Better Not to Know

According to a pest control blog I recently read, it is speculated that houseflies defecate every time they land.

This morning, as I watched a housefly looping around my kitchen, landing on a cupboard door, then a spoon on the countertop, then the window above the kitchen sink, then my coffee cup, I thought to myself: “I really wish I had not read that stupid blog about flies.”

—Mitchell Hegman

Morning at the Lake

Photographs from an early morning walk down to the lake.

Reflections

Gumbo Lily (roughly the size of your fist)

—Mitchell Hegman

Four Planters

Somewhere about ten years ago, I placed four large planters at the edge of my deck.  I planted decorative bunchgrass in each, thinking the grass would survive from year to year.

The following spring found the bunchgrass dead.

After uprooting the grass, I tried Russian sage.

The sage survived only one summer.

For the next eight or so years, I planted only annuals in the planters.  I planned on yearly defeat.

Last year, that girl suggested permanent metal flowers and filling the top half of the planters with white rocks.  Here, a permanent thing.  No more fighting nature.

This morning I am posting a photograph of one of the planters.  The planter is now filled with volunteers from a spreading flower (whose name I have forgotten) that has been growing in a flower bed near for the whole time.

I am going to allow nature to have its way on this one.

—Mitchell Hegman 

If Dreams Have Meanings

I woke this morning recalling a snippet of dream.  Just the soundless image of a black horse swimming the swollen waters of a river.

If dreams have meanings, I hope this one means I am going to win the lottery without actually having to buy a ticket.

—Mitchell Hegman

Four Bits of Discomforting Knowledge

1. The prettiest colored stars are pretty because they are dancing way from us.

2. System decay is the prime architect of change.

3. The first tools made by man were for killing beasts for dinner.

4. Our lovely white sand ocean beaches are made from fish poop.

—Mitchell Hegman

Scary Clean

On May 15, a man named Nate Roman arrived at his Massachusetts home only to find his back door wide open.   A mélange of strange, sharp odors greeted him when he entered his house—the odor of cleaning products.

Inspecting the door, Nate saw no sign of forced entry.   Cautiously walking through his house, he did not find anything missing.  But when he entered his bedroom, he discovered someone had cleaned the room. 

When he checked his bedrooms, he found them scrubbed clean and smelling fresh.

Naturally, Nate called the police.

I’m not sure exactly what he said, but here is the conversation I imagined:

POLICE OFFICER: “Police Department, how may I serve you?”

NATE: “My house is clean.”

POLICE OFFICER: “Yes…mine is also…”

NATE: “But I didn’t clean it.”

POLICE OFFICER: “I didn’t clean mine this time, either.  My wife and I take turns.  Maybe you could share a bit more information.”

NATE: “I mean, someone broke into my house and cleaned it!”

After talking with the police and changing the locks on his door, Nate posted about the home intruders on Facebook: “They made the beds, vacuumed the rugs, scrubbed the toilets and left (toilet-paper) roses.”

Nate suspects he forgot to lock his back door and theorizes a housekeeping service may have accidentally gone to the wrong address.

He describes the event as “creepy.”

Me?  If I thought that might happen at my home, I would happily leave all my doors unlocked all day, every day.

—Mitchell Hegman

Source: MSN

Felling Trees and Shooting Stars

I will admit, the title of this blog is something of a play on words.  I am talking about dropping trees, but not about shooting holes in stars.  “Shooting stars,” in this case, is a particular flower.

Allow me to explain.

Yesterday, I spent another day at my cabin.  Midway through the day, my young friend, Geddy Parker, drove up to help me fell some large, dead-standing trees I considered too dangerous for my skill level.  Geddy has the skill.  He worked as a logger for several years.

I worried about felling the tree myself for two reasons.   First, most of them were compromised by splits.  I feared some of them would come apart in spectacularly deadly fashion once touched by a chainsaw.   Secondly, I feared I might drop them against living trees I want to save.

After his arrival, Geddy assessed the trees and then, using precise cuts and wedges, dropped about a dozen beetle-kill trees for me.  He dropped every tree perfectly.  I have posted a video of his work on one of the trees at the end of this blog.

Shooting star flowers rather flare like a shooting star, though they are not much larger than your thumbnail.  And they are equally as ephemeral—blooming briefly in the moist early weeks of spring before the small plant receding back into all the other nameless whatnot comprising a mountain meadow.

On my drive out from my cabin, I spotted a few shooting star.  I stopped my truck and crawled around on the grass to capture a photograph with my smarter-than-me-phone.

—Mitchell Hegman

Circular Sawn

My circular sawn cabin floor is done.

The flooring material was sourced locally.  The trees local.  The sawmill local.  The flooring is comprised of various lengths of rough-hewn tongue and groove Douglas fir pieces—laid down in alternating rows of four-inch and six-inch wide strips.

I started installing the flooring last October and spent something near twelve (catch-as-you-can) days between then and mid-December cutting and nailing pieces in place atop an underlayment. 

