Scorchers are predicted in Ozarkansas all this week. Because I’m predisposed to being most active during the early morning hours anyway, I have a shot at managing the heat’s practical, physical effects on me.
I can’t honestly say that I enjoy the steamy months — I’m a three-season guy. Still, provided I engage before a searing summer sun clears the trees, they do have their moments. The sounds…
…and the sights.
I’d like to shoot you in the ass
Roger Alan Wade
with a BB gun
Lay there in the tall grass
and laugh at what I done
Put a bloody blister
upon each bun
I’d like to shoot you in the ass
with a BB gun
(h/t Michael Bane)
Almost every pot and pan in my cabin kitchen qualifies as “vintage.” Like copper-bottom Revere Ware saucepans dating to the ’80s. The youngest of my frying pans is over 65 years old. All were made in the USA.
Three of the skillets are aluminum — cast, not stamped from sheet stock, made for commercial kitchens. An eBay find, they show signs of heavy use. (No, that doesn’t worry me.) They’re a pleasure to cook with.
I prefer cast iron, though. The pair of iron skillets I currently have rode around in the belly of the motorhome, then were stowed in the basement of the fifth-wheel here on The Mountain, unused for years. When I finally pulled them out last May and began cooking with them again, I wondered how I’d gotten along without cast iron in my life.
The “one-egg” skillet is a Wagner 1053C, produced sometime between 1935 and 1959 — “1053” denotes size and style (#3, smooth bottom), while the letter “C” identifies the mold used by the foundry.
It was the smallest model offered by Wagner. This example features the company’s most familiar logo — “Wagner Ware Sidney -O-” (Ohio) with the stylized “W.”
My larger cast-iron skillet bears no such maker’s mark, only “8 D” on the bottom, inside the heat ring at the 6 o’clock position.
With a little research, I learned that it was produced by Birmingham Stove & Range, or BSR, in Alabama, between 1930 and the mid-1950s. Like the Wagner, “8” is the size (10-5/8 inches) and “D” is the mold or pattern.
Both of those skillets are considered “collectible” to some degree. That doesn’t mean they’re worth a lot of money, however, nor is their value on the secondary market important to me. The BSR is a stud of a pan, heavier than most, the best piece of cast iron I’ve ever cooked with. The littler Wagner is handy and surprisingly easy (for its size) to control.
After stripping them a year ago and beginning the restoration process (through regular use), I think I have the seasoning right about where I want it.
I used the BSR the other day to make a couple of hot dogs. Beginning on medium-low heat, I tossed in a dollop of bacon grease, a minced garlic clove and some Mrs. Dash. I scored the ‘dogs and fried ’em ’til they charred and plumped. When they were done, I toasted rolls in the same pan, which allowed the bread to soak up whatever goodness the tube steaks left behind.
Diced red onion and jalapeño. American cheese. Yellow mustard. Simple.
After the skillet had cooled some, I wiped it out with a paper towel, added a little plain water and dislodged any residue with a chain-mail scrubber. Then I rinsed the pan and dried it thoroughly.
I didn’t go crazy. I didn’t try to sanitize it. I don’t use soap on my cast iron, at least not for routine care. My reward is a slick, glassy surface that’s a joy to cook on.
There’s no stuff like old stuff. And few things in this life compare to the culinary sacrament of cooking on vintage cast iron over a flame.
On Sunday afternoon, for the first time in many, many months — maybe it’s been a year? — I traveled outside the cozy confines of Yellville and Flippin.
I had business to conduct on the far side of Mountain Home. (Yes, on a Sunday.) The mission took me across The Mighty White into Baxter County.
The landscape was familiar, of course. Over the 50-mile ’round-trip, I was struck by how many businesses were vacant or obviously had changed hands. Nothing is forever.
The whole time I was gone, I missed having Smudge riding shotgun. She’s my buddy, my constant companion, and I can’t recall the last time I left The Mountain without her.
She missed me, too. The reunion was wonderful.
