Two days in a row now, it’s rained on The Mountain. We welcome that, considering how dry it’s been the last six weeks. And though the precipitation didn’t exactly come out of nowhere, it happened when meteorologists predicted only a 15% chance.
Those odds almost never produce rain. Usually I’ll dismiss the slim possibility and operate as if it’ll be dry. For a change, we got lucky.
Rain continued into today, a real good soaker. Over a half-inch fell. We’ll take it.
A seller I’d messaged on Marketplace about “barn tin” got back to me this morning. He said he still had about 15 salvaged sheets, 11 feet long and two feet wide.
Ten bucks apiece. Definitely a bargain.
Consider that Home Depot sells 12-foot panels of corrugated 30-gauge (flimsy) galvanized-steel roofing for $29 each. Because we’re after a “distressed” look (rust and character, that is), we’d also have to buy muriatic acid ($10 a gallon), hydrogen peroxide ($22 a gallon), and several pump-spray bottles (about $5 each), as well as investing days in the artificial “weathering” process.
Maybe the best part of the Marketplace deal is that this seller lives right down on the county road, less than two miles’ drive from The Mountain — just three-quarters of a mile as the crow flies.
Now that’s local.
I drove over there this afternoon. Nice young fella, a genuine Country boy. Deb and I go by his place all the time, and I complimented him on how well-kept it is — it’s his late grandparents’ farm, with a modest ranch house and a sweeping view of the Crooked Creek valley to the north.
Not far from the house is a small barn damaged by one of the tornadoes that swept through Memorial Day weekend. He’s repairing it, removing and replacing roofing and siding.
That’s the source of the barn tin he’s selling.
Together we sorted through what he had. I picked out seven sheets and we loaded them into the bed of the Silverado. I paid the man and drove Home — slowly, especially on my way up The Mountain.
I didn’t strap them down. I figured I didn’t need to.
The cargo arrived intact.
This week I’ll break out the power washer and flush accumulated grime off of the panels. After that, Deb and I will choose the best candidates for the heat shield, and I’ll get to work cutting them to fit.
I’ll need to pick up some one-inch PVC, which I’ll cut to make standoffs — the heat shield will be mounted with a gap behind it (to promote air circulation).
It’s great to have this material in-hand at last.
The visitors bureau over in Harrison is crowing about a new billboard it put up at the edge of town. The large roadside placard depicts a lineup of eight cartoon characters, holding hands.
The people in the illustration (meant to be children, perhaps) are of many different races. That’s an admirable sentiment, I guess, though it doesn’t exactly represent Harrison’s demographics.
More to the point, the statement it makes begs forgiveness for sins that the residents of today’s Harrison did not commit.
It’s a shallow gesture, a signal of virtue. And clearly, it’s penance. It over-compensates for a reputation the city no longer deserves, and hasn’t for decades.
Predictably, lots of folks are cheering the billboard. White guilt, as I’ve said here before, is disappointingly strong among Harrisonians. But hey, if a multi-colored, multi-cultural symbol makes ’em feel better about themselves… whatever.
Problem is, they’re paying dues they don’t owe. They’ve been seduced by a “bad reputation” narrative crafted by perpetual victims who’ve never been to Harrison, Arkansas.
In this identity-poisoned culture, you’ll have that.
It’s good to live in the Country.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath #Ungovernable
#LetsGoBrandon #FJB