As you might guess from looking at today’s header image, the SilverSilverado finally got grimy enough that I ran it through the wash, Sunday on our way back from dinner. The next trip up the subdivision road (which was this morning) would deposit a fresh layer of dust on the shine, and I knew that, but it was time to show our hard-working truck a little love.
The windows were the worst part, more of a practical matter than pride. The car wash did a good job on the outside, except for the rear. I wiped that window down and cleaned the inside glass, removing Smudge’s smudges with spritzes of plain water and a microfiber cloth.
Seriously, that’s all I used. It works great and doesn’t damage the tint we applied last August.
I talk a lot about the culture here and how much it appeals to us. No one thing defines Ozarkansas — not commerce or cuisine, values or ideals, tradition, faith, etiquette or patriotism. It all goes together to make the place what it is.
And what it is, for us, is Home.
If I had to point to one common thread woven into the region and its people, it’d be independence. I’m talking about the individual variety, of course, and you may insert “fierce” in front of it.
Folks ’round here prefer to handle their own business. They chafe against interference from faraway capitals. This is the Country, where people take care of each other and take care of themselves. That’s how it is and how it’ll be.
Among the contractors who’ve worked with us on The Mountain is an older fellow who took up his trade later in life. He owns a couple of 40-acre parcels in Searcy County and lives dead-center on one of them. When he came to our property recently, he described his personal conduct in stark terms.
“The only cause a man has to be comin’ up my road is if he has an invitation. If I see someone approachin’ and I don’t expect ’em, there’s about to be a problem — and it won’t be my problem.”
He paused, leveling his gaze. What he said next I won’t forget.
“I am the law on my land.”
I detected not a hint of bravado, only the certainty of his principles.
That’s a man who understands Life, Liberty, Property. He was born free and aims to stay free. He asserts his independence, his sovereignty, without flinching.
There’s a lot of that fierce independence out here, probably more than you think. It’s at the core of what makes Ozarkansas special.
Northern Arkansas was murky this morning, everywhere. From the campground to The Mountain, long views were obscured by a thick, dirty haze — the result, we later learned, of wildfires burning in Canada.
There would be no dramatic Ozarkansas skies today.
At the homesite, Deb and I split up and made our respective contributions to making the fifth-wheel more livable. Her focus today would be vacuuming the carpet and brushing-in dry shampoo, which will be swept up tomorrow. Naturally, my chores were outdoors.
I got the most unpleasant task out of the way right off the bat — draining the waste-water tanks for the first time. The dump valves are a good ways under the rig, and they didn’t operate smoothly. I actually thought the black-water valve was frozen, but eventually I persuaded it to move. Both mechanisms got a healthy dose of white-lithium grease, something I’ll repeat each time we dump.
With that done, I hauled our new 55-gallon barrel up to Deb’s cousin’s place, filled it with water and brought it back to the RV. There I hooked up a nifty 20VDC transfer pump (it may look like a Bauer from Harbor Freight, but a Populo from Amazon was much cheaper) — siphon hose to the barrel, outlet hose to the fresh-water tank. It didn’t take long to top-off our supply.
Next I gave the tank a little headroom, added a cup of bleach through the fresh-water fill, then ran each of the fixtures to draw the sanitizing solution through the system. I added more water from the barrel ’til the tank overflowed and capped it.
I’ll let that sit overnight. After draining the tank completely tomorrow, I’ll re-fill it with clean water. It’s a tedious ritual, for sure, but it should greatly improve the quality and safety of what comes out of our taps.
I had a few things on my list today that I postponed for one reason or another — lack of tools or supplies, mostly. One thing I could do was give our Predator generator better living conditions.
The other day Deb’s cousin gave me a crate-motor crate — that is, an open wooden frame that originally had held an engine for one of his project trucks. It fit over the Predator perfectly, a promising start to a low-tech generator shed.
This afternoon I cut a section out of a tarp and stapled it to the top of the crate and about half of two sides, leaving plenty of room for exhaust to escape and air to circulate. The result, though not weatherproof, shades the generator. Reducing operating temperatures will improve performance and, I expect, fuel economy.
The Predator ran flawlessly today, by the way, all day. Not a single hiccup.
We ended our labors around 4:30pm, buttoned up the rig and headed out. Skies were still muddy. They’ll likely stay that way ’til we get some rain — and that may not happen for a while.
We’ll be on The Mountain again tomorrow.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath #Ungovernable
#LetsGoBrandon #FJB
(Yesterday’s closing image was such a hit with readers that I’ve decided to share another. Shades of Crazy Bernie and his mittens…)
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