Life in a Flyover State

Leaving T at the tiny regional airfield last month started me thinking.  Except for a short break for college, most of my life has been spent in places where the closest airport is smaller than the average Wal-Mart.  After high school I opted to leave Michigan behind and head several states east for college.  Getting home for Christmas usually meant someone got to pick me up in Green Bay, WI, a 3+ hour drive away.  But you couldn't call where I grew up flyover country exactly.  Mostly because we weren't even in the flyover zone; if we spotted a plane overhead it was the DNR scoping for poachers or pot growers and the odd bi-plane or classic areoplane heading for Oshkosh, WI's annual fly-in.


When I moved to SD, the hour drive to Sioux Falls where a medium-size jet could actually land didn't seem too bad, although economy-wise I tried to fly out of Omaha - never have figured out why flights are routinely at least $200 cheaper down there; the airport's not that much bigger, and the flights still went into Minneapolis, mostly. 

With a county population density approximating 6 two-footed mammals per square mile (if the cows ever decide to rebel, we're gonna be toast) it didn't exactly shock me to learn that major airports in this part of Kansas are non-existent.  But planes... well, now I know (at least one reason) why they call it flyover country.  It's not uncommon to look up on a clear day and spot as many as eight or nine big jets dragging con trails across the sky, and a few more old tracks pluming out besides.

Denver's new airport's pretty much due west, and Kansas City sits roughly southeast, which accounts for the popularity of our airspace, I guess.   Neither of them are close though, so there's relatively little noise attached to the air pollution.  But it's a good thing we're accustomed to a lengthy drive pre-flight - if T's not on orders for the army (they book his flights out of even tiny regional airports - which in SD still meant a 150 miles plus round-trip), we'll be making the 5 hour drive to Kansas City or Denver.

Along with the ready availability of air transportation, we also left behind pretty much all forms of public transportation - unless you count the local ambulance, which knock-on-wood we won't require out here any time soon. And I suspect T and I may have lowered, albeit incrementally, the average age.  People are friendly (and curious).  Drivers in oncoming cars are more apt to wave than not.  I mostly don't see any cars when I walk, but of the few I do see 99% of drivers wave, and I've had a couple slow down on colder days to make sure I'm walking on purpose.

And we've already been invited over for dinner, received a few house-warming gifts, and more people "just thought we'd drop by" than we ever did in SD.  Okay, so the majority of offerings originated with cousins - I swear T's related to half the county and he or one of his siblings went to school with, dated, or worked for the other half, but still....  I've never minded being anonymous, but it's kind of nice to be welcomed.  Although I suspect when I finally do get to town with un-frizzy hair, clean clothes and make-up on rather than grubbies and a thick coating of grime, no one I've been introduced to is going to recognize me - lol!

Among the neighbors who've dropped by is the owner of two horses that inhabit the pasture at the southeast corner of the crossroads just to our south. (An old retired grey mare with creaky breathing, and a younger sorrel gelding his daughter was using for a barrel horse until she got too busy with the rest of her life.)  The gelding, T was informed, needs riding.  He volunteered me.  Um, really?  Because I have so much time to ride the four we have?  Probably not gonna happen any time soon. 

At work and out and about, T's been fielding questions about moving back.  People are happy for us, but curious - that's more polite than calling them nosy, right?  A frequent question is, "But how is your wife liking it?"  His usual response, "Couldn't pry her off the farm with a stick."  Or, "She can see her horses out the window, so she's happy."   Both true.  Scary how well he knows me.  I have the horses, I found the public library, we have hot water, heat, and the internet.  I'm happy.

I love my new view!

I'm so proud!

I'm not complaining about the cold - not after looking at the temps our neighboring states to the north are "enjoying" these past few days.  It's been chilly here the past few days, but our lows have been higher than the highs up there!

So yesterday it was in the 30's with a pretty good breeze and having been spoiled by last week's mid-50's I spent the morning debating: to walk, or not to walk.  Walking would mean layering... and one direction or the other I was going to have to walk into or across the wind.

But the temps kept creeping incrementally in a warmer direction, and it was on the upward side of 35 by 3 PM when the sun finally poked out from behind the clouds, so I went down, cleaned the barn and being all warm from that, decided to go for my walk.

I walked south and east into the wind, figuring that it was going to cool off by the time I turned around and I wanted to have the wind behind me for the hike back.  I could feel the temp easing back down, but the sun was still nice and warm, and when I turned around I actually unzipped my top layer.  For about a 1/3 of the way, it was great.

Then the wind switched.  And picked up.

Wind is NOT supposed to come from the northeast.  And it was cold, too. My zipper went right back to the top, and I was really happy to turn that last corner toward home, even if it meant walking right into Mother Nature's AC vent.

Which is when I saw them...  The boys - well, two of them - were up on the east creek bank.  They haven't been going into the creek bed since it snowed because a) snow and b) melting.  The footing down has been really slippery.  And as far as I know, other than the first day's excited scramble up the steep slope, none of them have been on top on the other side.  There's a perfectly good path along the creek toward the bridge and back up the other side at a gentle angle, but straight up the hill is SO much quicker.  But Sunny and Rufus figured it out, and there they were.  I'm so proud!

They'd been up there exploring long enough to nibble the bark off of a couple of the baby elm trees and leave poop piles up and down the fence, so they must have headed that direction right about the time I left.

It was closing in on time to pitch their evening hay, so I walked on up to the house to put my chore coat and boots back on, and by the time I got back out Thunder was up on top too.  But I didn't figure they'd stay up there long once they saw me heading down to the barn.  Sure enough, I could hear the mad scramble and lots of thudding headed my way - they get 2 cups of grain each in the mornings, but hope springs eternal that there might be more in the offing at night. 

