It’s probably too muddy anyway

We got a good bit of rain overnight. Once again we have mixed feelings about that — grateful for much-needed rain, disappointed that it’ll further delay dirt work on The Mountain. That’s just the way it is.

Though we’d planned to head over this morning, we postponed the trip ’til tomorrow.

We have a few things we’ll do next time we’re there, like getting our reallocated hand tools and the ladder we bought into the shed. I want to put out more deer corn near both trailcams and investigate something that caught my eye in images from the camera just upslope from the homesite.

In the center of the frame are two small red cedars. One of them shows signs of a whitetail “rub” — a way that bucks mark territory, visually and by scent.

From here it looks like this mark could’ve been left by one of the younger bucks we’ve seen on Mountain One. We’ll know more once we lay eyes on it. I suspect we’ll find scrapes (marks on the ground) in the area as well. ‘Tis the season.

We’d have no difficulty getting close to either trailcam right now, despite wet conditions. Running the Ranger (or the Silverado, or the Wrangler) over the new clay base put down for our driveway, however, probably would make a helluva mess. We’re better off waiting for it to dry out some.


There’s been a “hillbilly wisdom” post floating around social media the last week or two. It’s illustrated with a black-and-white photo of a man with long white hair and beard. Sitting on a stump, he cradles a flared-barrel musket in his hands.

A number of my friends have remarked that the old fella reminds them of me. Several messaged Deb to say the same. I get it — hair, beard, gun, woodsman.

I have no problem with the comparison. In fact, I considered it a compliment.

But I couldn’t just leave it there — I wanted to know who this old man was. I figured that if anyone else had ever wondered about that, the answer might be somewhere on the Web.

It didn’t take much digging to find a name, along with an intriguing story of the man behind it.

John E. Meyer, who became known as “Spikehorn,” was born in 1870 in Holmes County, Ohio, just 15 miles from where I grew up. When he was six his family moved to Michigan, and he was raised in the woods.

Finding and fostering a black bear cub gave birth to his lifelong love of bears. In the 1930s he built a “bear den” near the central Michigan town of Harrison, attracting tourists (though not without colorful controversy) until a fire destroyed his souvenir shop in 1957. He rebuilt, but in 1958 he suffered a stroke that left him partially paralyzed.

Spikehorn Meyer died in a Gladwin nursing home the following year. His bear den survived into the 1970s. What’s left of it is still visible just off US Route 127.

There’s more to the story, but I’ll toss that to you. Look it up.

Photos like the one accompanying that viral “hillbilly wisdom” post are grabbed and placed without much thought. They look cool, or fitting, or something. That’s the superficial nature of the Internet, and most of us fall right into it.

I’m more curious than that. And I love it when the simple act of being interested pays off, introducing me to characters like Spikehorn Meyer.

Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.

#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath

#LetsGoBrandon #FJB