Wednesday, July 24, 2019

I paused my Gater while traveling on my neighbor’s property upon seeing my cat, Maxwell, perched on a small pile of rocks and staring at me. While I watched, he decided to ignore me and proceeded to examine the rocks around and under his feet. He carefully peered into and sniffed at each shadowy space. The little hunter then left those rocks and crossed my Gater’s path toward another pile he apparently knew well. He again proceeded to peer and sniff. So, I thought, that’s how Max searches for small prey!

I love my cat, and dislike that he’s an expert hunter and destroyer of small creatures. During his ten years as my inside-outside cat, this property has become devoid of some critters, like chipmunks and bunnies. Down by the barn, I don’t like seeing him chase the still numerous lizards. I resist feeding wild birds, except for hanging high feeders for hummingbirds, because Max is an expert bird killer.

His purpose is to control mice in the barn area and once-upon-a-time that’s where he focused, but on maturing turned his attentions elsewhere. He hunts in surrounding fields, and when he hauls catches home, it’s often too late for me to rescue them. Max knows to avoid me. He often leaves critter remains near my house.

Not long ago, while leaving the barn, I nearly stepped on a mature lizard. On its back was a large hematoma and the creature was missing a tail. It tried to scramble out of my way, obviously in pain, disoriented, and unable to move quickly. I captured and brought it to my garage, set it into a covered terrarium, with substrate, water, food, and a heat lamp. For me, that damaged lizard became the last straw, and Max became grounded to remain housebound for the rest of summer.

To summarize, my best efforts couldn’t help the lizard survive.

As a nearly-lifelong city dweller, I’m not from an environment that might have taught me to consider little creatures as relatively unimportant. Years ago, when I lived near Kansas and its populations of meadowlarks, a scientific research effort identified the reduction in fields and near-disappearance of songbirds. That research asserted that cats were responsible for the disappearing field birds.

Keeping Max inside isn’t easy, for he’s constantly underfoot and wants to be outside. I’ll see how continuing confinement goes, but meanwhile, it’s delightful to see lizards of all sizes scampering with energy and in health. Maybe even a chipmunk or two will show up again.

Dear Friends: Call me a “silly softie”, and it’s true, I do admire creatures. Diana

Tuesday, July 23, 2019

I loaded Rosie, by herself (never easy), and took off toward local public lands where folks ride horseback and enjoy other activities. My goal was to unload this complex mare, along with her cart also on board, and to harness and drive her. Although I’ve ridden for years in on those lands, I know the narrow and pick-your-way-through trails, not the wider, hopefully softer paths. But it was time to get Rosie out and test our relationship.

This 22-year-old mare is used to getting her way. She came to me six years ago and was different from any of my (very few) previous horses. She had an attitude, tended to be pushy, considered herself a lead mare and bullied my other horse, and often seemed overwhelming to this novice owner. I recognized that if she couldn’t get away with unwanted behaviors, she could be willing and sweet. Over time, I did learn to ride her, never imagining that someday I’d be driving her.

Now, we’re driving, and all by ourselves in 10,000 acres of wild outdoors. Rosie tried to resist being loaded without another horse along, stamped and yelled into her window most of the ride, but disembarked like a lamb once we were parked. There were challenges ahead. She had to stand stock still in this strange area while I hitched the cart to her harness; she’d had to avoid being spooky and remain in control while pulling me over strange paths with little (please, “little”!) wild creatures in surrounding brush. In fact, Rosie did everything perfectly.

What’s changed isn’t Rosie, but me. Her pushiness and size over the years was intimidating. Until I started learning to drive a horse–a sport with new dangers. A driver sits 5-6 feet behind the horse, and in a wheeled vehicle while exerting control through long reins. Rosie responds quickly, is fast-moving, and still intimidating. It took a year to learn my job enough to gain courage to drive her. Early on, I didn’t realize we were working toward an eventual test-outing together. Creating a partnership forced me to ignore fears and fantasies in order to meet and outwit the real challenges. In the end, our efforts revealed Bully Rosie as a big faker. One needs to manage her.

Dear Friends: This small win for a novice horse-person, like me, feels huge. Diana

Monday, July 22, 2019

Several months ago, a NYT article caught my attention. It described scientific research on octopus, their genetics and behaviors. It explained how recognition is growing among marine scientific and aquarium-care folks of the animal’s high intelligence. Octopus is a creature about which many have known little. At a glance, an octopus is different, perhaps unappealing, and also fearsome–because of common and awful myths about its powerful eagerness to strangle and drown prey.

