the Walnut Diary

February 3rd was a prominent date on our calendar, and the crew showed up on schedule to make the connection. I wasn’t eager or anything, but I did cut a wild apple tree which was entwining the phone cable where the new line would need to go, and I have maintained a path through the snow for the last week, just in case they were early…

To its credit, the wireless service has held up under heavy use through the fall, but it will be nice not to have to worry if my surfing will affect a family member’s online meeting or T.V. viewing.

This is a shot of some of the 650′ of cable required to complete the installation.

That’s better. The laying of the Trans-driveway Cable has connected our little world to the 21st Century.

My favourite toy of the winter is the diesel Kioti Mechron with a groomer made from three Pirelli run-flat snow tires.

The Mechron starts well in -4 F, the coldest weather so far this winter, and it has just enough power and traction in low range to drag the heavy triangle behind it through up to a foot of snow. 

Of course there is the slide down the hill for kids at the front. There are also the two miles of trails around the property, some of which are built on ice roads left by the loggers.  

I have experimented with ball carriers for the optimum hitch height for the piece of rope looped into the lead tire four feet behind.  Turns out the 6″ drop the Tacoma uses for a small trailer is ideal at keeping the centre of the track flat, rather than leaving an elevated hump the way the 2″ lift from the Cayenne tilts the lead tire.

All of this track-breaking takes on a bit of meaning as February 3rd approaches, the day WTC has booked to install the fibre optic network at the Croskery Farm.  Three days ago I looked down the row of hydro poles and realized an old apple tree was growing directly under the line and actually entwined with lowest cable on the array, the abandoned phone wire.  This would not do, so I drove the Kioti through a foot of heavy snow to get the chainsaw closer to the tree. Bet came out to operate the winch on MF35.  Then I discovered that the saw was out of gas, as was the gallon can.  While Bet basked in the sun in the vinyl-wrapped Kioti, I finally got organized and cut the tree to the point that Bet pulled the rope on the winch clutch and snapped off the whole mess of trunk, suckers, and a random buckhorn.  The winch easily extricated the branches from the cable as it pulled the fallen to the tractor.

Two chains hooked everything up, so while Bet U-turned into virgin snow with the Kioti and returned to base, I set off across the field with the Massey-Ferguson, towing a 25′ wide broom to temporary storage on a brush pile at the other end of the field.  The old tractor seemed grateful for the amusement, and easily pushed through the snow.

Then I went back with the Kioti to cut off the stump, load a little bit of brush in the back, and complete the trail-breaking the rest of the way to the hydro pole next to the road.  Of course I couldn’t resist grooming this new trail a couple of days later, so things are now ready for the WTC techs.  I called and left a message with their manager that deep snow is no excuse for not showing up.

“Thunnk” is the sound of a kiwi hitting a hardwood floor. It also proved to have too much mass for the scales, so the toy hedgehog (11 g) was drafted as a counterweight. Then the balance’s 100 grams of shiny brass weights with the help of the hedgehog lifted the kiwi above level. A 2 gram weight, once removed, allowed the balance to even out. The battered kiwi thus weighed 109 grams.

Earlier, with the aid of Sibley’s Field Guide to Birds, we had established that a chickadee has a mass of 11 grams. So does the little plastic hedgehog, and its cage-mate, the floppy-eared rabbit.

The reason that the balance scale appeared at our door was the failure of the teeter-totter which came with the hedgehog and rabbit to determine which was heavier. Trouble was that when the teeter was at the bottom, whoever was on it was heavier than the partner on the totter, and vice-versa. We needed a better measurement device. Amazon, of course, leaped to the rescue.

The current device, pointedly identified for ages 8+ and grades 3 and up, arrived in time for supper last night. Ada had her sleep to ponder its applications, so at 6:00 a.m. she decided that the hedgehog was no longer hibernating, and could be weighed this morning.

Then came the Kiwi.

Turns out the rabbit weighs exactly the same as the hedgehog, so their relative weights are no longer an issue.

Sibley says that a blue jay weighs 85 grams.

The hours have run up very quickly on the Mechron. Its utility in winter stems from the comfort of the 3/4 enclosed cab and its sure-footed stance on sketchy surfaces. Why risk a slip on an ungroomed trail when a preliminary run through with the groomer* (pictured above) produces a predictable walking surface?

Greg Beech and Brian Raison have been logging the diseased American beech trees on the property, so the Kioti has been pretty busy keeping track of things.

Before that there were small pines which had died from blister rust to cut and haul to the burn pile. A chain light enough to fit into a coat pocket works well to harness the Kioti as a skidder. It is much handier for this than the old tractor with a timber winch installed. The 4WD Bolens tractor can wiggle through a much narrower opening than the Kioti, but the UTV keeps me warm and dry in its cabin, and it is much less tiring to mount than the Kioti, which requires a bit of gymnastics to gain the driver’s seat.

The chain saw has taken up winter residence in the cargo box of the Kioti. Hats and water bottles can ride securely up front in the passenger foot well.

