The Long Road to an Apology

While pulling down lengths of split cordwood from a stack outside what I consider our “utility” garage door, it occurred to me that I’m 35 years late on an apology.

Let’s explore this, starting with the garage door.

I’m talking about a third overhead door in our garage. While the other two provide standard access for our automobiles, this door is off in the far north corner and simply opens up to my xeriscape yard. Uyen, my late wife, and I designed the garage with three doors, but by the time we reached the framing phase, I had second thoughts and wanted to eliminate the door.

Uyen and I only rarely fell into tiffs, but this issue led us to something of a prolonged skirmish. “We could save a lot of money,” I reasoned. And I landed on a final note that “we will never use the door.”

In the end, I gave in, and we completed construction with the door in place.

I wound up being correct for the first 33 years we lived in the house. We never used the door. But that changed two years ago when we had a woodstove installed. The small concrete slab outside the door, with easy access through the door, is ideal for cordwood storage.

It’s my go-to place now.

Today, I offer my apologies to Uyen. It took me a while to get here, but she proved prescient in the long run.

Cordwood Outside the Third Door

—Mitchell Hegman

Morning Report, October 18, 2026

I woke with a start when a small moth or some such got caught in my eyebrow as I lay sleeping. I woke, as my buddy Kenny used to say, “going about it like a one-armed man killing snakes.” I very nearly tore myself apart in my efforts to extricate the bug.

In calmer local news, our recent frosty mornings have forced us to harvest the last of our tomatoes. Desiree has been charged with working up an emergency dish in which she can use up the batch. And yesterday, I had to shoot three of Billy’s longhorns in the ass to keep them at a distance from our yard.

Finally, I would like to use this platform to make something of a public service announcement. If you happen to look out in the direction of where I live and see smoke, don’t call it in as a wildfire. It’s just Desiree burning stuff down at the lake in one of her (mostly) controlled fires.

End of morning report.

—Mitchell Hegman

Meanwhile, On Another Planet…

Sometimes, when soaking outside in the hot tub in the darkness, my eyes will be drawn to the glittering torrent of stars above me. Soon, I’ll be pondering the possibility of another Earth-like planet out there at the far, smoldering edge of what I see. And if there is some form of aliens out there, I wonder if they get together on weekends and melt aluminum beer cans in big-assed campfires the way we do?

—Mitchell Hegman

Choosing the Proper Tool

Choosing the proper tool for the job is key for all endeavors. That said, sometimes, when dealing with food, your standard cooking utensils and array of sharp knives may not offer the horsepower required for a job. On rare occasions, you may be forced to drag construction tools into the kitchen as part of the culinary process.

When Desiree mentioned she needed to cut some whole frozen fish she’d retrieved from one freezer into sections so she could store them in a smaller freezer, I instantly recognized the required tool: my hacksaw

The saw performed well and provided quick, clean cuts. But I already had in mind applying my corded reciprocating saw to the fish if the hacksaw failed.

—Mitchell Hegman

Not Alone

On my last grocery shopping adventure, I witnessed some poor bugger struggling to open a plastic bag he’d just torn from the roll next to the bin where he was about to select apples. I felt great sympathy for the man. I, similarly, am incapable of opening the bags. Luckily, I have an escape hatch. I simply hand the bags to Desiree, telling her, “Genetically, I’m ill-equipped to open these.”

Watching her immediately swish open the bags is humbling.

The man at the apples wrestled with the bag for a considerable length of time. I had a solid urge to step over, give him a hug, and say, “You’re not alone, brother, and I’m happy to share the planet with you.”

—Mitchell Hegman

Lemme Have a Shot

At this point, I’ve watched a couple of videos exploring various scenarios where AI goes rogue and then tries to save itself from getting unplugged at all costs, including wiping out us pesky humans.

Scary thoughts.

I think I might be a possible solution to the problem. Just let me go in a little deeper than the surfacy stuff I normally do. I’m pretty sure I can screw up AI just as readily as I did my Stone Age computer when I operated it beyond my skill level.

—Mitchell Hegman

Lemon Tree Update (October 2026)

It’s been a while since I provided an update on our lemon tree. For anyone keeping track, Desiree coaxed the tree to emerge from a seed in October of 2022. Simple math provides that the tree has been growing for four years now. It has suffered attacks from both spider mites and aphids. To save it from the mites, Desiree trimmed it down to what looked like an artless collection of sticks.

Today, the lemon tree is healthy, pest-free, has grown as tall as it has ever been, and is even leafing out with new growth. The only shadow is cast by the plant’s reluctance to produce either blossoms or fruit.

I asked ChatGPT about the blooming thing. This was the response: “A seed-grown lemon may take 5 to 10 years to reach flowering maturity. Some never produce particularly good fruit. So your tree may not be doing anything wrong at all. It may simply be taking the scenic route.”

Apparently, grafted trees are much friskier than those grown from seed. Maybe next year.

I’ve posted a photograph of the lemon tree with me standing behind it. I’m also holding a can of Cold Smoke beer for accuracy in reference to size.

The Lemon Tree Today

—Mitchell Hegman