That’s all I knew about octopus before stumbling onto Sy Montgomery’s book (published in 2015). She made a point to learn first-hand about the species and can speak highly about octopus intelligence and behavior. She explains her own feelings and perceptions about octopus during hands-on contact and eye-to-eye interactions with them. She’s found the creatures to be physically complex, mentally perceptive, and often while interacting with humans, demonstrating appeal, fun, and aggression.

Besides the complex underwater behaviors scientists observe and document, they find that octopus in aquariums, interacting with humans, seem able to remember individuals, and also develop distinctive likes and dislikes toward individuals. They regularly spray jets of ink or water on people they dislike, dousing them accurately. On the other hand, octopus will hold, caress, and smell the limbs of people they like, and respond with pleasure to extended petting by preferred humans.

Besides being very clever escape artists, octopus can conjure up tricky ways to find food, and also, they do play–for example, by squirting through their jets to keep toys bouncing in the water. The book offers many examples of species specific and social behaviors that set these creatures as unique and wonderful.

Dear Friends: The world is incredibly more intelligent than many realize. Diana

• 

• 

Sunday, July 21, 2019

A couple of months ago, this sunflower plant appeared gratuitously on the sandy east side of my house. Beginning as two tiny leaves, probably gifted by a bird, it finally matured. Standing over five feet tall and laden with sunflowers, it’s drawn insects that pollinate, and likely, birds that love its seeds.

It’s a mighty symbol for me, a reminder of years when I resided on the Missouri side of a State Line that separated Kansas. Essentially, going physically to Kansas required crossing a dividing roadway. In America’s pre-high-tech days, Kansas was farm-like and cowboy-primitive. That began changing at the onset of the computer era which required lots of new development. In Kansas, industries found less costly and plentiful space for buildings and parking.

I moved away as Kansas began to explode, and so my memory of its side of that dividing state line is of a small town with surrounding farmlands. I’d drive along a two-lane highway passing spaced-out farms, with meadowlarks singing among tall sunflowers that grew in the constant, nearly overwhelming heat and humidity.

My Oregon sunflowers aren’t like those big Kansas sunflowers. To be sure, mine here are pleasantly nice and attractive in size. But those in my Kansas days seemed more huge. Their big smiling faces waving atop tall stalks somehow managed to wink and twink back toward an onlooker. Altogether, those Kansas sunflowers were most satisfying.

Locations and temperatures are support systems, they can redistribute and alter what lives. This fall, I’ll to go ahead and seed for sunflowers on my home’s east side but won’t expect these plants to grow into Kansas lookalikes. In all honesty, my sunflower memories start to beg questions about memory accuracy. But I wouldn’t travel back to Kansas to verify that those sunflowers still grow on tall stalks with huge faces that speak back to me.

Dear Readers: May your summer be another wonderful period of learning. Diana

• 

• 

Saturday, July 20, 2019

Yesterday, I fulfilled a dream. After learning to drive a horse slightly over a year ago, and having practiced driving my pony, Sunni, regularly through our neighborhood, I loaded her and her cart into a horse trailer. We were off on a new adventure. I wanted to drive her in a natural setting with a network of well-trodden horse trails. These trails needed to accommodate our cart, be relatively rock and obstacle free, and hopefully, near-enough to emergency assistance, if needed.

My head was full of unlikely things that meant disaster–from the sudden frightening appearance of a cougar, to having a wheel pop off and upturning our rapidly-rolling carriage. The best way to combat those shpilkes was focus on my rock-solid and steady pony. Unless something really nuts occurred, she’d perform as expected. This year, Sunni is 16, has been with me since she was seven. She’s a foundation Morgan (her bloodline from 19th Century Calvary Morgans), with the sturdy and unbeatable work ethic that Morgans share.

My fears, encouraging me to remain near home, pulled me toward Tumalo Reservoir, an area of familiar horse trails. But I gathered courage and instead headed toward Peterson Ridge, east of Sisters. I’d not been there for years–not a great distance from home, but far enough to fulfill my dream, of trusting a horse and testing my driving skills. (My confidence also arises from regular driving lessons, with Sunni, from our skilled and capable trainer.)

