On Friday, I picked a peck of particularly peculiar pretty peppers that were later pickled.

August 18, 2018 - Saturday morning

58 degrees/haze/calm winds

Pentoga Road

The fingers are furiously flying over the keyboard this morning so I can finish before Hambone's little eyes pop open and he comes roaring down the steps. We met Macrea in town yesterday where he was working at the bank and told him we were going to meet Yooper Brother Mark and Sheri for supper. Did they want to join us? They did and Grady ended up coming home to Pentoga Road. Can't beat a well-crafted Grandma Sargie/Pawpaw plan.

Friday was hot pickled pepper day on Pentoga Road.

There was a bumper crop of a hot jalapeno variety this summer and I wasn't about to let them go to waste. I literally picked a peck of peppers to be pickled.

These little buggers are hot. Mama didn't have no dummy. I donned latex gloves before cutting and slicing them to size.

It was almost forty years ago, the first (and only) time that I handled a batch of hot peppers without gloves. My hands began to burn and I was soon miserable. I washed and scrubbed, plunged them into a bowl of ice water, and even stood in front of the refrigerator with both stuck far into the freezer compartment. Nothing I tried would relieve the red, raw, burning. I remember feeling my heart beat in the tips of my fingers while pondering how soon they'd fall off into a pile of smoldering ashes.

To make matters worse, I later had to use the bathroom and didn't realize that the oil from hot peppers sticks to one's hands and can easily be transferred to other body parts. 

Enough said about that subject.

Uh huh, as I said, Mama didn't have no dummy. 

Three and half quart jars were stuffed and processed with sliced peppers. 

Since Sargie won't touch them and only a few are needed to season a large omelet or a bowl of homemade chili, I don't believe I'll need to preserve any more. 

I can cross hot pickled peppers off this summer's things-to-do list.

Some real benefits of this season's hard work are beginning to pay dividends in the garden. I noticed one of my cantaloupes had become separated from the vine and was beginning to split. 

I guess everyone who reads this knows by now that this summer's horticultural goal was to grow just ONE juicy cantaloupe with a fresh, garden-grown, flavor. It was my wish to harvest a melon that tasted as though it was grown in the south-central Midwest, not the Upper Peninsula.

The partially split melon I discovered is a variety called Collective Farm Woman and comes from the Ukraine. 

I raised the thing to my nose and inhaled. It smelled good. No, it smelled delicious. 

Could this be the one?

Unable to contain my curiosity, I carried the melon to the house and cut it open. 

As the kids say, OMG!! It was a Honey Dew variety and ripened to perfection. I've never been able to grow a decent Honey Dew in my life.

 Sweet? Words can't describe how wonderful the flesh tasted. It's absolutely the best best Honey Dew melon I've ever tasted.

I need to drop Al Gore a line to let him know that this global warming thing has an occasional silver lining. It allowed this northern boy to grow a southern melon. I can cross that goal off my list.

As a postscript, there are several more Collective Farm Woman melons on the vines. I'm looking forward to eating and sharing them all. 

The first of this summer's tomatoes were picked yesterday.

It appears the few plants I have will give us all the tomatoes we can eat and plenty to share with family, friends, and neighbors. The small green fruit on the left is supposed to be a green variety. I'll slice it open later today for a taste test. There's something about eating a "ripe" green tomato that seems so totally wrong.

There are multiple Warty Thing winter squashes beginning to appear from under the huge vines and leaves.

We went for our usual ride yesterday and had a good time gabbing and catching up on the news with Macrea. One of the more interesting and exciting sights in Iron River was the discovery of a double double line.

Driving down the road, I was left feeling dazed and confused and pondered my place in the universe as I wondered which set of lines I was to stay to the right of?

We enjoyed a good supper last night at the Curious Pig in Crystal Falls. Everything on their menu is smoked and the helpings are huge.

I'm pretty certain the smoker lady really enjoyed having her picture taken.

We ate out on the patio and had a wonderful time. 

We later bade Mel and Macrea goodbye and returned home for a good visit with Sheri and Mark. Last night was spent watching Grady's favorite tv show, American Ninja Warrior.

Seems he's morphing from being the Flash to into American Ninja Hambone.

When he's not being a Ninja Warrior, Hambone is a Packers fan. He attended Thursday night's preseason game with Mel's family in Green Bay.

Today is kayaking day on Pentoga Road. Grady gets his own munchkin-sized boat and will be towed behind mine with Grandma Sargie following in her's. Armed with sun screen and a life vest, it'll be Hambone's maiden voyage in his own kayak. He's always ridden with me before, but now that the boy is American Ninja Hambone, it's time to spread his paddle and float.

After all, a man's work, his bride's, and of course, that of a Ninja Warrior's, is never done.

Miniature Baby Boo pumpkin vines have climbed about halfway up a fifteen foot tall sunflower. Having to reach over my head to pick pumpkins will be a first for me this fall.

So are the tales from Pentoga Road...