russ-stickacres.com Blog

Over the next few weeks, I will be featuring those folks who are dreamers. And doers.

You know who you are…

“Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you have imagined.”

“Never look back unless you are planning to go that way.”

“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.”

All three are quotes by writer, Henry David Thoreau.

I was introduced to Thoreau in my 10th grade English class in Petoskey High School. We had a very nice teacher, who embraced Thoreau wildly that year. Little did I know it was because she was making a decision to leave her husband, and go live a simple life in the woods with her lover, another teacher. Yes, we learned a lot that year.

As long as I can remember, I have been tied to nature. Let me share a piece of my writing I came across the other day that outlines that fact. What is interesting isn’t so much the writing itself, but the fact that I wrote it on April 29th, 1969 when I was 15 years old.

There’s times in my life when I want to withdraw into silent seclusion from everything. I think everyone witnesses this feeling at least once in their life.

A couple nights ago, right in the middle of a lot of work and hurrying, I took a walk back to my favorite clearing on the edge of the woods. I just sat there, watching the huge fiery red ball float down behind the city that lay stretched out in front of me. Dog sitting next to me, we strained our eyes and ears for any sign of wildlife in the dusk of the night. I just sat there, fully contented with the surroundings that eased the worries from my mind. And, I thought how nice it would be to live like this. It would suit me for it’s what I want. Just think…you wouldn’t have to associate with people that hurt you and vice versa. You wouldn’t have the confusion and hurrying and you wouldn’t have to bear the many problems of our busy world. But where would I be without my parents, family, friends. I need them too.

With that thought in mind, I started my long walk back home through the dark fields. And I thought how lucky I am to have this friend – Nature. She really understands me and is always there to listen. I hope my children have this opportunity.

So much has changed in 40 years. Then again, so much has stayed the same.

See you tomorrow ~ we’ll start our journey of livin’ the dream. Come along. You may be inspired.

Woodswoman

We had rides scheduled today (Monday) ~ A very nice mom (Pat) and college freshman daughter (Shannon) from Chicago. Although warm, they had some great time on the sleds and enjoyed the dogs. The trail was perfect.

Rustic Russ lead the way with his team.

While out on the trails, it is my job to stay in the dog yard and wait for their return.

Today I had the birds to keep me occupied.

My wintertime favorite, the adorable Chickadee, who gets along with all feathered flock.

Could Rustic Russ be camera shy?

Never ending food source.

Trying to stuff their little body in there!

Jeff (A.K.A. Rock Star) screaming that Seppala Siberian scream that only Seppala owners can relate to.

He’s still on the injured list, so he stays in the dog yard.

Jeff’s father, Solo, sits out a round.

It was a wonderful morning for a ride.

The winds picked up this afternoon and it was an entirely different day. However, we had a clue it would change from this morning.

This morning there was the most beautiful pink sunrise, giving the snow a pink tinge.

“Red sky at night, sailor’s delight. Red sky at morn, sailor’s take warn.”

We had received our warning. And as always, the sky doesn’t lie.

See you tomorrow ~

Woodswoman

Yep, 50 days until our little pint-sized TV goes black.

Truth be told…I can’t wait.

We have been using rabbit ears for over 8 years now.

We get the “major” channels and that’s it. ABC, CBS, NBC and although fuzzy, FOX.

Those 4 channels are too much already. Too much advertising (with most ads being written by MTV generation punks who think they are funny and clever, but not…), too much sex, too much blood, too much sin. I really don’t care to be insulted or blush in my own living room. Not by a TV anyway.

Sure, I’ll miss some shows. LOST (yeah, I know, sex/blood/sin), NCIS, LOST. Did I say LOST? But we’ll get by.

Who knows, perhaps we will revert back to the days of the Waltons, where everyone sat around the radio and listened at night. It certainly didn’t limit John Boy’s creativity.

Or the days of Andy of Mayberry, where Andy took his guitar out to the porch after dinner and strummed for Aunt Bee and cousin Barney. Didn’t hurt Opie’s creativity.

Or up in the furthest reaches of the Alaskan wilderness, listening to “Trapline Chatter” on the battery-powered radio in their tiny cabin. It didn’t bother Heimo Korth. (Click on Heimo.) Or his wife Edna. It didn’t hurt daughter’s Rhonda or Krin’s creativity.

