Posted tagged ‘Roundrock’

Saturday at Roundrock

September 13, 2021

The dogs and I made a dash down to Roundrock over the weekend. It had seemed like a long time since my last visit, and when I checked my journal there it had been nearly a month. This is my least favorite time of the year to go since the heat hasn’t lessened, nor have the chiggers, but everything looks wilted and defeated. Still, I had a window of opportunity, and I took it. (My wife is in St. Louis for a couple of weeks with Small Paul and his family.)

It’s a little hard to tell from the photo above, but the beavers have finished their work on one of the two remaining large trees at the shoreline below the cabin. (The third tree is on the right, but it’s mostly dead, so I don’t think the beavers will be interested in bringing it down.) You can see the gnawed trunk on the left and the rest of the tree fallen into the lake (just what I had hoped would not happen).

Here is what that same tree looked like earlier this summer:

You can also see that the lake is down about a foot. That’s actually not so bad. In past years, by August the lake would be nearly all gone with just a waist-deep puddle collected at the deepest part. We haven’t had that much rain in recent weeks, so I attribute the decent water level to the dam finally sealing all of its leaks. (The builder told me that would probably happen, but I seem to remember him saying it would happen sooner than twenty-ish years.)

So the tree has fallen into the lake. I think the beavers will probably harvest the tender tips and small branches for their den building and to eat in the winter, but that still leaves a whole lotta tree in the water. In terms of wildlife, that’s a good thing. Any structure in a lake provides shelter for the fish. But in terms of fishing (which I haven’t done in years) and swimming (which I may not do again since I’ve read some nasty things about swimming in water that beavers use as their toilet), the tree in the water is a bit of a hazard. But I’m not going to tie it to my truck and haul it out of there. Nor do I hope the water level drops enuf to allow me to cut up some of it with my trusty chainsaw. So there it is, and there it may remain. It’s possible when the lake level rises (when?) that the tree will float away from there (though there’s nowhere else for it that would be any better), but I expect it to get water logged instead and remain there for the rest of my tenure. So there you go.

Aside from examining the beaver depredations, I had no agenda for the visit, and the dogs had even less use for our time there. Flike poked around the cabin a little but mostly just wanted treats. Queequeg attempted to hide under my truck, which is his usual place, but my truck is currently in St. Louis, and he found my wife’s low-slung Honda to be more of a challenge. Instead I opened the car doors and windows, and they jumped in there to spend their time.

What you see above are nascent buckeyes. You may recall that I’ve planted red buckeyes in front of the cabin. They’ve always flowered nicely (sometimes even when we happen to be there), but I’ve missed their fruiting most years. On this visit I counted nine buckeyes, which I think is a record. I don’t know when the husks open and the buckeyes themselves drop, but I’d like to collect a few and maybe try planting them to raise more of the red-flowering understory trees to place around the cabin.

I didn’t stay as long as I might have on a normal visit. The dogs were having none of it. I had no chores I wanted to undertake alone. (I don’t like using the power tools when I don’t have someone to identify my body.) After I ate my banana and apple and rye bread, washed down with iced tea (unsweetened, of course), I packed up and steered the little Honda back on the road to suburbia. I hope to get back down there before another month passes, and I hope some rain falls soon. I might have had a fire if the forest hadn’t been so dry.

bee business

August 16, 2021

I hung this bee nest under the porch roof at my cabin last spring. (Yes, that’s a tiger mask you see on the tree to the right.) I received it as a gift, and not only did I feel virtuous providing a place for solitary bees to lay eggs but I hoped it would help keep the carpenter bees from drilling holes in the side of my wooden cabin to do the same.

Nothing happened for months. Each visit I would check the nest, and each visit would show me nothing. I began to suspect that these nests were made more for the human consumer than the insect.

When I visited the cabin last week, however, I saw this:

Clearly the word has gotten out that the rent-free condos are available. I’m not sure what to make of the bits of grass coming out of the cavities, though I suspect it’s to hinder any hungry predator for getting the larvae in there. The nesting work should be done by October, and then the hatch will begin in the spring.

Apparently, such manufactured bee nests help and hurt bee populations. They do provide nesting sites, but their proximity to each other has been found to foster the spread of parasitic mites and molds. So from what I’ve read, such nests need to be replaced each year. We’ll see how this one works out.

And I guess the carpenter bees don’t want a pre-made hole. They seem to need to make one of their own. I found this fresh violation on the side of the cabin on my last visit.

the NYC grands at Roundrock

July 26, 2021

The NYC grands have been here for the entire month of July, but their social calendars are so busy that we had to find a time in their schedule to go to my cabin. This ended being last Wednesday, so I took off of work and we traveled down there with the promise of a fire, S’mores, and maybe chopping down a tree.

