Tricky Things

          Words are tricky things. I used the word conducive last time, at least in the version you saw. The word I initially used was conductive, not at all what I’d intended to use. My fabulous chief editor caught the mistake. Adding one little letter changed the whole meaning of the word.

          By the same token, dropping a letter can totally change the meaning, too. Saving last week’s letter blog, I typed in the title, A Hard One. While copying the link I saw I missed the e. Oh boy! Am I glad I caught that one before I sent it!

          Days are tricky things, too. They can be so chock-full you can’t catch your breath and yet slip by so fast it leaves your head spinning.

          My days this week were just that. Full. Full of stories I want to share. Full of beautiful pictures to show you — and yes, I know. Beautiful is subjective. Nonetheless, I hope there are enough beautiful ones among them that you won’t dispute it.

          Not to mention there were a few things from last time I didn’t have room for and still want to share with you.

          On top of that (if that wasn’t enough) I have family news and pictures to pass on.

          On top of on top of that, the weekend slipped away from me, it’s Sunday late afternoon, and I’m just now sitting down to visit with you.

          “Maybe this once you can do a short and sweet blog to take the pressure off and if you feel that’s not enough then do part two another day,” my sweet friend suggested.

          Letting me off the hook or a polite way to say I’m too long-winded?

          “You can make them as long as you want!” my Miss Rosie said when I ran it past her. She’s retired and can read all day if she wants to.

          Y’all feel free to tell me what you think on this subject or any subject I write about. I always love hearing from you.

          That being said, shall we start?

          Welcome to our world, baby Kolby Lee. My granddaughter Jessica (Kat’s daughter) gave birth just before midnight on November 8th. Kolby weighed 6 pounds 11 ounces and is 20 inches long.

          “Is it your first great grandie?” I was asked.

          Kolby is our fourth great grandchild.

          Speaking of grands…

          This handsome guy is my grandnephew, Kevin. He got his first-grade pictures and my beautiful niece Ashley shared it with me.

          “Does he like school?” I asked.

“He loves school, doing well. Each day is a struggle due to his inability to focus. He has ADHD but loves learning,” Ashley told me.

Her older daughter Genna didn’t like her school pictures so Ashley sent me a family photo from their recent trip to Hershey Park.

Speaking of Ashley…

Four years ago, she was diagnosed with cervical cancer. They caught it early and gave her an 85% chance that it wouldn’t come back.

Earlier this week I got this message from her. “I went for my yearly pap smear and it came back abnormal. They can't rule out that the abnormal results aren't the cancer cells again on my cervix so I go for a biopsy the day before Thanksgiving. Needless to say, I don't believe I'll be having a traditional Thanksgiving this year, as I'm not going to be up for cooking after having that done.”

Would you keep Ashley and her little ones in your prayers?

Last time, I wanted to tell you about the book I was reading. This is the first thing by Kristin Hannah that I’ve read despite the fact that she’s written a lot of books.

          The Four Winds is about a family living during the time of the Dust Bowl. I know we covered that in history class when I was in school, but I can’t tell you much about it. Reading about it in story form really brought it home for me, put it in context, made me understand how truly horrible it was for the people who lived through it.

          “Peg, do you believe everything you read?” you ask.

          A good author researches the subject of their book. If they don’t stick pretty close to historical facts, they’re gonna get a lot of unhappy mail. At the end of the book, Kristin gives a list of references so I’m pretty sure she wove her story around the facts.

          “What are you reading now?” you wanna know.

          I’m reading another Kristin Hannah book called The Nightingale. It’s about a young girl’s role in the underground during Hitler’s invasion of France. I’m really deeply immersed in the story.

          Finally, I have these two pictures left over from last week. The kitchen patio is sheltered and even with cooler temps, these two took a turn basking in the sun. Macchiato first, then hours later, Bondi.

          It reminded me of something I read in a story a hundred years ago. I have no idea what the book was but it was about our early Americans. The Indians. It was winter and cold but an old man took his blanket to the lee of the teepee and warmed himself in the sun. It was the first time I realized you could get warm outside in the middle of the winter. Of course, now I know it was a combination of being sheltered and the sun. One without the other won’t work.

Poor Macchiato. He’s old and blind. I watched him run into the fence then turn around and go in the other direction.

         He went as far as he could, hit a wall and turned again. He usually gets around pretty good in the house and always seems to know where he’s at or maybe he figures it out. I don’t know.         

           And of course, I’ve got Bondi stories! I think this time I’ll sprinkle them in rather than do them all at once.

