Chipmunks The clowns of Forest and Field

Posted on May 10, 2026May 10, 2026 by Dusty Roads | 4 Comments

Canadian chipmunk from Banf . Canada

A Chance Encounter With a Canadian Chipmunk

Recently I came across a photo of a Canadian chipmunk, supposedly taken in Banff National Park. The little guy looked like he’d survived a long, hard winter and had plenty of stories to tell. It got me thinking about these tiny rodents.

Cute or “Just Rats With Better PR”?

I’m firmly in the “chipmunks are cute” camp. I know plenty of people who insist they’re just rats in better outfits and would be happy to see them gone. But to me, chipmunks — along with their cousins the squirrels, prairie dogs, and other assorted rodents — add a spark of life to an ordinary day.

Banner and Balboa would absolutely agree. They spend hours at the window watching chipmunks sprint, freeze, and zig‑zag around the yard. Of course, being cats, I’m sure they’re imagining a lively snack if they ever managed to get outside.

Western Chipmunks: A Different Look Out West

When I was in Wyoming, I spent a whole morning watching a pair of Western chipmunks. Naturally, I took a few photos — who could resist? They blended beautifully into the rocks and sagebrush, and they were definitely different from the chipmunks here in the East. Their colors felt more muted, more desert‑washed, like the landscape had rubbed off on them.

Lunch Buddies in the East

Back home, I like to see if I can coax the local chipmunks a little closer. I’ve shared my lunch with more than one — tossing out a French fry and watching the ritual unfold. They dart out, pause dramatically, then stuff the fry into their cheek pouches before sprinting back to safety. And then, of course, they’re right back again. They’re this perfect mix of bold and shy, and I find them absolutely adorable.

Clowns of the Forest and Field

I once heard someone say that squirrels are just rats with fluffy tails and better PR. Chipmunks, though technically squirrels, feel more like comedians. If puffins are the clowns of the sea, then chipmunks must be the clowns of the forest and field.

North America’s Chipmunk Jackpot

Here’s a fun fact: of the 25 chipmunk species in the world, all but one live in North America. One lone species lives in Asia. Clearly, we hit the jackpot.

So Where Do You Stand?

Love ’em or hate ’em, chipmunks definitely make an impression. So where do you fall on the chipmunk spectrum — adorable woodland clown or tiny striped menace?

Secretariat – When a Horse Becomes a Legend

Posted on May 7, 2026May 6, 2026 by Dusty Roads | 2 Comments

Gone but not forgotten. “Bronze statue of Secretariat at Claiborne Farm in Kentucky, commemorating the Triple Crown winner’s historic career.”

A Tribute to Secretariat: America’s Super Horse

Now that Derby Day has come and gone for another year, I find myself thinking not just about the newest winner, but about the horse who still casts the longest shadow over the sport. Secretariat. Big Red. The legend who didn’t just win races — he redefined what greatness looked like on four legs.

Secretariat wasn’t simply fast. He was the Gretzky or Jordan of the racetrack — the kind of once‑in‑a‑generation athlete whose records don’t just stand; they dare anyone to even try. More than fifty years later, his times in all three Triple Crown races remain untouched. No other horse has come close.

The Making of a Legend

Born on March 30, 1970, Secretariat grew into a 16.2‑hand, 1,175‑pound chestnut with a stride so fluid it looked like he was skimming the ground. His conformation bordered on flawless, and during his three‑year‑old season he powered himself with 15 quarts of oats a day — fuel for the engine that would change racing forever.

In 1973, he became the first Triple Crown winner in 25 years. And he didn’t just win those races — he shattered them. His records in the Kentucky Derby, Preakness, and Belmont Stakes still stand today.

The Belmont That Became a Myth

Even if Secretariat had never run another race, the 1973 Belmont Stakes would have secured his immortality. That day, he didn’t just win the Triple Crown — he obliterated it.

He ran the mile and a half in 2:24 flat, the fastest time ever recorded at that distance. And he won by 31 lengths. The camera literally couldn’t keep the rest of the field in the same frame. It remains one of the most astonishing athletic performances ever captured on film.

A Horse Who Became an American Icon

Secretariat wasn’t just a champion; he was a cultural phenomenon. Magazine covers. Headlines. Crowds who came simply to watch him walk. He was syndicated for millions under the agreement that he would retire after his three‑year‑old season — a decision that allowed him to begin a second career as a sire.