My daughter took the photo above, which is a panoramic of the lake, so it’s a bit distorted and looks larger than it is. (Click to embiggen.) In the foreground on the left you see some of the branches of a fallen tree. This was one of the few trees right up at the lake’s edge that the builder had left (actually a cluster of three trees) when he pushed everything else down to make the basin. It was a nice tree, but it was slowly dying, and I feared that it would fall into the lake, which would make it a lot harder to deal with. But it turns out I didn’t have to deal with that outcome because another builder brought it down on the land instead.

Here is some other, nearby handiwork* of that builder;

The beavers have moved their operations to the cabin side of the lake now. Not sure why since there are plenty of waterside trees near their den. (See the embiggened panoramic above.) And the mostly gnawed-through tree you see here will likely fall into the lake, which won’t be a problem for the beavers, but will make swimming and fishing there more challenging. (I’ve read some recommendations that you don’t really want to swim in a lake beavers use.)

So that was this trip’s surprise, but the grands loved it and the fact that wild animals did the work. We visited and talked about it a couple of times that day. The oldest one, Kenneth, who is six and a half, had been to the cabin once before, but that was more than three years ago. He claimed to still have some memories. The twins, Rett and Evie, had not been before but had been regaled by Kenneth, so they were excited by everything.

The first task of the day, once we unpacked and completed our inspection of the beaver doings, was to build a fire. The grands helped, though Evie didn’t understand why I was tearing pages out of a notebook and crumbling them. Until she did, and then she did so as well. I topped the crumbled pages with an egg carton (thank you for this suggestion, Ellen!) and then began adding sticks on top of that. When I had sufficient kindling in place, it was time to bring out the one match. Kenneth wanted to be the one to light the fire, and he did successfully strike the match, but holding it to the paper was a bit beyond him since he was afraid of getting burned. So I did that part, but he get’s the credit for lighting the day’s one-match fire.

As the fire burned to cooking coals, I got the grands busy with scattering marbles in the gravel around the cabin. I’d been hoarding marbles for a long time in anticipation of this, and when I poured them out with instructions, the grands got to it.

Here you see Evie selecting all of the blue marbles, which I told them I wanted scattered on the west side of the cabin. There is also a gravel bed in front of the cabin that is for only red, yellow, black, and white marbles. These are the colors of the Kenyan flag, and Small Paul, who is half Kenyan, gave me those marbles as a gift. Once the visiting grands understood this, they supplemented that bed with the proper colored marbles too. It was fun and exciting work for them. (Good thing, too, since I expected the gravel pile to really interest them, as it does Emmett, but they took no notice of it.)

When the fire had burned sufficiently, we got started on cooking our burgers and later S’mores. An innovation my daughter introduced was to use Double-Stuffed Oreos in place of Graham crackers for the S’Mores. That’s much too sweet for me, but the reports I received gave them an official thumbs up.

Then it was time to cut down the tree, as I pretty much promised Kenneth we would do. There was one in the place where I park that I wanted to take down and so double the parking area. It was less that a foot in diameter and should have been easy work except for two things. One is that it was leaning toward the cabin, with enuf heavy branches on the cabin side to make it want to fall that direction naturally, regardless of how I cut it. The second problem was that it was a Black Jack oak, which pretty much dulls a sharpened chain maliciously.

Part of the solution was to tie a rope to the tree as high as I could reach and then take that around another nearby tree. Thus my helpers (son-in-law, mostly, though the grands wanted to participate) could pull the rope from around the “corner” of the second tree and help direct its fall while being out of its way.

The other part of the solution was a careful cutting of the wedge and the back cut to help direct the fall. Unfortunately, the tree wasn’t interested in cooperating. I think I should probably have started with a new chain, freshly sharpened, but I didn’t have one. I managed to make my cuts, but the back cut was on the cabin side, and when that was done, the tree began leaning toward the cabin. The back cut wasn’t far enuf through the meet the wedge cut, but the leaning was a problem, even with the gang pulling on the rope. The solution was to put a wedge in the back cut. And I happened to have a nice steel wedge in the cabin that I use for splitting wood. We worked that into the back cut and then took turns slamming it with the sledge hammer to persuade the tree not to fall on the cabin. With a little more very careful cutting with the dull chainsaw and some serious effort with rope pulling, the tree began to fall in the proper direction. And immediately got caught in the branches of another tree. So it was off the stump but still standing (more or less). This was, of course, a dangerous situation, especially with three grands (and three dogs) underfoot. But the whole tree cutting operation was out of order, so why not?

