Apologies for the long time between posts! Things have been crazy around here, between getting all the fields ready for planting, then the actual planting, and the mowing. Oh, the mowing. The grass grows unbelievably fast here, and I’m firmly convinced that the longer the grass, the more ticks there are. But on the plus side, I always see a ton of cool things during the 4 hours or so it takes to mow everything.

My favorite so far was a mama snipe and a baby snipe. She was hanging out in the orchard, and not at all happy to see a riding mower invading her space. I wish I could have gotten a better picture, but I didn’t have my good camera with me, and every time I stopped the mower deer flies attacked my head (more on that in a minute). I watched her lead her baby into the brush, and then she came barreling back out at me and tried to get me to “chase” her away from her nesting spot. It would have been adorable, had she not looked so genuinely pissed.

I’ve also seen tons of snakes, toads, and on one memorable occasion a bright green tree frog and a grouse while mowing. I try so hard to make those straight lines like you see in magazines, but sadly our yard looks more like someone mowed after a two-margarita lunch. I blame the toads. I don’t want to stop the mower to wait for them to amble across my path, so I end up just swerving out of their way. Butterflies too. I’ve actually left patches of wildflowers un-mowed, just because they look so joyful flying around them. Add to that the sunflowers that are randomly popping up near the bird feeders that I refuse to mow down, and ya… it looks a little haphazard.

I’m just happy that I finally figured out the mower has a brake. When I asked Gene why he didn’t tell me, he stared at me like I had four heads (I get that look a lot). We have a fairly steep slope in the front that leads down into a creek. I’ve actually had to abandon the mower and go get him to finish that section because I was afraid of losing control and driving straight into it. I’d get going so fast down the hill that I wouldn’t be able to turn the mower fast enough at the bottom. But now that there’s a way to impede my forward momentum, I feel much more in control.

Men want me, women want to be me.

I love being outside, whether I’m mowing or not. Now that I’ve mowed the walking trails, I’ll don my new bug hat, hose down with bug spray, grab my camera, and go on a nature walk. The flies here are unreal. And so very persistent. But I refuse to let them win, and dress accordingly. Gene got me some “tick-b-gone” insect repellent shirts that are eye searingly fluorescent, so ticks show up easily. And I tuck my pants into my socks, which keeps ticks from crawling up my legs (shudder). Although sometimes I forget that I did it, and it takes me an embarrassingly long time at the store to realize why everyone is staring at me. It doesn’t help that I have an affinity for bright pink socks…

I think my favorite thing about living here, despite all the obnoxious bugs, is that every single time I go outside I see something mind blowing. Like a mama deer with a just born fawn, baby robins, or an owl hunting. And lightening bugs! Our front yard looks so festive at night, with twinkling lights flying all over the place.

The other morning, I went outside and was greeted by the strangest grinding noise. It was loud. I couldn’t figure out what it could possibly be, until I looked over at the woodshed, and saw a squirrel gnawing on a piece of deer antler! I’m not sure if he was sharpening his teeth in preparation of defending himself against Chupa, who’s proven to be a mighty hunter, or if he just wanted some extra calcium. But either way it was super cute.

In other news, we got some piglets! I’d like to introduce Chief Big Ham and Porkahantas. Right now they’re in the barn, and tomorrow we’ll be fencing in an area of the pasture that they can roam in. I’m busily trying to win them over with treats, like bread, cucumbers bits, and watermelon. They’re very sweet, and I think once they get used to me they’ll enjoy cuddles.

If this guy can grow one… I can can too!

Long time readers may remember my obsession with growing the world’s hottest pepper. Trinidad Scorpion? Check. Fatalli? Check. People keep developing the new world’s hottest pepper, so keeping up is half the fun. Imagine my excitement when I heard tell of “Dragon’s Breath”, a tiny little pepper brand new on the scene that scored a whopping 2.48 million on the Scoville scale. (For all you non-nerds out there, basically Satan would eat that pepper and be crying like a baby).

Sadly, before I could even Google “Dragon’s Breath pepper seeds for sale”, Gene put his foot down. And he doesn’t do that often. In fact, the only time in recent history is when he reminded me that bringing home geese would be tantamount to asking for a divorce. (Probably because I was watching the goslings at the feed store, and telling him how incredibly cute and fuzzy they were).

