A flock of wild turkeys along the ATV trail to Iron River

July 13, 2013 – Saturday

62 degrees/calm/hazy

Pentoga Road

I was lying in bed early this morning mentally traveling down a road that ended over fifty-five years ago. With a breeze gently blowing over the bed, I was reminded when, as a young boy, we lived at 1039 Windsor Road in northern Illinois. Our telephone number was: Tremont 4 – 0474. To this day, if I’d get lost and lose all my senses, I’m sure I’d be able to recite the old address and phone number. Mom and Dad drilled both into my sister and me. I was four years of age when we moved there.

1039 Windsor Road belonged to an old farmhouse at the edge of town and was surrounded by huge elm trees. In the summers, long before home air conditioning was invented, I loved feeling the early morning breeze flow through the window by my bed. It smelled so clean and fresh and the only sounds were those of various songbirds; wrens, robins, and sparrows.

Friday was a mixed bag. I started the day by transferring the carving pattern I selected onto a piece of pine. It felt good to begin the process of something I’ve enjoyed doing for many years. 

Don’t mistake the word “process” for anything that might mean successful or good. As mentioned previously, most of my carvings end up in the wood stove. I think it’s my equivalent to knitting or cross-stitching. It keeps my hands busy and artistically, it presents a challenge. Unfortunately, I don’t possess a lot of talent, just willingness.

The carving bench I made many years ago. I'm enjoying the barn with its blacktop floor.

I loaded several full garbage cans into the Man Truck and rumbled to the dump. I remember when garbage pick up was two dollars a month. It cost me $25 for the privilege of driving ten miles and dumping the stuff myself.

Later in the morning, I attacked the first floor of the house and spent several hours steaming the laminate floors. It is so much easier using a steamer than getting down on one’s hands and knees with rag and a pan of hot soapy water. The dining and living rooms were also dusted and wiped. I’m certain Sargie will find the places I missed and do them again, but at least the first layer is removed.

It was hot and I was sweaty. Since the hardware store was having a dollar sale, I climbed aboard the four-wheeler and motored the ten miles into town. 

The trail follows the Brule River for several miles

I saw Sheri and later, Sarah, and we had good visits. Sheri was going to attend a high school class reunion Friday evening.

My forty-fifth reunion is around the corner. I doubt I’ll attend. I didn’t like very many aspects of high school when I was a student. Academically, I had horrible teachers and had very little in common with my classmates. I have even less now.

I had a counselor who I was assigned to for the duration who told me at the beginning of my junior year to not even bother to apply to any college or university. Her exact words were, “No one will want you and I doubt you’ll ever do anything for which you will need a college education.”

Old wounds run deep. Though I’ve forgiven her, I’ve not forgotten. I guess I owe her a certain amount of gratitude for what successes I had. She taught me how NOT to talk to and treat students. The education field became a better place the day she finally retired.

I picked the first of the turnips last night. Though still small, it was good to crunch away and enjoy one of the (hopefully) many fruits of this year’s garden. I hope to make another fall planting this coming week. Those that are harvested after frost are the coolest, the crunchiest, and the sweetest.

Sargie’s off today. No doubt, she’ll want to spend some time cleaning and I heard her say something about taking out the living room rug and washing it outside with the carpet shampooer. Hmm, that wasn’t on my agenda, but somehow I think it’s moved to the top of the list.

I hope to play in the garden today then work on my carving. Life can be stressful, but someone has to do it. A man’s work is never done, you know.

So are the tales from Pentoga Road…

Who needs a pellet gun when one has a squirrel-chasing bulldog?

For the second day in a row, he gets a shower under the hose.