I grabbed the rope and moved into the road so I could pull it more directly in the direction we needed. My SIL pushed on the trunk, and together we managed to drag the base a few feet across the gravel while the top of the tree remained in the embrace of its kindred. But we kept at it, and when we got a rocking motion going, we could see progress.

The tree eventually fell on the gravel pile with a mighty crash, which was about ten feet from its intended destination, but that was still well away from the cabin. Then we gave the grands each a handsaw and they got to work removing branches, that we carried into the woods. The trunk of the tree lay across the parking area (we had moved our cars up the road before this), but the chainsaw had decided it had had enuf. We could start it but couldn’t keep it running. So my SIL and I grabbed the end of the shorn tree and carried it to the side of the parking area as it pivoted on its base.

Then it was time to go home. We packed up, which took more time than normally since so many things were brought out to entertain the grands. We made sure to splash through the stream we have to cross to get to the main road (Kenneth loved this), and by the time we got to the paved road (only two miles from the cabin), the twins were already asleep from their big day. Kenneth followed soon after.

I’m having all five (!) of the chains I have sharpened, and the next time I visit my woods, I’ll cut up the remains of that fallen tree beside the parking area. (Unless the beavers do it for me?)

Here is a recent picture of Small Paul, just because:

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*I’m not sure what the equivalent for “handiwork” would be for tooth work.

nothing special

June 28, 2021

Just a couple of round rocks on the retaining wall behind my cabin. When my daughter-in-law first visited here, she saw the random piles of round rocks I had collected and placed some of them atop the retaining wall. Now, of course, they must stay there. Except I generally find at least one that has fallen off the wall. I’m not sure how that can happen. Surely the wind isn’t strong enuf to do that. Critters, maybe? But why?

The New York grands will be here for the entire month of July and I expect we’ll be making a trip to the cabin to burn some burgers and make s’Mores (S’mores?), so there will likely be a lot of rock rearranging and marble scattering then.

overnight at Roundrock

June 7, 2021

The dogs and I made a dash down to Roundrock on Friday afternoon. My wife had driven to St. Louis the day before to help care for Small Paul, leaving me unsupervised. My work day ended early, so I packed a few things, got the dogs into the truck (harder than it should be), and drove to my little cabin with plenty of daylight to spare. (Also, it was neighborhood garage sale weekend where I live, so I was happy to get away.)

I had no firm agenda for the trip, in large part because the dogs need to be managed. The little one, who is willful and disobedient, is coyote and bobcat bait, so I either have to keep my eyes on him all the time or shut him in the cabin. The big one can protect himself from any likely predators but not from his own insecurities. He is terrified of distant gunshots and nearby buzzing flies. Either will send him into the corner of the cabin where he’ll pant and drool. And if he’s not kept stimulated (that is, me throwing a stick for him), then he will pace through the trees in the same circle. He probably needs a therapist.

So getting anything done was going to be spotty. I had an idea of weed whipping the grassy area in front of the cabin, but when I saw it I realized it could wait till a later visit; it wasn’t very tall yet. I also thought about spreading more gravel around the cabin, but that would have involved pulling up a lot of grass and weeds first (see the background in the photo above), plus the gravel pile is diminishing, and I want to have some left for when my NYC grands come for a visit next month. I expect playing in that to be the biggest hit of their visit.

But I did have some unfinished business from my two most recent trips. I had cut down a tree earlier with a specific intention two trips ago. On my last trip I did a little refining of the stump, but the screws I had brought to finish the work were the wrong size (their heads were too small), so that left getting the job done for a later visit, this last weekend’s visit.

Well, I had better screws this time, so I got to finish what I had started. Behold:

That weather vane had perched on the peak of my garage roof for many years until we had a ridge vent put in. (We later had the ridge vent removed. Too leaky.) For at least a decade the weather vane collected dust in my basement, but when the four offspring were here for Mothers Day, they took some time to paw through their things in the basement, and this resurfaced with their efforts. So out to the cabin it went, and after three visits, I managed to get it installed, more or less vertically, and showing the cardinal points as accurately as I can without knowing the angle of declination for my bit of the world. (Basically, your compass doesn’t point to true north.)

And so the job was done. Sunset was going to be around 8:30 that evening, and campfires are at their best after dark, but building a successful one-match fire takes sufficient preparation, and I wanted the wood to burn down to mostly glowing coals by dark (so I didn’t have to worry about controlling a loose fire in the dark — I’ve never had a fire get out of control, and maybe it’s because I worry about it so much that I can say that).

My only other desire for this visit was to hear a whippoorwill call, and that generally happens after dark, so staying up tending a campfire seemed like a good way to be in the right place at the right time.

