Our niece, Sasha, is a master pumpkin carver. The witch and cauldron is from one of the giant pumpkins grown here on Pentoga Road.

October 31, 2013 – Thursday

48 degrees/foggy/calm

Pentoga Road

The following is a true story. How do I know? I was there.

It first happened while the cabin was under construction. I’d just motored the seventeen miles back upriver from Kotzebue, an Inupiaq Eskimo village, the hub of this Alaskan arctic region, with more building supplies.

As I stopped long enough to wipe my brow and swipe a cloud of mosquitoes away, I turned towards the shell of the cabin sitting atop a large hill fifty yards distant overlooking the river. Standing in an empty window opening, was my friend and Inupiaq brother, Elmer. Ten years my senior, Elmer is short in stature and if ever a stereotypical figure of an Eskimo could be sculpted, it would look exactly like my friend.

Strange, I didn’t see a boat in front of his camp when I’d motored by it earlier. I waved and whistled and hurriedly gathered an armload of supplies before heading up the long hill towards the camp.

I found the cabin empty. It wasn’t like Elmer to come upriver and not stay long enough for a cup of coffee and conversation. He usually brought a surprise, a treat, and I was looking forward to tasting something other than caribou meat or fish.

Hilltop Camp - forty miles north of the Arctic Circle

I saw my brother the next week while in the village and good-naturedly castigated him for his lack of social skills. He smiled and claimed innocence. I was laughing, not believing him, when he held up one hand and quietly said, “Ah, you saw him.”

 “When I was a boy,” Elmer continued, “my grandparents brought me upriver with them to hunt and gather eggs. We would camp where you keep your boat. Often, we would look up on the hill and see the old man standing, watching… as if looking for caribou. He was from the old days when our people wore their clothes with the fur facing in for warmth. This has always been my family’s land and he is one of my grandfathers from ancient times.”

Elmer didn’t joke about serious matters like family lineage and I wasn’t living in my culture. Certainly, I’d been traveling the Arctic long enough to know that the top of the world is a magical place with it’s own set of rules.

The Northern Lights. Look closely enough and you'll see the Big Dipper behind them.

Though not forgotten, the thought of the old man was filed in the back of my mind as I finished the cabin that fall. Winter came and the sun disappeared completely.

It was one evening in January. The thermometer was registering forty-six degrees below zero outside, but the crackling fire in the wood stove kept the inside of my cabin at a comfortable fifty-five degrees. I was reading when I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye.

Teaching my classes 500 miles off the road system using computer/internet via satellite powered completely by solar and wind.

It was the old man, standing in front of the picture window, not over ten feet away, looking out towards the river. The hair on the back of my neck stood straight out and I caught my breath.

What to do? I spoke, softly, “Hello.”

There was no response. Of course there wouldn’t be. He was from thousands of years ago and wouldn’t know English.

“Unnusatkun,” I whispered. “Good evening.”

Still no response.

The old man stood for the longest time peering out the window. At one point, he turned in my direction, but rather than look at me, he looked through me.

“Kinauvin? What is your name?”

Still no response.

I looked away towards the wood stove, gently shook my head, then looked back. The old man was fading away and within seconds, had disappeared completely.

I saw Elmer a few days later.

“The old man was back the other night, inside the cabin, with me.”

Elmer smiled in an elderly way.

“You are fortunate, brother. Appa (Grandfather) likes you. He’s protecting you.”

I grew rather fond of the old man as the years went by. His visits were few, four or five a year. Elmer told me that I should leave him the ultimate Inupiaq gift, that of water. Not that long ago, other than food, water was one of the most valued Eskimo treasures during the winter months. It required that ice or snow be melted over a small seal oil lamp, something that often took hours.

As time went by I got used to leaving out a shallow bowl of water each evening. Though it was never touched, the next morning I’d dump the water and place the bowl on a shelf only to be refilled that evening. It became a ritual.

I hadn’t seen the old man for a long time and I missed him. The thought had just crossed my mind when I looked up and there he was, looking out over the river, towards the foothills of the Brooks Range.

“Unnusatkun,” I whispered. “Good evening.”

This time he did turn and he looked at me, not through me.

I smiled. He smiled, then he turned back to resume looking out the window only to  disappear a few moments later.

Water was poured into the bowl later that evening and put in its customary place upon the counter. I later lay in bed thinking of the old man, the thousands of Inupiaq hunters and families that had traveled over this hill where I’d built my cabin. I felt humbled to share this unspoiled part of Alaska with those who’d gone before.

