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| That biker chick is our granddaughter, Ivy, ready to go four-wheeling with her daddy, Andy. |
45 degrees/cloudy skies/calm winds
Pentoga Road
Andy's been home in northern Maine from his job in Australia for several weeks and is sequestered with four year old, Ivy. What Daddy does, so does Ivy. Having just purchased a new ATV, it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what this father and daughter team are preparing to do this coming summer.
As an advisor working aboard a large ship in the oil industry, with the low prices, coupled with the virus, Andy doesn't believe he'll be heading back to Oz until this fall.
I began spraying the back deck as soon as I arrived home from my morning walk Friday morning. Sargie soon joined me and took over.
The deck wasn't the only thing to be cleaned. Sargie also took the opportunity to knock the remnants of an old hornets nest from high overhead.
I spent Friday ripping up the terraced strawberry bed by the barn.
I had such high hopes that it might work, but in the end, the weeds took over and I simply couldn't get between the strawberry plants to keep the bed clean. Our crop the past two years has been very poor so it's time to move onto Plan B, whatever that is.
I used much of the dirt from the top two tiers to fill in holes and low spots in the yard where boulders and rocks have been removed.
Sargie soon had the deck looking like a million dollars and my shoulders and arms were aching.
It was time for our daily drive.
Having purchased Sargie's Coke, we witnessed a flotilla of kayaks enjoying the beautiful day on our local lake. I don't mind saying, I was mildly jealous.
We stopped by to see Tim and Rose and their grown son, Sam. They were busy planting two hundred, fifty trees in their meadow.
I don't know how Rose and I got into it, but I began talking about how I smoke a mean pork loin and wasn't slow in saying I'd never tasted pork so delicious.
Rose replied that her pork loin, butterflied and stuffed with pork sausage and other goodies, was the best.
My mama didn't have no dummy. I recognize a challenge when I see one.
So Rose wanted to play that pork game, eh?
I don't want to say that Rose and I are a bit competitive, but we seem to have much the same personality.
The rivalry of words continued, ramping up to the point that we agreed there'd be a contest in the future, my smoked pork loin, injected with butter, seasoned with secret herbs and spices from the far and mystical Orient, (oh, it's important to pronounce the H in herbs... drives everyone bonkers who listens) slathered with barbecue sauce, and wrapped in two pounds of bacon, against her butterfly smoked pork loin, stuffed with sausage, and wrapped in bacon.
I told Rose she was "going down," but the girl didn't flinch. Her NOT flinching made me flinch inwardly just a bit, but I simply continued my bluster so as not to show any weakness.
Appearances are very important in these Yooper pre cook-off contests and I can already see it's going to be a gloves off, bare knuckled, duel to the culinary finish.
Meanwhile, Sargie and Tim were standing to one side laughing and listening, both licking their chops, knowing that regardless who comes out the victor, there's going to be a lot of good eating in the future.
Youth versus the steady hand of age and wisdom. Bring 'er awn, Rosie. The old professor is ready.
Back home, with high pressure washer in hand, Sargie Pants moved from the deck to the drive.
She worked for over two hours removing the dirt, gravel, sand, salt, and mud, that had dripped from the cars this past winter.
I continued ripping the old strawberry bed apart and moved the terrace frames to the garden where they will be used to make new raised beds.
Whatever we do, it promises to be a busy one.
The deck wasn't the only thing to be cleaned. Sargie also took the opportunity to knock the remnants of an old hornets nest from high overhead.
I spent Friday ripping up the terraced strawberry bed by the barn.
I had such high hopes that it might work, but in the end, the weeds took over and I simply couldn't get between the strawberry plants to keep the bed clean. Our crop the past two years has been very poor so it's time to move onto Plan B, whatever that is.
I used much of the dirt from the top two tiers to fill in holes and low spots in the yard where boulders and rocks have been removed.
Sargie soon had the deck looking like a million dollars and my shoulders and arms were aching.
It was time for our daily drive.
Having purchased Sargie's Coke, we witnessed a flotilla of kayaks enjoying the beautiful day on our local lake. I don't mind saying, I was mildly jealous.
We stopped by to see Tim and Rose and their grown son, Sam. They were busy planting two hundred, fifty trees in their meadow.
I don't know how Rose and I got into it, but I began talking about how I smoke a mean pork loin and wasn't slow in saying I'd never tasted pork so delicious.
Rose replied that her pork loin, butterflied and stuffed with pork sausage and other goodies, was the best.
My mama didn't have no dummy. I recognize a challenge when I see one.
So Rose wanted to play that pork game, eh?
I don't want to say that Rose and I are a bit competitive, but we seem to have much the same personality.
The rivalry of words continued, ramping up to the point that we agreed there'd be a contest in the future, my smoked pork loin, injected with butter, seasoned with secret herbs and spices from the far and mystical Orient, (oh, it's important to pronounce the H in herbs... drives everyone bonkers who listens) slathered with barbecue sauce, and wrapped in two pounds of bacon, against her butterfly smoked pork loin, stuffed with sausage, and wrapped in bacon.
I told Rose she was "going down," but the girl didn't flinch. Her NOT flinching made me flinch inwardly just a bit, but I simply continued my bluster so as not to show any weakness.
Appearances are very important in these Yooper pre cook-off contests and I can already see it's going to be a gloves off, bare knuckled, duel to the culinary finish.
Meanwhile, Sargie and Tim were standing to one side laughing and listening, both licking their chops, knowing that regardless who comes out the victor, there's going to be a lot of good eating in the future.
Youth versus the steady hand of age and wisdom. Bring 'er awn, Rosie. The old professor is ready.
Back home, with high pressure washer in hand, Sargie Pants moved from the deck to the drive.
She worked for over two hours removing the dirt, gravel, sand, salt, and mud, that had dripped from the cars this past winter.
I continued ripping the old strawberry bed apart and moved the terrace frames to the garden where they will be used to make new raised beds.
I'm going to leave the bottom tier in place and cover it with heavy landscape cloth and a layer of wood chips from Yooper Brother Mark's plant. The weeds, seeds, and roots, all need to be choked out and suffocated before the soil can be used for anything of any significance. Slits will be made in the landscape cloth for flowers to be planted this summer.
I opened the mailbox last evening and was delighted to see a bag of freshly made chocolate chip cookies along with a note from my good friend, Sparky, the jumping, diving, swimming, flying, golden lab. The following says it all:
We knew Sparky was a babe and an athlete extraordinaire, but had no idea the pup was such a great pastry chef. Sargie and I, both, agreed that the cookies were some of the best we'd ever enjoyed.
Thank you, Sparky. What a talented pup you are!
Today's to be our last warm one for over a week. I see there are a couple of days where the temperatures are forecast to reach only forty degrees. Spring's having a hard time sticking around this year.
I'm going to go for my walk this morning then continue work on the old strawberry bed. Now that the deck is washed and ready, it's time to take the patio furniture out of the storage container for another season of use.
Whatever we do, it promises to be a busy one.
After all, a man's work, and that of his bride, is never done.
So are the tales from Pentoga Road...
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| Today's random Alaska picture: Crescent Harbor in Sitka, Alaska I moored my beloved Nimble Nomad boat here on which I occasionally lived during my years in SE Alaska. It was tough waking up to one of the most beautiful views in the world every morning. |
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