Grandson, Bennet, was one-month old yesterday

March 6, 2016 - Sunday
26 degrees/cloudy/windy
Pentoga Road

According to Carl the Weatherman, this is the last cold day for a while. I'm talking about nighttime lows remaining above freezing. 

Excited? Oh, you bet! I've got barges to tote and bales to lift and both tasks are much easier to accomplish when the temperatures moderate. *

At any rate, I've got spring fever and as I murmured in this morning's pillow prayer, "Put me in coach, I'm ready to play!"



Saturday dawned breezy, chilly, wet, and damp. I spent the first part of the morning clearing the drive.



An inch, almost two, had fallen the night before and I didn't want it to get in the way of any melting process.

For the first time in the past six years, there's a frost heave, a ditch, running down the middle of the drive from the barn to the garage.



For those southerners who aren't lucky enough to experience the yearly spring ritual of having their yards, drives, and roads rise and fall, frost heaves happen each spring when the dirt begins to thaw and causes the top several feet to expand and contract. Many a muffler has been separated from the undercarriage of a car when a poor, unsuspecting, driver hits a two-foot ditch or bump, a place that might have been perfectly smooth the day before. Thankfully, once the ground is completely thawed, the surface usually returns to normal and frost heaves are forgotten about until they rear their ugly heads (or ground) the next spring. 

Page Two:

We had purchased a pork loin that was on sale earlier this week. I finally decided to cut it into two, freeze both pieces for now, then put them in the smoker later this spring.



I smoked some loins last fall, sliced them, placed everything in a freezer bag and then into the freezer. It's so easy (and delicious) to get out what we want for supper, warm it, and we're ready to eat.

Sargie and I decided to take a drive to Rhinelander, Wisconsin, Saturday afternoon. We made stops at Aldi Foods, Kohls, and Menards Lumber. 

I found a comfortable chair attached to a patio set and parked myself for a couple of hours while Sargie browsed the clearance racks. I don't believe she ever bought for herself, but was successful in finding things for others.



The most worthless item seen yesterday? A Darth Vader toaster.



The most valuable? Peeps! It's my oldest son, Josh's, most loved Easter treat. He's been known to inhale an entire flock of baby chicks in one Easter season.



And so our day went. We stopped at Menards and priced windows and doors as all need to be replaced sooner or later. We're just waiting for the latest lottery results.

Last night was spent watching reruns of MASH on Netflix while eating spaghetti. I spent some time reading about how to germinate delicate seeds, mostly those of petunias. Indoor sowing will begin this coming week.

This is Sargie's last day of vacation for the year. It's been wonderful having her home. There was the big Milligan weekend, then Grady came to visit for a couple of days, followed by some shopping trips and nice drives.  

I'm going to hang the service station that Sargie gave me for Christmas in the garage today. It supplies light and air from above via retractable hoses and cords. Nothing is ever easy as I have to attach a couple of 1x6's between the rafters before any permanent installation happens. Other than that, we'll take our usual drive and enjoy each other's company. 

I see that Ted won a couple of primaries yesterday and Bernie won two over Hillary. All that news and a nickel won't buy me a cup of coffee, so I think I'll just stick to researching how to plant petunia seed. That might be more productive.

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

So are the tales from Pentoga Road...

A big kiss from big sister, Emerson

* "Tote that barge and lift that bale," is a line used in the song, Old Man River, from the musical Showboat. It was one of Dad's favorite's and he was fond of using that quote when there was work to do.

March 5, 2016 - Saturday morning
28 degrees/cloudy/calm winds
Pentoga Road

We may have American Bulldog chops for supper tonight. For whatever reason, Brutus has decided it's too far to walk to the woods to heed nature's call. Instead, he's decided to call the area under the old apple tree, located in the middle of the back yard, his new bathroom. 



I saw him head that way early this morning, so I put on my slippers and just as he began, ran outdoors screaming and yelling. It wasn't in time. I'll have to take the scoop shovel to remove the mess later this morning.

Grrr. I'd rub the dog's nose in it if I didn't value my right arm so much. I've always said he's either the smartest dog I've ever had or the dumbest. Right now, this morning, I'm pretty certain he's the dumbest.

Speaking of my loyal companion... I was working on the back wood pile yesterday, bringing next year's dry fire wood to the front of the wood shed, splitting it, then tossing it in, when I heard a squeak. I knew it to be that of an ermine, a weasel, and figured he'd run the opposite way to exit the wood pile.



Brutus heard the squeak too and had his nose to the ground, his head cocked, his ears alert. He appeared to be ready to pound on the little critter should it appear.

