This year's Pine Wood Derby participants in Iron River.
Yooper Brother Mark and Jerad help conduct the yearly Cub Scout competition.

March 14, 2017 - Tuesday

-8 degrees/clear skies/calm winds

Pentoga Road

You know what would taste good? A big, ol', gooey, warm, apple fritter! One, straight from the bakery that has just been glazed with sugary goo so thick that it would run down my fingers and drip onto the front of my shirt. 

I'm not usually a huge early morning eater, but this morning, I'm craving an apple fritter. 

Oh oh, you don't think I'm pregnant, do you?

Naw, that's silly. Everyone knows pregnancies cause a craving for pickles, not apple fritters. 

Whew, dodged a bullet there.

Check out this picture of three lynx crossing a road in northern Maine, not far from where Andy lives. It was taken on Monday.

Lynx were a rare commodity during my previous lifetime spent in Maine. Due to stringent regulations on trapping, their numbers have exploded in recent years and Lynx sightings have become common. 

They are common in Alaska and I marveled how large and beautiful the felines were, but was puzzled by their lack of intelligence. Sitting alongside the Noatak River, none made an effort to hide or move when I zipped by in a boat or on a snowmobile. 

Meanwhile:

Luke's been restoring my old Tundra, the one I purchased many years ago while living in Maine. He says it's almost back to like-new condition.

Coleman looks good sitting on his Grandpa's sled!

My Monday morning walk was cold, but invigorating. 

I didn't see any lynx, but spotted these coyote tracks leading across the road in front of our house. 

The rest of the day was spent in the shop where the Easter cross was finally finished. In retrospect, I found that the simple background was as difficult as the actual piece. Don't ask me why, it shouldn't have been.

I concentrated on the Easter bunny piece for most of the morning and part of the afternoon. Cutting letters out of thin veneer didn't seem to work very well, so I found a piece of left over laminate flooring that was almost perfect.

The bunnies, eggs, and all, will be painted a powder blue, the lettering kept the natural color.

Mom wants a pencil holder. My first attempt last week fell apart in pieces. I decided to use the same spalted birch for a second try. 

The grain and design are beautiful, some of the prettiest I've worked with.

 Problem is, it's old and pithy. Once turned, sanded, lacquered, and finished, it's fine. The problem lies in getting there. 

After last week's failure, I was careful, really careful. The bottom wasn't as even as I'd have liked. Just one more touch, a bit of chisel work.

I should have quit while I was ahead. Who looks at the inside bottom of a pencil holder anyway?

I was trying to remove that nub that can be seen in the middle.

Mama would have definitely washed my mouth out with soap Monday afternoon. No doubt, she'd have also administered a few swats to my backside had she heard the descriptive explicatives that spewed from my mouth. 

I simply turned off the lights and heat and came in the house where I spent the next half hour in a pout that bordered a good old-fashioned, hissy fit. 

Even sixty years after childhood, I can still hear Mom's words of admonition... 

"If you stick that lower lip of your's out any further, you'll trip over it." 

I no longer liked my shop, hated the lathe, was tired of the sawdust that covered my clothing. I'd show that birch who was boss. 

Why, I'd grab Sargie and we'd run away to my cabin north of the arctic circle, six-hundred miles off the road system. If anyone from the Discovery Channel happened along, we'd throw rocks and tell them to go home. We'd live happily ever after with the lynx and the moose and the caribou. Uh huh, that's what we'd do. At least they understand me. 

Failing that, I threw another log on the fire and plopped down in the recliner.

Brutus was in a good mood and wouldn't leave me alone. Couldn't the pup see that I was eating a handful of cashews and attempting to drown my wood turning sorrows with a bottle of flavored, carbonated, water? The bulldog just wouldn't quit.

I looked at the pup who had his bushel basket-sized head resting on my lap and finally agreed to go outside.

God gives us what we need when we need it. He evidently knew I needed the company of a big, ol', not always very bright bulldog. Brutus's good mood was infectious. 

It wasn't long before my four-legged buddy had me laughing and chasing him around the yard. 

Life once again looked pretty perfect on Pentoga Road and I fell back in love with my lathe and shop. 

It was still daylight when Sargie pulled in the drive last night. For the next six months, her journeys home from work will largely be completed before the sun sets.

I say that, but Sargie closes tonight. It will be a dark drive for her.

I'll do my usual walk this morning then go to town and purchase a can of bunny rabbit powder blue spray paint. 

Once home, I'll return to the shop. I have one piece of raw spalted birch ready to clamp onto my beloved lathe. 

It's said that three's a charm. I sure hope so. If not, I'll be out in the woods with my chain saw looking for the perfect limb. It's easier than running away to Alaska.

Mom will get her pencil holder made from birch. Oh yes, by all that's holy, the pencil holder will be her's.

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

So are the tales from Pentoga Road...

A white-breasted nuthatch