There was a time when I looked forward to a winter storm just so I could take my four-by-four out and play in the snow — to drive hell-bent on unplowed country roads, spin donuts in empty parking lots, throw monster roosts. It was always better at night, honestly, when no one else was around. Rarely did I invite anyone along to ride shotgun.
Fortunately I had a co-pilot the one and only time I got stuck. He drew the short straw and trudged through knee-deep snow to the nearest farmhouse. My full-size 1980 Jeep Cherokee was pulled out of that Pennsylvania ditch by an Amishman and his team of Percherons.
Truth be told, I’m still that guy. I may not get to act on my impulses as often these days, but I still think about it every time it snows a bunch.
I thought about it in mid-January. And I’m thinking about it today.
It sure would be fun to bust a few drifts in Mercy. But now that we have a UTV in our life, I find myself wishing that I could roll out of bed in the morning, bundle up and blast around The Mountain in the Ranger.
Forty miles and the need to keep tabs on Ernie’s HVAC systems separate me from that prospect.
We definitely got to play awhile a couple of days after the last big snow (pictured above and in today’s header image). The road up The Mountain had been plowed by then, though, and temps were rising so fast that we could practically see the snow melting before our eyes. I’d rather do my buggy-schussing in fresh powder.
That day will come.
The U.S. economy, they say, added 467,000 jobs last month. Predictably, the current occupant of the Oval Office stepped to the podium this morning to crow about “historic expansion.” Even if you’re tempted to believe the numbers, it looks like the arsonist-in-chief wants credit for putting out the fire.
Wise up, People.
In yesterday’s post I reported that Deb knitted a stocking hat for one of our campground hosts. After that project was done she made one for herself. And I should mention that she’s knitting not the old-fashioned way, using needles, but with a simple tabletop machine.
This was something she’d been wanting to do, a craft to help pass downtime (like a snowy day) and give herself an outlet for creativity.
Getting to the point where she could admire a finished product, however, tested her commitment. The machine she bought broke before she’d finished her first hat. The replacement was missing parts, and so was the next unit. Undeterred, she ordered a fourth machine. That one was complete, intact and works just fine.
Last evening Deb donned the hat she’d made for herself, checked it out in the mirror and then turned to me. “Now how ’bout that scarf?”
Her long-necked husband had put in an order for a scarf, a muffler, a wrap for the gap between collar and chin. She loaded the rotary machine with yarn I’d picked out. We took shifts turning the crank.
Four hundred revolutions of the carousel and two skeins later, I had a scarf that encircles my neck twice — and both ends still reach my waist. It’s warm and it’s wonderful.
While I was outside this morning brooming the snow off Mercy, one of our hosts walked by. She was wearing the hat Deb made. I was wearing my new scarf.
We talked about how much snow we ended up getting. She said it’s the most they’d seen in the two years they’ve owned the place, eclipsing the foot we got a few weeks ago. Digging out our campsite today, I wasn’t inclined to dispute that claim.
Regular readers may have noticed in recent months that Ubi Libertas Blog isn’t really going anywhere. The journey that Deb and I began last May has been interrupted, and you could be forgiven for suspecting that it’s over. It’s not.
Think back to when we were making our way across South Dakota last summer. We marked time, marched in place, waited for the Sturgis rally to clear before continuing west. We employed the same strategy to delay our arrival in Glacier Park until after Labor Day.
That’s what we’re doing now.
As I said to an old friend this morning, our original plans had us somewhere on the Gulf Coast this winter — “following the butter,” as it were. That’s where a number of our RVing friends are. Obviously, we made a very difference choice.
See, while we were throwing ourselves into this new American Life, we remained open to what it threw back at us. We saw possibilities and seized opportunities. We adjusted our course.
And that’s why it looks we’re going nowhere.
I’m sure it doesn’t make for very interesting reading, especially if you came here for RVing content, but trust me, for us it’s exciting as hell. Good things are coming — stay tuned.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.