It took me a while to push my previous post, “Sharp words,” across the finish line because I kept sidetracking myself. Whenever I picked up a knife to photograph it or write about it, I ended up putting it to some sort of mild use or just fiddling with it. Such was the case yesterday when I snapped a few final pictures of that Ontario machete and the Old Hickory fixed-blade.
I like my go-to knives to have a pronounced 90-degree spine in case I ever have to use it to strike a firesteel. I noticed that the Old Hickory didn’t, so I pulled out a flat file from my toolbox and worked the spine until it was satisfactorily crisp.
Then I wondered if the Morakniv I’d photographed the day before might benefit from the same treatment. Turned out its spine was a little softer than I prefer. I put it right, too.
While I was at it, since I had the file in my hand and the machete right there in front of me, I made sure that its spine also was firesteel-ready. And that’s when I noticed that the cutting edge could use a touch-up.
More filing.
For the record, seldom do I work the edge of my machetes with a stone. Never a strop. That’s tough love compared to how I treat my axes and other knives, but it matches the tool’s brutal utility.
Earlier in the week, Deb and I had watched a YouTube video by a guy named Jason Salyer. (His channel is “ON Three,” and he’s part of the “Survival Dispatch” team.) In this episode, he documented the steps he took to transform an inexpensive Tramontina machete into the kind of woods tool that suits him.
I looked again at my Ontario. Some of the mods Salyer made either weren’t possible on my machete or didn’t interest me, but a few were appealing.
The proverbial “rabbit hole” beckoned.
I cut the grimy adhesive tape off the handle, put there shortly after I bought the tool to make it more secure in my hand. In its place I applied a generous wrap of actual grip tape, the black kind used on baseball bats.
Next, following Salyer’s lead, I cut a six-foot length of paracord and wrapped about two inches of the blade directly in front of the handle. That’ll allow me to “choke up” a little, making it easier to do fine work with a big tool.
Finally, I gave the machete a paracord lanyard. Let me be clear here — it’s not a “wrist strap.” Tethering a knife to your wrist is a breathtakingly bad idea. (The reason why should be obvious.) Slipping three fingers through this loop of cord, then gripping the handle normally, keeps my hand from sliding forward onto the sharpened edge.
I slipped the now-refreshed machete into an inexpensive nylon sheath I picked up recently, an overdue upgrade from the cardboard-and-duct-tape scabbard I fashioned for it a couple of years ago.
And then I stopped.
All of the stuff I did was practical and a good use of my time. Speaking metaphorically, the view justified the detour.
If you’re as much into knives as I am, there’s an outside chance that a few of the images in yesterday’s post looked familiar. Even though all of the photographs and all of the knives are mine, you seem to remember seeing them somewhere else on the wwWeb.
That’s entirely possible.
In 2009-2010 and again in 2014-2015, I worked for a major online knife retailer. My job included writing and illustrating product reviews and how-to articles, as well as creating computer wallpaper that enthusiasts could download from an affiliated website.
Most of the wallpaper photos were knifemakers’ “beauty shots” of their products. I did, however, add lots of my own copyrighted images. Most were taken in the back yard at Second Chance Ranch.
So no, your eyes (and your memory) weren’t deceiving you.
We’re gettin’ really good at the trash thing.
I had to look to see when the last time was that I went to the transfer station — the 17th of last month, a Wednesday. Back then I speculated that we might be able to go ’til Friday the 26th or, even more optimistically, Monday the 29th, before making our next garbage run. That would’ve made it 13 days.
By stretching it to today, we’d gone a personal best 17 days.
Think we’re proud of ourselves? Damned right we are.
The secret? Crushing and collapsing (or filling with other trash) empty containers that only take up space. Composting almost all of our non-meat food waste. Doing a much better job of holding back combustibles for the burn barrel.
I’m hoping that we’ll be able to push it to three weeks eventually. I think we can, though burn bans this summer may get in the way of that. Once we’re in the cabin, I expect we can go as long as four weeks between trips to the transfer station.
Anyway, it makes us happy. (It makes me happy, at least.) And maybe it’s just me, but talking about this feels Country.
Up on The Mountain, the beat goes on. We got a good soaking rain yesterday, the kind we need this time of year. The lower level is greening nicely, thanks to moderately warm temps, high (but tolerable) humidity and mostly cloudy skies.
Ticks are insanely bad here this year. Everybody says so, blaming the mild winter (which we’re still not complaining about).
And the cicadas have arrived, 13-year Brood XIX. I haven’t seen one myself just yet, but I hear them beginning mid-morning — for the moment they’re a ways away, in the woods to our south and at lower elevations, but since Tuesday the racket has crept closer every day. Before long they’ll be everywhere.
I give ’em ’til tomorrow.
We’ve come to the time of year now when an old man shouldn’t be doing “yard work” in the afternoon. It isn’t as hot now as it’ll be in July and August, but (as I learned last summer, almost the hard way) I have to be a lot more careful these days. I can’t hydrate my way out of heatstroke anymore.
All the same, there’s stuff to be done. I have my eye on several trees I want to harvest for firewood, along with hardwood logs I think I can reach in The Monster Brushpile. During early morning hours, all of that will be bucked in place, hauled to the wood yard, split and stacked — for the winter of ’25-’26.
Such is this Life. “Getting ahead” has a whole different meaning to me here than it did in the corporate world.
At the grocery today, I ran into a local farmer who has cow-calf operation, an elderly fellow I first met while visiting Deb at work. The woman behind the deli counter was as friendly as ever, asking how we we’re getting along on The Mountain.
Deb arranged with one of her customers at the bank to buy some of his farmer’s cheese and yogurt. Raw milk and fresh eggs are available, too.
These are random scenes from our world. They’re not the kind of things I could easily weave into an account of the day, but still they capture the essence of this place and its people, the land and the way we’ve chosen.
Life is good.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath #Ungovernable
#LetsGoBrandon #FJB