Pictured: nowhere near “Weapons Grade”

Apparently he doesn’t believe I’m capable of handling a pepper that can literally kill you if you eat it, and requires storage in a specially sealed container. I said I should be allowed to pursue my dreams, and that if civilization ever breaks down the pepper numbs your skin enough to perform surgery, so it’s a First Aid kit must have. (It was developed for use on people who are allergic to anesthetic – growing it is actually furthering science!!!).

He reminded me of the time I chowed down on a Fatalli pepper and drooled fire for 3 days because I accidentally swapped the “hot” and “mild” pepper labels, and added that I wasn’t ready for that level of responsibility. Sigh. I have to admit, he got me there. I still have flashbacks to that day in the garden, when all I wanted was a snack. I’ll just content myself with growing the Carolina Reaper, which is holding strong at spot #2 on the “World’s Hottest” list.

Pepper drama aside, we’ve been spending the last few days putting the tractor to good use. We finally got the tiller yesterday, so we spent hours prepping our fields for planting. And then we drove over to our friend’s house and did their fields too. And by “we”, I mean “I”. Gene accused me of being a tractor hog. He created a monster when he showed me how to do it. There’s something about the rumble of the engine, the smell of the dirt, the swath of destruction in my wake, and the warm sunshine that’s totally addictive. The only thing I would change is the bugs.

THE BUGS. I can’t even, with the ticks. I took Ceri and Chupi for a walk yesterday, and pulled 2 off her on the trail, then 3 more off her at home! They don’t seem to stick to Chupi, which is good. They do, however, stick to me just fine. There may have been some screeching involved. And a panicked phone call to Gene. Possibly even tears. The thing that gets me the most, apart from the obvious, is the fact that they literally appear out of nowhere. I was sitting at my desk, writing away, when all of a sudden there was burning on my arm and boom – there’s a tick. I had just looked at my arm 30 seconds ago, and no tick. Clearly spontaneous creation is a thing in the Northland.

I seriously wish ticks were this big. No way this fellow is hiding in my undies.

I’ve started to spend an inordinate amount of time checking myself out, actually. Because I constantly feel them crawling on me. The other day I was hanging out with my friend Jennifer in her field, and I felt one crawling up my leg.

She’s all, just take your pants off and check! I must have looked shocked, because she added that folks dropping trou in plain sight doesn’t even warrant a second glance around here. It’s that common. And I have spent a good amount of time wandering the aisles of the grocery store, staring down the front of my shirt, making sure nothing’s moving around down there. Sure enough, no one even bats an eye.

In non-creepy-crawly news, the summer birds have come! We’ve had our hummingbird feeders out for two weeks now, in eager anticipation. And they’re finally here! The first time I saw one I was writing in my office, and heard it bounce off the window (don’t worry, it was fine). I have NEVER lived in a place where birds bounced off windows as much as they do here. Every few minutes there’s a thwack noise from somewhere in the house, and it always leaves behind a feather smear on the window. I was warned that grouse crash through windows with somewhat frightening regularity (the locals call that “dinner”), but for us it’s the song birds. Usually they’re fine, but every once in awhile we’ll find one on the porch, shaking off the stun. We’ll move them to a safer location and after awhile they’ll fly back to the feeders for a post-concussion snack.

This was a rough weekend, but life rolls on. There’s a sense of emptiness to the house, because I keep expecting to see Chunk hogging the warmest spot in front of the stove or taking up my half of the couch (not that he ever got kicked out of it, I always just sat on the floor). And it’s really weird to be able to pull up the blanket in the middle of the night. 30 pounds of cat made that particular task impossible. But he left behind some wonderful memories.

Today was good because I discovered our wardrobe is worth quite a bit of money indeed. We’re talking major Benjy spinnage. I stumbled on an ad for jeans at Nordstrom’s that have a (and I quote) caked on muddy coating that shows you’re not afraid to get down and dirty. And here’s the kicker – they cost between $350-600!!! Just think about that for a minute. Some fancy city boy will pay that much money to *look* like he actually made/built/worked with his hands. I’m totally outraged that I have not met that idiot.

Because I would only charge him $299.

