Gardening Already?

 There have been milestones noted. Yesterday morning's rain finally erased the mound of snow and ice left by plows and shovels north of the house. Frozen lakes have gone from a few inches open water to several yards of it along lake edges, decorated by Canada geese and trumpeter swans already paired off. Temperatures bounce between chilly and warm enough to be outside for a bit, and brown lawns are allowing peeks of green and promise. The piles of rabbit droppings are not counted as spring since they were there on the snow most of the winter. Oddly, those piles were in the same locations the winter before.

I knew it was time to check the unseen garden, meaning the one on the south (back) side where sun gets the longest play, and where last fall culminated in a heavy planting of early spring bulbs, followed by rows of hardware cloth topped with rocks and boards to keep hungry pests mostly out. If the bulbs were sprouting already, I'd better scramble. Of course, if I was removing the critter barriers, I better also bait and set out a live trap.

Dressed for a cool spring day, I turned the corner of the house, and... OOPS! Everything for spring was not only sprouting leaves but also pushing buds through the holes in the mesh. After pulling the long lumber strips off and removing a few spare rocks assisting in keeping everything in place, it was time to gingerly lift off the hardware cloth. I didn't plant all those bulbs just to rip the tops off in my hurry. Once those were successfully relocated, the hardware cloth was rolled up and... 

Oh, you thought I was going to say they got put back in the shed, didn't you? Have you met me? No, they are on the ground next to the shed waiting for more time in my schedule. I did all that work in a few spare moments before heading off to my PT appointment, figuring I'd be too achey afterwards to even consider doing any yard work. I've firmly put on my to-do-later list digging out 2 of the three rhubarb plants to send to their new owner, and by doing later I do mean by my son, of course. He'll have to tote the bags of topsoil I'll need to bring the level back up for moving more plants in over the summer. I've decided the iris will be getting relocated to their own bed... sort of. One remaining rhubarb plant will have to learn to share, that's all there is to it.

Besides there was one more little thing that desperately needed doing before I left, hopefully to distract what's left of the local population of squirrels and rabbits from the garden: I baited and set one of the live traps off to the side of the emerging flower bed. I'm sure the dropping off place I used last year is open to more arrivals this spring. If this afternoon is nice enough I'll clean out the other trap of the wads of last summer's grass clippings that somehow crawled inside it over the winter before bringing it into the house to be baited and set it out as well.

Then I have to find some time outside to spray paint some cardboard white so a friend can make her own sign for No Kings on Saturday. It needs to be dry before she can write on it, and the writing needs to be dry before it goes in the car with the rest of the stuff we're taking over. We're not marching, just sitting holding signs, me in a folding chair, she on her walker. There'll be enough walking from parking to the small town park. And I'll be toting a warm blanket as well. I remember having to leave early last fall due to a cold breeze. If we sit close I can share the blanket.

Some Silly Things Can Change Your Life

It has become a standing joke in our house. Not a hilarious one, but guaranteed to bring smiles. It started back on our honeymoon trip, when we drove down to Sun City to see and hopefully buy a house I'd found online. Our plan was to become snowbirds if we found the right one at the right price, which of course happened.

On the trip, we were in Albuquerque for one night, and heading down the hill the next morning to pick up interstate 25 for a southern leg to a wildlife refuge,  Bosque del Apache, before heading west again. I was busy noticing the bridge sides painted a lovely shade of turquoise while Steve was busy noticing what was traveling on the road we'd be going on: a caravan of identical black SUVs in close formation, 8 in all, lights flashing "clear the road!" as they sped south and quickly out of sight. They weren't marked police or highway patrol, so we identified them as FBI, and entertained ourselves briefly speculating what might be going on. Big drug bust? Another Ruby ridge? Illegal immigration problem? We never had a hint, never saw them again. Or at least could never tell if the ones we saw were the same or different. The plain solid black and close formation might as well be a uniform. It has never again been as many at one time, however.