The next morning dawned clear and cold. I sleepily walked to the wood stove and rekindled the fire then turned towards the counter.

The bowl. It had been moved several inches. More importantly, it was empty.

I felt more humble than ever. To have the simple gift of water accepted was to be accepted.

I’ve not been back to Hilltop Camp for some time, but there’s little doubt in my mind that the old man still occasionally stands at the window looking for caribou. The top of the world is a magical place with it’s own set of rules.

I still wonder; was the ancient Inupiaq hunter visiting my world, or perhaps for a few short years, did I visit his?

So are the tales from Pentoga Road...

They're back. After a summer in the deep woods, on Tuesday, my buddies, the chickadees, suddenly appeared on my shoulders, head, and arms. It didn't take me long to find some sunflower seeds and suddenly, it was like old times.

October 30, 2013 – Wednesday

33 degrees/cloudy/rain/calm

Pentoga Road

I was sitting in my recliner Tuesday afternoon when the doorbell rang. Peering through the stained glass window in the door, I saw two ladies, proper and business-like. I assumed they were Jehovah Witnesses and prepared to move them along.

It turns out both were financial advisors selling their services door to door. I was less than enthused about having to crawl from underneath my blankie and interrupt a perfectly good nap anyway, when one said, “You’re retired, aren’t you? That’s why we make house calls. We specialize working with senior citizens and realize many of YOU have difficulties leaving your home.”

I’ll skip what happened next, but I can say the mere sight of Brutus peeking around the my legs probably helped to shorten their sales pitch.

Most of Tuesday was spent working up a large pile of white birch from a tree that Andy and I had cut down while they were here earlier this month. I finished about half and hope to complete the rest later when the weather turns better. I’m learning in retirement that what doesn’t get done today will still be there tomorrow, or the day after, or the day after that.

I moved the patio furniture and neatly stacked it under some heavy spruce trees in back of the barn. Sargie and I are going to Green Bay on Friday so she can Christmas shop and while in town, I’ll purchase a large tarp to wrap around the furniture. There definitely will be a lean-to addition onto the barn next summer.

The rest of the day was spent working on this computer. It’s been getting slower and slower, to the point of being a major frustration. I searched the web for solutions and finally found several posts from people who experienced the same frustrations as I have. It took about three hours in total, but in the end, the computer is running at an acceptable speed. For being almost six years old and having lived through hell and back, it’s been a remarkable machine. I hope to keep it operating for as long as possible.

Sargie was home early last night and we enjoyed bratwurst patties on the grill. As I told someone earlier, a good brat taken from the grill is the Yooper equivalent to fried catfish and hush puppies for a Southerner. The simple act of eating either confirms one’s belief in America, Mom, Apple Pie, and Baby Jesus.

Speaking of America… In a dark way, I’m enjoying listening to the people who thought socialized healthcare was going to be free for everyone. I don’t wish ill on anyone, but I wonder if all those who thought this current health debacle was going to be free ever considered where the money was going to come from? The government raises taxes, people are forced to pay, more money is printed, funds for food stamps is being cut, hard working people can no longer afford health coverage… sooner or later, this pretend house of cards is going to come tumbling down.

Sargie and I lead simple lives and hope to keep our heads below the fray. I’ve got a feeling that it’s going to get ugly. Enough said.

I light the burn pile whenever possible. It's been reduced down to a few charred logs.

I’m not sure what today will bring. I have to go to Crystal Falls on an errand and there are always assignments to read and grade. Failing that, maybe I’ll do my nails, put my hair up in curlers, grab a Harlequin Romance, and watch soap operas.

After all, a man’s work in never done…

I think it's time to empty the flower pots and put those away for the season, although the flowers in the one on the left continue to grow and thrive. 

October 29, 2013 – Tuesday

17 degrees/clear/calm

Pentoga Road

It’s against school rules to post any unauthorized pictures of students, so, no pictures in today’s log.

Assuming I’m not called to teach, I’m definitely going to put the patio furniture away for the winter months. With the temperatures more resembling November than October, it’s safe to assume we won’t be lounging outside any more this year. If I don’t get it done soon, I’ll look out one of these mornings and see a foot of snow sitting atop the chairs, table, and swing. It’s time.