My son’s won’t be surprised. They may think they were the only kids in the city of Petoskey who didn’t have MTV growing up. I called the cable company and actually had to PAY to have it pulled from my service. Nothin’ doin’. It was outta there.

It didn’t hurt my boys to not have MTV in their household. Sure, they watched it at friend’s homes. I couldn’t control that…but I could control my home.

I made the decision one New Year’s Eve when I was flipping channels, came across MTV and paused for a moment…only to have now-deceased Kurt Cobain spit in the camera lens. I called that week and had it yanked.

I wouldn’t know, but I’m sure it’s worse now…20 years later. I shudder to think of all I’ve missed.

I was from the generation where Elvis was photographed from the waist up.

Where the word “pregnant” couldn’t be said on the air waves.

Where Dick Van Dyke and Mary Tyler Moore had separate beds.

No Victoria’s Secret commercials. (What is it they sell anyway…?)

Instead of sitting in our cabin, watching what comes on next, we will structure our day around the sun (which is what Rustic Russ does now) and go to bed when tired and get up early. TV won’t factor into the equation. We control our lives. TV doesn’t control our lives. If that sounds odd, think about it for a moment. How many times have you watched TV instead of reading to your child, talking to your spouse, going to bed when tired, the list is long.

Plus, if we are missing our favorite shows, we can always pull a rabbit out of the hat…Netflix. It’s what we usually watch now. We select. We control what we watch.

In 50 days, we will be ready to pull the plug. Those 4 little channels won’t impact our lives any longer. We won’t buy into the fear-driven society. “Drive by media”…bye bye.

It feels good knowing we are going further into the Bush…

Will you?

See you tomorrow ~

Woodswoman

A week ago Saturday, before Christmas, we invited a small group of local friends over to get the dogs out and have some pre-holiday fun.

As the sun rose that Saturday morning, I reluctantly got ready for the trek from the Wee House back to the main cabin. Snow was over my boot tops as I faced the elements. I was fighting illness, and just plain cranky.

The morning air delivered -0 degree temps, which stung my face and snagged my breath as I hurriedly walked along a shoveled path. Any slight misstep and snow was in my boots. By the time I got to the main cabin and flung open the door, myself and the house dogs attempting to enter through the door at once, I was definitely cranky. I wasn’t sure why.

It wasn’t because I was unprepared for Christmas, which I was at that time.

It wasn’t because work was stressful being “Santa”. Who am I kidding? With my job, I’m Santa (or at least an Elf) 365 days a year…it’s just more difficult leading up to Christmas ~ you want to make sure people have warm houses and full bellies. Especially the children. Always the children.

OK, so it wasn’t those things. It couldn’t be my understanding and comedic husband, Rustic Russ. Although the night before, Friday night, Rustic Russ had his late February melt-down. You know the kind…where you are so tired of winter you aren’t sure you can make it through.

We now refer to it as “Spring Break Up”, after seeing similarities of Holling Vincoeur in Rustic Russ, in an old episode of Northern Exposure. I guess discussing all our options on Friday night spilled over to Saturday, I caught the “winter blues”. Rustic Russ, however, was back to his old self on Saturday morning. Me? I was getting “bushy”, as they say in Alaska.

Things just weren’t going my way. My filmmaker son, Charlie, and family had to cancel (actually postpone) their flight from California to Michigan for the holidays. This past week was to be our gathering time. The void of them not arriving hung in the air.

However, once our company arrived, the sun peeked out and all was good. Albeit cold, we had a wonderful day of dogs, people, and chickadee’s.

First on the menu, skijoring.

I don’t know who had more fun…Joy or Jordan.

Speaking of fun…was it the dogs? The speed? The skiis?

I’ll let you decide.

Idita-Brats Colton and Andie lovin’ on Jeff. Jeff (a.k.a. Rock Star) needed consoling, as he was the only dog left in the kennel that day. Still on the injured list.

Rustic Russ and team.

Joy with her team of Berners, wanting to follow our dogs into our dog yard. “But why not Mom?”

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Amy, digging the snow out of her jacket. (Hmmm…how did that get there?)

Hey, she never let go…

Jordan, a look of concentration, manuevering his team.

Good runs.

While in the dog yard, some of us experienced a Chickadee landing on our head. They were congregating near Rustic Russ’ chopping block, snagging bitty pieces of meat.