Bondi’s been taking her toys out into the yard with her. One night I didn’t pick them up and they got frosted. She went out the next morning and brought them back up onto the patio.

I’ve been procrastinating taking care of my letter blogs. For three months I’ve been printing them and tossing ‘em on to the top of my desk.

This week I decided to punch holes and get them put in binders.

Tiger helped.

I’m on my third binder for this year alone! I guess I am longwinded! But, to be fair, the size binder makes a difference too. I’ve been buying them used at the thrift store so I have to take whatever size I can find. I have a three-inch and two two-inch.

          I’m so excited that our exercise studio is almost done! At least, as done as we’re going to do this year. The ceiling will wait a few months.

          The carpet guys came and glued down the carpet. This young guy is the nephew of the older guy’s girlfriend. He’s been working for him for about a year and a half and as far as I could tell, was doing a good job.

            For some reason, the older guy felt the need to constantly deride the young man.

The kid never said anything. Never stood up for himself, never defended himself. Just kept on doing his job. I was having a hard time listening to the interminable ridicule. I took a couple of pictures and left.

          “If he treats him like that in front of us, how does he treat him when no one’s around?” I asked Mike.

          “Not very well, I imagine.”

          We spent a good part of this week getting the equipment moved in and cleaned up. It’s so close to being ready that I don’t want to show you any pictures until it is done.

          You know something?

          I’ve been thinking of using an old metal fifty-five-gallon drum lid to make a sign for the studio. At first, I thought I’d call it Peggy’s Dungeon of Torture. Then I thought about Peggy’s Palace of Pain. Or maybe something using our last name. Luby’s Lair of Loss. Now I’m throwing it out to you. Any suggestions on a name for our exercise studio?

          Something we did finish this week was putting the last three sheets on the roof. We had a really nice day for it. So nice that even the bugs had come out to play.

          Do you know what this guy on my poor work-worn hand is? I’ve talked about ‘em before so I’m not gonna spend a lot of time talking about him now.

          That little piece of fuzz floating on an air current might not be fuzz. It might just be a Woolly Aphid. I’ve seen them even more heavily covered in their waxy substance than this guy is but I was pleased to snag him out of the air and get his picture for you.

          And these guys were everywhere! Landing on our clothes, in our hair. We call all these orange bugs with spots Ladybugs but I don’t think they’re a true Ladybug. They are some kind of beetle and right now they’re looking to get into our homes for the winter.

          The winds had calmed and Mike took the opportunity to burn our brush pile.

          “Let’s burn the boxes, too,” Mike said.

          We were storing our boxes in a kennel we’d set up to keep them from blowing around until we were ready to burn them. Unfortunately, they’d been rained on many times and the ones on the bottom were turning into dirt, replete with big ole fat earthworms! I picked up what I could but there was still a lot left.

          Another job we intended to do this week was make Bondi’s fence taller. We had some fence panels in the upper barn to replace the two-foot-high wire fence that was currently there. Bondi is a jumper. She hasn’t tried to go over yet, but I felt like it was just a matter of time until she tried.

          Sitting there, watching Mike use his tractor to push the brush to the center, I thought, it’s a shame he can’t use the tractor to push those boxes into the fire.

          Can you hear it? Can you hear the lightbulb go off over my head?

          These fences aren’t that hard to take apart. We could unbolt it and swing it around so Mike could use the tractor. Then, since it’s unbolted from the garden section, we could use those panels on Bondi’s fence and not have to get some from the upper barn!

          I wasn’t sure Mike would want to do that but I ran my idea past him anyway. “Then we won’t have to go up on the hill,” was the real kicker. It’s been so rainy, our property is so soggy, Mike has ruts spun into the grass from all the trips we’ve already made going up the hill in the last few days — and he hates that! So, he agreed.

          “We’ll have to drive posts to support it,” he said.

          Using a post driver against a fence caused Mike injury before. (It might’ve been my fault for not keeping the fence pulled away as he slammed the post driver down with all his might.) “We could do a tall section then a short section,” I suggested.

          Mike thought about it. “I could drive the posts by the short sections. It’ll be easier.”

          There is nothing easy about using a post driver and I worried the exertion would be too much for him. But we got it done and had enough fencing to make Bondi’s run even larger.

          “Are you gonna mow the old fence line?” Mike asked me.

          I shrugged. “Maybe sometime next week.” We were facing the weekend and that’s my time to blog. It could wait.

