Here I am with four-week-old, great niece, Aria.

July 7, 2019 - Sunday morning

42 degrees/clear skies/calm winds

Pentoga Road

Arg, I just realized while downloading yesterday's pictures that I didn't get one of Macrea at his surprise 30th birthday party last night. Boy, am I slipping. 

Oh well, just go back in the blog a few weeks to our hike and look at those pictures. He still looks the same, only without the backpack. 

Saturday was a pick 'em up/throw 'em down day. I arrived at Yooper Brother Mark's plant before 7:30 to begin loading the trailer with wood.

The wood is end pieces, popple, that I just can't pass up. It doesn't have to be cut and a lot doesn't need splitting. The soft wood is all I've burned for the past nine years and has kept our home very comfortable throughout the winter months. 

High atop Mount Stauber

I'm going to burn a mixture of hardwood, maple, along with the softer popple this year. The hardwood burns much longer, keeping the house warmer, while I substitute teach and Sargie's working this coming winter.  When Sargie or I are home during the day, we can feed popple into the stove at regular intervals.

Mark not only runs a wood product's plant, he has quite the wildlife refuge.

Stay with me on this one.

I have to go back many years, forty or more, but if my memory serves me correctly, it seems the old Sesame Street song might be appropriate here. Maestro, please:

One of these things is not like the others,
One of these things doesn't belong,
Can you tell which thing is not like the others
By the time I finish my song?

If you guessed the mama deer, you would be correct and passed your daily Sesame Street quiz.

It's not uncommon to see deer, sometimes herds of them, wandering the streets in any of our local communities. It's just the way we roll in the UP.

I arrived home to a patch of beautiful, luscious, red, strawberries.

They are in their prime and require picking at least every other day. Due to the lack of rain and excessive heat, we don't have as many as we should, but for Sargie and me and a couple of neighbors who are widows, there're plenty. I'm not planning on freezing any or making jam this year. 

We enjoy grabbing an occasional handful and snacking on them, much like one would candy.

It was time to resume work on the pond.

I was moving dirt when the tractor began overheating. Arg, the fan belt broke. The local auto parts store ordered one and it can be picked up early tomorrow morning. Looks as though I'll be wearing my mechanic's hat to start the week. 

Thankfully, most of the dirt was moved and I could work on the terraces. Those on the far side where the ramp had been were roughly shaped.



Now it's a matter of mostly hand work, pick and shovel time. A few feet seem to go easy, then I hit a boulder that requires prying with an old car axle, then a whole lot of digging accompanied by no small amount of the two S's, sweating and swearing. 

Upon seeing my little hammer/hand pick that I've been using, Jambo felt sorry for me and offered his man pick. What he didn't offer was his services to come swing the thing. Some friend he is.



See if I let him go trolling for goldfish once the pond's complete!

Jambo has some beautiful wild bushes decorated with clumps of brilliant red berries at the edge of his yard.

Sargie and I made our way to Iron Mountain last night for Macrea's surprise party. It was well attended by the Milligans, other family, coworkers, friends, Romans, countrymen... lend me your ears. (Sorry. It was there for free.)

Look! Up in the sky! It's a bird, it's a plane, it's...

Okay, Superman didn't exactly make an appearance, but the party was well attended by young and old alike.

We found a table out of the way and enjoyed some fine conversation along with a great meal.

Sargie is serious about eating the cupcake in front of her.

The old people began departing around sundown, leaving the partying for the youngster generation. 

Back to the present: I'm going to head outside and begin unloading the trailer of wood while it's still cool. After, it will be back to the pond using the pick and shovel. 

Every time I swing that man pick, I start singing the old Sam Cooke song:

All day long their singin'
That's the sound of the men working on the chain gang... oh don't 'cha know....

I wonder if Jambo could come over and sing backup harmony?

Well, heck, it's not even 7 AM. I guess I could relax for a while longer and enjoy another cup of coffee, maybe read the news, you know, think a few deep thoughts before beginning the day's labors.

Yeah, that's it.

After all, a man's work is ever done.

So are the tales from Pentoga Road...

Brother-in-law, Ross