I survived Monday’s trial-by-fire sub job at the local elementary school and discovered two or three things:

1.     I’m not as young as I used to be

2.     My eyes aren’t worth a darn

3.     The energy level quickly runs low

4.     I can do it

5.     I’m not sure I want to do it

For certain, I’m out of classroom shape. By late afternoon, I was feeling more like the fat kid in gym class being forced to run the quarter mile than today’s modern educator.

I’ve forgotten how talkative fifth graders can be. Unless I was standing directly over the top of a few, their mouths seemed to flap nonstop. Some also had a difficult time keeping their hands to themselves.

There were a few attitudes on which we had to come to an agreement, but in the end, I taught, they learned, one was kicked out of class, three had their desks moved to the far corners of the universe, and the others, well, we had a good time and soaked up some knowledge.

I taught three sections of math, a dangerous subject for an old band director to attempt. I taught band because most music is counted in groups of four… and then I chose marching band as my specialty… two counts per measure. I figured that by only counting to two, I had a 50/50 chance of being right at any given time. My mama didn’t have no dummy. I was playing the odds.

Associative and commutative properties of multiplication aren’t my specialties, but thinking of myself as a true professional, I read the teacher’s notes, the teacher’s guide, the cover of the book, said a short prayer to St. Anthony, St. Christopher, Mother Teresa, the Pope, Martin Luther, and the ghost of Albert Einstein, and waded in. By the end of the third class of math, I’d finally discovered how to make the electronic smart board work. I’m not certain I ever figured out that associative and commutative stuff, but the electronic chalkboard was fun to play with.

We now have Smart Boards in the public school classrooms rather than the chalky type. Everything about it was smart… except the substitute teacher. With these, one uses a special electronic pen, or his finger, whichever is handiest, but it only works if the eraser is in its exact place in the tray. I conquered drawing happy faces, but never did learn how to erase… the art of circling the desired work and tapping the board to make it go away… but only if the pen is in the correct place.

Every class has its cute, quiet, and very smart little girl upon which a substitute relies. Occasionally, it’s a boy, but there seems to be more girls in this category. Quiet Girl would rather die than tell a lie, talk out loud, or get into trouble, and secretly delights in suddenly becoming one of the most important people in the world of fifth grade. Cast into her new position, she becomes the substitute teacher’s best friend. Quiet Girl can be relied on for times, places, assignments, and knows where everything is in the middle drawer of the teacher’s desk.

Thankfully, I had two Quiet Girls yesterday. Neither led me astray and in the end, I thanked them for making my job much easier.

There is always a boy or five that ensures the substitute won’t become bored. I had mine yesterday. After being told to sit down, one thought he’d kick the door open on the way back to his desk. We definitely had a man-to-boy discussion about such things and he quickly discovered we don’t do those things in my room. I don’t use the feel-good words, “Inappropriate behavior.” I’m too old and crusty for such nonsense and frankly, don't care about his self-esteem.

Other than the lame brained politicians who think they know more about education than today’s active classroom teachers, I think the words, “inappropriate behavior,” might be two of the biggest detriments in today’s educational process. I prefer to say something like, “Knock it off or we’re going to dance and I get to lead.”

A misbehaving student only asks what that means one time.

Lest you think yesterday was a zoo, it wasn’t. I had some classes that were absolute delights. My favorite was lunch. The kidlings walked single file to the cafeteria and into the loving care of the lunch lady. I returned to the room and enjoyed forty minutes of absolute quiet. I didn’t check my email, didn’t socialize, nor did I move from the desk. It was time spent sitting in the teacher’s chair resting my eyes and spirit.

My favorite academic class? That would be Language Arts… writing. We talked about conjunctions, the proper use of the words, “and, but,” and “or.” The smoke was almost flying as I had the munchkins scribbling and completing their assigned work.

It was an old, exhausted, retired, professor who dragged himself into the house last night. I was looking forward to checking my traps and worried that darkness would catch me knee deep in the middle of the swamp.

With hip boots on, I made the round of traps and just before finishing, tripped over a submerged root and found myself face down in a foot of stinky, smelly, goo. Water rushed into my boots and I was wet and smelly from head to toe. After a long and arduous day, I really wanted to come back home and have Sargie tell me everything would be okay, curl up in the fetal position, suck my thumb, and rock back and forth while reciting the days of the week. Instead, I took a hot shower, changed into my sweat clothes, let Brutus lick my face and assure me life was worth living, and graded assignments while sitting by the wood stove.

