Cactus In Alberta

Did you know Cactus grow wild in southern Alberta, Canada?

Prickly Pear cacti have actually been know to grow as far north in the province as the Peace River area.

In central Alberta, they have grown in our family’s flower beds for over 30 years.

The above picture is one of our beds of cacti here at the lake which had a building for shelter during the 2014 damaging hail storm. It has its first of many blossoms for this season.

Below is a before and after picture of a different flower bed that needed love this year. It use to be crammed full of large cacti like the other bed. Many of the plant’s in this one didn’t survive that hail storm a few years ago. The ones that did have been fighting their way back. Recent wet weather though is washing away the soil and the landscape ties trap rainfall leaving them often living in a water puddle. I can’t even keep up weeding the growing moss and wet soil grass.

It was a dreaded chore, but we removed all the cacti, dug out the grass and moss, filled the bed with 8-10 inches of sand, then separated and replanted the cacti.

I hope they appreciate the work and flourish once again.

Late fall these cactus will start to shrieval and lay over, ready to be covered with snow. Each spring they bounce back. As in the first picture, this variety gets large yellow blossoms in June or early July, depending on the spring’s warmth. Ours are later then usual this year.

Do you like unusual bedding plants?

Can you grow cactus outside in your area?

If you are wondering, how I weed these cactus beds, I use long handle pliers or a fish hook remover.

Can You Imagine

This book is a true story about the authors life after being accidentally shot by a family member.

I don’t usually do book reviews on this blog, but this read is definitely worth a mention.

Don’t be misled by the innocent title. This memoir is the inspiring story of a young girl who at nine years old was robbed of the youth most of us take for granted.

A children’s afternoon outing ends in a hospital miles from family and their farm with her spinal cord severed. She will never walk again. She may never see her thirties.

Her determination and bravery will inspire you as you follow her journey and dreams of owning dogs, horses, riding, and living on a farm again.

Partly from necessity, she discovers she has more than love for animals, she has a talent for training dogs to aid and enhance her way of life.

You’ll read about her special companions who also served a purpose and how they helped add meaning to her life.

 As tragic as this story is, this memoir doesn’t dwell on the negatives. It’s an enlightening and uplifting read. Although, I needed a tissue a time or two.

I can personally vouch for the great person this author became having known her now for forty some years.

The book “Dogs, Horses and Me” is available on Amazon in print and ebook versions.

How Far is Far Enough?

Do you have a limit as to “how far away” from your home is “far enough” for a hotel or motel stay?

We don’t. Okay, maybe fifteen minutes away might be too close, and it probably matters that we live out of town.

Even with the above view out our window, Mister and I still enjoy getting-away. Long distance trips don’t happen as often for us anymore, but we take a few short jaunts every year.

This post was triggered by our recent venture which is a popular one for us. It’s roughly an hour and a half drive from our home.

Have you or would you stay in a Hotel or Motel that’s near where you live?

I can’t speak for Mister, but what I enjoy most about these little trips is they are usually in a city, and are often closer to family or friends.

It has been 38 years since I’ve lived in a city with everyday conveniences within walking distance.

I loved living in the country with horses out our back door, and here at the golf and lake resort. But, I was born and raised in a city, and I kind of miss that way of life too. Maybe it’s just that “grass is greener on the other side” thing, but living in a smaller city or town remains on my bucket list.

If a “staycation” is when you vacation at home, is there a name for when you stay in the same city as you live or somewhere super close?

In the beginning years of marriage when our kids were young and we lived in the country, a 30-60 minute drive to one of the nearby cities was sometimes our vacation. (Guess what word I first typed at the end of that sentence? Check out my “Holiday or Vacation” post for an explanation.)

When our youngest was about a year and a half old Mister started travelling more and more with his job. The kids and I would go with him as often as we could.

They were (still are) great travellers. It never bothered them to sleep in a different place every night. They never whined about time spent in a vehicle, even if the day was 8-12 hours on the road.

Most of these trips were before in vehicle DVD players, handheld tablets, or cell phones. They would pack books, travel games, and a few toys each for entertainment, or just watch the scenery. Eventually, Walkmans and a few handheld electronic games, plus Gameboy, came out. Books remained one of their favourites along with listening to their own music.

