When I bought that sourdough “everything” bagel at Hutch Creek on Friday morning, I also picked up a sourdough cinnamon roll.
Again, just one. I had it with breakfast yesterday, drizzled with melted sweet cream butter.
These are only occasional treats, but I figure I’m worth it every now and then.
Forecast high temperatures are in the 90s as far as the eye can see. Smudge and I remain in survival mode, confining ourselves to the cool of the cabin during hours when heat rages outdoors.
These days, “cool” needs no qualifiers. It’s neither relative nor is it wishful thinking — it’s truly comfortable inside these walls, because neighbors cared enough to help me out. Miss Smudge and I are grateful every single day for that act of kindness.
This isn’t exactly “workin’ weather” for me. I’m shoving a lot of projects into the fall, when tolerable morning temps stretch later into the day. That choice feels a lot like procrastinating, but it’s the smart play.
Mine is an unconventional life. It isn’t what most folks would aspire to in their retirement. Irrespective of age, status or means, it damned sure isn’t for everyone.
Notice that I never use the word “lifestyle” to describe it. Style is artificial, superficial, fleeting. A lifestyle is “livin’ the dream” without a grasp of the work required.
It’s not that living this way is especially hard. Not for me, anyway. I guess I dont find it difficult because it’s the way I’ve always wanted to live.
The joys exceed whatever hardship there is. The rewards are worth the effort.
I embrace this life, just as it is, not with resignation but with enthusiasm. I’m exactly where I want to be.
What prompted that train of thought? You might be surprised.
I live in the Country. I live in the woods. Unlike myriad YouTube channels, Pinterest albums and Facebook pages, I live in three dimensions and employ all five senses.
On Saturday morning, I stepped outside into the twilight and took a deep breath. Warm, humid air brought the unmistakable smell of carrion.
Fairly close by, something was dead. A coyote kill, maybe, or a fox’s. No matter the predator and whatever the prey, that flesh would rot in the same spot until Nature finished taking its odoriferous course.
This wasn’t the first time I’d caught wind of a kill. It happens near the cabin every few weeks.
That’s not “lifestyle” — that’s life.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath #Ungovernable