I remember attending the season finale at North Central Arkansas Speedway last October — Deb and I froze our asses off. Expecting similar conditions this year (the last races were Friday night), and determined not to repeat the discomfort, we dressed in layers and brought a big quilt to cover up with.
And we still froze our asses off. I guess we’re not acclimated to fall temps just yet.
We had a good time anyway, and the food was great — pulled pork sandwich and nachos for Deb, cheeseburger and fries for me.
Add another who-woulda-thunk-it to an already eventful 2024 on The Mountain — late yesterday morning, this alert popped up on our phones:
As I’ve mentioned before, we live on a graben, less than five miles north of the Clabber Creek Fault. The epicenter of yesterday’s temblor — magnitude 1.9, not enough to slosh coffee — was 15 miles northwest of us on Bull Shoals Lake.
Saturday’s objective was to get our outdoor firewood rack built, whatever it took. What it took, as it turned out, was all damned day.
With the exception of a couple of scrap fir 2x4s under the “roof,” I used all rough-sawn eastern red cedar — local timber, local mill. The roof is a salvaged piece, cut from a panel removed from the cabin when Graceland repaired damage done on delivery day.
The finished rack measures five feet wide, two feet deep and four feet tall. Screws and lag bolts hold it together. It probably weighs a couple hundred pounds.
During the build, I learned that grade-two raw lumber is neither square nor straight — there are few right angles, and no two faces are parallel to each other. I suspected it was close, but it wasn’t. And the farther along I got, the wackier the frame looked.
Making this project perfect would’ve required a bandsaw mill and a planer. I don’t have those.
So before I put the deck and roof on, I used a strategically placed ratchet strap to yank my creation into something resembling square. (You can see it in some of the photos I’ve included above.) Though the rack relaxed back toward kooky again when I released the orange strap, it’ll serve its ordinary purpose just fine.
Imperfections notwithstanding, this may be my best carpentry outing yet. I figure I won’t get any better unless I get in the ring and throw some punches.
Ask anyone who’s been fortunate to have lived past the age of 60, they’ll tell you that the worst part isn’t the aches and pains — it’s being around to watch friends and family leave before we’re ready to let them go. This afternoon, I got word that a dear friend had passed from this Life.
College roommate. Fraternity brother. Co-worker. Teacher of practical things. Buckeye. Patriot. And, as he reminded me often, a regular reader of Ubi Libertas Blog.
He’d been in my thoughts, and Deb’s, every day since he confided his cancer diagnosis — terminal, inoperable. Only a matter of time.
A very short time.
About six weeks ago, knowing that he shared my passion for knives, I packed up a couple of mine and sent them his way. His excitement on receiving them was unmistakable. Like a kid on Christmas morning, he had questions, anxious to learn, wanting to know more today than he did yesterday.
He proudly sent me a picture of one of the knives, a Bark River custom with buckeye burl slabs, adorned with a fancy lanyard he’d made.
While he was dying, he spoke of his plans for the future.
I have nothing especially profound to say to you about this. As he left this world in his way — at home, in the loving arms of his family — I’ll grieve in mine.
Godspeed, old friend.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath #Ungovernable
#LetsGoBrandon #FJB