One of the last things I said to Deb before we drifted off to sleep last night, more to remind myself than to tell her, was that I’d be checking the level in propane tank #1 today. The gas system in this camper requires switching manually between a pair of 30-pound cylinders, and I knew that the one we were pulling from was getting close to empty.
I awoke around 1:30am, as old men tend to do, to find the bedroom chillier than I would’ve expected with the furnace set at 68°F. Ditto the bathroom. I walked downstairs and checked the air temperature readout on the thermostat — 58°F.
Well, shit.
I got dressed, strapped on my headlamp, went outside and glanced at the gauge — sure enough, tank #1 was done. I closed that valve, opened the valve on tank #2 and moved the selector to the full cylinder.
Back inside, I switched on the furnace and bumped it up a couple degrees. The whir of the fan and the roar of the burner were the sound of success — we were heatin’ once again.
Deb, bless her heart, slept through the hubbub. Smudge, however, did not, so I leashed our happy Heeler and took her outside. After she finished her business, we ducked into the cabin and I grabbed the last BRCC espresso from the fridge.
See, I’m one of those people who can’t go back to bed once I’m up and out. I also didn’t want to start a pot of coffee at that hour. Thus the camo-clad can of caffeine at 2am.
I’ll re-fill the spent LP tank at Miller Hardware next week when I venture west to the transfer station.
My (admittedly pessimistic) prediction about how I’d feel this morning, following two days of loppin’ limbs, slingin’ brush and tossin’ rocks, scored a bullseye — I’m beat-up AF. This wouldn’t be a day for bouncing back.
Today’s forecast called for morning snow and a high only in the 30s, which was fine with me. All I had to do was take out a bag of trash and dump the waste-water tanks. Ordinarily I’d grab my shower before dealing with the latter (to have as much gray water as possible for flushing the Stinky Slinky), but the voices in my head advised me this morning to dump first and shower later, unless I wanted to be kneeling in snow and ice.
I listened to the voices. And they were right.
Before coming back indoors and crashing for a while, I had an itch to scratch — as usual, I wanted to accomplish something today. Those large oak rounds were down by our monster brushpile, and I fancied having them up at the fire pit. Moving the beastly things would require either the truck or the buggy.
I rolled the Ranger out of the shed and over to where the rounds were sitting, and I lifted each one into the bed. (For the record, that’s not the smartest thing I’ve ever done.) I motored the load up the driveway, backed in toward the fire ring and tumbled the heavy chunks of wood onto the ground.
Jockeyed into place now, they add a nice touch, if only to my eyes.
Tiny snow pellets had begun collecting on the Ranger as I drove it back to the shed.
Deb hasn’t yet gotten a good look at the work I did Wednesday and Thursday — the sun’s barely up when she leaves for work, and it’s dark by the time she gets Home. I’ve promised her our first fire in the new pit tomorrow, and it should be a good day for that.
I’m thinkin’ that the area could become a sort of workshop for me, a kind of laboratory where I can experiment with and resurrect my woodcraft skills. Such skills are perishable, and mine are showing signs of significant rot.
Firemaking, for one, by various means and in less-than-ideal conditions. Cookery, both fire and stove. Construction, using natural and found materials.
I know all that stuff, but knowin’ ain’t enough. I need to practice it.
And speaking of perishable skills, Deb and I are way overdue in developing a couple of proper ranges on The Mountain. We probably will set up a simple lane for bow and slingshot around the homestead itself, relatively near the cabin, but we’ll want to be more isolated, deeper in the woods, for short and long arms.
With it bein’ so rocky ’round here, ricochet is a concern. I mean, it’s easy to find a place which topographically provides a backstop but geologically presents a hazard. Hauling in material to create a conventional berm may be out of the question, owing to most of The Mountain being downright inaccessible (other than on foot).
Now if I owned a skid-steer, it could be done. But lacking that, we’ll have to get creative.
If I’d had anywhere to go today, I would’ve called this round of winter weather “messy.” Apparently, our part of Ozarkansas was on the snow-rain line, and conditions spent all day trying to decide what to do.
It started around 9:45am as snow, developing into big flakes quickly and leaving over an inch on the ground. The back-and-forth commenced mid-day, eventually turning to all rain. Temperatures hovered around freezing and never reached the forecast high.
The result, at least here on The Mountain, was what always happens when a (relatively) warm rain falls on cold snow — fog.
That makes it either gloomy or dreamy, depending on the kind of day you’re having.
I had a pretty good one.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath #Ungovernable
#LetsGoBrandon #FJB