There is literally a big pile of money languishing on the basement floor right now (don’t judge, tomorrow is laundry day). And here’s why my product is better than Nordstrom, and I dare say even Neiman Marcus, because they saw muddy jeans were sold out on Nordstrom’s site and hopped on that bus with a quickness. You don’t have to wonder what kind of knock-off, made in China, “mud” you’re really getting on your pants. I can tell you exactly what substance has fouled your fabric.

Want to really impress the ladies with your hard work ethic? I’ve got jeans with snags from bunny claws because I couldn’t get the Wheat Thins out of the box fast enough, and jeans that say “I fell into the hog’s wallow and slipped around for a bit before Gene helped me up”. If it’s mud and rips you’re looking for, I’ve got a pair with one knee torn where a giant turkey bit me. And I was so shocked I fell right into a pile of turkey poo. That’s like two birds, people. That’s the smell of money.

And if you feel the need to look like you know how to run a fence, build a barn, repair a riding lawn mower, chase down a goat through blackberry brambles, or rescue a chick that wandered too far into the woods, Gene can hook you up. Canning, painting, staining, chasing a dog through a sprinkler and slipping in the bright green grass – we’ve got clothes that have lived. I’ve even got a nice pair of khaki dress pants decorated with happy puppy prints, because when I come home from my city job after being gone for four hours and Gene opens the door and yells “Where’s mama???” the dogs totally lose their minds.

Our clothes tell stories. And if your clothes don’t, I can totally hook you up for only $299! Plus shipping and handling, and a small “You need to get out and live your life” processing fee.

What our bathtub almost looked like!

I’m not kidding, I’ll even go down to $250. Because that’s what it cost to get our septic tank pumped this weekend. It all started last week, when I noticed that every time I took a shower, the toilet started to sing me the song of its people. And if there’s one lesson I’ve learned in life, it’s that if a toilet starts making any noise other than “flush”, you’re about to whip your checkbook out.

After listening to the toilet gulping air for a few days, it progressed to the throne refusing to do its job. Then the bathtub got into the action – whenever you dumped a bottle of Draino down the toilet and attacked it with a plunger, that’s where everything ended up. (Calgon, take me away indeed). Long story short, after doing some research I learned our septic tank had never been pumped. House was built in 1984… that’s some historic poop geologists would be interested in! Sadly, the septic guy didn’t see it that way and refused to give us a discount.

Not going to lie, this is a tough post to write. Chunk passed this morning, and is no doubt drooling on the angels and pestering God for extra Kibbles. It was very unexpected; we had thought he was doing great after his surgery on Monday. But this morning I was writing at my desk, and he was sleeping by my feet. I felt him kind of shudder, so I went to get Gene for help.

Less than 2 minutes later he was gone. But it was fast, and he went out the same way he lived, surrounded by people and critters who love him. I feel like there’s a Chunk-sized hole in my heart, but my life was better for having him in it. If you have a Chunk of your own, give him or her an extra cuddle today.

I’m still absolutely loving the whole draw knife thing. Gene and I head over several times a week, and there’s something imminently satisfying about seeing a beautiful log taking shape under my hands. Plus, someone’s actually going to be living in a cabin made out of something I helped create!

As much as I love working with the wood, though, my favorite moment so far was when their draft horse Katie came over to check out the action. And by “check out”, I mean she straight snuck up on me. I almost screeched when Gene told me to turn around and she was like 16 inches from my face. I seriously don’t know how I used to be a detective. Katie is like 12 feet tall. Not sure how something that large making zero effort to be quiet got the drop on me. Shameful.

At any rate, I happened to catch a glimpse of my buffed up pythons the other day in the mirror, and it occurred to me that I’m getting paid to work out. Which pretty much makes me a professional athlete. I’m going to have to add that to my business cards… and start making some phone calls RE: endorsement deals. Between my air filter, nerd goggles and trendy t-shirts, I’ve got some primo ad space available.

I’ve even started eating like an athlete. Working out takes calories, so I make sure to pack snacks. Lots of snacks, because I do lots of work. My penchant for planning ahead paid off huge in the form of a happy accident! I had brought along some trail mix, which was mixed with my allergy-friendly $10 bag of chocolate chips. Then I forgot about it for a few days in a black truck. That’s parked in the sun. And it hit 70 the other day.