As time went by, I forgot about the weasel. The sun was bright, the temperatures warm, and after a winter of doing little physical work, I was enjoying working up a sweat.

I picked up one chunk of wood, then another. Suddenly, the weasel popped out of the pile and ran straight at Brutus and me. The pup let out a squeal, one that was higher pitched than that of a little kindergarten girl wearing a pink dress on her first day of school, and ran the opposite direction crying and whining. The weasel started running up my boot and pant leg and after kicking him off, I made a hasty retreat. I'm certain that ermine had glowing red eyes, fangs the size of elephant tusks, and very well may have been breathing fire. None-the-less, I went back to the wood pile armed with a stick ready to do battle, but never did see or hear from him again. Oh, and Brutus? He never returned to the wood pile. Obviously traumatized, he opted for a sunny place in front of the barn and fell sound asleep.

I took advantage of yesterday's early-morning cold temperatures to prune my three largest apple trees. They badly needed it two years ago, but I got busy putting up maple syrup and let the time slip by. I simply forgot last year, so it was with a sense of urgency that each was pruned yesterday. 

Large branches and suckers were cut from one, some shaping and lower limbs removed from the others. When it was all said and done, the trees will be ugly this year, but should continue to grow and become productive in the years to come.

Sargie and I took our usual afternoon drive and stopped at several stores so she might peruse the clearance racks. Yesterday was a success. She found a pink hooded sweater for the right price.



We stopped by one local lake and discovered the fishermen weren't at all concerned about rotten ice even though vehicles have recently been falling through like hot lead balloons.



In fact, several went through last weekend where we were staying prompting warnings from the DNR.

Nobody loves ice fishing more than I do, but I guess I value the old Blazer (and my life) too much to go driving on rotten, thin, springtime ice.

Mark texted yesterday afternoon and asked if we were on for a fish fry?! Heck yeah. We met last night and enjoyed a wonderful meal of fried fish along with French fries. It doesn't get any better than enjoying a UP Friday night fish fry with good friends at one's favorite eating establishment.

We were about ready to leave when I decided to make a quick, last minute, stop in the men's room. I opened the door to find a long haired, blonde, less than desirable looking, person standing at the urinal. 

Oh my God, I'd walked into the women's rest room. I quickly apologized, backed out, then stopped and thought. Wait a minute, what's a woman doing, standing in front of a urinal? I pushed my nose up to the sign on the door. Sure enough, it was the men's room.

I went back in, but needless to say, we didn't make any small talk. If looks could have killed, I'd have been six feet under. I don't know. I'm from the generation where a man still takes pride in looking like a man and I'm too old to change now.  

Hopefully, today won't produce any fire-breathing weasels or long haired ugly blondes standing in front of urinals. Sargie and I have talked about going somewhere or the other, but I'm not sure we will. Our plans change on a whim and that's as it should be. It means we're free to do as we please and that's a good thing.

I think I'm going to begin putting together my two indoor green houses this morning. It's time to germinate the petunia seed so I ordered a heat mat that's to be here next Tuesday. Other than that, I'll let Sargie decide today's agenda.

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

So are the tales from Pentoga Road...

I worked for a while on the snow blower Friday afternoon. The gas tank has gunk in the bottom and needs to be taken off and thoroughly cleaned. I simply drained the old fuel yesterday in hopes that I'll get through the remainder of the winter. Everything will be completely taken apart this summer and done right.

March 4, 2016 - Friday
0 degrees/clear skies/calm winds
Pentoga Road

It too quiet and orderly around here this morning. There are no toys lying on the floor and no nursery rhymes are playing in the background. Grady's gone home.

Thursday started as a busy one on Pentoga Road. Grady was up earlier than usual so the three of us enjoyed our breakfast before my pint-sized helper and I headed outside. Grady was rarin' to go, but seemed a bit tired. The young adventurer scaled Mt. Pentoga, otherwise referred to as the wood pile, slid down the tail gate of the trailer a few times, and threw two or three pieces of wood into the shed, but after an hour, took my hand and led me to the back door.



Seeing him yawn and rub his eyes, I asked if he wanted to go back to bed. Without hesitation, he said, "Uh huh." 

So, with a clean diaper and donned in jammies, we gathered Fluffy, Teddy, a blankie, and up the stairs we went.



 It wasn't long before he was sound asleep. This business of following PawPaw around is serious stuff and can wear a little guy out.

I headed back outside. It took the rest of the morning to finish working up the trailer full of wood and get it put away. 

