My Neighbor's Security

I know most of the people who live on my street - which is only somewhat true.  I know most of the people's vehicles who live on my street.
The people who live about a quarter mile away on a back lot just sold their house and moved recently.  I had never actually talked to them, but they drove a PT Cruiser.  From what I could see as they drove by, usually while I was walking one of the dogs, they were older - meaning they may have been around my age or maybe older.  They always smiled and waved.  But even people who probably would not like me smile and wave as they go by.

I don't remember the last time I woke up after the sun had risen, or even as the sun was rising.  I generally find that once I wake up, the best thing for me to do is just to get up - regardless of the time.  As much as it may pain the 16-year-old-me who has long since gone extinct, I am a morning person.
The first thing I do after I get up is put the dogs out.  My younger dog always hear me walking toward the dog room.  My older dog, deaf for years now, usually needs to be woken up.

At one time, we were the new neighbors on this street.  Now there are new neighbors at the house that just sold.  And three doors down in the other direction, new constructions is building another house.  It was early December when I moved into this house.  Coming from an old Victorian house down in the holler that is Main Street of the township, SO and I were enamored with the sunrises and sunsets.  A house out to the west - quite a ways away - has a floodlight of some kind.  This looks like a yellow sodium vapor light that is old enough that it may be starting to dim.  I can only see this light in the late fall through spring.  The house sits low, near the horizon so trees (and probably hateful honeysuckle) blocks the light from view at other times.
I've grown accustomed to that yellow light, but on first moving in, I hated it.  It spoiled otherwise stunning sunsets.  Looking to the west after dark, that yellow light remains defiling the sun's canvas.

I'm really not sure how old my older dog is as she was a rescue dog.  I was told that she was around 4 when I got her, but she was already starting to show some significant grey in the face.  When I told the vet the assumed age, he hesitated, raised an eyebrow, "Um, maybe.  Maybe five, or six."
She is the most aloof, yet affectionate dog I've ever had.  She can no longer go on anything but the shortest walks.  At times she can still jump on the furniture; other times she just puts her front paws up and looks at me.  She tends to look annoyed when I lift her onto the couch.  Aloof but affectionate.  I suspect I'll have the same level of obstinateness when I can no longer metaphorically jump on the couch.

When I let the dogs out first thing in the morning, I often pause to look up in the sky on clear mornings.  Living in a rural area, the stars shine brightly.  Even though I still want to visit an area with very low light pollution - I've never been able to see the painted swath of the Milky Way.  I have been lucky enough to have seen some fantastic meteors first thing in the morning.

The new people on the street have put up a shockingly bright security light that remains lit through the night.  Unlike the house to the west, this is not a dimming sodium vapor light, but appears to be some new-fangled bright white LED.  I have very quickly grown to detest that light.  I'm fearful if I ever meet these new neighbors, I'll instantly say something like, "Ah, the sons-a-bitches with that bright-ass light?"
I'm curious about the intentions and level of fear that necessitated such a bright light to be lit all night.  I suspect a similar reaction as to when someone new immigrant to this rural area complains about getting behind a trundling combine in the fall - what did you move to a rural area for?  Shouldn't darkness be a virtue of a rural area, just like farm equipment or cow poop is celebrated?  Or dogs barking?  Or sassafras trees being destroyed by whitetail bucks overcome with aggression in the fall?  Did these new neighbors come from a suburb, and bring with them the primordial fear of darkness that led primitive Homo Habilis to huddle by the safety of a fire at night?

I worry about my older dog.  She has been diagnosed with cancer and is approaching borrowed time.  Along with her hearing, her sense of smell is diminished to the point it is difficult at times to get her to eat.  But it doesn't take much to keep her happy.  Make sure she has water.  Give her a few treats per day.  Help her on the couch even if she groans about it.  And let her out every few hours.  The neighbor's lights don't seem to bother her at all.

It's Good To Have Farmer Friends

Fall started this past week, but it sure doesn't feel like it.  Temperatures have been in a summer-like range of near 90F.  This is matched with a July humidity, bringing late afternoon pop-up rain and thunderstorms.  I think the air conditioner has run more in September than in August.  A heat wave is defined by dictionary.com as:  a prolonged period of abnormally hot weather - which seems to qualify.  The World Meteorological Organization has specified that a true heat wave must be at least five consecutive days where the maximum temperature exceeds the average by nine degrees.  So a finger-wagging meteorologist may point out that it isn't really a heat wave yet, but it has been steamy.  Al Gore says this is inconvenient as he continues to live a delightful 1% lifestyle.

