The surface slush has finally frozen. It was time to get back on the ice Monday morning.

January 31, 2017 - Tuesday

11 degrees/cloudy/calm winds

Pentoga Road

I felt hot air blowing on me earlier this morning, much earlier. The furnace was running. I raised up on one elbow and observed it was only 2:30 AM. 

Evidently the wood stove needed filling. Unless Sargie awakened and volunteered, there was nothing to do but get out of bed and feed the hungry beast.

So here I sit, downstairs, in the dark, wishing the Sandman would fly overhead and anoint me with a truckload or two of his magic potion. Maybe if I write long enough, my eyes will become droopy and I'll be able to head back upstairs for another hour or two of slumber before the day officially begins.

I skipped walking Monday morning in favor of going fishing. The day was sunny and calm and after a two-week hiatus from the ice, it was time to put meat on the table.

It didn't take long to load the sled, auger, equipment, and Clam tent. I arrived at the lake a short time later.

Fishing was less than stellar. There were schools of smaller bluegills, all suspended in about ten feet of water. I really wanted to go deeper, where the big guys hang out, but getting my bait through the hoards of little fish proved challenging.

Interesting thing, the water is so clear that it's more like fishing in an aquarium than a lake.

In the end, I brought home a few small bluegills and a crappie. I'll clean them over the next few days, (they're currently buried in snow and frozen solid) after I go again and catch enough to make a fish fry.

I was home before noon and soon headed out to the shop.

The small mini maple bowl I'd been turning was buffed and about ready to separate from the stock.

Hmm, just a small imperfection, a little bitty flaw. Perhaps if I just touch it up a bit.

I touched alright, right through the wall causing the bowl to shatter and throw pieces all over the shop.

I wasn't mad, I just wanted to get even. Okay, that's a lie. I was mad as hell. Within a few minutes, another piece of wood, this time, birch, was mounted and whirling on the lathe.

I had better luck the second time around.

On the left is the finished bottom of the large mug-turned-bowl I'd attempted some time ago. On the right is yesterday's birch bowl. 

Strange how one's emotions can change on a dime over a chunk of firewood. When a piece of wood is being shaped and seems to flow, I get the same feeling as I did back when I'd play a beautiful piece on the piano or conduct a particularly meaningful work with my high school band. 

But let the turning go badly, the grain going wrong, encounter a particularly hard knot or rotten area, and I can mutter with the best of them. It's during those times that I feel as I did when one of my alto saxaphone players would be out of tune and I'd continually remind him to "bite down" or having to constantly remind the trumpet section that F# is middle valve, not first. Worse yet, teaching a novice clarinet player how to finger and play B natural, initially sounding like a goose on steroids with one broken wing. Any band director, former or present, will know exactly what I'm talking about, right Garry?

I did what I often do. I called a man who's a legend in the instrumental music field, but more importantly, my mentor and brother of over thirty, going on forty years, Mississippi Brother Garry, and asked his advice on a couple of turning techniques and procedures. As usual, he had some good answers and I felt much better when I hung up the phone.

Sargie was home last night around 7 and began closing her eyes shortly after supper. Once Antiques Road Show finished, there was really nothing on television that we wanted to watch, so it was off to bed.

Sargie closes tonight, another long long day for her. No doubt, after my morning walk, I'll spend my time in the shop and I'm willing to bet that there might be a nap in my future, a real, honest to goodness, old fashioned, grandpa nap, probably after lunch.

Speaking of nap, I think the Sandman might have flown over and worked his magic. I'm going to sneak back upstairs and crawl into bed alongside Sargie, see if I can salvage an hour or two of  sleep before it's time to get up for the day.

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

So are the tales from Pentoga Road...

Eileen and Uncle Bert, somewhere out west.
They traveled from Maine to meet their son, Andrew, who is down from Alaska, rafting the Colorado River.

Sargie's whipping up a large batch of her super duper peanut butter/chocolate chip/coconut cookies on Sunday afternoon.

January 30, 2017 - Monday

1 degree/clear skies/calm winds

Pentoga Road

I'm having a difficult time this morning.  My day is only twenty minutes old and already, I've stubbed my toe, walked into the coffee table, one eye doesn't want to work, and now, to top it all off, I've got a nose bleed. Geesh, what a great way to start the week. I look at it this way, there's no where to go but up.

