With the removal Thursday morning of the last of the scheme that protected my fresh-water supply through the winter, we formally crossed the threshold to warmer weather. It didn’t take long — strip off pipe insulation, clip zip-ties securing heated conductors, and stow the gear in a tote under the cabin.
I kept the insulation to re-use, but it’s badly tattered after three years of service. There’s a good chance I’ll replace most of it come fall.
Curbside pickup at Walmart was scheduled for 9am. For the second time in a row, I’d stretched the interval between trips to four weeks. Twice before that, I’d gone three weeks. And while you might not think that’d reduce my grocery bill, it has — compared to bi-weekly runs, I’m saving about 25%.
I love these drives to town, whether it’s Flippin or Yellville. The territory ’round here is like rural parkland, and it’s at its freshest in springtime.
Rolling back up the driveway, I saw all the effort I’ve put into this place on full display. It’s still rustic, mind you, not as manicured as some might prefer, but everything is just so.
I spent the rest of my Thursday simply enjoying that.
“Cmon, baby,” I said. She circled back, sat down and leaned into me. I reached out and gave her a prolonged scritch. She smiled s’more — and she purred.
These are moments I’ll never forget. I wouldn’t trade them for anything.
I feel myself getting weaker.
Even though it’s been less than a month since I wrapped up next winter’s supply of firewood — and ceased the almost-daily ritual of slingin’ and swingin’ — I know that I’ve lost muscle mass.
I can see it. I can feel it.
I remember the same thing happening when I was just out of high school. I worked three summers as a lifeguard and spent my days swimming, paddling and throwing heavy aluminum canoes around. When I came home from college during Thanksgiving break, it was clear that I was nowhere near as strong as I’d been just a few months earlier.
(Apparently, all those 12oz curls I did on High Street weren’t enough.)
Muscle mass is even harder to hang onto as we age. Looks like I need to develop some discipline and fix that. I’ll do as much as I’m able to in the oppressive Ozarkansas heat.
Yesterday, I got back to work. Pleased as I was with how the original fire pit had shaped up, I wanted it to be more spacious visually — dozens of low cedar branches, even without foliage, made the area feel hemmed-in.
So I limbed-up trees within ten feet of the edge of the clearing.
Because I did my cutting carefully and strategically, that process was fairly time-consuming. I didn’t mind. The result was, to my eyes, worth it.
The morning’s second task was over by the shed. Every now and then, I have reason to walk onto the lower level from that end, and coming down off the driveway was a tad abrupt. I cleared away a bunch of rocks and brush to accommodate my trademark clumsiness.
Now if you look at the last three photos and don’t notice anything remarkable, thank you. That was my intent — to make things pleasing and functional with no more impact than necessary.
More to come, I believe.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath #Ungovernable