Sun Sticks

Two conversions have taken place here at what I’m now calling the Hegman Ungulate Animal Resort. The first, mentioned in a blog just a couple of days ago, came courtesy of a marauding herd of longhorn cattle. Over the weekend, they plodded into the yard and transformed broad patches of native grass into random displays of squishy cowpies.

Not exactly an improvement.

Today’s conversion brought us “sun sticks.”

Yesterday, a group of deer pranced into the yard and neatly nipped the flowerheads off a line of sunflowers at the front drive—leaving behind a stand of sun sticks.

Whether this qualifies as any kind of upgrade is still up for debate, though it seems unlikely.

I’ll spare you the cowpie photos, but here’s a look at one of our new sun sticks.

A Sun Stick

—Mitchell Hegman

The Long Trail

The cover for my hot tub measures a bit over six feet across. That may not strike some of us as a particularly great distance to cross, but distance is relative. If you’re a ¼-inch-long moth, that’s a pretty substantial jaunt. If early-morning dew has collected on the cover, it’s downright treacherous.

Starting in late spring and stretching through the fall, dew gathered on the hot tub becomes a death trap for all manner of moths and no-name whizbots. On some dewy mornings, I will find dozens of insects helplessly stuck in place on the cover, their wings pinned tight by the surface tension of the water.

Having been tainted by some sort of moron gene, I often try to save the insects by tabbing them up with my finger and depositing them on my brick ledge. I have my reasons. My cover folds back on itself when I open it. If I did this with the insects stuck in place, I would squash them.

Some mornings I find moths with trails behind them where they dragged themselves forward across the wet expanse.

Big efforts, those.

Noteworthy.

Yesterday, I found evidence of a single, wholly inspiring slog across the entire cover. And the moth had obviously escaped on the far side.

Great stuff, that.

I have posted photographic evidence of the great escape—including a Cold Smoke beer for proper scale.

The Long Trail

—Mitchell Hegman

Incidental Ranching

Montana is classified as “open range” territory. In the Western United States, open range is rangeland where cattle roam freely regardless of land ownership. When governed by "open range" laws, those wanting to keep animals off their property must erect a fence to keep animals out. This applies to public roads as well.

Plainly enough, this applies to both of our properties.

Over the weekend, while we were at the cabin, my neighbor’s cattle plowed through their haphazard fence and took up temporary residence on our property. We came home to find our drive and yard looking rather frazzled from grazing and littered with cow pies. The cattle, by then, had been pushed back onto their proper grazing land.

I shoveled up and carted off the most egregious pies and watered down the rest. Incidental ranching is a lot of work, but not particularly rewarding. I’ve posted a photograph of the longhorns at my drive—sent to me by a friend who happened to catch them there.

Cattle at the Drive

—Mitchell Hegman

An Electrician’s Tell

You are likely familiar with a gambler’s tell. At the poker table, a player may reveal in some way that they are holding either a good or bad hand. Truth leaks out in small ways: a twitch of the jaw, a particular fuss with the chips, a silence stretched one breath too long, a sidelong glance. An observant opponent might catch this.

Electricians have tells, too. Mine show in the way I use electrical parts for things they were never meant for. At the cabin, they’re easy to spot. Cross the bridge over the creek and you’ll see copper-clad ground rods for rails. Step inside the cabin and you’ll see the lights are cusrom-built from conduit and junction boxes. Down at the fire pit, my poker stick is a length of ¾-inch conduit.

Luckily, I don’t have electrical supplies at the card table. My tells there are the of the more conventional kind.

Skywalk Lights

Kitchen Lights

An Electrician’s Fire Poker

—Mitchell Hegman

Summer Wildfire 2025

Every summer, at some hot and windblown moment, I find myself standing on my back deck, watching an arm of smoke lift from the mountains—a wildfire burning somewhere close by. Yesterday was that day for this summer. Only this time, the fire flared to life on the ridge directly across the lake from me.

Close.

The closest one yet.

The smoke was white—thankfully—an indication the fire was just getting started, feeding only on grass and small shrubs.

Dark smoke is solidly ungood.

Firefighters swarmed the ridge within minutes. Rigs and crews rolled in from the far side while, above them, helicopters wheeled and swooped, dropping loads of water onto the flames. From my deck, I could see the choreography unfold.

And within a couple of hours, they had the fire tamped down.

I even managed a few photographs of the helicopters at work—a sobering thing to witness from my deck.

Smoke on the Ridge

A Chopper Dropping Water on the Fire

—Mitchell Hegman

This and That (The Sky Is My Garden)

I launched my first blog on January 3, 2010. As of today (August 16, 2025), it’s been 15 years, 7 months, 1 week, and 6 days since that date. For reference, that’s 5,704 days in total—814 weeks and 6 days. Following the passing of Uyen, my first wife, in May of 2011, I began posting daily. In all, I’ve posted 5,195 individual blogs.

I write about this and that. I repeat myself. I’ve littered the space with typos, dangling participles, and likely violated rules without proper names. I’ve wept while writing some blogs. I’ve guffawed. I’ve cursed.

I’ve also printed out every one of my blogs and collected them in three-ring binders. Today, I’m sharing a photograph of the binders documenting my journey from 2010 until now. I placed a Cold Smoke beer on one of the shelves as a size reference. The beer is incidental—the writing is what truly measures the years.

The Sky Is My Garden

—Mitchell Hegman

A Range in the Woods

Yesterday, I installed the electric range in the kitchen at our cabin.

The day started with meeting a couple of delivery men and a big truck, then guiding them across the creek. They had to wheel the range by hand truck for the last five hundred feet or so.

Interesting story—the delivery men were both from Kandahar in Afghanistan. They had worked with American soldiers during our time in the country. One has been here for five years, the other for five months.

Once they had deposited the range in the cabin, I was able to properly locate and wire the receptacle and install the pigtail cord. I did a pretty good job and managed to energize the range and set the clock to the proper time of day.

After finishing my electrical work (brilliant and exhausting stuff, that), I watered a few this-and-thats Desiree planted around the cabin. Then I climbed to the loft for a catnap—which quickly became a proper nap. The loft is a great, faraway place for an uninterrupted rest.

I’ve posted a photograph of the range pushed into place, along with one of my view from my napping spot in the loft.

Cabin Range

The Loft

—Mitchell Hegman