It’s currently 6:30 AM, past the prime time to be called to teach. Half of me is disappointed; the other relieved. My goal is to sub two days a week this school year.  I’m relatively certain I’ll need the other days to recover.

Sargie works early and once again, we should enjoy a nice, quiet, evening at home. I’m going to move patio furniture today, finish cleaning the garden area, and check my traps. No doubt there’ll be the mandatory grandpa nap this afternoon.

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

So are the tales from Pentoga Road… 

One of the areas where I'm doing my water trapping this year

October 28, 2013 – Monday

26 degrees/snowy/calm

Pentoga Road

I’m writing with my head in a fog this morning. Bedtime came late last night… having to coach the Packers to victory and all. In the end, my armchair efforts paid off and we flew out of Minneapolis with another victory under our belts. The next stop will be a week from tonight against the Chicago Bears.

Sunday was laid back. I checked the traps in the morning, but otherwise, remained in the house talking with Sargie as she readied to go to work. I rode back with her at noon to retrieve the Blazer and was back home well before 1 PM.

I spent a good deal of the afternoon up in the rafters of the barn trying to find various trapping paraphernalia. With both the barn and garage torn up this past summer, I had goodies spread all over the place. When I ran out of a place in which to store something, it automatically went overhead.

THIS JUST IN… West Iron County School District Called…

I’m their newest fifth grade teacher; for the day anyway.

I have to be there in an hour, which means I need to roll.

Sunday afternoon was spent putting out a dozen more traps, traps I won’t get to check this morning. Oh well, I’m sure all those coons, mink, and muskrats will be fine until I get out there this afternoon.

A water set for mink

Let’s see, I told you about watching … oops, I mean coaching, football last night. Sargie works early today. I’m going to be subbing. Yup, all the bases are covered.

I have to go change from my trapping clothes into my school teaching garb. I haven’t been in a classroom for a year and a half. I hope I remember how.

I’m excited. Those babies will be mine.

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

So are the tales from Pentoga Road…

Taken from the field across from the house. You can never mistake that red roof.

The sun is attempting to peek from behind the clouds during a snow squall

October 27, 2013 – Sunday

33 degrees/partly cloudy/calm

Pentoga Road

To quote Thomas Paine, “These are the days that try men’s souls…” With the weather falling on the negative side of perfect, any outside activity has been less than optimal. I guess if I were a duck hunter, these would be ideal days.

It's during these dark fall days that I'm reminded of Sitka, especially the last year while living on my boat. I loved the squalls that rocked me to sleep. In fact, I looked forward to them. I'd turn the heat down and crawl deep into my covers to snooze the night away.

Wind and rain/snow showers continued on Saturday with brief periods of sunshine. I slept in (for me) and later, Sargie and I enjoyed a lazy Saturday morning brunch. Sargie was the featured chef of the day, making an-old fashioned country breakfast that consisted of fried potatoes (good and crispy), bacon, eggs, and toast.

We remarked how such fare was once considered healthy. Mom made a large breakfast every morning. The least we ate was cold or hot cereal, toast, juice, and milk, but bacon, eggs, and the other goodies were common. Dad occasionally flipped pancakes, and French toast, soaked in egg and cinnamon wasn’t unheard of. Mom can be quoted as saying, “you need a breakfast that will stuck to your ribs and get you through the day.”

It appears a lot of people have all but forsaken the old-fashion breakfasts for energy bars, kale breakfast drinks, and a host of equally unpalatable stuff. I knew one of my sons had crossed over to the dark side when he extolled the health benefits and scrumptious flavor of a daily kale shake for breakfast. He now sips the more trendy choice of the modern generation.

Kale is in the cabbage family, right? And sauerkraut is made from cabbage. If I want sauerkraut for breakfast, I’ll include a few bratwursts or spare ribs. I don’t want to drink it.

I’m going to vote for Mom and Sargie on this one. Let the hip and healthy crowd sip their kale shakes and chew their energy bars. I’ll gladly take hot or cold cereal, bacon, eggs, potatoes, toast, and orange juice with an occasional pancake or piece of French toast thrown in. All four of my grandparents were extremely active and lived well into their 80’s subsisting on food that’s since been deemed unhealthy. Mom’s 86 and she’s been known to occasionally sop up an egg fried in bacon grease with a piece of toast. I’m opting to do the same and enjoy one of life’s greatest pleasures, the simple act of eating breakfast and remaining active.

