The piles of wood chips that will be used for mulch between the rows are piling up in the orchard/garden

November 3, 2012 – Saturday morning

29 degrees/overcast/calm

Pentoga Road

What year is the following tune from? Mind you, I’m doing this ditty from memory, but it went something like:

“I’m just wild about Barry,

and Barry’s wild about me!

He’s honest, forthright, and courageous,

He fits me to a T

Oh, I’m just sick about Lyndon,

Humphrey, Baker and boyssssss

On November third

Out with Lyndon Bird

And on to VICTORYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!

1964 … that was the year President Johnson featured a little girl picking daisies only to be obliterated by a nuclear blast. The ad was clear… the country could vote for President Johnson and have peace and prosperity or it could vote for Senator Goldwater and we’d all be annihilated into a nuclear inferno. Lyndon won and the Vietnam War escalated. So much for peace and prosperity.

It wasn’t easy being a child Conservative in 1964. I plastered Goldwater stickers over my locker at school (and had to use a razor blade after the election to remove them) and even fit a sticker on my bicycle.

It seems the majority of the school population were descendents of more liberal lineage. We got into political debates on the playground and acted all grown-up as if we knew what we were talking about. I quoted my father and spouted facts and figures that included the words, Communist, Roosevelt, and higher taxes. They replied with the liberal equivalent. All I knew for sure was that Dad said if the wrong party won, the country would be “Going to Hell in a hand basket.”

I awakened the morning after the elections and quickly discovered that my hero, Barry Goldwater, was destined to remain a United States senator. I was heart-broken… for at least ten minutes.

We political foes met once again on the playground where the other side counted mental coup and celebrated their victory. I took it like a child/man and shouted the only thing that really made sense to me at the time.

“Yeah, well just wait until Sunday! The Green Bay Packers are going to KILL your sissy Chicago Bears and you all will be sorry!”

And they did. In the end, the good guys won. I rest my case.

I didn’t sleep well last night. We decided to go to Mr. T’s to celebrate the move being finished. Fish? Pizza? We decided to break with the traditional Friday night fare of fish and have pizza. Family size? Sure, why not! We’d bring the leftovers home.

The pizza was delicious, but something happened during the meal. We ate almost the entire thing. Very little was brought home, a few pieces, and even those escaped the white Styrofoam box and fell cheese-side down onto the floor of the car.

Ice cream for dessert? Sure, it’s Friday night, we’re young and life is good. Sargie was in the kitchen. Did I want a little, a lot, or a medium amount?

“Oh whatever,” I replied.

It was a lot… and I ate it all. Making sure she couldn’t see me, I even swiped the edge of the bowl with my tongue savoring the last of the chocolate sauce. There’s still a child in this sixty-year-old body of mine.

My belly threatened to rebel during the night. Finally, at four this morning, it did. Feeling MUCH better and already up and around, I started my day.

Friday began with a trip to the Alpha post office to mail out a couple of packages. One contained a belt that supports my ultra light backpack. It had broken during Pat’s and my hike earlier this summer and though it is almost two years old, the manufacturer told me it was still under warrantee and to send it back, they would replace it with a newer, more durable, one. I’ll be ready to hike next summer!

Once home, I started cutting the popple trees. One rather large one fell and trapped the bar on my chainsaw, bending the tip. It was ruined.

I can’t complain about the little Homelite saw. I purchased it four years ago after seeing an ad online from a company I’d never heard of. I could buy a refurbished one for $45 with free shipping. I decided to take the risk. A large Husqvarna sat in the barn, but figuring any hours put on a cheap Homelite would be that many less on my “good” saw, I bought it.

It’s been my saw of choice since. Though Homelite no longer has a very good reputation, it’s been very dependable. With all that in mind, I decided to spend $37 and purchase a professional bar to replace the cheaper original. I’m glad I did.

I sawed, I cut, I fell hundreds of popple trees, most 4 inches or less in diameter. Then began the chipping phase. Two pickup loads were made into mulch. By day’s end, I was a tired boy. My arms ached, my back hurt. Still, it felt good to have accomplished so much.

I wish I knew who keeps putting rocks in the way so when I cut, I hit the things and dull the chain! Here the chain is in the electric sharpener.

I changed from my boots into lightweight running shoes and hoofed five miles. It was cold and windy. Why didn’t I dress warmer? It was a very chilled and tired man/boy who arrived back at the house on Pentoga almost an hour-and-a-half later.

A hot shower and a Butterfinger accompanied by a cup of hot tea made everything feel better. Sargie walked in the door and I was ready to celebrate the end of moving.

This morning will be dedicated to maintenance of the chipper machine. It’s time for the blade to be changed. I need to read the instructions then reach deep within the bowels of the monster and perform some mechanical magic. I only hope I can fit the magnifier in there so I can see what the heck I’m doing. I’ll get it one way or the other. Where is Scott in Atlanta when I need him?

Sargie is off early and doesn’t have to work on Sunday. It looks like a good weekend lies ahead.

Now if I can just figure out how to keep the country from going to Hell in a hand basket. A man's work is never done.

So are the tales from Pentoga Road…