February 28, 2013 – Thursday

24 degrees/cloudy/breezy/light snow

Pentoga Road

It’ll be a short one today… we’ll be heading to the airport later and onto Andy and Mollie’s late this afternoon by way of Rhinlander, Wisconsin, Minneapolis, Minnesota, and our final destination, Houston, Texas. Andy and Mollie will pick us up and we’ll drive to their home in Leesville, Louisiana.

Sargie arrived home from work last night with last minute goodies for our trip. She presented me with my very own plastic pillbox; one of those that contains individual compartments labeled for each day of the week.

I remember, many years ago, when one of my grade school bands played a morning Christmas concert at the local senior community and were invited to stay for brunch after. I found an empty chair at a table with six residents. Each magically produced a labeled plastic box and before long was sorting through his allotted daily pile of pills explaining what malady each was used for. It became a shouting contest of gargantuan proportions as they attempted to talk over one another. All wore their pillboxes like badges of honor.

The last two days have been carbon copies of each other; mostly grading papers in the morning, taking a walk, then working on getting ready for the upcoming maple season during the late afternoon. Though warmer, the weather remains fairly miserable, breezy, damp, and cloudy, and in most cases seems much colder than what the thermometer is registering. It’s a good time to get out of Dodge for a few days.

I ventured into town and have been pricing stovepipe and other items needed for my maple boiler. I’m within a day’s worth of work to begin boiling and will finish next week after arriving back home.

I stopped at the animal shelter in Iron River yesterday and visited a wonderful pup, a bull mastiff by the name of Sarge. Tipping the scales at 110 pounds, I immediately fell in love with the big guy as he dropped his dolly long enough to roll over on his back in an effort to entice me to scratch his belly.

For sure, the owner of Sarge would never have to worry about unwanted intruders. One look at his beach ball-sized head and bulldog face would scare Satan back to Hell.

I asked how old Sarge was. The big guy’s seven years old; he’s getting up in years and I made the conscious decision that we wouldn’t become his owner. His hips are beginning to grow arthritic and it’s a matter of time before he’d have to be put down. I gave the old boy one final scratch on his belly and left.

Do I really want a dog? In getting one, we’d be opening ourselves up for heartbreak in the coming years. You learn to love them and they become a part of the family, then grow old and die. I’d already become attached to the big bull mastiff yesterday and felt as though I’d condemned him to death when I walked away.

But it would be nice to have a companion during the days, those hours when Sargie’s not here. I enjoy working with dogs, teaching them tricks and manners.

And when I’m away on overnight jaunts, hiking or visiting, and Sargie’s unable to accompany me, a good big ol’ dog would be good company for her.

I’d want a dog that’s young enough to accompany me on my daily strolls. We could have long protracted discussions about life.

What kind of dog? We had a boxer when I was young… too hyper. A black lab in college; too stubborn. Our fraternity had a St. Bernard… way cool and fun, but always too hot in the summer months. He later found a wonderful home with an Amish family and learned to pull young children in a cart. We had a beagle years ago; they follow their nose are liable to disappear permanently when on the trail of a rabbit or deer. Satch the golden retriever was almost perfect as was Brandi, the golden retriever. Both were great dogs and lived to ripe old ages. Someone dropped off Buddy the pit bull and he was part of our family for several years. A more polite, nicer pooch has ever been seen. For sure, he was the ultimate family protector and watch dog. My last was Casey the Jack Russell terrier. I’ve never seen a smarter dog. He knew 76 tricks, was cute and entertaining, but it was like living with a three-year-old; a piece of gristle with a heart beat, a living fart in a hot greased skillet. There’ll be no more Jack Russells in my life.

I can’t stand a misbehaved pooch and I’m not one to let a dog on the furniture or to have free roam over my home. They’re not humans, they’re dogs, man’s faithful companion.

If I get another dog, he’s going to be big and ugly. I want a companion that will walk the woods with me and lead me home if I get turned around, love Sargie to pieces, and be my best friend who can keep all the secrets I tell him.  

I’m going to get this uploaded and finish packing. I need to remember to turn off the water heater and turn the thermostat way down. The barn needs to be locked, the key’s taken from the Man Truck, the Blazer, and the snowmobile. So much to do, so little time. If only you had my life. 