Andie tried to lure one in.

When just standing there didn’t work, she resorted to a piece of meat on her hat.

Nothin’ doin’. No takers.

SIDE BAR: However, when I returned the next morning to place an official bird feeder by the chopping block, one landed on my head immediately…shhhh.

We ended by they day with a gathering at the Wee House. Joy’s now-famous Chicken Heart Chili, Amy’s homemade Oreo Truffles, Andie’s homemade caramels, our farm Brats, and lots of extra goodies.

Rustic Russ treated Jordan to a snowmobile-powered sled ride.

Jordan, not wanting the day to end, finds another power source buried under the snow.

Jordan fits the description of what Rustic Russ refers to as “Gadget Kids”.

As everyone was packing up to leave, we were treated with a visit by AC Ellen. She would have come earlier to run her team of dogs, but her Serendipity Ranch is a 24/7 operation, as are all farms.

That day, she rebuilt her disabled tractor. Tractors are crucial to the necessary daily snow removal.

We ended the day with a wonderful sip & chat trio, sprinkled with stories of the past weeks and months. And future dreams for her ranch and our farm. And the dogs. Always about the dogs.

The evening ended on a nice note, unlike my cranky beginning. A day filled with friends.

Good friends warm the soul and feed the heart.

Until tomorrow ~

Woodswoman

It’s no bull. My favorite day of the entire year is the day after Christmas. It always has been. December 26th. Not for shopping. Shopping = root canal.

It is for the release of pressure. The completion of a marathon that begins before Thanksgiving and runs through December 25th.

Then there is the food. The leftover goodies that fill the crockpots and countertops.

You would think my favorite day of the year would be my birthday. Nope. Actually, my birthday is probably my least favorite day of the year. Seriously. And it’s not because of my age. It’s because of the expectation of what that day brings. Perhaps by the time I age gracefully, I will come to accept that day, but I’m thinking if it hasn’t happened by now, it may never come around.

This December 26th was spent with one of the men of my life. My golfer son, Mark. Actually two men, Rustic Russ and Mark.

Home from California for a few more days, Mark came down to Russ-Stick Acres for the day to see and spend time with his childhood dog, Satchmo.

Others also wanted Mark’s attention. Zip. Especially Zip.

Dixie and D2.

And Scooby.

And Rustic Russ.

But today it was Satch’s day. And Mark’s.

A day to reflect on growing up as a young boy who cherished his boyhood dog.

To recall those days of play, spooning, and sharing moments. From grade school on, Satch has been Mark’s main girl. The only dog for him.

For over fifteen years, they have been together ~ since the day we picked Satch out at the Charlevoix Humane Society one Sunday afternoon, as a young 3-month old pup.

Mutual affection transends time and travel. Together again ~ boy and dog.

Satch’s way of saying “thank you”…

Until tomorrow ~

Woodswoman (Proud mother of Mark and his dog Satch.)

Christmas Day ~ Rustic Russ and I worked hard all day to be ready to head out after an early critter feeding for a Christmas gathering at my brother Craig’s (and his wife Carla’s) home in Walloon Lake. A gathering of the Woodswoman side of the family.

A day of caring for the animals, snow removal and gathering wood for Rustic Russ.

A day of last minute wrapping of gifts, preparing goodies, and time in the dog yard for me ~ Woodswoman.

Although it was a day of the usual chores, we enjoyed getting ready for the gathering. As a treat, Rustic Russ brought Union, my prized lead dog, into the cabin for a day by the fire with our three house dogs. We fed some special pastry treats to our chickens. The day just felt special, as it should.

At 4:00 p.m., we headed north to our destination, loaded down with packages and goodies. Upon pulling in, we noticed my older brother, Kim, and his fiance’, Betty, had also arrived from Grand Rapids ~ a special surprise treat.

We gathered and ate, laughed and ate some more. Shared gifts and stories.

My golfer son, Mark, and his girlfriend Rojill, had flown in from California to be home for the holidays ~ both Petoskey natives.

My filmmaker son, Charlie, and his wife Kristina and my only grandson David, cancelled their flight from California due to David’s teething and eruption of molars. (They will be coming later in January…)

My mother, Jackie (Left in picture), ended up not arriving at the gathering either, due to health issues. And Carla’s mother, Bev (Right in picture), also didn’t make the short drive.

