A long lost relative? Where'd the lake go? A clean rug, a retirement check, and a TRUE Packer fan.

Its summer in the UP!

July 14, 2013 – Sunday

63 degrees/sunny/clear/calm

Pentoga Road

It seems strange to sit here and not hear the constant ticking of our wind-up clocks. For whatever reason, the one mantel clock Dad made and the other, a wall clock, both quit working on the same day. We miss their gentle chiming. I’ve found several places via the internet that do clock repair. The large grandfather’s clock that was Grandma and Grandpa Pennington’s continues to mark time perfectly.

I was sitting in the barn, carving, early Saturday morning when a butterfly landed on my work directly in front of me. It was beautiful and I've hung out with various Native tribes enough years to wonder which long, lost, relative or friend was paying me a visit.

Saturday was spent taking out a large area rug, scrubbing it, and cleaning all the nooks and crannies in the living room. We carried the rug out to the back patio after which Sargie spent no small amount of time cleaning it with the carpet scrubber. While she ran the machine, I swept and steamed the living room floor. The weather was hot and dry and it took only a couple of hours for the rug to dry.

We headed toward the dam on the Paint River in Crystal Falls for our afternoon drive. The city has drained the lake from behind the hydroelectric dam to make repairs and needless to say, it looks very different. 

We took pictures, did a bit of exploring, but mostly just gawked at the place where a small river has replaced a lake.

One of the neatest observations of the day was of an old wheel, I'm thinking from an early automobile or truck, that once had wooden spokes. Someone had obviously dragged it out from the lakebed. 

Another find was the cross and hands raised, not imbedded, in concrete at the very bottom of the boat ramp. I’m not sure when the structure was built, but it was pretty neat. The artwork had to take some time.

I took the opportunity to take plenty of pictures so that when the lake is once again full, I can find the deep holes while fishing. In fact, I’ve thought about walking down the river a mile or two to imprint the bottom to memory.

This man was fishing and pulled in a fairly good sized fish from the hole in front of him while we were watching.

Sargie was cleaning the top of the refrigerator last night when she came across a check made out to me from the State of Alaska dated last September for two months of retirement pay. I was shocked. How could I forget so much money? It’s not exactly like my retirement income is so large that it would be considered disposable or mere pocket money. Though gleeful, I began to worry I seriously might be in the beginning throes of some sort of dementia; so much so that I felt sick. I thought I’d been paid, but evidently not. How did I get by? How were the bills paid? I took my worries to bed with me.

I shouldn’t have.

It was at four this morning, while in the beginning stages of consciousness, that my mind processed the entire check drama and I remembered that it was part of the prorated, beginning, retirement pay from last summer and had been sent to the wrong address and failed to arrive in a timely manner. I’d called the Teacher Retirement Division in Alaska and they issued another check and said to tear this one up should it arrive. It did, a month late, and somehow found its way onto the top of the refrigerator where it remained for the past year. My retirement is deposited directly into my bank account, but the first one, for some reason, had to come by check. I never thought I’d enjoy ripping a check in two as much as I will this one.

Sargie putting Brutus through his nightly paces. He has to shake (first one paw, then the other), lay down, and speak, for a treat.

Sargie works from noon until five today and will enjoy supper with her dad at the VA after. It’s to be hot, so anything physically demanding will be done this morning. I need to spray the peppers for aphids. I see the leaves are curled and bunched in places and the plants look rather sickly. This year continues to be a real challenge in the gardening department.

I should spray Round Up on some weeds around the perimeter of the garden before the wind begins to blow. With all the rain we’ve received, the weeds are beginning to make a claim to areas where they don't belong. Parts of the contents of the barn are still in boxes that need to be emptied and there’s the carving project to be worked on.

The work never ceases. After all, a man’s work is never done.

So are the tales from Pentoga Road… 

We were driving through the cemetery in Crystal Falls to visit the grave of one of Sargie's cousins when I spotted this tombstone. Now this guy was a REAL Packers fan. I told Sargie I'd like the same when it's my time. All I got in return was a dirty look.

A flock of wild turkeys along the ATV trail to Iron River

July 13, 2013 – Saturday

62 degrees/calm/hazy

Pentoga Road

I was lying in bed early this morning mentally traveling down a road that ended over fifty-five years ago. With a breeze gently blowing over the bed, I was reminded when, as a young boy, we lived at 1039 Windsor Road in northern Illinois. Our telephone number was: Tremont 4 – 0474. To this day, if I’d get lost and lose all my senses, I’m sure I’d be able to recite the old address and phone number. Mom and Dad drilled both into my sister and me. I was four years of age when we moved there.