Sunday began in the shop where I started turning another bowl, this one from maple. In this very early stage of turning, birch is my wood of choice, but if one wants to make something small with delicate features, a harder wood seems to be the best medium, thus, maple.

Even with it's superior strength, I still managed to snag a chisel that caused a crack in the very thin wall. Thankfully, it was nothing that a bead of glue couldn't fix. I'll give it a light sanding and in the end, the crack should do nothing more than lend the bowl a bit of character.

I gently clamped the bowl until the glue could dry, assuring the two sides would permanently hold together.

The new dust collector works well. I'm really happy with it and I no longer have to wear a dust mask while sanding.

The next step is to buff and polish the bowl, then separate it from the stock.

Sargie and I departed for town early in the afternoon. 

We purchased a few groceries then spent a couple of hours driving to the area lakes by way of the back roads. Snow squalls were frequent and often caused poor visibility.

Sargie made a large batch of cookies once we arrived home. I cleaned the drive of snow and played with Brutus. After, we snuggled on the couch under a blanket and watched television.

Grandson, Coleman, placed 3rd in a wrestling tournament this past weekend against eight others in his weight class. I told his daddy not to let him near any open water. He's getting so much metal that if he'd happen to fall in, the poor little guy would go straight to the bottom.

In fourth grade, this is Coleman's first year on the mat and we're really proud of him. Way to go, buddy!

Speaking of buddies, who's this guy all dressed up in a tuxedo?

Yes, your eyes aren't deceiving you. That's Yooper Brother Mark getting ready for mass Sunday morning. It was Corporate Communion for the Knights of Columbus and Mark was dressed with bells on.

That boy cleans up pretty good, eh?

Last night continued to be a lazy affair with neither of us moving very fast.

Sargie opens today. I'm going for my walk then will either go ice fishing or head to the shop. The slush on the lakes appears to have frozen and I'm beginning to get the itch. 

Still, there are three projects currently going in the shop and I enjoy spending my days out there, working, carving, cutting, shaping, and making, while listening to classical music accompanied by Brutus's snoring and other noise making.

I guess I ought to stop being so romantic and philosophical and get this day going.

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

So are the tales from Pentoga Road...

It will be a while before any boats use this dock. To answer a question, the piers are removed from the water so the ice doesn't do major damage during ice-out in the spring.

The snow doesn't look nearly as romantic and fun as it did during the holiday season.

January 29, 2017 - Sunday

13 degrees/cloudy/calm winds

Pentoga Road

It's so quiet. I used to love mornings like this while living in the arctic. I would rise, get a fire going in the stove, melt ice so I could brush my teeth and make coffee, then sit by the wood stove and enjoy the dawning of a new day. Of course, during the dead of winter, the dawn never made it over the horizon.

Taken in late February, thirty miles north of the arctic circle on the banks of the Noatak River.
The temperature was often below zero in the cabin when I awakened each morning. Every day presented new pictures etched onto the inside of my windows, condensation that had quickly frozen overnight.

This morning has the same feeling except I don't hear an occasional moose grunt or a wolf howling and of course, it's much warmer. If I listen really carefully though, I might be able to hear Brutus snoring upstairs.

Snow began falling during my morning walk on Saturday. I'm assuming it came off of Lake Superior. Though we're a ways away, we occasionally get lake effect snow when the wind is out of the northwest. 

Its bite was worse than its bark. By day's end, there was little accumulation. 

Most of the morning was spent doing laundry. I'm unsure how two people can generate so many dirty clothes.

I accuse Sargie of taking extra clothes to work and changing at break time and over the lunch hour. Strange thing though, the amount of laundry generated by me is just as large. 

I often wonder who the invisible person is that keeps wearing and dirtying my clothes.

Most of the afternoon was spent in the shop, working on one thing or the other. 

Very little seemed to get accomplished and what I did do, often fell apart. Some days are diamonds, others are coal. Yesterday, landed solidly in the coal column.

Yooper Brother Mark and Sheri stopped out later for a visit and to drop off some lumber he'd brought back from this past week's trip to Kentucky.

Mark had been to their facility down south and brought me back several inch-thick, rough cut, planks of hickory, a wood that is not native to this area. Talk about heavy and hard as steel! 

I'm hoping to be able to turn ornaments from most and the rest will be used as trim for various projects. If nothing else, I can make a ton of hammer and axe handles!