I unloaded the cart, got Sunni harnessed and hitched, and we trotted away on a gravel road that made my ride bumpy and washboardy. We turned off onto the first dirt trail we came across which was smoother but quickly became forested and lonely. I hoped it would circle toward our trailhead. The ride itself was lovely. Sunni trotted in a regular cadence, unfazed by the surroundings and easy to drive, while our cart rolled smoothly. We eventually found ourselves moving toward the trailhead, and so again took off, in a new direction. As is customary in our home neighborhood, car drivers slowed or stopped to give us safety and room, and always, with smiles and thumbs-up.

I couldn’t have asked a drop more from Sunni. She was perfect.

When we finally rolled into our trailhead, a couple of young women unsaddling their horses hailed us. They wanted to know how we had managed to haul a carriage. And they were riding Morgans, had more at home and love the breed. One woman is from AZ, hauled three Morgans here to visit her friend, who it happens lives on Bend’s east side and not far from me. (She knew my place, from having passed and and seeing my donkey, Pimmy, who’s always an eye-catcher.) These ladies helped to reload and secure my cart, and we exchanged phone numbers. Something that makes having horses really special is a shared affection for them that encourages and nourishes friendships.

Back home and then unloaded, Sunni had to run awhile in circles to escape her big sister, jealous Rosie. Meanwhile, Pimmy, looking on, brayed happily that the family was together again.

Dear Friends: It’s the grand side of having, loving, and enjoying horses. Diana

Friday, July 19, 2019

Most of yesterday, I was at my horse trailer, practicing how to load and unload a horse cart–not an easy, smooth process, but one that serves the purpose. Today, I’ve a goal of taking the cart, and my dependable Sunni, to a trail system with wide understandable paths, and driving her on them.

This has been building up, for our routine drives through neighborhood streets have become boring now that I’m conditioning two horses. Rosie is a little hyper and not ready for public trails, but Sunni is solid and dependable. The local streets are quiet and relatively safe, but if we were to attempt to move off in search of new territory, we’d have to mingle with and somehow work ourselves through heavy, fast vehicle traffic.

In my years of horseback riding, Sunni and I became familiar with many of Central Oregon’s trail systems. Some local riding areas have good flat roads, often shared with bicyclists (Sunni shows little interest in bicycles). There also are lovely trail systems too narrow to attempt navigating in a horse cart, but maybe that’ll feel less daunting once we’ve gained experience on various trail configurations.

So, we’re at a new forward step. It involves getting the cart in and out, loading a horse, and heading for public trails. I’ll continue driving Rosie on local streets until she’s ready for more diversity. My ultimate hoped-for goal: to drive these lovely horses as a pair.

Dear Friends, Each bit of acceptable progress begins a push toward newer goals. Diana

Thursday, July 18, 2019

This is a blockbuster summer for the often elusive Mariposa (or Sego) Lily. Every summer I look for the plant which sometimes doesn’t appear. This year, our unusual weather–lots of rain patches alternating with dry spells–has altered the usual. Right now, my property has stands of these perinneals and the sight of them makes me happy.

Most summers, I hope to find growing here or there on my small acreage one or a scattered few of these lilies. My fascination with this flower began a dozen years ago when I often rode horseback in nearby desert areas. I’d occasionally spot a lovely flower, on a long stem standing alone, in an intriguing shade of purple. After asking around, I learned that they’re known as Sego lilies. Later, I came to understand that they’re also called Mariposa lilies.

Historically, Native Americans used this lily’s roots and seeds as a food source and called the flowers “Sego”, which is how the name evolved. The Indians native to Utah taught Morman pioneers how to use this plant for food. Its importance eventually turned the gentle Sego Lily into Utah’s State Flower. This lily thrives in the dry, sandy soils of open sagebrush areas and grows among Ponderosa pines at moderate elevations.

Here in Central Oregon, on the east side of the Cascade Mountains, our soil is dry, sandy, and loosely surrounded by Ponderosas. The Sego lily has a tendency to reappear briefly in July and August, to wish us a happy summer. This year, the weather and soil conditions have these purple lilies blooming.

Dear Friends: They’re perfect and just one among Nature’s recurring gifts! Diana

• 

• 

Wednesday, July 17, 2019

I work part-time at our local Costco as a sample server, and throughout my shifts interact with lots of customers. It’s always fun when a fellow (current or past) sample server comes into the store to shop or take care of some sort of business.

On the job, while working, we’re not allowed to use a cell phone. When the risk factors seem low, I’ll sneak out my phone for a quick picture. If there’s a kernel of truth in the capture, I post it on Facebook. That way, fellow sample servers may give a co-worker thumbs-ups and teases.

