Running While Set on Fire

A French firefighter named Jonathan Vero recently earned a Guinness World Record for running a distance of 893 feet after being set on fire. Vero was set ablaze on a running track while wearing a protective suit to break the record for the longest distance full-body burn run without oxygen. He completed the first 328 feet in a time of 17 seconds, which also broke a second record for the fastest full body burn 100-meter sprint without oxygen.

That’s pretty weird stuff, but I’m not totally impressed. I’m convinced a couple of my high school buddies might have broken both of these records many years ago after catching themselves on fire while warming too near the bonfire during one of our beer kegger parties in the mountains. And, frankly, they were more impressive because they didn’t have on fancy suits, and they didn’t spill a drop of beer in the process!

—Mitchell Hegman

Six Words

Today, I am sharing a concise six-word poem written by A.R. Ammons.  This is the stuff that makes me love contemporary poetry:

 

Their Sex Life

One failure on

Top of another

How Smart is a Bird Call App?

Long ago, we established that I am, at best, a halfwit in matters of identifying birds by their calls. Perhaps you recollect my blog from a few weeks ago when both I and my brother-in-law thought a backhoe starting its engine in the distance was a bird calling in a mate.

While sitting in my hot tub the other day, a realization suddenly struck me. For several years now, I have not heard a very distinctive warbling that regularly emanates from the juniper and pines on the hill below my house. More disturbingly, I have no idea what bird sings the song.

I wondered, 'Has the bird vanished from my landscape?'

Thinking I might be able to identify the bird with a bird call app, I navigated to the Play Store on my smartphone and downloaded a highly-rated bird call identification app. Once I installed it, I launched the app and then whistled the song I used to hear into my phone.

The app immediately responded with this: “That is likely a human.”

Cursing, I immediately uninstalled the app and grabbed myself a beer.

—Mitchell Hegman

Sunset 6-25-2023

Two nights ago, we experienced another gorgeous sunset. Though Desiree and I were originally drawn outside to admire our yucca plants, the sunset held us there. While the colors at the front of the house remained muted and the scene pastoral, a five-alarm sunset developed over the lake outside our back door."

Looking West

Yucca in Bloom

Final Orange Splash in Back

—Mitchell Hegman

The Gathering

Bitterroot plants are not obsessed with water. These hardy perennials have adapted to thrive in arid environments, displaying unique growth cycles and habits. Native to North America, bitterroot (Lewisia rediviva) is a low-growing and cautious plant that manages to flourish in challenging conditions.

In early spring, as temperatures rise, bitterroot plants emerge and form rosettes of fleshy, succulent leaves. These leaves conserve water with their waxy cuticles. Nutrients are stored in the underground caudex (stem) to prepare for blooming.

In June, all around my prairie home, stunning blossoms appear as the spring rosettes slowly shrink away, showcasing vibrant hues of pink, white, or purple. After blooming, bitterroot reenters dormancy. Leaves wither, and above-ground growth diminishes. Roots delve deep into the soil, accessing moisture and nutrients for the next spring. While withdrawing back into the earth, the bitterroot sheds dried seed pods and disperses tiny clusters of black seeds.

Yesterday, I hunted down and gathered about two dozen seed pods. I am hoping to use the seeds to establish a conspicuous patch of bitterroot near my house.

Bitterroot Seed Pods

Bitterroot Cluster in Bloom

Bitterroot Pair in Bloom

—Mitchell Hegman

Aimless Ambition

I singled out an ant

and watched it go about its ant duties…

too scurry this way and that

and this, this, this,

and that, this, that.

Either I or the ant has lost our way.

Of this and that, I am certain.

—Mitchell Hegman

Bigfoot and Elvis

Just as I headed for the door for a quick turn-around trip to the lake, I glanced at my smartphone on the kitchen counter. “Naw,” I thought, 'I don't need that. I am only going to be gone for five minutes.”

I took a couple more steps toward the door, stopped, and considered. No, I didn't need my phone. But my phone is now my camera. I thought about what I always tell Desiree when she wants to leave her phone behind when we embark on a quick errand: “What if we run into a UFO out there, and both Elvis and Bigfoot step outside the craft asking us to take their picture together?”