It was seven years ago right now when the agreements were signed to buy my current house.  That day was hot as well, but it was a more typical late summer dry heat.  Among the things I didn't think too much about when I bought my house was the wadi running through the property.  Buying a house is fraught with unseen pitfalls.  Nothing will prepare someone for the reality of moving into a new place.  Real estate disclosures will be cloaked in words to minimize negatives while following the letter of the law.  Home inspectors make money on home sales - realtors will never recommend inspectors who honestly show all flaws resulting in more difficult home sales.  The home-selling industry is designed around making unlikely sales go through.  The buyer and seller are just along for the ride at some point.  But I have no complaints about my current house; nothing beyond a minor annoyance has reared its ugly head and after seven years, any issues at this point are mine and mine alone.
Over the last seven years, the wadi behind the house has slowly filled it.  My back yard is in a local low spot so it sees a fair amount of water.  When I moved in, the ditch was fairly deep and held  quite a bit of water.  Over that time, it has slowly filled in with silt and dirt.  This has been exasperated by drain tile that has failed.  From what I understand, there was a county project years ago which ran two drain tiles on either side of the wadi along its whole length (including far beyond my property line).  This drain tile has had multiple failures.  Two years ago, the result was a nearly year-round swamp.
"You don't know how lucky you are to live by a swamp."  Vic (Dan Aykroyd from the movie Neighbors)
I ended up digging a small trench from the fail drain tile to what remained of the wadi which deswampified the back yard, but created new minor issues as the wadi was largely flat.

In theory, I lease out the back part of my property for farming by a local farmer.  In practice, he has successfully traded capital improvements every year instead of actually paying me.  The actual dollar amount wouldn't be much so I'm OK with it, but the last two years he had issues doing what he said he would do.  This occasionally rankled me.  I asked him to dig out the wadi, not knowing if he was going to, but a few days ago he showed up with his backhoe, digging out a nice smooth trench.  I was thrilled.  This also gave me piles of dirt to fill in some low spots in my yard, especially where the dogs have dug to get at some critter.

I have been surprised how much water has infiltrated the wadi already given the lack of any real rain.  No doubt this is due to the failed drain tile.  It will be interesting to see what happens to this in the spring.

A secondary benefit of the return of the wadi is that I was able to bush-mow the property right up tot he edge of the ditch.  This will make it look better all winter and will help keep both weeds and vermin down.

A lot of the rural roads in the area are being repaired (and I use the term loosely) by chip seal.  I first encountered chip seal on my motorcycle road trip to Alaska and learned to live with it in the barely unfrozen North.  Locally though, they use a phenomenal amount of gravel compared to the scarcity mentality I saw in the Yukon.  There were piles and ridges of gravel several inches deep in some places.  I was almost home riding through the stuff with serious pucker-factor when a nearby neighbor started tail-gating me.  I'm not sure if she knew it was me or not, but it didn't help the situation much.  On a heavy motorcycle, recently layed chip seal might as well be a loose gravel road.  It might as well be a greased road.
Once swept up and hardened, chip seal isn't too bad, but I'll probably be going out of my way to avoid some of the worst roads, especially the ones that are lightly travelled where it may be weeks before excess gravel is swept up.

I guess even with the hot weather, the chip seal is a sign of the changing seasons.  Leaves are starting to fall.  Bean fields are becoming yellow.  Corn is dying.  Maybe fall is here?

Mephitidae Financial Distress

As I let the dogs out first thing in the morning, the younger dog streaked over to the barn chasing something.  I didn't think much of this as it usually means a bunny was nearby.  After an uncharacteristically short time, she came running back to the gate into the back yard accompanied by the overwhelming smell of skunk.  My morning did not start well.
Torrential rain started a few minutes later.
A quick internet search gave a few home remedies for dealing with a skunk-sprayed dog, and SO and I were talking about what we were going to do with the dog.  Immediately after I saw a bolt of lightning strike the ground close enough to be seen out the kitchen window, there was a loud pop and flash behind the stove.  The house had just been hit, or at least affected by, lightning.

The dog got two baths, the first from a mixture of hydrogen peroxide, baking soda and dish-washing detergent; the second with our current normal dog washing soap.
I took a look around the house and didn't see any effects of the lightning bolt.  The stove appeared to be working and none of the digital clocks were even flashing.

I did eventually make it out of the house and on to work, but it was late by my normal routine.  I was thinking about what a pain it is having to deal with a skunk-sprayed dog and the potential for very serious issues from a lightning strike when something on the radio brought me back to reality.  Other than being a bit late, nothing was really all that bad.  So while the morning had not gone well, any problems looked like first world problems.  I was still frustrated; as they say - hopefully tongue in cheek, "They may be rich white guy problems, but they are still problems."

Neal Gabler writes in a shockingly personal way about some of his own problems of a financial nature in a recent issue of The Atlantic.  Despite having what most would consider a fairly successful career, he sounds as if he is mostly living paycheck to paycheck, or at best has lived paycheck to paycheck for much of his adult life.
One of the risks about writing so openly is that he has opened himself up to criticism.  It is pretty easy to sit back and do arm chair financial planning after-the-fact.  Sadly, both the Huffington Post and Slate did so very quickly and cast this with the specter of male versus female.  Were that it was so easy; both Huffington Post and Slate instantly lose credibility and set back a cause which they claim to promote when they frame the problem on the base pairs of x and y chromosomes.

