Saturday afternoon was entirely too nice not to go fishing

February 11, 2018 - Sunday morning

4 degrees ABOVE ZERO/cloudy/breezy

Pentoga Road

That's correct, you read it right. This is the first morning in a long time that we've awakened to plus-degree temperatures. As I texted brother-in-law, Ross, earlier this morning, I may change into my swim trunks and go sit out on the deck and work on my tan lines as soon as I'm finished writing.

Arriving home from my walk yesterday morning, I turned the heat on in the shop then came in the house while it was warming up. I sat in front of the wood stove and sipped a cup of coffee and eventually, got out the flower making materials. 

Unless I'm taking a grandpa nap or having a massive coronary, I'm pretty much incapable of sitting still. Rather than sit and stare at the computer, I've decided to make flowers during my less active times. Call it the equivalent of knitting or working a crossword puzzle or Sudoko. It's something I can do and still carry on a conversation or listen to the television.

An hour passed. It was time to head to the shop.

I've had a plan to turn a bowl with a thin base, but on a pedestal, where the stem would look like a chain. I would make and weave holly vines and small flowers in and out of the chain and finally, glue the vine up alongside the bowl to the rim. 

The birch wood had a crack in the base, so I used a pigmented epoxy to fill the void.

Next came measuring where the holes would be drilled, all at 90 degree angles with one another.

Then came the difficult part, making sure the stem was perfectly straight so one hole wouldn't run into the next. I was almost beside myself when all four came out exactly right. 

I was well on my way to creating a masterpiece. It would be the centerpiece everyone who's anyone in the UP would be talking about. Women would want me, men would want to be me.

It's been a long time since I've taken such pains and great care to perfect a hunk of firewood. Just a bit off here, a little there. 

....just one more turn.

And then it happened. I turned one too many times.

All that work for nothing. Women would sneer at me, men hasten to kick sand in my face. 

So much for Saturday's creativity.

I was tempted to throw myself onto the floor, have a tantrum, kick and scream, but my mama taught me better. I simply muttered a word or ten before turning off the heat and lights and walking away. My turning mentor, Mississippi Brother Garry, the wise one who calls me Grasshopper as I attempt to snatch a pebble from his hand, has often reiterated that these things happen. As usual, he was right.

What better way to forget my sorrows than go ice fishing? The sun was bright, the temperature in the low 20's, there was little wind, and I was young and alive. 

Okay, I was alive. 

Bowl, stem, ivy, and flowers be gone! I was going fishing!

I rode the snowmobile several miles out onto the lake before deciding I was in the magic place. My confidence built even more after lowering the sonar and seeing fish swimming below.

It was time to put meat on the table!

Oh, I caught fish, hundreds of them. Unfortunately, most were in the two to three inch range.

As Dad used to say, "A nice winter day spent on the ice is better than any day sitting behind a desk."

There may not have been many fish to show for my efforts, but the afternoon spent sitting on the seat of my snowmobile while jigging for panfish made the trip all worth while.

I arrived home shortly before Sargie. She had a wonderful time with her sisters at the baby shower and was full of stories.

Sargie's off today. Chief the Dog is to arrive this afternoon and will be with us this coming week. I'm looking forward to his company and having a surrogate four-legged friend to share my coming days with.

Time to turn the heat on in the shop. I don't know if I told you or not, but I've got this certain bowl in mind, one with a stem that looks like a chain where I can weave ivy and flowers up to the rim. Women will want me, men will want to be me.

OR... with these warm and balmy temperatures, I might skip the shop and don my swimming trunks. You know, head out to the patio and work on my tan lines.

OR... I could go back to bed and snuggle with Sargie, close my eyes and gently doze off to sleep. It's the weekend. Why be in a hurry to turn a bowl out of a chunk of firewood or char my skin to a wintertime crisp?

If only you had my life, you'd understand.

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

So are the tales from Pentoga Road...