September 9, 2012

I finally admitted to myself my Alaska days are over. Oh, I’ll go visit my friends, but I know as the years go along, I won’t spend anymore time there than I do in Maine where my sons were raised.  And the truth be known, if it weren’t for the boys, their wives, and the grandbabies, I wouldn’t go there.

It’s called life and like it or not, life continues, day after day, regardless where one lives.

I happen to live in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan just north of the Wisconsin border alongside Pentoga Road, NOT to be confused with Pentoga Trail. There’s a distinct difference. Pentoga Trail borders a local lake that is lined with trendy, multi hundreds-of-thousands-of-dollar homes. In fact, our local US Congressman lives a mere two miles distant. He’s yet to call and invite me for coffee.

Pentoga Road, all two miles of it, lies on the other side of the tracks and has three fulltime residents. None are trendy.  We Pentoga Roadites live in modest Yooper homes and see far more deer, bear, wild turkeys, coyotes, and other critters of the woods than humans. On a good day, a dozen cars might pass on Pentoga Road. In the winter, one can halve that number.

Sargie, my fiancé, lives here too. Sargie’s on optician… she helps to fix eyes and works in the Vision Center of a Super Walmart. It was pure chance we met. I wasn’t looking for her and she wasn’t looking for me. After a marriage of thirty years and a failed rebound marriage of six, the last thing I wanted or needed was a third relationship.

But, I guess, God had other ideas. I lost my glasses and it was during a visit to the Vision Center to buy an inexpensive pair that I met Sargie. She is the mother of four sons. I’m the father of four. She’s a Yooper girl, I’m Alaskan guy from the most northern tip of Maine. She helps to fix eyes. I could use a new pair. And the rest is history.

And speaking of eyes, I don’t see so good anymore. The long harsh reflection off the snows of northern Maine and the Arctic Circle of Alaska took its toll. There’s the dystrophy that causes one eye to seize every now and then. Coupled with a healthy case of macular degeneration, it’s far easier to write than to read. And that’s okay. The memories of an active life that reside between my ears are just as full and rich as that which occurs around me on a daily basis.

I refer to myself as a long distance hiker whose dream has been to through-hike the Appalachian Trail before I get too old. I want to call each of the 2,180 miles from Georgia to Maine my own. Whether it happens or not remains to be seen, but as it’s said, “Half the fun of going is getting there.”

I love fishing, gardening, trapping, working in the yard, playing in my barn, but most of all, I love to write. Whether anyone reads what I write isn’t important. I simply love to record my thoughts.

I wrote a newspaper column for twenty years and have written a log on an almost-daily basis for the past ten. Armed with a pocket camera, I love to take pictures to accompany my writing. Both keep me between the lines as I travel this journey called life.

So I welcome those readers who’ve been faithful in following the Alaska Professor all these years and extend the same hand of fellowship to those who are new. I write about my daily life, one that is probably not a lot different than yours. We all have stories to tell. Mine aren't unique, they just happen to belong to me.

Come along if you will and I’ll tell you a few daily tales about life alongside of Pentoga Road…