The traps were empty on Sunday. I returned home, closed the barn door, and spent the next hour and a half skinning and fleshing Friday’s raccoon. The hide came out almost perfect and as soon as I can find my stretching boards, it will be pinned to dry and made ready to sell later this winter.

Sargie and I had supper with Mr. Milligan again at the VA on Saturday evening. As usual, I left feeling better than I did before our visit. The man seems to exude an almost Santa Claus magic on everyone around him. The health care workers at the hospital not only smile, but often laugh or chuckle when they see him, and most seem as though they can't help but reach out to touch his shoulder or hand. I'm the same. He’s just that sort of person.

Sargie works from noon to five today. I’ll ride over to the Vision Center with her late this morning to retrieve the Blazer. We left it there after delivering pumpkins Friday evening. Since the Packers don’t play until this evening, I may set out a few more traps this afternoon. With the fur prices as they are, I’m going to see if I can find a few more raccoons, possibly a coyote or two. I’ve got a dozen ermine boxes to set out later when their fur becomes prime. My trapping is nothing big, just enough to have a good excuse to wander the woods.

The Packers play Minnesota tonight. No doubt, I’ll have to take a nap late this afternoon to ensure I have enough energy to coach Green Bay onto victory. It’s not always easy, but you know what they say.

A man’s work is never done.

So are the tales from Pentoga Road…

Aubrey (pictured) along with big sister, Marley, was happy to see the pumpkins arrive in time for Halloween.

October 26, 2013 – Saturday

38 degrees/cloudy/rain/very windy

Pentoga Road

It was nice having a one-day respite in the weather on Friday. I took full advantage of it and worked outside most the day.

Despite the frost and frozen ground, it was time to get the garden put away for the winter.

I checked my trap line first thing in the morning and found I had caught another raccoon. With a grand total of two traps set out, I’ve captured two coons in three nights. That matches last year’s total catch, so one more, and I’ll have shown progress.

Rather than give this one away, I’ll go ahead and skin and flesh it. Luke sent me the latest prices. This guy’s worth around $30. In years past, he’d have brought eight or ten.

I worked most the day in the garden, pulling the dead plants, gathering the vines, putting the tomato cages away, and doing whatever else is required before the snow falls. 

Surely we’ll have one more week of nice weather, Indian Summer, before it all comes to an end. One week would see the little house on Pentoga Road fully prepared for the coming months of snow and cold.

It took over an hour to load the giant pumpkins into the Blazer. I used the front-end loader on the tractor for the two biggest, but found I couldn’t get the bucket close enough to the side doors to be of any use.

 In the end, I utilized one of my ATV ramps and rolled each up into the car.

Sargie had to work later than planned, so I told her I would go ahead and have dinner with Mr. Milligan at the VA and meet her there. Sargie’s dad and I had a great time over supper. We laughed and talked some “guy talk,” and the dinner hour flew by. Just as we were finishing, Sargie walked in and the three of us enjoyed a stroll around the facility for the next hour.

We met Derek, Leah, Marley, and Aubrey, at their house and unloaded the two largest pumpkins. It took both Derek and I to simply lower the big one onto the ground, then roll it up to the steps. Marley and Aubrey were tickled and seeing the look on their faces made all the work of growing those pumpkins this past summer totally worthwhile. It’s good to be Uncle Tom.

You better believe Marley's ready for Halloween!

Our next stop was for Sasha. A real artisan when it comes to pumpkin carving, I made a promise that our twenty-some year old niece would get a couple for Halloween. The girl has plenty to carve on between now and the big day, but I feel sorry for Boyd, her dad, who will no doubt be enlisted to move the giant squash from one place to another so Sasha can practice her art.

The final delivery was made at Holly and Ross’s. Great niece, Brielle, who recently turned one, decided to bring her mommy and daddy from the Appleton, Wisconsin, area, and come visit Grandma and Grandpa for the weekend. 

Naturally, we had a pumpkin for Brielle. I’d love to see her help her daddy try to carve that pumpkin…  slime and seeds everywhere. Knowing her mom (and our niece) Ashley, there’ll be plenty of pictures.

Auntie Sargie has an armful with Brielle and her giant monkey

We didn’t get home until late in the evening on Friday, but that was fine, Sargie’s off today. With the wind howling and temperatures expected to remain in the upper thirties, I doubt there’ll be much activity on Pentoga Road. I have to check the traps and later, skin and flesh yesterday’s catch. Other than that, it promises to be a grandpa nap kind of day.