I can easily look back on bad financial decisions I've made over the years and if anyone says they can't think of any, they are bald-faced lying.  What does the phrase "bald-faced" even mean?
In Neal Gabler's case, he made a couple doozies:  Not taking the penalties of late taxes seriously, dumping a 401(K) to pay for a wedding (does his daughter have some responsibility for that - and why does everyone feel so compelled to sacrifice so much of the future on one event?) and creating severe hardship by buying a second house before selling the first (Ooops, I did that too).
But a bigger issue is lurking in that last poor decision.
Why, especially when one has chosen a field which might not be the most lucrative, live in New York?  Or Los Angeles?  Why live in Chicago when you can live anywhere as a professional writer?
I took a look at what Mr. Gabler has written, and he has five books about the entertainment industry.  While the majority of what I read is non-fiction, none of these sounds very interesting to me, but I'm sure they must appeal to some.  I can't believe that another book about Walt Disney was desperately needed.  And an entire book about Barbara Streisand?  It didn't work for Lucy, not sure it will work for Neal...
Meghan Daum made the sensible move to the Midwest when New York had threatened to bankrupt her, then oddly chose to move back to begin working towards poverty again.
New York, despite what it thinks, isn't the center of the universe.  As I was walking my dog, pre-skunk, around the 5-mile block the previous weekend, I couldn't help thinking about how lucky I was to live in the Midwest.  Of course the weather was nearly perfect, and even New York might be somewhat nice on a morning like that.

At some point however, financial issues seem to become math issues.  And sympathy is a bit hard to come by for someone as educated as Mr. Gabler when it comes to relatively simple math.

So my first world issues even might be comparatively minor.  The concoction of peroxide, baking soda and dish detergent worked relatively well - especially since the dog was washed off very quickly.  I still haven't seen any issues as a result of the lighting strike.
But there might be something to learn about the fragile nature of everything from a dog, a skunk and a bolt of lightning.

There but for the grace of God go I.

Beagle and the Diminutive Peach

"Are those yellow leaves?  Or peaches?" I asked SO as we were getting our food off the grill on a recent evening.  Despite the fact that the food was done, I had to walk over to see.

There, attached to a few branches were some inordinately small peaches.

A few years ago, I planted two cherry trees and a peach tree.  One cherry tree, which I should have immediately returned, had basically no roots and died within a few weeks.  The other died above the graft, while whatever the root stock was has taken off prolifically.  I have no idea what kind of tree or bush it is, but it seems healthy and green enough.
The one peach tree seems to suffer in the summer's heat, but has been doing tolerably well.  Despite a late freeze that seems to happen every spring, this is the first year that the tree has fruit.

The peaches are very small, and it appears that nearly every fruit has been infested with bugs and/or pecked at by birds.  The fruit is not ripe yet, and I strongly suspect that there will be no edible fruit by the time it is ripe.
Perhaps the tree should have access to more green things which consists of one thousand long slimy crocodile tongues boiled up in the skull of a dead witch for twenty days and nights with the eyeballs of a lizard! Add the fingers of a young monkey, the gizzard of a pig, the beak of a green parrot, the juice of a porcupine, and three spoonfuls of sugar. Stew for another week, then let the moon do the rest!  If Auntie Spiker and Auntie Sponge lived in SW Ohio, they'd have little to fight over in my yard.  Perhaps I should write a story about an ugly, middle-aged man's trip down the Ohio and Mississippi rivers, ending up living in a diminutive pit in New Orleans. (with apologies to Roald Dahl).

My attempts at growing trees continue to soldier on.  And yet, I'm under no delusions with this.  The very small seedlings are by nature going to have a low success rate.  My larger trees are doing similarly poorly, although I don't quite understand that.  Native trees like Oaks and Buckeyes should be well suited to the area, but they are doing poorly, at best.  Something thinks these trees' leaves are very tasty.

News reports suggest 85% of Georgia's famed peaches will be missing this year due to a very warm winter.
Peaches are the high stakes gambling of the fruit world.  Get a good one, and it is very good.  Average peaches may be tolerable.  And far too many peaches are somehow simultaneously chalky and mealy.

I'm willing to leave the few meager peaches to the bugs and angels.  I hope it will be a fair trade on someday having a small woodlot.

The Evocative Smell of Weight Loss

One of my classic cars was rear ended late in 2016.  I've been poking at the repair over the last few months, and finally moved it from the garage into the barn to start the actual body work.  Body work is very dusty and can involve some strong solvents.  Having that attached to the house seemed like a mistake waiting to happen.
Anybody who has used Bondo knows it has a fairly strong smell, and when I opened the can of body filler, the scent transported me back to when I first started learning body work.  I was working as a mechanic at the time and started working with a coworker who did body work at night and on weekends to make extra money.  It was a pretty magical time, being in college, working full time and seemingly always on the steep part of the learning curve - yet with good friends and somehow enough free time to have fun.

I wrote previously on the sounds of the Midwestern summer.  I think smell can be even more evocative.  Spring seems to have come early with lots of above-average temperatures this year.  June bugs are making their arrogant appearance en mass already now in April.  The early spring has screamed summer-promising smells.  Being April, cold weather is still very likely.