After all, a man’s work is never done.

So are the tales from Pentoga Road…

My pet chickadee, Jimmy. Actually, I named them all Jimmy; that way, I don't have to remember who's who. This little guy rode around on my hand, shoulder, and head for about five minutes on Monday afternoon.

February 26, 2013 – Tuesday

21 degrees/ptly cloudy/calm

Pentoga Road

Happy Birthday to my youngest son, Andy. He’s a happy boy this morning… the large ship on which he works as a winch operator just returned to port after being out on the Gulf of Mexico servicing and moving oil rigs for the past month. Andy will get a two-week reprieve beginning tomorrow. Happy birthday, son. I love you.

The accelerator cable end rusted and broke on the Man Truck. No problem. Having graduated from the Automotive Repair School of Baling Wire and Bubble Gum, I leaped into action with twist tie in hand. I'm currently working on my Duct Tape Certification.

Monday was a busy day. It began by riding with Sargie partway to work and getting off in Alpha, Michigan. I walked home, a distance of eight miles, in two hours-ten minutes. It was a wonderful stroll and with the pavement melted bare, I made good time.

An app on my smart phone records my travels, tells me where I am at any given time as well as the rate of speed.

The rest of the morning and early afternoon was spent reading and grading papers. Project proposals, along with a regular weekly assignment, are all due this week. Realistically, there is double the reading, comments to make, and assessments to post. I think the bubble is over now and things ought to return to normal. My eyes sure hope so.

I worked outside for several hours getting ready for the upcoming maple syrup season and relocated no small amount of wood that was stacked alongside the shed. The rest of the time was spent moving snow. I used the snow scoop initially, then switched and utilized the Man Tractor and front end loader. The snow blower was even drafted into action.

I learned several things yesterday afternoon. The tractor works much better when there’s gas in the tank and that a snow thrower doesn't discharge a five pound chunk of firewood worth a darn. Also, Pat and I must have done a heck of a job building that wood shed last summer. The silly building jumped out in front of me when I wasn’t looking and I banged into it with the tractor. Hardly a scratch was made.

Sargie didn’t get out of the Vision Center until 6:30 last night then had a hair appointment after. It was almost 9 before my poor girl arrived home. She had a quick supper and we both fell into bed soon after.

It appears today will be an almost exact repeat of yesterday for both of us. Sargie will visit her dad at the VA Hospital tonight after work. I’ll do my walk this morning then finish what papers have come in and finally, with the temperatures forecast to be above freezing again, work outside. It feels good to be physically working, to get out of the house and be doing something productive.

I love winter, but one can’t beat the healing rays of the long daylight hours when he senses spring is around the corner. It’s that time of year.

Time to get this uploaded and get ready for the day ahead. A man’s work is never done.

So are the tales from Pentoga Road…

One doesn't want to stand under the eaves of the barn or house these days. Huge amounts of snow are beginning to slide from the metal roof.

First things first. Our beautiful niece, Brielle, continues to grow and is becoming quite the beautiful little lady.

February 25, 2013 – Monday morning

16 degrees/cloudy/calm winds

Pentoga Road

This weekend has been a relaxing one. Saturday featured another inch of snow falling to the ground. After my morning walk, I spent the rest of the day grading papers and cleaning the house. With the wood stove continually being used, the living room needed dusting and the floors in the house were either swept, washed, or vacuumed. By afternoon’s end, the house looked passable.

I received some pictures and news of the two oldest Pennington boys’ victory in a fishing tournament in southern Maine on Saturday. Officially, Josh, brought in a large pickerel, (a smaller version of the northern pike) of 4 lbs 6 oz to place second. He’s quick to credit his younger brother, Luke, for setting up and baiting the tip-ups, etc., and Luke gives his older brother credit for pulling the fish in. Together, they won $250 worth of Cabelas merchandise and certificates. I’m proud of both. 

Josh with the derby runner-up

The co-winner, Luke

I also received a video from my third son, Matt, who is currently in Vietnam on business. My jet-setting, globe-trotting son, regularly travels the world and I've learned to expect pictures or videos from the furthest corners of the earth documenting his adventures. 

Sunday was one of the nicest days we’ve enjoyed this late winter. Rather than indulge in my usual early morning writing, I graded papers. After, I went for my walk.

