Morning breeze. The call of a cuckoo, the coo of a dove, the chatter of a tanager. Coffee in my mug. Happy Heeler by my side.
I haven’t posted the last couple of days, nor have I posted daily for a while now. Such is my summer on The Mountain.
When a friend checked on me this morning to make sure that I’m okay, I responded that “life is uneventful.” It’s far from boring or sedentary, though — there simply are “no events.”
And that’s not a bad thing at all.
Still, I’ve had a hard time writing anything fresh, sharing words I consider worth reading. Thus, the sporadic posts.
This remains the richest, most rewarding time of my life. I’m well, thanks, and I’m just fine.
Thursday, Smudge and I drove up to the Flippin Walmart for curbside pickup. Yesterday, we ventured farther afield than we have in months — a whole eight miles, to the Marion County transfer station. It had taken us over three-and-a-half months to generate two bags of trash and a bag of recyclables.
I stopped by Miller Hardware while I was out that way and bought 30 pounds of propane. It was time.
Shortly after noon, I visited a neighbor to return stuff I’d borrowed over the winter. I was handed a few items myself, including another neighbor’s .22 rifle.
The story was that it refused to cycle, presumably because it was absolutely filthy. I agreed to clean it and get it running again. (Serves me right for blogging that I enjoy the meditative maintenance ritual.)
I tackled that this morning. This would be my first time digging into a Marlin Model 60. I downloaded an instruction manual, and disassembly presented no problems.
As I said, the gun was ridiculously grimy and gummy. The real issue, however, revealed itself as I lifted the barreled action from the stock — the recoil buffer, a cushioning block that prevents the bolt from slamming into the butt end of the receiver, was shattered. The resulting debris had made its way throughout the action. That’s why it was jammed up.
I painstakingly removed the biggest chunks, then set to work scrubbing and scraping the gunk out of the gun. Honestly, I don’t recall ever working on a dirtier firearm.
Reassembly was tricky at times, but with patience I got it done. About half of the recoil buffer was still intact, more or less, so I rotated it on its pin to where it’d do the most good. It’ll need to be replaced sooner rather than later.
The now-clean Marlin passed its function test. That left only one thing still to do.
Instead of taking it out to my range, I walked back to White Rock, loaded 14 rounds into the magazine tube, pointed the muzzle toward the slope and pulled the trigger. The action cycled flawlessly.
I reloaded and repeated the drill, varying my firing rate. Perfect. Getting this nice little rifle running again for my neighbor was immensely gratifying.
As I compose this post, we’re into our sixth hour of Saturday storms. Good, good rain. Flash flood warning. Lots of thunder, and lightning strikes within a mile of The Mountain.
We should get a break from severe weather around 8pm. The forecast calls for us to get slammed again during the wee hours.
Hatches are secured.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath #Ungovernable