If you were among the quarter-million people watching Ryan Hall Y’all‘s livestream early last evening, you heard him (and meteorologist Andy Hill) repeatedly invoke the place-name “Yellville” — site of The Mountain, my forever home. My neighbors and I had a momentary taste of fame, though that wasn’t a good thing.
Friday had been, for the most part, an Ozarkansas postcard. It was breezy (to put it mildly). Wispy clouds skittered across a deep-blue sky.
Gray began overtaking the western sky as the sun went down. Cumulonimbus billowed and tumbled toward The Mountain, warning of storms to come.
I knew what we were in for. I made the call to adjourn from the camper to the cabin — far from ideal, certainly, but my only option. The weightier, sturdier structure would have a better chance of surviving heavy weather.
The dogs and I had just settled in front of the TV in the living room when Ryan Hall started talking about Yellville. Radar showed ominous rotation just northwest of The Mountain, tracking north-northeast.
A tornado warning was issued shortly thereafter.
Over the next two hours, a line of angry supercells lashed The Mountain with winds gusting to 60mph, accompanied by deafening claps of thunder and spectacular lightning. Almost two inches of rain came down, bookended by two rounds of hail.
No tornado, though, at least not here.
Others weren’t so fortunate. Large, long-track twisters raked across southeast Missouri and northeast Arkansas, as well as eastern Ozarkansas to the south of us, inflicting considerable damage.
The dogs weathered the storms just fine. Restless at first, eventually they came to me for the faithful comfort only I provide. I lifted Scout onto the loveseat next to me.
To my surprise, Smudge jumped up and laid next to her. Scout made room.
We were back in the camper by 9pm. We’d come through the storms intact.
Seeing my girl Scout curled up last night on the comfy bed I’d picked out for her took me back to a moment 15 years ago.
Until she was completely housebroken, tiny Scout spent her nights in a dog carrier next to the bed. She didn’t much like that arrangement, whimpering pathetically and pawing at the enclosure. One particular night, as a result of chewing on the welded-wire door, she managed to get her teeth stuck.
She couldn’t free herself and began to wail like only an unhappy puppy can wail. I had to disassemble the carrier to liberate the frightened little girl from her predicament.
Immediately I scooped her up, held her close to my face and said,
“I love you, Scout, and I will never, ever leave you.”
In that moment, we bonded.
I’ve said those same words to my girl Scout literally thousands of times since. I like to think she remembers the first time she heard them. I do believe she understands.
See, it’s more than just words — it’s a promise, a commitment that I’ll never let her down.
I never have. I never will. She knows.
Seeing her last night, afraid of the thunder but smiling that Scout smile, reminded me of something else.
I’ve said here more than once recently how important the dogs have been to me since I was left alone six weeks ago. They occupy and ground me. I rely on them.
Turns out they rely on me, too. Truly, I’m all they’ve got. They show their gratitude — and their commitment — every day.
After the line of storms had cleared The Mountain, I left Ryan Hall Y’all and looked for something else to watch before drifting off to sleep. I ended up getting hooked on a couple of History Channel documentaries.
The first was a 90-minute chronicle on the evolution of the motorcycle. It premiered probably 25 years ago, and I recalled the producers consulting me (in my professional capacity) about the concept, as well as facts and sources and such.
I wasn’t credited and didn’t expect to be, but those were good times.
That stream rolled into a documentary about forts — that is, the ages-old efforts of humans to build impregnable structures. Though it didn’t quote Patton, it should’ve:
“Fixed fortifications are monuments to the folly of man.”
Every defensive edifice can be (or will be) defeated. The Great Wall of China. Masada. The Maginot Line. The Atlantic Wall. Cheyenne Mountain. Your bug-in location. It’s foolish to believe otherwise.
As long as an offensive force wants what’s on the other side of a wall and is willing to pay the price exacted by a siege, fortifications will fall.
Waiting behind cover for the inevitable assault to begin is usually a fatal mistake. Victory seldom is achieved by inaction. Conquest is an active pursuit.
I’m glad I stayed awake to watch that documentary. It reinforced a few lessons I learned long ago.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath #Ungovernable