Monday, April 14, 2014


It was time to harvest parsnips that were grown last season from the garden on Sunday
April 14, 2014 – Monday
24 degrees/snow/calm winds
Pentoga Road

I remember in the days of yore, when the sun shone brightly, the birds sang, and the ground was relatively free from snow. Oh wait, that was yesterday.

Jimmy, my watch chickadee, was singing for a free handout Sunday afternoon

It appears we’ve received two or three inches of snow during the night. The temperatures have cooled down considerably and the forecast calls for chilly and snowy conditions to last until week’s end. Oh well, I was getting tired of all that warm and sunny weather from this past week. Who wants to sit outside in a lawn chair with his eyes closed and soak up the warmth and pleasant smells of springtime anyway?

Taken a few minutes ago. Looking out at Lake Pentoga, the acre-sized puddle, that is forming in the closest meadow
Sunday was forecast to be cool and rainy, but in the end, the sun did shine and we saw the thermometer climb into the mid forties. I righted the blueberry plants that had over-wintered on their sides so as to be covered by snow and protected from the frigid temperatures. It appears the strategy worked as all have bright red and green stems and most already have swelling buds.


The ten plants are a more southern blueberry that I hoped would survive our cold winters by being completely insulated from the harshest elements covered by snow. It appears the strategy might have worked.


Over in the garden, I dug around and discovered the soil was thawed enough that I could begin to dig the parsnips that had overwintered in the ground. Sheri had mentioned sometime ago that her grandfather used to raise the large white roots and she really liked them. I had no parsnip-growing experience, so I enjoyed learning about them while they grew.


It seems parsnips have to endure a hard freeze so the starch they contain can be converted to sugar, making them transition from a bitter-tasting crop to one that tastes sweet.

I called Yooper Brother Mark and Sheri yesterday morning and said Sheri’s crop was ready to harvest. They came out a short time later and we dug two large grocery bags full, enough to give them several meals.

I finished the high pressure washer yesterday, muttered a quick plea that my fix might work, hooked the thing up, and it sprayed like a charm. There were no leaks and the pressure is back to normal. At least for now, I’m back in business.

The fix included epoxy, a very used radiator clamp, and a piece of wood. I know, but try not to be jealous of my high-tech repairs. That's why I'm a professor. I'm paid to think deep thoughts that often result in complicated solutions.


The rest of the day was spent just messing around outside. Brutus delighted in playing in Lake Pentoga, the acre-sized mud puddle that appears and disappears each spring in the closest meadow. I’d like to give him a good bath, but he loves finding the closest mud puddle and calling it his own. All we can really do is brush him and wait until it begins to dry outside before he undergoes the hose and a good scrubbing.

We now refer to him as "The Pig"
Sargie got home early last night and we feasted on French meat pie and parsnips. I tried to follow Sheri’s recipe by peeling the parsnips, then parboiling them until I could stick a fork in each. After, I sliced them lengthways and fried each strip in real butter. They were good; so much so that there were three or four left over and Sargie placed those on a napkin and brought them in the living room to have for dessert. 


Sargie closes again tonight. With one of her coworkers on vacation, she’s had a long and hard schedule this past week.

I doubt I’ll walk today unless the snowplow comes along and clears a safe path on the road. There are final university projects pouring in and I need to begin work preparing for this summer’s session. There’s plenty to do, but I just don’t want to do it. I want to play outside.

Oh well, sometimes we have to take one for the academic team. After all, a man’s work is never done.


So are the tales from Pentoga Road…

Eighteen hours ago we were digging parsnips from the garden

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