Seemed like, anyway. I did not hear the bird even once. That was disappointing. I think this is the prime season of the year for hearing them too. I’ve read that they are diminishing in their range, but surely my forest can support a few.

I eventually retired to the cabin for the night and slept in until the shameful hour of 5:30! I had been ambitious to make myself a hot breakfast (oatmeal and tea) and give the dogs a can of store-bought food, but when I rose, I lost enthusiasm and instead fed the dogs more treats and had a piece of cheese and some iced tea for my breakfast. The day was wide open for other chores or just knocking around, but it’s bug season, and the dogs still needed their management, so when I suggested we just go home, they rushed to the truck and stood by eagerly for me to open the door so they could get it.

With them corralled, I got about shutting down the place. Mostly this involves putting things away and cleaning up. I always make sure to close all of the windows (having forgotten only once). I swept the braided run in the cabin (how does it get so dirty when no one is there to walk on it?), made the bed the dogs and I slept in, swept the front porch, and locked the door. (Twice we’ve come to the cabin to find the door open! Not sure how that happened, but I’m guessing I didn’t latch it properly when I left before.) Then we drove out. I made a couple of detours to the small towns I pass along the way just to see how things are going, but I was home with most of Saturday still before me. Laundry. A hot shower. Fresh clothes. All of the usual comforts of a weekend.

another tree falls in the forest

April 21, 2021

But first, this nice photo of some native phlox that was blooming downhill from the cabin. It’s getting to be spring flowering season in my Ozark woods, and while I used to try to identify each type I found, I gave that up and just enjoy them as they come.

So it looked as though we were going to get a break in the weather on Sunday, and since we’re occupied this coming weekend, we decided to make a dash out to the cabin when we could. Despite the weather not cooperating fully, we did have a productive time in the woods.

Arrival at the cabin involves a few routine chores. I will fill the bird feeder with safflower seed, and in the coming weeks, I’ll replace that with a hummingbird feeder. I always set (unsalted) peanuts on the old log near the cabin for the wood rat who lives in it, but I think the birds take most of them. I’ll rake the leaves away from the wooden cabin if there are any (not this trip). I’ll light some balsam incense in the small burner on my table so the cabin won’t smell (too much) like gym socks when the summer heat comes. I’ll inspect the water level in the lake (full pool this trip). I’ll think in the abstract about a hike to some far corner or working in the pines or the pecans. We set the comfy chairs on the shady deck overlooking the sparkling lake, and there we will have our lunch when the time is right.

On this trip I had not intended to cut down another large tree, and instead I began my chores with shoveling nine wheelbarrow loads of gravel to the west side of the cabin to clean and level the area (and to bury part of a drain pipe that the critters have moved into). I considered that a day’s worth of work: shoveling the gravel into the wheelbarrow, pushing it across un-level ground, spreading it evenly, then going back to do it eight more times. There is a good possibility that most of my grands will be visiting the cabin this summer, and I’d like them to spread marbles in the gravel, so I need to get it laid down while I can. (I’ll also need to get another load of gravel delivered so I can cover the area properly.) I was just finishing this work when the rain that was not in the forecast began. It was really a drizzle, but it was a good time for me to retreat.

When that was done, we sat down to lunch (cheese sandwiches on pretzel buns, fruit, and for me, iced tea, unsweetened, of course). Some geese visited the lake, and we watched for an appearance by the beavers. They’ve been busy in our absence, cutting down more trees across the lake (and trimming some cedars on the cabin side of the lake), and they’ve built a large pile of sticks against the mud bank to protect their den. So far, though, no appearances.

As we sat and mused, something like sunshine began penetrating the clouds overhead, and I got the notion that I could cut down a cedar tree beside the road down to the dam. We have an old weather vane that once caused leaks in the roof of our garage, and I thought I could mount it on a stump, if not for actual weather prognostications then for whimsy. I had been planning to put a mailbox on the stump (if I ever cut down the tree) but the weather vane took top position when that idea struck me.

So with the rain stopped and a weak sunlight reaching the ground, I decided to fire up the old chainsaw and bring down the tree. Once I got started, it was quick work. For some reason, the wood was easy to rip through. I did the wedge cut and then the back cut (a little too low, but I wasn’t killed, so that’s a win). The tree landed in the road just as I intended when I cut the wedge where I did. Behold:

There’s the stump on the right. My trusty chainsaw in the foreground. The fallen cedar tree. The bright green strip you see beyond the tree is the top of the dam. (It’s farther away than it appears.) And through the trees on the right you can see part of the lake. The water was muddy because of the recent rains. I don’t think the fish mind. When it rains, all kinds of good things to eat wash into the lake.

