What follows is a post I published last night. Not long after it went live — and I know that some of you saw it shared on social media — WordPress had one of its technical hiccups and totally mangled it. Instantly it reverted to a draft I’d begun five hours earlier. Frustrated, I pulled it down and went to bed.
Fortunately, I’d downloaded a copy just before WordPress nuked my work. This, as it would’ve appeared last night, is the original blog post.
Incoming?
March 3, 2024
Five weeks from tomorrow, a considerable swath of the contiguous US will be treated to a total solar eclipse, the first since 2017 and the last ’til 2044 and 2045. Not everyone is into that sort of thing, but many (if not most) Americans are — when the moon blocked out the sun seven years ago, an estimated 154 million of us watched it happen, either directly or online.
So yeah, it was kind of a big deal. There hadn’t been a total solar eclipse visible in the US in 38 years, and this was the first to take place in the Interweb and smartphone age.
In 2017, so-called “eclipse tourism” was a thing. It’s said that 21 million Americans traveled away from home for the event, most of those venturing into the 70-mile-wide “path of totality” where day became night for (at most) less than three minutes.
The path of totality for this eclipse is over 120 miles wide. It arcs from the Rio Grande valley northeast to Maine.
And it passes directly over The Mountain. On April 8th, just before 2pm CDT, we’ll have three minutes of totality. If we were to drive southeast to Mountain View, we’d see four minutes and fifteen seconds of mid-day darkness.
We’ll be staying put.
In fact, we’re prepping for it. We’re treating it like a predicted severe weather event (an ice storm, a blizzard, a hurricane). With the prospect of a significant influx of eclipse tourists — no one really knows how many, so estimates are all over the place — roads may be jammed, services could be strained and some commodities might be in short supply.
No unnecessary travel. (Deb’s taking the day off from work.) Gas tanks full. Two weeks’ provisions — food, water and supplies — laid-in a week before April 8th. Pretty basic stuff.
One additional measure we’re taking isn’t something we’d necessarily do for a named storm, and that’s addressing our security. With 2017 as our guide, we know that anyone who lives in the path of totality next month shouldn’t be surprised if out-of-town strangers decide to view the eclipse from places where they have no right to be.
They might even park an RV or pitch a tent on private property, days ahead of time. Easier to get forgiveness than permission, right?
Well, not on The Mountain it isn’t. We might be hospitable, but not to entitled, disrespectful and uninvited folks.
And so Deb and I have reviewed and tightened-up PERSEC and OPSEC. Also, with the knowledge of and explicit support from our neighbors, early this morning I planted two signs along our road — one down near the subdivision road, the other at the northeast corner of our property.
They reinforce what’s true (it is a private road) and what should be obvious (only people who live up here belong up here). We’re not foolish enough to believe that a sign is all that’s required, nor do we think it’ll make honest people out of dishonest ones, but it was worth doing.
We have a simple attitude about this — if you’re invited, then you’re welcome. If you’re a neighbor, you’re welcome. If you’re bringing us something we ordered or coming to perform a service we asked for, you’re welcome.
If you’re truly in need, we’ll help you.
Otherwise, both you and your GPS are making a mistake.
I’m pretty sure that some of you are of the opinion that we’re over-reacting. All I can say to that is that I’d rather be prepared than unprepared — always.
Late this afternoon we made a spur-of-the-moment decision to cap our weekend with dinner at Carolyn’s Razorback Ribs. As we rolled down The Mountain, at the edge of the woods we spied sure signs of spring — growing next to each other were a cherry and a redbud, both in bloom. (See today’s header image.)
During our meal, the owner stopped by our table and we enjoyed a great conversation. The food, as usual, was amazing.
One of the waitresses, unbeknownst to us, overheard me ask Carolyn if she still served huckleberry ice cream, and if she could make a milkshake with it. Later, when I stepped up to the cash register, I was surprised to find a huckleberry milkshake waiting there for me.
The sun had set by the time we arrived back on The Mountain. We paused to let four whitetail does cross in front of us. The western sky was striped in pink.
Over the homestead, the whole sky was ablaze.
Life is good.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath
#LetsGoBrandon #FJB