As a kid, I hated onion grass.  We called it leeks, but I'm quite sure they wouldn't be pleasant to eat.  Playing on rough lawns or empty fields would almost always result in somehow getting onion grass on our hands, and the pungent smell seemed impossible to wash off.  Onion-grass stains seemed even more interminable than normal grass stains.
The summer-like weather has resulted in lots of lawn mowing already.  The smell of cut onion grass mixed with the less-pronounced but equally intoxicating normal cut grass scent is a rite of spring.  Riding my motorcycle to work, it hangs in the cool damp mornings - promising winters end and shorts and T-shirts, even if the temperature is near freezing.
Last year's hay bales are looking sad, the smell of old hay with just a hint of mold also begins to foretell that green plants and summer are near.  I'm not sure why, as I grew up in the suburbs, but I feel oddly drawn to the comfort of farm smells, to barns filled with hay, to freshly turned earth, or even the cows in the field - although that can be taken to an unpleasant level in the extreme.
Flowering trees, almost a sickly sweet cousin to carrion, last only a few weeks in the spring.  Perhaps that is the scent of winters last death.

Other smells can similarly bring me back to specific times and places.  My first bear hunt in 2009 was a spring hunt over bait and the bait included mixture of old frosting and cinnamon corn flakes.  It was an odd combination, but the right mix of sweetness and cinnamon can bring me back to the cold Canadian brush.  I'll hopefully never forget the anticipation of that first hunt.  Watching bears up close makes zoos boring in comparison.  I can't ever go on my first bear hunt again, but I can be allowed a powerful reminder.
Spring isn't the only time with evocative smells, those early, still, cool fall evenings, sometimes coming even in late August bring wood smoke hanging in the air.  Wood smoke means campfires, comfort, the end of summer's oppressive humidity.  It signals yet another change.

The change to spring weather also brings with it a change in activity.  I can be quickly afflicted with cabin fever in the winter and get energized in the spring to be outdoors for any reason.  Longer dog walks.  Lots of bike rides - both motorcycle and pedaling.  Lawn mowing and any assortment of yard work, whether it is needed or not.  All this time spent outdoors means much less time vegetating in front of the TV.  The spontaneous weight loss associated with spring reduces the winter blubber.  A little over a year ago I started tracking my weight, curious how much change there actually was.  I'm not sure this cycle of weight gain and loss is healthy, but it is probably far from my biggest health risk.

While magical, the slightly depressing thing about the smells is that they really can't take me back.  And maybe that is a good thing.  I probably didn't enjoy everything in the past as much as I think I did now.  Rose-colored glasses can be toxically dangerous.
I'm not sure how well the repair of my classic car will go.  It has gotten a little rusty through the years.  My skills have gotten rusty as well.  I don't have access to the equipment I used to, to do the work as easily as before.  I'm hundreds of miles away from old friends who can do this kind of work in their sleep.
But at least for a little while, the scent can take me back ... however briefly.

The Final (Mephitidae) Solution

The drain at the bottom of the window well was covered with stones; the corners showed evidence of digging.  I didn't immediately see it, but tucked in the near corner I saw the unmistakable black and white stripe.
This isn't a typical shallow, city window well.  It sits about six feet deep and is only wide enough to serve as a code-compliant egress.
The skunk was not going to get out on its own.

All I could say was, "Now what..."

Skunks are only native to the Americas and much more prevalent in North American than South.  Small, invasive pockets have at times shown up in Europe and similar species live in Indonesia and the Philippines.  The French Pepe le Pew is geographically unlikely.  Skunks are largely nocturnal and live lives seemingly ambivalent toward humans.  Like humans, skunks are omnivorous and can survive on just about anything.  They have poor senses and are not overly aggressive, with ability to spray noxious and painful (to eyes, etc.) stink as their main defense mechanism - that stink was the root of my problem.
Skunks hibernate in the cold winter months.  However, it isn't the deep hibernation that bears or reptiles go through, as they'll occasionally come out to feed or when weather warms.  It was the warm weather which probably brought out my new denizen.  I had seen a skunk a few days prior while walking one of the dogs.  The dog didn't see the skunk until it was only about 20 yards away.  The skunk didn't see us until it was already walking away.  All it did after seeing us, was waddle on a little faster than before.  A few other skunks lurking about as potential road kill preceded the skunk in my window well.

"Now what..."

As I saw it, I had a three options.
1-Ignore the problem.  This was akin to choosing immobility as a mode of transportation.
2-Help it get out.
3-Kill it.

I was intent on avoiding two manifestations of the largest problem with the great striped one.
a-Me getting sprayed.
b-Skunk spraying in the window well as this might mean I'd have to burn the house down and hope insurance would cover it.

Skunks are largely burrowers, with limited ability to climb.  I tried to lower a board into the window well as a ramp to get out, but every time I did this, the skunk exhibited nervous behavior.  This, in turn, made me very nervous.  At one point, the skunk turned around, raised its tail toward me in a show of bravado that I took quite seriously.  Given the low probability of success, I abandoned this aided escape quickly.  Stink looked far more probable than the skunk's ability to climb up the steep board out of the six foot deep window well.

I thought about trapping it in a bucket or live trap.  And while, if successful, this would help the immediate situation, ultimate success without getting sprayed was far from assured.  While I don't necessarily feel bound by the letter of the law, especially in the rural area where I live, Ohio Revised Code requires trapped skunks be released on site or euthanized.  Releasing skunks elsewhere (transportation comes with its own unique challenges) is not legal.  As an aside, this is also not legal for raccoons, beavers, possums, foxes and coyotes.

