Sister-in-law, Debbie, on the Brule River bridge

December 10, 2020 - Thursday morning

27 degrees/clear skies/calm winds

Pentoga Road

I'm reading a few emails from yesterday's blog and it seems that my childhood Christmas Eve narrative elicited quite a few memories across the country, all the way from Alaska to the deep south, onto both coasts, and across the Atlantic.

My sister, Barb, told of her Christmas Eve/church memory. I'd forgotten it until she reminded me.

We were quite young on that particular Christmas Eve. As part of a five voice children's choir in our small church, we were singing in the processional, walking through the church to the choir loft. Barb went up a step and then another when her foot snagged the electric cord to the organ, pulling it from the wall.

All music stopped.

Ah, we Pennington kids. We definitely knew how to spice up a Christmas Eve service.

Just a footnote: Mom and our minister, our beloved Rev. Groh, used to say that when it came to the children's choir, Barb carried the group in melody while I supplied the volume. 

Yup, we were rockstars. 

Well, I had my comeuppance yesterday. I've been known to brag to Sargie, a girl who comes from a family of loggers, that being from northern Maine and then Alaska, I could drop a tree on a dime.

When Sargie's with me, I make a big deal out of licking one finger and sticking it in the air to check the wind direction, kneel and look at the trunk in an Arnold Palmer pre-putt fashion. It's a dumb thing that I do, just something to make her laugh and shake her head.

After arriving home from yesterday morning's walk, I gathered both saws and headed to the woods to cut a medium sized dead ash tree.

There was no wind and the tree was fairly symmetrical. Three sides around it were clear making for an easy drop. Having it fall on the fourth side would mean big trouble, but I wasn't worried.

After all, I'm an old wood cutter from northern Maine and Alaska.

I notched the tree and was well satisfied with my sawing progress. The tree moved, but what? It was falling sideways against all laws of physics.

Oh for cryin' out loud.

Not only did it fall in the wrong direction, it managed to entangle with an old, dead, spruce tree that was already lying on the ground. 

I sawed branches, pried, cussed, and finally, desperate to free the tree from the grasp of the giant spruce, walked to the yard to get the old Ford tractor.

The trunk was finally freed. I was using the tractor to aid in cutting when some of the tines on the bucket became wedged under a large root. Behind me was a stump.

Simply put, I was between a root and hard place.

Oh Lord, sister-in-law, Debbie, who'd stopped by for an afternoon visit, and Sargie were walking across the pasture towards me. Debbie's husband, Pat, worked for years in the woods. They'd see the silly predicament I'd gotten myself into and would no doubt tease me, diminishing my delicate self esteem.

The logging skills of Maine and Alaskan woodcutters were at stake. It was a burden I didn't shoulder lightly.

I tried lifting the bucket. Wedged, it refused to move.

Backing up? No luck.

Finally, in desperation, I tripped the bucket and relieved just enough pressure to give the tractor some wiggle room. 

The good name of northern wood cutters everywhere was saved. Having freed the tractor shortly after their arrival, I told the girls, those descendants of rough, tough, Upper Peninsula loggers, that they had brought me good luck.

In the same breath, I asked, "What's for lunch?"

I keep saying that someday, I'm going to buy a four wheel drive tractor, but that probably won't happen. Costing more than triple of what my first house cost long ago, I can't justify the cost for a convenient toy. Still, it would be nice to have one someday, maybe when I grow up.

We had a wonderful time with Debbie. Stopping at our local restaurant that specializes in smoked foods, sandwiches included, she brought lunch. Sargie and I enjoyed smoked macaroni sandwiches, pulled pork and pasta that is die for good. As Debbie describes it, "a heart attack between two slices of bread."

I disagree and look at a smoked macaroni sandwich as a well rounded food group unto its own.

Debbie had expressed interest in going for a walk. With Sargie saying she'd meet us along the way, Debbie and I took off for Pentoga Village and the Brule River bridge.

We talked and laughed as we walked and sure enough, Sargie soon joined us.

My watch bird, Jimmy, met us upon our arrival home. Though he was somewhat wary of Debbie, she soon had him eating out of her hand.

Bidding Debbie goodbye, Sargie and I carried in the firewood needed for the night. I later sneaked out to the shop and gave the lab another coat of paint.

I'll be adding some highlights to his nose and eyes, but otherwise, the pup is ready to be mounted onto the backer board.

Today's forecast to be near perfect, our last until, maybe next spring? I'm going for my walk then return to finish working up the ash tree. I'd like to get the wood split and put away before day's end. Time permitting, I'll work on the dog. After that, maybe I'll continue my never ending quest to solve perpetual motion.

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

So are the tales from Pentoga Road...

Debbie and I were entertaining Sargie, skipping down Pentoga Road while singing We're off to see the Wizard. Note the carefully choreographed steps. It's obvious that we are nothing but pure culture here on Pentoga Road.