May 4, 2020 - Monday morning

34 degrees/breezy/cloudy

Pentoga Road

With God putting spring on hold for a few days, Sunday was chilly and fairly miserable. The wind howled all day and made it seem much colder than it really was.

I exchanged my springtime outer clothing for that of winter wear and headed out the door. 

Someone asked if that's all we do around here is work. Don't be silly. Of course not. We don't work any harder than most retired people. 

I just write and take pictures about what we do. 

Some people enjoy sleeping (as do I) or like to read or watch tv or employ some other more sedentary lifestyle. I enjoy all the above, but being busy, either physically or mentally, is what really makes me happy, especially with a project in mind. I wake up in the morning excited about the coming day and am usually eager to hit the floor running.

My projects don't have to be physical. Obviously, I enjoy writing, photography, and conducting some sort of informal research, but then I like to roll up my sleeves and get dirty too.

That's just the way God made me.

Mom and Dad used to tell stories of when I was preschool age and wake at four in the morning, singing and talking. Having no one with which to share my deep conversations or song, I'd crawl from my bed and make my way into their's, wedging myself between the two, still talking and singing. I wasn't happy until one or the other was fully engaged.

Initially, I tried singing to Barb in the predawn hours, but she'd quickly grow frustrated and often cried as I wouldn't let her sleep. All I wanted to do was have some social bonding time with my big sister.

Mom finally grew wise and surrounded my bed with toys and books each night in hopes that I'd entertain myself the next morning until a more palatable hour arrived.

It worked for the most part.

I occasionally became so excited about a certain book that I'd carry it to their bedroom, crawl into bed between them, and read it out loud, not happy until they saw each and every picture.

Made perfect sense to me.

I still wake in the early morning hours, usually sometime between four and five. I've learned that Sargie doesn't appreciate predawn warbling in her ear and all my attempts to engage her in a deep conversation have gone for naught. She doesn't seem to ever be interested in whatever book I happen to be reading. It's best to simply say my morning pillow prayers, SILENTLY,  kiss her on the forehead, and dress, before tip toeing from the bedroom. 

Oh. Just so you don't think I'm a twenty-four hour a day dynamo, I peak around 10 AM. After that, it's all downhill. If it weren't for Sargie, 8:30 to 9 would be my bedtime. Now, I pretend that 10 PM is, but that's usually preceded by an hour nap in my recliner before bedtime.

Yeah, I know. I'm a nighttime party animal gone wild. 

Anyway, the answer is no. We don't work all the time.

Speaking of early morning, Mark texted earlier this morning saying there was snow on the ground in town. Thankfully, it missed us. Carl the Weatherman is calling for nighttime temperatures in the low twenties before week's end and I'm told there's a chance of snow. 

I skipped Sunday morning's usual walk and headed straight to the old strawberry bed. The top two tiers had already been removed, so the first thing was to till and level the dirt in the bottom terrace.

I hate not using the beautiful top soil, but it's so full of roots and weed seeds that my only option is use this coming summer to choke and bake them into oblivion. 

The bed was covered with black landscape cloth and stapled all the way around.

I began pouring wood chips when it dawned on me that left as it was, there'd be wood chips over the entire back yard by summer's end. It needed a border of some kind.

In the end, I ripped some one inch junk lumber into inch and a half tall strips, then nailed them from the top onto the edge of the terrace. 

Problem solved!

I'm not certain what we'll plant in that space this summer. No doubt there'll be no shortage of potted plants, plus I'll probably poke holes through some of the mulch and grow flowers or even vegetables. We'll see.

I was almost frozen to death by the time I finished. With the heater blowing full blast in the car, Sargie and I set out for our daily ride and opted to visit several lakes west of town.

One was Brule Lake, the headwaters of the Brule River that flows by Pentoga Village.



I've been tempted to kayak the entire river, but have been told the overgrowth on the banks reaches across the narrow river in the first few miles and it can be a miserable experience. 

I've had the thrill of trudging down the headwaters of an ankle deep river through pucker brush in Alaska. I don't care to repeat it now.



Meanwhile, back home:

I've noticed that the pavers on our front stoop have settled. Seems that water dripping from the house has caused some of the sand they sit on to wash away from underneath. 

I mixed an old bag of concrete with the sand, then wet it all down before replacing the pavers. Hopefully, it will keep anything underneath from washing away.



Sargie wasn't exactly idle during the afternoon hours. Continuing her quest to spring clean the house from top to bottom, she tackled yet another kitchen cabinet.

Since her retirement, I think Sargie's main goal in life is to fatten me up. She took some frozen turkey from the freezer and made the most delicious meal using mashed potatoes, corn, gravy,  and turkey and covered it all with a biscuit topping.



It was a fantastic combination of a turkey meat pie and Thanksgiving dinner, all rolled into one. 



Needless to say, after a late afternoon walk and a hot shower, followed by an evening of sitting under a blanket by the warm wood stove, Tubby Tommy had no problem falling asleep last night. 

I see my lathe is sitting at a freight depot in Iron Mountain and surely, it will be delivered today. Meanwhile, I'm going for my usual morning walk to Pentoga and depending on the wind and temperature, we may yet get the patio furniture out of the storage container. I need to dig a hole to bury the ashes from the burning barrel and of course, assuming it gets here, I'll be assembling my new lathe.

Evidence of this past winter.
There's a free flowing artesian well under this mound of ice.

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

So are the tales from Pentoga Road...

Today's random Alaska picture:
This cutie pie Inupiaq Eskimo toddler, her mommy, and I were the only ones sitting in a small heated shed alongside a remote landing strip hoping to hook a ride on an incoming bush plane.