However, now whether on the road or on the TV, whenever we see a parade of unmarked black SUVs, whether it's only three or some larger number, we both smile, look at each other, and crow "FBI!"And after congratulating ourselves on presumably identifying their origin we also smile at the memory of that moment in Albuquerque on our trip... as well as all the good memories we've collected since.

Fallen Giant

 My state park sticker from last year still has a month or so on it, so I popped into the state park just south of Taylors Falls both Saturday and Sunday. Saturday's photos were full of cars, people enjoying rare warmth, and super-contrast subjects. Not being what I wanted, most photos got trashed once viewed on my laptop. So I went back the next day, much colder, very cloudy, and thus empty of visitors early in the morning, the light offering much better photos. The one exception to that was green lichens on tree bark which refused to show up green, even with encouragement in editing. However details were sharp and clear, and subtleties in shading showed what I was shooting rather than lumps of black and tan.

A single tree had fallen over the winter. The base was clearly hollowed out, and the standing part was itself in two stacked chambers, with recently live wood and rotten wood pieces scattered around its base.

 

 Branches lay scattered behind it, while its enormous top lay in branching pieces nearly all the way to the top of the river bank.

Almost everywhere you looked the formerly healthy wood bore huge sharp splinters, pointing in all directions as if to guard the remainder of the tree from any further mischief.

Formerly spreading large limbs broke and compacted as they tumbled to the ground with all the force of the weight of the giant and the winds toppling it to the ground.

It had managed to avoid its neighbors as it yielded to gravity, but continued breaking with each additional impact of piece after piece after piece.

Finally all that was left dropped into a jumble of tangled pieces, ready to trip the unwary or poke the foolish.

For those who could appreciate it, now at eye level were the patterns in the bark, formerly out of reach, and only now disturbed enough to reveal the colors beneath beneath the outer layer.

This tiny section of an otherwise bad photo at least picked up the colors of moss and lichens from Saturday's excursion. I have no idea why all was blurred in most of them, or why the camera wouldn't pick up pale or olive greens in cloudy weather, But I'll happily swap the white bark from that day for the soft grey in the shade, just for proof it was there.
 

As warmer weather becomes dependable,  the sound of chainsaws and wood chippers will fill the park. The pieces will rightly be considered a hazard, and removed from a high traffic area. Some will become firewood for campgrounds, other small pieces scattered through the forest away from paths to nourish  current and future growth.

Soon enough the bushes lining the riverbank will leaf out and the biggest attraction will return to being watching the paddle wheelers head down river and return with their next load of tourists while others count their money to decide if they can ride the next one. No one will notice whatever scar remains to claim a fallen giant once dwelt here while they pick out their picnic tables and fishing spots. A few will hike the paths to look for trilliums, jacks-in-the-pulpits, and other protected treasures along the way, dip their toes - or more - in the flat calm of the river's edge, whether to swim or board a canoe to paddle downstream, or even hike under the highway to climb the cliff behind to the old railroad bed and hike into town.

Spring! Kind Of

Back on March 6, I visited a favorite spot along the St. Croix River, checking to see if there were signs of spring showing yet,  It's been a cold and very snowy winter, and a melt reliably gets followed by more snow, more melt, with temperatures which can't decide from one day to the next whether to be warm or cold again. My most recent blog showed a somewhat buried car from snow. I'm delighted to inform you that it's no longer buried and has been back on the road running necessary errands.

Yesterday one of those necessary errands involved taking the camera, new battery included, back to the river I visited weeks ago. There have been changes.

Where before solid ice covered the backwater part of it from bank to bank, now the near edge has melted enough to produce reflections.

Some of last year's grass along the bank managed to survive the heaping layers of snow well enough to still stand erect, while its neighbors matted up, waiting for enough steady warmth to sprout again.