Signs, and the Purple Paint Law

I've often wondered if signs in urban areas carry as many bullet holes as their country cousins.  I'd guess if they do, the homes nearby probably get offers to appear on the Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous or  Cribs about as frequently as ours does... So far, never and counting!

Even back off the gravel since 9/11 and the advent of fire numbers, the intersections have street signs.  Which is a huge improvement from, "Turn at the old Jones, place, go about 3/10ths of a mile, make a left onto the Kelly road, and you'll see a white silo set off the road in some old cottonwoods.  Go three more intersections, you'll pass a feed lot and some tanks.  Turn left at the Dunn place (that Ross's used to farm, but Websters' have leased now and put it in milo, but it got hailed out this year), and it will be on your right back off the road but you should be able to see the barn roof..." 

Stop and yield signs aren't all that common, though.  Not enough traffic to warrant it, I guess.

Kansas Banker's Award
Soil Conservation
1968

No holes in this one.  No one lives on the acreage now, either.  You can still see the bones of an old stone house sitting back in the grove at the back of the field, but they've tilled and planted across where the driveway used to run.
   

Some variety of "no hunting/trespassing/violators will be prosecuted" signs decorate posts and power line poles up and down the sections.  I'm familiar with those - who isn't?  But the purple paint law was new to me.  Apparently, in Kansas since late 2000 if you paint a post or some easily visible object purple and stick it on your fence or along your fence line, it has the same legal implications as a "No Hunting without written permission" sign.  

I was skeptical at first, but I googled and Kansas isn't alone.  Missouri, Arkansas, Texas, Illinois and North Carolina (possibly other states, as well) all have similar purple paint statutes.  Among other reasons, it's harder for vandals, poachers and trespassers to remove fence posts and trees and then claim they didn't know they weren't supposed to be wherever they got caught at.

So in addition to my NO HUNTING signs, I think I'll be investing in some purple paint!

Cat 3

In other news... Cat 3 is getting just a bit braver.  It actually sat outside the hole this morning while I walked back up from feeding the horses.  Of course, I couldn't take a picture... Thank you, Sunny!

"Hoss high, pig tight, and bull strong..."

The ponies are annoyed with me.

I cross-fenced the orchard.  The snow has almost entirely melted off, and the grass needs some time to recuperate so... they're now restricted to a narrow strip along one side that leads down to the pass-through to the creekbed.

They spent the last couple days staring longingly over the new fence and loafing by the barn.


I've been thinking a lot about fence lately, mostly because we have a lot of fencing to do.  But also because out walking I pass a lot of it.  Mostly barbwire.  Some of it's horse-high, pig tight and bull strong - the kind Louis L'Amour wrote about in The Rider of Lost Creek (the phrase stuck with me, but I had to go look up which book is was in).

Some of  it's hanging on by a few shreds of rust and the grace of a line of creaky, weathered posts.  Most of it's somewhere in between.

Apart from high and tight or old and disintegrating, it pretty much comes in two varieties: 2-5 wire barbed, and single strand electric.  Farmyards and lots might have continuous pipe fence or panels, but not fields.

Once you get off the paved roads, nice straight, factory-milled posts are a rare commodity.  Hedge posts - weathered, weirdly warped, spindly or thick and knobby with bulbous burls - are cheaper and just as durable. 

They're set to last, too - 15 yards apart, with a wood post every two metal stakes.  A good, tight fence might last 40 years or better.  Here and there you can even find a barely listing line of World War II-vintage metal posts. 

Further south is limestone post country, but I haven't found any within walking distance yet.  

Which reminds me - I met some more neighbors out walking.  The four-footed kind...

They've watched me from across the pasture, but yesterday they finally came over to see what I was up to.  The old grey mare (she really is) was skeptical... two-footed people type critters might mean she'd have to work.   But the gelding was friendly.  

And stout.  He's supposed to be a barrel horse... he certainly has the barrel part covered.  He liked getting scritched enough to trot down the fence after me, but once I hit the corner of the field he took off like a shot back to the bale feeder at the other end of the pasture, the mare trailing behind him. 

I've been itching to ride, but had to settle for giving all four a good brushing tonight and a few minutes each grazing on the narrow patch of green grass by the granary.  I hopped on Sunny really briefly to test the footing, but everything's still squishy and slidey.  Not safe.  The moisture's great to have though, so no complaints.  Well, maybe just tiny ones...

Sunny 2, Cameras 0

The problem with leaving your camera stuck to a post while you do chores?  Sometimes a horse tries to eat it...

Sunny has now accounted for two cameras.  The first one I dropped while riding.  When I got off to pick it up, I wasn't quite quick enough to stop him from pawing it into the dirt.  Result?  Cracked screen so I couldn't tell what mode I was in or what I was taking a picture of.  Camera still worked, but the only thing you could be sure of was if it was on or off.  I really liked that camera, too.

Camera two bit the dust today when I carelessly left it hanging by it's Gorillapod feet on the fence.  I thought it was out of reach.  I came back to Sunny craning his neck to poke at it.  But it was still solidly on the post, so I figured no harm done.  When I turned it on to take a picture of the sunset later, the screen light up white with all sorts of colorful checks and striations, and look-y there, sure enough on closer examination it has teeth marks. 

Again, it still takes pictures, and at least this one has a manual view-finder so I can tell what I'm cutting off, but adjusting settings, turning the flash off or changing modes... will now be done by Messuers Guess and Golly, 'cause psychic I'm not.

Okay, so I've been drooling over the new smaller, higher zoom digital cameras, but destruction by horse was not in the game plan. 

Think he was upset because I hadn't deleted this picture yet?