Strawberry season is almost upon us. I picked the first one on Monday afternoon.

June 14, 2016 - Tuesday

56 degrees/cloudy skies/calm winds

Pentoga Road

I'm concerned, seriously concerned. The Man Truck, the beast that has never failed me, won't start. I cranked it to life a month ago after sitting idle all winter. The roar of the engine assured me it was ready for another summer of work. I tried starting it a week ago to no avail. Repeated attempts have failed.

I've been in contact with the Chief of Pentoga Road Mechanical Operations, Scotty, who lives outside of Atlanta, Georgia. He named off two or three things that could be wrong, none of them good. He suggested I pull off some sort of hose and spray starting fluid to eliminate a failing fuel pump. Then there's an ignition module that could be bad. My expertise is as a school teacher, not high tech rocket scientist.

The Man Truck has been good to me during the past seven years. It's hauled cords and cords of firewood and many yards of dirt. The truck didn't even complain when it became wedged between two trees and I had to use a chain saw to free it. 

I paid $600 for the ugly beast. Just like it's owner, the truck has been ridden hard and put away wet. I've spent a bit here and there in maintenance, but mostly, it's been held together with rust, wire, duct tape, and bread ties... literally. That's what's holding the cable onto the throttle under the hood, a bread tie.

The frame rusted through between the bed and cab last year causing the driver's side door frame to bend out of shape. The iron beams sag in the middle and the headlights and tail lights now point slightly upward. Only the rusty fenders and side panels are keeping the front and back of the truck connected. I'm not sure what keeps the drive shaft in place, but it just keeps turning... or at least it used to.

The old truck was taken out of road commission last year. No fault insurance in Michigan is outlandishly expensive plus there was the safety factor. It officially became a woods truck.

If the latest malady is anything that costs too much money, I'm going to let the Man Truck go to the scrap yard. The fuel pump is located inside the gas tank, an expensive proposition. Who knows how much an ignition module costs, let alone where it is located. It sounds expensive. Meanwhile, I'll simply go out and spray some stuff into hoses, wiggle a few wires, and say a prayer to Baby Jesus that the old beast might spring to life for one more summer. 

Page Two:

Neighbor Mike and I plied our angling skills upon the waters of our local lake Monday morning. Well, Mike plied his skills. I mostly played guide and "put him on fish," as we say here in the North Country. That's an impressive phrase meaning I piloted the boat and kept it steady so he could fish and not worry about the wind blowing us all around the lake. 

Action was fast and furious and when we weren't catching panfish, the bass, all in the 12 to 14 inch range, kept us busy.

Mike did well as I put the boy onto a nice mess of bluegills and crappies ensuring that we'll have a good fish fry while Mom's visiting.

Page Three:

I spent the entire afternoon working on the interior trim of the kitchen window. It was an exercise in frustration and futility. 

Rather than make a million trips to the shop, I brought the saw and needed tools to the garage just outside the kitchen.

It took almost the entire time to frame the inside of the window. I wanted it seamless and after wasting a board or five, I was finally satisfied.

Next came the trim that fastens against the wall. I measured and cut the first piece, stained it, then began tacking it into place when I discovered it wasn't wide enough.

The trim was half an inch too narrow and didn't completely cover the old wallpaper. The whole process made me mad and completely out of sorts. I'll stop by Home Depot when I'm in Iron Mountain on Thursday and purchase wider trim. 

I'm more than a little frustrated at my inability to hit a finishing nail squarely on the head. I missed more nails yesterday in my attempts to fasten the inside trim. Most bent sideways causing me to use pliers or some other means to extract them. I use magnifiers to see what I'm hitting, but after a while, they make me seasick. 

I like to think of myself as a man who sees the big picture (no pun intended.) I'm more of a framing kind of guy where teeny nails, misread measurements, and quarter inch mistakes, make no difference, where real men use screws or at the very least, spikes, that require little vision or accuracy when driving into the wood. This trim business... well, it's for the birds.

Page Four:

I was in a foul mood. No, I was in a rotten, stinky, horrible mood, and decided to go to my happy place, the garden. 

Talk about feeling sorry for myself. Whine, Whine, Whine, Cry, Cry, Cuss, Cuss! I couldn't fish, I couldn't hit a nail, I couldn't measure... I was acting like a baby. All I needed was a pacifier, some big boy pants, and a blankie, and I could have made Grady look like a mature adult.

Sitting on the bench, I stared at the fountain looking into a mental mirror. What I actually see might not be the clearest, but my mental vision is 20/20 or better and I didn't like what I saw. 

I decided that I'm going to have to make some changes when it comes to fishing, especially fly fishing. I've begun taking several spinning rods with me when flogging the water in search of fish. If one line breaks, I simply pick up another rod with a lure already attached and continue.

I've quit fly fishing in the past year or two because I can't see well enough while sitting in a boat to tie a fly or popper onto the leader. Consequently, I've gone from an almost guaranteed catch to bringing in few, if no, fish. I decided while sitting on the garden bench that it's time for some meaningful modifications in my life.

I dug into my Alaska gear, took inventory, and I have four fly rods. Why not do the same with them as I've done with my spinning rods? I'll rig each with a different fly or popper before I go fishing and take all of them. Sure it's a pain to cart around a fistful of rods and reels, but it's better than not catching anything at all and only pretending to be fishing with little or no hope. 

Things are looking up in the fishing department on Pentoga Road. I need to purchase several spools of fly line and leader material. Give it a week or two and the old fisherman will be back in business! As for reading a tape measure, I hear there are talking ones. As for trim work? Like I said, I tend to see the big, overall, picture. It's time to quit staring at the fountain, get off the garden bench, and continue on with life.

Page Five:

I'm really enjoying the double ruffled petunias that were started from seed back in early April. 

Though difficult to sprout, they were well worth it. I also learned a great deal and hope for better success next spring.

Page Six:

Sargie is off today and says it's time to wash windows. I've thought of every excuse possible, but each seems to be for naught. That pretty girl of mine is insistent that we're going to clean those in the living room. There are ninety or a hundred windows, or maybe eight. Each is old and brittle and difficult to remove so the inside panes might be swiped and left streak free. Still, a man occasionally has to take one for the team. It appears I'm up to bat.

Are we surprised? After all, a man's work is never done.

So are the tales from Pentoga Road...