A part of what we loved about these trips with Mister working his way across provinces and states meant we visited a lot of little towns. We’ve traveled many main routes, country roads, and back highways through areas most tourists don’t visit.

If Mister expected his business stop was going to be lengthy he would drop us off to explore shopping areas, playgrounds, parks, main-streets or wherever we thought looked interesting. This part of our life started before people had cell phones. We had to wear watches and coordinate pick-up places and times.

I remember when Mister got a pager, and how when it went off we all had to watch for a phone booth while he drove.

Do you remember the days before things like, “text when you are on your way”

Prepare

“Ruben” the retriever is prepared

This post isn’t me complaining, it’s a couple tips on how we do it, and an awareness reminder.

We’re just creeping out of a week long cold spell. What do we call cold, -30 Celsius or more (-22 Fahrenheit).

The other morning we woke to -41 Celsius, add the wind chill and it felt like -51. No need for a conversion here because at -32 Celsius and Fahrenheit equal out.

Here in Alberta, Canada, we often get teased that these temperatures are common. That is untrue, but this kind of cold is also not unheard of. We do get at least 1 real cold spell a winter, and they can be worse than this one. They can last hours, but usually days or the odd time weeks. They can bring more snow or not. They can come quickly, or like this recent one, give us days of warning to prepare.

I feel bad and worry about people who have to be out in freezing temperatures, going to work, working in, doing chores, going to school, or whatever forces someone outdoors. But, if prepared and dressed appropriately it is doable.

Country living certainly meant more preparing and was more work than here at the lake, and retirement has made these cold or even blizzard days less worrisome for sure.

It seems, we often end up with doctor appointments or something though, this week there was 2 which had us on the highways in the frigate temperatures.

Winter road travel means preparation beyond the obvious vehicle maintenance which is so important.

As soon as our snow comes to stay we start traveling with warm gloves, hats, snow pants, boots, a blanket, and there’s a fold-up shovel which stays in the van. For those who take less traveled routes, a more extensive emergency kit is suggested. Heat sources like thermal blankets, candles, and nutritional snacks for example.

A downfall of living and experiencing this type of weather, year after year, is we can get careless and somewhat disrespectful of cold temperatures. All to often you here it said, I’m just running to the store quick, I don’t need my big winter gear.

This rare but true short story is a reminder of why we should be prepared. It happened to a girlfriend’s sons friend, so I didn’t stumble across it on the internet.

He was alone driving a not busy highway during a winter blizzard when a series of unexpected things changed his plans. His little white car left the road stopping far into the snow filled ditch. In its resting place it was unseeable by the rare passing traffic. He wasn’t injured, but he wasn’t out of trouble yet either. The seat belt release mechanism was somehow damaged trapping him in his seat. There was no knife or sharp object handy to cut the now binding nylon strap. Yes, he had a cell phone. It had been on the centre console and durning the jarring off-road ride it slid off landing out of reach on the passenger floor. It was hours and hours before he was found, and by then frostbite had set in to some extremities. Last I heard, he hadn’t lost any, but recovery was painful and not short.

What habits have I picked up since hearing about this unfortunate fellow.

• I keep that bulky winter-coat on while in a vehicle, especially on bad roads.
• The phone is either in my pocket or at least in a cup holder.
• A multi tool with a knife is within reach.
• Let someone know if you’re going to be on the road, especially in bad conditions and if traveling alone, and let them know when you arrive at your destination.

It’s better to prepare than be sorry.

Of course you can’t be overcome with worrying about the what if’s, or prepare for every scenario, but do think over some possible things that could go wrong wherever you might be and take precautions.

On a lighter note, here’s a few tips if you’re inexperienced and find yourself in some extreme cold weather.

• If you think you have to pee and you’re going outside, pee. Cold air intensives this urge.
• If you’re going out to say, shovel, and you can see without your metal frame glasses leave them inside. Metal draws in the cold.
• Oh, and if someone tells you to stick your tongue on cold metal, it’s not a myth it will stick and stick good.