Ice still extends most of the way across. In rare spots it still bears weight enough for the foolish attempting fishing to walk out and drill holes. In other spots it locks fallen branches in position, waiting to see if enough water rushes through to lift and scoot them downstream.

 The view downstream on the backwater side seems to show very little progress in melting...

until it joins with the main channel, which is ice free from bank to bank, except for the occasional floating chunk still riding the current until finally melting without trace on its journey to join the Mississippi and eventually the Gulf of Mexico.

Some of what it passes will likely remain close to shore, like the remains of a dead bush or tree, waterlogged and weighted down, waiting to snag miscast fishing lines and hang onto them until eventual rot and high currents have their way sending it out of sight.

Meanwhile Out In Our Driveway

Yep, the radar and reality finally caught up to each other last night, and kept snowing and blowing till morning. There are even patches of blue starting to peek through the clouds.  But don't expect us to go anywhere until Thursday, and only for a medical appointment, possibly a bit of shopping and a couple prescriptions. All that only after we get a bit of snow cleared, as we've arranged for.  Why, you ask? Do you want the thousand word version, or just a quick look?

By the way, that little post with the red top is so we know not to park on the lawn. It also helps us get in far enough that the plow misses us when it scrapes by, like it did 4 times this morning around 4AM or so, in pitch dark, no streetlights, only its own and the driver's judgment to guide it.

Where Weather Radar Is Wrong

 The big array of weather satellite dishes is way out on the southwest corner of the Twin City metro area, in an outer tier suburb called Chanhassen.  We live around fifty miles out of Minneapolis in the diagonally opposite direction. It depends on whether you drive and which roads, or manage to fly like a crow, and which part of Minneapolis you are referring to for exact mileage.

I've lived in this general area since the early 90s. In all that time, we learned to recognize one thing as a standing joke: where the precipitation was actually falling versus what showed on any radar map. A huge front had a decent chance of being correct. Showers and leading edges, not so much. The detailed maps have all kinds of landmarks showing through the color overlay by which you can place your location in relation to rainfall or snow. It might be roads, rivers, or lakes, or even the squiggles in the state border, since there are no straight lines in our part of it.We know exactly where we are on the maps.

If we happen to be online and wish to check, the first step is to pull up whichever is the favorite radar provider. All the ones we've found and bookmarked allow us to zoom in or out, and move in any direction, depending on how big or small a segment of the map we wish to view. If we're planning to go some place, a quick view of the weather there before we leave can be informative. Do I need an umbrella for the store? It we're looking for the forecast via the TV news, a bigger idea of what's happening is likely better. We use both.

Nearly 90% of the time, radar shows snow or rain falling where we live, whichever part of the area we've been in over the years.  It can be as specific as raining on our street. We get that much detail.  But if we haven't heard it on the roof, we're not surprised. It's a quick few steps to whichever window or door to check. Over half the time our yard and street are dry as the proverbial bone. We often watch on radar the storm roll through and over us, and laugh because it's just not here. 

Now we're well versed in what virga is. It's common enough, and often fun to photograph. I wonder many times how much of what radar claims to see is just that, rain in the clouds that never reaches the  ground. But when it's a thunderstorm booming outside us, and radar says it's been dumping on us for ten minutes but hasn't actually made it here yet, we have to wonder just who calibrated those big dishes down in Chanhassen. Is there too much earth curvature? Do they care?

The big systems do get here. Rain does dump. Snow packs in all the corners. It's not that we don't get the weather in real precipitation. But today is a big case in point.

We've been readying ourselves for several days for a huge winter system starting today and ending tomorrow night. The metro is announcing where cars needing to park on streets can instead park free in other lots or ramps for the duration, in order for plows to clear the streets of a likely foot of snow. They never do that! But they don't want to complicate everybody's lives by getting their cars towed, and have to come back after paying large fines only to find poorly cleared streets from all the cars left on them. They want the plows able to do the job. Four inches, maybe not so critical. But a foot of snow? They're talking plowing twice. So far they haven't mentioned needing clear streets for St. Patrick's Day, but I'm sure it's on their minds for the usual parade.

