I woke up thinking this morning.
I thought about the hours invested in chasing gremlins in this camper’s wiring, swapping fixtures and replacing bulbs last June, before we moved to The Mountain, to make sure that all of the exterior lighting worked.
It seemed almost frivolous at the time. Now, wintering here and stepping outside with the dogs before dawn and after dusk, we’re not stumbling around in the dark. Even when there’s insufficient sun to charge our solar lighting, we always have switchable 12VDC lights.
Sometimes attention to little things pays off big.
I thought about why my shoulders are wrecked and why the right one in particular hurts whenever I’m awake. I remembered when I split mountains of firewood every year, by hand with a heavy maul, because in my 20s my body could absorb that kind of abuse.
I was reminded of all that when I saw a video this morning of a strapping 20-something in a plaid shirt, swinging a heavy maul, showing the world how quickly he could dispatch a 22-inch round of sugar maple. It hurt to watch him flail away, because I know how he’ll feel in 40 years.
I thought back on months of living with my Silverado’s inoperative left-rear turn signal. Every time I’d get close to troubleshooting the bugger, something else more important would come up and I’d keep using hand signals for my left turns.
Yesterday it started working again. I didn’t expect that and I can’t explain it. It worked on our morning trip to the laundromat in Gassville and it worked during a late-afternoon run to Yellville for pizza. I caught myself flicking the stalk earlier than necessary, just to listen to its rhythmic click.
I know it could stop working again at any moment. And it probably will.
I think.
We finished laundry yesterday in record time, and even with a stop at a neighbor’s on the way Home, we were back well before 1pm. I had chores to do — air-up the tires on the Wrangler, swap an LP tank, shovel gravel from the road back onto the driveway. Before I even got started, Deb came to me with a request.
Once I’d finished what I had to do, she asked, would I want to go hiking on the east side of The Mountain like we’d planned to do yesterday?
I didn’t see that comin’. I knocked out my to-dos quickly and we headed down the road in the Ranger.
It’s pretty easy to decide where to enter the woods from the road — ten feet in is a flagged post marking (presumably) the northeast corner of our property. We’d walked this stretch a few times before, and it was cleared years ago as an equestrian trail, but brush and tangle have overtaken the path. Making our way south was a slow process.
Deb brought a pair of pruners. I had my machete.
This is the lowest terrain on The Mountain and definitely the wettest. One of our objectives, while The Mountain was still shedding snow and rain, was to find and map any wet-weather runs.
Just as we suspected, the first one we came across (and the most productive) was about 60 yards in. A ravine, upslope and west, collects runoff from multiple drainages. We uncovered a small confluence near our path of travel, and downstream the run settles into a bit of a flat spot.
With a little digging and a little damming, it could be useful. We have to remember that it’s a transient feature, of course. The pool is also close to (if not right on) the property line, so whatever we do, we’ll be respectful of our neighbors.
We continued slashing and meandering south from there, encountering numerous wet spots but no springs and nothing promising for collecting rainwater. We did our best to stay on our side of the unmarked boundary, too, which wasn’t always easy.
It’s only 200 yards from the road to the southeast corner of our property. We walked probably 500 yards to cover that distance, made more taxing by having to break trail. We welcomed the chance, then, to drop our walking sticks, peel off layers, flop on a rock and swig some water.
At that end of the boundary is a sort of clearing — and I say sort of because the vegetation simply isn’t quite as dense there. Hall Mountain dominates the landscape to the east and south, from that vantage point giving the impression of encircling us. And because we’re at a much lower elevation than the homestead it’s even more imposing, topping out some 500 feet over our heads.
Naturally, yesterday we had a view that’s possible only during the winter months.
It’s a pretty special place. I tried to capture it in the images you see here, and I know I failed — you’d have to be physically present in that spot to understand how magnificent it is.
Deb and I came back from the outing pleased that we’d accomplished what we set out to do. There’s certainly more to discover, including potential springs we may have overlooked. I expect we’ll return again, and often.
We also renewed our commitment to creating a trail that follows our eastern boundary, one wide enough and clear enough to accommodate the Ranger. As much as we’ll enjoy having a quick and easy way to get to the idyllic southeast corner, we also recognize the importance of having the ability to patrol our eastern flank and lay eyes on some of the most remote parts of The Mountain.
Our Sunday ended with the pizza run I mentioned earlier, followed by a sweet sunset. Today dawned with a matching sunrise, clear and cold but destined to warm into the low 60s. That looks to be a pattern for the week ahead.
As ever, life is good.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath #Ungovernable
#LetsGoBrandon #FJB