I stood outside the cabin as darkness fell, listening to the distant pop, crackle and boom of fireworks — Yellville to the west, Flippin to the north.
At the edge of the woods, lightning bugs put on a much quieter show, just for me.
The Fourth of July. Independence Day.
As Americans, as Patriots, it’s a moment worth celebrating — the formal throwing-off of tyranny. Often lost in our parading, flag-waving and Roman candling, however, is why it was so important that these United Colonies declare their independence.
It’s right there on the parchment:
“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain inalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men….”
The fundamental reason for national independence, so declared, was to secure the rights of men — not just all men, but each man.
Government’s prime directive is to guard individual Liberty. That’s why our Founders fought a Revolution. To the extent that a sovereign nation fails to fulfill its stated mission to protect the natural sovereignty of men, it falls short of the very reason it exists.
“That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it….“
These are good days for America. Better days, certainly. But I can promise you this — the time will come when we’ll have no choice but to exercise our right to “alter or abolish” our nation’s government and start again.
The enemies of Liberty are the enemies of America. They haven’t gone away — just look around.
Yes, by all means, celebrate. But never forget that someday we’ll be forced to fight.
“WHISKEY, WINGS, GUNS, & FREEDOM” read the Squeek’s Bar & Grill t-shirt I put on after yesterday’s morning shower. It seemed like the right choice for Independence Day. And while I didn’t have any chicken wings in the cabin, I had the other three well covered.
After keeping my tradition of reading the Declaration of Independence aloud, I decided that I’d spend the day in manifest joy at my good fortune to be born an American. I’d eat, drink and live as the free man I am.
First, breakfast. I recently discovered a package of smoked pork sausage in the freezer. I had eggs, too, and I had wheat bread to make toast. I sliced the sausage, grabbed a skillet, fried it up and then set it aside.
Into the pan went three eggs and Creole seasoning. Once they were scrambled dry and “dirty,” the way I like ’em, I returned the sausage to the skillet and finished up.
It could’ve been fancier, but it couldn’t’ve been any better. Just a wonderful meal.
Smudge and I spent much of our Friday devoted to staying cool.
It was early afternoon when I got out my computer to look at some files — but it wouldn’t boot. “Hard drive not installed,” said the error message.
Well, shit.
Chances are good that the drive is bad. In my current situation, that’s fatal — I can’t and won’t throw money at this 15-year-old Dell notebook hoping to resurrect it.
The realization didn’t really rock me, and that was a surprise. Thirty years of my life is stored on that machine. A dead computer puts a stop to possibly supplemening my income with writing. And yet I was strangely calm about it.
Wanna know the truth? It’s almost a relief. Worse things could break. A line from Walden echoed in my head — “In proportion as he simplifies his life….”
Later, I cracked a beer and got dinner started — hot dogs and beans, about as simple and American as it gets.
What little food prep there was to do I’d already knocked out while fixing breakfast. I dumped a can of Ranch Style-brand pinto beans into the one-quart Revere Ware saucepan, first time I’d used it. The ‘dogs I did over the range burners on the Lodge grill/griddle (grill side), also its maiden voyage indoors.
Everything turned out great. The 16-ounce Yuengling Lager was cold. I dressed my hot dogs properly, with yellow mustard and minced onion. And I’ll have to pick up more of those Ranch Style pinto beans — they were the star of the show.
And I ended my Independence Day with bourbon, right?
Nope — I whipped up an icy 32-ounce smoothie. That’s just the kind of day it was, which turned out to be exactly what I needed.
Dinner tonight will be leftovers from yesterday. Can’t wait.
Miss Smudge, bless her heart, continues to amaze me.
For the second time in five months, twice now in the wake of an absence she didn’t expect and doesn’t understand, she’s going through changes. Her personality, including the way she interacts with me, is evolving.
She’s stepped up her loyalty. She comes to me with “requests” more often. She checks with me in a way she didn’t before. She hangs closer (distractions and her selective deafness notwithstanding).
Smudge and I have always been buddies. Now we’re a team.
I can’t tell you how important this dog is to me right now.
Many of you, I’m sure, have winced every time I’ve brought up “The Grab.” Ditto what I’ve said about the storage units in Ohio.
Others have confided that they’re invested (for lack of a better term) in a just outcome for me. They want to know what’s happening, cheering even small wins — when my misappropriated muck boots showed up unannounced, for example, they laughed right along with me.
They’re good friends that way. For them it’s not about drama — they actually give a shit. And none of them are being assholes about it.
I’ve now made a list of items which, based on a thirty-minute visual inspection via video last weekend, are missing (or appear to be missing) from the Ohio storage unit. At some point I’ll convey it to X2B and plaintiff’s counsel, asking that my personal property be returned to me.
It’s not a short list. Some of the items are heavy. That’s not my problem, of course.
I teed all this up several days ago. For those interested in the latest, now you know.
I’ll continue to play this straight. I will not, however, roll over.
As I’ve let the volunteer vegetation go wild on the west side of the driveway this spring and summer, one species has had me stumped. It’s bushy and tall, with one plant growing to seven feet, and it has slender leaves with a pale stripe down the middle.
My guidebooks and apps haven’t given me a definitive ID.
Then, overnight — and I mean from Thursday into Friday — hundreds of tiny daisy-like blooms, each smaller than a dime, appeared on the plants. I photographed them and gave the Seek app one more chance.
This time I got my answer.
It’s willowleaf lettuce (Lactuca saligna), also called “least lettuce.” It’s a biennial in the aster family, well established in North America but not a native species.
The young leaves are said to be palatably edible, though bitter unless cooked. Willowleaf lettuce is used in traditional medicine as well, as an analgesic and mild sedative.
I love learning about this stuff.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath #Ungovernable