I turned around and grabbed my phone. Regrettably, I captured no photograph of Bigfoot and Elvis. I either arrived at the lake five minutes too early or missed them by the same margin.

—Mitchell Hegman

Myself

• I have been myself for so long, I would instantly fail at being someone else.
• I trust myself with a weed trimmer but not a backhoe.
• I see myself as normal, which may be moving the benchmark a bit.
• It took a while, but I have finally trained myself not to walk into closed doors.  
• I improved after teaching myself to accept and honestly weigh criticism.
• I am more “my” than “self.”

—Mitchell Hegman

Instant Fence

Montana is a funny place. By funny, I mean highly unpredictable and filled with cowboys doing stuff.

Yesterday, I drove to town, leaving my house by crossing the open prairie, just as I have for the last 32 years. But when I came home a few hours later, I found that a young cowboy had put up a post and pole fence across the prairie in front of my house. The fence demarcates the south boundary of my parcel.

That doesn't happen every day.

My neighbor informed me a fence was coming, but I never expected it to sprout up instantly.

New Fence

—Mitchell Hegman

False Greetings

It’s a sign of age and feathers in my head that I regularly spot people I know while out shopping, only to recall, with a jolt, as I am about to hail them, that they have been deceased for years.

—Mitchell Hegman

She is Good (Morning Report from the Cabin)

Stars slowly evaporate against the steel-blue of a new day. From their nests in the dusky fir and pine, yesterday's birds on the wing are this morning's most certain song. The sound of the creek remains deeper and more enduring. I find a motherly comfort in the endless sound of water murmuring along the length of creek at my door.

The simple dinner Desiree and I shared at the campfire in the soft glow of last evening's final mountain light proved better than the most expensive meal I have ever committed to my credit card. Nothing beats campfire food. And the hours I spend deep in the mountains repair all that is torn within me.

The other day, a little girl, out of nowhere, stared up at Desiree's face and pronounced, “You look good!” She repeated, “You look so good.” This morning, sitting here sipping at my too-strong coffee, I am waiting for Desiree to stir.

She is good.

Desiree at the Campfire

—Mitchell Hegman

The Quest

Desiree and I are on a quest. We intend to glean a sapphire from the ground somewhere nearby us that is big enough and clear enough to facet and place in a ring.

The quest sounds fairly simple on the surface: find a rock. Moreover, our house is quite literally surrounded by productive sapphire mines. But finding a sapphire suffers from the same issues associated with any venture involving digging in the dirt: it's hard work and it's messy. Additionally, you are likely to find a handful of lousy to marginal sapphires before you find the one worthy of displaying on jewelry.

On Saturday, I accompanied my young friend Randy St. Clair on a drive to Eldorado Bar to dig our own sapphire gravel at one of the mines. Though the mine is only about three miles from my house as the crow flies, the drive around Hauser Lake to reach the mine is closer to twenty miles. I ended up bringing home three five(ish)-gallon bags of sapphire gravel. In the time since, Desiree and I have processed one bag of gravel.

We are finding sapphires. Big ones. But they are not the quality we need.

The quest continues.

Randy Classifying Sapphire Gravel

Our Finds in the First Bag

—Mitchell Hegman

Americans are not Measuring Up

As a country, we had better hope size doesn’t matter.  When comparing penis size by nationality, Americans rank in 60th place with a penis size of 5.4 inches.  Men from Ecuador and Cameroon were deemed to have the largest widgets, on average measuring almost seven inches from root to tip when erect.  The study, spanning some 90 countries, was conducted by German researches, who apparently have even less important things to do than American researchers.  The researchers avoided using data where men had self-reported their penis size.  Not surprisingly, men tend to add a wee bit to their extension size when, um, taking matters into their own hands. 

On the sparse end of the study, men in Cambodia were found to sport an average penis measuring 3.95 inches.

Perhaps most importantly, the study finally dispelled the myth that the length of the male limb can be determined by the size of the shoe or the length of the index finger.