With Grady no longer under foot, I could swing the mall and chunks of wood were soon flying in every which direction. 

Empty two days ago, the shed is one-third full and ready for more wood.

Macrea pulled in around noon. Sargie had fixed a huge pot of spaghetti and we spent an hour talking and eating before Grady awakened. It wasn't long after he ate before the boys left. Macrea had to leave Grady at his mother's, then drive onto Escanaba to complete his work day.

Grandma Sargie makes a mean pot of spaghetti!

Sargie and I took our afternoon drive to town, bought a few groceries, and enjoyed the sunny day. Last night was spent watching Netflix and munching popcorn.

Tired of wearing out multiple thin cotton work gloves, I bought a pair of genuine buffalo hide gloves yesterday. I'll be roaming o'er the plains while the deer and the antelope play.

We talked about going to Green Bay today, but the forecast is for less than favorable conditions to the south of here. There's a home builder's show going on in Marquette this weekend. Maybe we'll try to sneak up there. Otherwise, we're going to enjoy the last three day's of Sargie's vacation. Her next one isn't scheduled until July, five months from now. 

I'm going to begin hauling the firewood I got a year ago from under the tarps and finish filling the front sheds. I want to use that next winter and then store any new wood I get in the coming months for the year after next.

Hopefully, the pile under the green tarp will be worked up and in the shed before the weekend is over.

Other than that, I have hopes of beginning construction on the two remaining strawberry planters. I'd like to get those delivered in the next week or two.

Ah, the sun's coming up. Time to get another cup of coffee and listen to the news.

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

So are the tales from Pentoga Road...

Ham Bone and Paw Paw
"We're ready to go to town, Grandma Sargie!"

March 3, 2016 - Thursday
-4 degrees/clear skies/calm winds
Pentoga Road

I just about took a header into the end table after stepping on a plastic screwdriver that was lying on the floor. It's from a set that Sargie's boys played with when they were toddlers, so I'll blame Macrea when he comes to pick up Ham Bone later today.

Speaking of Ham Bone, aka Grady, we had a great day yesterday. 



Before he was awake, I left for Yooper Brother Mark's to pick up the trailer filled with wood. While there, I stopped in for a few minutes of socializing before coming home.



The trip back to Pentoga Road was filled with thrills. The main road was glare ice and the little Blazer had difficulty gaining traction going up a couple of steep hills, even in four-wheel-drive. 

Grady was just getting up when I arrived home. After a quick breakfast, with Grandma Sargie's help, he was dressed and out the door.

Grandma Sargie cooked a great meal!
Mmm, a sippie cup of milk, tangerine slices, toast and peanut butter, and raisins... the breakfast of champions.

We spent the next three hours working up wood, playing fetch with Brutus, and taking four wheeler rides. 





At one point, the four wheeler became high centered and stuck in a field at Neighbor Mike's. Poor Ham Bone. He was so tired from working up all that wood and then was expected to walk back home with PawPaw. I carried him out of the field, but once we got to the top of Mike's drive, the little guy had to walk the final two-hundred yards. At first he started to cry, but after first being effectively ignored and then encouraged, he walked ahead and gabbed and babbled the rest of the way home.



I'm not sure if he was more tired than hungry, but lunch had barely been eaten before he was ready for a nap... a long nap, three hours long to be exact. Ol' PawPaw had worn Ham Bone right out.

Who knew working up wood could be so much fun?

It took a long time and a lot of effort, but he finally made it to the top of the pile.

Grandma Sargie, Grady, and I, took a late afternoon trip to town, stopping at the Post Office and grocery store. Grady was happy to talk to and entertain anyone in the store, but I noticed he'd fallen asleep in his car seat on the way home.

We had grilled bratwursts last night for supper. After, munchkin-child entertained us by playing drums on the bottom of an old oatmeal box and dancing. We wrestled a bit, he and Grandma Sargie played tickle, and finally, at day's end, he was happy to take a bath, put on his jammies, and sit on PawPaw's lap wrapped in a blanket until falling sound asleep for the night. We haven't heard a peep out of him since.

Sargie took advantage of us boys being out of the house and spent the day cleaning and doing laundry. She was a tired girl last night. 

Macrea's to come around noon today to get Grady. No doubt we'll have breakfast after while, then head back outdoors to discover and play.... oops, I mean work in the wood pile. 

I hope to get the rest of wood worked up (notice, "worked" is not italicized) before day's end. I finished about a third of the trailer-load yesterday afternoon while Grady was taking his nap, but my back began begging for mercy, so I quit, came in, and closed my eyes for a while. If you can't lick 'em, join 'em.

