Tuesday morning's fog settles in

September 24, 2013 – Tuesday

44 degrees/fog/calm

Pentoga Road

I know there’s an outdoors somewhere on the other side of my windows, but I can’t see it this morning. I let Brutus out a few minutes ago and he was instantly absorbed into some kind of primordial soup-looking stuff. The fog is thick this morning.

I worry about Sargie having to drive in this glop. I have to believe that deer can’t see through it any better than she can and they are known to run with no discretion in front of any oncoming vehicle. It’s a game that’s played daily.

Speaking of game, golf was the name of ours on Monday. Neighbor Bob picked me up at 10:30 and we made our way to the local golf course where we enjoyed eighteen holes of pure joy, fun, and a bit of frustration.

I’ll have to say in my own defense, for the most part, I kept the ball on the fairway. I’ve turned into one of those little old men the sons and I used to make fun of thirty years ago. For the most part, I hit the ball straight ahead down the middle of the fairway. What a young guy can do in one stroke, it takes me two… or three… or four.  But still, every now and then, there’s a lucky roll or a fortunate bounce. In the end, I lost three balls, two to water hazards and one that flew deep into the woods.

Bob is a retired math teacher so we talked a bit of school, but mostly, we enjoyed the picture perfect day accompanied by some of the finest scenery in the UP. The course lies along the shores of one of our local lakes and regardless of ability, is a joy to play.

And I have to say, Bob has a great set of eyes. Unlike many hack golfers, I have no trouble keeping my head down as I swing. I can’t see the ball once it leaves the tee, so I simply turn around and face whoever is spotting my ball and judge his body language as a barometer of my abilities. A smile and lively movement means I hit it right on. A blank look with no movement at all is probably a pretty good indicator that the PGA won’t be calling anytime soon. The phone hasn’t rang since I got home yesterday afternoon.

I dug a few potatoes for supper last night and it appears the entire sum of this year’s crop has a bad case of potato scab. All the spuds appear to have leprosy. We’re so disappointed as we thoroughly enjoyed last year’s crop of Pontiac Reds. I’ll dig the entire row this fall and throw them away. Next year, a new scab-resistant variety will be planted in a different place. All I can do is rotate crops.

Sargie works early today. Other than grading a pile of papers, I’m not sure what is on my agenda. My knee is hurting a bit from the twisting of swinging a golf club, so I doubt there’ll be any miles hiked or biked.

I’m not worried about being bored. As we all know, a man’s work is never done.

So are the tales from Pentoga Road…