But in looking back at the faces I’ve been
Jim Croce, “The Hard Way Every Time”
I would sure be the first one to say
When I look at myself today
Wouldn’t have done it any other way
In this post, which I was too tuckered-out to compose last night, I’ll be telling you about (and sharing images of) what I did yesterday — namely, finishing the work that Deb and I began on Wednesday.
And I want you to know that I know that to most of you, that sort of thing is trivial.
(As in, not worth the words and pictures, never mind turning it into a blog post.)
If you only knew what a big deal it is to me — the rough, gritty, backbreaking work of shaping this piece of land into a Home that pleases us, suits us — you might understand.
Anyway, this is my story.
I knew I’d have to get started early if I had any chance of outrunning the toll inflicted by the previous two days’ effort. I’d be flying solo again, too, so motivation would have to come from within.
As I often do, I broke the job into smaller tasks that’d produce visible results as I went. That always keeps me going.
I began by gathering the hardwood bucked from trees felled Wednesday, loading up the Ranger and cart and dropping it near the fire pit. I laid down a pair of stripped cedar saplings — I’ve saved a bunch of these as I clear them — and stacked the wood on top of those “runners.” Two trees served as piers.
Next I picked up bucked cedar I’d stashed in several places around the homestead, laid two more runners and stacked it separately. (From the hardwood, that is.) That was the day’s first milestone — putting a supply of wood by the fire pit.
(As an aside, and maybe it’s just me, but nothing says “Country” and “Home” like seeing stacks of firewood.)
I spent a few minutes shoveling tailings (from drilling the well) around the base of the well shed, to better seal it from the elements, and then I moved on to slinging rocks. It wasn’t my aim to relocate every single rock along that part of the driveway, only to neaten-up evidence of construction and excavation.
I’ll confess to a seething dislike of the big chunks that came to us with the structural clay. Oh, I love “red dirt” and all, but it’s a foreign substance on this part of The Mountain. The most offensive orange-stained bits absolutely had to go away.
Beginning with the largest debris deposit down by the well shed, I worked my way along the north edge of the driveway. It was a tedious process, not at all easy but strangely gratifying. I built “curbs” (in the form of neat piles) at the entry points to the fire pit and the picnic table.
Finally, using a shovel and an iron rake, I knocked down and tidied-up the mound of clay, rocks and gravel across from the camper, which was a real eyesore to me.
I’d started the day’s labor at 8:45am. It was 2:20pm when I stopped. I was beat and beat-up, yet unbroken, and this project was done.
I’m proud of how it turned out, too, even if it pleases only me.
Deb and I closed out our day with a postcard sunset and a starry night sky. We love it here.
Every morning I wake up older (chronologically) than I’ve ever been. Today I greeted the dawn feeling older (physically) than I’ve ever felt before. I was in just an awful state. At the same time, oddly, my mind and my very soul were invigorated, more alive than they’ve been in decades.
The Mountain is my tonic. I can’t explain it, but it’s so.
I saw Deb off for a half-day of work, then gathered trash, strapped three of our four 30-pound LP cylinders into the bed of my truck and drove to town. After completing my usual mission — transfer station, hardware, post office — I returned Home and, with great pleasure and full intent, did absolutely nothing.
I earned that privilege, dammit.
This may have been the perfect moment to be on The Mountain, at least for anyone whose idea of perfection doesn’t depend on lush green foliage or autumn colors. We had temps in the mid-70s, calm winds and sunny skies — on Groundhog Day, for cryin’ out loud.
Four of The Mountain’s whitetail bucks got a head start on this spectacular “false spring,” making an appearance together on Mountain Two not long after sunup.
It was the most pleasant day yet to enjoy the unobstructed 270° view from our homestead. That’s something we’ll look forward to now when the colder months approach. I believe I’ll miss it come springtime.
Shortly after Deb came Home from her short Friday at work, we headed back into town for a long-overdue return to Carolyn’s Razorback Ribs. We had a chance before we ordered to talk with Carolyn and daughter Felicia about some big doins at the restaurant Wednesday evening (pictured).
That’s Carolyn on the far left. Felicia is in the center of the photo, behind and to the right of the woman in the blue jeans and untucked shirt.
That woman, by the way, is Arkansas Governor Sarah Huckabee Sanders.
The restaurant had very little advance notice of the visit. Most local elected officials were invited, also at the last minute, and the place was packed beyond capacity. Felicia told us that the county fire marshal was in attendance, and she asked him a direct question.
“If this wasn’t because of the governor, you’d shut us down, right?”
“Oh, absolutely,” he quickly replied.
Everyone at Carolyn’s is proud that Sarah chose to have a meal there, even if they don’t rightly know how she or her staff even knew about the humble little BBQ joint. In this traditional American community, it’s something that’ll be talked about for a long time.
Our burgers today were outstanding, as usual, and the new steak fries were a hit with both of us. Afterward we had a beer at Crooked Creek Pub and came Home to a mesmerizing sunset.
Yes, life is good.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath #Ungovernable
#LetsGoBrandon #FJB