I was pretty much down to option 3-Kill it.  But how?

In the late 1990's, I helped some farm friends rid their barn of skunks after a large group of them found a nice home in the barn with ample food supply in the form of the barn cat's food.  Despite several well placed shots, every skunk got their last dying revenge.  My farm friends were not disappointed.  Going in, they were willing to trade intense skunk smell for a definite amount of time for the constant din of skunk stink that had been going on for most of the summer.
Shooting my skunk from the roof of my house would be a realistic option to avoid me getting sprayed, but would be nearly guaranteed to have odoriferous consequences in the basement, if not the whole house.

I went to my local hardware store for some advice.  We tossed around potential solutions.  We all saw some humor in the situation, but no clear solutions.
They handed me the card of a local nuisance animal company.  I had already searched this option online and saw that best case scenario, I was looking at a cost in the low 100's of dollars - with absolutely no guarantee of the house coming out stink free.  I called the number which gave options to press 1 if an emergency or leave a message in the general mailbox.  I had a hard time seeing it as an emergency, but any prolonging of the situation seemed likely to increase the likelihood of stink.

I was approaching The Final Solution, and I didn't like it.
Ohio revised code allows the use of a "toxicant or chemical substance as a means of control for nuisance wild animal" but unlawful to use these "contrary to or in violation of instructions on the label or manufacturer recommendations."
I saw two embodiments of a "toxicant or chemical substance" at the local hardware store that listed skunks - Atlas Giant Destroyer and Amdro Gopher Gasser.  Both of these are flammable smoke bomb type devices.  Meant to be used in a burrow, I wasn't sure how well it would work in the more expansive window well and I had visions of this also filling my basement with "toxicant or chemical substance."  This did give me the idea of using exhaust gasses from my ATV or copious dry ice to asphyxiate the skunk.  I think this might have worked, but it would definitely have been an experiment.  All of these gaseous products brought memories of a recent news story where an entire family inadvertently was poisoned by rodent killer.   I did avoid the product that used zinc phosphide as the active ingredient...
There were several other mouse killers that used bromethalin, which is effective on skunks.  Was I using it contrary to or in violation of instructions on the label or manufacturer recommendations?  No, I've had mice in the window well, and they needed to be controlled (right?).  The mouse nuggets smelled quite tasty, even if they are an asshole redneck tactic.  Why that site goes on to give advice about poison seems quite contradictory.  And if mouse poison is "an asshole redneck tactic" for skunks, why is it not for mice, rats, gophers, etc.?

I went down in the basement later that night and looked through the window with a flashlight.  I have to admit that the skunk looked rather cute, it put its paws up on the window screen and almost looked like a zoo exhibit through the glass.  I was reminded of running over a raccoon a few months prior.

One of my biggest concerns that first night was that the skunk might not be alone - and other neighborhood skunks would go all Baby Jessica overnight.  Thankfully, skunks are somewhat solitary creatures.

The next day the skunk was still alive, although it was less lively.  I provided it with another snack and beverage.  As I was lowering this slowly into the window well by means of a string, I felt like I should be saying something analogous to: It puts the lotion on, or it gets the hose again.  See the movie Silence of the Lambs if that doesn't make sense.  In many ways, the EPA (or is it the FDA?  Or CDC?) have hamstrung us.  Current chemical control substances are so limited in potency that immediate effect is nearly impossible.  Wide availability of extremely strong poisons might need to be approached with caution; there may be alternative solutions online.  These are in a legal grey area, and time to acquire them didn't permit it.

The Final Solution was eventually successful.  I didn't feel good about the situation; it took longer than I would have liked.  It looked unpleasant.
In addition to the skunk, I've had coyotes, moles, deer, ground hogs, mice, rabbits, snakes and all manner of what some would consider vermin live harmoniously in and around the house.  One of the things I love about living in a rural area is the unexpected interaction with wildlife.
But the line does have to be drawn somewhere.

Terra Mediterranean Vegetable Chips

Actual Headlines
From USA Today:  Desperation Sets In While Homes Sit For Months With No Offers
From CNN:  Home Prices Post Record Decline
From The Atlantic: After An Ugly 2010, The Housing Market Won't Look Much Better In 2011

Selling my house was objectively not very prudent.  I tried to tell myself that buying at the bottom of the market made everything even out.  I can still make that argument, but I spent a frightening amount of stressful time in 2011 holding my breath.
Action does not always need to be prudent - or inaction for that matter.

I also told myself that as a small community, the area I was living in would be largely immune from the big-city and suburban housing market sickness.  Since I was so deeply involved in the buying and selling process, I started keeping track of the market in my township.  The chart below shows how much of a glut there really was even in that small community five years ago - and what a bad financial decision moving might have been.

With the market overloaded, and with many of them foreclosures, prices were seriously depressed.  If there was a bright spot, it was that as a house with improvements made under the assumption I would never move again, the house showed well compared to some of the foreclosures in the area.  Still, foreclosures in the area now are about 10% of what they were five years ago.

