Dare I hope that a giant pumpkin blossom is actually fertilized? 

July 29, 2017 - Saturday

50 degrees/clear skies/calm winds

Pentoga Road

It appears that I have not one, but two giant pumpkins that have set on to begin their race against a season ending frost. I have my work cut out if I hope to see another six-hundred pound giant this year. We can expect our first frost in six weeks, if not earlier. 

Hmm, a hundred pounds of gain per week? I don't see it happening. Still, I'll push the pumpkins as fast as I can. 

Due to the feet of rain and cold temperatures we experienced earlier this summer, our growing season is a full month behind so I'm grateful for anything that grows, matures, and can be harvested.

Speaking of which, I spent well over an hour picking blueberries Friday morning.

I've never seen berries so huge and thick. I assumed it would be a chore to pick the dark blue ones from those that aren't yet ripe, but a gentle nudge with my thumb loosens each enough to fall into a waiting pail without disturbing those that aren't yet ripe.

It appears I'll be picking blueberries every other day for the next two weeks.

I resumed walking Friday morning. It felt good to stretch the legs, but I've noticed I'm much more winded on the steep hills. I have a two-fisted reputation to maintain and need to get back into shape.

The rest of the morning and part of the afternoon was spent working on the front stoop. 

The mice had really undermined the pavers and combined with the heavy rainfall earlier this summer, the stoop was a mess. I took everything completely out and after stealing more sand from Grady's sandbox, completely redid both tiers.

If the same thing happens again, I'll try bedding the pavers in crushed gravel mixed with dry concrete. That should be more stable and much more difficult for any mice to burrow through.

No small amount of time was spent reattaching the wheel and bracket back onto the mower's deck.

First I had to grind off the old weld before completing the repair. And yes, Scotty in Atlanta, worry not, I used big ol' gobs of welded metal to attach the bracket.

The rest of the day was spent mowing the yards, meadows, and trails. It was a dust storm when I mowed the area where Lake Pentoga once flowed. Dried mud still clings to everything and what was once beautiful, thick, lush, green grass, now resembles... well, it resembles a dry lake bed.

That cloud is dust and dirt caused by mowing over what was, until three weeks ago, several feet of water.

I really hadn't planned on mowing everything, but one thing led to another. At least that chore is finished for the week.

It seems with mid to late summer approaching, all the flora has kicked into overdrive to either grow faster, produce, or bloom.

The double-ruffled Auntie Hollyhocks that were planted from seed early this spring are beginning to bloom. 

Perennials, the hollyhocks aren't supposed to bloom until next year, but it seems they didn't read the instruction manual. 

The pastel yellow hollyhocks that are growing along the south side of the house are gorgeous. In fact, of all the flowers, they might be my very favorite.

This is the time of year when the fruits of one's labors become evident and a person can sit back, dust himself off, and say that with God's help, it's all been worth while.



Even the goldfish in the garden pond seem to be responding to the beautiful weather. 



A few have grown significantly this summer and I'm beginning to plot the best way of how to overwinter them. Some will swim in conventional aquariums upstairs, but the others, sadly, will be relegated to a tub in the basement.

Sargie closes tonight, a long day for her. She also works on Sunday. 

I may get another load of wood today from Yooper Brother Mark's plant or I may simply leave the trailer for the boys to fill over the next few days. It all depends on how high the thermometer climbs this afternoon. Failing that, I think I'll retire to the shop and be creative, or simply take a nap while pretending to watch television.



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

So are the tales from Pentoga Road...