Elk in abundance

Don stepped onto the deck a couple days ago, then immediately poked his head back inside and said, "Grab your camera." Whenever he says that, I know it's something good. I grabbed my camera and this is what I saw.

Elk. Lots of elk. Elk in abundance.

They hung around that distant pasture all afternoon: Lounging, grazing, browsing, sunning.

Because they were moving in and out of sight, I couldn't get an exact head count, but there were at least 30.

By afternoon, pretty much the whole herd was laying in the wintery sunlight, chewing their cud.

Cool, eh?

It snowed!

Stop the presses! Alert the media! Yesterday we had snow!

Granted, not much, maybe four inches. But hey, with the exceptionally dry and freaky-warm winter we've had so far, we'll take what we can get.

The conditions were exceptionally calm and picturesque.

The one unfortunate thing about this snow was its timing. Up until this point, the most we've had was a light dusting of snow that soon melted away.

This melted-off dusting meant the ground and roads were wet. Temperatures were expected to plunge yesterday evening (as indeed they did), which meant the roads would be sheets of ice (as indeed they were). Anticipating this, we called our pastor and told him we weren't going to risk driving to the evening Ash Wednesday service, much as we wanted to attend. We're still gun-shy about driving in questionable conditions after our Christmas Day car accident over a year ago.

So we stayed home and enjoyed the snow. So did Mr. Darcy.

We went walking in our pasture yesterday evening, and Darcy romped in the white stuff like he'd never seen it before.

The evening sky looked lovely as the clouds cleared away.

By this morning, the temperature had dropped to 17F and the walkways and roads were dangerously icy. I had to watch my footing when I went out to milk the cow.

As an interesting side note, yesterday on our porch, the bird feeder (which is tied to the railing) had been knocked off overnight. Since our neighbor's cats are always hanging around, I blamed them. (Note the kitty paw prints below.)

But the snow revealed the real culprit: A raccoon.

Today is clear as a bell and very beautiful outside.

It's also warming up, and as I write this (noon-ish), snow on south-facing slopes is already melting. Sigh. It was nice while it lasted.

Blah-blah nothing

As I'm fond of saying, it's easy to tell when AI is writing something because it uses a lot of syllables but doesn't actually say anything. Or, as I put it, it's a lot of blah-blah nothing.

Consider this magnificent award-winning photograph entitled "The Guardian" by Sameh Shahien, for example.

Glorious photo, isn't it? But this was the description below: "Beneath the scorching sky, a mother raptor shields her young with unwavering strength — a living fortress. In this rare moment, the bond between parent and offspring is laid bare in pure form: instinct, protection, and unspoken love captured with natural light. Photographed on the coast of Sharm El-Sheikh, South Sinai, Egypt, this image is both a tribute to wild maternal care and a reminder of nature’s silent guardians who watch over the next generation."

Oh puh-lease. This is nothing but a lot of polysyllabic blah-blah nothing. (And remember, AI loves to use the term "unwavering.")

To extract the full extent of the absurdity of the text, read it out loud (as I did to Don). Blah blah blah. What kind of bird is it? Couldn't AI provide basic info like that?

Blah.

The blessings of proper tools

With the winter being as mild as it's been, I've actually had the opportunity to get some pre-season garden work done.

A lot of this is simply clean-up work I should have done last fall, but didn't get around to; things like weeding the beds and raking up leaves.

One of the things I wanted to get done before spring planting was to apply a generous layer of compost on each bed. In October when I harvested potatoes, the task took longer than I would have liked simply because the soil was more clay-y than anticipated and digging was hard work. Additional compost (and some sand) will help alleviate that issue.

Thanks to the diligent efforts of the cows, we have no shortage of compost. The trouble is our property is almost entirely sloped, and the compost needed to be moved from down there...

...to up here.

The difference may not look like much until you're pushing a wheelbarrow filled with about 75 lbs. of compost a hundred yards uphill with an elevation change of about 20 feet. Trust me, as I figured out last fall when I put compost on the two garlic beds, it's exhausting work.

I needed to add at least two wheelbarrows' worth of compost to 30+ beds. Sixty trips pushing that heavy wheelbarrow uphill. No wonder I put it off.

Then Don stepped in and saved the day by offering to move some compost into the garden with the tractor. God bless my husband.

The garden is long and narrow. When we fenced it last year, we did so with the understanding that we would need to remove sections of fencing from time to time (such as now).

I started by clipping the hog rings holding the deer netting to the cattle panels.

Leaving the deer netting dangling from the overhead wire, I peeled back the cattle panel to open up a section of the fence.

Meanwhile, using the tractor, Don started scooping up bucket-loads of compost and bringing it around the perimeter of the property to the garden. (In a perfect world, the barn, compost pile, and garden would be cozily clustered together, making this an easy process. We do not live in a perfect world, so using the tractor to move compost means a bit of a drive for each load.)

