Even in a dying tree there's beauty

June 6, 2019 - Thursday

51 degrees/cloudy/calm winds

Pentoga Road

I've been trimming away dying branches and side shoots of that old birch tree for years. All that was left was a side trunk and now it appears it too has withered. Fungi has quickly taken over.

Wednesday was another giddy up, ride 'em cowboy, day. I began with what has become a morning ritual, maintenance on the machinery.

Grease, gas, and check the oil. Tighten this, that, and the other. Blow the air filter clean, do some more tightening.

It's a process that gets old, but then so is all my equipment. Purchased eight years ago, the backhoe has hundreds, maybe thousands of hours, of use. The tractor is 67 years old. Even the little blue Yamaha four wheeler that serves as my pickup truck was manufactured almost twenty five years ago.

Truth be known, I like old stuff. Compared to the modern day machines, all are pretty ugly, but they are mine and for the most part, do what I ask of them. 

What's a little grease, gas, and oil, among friends?



Wednesday involved undoing some of what had previously been dug. After much thought, I decided to make a lower trellis, one that was over six feet deep. To do that, some dirt that was previously dug had to be replaced so I could get the backhoe close enough to the hole to reach far enough down.

Whoa, it's a long ways down there!

 Though it took half the day, I'm glad I took the time to do it right. For Aunt Joanne's sake, who says that she can't see nor does she know what a trellis does, they keep the walls of the pond from falling in. 

The bottom of the pond, trellises and all, will be smoothed, rocks removed, then covered with an under layer. On top of that will be a thick and very heavy rubber mat (the liner), then landscaping cloth placed over everything. The trellises cause the bottom to step down in two to three foot intervals. 

I noticed something interesting while digging yesterday. White butterflies were resting in an exact line along one wall. Stepping off the backhoe and climbing down into the hole, I found there was barely a trickle of water and the butterflies were having a drink.

I panicked at the thought that I had hit water, but later found it was coming from a very small underground puddle. Clay holds water and the puddle was a remnant from this past spring's snowmelt.

Reminding myself once again that the pond project is a process, I quit digging for the day early in the afternoon. It's that time of year again to begin getting firewood from the plant in town for next winter's heat. 

Yooper Brother Mark and I had a good conversation. He and Isabella are coming out Saturday where, with Hambone, the four of us will be going kayaking in the afternoon and camping out in the backyard that night.

The munchkins are excited and no doubt, there'll be more than one marshmallow roasted over the fire Saturday evening. I hear that Grandma Sargie even has all the ingredients for s'mores.

Back home, I decided to mow the back trails, conveniently NOT part of the queendom. Talk about a jungle!

The back meadow still can't be mowed as much of it remains underwater. The hole where I've gotten fill in the past is completely full. 

There's been a large hollow in the back yard where the well is. The frost heaves of this past spring made it worse, so much so, that mowing in that area has been difficult.

Sargie has been after me to fill in the hollow. As Queen of her queendom while perched high atop the riding mower, I heeded her requests and moved black dirt from one of the defunct raised beds in the garden to the backyard.

When Sargie first bought me this heavy duty dump wagon, I inwardly scoffed. After all, REAL men use a wheel barrow.

Over the past couple of years, I've found the wagon holds as much dirt as I'm able to lift in the wheel barrow and its much easier to pull than lift.

Pull? Who needs to pull? I hooked the wagon to the four wheeler and towed all six loads uphill to the dumping place. Worked like a charm.

A new crop of asparagus had poked above the ground. I cut the stalks and took those to the neighbor. A diabetic, she delighted in telling me how she makes milk soup with the asparagus and how delicious it is.

As much as I've cursed all of this spring's rain, the garden is dry. I watered last evening in hopes of kick starting the seed that was planted a couple of days ago.

A shower taken and frozen pizza consumed, I played with one of my GPS's last night while waiting for Sargie to arrive home from work. All the coordinates were entered for next week's hike on Picture Rocks Trail. Macrea and I will be departing early Monday morning for our four day wandering along the shores of Lake Superior.



It was late before Sargie arrived home and we had little time together. She's off today so no doubt, we'll have the opportunity to catch up, especially if we are sitting together in the yacht while fishing.

Meanwhile, she has a morning dentist's appointment and I'm going to begin the morning maintenance before resuming digging and hauling dirt.

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

So are the tales from Pentoga Road...

Another of our apple trees in full bloom