          I was worried the cats wouldn’t be able to get over the fence, and if they couldn’t, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. They would just have to learn to go out the front door. As it turns out, neither Spitfire nor Tiger have any problem leaping to the top of the shorter sections.

          The un-mowed old fence line bothered Mike more than me. “If you pick up the poop, I’ll mow it,” he volunteered the next day.

          Heck yeah! It’s usually my job to mow the dog run, but I’m not about to look a gift horse in the mouth!

          Bondi isn’t afraid of the mower. She raced around the yard, barking at it.

          Sometimes she followed Mike.

          She tickled me when Mike made a turn and Bondi, head down, challenged the mower.

          Mike hesitated, wondering if she was gonna move or not. As soon as he did start moving, she took off at a hundred miles an hour.

          Lawn mowers aren’t the only noisy machines she treats this way. She does the same thing to my vacuum sweeper. It’s kinda cute but I don’t like her barking. Yesterday I squirted her with the water bottle when she barked at the sweeper. I can’t help but wonder if she’ll get the message and stop barking or if she’ll stop playing with it all together. Stay tuned!

           Oh! Lucky you! Another Bondi story is up next!

          The Kipps often stop by on their way home from their morning walks and I often give this handsome guy a treat. On this day I gave Tux and Bondi chew sticks. Bondi must not’ve wanted hers because she took it to one of her hiding spots and buried it.

          “Maybe it tastes better with a little dirt on it,” I told the Kipps.

          Bondi came back and got into Miss Rosie’s arms — for like, the third time! She can’t make up her mind if she wants her belly scratched or to play with Tux and because of that, she tends to run back and forth between the two.

          Bondi squiggled out of Rosie’s arms, ran to where she hid her chewy, dug it up and stood facing the yard. She looked around and, in an instant, decided on a new hiding spot, one I’ve never seen her use before. She chose the farthest corner of the step that leads into the exercise studio and used her nose to cover it with dried leaves.

          Then she came back and played with Tux.

          It wasn’t long at all until she retrieved her chewy and took it to a different spot. This time she dropped it at the base of a stump and used her nose to cover it with the tall grass. I’ve seen her use this spot before.

          Sufficiently covered, she came back to the patio for more lovin’ from Miss Rosie.

          I had to laugh and shake my head when Bondi wiggled away from Miss Rosie, ran to the stump, and pulled her chewy out.

           I don’t know what’s going on in her little doggie brain. Why can’t she just bury it and leave it alone?

This time she used one of her very first hiding spots, the base of a patio awning post.

          Bondi does a good job of covering her treats. When she was done you couldn’t see any of it peeking through the dirt.

          Tux had just settled down and was laying quietly by Miss Rosie’s chair when Bondi jumped on him. He’s so patient with her! He just turns his head away from her attempts to give him a tonsil exam.

          Once again Bondi dug up her chewy and this time, she took it to her bed and buried it under the cushion.

          Poor dog! She was so worried that Tux was gonna get her chewy! I guess that’s what she was worried about. I took the chewy and put it up on the counter. That seemed to satisfy her and she went back for more play time with Tux and tummy rubs from Miss Rosie before they left.

          The weather was beautiful for most of the week and one thing Mike wanted to do before the expected cold snap arrived was to go to Steamtown National Historic Site in Scranton.

          “They’ve got the Big Boy done and I’d like to see it,” Mike said.

          I don’t care all that much about seeing the Big Boy but Mike did and when you love someone you do things just because they want to.

          “Peg, what’s a Big Boy?” you ask.

          Big Boy is a huge locomotive owned by Union Pacific.

          We left earlier than we really had to, but you know my Mike. “I’d rather be fifteen minutes early than one minute late,” he says.

          Often times we arrive at our destinations more like half an hour, forty-five minutes early. It’s just one of those things I’ve accepted about Mike.

          “We can walk around outside and look at stuff until they open,” Mike said.

          We left early enough to catch the first golden rays of the sun coming up over the Susquehanna.

          And another view of our beautiful river as we climbed a mountain. I don’t know if this one has a name or not.

          We arrived about a half-hour early and the gates were closed. We couldn’t even look at the outside displays until the gates opened.

          “We’ll drive around for a while,” Mike said.

          St. Peter’s Cathedral.

          A biiiiig hole where there used to be a sidewalk.

          “I’d hate to have a business along there,” I said. Customers can’t get in, you might just as well close.

          Penn Paper.

           We arrived back at the closed gates with fifteen minutes to spare. When we were there the first time, two taxis were parked under the nearby train bridge. The bus station is nearby.

