“Somebody laid the mountains low while the town got high.”
Seeing the place-name “Lahaina” mentioned in news reports about the fires in Maui this week brought to mind the Eagles song, “The Last Resort” — Don Henley’s misanthropic, nihilistic enviro-opus. Almost 50 years old now, it hadn’t entered my thoughts in probably 20.
I used to be obsessed with that song, specifically the well-crafted lyrics. And truly, the observations it makes about human nature and the quest to create “paradise” aren’t wrong.
But I stop short of harboring shame for being human; or being white, American and successful; or clearing land for my Home. I believe in free-market capitalism and understand the difference between conquest and colonialism.
Yet I find the essential ethic expressed in “The Last Resort,” though taken to an extreme musically, valuable on a personal level.
Who will provide the grand design?
What is yours? And what is mine?
‘Cause there is no more new frontier —
We have got to make it here.
We satisfy our endless needs
And justify our bloody deeds
In the name of destiny
And in the name of God.
That’s as correct as it is blunt. The message, useful in an individual context, falls apart only when expanded to the collective.
Of course, inspiring collective guilt was the whole point of the song. I simply don’t have any use for that. These days I take away something very different.
I’m sure that’d piss off Henley and his progressive friends.
Rain fell on The Mountain overnight and again this morning, a lot more than was predicted. What we expected would end before 9am stuck around a couple of hours longer and, at times, came down hard.
I love the sound of rain on the roof of this RV. The living space has windows on three sides, and the “fishbowl” effect is wonderful on mornings like this — deep and dusty greens of the rain-soaked woods wrap us in peace that’s hard to imagine unless you’re here.
After living on The Mountain for six weeks without grid power, we sure are making up for what we were missing. We run both air-conditioning units all the time now, night and day, keeping it almost uncomfortably cold inside the trailer.
We make no apologies for that.
During a lull in the rain late this morning, I went out to the shed and took care of a small, practical task. The utility cart we bought at the Sears going-out-of-business sale in Harrison a while back offered no attachment points, no place to lash-down an oversize load. It did, however, come with pre-drilled quarter-inch holes around the upper edge of the tub.
The solution was obvious. I picked up a handful of eye bolts, flat washers and backing nuts at Miller Hardware and installed them today. Cheap and easy.
And then it started raining again.
I think both Deb and I were a bit restless this afternoon — not bored, really, just antsy. Together we decided on a quick trip to Mountain Home, telling ourselves that we needed supplies for a couple of projects and repairs.
That was true, actually. It just wasn’t pressing.
On the east edge of Flippin I turned onto US Route 62B, this time approaching the river town of Cotter from the opposite end. We wound down to the sprawling city park tucked under the highway bridge — lots of folks fishing, a whole bunch of boats on the White.
There’s a spring-fed swimmin’ hole, complete with a rope swing. (That’s right, ’round these parts you can find a genuine rope swing in a taxpayer-funded park.) And there’s an interesting memorial to railroad workers.
Nice park. Great little town.
We continued on to Mountain Home, did some business (Harbor Freight, pet store, Lowe’s) and then headed for Yellville and Home. Passing Gassville — see what I did there? — we succumbed to the urge for fast food.
While waiting in the drive-thru line, we noticed a pickup truck and trailer parked off to the side, a local farmer selling his produce.
Yellow watermelons? Never heard of such a thing.
You can count on reading more about that tomorrow.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath #Ungovernable
#LetsGoBrandon #FJB