We get questions — publicly and privately, Deb and I get lots of questions. Some are prompted by ordinary curiosity. Others come from folks living vicariously through us and what we’ve undertaken, perhaps with an eye on realizing their own dreams.
A few, of course, are “gotcha” questions — y’know, from people puzzled at why we’re doing this our way (and not the way they’d do it). Somehow, they disapprove.
Let me just say this — whenever Deb and I encounter disapproval, we smile. Sometimes we laugh out loud. And to those folks… well, bless your heart.
But we welcome constructive observations and honest questions. We appreciate genuine interest, sincere concern. Naturally, some inquiries are more common than others. To wit…
Why did you dig up so much ground for such a small house? On the 20 acres we call “The Mountain,” there are virtually no flat spots — certainly none big enough to accommodate a house (along with foundation grading, access and so on. There’s a decent bench up on the summit, but we quickly ruled that out — the driveway alone would’ve consumed our modest budget.
Even though we picked a spot on a relatively mild slope, we still had to excavate into the grade and then down before we could build up. The foundation required an “over-dig” of three feet, all the way around. Diverting water (runoff) away from the foundation adds six or eight feet on three sides.
Siting our utility shed will be easy, owing to its small size and dumb luck finding the perfect spot.
Since municipal water and sewer don’t run anywhere near the homesite, we had to clear a place for the well, including enough room to accommodate a drilling rig and its support vehicles. Putting in a septic system, specifically the leach lines, meant more digging and more clearing.
The design of the driveway was our choice. It’s semicircular, 400 feet long and generally follows the contours of the land. Lots of trees were felled and some digging was needed. To make it level and to ease access, 20 loads of structural clay were trucked in.
In all, the area we’ve developed — completely or partially cleared, that is — accounts for about two-thirds of an acre, maybe a little less. I think that’s pretty efficient, considering.
Now, to a reasonable certainty, the digging is done. Ditto the clearing. More fill, gravel and base material will be brought in as the rough site is refined and the house goes up.
Why did you choose to build where there’s a homeowners association? When most people hear “HOA,” they think of a tony suburban subdivision, postage-stamp lots, cookie-cutter houses crammed together, and a book of “covenants” (rules) the size of the federal budget.
Where we’re building is nothing like that. We don’t have a squad of Karens telling us what color we can paint our front door.
Our HOA is more legacy than reality — the housing development, such as it is, didn’t turn out as originally conceived a generation ago. Rules are few and loosely (or rarely) enforced.
It’s undeniably rural. Our homesite is remote, the closest neighbor a quarter-mile away. No matter what you imagine when you see “HOA,” this ain’t McMansionville.
Why are you building so close to a road? A friend asked that question recently after seeing a photo showing that the road up The Mountain runs just the other side of the leach field.
First of all, it’s a private road. Second, it’s a rough, narrow and steep dirt road. And third, it’s a road that sees so little traffic that it’s laughable.
Exhibit A: We were on the homesite for over five hours yesterday, and only one vehicle drove by. It was our closest neighbor, leaving for work.
Exhibit B: When our site contractor left yesterday afternoon, he took his excavator with him. He pulled his truck-and-trailer rig out onto the road and parked, and over the course of a half-hour he loaded the equipment and chained it down. There was little worry that he’d be in the way — nobody needed to get through.
We see the occasional delivery truck roll by, bringing parts to Deb’s cousin for one of his projects. Other than that, traffic isn’t what we’d call a problem.
Couldn’t you drive Ernie up The Mountain and live there in the motorhome ’til the house is ready? What a great idea! Save on campground fees, park the bus up there and watch the work!
Not so fast.
As I often say, I’m sure that I could get Ernie up the road — once. Under the right conditions, traction probably wouldn’t be an issue. Under any conditions, however, ground clearance would be.
Once on the homesite, we’d need a solid parking pad that’s out of the way of construction. We haven’t planned for that, because creating such a spot would require considerable excavation and construction.
We’d want utility hookups — 50A shore power and a waste-water disposal line running to the septic system. We probably could arrange for delivery of propane and diesel, but building a pad and laying in hookups are the real roadblocks.
So yeah, it’s a cool idea. It simply isn’t practical (or affordable).
Aren’t you worried about ________ ? Fill-in that blank with whatever you think we should be afraid of — bears, coyotes, tarantulas, ticks, chiggers, scorpions, armadillos, wild pigs, The Blue Man of The Ozarks and, of course, snakes.
The answer is no.
We go there knowing that we share The Mountain with critters, creatures and even legends that preceded us by thousands of years (at least). We’re aware of their presence. Unless they pose a threat to house, home or homestead, however, we exist peacefully together on that 20 acres.
This is The Country. This is The Woods. If you yourself would find any of the things I listed cause for concern or even fear, you wouldn’t like it here. Stay right where you are.
Why is this taking so long? I remember a friend giving me wise counsel many years ago, having seen my frustration about not accomplishing what I wanted to on a particular day.
“All you had to do today is what you did today.”
Far from unambitious, that advice embraces reality — in other words, what’s so. Emotions like frustration, disappointment and impatience are pointless. They’re a waste of time, all the time.
Deb and I apply that attitude every day, getting from here to living on The Mountain. It’ll take as long as it takes. Stuff costs what stuff costs. It’ll rain. There will be delays. Something will go sideways.
What’s so — so what?
We won’t be knocked off the path we’re on. We’re good.
Why on earth did you pick Marion County, Arkansas? Well, it kinda picked us. When Deb’s cousin offered to sell us that 20 acres, we said “Yes!” for a variety of reasons.
To start with, it fulfills a dream we dreamt together almost 18 years ago. Taking shape on The Mountain is the American Life we’ve always wanted.
The scenery — The Ozarks, with its mountains and rivers and rolling farmland — suits us. In all the ways that matter, the people here are real Americans. Marion County is physically, politically and culturally isolated from the decay infecting most of America.
As a practical matter, the cost of living is relatively low, certainly lower than we’d become used to in central Ohio. Our property taxes, for example, likely will be 10% of what we paid on Second Chance Ranch — not 10% less, mind you, but ten cents on the dollar compared to our previous residence.
Oh, and last November we got to vote for Sarah. That was a big deal.
Aren’t you gonna miss night life? Live music? What’ll you do for fun? In a way, this question reminded me of the one about fear of critters. It comes from ignorance, mostly, of what Country living is (or must be) like.
Big-city night life doesn’t interest us and hasn’t been our thing for a very long time. As for music, it’s all over the place — towns like Yellville, Harrison, Mountain View and many others have weekly “music-on-the-square” events during the summer months. Within the last year, some of our favorite artists have played venues in Mountain Home (Arkansas) and Springfield (Missouri).
So if we ever get the itch to catch live music, yeah, it’s out there.
And then there’s the whole concept of “fun.” I’ll admit that my personal definition of the word has changed over the years. What’s more, the point of living in the Country (or part of the point, anyway) is to simplify, to slow down, to notice what’s good without airs or production.
Sometimes that’ll be a kid playing guitar on a porch. It may be the sound of rain on the roof, the rush of wind in the treetops, the shadow of a hawk passing overhead, the scent of cedar.
Or it might be looking out over the valley below and seeing the sky on fire.
Again, if you don’t understand that sort of thing, if it doesn’t make you smile or give you chills, you probably oughta stay put — in suburbia, in the city, whatever. Country ain’t for you.
Any questions?
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath #Ungovernable
#LetsGoBrandon #FJB