Very few things in this world can be fixed or maintained while they continue to operate. Not many, anyway, not easily.
Changing the oil while a vehicle is rolling down the road, for example. Sharpening a mower blade without shutting off the motor. Re-stringing a guitar. You get the idea.
Sweeping over me now is the strong sense that I’m turning a page. My life may well be entering a new phase. It’s undeniable, and yet a coherent explanation escapes me.
I knew that I needed a break, a breath, a moment away from everything except necessaries. I had personal maintenance to take care of.
Thus my absence from here.
All’s well. Better now, actually. Nothing’s “wrong.” I simply had to disconnect briefly.
I may make a habit of that. You shouldn’t read anything into it.
. . .
What follows today are random snips gathered since my last blog post.
. . .
“It’s time to reap the rewards of my labor.”
Ubi Libertas Blog (April 23rd, 2026)
The other night, I gazed up at a waxing crescent moon. Jupiter, bright as could be, nestled next to it in the blackness. Shimmering to the southwest, Venus.
Hours later, the rising sun blazed through the trees and warmed my world.
The next several days would bring the chance of storms. That neither concerned nor bothered me. With any luck, we’d get rain. Regardless, the unsettled weather would grace Ozarkansas with dramatic skies.
Daybreak Point draws me. It really is a symbol of all the work I’ve put in here, a place that I’m committed now to enjoying rather than improving.
I considered recently how I’d turned a tangled, rock-strewn, unlevel site into a comfortable retreat. A photo of one of the target stands is what triggered the thought, illustrating the incline I had to accommodate.
I ventured out that way yesterday morning. Fog was dense. The woods were damp and dark. The Ranger’s tires squirmed in mud and slipped on mossy rocks.
The purpose of my trip was simple — just as a fire ring isn’t truly complete until it holds a fire, so the shooting lanes I cleared were due for their own christening.
Rimfire seemed like the right choice. Likewise open sights — no optics. I brought along a no-frills 10/22 rifle and an Iver Johnson revolver that’s almost as old as I am. (Best I can tell, it was manufactured around 1961.)
Lacking paper targets, I improvised — red spray paint and blue masking tape worked just fine. My .22LR ammo-of-choice was high-velocity 40gr CPRN.
I hadn’t fired the Ruger since fitting it with fiber-optic sights six years ago, so this would be an exercise in learning the right hold and determining whether or not I needed to adjust the rear sight.
Even covering a red splotch with the front sight, my shots hit low. I’ll need to bring the rear up some and try again.
As for my vintage eight-shot revolver, the first five rounds pulled low and left — clearly (and embarrassingly), I was jerking the trigger. I paused, had a stern conversation with myself and resumed.
Much better. I absolutely love that old revolver.
“Trials never end, of course. Unhappiness and misfortune are bound to occur as long as people live, but there is a feeling now, that was not here before, and is not just on the surface of things, but penetrates all the way through: We’ve won it. It’s going to get better now. You can sort of tell these things.”
Robert M. Pirsig, Zen and The Art of Motorcycle Maintenance (1974)
By choice, I eat simply; of necessity, I eat cheaply. And yet I can’t deny that I eat better now than I have in over 20 years.
Dining out is a luxury and a rarity. Apps and delivery services? Not out here.
At home, I don’t fuss about how organic or “clean” my food is. I don’t do diets and I shun crunchy fads. I don’t study ingredient labels.
On the other hand, I do shop locally. I appreciate food grown or raised nearby.
I eat what I like.
Exhibit A — lightly frying chunks of smoked sausage in olive oil in my three-quart Revere Ware saucepan…
…as part of preparing a batch of Zatarain’s Black Beans & Rice.
Cheap, quick, easy and delicious. And it beats the hell outta desiccated ramen.
Exhibit B — thick-sliced bacon sizzling in a cast-iron skillet is downright patriotic.
On my all-American plate: three large eggs (scrambled, dry), five strips of bacon (crisp, verging on burnt) and two slices of wheat toast with sweet cream butter and huckleberry jam.
Finally, I think about ending each day with whiskey, particularly bourbon. Thing is, I usually fall asleep before I make it to the pour. As a result, I haven’t consumed alcohol (of any kind) in months.
Friday night, I managed to beat the Sandman. North Fork Rye from Glacier Distilling in Coram, Montana always satisfies.
“There is little use for the being whose tepid soul knows nothing of great and generous emotion, of the high pride, the stern belief, the lofty enthusiasm, of the men who quell the storm and ride the thunder.”
Theodore Roosevelt, “Citizenship in a Republic” (1910)
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath #Ungovernable