Our local lake is completely frozen over with at least two to three inches of crystal clear solid ice on the surface.

November 19, 1014 - Wednesday

5 degrees/snow showers/calm

Pentoga Road

The deep freeze continues for Pentoga Road and much of the rest of the country. Almost every day sees a new record low temperature and snow showers bop in and out of our lives like some sort of meteorological yoyos. I received an email from my friend, Susan, a former VIM (Volunteer in Mission) from the old Sheldon Jackson College days and she said where she lives, in San Diego, California, they are under a Red Flag Warning... meaning it's darn hot and dry and a mere spark could ignite the entire area.

I talked with my friend, Fay, who lives on the mid coast in eastern Australia, yesterday, and she said their temperatures are in excess of 40 degrees, Celsius, which translated, means its well over 100 degrees, American. 

The icicles reach almost completely to the ground on our neighbor, Mrs. Wilkin's, house.

Yet, in talking with Aunt Joanne in Atlanta and Mississippi Brother Garry in the past two days, each reports their temperatures are well into the twenties. 

I don't know... except to say that it's darn cold on Pentoga Road, there's almost enough ice to go fishing on our local lake, and if indeed there is global warming (and I've yet to be convinced) it's alive and well somewhere else, but not in these parts of the country.

The past two days have been exact replicas of each other. I see Sargie off to work, return to the house and spend the rest of the day chucking hunks of wood into the stove. I don't mind cold temperatures, but I dislike the wind that's blown each of the past two days. I've tried working in the barn, but even with the door closed, it's like working in a huge freezer.

After living in their camp for the past year, the neighbor's up the road are building a new house and getting an updated electrical service.

I've scraped snow from the drive, carried in wood, and played with Brutus, but even he is more anxious to get in front of the wood stove than chase his beloved tennis ball.

I took a bit of last summer from our freezer yesterday. Sucking on a frozen strawberry, it was easy on the mind to close my eyes and imagine the warmth of an early July day.

A man can only stay cooped up for so long and realizing that, I took a walk on Tuesday of three miles. It was a chore. I haven't been up to par the past three weeks; a sinus infection and the diver-whatever-it is, and the three miles seemed more like thirty. The tired muscles and shortness of breath while trudging through the snow served as a notice that I'd better get my hinnie in gear and get back into some sort of shape. 

Mississippi Brother Garry called last night and after listening to me whine that I have no place in which to whittle, carve, and otherwise make a mess during these cold times, suggested that I tack together a couple of walls and make a quickie room in the barn, one that will be easy to keep warm, a place where I can fire up my hand tools and make meaningless pieces of kindling for the wood stove in the name of creativity. I agreed and chuckled, but didn't really take his suggestion seriously at first... but like a true brother, Garry just laid it out there for me to chew on.

Hmm, I could make a simple 8' square room... a simple two by four construction and tack the walls together using screw-nails so they'd easily come apart next spring. I've got an old door or two... if I didn't burn them already. Yeah... why I could even put in an insulated floor to keep my tootsies warm, a simple insulated ceiling, run an outlet or two. Oh Mama Mia, watch out. 

I'm beginning to feel a man room coming on. More importantly, I'm beginning to feel a project happening, a place where Brutus and I could spend our winter days doing man-stuff. We could take turns pulling each others fingers... 'er paws... make man noises, and let the sawdust fly. A simple electric heater would suffice, just something to raise the temperature to somewhere above freezing. 

Why, the cordless phone would work out there as well as the wireless internet! Maybe I could find a recliner and of course, music would be playing in the background. I'd finally have a place to hang a deer head or stuffed fish, if I had any, and I wouldn't have to worry if a bit of testosterone spilled over from Brutus's and my conversations onto the floor. The shelves would be lined with carving designs and seed catalogues. And to top it all off, I'd have a sign hanging on the door saying, "Boys Only! My Shop, My Rules!"

Meanwhile, back to reality, Sargie works early today. Regardless of the temperature, I'm going to tear into the fish shack and begin that remodeling process. I think I'll ride with her first thing this morning and walk five miles home. I truly was alarmed yesterday at how quickly my body had slid into one of a 62 year old man. I prefer that of a twenty year old, you know, a well toned body with tightly defined tan lines, the type I normally sport. <- said tongue in cheek.

I walked several feet out onto the ice on Tuesday afternoon. If the weather remains cold, fishing will begin any day.

After, there'll be wood to carry in and plans to make... those for a small 8x8 room; you know, a place that's just big enough for Brutus and me to spit and whittle and take turns pulling each other's finger... 'er paw.

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

So are the tales from Pentoga Road...