Sargie's enjoying her Mother's Day supper

May 12, 2019 - Sunday evening

50 degrees/clear skies/calm winds

Pentoga Road

Sargie opens the Vision Center bright and early Monday morning and since I'll be riding back with her, I thought I'd write this evening.

Sunday was another busy day on Pentoga Road. After seeing my bride off to work, I headed to the garden to begin dismantling the waterfalls. 

Just one problem. The backhoe had a flat tire.

The stem was broken, almost torn off. I think that sitting in several feet of snow this past winter made it brittle and probably cracked when I added air to the tire a couple of days ago. 

I made a trip to town to purchase a new stem. The fix wasn't difficult, but did require some outside the box thinking.

Since I don't own a tire changing machine, I used the tractor and one car to break the bead around the rim.

It worked. Within minutes, I had the new stem pulled through the rim, the tire mounted and aired. I was back in business.

Removing the waterfalls was a delicate operation. With the back resting near the greenhouse, one bump from the bucket would see a hole punched through the wall. Thankfully, everything went smoothly and the greenhouse remains intact.

The edging was pulled from along the gravel and the box that held the waterfalls disassembled. The next step will be to empty and move the greenhouse.



I originally thought the big greenhouse move might happen this evening, but with the flat tire earlier, time was short. I'd planned on driving to Iron Mountain and taking Sargie out to eat to celebrate Mother's Day.

The shell of the old pond was filled with water and the goldfish transferred from the fifty gallon tote.

This will be their home for the next month to six weeks, maybe a bit shorter, possibly a little longer.

I was greasing the backhoe when I felt a slight weight on one shoulder. Looking around, I found my little winged buddy, Jimmy, had flown in for a quick visit.

I reached around and he hopped onto my hand. Our comfortable relationship goes back almost ten years. We talked for a few minutes and he even let me rub my cheek on his head. 

Having had a long human to bird conversation, Jimmy cocked his head to one side, gave one last chirp, and flew off into the woods. If this year is like those of the past, I won't see him again until late next fall.

The Inupiaq Eskimoes, as well as the Indians of SE Alaska, believe love ones who have gone before come back to speak to them in the form of a raven. If you look at their art work and/or totem poles, the over-sized crow is predominantly featured.

I've wondered more than once if a loved one from my past, Dad, the grandparents, Uncle George, whom I was close to, someone, flies in every now and then just to say hi.

Or maybe it's just a friendly chickadee.

I met Sargie at closing time and we went to the local ski hill for a great supper. We both had half pound burgers. Mine was the house special. It contained a half pound burger, the same amount of barbecued pulled pork, deep fried onion rings, and a fried egg, all topped off with lettuce and tomato on a chipotle bun.

I'm fairly certain every food group was included in tonight's meal. I haven't even mentioned the deep fried potato chips Sargie and I enjoyed as an appetizer or the to-die-for French fries.

I'll ride over with Sargie in the morning, run an errand or two, then drive to the ski hill to climb the steps two or three times. I hope to empty the greenhouse tomorrow, disassemble one of the strawberry pyramids by the barn, fix a flat tire on the boat trailer, charge the trolling motor battery, and transplant two bushes. It's time to pull the boat and trailer from out back, break out the fishing equipment, change the line on the reels, and go over the tackle.

Sargie's off Wednesday and weather permitting, we're planning on our first fishing outing of the season. It's something my fishing partner and I don't take lightly. We're certain there are giant bluegills and crappies out there just waiting for us.

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

So are the tales from Pentoga Road...

The snow's about gone from the ski hill