—Mitchell Hegman

Source: the-sun.com

Caught by Google

Google Earth and Google Street View have captured a lot of interesting things on camera over the years. Naturally, more than a few naked people have been caught by the roving cameras. There have been images of both crimes being committed and arrests being conducted. You may see buildings burning down. Several Street View images appear to depict inmates freshly escaped from jail.

When looking up the address for someone I know, I found a street view image of him mowing his lawn.

Given the odds and the habits of people I pal around with, I suspect that at some point Google is going to capture an image of our lakeshore and catch one of the guys taking a whiz somewhere beyond the campfire.

—Mitchell Hegman

Return of the Lady Slippers

My lady slippers are back. At one time, I had two patches of lady slipper orchids within sight of my cabin. While one patch typically displayed (and still does) only modest offerings of one or two clusters of flowers, the other often presented a half-dozen or more dense clusters of orchids.

Sadly, the best collection of orchids vanished in 2009 after a severe pine beetle infestation killed many of the nearby trees and forced me to remove them. Something in the delicate balance of growth conditions had changed. Lady slipper orchids in Montana can be found primarily in forested areas and moist, shady habitats. These gentle beauties have developed a remarkable adaptation to survive in these conditions. One of the most intriguing details is their symbiotic relationship with specific soil fungi, known as mycorrhizal associations. These fungi form intricate connections with the orchid's roots, facilitating the absorption of nutrients necessary for their growth. This dependency on fungi makes lady slipper orchids particularly sensitive to changes in their environment. I suspect the loss of the trees impacted this fungal relationship.

Yesterday, while on a walkabout near my cabin, I found an impressive presentation of lady slippers in the spot where they thrived before 2009. A profoundly important return, this.

My Lady Slippers

Close Lady

My Cabin in the Woods

—Mitchell Hegman

Natives

 Given that my house was constructed in a semi-arid corner of the valley, on what is more of a pile of rocks than a patch of soil, prickly pear cactus is not a bad choice for my “yard.”

Incorporating native prickly pear cactus into my water-efficient yard offers multiple benefits. These plants thrive in dry climates, minimizing water usage and maintenance. Best of all, in June, the cacti put forth vibrant flowers, which add visual appeal and attract pollinators like bees and butterflies.

Not everyone is keen on a yard like mine, but I appreciate the fact that I can walk away without watering everything and know that my native plants will be alive and well when I return. I am sharing a photograph of a cactus in bloom and a patch of scarlet globemallow, another native plant I have allowed to populate near my house.

A Prickly Pear at the Front of my House

Scarlet Globemallow

—Mitchell Hegman

The Gates

I never managed to get Desiree to the Gates of The Mountains last year.  In my way of thinking, boating through the canyon at The Gates is one of the premier activities available near Helena, Montana.  Yesterday, we finally managed a ride through the canyon on a most beautiful morning. No matter how many times I have seen the limestone cliffs there, I am always dazzled by them.

I am sharing a couple of photographs from our early morning ride.

Morning Light

Reflections

Desiree Taking in the Views

—Mitchell Hegman

Another Conversation with Desiree

While driving down the highway with Desiree, I pointed out a totally dilapidated mobile home with the roof half-collapsed in.  “Look, Desi, there is a trailer for you.”

Desiree appraised the trailer for a moment and then offered me a fairly puzzled expression.

“I’m just thinking,” I teased, “that you could buy that trailer for as little as twenty bucks.”

Desiree squinted.  “I will buy ice cream.”

—Mitchell Hegman

My Loud Neighbor

Every time I step out my back door, my neighbor yells at me. Actually, the boisterous offender is more of a squatter than a neighbor.

Who is this offender, you may ask? Well, let me introduce you to the one and only American robin, a feathered diva with a voice that could shatter glass. Yes, a bird. A very loud, incessant bird that perches atop one of the loftiest pines, singing warnings at me.

The bird, a male, has been singing almost non-stop for many days on end. Robins are highly territorial birds, especially during the breeding season. Male robins sing to establish and defend territory from other males. By singing loudly and consistently, it is signaling its presence and warning other robins to stay away.

