The happy water tower of Caspian, Michigan

February 17, 2013 – Sunday morning

-16 degrees/calm/clear

Pentoga Road

It appears Jimmy-the-fawn has disappeared along with the herd of deer I’ve been feeding all winter. The corn I scatter each night is now being eagerly consumed by blue jays and Thumper the bunny rabbit.

I’d be willing to bet if I strapped on my snowshoes and took a walk through the back woods, I’d see evidence of wolf tracks, those made while a pack of wild canines was in hot pursuit of my corn-fed deer. I doubt Jimmy has much of a chance. He’s woefully undersized and not very strong. I witnessed that scenario play out time after time in the arctic with the caribou herds. Indeed, the wolves were quick to take advantage of the oldest and youngest. It’s nature’s way of keeping only the best for breeding stock.

Whoops, the owner of this vehicle found there's plenty of water and slush under the snow on the local lakes.

Saturday was a mixed bag. After completing my walk, we went into town to get the Kia only to find the owner’s business closed with the car inside his garage. Evidently the mechanic had forgotten he’d promised it on Saturday morning since Sargie needs it to go to work on Monday.

Every time I do business with him, I swear it’ll be the last. Hopefully, this is it. He’s already lost the chance to service the Blazer, something I was going to hire him do in the next several weeks. There’s no excuse for poor communication skills and he seems to have few if any. Oh well, I’ll learn. I doubt he will.

Winterfest was happening around the former ski hill in Caspian, the home of Brother Yooper Mark and Sheri. Though Sargie and I didn’t attend, Mark sent along a few photos of which I’ll share a couple.

The old ski hill in Caspian makes a great place to ride a sled. Sargie and I often comment about the lack of activity on the slopes each time we ride by. In the old days, before internet and video games, my friends and I would have owned that hill and seized the opportunity to ride its slopes for hours and days at a time.

Growing up, we had such a place in back of our house that was simply referred to as “The Hill.” The neighborhood’s winter activities were centered there and regardless the temperature, during the short and dark days of winter, we’d hurry home from  school, change clothes, and grab our two-runner sleds. Speed down the steep and often twisting trail was controlled by riding on one’s belly and dragging his feet, something that resulted in many pairs of boots with holes in the toe area. Mine often sported tire patches, something I wore with pride. It showed I was a daring and manly sled rider.

I hated to see the sun set and often risked taking “just one more ride,” finding myself grounded from the next week’s activities on The Hill. To me, it was all a matter of interpretation, but when Mom said to be home by dark, she didn’t mean sunset of the following day.

And what agony it was to look at the activity on The Hill from the back window of our home. My friends were having fun, speeding down the hill at breakneck speed. The Hill not only provided great exercise and hours of fun, it taught me responsibility. 

By the lack of sled and toboggan tracks on the old Caspian ski hill, I don’t think there are many children who enjoy such activities anymore. As one of my high school students told me years ago when I asked why he and his friends didn’t go sled riding, he looked at me as one would an ancient dinosaur and said, “Who wants to walk up a stupid hill?”

I rest my case.

There are no lack of sled-riding munchkins on the Caspian Hill during Saturday's Winterfest

The rest of Saturday was spent puttering around the house. Sargie made a huge pot of spaghetti sauce in preparation for a large meal today. No doubt, we’ll feast like the two piggies we know how to be.  

I was lucky and found two mileage airline tickets so that we might go to Louisiana and visit Andy and Mollie at the end of this month. I’m not sure why the tickets were so much less going south. The airlines wanted 65,000 miles for just one when I attempted to go to the East Coast to visit this coming week. I had to use 50,000 miles for both of us to head south. I’ll get out east sometime this spring, one way or the other, even if I have to go on Telephone Time and see if I can hook a ride with someone heading that way. I’ve got sons, daughter-in-laws, and grandbabies to visit.

The Mighty Brule at the Pentoga Bridge. We take out on the left in the summer months after kayaking 16 miles. It doesn't look nearly as inviting now.

Being the wild party animals we are, we played cards last night, ate some popcorn, and watched a bit of television.

This segment of Sargie’s vacation ends after today. She’ll head back to the Vision Center tomorrow to cure the eyeballs of America for the next two weeks before we head south for a few days.

During our drive on Saturday afternoon, we ventured down the snowmobile trail (a wood's road during the summer months) to the Brule River. God bless the man who invented four-wheel drive!

I’ve been somewhat lax on reading and grading assignments this past week while Sargie’s been home. Since there will be almost fifty new assignments arriving in my digital inbox beginning tomorrow, I think I’ll bite the bullet today and attempt to get caught up. After all, a man’s work is never done.

So are the tales from Pentoga Road…