Sheri's mixing/pounding cabbage for sauerkraut

October 20, 2019 - Sunday morning

40 degrees/clear skies/calm winds

Pentoga Road

Yooper Brother Mark and Sheri are about the last two people I know who still make sauerkraut the old fashioned way. Cutting heads of cabbage, mixing, aging, canning... they do the whole process every fall.

I have mixed feelings concerning sauerkraut, a certain PTSD type of thing. 

You see, sauerkraut caused Grandma Pennington's knuckle and my delicate head to collide well over sixty years ago. 

Grandma had several huge crocks of fermenting cabbage sitting in the shade on the porch steps. At four or five years of age and loving raw kraut, I'd lift the lid, grab a pinch of smelly cabbage, and stuff it in my mouth each time I walked by.

Grandma really didn't care that I was eating her stash, but eventually, told me I'd had enough for the day. No more snacking on the kraut.

Well,  everyone knows that little boys, fresh kraut, and telling a good old fashioned fib, all go together. As my son, Luke, says, "It's science."

Unable to resist the temptation for just one more mouthful, I stuffed my face full as soon as Grandma walked away.

Grandma wasn't no dummy. She turned and bending down, asked, "Tommy, did you take more kraut?"

Like any little all American boy, I lied. "No," I replied as aged cabbage juice ran down my chin.

Grandma's huge, Czech knuckle landed on my head with a fury. 

"OUCH," I yelled, as half chewed cabbage spewed from my mouth.

"I don't like that you took more kraut when I asked you not to, but DON'T YOU EVER LIE TO ME AGAIN," said Grandma.

Lesson learned. I never did, leastways about stealing her sauerkraut.

Saturday was a quasi lazy affair on Pentoga Road. Rather than enjoy my early morning stroll, I slogged the distance feeling like my feet were mired in ankle deep mud.

I just didn't have the pep that usually accompanies me on my early morning walks.

Back home, I sized up the roof over the outdoor wood furnace, the one that heats the shop during the winter months. 

Whoever designed that structure wasn't very bright. 

MELTED ICE + MELTED SNOW = WATER

Everyone knows water flows downhill.



Growing tired of water running down my neck every time I loaded wood into the stove last winter, I decided something had to be done.

I thought, I figured, I ciphered. I even had my Vice President in charge of Designing Operations come out and give her opinion. In the end, I scabbed on a simple, more conventional, roof.



Hopefully, with lots of caulking, it won't leak underneath and continue to flow downhill. Only time will tell.

With rain threatening, Sargie and I took our usual ride and ended up at a antique/consignment store in Iron River. We spent over an hour looking at three floors of museum like goodies.

I don't know what happened, but I had some sort of allergic reaction while in the store. My nose began to drip and my eyes itch. Though I took a couple of allergy pills, the symptoms only got worse and continued after we arrived home.

I took a shower, put on my night time clothes, and fell sound asleep sometime between five and six. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't keep my eyes open. Sargie woke me at bedtime when I stumbled up the stairs to bed and promptly fell asleep again. I slumbered the night through until six this morning.

I'm not sure what happened, but it appears sleep was the answer for whatever was ailing me. I'm feeling fine this morning and ready for another day of hard core action... like watching the Packers game at noon.

Until then, I think I'll go for my morning stroll then work outside until game time.

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

So are the tales from Pentoga Road...