Every now and then, a reader will reach out to me and say that what I do here on The Mountain is, to them, “inspiring.” Often it’s a private message; sometimes they express it publicly. I’m truly humbled by the reaction and touched by these folks’ willingness to say it out loud.
But I’ll tell you what — if you really want to be inspired by something I’ve done, it oughta be an empty pallet:
I’ll explain.
Only an hour earlier, that same pallet looked like this:
Those were the last two rounds remaining from a big-ass oak toppled by tornadic winds Memorial Day weekend in 2024. I bucked it and hauled it to the wood yard a year ago last month. Since then, a little at a time, I’ve split it by hand and stacked it to season.
It hasn’t been easy. I got as far as I did by being patient, persistent and (lacking a better word) creative.
I figured these final chunks would be the most difficult. One was the biggest of all, the other smaller but made tougher by four gnarly knots. There would’ve been no shame in waiting to let a log splitter handle the job. But for me, that tree had become a personal challenge — I vowed (stubbornly) to dispatch it completely by hand.
Wednesday morning, I moved both rounds over to my chopping block. Using wedge and hammer, I split each into six pieces (pictured in today’s header image). I finished them off with the ax.
I won’t lie to you — it was a battle. Even though I was on my game, the oak fought back hard.
In the end, I prevailed. I took a brief, self-congratulatory break, then stacked the splits on the current pallet.
Across the way, the empty one stood as a testament to honest work, to finishing what I’d started. It was a reminder that I’m stronger than I’ve been in decades.
These aren’t just better days — they’re the best days of my life.
Hell, that inspires me.
Someone out there needs to hear what I’m about to say. Maybe it’s somebody you know. Maybe it’s you. Anyway, I have to say it.
I want you to know that it’s okay to STFU now about the Super Bowl halftime show. It happened four days ago. It was very bad. It was very un-American.
But enough already. There’s not enough juice in it to be squeezing this hard for this long.
That includes, by the way, not talking about how great the “alternative” was. We’ll all be just fine without hearing over and over again how a streaming audience of five million somehow beat the NFL’s 142 million.
Look, I’m all about true Americans creating a parallel culture and economy. This may have been a step in that direction. But if we believe in American exceptionalism, then we must demand it of our own — and of ourselves.
Part of that is telling the truth. And yes, the halftime show at the stadium was horrible. The rest of the truth, however, is that TPUSA’s effort just wasn’t very good.
I don’t care how many times the word “Jesus” was invoked. It doesn’t matter that Mr. Ritchie told everyone to read their Bible. If we value quality, we’ll admit that the production and stagecraft sucked. If we want conservative alternatives to succeed, we won’t be afraid to say that the event was promoted like a third-grade bake sale.
And if we’re committed to accuracy, we’ll stop trying to convince each other that the TPUSA show kicked ass.
It didn’t. Nice effort. Better luck next time.
Now I’ll STFU, too.
It’s time for arts’n’crafts, kids.
I watched a skilled woodsman fashion a tool from hardwood the other day, part of demonstrating the highly respected axes his company makes. I was inspired — there’s that word again — and thought I might give it a shot.
I sacrificed a stove length from an oak I dropped on Tuesday and, with a bow saw, I scored its circumference. Then I sawed into the wood all the way around, but only to the depth of the blade.
For the next step, I would’ve used a hatchet if I’d had one handy, but the nearby kindling-splitting fixture worked fine. On three sides of the stove length, I split from one end of it to the saw kerf. The fourth side I split all the way down.
This no longer was a piece of firewood. It was becoming a primitive mallet or, if you will, a baton.
The handle needed shaping. I pulled my folding knife from my pocket — again, using what was within arm’s reach — and began whittling down the high spots.
Resting the work in my lap, I used the folder like a drawknife, raising long, thin curls of the wet oak. To shave the other end of the handle, I turned the blade around for push-cuts.
It’s the sort of project that produces something that can be used right away, but it also offers opportunities to fuss with it for as long as it lasts — a fidget with a higher purpose. I’m sure I’ll be whittling on it and smoothing the handle for a good while.
For the record, it’s 15.5 inches long, 3.5 inches in diameter. I’d put the weight at three pounds, though it’ll get lighter as the wood dries.
Functionally, it’ll be useful around the splittin’ stump at Daybreak for smackin’ the poll of a hatchet (or the spine of a fixed-blade knife) when turning large chunks of wood into smaller ones. Having one flat face gives me options.
I had a ball making this mallet. It taught me new skills and re-awakened old ones. I look forward to having more of that kind of fun.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath #Ungovernable