Niece Lauren was there, home from CMU, with long-time boyfriend Tyler, also a Petoskey native.

And, finally, my nephew Steve, who arrived back in the States on Christmas Eve from Israel, was spending the holiday with his cousin, Charlie and family in California before flying back to Hawaii for his next year’s commitment of missionary work.

Although the biggest jokester in our cast of characters was present; my brother Kim, there was a gap. A void. An emptiness.

It didn’t hit me until the ride home ~ tires humming ~ stale “Alvin and the Chipmonks” Christmas tune on the radio ~ Rustic Russ tapping a beat on the steering wheel.

Christmas wasn’t the same. It’s been happening steadily. It actually began in the fall of 1989 with the passing of my dear father, Chuck, within months of Christmas. No one could fill the void he left, even though my two brothers visually remind us of him from time to time.

Last year at Christmas it was only my mother, Jackie, my niece Lauren and RR and WW ~ a tiny group of four ~ as the others headed to California to celebrate on the West coast.

It’s official.

Our family is subdivided.

I wiped a tear away before Rustic Russ noticed in the dim light of the truck cab. Looking out the window into the snowy potato field passing by, I recalled my past years of Christmas.

I grew up in the 50’s when Christmas was magical. People celebrated, the town celebrated. People said Merry Christmas without threat of losing their job. (Click here ~ seriously.)

I recall red-patterned matching family pajama sets, posing around the gift-laden Christmas tree. The house was spotless and adorned to the max with decorations brought out year after year. And looking back, my mother was reminiscent of Jackie-O, pulling off a perfect Christmas gathering with grace. Gifts were plentiful and food was endless and oh-so-good.

This went on year after year, into the 60’s. Still magical. Until mid-1960 ~ the year I begged for cowboy boots. I was in the 6th grade and I had one item on my list, and it was those cowboy boots.

Back then, I would delight in taking the children’s (Toy) issue of the Sears & Roebuck catalog and putting a big X next to the gift I desired. Easy bake ovens, erector sets, mini drum sets, and such. By the time Christmas came, that book had shown its wear. However this year, I only desired ~ no, needed ~ no, demanded ~ one thing…cowboy boots.

Christmas morning came and after what seemed like an eternity, we began opening gifts. At our house, opening gifts meant one recipient at a time. Elected “Santa” passed out the gift, we watched the person open it, commented, perhaps passed it around for others to peruse, and then, we would go on to the next gift.

The gift I had my eye on finally made it through the rotation and ended up in my hands. It was a brightly wrapped box. I got the nod (and smile) from my Dad and began unwrapping, tearing the paper off with excited hands. My boots! I was sure of it. When I exposed the box I saw the word “shoe” and felt I was within seconds of my coveted find. However, when I flipped open the lid, all I saw was a white fabric carefully encased in tissue paper. I peeled back the tissue paper and carefully lifted the fabric from the box, puzzled.

It was a dress. A fancy white dress.

What cruel hoax was this? With disgust that sometimes accompanies 11 year-old Tomboys, I tossed the box aside. The magic had been broken. I was duped. Stiffed. Stymied. Denied my desire.

However, I survived. I ended up wearing that dress, more often than I would like to admit. I never did get my boots until I turned 18 and bought my first horse, and bought the boots to accompany the horse. However, even with that set back, all the Christmas’ following were magical.

I continued to carry the magic on to my children throughout the years.

Tonight, I was sad, and scared, knowing the magic could leave and never return. I can’t imagine a Christmas without that feeling. A peaceful, full feeling. A feeling of contentment.

Then I remembered little David. My only grandson.

It will be a tall order for his little shoulders, but I’m confident he can deliver…

A magical Christmas. A reminder of Christmas of the past.

Let’s hope next year will allow the family to be together. To be magical.

And for Christmas to remain magical, as it should.

Here’s hoping you and your family shared a very, merry Christmas. One of magic.

Woodswoman

Christmas Eve morning was spent treating a long-time customer, who also happens to be Rustic Russ’ best ongoing customer, Bob and his visiting family of 12-ish, to dog sled rides.

As I was preparing for the company to arrive, I wondered where Rustic Russ had gone off to. Finally, I viewed him walking down our long driveway, heading back to the kennel and cabin. It wasn’t until later I realized he got artistic with the cans of spray paint left over from summer projects.

