Grandma Sargie is watching Hambone swim on Wednesday afternoon

July 30, 2020 - Thursday morning

46 degrees/clear skies/calm winds

Pentoga Road

With summer beginning to wane, much cooler nights are becoming the norm in the UP. Also noticeable are the shorter days. We're at the threshold of my favorite time of the year, though Sargie will tell you different.

One or two of the area trees are already showing a hint of red and orange.

Sargie's a spring-going-into-summer type of gal. I  love late summer and fall. As usual, we're complete opposites. I guess that's why God made sure we found each other. The pieces of our individual puzzles fit exactly into place with each other.

Perfect. 

Arriving home from my early morning walk on Wednesday, I literally opened a hornets nest, a good sized one at that.

While removing the tarp that was covering the wood splitter, I heard a buzzing that sounded more like the low roar of a jet engine just before take off.

The first hornet hit me. Then a second. It only took two stings before realizing the end result wasn't going to be pretty. 

There's one positive thing that I discovered while being assaulted. These old skinny legs of mine can still run a hundred yard dash under ten seconds. 

So that's the way they wanted to play, eh? Armed with a can of wasp/hornet spray, a garden sprayer of ammonia, and a garden rake with which to remove the nest, I looked the beast square in the eyes and waded in.

It was touch and go for several minutes. They'd swing and I'd duck, feint to the left or right, then go in for yet another spray. The ammonia mist in the air kept them at bay and seemed to confuse their flying front line storm troopers. 



Almost half an hour passed before I could claim victory over the angry hoard. Wednesday was V Day. Pentoga Road was once again ours.

While the stray, surviving, hornets were busy finding somewhere else to live, I made my way to the garden house and applied another coat of tung oil to the Dutch doors. I'd earlier added triangles for support under the shelf and a stop (a thin narrow board) to prohibit the top door from swinging too far out and ruining the hinges. Though made from pine, once covered with tung oil, they matched perfectly with the cedar.

It was breakfast time. After filling our bellies with cereal, eggs, and ham, Hambone, Grandma Sargie, and I, began working up the trailer filled with wood. 

Dressed in one of my old t shirts and wearing a pair of my work gloves complete with my Packers hat perched on top of his head, Mini Me got busy either pitching wood into the shed or being "button boy" when helping to operate the wood splitter.

Also wearing one of my old t shirts, Grandma Sargie was a tornado of activity, pitching and carrying wood from the trailer.

Look at the muscles on that gal. No wonder I tread lightly around Sargie. 

Should anyone think that my bride or I never change shirts from one day to the next, the majority of my summertime work shirts are gray. Often stained with paint or oil, all begin the day clean, but have a similar well-used look about them.

Busy elsewhere, upon my return, I found that Sargie and Hambone had commandeered the splitter. Who needed me? They worked together like a well oil machine.

The trailer finally emptied, we made a leisurely drive to town to leave it at Yooper Brother Mark's plant for what could be the last load of fire wood of the season.

Poor Grady. He wants a hummingbird to land on him so badly. The boy stood outside holding the feeder for several minutes while trying to make friends with one or more.

Several buzzed around, but none actually landed.

Sargie made a last minute mention that it would be nice to take a couple of bowls made in the shop to Nikki's wedding shower on Saturday as gifts in a drawing for those attending. 

Sargie's nephew and godson, Taylor, and his fiance', Nikki, will be getting married next month. The shower will be held at Nancy and Ron's, high atop Milligan Mountain.

The last minute request for bowls meant that I needed to get to the shop and fast.

The first birch blank blew apart in the lathe.

Back to the drawing board.

There's been an aged piece of spalted maple in the shop for over a year, almost two. How about making a goblet?

The limb was rough at first, but gradually began to take shape.



The goblet was roughed out by late afternoon. 



I heard my name being called. 

Ah, yes. 

Though he and Grandma Sargie had been at the pond for much of the afternoon, Hambone hadn't forgotten my hastily made promise to go swimming with him.

With a butterfly net in hand, Hambone was determined to catch a goldfish... or at least Frank the Frog. He never caught either but had fun trying.

So he wanted Pawpaw, eh?

Watch out what you wish for. He got him!

Hambone played Granado (his version of a tornado) and sucked me into his vortex as he spun round and round.

We also played Pawpaw the Shark. Realistic in every way, you can see my fin sticking above the water just prior to the attack on poor, innocent, unsuspecting, Grady.

Needless to say, three tired people fell into their beds last night and all slept very well.

I think Grandma Sargie's going to mow today. I'll be in the shop at least part of the day working on the goblet or bowls. 

Hambone? No doubt he'll be pounding nails, working on his squirrel trap or traipsing around the yard in search of the excitement that only a six year old boy can find. We'll be meeting Mel and Macrea later this afternoon for the Hambone exchange. 

Time to go for my morning stroll. I think it'll be a nine mile day.

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

So are the tales from Pentoga Road...

Covering the trellis and overhead pergola, the tiny stick Jambo gave me as a grape vine two years ago has gone forth and become fruitful (no pun intended.)