I stopped by one of my regular customers this morning, and found myself eyeball to eyeball with this little Boreal Owl. I had walked right by it, and only noticed it after I rang the door bell, and was waiting to be let in.
I’m pretty sure it’s a Boreal, and a small one at that. The Alaska DNR says that they can grow to 10″ long, with this one being in the 7-8″ range, by guestimate.
Around six inches of snow fell overnight, and the wind finally started to blow, knocking the snow off the tree limbs in small avalanches. No doubt, the little owl found the covered walkway to be well protected from the wind and falling snow.
The owl’s head would turn as I walked back and forth from my truck to the house and back again, but for the most part, it paid me only marginal interest. When I left, it was still perched on the carving that hangs on the wall.
Taking a few steps back, gives you an idea how small the owl is. Unfortunately, the only camera I had with me was my cell phone.
Sometimes you open a can of worms and find a nest of snakes. That’s how my Monday went.
September was named Bourbon Heritage Month by Act of Congress in 2007. That action, was in addition to the Act of Congress of 1964, which proclaimed bourbon “America’s Native Spirit”. When it comes to alcohol, Congress gets it done.
2014 data tells us that 95% of bourbon produced comes from the state of Kentucky. At any given time, there are 5.3 million barrels of bourbon aging within the state. A number, that exceeds the state’s population.
After two very long days in the seat of a skid-steer, I think I’ve earned the right to celebrate our Nation’s heritage.
Part of the 5% not produced in the state of Kentucky. This particular bourbon was chosen strictly for our readers in San Antonio.
I had a new job supervisor hanging out at the site. A raven sat up there on the extended stump, squawking for quite a while. I couldn’t figure out what it had to complain about: The weather was beautiful, and the job was humming along.
Everyone is a critic; even the wildlife.
Eventually, the vocal Corvus flew off to judge someone else’s work.
…when doing a roof job in 90 degree temps.
Courtesy of wordporn.com
It’s midnight. You’ve been drinking tequila. You suddenly remember you have to meet a client in the morning.
School bus conversion:
A ’67 Dodge D500 Mobile Home in a swampy hollow
A friend of mine was trying to unload several old school busses last summer before he left the state. This ’67 Dodge was wallowing in the muck, and it took a front end loader to get the beast out. It had been gutted and converted into a mobile home during the early 1990’s. At one point it had a small oil-fired heater, and it came with a propane range.
This is what the interior of the bus looked like when we pulled it out of the muck. After installing a new starter and a couple of new frost plugs, the bus, with its 413 Hemi ran just fine. It did have a little bit of trouble stopping with several leaking wheel cylinders, but brake fluid is cheap.
After getting the bus up to some semi-remote property I own and want to build on, I gutted the interior of the bus once again. I did get the new floor down, but the J.O.B. and a very early dumping of snow shut the project down in September.
Now that the road is solid enough to haul materials in, the bus conversion is back on.
One can never have enough projects.