In late April of this year, I busted through the last remaining snow drifts and started in again.  After a few more days of cutting lengths and nailing them in place, I began the process of finishing the flooring. 

Another ten (catch-as-you-can) days of work:  Sanding down the surface of the entire floor to removes slivers and exceptionally rough spots.  Applying a coat of stain.  Sanding down the stain coat.  Applying two coats of sealer.

Installing the boards

First sanding

Sanding after stain

Finished

—Mitchell Hegman

At the Edge of the Woods and in the Meadow

On a trip to the cabin yesterday, for the purpose of applying a finishing coat to the circular-sawn flooring I installed, I came across two herds of elk.  One small group, less than a mile from my cabin, ghosted away into the trees shortly after I captured photographs.  I spotted a larger herd slowly grazing across a meadow not far from Lincoln.

—Mitchell Hegman

Something Prince Philip Said

—“When a man opens a car door for his wife, it's either a new car or a new wife.”

When the Stars Wake Me

I forgot about the stars.  To be honest, I have crawled back inside myself a little these past weeks.  My personal life in turmoil.

But early this morning I woke and found all the stars tapping at my windows.  Their names have escaped me, of course, but there they were: spikes and pinwheels and glittering points and a thousand years passing each instant.

Some of the stars have vanished forever, taking their titles and colors with them.  Others have drifted to places where they can peer down at me from the long blue balcony, soon to fade above this ballroom floor that is my coming day.   

—Mitchell Hegman

Multitasking Victory is Mine!

After a lifetime of attempting to multitask, last night I achieved the ultimate end results with a little help from my computer.  While printing out documents, preparing dinner for myself, and folding some clothes—all at the same time—I managed to print six full copies of a 17-page document when I attempted to print a single copy of only the first two pages.

Well done, Mr. Hegman.

Well done.

—Mitchell Hegman

First Order of Business

For the longest time, rattling through the pages of the newspaper was my first order of business in the morning once I had a cup of coffee.  I have, in recent years, abandoned the newspaper.  These days, my first order of business is to pull my 20 pounds of housecat on my lap.

“You’re very annoying, but love you,” I tell him.  And then we both just sit there purring for a while. 

—Mitchell Hegman

One Month

A month has come and gone since the passing of my sister, Connie.

I miss her.  I enjoyed talking with Connie.  She was strange in the way I am strange.  Her mind, like mine, lacked a firm roadmap.  She read widely and was interested in rocks as much as roses.  Sometimes, we talked on the phone for hours.  We could bash presidents, praise the craftsmen in Butte, Montana, or curse the weather without spilling a drop of coffee or stepping on any innocent children as we wandered about with our phones, absorbed in conversation.

Connie was like sagebrush.  She was tough and could grow at just about any elevation.  And she could readily balance the sacred Mayan number thirteen with Tarot cards and Messianic Jews—even if I threw an ice-making refrigerator at her.

She was that good!

Connie was spiritual and thoughtful and was never opposed to laughing at herself.

When she was younger, she had a poodle named Champaign and a friend with red hair.   

When she was older, she liked to paint rooms green.

Small wonder I miss her.

—Mitchell Hegman

Hair Farm

After a day of working on my cabin, I arrived home to find a veritable hair farm on my living room carpet.  Apparently, my 20 pounds of housecat had something of an itch while I was out.

I would say he took care of it.

—Mitchell Hegman

Rain Clouds

Though not in full light, I see zinc-colored rain clouds amassing along the Rocky Mountain Front.  And while the clouds seem threatening, it’s worth remembering they carry onboard the future promise of wavering grasses, blooming flowers, upright trees, and the occasional huckleberry.

—Mitchell Hegman

Glacier Lilies

Glacier lilies are the first wildflower to offer prolific displays along the base of the mountains on the west side of the Continental Divide where my cabin is found.  When I was there four days ago, I saw none in bloom.  Yesterday, I saw thousands.

Yellow, the color of the day.

Glacier lilies thrive only during the coolest weeks of spring.  These flowers require cold.  The seeds of glacier lilies must endure at least one hundred days of cold before they can successfully germinate.

Mature glacier lilies often emerge at the feet of melting snowbanks—long before any other shrub or flower or grass has even begun to stretch and yawn, coming awake after a long winter.

The corm (bulb) of a glacier lily grows deep in the ground.  The corms are starchy white and can be eaten uncooked.  I unearthed a handful of them a couple years ago and found them to taste exactly the same as raw jicama (Mexican potato).

Delicious, in a single word.

But, I prefer to leave the lilies undisturbed.  I want them to flourish and display, assuring me spring is come official.

Posted today are a couple of photographs I captured with my smarter-than-me-phone.

—Mitchell Hegman

The Word for Everything is Forest

A forest comprised of only one kind of tree is always in jeopardy of wholesale loss from disease and pests.

—Mitchell Hegman

The Flower Exercise

On one side of blank sheet of paper make a list of things you fear.  On the other side of the paper make a list of flowers you like.

See, flowers always win.