You can see I had begun trimming the branches from the fallen tree. My wife and I dragged them into the forest here and there, and then I began cutting the trunk of the fallen tree into manageable lengths for carrying into the forest as well. Cedar is aromatic when it burns, but it pops a lot and throws embers out of the fire ring.

I’d say we were about a third finished with this project when the rain began again. It was more than a drizzle this time, and we had to retreat to the cabin porch and wait it out. We could have just packed to go home then, but I didn’t like the idea of leaving a tree in the road like this, so I paced and looked to the sky and fumed a little. And it seemed to have worked, for the rain let up and we could finish the job. The rest of the trimming and cutting went quickly, and soon we had the tree parts dispatched in the nearby forest.

Here is the top of the stump in raw form:

It won’t retain that rich red color, which is a shame. I need to trim this into two angles down, both to shed water so it doesn’t rot too soon, and to accept the bracket that the weather vane is mounted on. But that will be a chore for another visit since the rain decided we were getting too much work done and resumed its falling.

So with gravel shoveling and tree felling, I decided I had gotten enuf work done too, and we began packing up to head home. It was then that I discovered that during the two downpours, the windows of the truck and been left down. No serious flooding though since the slope of the ground where it was parked meant the truck was tilted away from the rain. Still, I seem to need this kind of lesson a few times each year.

Here is what fresh cedar sawdust looks like:

another day at Roundrock

April 6, 2021

I could regale you with the unremitting string of rejection letters I’ve received this year, or I could tell you about my trip to the woods last weekend, which is what I’ll do.

My wife and I (and the dogs) made use of the good weather on Saturday and went to our little cabin for the day. I had no agenda for the visit, though I did think in the abstract about maybe taking down another tree to expand the parking area and maybe throw a little gravel around. Neither of those things happened.

Instead, we sat in the sun and listened to the birds. The turkey vultures have returned to soar over the ridge across the lake, but several of them were making low swoops over the water, which I’d never seen before. I suspect it’s a courtship behavior. Occasionally one would pass low over the cabin. We could see its shadow racing across the ground before we saw the bird. I guess it was checking us out since we sat still and lethargic and may have looked like a meal.

Green is just beginning to return to the forest. The tips of the cherry trees are beginning to leaf out, and it won’t be long before the rest of the trees follow, though the hickories will be the last to bring out leaves, just as they are the first to lose them in the fall. The photo above shows one of my red buckeyes near the cabin. It’s leafing out, and many branch tips have nascent flower buds. I think I’m going to get a good display this year.

Sometime during the morning, I broke myself out of my languor and went for a hike. Flike decided to join me, though my wife and Queequeg stayed back at the cabin. We walked across the dam and then down the south spillway. this one passes over bedrock, so it’s not eroded the way the north spillway is (and always has, despite repeated efforts to fix it). From there we diverted up onto the south-facing slop and toward the southeast corner, which is a part of my woods I don’t visit too often. We didn’t go to the corner, but we did visit a spot with a bit of exposed ledge that I thought might make a good spot for a small fire ring. We continued toward the eastern fence just to see what there was to see. Not much, it turned out. My neighbor had maintained a broad open area just beyond my fence that he could drive on, but now it’s growing out with small trees.

I did see this:

That cedar post is suspended there deliberately, though not by me. My guess is that it is a deterrent to the cattle that sometimes graze in this meadow (and sometimes get through the fence and onto my land). The fence is missing its lowest strand here, and certainly a calf could stroll right under while a cow could probably muscle through pretty easily as well. My guess is that by having this substantial object in their line of sight, the cattle turn away from this weak part of the fence, thinking it more than it is. If it works that way, it’s pretty ingenious.

Flike and I continued our walk along the eastern fence and then turned west because I wanted to check on a brush pile I had created with a bunch of willows I had cut out of the pecan grove. (Note, beavers are said to favor willows, and they are welcome to take down as many of mine as they want.) The brush pile was less impressive than I remember, and Flike wasn’t interested anyway, so we dipped into the pecan grove where I cut some locust that shouldn’t be there. It was then that Flike saw my wife and Queequeg up on the dam and took off to visit them. I continued to poke around as I wove my way back to the cabin. Along the way I found this:

I’m pretty sure it’s from the shell of a large turtle, The piece was translucent and as large as my hand, and that would have been maybe only a sixth of the shell covering, so it must have been a big turtle.

When I got back to the cabin, my wife and the dogs were not there. Nor could I see them across the lake. I waited a while, thinking they’d find their way back, but my wife has gotten lost on our 80 acres before, so I began to worry. I decided to head west from the cabin in the direction I thought most likely to find her. I didn’t get far, though, because I heard them coming, and when Flike saw me, he bounded through the scrub to say hello.

