I made great memories on that motorhome journey in 2021, and much of what I recall fondly is the food I enjoyed. I even put together a blog post of recommendations for those traveling the same roads — click here to see that.
Three establishments have been on my mind lately, for whatever reason. The first is the Old Spanish Trail (OST) in Bandera, Texas. It’s been there for over a century, and the menu is quintessential Texas diner fare.
Corona Village in Mitchell, South Dakota was an accidental discovery — every other place was closed that Sunday afternoon. Serendipity paid off in authentic Mex and the best margarita I’ve ever had.
Richwine’s Burgerville in Polson, Montana is still owned and operated by the family that founded it in 1962. It’s a classic old-school drive-in, doing business exactly the way it should be done.
Again, I’m not sure why I’ve been thinking about those three in particular. But if you get out that way, all are worth a visit.
Tuesday’s weather looked promising for getting outside work done in the morning. I’d circled it on my calendar several days ago — high of only 84°F, mostly cloudy, chance of storms — and it didn’t disappoint.
A few areas on the lower level were in desperate need of being cut back. I brought out the heavy artillery (my Stihl brush cutter) and started by the well shed.
From there I moved on to expand the perimeter around the burn barrel. I mowed back brush threatening to overtake a stack of bucked oak waiting to be split. I cleared a path to the compost tumbler.
It was slow going — the growth I cut down was between knee-high and waist-high. My efforts made a difference, though, and I couldn’t’ve picked a better day to do the deed.
I’d intended to follow that chore with running the generators, since they’re a bit overdue for their monthly exercise, but brush-cutting took the steam out of me. I’d had enough.
Instead, I packed Miss Smudge into the Ranger and drove up the summit trail. Just a little R&R.
We did some exploring. The Heeler was as thrilled with the change of scenery as I was, although she displayed somewhat more interest in chewing on sticks.
Walking back toward the cabin after returning my tools and the Ranger to the shed, I noticed something clinging to the gunwale of the truck bed. It was some sort of wasp, by the looks of it, so I kept my distance while snapping a couple of pictures.
Seek quickly confirmed that this was a rusty spider wasp (Tachypompilus ferrugineus) — not uncommon, though I’d never seen one before. Its coloration reminded me of the large (and arguably terrifying) Thisbe’s tarantula-hawk wasp, which I’ve spotted here a couple of times.
Turns out they’re both part of the same taxonomic family (Pompilidae, spider wasps). The body of a tarantula hawk is about two inches long, while the rusty, which prefers wolf spiders, is half that size — still a big damned wasp.
Allegedly, neither is aggressive toward humans unless provoked. I’ll keep that in mind.
Last night’s Ozarkansas sunset was spectacular, at least what I saw of it.
This time of year, with leaves on the trees and the sun setting near its northern extreme, my view of the western horizon is almost completely blocked. I catch only glimpses, teasing me, and that’s about all.
But last night was special. The show extended above the treetops quite a bit, fading light setting fire to the clouds.
I love it here.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath #Ungovernable