Today, I’m reflecting on this friendly, simple way of using the internet to connect people and stimulate conversation. Early today, I watched an old television show on YouTube. It was from the 1950s, and entitled, “What’s My Line?”. The show’s mystery guest was Eleanor Roosevelt. A panel of famous writers and actors (wearing masks so as not to identify the guest easily by sight) had to question and establish her identify. It didn’t take long for them to figure out who the guest might be.

At that time, Roosevelt was in New York to initiate a celebration of United Nations week, to culminate in seven days as United Nations Day. She spoke about this and the importance of the United Nations, an organization that she had a hand in forming and supporting. Listening to her, I was reminded of a simpler time, when Americans were more in sync about the world of nations and their relationships.

Today, we sigh over differing perspectives and opinions as nations struggle to achieve appropriate stabilities in populations and politics. That early work, from the late 1930s, toward having a United Nations, and clear up to the week that Eleanor Roosevelt was declaring as support for the established organization, seemed logical and appropriate.

But of course, those were days in years prior to populations having an internet, high-tech manufacturing, incredibly powerful weapons of war, and zip-fast, world-wide communications.

I’ll keep my camera handy, and continue celebrating friends and the simpler stuff that surrounds us. Even in our complicated modern era, anything that harks back to easier times lends a note of gentle optimism.

Dear Friends: Eleanor Roosevelt’s evolvement deserves re-studying. Diana

Tuesday, July 16, 2019

Oh, the joy of it all, an outing on a magnificent afternoon. The dogs reveling in the pleasure of unexpected freedom and me carrying a camera. Throughout, ours was a nearly perfect world soaked in drifting clouds, sunshine, and flowers.

• 

• 

My primary goal was to capture changes in the summer landscape, its emerging wildflowers and seasonal critters. It was easy to find plentiful stands of Queen Anne’s Lace, which I love, and dragonflies busy doing their work.

On outings, the dogs are joyous, funny, and rarely under my feet. I never tire of seeing my hound dog, Ranger, racing in search of rabbits with the forces of energy pushing against his floppy ears.

Sometimes, it’s possible to capture beautiful Miles. He’s very fast, always busy, enjoys tracking along by running, full-out and away on the outskirts of our travel path. He disappears behind plentiful rabbit brushes and bitterbrushes too quickly for this camera-handler.

And there’s the always photogenic Osix. She won’t let herself get too far ahead of me; but on the other hand, completely disappears upon deciding arbitrarily to return to and hang out in our vehicle (Miles shares that tendency and I leave the hatch door open for them). This photo shows all the dogs (together, not easy to capture), in typical formation with Miles leading, followed by Ranger and Louie. Osix, has broken ranks and hurries back to make sure I’m still following.

A lovely spontaneous hour or so. In a natural environment with a handful of dogs and lots of sheer pleasure.

Dear Friends: This unusually-cool late July is perfect summer weather. Diana

Monday, July 15, 2019

It’s frustrating to find myself facing a dangling problem–like now, trying to pull from the ground a fence stump that catches and damages mower blades. I’ve a resource for lifting and removing this stump, but it’s a tool, long-not-seen. I’ve looked around and it’s disappeared. One summer, the tool helped me remove several post stumps that were the worst, and now finally, between terrain changes and equipment usages, other stumps have turned into problems.

I’m stymied by a locked-in-the-ground stump. This distressful situation forces me toward unplanned property care. A job I prefer to avoid is cleaning the tack room. Now, I must clear its contents and reorganize a jumble that could be hiding my stump-lifting tool. Tack room cleaning, a whole day job, means shifting through zillions of bits and pieces, to weigh the value of, categorize, and re-shelf. Worst, maybe the anti-stump tool ages-ago got moved elsewhere!

This opens up a chain of time-consuming efforts. Some tack room items should be stored in other, more logical places, which of course will lack space for them. This will force expanded cleaning out to reorganize and move things. It’ll also lead to a major, entire house-cleaning. To be clear, I’m for cleaning! There’s little more satisfying than having a clean tack room, clean storage sheds, and above all, a clean house interior. But with much routine maintenance to accomplish (weather permitting), there’s little time for the luxury of finding or creating proper spaces for everything.

It makes sense to leave the bastard post stump in place, and instead, put my time into resolving other more easily dispatched problems.

Dear Friends: Yet, it won’t quit bugging me–that stump lifter, where is it! Diana