The first piece of fire wood for next winter. It takes three to four of these spaces (sheds) filled with the soft wood we get from the plant to heat our home for the entire winter.

Sargie and I will, no doubt, take our usual afternoon day-off drive later today. Other than that, we'll just enjoy the time together.

He loved piling snow on the stump, messing it around, then wiping it off, then starting all over again.

Mmm, smells like the coffee is done. Think I'll enjoy a cup and listen to the news.

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

So are the tales from Pentoga Road...

It's a little too close when we're in the living room, so Brutus has his space and Grady and the big people have theirs.

Look who came to visit Grandma Sargie and PawPaw

March 2, 2016 - Wednesday
-9 degrees/partly cloudy/calm winds
Pentoga Road

I'm disappointed as can be. It looked as though we were going to have a first-class sunrise this morning and at the last minute, clouds rolled in and that was that... my life story.

What a difference a day makes. We received a call early yesterday afternoon and before I knew it, we were on our way to Iron Mountain to get Grady. I'm not sure of the circumstances, but I don't care. He hasn't been over in two, maybe three, weeks, so some serious Grady-time was due.

Tuesday morning was an inside affair and my only activity was to look at more seed catalogues, make a few diagrams of the new irrigation system in the garden, and to think deep thoughts. The latter consumed about two or three seconds of my day.

Sargie had been trying to get the doctor's office to call about scheduling an appointment for some lab work so she might get some antibiotics for her infection. I could write a diatribe concerning how inept and rude the doctor's staff is, but I'll try to keep things positive. To make a very long story short, a physician's assistant finally called for lab work at the end of the day, only he made them for her thyroid. I thought it would take chains and padlocks to hold Sargie in her seat, but needless to say, no antibiotics were ordered as no lab tests were done and the infection is still alive and well. 

While in Iron Mountain on Tuesday afternoon, we picked up our taxes and I came out a hundred dollars to the good. The Feds owed me money, but the state, ah, yes, our grand State of Michigan, home to Flint and Detroit, big holes into which the rest of us pour money, got into my pocket. Still, in the long run, I came out better than even so I shouldn't complain.

After a stop at Jiffy Lube to get the oil changed in the Blazer, we made our way to Home Depot where I purchased enough lumber to build the last two strawberry planters. Hopefully, one will be started today.



And finally, we picked up Grady and arrived home before dark. 

Last evening was spent playing, dancing, singing, watching tv, listening to nursery rhymes, and doing those things that twenty-two month olds love doing. 

Grady will be with us for a couple of days, at least until Daddy comes through on Thursday to get him. 

I hope Grady, or Ham Bone, as he's referred to around here, gets plenty of rest. Yooper Brother Mark called and said the trailer is sitting in at the plant filled with wood. It appears PawPaw and Ham Bone are going to be busy today working up next year's firewood.

After all, a man and a boy's work are never done.

So are the tales from Pentoga Road...

We'd been pounding on the bottom of old oatmeal boxes, singing and dancing to Pow Wow the Indian Boy. Growing up, it was my favorite Captain Kangaroo sing along song.

The last of the winter squash. We cooked and mashed any that seemed worth salvaging on Monday afternoon. Those raised this coming summer won't be ready until next September.

March 1, 2016 - Tuesday
-1 degrees/cloudy skies/calm winds
Pentoga Road

The white-out conditions that blew through yesterday finished after less than an hour and left us with sunny skies and cold temperatures. It was thirty degrees Monday morning when I first awakened. Three hours later, it was fifteen and quickly sinking. The cold front had definitely come through.

Temperatures are forecast to be in the upper forties, even reaching fifty, next week, signaling the possibility of an early spring. It wouldn't hurt my feelings to be able to work outside, soak up some springtime sun, and emerge from the winter cocoon that surrounds most northerners this time of the year.  

I could become a big fan of El Nino winters in the North Country. It's been cold enough for the winter enthusiasts, warm enough to make the season more bearable, and wet enough that we're not crying for more precipitation. It's a win/win/win situation. 

Though only in the teens, the temperature in the solar heater was so hot yesterday afternoon that it drew the polycarbonate panel inwards. As soon as I started the fan, the panel went back to its normal position. 

Speaking of warm weather, I spent no small amount of time Monday with my nose stuck in a catalogue ordering flower seeds. 

Flowers? Uh huh. 

I've always planted a smattering of flowers, just enough to accent the garden, but I generally leave the pretty stuff up to Sargie. She's the one with taste. I'm the person who digs in the dirt.

