Arkansas got a new governor Tuesday morning — Sarah Huckabee Sanders, the candidate that we (and nearly two-thirds of our fellow Arkansans) favored. No politician is perfect, but Sarah is just the sort of smart, sane, Liberty-minded American we’re proud to support.
During her first hours in office she issued a series of executive orders, part of the position’s province and privilege. Backing up her commitment to reducing spending and fraud, she ordered an immediate hiring-and-promotions freeze and a review of state unemployment compensation. With an eye on OPSEC, she banned TikTok from all state-issued electronic devices.
Any arm of the state bureaucracy proposing a new rule must now submit it to the governor for approval and submit two existing rules for repeal. She ordered a review of all executive orders issued since the state’s founding in 1836, insisting that every one pass constitutional muster.
She directed that there be a comprehensive review of education curricula, to root-out “critical race theory” and other anti-American poison. And thrusting her thumb firmly into the eye of woke silliness, she summarily banned the absurd term “Latinx” from all state documents.
I could say something like, “It’s a good start,” but what it really represents is the right tone. There will be more, I’m sure. We’re far from complacent, but we’re definitely optimistic.
Tuesday’s post alluded to the current occupant of the Oval Office threatening to ban gas stoves. That saber was rattled by the CPSC, exposed in a news report a few days ago — the latest attack by progressives on fossil fuels, along with blaming the appliances for health conditions from cancer to foot fungus.
(Ok, maybe not foot fungus. But considering the source, it wouldn’t surprise you, now, would it?)
Deb and I need to acquire kitchen appliances for our home on The Mountain. Our plans call for a gas stove, fueled by liquid propane from a bulk tank outside the house. And we damned sure won’t let Democrats stand in the way of what we choose to do.
So yesterday morning we bought a gas stove — actually, we ordered it from stock. It’ll be delivered to the local Home Depot within the next week, where we’ll pick it up and take it to our storage unit closer to The Mountain. When the house is ready we’ll bring it out and install it (or have it installed, probably, being gas and all).
The unit we chose is a GE, intentionally pretty basic — four burners, plus a center griddle over a larger oval burner, and an oven capacity of five cubic feet. It’s made-in-USA and carries a one-year warranty. We snagged it on sale, too, 30% off, beating the inevitable price increases and shortages.
It’ll do everything we need it to do. We’re glad we moved on it quickly. It was time.
We weren’t sure exactly when our building materials would be delivered to The Mountain yesterday. Based on what the builder told us, we figured that it’d be later in the day, so we took our sweet time getting on the road. We spent the first hours of our visit driveway-sittin’ with Deb’s cousin and enjoying the unseasonably warm (mid-70s) weather.
I fiddled with the Ranger a bit — installing a hitch that’ll let us tow our new cart and replacing the retaining straps on the cab doors — and swapped out some of the gear in the buggy’s kit.
Smudge was with us, of course. We played, we walked, praising and scolding and laughing depending on what she was up to. She did a lot of lap-nappin’.
As the afternoon wore on I began to get antsy, but it wasn’t the sort of pointless impatience that once afflicted me. (I’m older now, livin’ on Arkansas Time.) I was just anxious to get our house kit on The Mountain — at last.
Deb distracted me by suggesting that we give Smudge her first Ranger ride. We drove down to the homesite and walked her around some — more new experiences, the noisy and jostling trip in the buggy, navigating the rocks and such. The puppy was cautious, understandably so, but not nervous.
The sun dipped in the grayish sky toward the ridge. We figured it was time to get back to Deb’s cousin’s place.
I pulled the Ranger into the shed and shut the doors. The rest of our day, however it played out, would be spent in the relative comfort of the truck.
We rolled down to the end of the road, turned the Silverado around, pointed it back up the mountain and pulled off to the side to wait for the delivery trucks. The windshield framed a spectacular sight, bright pastels painting the evening sky.
The colors hinted at a sunset we couldn’t see from where we’d parked. Since we still had a half-hour before the trucks would arrive, I started the engine and drove back up to the homesite.
This, my friends, was our first sunset from the spot where our house will stand.
Deb’s cousin later would call it “fire on The Mountain.” And had our Wednesday ended then and there, it would’ve been perfect.
The rosy glow slowly faded at the horizon. We drove back down the road and again assumed our post at the corner. Before long the glimmer of headlights appeared on the subdivision road — our house, in a thousand pieces, had arrived on The Mountain.
I dropped the Chevy into gear and led the delivery trucks into the pitch-black, up the rough 17% grade toward the homesite. Once we’d reached the crest we all got out and walked the area, deciding on the best spot to drop the building materials.
I circled our truck around the driveway to direct light onto where the work would be done, and the crew of two got busy.
First they deployed a slick three-wheeled forklift and lifted the assembled trusses off of a gooseneck trailer towed behind one of the trucks. The skill and agility reminded me of the backhoe dance we’d seen recently, the operator placing the awkward load exactly where he (and we) wanted it.
Next came several palleted stacks of other materials — pre-cut dimensional lumber, windows and doors, siding and roofing and more.
Where was Smudge during all this activity? Decidedly not skittish, she simply laid at (on top of) our feet and watched the show.
And then it was done, over as quickly as it had started. Our house is officially on The Mountain.
(Some assembly required.)
Around 7:30pm we followed the trucks back down the road and headed for Harrison. Even though it was after nightfall, I decided that I needed to do the driving. That went fine.
Overnight we got a hailstorm, heavy enough to make it sound like Ernie’s roof would come in on us. (It didn’t.) We knew today would be cold, anticipating an afternoon high 30°F lower than yesterday’s. (It was.)
What we didn’t expect was snow.
The mercury was well above freezing this morning, in the upper 30s, and yet the air was full of big, fluffy flakes. The squall began suddenly and the white stuff came down hard for over an hour. By early afternoon it was almost all gone.
This was a good day to stay planted, which was our plan anyway. After tomorrow temps will moderate once again, so we’ll see what Saturday brings.
And now you’re caught up.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.