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…