A large pile of brush is torched on Saturday morning

November 4, 2012 – Sunday morning

27 degrees

Pentoga Road

We fell back and sometime during the night, Standard Time arrived. I wish we could simply leave the clocks set to Daylight Savings Time all year round, but then I can’t recall the last time anyone from the government called and asked my opinion… about anything. The days will be getting shorter now, of that it’s certain.

I received an email from my daughter-in-law yesterday with an essay my oldest son composed. In senior command for the Armed Services and a graduate of one of our prestigious military academies, he’s grown tired of continually being criticized for his hard work, efforts made in the past and present, beliefs, and lifestyles.

I attempt to keep my log non-political. It’s not what it’s about, but those who know me personally, know I’m a Conservative. Some call me a Conservative’s Conservative.

But what follows isn’t about me. It’s about a young family man, a husband and father of three, who grew up in a household that barely subsisted on a school teacher’s salary; where it was agreed his mother's work should be at home nurturing and being constant presence for her sons.

Our boys were taught the value of work and education, that the harder they worked, the further ahead in life they’d become. They were taught respect, but to defend themselves and each other. They were brought up to believe that love of God, family, and our country is something to be proud of and to fight for.

Not wanting to offend anyone, I’ve shied away from publically writing how I feel about the state of our country, our leadership and values, and quite frankly, I’m ashamed. It took a man bigger than me to write the words I feel. The following is penned by my oldest son:

I Am A Conservative. 

I am called a racist; yet I believe that anyone who works hard deserves to succeed. I do not believe I am better because of my race, and I do not think less of others because of theirs. 

I am called a sexist; yet the two most important and respected adults in my life are my mother and my wife.

I am called hateful; yet I am universally accepting of good people regardless of their political views, who they are or where they come from.

I am called privileged; yet I was raised in a household with a poverty level income and have worked and sacrificed for what I have today.

I am called stupid; yet I earned a Masters-level engineering degree.

I am called ignorant because I watch Fox News; yet I also watch MSNBC, CNN and BBC because I want to hear alternate opinions and draw my own conclusions.

I am called a religious fanatic because I believe in God and freedom of religion, not freedom from religion; yet I do not push my beliefs on others and am not offended when others practice their religion.

I am told I am taking a woman's right to choose because I don't support abortion; yet after watching the ultrasounds of my beautiful children in their mother's womb, I can't fathom ending that unsuspecting innocence.

I am called selfish, yet I am a member of the Armed Forces and daily assist without hesitation those who call me these things.

I Am A Conservative. 

Thank you son. I’ve never been prouder of you in my life. May God bless all our families and our nation where hard work, freedom, respect, and values, are placed in the highest of priorities.

Saturday morning was spent working on the chipper/shredder. Changing the blade doesn’t require a degree in rocket science, but a decent set of eyes certainly help. I removed the covers and guards and all went well until I had to find three set screws located within the housing the machine. Try as I may, I couldn’t see the darn things.

It was Brother Yooper Mark to the rescue. His right arm is still hurting from the accident, but there’s nothing wrong with his sight. Between the two of us, we had the blade changed in just a few minutes.

While waiting for Mark to arrive, I started the huge pile of old logs and brush on fire. It burned hot for a long time and looking at it now, I still see an occasional whiff of smoke rising. I’ll go out later and use the tractor to turn the pile to keep it burning.

One way or the other, that pile will be gone this year. I’ve tripped over it for the past four and an ugly mound made up of logs and brush, some almost twenty years old, isn’t in my landscape plans.

I cut and chipped more trees and the acre-sized addition to the backyard is slowly coming around. I think it will look like a park when completely finished, in the next year or two.

My active day ended well after dark with a five-mile walk. Following the beam of my headlamp, I loved hiking in the cold, an occasional deer running alongside the road, the howl of a coyote in the distance.

I just received a picture, via text, from Luke holding a giant beaver. I’m glad someone in the family is having some trapping success. Actually, I’ve pulled mine. The bears seem to have a penchant for discovering my raccoon traps and emptying them of any bait. I’ll wait and do cold weather trapping after the bears are asleep for the winter. With deer season almost upon us, I’m not too keen about tramping around in the woods anyway. I don’t fear the locals so much, those who grew up in and around the woods. It’s the occasional trigger-happy “flatlander” who terrifies me.

The Packers play today at noon. I’ll watch part of the game then will probably finish by listening to it as Sargie and I take our Sunday afternoon drive on a previously undiscovered (to us) road. It promises to be a lazy day.

So are the tales from Pentoga Road…