His influence is still everywhere. Nineteen of the twenty expected starters in the 2026 Kentucky Derby trace back to him. His bloodline continues to shape the sport.

He even made ESPN’s list of the 50 Greatest Athletes of the Century — the only non‑human on the list.

The Heart of a Champion

When Secretariat died at age 19 from laminitis, the necropsy revealed something that felt almost poetic: his heart was two and a half times the size of a typical Thoroughbred’s. Not diseased — just extraordinary.

Most racehorses are buried with only their head, heart, and hooves. Secretariat was buried whole at Claiborne Farm in Paris, Kentucky. Because how do you separate a legend into pieces?

The Legacy That Still Gallops On

Secretariat earned over $1.3 million on the track — more than $7.7 million today — and commanded a $70,000 stud fee. But his true legacy isn’t measured in money. It lives in the records that refuse to fall, the bloodlines that still dominate, and the way his Belmont replay can make even a casual viewer feel goosebumps.

For those of us who grew up horse‑crazy, Secretariat wasn’t just a racehorse. He was the embodiment of every dream we ever had about what a horse could be.

He still is.

Big Red forever.

Banner, My Little Helper

Posted on May 3, 2026April 23, 2026 by Dusty Roads | No Comments

A Day in the Life (With Cats, of Course)

My days are pretty full. A “typical” day — if such a thing exists — might include some housework. Believe it or not, I love cleaning my kitchen. I spend so much time in there that making it sparkle feels like restoring my natural habitat.

Then come the smaller chores: taking out the trash, scooping the kitty litter, doing laundry. Somewhere in there I carve out an hour or two with my resident lap cat, Balboa, to read a chapter or two from whatever book currently has its claws in me.

And of course, I always make time to write. Sometimes it’s a full post, sometimes it’s just a snippet to be polished later. In between all that, I pay bills, run errands, and do the weekly grocery run.

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**The Chores I Don’t Love**

What I do not enjoy are those little unplanned chores — the ones that ambush you. The smoke alarm starts chirping at 3 a.m. because the battery is dying. The toilet won’t stop running because it needs a new flapper (yes, I replace those too).

But the absolute worst offender?

Changing a light bulb.

The moment I drag out my ladder, all those ridiculous light‑bulb jokes start running through my head.
How many software engineers does it take to screw in a light bulb? None — it’s a hardware problem.
You know the type. How many have you heard?

My Ongoing Feud With the Ladder

So why does such a simple task bother me? One word: ladder. I can trip over my own feet with both of them firmly on the ground. When I use my step stool to reach the top shelf in the kitchen, I hold my breath. It’s only one step, but still…

The older I get, the more convinced I am that the ladder is out to get me. I even upgraded — tossed the old wooden one and bought a heavy‑duty rubber model that could probably support a small elephant. It’s sturdy, reliable, and still absolutely terrifies me.

Enter Banner: Supervisor of All Heights

But not my little helper.

Banner is fascinated. The moment I lock the ladder open, he’s right under my feet. Hmmm… could this be part of why I fear falling? Once the ladder is set, I’m ready to climb — in theory. In reality, I suddenly discover dozens of “urgent” tasks at ground level. Procrastination is an art form, and I am a master.

Banner, however, is not. He inspects each step with great seriousness, climbing all the way to the top. Once there, he surveys the kitchen like a tiny orange foreman. It is now his personal domain, and he is the supervisor of all that happens here. If only he had hands and opposable thumbs.

The Light Bulb Gets Changed… Just Not by Me

Did the light bulb get changed?
Yes. Yes, it did — but not by me or Banner.

My much younger, very kind neighbor came to rescue the old lady in distress. In minutes, the old bulbs were out, the new ones were in, and the crisis was over. As he stepped off the ladder he said, “Nice ladder — where’d you get that? And can I pet the cat?”

And just like that, the job was done.

Derby Day: The Two Minutes That Still Make Me Cry

Posted on May 2, 2026April 28, 2026 by Dusty Roads | No Comments

🐎 A Horse‑Crazy Girl at Heart

I’ve always been a reader, and like any self‑respecting teenage girl, I was mad for horses. I even managed to own a couple (much to my parents’ dismay), but I loved them, and back then I was a pretty fair horsewoman. Probably not now — but that girl is still in me somewhere.