Neighbor Mike, his wife, Germaine, and their niece, Tia, stopped in for a visit later in the afternoon. Mike wanted to trade two jars of jam, one of peach, the other three-berry, for maple syrup.

That's a no brainer. Mike makes the best jams and jellies and to enjoy his confectionary creations is like eating a fruit basket, without the basket, thickly spread on a morning piece of toast.

Sargie was home early last night. After a healthy and nutritious supper of popcorn, she made turtle sundaes, chocolate ice cream and cashews, all covered with a thick layer of caramel sauce. I have to think that there's at least one food group in last night's meal. 

After working six straight days, Sargie's off today. I hope she sleeps late. My girl is tired and her next day away from the Vision Center isn't until next Friday.

I just sneaked out to the shop and started the heat. Most of the morning will be spent out there until Sargie calls on the intercom and says she's ready to begin the day.

I have no idea what, if anything, is on our agenda. Maybe we'll go somewhere and look at living room furniture. We're planning on replacing this old recliner and our threadbare couch in the near future. Both originally came with the house.

Meanwhile, it's time to make some dust, see if that new collector I cobbled together a couple of days ago really works.

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

So are the tales from Pentoga Road...

The first garden seed came in yesterday's mail. That being said, spring sure does seem to be far far away.

An old shop vac, a crisper drawer, a hole, and some duct tape.
The new modern dust collection system for the lathe.

January 28, 2017 - Saturday

24 degrees/cloudy/windy/snow

Pentoga Road

I was awake early this morning, around 2:30, and slept sporadically until 5. Strange thing is, I know I had a dream that was worth remembering and recall thinking that I needed to store it away to be shared with Sargie. Try as I may, I can't remember a thing about it, only that I wanted to tell Sargie. 

Frustrating. 

I rode with Sargie back to Iron Mountain Friday morning and after filling the car with gas, came right back home.



The day was windy, but beautiful. I enjoyed taking my time and took advantage of any back road that I could find.

Grady's favorite landmark. He knows that he's getting close to Grandma and Pawpaw's house when he sees the structure sticking above the countryside and without fail, shouts, "Look! The Alpha water tower!"

I spent most the day in the shop. I was going to start turning, but in his daily email, Mississippi Brother Garry had talked about the dust collection system in his shop clogging and that he had to clean it. 

That got me thinking and as we've come to discover over the years, thinking for me can be a dangerous proposition.

If Mississippi Brother Garry can have a dust collection system, why can't I? 

Just one thing. His was commercially made and he has neat looking pipes and hoses running from one machine to the other. 

I didn't need all that, I just wanted the dust from the lathe sucked into that place where dust goes.

Hmm. Hmm.

Well, I had an old shop vac that has been sitting in storage over the shop. That was a beginning. What I needed was a hood. What could I use for a hood?

How about the crisper drawer that, until I purchased the inexpensive three-drawer plastic chest on Thursday, had held my lathe equipment.

How was I going to run a shop vac hose into that thing? Why not cut a hole? 

I needed some sort of receptacle that could focus the vacuum, suck the dust into the hood, through the hose, and end up in the tank. 

So I cut and I drilled and eventually, I came up with a passable system. Now I can commiserate with Mississippi Brother Garry when my dust collection system becomes clogged.

It's not pretty, but the hose is out of the way, as is the tank. Once the shop expansion is completed this summer, I'll rig it differently and take the tank completely out of the shop, but until then, my dust problems have been swept out the door, oh, under the rug... or, rather, sucked into a central tank.

If I weren't expanding the shop this summer, I'd have put the vac outside the shop. Since I'm going to use the existing wall in some manner, I didn't want to start randomly drilling large holes.

There are two or three projects I'm presently working on. Time was spent painting the background for the crappie. I really need an airbrush, but for now, two cans of spray paint worked just fine.



Still a work in progress, the frame around the picture needs work, the background cut and attached, and there's a bit of repair work to complete where the laminate peeled away. 

It was almost dark before I came in the house. For whatever reason, I decided to work up another large winter squash and ended up with two large cookie sheets full to bake in the oven.



Sargie was home fairly early and we enjoyed fried chicken for supper. Along with bacon and butter, it's one of our favorite food groups.



Sargie opens today. It's been a tough week, schedule-wise, for her and she's looking forward to having Sunday away from the Vision Center.

I don't know if I'm going to walk this morning. My feet and knees have been complaining and honestly, taking yesterday off from walking felt good. I may try a shortened hike of three miles this morning and see what happens.

