Oh, the things I can’t show you.
It was 5am. Still dark, pouring rain. I flipped on the porch light and put the awning out, then carried Scout down the steps. When she’d finished, I lifted her back inside and leashed Smudge to repeat the drill.
That’s when I saw it — a small tarantula, skittering frantically and aimlessly around the patio mat next to the camper. I knew that if my happy Heeler caught sight of the hairy little critter, it’d be GAME_OVER for two of us.
What followed was a comical cha-cha. I put myself between dog and spider, trying to keep an eye on both. Luckily, Miss Smudge was distracted by the rain running off the awning — she bites at the rivulets before they hit the ground — and that gave the tarantula time to escape.
Smudge and I completed our soggy pre-dawn business trip without incident.
Rain held off until about 4am this morning. The best thing about that? North Central Arkansas Speedway, after two postponements, finally kicked off its racing season.
I stood in the driveway late last night and listened to the roar of engines drift up from the valley below. Sweet music.
Today we’re under “slight” risk for severe weather. Strong storms producing two-inch hail were battering Carroll and Boone counties (to the west) even before the sun came up, a sort of wake-up call for the rest of Ozarkansas.
Tomorrow’s map has The Mountain in a newly minted zone of “enhanced” risk.
By Monday, the threat will be gone.
I stepped into the woods south of the cabin early this morning, just to listen to the rain patter on new growth around and above me. The air was heavy, dense, cool but not cold.
I tilted my head back and looked up at the forest canopy. There may be no better feeling than soft spring rain on my face.
The weekend will bring what the weekend brings. If my neighbors and I are lucky, the worst won’t visit us and we’ll just get wet.
My e-mail account unscrewed itself late yesterday afternoon and started sending. That meant that it sent everything stuck in its “outbox,” some of which I’d recreated and sent from webmail.
So a few folks got the same message (sort of) twice. Anyway, it’s working again.
When I was in an online chat with tech support earlier, the rep was the one who pointed out that I’d been a customer for almost 28 years. But it’s been longer than that, I think, well over 30.
The e-mail address originally was a perk of subscribing to a certain long-distance phone service. (Remember those?) When I canceled that, I kept the address and began paying the domain’s provider directly.
I still do. It’s worth it to me.
Some of you have been here a long, long time. You followed me through WuFlu and two presidential elections. You rode shotgun out of Ohio and across the American West. You rolled on to Ozarkansas and watched as a new life took shape on The Mountain.
Now, like me, you wonder — what’s next?
Last night I was acquainting a distant friend with the lay of the land on The Mountain. I talked about “standing either on a pile or in a hole,” and I looked for an image to illustrate my quip. I chose this one:
A lot of you will remember those days, when the site contractor chiseled a suitable spot for a cabin out of solid rock. That backhoe was right about where the middle of the back wall is today.
The photo reminded me how very long this road has been. I recalled how much work went into bringing the vision to this point — contractors and professionals, sure, but it’s more than that.
I’ve poured my entire self into it. The proof is all around me.
What’s next? What now?
All I know for sure is that I’ve come too far to walk away. This is much more than a dream — it’s my home.
I believe that winter’s cold is behind me now, and I mean to act on that belief. In the days and weeks ahead, I’ll engage in the rituals of spring on The Mountain.
To begin with, I’ll “un-winterize” the camper (for the last time). I’ll remove all of my freeze-proofing measures and stow them until late fall.
The clutter under the fifth-wheel’s gooseneck will once again become my tidy backup supply of fresh water. I’ll rinse-out the IBC tote and barrels, fill them from my well, and treat the contents.
Turning my attention to the cabin, it’ll take little effort and almost no money to make it 100% habitable. Once the dogs and I are moved in, I can transfer the stuff of life over at a relaxed pace.
It’s gonna be a great couple of months here.
John Parker didn’t live to see the Declaration of Independence. Less than five months after he commanded his fellow “embattled farmers” at Lexington, he died of tuberculosis, just 46 years old.
His orders still ring in Patriots’ ears:
“Stand your ground. Don’t fire unless fired upon, but if they mean to have a war, let it begin here.”
The war for independence did indeed begin 250 years ago today, on that now-hallowed ground. It continues still.
In January of this year, America emerged from four years of unprecedented tyranny that undermined its very foundations and threatened to crush Liberty. But the nation survived. You and I survived.
We still have much work to do.
Today, on this anniversary, remember Captain John Parker. Remember the eight Minutemen who fell dead at Lexington with the regulars’ first volley. Remember the courage and the blood of thousands who paid for Liberty cherished now by millions.
Most important, remember that the war they waged never ends. Stand your ground.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath #Ungovernable