Saturday, May 28, 2016


I received a nice picture from Bennet and Emerson wishing us a happy Memorial Day weekend.
May 28, 2016 - Saturday
62 degrees/drizzle/fog/calm winds
Pentoga Road

I was just looking at the above picture and have come to the conclusion that Emerson could play the role of Annie on Broadway. I'm going to have to get her parents to start that girl in singing lessons. After all, everyone knows that the sun will come out, tomorrow...

Page Two:

Sun? What sun? Friday saw a continuation of rain, most of it light. The next nice day forecast is for Memorial Day, about the time all the tourists head home following a very rainy weekend. At least good weather is predicted for high atop Milligan Mountain on Monday, just in time for the family gathering.

I worked in the garden all Friday morning digging post holes for the arbor, four of them, through rocks, boulders, gravel, and yes, even a bit of dirt. What a job.


It was over forty years ago that I dug twenty post holes in one day, all with a manual digger. I don't remember being so tired or having so many aching muscles after. 


It took all morning, but the holes are ready to be filled with concrete upon which the arbor will sit. I fantasize about mixing and pouring cement today, but I don't think that's going to happen. More rain and thunderstorms are in the forecast.


I brought down one section of the arbor and placed it beside the first set of holes and even used a compass at one point, to be sure all four were exactly aligned, not only with each other, but also the house and yard. Being off an inch or two isn't an option when pouring footings.

Hmm, looks as though I missed a place or two when painting. I'll be doing some touch up work before continuing much further.
While digging holes and doing other odd outside jobs, I spent most the day running up and down the steps to the basement doing laundry. It worked out well. I'd be ready to take a break about the time a load had finished one cycle or the other.

Page Four:

One of the last steps to finishing the grave marker was to remove the forms surrounding the concrete that will be buried and hold the cross upright. When I unscrewed the sides, the entire concrete base fell apart.

I don't know. The concrete came from a bag that's been around for several years. Three days after being poured, it had the consistency of sand. There was nothing to do but open a new bag and begin again.

I checked Friday night after arriving home. The new concrete had already hardened.
Page Five:

I was too pooped to pop. Digging the holes had awakened new muscles that I'd forgotten I possessed and my grandpa clock was chiming that it was time for a nap. 

Later in the afternoon, I ventured back outside between rain showers and mowed the front half of the popple woods. Conditions weren't ideal, but with all the rain, the weeds have been growing inches per day. Much longer and they'd have been out of control.

I'm not sure what it is, but in any given place, if the weeds are kept at bay, grass will naturally take over and within a few years, become lawn. That's what my intentions are for the popple woods. It's rough and I'm still having to navigate around the occasional tree trunk, but it's coming at nature's pace.

Page Five:

Sargie's having to close two nights in a row. Knowing that, I made my way over to Iron Mountain so I could keep her company on the ride home. 



I walked into the Vision Center and who did I see? Why, it was Ol' Hambone chocked full of bee's knees and spider's ankles!


Grady, his mama and daddy, and other grandma, had stopped to see Sargie for a minute. We had a meaningful conversation about "tatoes" (that he'd help me plant) and how a kitty goes. He also has been working on his oinking when asked what type of sound a pig makes.

Page Six:

I'm going to ride back over to Iron Mountain this morning with Sargie. Thankfully, she's off tomorrow, but has to work on Memorial Day. Other than a quick stop by Home Depot for another bag or two of concrete mix, I have no plans. It's too wet to do anything meaningful outside. Hmm, maybe my grandpa clock will chime and I'll be forced to take a nice, long, rainy-day, nap.

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

So are the tales from Pentoga Road...


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