The topic of conversation at the Yellville post office this morning was the local man who died Friday when he fell off of a roof. The ladies behind the counter knew him well — as you’d expect in a small, tight-knit town like this — and they spoke fondly of him.
My next stop was Miller Hardware, which was where he’d worked for many years. I was buying cable-by-the-foot today, and another long-time employee measured and cut it for me. I offered my condolences to him and the rest of the Miller family.
“I don’t know if you knew this, but he’d just retired,” he said.
“We had a retirement cake for him only last Wednesday.”
The man was dead less than 48 hours later.
Those conversations got me thinking back on a YouTube video that Deb and I watched last night. Not from one of our regular channels, it featured a woman who (with her husband) moved from Alabama to Ozarkansas to build a homestead and a whole new life.
The topic was regret — as in how she responds to viewers who ask her if she regrets uprooting, relocating and starting over at the age of 61.
She spoke with humility, but also with the confidence of someone who knows deep-down that she’s exactly where she’s supposed to be, doing exactly what she’s supposed to be doing. She has no regrets.
That’s how Deb and I feel. That’s what we know. In spite of all the difficulties, regardless of the challenges we face, we regret nothing.
This is it.
Regret, like guilt, is a useless emotion rooted in the past. It serves no constructive purpose in the present. It impedes, it cripples and it destroys.
And it has no place in our American Life on The Mountain.
The world can change in an instant. Lives end without warning. Nothing could be more pointless than dwelling on that which can’t be undone.
No regrets. Forward.
I read an opinion piece this morning in which the author, a popular conservative commentator, blamed the current occupant of the Oval Office and his regime for dismantling national sovereignty. Open-borders policies, she said, are responsible for putting an end to America as a legitimate country.
I can’t argue with any of that.
What no one talks about, however, is how thoroughly and how effectively government — in the form of the Permanent State — has all but exterminated individual sovereignty. Americans now are completely subdued and subservient, and have been for generations.
This isn’t the sort of sovereignty that has people driving around without license plates and inventing stories about gold fringe on the flag. I mean living as a born-free American, charting a course independent of regulations enforced as laws, and being damned ungovernable.
Building stuff without permits and repairing it without a license. Bartering for goods and services and not declaring it on a tax return. Drinking raw milk and collecting rainwater. Making tinctures and balms from wild or cultivated plants.
Defying mandates and declining to participate in a dangerous medical experiment. Owning a device banned by the State.
As citizens, we may not be able to stop the invasion of illegals at the border. But we damned sure can assert individual sovereignty, and it begins with a choice.
Choose to disobey. Choose not to comply. Choose to be ungovernable.
You may remember that last Thursday I took apart, cleaned and began resurrecting a neglected Victorinox Fieldmaster pocketknife. The last time you saw it, it was still disassembled, and I hinted that I had big plans for it.
The original red scales were scratched up pretty good, and one showed evidence of cracking. For 20 bucks, I could’ve replaced them with another set of factory Celidor scales. But for ten dollars more, I could give the old workhorse an upgrade.
I bought a pair of CNC-machined G10 slabs from Swiss Bianco (aka, “+B”), a well-known supplier of custom Swiss Army knives and mods. Whereas the OEM scales simply snap into place, these would require some fitting.
That meant filing down the edges of the rivet heads that register the scales in their proper positions. Then I applied J-B Weld Plastic Bonder and clamped them, first one side and then the other.
The whole process took only 45 minutes, most of that waiting for the epoxy to set and cure.
The new +B scales (orange, of course) fit perfectly and look great. They lend a more substantial feel to the Fieldmaster, and I love the texture.
Because the G10 is ever-so-slightly thicker than the Celidor, the knife’s tweezers and toothpick are recessed too deep now to access with a fingernail. I see that as only a minor inconvenience.
Now, did I have to do this? Of course not. The scratched plastic wasn’t hurting anything, and I could’ve slapped a little epoxy on the cracked scale to stabilize it.
I did it for two reasons — this is what I do, and it pleases me. Simple as that.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath #Ungovernable
#LetsGoBrandon #FJB