Sound familiar? I stole that from pretty much every click-bait site on the wwWeb. No, there’s absolutely no payoff to the headline, and I want you to know that I feel just awful about that. But hey, it made you click.
And #8 will shock you.
Okay, I’ll stop now. Click below to continue.
Deb has a new favorite meteorologist, a guy who has his own YouTube channel and posts regular updates about weather events around the country. He’s an affable kid from Kentucky, not yet 30 years old. I’ll admit that he’s sharp and pretty accurate.
This week he’s been tracking the potential for an outbreak of severe weather in the mid-South, and Deb’s followed it because there’s a chance it could affect us. As it began to roll through last night, it became obvious that the worst will be east and south of where we are. We’ll get rain, mostly.
Yup, more rain in northern Arkansas. Naturally, it’s happening on the day when our septic tank was scheduled to arrive on The Mountain and, presumably, would be installed. That job will have to wait ’til another day, most likely later this week (“Arkansas time” notwithstanding).
At least the hole’s been dug. It was full of water the last time we saw it, by the way. I can only imagine what it’ll look like after this round of rain.
We took today to run errands in Harrison, with a focus on tools and supplies for house and property. On a day when there would be no real progress, it felt like we were doing something.
The next project is a burn barrel. You’ll want to stay tuned for that, I think.
“Could it be the satisfaction
of bein’ understood?”
Here’s a confession: I didn’t expect to ever move to The South, much less live out my days here.
I knew for sure that I didn’t want to go back to the Northeast, not even for a visit, after living over two decades there. I figured I’d finish my run in the Midwest, probably Ohio, or if the stars aligned (and with apologies to Haggard), I might end up “somewhere in the middle of Montana.”
Certain other places appealed to me over the years — West Virginia, Tennessee, Texas, South Dakota. I hate to buck the retiree stereotype, but Florida and Arizona never were on my list.
Arkansas was a complete surprise.
I know I’m in the right place, though I’m not quite sure how I know that. The latest clue came to me last night while listening to Jamey Johnson and Alabama perform “My Home’s in Alabama” live at The Ryman in 2014. One line jumped out at me — “Could it be the satisfaction of bein’ understood?” — and gave me pause. It made me think.
Never mind the lyrical context, a musician wondering aloud, “What keeps me goin’?” A southern man softly and unapologetically — “I’ll speak my Southern English just as natural as I please” — sings a love song to his stompin’ grounds. It’s where he experiences “the satisfaction of bein’ understood.”
That’s what Home is, isn’t it?
Pick another word. Acceptance. Belonging. When you come right down to it, we’re a bunch of square pegs looking for someplace we fit. I’ll take it a step further and say that most of us know where that place is — a relationship, a craft, a locale — and yet we willfully put ourselves somewhere else.
For the money. For the kids.
I’m too young. I’m too old.
I did that for 40 years. And I landed in Arkansas by accident. “Someday… when love finds a way….”
No, I’m not from here, but I come from the culture I’ve found in The Ozarks. It’s the first time in many years that I’ve felt true satisfaction.
I understand. I’m understood.
That’s as plain as I can say it.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.