Put the load right on Tammy

Almost hiking season. I'm gonna be ready, not whiny. My plan? To throw the dog food or flour bag and some weights into my pack. Forty-five pounds or so. And shoulder it while doing my chores. My outside chores. Firewood, water and laundry. For a two-hour stretch. Yikes. Yeah, I was nervous. Wasn't sure if I was tough enough. Splitting wood with a pack on. Carrying five-gallon pails of water, or just squatting down to pick up the split wood, assuming I could swing the heavy splitting maul above my head. But if I am tough enough to do that for a while? I'll be able to groove out like nobody's business when I get hikin'. Pack? What pack? Too easy.
So what bothered me the most at the end of my brutal two hours wasn't my wobble knees or the unstable snowy trails. With an extra 106 pounds (water bucket included) sinking unexpectedly is a little bit dicey. Makes one breathe out in a loud grunt. Nope it wasn't my racing heart or my dead arms trying desperately not to drop the rounds of wood as I walked them several hundred metres down the road or through the trails. It wasn't even my whiny, hungry cat, who followed behind or even underfoot. In fact we were both hungry. And, no, even that didn't bug me the most. Maybe it should have been when I had my first fight with a knotty piece of spruce, draining energy, near puking with hunger. And it wasn't even when I fell over backwards while filling my water bucket. Yes, it would be very easy to make that up. But I fell over backwards. Just about had to take off my pack for that one.
And it wasn't the second fight with the spruce. When it won. I landed my feeble blow right in the middle of the block. Damn. It stuck, and when my drenched, drippy, hungry, sore, bruised, sobbing self finally pulled it out, only the handle came free. Good, I thought, I was done anyway. Oh, Baby, if you're reading this, we need a new splitting mall.
So what the hell would piss me off more than any of those things?
My baby toe. If I hadn't been able to focus on a baled up piece of sock wearing a painful blister in my toe, I think I might've grown a brain  and thrown that heavy bag down the outhouse hole or something. Instead I can live to do it all again. Thanks to my fucked up little toe. Yay.

Castro's Cuba

Again. We have an excuse this time. But yet again, we have run out of firewood a wee bit early. We landed our asses back out here in October and did our best to store away a winters supply. And we came close thanks to the much reduced space we needed to heat. But ahh... Hmm.

Well there are still a few rounds out there, I pack in what I need for the night. But I guess I'll have to buck up some more. Except it's too bad I can't start the chainsaw. I'll just pack this one a little closer to the house. Maybe get busy, real busy with the axe, hatchet, saw or whatever else might work.

-Tammy

Good-bye snow angel

There are a few days every spring when you can dance on top of the snow. After the melt starts. And in the morning, after a night below freezing. It is a  funtastic time.

You can wonder randomly in and out of the trees. Anywhere really. Go ahead, jump up and down. You won't come crashing down through three feet of snow. But do get out early 'cause every day now, it turns into a mucky mess by noon.

I wasn't aware that the time had come until one morning seeing  my goofy husband flapping and jumping wildly, grinning toothedly, it dawned on me what his excited game of charades was trying to spell out.

It is time to run and skip or lay on top of the snow.

He had to leave for work but made me promise to get out and walk this snow. Magic melting freezing snow.

Bathing hole

A bath, a big bath. I can't wait. Our favorite place to scrub up on the way home. Just use fish friendly soap.

-Tammy

Bobbie Burns bears

So yes, I do pack the bearspay. And man oh man I don't ever want to have to use it.

A long run down the wilderness roads, by myself, is a bit scary. I am used to being with Dennis and I am used to him packing the bearspray.

OK, I have my dog, I'm not sure if he would be a good or a bad thing but he  comforts me.


None of this matters though, not even a bear attack when you are churning your legs as fast as you can up the most beautiful scenic dirt roads. The sun warming my face. An hour in and I'm overlooking Mabel lake.



Yup, I stop worrying about bears at around the 4k mark. Nicely warmed up and feeling the love for these little guys, photographed on one of our local logging roads.

-Tammy

Get it up

Pumping, running hills
Morning till night
Fifty-two sleepy lows
Recharged

Time to get'er up
Ready, excited, she starts reving on her own
Soaring to new heights
A daring 191

A work in progress
That's what she is
Pack on 40 pounds
Always testing, hope she don't tank.

-Tammy

A SAR girl's purse

I've never been a purse lady till now.

Years ago Dennis bought me a  small black leather purse for Christmas. It was a handy place to keep all the birth certificates and health care cards for the whole family but I rarely took it with me.

Now I am a full-blown purse lady. Or maybe I'm a bag lady. With my big leather bag full of everything I might need, but hopefully not. Oh and it matches my boots.

First I dumped it out, I did. You only do this, I'm told, if you are about to clean out your purse.  I have also been told that husbands sometimes do this if they need the nail clippers but that it's not a good practice. I was ridding mine of crap. See, I'm not even sure what most women put in their purses. I've always been a little curious but never saw one being dumped out before. Mine doesn't count cause if any female had been there to witness this dumping they would've questioned my femininity on the spot.

My sensible bag needed sensible things in it.

Out of the pile on the bed I grabbed my License. I don't drive and my hair is turning grey. Soon the IDing thing has to stop. I take it just in case. I settle for one lip gloss, the vanilla flavored one. My sunglasses. And that's it? A big bag for three tiny items. keys? Nope. Money? Bankcards? Credit cards? Nope. Make-up? Nope. I don't have any of it.

I need more stuff.

Bear spray. No. I wear that on my hip. To hard to unzip and dig around in a purse, 'please mister bear I know it's in here somewhere' meanwhile all that's left is my bucket of water pouring out mixing with my blood.
Oh, my knife, I might have to stab said bear or cougar or human. I string this onto the strap of my purse, on my chest, right where I hopefully won't need it.

My reflection in the mirror sets off an explosion of inspiration 'cause I look cool.
I set myself up with the purse to kicks ass on all purses.
First, My pager for my pages.
In goes my compass, complete with map and whistle.
A candle, matches and a lighter and cotton balls soaked with Vaseline.
A lightweight backpacking saw.
My hatchet, no no I'm joking about the hatchet. I slide that next to the bear spray I'm wearing on my pink hankie. Hip style.
Dental floss, it might come in handy.
A toque, gloves, extra socks. Come on, how many times have you been out and about and you get cold or wet feet? wool socks are the best.
Toilet paper. Kinda bulky, I can just use snow.
My headlamp and an extra flashlight.
A notepad and two pens.
And one emergency feminine hygiene product. Or diaper, as I like to call them.
Good to go I'm thinkin'.

The thing is, if I need this stuff, it most likely means I'm missing. I'm in trouble and I'm no dumby so I take out my note pad and pen and write a little note to the would be searchers, detailing the route I am trying to follow, my poorly flagged property line. And laugh if you want to, I can take it, but I have a big yard and I'm not even sure where it is.

-Tammy