Our favourite vehicle option for cold days is a heated steering wheel. Lots of people enjoy heated seats, but I find they make me colder when I have to go back outside.

When winter comes I know what’s in-store, and I choose to live here. You’ll hear me say I love winter, but that doesn’t mean you won’t hear me mutter now and then when we’re in a cold spell.

So to anyone who has to contend with a cold weather season. Bundle up in layers, travel prepared, and just maybe you’ll be warm and safe.

Are you a warm weather person, or do you like the 4 seasons of change?

Rolling In The Hay

Day two and women power gets the job done.

Mister and I had a change of pace from afternoon boat rides at the lake to helping haul hay.

When the bales need to go where the tractor can’t maneuver you literally roll them into place and tip them over by hand.

Here in central Alberta, hay is scarce right now due to bad growing and baling conditions. With many farmers thinking they may not get a second cut, we travelled farther then usual for the daughters winter stock for her horse.

The first of the two day haul was a bit of a episode because of rain issues, a blown hydraulic hose on the tractor, and things just not going to plan. A crew of Mister, The Daughter and myself regrouped and finally waited for reinforcements to arrive (The Daughters Husband, the Daughter-In-Law, and the newest grandson who I’ll refer to as “Little One”.) Forty-five minutes later the job was completed.

Little One had a great time. Grandpa took him for his first quad rides, Auntie took him to park the lawn mower, he sat in a saddle, visited with their dog and cat, and got a swing in a bucket. His smiles and giggles lightened the moods of everyone, especially the three original crew members.

Because of being another work day, it was Mister, The Daughter and myself who hit the road early the next day to get the second and last load.

Once we were back, The Daughter-In-Law and Little One came over again to lend a hand. Things went smoothly with Mister on the tractor bringing bales up from the trailer. The girls rolled them through the barn to the hay shelter. From there we all pushed and pulled them into place and then stood them on end. My main job was taking pictures and watching Little One. It’s great to be grandma. The chore was done in record time.

Maybe it was because of Little One’s good job supervising from his Jolly Jumper.

Do you have great memories from living or visiting a farm?

Country Life

What’s that noise?

Faint rustling followed by squeaks and gurgles of a baby fussing came from the feed and tack stall next to the booth where Mister and I sat at the horse event. Exchanging an knowing glance with my husband I went to investigate.

Pictured above is what I found. Our daughter with this sheepish look sprinkling hay on her little brother who was supposed to be asleep.

Our family often jokes about the saying, “Were you born in a barn.” Although not born in one, our kids spent a good portion of their childhoods in either a barn, an arena, or outside and nearby while we did our chores.

Four legs, manes, tails, and everything horse best describes our daughter’s likes.

For a few years, a spring horse took center-stage in our bay window. She spent endless hours in that saddle, her stare focused outside, and her eyes glazed with little girl daydreams.

The toys that entertained her while indoors were all horse related. My Little Pony’s, Lego stable sets, and the jeep, horse trailer and horses for her Barbie’s. Even the multi story, upright, Barbie house Mister made her, of course, had a floor level barn included.

She was happiest outside, even if just watching the horses eat or roam the pastures. As an adult, she still spends her spare time outside with her horse or in the barn.

She recently posted this picture and description on Instagram. (@candie214)

Pretty sure this is why I like watching people ride, I spent hours on those tires.

If you look close, you’ll see the small child saddle I’m riding in so I could take the edge off “Dr. Pepper” before she rode.

In her I see the younger me. Doing barn or farm chores was, and is, rarely considered work and when given a choice they trump household chores.

To us horses aren’t a hobby, they are a lifestyle. Location has changed this for me since I live at a lake resort now, but it’s still her way of life.

This is “Nugget” Her current, young, Quarter Horse Gelding she’s training.

We were blessed as parents to have children, especially teenagers, whose passions meant they were happy at home.

Our son’s interests changed from horses over time and if you haven’t already, check out my post, “Our Version of a Norman Rockwell” for a glimpse into what makes the male’s of our family tick.

Did you have a childhood passion?

Do you still enjoy it?

Habits, Good or Bad

Does anybody else have their next day planed before going to sleep? How common is it being a regimented planner, or do most people get up and let their day simply unfold?