          “Maybe they’re waiting for a call,” I guessed.

          Now the taxis were gone and we took advantage of the wide spot they’d created.

          “I’m gonna take pictures,” I told Mike. I bet that doesn’t surprise you.

          Few things make my heart go pitter-patter more than glass and metals. No glass here, unless you count the shards glimmering beside the road, but there was lots of steel!

          Mike likes it when I take his picture. Not!

          “What’s that mean?” Mike asked when I got back in the car.

          “What?”

          “That,” he said and indicated the graffiti.

          “I don’t know.” There were two prominent ones on the wall of the underpass and I took pictures of both of them. It was the red one that he asked about.

          A minute or two before ten, the gate rose up and we drove in.

          We drove past the Big Boy, slowing to get a cursory look before another car came up behind us and pushed us on down the road.

          I had my coffee, both before we left and a travel cup along the way. Now I needed to use the facilities. Our first stop was the visitors center where we made a beeline for the restrooms.

          I was out first and stepped outside to see the turntable.

           We’ve been to Steamtown a couple of other times and did the whole place. This time we were just interested in the Big Boy then it would be off to do some shopping.

          We went back through the visitors center to go out and see the Big Boy. We browsed the storyboards that documented the history of Steamtown from its inception as a train depot to present day.

          “This is what it used to look like,” Mike pointed out a photo that especially interested him.

          On the way out to do a closer inspection of Big Boy, we stopped at the information/ticket booth and spoke with the park officer manning the station.

          “So, does it run?” Mike asked.

          “No. All of the restoration is purely cosmetic,” he answered.

          Our conversation was very interesting and rather than a word for word account I’m just going to give you the highlights.

          There were twenty-five Big Boys built between 1941 and 1944 and numbered 4000 to 4024. There are only eight remaining and of those eight only one runs.

          “It doesn’t make any sense to make this one run because you can’t run it here anyway,” the officer told us. “The tracks are too curvy. Do you see where that one sits? They pushed it out here and had to go literally inch by inch. They had people walking along on both sides to make sure it didn’t jump the tracks, which it would do. They’d signal to move it ahead another inch then have to check all the wheels.”  

          He went on to tell us that there is a small articulation but it doesn’t bend much. It had a hinge-connection between the frame of the front engine and the rear engine under a single boiler.

          “What was it good for then if it can’t go around curves?” you wanna know.

They operated almost exclusively in the mountainous region between Cheyenne, Wyoming and Ogden, Utah. Their most prominent service, because they were so powerful, was the pulling of long trains loaded with agricultural produce up over the mountains.

A Big Boy locomotive along with its tender weighed about 604 tons and measured more than 132 feet in length. It had a maximum power capacity of more than 6,000 horsepower and could haul a 3,600-ton train unassisted up the Wasatch Mountain grade. Pulling freight on level track, it could achieve a speed of 70 miles per hour.

Something I found interesting was when it was referred to as a 4-8-8-4 engine.

“What’s that mean?” I wanted to know.

A 4-8-8-4 is the wheel arrangement. It has a four-wheel leading truck, two sets of eight driving wheels, and a four-wheel trailing truck. And the only engine to ever use this configuration was of course the Big Boy.

          These driving wheels are huge!

          "Stand beside it so they can see how big they are,” I directed Mike. He’s a good husband and complied.

          “I’m gonna go down to the end and take a picture of you standing beside it,” I said and off I went.

          This is truly a monster machine.

          The Trolley Museum sits at the opposite end of the property but we’ve been there before and didn’t stop this time either.

          We did our shopping and I took more pictures on the way home.

           A mural on the side of a building in Clarks Summit says, “An arrow can only be shot by pulling it backward so when life is dragging you back with difficulties, it means that it’s going to launch you into something great so just focus… and keep aiming.”

“One of these days were gonna go past here and it’s gonna be gone,” I said of the only remaining part of an old barn.

          “I was just thinking that,” Mike said.

          I find that this happens often in our marriage. One of us will give voice to what the other is thinking. I guess that means we’re in tune with each other.

           We made a little side detour and drove past the building site of the new Ford dealership. The business isn’t new, just the building.

          “It’s kinda out of the way,” Mike observed. “When people shop for cars, they go to where the dealers are and most are in the same area.”

          The building the dealership currently lives in is in town and across from a rival dealer. This one is a couple of miles outside of Tunkhannock.

          Is this the remnants of a flag once painted on the grill?