But I’m not surprised. Even when toiling at being lazy, a man’s work is never done.

So are the tales from Pentoga Road…

The Pumpkinmobile filled and ready to deliver pumpkins to all the good little Milligan nieces on Friday evening.

October 25, 2013 – Friday

24 degrees/clear/calm

Pentoga Road

At this rate, we could be ice fishing in another month. I noticed a few days ago that there was a bit of ice around the edge of the lake, just a skim, but that tells me it won’t take much. A few cold, calm, and clear, nights should begin the process. Our temperatures have run well below normal for the past seven days. It must be that darn global warming. I’ll have to call Al and see what he can do to fix it.

I almost didn’t write this morning. With yesterday’s snow squalls, a hearty northerly wind, and a bite in the air that can only be described as miserable, Sargie and I remained inside most the day.

It wasn’t wasted, not by a long shot. We worked hard at being lazy. Occasionally one of us would mention how we should really do something, but nothing was really accomplished. Sargie did a load of laundry. I carried in firewood. She warmed up the last of the beef stew. I changed channels on the television and managed to throw an occasional log in the fire. 

We took time from our stressful day to enjoy an afternoon drive. Sargie had the Nikon SLR camera and was looking for some fall-type scenes. Mostly, she snapped those of early winter. The weather alternated from heavy snow to bright sunshine and overall, the day wasn’t pretty.

Last night was spent in much the same manner as earlier. The television blared, but I’m not sure either of us really watched it. Sargie was reading something on her computer. I graded papers.

My big chore today is to load four of the biggest giant pumpkins into the Blazer to be delivered to the nieces tonight. With the largest weighing in excess of 200 lbs, I’ll use the front-end loader. I’m hoping to get the garden ready for winter today and there’s a ton of raking to do. Today’s forecast is favorable, but beginning tomorrow, we’re to have another week of wind, cold temperatures, and squalls. I’ve got to make hay while the sun shines.

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

So are the tales from Pentoga Road…

Emmie's going home today

October 24, 2013 – Thursday

26 degrees/clear/calm

Pentoga Road

I’m watching a couple of deer graze in the meadow at the end of our yard. The skies are just beginning to show hints of daylight featuring the two animals as striking silhouettes.

Wednesday was cold and windy. I began the day by riding with Sargie on her way to work for five miles then walking home. The darn knee continues to swell. Whether it’s splitting wood, walking, or merely pulling old plants from this past summer’s garden, the joint is not slow to become swollen and somewhat painful. I’m beginning to think this is how it will be on a permanent basis. It recedes somewhat after a night’s rest, but immediately swells once it’s called into action the next day. I miss long distance hiking and just as much, making plans for future marathon treks.

I caught my first raccoon of the year yesterday. A smaller one, he didn’t hesitate to explore the possibilities of treats that lay under the golf ball in the coon trap. I talked with Luke and told him since I got the first fur of the season (his animal damage control business doesn’t count) and being his daddy and all, I’d be happy to give him a few tips to help him along.

Luke and his buddy, Abe, are on their way up to northern Maine to spend the next two weeks trapping around the St. John River, the border between New Brunswick and the U.S. It’s where we spent many hours trapping, hunting, fishing, and swimming, when the boys were growing up.

I talked with Matt yesterday. Baby Emmie and Jessica are doing great and will be coming home today. Matt sounded tired. It’s tough work being a first-time daddy. Bern and Dave, Jess’s parents, are staying for a few days to help out and Pam will be there next week to assist. For certain, the newest member of the Pennington family won’t want for any hugs, cuddles, or kisses. I wish I could be there long enough to give her just one.

I moved the pile of wood by the brown shed and stacked it inside on Wednesday. Most of it was used last year when boiling maple syrup, but I was surprised how much still remained. One of today’s tasks will be to rake the area, ridding it of white birch bark and twigs.

Sargie’s off today! I’m not sure what’s on the agenda, but no doubt, we’ll find plenty to do. I want to get the patio furniture moved and wrapped in a large tarp for the winter months. I really need to begin canning carrots one of these days and there are beets that should be preserved. Next week’s assignments are beginning to arrive in my inbox so I guess it’s time to begin grading those so they don’t pile up.

I’ll tell you, a man’s work is never done.

So are the tales from Pentoga Road…