Bob and his family arrived and were excited about their Christmas Eve dog sled rides. So were the dogs!

Especially our prized leader Ranger.

After everyone had a ride, or two, the Weldon family said thank you and goodbye and headed home for further holiday celebrations.

We went in to dry off and get prepared for our planned afternoon. We were both heading out together for the first of the holiday get-togethers with family.

When it came time to leave, Rustic Russ ended up heading south, solo, to visit with his son Steven for the afternoon and early evening. I ended up staying home, holding down the fort. I’m not a good traveler in snowy weather ~ a wimpy woodswoman to be sure. I will see Steven in a couple weeks and hopefully make it up to him then. My staying home also allowed Rustic Russ more time for a visit, as the animals would be fed on time. This is a good thing.

Being home alone, without Rustic Russ being here is rare and precious. I can count the times he leaves our place on one hand. Only certain events and/or people have the magnetism to pull him away.

Years ago, BFA (before farm animals), he would leave to head up to the Hardman or Warren cabin with most of the dogs, leaving me home to tend to the remainder. Farm animals, along with our lack of desire to race, put an end to the need to train in the UP.

We stay in the LP. At home. Below the Bridge ~ simple trolls.

While Rustic Russ is gone, I am in charge. I like that feeling.

Feeding time becomes my responsibility. I watch the clock. At the stroke of 4:00 p.m., I begin, just as Rustic Russ would do. First the cows, then the horses, then the dogs. Then the humans.

Dragging the bucket-lined red sled behind me, I head to the feed shed to fill up the coffee can with sweet feed for the cows. One each. Glancing over, I see their heads peeking over the side of the fence, impatient at my ineffective movements. Before giving them their feed, I take the pitchfork and gather up a big forkful of loose hay in our barn shelter and trudge over to where they are waiting patiently. I create three piles of hay in which to place the grain upon. Then comes the chewing and licking.

While leaning on the fence and watching them eat, I look out beyond their paddock into the woods. So beautiful, so white, so winter. This time of day brings the sweet light ~ that light during the early morning and late afternoon that is like no other. If you are a photographer, you know about the sweet light. Perhaps this is why farmers like to feed during these hours. They are magical. Sacred.

The smell of the hay and sweet grain punctuates the coolness of the air. D2, realizing I was going to stay for a moment, came over and rubbed his horned head on my gloved hands. His growing horns appreciate a good rub down. He also enjoyed licking the texture of the gloves, and smelling and licking my ungloved hands. Father, Dudley, not so much. Upon smelling my offered hand, he gestures his disapproval by shaking his head and making a stance as if to ready himself for a head butt. I back down and give him his due. I don’t mess with bulls ~ ever.

While standing there enjoying the sounds and smells of cows, I conjure up the image of the stable where Joseph and Mary stayed on this night, so many years ago, waiting for the birth of their baby, Jesus. Closing my eyes, I can picture the scene…the warm air exhailed by the animals close by, the smell of the hay mixing with the smell of grains, ruminants chewing their cud. Joseph waiting, worrying. Mary patient, knowing.

Mary would be giving birth to the Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Eternal Father, Prince of Peace. She knew… There is no doubt she knew. But some would wonder…Did Mary Know? Click here.

Mark Lowery wrote the lyrics for that beautiful song. Buddy Greene wrote the amazing instrumental.

Hearing “Mary Did you Know?” takes me back to our United Methodist Church service years ago in Petoskey when my young golfer son, Mark, played a drum set to this Christmas favorite, accompanying a singing duet.

Buddy Greene will be coming to Mackinac Island this coming May for the Win-Some Women’s conference. I will be there too. This will be the third time I have seen Buddy perform and have experienced the excitement only Buddy can bring to the stage. As I recall, Dee Dee Jonrowe shared billing with Buddy one year while I attended. Double the excitement indeed.

So many promises for the new year. But for now we will sit back and enjoy this time for reflection.

Merry…

Christmas…

From the sled dogs at LCK along with the critters at Russ-Stick Acres.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a Good Night!

Woodswoman

Merry Christmas everyone. It’s here, whether we are ready or not, Christmas is upon us.

Here’s a special treat ~ a video, or two. Not only do you get to see a lot of snow, but this dog reminds us of the enthusiasm of a fresh snow fall.