          We followed this truck for a good many miles down Route 6. He kept crossing the white line on the right of the roadway. I never saw him cross the center lines though. Texting? Under the influence?

          “Peg! You are so judgmental!” you say.

          Yeah. I’ve heard that about me before. Why do you think he’s wandering?

          Michael.

          Michael, Michael, Michael!

          “What did he do now?” you ask.

          He found another tractor.

          Don’t laugh! Three is not enough for everyone!

          But to be fair, one is a backhoe, one is for sale. one is too small to do much with. It has a belly mower and small bucket. Good for little jobs and mowing when Mike needs four-wheel drive. But it won’t run the brush hog and that’s what he’s in need of.

          “Can I buy this tractor?” he asked me. Like I’d say no! As long as the bills are paid and we have a little savings, Mike can buy anything he wants. And he wanted a different tractor. “Let’s go look at it,” he suggested.

          Mifflinburg. That’s where it was — and I didn’t know where Mifflinburg was. With a GPS you don’t really gotta know. Punch in the address and it’ll take you to the front door — most times.

          Can you say “Road pictures!”?

           “Peg, some of your pictures are crooked!” you exclaim.

          I know, right! And there’s more crooked ones to come. It’s one of the hazards of shooting on the fly. Most times I can straighten them and keep the integrity of the photo. But these, if I do that, you lose a lot of what I want to show you.

          “I love looking at the architecture of the buildings,” says my friend who loves me.

          So, I’ll leave them crooked. You’re welcome, Jody.

          We arrive at the tractor place. Instead of going inside, we drive around the lot until Mike sees the tractor and parks in front of it. We’d taken Bondi with us. I hooked her up and walked her while Mike checked it out.

          “It’s dripping gas from the filter,” Mike said when I joined him.

          I looked where he was pointing and sure enough! It was dripping! Not just an occasional drip either. It was dripping at a pretty good pace! And it had been dripping for a while, too. There was a trail down the slope where it spread out into more of a puddle shape. None of it was on the surface but it’d discolored the gravel.

          We looked at the Ford next door to the Farmtrac. It was smaller. “How about this one?” I asked Mike. He came over and looked at it. “It has a radio and a CB in it,” I pointed out.

          “Yeah, I like that. But it won’t run the brush hog.”

          “Are you sure that’s the one you want?”

          “Yeah. I think so. And I’ve got a radio I can put in it, thanks to your sister.”

          My oldest and much-loved sister Patti sent us a couple of radios she thought Mike could use. At the time they didn’t fit in the slot provided by John Deere and now that tractor’s gone. It surely could work in this one.

          We got back in the car and drove down the hill to the dealership. I went in with Mike so I could get rid of some of my coffee. Then I waited in the car with Bondi and read my book while they did their man-talking. Mike kept me updated. “They sent a mechanic up to replace the fuel filter.”

After a while the tractor comes down the hill and Mike heard it run. I don’t think he drove it though. Mike and Derek, the agent, went inside. A deal was struck, arrangements for delivery were made, and we headed for home.

          Can you say, “More road pictures!”?

          Have you seen enough of our beautiful Pennsylvania towns and countrysides?

          “Never!” you say.

          Great! We made one more trip. This one was to my insurance broker who works from home and lives out in the middle of nowhere!

          The skies were cloudy and we got tinkled — I mean sprinkled on. Not much and not for long.

           She wasn’t home when we got there. Her significant other was working on his tractor up at the barn but saw us and came down.

          “Susan went down the road to feed the horses. She’ll be right back,” he said and went back to his farm chores.

          Guess what I did?

          “Took pictures?” you guess.

          Yeppers!

          “That kitty’s limping,” I told Mike.

          I tried to get close to see if I could see what was wrong but this kitty wasn’t having any of that! I didn’t push it but I did tell Susan when she came in a few minutes later.

          “I’ve looked and I can’t see anything wrong with it,” she told me.

          “He’ll get over it or he won’t,” I said but don’t mean it to sound as hard-hearted as it does. It’s just that with barn cats, that’s normally the way it is.

          “That’s right,” Susan agreed.

          I’m sure if it was serious, she’d take him to the vet.

          There was another cat, this one more friendly and let me pet her.

          Some late-blooming flowers and more pictures from the trip home.

          I know I’ve kept you an awfully long time this time and I have two more stories with accompanying pictures, but I think I’ll keep them for seed. In the meantime, remember, you’re all in my heart.

          Let’s call this one done!