Springtime in the Upper Peninsula

April 7, 2021 - Wednesday morning

47 degrees/cloudy/calm winds

Pentoga Road

Whew, the storms and accompanying rain blew through here last night like Sherman marching through Georgia. I was awakened at one point by pounding rain that was so loud I couldn't hear myself dream. 

In the end, only half an inch was registered in the gauge, but as dry as this spring has been, we'll gladly take it. It appears that after today, it'll be nonstop precipitation into next week.

The temperatures have been unreal. (Thanks, Al!) The last time I can remember highs in the upper 60's and 70's this early was in 2012. Sargie and I cleared snow from the back deck early that spring wearing shorts and winter boots. Two weeks later, the area was pummeled with several feet of springtime snow. Hopefully, that won't happen this year.

Yesterday's walk was beautiful. Following a night of light rain, it smelled like the north woods, aromas filled with the scent of pine and spruce trees. 

Even the worms came out to celebrate. I performed a light footed Patrick Swayze'esq dance across our drive to keep from smashing too many. All that was missing was Sargie, in this case, Baby, to complete the dance.

Unfortunately, it was barely daylight and everyone who's anyone knows that no one puts Baby in the drive at that time of the day.

Baby, I mean Sargie, and I had previously picked up a couple of cantaloup and decided yesterday morning was the perfect time to begin enjoying them.

I'd like to tell you I grew the melons in the garden, but that would be a lie. As a young boy, I was told that those who lie go to the naughty place so I'm forced to be truthful. 

Oh, the melons? They weren't too bad considering each was probably picked green and left to ripen during shipping or on a super market shelf.

The UPS man delivered the ignition coil and electronic components for the backhoe late Tuesday morning. I donned my nonexistent mechanic's demeanor and set to work.

You've heard of shade tree mechanics? With the backhoe parked under a large spruce, that's exactly what I was doing.

In fact, I became so tired of a spruce bough brushing across my face every time I stood that I eventually walked to the barn, grabbed a pruning saw, and cut the limb off.

The electronic components were finally installed. It was time to start the beast and take it to the barn for its annual springtime maintenance.

Pull.... nothing.

Multiple pulls.... multiple nothings.

After twenty minutes of tries and growing tired of Mom repeatedly reaching down and slapping the puddin' out of me for my muttering, I gave up. I walked to the house and tried calling Scotty, my good friend and trail boss, and when he's not supervising my upcoming AT hike, a master mechanic. Living in the Atlanta area, Scott knows everything there is to know about engines. 

Put it this way. If Scotty doesn't know it, it has yet to be invented.

His phone rang repeatedly. No answer. What? You mean to tell me the boy has better things to do other than sit around and wait for a phone call from me? 

I left a message and stomped back out to the backhoe to pick up my tools and call it a day.

Just one last pull. Who knows?

I said a prayer to Baby Jesus, more for patience and that I not pull my arm out of its socket than to ask for the engine to run. I pulled and...

The thing roared to life. 

I hurriedly hopped on the backhoe and began to crawl up to its eventual place alongside the barn.

Scott is good. I mean he's really good. All I had to do was place an unanswered call to the boy and the engine responded. 

With the backhoe parked, I came inside and performed a little dance of joy for Sargie. Busy doing her own thing, she looked up, smiled, acknowledged that I was a happy boy, and went back to work. 

I went back outside and decided to start the backhoe again, move it just a few more feet closer to the barn.

Pull.... nothing.

Many more pulls... many more nothings.

Scott called last evening and made several suggestions to try today, both simple. I rather imagine that I've overthought the solution, something I often do in every day life.

As I learned many years ago in my favorite 12 step program, I need to employ the KISS principal.

Keep It Simple, Stupid.

You've heard me say repeatedly that Mama didn't have no very bright boy.

I brought the top half of the garden windmill to the barn. A winter wind storm had pretty well destroyed the entire thing.

We'd probably be better off buying a new windmill, but no one ever accused me of backing away from a challenge. With welder in hand, I began reattaching those blades that had been torn away from the frame.

I really enjoy welding. Unfortunately, I can burn a hole in a Sherman tank. That being said, so far/so good. 

My welds are ugly, but time spent with a grinder followed by a good coat of primer and outdoor paint should hide any imperfections. Hopefully, the windmill will live to turn again.

Sargie and I, both, had had a long day. It was evening before we could enjoy some time in the garden and around the pond. Sargie even put out her pet turtle, Timmy, for the year.

She was also excited to see the first frog of the season jump from the rocks into the water. For sure, spring is upon us.

Supposedly, the rain is finished for the day. I'm going to continue working on the backhoe and at some point, finish welding the windmill and try to piece it back together. I know Sargie has a stop or two she wants to make in town and no doubt, we'll check the ice-out conditions on a couple of area lakes our way home. 

I can tell that the Crappie Queen is getting itchy to begin plying her spring/summertime angling skills.

It's difficult to see, but the leaves are already coming out on the popple tree, the large one in the middle. They are about a month early.

Time to get a move on. That backhoe ain't gonna fix itself. 

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

So are the tales from Pentoga Road...

Sargie tells me I have no rear. Since I can't see it, I never really believed her. 

I'm not worried. There's plenty of belly in front to compensate.