Pentoga Road took the brunt of a hail storm on Wednesday

August 22, 2013 – Thursday

56 degrees/cloudy/calm

Pentoga Road

It appears the forces of nature waged World War III. The once crisp leaves, the Oz-looking aura I’ve previously referred to, has been replaced with signs of destruction in the form of shredded leaves and plants.

Thursday began as a normal, hot and muggy, August day. Finding myself two cups short of having enough white vinegar to make a batch of bread and butter pickles, I made my way to town. Ah, no one was in the chair at Barber Bob’s. A quick stop was made to get my long and luxurious curly locks shorn followed by a run-through at the grocery.

With the pickles made and removed from a boiling water bath, I turned my attention to constructing trusses for the doghouse. One was made and used as a pattern to complete the rest. I’m not entirely happy the way they turned out and may remake each. I’m not sure how, but two are off by half-an-inch and who wants a wavy roofline? I made a separate sill upon which to fasten the trusses enabling me to open and close the entire roof like one would the top of a cedar chest. This will allow me to clean the interior without crawling in on my hands and knees.

There’s an apple tree that grows at the edge of the woods behind the barn. This year, for the first time, it has fruit. Most of the wild apples in these parts tend to be small, dry, and bitter. I decided to try one none the less.

Amazing the memories that are brought back by the bite of an apple. This one had the old-time, heirloom, apple flavor. With a simple chew, I was transported back in time by fifty-five years. We lived on an old acreage in northern Illinois in a two-story farmhouse with an apple orchard. As a five-year-old, I delighted in climbing into the lowest branches and eating apples, lots and lots of sweet and tart, wonderful, healthy, apples. It was one thing that Mom really didn’t care how many we ate; unless it was close to suppertime.

There aren’t many fruits in the tree behind the barn, maybe thirty or forty, but you can bet that I’ll be shinnying up the tree and picking them all. At least for the next week or two, we’ll be eating wonderfully sweet heirloom apples.

It was hot and humid. I closed the doors and windows in the house and turned on the air conditioning. The thermometer was registering 88 degrees and I was happy to sit in my recliner and watch an old Cher concert. I never was a huge Cher fan, but she knew how to put on a show.

The phone rang. It was the Dean of Education from UAS asking if I might be interested in teaching yet another section of ALST 300 this coming fall. It seems my class is completely full and the waiting list is growing lengthy. I’ve got ‘em lining up waiting to get in. Naturally I said I would. The University of Alaska Southeast has sure been good to me, but then the entire State of Alaska has always treated me well. Though I’m retired, it’s nice not to be forgotten.

The skies darkened and suddenly there were rumbles that began shaking the house. I hurriedly checked the weather forecast and found we were under a thunderstorm warning with winds to 60 mph and hail up to two-inches in diameter possible. I battoned down the hatches and waited.

The thunder crashed, the winds blew, but most of all, the hail fell; lots and lots of hail.

 

The ground was soon showing white and all I could do was watch the balls of ice rip my garden to shreds. In the end, it looked as though Sherman had made a detour into the UP on his march through Georgia.

I’m not sure how much of the garden will recover. I’m especially disappointed that the giant pumpkin leaves were demolished. Can they recover? I don’t know. I’ll continue to feed them twice a day until it becomes obvious the fruits will grow no more. The tomatoes are in shreds, the plants leaning into each other. Heavy with fruit, they are just beginning to blush with the promise of ripening in the next couple of weeks.

So, we’ll wait and see. It’s been the lousiest year for gardening I’ve experienced over the past forty years and now, with the hail… well, it would be a fitting end. The best thing about gardening… there’s always next year.

We’re heading to Green Bay for the day. Brother Yooper Mark has given me an assignment… to purchase a cheese head for a working acquaintance who resides in Kentucky. I’ll find one, of that there’s little doubt. We’ll also be picking up Sargie’s newly resized ring, will hit the clearance racks at the department stores, stop by Sam’s Club, and of course, there’s the mandatory stop at Harbor Freight.

I just happened to think, the new Cabelas store has opened in Title Town. I happen to have a fifty-dollar gift certificate I’ve been saving. It’ll be a sacrifice, but we’ll have to stop by Cabelas that happens to be directly across from Lambeau Field.

Ah, it’s tough, the pressure, the stress, but as we all know, a man’s work is never done.

So are the tales from Pentoga Road…

The storm having passed, we were treated to a gorgeous sunset on Wednesday evening.