Meteorologists are saying that last month, statewide, was the second-driest December in 131 years. Arkansas got just .79 inches of precipitation, compared to the average of 4.37 inches.
The first half of January did nothing to erase the shortfall.
Drought conditions have both accelerated and spread. The extended forecast promises little relief, if any at all.
Marion County, like 40% of the state, now is in “severe” drought, according to US Drought Monitor. An area of “extreme” drought has advanced as close as Baxter County, right across the White River.
Unless we’re rescued by late-winter snows or a very wet spring, the summer of 2026 is gonna be a rough one.
Wildfire danger remains “moderate” for all of Arkansas. Even more counties have declared burn bans.
Personally, and as a practical matter, I check for local restrictions before burning outdoors. I’m more aware of throwing sparks when cutting firewood. (I don’t want to ground and dull my chain anyway.)
I remember driving US Route 93 between Polson and Kalispell, Montana five years ago and seeing plumes of smoke rising from the steep slopes bordering Flathead Lake. I felt sympathy for those living where accounting for the threat of wildfire is a way of life.
Now I live in such a place myself. This is no small thing.
I ‘m pretty sure I’ve watched every video that Dave Whipple (aka Bushradical) has made over the last nine years. Every one has been worth the time I invested. He’s producing less content these days, but the old stuff still has value. I recommend it.
While giving my back a few days to heal this week, I picked out several of the longer Bushradical videos (40-plus minutes) to pass the time. I’ve included two below.
It’s clear from watching Whipple do what he does that regardless of subject or project, and whether he’s in Alaska or on Da UP, he’s immersed in the experience of being in the outdoors. His purpose, it seems, is simply to be present in his wooded world and share it with viewers.
And that, I believe, is why I connect so strongly with his content.
The smell of woodsmoke. The rich, earthy aroma of decaying leaves as I shuffle through the duff.
The satisfaction of making three perfect cuts and a tree falling exactly where I wanted it to fall. The hollow clunk of seasoned wood. The sight of stacks of fuel I harvested myself.
The crack of the ax when it hits its mark.
Birdsong. Coyotes’ howls. The crowing of a rooster.
Stillness.
The indescribably gratifying feel of using a sharp knife. The comforting tug of the revolver on my belt.
Sunrise. Sunset. A puff of wind. The scent of cedar.
What we do in the out-of-doors — build, camp, hike, hunt, fish — is beside the point. Any and all of that, if we’re living right, is secondary to just being there.
I love my life in the woods.
I backed up the Ranger as far as I could Friday morning and parked it at the edge of the woods behind the well. That brought it fairly close to where I’d seen several dead or down trees worth investigating, spied the day before. The objective, obviously, was to shorten the distance I’d have to carry whatever I cut.
See? I am getting smarter.
I was choosy on this day. I sampled only four trees, two large and two small. Luck was on my side — three were solid as can be.
The two big ones, both white oaks, were especially rewarding. I felled the larger first, beetle-damaged and leaning, 11 inches at the base. The other was only a standing trunk (I shared a picture here yesterday), nine inches, its crown missing and, strangely, nowhere to be found.
With the addition of a smaller hickory I dropped, the yield was respectable.
Once I’d gathered the log lengths and scored them for bucking, I took a break. That’s when it dawned on me that I could bring the buggy even closer — those logs weren’t far off the road, right around the bend, and I pulled up within five yards of them.
I can’t tell you how much huffing and puffing that saved me. Every little bit helps.
I made quick work of dragging the log lengths out to the tailgate and bucking them there. Stacked in the bed and strapped down, it was nearly a full load.
Almost everything I brought out to the wood yard needed splitting. Yesterday wasn’t the day for that. I set aside the 20 biggest rounds in the staging area created for the purpose.
Still, I was curious about how the wood I’d just cut would respond to my splitting ax. I set a fat round from the beetled leaner on my chopping block and took a crack at it.
Comically, the ax head bounced straight up off the end grain like it had hit a tractor tire. That tree was still alive, by some definition, when I dropped it, and it wouldn’t give up without a fight.
I wasn’t interested in fighting. I pushed it off the block and tried again with a couple of smaller rounds. Success.
At that point, I was done. I stacked what I could and called it a day.
I’m back in the game.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath #Ungovernable