May 31, 2018 - Thursday
64 degrees/cloudy/calm winds
Pentoga Road

I'm happy as can be this morning that another inch and half of rain has fallen over the last twenty-four hours. That makes almost three inches in the past ten days to two weeks. Perfect.

With the hot weather we've been experiencing, along with the rainfall, the garden is growing exceptionally well except for one crop, the potatoes. I had very poor sprouting from the seed potatoes I planted several weeks ago.

I can't figure out what I did wrong. I left at least two eyes in each piece and let the cuts crust over after slicing each whole potato. It was a frustrated gardener who dug into the rows yesterday morning and found many of the pieces had rotted.

Sargie, a nurturing soul, said she thinks the seed potatoes were bad. Bless her heart. It was the equivalent to kissing a boo boo and slapping a bandaid over the top to make everything feel better.

I now know how the Irish felt during the great potato famine of the mid 1800's as I had the urge to migrate, maybe to New York City, and become a cop. Sargie could take in laundry and ironing and somehow, we'd eek out an existence. 

Suddenly, I heard Great Grandpa Campbell (a true descendant of the old country) saying, "Don't move, you idiot. Simply replant. It's cheaper."

Ah, Great Grandpa was a school teacher and one of the original deep thinkers.

It was then I had a vision of sorts, an epiphany if you will. Sargie's been after me to clean out the tub in the basement that was used to store last year's spuds. We ate them until just a month ago. There were still some left. Seed potatoes? I think so.

All had sent out sprouts that were several inches long so I knew they were viable. With Irish blood running through my veins and married to a girl who's last name is Milligan, I invoked the spirit of those who had suffered before. The leftover's of last year's harvest were planted, much as in the days of yore.



The spuds were planted deeper than usual with plenty of sprout left above ground. I probably should have trimmed them, but at least I feel as though they are already growing. We'll see. Worse case scenario, we'll have to move to New York City.

It was a cloudy day, but calm with rain forecast for later. Just as I'd felt Great Grandpa Campbell's spirit calling to me earlier, I heard Dad yelling in my ear. 

"Go fishing, Charlie (Dad's nickname for me.) The conditions are perfect."

Dad was a wise man. Who was I to argue?

Fishing was good. No, it was great. 

I know Yooper Mark's daughter and my former student, Sarah, loves to see my fish pictures, so with her in mind, I took a few.

I used light spinning tackle to begin with, then changed over to a fly rod. It made no difference. Each cast produced a nice-sized bluegill.



On a serious note, I'm so grateful for my restored sight. I've caught more fish in the past three weeks than I did in the past three years total. A year ago now, I was ready to quit fishing altogether. It's just no fun casting into a void of fuzziness and running into people's docks. 

Thank you to the scientist and doctor who stepped forward to help. Most of all, thank you God.

Back on the lake, I quit after catching fifteen fish, more than enough for a future fish fry for Sargie and me.

A notice came across my phone saying rain was to begin in fifteen minutes. The timing was perfect as the first drop fell immediately after the boat was loaded.

Hmm, how to clean fish in a pouring rain? I moved the cleaning table (that is kept under the apple tree in the garden) to the door of the greenhouse where I could remain dry while still cleaning them outside.

Great Grandpa Campbell didn't have no dummy for a grandson. The only part of me that got wet were my forearms that were sticking out the door.



Yooper Brother Mark had called earlier saying my trailer was filled with firewood. I hooked onto his empty trailer and dropped it off at his house, ran a few errands in town, then stopped by the plant for a visit and to hook onto my trailer. Working up wood appears to be in my near future.

I think another three, possibly four loads, will be enough with plenty left over should next winter go longer than expected. 



The rest of the day... well, it was mid afternoon and raining. I made the mistake of eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich then reclining after. 

It must have been the P&J as my eyelids became heavy shortly after eating and I was soon sound asleep.

I didn't move far from the living room for the rest of the day. I promised my brother in law that I would make him a sign and spent a couple of hours looking at various fonts online. Then there was the Outdoor Channel to watch and before I knew it, the day had slipped away.

It was past nine last night before Sargie pulled in the drive and picked me up so we could get her car from the mechanic's in town. She now has a fully functioning, anatomically correct, horn. Better not get in her way or she's liable to blast you to smithereens. 

My girl closes again tonight, two long working days in a row. 

I'm going to resume my walking schedule this morning. I've been so busy this past month that my physical well being has been put on the back burner. Unfortunately, my burgeoning belly hasn't. It's time to get out there and pick 'em up and put 'em down.

I just heard from Great Grandpa Campbell again. I'm pretty sure he said, "Don't sweat the potato crop. If these don't grow, just go buy some at the store. It'll be cheaper."

Yup, he truly was one of the original deep thinkers.

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

So are the tales from Pentoga Road...

Swallow Tail Butterflies