With the sun shining brightly, the temperatures warming to above freezing, and no noticeable breeze, hiking was purely pleasurable. Even after five miles, I was sad to see my daily stroll come to an end.

I found a very happy mama when I walked into the house. Sargie informed me that Macrea, her youngest son, and his lady friend, were on their way to visit for a few hours. We quickly found the ingredients with which to make pizzas and I left Sargie in the kitchen to work her magic while I read more assignments.

The biggest surprise came with the kids in the form of golden retriever; a beautiful, petite, energetic, well-behaved one at that.

Lily and I immediately bonded. At the ripe old age of 1 ½ years, she reminded me of the Pennington family dog of many years, another golden retriever, Brandi.

Sargie and Macrea wanted to talk mother/son/family/life stuff. Living in town, Lily was eager to go outside and explore. I was happy to oblige.

We spent close to an hour walking through the woods, wading into often-deep snow. She’d continually run ahead, then stop and wait for me to catch up; something Brandi often did.

I was transported back in time. Josh was a newbie in high school, Luke in the upper elementary grades, and Matt and Andy mere munchkins. A parent had heard I was looking for a golden retriever. We’d had to put our last one to sleep after many years as a family companion. The family needed a dog.

When we first got Brandi, she was unaccustomed to running free. Always kept in a garage on a chain, the pooch was a wild woman. Initially I told the owner I wasn’t interested. He begged that we take her, complete with house, food, bowls, and a toy, and if it didn’t work out, he’d take her back. The price? Free. In fact, I think he would have paid us to take her off his hands.

Brandi was a runner and we were warned to NEVER let her run free. I’d never chained a dog and would rather not own one than sentence a pooch to a life of boredom and slow death in a small area.

Brandi remained confined for less than 24 hours before she experienced her first taste of freedom. Living ten miles out of town and surrounded by huge potato fields in the boondocks of northern Maine, she sprinted a quarter-mile circle around our farm house, never quite getting out of sight. After an hour, she came back, entered through the back door, and plopped on the kitchen floor. Brandi officially became a Pennington and was seldom confined to a chain again.

Lily very well could have been Brandi reincarnated. It’s been years since I even thought of wanting a dog. When we returned to the house, I told Lily’s owner that if she ever wanted to find a home for her companion, she could find a safe and loving place, one with lots of room to run, with Sargie and me right here on Pentoga Road.

Sargie and I took a drive after the kids left. We found a new road which to explore and thoroughly enjoyed the late afternoon.

There was still plenty of daylight left when we arrived home. I told Sargie I was going to clean one side of the double shed of wood in anticipation of constructing this year’s maple boiler. Within minutes, donned in work gloves, hair up in a ponytail, and with a look of “git ‘er dun” on her face, she was hauling, flinging, and stacking wood like the Yooper gunslinger she knows how to be. We laughed and talked and made short work of our chore.

Last night was spent playing a game of rummy. It was a nice end to a very pleasant day.

Sargie's knocking icicles off the eves

Sargie is working early today then has an appointment at the beautician’s late this afternoon. I’m going for my walk first thing and no doubt will continue grading assignments after. This afternoon will be spent preparing for the upcoming maple season. After all, a man’s work is never done.

So are the tales from Pentoga Road…

The snow coming down and covering Pentoga Road on Friday

February 23, 2013 – Saturday morning

10 degrees/ptly cloudy/calm

Pentoga Road

I thought sure the wood gnome would deliver his wares during the night and I’d find the wood box full of dry tinder this morning. Darn little insensitive bugger forgot to stop here.

It’s not that I’m lazy, but it was snowing so hard last night. I’d taken a shower and changed into sweat pants and t-shirt; my usual winter evening attire. It was cold and dark and snowing and I was feeling… delicate and vulnerable. Surely those few pieces of wood inside would last through the night and into this morning… wouldn’t they?

Sargie was home, it was cozy. I made two huge bowls of hot, buttered, popcorn, and we turned on our current favorite Netflix rerun series, Mad Men, and enjoyed chomping and watching.

Okay, I was feeling lazy and it had nothing to do with vulnerable or delicate. I’m down to three pieces of wood, just about enough to last until I’m finished writing. No wood gnome equals Tommy P having to load the wheelbarrow and carry a load inside. Oh, if only you had my life.