I can’t imagine doing that, not even on vacation.

Since grade school, I’ve made daily, weekly, monthly, even seasonal lists. My theory for how this started relates to my horse competing and training days.

Oh so long ago, at age seven, I got my first pony. Star, and I are pictured above.

My parents didn’t have a horse background. Check out my Bio Page for how this came about. Our family lived in the city, so the little gelding was boarded at a local stable.

I fell in love with everything horse, and by age 10, I entered my first Barrel Racing event.

Passion kept escalating, and it became apparent I wasn’t going through a phrase like people suspected. In a few years I out-grew the Shetland, and a slightly bigger gelding, an ex-chariot racing pony replaced him.

There never was money for riding lessons, so I read all I could, listened, observed, and studied others who rode at the stable. Occasionally, I would ask an experienced mentor at the barn questions. With trial and error, I began the self-taught venture of re-training my racy mount and honing my horsemanship skills.

Learning this way came with great benefits, I gained a feel, or understanding of horses. Often, I could sense changes in their behavior before they became issues.

Together, the feisty Welsh-Thoughbred and I became accomplished at showing in Western Pleasure, Equitation and Trail classes.

As a teen I worked part time and saved for a young, unbroke, registered Quarter Horse. My parents surprised me when they paid the remainder owing and had him delivered on my fourteenth birthday.

For me, this is where planning and setting goals really began. Still, without outside help the gelding and I worked hard. Together we learned, and became a very competitive and successful duo in Western and English flat classes, Jumping, Driving and even gymkhana events.

Many other horses and breeds followed in my almost 40 years of showing and training.

I believe daily goal lists began because of the need to plan and schedule conditioning and fine tuning between shows. It was vital to have horses peak at the right times while giving them their deserved down time too.

I may no longer strive to perfect a horse’s training but the habit of making, to do lists, carried into all aspects of life.

I thought this behavior might ease when we retired at the lake but it hasn’t. What has changed are items on my, to do list. They’re simpler, mostly hobbies, crafts and chores. I’m not as structured, getting distracted from a chore happens often and is no big concern. Some things remain on a list for long periods before getting checked off.

But a day without getting even the smallest thing accomplished feels like a wasted day for me.

Do you plan your day or week in advance?

The Hill Has Eyes

October Changes To an Innocent Pink Flamingo

I was the last one left awake inside the darkened house. On my way to bed, I entered the kitchen. An almost full moon cast enough glow in the back pasture that as I passed the patio doors, horse silhouettes on the hilltop came into view.

Their poses stopped me mid-stride. Staggered in line, they stood all facing the same direction with their heads held high, ears pointed forward.

I mimicked their stillness. Each beat of my heart came faster than the last as I waited for them to return to grazing. I knew what their actions meant when they didn’t. Something or someone was up there.

Should I wake my husband? No, I could handle this. On tip-toes, I jogged to the back door. I grabbed a flashlight, slipped my bare feet into cowboy boots, and covered my knee-length satin nightie with a quilted flannel barn shirt.

The yard lights were already off and I didn’t touch the switch. Outside the flashlight remained dark in my hand. My goal wasn’t to scare away, what or who, intrigued the horses. I had a hunch about the goings on up there and hence a plan in mind.

Again I tip-toed, this time across the backyard. My caution worked, the horses interest never diverted my way. When the barn became a barrier between me and them my pace quickened. Now, only the hill remained an obstacle, and if I stayed low and quiet, I should make it without drawing attention.

The closer I got to the top, voices became louder and clearer in a hushed yet understandable two person conversation. Although odd for the situation, it was laced with barely contained laughter and giggles. I had figured right. I knew these culprits and what they were doing.

Familiar with the surroundings, I crept forward unseen. I waited and listened getting a sense of the person’s whereabouts.

When they sounded near, I sprung from my crouch behind a fallen tree with a roar loud enough that the snoopy horses spun and fled down the hill.

Caught in the act of innocent revenge, two of my best girlfriends almost dropped to their knees with startled screams followed by muttered curses.

