Sargie's throwing rocks, attempting to have one break through the ice. Our local lake should be completely ice-free today. The first order of business after? GIVING BRUTUS A BATH.

April 15, 2015 - Wednesday morning
21 degrees/clear/calm
Pentoga Road

I started today's log last night, but ran out of time to get up uploaded. So, here we go...



April 14, 2015 - Tuesday - 8:22 PM
50 degrees/clear/calm
Pentoga Road

The past couple of days have been polar opposites. Activities hinge largely on the weather this time of the year.

Monday was mostly spent indoors. It was warm, yet windy, with occasional Sitka-type squalls blowing through. At one point, it was sunny and calm. Five minute later, heavy rain was pounding down and the wind was howling; enough, that despite a hundred pounds of concrete on the floor, the small tool shed was blown over in the garden.



I spent part of the day with my nose stuck to the computer screen. The last batch of weekly assignments have been pouring in and suddenly, final projects are finding their way online so I can begin to read and assess each.

My eyes grew tired and I decided it was time to go through Dad's old tackle boxes along with my own. I've put off sorting through Dad's fishing lures and tackle. Even though it's been years since Dad passed away, I've put it off, mostly, because I wasn't ready to let that part of him go.

I also hadn't cleaned out my tackle box used in Alaska. There's just not a lot of demand for salmon lures, "hootchies," and large halibut hooks in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. I have been hesitating to let that part of my life go also. I guess one might say there was a lot of closure happening.

I found this in a tackle box. When was the last time you saw a price printed directly on a product... and for exactly 53 cents? That was when a penny still held some value.

I held lures on Monday that Dad used when I was a small boy. Dad was meticulous when it came to his fishing equipment. Much of the tackle was in as good of shape as it was fifty-five years ago and I well remember many of the fish he caught with the lures I was looking at.



I did okay until I came across the Hawaiian Wiggler... or as Dad called it, "the Red Eye." Dad purchased it when I was young, probably four or five years old, to use on our annual family fishing trip to northern Minnesota. We weren't poor, but like most other young parents, Mom and Dad had to count their pennies. Acquiring a new and at the time, pricey lure for a yearly vacation was probably done at some sacrifice. I'm guessing, in the mid-fifties, that Hawaiian Wiggler probably cost somewhere between 35 to 50 cents.

The first day of fishing arrived and I well remember sitting in the boat with Dad, asking to use his new lure. He hesitated and told me I'd be using a Dare Devil, a much cheaper artificial bait, while assuring me it too would catch fish. With that, he fastened the wiggler onto his line.

That same story played out for several fishing trips. I gave up ever getting to use the wiggler. 

The day came a few years later, when, on the first day of our fishing vacation, Dad told me to swing my line over to him. He reached into his tackle box, pulled out his beloved Hawaiian Wiggler and fastened it onto the end of my line saying I was old-enough to use something other than a common Dare Devil. It was his way of saying I had earned the right.

I felt so proud, so grown up, and I'd never felt closer to Dad than I did that day.

I sat there on Monday, over fifty-five years later, holding that old and well used Hawaiian Wiggler, "ol Red Eye," with tears streaming down my face. I'd never felt closer to Dad and after a brief conversation with him, I said goodbye to that part of our lives, promising I'd meet up with him sometime in the future. 



The Alaska lures, hooks, and other fishing paraphernalia were packed in a box, labeled, and placed high on a shelf, there to be forgotten. I hope when I join Dad, I'm able to look down at my sons as they are going through my stuff, and hear one say, "What in the devil are we supposed to do with this stuff?" That'll be up to them. I've already said farewell to that heavy fishing tackle.

I WISH I could find a bluegill big enough to take this hook! I used this size to catch halibut.

Time to go fishing. My "bass and northern pike" tackle box will stay this clean and orderly for the first five minutes of my first fishing trip. 

The bluegill tackle box, loaded with small baits for catching our favorite pan fish.

Page Two - I heard from Vince and my Mac has been repaired and is winding it's way back to the UP. I'm looking forward to beginning the summer semester (next month) with the Macintosh running at 100%.

Off today, Sargie was lying in bed, reading, when I awakened at 7 AM. I'm usually the morning person and tiptoe downstairs on her days off so she can enjoy an extra hour or two of slumber. Not so this morning.

I was still lying in bed at 7:30 when Neighbor Mike called, saying the coffee was done and to come up for a cup or ten. Sargie told me to go on ahead, that she was going to be busy taking a shower and getting ready for the day.

My timing for getting home was almost perfect. Sargie had finished and was ready for our excursion to Iron Mountain to purchase a high pressure washer.

And purchase we did... a Ryobi 3,100 PSI, Honda powered, washer. Home Depot also had a sale on Quickrete. I bought ten bags, enough to get started on our cobblestone walk in the coming days. In fact, since the sale doesn't end until the 19th, I'll probably return and purchase another ten bags.





Sister-in-law, Holly, had called earlier and said she had baked rye bread and would like to give us a loaf. We stopped and had a good visit with Ross and Holly, also sister-in-law, Jeanne. I traded a quart of this year's maple syrup for a beautiful loaf of homemade rye bread. Perfect.

The ice is almost out

We were back home by early afternoon. Sargie started raking and using the lawn sweeper while I assembled the pressure washer and began washing and working on the back patio. The sun was bright and the temperature peaked in the mid-sixties.

The water had to be connected under the deck before I could begin to spray. It's drained each fall to prevent the pipes from freezing, expanding, and cracking.

It was a tired Sargie and Tommy P who finally quit late this afternoon. We piled about as much into this one day as any two people could. There's little doubt we'll sleep well tonight.

Neighbor Mike stopped by on his way back to Marquette and left off some sliced wild turkey for sandwiches.

Sargie returns to work tomorrow. I'm going to finish washing the deck in the morning, let it dry, and hope to apply Thompson's Water Seal before day's end. If there's time left in the day, I'll begin doing maintenance on the backhoe, oil, grease, filters, and getting it ready for another season. I want to start digging and hauling dirt from the back part of the property to landscape where the strawberry pyramids will permanently be located alongside the barn.

I've spent much of this evening grading papers and after glancing at my email inbox, it appears several more have arrived. I'm not surprised.

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

So are the tales from Pentoga Road...

Your worst nightmare