Three years ago tonight, at midnight, a totalitarian disguised as the elected Republican governor of Ohio issued an unconstitutional order mandating that all residents of the state “stay at home” until further notice.
It also was at that moment that Deb and I became “essential workers.”
We enjoyed the light traffic, the low gas prices and the paychecks. Empty shelves, shuttered businesses and friends without income, not so much.
Cautious about WuFlu for a while — rationally, not dutifully — we considered the prospect that we were in uncharted territory. It didn’t take long, however, for us to see that government was on a control binge, just as we suspected.
Those days — 467 of them before the mandates were lifted — were the darkest and most un-American days of my life. I do not forgive anyone who imposed the edicts, advocated for them, or supported the State’s lies with fearful compliance.
One year after Mikey’s Midnight Mandate crushed The Great State of Ohio, Deb and I were 400 miles from the madness — sitting in front of a fire, gazing out over a Tennessee lake, surrounded by fellow RVers. Less than two months later we were west of the Mississippi, nestled in The Ozarks.
We’d found Free America. It was as if the manufactured “pandemic” had never happened.
In the months that followed, as we rolled across Texas, the Great Plains and the northern Rockies, we encountered more of the same (federal property and urban pearl-clutchers notwithstanding). Deb and I celebrated having left repression behind. Both of us vowed never to live under that boot ever again.
And now here we are. We have our reasons.
Oh c’mon, People, wise up. Figure this out. Think back.
I want you to remember how smooth and tidy the narrative was, how quickly the populace fell into line, and how quietly. The lab coats. The relentless shaming. We’re all in this together. Notice that the America it left behind bears little resemblance to the one that came before.
A virus didn’t do that. The State, aided and abetted by masses of compliant sheep, did. And it was disturbingly easy — government didn’t even have to break a sweat.
The “pandemic” (that one, anyway) may have been declared “over,” but the threat to our Liberty remains. Hell, it didn’t even pause to catch its breath.
Progressives continue to assault the People, and they enforce The Holy Narrative at gunpoint. Like the January 6th “insurrection” lie. The demonization of Patriots. Casting American traditions as “racist.” Bludgeoning our culture with “equity” and “diversity.” The hysterical “climate change” canard.
The unmaking of America.
It didn’t begin with the “pandemic,” and it won’t end there. Wise up.
Deb and I have settled in Free America. We’re surrounded by like minds and we’re (relatively) far from the insanity afflicting much of the country. If you possibly can do the same, then you should — get out.
But ultimately, evil isn’t subdued by fleeing from it. And, as the Greek philosopher warned, good men who presume to ignore public affairs are destined to be ruled by evil men.
Even in Ozarkansas, evil is out there looking for us.
The Mountain is a wonderful place. There we find peace. Still, we guard against our bliss becoming blissful ignorance. We may not be consumed by the threats, but we’re aware of them.
Vigilance is an active pursuit. As we live out our days on our humble homestead, the last thing we want to be is unpleasantly surprised.
To wrap this post, an anecdote from today.
It was late this morning when Deb and I, choosing to stay in Harrison and wait for heavy weather to pass through, went out to grab lunch at Los Aztecas Mexican Restaurant. While we were on that end of town we decided to stop by Hudson’s Supermarket, our favorite old-school grocery.
The shelves were stocked full. The butcher shop displayed an amazing selection of meats*, including a fresh batch of house-smoked bratwurst. The produce section was bursting with color and the aromas of freshness — truly a picture-postcard.
We hadn’t been to Hudson’s in quite a while, and it felt great to be back. There’s just something special about the place. It transports me to the grocers of my growing-up years — every time.
We didn’t buy much today. As we approached the check-out lane, the buxom young cashier greeted us with a smile and a warm, “How y’all doin’?” I glanced at her badge, wanting to call her by name.
I read it, but I had to hesitate. Gesturing toward the badge, I asked, “Is that really your name?”
She stood up straight, her smile even broader. “Yes, sir, it is!”
And her name?
Here we are. We have our reasons.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
*Today’s header image shows a Columbus-area Kroger’s ravaged meat case in mid-March of 2020, not the Hudson’s meat case today.
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