1039 Windsor Road belonged to an old farmhouse at the edge of town and was surrounded by huge elm trees. In the summers, long before home air conditioning was invented, I loved feeling the early morning breeze flow through the window by my bed. It smelled so clean and fresh and the only sounds were those of various songbirds; wrens, robins, and sparrows.

Friday was a mixed bag. I started the day by transferring the carving pattern I selected onto a piece of pine. It felt good to begin the process of something I’ve enjoyed doing for many years. 

Don’t mistake the word “process” for anything that might mean successful or good. As mentioned previously, most of my carvings end up in the wood stove. I think it’s my equivalent to knitting or cross-stitching. It keeps my hands busy and artistically, it presents a challenge. Unfortunately, I don’t possess a lot of talent, just willingness.

The carving bench I made many years ago. I'm enjoying the barn with its blacktop floor.

I loaded several full garbage cans into the Man Truck and rumbled to the dump. I remember when garbage pick up was two dollars a month. It cost me $25 for the privilege of driving ten miles and dumping the stuff myself.

Later in the morning, I attacked the first floor of the house and spent several hours steaming the laminate floors. It is so much easier using a steamer than getting down on one’s hands and knees with rag and a pan of hot soapy water. The dining and living rooms were also dusted and wiped. I’m certain Sargie will find the places I missed and do them again, but at least the first layer is removed.

It was hot and I was sweaty. Since the hardware store was having a dollar sale, I climbed aboard the four-wheeler and motored the ten miles into town. 

The trail follows the Brule River for several miles

I saw Sheri and later, Sarah, and we had good visits. Sheri was going to attend a high school class reunion Friday evening.

My forty-fifth reunion is around the corner. I doubt I’ll attend. I didn’t like very many aspects of high school when I was a student. Academically, I had horrible teachers and had very little in common with my classmates. I have even less now.

I had a counselor who I was assigned to for the duration who told me at the beginning of my junior year to not even bother to apply to any college or university. Her exact words were, “No one will want you and I doubt you’ll ever do anything for which you will need a college education.”

Old wounds run deep. Though I’ve forgiven her, I’ve not forgotten. I guess I owe her a certain amount of gratitude for what successes I had. She taught me how NOT to talk to and treat students. The education field became a better place the day she finally retired.

I picked the first of the turnips last night. Though still small, it was good to crunch away and enjoy one of the (hopefully) many fruits of this year’s garden. I hope to make another fall planting this coming week. Those that are harvested after frost are the coolest, the crunchiest, and the sweetest.

Sargie’s off today. No doubt, she’ll want to spend some time cleaning and I heard her say something about taking out the living room rug and washing it outside with the carpet shampooer. Hmm, that wasn’t on my agenda, but somehow I think it’s moved to the top of the list.

I hope to play in the garden today then work on my carving. Life can be stressful, but someone has to do it. A man’s work is never done, you know.

So are the tales from Pentoga Road…

Who needs a pellet gun when one has a squirrel-chasing bulldog?

For the second day in a row, he gets a shower under the hose.

Boat repairs, inner tubes, and butt head billing companies

Though fishing was lousy, Thursday was beautiful

July 12, 2013 – Friday

54 degrees/clear/calm

Pentoga Road

I awakened early this morning and lay in the dark listening to some heavy breathing, snoring, snorting, and what sounded like a six-year-old eating mashed potatoes soaked in gravy with his mouth open.

Sargie was immediately eliminated from the suspect list. She’s a quiet sleeper and has immaculate table manners.

But Brutus was sleeping on the floor alongside our bed. Honestly, I’ve raised hogs that were quieter. He was dreaming, running an unseen race, then suddenly stopped, snorted, and flapped his bulldog jaws several times. Just as quickly, all actions ceased and the pup emitted deep snores interrupted with occasional scratching, sighs, and burping. At least I think it was burping.

Thursday was a busy one here on Pentoga Road. I left for one of my favorite lakes after Sargie pulled out of the drive for work. I might as well have stayed home. There wasn’t a ripple on the lake and with the bright sun beating down, the fish weren’t hitting. I trolled, cast, pitched flies, used a bobber and worm… all to no avail. I caught one nice bass that was half-an-inch under size and a large bluegill. Both were returned.

