As Deb rolled up the subdivision road on her way home from work yesterday, she reported that it got some much-needed love from a Marion County grader. Gravel had been redistributed, the surface overall was better, and a particularly nasty washout halfway to our road had been erased.
She started up The Mountain, remarking that the telecom utility had spread the gravel dropped off on Friday. Right about the time she told me what a difference that made, her tone abruptly changed.
“Whoops — oh, c’mon! Shit!”
She was silent for a moment.
“Um, I’m in the ditch. I’m stuck. Sorry, but can you please come down here?”
I hopped in the truck and made my way to where she and Mercy had run off the road — a quarter-mile down from the cabin, just over the crest, well-and-truly snared. Apparently she’d veered left to avoid a largish rock on the right, and thick Chinese bushclover hid where the road ended and the ditch began. (It’s now over two feet deep, courtesy of all that runoff on the 17th.)
She caught an edge and it sucked her in. The Jeep didn’t roll, but it was leaning far enough that she couldn’t open the driver’s door.
I considered my options. Since I couldn’t get by her and I couldn’t turn around, I’d have to go nose-to-nose and pull against gravity, in reverse. I threaded a 20-foot tow strap through the front-bumper hooks on both vehicles, got in the truck and attempted a long, steady pull.
That didn’t work — my tires refused to bite on the loose surface. The ass end of the truck wanted to slide into the woods and roll me off the side of The Mountain. On to Plan B.
Nosing up to the Jeep, throwing the truck in reverse and mashing the gas, I tried to jerk it free. (This would’ve been a great time to have one of those nifty kinetic recovery ropes.) It took a few snatches to “pop” the Jeep up out of the ditch, but eventually I was able to yank it back onto the road.
Mercy didn’t suffer any damage, at least none that I could see. Extrication, start to finish, took about ten minutes. I learned a few things, too.
Just another day in our American Life on The Mountain. All part of the deal.
Heat like we’re having right now is intolerable — and by that I mean that it’s not something that can be tolerated. There’s no adjusting to it, no acclimating. The best we can hope to do is manage its effects on us or, ideally, stay out of it.
I stepped outside with my coffee this morning at 7:40am. The temperature at that hour was 80°F, on its way to a high of 94°F and a “heat index” flirting with 110°F. The still-air temp wouldn’t return to 80°F again ’til after midnight.
There’s only so much that I can do responsibly under those conditions. So I do what I can, I do it early, and then I seek shelter.
This morning, that meant regular chores, a little work in the cabin and, as the mercury climbed past 90°F, a Ranger ride to survey our repaired roads.
I did a few repairs of my own, actually. Like replacing my divots where the truck dug-in while pulling Deb out of the ditch. Picking up the bigger rocks trapped in a washed-out stretch and pitching them into the woods.
Shovel. Rake. Toss. Repeat.
My circuit took me out onto the subdivision road, which I followed north to the county road. That’s where I turned around and headed back up The Mountain.
Everything looks to be in good shape, certainly better than it was this time last week.
Miss Smudge asked for a business trip at 2am this morning. As I was clipping the leash to her collar, I remembered that the aurora borealis was supposed to be visiting Ozarkansas about that time. I grabbed my phone, just in case.
Honestly, I didn’t see anything. Nothing spectacular, anyway. I snapped a few pics, on the off chance that the camera would pick up something that my aging eyes couldn’t.
Thinking back on what we’ve seen on The Mountain this year, I came up with quite a list. More snow in one day than this region gets in an average year. A total solar eclipse. Northern Lights in The South, twice. Two EF3 tornadoes on the ground at the same time. A brush with the remnants of a hurricane. Nearly a foot of rain in 24 hours.
Living up here is a rich, varied and ever-changing experience. Each day brings surprises. And we’re still learning — not only to gain knowledge, but to develop an understanding of just where we fit in.
That’ll come in time.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath #Ungovernable
#LetsGoBrandon #FJB