As expected, the harsh edges of real estate have softened over the last five years, but I still vividly recall the two lowest of the low points.
Taking care of two houses was very painful, and it seemed after every showing someone would leave a window or door unlocked.  On one afternoon with a threat of rain, I went to the house to check on it and mow the lawn.  I was done with the front yard as the smell of ozone preceeded a thunderstorm.  While trying to finish the back yard, the skies opened up with a deluge of water.  I only had a relatively small section in the back of the back yard to finish so I kept at it.  Then the lawn mower quit.  Kaput.  The unmowed square got relatively more expansive as I had to finish cutting the now sodden lawn with the push mower while light rain continued to linger.  I drove home wet, cold and defeated.
At one point, there were three realistic potential buyers showing interest.  Things were looking up as I was convinced one of these would work out, one of them had to.  Inability to buy during a divorce and inability to get financing in the new reality of lending forced two of the three out.  I was eating Terra Mediterranean Vegetable Chips when the Realtor called to say the third would not be buying the house due to family squabbles.  "So we're back to square one," was all I could say  after a long pause.

It is hard to find anything "good" about the selling process.  But in retrospect, it does sometimes help to bring some perspective to difficult situations, and perspective is needed all too often.

This too shall pass.

And it did.

Eventually the house was under contract.  I'm pretty sure that once that happens, the buying and selling process is designed to extract as much money out of the sale as possible.  I'm also pretty sure that once under contract, the real estate professionals push things through as hard as possible, while the finance and government bodies do everything possible to stop the sale.  Both buyer and seller are merely along for the ride at that point.  I'm 100% sure that I'm fine with how everything worked out.
The actual closing was suprisingly anticlimactic, it was dark outside once the closing was finished.  I went to the bank to deposit the closing settlement and the teller had to get it approved since it was such a large deposit.  I ate Kroger sushi (always disappointing) and grilled steak that night.  The sale was an amazing gift.

I have one picture of the house from around the time I bought it that helps me remember how great it was to move there.  Whether it is nostalgia or rose-colored glasses really doesn't matter.  I even miss aspects of the house - I miss living in an old victorian sometimes; I miss living in what might be considered a commmunity, albeit somewhat less frequently.  I have surprisingly few later pictures of the house.  That may not be an accident.
It no longer feels odd to drive by it.  I barely even wince when I see the basement light has been left on.  Someone else has lived there now for 1/3 as long as I had.  Allowing things to come to an end peacefully is a gift of getting older.

The sale of the old house was really the conclusion of the purchase of the new house one year previous.  Five years after that finality, I can say without hesitation that while not objectively prudent at the time, it remains one of the better decisions I've ever made ... even in a really bad housing market.

The Sounds of Summer

I've tried to listen to summer more this year.
Watching a local outdoors show in the depths of winter, it isn't unusual to have a summer scene come on.  Sometimes I'll quit watching whatever the actual show is, and just listen to the background.  Crickets.  Tree frogs. Katydids.  And of course cicadas.

I just got back from a vacation - a 6000 mile road trip out west.  The two weeks of time spent motorcycling throughout the country was glorious.  On the road every morning near daylight through some of the most amazing scenery in the country; a different town almost every night.

Outdoors sounds different in different places.  The upper elevations, through mountains and high deserts are often quieter.  Cooler, sometimes cold temperatures don't support the same kind of cold-blooded life; there was one morning where temperatures were near freezing while most of the Midwest was still in the pressure cooker of heat and humidity.

There is a lot to see in a seemingly parched desert, the landscape and geology is nothing short of amazing.  But the invertebrates seem to live quieter, more solitary lives.  I bet this changes during wet times, but I've never consciously experienced that.

The summer music has probably been more boisterous than many years, since there has been a lot of rain.  The swampy part of the back yard has remained wet much of this year; the amount of life back there has been astounding.
As I let the dogs out first thing in the morning, I often pause, especially on clear mornings, and look up at the stars.  I generally don't turn on the outside lights when I let the dogs out, and the stars can often be dramatic.  The sound from the crickets and tree frogs is wonderful music.  It accompanies the specks of light above in a way nothing else can.  I often think about how fortunate I am to live in the Midwest - how fortunate I am to live in a rural area without cars buzzing around and artificial light to spoil the sky.
The neighborhood is rarely quiet when I get home from work in the afternoon.  Over the din of distant lawn mowers or farm equipment,  katydids are often squeaking, sounding like rusty springs.  And the cicadas - oh the cicadas.  Even though there aren't very many mature trees nearby, they still scream with the heat of the late summer day.  Walking the dogs or riding the bike by areas with a lot of mature trees, things get even louder.  What I'm always amazed by is how easy it is to tune this out - how this background noise becomes just that, background.  And yet, stopping and listening, it is surprising just how deafening this often is.
Evenings wind down the singing of the day; at times there may be a period of almost complete stillness where everything collectively decides to shut up for a while.  Maybe even the insects need a few minutes of quiet before the tree frogs start their nightly chorus.