And Sargie did come barreling in last evening with the Blazer in four-wheel-drive. I’m not sure how much snow fell yesterday, but I’m relatively certain it was more than the one inch forecast. When I walked out to the mailbox late in the afternoon, it was close to coming over the top of my boots.

Friday was an inside/outside day, regardless of the weather. Sargie dropped me off on her way to work and I enjoyed trekking the five and a half miles back home in the snow. Passers-by now seem to know me and have quit stopping to offer help. Most just toot their horns and wave. The neighborhood is small. I would bet most know who I am and continue to wonder why anyone in his right mind would be walking in such weather. When meeting someone new, I usually hear, “Oh, you’re that guy from Alaska.” I guess that explains it all.

Arriving back home, I ate a quick breakfast of raisin bran covered in strawberries, graded an assignment or five, then strapped on the snowshoes, grabbed the snow shovel, and set off for the back of the property to free my snowmobile from several feet of drifted snow.

It was nice shuffling back through the spruce and maple woods. I guess it’s because I’m by myself so much of the time, but I find as I get older, many of the activities I do remind me of the past. Yesterday’s snowshoe excursion brought to mind another that I made with my oldest son, Josh, many years ago.

We decided to “shoe” our way through the woods from the old camp deep in the Allagash Wilderness in northern Maine, to a distant wood’s road. It was quite a journey wading through four and five feet of snow. Though I pretended to be the strongest and sometimes went ahead breaking trail, I was secretly relieved when Josh took over so I might follow in his tracks.

We talked a lot during that trek; I’m not sure what about and it’s not really important now. The important thing is that we made a wonderful memory that day. It was one of those father/son things that dads never forget.

I had a bit of difficulty finding the snowmobile on Friday morning. My vision isn’t always the best, especially in a heavy snow, and I found myself shuffling around searching for the thing. Wiping the sweat from my eyes and breathing quite hard, I began to wonder who in the world would trek clear into the thick woods to steal an ancient Arctic Cat snowmobile, one that I paid less than $200 for several years ago?

I continued with due diligence my shuffle dance on snowshoes and finally stumbled onto my trusty machine. With skis pointing skyward, it served as a reminder what happens when a foolish man crashes headlong into a briar patch filled with several feet of snow.

I shoveled, moaned, lifted, and cursed that big ol’ machine out of the snowdrift. It took almost an hour, but I wasn’t in any hurry. Year’s ago, the chore wouldn’t have taken longer than ten minutes, possibly five, but with our upcoming trip to Andy and Mollie’s, I didn’t want to take a chance on pulling a muscle in my back.

While shuffling through the woods in search of the snow machine, I came across a nice stand of sugar maples that I didn’t even know was there! Call me crazy, call me wild, call me insane, but I’m heading back to that area today to further explore and make new paths. 

Freed and ready to make more trails

The rest of the day was spent fiddling around, mostly inside. There was laundry to be done, trash to be burned, and other honey-do jobs calling my name.

Sargie left work a few minutes early yesterday afternoon and was home before it got too dark. I closed the garage door after she pulled in and you know the rest of the story.

I’m going to spend this morning clearing the drive and patio of snow after I arrive back home from my walk. It’s supposed to be close to the freezing mark, so I think it’ll be an excellent day to make new trails through the maple woods.

I want to begin emptying out the new wood/sugar shed in preparation for setting up the maple operation. Hopefully, it will be ready to boil before we leave for Andy and Mollie’s on Thursday. Sugar season should be upon us shortly thereafter.

And then there are those pesky assignments from my students that keep arriving in my email on a daily basis.

Despite being delicate and sensitive, I guess I’m going to have to get this uploaded then carry in some firewood.  After all, a man’s work is never done.

So are the tales from Pentoga Road… 

Part of Thursday was spent making trails through the maple woods in anticipation of tapping trees in the upcoming weeks.

February 22, 2013 – Friday

17 degrees/windy/cloudy

Pentoga Road

On radar, it appears the snow is almost upon us in this latest drive-by storm that’s pummeling the Midwest. We’re to receive just a few inches at most, nothing compared to areas to the south.

Oh well, we’ll do the same as the farmers in Maine when it snows… let ‘er snow.