The thermometer on the porch said the day had reach 70 degrees, which is nice for early April in my part of the world. But there were things to do back home, and we were soon packing the truck to head there.

a tree falls in the forest

March 24, 2021

Sunday found us making a trip to Roundrock. The weather was favorable, and we had no obligations in town. We even took the dogs with us (though they can be a bother when we want to do chores).

One of the long-term chores I have is to spread gravel around the cabin. In part it is as a firebreak, but it can also keep down the scrub growth and give us areas we can walk through that won’t leave us infested with insects. Plus it looks nice. And when I have the gravel spread and tamped down, I scatter marbles on it. (There is a chance that I may have a passel of grands visiting the cabin this summer, and I’m hoarding marbles for them to scatter when they visit, so I need to get the gravel spread!)

One of my chores connected to gravel spreading was to double the size of the parking area. I can fit my truck in there just fine now, but if I removed two smallish trees, I would have twice the space. And I would spread gravel on the added space, and then I could scatter marbles on the added space. And all I had to do was take down one of the trees on this most recent visit, saving the other for a future visit.

What you see in the photo above is the tree I intended to take down. It’s the one in the center, with the rope tied to it. (There is a bunch of other stuff there too.*)

The tree is a Blackjack Oak, a wood that is notorious for dulling the chain on my saw. However, it cuts more easily when the wood is green rather than after it is dried, so I hoped I would make quick work of it. The rope was intended to guide the tree as it fell, my wife providing the muscle as I did the cutting. There was actually plenty of space for it to fall safely, but I feared it would get hung up in the branches of the nearby trees. Thus the rope to guide it down (or yank it free if it did get hung up).

The saw cut through the wood easily, which was gratifying. I made the wedge cut, though I feared I made it too deep since so little of the trunk was left when I kicked the wedge free. But since it was a Blackjack Oak, it didn’t seem to notice. So I started my back cut, working as low to the ground as I could so I wouldn’t have much of a stump in my parking area.

When I cut through the remainder of the trunk, the tree did something you don’t want it to do. It jumped the stump. That is, rather than begin to lean and then fall in that direction, it lifted off of the base and came my direction. And rather than my wife pulling the tree into the open space, the tree pulled her forward. Since it was a smallish tree, this wasn’t really a concern, but larger trees have been known to kill people when this happens.

But we had it mostly on the ground and I began cutting branches off of it. Most of those I hauled to the brush pile where the wood rat lives, but that’s through some trees, and the branches I was carrying would often snag on those, so after I had most of them moved, I carried the rest across the road and just threw them into the scrub.

Then I cut the trunk into firewood sized chunks. I should have then used my sledge and wedge to split these pieces since they would do so better when green, but I left that chore for another day. I did make one more pass at the trunk, taking off about an inch more to make it more or less level with the ground. In coming years, this will rot, and it will cave in, but I can fill that with gravel when it does.

This is how the area looked after the initial work was done:

After I had the tree all stored away, I spread landscaping fabric on the ground (in the area between the two trees) and then spread a dozen wheelbarrow loads of gravel over it. The coming rains will help settle the gravel, and I hope by summer it will be ready for a nice application of marbles.

With the primary chores of the day behind us, we walked across the lake to inspect the work of the resident engineers. They had been busy in our absence. Because of the recent rains, the water in the lake was too muddy to peer down at the den entrance, but we made our inspection. Queequeg for scale:

I’m happy to report that the beavers are also taking down cedars, which is my lifelong ambition to liberate my forest of. And some of the oaks they’ve taken down have been stripped of their branches, which are missing. I supposed they’ve been taken into the den to be munched on until more palatable food grows this spring.

After that we slowly packed up to return home, another good day at Roundrock.

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*From left, the orange water jug, a wooden captain’s chair before it that I used to gain some height next to the tree for tying the rope, my orange chainsaw case (chainsaw within) and red gasoline tank, a stack of cottage blocks behind them, assorted planks I salvaged from a fallen deer stand and that I use to hold a tarp in place as a chemical free way to kill the grass where there should be gravel. Also, a cabin and, beyond it, a lake.

return to Roundrock

March 8, 2021

The weather promised to be nice for early March (and it delivered) so my wife and I made a dash out to the woods on Saturday with not much more on the agenda than to relax and eat burgers. (The “relax” part meant leaving the dogs at home. Queequeg usually hides under the truck and won’t come when called unless there’s a treat involved, and Flike generally cowers in some corner of the cabin, fearful of gunfire, unless there’s a hike involved. After about an hour, both are sitting eagerly by the truck, ready to drive home.)

