May 1, 2016 - Sunday

43 degrees/sunny/calm winds

Pentoga Road

It seems we've lost so many traditions in our current fast-paced digital environment. In the 50's, May 1st was one of my favorite holidays. 

The days leading up to May Day were spent making construction paper baskets in Mrs. McDonald's first grade class room. We wove strips of different colored paper, then carefully pasted the ends to a paper band running around the top to form a basket in which we'd put wild flowers. Another strip was added overhead for a handle.

Iona Sear used to eat her paste and Kristy Peoples got in trouble for tattling on her. Funny how I can recall those smallest of details after almost sixty years, yet I have difficulty remembering the passwords I use daily to various online accounts. 

On May Day morning, right after recess, Mrs. McDonald would lead us to a field by the school, the one that lay in back of our large farm house in which we lived, where we'd pick wild flowers, mostly violets and dandelions, to fill our baskets. After, we'd walk, two by two, to a small subdivision several blocks away. I remember walking with my girlfriend, Susie Sandburg. We were going to get married someday and make a living eating cookies and raising goldfish.  

Mrs. McDonald would shush us then point to a house where an elderly person lived, signal for all the class to hide, then appoint one of us to tip toe up to the door, hang his basket, knock, then run and run and run and hide. The rest of the class was already hidden behind shrubs and bushes and behind muted laughs and squeals, we were so gleeful, so happy, and yet there was always one who would give us away. In most cases, it was Ricky Benson. I bet if Ricky is alive, he still can't keep a secret to this day.

Someone always came to the door, usually a white-haired grandma who was at least a hundred years old. She was so surprised to find her basket of flowers, pretend to look up and down the block, smile, shrug her shoulders, then take her basket of flowers back inside the house. It made no difference that Ricky Benson was loud, everyone knows grandmas who are a hundred years old can't hear anyway.

May Day was one of life's simple pleasures back in 1950's, joyful enough that this grandpa remembers the pure happiness of hanging a simple homemade basket of flowers on a stranger's door then running and running and running and hiding. 

Page Two:

This doe loves grazing in the front meadow. She waits for Brutus to chase her then appears soon after and the cycle  begins again. It's a game they've been playing since the snow melted.

Saturday was a fun one. While Sargie was in the shower and getting ready for the day, I increased my walking mileage to three miles and hiked to the lake and back.

The walking was wonderful, but I was happy when I arrived home. I'll keep my distance at three miles for the next few days until my stamina builds and the incision heals a bit more. Put it this way, I'm not ready to step off on the Appalachian Trail quite yet.

When I first bought the home on Pentoga Road, almost seven years ago, that white pipe was out of the water by three to four feet. The level has risen steadily since.

Page Three:

Our trip to Rhinelander was a fun one. Though we didn't really buy anything other than groceries and a few smaller items, we did a lot of window shopping.

Sargie's back in the lighting section looking for the last fixture to hang over the kitchen table. 

We went to Aldi's discount foods and purchased groceries. Eggs were .79 a dozen and milk sold for $1.69 a gallon, a real savings over what each sells for locally.

The best find? A cookie mix for maple/bacon cookies! Everyone knows that that EVERYTHING tastes better with bacon on it. 

Sargie also gave me a lesson on how to unlock an Aldi's shopping cart. One inserts a quarter, the chain drops and the cart is loose. When it is returned, one plugs the chain back in and retrieves his quarter. Who knew buying groceries could be such fun?

Page Four:

Today's going to be a lazy one. I told Sargie to sleep as late as she can. I'm going to take my walk then the day is wide open for action-packed Pentoga Road adventure. No doubt, that means we'll enjoy our usual Sunday afternoon drive followed by a return home for a meal of fried chicken, mashed taters, and gravy. 

After, who knows? We cut a wide swath here in the Upper Peninsula.

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

So are the tales from Pentoga Road...

Luke drove down from Maine to Matt's house in New Hampshire yesterday to help him grind stumps in his yard. It appears Luke was the heavy equipment operator and Matt was the photgrapher.