On US Route 62 Friday morning, traffic was heavy (by Ozarkansas standards) hours before the sun was up. The hiss of tires on tarmac and the rap-rap-rrrraaaaap of Jake brakes as big rigs descended the grade westbound into Yellville were unusually loud here on The Mountain, which is three miles from that stretch of highway.
Isolated as we are up here, the sounds of civilization do intrude occasionally. It depends on humidity, wind, and so on. I’ve even heard the steady mechanized hum of the Butterball mill as it grinds turkey feed, and (as I might’ve mentioned yesterday) it’s seven miles west.
Speaking of Butterball, a reader who knows that I’m a stickler for accuracy issued a good-natured correction to a calculation I presented in yesterday’s post. Here’s what I said:
“…[T]he Butterball feed mill… sits at 745 feet AMSL, but the mill tower rises 191 feet above the foundation — that total of 936 feet is pretty close to my 950.”
What’s wrong with that? Well, the sum of 745 and 191 is, in fact, 936 — but when I view Butterball’s lights from the cabin, apparently I have to subtract 32.
The elevation at the top of the mill’s towers doesn’t change. It’s still 936 feet AMSL. Thing is, the earth’s curvature over those seven miles places the lights 32 feet lower relative to my “eye level.”
Noted. I love stuff like that.
There was no frost on our proverbial pumpkin (or anything else) Halloween morning, but on this last day of October we did dip into the 30s for the first time this fall. The mercury stayed there, too, ’til after 9am.
It felt good, honestly. We’re almost three weeks behind last year, temp-wise. (That’s not a complaint.)
I marked the occasion by re-shuffling my walk-out-the-door wardrobe. A Carhartt shirt-jac, a puffy vest and a stocking hat now occupy hooks on the hall tree.
There’s a “freeze watch” in effect for Sunday morning.
A rhythm has established itself for stocking the indoor firewood rack, at least under current conditions. When I set up my cordwood storage last year, I suggested that the rack outside would hold maybe a week’s worth and the one inside would do for about two days. The latter seems to be true, though I won’t know for sure ’til we go through some real winter weather.
It was time again yesterday to bring up more from the wood yard. And yeah, I do like to get after it early.
I pulled seven armloads off of the stacks and loaded it into the truck. It took seven more trips to bring it from the truck into the cabin, where I stacked it on the rack.
Y’know, I could be more efficient about this. I could set up my cordwood so that I don’t have to move it as much. If I were lazy or infirm, I probably would.
But this is bona fide Country exercise, the kind that pleases me — and suits me. I’m good.
Ideally, I’d always wait ’til the woodstove is cold (or at least cool) to scoop out the ashes. During most of the heating season, however, it’s a chore that has to be done hot — sometimes extremely hot.
By yesterday afternoon, I’d generated over three inches of ashes and charcoal on the floor of the firebox, which not only reduced the amount of wood I could load for my overnight burns, but it also restricted the flow of fresh air. As long as I didn’t have an active fire going — a sunny day meant that we didn’t need one to stay comfortable — I decided to remove some of the buildup.
The stove was still very hot. A couple of glowing fist-sized chunks remained, plus countless hot coals. Oh-so-deliberately, I moved scoop after scoop from firebox to bucket, having no interest in chasing incendiary nuggets bouncing off of the hearth and across the wood floor.
If you’re wondering why I didn’t try separating the hot coals from the ashes, it’s because it makes a mess. There are tools made for doing that (like those for cleaning a cat litter box, but fashioned from steel), and they work, but the sifting also fills the air with fine ash. No, thank you.
I do try to push aside and keep the biggest coals.
This time, I was able to remove about two-thirds of what was there, and that was good enough. I cleared the fresh-air ports. I didn’t clean the glass, though — it was way too hot.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath #Ungovernable