February 11, 2014 – Tuesday

-33 degrees/clear/calm

Pentoga Road

It was exactly 3:37 AM. I remember raising up on one elbow and looking at the clock. No alarm can rouse anyone from a deep slumber quicker than our furnace does with me by the simple act of turning on. No matter how hard I try to go back to sleep, I can only picture dollar signs as the metal monster inhales gallons of expensive fuel oil.

So here I am. It’s barely past 4 AM and I’m feeding logs into the wood stove. At least Brutus is lying on my feet keeping them toasty.

I’m racking my brain trying to remember what I did on Monday. It must have been really important as nothing of any significance comes to mind.

The early morning hike went well. I clicked off the five miles in a winter record-breaking time of one hour, seventeen minutes. That would be a fair pace in the summer months when I’m dressed in light shorts, a polyester t-shirt, and ultra light running shoes, but it’s a virtual blur (for me) while wearing winter boots and several pounds of heavy cold-weather gear.

For the majority of the hike, I had to suppress the urge to jog or run. The orthopedic doctor who worked on my knee told me walking is great, but NEVER run. It was jogging that tore my left knee apart last spring; old parts/hard pavement. So I lower my cardio standards a bit and remain contented by simply walking.

Other than grade university assignments and feed the stove, I spent much of Monday researching my two latest obsessions, building or obtaining a portable storage building and looking at towable backhoes. When the temperature refuses to budge above zero for days on end, one does what’s necessary to keep his mind busy.

What I do know is that either costs a lot of money and neither is completely necessary, especially the backhoe.

I’ve analyzed about every type of storage option available. A kit of precut lumber from Home Depot or Menards? How about a forty-foot shipping container hauled in from Minneapolis and tucked back behind the barn? Then there’s the glorified tin building kit, one that involves hundreds of thousands tiny nuts and bolts to hold pieces of lightweight aluminum together. I’ve even looked at carports with sides. The variety, size, and shape, of storage facilities are almost endless, but they all have one thing in common… money, and lots of it. It’s just a question of how much one wants to spend. Personally, I don’t want to spend any, but that doesn’t appear to be an option.

And then there’s this backhoe obsession of mine. Where has that come from? I’ve looked at portable lightweight machines that are barely more than toys to heavy duty ones that could double as Sherman tanks in time of war. I talked with a dealer in California yesterday who delighted in telling me how he’s had several of his units air-lifted to small gold mines in the wilds of Alaska. He didn’t know he was talking to a bush Alaskan so I let him spout his sales pitch while I asked detailed geographical questions. I have no idea if his backhoes are any good, but he knows his remote Alaska geography.

I don’t want to mine gold, I simply want to make trails, uproot a tree or two, dig out a few stumps, and do some general landscaping-type work.

I looked at gardening and nursery magazines Monday until the eye power gave out. This could be the year of the gooseberry bush. I like gooseberries, the wild ones grow well in this area, and I’m considering purchasing half a dozen tame plants for pies and jellies in the future. Several newer varieties are thorn-free, a real plus. There are many bushes and trees I’d like to purchase, but just like the storage buildings and backhoes, they cost money and none are really necessary.

So that was my Monday; lots of dreaming, figuring, dreaming, calculating, dreaming, and picturing myself building, digging holes, making trails, and planting trees and berry bushes all over the property. I’m a real storage, hole-digging, landscaping,  horticultural, Walter Mitty, what can I say?

Brutus and I are taking a journey to the animal hospital later today so he can get a lump on his groin examined. It’s the same one the doctor looked at last summer. At the time, he withdrew fluid and said it was an infection caused by Brutus’s ramming a stick or some other foreign object into that muscle, then becoming infected. The lump went down and seemed to heal, but I guess that chapter’s not yet finished.

I found some left over antibiotics from last summer’s treatment and started giving them to Brutus the night before last and sure enough, the lump has subsided. I was hoping for a simple refill, but the doctor wants to examine him. Just like the storage building, the backhoe, and the nursery items, it costs money. Oh well, Brutus not only makes Sargie and me laugh a lot and provides wonderful company to an otherwise too-docile household, he hauls me out of the woods and takes pretty good care of me.

I’m going to have to make a trek to the transfer station; aka “the dump” this week. We’re completely out of garbage cans for the non-burnable trash. Since there’s a minimum charge, I wait until all eight cans are completely filled before making a dump run. It’s time.

It’s 5 AM, the house has warmed sufficiently so the furnace isn’t running, and Sargie doesn’t have to be up for another hour. Hmm, I could go upstairs, get between the flannel sheets, snuggle with Sargie, and slip in another hour of sleep before the day officially begins. I think that’s my newest obsession, and this one doesn't cost any money.

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

So are the tales from Pentoga Road…