Other than that, there's laundry to do and of course, why have a dust collection system if one's not making any dust?

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

So are the tales from Pentoga Road...

Thursday was spent in the shop, CLEANING.

January 27, 2017 - Friday

21 degrees/cloudy/windy

Pentoga Road

Before

After

C'mon, what do you think? Eh? Is it cleaner or what? The proof's in the pudding... or picture.

Thursday's walk was a bit tougher than usual. I'm not sure if it was the weather or the walker. I'm assuming it was the person walking. My lower extremities ached, from my knees to my toes. It felt as though I'd been hiking for days with no end in sight. 

It was probably more of a mental thing. There are times that it's simply not fun to slip and slide on the icy shoulder of a country road in below freezing temperatures with a strong headwind slamming into one's face. Yesterday was one of those.

Once home, I took shovel in hand and scraped the smattering of snow we'd received overnight from the drive. The pavement was still warm enough from last week that, with a bit of help from the wind, blew dry and clear.

The rest of the day was spent in the shop cleaning. Oh no, not just running the vac and putting items away, but CLEANING.

Tools were taken from the drawers with everything completely wiped down before being put back. 

Benches were moved and I was amazed how many things I'd been missing over the past six months that were found.

It was past mid afternoon before I took one last look at my happy place and closed the door. I can now begin anew with a clean conscience and shop.

After a quick sprint through the shower and change of clothes, I was on my way to Iron Mountain. I purchased an inexpensive, plastic, three drawer dresser in which to keep my lathe paraphernalia before meeting Sargie at closing time.  

I'll be riding back this morning to get the Blazer then have no other plans other than to work in the shop. I'm ready to get back out there and mess the place up. Give me ten minutes and you'll never know I cleaned yesterday.

It's time to pour another cup of coffee and throw a log on the fire.

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

So are the tales from Pentoga Road...

Spring is over. It's back to wintertime.

January 26, 2017 - Thursday

27 degrees/light snow/breezy

Pentoga Road

I almost didn't write this morning. Unless one is into squash, there's just not a whole lot of substance that follows. 

I never entered the shop on Wednesday, let alone clean the place, and the only break away from putting up squash was a quick trip to town. 

Wednesday's walk was uneventful except I quickly discovered the podcast I usually listen to hadn't downloaded. No talking or music filled my ears. It was just me, myself, and I, who trudged down those long and lonely country roads.

I often play a mind game while walking. Yesterday, I imagined myself hoofing along the Appalachian Trail, an old man who was showing the kids how it's done. It's true, there's a bit of Walter Mitty who resides inside me.

Once home, I decided I'd put up two large Hubbard squash that were beginning to go bad. What I found was about half of last year's crop that was either turning or too far gone and needed to be quickly processed or in some cases, thrown out.

All I can say is that there'll be some fat and happy deer who live in the woods alongside Pentoga Road. I made three trips on snowmobile deep into the woods.

The rest of the day was spent cleaning, cutting, peeling, baking, and freezing squash; lots and lots of squash.

I took a late afternoon break and went to town for a few things. When I entered the house after, it smelled like Grandma's house at Thanksgiving, of someone who was baking wonderfully sweet pumpkin pies.

Some of the family has indicated they'd be willing to take some squash. Sargie will drop those off today in Iron Mountain. There are two more large Hubbard squash, the last two, that I'll butcher tomorrow and after that, our squash season will be over. We should have enough in the freezer to last us until next fall when we'll begin once again.

Sargie was home early last night. I grilled hamburgers outside and along with a salad, we had... squash. It was a nice, quiet, evening, and we finally had some time to enjoy each other's company. Her work schedule has been brutal this week. Sargie opens again today.

I'm going for my walk this morning then have no plans other than to clean the shop. I hope to do, as Mom used to call it, a "good Saturday cleaning," where everything is moved, swept under, dusted, swiped and wiped. Failing that, I've got to get rid of some of that sawdust before I start turning again. I have three or four new designs I've seen and am anxious get started, plus I have a couple of scroll saw pieces in the works. So much to do/so little of me. For cryin' out loud, is there no mercy?

Time to end and carry some squash up from the basement and load them into Sargie's car. I don't mind telling you, I'm about all squished from working up so much squash, but are we surprised?

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

So are the tales from Pentoga Road...