I find numbers — what all the cool kids call “metrics” — intriguing. And according to the numbers reported by WordPress on my stats page, Ubi Libertas Blog saw more traffic this year than it did in 2022.
Naturally, I suppose, visitors and views peaked during an adventurous 2021, when Deb, the dogs and I traveled in search of America. Still, this year we’re talkin’ tens of thousands of peeks at what I produce here. Visitors are up a gratifying 18% over 2022. I think that’s pretty cool, albeit (to me) a little mind-boggling.
The year’s second-most-popular post was April’s “It’s a whole new ball game,” in which I spoke (in general terms) about our new way forward on The Mountain. (That also happened to be the day we found and bought the fifth-wheel, though I didn’t say so specifically.)
And what was the most-read Ubi Libertas Blog post of 2023?
I’m still shocked that “Greetings from the least ‘woke’ state in America,” published in January, continues to get views every single day. It’s #1 by a wide margin — almost four times more popular than anything else I’ve ever posted.
My personal Google-fu is strong, but even my best efforts have failed to uncover a good reason for that. I guess it’s possible that lots of like-minded folks simply are looking for a woke-free zone, and this post shows up in their search results.
The other possibility is that someone linked to it in their own blog, or in a social-media post or comment — something, somewhere — though I haven’t yet found it myself. If you have the answer, or even a clue, click on the Contact link and let me know.
No, Ubi Libertas Blog isn’t set up to generate income, but I’ll tell you what — if I knew what I’d done to generate that kind of traffic and could replicate it, I’d monetize this bitch in a heartbeat.
A few of the things I wrote about yesterday were thwarted today by cloud cover. Smudge and I didn’t see that full moon this morning. The sun is neither warming the RV nor charging our solar lights.
After Deb left for work, I took our happy Heeler out for a walk. Barring some sort of irresistible distraction, she’s shown herself to be pretty responsive to my commands when off-leash, and today she was a model of obedience.
That alone improved my mood, which beforehand wasn’t reacting well to the gray day.
We made our way down the driveway toward the road, where I paused to consider the pile of unsplit firewood-to-be that sits near the well shed. I thought briefly about attacking that today but dismissed the notion — I don’t mind the cold, but I’d rather the sun be out.
I have the freedom these days to make such shallow decisions.
That unsplit wood represents one of my ideas for this blog next year — writing more about work and practical skills. Building out the cabin will supply plenty of material for that, of course. So will the many other homesteading tasks we undertake on The Mountain.
Don’t look for how-to-do-it content. These’ll be how-we-did-it posts.
While I’m on the subject of reshaping the blog, there’s a word I invoke a lot here that I’ve decided to stop using. The word is “homesite.”
Yeah, it’s a small thing, but that word has annoyed me for a while now. It doesn’t feel right. It doesn’t convey who we are and what we’re doing on The Mountain.
Every time I typed “homesite,” it seemed sterile, documentary, factual but evoking no sense of this piece of land.
In its place, you can expect me to say “homestead” — a bit aspirational, perhaps — or, simply, “Home.” I want to portray accurately what we’re up to and the plans we have, and that means capturing what I see, the way I see it.
That comes with a side of heart and soul. No substitutions.
I walked a ways down the road this afternoon, south of our place toward Hall Mountain. The soft shoulders of that long, high ridge are clearly visible through the trees now, and its presence is almost overwhelming.
The feeling was one of isolation more than anything else. Sure, I know there are a few homes up there, indeed all around us. But they’re a half-mile off or more, and these distant neighbors are here for the same reason we are — to get away.
Even so, all of us livin’ way out here feel the effects of America’s decline — the runaway inflation, the unchecked invasion of illegals across the southern border, the decaying culture. Unrest and disorder certain to accompany the 2024 presidential election may not visit Marion County, Arkansas, but we’ll see the ripples.
There will come a time, unfortunately, when we’ll see more than that. The fundamental transformation of America won’t be complete until tradiitional, patriotic, Liberty-loving Country folk are brought to heel.
No one here wants that, of course. I also don’t know anyone who fears it. What makes these People the right ones to live with makes us the wrong People to fuck with.
My like-minded friends, you need to get away.
Get out of the cities. Get out of the suburbs. Leave the progressive places, the enclaves of control.
Now.
I know it’ll be hard. “It’s just not possible,” I can hear you saying. “Not now.”
I realize that’s the way it feels to you. And you need to realize that time is short — there truly is no tomorrow.
Find a way.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath #Ungovernable
#LetsGoBrandon #FJB