Altogether he was able to move six bucket-loads of compost for me (for starters), which amounts to hundreds of pounds of this "black gold."

When he was finished, I moved the fencing back into place and started filling the wheelbarrow. Because I was moving on relatively flat ground for a much shorter distance, I could fill the wheelbarrow fuller, to perhaps 100 lbs. or so.

Then I trundled it over to various beds and dumped it. A thousand percent easier than shoving the wheelbarrow uphill.

It goes without saying that the tractor has saved us immeasurable work over the years, ever since we bought it back in 2015.

This force multiplier is one of the best tools we ever acquired, and as we get older, it gets even more valuable.

I tell ya, the blessings of having the proper tools on a homestead.

Pandora's Box

In the wake of last week's brutal tech-stock selloff, Don saw a news story entitled "Anthropic’s AI Tools Decimated Tech Stocks and the Carnage Is Just Beginning." The article began: "If you’re not a coder, you have nothing to fear from Anthropic’s latest releases … unless you are invested in tech stocks, in which case it may be time to panic. In a seismic shift that’s rattling Wall Street and Silicon Valley alike, the AI powerhouse unleashed a pair of revolutionary tools – Claude Code and Cowork – that promise to redefine how software is built and managed. These innovations, which allow AI to generate code on demand and function as virtual coworkers, have triggered a brutal selloff in the software sector, erasing 25% of its value in just one week and contributing to a staggering $400 billion loss in investor wealth. This isn’t just another tech hype cycle; it’s a clear signal that AI is no longer a mere assistant but a direct threat to established industries, forcing a painful reckoning on profits, jobs, and the future of human ingenuity." [Emphasis added.]

It gets worse: "Anthropic’s Claude Code stands out as a game-changer, enabling users to create custom software with minimal input, effectively automating what was once the domain of skilled programmers. Paired with Cowork, a suite of plugins that lets AI agents handle collaborative tasks like a full-time employee, these tools represent a leap toward AI autonomy."

So now AI is poised to gut the jobs of the very industry that created it.

When Don read this out loud, my comment was, "What have we unleashed?'

I come from a family of nerds. I have engineers scattered among all my relatives. We have friends deeply involved in software creation. Are their positions in jeopardy?

Pandora's Box indeed.

Yeah, Jenny

As most long-time readers know, I don't care for fashion. I have zero interest in clothes, and in fact suffer from severe clothing blindness.

But once upon a time, back in about 1986, I got a manicure. At the time, I was working as a legal secretary in a law firm in downtown Sacramento, and manicures were both common and (to some extent) expected among the upwardly mobile class, which I fancied myself to be back then. So I got a manicure.

I remember it cost $10, and I gave the nice manicurist a $5 tip. The results were okay, I guess, but I distinctly remember thinking, "Well, that was a waste of money." I've never gotten a manicure since.

Now, of course, manicures are pointless when living a homesteading lifestyle. Can you imagine milking a cow with fancy nails?

This little anecdote is by way of introducing a post I saw from a woman named Jenny who was apparently unable to grasp why any woman would not want a manicure. She wanted to know the reasons why.

Well, I must say poor Jenny got a huge response. She heard from loads of women in a wide variety of careers, chiming in with their reasons why they don't get manicures. Among them:

• "Because I work in the operating room and it's against policy, Jenny."

• "Because I'd rather spend my money traveling, Jenny."

• (From a logger) "Can't find a shade to match my chainsaw, Jenny."

• "I can't crochet at normal speed if my nails are done, Jenny."

• "Because I'm a heavy-duty mechanic, Jenny."

• (From a mother of baby twins) "Because I'm  tired, Jenny."

• "Because I'm a freaking surgeon, Jenny."

• (From an airline pilot) "Because I press buttons for a living, Jenny."

• (From a wildlife biologist) "Bears don't seem to care, Jenny."

• (From a musician) "Because then I wouldn't be able to press the strings on my cello, Jenny."

• "Because I’m an archaeologist, Jenny."

• "Because I conduct cancer research as a PhD candidate, Jenny, and wearing long nails gets in the way of the lab experiments."

• "Because I'm an EMS, Jenny."

• "Because I'm a paratrooper, Jenny."

• (From a construction worker) "Because power tools are more fun, Jenny."

• "Because I'm a cultural heritage conservator, Jenny."

• "Because I'm an electrician, Jenny."

• "Because I'm a landscaper, Jenny."

• "Because I'm a registered veterinary technician, Jenny."

• (From a doctor) "Too busy saving lives, Jenny."

• (From an MMA fighter) "Too busy hitting people, Jenny."

• "Because I'm a pediatric nurse and long nails are against policy. Might hurt the kids and they're not hygienic, Jenny."

• "Because I'm a goldsmith, Jenny."

• (From a pediatric dentist) "Because I take care of tiny teeth, Jenny."