Thumper-the-Rabbit crossed paths with a turkey sometime Wednesday while the barn door was open. I'm glad they feel they can come right in and make themselves at home.

Arg, I put a cup of cold coffee in the microwave earlier and thought the timer was set for two minutes. It dawned on me a minute ago that the oven was still running after almost ten minutes. When I checked, the coffee had boiled over and the cup was almost empty. Closer inspection revealed that someone must have come after me and set the timer to two hours, not two minutes. I'm certain it's the same person who makes the mess around the bathroom stool and occasionally hides my tools. I’ll clean and scrub the microwave after Sargie goes to work.

Wednesday was a repeat of Tuesday in the weather department. I rode with Sargie several miles down the road on her way to work and walked back home. The day started blustery, but by early afternoon, the sun was shining and the wind had subsided. I cleared the drive of snow, carried in wood, and spent the rest of the day catching up on paperwork and grading assignments.

I'm ready for spring and that means getting the Man Truck ready for another year of doing Man Stuff.

Sargie was home fairly early Wednesday evening so I made her favorite, garden omelets, for supper.

For now, all we can do is pretend they came from the garden.

Thursday began with the customary walk. Arriving back home by 9:30, I started the snowmobile and spent over an hour zooming through the maple woods breaking trails in preparation for tapping trees and making maple syrup.

I’d talked with Luke on Wednesday night and he was excited that maple season had arrived in New England and that he’d begin tapping a few trees on Thursday. Our conversation put me in the mood and I thought I’d begin preparations for this season’s sugaring here in the UP.

Josh sent this picture on Thursday. He doesn't have to worry about making a trail through his woods. He's tapping the maple trees alongside his drive.

 I may have exaggerated a bit when I said I zoomed through the woods. It was more like I chugged along trying to dodge the maple trees that insisted on jumping out in front of me. Only one tree was hit, but those pesky bushes and brambles that are more difficult to see, became my nemesis. I got stuck often. Tired and sweaty, I stepped into thigh-deep snow and waded away, post-holing my way back to the house after burying the machine up to the seat the last time. I’ll strap on the snowshoes today and shuffle to the furthest part of our property to free the old beast.

Though I was tired, it was simply too nice of a day to stay inside. I put on my heavies and headed to the lake for an afternoon of fishing.

There’s still a lot of water under the snow and it was hard work pulling the loaded sled a quarter mile to my fishing place. It was even harder to clear the snow and drill the holes through the two to three feet of ice.

For the first time this year, fishing was lousy. I finally caught a keeper bluegill and a small out-of-season bass. After two hours, I packed everything and waded back to the boat ramp. Between the morning’s walk, repeatedly getting stuck in the woods, and the difficult walk out onto the lake, I was all done in.

I knew Sargie would be cold and tired when she arrived home from Iron Mountain. I made a pot of chicken noodle soup with dumplings. That hit the spot for both of us.

It was almost a race to bed last night. I went on ahead saying I was going to read a bit while Sargie did whatever it is girls do before they come to bed. All I remember is climbing between the sheets and thinking how good they felt. I was sound asleep before Sargie joined me.

I’m going to tangle with the mechanic… again, today. After all the time he had the car, new tires, and hassle of last week, the car is once again shimmying. I’m so tired of playing this game. I’ll do what has to be done, then that will be it for any future business with him. Neighbor Mike gave me the name of a mechanic he likes in Crystal Falls. The next time, I’ll be going to him.

I guess I should get this uploaded, go wake Sargie so she can get ready for work, and get another cup of coffee. After all, a man’s work is never done.

So are the tales from Pentoga Road…

If that wild turkey keeps going inside my barn and making a mess, he might end up on the dinner table.

February 20, 2013 – Wednesday

4 degrees/cloudy/wind gusts to 28 mph

Pentoga Road

These are the times that try men’s souls. Thomas Paine must have spent a February living in the UP. With cold temperatures and howling winds, all one can do is throw another log on the fire and hunker down.

I well remember these types of days while living in the arctic. Sometimes the winds would howl at gale force intensity for days, occasionally even weeks. My objective during those times was to stay warm by any means necessary.

There were mornings I climbed from the bunk to find the thermometer inside reading -35 degrees. God, what an effort to start a fire. Eventually, anything over freezing seemed luxurious and I remember once taking a bath and thinking how pleasant it was, only to look at the thermometer and see the inside temperature registering 29 degrees.