We don't have that issue here, all places having parking off the streets, year round, required. We have contacted our shoveling person about our needing to be dug out, but not till Monday or Tuesday, since we're not going anywhere. The pantry is very well supplied, as planed from the day we moved in, and no medical appointments until late in the week. We're good sitting tight.

So it has been mostly curiosity plus entertainment through the day to compare the view through our windows with the radar version of where it was snowing. Radar had it snowing here and for miles around, four hours before the first flake was visible.

Of course it did!

The Lost Is Found

 One advantage of our large double-wide is we have plenty of room for having family over on holidays. Last fall it was Thanksgiving, but with most of the extended family having other family of their own to celebrate with on the actual holiday, we hosted on Saturday.

It snowed, about 5 inches. One of our guests, a friend of a family member,  discovered on her way out the door, that an earlier walk for the two down to enjoy the lake before dinner had resulted somehow in the loss of her car keys. A hunt ensued, both indoors and outdoors, with no results. Wherever they had fallen, more snow had obliterated all signs.

We all know that keys are replaceable, though with whatever inconvenience. On a snowy Saturday evening it involved breaking into the vehicle to get a house key left inside (lucky break), a ride to another town to her house where spare keys sat, and a return to our place to finally make a late night drive home. That was the plan anyway. It turned out breaking into the car caught a neighbor's attention, who then called the police to check out what was going on. That happened to be a good thing, once the ID matched the car ownership records, since all previous tries at breaking in had failed at that point. We had started preparing for an overnight guest, hoping for new ideas in the morning. Once the police verified ownership, they had the proper tool to open the door, and the plan proceeded. A ride was provided to the owner's home to pick up the other car keys, then back here to get the car and head home.

It could have been that simple, mission accomplished, just a new need to replace a second set of keys so there were still spares. The hitch was it wasn't just keys on that ring. A very special medallion hung on the big ring. It was an award her father had earned shortly before he'd died. It was also, due to many circumstances, the only memento left of him our guest still possessed. It was the true loss of the day, not replaceable.

This of course was a winter where more and more snow fell, plows piled up icy heaps on both sides of the street, and every melt simply made another ice layer between more snowfalls. Even later when multiple warm days began to melt snow away on one side of the street getting sun, the other side was shaded by homes and still hasn't completely cleared. Not knowing where the keys had fallen, nor paying that much attention to which side of the street they had walked down... or back... we had no idea where to look. If it was on one side, the plow would have pushed snow downhill, along the sunnier side, but almost into the lake, an area covered by lots of lumpy softball sized rocks that keys could hide under. If the other side, it would have been pushed uphill, perhaps even out to the county road. It was the side still piled high from home to street for every location. Plans were made to get a metal detector and make a try locating them that way, but weather and everything else that could interfere with those plans happened. A note on the community billboard in the mailroom got removed before producing results.

Patience warred with discouragement over the months. We'd start to see patches of dead grass but only briefly between snowfalls. Resignation started to settle in. Hope for a lost last treasure was being let go.

 A few days ago I walked in to the community mail area and glanced at the bulletin board. High enough to be a challenge for me to reach, hanging on a map tack, was a key ring. THE KEY RING! I pocketed it, grabbed our mail, and once home made a phone call with the good news. When relevant vehicles were having issues, including the rise in gas prices, I made arrangements to take the key ring and hang it on the appropriate door inside a bag. My schedule didn't match their owner's but phone calls were exchanged to be positive of the exact address and the security of the specific drop off point, verified a couple hours later learning they had been picked up. I'm told she just kept holding on to it for a long time.

Now all that remains is a note on the bulletin board thanking the anonymous person hanging the keys and letting them know both it was important and they had reached their owner. I have it on good authority there is a map tack available there.