As a young reader, I devoured every horse book I could get my hands on. The first book I ever owned — not borrowed from the library — was The Snow Filly

As a young reader, I devoured every horse book I could get my hands on. The first book I ever owned — not borrowed from the library — was The Snow Filly. I read it until the cover curled. Then came The Black Stallion series. If I’m remembering correctly (and it was many years ago), that wild black stallion eventually ran in the Kentucky Derby. Fiction, of course, but when you’re a horse‑crazy girl, who cares? Those stories were about heroes — and that’s all I needed.

Somewhere in those pages, my love for the Kentucky Derby was born.

The Magic of Post Time

Now I watch the Derby every year — and today is the day! The first Saturday in May. I’m not glued to the TV for the hats or the pomp or the endless pre‑race chatter. I only care about post time. I usually turn on the TV about 30 minutes before the race, just in time for the moment that still gives me goosebumps:

“Riders up!”

The bugle rings out. The horses leave the paddock in the post parade, heading toward the track and the starting gate. My heart starts pounding, and I try to pick a favorite — but who am I kidding? They’re all my favorites. I’d be a terrible handicapper.

The excitement builds as they load into the gate. Some horses walk in calmly. Others rear, dance, or fight the moment — nervous, anxious, full of fire. Then there’s a beat, a breath, a stillness.

And then they’re off.

The most exciting two minutes in sports is underway.

And I cry. Every single time. It’s just so amazing. If I ever get to go in person, I know I’ll embarrass myself. Who cries at a horse race? Everyone else cheers, but not me — I sob my heart out. Those magnificent horses are running with everything they have, and the thrill never fades.

I just love those two minutes.

Riders Up!

May Day: The Traditions, the Mischief, and the Magic of May 1st

Posted on May 1, 2026May 1, 2026 by Dusty Roads | No Comments

🌼

I haven’t revisited May Day for a few years — fifteen, to be exact — but who’s counting. If you’re curious (or just in the mood for a laugh), you can see that original 2011 post here. May Day.

May Day is one of those holidays everyone’s heard of, but almost no one can fully explain — which is probably why it’s so much fun to write about. Depending on who you ask, May 1st is about flowers, bonfires, maypoles, ancient goddesses, or childhood memories of weaving ribbons around a pole without tripping over your classmates. And honestly? All of those answers are right.

🌸 A Holiday Older Than… Well, Almost Everything

May Day goes all the way back to the ancient world. The Romans celebrated Floralia, a weeklong festival honoring Flora, the goddess of youth, spring, and flowers. When they reached the British Isles, their festival collided with the Celtic celebration of Beltane, also held on May 1st — a fire festival marking the start of summer. Over time, the two blended into what we now recognize as May Day.

🌿 “Bringing in the May”

By the medieval period, May Day was the spring holiday across Europe. Villagers would wake up early to gather flowers and greenery — a tradition called “bringing in the May.” They decorated homes, barns, and even livestock with blossoms to welcome the season.

🎀 The Maypole (and the Competition to Have the Tallest One)

At the center of the festivities stood the maypole — usually a tall birch tree pulled into town by flower‑decked oxen. People danced around it holding colorful ribbons, weaving patterns as they went. Some towns even competed to see who could raise the tallest or most impressive pole.

👑 The May Queen

Many villages crowned a May Queen, a young woman chosen to preside over the day’s games, dances, and pageantry. Think of it as the original spring influencer — minus the hashtags.

🔥 Bonfires, Dew, and a Little Magic

In some regions, May Day included bonfires — a holdover from Beltane — and people believed washing your face in May morning dew would bring good luck and beauty for the year ahead. (Honestly, that one might be worth trying.)

🌼 And Then There’s New England…

Here in New England, the Puritans were not fans. When an Anglican merchant erected a maypole at Merry Mount (today’s Quincy) in 1627, the neighboring Puritans chopped it down and shipped him back to England. No sense of whimsy, those folks.

So while the Puritans may have tried to shut the whole thing down (party poopers, the lot of them), May Day survived — flowers, maypoles, mischief and all. And honestly? I think that’s worth celebrating. Even if the only dancing you do is from the coffee maker to the couch.

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