They were times of boiling water and pouring it into Nalgene bottles, wrapping those in a towel and placing them in my sleeping bag so I might slumber the night through.

The winds and cold we’re currently experiencing are nothing compared to the  blizzards of the Arctic, but all serve as mostly-fond memories of those days when I was younger and approached each as one might a sporting event: nature vs. me. I managed to win, although there was more than once I wound up in the hospital suffering from frostbite, but then, those are stories for other days.   

I rode with Sargie several miles towards her work on Tuesday morning. The wind almost blew my feet out from under me several times, but having the reflexes of a cat and the cunning of a mongoose; I caught myself each time and continued on.

Okay, I lied. In reality, I have the reflexes of rock and the cunning of a slug and managed to fall on my backside once or twice.

I immediately noticed that the ground is harder these days. As a boy, I don’t think I ever really fell, but rather, skipped off the surface like a flat pebble across water.

Even the ice seemed softer during my college-pond hockey days. I’d hit the frozen water, usually groan, often laugh, then get up and skate on.

This hard ground thing has me perplexed. For a grandpa, I’m in pretty good shape. I diligently walk my miles, up to forty a week, and am flexible enough that I can still come within inches of putting both feet in back of my head. Until a couple of years ago, I bragged I could outwork any eighteen-year-old, but have since moved the age up to thirty.

Somewhere in the past several years, the terra firma has become more “firma’d”  and less forgiving. I’ll blame global warming; everyone else does.

 I spent most of Tuesday snuggled up to the wood stove. At one point, I thought about dressing in my heavy clothes and clearing the drive, but knowing it would soon drift over, I sacrificed the opportunity in favor of pouring another cup of coffee and watching a past episode of Lost on Netflix.

The woodbin was running low. Oh the sacrifices one must make in the name of comfort. I hurriedly cleaned a drift from the back deck, grabbed the wheelbarrow, pushed it across the drive, and filled it full. Minutes later, I was back by the stove covered by my blankie.

And that was the extent of my day. Sargie had to close last night and it was approaching 9 PM by the time she walked through the door. The girl was frozen and I wasted no time in settling her by the woodstove.

The way the wind sounds, today’s going to be a repeat of yesterday although, it doesn't seem nearly as windy. I may wait to walk until later so the day is broken up, but other than read and grade a few assignments, it appears I might participate in a marathon of watching old Lost episodes.  Sargie opens and is off early today.

It’s time to throw another log on the fire and pour a second cup of coffee, proof that a man’s work is never done.

So are the tales from Pentoga Road…

It dawned sunny and 70 degrees this morning! The hummingbirds are humming, the butterflies are flitting.
No it didn't. I'm just messing with your head.

February 19, 2013 – Tuesday

10 degrees/snowy/very windy – gusts to 35 mph

Pentoga Road

It was just a while ago that I lay in the dark and listened as the wind whistled through the branches of the large spruce tree growing just a few overhead.

My body screamed with the want to turn over, snuggle with Sargie and drift back to sleep, but after hearing the furnace running, my mind automatically began calculating the cost per minute while burning the expensive $4 per gallon fuel oil.  The mind won over the body and I was soon downstairs rekindling a fire in the woodstove.

After seeing Sargie off, I graded assignments until I thought I’d go blind Monday morning. The last one graded and finished, I strapped on my hiking boots and took off out the door at a good pace.

Ah walking… hiking at a good pace. It’s become my panacea for that which nothing else can cure. With each step, I left Alaskan Human Geography and tired eyes behind and started to think about what the rest of the day might hold in store.

The clouds were rolling in by the time I arrived back home. With temperatures in the upper twenties, I changed into my heavy clothes and left for the lake. Neighbor Mike had stopped earlier and said he would join me by mid afternoon.

I immediately caught a huge bluegill then sat for an hour with no action, then caught a small crappie and sat again. Still, by day’s end, Mike and I had caught enough fish to make a decent mess for him to take back to Marquette. The boy brought home enough meat for the table to save face.

I hooked a ride into town last night and picked up the Kia. No sense kicking a dead horse. I’m happy to have it back.

