I ‘d just come inside the other night after taking the dogs out for their pre-bedtime business trip. As I settled in, I thought back to where I might’ve been four years ago on a Friday evening.
We were living outside Columbus, Ohio, of course, on a postage-stamp suburban lot. We had two dogs then, too — our good girl Scout and dear, sweet Dipstick. (I miss my Little Buddy.) At day’s end, we’d switch on the floodlights illuminating the back yard, leash the pups and take ’em out to do their thing.
Pretty ordinary. Always uneventful.
Returning to the present day, last night I clipped a leather lead to Smudge’s collar, opened the door of the camper and, before we stepped outside, scanned the immediate area for threats and distractions. Satisfied that the coast was clear, I led her down the steps.
The happy (and absurdly strong) Heeler instantly lunged to the left. She pulled the leash taut and nearly put me on the ground. I reigned her back in, disciplining her with a stern yank, turned my headlamp on and looked to see what had drawn her attention.
Tarantulas. Two of ’em, in fact, skittering away across the driveway into the darkness.
If you’d told me four years ago….
It’s the spiders’ mating season. We’ll be crossing paths with the hairy buggers up here through the end of October.
My arachnophobic missus is none too pleased about that.
Speaking of nearby wildlife, the lizard population seems to have increased significantly the last few weeks. Smaller ones, like this juvenile Eastern Fence Lizard, are everywhere, leading me to conclude that we’re serving as a nursery for the tiny reptiles.
They’re good luck. They can stay as long as they like.
Framing stud walls, like countless other tasks occupying my time these days, is new to me. I’d never done it before. Sure, in years past I’ve built stuff, crudely, from two-bys and plywood — workbenches, shelving and, most recently, the loft in our shed — but nothing structural.
I suck at carpentry. Yesterday promised to be interesting, to put it kindly.
Deb and I were gettin’ after it in the cabin fairly early, knowing that afternoon temps would be in the 90s and we’d be workin’ in a hotbox. As I went about the task of building the south wall of the bath-laundry, I was deliberate, careful, triple-checking each and every measurement, taking my time. I had one shot at this, and I wanted to get it right.
Consider that everything I did I was doing for the first time. And this wasn’t some low-stakes exercise — this is the house we’ll live in.
It was a gratifying moment when we stood up that first wall. I squared it against the exterior wall, got it plumb, slipped a couple of shims between the top plate and the cross-tie and nailed it in place.
I knew that building the second wall would be easier. Cutting the 2x4s to size went quickly, as did assembly. Standing and securing that wall, however, was more complicated.
By then, the temperature in the cabin was well over 100°F. We had two big fans going, but that didn’t help much. We upped our water consumption. Breaks became longer and more frequent.
Two things were messing with us. First, I’d made an error in measuring at some point — and I still can’t explain it — which made truing the wall a struggle. And second, the location of the wall wouldn’t allow the top plate to be nailed directly to a cross-tie.
Deb and I overcame the former with sheer muscle. The latter I solved by attaching a double nailer to the closest cross-tie.
It was 4:30pm when we finished. Both walls stood straight and solid. The errors I made, though they’d have more experienced builders rolling their eyes, truly are of no real consequence.
And Deb and I were completely gassed. We probably pushed ourselves too hard, but the job was done.
Oh, one more thing — when we were done, we went straight back to the air-conditioned camper and slumped. I didn’t clean up the cabin. I didn’t put away my tools. That never happens.
I had neither the strength nor the energy. The mess will still be there on Monday, when temps will be a good 20°F cooler than yesterday’s.
Volunteer of the Day: Spanish Needles (Bidens bipinnata), a member of the daisy family. Curiously, the genus “Bidens” is known as “Beggarticks.” And yes, these are the only “Bidens” that are welcome on The Mountain.
Deb captured these images of the sky to the west of The Mountain late yesterday afternoon.
We took today off. Just laundry in Gassville, errands in Mountain Home, provisions in Flippin and an early dinner at Carolyn’s Razorback Ribs in Yellville.
Life is good.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath #Ungovernable
#LetsGoBrandon #FJB