—Mitchell Hegman

To-Do List for Today

—Wander out into the prairie until I find a bunch of perfectly lavender tufted phlox.

—Fire-up the underground sprinkler system down at the lake.

—Skip rocks on the lake’s surface until I throw a twelve-skipper.

—Pat my 20 pounds of cat on the head and say, “You’re awesome, dude.”

—Walk around Big Tire Gulch (my property, Kevin’s name) until I find a rock with a quartz stripe through it.  

—Hand water the blue grama grass I planted at the new well head.

—Watch a pre-recorded episode of Naked and Afraid.

—Mitchell Hegman

Uyen

On this day, eight years ago, Uyen exhaled one last time and quietly drifted away from us.  Uyen had a smile as prominent as Mount Kilimanjaro rising from the plains of Africa.

We will never stop missing you, honey.

Never to forget.

—Mitchell Hegman

Western Meadowlark Song

Early yesterday morning, a western meadowlark called from some nearby trees as I stood outside my house evaluating the morning.  I had planned on stepping outside for no more than a minute, but I remained out there listening until the meadowlark stopped singing.

For some reason, the number of meadowlarks occupying the landscape around my house has declined considerably in the last couple years.

I have established certain priorities in my life.  Listening to western meadowlarks is one of them.

Here is the song of a meadowlark:

—Mitchell Hegman

Video Link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zab3rSB9r8M 

I Have Questions, Stranger

Most of us have self-established rules guiding and conducting our behavior while interacting with others.  These rules are really more an unsaid group consensus on what might be considered “normal” behavior—learned largely from trial and error.

One of those rules, apparently, suggests that you don’t ask a bunch of questions when you meet someone new.

Well, I didn’t adopt that one.

I ask a lot of questions when I meet someone new.  I actually enjoy doing so.  I am not afraid to ask personal questions, either.

I can read pretty quickly when this behavior of mine is off-putting to someone and I will back of when this is so.  But I have also had some unforgettable and profound conversations with strangers over the years.

I recall four such questioning conversations that are so vivid (each years apart) I parted knowing I had met someone who could have been a life-long friend.

—Mitchell Hegman

Something Heraclitus Said

—No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it's not the same river and he's not the same man.

—Hide our ignorance as we will, an evening of wine soon reveals it.

—The way up and the way down are one and the same.

Poison

The other day, while shopping at a big box store, I strolled past an entire gondola filled with poison.  Stuff for killing ants.  Stuff for killing wasps.  Stuff for killing grass.  Stuff for killing broad-leafed plants.  Stuff for killing mice and rats.  Stuff to kill everything in water.

An entire aisle for killing.

I actually stopped midway down the aisle of poison, and watched a smartly dressed young woman study a few labels some bottles.  A small boy of five or six stood there with her, clasping her hand.

Is this, I wondered, what our future looks like?

—Mitchell Hegman

Spring Arrives Without a Stem

Though not terribly spectacular, a thumb-sized version of spring finally appeared on the xeriscape prairie landscape within my “yard.”  The first native flower is in full bloom.  We call them a stemless daisy or cushion daisy.  Your field guide on flowers will identify them as a Hooker’s Townsendia.

—Mitchell Hegman

Chip

Yesterday, I took a break from sanding the circular-sawn flooring at my cabin and went out to sit in the sun for a bit.

Chip stopped by while I sat collecting sunlight.  You know, Chip the chipmunk.

Okay, so I call every chipmunk I see Chip.

Anyhow, Chip the chipmunk bounced in and out of my sunny place in the mountains for a few minutes.  I watched him stopping at various points along the way to grab a dandelion leaf and munch it down.  He eyed me with suspicion at all times. 

Ours is a tenuous friendship at best.

“Chip,” I said, “you’ve got a nice place here.  I like how the sun grows big trees everywhere.  Good small stuff on the ground.  Your creek is nice, too.  Mostly, I’m happy you made it through the winter.”

Chip bounced away without responding to me.

Honestly, I think I annoy Chip.

—Mitchell Hegman

Rolling

Posted is a smartphone video of an unusual accident.  Luckily, nobody got hurt.  Two different angles on the event can be found on YouTube.

—Mitchell Hegman

Video Link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E-37k3s4qD8 

A Clockwork Broccoli

Early this morning, I mistook a chunk of broccoli at the bottom of my kitchen sink for a moth.  I was totally nonplussed for a few moments when I first saw it.

I mention this as something of a warning that I will be out there driving around with some of you later today.

—Mitchell Hegman

Another Best Thing

Here is another “best’ thing:

The manner in which shadow and light scissors at you while you drive a narrow mountain road through a tall forest of lodgepole pine in the morning.

—Mitchell Hegman

The Scent of Wood

I have been lightly sanding down the rough face and edges on lengths of rough-hewn lumber I intend to use for trim at my cabin.  My work fills the surrounding air with the lightly-edged, vital scent of fir.   The scent of wood is important to me.  I believe that if the scent of freshly milled lumber were a planet, it would be Mars—holding the most promise for human endeavor.

—Mitchell Hegman