer bag, trotted up the stairs, and started to change into jeans.  I glanced out the window, and saw Pistol walking to the hay feeder, with Brett following and carrying the halter.  I slid our bedroom window open and called down to him,

"You got her out?"
"Yes.  It wasn't easy."

I switched gears, put on my sweats, and got to work on dinner.  I took a nice bottle of wine from the cellar (the closet under the stairs).  It was open when Brett stomped into the house.

Steak au poivre, roasted potatoes and a bottle of chateneauf de pape.  His mood improved.

He said that Pistol was climbing around in the tree limbs, as she often does, and sunk in the mud.  Brett found her, up to her knees in mud, and unable to back out because she was also straddling a good sized limb.  Brett somehow found the strength to lift and move the limb out of the way.  Pistol leaned back onto her haunches and took a few steps backwards.  She was able to release her front legs.

Brett wondered if he should put yellow caution tape around the tree.  We agreed it wouldn't stop her.  And I said, "Pistol is a smart horse.  She won't do that again."

Most of the mud was gone this morning, but you can see some of it still clinging to her legs.

I was wrong.  She did it again this evening.  We are going to a crab feed tonight -- I may have to drive so Brett can drink more wine.