Although we didn’t have an agenda, I did hope to meet a man who could do some work on my road through the trees. It’s coming to be “mud season” in the Ozarks (something Sue Hubbell wrote about with suitable expletives), and there are spots in the 3/4 miles of my road that are already torn up from driving on. So either I get the road fixed now or I have to wait until the hot, dry summer to have it done. Mostly I need some ditches dug out, a culvert pipe set in one especially wet place, and then three-inch gravel spread over the top of it all.

So I had contacted a man to meet me on Saturday to look at my road and tell me what he could do about it. We agreed to meet at 10:00, and he showed up at 11:00, but then he got down to business. We drove on the road, stopped and got out at a few places, discussed what was wrong and what could be fixed, never really discussed pricing, and then agreed to get the job done. I’m trusting that the man knows what he’s doing — he is highly recommended and he built my neighbor’s airstrip; have I told you about the airstrip? — since he only seemed to listen to three of every ten words I spoke during our inspection. I think he looked at the situation, brought to bear his considerable knowledge, and only half listened to my speculations. He’s going to do the work in pieces, in part so he can be sure I’m satisfied with it before he does more, but I suspect he thinks I’m not confident about wanting to have such a big job done. The budget’s there, the will is there, but I don’t think I got that across to him. (That may have been in the seven words of each ten that I don’t think he listened to.) The problem I see with doing the work in pieces is that he’s going to have to haul his big equipment out several times, and though his work compound is less then ten miles away from my woods, the last two miles are a bit tortuous for pulling heavy equipment across. But he’s the builder, so I’m trusting to him.

Before he left, he wanted to see our little cabin. He admired the setting, which is something I’ve heard consistently from visitors. The road man spoke of recently selling his 4,000-square foot home in town and how much of a profit he made on it, so I suspect he knows about nice settings, and I take his unbidden words as sincere. (If I could just get the critters to stop eating the door frame!)

After he left, my wife and I hiked across the dam and I showed her the area where the beaver have been busy. She has been nervous about this new presence on the land, fearing that they’re going to denude our forest. (It doesn’t help that they’ve gone for white oaks rather than cedars.) In the week I’d been away, they’d brought down another tree, which has fallen into the lake, and are nine-tenths along with a fourth tree. When I peered over the edge of the muddy “cliff” where this construction work is being done, I could see an underwater path dug out of the mud, disappearing into the cliffside. I’m pretty sure that’s their den entrance. (I color enhanced the photo below to increase the contrast.) It’s directly across the lake from the cabin, so my hope is that in the coming days, when we sit in the comfy chairs on the shady porch overlooking the sparkling water, we’ll see the beavers swimming in the lake, busy with their beaver business. They will bear watching to ensure they don’t overwhelm the resource, though I don’t know what I can do about them if they do.

After this it was lunch time, and I started a fire (technically it was a two-match fire since the first match I struck flared up and then promptly went out) and let the wood burn down to coals to cook over. We had burgers on pretzel buns. (On the long list of things I can be grateful for in my marriage, the introduction of good buns is one of them. In my misinformed youth I ate generic, white-bread buns that tasted like sawdust. My wife insisted first on Kaiser rolls and now likes pretzel buns. I don’t know how I got along before this enlightenment.) The titmice and nuthatches were busy at the feeder, and far, far above three Bald Eagles circled in the sky. There were no bugs to speak of yet. The temperature reached 70 degrees by early afternoon, which was nice for March, and it seemed that sitting still in the chairs around the fire was the best use of our time.

And so we did this, watching the coals burn down to ash, half thinking about other chores we might undertake and then mirthfully dismissing them. We talked occasionally. Other times we reveled in the companionable silence. I eventually rose to move a stack of bricks near the road closer to the cabin. When the construction work reaches this far, the bricks might have been in the way of the big machines. I pushed the broom around the inside of the cabin a little. I packed my gear for the trip home, and then it was time to leave.

The weather doesn’t look favorable for another trip this coming weekend (nor for beginning the road work), so I’m glad I got this visit in when I could.

something new under the Roundrock sun

March 1, 2021

I’ve been stomping about my little bit of forest on the edge of the Missouri Ozarks for twenty years. In that time I’ve seen a lot of things and made a few discoveries (including, possibly, a bear sighting a couple of months ago). I like to think I keep myself open the the possibility of surprise — I’m still hoping to find an arrowhead before I shuffle off this mortal coil — and I like to think I’m a pretty good steward of the earth in my 80 acres.

