As “pea soup” preceded Thursday’s rain, so dense fog followed it on Friday morning. The National Weather Service says that Yellville got 1.34 inches of precipitation in 24 hours. My rain gauges on The Mountain registered almost two inches.
The area around the cabin had cleared, mostly, by the time it was light, though fog still packed the furrows below. I walked up toward The Citadel for a better look.
Scenes like that are magical. No image I can share has a prayer of showing you what it’s like to be here on such a morning.
I’m very fortunate to make this my home.
Yesterday wouldn’t be a workday, at least not a hard-work day. I was sure of that from the moment I woke up. And honestly, the certainty bothered me.
But it wouldn’t’ve been the first time I started a day that way before finding my superpowers and saving the world by noon. So I saddled up and drove down to where the work was.
I crossed the road and carefully stepped over the runoff ditch on the other side. A few strides in, my right foot lost traction and my bum knee twinged a warning. I returned to the Ranger, fetched my walking stick and went at it again.
Better. I made my way back to where the tree I’m processing waits for me to unleash those latent superpowers.
On this day, they were nowhere to be found.
That was okay. It was time spent in the woods.
The cabin was due for a thorough top-to-bottom cleaning, something I wanted to get done before Thanksgiving Day. I spent the rest of my Friday doing that, being productive.
And now, a quick Smudge story.
My Heeler watches me, and I mean constantly. She checks with me. She takes cues from me. When I put my muck boots on, for example, she knows that I’m probably getting ready to leave for a while and do some work without her.
She gets up on the chair, lays down and pouts. It’s adorable (pictured).
On the other hand, when I pick up my hair brush and begin to pull the tangles out of my mane, she goes absolutely bonkers. Barking. Zooming. Jumping on me.
Why?
Simple — she knows that if I go to the trouble to make myself presentable (just in case I encounter another human), it means we’re about to go for a ride in the truck. She makes the connection.
Love this dog.
My ode to The Golden Book of Camping and Camp Crafts, published here almost three years ago now, has become one of my most-read posts. I suspect that search engines are responsible for some of those views, but I know that many regular readers appreciate the content as well.
I didn’t have an “outdoorsy” upbringing, so that 1959-vintage Golden Book filled an empty space. It sparked dreams and fueled them. Joining Boy Scouts at the age of 11 helped make many of those dreams real for the first time.
That experience came with two more books — the Boy Scout Handbook, referenced here a couple of days ago, and the Fieldbook, which was more detailed and advanced. Both were practical guides, certainly, but I also read them as aspirational, like I had the Golden Book of Camping and Camp Crafts.
In particular, my time in Boy Scouts charged what would become a lifelong passion for edged tools — knives and axes, that is — and the skills required to use them. I’ll end today’s post with images of six pages from the 1967 edition (1969 printing) of the Boy Scout Handbook, a section entitled, “The Tools of a Woodsman.”
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath #Ungovernable