Come Monday morning, when it was time to trip into Yellville, my buddy was back where she belongs.
She’s so very happy. And so I am.
“In my judgment, the Court has made a mistake that will seriously affect the country’s future.”
Justice Clarence Thomas, concluding his dissent to the Supreme Court’s 5-4 ruling that preserves the abomination of “birthright citizenship” poisoning our country
The Arkansas National Guard is marking America’s 250th this week by making flyover circuits throughout the state. Air Guard will put a C-130 in the air, while our Army Guard will deploy Blackhawk helicopters.
According to the flyover schedule, an Army flight will come over Yellville on Thursday morning — tracking State Route 14 north, then following US Route 62 west toward Harrison. It’s not like I’ve never seen a Blackhawk before, but I’m toying with the idea of a trip into town to catch a glimpse of this event.
Oppressive heat has driven Miss Smudge and me indoors during the afternoon hours this week. We relax and manage our exposure. Often I’ll surf YouTube for content worth my time.
Two things can cause me to back out of a video in an instant. The first is obvious shilling — that is, puffy promotion posing as critical review.
The second is AI-generated voiceover (narration). I pick up on that right away. So can you.
Something else I’ve noticed is the proliferation of blatantly deceptive channels, purporting to present factual accounts of adventure and survival, drama and tragedy. In reality, their content is entirely fabricated.
I’ll confess to having been sucked into one calling itself The Last Climb. The subject was extreme high-altitude mountaineering, mostly Everest. Though I noticed that the channel relied heavily on stock footage, the host was a real human (who actually showed his face), so I watched a few.
The problem came when (typical of me) I wanted to learn more about a particular story and went looking for corroboration. I found nothing — and I mean absolutely nothing. Everything had been made up.
It was all a lie.
Now maybe you think there are no real consequences to that kind of fraud, that it’s the Milli Vanilli of our time, nothing more. I’ll counter that The Last Climb is but one example, the tip of a virtual iceberg.
P.T. Barnum was right. Content-generators monetize that pathetic fact, and with great success.
The worst of it, I think, lives in a slimy corner of the wwWeb inhabited by “influencers.” That’s what they’re called because that’s what they do — they influence the soft-headed among us.
But some frauds inspire. The well-known firearms instructor. (He’s unable to field-strip the handgun he carries every day and delegates routine maintenance to someone else.) The widely admired biker chick. (She can’t actually ride her motorcycle.)
Think I’m kidding? I have firsthand personal experience with both of those posers.
It gets worse than that.
Take Jenny Blalock, aka TNFlygirl and similar handles on YouTube and other social media, an attractive 40-something documenting her journey to becoming a private pilot. There were just two small problems.
First, she was incompetent, both as a pilot and as a student. She wasn’t mentally equipped for the discipline and attention to detail required to operate an aircraft safely and proficiently.
And second, she was dependent on prescription drugs to get her airborne. She took several anti-anxiety meds banned by the FAA (and not disclosed), along with popping a handful of other pills that don’t mix well with flying.
We learned that from post-mortem toxicology.
That’s right — she (and her father, who wasn’t a pilot) died when the plane she was operating crashed due to “pilot-induced oscillations and subsequent loss of control” (per the NTSB report).
I encourage you to watch the analysis video I included above. Captain Steeeve, you should know, is a veteran Navy and commercial pilot, and his YouTube channel is as real as it is informative.
I’m not saying that Jenny Blalock deserved to die because she was a fraud. Her story is tragic. But we who remain should tell the truth about this, and the truth is that she was a fraud whose deceptions killed her.
We also need to commit to critical thinking, viewing everything we consume with healthy but relentless skepticism. If we’re fooled — or worse, if we’re inspired by fraudsters — that’s on us.
You should apply the same mindset to what you read on Ubi Libertas Blog, by the way.
I’ll continue to play it straight with you. While I may not disclose everything, there’s no systematic or material deception going on here.
I don’t have it in me to be a poser.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath #Ungovernable