Oh, To Be Young Again and Others

Now, where do you reckon that geocache is? If you said somewhere up in that tree, then you'd be right. More on that in a few moments....

It was a lovely morning, so I headed toward some caches within about an hour's drive south of here. A trio of them lurked in the Caswell County, NC, gamelands, so I made those my initial targets. Each of them required solving a little puzzle to obtain the final coordinates, none of which were complicated...

...Unless you transpose a couple of numbers in the solution. At one of them, I ended up trekking into terrain that I would rate T4 (T5 being the most difficult), which I didn't think was quite right. I finally checked the cache page to see what the true rating was (it turned out to be T1.5), so I knew I'd made an egregious boo-boo. I reworked the puzzle, and, lo, I was indeed several hundred feet off. So, with some difficulty, I made my way back to the proper location where, happily, I found the cache in a wink.

Next up, there was a hide located several hundred feet across the main roadway into what looked like not-terribly-dense woodland. So, rather than drive around the long way to the recommended starting point, I figured, well, why not bushwhack? I needed the exercise. About 300 feet in, after wading through endless barriers of briers and other painful pricklies, I determined that this was the worst idea ever devised by a human being. Thus, I went back and did things the regulation way. For this, at least, I was rewarded with a quick find.

Next up, some ways down the road, there was a cache called "Oh, To Be Young Again" (GCB9JMV), the description of which suggested that I might have to climb a tree. And this made me happy because I love climbing trees. Once I reached the location, I found the proper tree quickly, and found myself facing a conundrum. The lowest branch was just above my head, and its diameter was too large to get a firm enough grip to pull myself up. However...

Behind the nearby park building, I found some empty five-gallon paint buckets, so I grabbed a couple and stacked them so that I could get that extra step needed to boost myself upward. And shortly, I had the cache in hand.

Now, getting back down was a little trickier, but I didn't break or bend anything I shouldn't have. So...yay.

After these, the subsequent caches were generally easy and, of course, very satisfying. But, perhaps needless to say, it's the challenging hides that are, in the end, most memorable and the most fun.

On an altogether different subject, today marks one year since Frazier left us. I'd had him for 18 years, and I felt a pretty strong rush of grief today. But our house is still full of cats, and they are as loved as probably any cats on the face of the earth—even if they feel they are perpetual victims of the Great Starvation.

Old dude on the hunt

L: The tree; R: The reward

The One-Man Chainsaw Brigade: Huzzah!

It took three weekends of chainsawing, hauling wood, stacking wood, and massaging sore muscles with various libations, but... at last!... I have conquered those big fallen trees in the yard at Pleasant Hill. Huzzah!

 

The BIG one was an ash tree, which has gotta be the hardest, heaviest wood I have ever laid hands on. Mother of Yog, a 3-foot log from this beast weighed 50 or more pounds, and when all was said and done, I calculate that tree weighed well over a ton. Which means the woodpile I made weighs that much and more, since the smaller tree that fell—a rotting poplar—is also part of the package. Now my arms are stretched out long like a gorilla's.

 

Kinda hoping no more trees fall here. Just last week, a little ways up the road, a big tree fell on a small house and totally destroyed it. Fortunately, no one was home, else they'd have been flattened.

 

Thus endeth the inaugural battle of the One-Man Chainsaw Brigade. (Part 1 may be found here; Part 2, here.)

Just starting out

A spot of progress

Last week's whittling away

L) How it began: fell over; R) How it ended: a wee bit of battle damage

The One-Man Chainsaw Brigade, Part Deux

A couple of weeks back, on my regular Pleasant Hill visit ("The One-Man Chainsaw Brigade," 2023-01-27), the backyard was invaded by a couple of grande-size trees, which had the temerity to fall down and go boom (thank you, endless weeks of rain).

So, last weekend, I set to work with newly purchased chainsaw, hoping it would have the blade length and horsepower to show the interlopers who's boss. I cut a fair bit down to size, but for a lone old fart, it's been a pretty damned big job. Now, this morning, I excised another few dozen cylindrical feet of interloper, and for the most part, ye olde 18" Craftsman chainsaw performed well — although getting through the last dozen feet or so of the tree, where it's at its thickest, appears to be problematic, as the saw up and said "nope" once I got down there near the rootball.

The image below shows the latest, possibly final progress (the "before" image may be found at the previous blog entry, linked above). I didn't take a separate photo of the wood pile that left behind by the beast, although you can see a portion of it in the "after" image. That's far less than the whole picture, as there's a separate, smaller woodpile behind the visible one. Initially, I intended to lug the logs a bit farther back in the woods, but once I determined that their actual mass far exceeded their relatively innocuous appearance, I said fuck that noise and started piling them at the nearest possible coordinates beyond the Land Where the Grass Grows. (Yes, I know it's covered in leaves right now, but Summer Is Coming.)

