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| A beaver pond completely frozen over. The ice fishing season might be closer than we think. |
18 degrees/partly cloudy/calm winds
Pentoga Road
Indeed, the days are rapidly cooling and signs of the upcoming winter are evident.
What puddles there are are frozen solid and it's just a matter of time before any snow that falls might very well remain until next spring.
This has some similarities to the winter of three years ago, the one that was the coldest on record and the third snowiest. Regardless, we can't complain. The last two have been fairly mild. I guess we're due.
Poor Isabella had to visit the doctor this week. Grandpa Yooper Brother Mark says she has the croup.
We'll hope Isabella gets better soon. She, along with her mommy and daddy, will be coming back to Grandma and Grandpa's for Christmas. I know Grady's excited about seeing his friend. They had a lot of fun this last summer together.
Mom wrote last night saying Aunt Ema passed away at the age of 102 years old. Aunt Ema was Grandpa Reinhardt's baby sister, the last of his generation. Her husband of many decades, Uncle Eddy, just died a few years ago.
Mom was lamenting that at the relatively young age of 90, she's now the eldest and only survivor of her generation on either side of our family.
I started thinking how time marches on, how one generation passes life onto the next. Dad once commented on the process. Grandpa Reinhardt had just passed away and Dad suddenly found himself a member of the most senior tier in the family. It was as if he were sad, surprised, and yet proud to be a part of the "next generation," as he called it.
The whole process reminds me of a baseball game.
When one's young, he's so far down the batting order that he doesn't care if or when he hits. The years go by and suddenly, he finds himself on deck, getting ready to take his place in the batter's box.
The person before just finished. Now he's up, standing at the plate, poised to swing. He thinks back on his life, the joys, the sorrows, his accomplishments and what he'd do over if only that were possible.
Hit or miss, his time at the plate is done. He takes his final bow and walks back to the dugout, finished, but not forgotten, at least for another generation or two. The batter had his turn and it's time to let the next generation step up to the plate.
Rest in peace, Aunt Ema. I know you and Uncle Eddy are having a ball.
I walked the full five miles Tuesday morning. Other than the bone spurs in both heels hurting somewhat, it went well.
I received a newspaper clipping from Aunt Joanne today about an eighty-two year old man who is the oldest ever to complete the Appalachian Trail in one year.
His story gave me hope. I'm officially back in training.
Much of Tuesday morning was spent making a big ol' beef stew.
I included half a steer, then cut up several frozen vegetables from last summer's garden, potatoes included. I like my stew filled with big hunks of goodies, not little hints of what I think may be included.
Take vegetables. There are few that I care for by themselves, but throw them in a stew and I'll down a bowl and go back for seconds or thirds.
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| Broccoli |
The heat was increased just before Sargie arrived home and I floated some homemade dumplings.
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| Whoops, I forgot to take a picture before filling our bowls. |
Needless to say, almost half the stew had disappeared by the time Sargie and I finished with supper.
Tuesday afternoon was spent in the shop working on one project or the other. I began experimenting making portrait puzzles and will begin cutting those in earnest over the next few days.
Sargie was home early last night and closes tonight. Thankfully, she's off tomorrow which is a good thing since she has to work all weekend, Sunday included.
Ross is coming over this morning and we're heading out for lunch. I'm looking forward to spending some time with my brother-in-law and catching up on the news from his part of the world. I always enjoy my time with Ross.
It's time to get Sargie up and get her day started.
After all, a man's work is never done.
So are the tales from Pentoga Road...
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