We were gathering what we needed early yesterday and getting ready to leave for Harrison when I glanced up at the tall red cedars in front of The Amphitheater. At that lower elevation the trees were in clear view, but behind them the oaks at the summit still were shrouded in morning mist.
It was like a dream scene — hard to describe, impossible to capture in an image. You’ll just have to take my word for it.
We spent months visiting The Mountain for a day and then returning to the campground. Yesterday was the reverse — our mission was to unhook Ernie, put propane in the tank and then park the rig on another site so that our hosts could make use of the attractive one we’d occupied since last August.
And we did all that.
The view from our new campsite is familiar — it’s right next door to where we were planted from October of 2021 until March of 2022. It’s the site once occupied by our Canadian friends.
What made the whole exercise something less than a lark was that we had to bring all three dogs with us. And since Deb insisted that the motorhome’s now-squeaky-clean interior stay that way, Scout, Dipstick and Smudge stayed in the air-conditioned Silverado all damned day. (The heat index outside was brutal, in excess of 110°F.) We burned a half-tank of 87 octane to make it happen and, despite regular walks, our pups showed the stress.
At one point in the afternoon I visited the park office, where one of our hosts surprised me with a belated birthday gift. See, she remembered me talking about sitting outside Ernie one morning under a hail of black walnuts launched by rambunctious squirrels, saying that it felt like I’d set up my camp chair on the green of a short par three. Unbeknownst to me she’d collected, shelled and planted several black walnuts, spending five months (no kidding) tending to them.
One thrived. She named it “Ernie” and presented it to me yesterday.
It was one of the coolest gifts I’ve ever received. Naturally, Ernie (the tree) will be planted in a place of honor on The Mountain.
We stayed late to show our intrepid coach to a guy who may be interested in buying it. That went fine, well enough that he’ll return soon to take it for a drive. We drove back to The Mountain in the dark, arriving just before 9:30pam.
But the day wasn’t over just yet. We hadn’t run the generator (and thus the AC) while we were gone, so the fifth-wheel, like the world outside at that hour, was oppressively hot. We spent the next three-and-a-half hours making it tolerably cool for sleeping.
I figured we were good on propane for a while. One tank surprised us by running empty recently, but the dealer where we bought the rig assured us that he’d given us a full load of LP before delivery. So when Deb suggested that I check the level in the other tank this morning I humored her, opened the door to the gas bay and gave the second tank a back-and-forth rock.
It rang like a bell. The dealer lied to us.
By now I have a pretty decent sense of how much propane it takes to run a fridge (all the time), a range (every morning), an oven (for frozen pizza, only once so far) and a water heater (showers, dishwashing). There’s no way we’ve blown through two 30-pound tank in a little over three weeks.
So it was off to Miller Hardware this morning with the empty tank. When I approached the stop sign at State Route 14 and US 62, eastbound traffic was backed up as far as I could see. Poor bastards, I thought. Probably a crash over toward Flippin.
I turned west toward the hardware, where I paid for the fill (89 cents a pound), along with a new backup 30-pound tank and another fill. I was aided at the LP pump by an outgoing young man who typifies the locals — talkin’ ’bout the weather, specifically how it affects his fishin’. He was looking forward to lunch today, because his manager would be grillin’ up fresh-caught gar out back of the store.
The intersection of 14 and 62 had cleared by the time I passed through again. Crossing the Crooked Creek bridge, I looked into the city park to my left — an ambulance was parked next to the ball fields, where an Air Evac helicopter was idling. I pulled in, kept a respectful distance from the LZ and snapped a few pictures.
This is the way of things out here. I’m grateful that Deb and I joined the AirMedCare network.
A mile farther on I turned onto the county road behind a pickup truck pulling a food trailer — not the sort of thing I expected to see, really. The truck stopped. I pulled abreast and stopped, too, rolling down my window. Turned out the guy was looking for a way around the still-backed-up traffic on Route 62.
“Follow me!” I shouted. I went on ahead and led him as far as the subdivision road. There I pulled off, and he pulled up beside me.
“Turn left at the turkey barns a mile or so on up,” I said. “You’ll run right into 62.”
He grinned, waved and hollered a thank-you.
It struck me that I have enough of a sense of this place that I was able to give directions. Helped a fella out. It was a good feeling.
Maybe I belong here.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath #Ungovernable
#LetsGoBrandon #FJB
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