The woodstove was warm but the fire was out when Smudge and I stirred Wednesday morning. Expecting an afternoon high in the mid-70s, I dithered briefly about whether or not to get it going again, ultimately deciding to do a small burnto take the chill off.To the southwest, the entire ridgeline is now visible from the stoop outside my front door.This photo is a casualty of trying to convey in two dimensions what I experienced in three — for the first time this season, thanks to morning light and 48 hours of high winds, I can see Hall’s summit from my driveway.Leaving for town around 9am.A view of The Mountain from the subdivision road.Following the lower county road along the south bank of Crooked Creek while taking the long way to Flippin.On the lower county road, eastbound toward Rea Valley.Hall Mountain East, as seen from the subdivision road.I stacked the rest of the piled-up branch wood yesterday. That liberated two pallets, which I leaned against a couple of trees to dry out.A closeup of stacked branch wood. When I called it “hell’s own Jenga” Tuesday, I meant it.Of the wood I’ve brought in, this is what I have left to process, all of it oak. The largest of those rounds are 22 inches in diameter, so a hydraulic log splitter will be employed.A spur-throated grasshopper (genus Oedaleonotus) makes the most of our Indian Summer.I test myself. Sometimes I pass — and sometimes I learn that I’m too old for this shit. You can expect me to haul firewood up the hill in the bed of my pickup or side-by-side.I’m amazed at how quickly our “front porch window” has opened up this week.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
