Living out here, living this way, is a matter of intent. Maybe it’d be better to say that it works best when it’s intentional — living on purpose, that is. The farther out one lives, the less tethered, the greater the isolation, the more important that mindset becomes.
No, The Mountain isn’t what I’d characterize as a truly remote location, but it’s definitely removed.
It’s unwise, it seems to me, to try to live this Life casually, carelessly, clumsily or recklessly. The inevitable consequences get magnified when help (whatever form that takes) is farther away.
In short, and in many ways, we’re on our own.
Grasping that reality, we signed up for AirEvac. I thought about it again recently when I recognized that it’s a very bad idea to run a chainsaw when I’m exhausted. And I’m thinking about it again now.
Deb, while taking Smudge out late last night, took a bad fall. The pup didn’t pull her down, and she doesn’t really remember exactly how it happened, but suddenly she was on the ground. She banged her right knee and wrenched her right foot.
There’s no swelling. No discoloration. Just enough pain that she can’t put weight on it.
The incident doesn’t qualify as an emergency. It’s not life-threatening. We’ll manage with ice, analgesics, crutches and, if her condition doesn’t improve, a trip to Mountain Home for x-rays.
It does, however, remind us what it means to be where we are. Things are different here.
Independent living, to whatever degree it’s engaged, comes with a cost, or at least a potential cost. The likelihood of paying a price increases with inattention, and so does the price itself.
In the Country, we slow down. Every step, every action and every chore is undertaken with intent. Our pace, such as it is, is the product of knowing what could happen if we don’t.
I’m not saying that Deb’s injury is the result of carelessness. And yes, she’ll be fine. But it serves to reacquaint us with a dynamic of the Life we’ve chosen, one that we dismiss at our peril.
October 9th, 2020 — three years ago today — I published my first post to Ubi Libertas Blog. Entitled, simply, “Day 200,” this was an outgrowth of social-media posts I’d been doing for quite some time, commentaries on politics, culture and, in particular, the WuFlu madness we all endured (and allowed).
This morning I indulged in looking back up the rhetorical road I’ve traveled since, and damn, that’s a lot of territory.
According to WordPress, you’re now reading my 1,071st post. What I’ve shared here has attracted almost exactly 100,000 views, which averages out to about 90 each day. As you know, I haven’t yet monetized Ubi Libertas Blog, and numbers like that wouldn’t make me rich. Nevertheless, they humble me.
I still haven’t opened up my posts for readers’ comments and I don’t expect to. Ubi Libertas currently has a presence on X (nee Twitter), TruthSocial and Instagram, as well as YouTube and Rumble, though I don’t do much of anything with that.
Often I’m urged to branch out and do a dedicated channel on YouTube or Rumble, to produce video content the way I do blog posts. Honestly, I lack the patience for that medium, and I’m not inclined to invest the time it’d take to produce content of a quality that’d satisfy me.
Besides, I’m not an exhibitionist. I’m not wired for video, at least not in a social-media sense.
Oh, and I won’t be doing a podcast, either. I don’t like podcasts as a consumer of information, so I have precisely zero enthusiasm for producing one.
I could, of course, change my mind about some or all of that.
But for now and for the foreseeable future, Ubi Libertas Blog is what it is — a journal, essentially, a personal and yet very public record of what’s rattling around in my head on a given day. It appeals to few, and yet I’m told that it has value.
And so I’ll continue.
Naturally, accounts of our American Life on The Mountain will dominate this space. This is my chronicle, and I can’t imagine anything being more important (to me) to talk about.
Still, with economy, society and culture teetering on the brink these days, other topics are bound to appear here. If I’m still able to post when The Great Collapse happens, certainly I’ll have something to say about that.
I never forget that many of you have been here from the beginning. A few of you were reading my daily social-media rants even before there was a blog. But whether you’re a long-time reader or only recently stumbled into this space, know that I’m grateful for your kind attention.
We go on from here into Year Four.
With the north end of the driveway “tore up” for water and electric, we come and go by way of the south approach. It’s a little more challenging and a lot less forgiving of being even the slightest bit off-target. This morning, as I’ve learned to do, I backed my truck down to the road — quicker and not as sketchy.
Once I reached the county road, I switched the transfer case from automatic 4WD into 2WD. In Flippin I pulled up at the Murphy USA pumps next to Walmart and put in three-quarters of a tank — a wise move, I figured, in light of the latest tumult in the Middle East.
I paid $3.229 for 87 octane. It may be the last time I see that price for a while.
Next stop: curbside pickup, this time a light load of groceries and assorted snack food. And a pair of crutches, of course.
Rolling back the way I’d come, as soon as the tires left pavement, I slipped the Silverado back into auto 4WD. The subdivision road is loose gravel, our own road is dirt, and it’s good having assured traction should I need it (which, on occasion, I have). Just before making my assault on the south end of our driveway, I chose 4WD high and mashed the throttle to climb up onto the homesite.
It’s an adventure, every time.
Deb’s pretty much out of commission. I assembled her crutches, making her at least somewhat ambulatory without my help, but I’m picking up her household chores (mostly having to do with the dogs) until she gets to feeling better.
I took out trash and deposited accumulated dog shit into its own can. (Clearly we’re not authentically Country, ’cause we still pick up after our dogs.) I managed to execute the Flippin run, dump tanks and prime the black, re-fill dog food containers, scatter deer corn and dispose of paper and cardboard refuse in the burn barrel (which continues to impress).
The whole time, I enjoyed myself. Kind of like the proverbial “bad day of fishing,” around here even the mundane is better than something else, somewhere else.
Now if only we can get Deb back on her feet. Then it’d be perfect again.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath #Ungovernable
#LetsGoBrandon #FJB