This came from a website that promotes taking your dog to work. Who are they kidding? I’ve taken Zip into the office on a Saturday (I have co-workers who are allergic…). Nothing doin’. She’s whining to get outta there.

I’ve also had a couple huskies in the office during a rescue situation with AC Ellen, nothing doin’…they too were anxious to get outta there.

Even the Siberian puppies (Hawk’s litter) that I took in years ago had a hard time. Nothing doin’ ~ trying to get outta there.

Not one dog enjoyed being in the office. Smart dogs… Although perhaps they fed off my anxiety of being surrounded by four walls, a desk, paperwork galore, and a phone that never stops ringing. Who knows.

Michelle (Tim Riley’s wife) takes their retired dog “Legend” to work with her on a daily basis. However Legend is, well, legendary. Legend was first acquired by AC Ellen as her pet, then Legend came to us for many years, especially enjoying the school tours. He now has a permanent home with the Riley’s. He has had quite a lifetime and perhaps feels going to work with Michelle is the best part of it up to now.

So, sit back and enjoy Harry Connick Jr. and “Bailey”, the Unknown Reindeer. You have to watch the entire short piece to really get the full effect. I can’t stop watching it!

Enjoy! Click here~!

And when you are done watching Bailey, you can track Santa for tonight’s deliveries! (Our government at it’s best.)

Click here!

Have a wonderful Christmas Eve ~ leading up to Christmas Day!

Until tomorrow ~ (Yes, I’ll be here, will you?)

Woodswoman

Exactly one year ago today, “Dexter’s Dixie Darlin’ Dairy Delight” gave birth to her first calf ever ~ with ease.

We purchased Dixie as a calf and waited a long time for this day. (More on that later…) Obviously, December isn’t the best time to birth a calf.

But in our case it couldn’t have worked out any better. It was warm, and the cows were toasty under their heat lamp. The cold weather was absent of flies.

In a word, it was perfect.

The proud father was our bull, “Dexter’s Double Dippin’ Dudley the Studley”. We also purchased Dudley as a small calf.

That is the best way to purchase a bull, I feel. Bulls can be intimidating and sometimes dangerous.

However, Dudley is…just Dudley. Albeit powerful.

Our new baby, the morning of his birth. D2. A product of Dixie and Dudley ~ registered Dexter stock. (Click on Dexter.)

Look at that little stance, within minutes of his birth.

What a fine young yearling he has evolved into.

Happy Birthday D2. You’re on your way to becoming an amazing steer.

Until tomorrow ~

Woodswoman

Part 1 ~ Humble Beginnings

The Life of Riley, as in Tim Riley, suggests an ideal life of prosperity and contentment. Prosperity? Tim might argue that suggestion. Contentment? You bet!

Rustic Russ and I first met Tim exactly two years ago when Tim called us out of the blue, asking if he could pick our brain on using huskies and dog power to possibly run his trapline. Tim worked for the Feds ~ USDA/APHIS ~ trapping coyote for TB testing.

Tim wasn’t a stranger to huskies, as he and his wife, Michelle, owned a couple at the time of his inquiry. Their first dog, Neeko, who had since passed away, had made a powerful impact on both Tim and Michelle to raise Siberians from that point forward, starting with Dream Catcher’s
Sundar Dakota, the resident Beauty Queen.

That phone call, which resulted in Tim coming that very next Saturday, and then Sunday, and practically every day beyond, resulted in a life change for us that is still taking us by surprise. Tim was a sponge and we were the water. He wanted to know anything and everything about the world of mushing. Books, tapes, DVD’s, …all were traded off with every visit.

Musher favorites took hold and made an impact. Mary Shields, Collin’s Twins, Joe May. Especially Joe May. All these people had something in common ~ they did it “Old School”.

Tim had found a niche’.

Tim was coming over to run dogs, driving from Gaylord, most every day. He was also filling up his rental home with new acquisitions for his budding team. Soon, it was time to find a new solution to accommodate his need for open spaces. (Michelle, working in Hastings, MI for Community Mental Health, held down the fort at their home in the city, while Tim worked his job further north.)

We came up with a plan for Tim to move on our property, on the back end of our kennel. There, he would have his own separate fenced dog yard. Outside the gate, along a wooden fence, a 22-foot travel trailer owned by the Riley’s was parked for the winter months. Tim had found a new home ~ at LCK.