• "Because I work in trauma surgery, Jenny."

• "Because I am a busy plumbing field technician, Jenny."

• "Because I'm a freediver, Jenny. Nails make putting on a wetsuit way too difficult."

• "Because I'm a mineral processing engineer, Jenny."

• "Because I'm an offshore mechanical tech, Jenny."

• "Because I'm a potter. People don't like it when their mugs leak, Jenny."

• "Because I'm a marine and environmental scientist, Jenny."

• (From a dentist) "Because I work in patients' mouths, Jenny."

• (From a chef) "I'm sure you wouldn't appreciate finding a press-on nail in your food, Jenny."

• "Because I ride and race dirt bikes, Jenny."

• "Because I'm an auto electrician, Jenny."

• "Because I just spent my money buying a house, Jenny."

• "Because I'm a geologist, Jenny."

• (From a doctor) "Because I'm not popping holes in my gloves, Jenny."

• "Because I'm a professional football player, Jenny."

• "Because I'm a hair dresser, Jenny."

• (From a mechanic) "Because I have a show car to wrench on, Jenny."

• (From a devout Muslim woman) "Because I'd rather spend my money on umrah, Jenny."

• (From a welder) "Because the arc will break my nails, Jenny."

• "Because I am a diving instructor, Jenny. Salt water and nails don't get along."

• (From a competitive skier) "Because I'm ratcheting down my bindings on the mountain, Jenny."

• (From a forester) "Because I'm busy planting trees for research, Jenny."

• "Because I'm in martial arts, Jenny."

• "Because I am a cosmetic formulator, Jenny."

And, perhaps the most blunt and truthful reason from a rock climber:

• "Because there's no point, and honestly think it's a waste of money, Jenny."

I didn't see "Because I milk cows, Jenny" in the list ... but it's as good a reason as any.

So there, Jenny.

A change in the weather?

I caught an interesting article a couple days about about an upcoming broad change in weather patterns. Apparently the stubborn high-pressure system that has been giving the western U.S. a freakishly warm and dry winter, while simultaneously slamming the east with horrific snow and cold, is set to change.

According to the article, "While much of the eastern U.S. has been frozen by rounds of Arctic air and snow, the West has experienced weeks of unseasonable warmth, which has left many mountain ranges in a snow drought. A major change in the weather pattern will flip the script by mid-month, as a shift in the jet stream will open the door for numerous storms to bring snow and rain to the West Coast and Rockies."

Whether this long-term prognosis is accurate or not, all I know is we're getting some desperately-needed rain moving in today, the first appreciable moisture we've had since January 2.

I sincerely hope this is the start of a wetter weather pattern for the rest of this winter. Whatever happens, though, we'll take what we can get.

Dopamine overload

Yesterday, while cleaning the barn, I took a short break to catch my breath after shoveling a bunch of stuff into the wheelbarrow (cow manure is heavy!).

So there I was, momentarily paused, just inside the barn door, leaning on the shovel handle. I looked up and saw a bald eagle wheeling in slow circles over the valley, visible above the tops of the pine trees. I could see its bright white head and tail contrasting with its black body as it circled around. (I didn't have my camera at the time, but the spot it was circling is depicted below.)

And I thought, "What a privilege to live here."

Some people might not reach that precise conclusion while ankle deep in cow manure, but honestly that's exactly what I thought, followed by a swift prayer of thanksgiving for our little farm.

After a few moments' rest, I picked up the shovel and continued with my task.

Anyway, this brief interlude during a normal workday came back to me this morning when I read an article entitled "How To Feel Joy In A Dopamine-Saturated World."

"Your brain treats what it sees in Instagram reels the same way it treats cocaine," the article begins. "Both experiences flood a thumbnail-sized region of the brain with dopamine – a chemical that makes you want more, right now. The problem is that after a certain amount of dopamine hits, your brain adapts by turning down the pleasure volume. As a result, things that once made you feel good are no longer enough. If you’re finding it harder to feel simple joy and genuine connections, you’re experiencing what addiction psychiatrists now recognize as dopamine overload, a state where constant stimulation – especially from cellphones, social media, and ultra-processed foods – quietly erodes your ability to feel your happiest emotions and leaves relationships feeling painfully empty. ... [M]odern life delivers dopamine in doses and speeds the human brain is not equipped to handle."

The solution to this dopamine overload, apparently, is to "detox." The article continues: "Dopamine overload requires something simpler, though not easier: you have to stop the activity that creates it. ... Experts have found that the goal of a dopamine detox is not to eliminate dopamine – which would be impossible and unhealthy – but to reduce overstimulating habits so the brain can rebalance and you can enjoy slower, more meaningful rewards again."

Such as watching a bald eagle while cleaning up barn waste. Seriously, it was a genuine shot of dopamine at that moment.

The faster the world goes, the more closely I cling to the homesteading life. Maybe, at some level, this is why.