Return of the Voles

The voles have invaded Desiree's flower garden again.

Though they are often mistaken for mice, they live very different lives. While mice are quick to invade and take advantage of the luxuries of our homes, voles are creatures of meadows, fields, and forest edges. They spend most of their time hidden beneath dense grasses, scuttling through narrow runways they weave through the vegetation and retreating to shallow burrows where they nest and store food. Their diet consists mainly of grasses, roots, seeds, bulbs, and the bark of young trees, which can make them unwelcome visitors in gardens and orchards. Although a vole may occasionally wander into a garage or shed by accident, they rarely take up residence inside houses.

If you spot a small rodent scampering across your kitchen floor, it's almost certainly a mouse rather than a vole. A vole is easy to recognize by its compact body, blunt nose, tiny ears that nearly disappear into its fur, and its short tail, which is only about a third the length of its body.

Yesterday, I live-trapped two voles from the garden and carted them down the road for release in the place we nicknamed Voleville in honor of previous releases there. I'm sharing two photographs of one of the captured voles. The second includes a Cold Smoke beer for an accurate reference of its size.

A Trapped Vole

Vole Next to a Cold Smoke Beer

—Mitchell Hegman

Monkey Flowers

The upper reaches of Arrastra Creek remain untamed and fully electrified. The water surges down the mountain in a fully white state, bounding from stone to stone, convulsing, and grasping at fallen timber. The clattering sound is bigger than all the other sounds in the forest. The sharpest birdsong cannot penetrate the din.

And amid all of this, in pockets and fists of green nurtured by mist, grow rare beauties: Solomon's seal, queen's cup, and monkey flowers.

Monkey flowers have a fondness for soggy ground. They are little botanical signposts, often revealing hidden springs and seeps long before the water reveals itself. They love having their feet wet. Over the years, I have found them in both yellow and red. Yesterday, along the fringes and braids of Arrastra Creek, I found a pair of red monkey flowers in bloom.

Arrastra Creek

Monkey Flowers

—Mitchell Hegman

Butt-Wipes

It's unlikely that rap music will ever overtake the sound of waves shuffling across a Montana mountain lake. Improbable that two words could topple you with laughter. Implausible that only my kiss could stop you from drowning in mirth.

But then a chrome-and-glitter wakeboard boat emerged, with too-loud music thumping.

"Butt-wipes," I said of them.

I swear, honey, you would have died laughing had I not enfolded you.

—Mitchell Hegman

23 Years

23 years ago on these early July dates, with the help of friends, I started setting foam panels in a freshly excavated hole for the foundation of my cabin. I recall the scent of freshly turned earth and pine as we worked. And I recall the excitement that filled me from my toes to my fingertips as we engaged in those early stages of construction.

Back then, I anticipated a timeframe of perhaps a dozen years from that point to fully frame and finish the cabin, inside and out. Well, life happens, and life doesn't happen. Losing Uyen in 2011 brought me to a complete stop for about five years.

I lost my heart for the cabin for a spell.

Since 2022, Desiree and I have been pouring our efforts into finishing the cabin. Just yesterday, I installed the last kitchen countertop receptacles and dropped in the kitchen sink. All that remains to completely finish the cabin's main floor are two small pieces of trim and the installation of the range hood. Today's post includes a few photographs documenting the process.

Me Studying the Foam Panels, July 11, 2003

Me on the Formed Walls, July 19, 2003

The Kitchen Counter, July 12, 2026

Sink in Place, July 12, 2026

—Mitchell Hegman

Limits

I have my limits. I can, for example, drink only 3 beers. A fourth one will give me a headache. I can only listen to about 30 seconds of opera singing before I get really uncomfortable and start squirming. When it comes to outside temperatures, my maximum is around 80°F. Anything beyond that causes me to flush red and sweat profusely if I try to do any physical activity. Yesterday, while driving out of the valley to reach the cool mountain air at the cabin, my car registered 103°F at one point. I'm pretty sure that's near my melting point.

Outside Temperature Registered on My Car

—Mitchell Hegman

Yarrow

Yarrow (Achillea millefolium) is one of those unassuming wildflowers with an outsized reputation. Its scientific name comes from the Greek hero Achilles, who, according to legend, used the plant to treat the wounds of his soldiers. For centuries, yarrow was valued as a medicinal herb to help stop bleeding. Today, it is better known as a hardy plant that thrives in poor soils, tolerates drought, and attracts sexy pollinators, including bees and butterflies.

Yarrow (the white-flowered variety) is native to Montana and is widely distributed, tending to thrive in open spaces. Its flat clusters of white flowers sit above finely divided, fern-like leaves that release a vital herbal scent when crushed. It spreads by seed and shallow underground rhizomes, allowing it to gradually form expanding colonies where conditions suit it. Tough, attractive, and remarkably resilient, yarrow is a plant that needs barely a foothold to establish itself.

A word of caution: Given its exceptionally tough, opportunistic nature, yarrow will create a mat of roots and take over a flower garden if given the opportunity.

Yarrow Clusters Under My Mayday Tree

Yarrow Structure

—Mitchell Hegman

Habakkuk’s Penny

While handling a Bible someone gifted Desiree, I noticed a rather conspicuous gap between the pages in one spot. Upon opening the Bible there, I found a shiny new penny.

Strange.

Why there? A random act? Sheer chance? Or might some design be in effect?

The coin marked the beginning of Habakkuk, a minor prophet. I was unfamiliar with the book and had to do some studying.

Habakkuk is a remarkably honest little book. The prophet looks at a world drowning in violence, corruption, and injustice and asks God the question believers have been asking for thousands of years: "Why don't You do something?" God's answer is unsettling. Habakkuk learns that faith is not built on having firm answers. Sometimes it must carry true believers through hard answers and anguish. By the end of the book, nothing around Habakkuk has changed. Trouble is still coming. Yet his outlook has been transformed. He chooses to rejoice in God, even if the crops fail, the livestock disappear, and every earthly reason for optimism evaporates.

This is not far removed from the story of Job, but it is more distressing in one respect. Habakkuk receives no earthly restoration like the rewards bestowed upon Job for his faith through strife. Instead, he is left to trust God without seeing the outcome he might have hoped for.

I am afraid I would require a firm answer about the need for suffering and, thus, Habakkuk's penny is lost on me.

Habakkuk’s Penny

—Mitchell Hegman