On the road home from the recent road trip, I knew I was getting nearer to home by the sound (and the smell - the mowing of a roadside ditch filled with Queen Anne's lace).  Above the whirring of the engine and buffeting of the wind on the motorcycle, I could hear cold-blooded creatures of all sorts creaking and buzzing while riding down a nearly empty road.  I was somewhat pensive since the trip was almost over, but the noise kept me anxious to be home at the same time.

The stillness and quiet of winter is its own mystery to witness.  Especially if there is snow on the ground to further muffle any sound, an eerily quiet winter morning is another phenomenon that should be experienced consciously.  It is hard to compare this to the cacophony of summer.
The sounds of summer on TV in the depths of winter often seem louder than they are in real life.  They aren't, it is just the wistful look forward and backward to what summer has provided and what it has to offer ... if we take the time to listen.

Fresh Cut Queen Anne's Lace

I enjoy mowing the lawn.  At least I enjoy mowing the lawn when I have the time to do it.  It is a good thing that I find enjoyment in mowing, as I mow between three and four acres.  My lawn mowing has a split personality between the laughable Weed Eater push mower (cost?  $20) used for the fenced dog area and trim work, and my tank-like, aging 61-inch Snapper zero turn.

While I have always enjoyed mowing, I can vividly recall one of my lows when trying to sell my old house was a lawn mowing episode.  I had just mowed the lawn at my current house, then drove to my old house, despite the threat of intense weather.  With less than half of the lawn mowed, torrential rain moved in, drenching me and making mowing more difficult.  This deluge spawned the death of my rickety riding lawn mower, resulting in needing to finish the now sodden mowing with the slightly less rickety push mower.  This was unfortunately at the same time when selling the old house was seemingly futile - being drenched while finishing upkeep was pouring vinegar on the already distasteful.  I finished, but left the for-sale property feeling defeated.
Every problem has a solution and the riding lawn mower was eventually fixed with a very used ignition coil from Ebay.  I gave that rider away with the house when it eventually sold.
I took better care of the lawn at the old house, at least by accepted US standards.  I used selective herbicides and dutifully fertilized a couple times a year.  That house was near a creek, so the "better" care of the lawn may not have been the "better" choice for the overall ecosystem.
In my current house, the only fertilizer is what the dogs contribute and it is far to expansive to pay for even selective use of herbicides.

My neighbor takes his mowing much more seriously than I do.  He mows a similar overall amount to mine and seems to mow a section of his yard every few days.  This approach probably makes sense, but I can't stand having only part of the lawn mowed.  It is likely a character flaw, but when I mow, I wait until it really needs it and mow the whole thing.  This approach is probably more economical as well.

Thankfully, the area where I live is very tolerant of many mowing lifestyles - so the fact that my lawn is sometimes long, sometimes scalped, isn't met with any visible disagreement from my few neighbors.  Since I often mow when parts of the lawn are very long and potentially wet, it can sometimes "frump" - this is the technical word to describe how the lawn mower will push out a big ball of cut grass, rather than evenly discharging the cut grass.

Even with my tepid care of my grass, I do like the way a freshly cut level lawn looks.  And the smell can be intoxicating.  The scent of early spring cut onion grass brings faith that winter is releasing its grip.

By this date (August) in most years, rain is diminished, taking frequency of mowing along with it.  There have been years when I mowed in late summer, not really to cut the grass as much as to knock down the few high spots of weedy grass and to cut down the Chicory and Queen Anne's Lace, which continue to arrogantly grow long after the lawn has given in.
This year (2015), there seems to be no shortage of rain, and consistent rain.  Mowing this year has been a nearly weekly affair.  The consistent rain has also created a constant quaggy area in my yard's low lying area.  I suspect that old drain tile has plugged as well, resulting in my neighbor's run-off nesting in my yard.  I haven't decided yet, if this could be a long term problem or not.

This swampy area, which is impossible to cut, makes me question why I mow at all.  In a suburban area, social pressures push to maintain a certain standard, but my far back yard is a hay field, with corn growing north of me and soybeans to the southwest.  I suppose keeping the grass cut down for the dogs and to keep ticks and insects at bay makes sense, but I could foresee letting the property go wild, just to see what would happen.

But maybe not.  The few nearby vacant houses have turned to mostly stalky weeds, which is unpleasant at best.  Areas which are not routinely mowed, or at least brush hogged, end up getting choked up with invasive plants like trumpet vine (attractive, but hard to get rid of), bush honeysuckle (can make a decent screen, but I'm sure this stuff could take over the whole earth), and morning glory (an evil plant if there ever was one).  The previously mentioned chicory and Queen Anne's Lace, while not native, do at least have some redeemable qualities.
I have planted many trees in one section of the property, with the hope that one day a forest canopy will evolve, meaning mowing will be only a rare spring need.  Realistically this is some way off.  My tree care mirrors my lawn care and as a result I have a large group of sad-looking trees that desperately wish to survive beyond their current height of several inches.  Many have died, been cut down, only to regrow anew from some remaining roots.  The unbelievably strong will to live does not seem to be something possessed only by animals.

