The late afternoon sun reflecting off the electric deer fence on Monday

September 23, 2014 - Tuesday

49 degrees/clear/calm

Pentoga Road

Monday was a perfect day in the North Country. Indian Summer has arrived and we're enjoying a respite from the early cold temperatures experienced at the end of August and early September. 

The trees are beginning to turn and they should be at their peak in the next week or two.

I cleaned the items that are for sale in the garage as all have been in storage for the past several years. The central air conditioner has been spoken for as is the dish washer. I'll go back on Telephone Time today and advertise the remaining. What isn't sold will either go to a local consignment shop or the thrift store at week's end.

I finished working up about thirty chunks of maple that I'd cut last fall, stacked behind the brown wood shed, and covered with a tarp. They split nicely and several loads were wheeled it into the shed. The maple will be my "overnight" wood this coming winter and used to hold a fire through the nighttime hours.

There was a large dead maple on the south end of the property that Sargie pointed out last spring while tapping. I've been too busy to mess with it this summer and decided yesterday would be the day that it should come crashing down.

Let's see... gas? Check. Oil? Check. Power saw? Check. I'm off to cut some some fire wood.

I loaded the four-wheeler and spent no small amount of time attempting to find a way to get to the tree. It's surrounded by small ditches and/or large boulders. The route was finally made and I marked it as I went so I might retrace my tracks with the tractor and later, the truck.

I found the tree, sized the area up, and began cutting. Oops, wrong tree. They all look the same, except this one had leaves and was very much alive. Darn eyes. I thought that was Brutus's job to make sure I cut the right tree! Oh well, there are plenty and if it doesn't live, it will become part of next season's firewood.

Onto the dead tree. It refused to drop. Part of several in a clump, it had grown straight up and though I was cutting on an angle, refused to fall. I finally drove a couple of wedges into the cut, then stood back as it came crashing to the earth.

Just one part of the dead tree

I was tired. No, I was exhausted. In my younger days, I would fell a large tree, cut it into chunks, and work it up, all in one day. No more. The mind is willing, but the body has thoughts of it's own.

A burl growing in one of the maple trees. I'd like to cut the tree and give Mississippi Brother Garry the burl. He makes beautiful bowls on his lathe.

It was past 1 PM as I came back to the house, ate some lunch, and closed my eyes for a short power nap. I'd done enough for one day.

Or had I? I awakened and felt like a million dollars. Hmm, that tree was lying on the forest floor just waiting to be cut into pieces. Thirty years ago, I thought nothing of cutting and working up a tree in one day. I may be a little older, but I'm not dead. Why not?

I sharpened the chain of the larger saw, found the downed tree, and began. Hours later, it was finished. I brought two chunks back with me in the bucket of the tractor and will return this morning to get the rest.

So I didn't get the tree cut AND split AND put away in one day, but the thought was there. As I said, the mind is willing, the body simply has other ideas.

It was dinner time before I was finished. Sargie pulled into the drive soon after and we spent the evening watching Dancing With the Stars. Bedtime came soon after.

I'm going to bring in the wood today and begin working it up. I doubt I'll finish it all. My back is telling me I might have overdone it yesterday. Arthritis has set in where I broke my back in the Arctic years ago and I'm a bit wimpy this morning. Once I take three or four ibuprofen and get active, it will subside.

Sargie works late today and won't see home again until 9:30 tonight. It's our least favorite work schedule. 

With all that being said, it's time to get a cup of coffee and think deep thoughts. 

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

So are the tales from Pentoga Road...