On this late Saturday in October, the husband and I had arranged for these two besties to do our evening chores under the pretence we would be away. When in actuality we spent hours staging the barn as a haunt in favor of Halloween’s approach.

We strung rubber bats in the darkened paths to light switches. Rubber mice and snakes got placed and positioned in or on things they needed for feeding the hay and grain.

Dressed in dark coveralls, the husband and I hid concealed by the water-tank behind the barn. From there we heard them encounter our gags and props, and their squeals and comments entertained us. The most fulfilling reaction happened when they slid the back door into the hay shed open. We had a stuffed bedsheet rigged to fly at them like a ghost and the shrieks that caused made our efforts worthwhile.

To have this plan work, our truck had to be off the yard. That afternoon the husband had driven it up a steep trail and parked it in the bush by the back pasture. We figured it could stay the night there and so we planned to retrieve it the next day.

Knowing my girlfriends, when I saw the horses acting strange and watching something, I guessed they had figured out where the truck was.

When I jumped out and interrupted them, it already had balloons tied to the mirrors and streamer decorated bumpers. The toilet paper wrapping had just begun.

I’m uncertain how long the three of us exchanged stories, laughed and visited that night on the hill, but the sun rose not long after I went to bed.

 ∗∗∗∗∗

Halloween for me, brings on fond memories like this, of fun times with family and friends.

With our young children, we did the traditional, dressing-up, decorating the yard, and door to door “Treat or Treating.” Although, being in the country meant we drove them house to house. Often a couple dads or moms rode together while the spouses stayed home and handed out treats. A get together at one of their homes afterwards usually followed.

Once our daughter and son got older, we traveled into the city for “Fright Night” at Fort Edmonton Park. Either our kids brought along friends or we met the oldest daughter, her husband and their children there.

Actors and volunteers haunted the historic buildings and sites with different levels of intensity. They handed out treats to the little ones, and had activities scattered within the park. We enjoyed hay rides, blazing bonfires and hot chocolate which warmed our chilled bodies. It was always a great time.

As a family we loved dressing-up for Halloween. It took weeks to plan and put together costumes and often we had themes for the night in the city. Here are a couple.

 

From “Tombstone” the Earp’s & Doc Holiday

 From “The Wizard of Oz”

Have you ever decorated a homemade haunted house or yard?

Or Have you been through one?

Passion or Simple Pleasure (Horses)

 

Passion Started Young

Crossing the threshold into the building I inhale a long, slow breath through my nose. A hint of sweet alfalfa hay greets me first, then it mixes with a scent so unique, I can think of nothing to compare it to. This odor can cause people to crinkle or cover their noses with distaste, it makes my heart flutter with joy though. The smell of horses is refreshing, revitalizing, and overpowers my daily worries.

Moving deeper into the barn I enter the tack room. My nostrils twitch with delight at an added fragrance. Leather, some new but most aged and oiled. A rich homey scent that candle and cologne manufactures try to duplicate but in my opinion they never quite succeed.

The sight of work worn saddles always triggers my admiration but in this room it’s reflection that causes me to pause. I know by experience the number of hours, days, even years it took to get them broke-in to their current comfortable state. A few, I’ve owned for over forty years. Fond memories surface, and I crave another ride.

            I no longer live in the country where I spent hours a day with the horses, yet I’m thankful I can still return for visits. Now though, it’s the youngest daughters new horse “Nugget” that greets us with a soft nicker.

Nothing soothes the soul like the satiny feel of a horse’s coat or the unbiased companionship formed when you show them kindness.

“Nugget” for short

The above paragraphs may seem like a dramatic explanation of a simple scene, but it comes from my heart.

What I feel for these majestic four-legged creatures is, Passion.

Long-lived and Forever Strong.

If you ask a horse owner, “So, do you ride Western or English?” And their answer is, “I have a saddle with the thing in front to hold onto when it gets bumpy.” I think it’s fair to assume they own a horse for simple pleasure, it’s not their passion. I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with that, it’s just an observation.

These are 2 of the previous long time family members.

“Bear and Cisco” R.I.P.

Do you enjoy Horses? 

Are you passionate about a hobby?

What is your hobby?