When Gene brought in the resulting bag of goo and asked me if perhaps I had forgotten something, I had the brilliant idea of smashing the mess into a large disk shape and shoving it in the fridge. And now, after 1+ years of not being able to eat candy bars because I’m allergic to so many of the ingredients, I FINALLY have a treat! I just break off a piece and chow down. It’s not quite the same experience as unwrapping a Snickers bar, but no complaints. It tastes amazing. I’m thinking I’ll market it as the “Andie Bar”, and sell it to loggers.

On a more somber note, we got some bad news today. Chunk had a small bump on his back hip that suddenly got huge, almost overnight, and today at the vet we found out there’s a 99% chance it’s a very aggressive cancer. So he’s scheduled for emergency surgery on Monday morning, since no vets in the area work weekends. I know a lot of you have been on the receiving end of some Chunk loving, whether you wanted it or not, so please send some positive thoughts his way. He’s a fine, big, strong kitty, and I’m a huge believer that the power of positive thinking makes a real difference. I’m sure he’ll be back in no time to drooling all over your shirt when you pet him, and stealing your chair when you pull it out from the kitchen table (because obviously you’re offering him a seat…)

One of the things I love best about living here is all the wildlife. Even Mr. Waddles. When he’s not backing up and shaking his money maker, skunks are awfully cute. Snowshoe rabbits, chipmunks, normal squirrels, flying squirrels… everywhere you look there’s something amazing to see. Although I’ll have to admit I emitted a fairly loud yelp the first time I ever saw a flying squirrel. I was sitting next to the window, enjoying an adult beverage and watching Project Runway, when all of a sudden a flying squirrel hit the bird feeder hanging right outside with a huge bang. They only come out after dark, and they’re huge. Big eyes, bushy tails… fun to watch when you’re expecting to see them. Not so much when they take you by surprise.

When it got cold out, we hung up a bunch of bird feeders. Apparently word spread quickly, because now we’re operating a 24-hour, All-You-Can-Eat diner. Sunflower seeds are the best seller, followed closely by suet blocks. I had no idea the Northland was populated mostly by woodpeckers. There are hundreds of them. Literally hundreds. And now that it’s spring, they’re all claiming their territory by pounding on things. Luckily for them they’re super cute, and aren’t attacking the house. They attack the suet blocks instead.

So first came the birds, then came the deer. When it was -50 out, Gene wanted to make sure the herd stayed healthy enough for him to shoot one or two come hunting season. (While I disagree wholeheartedly with that last part, I’m all about keeping the herd happy). So now I start my day by scattering corn and deer grain and filling the bird feeders. I put peanuts out for the Jay birds, and god help me if I don’t get those peanuts out by day break. I was late one day, and woke up to the loudest screeching I’ve ever heard. I looked out the kitchen window, and there were about 30 angry Jays perched in the pine tree, yowling about the terrible lack of service.

To forestall anymore avian complaining, I make sure to stock all the feeders come morning. And the deers have adapted to the schedule; they show up like clock work. Without fail, just after sunrise, I’ll look out the window to see the younger deers come bounding happily down the driveway, making a beeline for breakfast. The adults come at a more dignified pace, and they all hang out until the feed is gone. Then they come back at dinnertime. So far the record is nine at one time. I’m not sure how I’m going to keep them out of my garden, maybe by putting so much feed down they won’t be hungry for delicious fresh veggies?

After months of shopping, price comparisons, and dealership prowling, we are now the owners of a Kubota tractor! Don’t ask me the specifics, all I can say is it’s orange. And it’s big. So naturally, I named it Big Orange.

As does everything that happens around here, the search for Big Orange involved Big Drama. It all started when Gene and I drove to Duluth to check out the Kubota place. Gene and the sales guy walked around the lot, talking specs and such, while I followed along behind them, sipping my Americano and browsing the internet on my phone.

When Gene found a tractor he was especially interested in, he’d wave me over and have me check out the view from the driver’s seat. He was excited to have me sit down at the helm of Big Orange, since it was air ride – complete with shocks and everything.

He gestured for me to climb up, so I started walking over to him. Now let me just say it’s a relatively small dealership with a lot of tractors for sale. There was one parked fairly close to Big Orange, and those tires are huge. Like shoulder height huge. Both Gene and the sales guy had walked between the tractor on the left and the tractor on the right with no problem, but somewhere in the back of my head alarm bells started ringing. But, much like that Italian cruise ship captain, I eyed that channel of narrow space and thought, “Ya, I got this.”