Now, with all that stuff done — as much as will be done, anyway, at least for now — I must ask the rhetorical question: how can so much naughty fit into such a wee little package? (I'll mention that, prior to the snapping of the photos below, yon critter traipsed across the shelves to next to the bureau you see here, prompting every item on said shelves to vacate their traditional stomping grounds and fling themselves to the floor with devastating consequences). It's gotta be rough being a cat.

Thanks, Cannoli.

The One-Man Chainsaw Brigade

I posted last week that the prodigious rainfall of the past month or so (with yet more in the forecast) did the root systems of the local flora no favors. At Pleasant Hill, a.k.a. The Old Homestead, in Martinsville, after more inches of rain in a few days than we should see in months, the roots of a couple of trees on the hillside behind the house gave up the ghost. Fortunately, the house escaped unscathed (although the Greensboro homestead is still awash in mud). Possibly unfortunately, there are still a lot of trees within falling range. Make no mistake, I love my woods, I like trees, and a totally cleared lot and neighborhood is the bane of my existence.

But I so dislike trees what cost me insane amounts of money.

 

Anyway, this business left me with the question: pay the professionals to do an expensive job or spring for a chainsaw and show the deadwood who’s boss? Well, I can’t say I haven’t lamented not having a chainsaw for the occasional jobs that have begged for one, so... I sprung for a chainsaw.

Above: Picture left, taken on the day of the falling flora. Picture right, after a couple of hours work this morning. I will tell you, that is one heavy motherfuckin tree right there. For a one-man job, it was pretty rigorous, so I'll be back at it again tomorrow — and for the final clean-up, probably next week as well. Did I mention I has a tired?

Well, I do.

Just getting going

Definite improvement. Will hope to finish on my next visit.

Experiment in Terror

I always enjoy putting up the Christmas decorations at the old homestead, a.k.a. Pleasant Hill, in Martinsville, but this year is going to be a little different. With my daughter, Allison, and her best pal, Cannoli, currently residing here, things may end up... interesting. You see, this is Cannoli's first Christmas, at least as a member of this family. He's plenty young and plenty full of vim and vigor, so it's a toss-up whether the tree and household decorations will survive the season (or even the first night). So far, he has shown a little curiosity about the colorful additions to the house, but he hasn't indulged any destructive impulses. Whether this relatively tranquil state of affairs lasts... well, it's anyone's guess.

Initially, I was thinking it might be well to forgo putting up the tree, but as Allison and I talked over our arrangements for the holidays, we decided to chance it. It is tradition, after all; in my six-plus decades of existence, there has never been a Christmas without a tree in this house. Of course, in my six-plus decades of existence, only when I was a wee young lad did a feline also occupy this dwelling. To the best of my recollection from those days, we suffered no cat vs. Christmas tree disasters. Here's hoping for an equally positive experience.

Cannoli: "do i eat it, climb it, or knock it down?"

Winter Storms, Blogger Fuckery, Historic Churches, and Smoked Cow

Immediately upon our return from Myrtle Beach last weekend, dire weather fell upon us. We had only a light coating of snow, but there was ice aplenty and winds like I've not heard since the last hurricane to blow through here some years ago. We lost power at 4:00 a.m. Monday morning, though it came back on about noon — some kind of speed record for Duke Energy. Our yard became a mess of branches and sticks, but next door, a whole tree uprooted and fell. It remained as you see it in the photo above for several days, until finally, this weekend, the neighbors took it upon themselves to get rid of it. Rather than call professionals — an admittedly expensive prospect — they employed a couple of friends, a pair of electric chainsaws (one of which got stuck in the tree for a day or so), an assortment of wooden boards, a footstool, and a pickup truck (which got stuck in the mud in their backyard for a day or so). 

"Maybe if we put this over here, and that over there...?"

At this point, the chainsaw is stuck in the tree, and the truck is stuck in the mud.

On Friday afternoon, I headed to Martinsville while the trio of men were out there working, so I didn't get to see how things eventually unfolded. But when I arrived back here yesterday, the tree was gone. The fence between yards (which I believe actually belongs to the neighbors behind the next-door folk) failed to escape damage (relatively minor), and there are deep ruts and mud splatters aplenty in their backyard (and part of ours). However, to the best of my knowledge — and by some minor miracle — none of the guys out there suffered death or dismemberment. I guess you'd call that a win for do-it-yourselfing.