That being said, I was enamored with the few flowers that grew in last year's vegetable garden. Their brilliant purples, reds, and yellows really accented the dark green colors of the surrounding vegetable leaves. If a little is good, then why not try more?

A cosmos in last year's garden

I actually began growing flowers long before trying my hand at vegetables. We lived in northern Illinois at the time. I was ten years old and in Mrs. Bailes' fourth grade class.

There was a patch of bare ground between the window wells of the basement in the rear of the house where nothing grew. I remember peppering Dad with typical little-kid questions about gardening when he asked if I'd like to plant and tend something in that sofa-size patch of ground.

My very own garden? Just mine? I couldn't believe my luck. After promising to keep it watered and weed free, Dad conveyed the seasonal ownership of two by five foot piece of dirt and handed me a small packet of flower seed.

 A field of dreams was born.

My first attempt at gardening produced a weed-free, but very crooked row of flowers, Bachelor Buttons, producing straw-like blooms of many colors. I pulled the very first ones, (roots and all) ran in the house, and gave them to Mom. She cut off the roots and placed the flowers in a drinking glass half filled with water in the middle of the kitchen table. I was hooked.  

Years went by that I planted nothing. Life consumed my time, school, work, and helping to raise a family.  

It was in the early 80's that Gerster Valley Produce was born, several rocky acres of vegetables; tomatoes, peppers, melons, squash, and pumpkins. We sold produce, mostly to the tourists who drove by on their way to camp and fish at a local lake. It was also during that time that I was asked to write a gardening column, The Gerster Gardener, by our local paper, but that's another story for another time. 

Full of big ideas and energy, but lacking in common sense and knowledge of how to successfully market and run a produce operation, Gerster Valley Produce flopped. I didn't give a hoot about actually selling what I grew, but rather, I loved the growing part of the operation.

After having some decent family gardens in northern Maine, I moved to Alaska. You want a challenge, try growing vegetables north of the Arctic Circle. I did plant cold weather crops one year on a sand bar surrounded by the river that flowed in front of my cabin. The day came when I went to harvest my first peas and discovered the entire garden had been destroyed by a grizzly bear and her cubs. I gave up any thoughts of growing a garden.

Years passed and it came time to think of where to retire. Alaska... the Last Frontier... great fishing, hiking, and where most my friends lived, or, the Upper Peninsula of Michgan, lots of woods, water, land, and a climate where I could at least grow a short season garden. The rest is history.

So I'll be making an attempt at growing a few flowers this year; asters, several varieties of sunflowers, cosmos, and nasturtiums are a few of the easier varieties. There are others, more delicate, that I'll start indoors in the next few weeks along with the usual vegetable seeds. Two indoor green houses will adorn the windows in our living room this year and both Sargie and I will exhale a big sigh of relief when the nights finally become warm enough that I can move everything out to the large greenhouse in the garden.

I'll probably plant too much, grow too much, harvest too much, and give most of it away. Ah, what the heck. It's all Dad's fault. He's the one who gave that little ten-year-old boy, the fourth grader who was a student in Mrs. Bailes' room, a little patch of dirt between two window wells behind a house in northern Illinois. 

Dad handed me a bit of money in my growing-up years and occasionally gave me the keys to the family car, but the most important thing Dad ever handed me was that package of flower seeds.

Page Two:

Poor Sargie has an infection, one of those kinds that occasionally rears its ugly head. She had a few pills left over from the last bout, but has run out and naturally, her doctor is off today. She tried talking to him yesterday, but he surrounds himself with a fanged staff of nurses that breathe fire and who would be better suited to star as Gate Keepers in the next Ghost Busters movie. We're going to have to do something today. Sargie's not feeling too good; a lousy way to spend one's vacation.

I scraped the drive yesterday, cleaning the residue from the morning's blizzard. Some places were bare while drifts of up to a foot covered other's. 

But mostly, we hung out in the house and kept it all low key. We did make our run into town, but came right back home so Sargie could take it easy.

A VERY happy Ivy

I'm not sure what's on today's agenda. I need to get more lumber for the last of the strawberry pyramids. I'm hoping Sargie will be able to get in and see a doctor somewhere so we might kill two birds with one stone... or at least kill an infection and pick up some lumber in one trip.

Until then, I believe I'll listen to the news, feed the wood stove, and sip coffee.

Back at work along Louisiana's Gulf Coast, Andy sent a picture of a recent meal, mud bugs... crawdaddies... crayfish. They were one of my favorite food groups while attending Southern Miss many years ago.

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

So are the tales from Pentoga Road...