The winter was magical. It was filled with constant dog talk, critiquing books, watching DVD’s, discussing feed. For several months, our lives merged. Tim would accompany us on runs for hay, scouting out new dogs, trips to the vet, traveling to other musher’s kennels, wrestling pigs, meeting new mushing and farm friends, castrating goats, and sharing the excitement of the arrival of spring farm babies, to name a few.

Thursday night was pegged as “Pizza Night”. We took turns buying the pizza, which was accompanied by episodes of “My Name is Earl” and “The Office”. (It took a bit of doing to get Tim to watch “The Office”, but once hooked, we never missed a Thursday.)

Inspired by Tim’s nightly runs with the dogs, I made a pledge to run our dogs each night for 40 days. (NOTE: I made it 20 straight days until skipping a day.)

Upon arriving home from my exhausting day at the office, I would throw on my mushing clothes and take out a small team. Rustic Russ would assist by handling or zipping through the trails ahead of me on the snowmobile. I would see Tim coming or going with his team upon his arrival home from his day job. After the run, while the dogs were slurping their respective dinners, we would shine our headlamps over the fence and chat while scooping and bedding down the dogs for the night.

Later, Tim would head up to our main cabin to get his water for the night. Many nights I could snag him in with the promise of a spaghetti and garlic bread dinner and an hour or two of dog talk by the wood stove. Those nights became the norm for the three of us.

Being a natural dog man, their kennel grew. Michelle was more than happy to initiate and accomodate new arrivals. Willow Alaska was one of the new acquisitions.

Michelle was the nurturer, often taking different dogs downstate to their Hastings home due to her desire to see each dog equally. Michelle always traveled with several dogs on her many trips to the north and back.

Is it any wonder mushers always find room for one more? Who can resist that face?

With Tim and Michelle came a wonderful cast of characters.

We soon met and enjoyed visits from Ralph, Tim’s Dad. Rustic Russ always enjoys a riding partner.

Ralph and Rustic Russ’ beloved Raz.

Doting mother Michelle and baby Willow…

Tim and Iditarod Veteran Jim Warren, talking dogs at the Wee House.

(Notice Tim’s sleeping pup.)

The women of his life. Mother Bobbi and dedicated wife, Michelle.

Bobbi and Ralph adopted two baby goats from our farm. Gideon and Darnell (Crabman).

Mancelona Mom (a.k.a. Woodswoman) is behind the camera.

As the saying goes, all good things must come to an end. During the winter months, we kept our eyes open for some “up north” property for Tim and Michelle. Of course, I looked within a 20 mile (o.k., o.k., 10 mile) radius of Mancelona.

Tim and Michelle beat me to the punch and found the Grayling area to be their new home. They bought a nice 5 acre piece and began their dream. In went the dog yard and a small cabin in record time.

A musher’s paradise. Seeing your dog yard out your cabin door.

(This was to be their first piece of property in Grayling. They would later move down the road to a beautiful cabin near the river.)

Tim made so many dear friends, so fast, in the mushing community.

Musher, Blaine Danley, donated the MiDD coat he won at the Full Moon Fall Fling to Tim. A kind gesture from a kind man. Tim was a guest speaker at our event, along with Champion Lance Mackey.

In the next 3 months, I will be continuing the “The Road to Iditarod” with Tim Riley with many updates along the way.

Some events to watch for in the future:

Having been training his dogs this last week in Grayling and Jackson, Tim is currently in the Upper Peninsula at Iditarod Veteran Al Hardman’s cabin in McMillan, running the trails in preparation for the first of his trilogy of Iditarod qualifiers.

He will be there through the holidays, training for the Seney 300. Click on Seney 300)

From there he will be traveling to Minnesota to train locally and then participate in the John Beargrease Sled Dog Marathon. (Click on Beargrease) He was fortunate to be added to the prestigious list of mushers participating in this traditional race.

From there, he will participate in the UP200. (Click on UP200)

And then, God willing, Tim and his team of Siberians will be traveling to Iditarod. (Click on Iditarod)

You can follow Tim’s (and Michelle’s) trail, along with their team of Siberians, at Dream Catcher Kennel. (Click on DCK)

If he ever gets off the trail, he will update his website.

But if I know Tim, he will be too busy runnin’ dogs… Old School Style.

Until tomorrow ~

Woodswoman (a.k.a. Mancelona Mom)