Tales from Pentoga

That's my young friend, Mechanic Dave, working on the backhoe Friday morning.

April 17, 2021 - Saturday morning

22 degrees/clear skies/calm winds

Pentoga Road

Dave's one of my favorite people in the world. He and his wife, Krista, have their own children, adopted more, and taken in some of the most difficult foster cases imaginable.

I've never seen a bigger or more loving heart than Dave's. He's one of my larger than life heroes.

The boy can also fix most anything. Just like Trail Boss Scotty, wrenches and other tools just seem to fit in his hand and no mechanical problem seems too difficult. With that being said, the backhoe is presenting a challenge.

Dave finally got it running and running well. Problem is, getting it started. He thinks it's a fuel problem, but no amount of tinkering with the new (earlier this spring) carburetor has fixed the issue. I ordered another one that will be here on Wednesday. Dave says he's doing some research and WILL get the backhoe back to normal.

It was well into the afternoon before Dave left. I loaded one chainsaw onto the four wheeler and left for the south woods. My goal was to cut down four large maple trees, all diseased and rotting at the bottom.

One thing about maples, most are long, tall, and fairly symmetrical at the top.

A tree that's somewhat hollow and rotten adds some guesswork to the lumberjack equation. I notched, I (as Sargie says, "ciphered,") and took my time. Luck was with me yesterday. Each tree fell exactly where I wanted it to.

I should have been a field goal kicker in the NFL after putting this tree between the two uprights.

With eight good-sized maples, four in the south woods, four in the north, lying on the ground to dry, we should have more than enough hardwood for next winter. I'll begin working them up as the summer goes along.

Waiting for Sargie to get back from her day in Iron Mountain, I played with the backhoe and finally got it started, warmed up, and changed the oil. Other than changing the hydraulic fluid at some point and getting the engine to start more easily, it's ready for another season of digging rocks, stumps, and roots.

We enjoyed a fish fry last night with Yooper Brother Mark and Sheri in town. Poor kids, they departed early this morning, flying to Myrtle Beach, for several days of playing on the beach and in the sun.

Josh sent a couple more pictures from northern Maine. He and the munchkins are at their mother's enjoying a week of springtime sunshine.

He said the kiddies are fairly adept at killing cans from a goodly distance.

As with all four of my sons, I'm proud of Josh for how much time he spends with Ellie, Wyatt, and Cody, and for teaching them how to properly and safely shoot, even if it is the lowly pellet gun.

I spent no small amount of time with the boys in almost exactly the same spot where the grandbabies are shooting, killing wild, northern Maine, cans.

Sargie will be departing for Mel's shower after while. I think I'll ride a few miles down the road with her and walk back home. It'll be nice to see some different country for a change.

If I can get the backhoe started, I'd like to dig out two honey berry bushes in the orchard. Planted several years ago, they were supposed to grow three feet tall. Currently, three out of the five are approaching six feet in height and are taking over that end of the orchard.