With the thermometer registering twenty-five below zero, spring suddenly seems a long way off.

February 7, 2021 - Sunday morning

-25 degrees/clear skies/breezy

Pentoga Road

Boy oh boy, that's enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey, eh?

Oh, quit clicking your tongue at my apparent reference to primate body parts. You think I'm that kind of guy? 

If I were, Mama'd reach down from Heaven and slap me a good one alongside the head.

Here's what "freezing the balls off a brass monkey" really means, and I quote:

"The story goes that cannonballs used to be stored aboard ship in piles, on a brass frame or tray called a 'monkey'. In very cold weather the brass would contract, spilling the cannonballs: hence very cold weather is 'cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey'."

We were in northern Minnesota visiting Grandma and Grandpa one Christmas many years ago when the weatherman made reference to "freezing the balls off a brass monkey" due to the very frigid temperatures. The good people of Backus and Pine River, Minnesota, were up in arms.

Such profanity!

The FCC was called (it was the early 60's after all when all was pure and pristine) and the station management received multiple complaints.

The poor weatherman, a kid really, almost got fired until he went to the local library, dug deep into the archives, and proved that "balls on a brass monkey" is indeed, a very legitimate, non profane term.

So there, you learned something today.

Saturday was all about snow and cold. I wanted to dig out the snowmobile while waiting for Yooper Brother Mark to arrive for our weekend morning hike.

Only one problem, I had to search for the darn thing.

It was the northern sequel of playing Where's Waldo only yesterday's game was called, Where's the Tundra?

I finally spotted the windshield and handlebars barely visible above the snow.

It wasn't unusual to lose my snowmobile while living in the arctic. Strong winds blowing light weight snow often covered my machine completely over during the twenty four hours of darkness. I finally got smart and began fastening an upright reflective rod to the carrying rack so I knew where to begin digging the next morning.

Despite the frigid temperatures and being buried for several days, the Tundra roared to life on the second pull. 

Yooper Brother Mark arrived. It was time to put the shovel away and take our walk.

The temperature was -11 with a strong head wind. Still, with the scenery beautiful and the company even better, the miles flew under our feet.

The snowmobile trail that skirts the suburbs of Pentoga Village

Back home, I fired up the snowmobile and began making my way to Jambo's camp across the road and up the hill. 

Only one problem, between the deep snow and my infinite eyesight, I drove straight into the culvert that lies in front of the garden.

Thankfully, no damage was done to the snowmobile or my physical body, but incalculable harm was inflicted on my delicate pride and ego. 

Finally freed. 

There's plenty of snow in Jambo's camp yard. One drift threatens to block the double doors of his barn. 

Try as I may, I couldn't get his four wheeler started with which to plow. I finally gave up and after a quick check of the camp, came on home.

Sargie and I took a nice afternoon drive. The skies were crystal clear, the air pure and pristine. The part of me that has come to dislike this time of year is equally balanced with that which absolutely loves the winter months.

Despite the below zero temps, it was too nice to call it a day once we arrived back home. I grabbed a shovel and waded into the garden with the intention of cleaning the snow off the greenhouse, but wasn't at all prepared for the snow to be up to my knees.

I have to hand it to the inventors of polycarbonate panels. After nine years, they still are able to withstand Mother Nature's abuse.

I wasn't the only one playing outside. I looked up at one point and saw Sargie carrying in the day's supply of wood. I've repeatedly told her I don't mind doing the job, but she insists she likes being outside for the fresh air and exercise. She later removed the heavy snow from the roof of the portable garage where our hardwood is stored.

The moral of the story: you can't keep a good Foster City woman down.

Yeah.... well, there was a method to the madness of that Foster City woman I'm married to. Though I vow time and time again that I will never be cajoled into playing another game of Rummy, she gave me a look with those big, beautiful, puppy dog eyes, grabbed a deck of cards, and in an almost pleading voice, asked if I wouldn't play "just a quick game."

Sargie let me win for most the game, but as usual, my card shark bride came on at the last minute and pummeled me furiously. I crawled away an hour and a half after the first card was dealt, a beaten and bloodied shadow of my former self.

On today's agenda is a walk first thing this morning. The sun just rose and it's absolutely beautiful.

Well, there're a couple of things that make me somewhat hesitant, a strong wind coupled with a temperature that refuses to budge above twenty below.

Where'd the pond go? 

It was there last summer!

Otherwise, it looks to be a repeat of yesterday. I should start clearing the snow off the storage shed and garage and no doubt, a some point, there'll be a beautiful blonde babe come along who will sweet talk me into playing a game of Rummy.

Let's face it, I'm a sucker for a good lookin' Foster City gal.

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

So are the tales from Pentoga Road...