I guess the bird considers me another male robin. I suppose that's fine. My big beef is that I am the one paying property taxes around here. You would think we could, at a minimum, share the place in peace.

—Mitchell Hegman

Mabuhay

Helena, Montana, is not a place where you readily find a lot of grocery items from the Philippines. When Desiree first arrived here, we found a few odds and ends in the local stores. To procure more items and brands Desiree preferred, we ordered goods from online sources.

Fortunately, there is another, more interesting option for attaining Filipino goods. Every few months, a mobile Filipino market makes a stop in Helena. The Mabuhay Oriental Market is based in Kalispell but makes fairly routine trips to Great Falls and Helena. The market is owned and operated by a Filipino, and they arrive in Helena with either a big truck or a trailer loaded with dry goods, canned goods, and frozen foods found in stores in the Philippines.

"Mabuhay" is a Filipino greeting, usually expressed as "Mabuhay!", which literally means "live". The term is similar to the Hawaiian expression "aloha".

Yesterday afternoon, the Mabuhay mobile market stopped in Helena for a couple of hours. Once the market opened for business, a swarm of local Filipinos (including Desiree) filled the truck and scoured the shelves and freezers, seeking desired items from the Philippines.

Desiree happily filled a handbasket.

A Few of the Items Desiree Purchased

Filipinos Gathered Around the Mobile Market

—Mitchell Hegman

Fishing (Wires)

I did a lot of fishing while working as an electrician. Not trout fishing, I mean fishing wires up and down the hollows of drywall or across the spaces above ceilings. Thing is, fishing wires is just as iffy and unpredictable as fishing for trout. Sometimes, you succeed within a few minutes. On the next job, however, wood blocking or insulation might fight you for hours.

The running joke with electricians is this: if you fish a wire in on the first attempt, you will pay dearly on the next fishing job. If this joke holds true, I will be paying dearly next time. I managed, on my first attempt, to fish a 12/2 Romex across 5 feet of insulated ceiling my first attempt while wiring for lights in my updated master bedroom ceiling.

I have posted a photograph of my handiwork.

—Mitchell Hegman

An Unusual Turn of Conversation

I found Desiree admiring a pair of her daylilies that are just now beginning to bloom outside our bay windows.  Many years ago, I planted a few daylilies near our drive.  On the very day they began to blossom, some mule deer sneaked in and chomped the flowers down.  Reflecting on this, I said, “Hopefully, your daylilies don’t get discovered by the deer.  I have seen that trick before.”

“They better leave them alone,” she suggested.

“What will you do if a deer eats them?”

“I will eat the deer.”

“Oh.  I was thinking fencing, but that works, too.”

—Mitchell Hegman

Air is Scary

Air can be plenty scary. If you doubt me, try accidentally actuating the relief pressure safety valve (pop-off) on your fully pressurized pancake air compressor when you pick it up to carry it to a new spot.

I did just that while working on my ceiling project. I was fairly certain I had only seconds to live when the air first blasted from the valve. And let me assure you, not a little air escapes from the valve. It's a lot. I think I might have squealed, too, but the explosion of air drowned that out.

Fortunately, the blast of air lasted for only a few seconds before the valve snapped shut again, leaving me standing there stock still and panting.

My Pancake Compressor

Emergency Relief Valve

—Mitchell Hegman

Blue Pine Coffee Table

Desiree is in the process of applying several polycrylic finishing coats to the tabletop we will fasten to our existing living room coffee table. The top started off as a slab of blue pine, cut from a beetle-killed tree felled some thirteen or so years ago.

The pine beetles don’t actually kill the trees when they bore into them to lay eggs. Instead, as the beetles move through the tree, they introduce the blue stain fungus into the tree's inner tissues. The fungus starts growing and spreading within the tree's vascular system, which is responsible for transporting water and nutrients. As the fungus spreads, it blocks the tree's water-conducting vessels and ultimately kills many of the infected trees.