The logging has left trails through the woods littered with severed branches. Most of the time I can emulate Greg’s Timberjack and drive over the debris. Low range is quite useful on technical parts of the trails until they are cleared. This brings to mind a criticism of the Kioti’s transmission: there is no LOW range reverse gear. Try a tight 3-point turn on a narrow trail. In LO you ease ahead on full right lock, then switch to reverse and suddenly lurch backwards. Then you can inch ahead again.

I have a belly plate ordered, but it hasn’t come in to the dealership yet.

Last fall I spent about $30 on enough 20 mm vinyl to enclose the right side and back of the cabin. I have made no effort to baby the membrane, but it has so far held up flawlessly.

*For the Kioti I copied the groomer Brian Raison uses behind his ATV for ice road maintenance. These tires are 19″ Pirelli winter run-flats, originally off a BMW X5.

A logger from Kemptville, Greg Beech, has just finished cutting the American beech trees out of our woodlot on Young’s Hill. He skidded them out to the field facing the road, where Brian Raison, a firewood merchant from Athens, is in the process of cutting and splitting the logs into firewood for his customers.

Martin Streit, recently retired from the Ministry of Natural Resources, told me last year that the time to cut the beech was now, or else my woodlot would be overcome with dead stubs and scrubby beech crowding out the other growth. He marked a total of two beech trees which were not afflicted with the blight. Greg cut the rest, as well as the over-age maples which Martin also marked as part of a regular improvement cut of the managed forest.

While his skidder was on-site, I asked Greg to fell a substantial black walnut for me. As usual I ended up deciding that the thousand board feet of excellent furniture material from this tree would be better stacked in one of my garages than loaded onto a truck on its way off the property.

This meant that I had to seal the ends of the logs against sunlight and evaporation. A 24″ clear 8′ walnut log will lose 6″ on either end to checks unless the cut ends are sealed with wax. A mill owner at the west end of Lake Erie told me what product to order and how to apply it. He ships his best black walnut logs to Europe, and the limbs go along too, for use in flooring.

The shipment of the wax paint from Lee Valley tools was due yesterday, but it arrived after sunset, so I hoped for a window this morning where I could cover the ends of four large logs before heavy snow or a freeze-up put an end to paint application.

At daylight I had two diesel engines idling at the site: my little tractor turned the generator for the compressor which sat proudly in the box of the UTV amid a wide assortment of other tools and accessories. In fact I did use the compressor to blow snow off the log ends, but at that point I decided that a 3″ brush was the tool for the job. Bet had sent one along in case the paint sprayer didn’t work. In the uncertainty of a snow storm I figured a disposable brush was a better bet than an air-powered paint gun which might find the white goo too thick to spray, but would certainly need cleaning. The brush worked fine, dipped directly into the gallon of paint. I used a litre.

Now I can relax.

Yesterday I arrived home from a day of basement renovations at my sister’s house to find a non-functioning oil furnace. My son Charlie immediately declared the thermostat dead and figured out how to change the batteries. The trouble with this particular implement is that all of the lettering on it is tiny and the same colour as the case. I can’t read it with my elderly eyes. It took him a fair length of time to find the screw holding it together, replace the batteries, and realize that the thing was still dead.

A call to Bangs Fuels resulted in a long time on hold and a surly and unco-operative call service. Things improved considerably once the serviceman received my message, though. With young kids playing in the background, the guy identified me in his mind as the brick and stone house on the hill with a gas furnace and an oil unit. He has worked on both over the years. We talked our way through the symptoms and he eventually agreed with Charlie that the thermostat was dead: the electronic screen should light up with fresh batteries even if it is not connected to the furnace.

So Charlie twisted the two 24 volt A.C. signal wires together and the furnace came on. I asked the service guy if I could put a toggle switch on it for manual operation. He said that would work, if I wanted to do that. Charlie brought me a toggle switch, but then rethought it: “A 12v automotive toggle switch is for DC current. They can arc when engaging. Instead he brought me a wall switch, then collected his family and headed for their Ottawa house for the weekend.

How do I temporarily attach a two-pole wall switch to a pair of ancient wires protruding an inch from a plaster wall? Time to stop and think. Instead I chose to use the master switch for the furnace mounted in the basement stairwell. Leave the thermostat wires twisted together, walk down two steps into the basement, and flick the switch with a toe. Immediately the furnace will start making noises, and ten minutes later the fan will cut in with heat for the house.

While vexing, the exercise of nursing an ailing furnace was a welcome release from the less easily handled crises of the week. Yesterday’s discovery that the ubiquitous surgical mask is quite excellent for handling old fibreglass insulation somewhat offset my realization that the standard Arrow T-50 construction stapler is now too stiffly sprung for my old wrists, and that the Covid-19 lockdown has intensified in the face of the growing threat of local infections.