If you’ve never gotten your butt stuck between two tractors at a dealership, let me be the first to say it doesn’t get you a discounted price. Sigh.

At any rate, Big Orange was delivered on Monday, and Gene’s already given it a test run! It was just a bit too tall to fit in the pole barn, and rather than take off the rollover bars, he dug out the driveway enough to accommodate the full height. Way more fun than taking the bars on and off!

But the tractor isn’t the only shiny new thing taking up space in the pole barn. We finally got chicks! We decided to turn the dog kennel area into the new chicken coop, as it’s insulated and has electricity.

Since the floor is plywood and chickens are notorious for splashing water all over the place, we decided to line the floor with a scrap of linoleum. Which, by the way, means the chicks officially have a nicer kitchen floor than I do. I also discovered I truly suck at gluing down linoleum. I got it everywhere but on the floor. Gene took over that part, and I moved on to far more fun things – interior decorating.

I decided that since they were going to be stuck inside until it warms up (so, probably July?), they needed an Experience Area. I prowled around the yard, selecting the perfect downed tree limb, and turned it into a Climbing Station. The chicks love it, and most of them roost on it for the night.

The coop has plenty of room to grow into – Gene built cascading roosting bars (so no one gets a poo shampoo while sleeping!) and even better, a chicken swing! It’s a roosting bar that will hang from hooks in the ceiling, so they can swing to and fro should they feel like it. I can’t wait until they get a little bigger so we can install it! Right now the heat lamp is in the way, since we had to hang it low to the ground. I also have grand plans for adding a Dusting Station and a Treat Station, plus a fully fenced and covered outdoor living area once they get their feathers in. The trick will be prying Gene off the tractor long enough to install it….

Now that Gene’s retired, he’s been looking for things to do outside the house. Mostly to escape the 9-page list I’ve given him of what needs to do be done around here, like building window perches in every room for the cats (reinforced for Chunk, of course). A few weeks ago, he started helping our friends out by peeling the bark off of logs they cut with their sawmill. The second time he did it, he called asking me to bring him his hiking boots, since his muck boots were too hot. I took one look at the draw knife, the partially peeled logs, and the huge pile of bark shavings and wanted in.

Good pay, exercise, AND you can make a mess? Heaven. Even better, it doesn’t hurt my hands because I can do it without bending my wrists. I hold the draw knife steady, then just lean back and let my body weight do the work. Let’s just say there’s a lot of power generated when I lean back. Not to brag, but it’s like someone turned on a wood chipper. The only downside was discovering the hard way that I’m allergic to pine. Snuffling, snorting, eyes-swelled-shut allergic to pine.

Being the stubborn sort, I wasn’t about to let a pesky allergy get in the way of something I love to do. Gene took me to the hardware store and I equipped myself with nerd goggles (safety first!), plastic gloves, and a mask. The next time we did it, I popped two Claritins, then donned my gear.

Not so much as a sneeze. Of course, I could barely breathe, and I sounded like Darth Vader moonlighting as a lumberjack. Gene has since bought me a respirator-style face mask that makes getting fresh air much easier. I’d post a picture, but the folks over at Lumberjack Vogue said I couldn’t spoil the May cover.

But finding a new career option isn’t even the coolest thing I’ve been up to. Gene and I have been making our own maple syrup!!! Our friends let us check the taps in some maple trees on their property, and keep what we found. Can I just say that A) maple sap looks and tastes NOTHING like maple syrup and B) bugs. Moths love them some maple sap. So many floaters.

It also takes 40 gallons of sap to make 1 gallon of syrup, and we just had 4 or 5 gallons of sap to start with. So we spent about 8 hours patiently straining, boiling, and minding the sap, only to end up with 1 pint of syrup. Totally worth it. I could have “taste tested” the entire batch, but Gene made me quit dipping my spoon in even when I told him it was strictly for quality control.

Gene started the batch off outside, in a large pan on the propane camp stove. Because you’re evaporating such a huge quantity of water, if you do it inside you end up with walls that are coated in sticky residue. Since the Northland is plagued by flies when the ground isn’t frozen, the last thing I want is sticky walls. That would be like living in a giant fly trap. Shudder. I can’t even.

