WordPress told me Sunday morning that I’d published to Ubi Libertas Blog 79 days in a row. At the time, I had no plans to skip a day.
Ultimately, though, that’s what I did.
The Heeler and I awoke in a cabin that wasn’t cold, at least not by the numbers, but a round of heavy rain and dense fog brought dampness that penetrated straight to the bone. My remedy was a roaring fire in the woodstove…
…and a hot bowl of peppered cheese grits.
(Some days, oatmeal just isn’t enough.)
Boosted by the savory breakfast and a few cups of coffee, I geared up, went outside and dealt with the standing-dead tree I’d dropped on Saturday.
That felt good. I was back in the cabin by 8:30am.
“I could tell you why — what killed her soul — but it don’t really matter now, I guess.”
T. L. Norris (Sam Elliott), from Landman
“Demons run faster than rainbows, and hers caught up to her. I spent 60 years waitin’ for her rainbow to return. It never did. But that’s life.”
I left a mess behind at Daybreak Point the other day. The job I’d started — clearing for a tent site and a walking path to reach it — was only half-done. I wouldn’t’ve thought that such a small project could produce that much brush and debris, but it did.
Late Sunday morning seemed like the right time to finish. My aim was to liberate firewood and cedar poles from the pile, then drag the rest a hundred feet onto a larger brushpile, a catch-all I began last November while processing the wind-downed oak.
But first, the chainsaw needed sharpening. My new fireside table was pressed into service as a workbench.
Sweet. Very handy.
Making the mess of brush disappear was real work, no doubt about that. The result (pictured, below) was worth the sweat.
The exercise yielded a fair amount of firewood, considering. Though it would’ve been great (and easier) to drop it on the stack there at Daybreak, all of it would require seasoning and had to leave.
I loaded it into the Ranger and rolled out for the wood yard before 1pm.
A lot of what I harvested came from relatively small trees, the equivalent of branch wood. It’ll be excellent for coaling.
Straight and regular as it was, stacking was a breeze. And it brought the latest pallet up to about 20% full.
Before putting the buggy away, I hauled a load of seasoned wood up to the cabin.
For the remainder of the day, I kept company with Miss Smudge, indoors and out. Mid-afternoon, I poured myself a bourbon.
I contemplated my next blog post. I had the images on my phone and the words in my head. I simply didn’t have the writing in me.
The sun set over Ozarkansas. I got a good night’s sleep.
Whenever I confront fatigue these days, I know I’ve earned it. I worked for it. As we always used to say, “tired, but it’s a good tired.”
I’m proud of what I’m accomplishing here.
Still, often I wonder — am I pushing past my limits? Or are my limits getting closer? I know I’m not getting any younger, so I acknowledge that it may be the latter.
Monday, I slowed my pace a little. I burned trash. I took out garbage and compost. Smudge and I explored the woods north and east of the cabin, bushwhacking through the brush.
That’s how discovery happens. We both had a blast.
I unplugged myself from any sense of pressure yesterday and lived this life. It was refreshing. Arguably, it was necessary.
“It’s the sides of the mountain which sustain life, not the top,” said Robert Pirsig. “Here’s where things grow.”
Indeed. Life is good.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath #Ungovernable