For the record, I didn’t scold anyone yesterday for saying, “Happy Memorial Day.”
Not directly and not generally.
First, it’s not my place. Second, it’s not my thing. And third, the guys I knew who didn’t come home — including one who did but ended his own life to silence the demons that followed him back — would call bullshit on my virtue-signaling.
Yes, we should pause to remember fallen warriors’ sacrifices — hell, if we’re worth a damn, we do that every day. A formal ceremony honoring them on the last Monday in May is fine.
But then we should be about the business of living the kind of American life that they died defending.
With gusto. With abandon.
More beers. Less tears. They’d like that.
Let’s be Americans worth dying for.
I got started preparing my Memorial Day meal early Monday morning. It’d be just me (and Smudge, of course), so naturally I fixed what I like. I knew that the happy Heeler would approve.
Pinto beans was my side, and I gave that pot a chance to simmer a few hours. I spiked it with dried jalapeño rings, minced red onion, minced garlic, cumin and chili powder.
Outdoors, I set up my old Coleman stove in the shade and topped it with the Lodge grill/griddle. As morning turned to afternoon, I fired it up and tossed four burger patties onto the hot cast iron.
I chose griddle over grill to do these burgers semi-smash style. Each of the locally raised, grass-fed Angus patties got a sprinkle of Lawry’s seasoned salt and crumbled dehydrated onions before finishing.
It all came together alongside a 16-ounce Yuengling* Lager — a truly American meal.
I have a serving of beans and two burgers left over for a repeat today.
Miss Smudge and I whiled away the rest of the afternoon outdoors, mostly. Memorial Day traditionally kicks off summer in these United States, and it felt like it — mid-80s, a mix of sun and clouds and a hint of humidity.
We even heard our first cicada. As I understand it, there will be no deafening “brood” of the things in Ozarkansas this year, however, just the annuals.
Well, I’ve been kicked by the wind,
Lowell George
robbed by the sleet
Had my head stoved in,
but I’m still on my feet
And I’m still willin’
The forecast called for a soggy Tuesday, and that’s what we got. To boot, rain started four hours earlier than predicted. No matter — I began with a hot breakfast, then loaded-up the Heeler and ran a few errands in Yellville.
We logged three whitetail sightings, including one frisky doe dashing into the woods toward Daybreak Point.
Yeah, it’s been wet lately — insufficient to end the drought, but at least it’s something. Looks like we may get a little more over the next couple of weeks, too.
All I know is that enough rain has fallen to sustain green growth here on The Mountain. It’s lush and apparently unstoppable, denser by the day.
I was thrilled to grab a picture of the season’s very first purple passionflower in bloom.
This is such an amazing place. I’m fortunate to call it home.
We’re officially into the time of year when it’s harder for me to stay active. I handle the cold better than the heat, so mid-fall through mid-spring is my working season. Now it’s getting into the 70s by 10am, and I just can’t hang the way I did a couple of months ago.
Dealing with that reality is a matter of discipline. I find things to do that don’t trip my personal thermostat. I adjust my schedule. I persuade myself to be active.
It’s working so far. Life is good.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath #Ungovernable
. . .
* Spell-check tried correcting “Yuengling” to “Young lingerie.” That’s pretty disturbing.