Rosebridge Manor, the long term care home where my mother is a resident, reports a round of tests for everyone, and still no infections. During a pandemic there are some advantages to a rural location with a local work force and highly motivated management.

Professor Roz had presented a paper at a large virtual conference on Wednesday. I asked her how it had gone. She had a mixed reaction. “I was glad to see and talk to all of those people, but my body was disappointed that they weren’t really there.”

Every day for the last week I have asked myself the question: “What are you going to do today to take advantage of this wonderful weather before it ends?

A Pilgrimage:

For years my thoughts have returned to the rugged landscape of Bedford Township where my first memories were formed. This morning Bet packed me a lunch and off I went in the Kioti. The trip up Hwy 42 and through the back roads to Blair’s School and up the McAndrews road to Devil Lake went smoothly. The day was lovely, I found a great new trail and rediscovered the one over the tallest ridge which I used to travel with my VW Beetle while hunting. Only ATVs use it now. Unlike the fall of my twelfth year when I learned to drive on the abandoned side-road, MacCann Road is kept in great condition all the way to the lake now, as the region has become a residential area for those who prefer rock ridges and oak trees to neighbours.

A stop at Blair’s School and playing with the Kioti

Stealing from red squirrels:

This fall I have come across a number of large caches of walnuts lying on the ground in my woodlot. Red squirrels defend their selected walnut trees so aggressively that the Grey squirrels stay away. But the Greys scatter-cache their harvest, effectively planting the majority of the nuts to encourage further growth. The reds larder-hoard their takings in hollow trees and in piles on the ground where few nuts have a prospect of growth.

Roz accused me of socialism, but for the last week I have collected piles of nuts and redistributed them to areas of the woodlot accessible to the Greys so that they can plant them, and passed a few pails along to neighbours for similar use in areas depleted by dying ash and maple trees.

I had forgotten how complex one of these projects becomes as soon as one decides to include a removable window pane and a screen insert.

By dark today I had reached a truce with the dead bolt and declared the door installed. Scraping off paint from the glass and caulking can come later.

I am very glad to have ditched the 1960 aluminum door, but now I have to repeat the process on the other entrance.

I had carefully gone over the new hemlock storm door with epoxy, covering knots and any shakes which could potentially cause slivers. Then it was time to leave the stuff alone so that it could set. So I got into the Kioti and went for a drive through the woodlot. It was the right time of year, and the rain had stopped.

The surprise was a large pile of fresh, green, black walnuts, just lying there on the ground. The pile adjoined an old metal tank, a relic left by the owners who cleared out in 1966. A rodent had dug a den underneath it. By the hoarding behaviour and the evidence of great industry in the nut collecting, I assumed that the red squirrel had run out of room in the den, and was currently figuring out what to do with his crop surplus. I called my neighbour, Lloyd, and asked him if he would like to steal from a squirrel. He responded with enthusiasm.

Lloyd was impressed by the size of the hoard, and we went to work loading pails full of nuts into the box of the Kioti, both of us chuckling about the fun of stealing from a red squirrel.

Grays earn a farmer’s respect, but reds are nasty little devils, and far too quick of foot. Grays are willing helpers on reforestation projects. Dump a pail of acorns or walnuts in the woods, and about half of them will come up as sprouts. If a red finds them, though, every nut will go into a hollow tree or a deep burrow to rot, with no hope of growth. It is for this reason we hate to see red squirrels hoarding nuts. Grays are scatter hoarders, burying their nuts at the perfect planting depth in the sod, then relying on memory and amazing spatial awareness to find their caches under deep snow. It is impossible to watch a gray emerge from a snowbank with a walnut and not admire the little guy. Of course many nuts are not needed or forgotten, and they get to grow into trees in your flower beds and lawn.

Lloyd and some of his friends are replacing dying ash trees on their property with other growth, and the black walnut tree is showing considerable success and hardiness in the changing ecology of Leeds County, so the nuts will either be planted in late fall, or dumped in likely locations to enlist the help of local gray squirrels.

Here is a link to the research I refer to glancingly in the above entry:

https://www.nrcresearchpress.com/doi/pdf/10.1139/z03-143

CBC ran Joe Biden’s 25 minute Democratic National Convention address in its entirety.

After all of the propaganda, what I didn’t expect from Joe Biden was a blizzard of ideas crammed into what should have been a one-hour speech.  I had to work very hard to keep up with this series of complex thoughts.  It has been a long time since a political leader has shown intelligence, common sense, and compassion on this level.  Yes, he ad-libbed a bit, primarily when he rethought a complex bit of grammar in a previous sentence, but he made an excellent case for himself as President.  

From time to time in the speech I thought of how Obama would have said this same thing. I realized that he would have gone through the material much more slowly, with plenty of time for applause lines and play to the audience. Joe took the ego out of the performance, but left the pride in his country, ambition, and compassion.

While I loved the sound of Obama’s oratory and appreciated his stagecraft, the simplicity of Joe Biden’s diction belied his speech’s depth and intelligence.