There’s something other-worldly about the coos and trills of the eastern screech owl (Megascops asio). The song of this fierce little airborne predator was the first sound to reach my ears when I stepped outside this morning.
To my west, a waning “Sturgeon Moon” sank slowly toward the horizon. The air was cool, the last time we’ll see the 50s for quite a while.
Work in the cabin is paused while we wait for parts to finish the woodstove installation and paydays to pick up more materials for the build-out. We’re never idle, though.
It’s a Life of constant motion. We always have something to do.
The events of 32 years ago this week marked the beginning of the end of any trust I ever had in government. Something that Deb shared to social media yesterday catches the essence of my reaction, at least in part:
“Ruby Ridge — a reminder that government will kill your wife, your child and your dog to enforce their gun laws.”
There’s no turning back from Ruby Ridge — not for me and not for clear-eyed lovers of Liberty, that vestigial population I refer to as “true Americans.” The mask came off in August of 1992.
It wasn’t speculation anymore. They showed us who they are.
In the process, we learned who we are, too.
I spent much of the next 32 years preparing for a day that finally arrived — the day The Mountain became Home for Deb and me. We joined millions of other true Americans who’ve abandoned mainstream culture in favor of being left the hell alone.
We secure that commitment to individual Liberty with our lives.
We haven’t forgotten Ruby Ridge. Though we don’t mimic it or seek to repeat its tragic outcome, we’re ever-mindful of its lessons.
Aaron Lewis posted this image of his tour bus to Facebook earlier today, along with the caption,
“Now Two Flags Fly Above My Land That Really Sum Up How I Feel…”
He’s not the only one.
I believe I’ll call this “The Buggy Saw Project.”
For the record, I have a love-hate relationship with bow saws. There’s no good reason they shouldn’t work for me, given how long the simple design has been around, but they just never have. I stopped using bow saws maybe ten years ago, and I sold or gave away my last yard-and-garden model when we liquidated Second Chance Ranch.
In its place, I’ve been using a curved pruning saw here on The Mountain. It rides around in the bed of the Ranger, waiting to be called on to lop what loppers can’t. Pushing around a pruning saw isn’t my favorite thing, either, but it seems to suck less than my memories of bow saws.
When I came across an ad for a Fiskars 21-inch bow saw the other day, I almost kept scrolling. Two things stopped me — the price (less than ten bucks) and the brand (I’ve had great luck with Fiskars tools and their lifetime warranty).
The uncompensated reviews I found were positive, too, with a common caveat — replace the blade. Suggested most often was Bahco, another brand I’ve had success with. Top marks went to the “dry wood” pattern ($8.37).
I went back and bought both saw and blade, willing to experiment with bow saws one more time.
This morning I unboxed them, installed the Bahco blade on the Fiskars bow and made one other modification. With grip tape left over from my Ontario machete project, I wrapped the frame in three places — rear, top and front. The tubular steel was too slick for my liking.
My next move, naturally, was to take the new saw for a spin. It’s definitely light but feels plenty rigid. That blade, however, makes a huge difference — cedar, oak and hickory yielded easily.
This rig might just be an improvement over what I’ve been using.
It’s too early to declare The Buggy Saw Project a success, but soon it’ll replace the pruning saw in the Ranger’s arsenal of woods tools. The season’s coming up when I’ll be doing more cutting and clearing, so this bow saw will get a fair trial.
Time will tell. I’m optimistic.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath #Ungovernable
#LetsGoBrandon #FJB