Internet searches on the subject show no shortage of sites which suggest the history of lawns go back to elite European estates and lawn care in the United States currently costs billions to maintain.  Many of us in our area of the township have donated parts of our yards to local farmers who cut and bail it for hay.  I've thought about doing this with more of my property, but indiscriminate agricultural cutting may harm my baby trees, which I do have some emotional attachment to despite their lack of care.  I'd also rather not have excessive vehicle pressure over the geothermal or septic system.
I guess I could use some of the property to grow more of my food, but I must be realistic with myself.  As much as I like to plant things like tomatoes or pumpkins, my care of them mirrors my lawn and tree care.  Once summer turns things hot and humid, nurturing plants with activities like weeding, watering and pest control are less alluring.

Ecologically, a lawn is a pretty dead place unless you include the field mice which make tunnels in the grass in the winter.  Along with the rain, the rabbits seem to be doing quite well this year as well.

Despite the expense and questionable utility, mowing acres of grass serves as a satisfying recreational activity.  As a task which takes little in the way of mental capacity, it is also good thinking time.  And any negative it carries is, frankly, a small price to pay to be away from the concrete jungle of the city or the punky, traffic-infused jungle of the suburbs.
Winter will be here all too soon, bringing with it nostalgia for the past summer's green mowing.

Meteors and Coyotes

The 2015 Perseid Meteor shower occurred this week, with the predicted peak on Thursday morning.
Most of this week has been quiet with clear, cool, cloudless skies.  Mornings are, frankly, one of many great benefits of living in a rural area.  Compared to other places I've lived and many I've visited, things are typically quiet, dark and serene.

I left all the outside lights off as I let the dogs out on Thursday.  I stayed outside several minutes and for part of my morning ritual coffee.  I did see a few short-lived meteors move across the sky.  At the peak, the expected number of sightings was forecast to be in the 50-100 per hour.  This is about 49-99 more than an average morning, but minutes staring up is a long time to wait between meteors, especially since every one will not be seen.  Many will be faint and there is still some light pollution from nearby populated areas and from the few house lights.  Thankfully, nobody nearby had left large flood lights illuminated overnight.

I suppose it was eventful seeing the Perseid Meteor Shower.  But like most astronomical phenomenon, it was a bit anticlimactic.  This is especially so when compared to some historic observations like what is depicted in the wood cut print of the 1799 Leonids.  While accounts from 1799 made it sound impressive, and there was very little light pollution then, it is hard to know if this is a real depiction, or if it contains a bit of historic embellishment.

I've seen a few solar eclipses which are dramatic, the erie light cast by a sun shrowded by the moon on a clear day is something everyone should see at least once.  It is a ways in the future, but I hope to plan to be in totality for the August 21, 2017 solar eclipse that will cross the United States, maybe even at the epicenter in Carbondale, IL or Hopkinsville, KY.  I'd love to plan to see a dramatic meteor shower someday, but luck plays a big part in that ever happening.
Many other stellar occurrences might be rare and of interest to the avid sky-gazer, but planets briefly aligning with stars or objects passing behind the shadow of the moon is interesting only in rarity, not in observation.

The brightest meteor I saw this past week was actually on Tuesday, well before the predicted peak, when I was driving to work.  Headed south, the meteor briefly, but brightly, shot to the north.  It was only chance that I happened to see it and if I hadn't been on my motorcycle, with an unobstructed view up, I likely would not have seen it at all.

One event Wednesday morning was almost more awe-inspiring than the Perseids.  I was letting the dogs in to feed them and two groups of coyotes started howling.  One group to the Northeast began, followed by a group much closer to the Northwest.  This continued for several minutes, as I paused in the cool morning to listen.  The howling, barking and yipping coyotes make is nearly magical.  Thankfully, the beagles are now hard of hearing enough not to have heard (and they probably just wanted inside to their food).  A few years younger, they would have joined in, their canine instincts are not far removed from the cousin coyotes.

While celestial events may often not be all that dramatic, there was one meteor that was unbelievably amazing to observe.  This probably happened somewhere around 1988.  It was in a summer during high school, vacationing with my friend Nathan near Lake Michigan.  In all of our teen-wisdom, we decided to take a canoe out on the lake, very late in the evening.  While in retrospect this was probably not very smart, at the time it seemed perfectly acceptable.  Sitting in the canoe, an unknown distance from shore, a positively radiant meteor shot across the horizon, north to south leaving a brief dim trail it its wake.  Nathan and I were quiet for a few seconds after it, before looking at each other and asking, "Did you see that?"  I don't think the question was as much if the other saw it; it would be impossible not to.  But it was so dramatic that the question was more asking - Was that real?  Sometimes, questionable decisions result in amazing outcomes.

I suppose I'm glad the weather this week was clear and my morning routine has me up early enough to see a few of the Perseids.  It is awesome to think that the light streaking across the sky is a clump of early galactic material from the tail of a comet that elipses around the sun; a reminder how insignificant we are, when we allow ourselves to be.  These clear, cool, quiet mornings should be hallowed for everything they proffer.

Belated Edit (10-22-15):
While not as numerous as the Leonids, the Orionids occurred with a nearly cloudless sky.  On my way to work, an unbelievably bright meteor appeared directly overhead, right out of Orion's belt, and streaked to the south, ending in an bright burst.  Amazing.