Brother Yooper Mark and Neighbor Mike, both, offered to help me get the car home, but I made it in great shape. Each time I met an oncoming vehicle, three in ten miles, I simply pulled the car over to the side of the road and stopped until it passed.

I pulled into the drive directly behind Sargie. She’d had a good, but very busy day. The Vision Center was packed with appointments. At noon, she had the oil and filters, also the windshield wipers, changed on the Blazer.

I’m going to ride a ways with Sargie this morning on her way to work. There’s an advisory issued for strong winds and poor visibility and if nothing else, I’ll keep her company for a few miles before she lets me out and I hike back.

Other than that, I’ll grade late assignments, fiddle around the house, and continue work on developing perpetual motion, limitless free energy, and total world peace.

After all, a man’s work is never done.

So are the tales from Pentoga Road…

Now I'm messing with my head.

Niece Brielle and those yummy fingers

February 18, 2013 – Monday

19 degrees/cloudy/breezy

Pentoga Road

I dressed warmly and walked five miles after writing Sunday morning. It seemed colder than the -16 that was registering on the digital thermometer.

When I'd gotten out of bed earlier, a big, fat, zero was displayed. An hour-and-a-half later, it was -16. Later in the day, I heard that someone had recorded a -30 temperature.  Now I’m wondering if my thermometer only goes down to -29?

Chicaugon Lake.
There's a highway going to a small shanty town several miles out onto the ice. 

I’ve thought for sometime of getting a computerized, digital, weather station, one that records the highs, lows, precipitation, winds, and barometric pressure so that all the daily meteorological information can be downloaded into one’s computer. Maybe after my rich uncle dies, I’ll purchase one. The problem is, I’m down to one uncle, Mom’s baby brother, and Uncle Bill has never been known for his vast amounts of wealth.

My thoughts concerning wolves living in the vicinity were confirmed yesterday when I found multiple tracks in the snow.



One, obviously a male is marking his territory. I later left my mark on top of his. There’s only one alpha male who lives here and it’s not some testosterone-filled canine with a full bladder. Jimmy-the-deer and the rest of the herd still haven’t been seen. In fact, it appears as though even Thumper has vacated the area.

Should you doubt the existence of wolves living in the Upper Peninsula, this is an actual picture of a game warden holding a wolf that was hit by a car about forty miles from here. It not only made all the social media sights and email forwards, but was also featured in all the local papers.

We enjoyed the fruits of Sargie’s hard work and stuffed ourselves on spaghetti and garlic bread yesterday. Later, we had berry pie and ice cream. If I don’t quit eating, I won’t be able to walk… my belly will be so big that I’ll be continually tumbling forward and once I fall, will be unable to get up.

I was commenting to someone earlier that I have to get my shop built inside the barn before next winter arrives so, if nothing else, I can get out of the house during the day. During these cold days, I tend to sit inside and when I grow bored, I begin to eat. It has nothing to do with hunger. Currently, most of my eye power is consumed with reading and grading assignments so when I’m finished, if I can’t play outside, I usually close my eyes and listen to music and end up taking a nap or grazing. I definitely have to get the shop built.

We received a picture the other day of our niece, Brielle. Sargie was so excited to see that the little pixie has so many of the exact same mannerisms that two of Sargie’s sons, Craig and Cale, had when they were babies. Each chewed on a couple of fingers on his left hand, the same as Brielle. Those family genes run deep in the Mighty Milligans.

Sargie heads back to work today. The best part of any vacation is looking forward to getting the time off; the worst is knowing its time to go back to work. Sargie loves her job and she’s really good at it, but who doesn’t like time away from one’s daily grind?

I’m not sure what today will bring for me. Since it’s Monday and assignments are due, there’ll be somewhere between twenty and fifty papers arriving in my inbox. With the temperatures rising, I hope to get out onto the lake. Neighbor Mike called from Marquette saying he is going to be in the neighborhood this afternoon and wondered if I wanted to go ice fishing. I may go earlier and meet him out on the ice. It’s to be warm, but breezy and there’s an 80% chance of snow and ice pellets. It seems that’s when the fish hit. For sure, I won’t be driving the ATV onto the lake. Though we had very cold temperatures, there’s still several inches of slush under the snow.

It’s time to get this uploaded and begin reading papers. After all, a man’s work is never done.

So are the tales from Pentoga Road…