Since the climate in Missouri decided to change from -13 degrees two weeks ago to 60+ degrees last weekend, I made a dash down to Roundrock, the second-to-last day of the month and the first time in February. I had a few things on my agenda, including a hike to a particularly nice spot about in the center of my 80-acre rectangle. Here it is:

This stream feeds my lake, and it’s a wet-weather stream, so often when I visit this spot (it’s a bit of a hike) I’m standing on the bedrock below the water you see. But what you see in the photo is what I saw on Saturday. I think most of this water is snowmelt, which was still on the ground a few days before. In fact, the lake still had some skim ice on it when I visited. Anyway, this is a nice spot, and Flike and I made our way to it as a way to enjoy the nice day after our first chore of the morning. You don’t see any round rocks in this picture because they’re shy.

And our first chore of the day was do some work in the pines. They are in the tall grass, which is more or less impassible most of the year because of the bugs. (Ozark chiggers are the worst!) So it is in the winter months that I can dare to venture in there. It seems that my pines are favorites of the deer who need to thrash the velvet off their antlers. A couple of years ago, when I last planted pines there, I decided to save some money and not buy steel fence posts to use for the caging about the baby pines. Instead, I cut down cedar trees, trimmed them, and pounded them into the ground beside the pines. I then wrapped chickenwire around them and had a pretty good defense system. For a year.

The cedar posts rotted quickly in the ground here. The pine plantation is about the only spot in my entire forest that has actual soil, and it’s just down hill from my neighbor’s pond, so this soil is often wet. Pretty good growing conditions for pines, but not so good for rotting wood. As the cedar posts weakened, the deer, I guess, saw their chance and used the pines to thrash off their velvet. The poor pines got pretty battered — some were lost altogether — and I knew I had to get more serious about protecting them. To this end I’ve been collecting fence posts from around Roundrock. Some were from trees long gone but some were from the older pines now fifty feet tall and no longer needing protection. All I needed was a reasonably warm winter day to replace the cedar posts with the steel ones, spruce up the chicken wire all fallen and full of weeds, then pat myself on the back for a job well done. Which is pretty much how it went down. Flike was not much help, and he decided if I wasn’t going to throw a stick for him full time, he was just going to chill in the truck.

I managed to rescue four of the battered pines, but the rest in that area are hardly worth saving and I think it’s time I ordered more from the Conservation Department and start again. (It is good soil, and the setting gets sun and water. I ought to do it. I really should.) As I worked in the pines I saw that many of the mature ones had lost their leaders or large branches to the ice storm last month. They’ll recover, but I did spend a little time collecting these fallen limbs where I could. (Some were deep in the blackberries!) I also found a deer antler as I poked around, so that was nice.

And then it was time to go back to the cabin for lunch. Normally, I sit on the porch for my meals. I can look down at the lake and watch for water birds or turtles (none of the former and still a little early for the latter). But as I gazed across the lake I saw a downed tree on the far shore. Another casualty of the ice storm (I thought). The exposed core of the tree was white in the February gray, so it was easy to see even at that distance. Well, I have a lot of trees, and I can’t fight the weather, so I decided to be at peace with nature.

But then I saw another white spot nearby. And what looked like white flakes underneath it. Keep in mind this is probably 300 feet away. So I decided that when Flike and I took our walk to that nice spot (above), we’d first detour to the spot across the lake to have a look at the fallen tree.

And this is what I found:

This was something new under the sun. I have beavers in my lake! I feel like a good steward of the land if it’s attracting new tenants. All of this work was relatively fresh. The chips on the ground were still white and clean, and the weather had only turned tolerable in the last week. (My neighbor lost four calves to the bitter cold just two weeks before.) I wonder if the beavers would have been busy with their work had I not arrived with a barking dog that morning. Actually, I understand they’re mostly nocturnal, so I guess my presence wasn’t a factor on Saturday.

The beaver don’t need to build a dam to create a pool of water for their den since I’ve done that already, so I think they’re bringing down the trees (about a half dozen) in order to get at the tips that they will eat until more palatable food becomes available. A couple of the downed trees were stripped of their branches, which were not around, so I suspect the beavers carried them to their den, which is probably in the muddy little “cliff” just below these trees. (In the very top photo, this area is just out of sight to the left across the lake.) I think their den entrance is usually under the water, but with the fluctuating levels of my lake, it may be exposed later.

My lake has been around nearly as long as I have been stomping around my woods, but it was only this year that the beaver moved in. My assumption had been that my elevation was too high for them to venture that far from the nearby river. Plus, there is a massive Corps of Engineers lake only a few miles from my woods. Seems like there is plenty of beaver homesteading opportunity there. But I’ve read that beaver were nearly completely extirpated in Missouri in the early part of the last century and that restoration efforts have thoroughly turned that around, so maybe the beaver in my lake are part of that rebounding population effort. If so, I’m glad to play a part.

This looked like a Golden Retriever to me. Wearing a Covid mask, of course.