More snow fell in Martinsville than here in Greensboro, but there appeared to be less ice and far less property damage. I have no idea whether it was actually storm-related or not, but the heat pump at Pleasant Hill had ceased the pumping of heat, so I found the house rather chilly. Yesterday morning, I managed to engage a service tech, who determined the system needed a new thermostat. He installed one, which got the heat pump working again, but a most complicated device, this thermostat. I hope I can figure it out without needing to go back to school to get an engineering degree. In any event, I managed to get the Christmas decorations taken down and finish up a significant writing project, which I'll be promoting the hell out of in the coming days.

St. Matthew's Episcopal Church
in Hillsborough

Since today's weather, at least for the morning, appeared conducive to geocaching, three old farts — Scott (a.k.a. Diefenbaker), Old Rob (a.k.a. Old Rob), et moi — decided to head eastward to several different locations, culminating in Hillsborough, where a new Adventure Lab cache awaited us. First, we headed to the Haw River Trail in Graham to see if we could snag first-to-find honors on a newly published hide (we did); then we zoomed over to a nearby park & grab hide, of which we made very short work; and finally, we moved on to Hillsborough. The Adventure Lab cache ("Historical Churches of Hillsborough") took us around the town's picturesque historical district, to... guess what... several historical churches. Hillsborough is a lovely town to walk around, and we enjoyed the opportunity to see the sights (again).

We topped off our Hillsborough outing with a visit to Hillsborough BBQ Company, which is a longstanding tradition when we're over in that neck of the woods. I'm a smoked beef brisket junkie, and Hillsborough BBQ Company has historically had some of the best brisket I've ever tasted. Some time ago — over a year, I'm guessing — we had visited to find the brisket not quite up to snuff. Not bad, just not top-notch. Someone we met on another caching trip told us that the restaurant had changed their smoking time or process or something, but the brisket was definitely inferior. Regardless, I wanted to make sure they had another chance, and this time around, it was better. Much better. Maybe not quite what it used to be (and certainly not as eyes-rolling-back-in-the-head-incredible as The Smoke Pit in Salisbury, which is now our favorite brisket venue), but we were altogether satisfied. Plus I found a really good, jalapeno IPA (Fire Escape, Asheville Brewing Company). So Hillsborough BBQ is most definitely back in my good graces (not that it ever fell very far).

But speaking of falling far....

The most frustrating — no, infuriating — issue of the weekend was discovering that Blogger (and by default, Google) fucked up my blog in numerous instances by their constant altering of code. At one time, formatting this blog, including placing photos (for which one might have a reasonable expectation of being permanent, since they're from Google's own blog photo hosting site) was simple. You could pop a photo in, place it as you desired, look at the html code, and see the photo ID in the code. No longer. Now you get typical Google Photos gobbledygook for the ID, leaving you with no way to trace it back to its origin. But the worst issue here was that a shitload of my blog photos, mostly from 2017, now displayed only broken link images. So I ended up spending a massive amount of time replacing and relinking the pics — with no guarantee the code will actually hold. Jesus God...  this constant ABSOLUTELY GODDAMN NEEDLESS fucking around with the blog code by bunch of technological halfwits is so infuriating, if it were up to me, I'd shitcan the lot of them (the decision makers, anyway) and make sure not a one of them could work in a technological environment ever again. Maybe cleaning shit out of pigpens would be more suitable.

Anyway. Go on, git. Bye.

Three Old Farts: Old Rodan, Old Diefenbaker, Old Rob

Timber!

Going...going...gone

It's a helluva job, I reckon, going up and down in a bucket with chainsaws and ropes, securing limbs so they don't fall where you don't want them to, buzzing them off the trunk, finally reducing a towering tree to a mere stump in the backyard. I don't think I'd want to do such a job, as an accident in that environment is probably not going to be minor. If you're reading this, and you're one of those guys, then you've got some thoracis.

I hate to lose trees, and if I had my way, I'd live in the middle of a forest rather than surrounded by grass, but sometimes, a tree just has to go. Years ago — sometime in the mid 90s, I guess — a hurricane came through and set one of the big trees in the backyard to leaning. It was otherwise still healthy, so the tree people we called cabled it to a nearby poplar, which helped keep it upright and stable for a good couple of decades. Lately, though, water running through the yard has eroded the soil at the roots to the point the tree has been looking too precarious for comfort. So today it came down. Hated to lose it. Hated to spend the money. But I'd have really hated for it to fall on the neighbors and/or take out my storage shed out back.

Well, then again, neighbors can always be replaced....