In those places where the blue stain fungus colonizes the wood, it imparts a bluish discoloration to the affected pine trees. This is where the term 'blue pine' comes from. The slab of wood Desiree is working with displays swaths of grayish-blue throughout much of the inner grain.

Desiree Applying a Finish to the Blue Pine

—Mitchell Hegman

The Soft Side of Evening

June and September are my favorite months in Montana. I like September for the moderate temperatures and clarity of skies. June is filled with renewing life, green landscapes, and some of our softest skies. Late yesterday evening proved to be one of the most serene and colorful of the entire year so far. Best of all, a small rainbow appeared in front of the house.

Posted are two photographs I captured from the front door.

Soft Colors 6-5-2023

—Mitchell Hegman

Collateral Bedding

The term “collateral damage” refers to the unintended or incidental harm or destruction caused to people, property, or infrastructure that occurs as a result of military operations.

Interestingly enough, I inadvertently created collateral bedding: unintentional and potentially damaging bedding created by construction activities.

Desiree has a habit of rousing a bit later than me. This morning, as soon as she joined me after waking, she asked, 'What is this?”

I turned to find her holding a twelve-inch cedar shim. “That's a shim,” I told her.

“I slept with it last night,” she said. “It was in the blanket with me.”

“Oh,” I laughed. “I must have dropped it while working on the ceiling above the bed.”

“How well did you sleep?”

“Fine.”

“Alrighty then.”

Collateral Bedding

—Mitchell Hegman

Houseplant Training

I’m undertaking an unusual project. Using magnets, I’m teaching a houseplant to walk across the ceiling in my sunroom.

Before you walk away thinking I’m daffy, allow me to explain.

For starters, the plant is a hoya, a type of vine that will reach out and grab onto pretty much anything it can climb. When I moved my hoya into the sunroom, I fashioned something of a trellis so the plant could scramble up the wall. Before long, several runners reached out to find a purchase on the metal ceiling.

I thought to myself, 'What if I provided a path so the plant could extend across the ceiling?' That’s when I got the idea to use hooks with magnetic bases to direct the hoya where I want it to go.

I think the photographs I’m sharing should help illustrate what I’m doing.

My Hoya Plant

Magnetic Hook and Hoya Runners

—Mitchell Hegman

Postage Stamps (A Ceiling Progress Report)

Desiree has received two parcels from the Philippines via mail. In both instances, the post office in the Philippines affixed huge sheets of stamps – nearly covering all sides of the package – instead of attaching a small label citing the postage paid.

I actually thought the first package was gift-wrapped at first glance. Honestly, I find the stamped packages a little quaint and wholly charming at the same time.

Now we can talk about ceilings. A couple of weeks back, I posted a blog about a new (fancy) ceiling I am constructing in our master bedroom. In this project, as with all projects in my house, I will be placing personal items within framed hollows and permanently enclosing them for posterity as I apply the finishing materials. One of the items I will place in the ceiling structure is a sheet of stamps I clipped from the side of the last parcel from the Philippines.

I am sharing a photograph of the stamps and the ceiling framing as it appears today.

—Mitchell Hegman

140%

So, what do you do if you're eating a generous helping of something that will provide 140% of your suggested daily intake of salt, and additionally, the internet warns about your treat: 'Eating it may be associated with a higher risk of diabetes, heart disease, COPD, high blood pressure, and certain types of cancer?' Obviously, you fry it a bit longer and eat it quickly.

—Mitchell Hegman

Noodlegate: A Potential Recipe for Disaster

Old Bridge, New Jersey, recently found itself entangled in the enigma of the century: someone unceremoniously dumped 500 pounds of spaghetti and macaroni near a local stream.

Mayor Owen Henry dispatched a crew to clean up the noodles as soon as they were discovered. It turns out that the pasta had been raw when dumped, but heavy rains soon swooped in, transforming the pasta into a mess of undercooked and unpalatable goo.

Mayor Henry assured everyone that no environmental or health issues arose from the heap of pasta dumped by unknown food-abusing perpetrators.

For me, the story leaves me with one burning question: should the noodles be considered litter or merely leftovers?

—Mitchell Hegman

Source:  apnews.com