I was home before noon and started replacing the old transom on the boat. The wood was rotten and the bolts so rusty they simply twisted off.

I forsake using plywood for a piece of 2x8, something I hope will last longer and be more sturdy. For certain, the back end of the boat isn’t going anywhere. I replaced the original manufacturer’s plate and called it all good enough.

By the way, that boat was manufactured in the late forties or early fifties with the tractor, boat, trailer, and I about the same age. I sometimes feel as though I’m running a center for senior equipment and its owner.

The inner tubes for the ATV I ordered a few days ago arrived in the mail. It’s been over thirty years since I broke a tire down by hand and it’s not gotten any easier. During my young farming days, I even replaced inner tubes in the large back tires of our tractor manually, but it’s been a few decades.

I managed to break the bead of the tire from the rim by parking the Blazer on top and pounding the surrounding rubber with a maul. Once that was accomplished, it became a matter of prying and leverage.

The rim was covered inside with dried slim, the liquid goop that one can squirt inside a tire in hopes of sealing a leak. I’ve heard that garage owners, those who repair tires professionally, hate that stuff. I can see why. It makes an adhesive that when dry, coats everything. I spent almost an hour scraping, sanding, and grinding the rim clean.

The tube went in well and after coating the bead of the tire with soapy water, pried it back in place, filled the thing with air, and pronounced the tire repaired. I hope my cheap fix will last another year, at least until the other half of my retirement income begins next June. Sooner or later, I’ll have to purchase a new set of rubber for my four-wheeler. These are the original tires and the machine will be thirty years old in two-and-a-half years. I’d say they’ve served their purpose.

I spent well over an hour on the phone yesterday sparing with a billing service that represents the radiology group who read the x-rays of my knee. I’d received a statement saying my insurance company denied the claim. There was also an application to set up monthly payments.

When I contacted my insurance company, they said there was no record of any statement being submitted. I called the billing company and when I finally got to talk to a real person and not a computer, it was discovered they had the wrong address and the mailed statement had been returned as “undeliverable as addressed.” Rather than contact me for the right address, they lied and said the claim was denied. I can tell this is going to be a long dance; more like a funeral dirge.

Brutus spent most the day either lying on the barn floor at my feet or in the woods chasing squirrels and other creatures too wild and ferocious to mention. Needless to say, the bulldog was filthy. He received a shower last night under the garden hose. I’ve never seen a dog that likes to be groomed as much as he does. He sits perfectly still during brushing and washing and once, almost fell over after drifting off to sleep.

Sargie arrived home looking especially beautiful after her beautician’s appointment. We spent the evening talking, watching television, and reading the daily paper. I went to bed at 10, almost too tired to walk up the stairs. Sargie followed later.

The knee continues to get noticeably better. Other than some stiffness and an occasional painful twinge, it’s almost back to normal. It’ll soon be time for Brutus and I to hit the trails… I hope.

Sargie works late today. Thankfully, she gets an extra couple of hours sleep this morning as she doesn’t have to be at the Vision Center until 11 AM. For me, after seven weeks of relative inactivity, there are plenty of chores demanding my attention. After all, a man’s work is never done.

So are the tales from Pentoga Road…

While in the repair mode, the oars were glued and clamped. The lamination was beginning to pull apart.

Tree limbs, panoramic pictures, and shrimp. What are the poor people doing?

I discovered the panoramic function on the camera yesterday afternoon and had to take a picture of something. I'd just finished mowing the yard.

July 11, 2013 – Thursday

50 degrees/clear/calm

Pentoga Road

The back windows of the living room face east. It’s nice watching the sunrise each morning, although once it clears the trees, the glare is hard on the eyes. Today’s isn’t spectacular by itself, but is an integral part of a audio/visual display composed and performed by Mother Nature and the fence charger this early morning. It starts with the singing of several varieties of song birds. Add in a subtle, yet regular drip of dew onto the metal roof above, two deer grazing in the back meadow, and the regular clicking of the electric fence surrounding the garden. Couple the audio effects with the haze that blankets our valley almost every morning, and one has a complete surround sound, I-Max, 3-D, experience. It’s a good morning to be alive.

