A pair of galvanized-steel trash cans — one for household refuse, one for the dogs’ business — live down by the shed, well away from the RV and our soon-to-be cabin. Yesterday, while pulling bags from the cans for our run to the transfer station, I caught myself smiling.
No one else was around. My facial expression wasn’t prompted by any particular sight, sound or conscious thought. I was just taking out the trash.
And I was smiling.
Much of what I chronicle here on Ubi Libertas Blog these days must get tiresome for many readers — filling barrels with well water, dumping the poop tank, running a chainsaw, taking out the garbage. I know that many of you have similar chores, and you damned sure don’t write about them.
Who does that?
I do, apparently. It’s part of what occupies our American Life on The Mountain. The reason why I write about it was all over my face yesterday as I hoisted bags of trash.
In the mundane, joy.
Yeah, I’m in a pretty cool place. No doubt about it, those trash cans are in an idyllic setting in these Ozarkansas woods. But taking out the garbage is still a chore, a routine and boring chore — I mean, where’s the joy in that?
All I can tell you is that it’s right there. Embracing joy is a choice. It begins with gratitude.
I’m alive and I’m able at the age of 66. That, as the saying goes, is a privilege denied to many — one in four American men, in fact, doesn’t make it as far as I have. If being grateful for that isn’t reason to smile, I can’t imagine what is.
Well, I got our vehicle-insurance situation sorted out today, or at least I think I did. Our former agent in Ohio attacked the problem yesterday on that end, supplying the state of Arkansas with proof that both Jeep and Chevy had been insured there through November 15th (when we acquired insurance here).
Around midday today I paid a visit to our current agent here in Yellville. I showed her the “non-compliance notice” we’d received, and she logged onto the state system to submit policy information. When she was finished, the screen reported that the “suspension” had been resolved.
We’ll see on Friday if that’s true, when we try again to register our vehicles.
Returning to The Mountain afterward, on a whim I pulled off the county road at a break in the trees, threw on the four-ways and hopped out. I looked south toward a high ridge rising in the distance.
That’s my Home, I thought. I live up there.
The exterminator we’d called arrived on the homesite late this afternoon. Nice kid. We described the work we wanted him to do, and he began spraying organic insecticide up behind the cabin pad, around The Amphitheater. From there he moved on to the area around the shed.
At that point, before he got to everything we’d asked to be treated, he ran out of product. We were, of course, disappointed. He offered to come back and finish another day, and we may have him do that, but today we paid him for what he did do (it didn’t cost much) and bid him goodbye.
Now everyone’s talkin’ about imminent WuFlu mandates. The word I’ve heard invoked most often is “lockdowns,” an authoritarian tactic which, if attempted, won’t meet with nearly the level of compliance it saw in 2020.
Not ’round here, anyway.
Whether we’re looking at lockdowns or other sorts of edicts, these new mandates remain rumors — for now. If and when they do come (and I believe it’s a matter of when, not if), we can be certain that they won’t be grounded in science, or facts, or Liberty. Just like last time, it’ll be about mass persuasion, groupthink and State control.
If you got conned into believing that “we’re all in this together” bullshit three years ago, don’t let it happen again. Stand your ground. Resist. Refuse to comply. Live like a born-free American, dammit.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath #Ungovernable
#LetsGoBrandon #FJB