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| The needle was a bit lower earlier... down to -32 |
-31 degrees/clear skies/breezy
Pentoga Road
There's not a whole lot to talk about this morning other than the cold. Unlike the arctic, where we go about our daily routines seemingly unaffected by sub zero temperatures, in the Upper Peninsula, once the thermometer strikes thirty below, life begins to change. Schools are closed, government agencies, both state and federal, are shuttered, and even a few private businesses tell their employees to stay home.
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| The flags are standing straight out at the Veteran's Memorial in Yooper Brother Mark's town of Caspian. It's a good thing the Army tank was frozen to the ground or it might have blown away. |
Without getting into the whole global warming discussion, I read a good article this morning concerning this cold that's not only affecting most of North America, but much of the world as a whole.
I don't want to debate the whole thing, so please don't try, at least with me. You've already made up your mind as have I. All I know for certain is that it's cold, darn cold. I simply am tired of reading about global warming while throwing logs in my wood stove and watching the level of my heating oil shrink on an hourly basis.
There may be global warming elsewhere, but in the UP, good, old-fashioned, no nonsense, winter is still alive and well.
Arriving home yesterday from taking Sargie to Iron Mountain, I fired up the heater in the shop. After an hour spent in the house, I thought I'd work on turning a bowl until I found the temperature in the shop had only warmed to 22 degrees. Manning the broom, I was sweeping some sawdust into a pile when sanity hit home. What the heck was I doing? I turned off the heat and came back inside.
I heard a truck and wondered if someone was having mechanical problems.
Seems the plow truck had removed our mailbox and the poor driver was trying to fix it. I told him not to worry about it, that demolished mailboxes are a way of life for anyone who lives on a rural road in the north country. I'd like to have a nickel for every mailbox that's jumped out in front of a plow truck and I've replaced over the past fifty years.
Still, the driver said he'd drop a new one off the next time he's in the neighborhood. I told him it wasn't necessary, but he insisted.
Nice guy.
I returned to Iron Mountain and picked up Sargie last night. She got off an hour early and since she doesn't have to work today, we were almost giddy driving home together. Last night saw a supper of leftover seafood casserole and catching up on programs previously recorded on the DVR.
So today, what's today going to bring? I could go out and light a fire in the wood furnace and try to accomplish something meaningful in the shop. The wind has diminished somewhat and it may have a fighting chance of warming somewhere north of 22 degrees.
No doubt Sargie will be ready to go to town at some point.
Decisions, decisions.
Maybe I'll simply pour another cup of coffee and sit by the wood stove and think deep thoughts, but you can be certain global warming won't be one of them.
After all, a man's work is never done.
So are the tales from Pentoga Road...
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