Wednesday wasn’t a bad day either. With low humidity and cool temperatures, I hit the ground running. That’s a lie. I haven’t run in weeks, but the knee felt good and I was ready to do some work.

The first chore was to trim the large spruce tree that grows next to the burning barrel. In the old days, it was small enough that I didn’t have to worry about any of its limbs catching fire. That has changed over the past several years.

While burning boxes earlier this spring, several of the large boughs were singed and eventually died. I’ve been fearful that during the upcoming dry season, a spark might land on one and cause the tree to catch fire and spread throughout the forest.

That won’t happen now. I cut boughs well over twenty feet up the trunk. The tree looks good, the cutting opened up the forest somewhat, and we no longer have to worry about a stray spark.

The next project was to cut a good-sized spruce tree that prohibited a clear clear view of the road while pulling out of the drive.

 I was going to cut it into sections, but in the end, I simply fell the thing, hooked onto it with the tractor, and pulled the tree to the burn pile to be dealt with later.

It took the rest of the morning to haul all the boughs to the burn pile. Thank God for the little Ford. Utilizing the front end loader is like having two other workers helping. It remains the single most important piece of equipment on Pentoga Road.

My good clergy buddy, Pat, called from Fresno, California, where he is the pastor of a large Presbyterian Church. The boy has been building a boat in his garage. We talked at length of family and friends, but later our discussion turned to our planned trip down the Mississippi River in his boat… when he gets it finished and puts it through all the sea trials. We’d like to begin our journey at Lake Itasca in Minnesota and motor down this nation’s largest river all the way to New Orleans. Assuming that goes well, our next journey will be up the inland waterway starting in northern California and ending in Sitka, Alaska. That definitely is a few years away. Right now, we’re undecided which of us is Huck Finn and who is Tom Sawyer, but who cares?

The carbon paper arrived in yesterday’s mail! While looking for a disk of carving patterns, I came across a couple that contain pictures of my former life in Maine and the Arctic. It all seems like a lifetime ago, but I guess it was. All served as prompts for a two-hour trip down memory lane.

I greased the Cub Cadet mower and proceeded to cut the grass. All the rain of the past two days has produced a very lush lawn. The gasoline string trimmer was started and within two hours, the yard looked almost picture perfect. The way the grass is growing, it will need cutting again in the next three or four days.

Sargie was home early and we enjoyed fresh baby beets from the garden along with shrimp barbequed on the grill. Since both are low in calories, we ate unfettered until there wasn’t a beet or shrimp left.

Sargie works early today, but has a hair appointment after. It will give her a chance to get caught up on the happenings with her beautician friend, Melinda.

Today: There’s the old apple tree to trim and several large boughs from the spruce tree that grows alongside the house. I may wait until Saturday when Sargie’s home so she can steady the extension ladder while I climb and cut. Maybe I can talk her into driving the tractor and taking the limbs to the burn pile. Climbing on and off is hard with the bum knee. That sounds like a plan. I’ll cut and load, she can be the heavy equipment operator.

The transom on the boat needs replacing, there’s a wood pattern to transfer onto a piece of basswood, a small area in the garden needs tilling, and with a perfect day forecast, I may have to venture out onto the lake in search of meat for the table. Lord, a man’s work is never done.

So are the tales from Pentoga Road…

The wild apples in the woods are beginning to grow. If we get the rain, there might be a pie in the future.

Potato blossoms

July 10, 2013 – Wednesday

57 degree/partly cloudy/windy

Pentoga Road

A cold front came marching through last night and wiped out all old vestiges of the heat and humidity that have been plaguing the upper Midwest for the past several days. We’ve gone from topic-like weather to enjoying a hint of the fall to come, all in the past ten hours.

Sargie was off Tuesday. She was up early and doing laundry while Brutus and I attempted a short hike. The knee immediately began throbbing and we turned around less than two hundred yards up the road.

I was in a horrible mood. Feeling my heart beat in the knee, I drug myself around the garden cussing and muttering, but became amazed how quickly the vegetables are growing. Mostly, I marveled at the various types of blooms many of the plants have.

Cucumber

Eggplant

Thank God for Sargie. She has the most magical way of making the lousiest of days into good ones. She'd mentioned she wanted to go fishing. With sweat running into my eyes and a throbbing knee, I had other thoughts in mind, like staying home and feeling sorry for myself. Pouting and making both of us miserable, I remembered Tuesday was her only day off this week. Sargie doesn't have the option of dropping everything and going fishing whenever she'd like.

