Ready to go fishing this past week

January 20, 2013 – Sunday morning

0 degrees/clear/windy

Pentoga Road

I was wise to take a break from writing as this week has been a carbon copy of last, and that one, of the week before. It’s deep winter in the UP.

Just like the arctic, those who enjoy the cold weather do what they can outside and the rest, stay buttoned up inside waiting for spring.

This couple told me that with the current snowfall and cold conditions, cross country skiing has never been better. They were skiing across the ten-mile long lake.

Even spending most of the daylight hours outside, my activities are limited. I ice fish, walk, and play in the shop when its warm enough I can work without wearing gloves and am able to wear the magnifiers. It’s hard to fit those big ol’ lenses over a stocking cap and hood.

(The following are all fish caught this past week. I have to take pictures to send to Luke... my son who always out-fishes his father!)

Part of Saturday morning's catch. We ate these and more for Saturday night's fish fry.

One crappie was two pounds, the other a bit over a pound-and-a-half.

There’s always wood to bring in and occasionally, I fire up the snow thrower and clean the drive. The bird feeders are refilled every other day and corn is put out for the deer each afternoon.

If I’m not outside, I’m usually grading the electronic stacks of assignments sent from my students. I’ve got some very large classes this semester and whoever the person is who assigns these papers must be an old, demanding, ugly, professorial, curmudgeon. 

When talking about retirement the other day, someone asked if there’s anything I’d do differently. I couldn’t think of a thing. I’ve had peaks and valleys as we all have, very dark times and some that were brilliant, but honestly, God and a few dozen guardian angels walk with me continually. Even when I’m physically by myself during the days, I never feel alone, and when I find myself somewhat lost, there’s always a hand to put me back on the right path.

That’s my life and it’s a good one.

I should never close my eyes when Sargie's around. I was fulfilling my responsibility as a grandpa by taking the mandatory afternoon Grandpa nap. Here is proof when I say, "A man's work is never done." And yes, this grandpa likes his blankie.

My mornings begin the same. I arise shortly after 5 AM and make my way downstairs to stoke the woodstove so the house might be warm by the time Sargie awakens at 6. I write my emails, check the weather, read a bit of news, and usually, I’m chugging down the road on my four-wheeler by sunup. Lately, I’ve had to wear my old arctic gear, the beaver skin hat, heavy mitts, and face mask. It doesn’t take long for frostbite to occur when the temperature is below zero and one is traveling out in the open at twenty mph.

The fish quit biting around 9 AM and generally, I’m home and have my catch cleaned by 10. It’s a comfortable routine.

Sargie and I are getting excited that Marley and Aubrey will be visiting next weekend. Ah, a one-year-old and a four-year-old. I’ve often said the only thing lacking in this home is youth and in a few days, we’re going to be injected with all kinds of it.

I purchased some 1x2’s yesterday with which to make a gate to place in front of the wood stove. I’ll also make another to put at the foot of the steps. I see all kinds of grandma/grandpa-type knickknacks that will have to be placed out of harm’s way. We’re looking forward to a weekend with the girls.

With -20 forecast for Monday night, I added more antifreeze to the Blazer on Saturday afternoon. Even using the box to lay on, it was still cold on the ground.

It appears Mom finally sold her home in Florida and has cleaned out the last vestiges of her and Dad’s life together in the Deep South. They purchased the home over twenty years ago when Dad retired and even after he passed away, Mom remained for several years. With a horrible economy, Mom’s had a tough time selling the house, but finally, barring a catastrophe, it appears another retired couple who are just as eager and excited to begin their lives in Florida as Mom and Dad were, will be able to call the place their own.

I received a large box from Mom the other day containing some personal goods from Florida. There was a large picture of Dad, one I’d taken in Northern Maine many years ago. There were books, an old ashtray from the company where Dad spent his entire working life, a carved statue of Mom that was given to her for her many years of service as a school secretary, and an old wooden box that Dad kept on top of his dresser in which he kept stuff; change, cufflinks, and the things that only a man can put into a box on top of his dresser.

This carved figurine, desk, books, and all, was presented to Mom in 1982.

Mom said Dad received this ashtray from his company around 1955. I was three. The insurance company has since changed it's name and has expanded into a corporate conglomerate.

Holding the small box that belonged to Dad, I couldn’t help but think that someday, my sons will be doing the same with mine, the one that contains the things that only a man can put into a box that sits on top his dresser.

The weather is getting colder and more deer are coming to the back yard for their daily allowance of corn. There’s a mom with twin fawns, both quite small for this time of the year. Sometimes, there are as many as eight or ten deer, other times, a single fawn stands out there by himself, nosing around in the snow looking for a single kernel of corn.

We enjoyed fried fish, shrimp, and French fries last night. Since Sargie had to work yesterday, we decided to delay our Friday night fish fry until Saturday. We experimented and included sweet potato fries with our meal. Those received two thumbs and big toe up.

Sargie's mixing up her secret fish batter that contains exotic herbs and spices known only to her.

After, for dessert, I rolled out pie dough, buttered it, sprinkled the entire thing with sugar and cinnamon, then sprinkled marshmallows on top. After a few minutes in the oven, it was delicious… too delicious. Coupled with two glasses of cold milk, I ate entirely too much.

I didn’t sleep very well last night; neither did Sargie. It’s probably not very wise to eat heavy fried food then go to bed an hour or two later. Lesson learned, but will it be heeded? Right now, I’d say it will be, but ask me next Friday night when it’s cold and snowy, and we’re hungry for a good old-fashioned fish fry. How quickly we forget.

I should go for my daily five-mile stroll, but with the winds howling outside and the temperature still registering a big, fat, zero, I think I’ll pour myself another cup of coffee and begin reading any assignments that came in overnight. After all, a man’s work is never done.

So are the tales from Pentoga Road…