“We’re always glad to be here on The Mountain,” I wrote on social media late yesterday. “Some days are better than others.
“Today, for instance. Just amazing.”
And so it was.
Deb and I took the Ranger up to Dancing Tree, parked and set up our chairs. We hadn’t been there five minutes when we heard what sounded like a quad engine — at first we thought it might be Deb’s cousin coming up from his side of The Mountain, then judged that it was on the road near our homesite.
We decided to investigate.
Hopping back into the buggy, we made a patrol run to the subdivision road, turned around and came back up toward our place. Nothin’. We continued on to the cousin’s cabin at the other end of the road — and our neighbor from down below pulled into the driveway behind us in his new side-by-side. Apparently, each of us was investigating the other.
Or something. We laughed about that.
Deb’s cousin heard the ruckus and came outside. We talked awhile, then got back into our buggies and followed a cut to a secluded spot deeper in the woods. There we got our first look at a new project that’s underway — just rough clearing at this point, but the beginning of something very cool.
I’ll leave it at that for now.
Deb and I left and returned to our chairs near the summit. She stayed put, mostly, not wanting to set back the healing process by overdoing it. I was up and down and all over.
Fall foliage was at its peak on our high ground. Towering oaks and other mature hardwoods were draped in brilliant golds and oranges. A fresh layer of fallen leaves crunched underfoot.
Dramatic clouds, driven by a steady breeze, crossed the deep-blue sky. It was the stuff of postcards.
Because we were up there a long time, perhaps longer than we’d ever been, we got an unexpected bonus. Simply being still in that space brought the natural world to us.
We heard the duff rustle downslope from Dancing Tree — something was moving through the woods toward us. Not a squirrel. Wrong pace to be a deer. We craned our necks, using the parked Ranger to conceal our movements.
And then I heard it — click-cluck-cluck, click-cluck-cluck. Seconds later we both saw an unmistakable black form picking its way through the brush, maybe 15 yards away.
Wild turkey. A solitary hen, and a big one. We know they’re here, and we’ve spotted them elsewhere in the surrounding territory, but she was the first we’d seen on The Mountain.
“Reluctant” doesn’t fairly describe the feeling as we folded our chairs and headed back to the homesite. Shortly after we got back, Deb’s cousin joined us for beers and relaxed conversation.
A fiery sunset capped our Saturday.
Miss Smudge didn’t observe the switch back to Standard Time. Somehow she failed to recognize that I was supposed to get an extra hour of sleep this morning, and I was out with her before sunup.
Once Deb was out of bed and the dogs had been taken care of, I collected what I needed to set up my vitamins and supplements for the coming week.
I stepped outside and sat down at the picnic table, brushing aside leaves and twigs and half-eaten acorns. Before beginning my re-stocking routine, I looked around.
Trees at the bottom of the driveway still holding on to their yellow hues. Neat rows of cordwood, along with that big pile of cherry waiting to be stacked. Our burn barrel, which should see a blaze over the next day or two.
And so much work to do.
I smiled — not in spite of that, but because of it.
Early this morning on the property across the road, our Cajun neighbors were out in their orange vests. I can’t say for sure that they were hunting whitetails (it’s bow season, with modern-gun season coming next weekend), ’cause I wasn’t able to see what they were carrying. It’s possible that they were setting up stands or hides, maybe scouting.
Deb and I took care of a few necessaries today, then early this afternoon we retired to our accidental patio behind the cabin. I built an equally accidental fire in our pop-up pit — the upland version of a driftwood fire, fueled entirely by down red cedar laying on the ground between the cabin and The Amphitheater.
This kind of fire wouldn’t heat the cabin overnight. The decades-dead cedar burned hot and it burned fast. I was feeding the lay every ten minutes or so.
“What a wonderful fire,” Deb said as we let it burn down. “It’s beautiful, and it smells great.
“And it’s keepin’ the bees away.”
These are the moments, People.
Only the state of Missouri and the Mississippi River separate The Mountain from a place where an anti-American state government bans a dizzying array of firearms in common use elsewhere across the country, lumping them all into the imaginary category of “assault weapons” and labeling the misbegotten law the “Protect Illinois Communities Act.” On Friday, a federal appeals court reversed a lower court’s injunction preventing its enforcement, upholding the ban.
Illinois is just another progressive playground, incrementally and shamelessly distancing itself from Founding Principles. And the feds can’t wait to join the party.
I want to be clear here: There’s no such thing as a constitutional gun law. (Read that again.) No statute presuming to “control” the possession of arms is consistent with natural law, which the Constitution explicitly guarantees.
And to that point — if it bothers you, upsets you, angers you, realize that we’re living in post-Constitution America. (Read that again.) It’s been a very long time since we could say that government operates within rules ratified in 1788, or fulfilled its mission to guard individual Liberty set forth in the Bill of Rights three years later.
Is America dead? If that’s defined as the constitutional republic founded in 1776, then the answer is yes. There’s no credible argument to the contrary.
So, then, what’s left? If America’s dead, what survives?
The man — the individual, that is — with his birthrights. Natural law.
If you understand history (simply knowing it isn’t enough), you recognize that the American Ideal rests squarely on the individual anyway. The death of the country (as founded) has reduced us to the seeds of revolution, the very essence of the Founding.
In short, we’re back to Square One.
Either you grasp that reality or you don’t. Either you’re equipped with the mindset to deal with it or you’re not.
You and I stand at the crossroads of compliance and resistance. We can step to the tune called by our betters, or we can refuse.
I know not what course others may take; but as for me…
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath #Ungovernable
#LetsGoBrandon #FJB