We loaded the boat and headed to a small lake about ten miles from away. When we stopped at the Alpha General Store and purchased ice cream drum sticks for a snack along the way, I knew the day was going to be a winner. Sargie soon had me smiling and I was downright eager to go fishing by the time we arrived at the lake. Though the fish weren’t jumping in the boat, we caught several bluegills and bass and were busy enough that we never got bored. Thanks for a great time, honey. I love you.

Sargie with a nice bluegill

Light rain was falling when we headed to shore around midafternoon. By the time we arrived home, it was falling in sheets and continued throughout the evening. Six tenths of an inch was sitting in the rain gauge this morning.

Sargie’s working early today, but should be home early this evening. I’m going to finish the laundry that the rain interrupted yesterday afternoon. At least the clothes that hung on the line during the torrential downpours ought be ultra soft and smell like the north woods.

Tomato

Pumpkin

Mom is due to arrive from Indiana next Tuesday. She’s flying into Iron Mountain and is scheduled to be with us for a couple of weeks. It’s been so long since we’ve had a chance to just sit and visit and Sargie and I are looking forward to Mom’s stay. I know Brutus will be happy. Mom made mention she hoped Brutus would go with her when she takes her daily walks. She better watch out, Brutus will have her hoofing 24/7 if he gets his way.

Banana Pepper

There are some tree limbs to be pruned today, an apple tree that needs staked, and the lawn needs to be mowed. It promises to be a busy day. After all, a man’s work is never done.

So are the tales from Pentoga Road…

Cylindra beets. These are still small, but the patch needed some thinning. We'll enjoy a a sample of future flavors tonight.

What ever happened to carbon paper?

With the sudden influx of rain and hot temperatures, the garden is finally beginning to grow.

July 9, 2013 – Tuesday

66 degrees/hazy/breezy

Pentoga Road

Well, darn, I thought today was supposed to be much cooler, but with a high of 86 forecast, I guess that’s not to happen until tomorrow. We have rain and thunderstorms forecast for today and tonight, THEN much cooler tomorrow. Oh well, the garden loves this weather.

Brutus and I did our quarter-mile trek yesterday morning and I think it was a bit better than the day before. Certainly I can tell a positive difference when simply walking around the house. The swelling continues to subside and the pain is noticeably less. It’s going to take that four letter word I hate so much: T-I-M-E.

Wanting to transfer a carving pattern onto some basswood the other day, I called and asked Sargie to pick up some carbon paper before she came home from work. She called back saying no one carries it.

I checked at a couple of local merchants and found carbon paper is a thing of the past. Staples has it in Escanaba, but they want an arm and a leg for the stuff. In the end, I went online to Amazon.com and ordered it with free shipping. It should be arriving in tomorrow's mail.

It seems we’re surrounded by digital progress and very little common sense. I guess the common thought is, if it can’t be done on a computer and reproduced on a printer, it’s not worth doing.

The boys from the internet provider arrived with a teeny antenna in hand. A plastic dish, it appeared to be something purchased in a dime store rather than the digital miracle the owner of the service promised. And as I predicted, it didn’t work. 

After an hour of the boys climbing on and off the roof of the house trying various adjustments, the signal remained so weak that it wouldn’t register. The guys apologized, put on the old antenna, and left. It’s back to square one.

I weeded most of the potatoes yesterday, something that badly needed to be done. With our hot weather and plentiful supply of rain, the garden is growing by leaps and bounds.

I wove the string for the pole beans to climb just two weeks ago. Already, some have reached the top of the tee pee. 

The strawberries are showing life again with the rain and I picked half a large bowl yesterday. They aren’t the great big ones, but certainly will taste good on our cereal and ice cream, and for those that are frozen, during the winter months.

Since Sargie had dinner with Mr. Milligan at the VA, I went fishing late in the afternoon. It was pretty on the lake and I enjoyed landing a few bass. I caught all on a deep running lure while trolling.

Sargie’s off today and I’m not sure what’s on the agenda. We talked about going fishing, but it’s going to be hot with a 70% chance of thunderstorms, not a good formula for successful angling. There are a few limbs that need trimming and the yard could be mowed again. Oh if you only had my life.

The tail lights I installed remain high and dry!

A man’s work is never done.

So are the tales from Pentoga Road…