Secretly, I was hoping for a second-straight morning in the 50s. It came within a degree. I’ll take that.
Sunday morning’s attention to routine maintenance paid off in a pot of robust coffee on Monday. It brewed faster, too. (Funny how that works.)
Hot cereal really hit the spot. As is my habit immediately after every meal, I washed the (few) breakfast dishes.
The Heeler was anxious to go out even earlier than usual, and I answered the call. When we came in, she went straight to her chair and slumped. She’s subdued that way for a while each morning, just like most humans are.
Her inner Smudge emerges every day between 6:30am and 7am, reliably, in the form of “zoomies.”
This is a good dog, an honest-to-dog dog. And there’s a reason she’s happier than ever — she’s accepted for who and what she is.
A dog knows.
The air conditioner in the wall indicated that its filter screen needed checking. (Didn’t I just do that?) So I took it out, rinsed it off and put it back.
While I was thinking about it, I started my grocery list for two weeks from now. There’s a good chance that I won’t buy everything that day — I’ll cut it down to what I truly need and can afford — but getting a head start helps me avoid forgetting essentials.
I took out the trash. Scanning upslope from the cabin toward the large rock formation (hereinafter called “The Citadel”), I spotted a whitetail (not captured in the photo below).
Later on, I fetched Miss Smudge. We parked at the picnic table and waited for wildlife to appear. She saw her first trash pandas (aka raccoons) — a pair of ’em, 20 yards from us, waddling through my wood yard in the direction of the big brush pile.
She barked, of course, though not right away. Now I know what her ‘coon alarm sounds like.
After a long shower, I started thinking about some of what I want to accomplish this week. I probably should haul garbage to the transfer station. I might actually put up the last two rolls of insulation in the cabin walls. (No, I still haven’t done that.) More pressing, perhaps, since cabin comfort is under control at the moment, would be transforming the 55-gallon drum sitting out back of the shed into a new burn barrel.
I walked outside intending to look the drum over and promptly sidetracked myself — it was about the time of day when deer often browse on the other side of the road, and I wanted to see if that unbothered doe might be feeding in her usual spot.
She was.
There must be some tasty grass growin’ in that area. It’s the odd stretch of roadside not dominated by Chinese bushclover, which the deer don’t seem to favor, so maybe that has something to do with it.
I eventually made it to the shed. The drum appears to be in good shape.
The container on the ground next to it holds waste oil — from the Ranger, if memory serves — which I’ll use as cutting fluid when I drill the steel drum.
Since I was there at the south end of the driveway, I walked down to the road to spy on the doe from a different angle, provided she was still grazing.
She was.
She heard me. She saw me. But she wasn’t spooked.
She reminds me of a certain black-faced doe I encountered regularly here a couple of years ago. A silent understanding. A mutual acknowledgement of belonging in this place.
It’s the way of things on The Mountain.
I came back to the cabin, got out my beater DeWalt drill and began charging its 14.4V NiCd batteries for their barrel role.
And that’s how my Monday began. How about yours?
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath #Ungovernable