A picnic table, a bowl of Pawpaw's Raisin Bran, and Thomas the Train. Life doesn't get any better.

August 6, 2017 - Sunday
51 degrees/partly cloudy/calm winds
Pentoga Road

I haven't seen a three-year-old boy work as hard as Hambone did Saturday since my sons were that age. During their growing up years, no matter what I was doing, one or all were with me trying to help, sometimes too much. Grady was much the same yesterday.



It appears Grady is made of the same stuff. I asked several times on Saturday if he wanted to take a break. Without fail, the munchkin machine responded that he preferred to stay outside and "hep". 



He's my kind of mini man. Problem was, Pawpaw was about all worn out.

Hambone's moniker was Pusher Boy, a name he gave himself. He prided himself on pushing the lever on the far side of the wood splitter that made the ram move forward. It was a job he took very seriously. 



I noticed he copied my every move. If I clapped my hands, he did the same. I inhaled a mosquito and immediately spit it out. Hambone did the same, matching the foul look that crossed my face along with the muttering that spilled from my mouth. Needless to say, from then on, I watched my language.

It can get old, pushing a lever or throwing wood onto a growing pile. When Grady grew tired of the repetitious tasks, he did what any three year-old would do, he filled his Tonka truck with smaller pieces, made truck noises, and dumped his load. 

Why do all that manual labor when one has access to heavy machinery? 



And so the day went. Morning turned into afternoon and afternoon to evening. Pawpaw was dragging. My partner was still hitting on all eight cylinders, possibly twelve. 

I needed to quit. How to save face?

It was time to feed the goldfish, one of Hambone's favorite activities.









Grady also helped move enough giant pumpkin vines to place a piece of plywood under the largest pumpkin. If it's like year's past, the fruit will begin gaining pounds per day, sometimes ten or more.



I noticed the spaghetti squash are beginning to bear fruit. In fact, of all the squash, they are doing the best.



Grady disappeared while I was fertilizing the pumpkins and it was suddenly very quiet in the garden. I called once, then twice. No answer.

Finally, I waded back between the vines and found my munchkin buddy. He was parked in front of the snap peas cramming fistfuls into his mouth.



At least he gets his taste for snap peas honestly. I can't grow enough to keep his Grandma Sargie satisfied.

After showers and supper, I did a couple of loads of laundry. True to form, Hambone wanted to help.

I showed him how to fold a washcloth several times and though his fingers often got in the way, Grady refused to quit.

Hambone and I spent Saturday evening watching Packer's Family Night. It marks the official kickoff to the 2017 Green Bay season. Our first exhibition game is next Thursday.

Poor Grandma Sargie had to close the Vision Center and wasn't home until later in the evening. Thankfully, she doesn't have to work today and is looking forward to spending some quality time with Grady.

I'm going to finish working up the one wood pile this morning. I imagine if Grandma Sargie wants to spend very much time with her grandson, she'll have to come outside. He mentioned last night that he can hardly wait to head out the door.

Mel and Macrea are to come over this afternoon and no doubt, we'll have our Sunday afternoon special of fried chicken, mashed potatoes, gravy, Sargie's macaroni/ham salad, fresh cucumbers out of the garden, green beans, snap peas, beets, and whatever else we can conjure up for a big Sunday meal.

Time to pour another cup of coffee and think a deep thought or two before that forty pound hurricane we call Hambone wakes up for the day.

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

So are the tales from Pentoga Road...