So anyway, we decided to only bring the syrup inside when it’s close to ready to being finished. We started fairly late at night, so Gene ended up being out there around midnight, watching the Northern lights and making sure the sugar didn’t burn. Turns out wolves like maple syrup too, because pretty soon they started howling from about 100 yards away. When Ceri started growling, he decided it was probably time to come back in the house.

We finished cooking it the next day, and it turned out amazing. I really hope we’ve got some maple trees on our property, because a pint isn’t going to last long around here.

Gene and I were walking back from the beaver pond this afternoon, after unsuccessfully stalking the swans with my camera. It’s really windy today, so they’re probably bedded down somewhere. As we got near the house, I noticed a leaf that was moving around the yard. It wasn’t blowing in the wind so much as it was drunkenly staggering around. When I went in for a closer look, I realized it was a HUGE beetle. It was over 2″ long!

Naturally, I took about 75 photos of it as it lumbered about. He seemed like a friendly enough fellow, even though I was fully prepared for him to tire of my sticking a camera lens right up in his face and decide to do something about it. I was having a hoot, right up until Gene came over and said, “Wow, that’s a huge cockroach.”

I’ve never backed up faster in my life. And despite it being Easter, I was fully prepared to call our Realtor and demand to know why the presence of a giant cockroach WITHIN TWO FEET OF MY HOUSE wasn’t disclosed prior to buying the property. Because file that under “dealbreaker,” you know?

But Gene said before I started packing, I should look online and make sure that’s what it was. And, thank goodness, turns out it’s a Giant Water Bug! The largest bug in all of Minnesota. How cool is that? It eats tadpoles and small fish! That’s respectable. Apparently they’re attracted to light, so it had probably left the beaver pond to check out our porch light. Although I have to say, I’m somewhat glad I didn’t see it buzzing around the porch at night while I was here by myself. That would be way worse than zombies.

About two weeks ago, I made a most magical discovery. Gene and I were walking the dogs in the afternoon, and we heard what sounded like honking. Like freeway noise honking, which under normal circumstances would be super annoying. But when it’s coming from a beaver pond, it’s downright perplexing.

As we turned the corner on the path and we could see the pond, 2 huge Trumpeter swans glided into sight! They are some of the most beautiful birds I’ve ever seen (flamingos top my list, because pink!!!). With jet black beaks and feet, and snow white feathers they’re very visually striking. And also loud. Very loud. Their honks and beeps are audible from the house! I love listening to them, they sound quite joyous.

Gene waited until a day when they were hanging out in the upper beaver pond, and he set up his portable hunting blind for me. So a couple days a week I go out there just before dawn, armed with my camera and travel mug of coffee, and lurk. So far I’ve seen an otter, a pair of wood ducks, the swans, and a bunch of geese.

Of course, the very first time I sat in the hunting blind, I had delusions that I would instantly be the next world famous wildlife photographer. I donned my camo coat that’s heated with a battery pack (like all the other famous photographers no doubt wear), put an extra camera battery in my pocket, grabbed my camera & coffee, and headed out the door well before sunrise.

I watched the sun come up from my swivel bucket seat, shivering and impatiently waiting for something to move. You know what isn’t comfortable? Sitting on a five gallon bucket with a lid covered in a half inch foam pad, even if it does swivel. That’s only fun for the first five minutes. (Note to Gene: All the other famous photographers have assistants that tote around upholstered chairs, I’m just saying. That, and I need a bigger bucket.)

Not pictured: everything.

Fast forward 15 minutes… and nothing. No swans, no wood ducks, no beavers, no otters… nothing. And then the wolves started howling. Loudly. I couldn’t see them, but they were just on the other side of the trees, well within about 200 feet of my very thin walled hunting blind. With my oh-so-fragrant (and delicious!) cup of coffee. As I’m listening to the eerie chorus of howls echo over the beaver pond, that stupid “Should I stay or should I go” song popped into my head. Then I started thinking if that’s the last song I hear before a wolf eats me, I’m going to be really vexed. And yet again, Gene was going to be pissed that I opted for coffee over my gun. Sigh.

After about 15 minutes, the pack moved on, and I decided it was time to leave my nest and head for the lower beaver pond. Which ended up to be perfect timing, as I snapped a ton of shots of the beaver I wrote about last post!