Backwood Polaris Upgrades

I've been finding satisfaction in using things I already have rather than buying new stuff.  

An example of that is a few  modifications I recently made to my 2004 Polaris Ranger.

1. I attached a saddle gun scabbard to the driver side that I had purchased several years ago from Cabellas in anticipation of some day acquiring a Mule named Ruth, just like Festus Haggen.

2.  A rough chainsaw scabbard was crafted from western red cedar scraps and fit nicely into the existing stake-pockets.

3.  A heavy duty bed-divider was added utilizing a 2"x12" red oak slab sawn from a tree that previously occupied space in the side yard of our old house.  This old slab also worked nicely for hanging a large felling axe and 25" Scandinavian forest axe, both compliments of the good folks from  Gransfors Bruk, Sweeden.  As a bonus, these fine timber-cutting tools are now more pleasing to the eye than when they previously bounced around in the bed of the Ranger.

These relatively minor upgrades have helped modify the Polaris Ranger from a general purpose utility vehicle into a more focused firewood and log-work vehicle.   The three upgrades were completed at a total cost of $0.  And, importantly, the .44 will be readily available when Armadillo-whacking opportunities present themselves.

My next planned Ranger-related project is a pull-behind trailer for hauling firewood, assorted campfire material and grandkids.   Rather than purchase a new trailer, I plan to do what Dad and his good friend Don Baird would have done back in the old days: make one out of previously used parts.

Thanks to my handful of reasonably loyal readers for tuning in.  When it comes to random internet reading I'm aware you have myriad choices.  Thanks for including Old and Ridiculous/Regular Folks in your random reads.

Best wishes for a Merry Christmas (or whatever you might be celebrating this time of year).  
As we continue making our way through the holidays, I'll try to keep you posted on firewood and campfire related matters...

(A heartfelt shoutout to Nate and Madeline Dodd from Nashville, Tennessee:)

Flummoxed By Ever-Changing Technology

A sure sign of getting old is when, more and more, you find yourself flummoxed by todays ever-changing technology.  If not for advancements in health care, I think I might prefer to have been born around 1780-81; even though I would now have been dead for at least 150 years.

I'm aware there have been perhaps millions of articles written on the basic subject of "flummoxed by current technology"; at least a few by your's truly.  But in the category of making a point, "done before" shouldn't discourage a person from trying again.  If we did only what has never been done, we'd all be spending our time trying to figure out how to get politicians to just tell the truth.

The iPhone to me is more than just vexing: it's vexing X 10!  These darn updates are nearly killing me.  Just when I'm about to figure out how to work around the previous updates, Mr. Cook and his no doubt super-smart group of techno-wizards come up with another round of updates.  Hey Tim, if you're reading this on your iPhone, which is probably several versions ahead of mine, how about a moratorium on iPhone updates until at least the first of the year; which is like two weeks.  You could consider it a Christmas gift, or if you prefer, a Winter gift, to all your loyal iAddicts.

Although I don't consider myself an iAddict, I have come to the realization that it's nearly impossible to run my world-wide operation on a 1965 Sears transistor radio.  However, if Klietus can figure that out I'm going to dust off the most recent issue of the Sears Wish Book and get to ordering.  If I call my order in today, my new transistor radio could be ready for pickup at our local Sears Catalogue Store as early as mid February.  Oh how I miss the old days!

We'll see how things develop.  In the meantime, stay tuned and I'll try to keep you posted on technical matters and such as that...

Homesteading Misnomer

-Running water and electricity preclude this place from homestead status: Dangit!

The word "homesteading" is thrown around pretty loosely these days by the fine folks at places like The History Channel, National Geographic and most of the TV shows about Alaska (my favorite DVR category is Alaska).

In my view, living on a few acres of land just outside the city limits and within a fairly short drive to a grocery store does not qualify as homesteading.  Also, if you're able to watch Naked and Afraid (perhaps one of the all-time stupidest ideas for a TV show) or have internet access, you're probably not a real homesteader.

To qualify for homesteader-status there should be some basic qualifications; like no electricity or running water for starters.  Also, if you have an online bank account, curbside garbage/recycle pickup or routinely shop at Piggly Wiggly, you're homesteading status should be called into question.  Not that there's anything wrong with having amenities or buying your bacon, eggs and milk from a store.
But by definition, homesteading is about living without amenities.

Most of the folks who will read this post over the coming years will likely have electricity and indoor plumbing.  It's also likely they won't be overly concerned with what life-style category the good folks at Old and Ridiculous put them in.  But that doesn't mean they don't care.  And I have several reasons to believe that most actual homesteaders will appreciate someone taking a stand on their behalf.

With all this in mind, I'm for redefining homesteading to mean you:
1) live off the land
b) barter as a means of acquiring stuff and
trace) don't shop in a store more than maybe 3 or 4 times a year.

Now this is just a suggestion--not a mandate.  I'm in no position to mandate anything, especially another person's living status.  But for my money, I'm going with "They live in the country" versus "They're homesteaders".  As a note, I'd be willing to reconsider any homesteader situations that are brought to my attention providing that, for starters, the folks in question are willing to give up their indoor toilet and homogenized milk.  If that's the case, I'll convene a special quorum with Nick-Nick-Nick and Klietus and we'll get back with you.  In the meantime I'll try to keep you posted.

Post Script:  If we've offended anyone who considers themselves a homesteader even though you have a weekly standing appointment with the fine folks at Hull Dermatology and pay your monthly connectivity bill on-line while waiting to have your oil changed at WaltonMart's "Not So Fast Tire and Lube Express", you have our sincere apologies.

NOTE:  In this post I've used words like our and we instead of my and I because it makes us (me) sound more like a group.  Which, incidentally, is another old business trick.  Using the word "group" in your business name sounds like a big organization instead of just one person.  Kind of like being a LinkedIn CEO (me and half the folks I know:) or the founder of a LinkedIn company (also me and half the folks I know).  Not that there's anything wrong with that...

Tool-Connection to the Past

Using old tools creates nearly an immediate connection to the past.  And as was reaffirmed yesterday afternoon, can add enjoyment to your tool work-related activities.   

While getting ready for some chainsaw work yesterday out at our Barry County cabin, I decided that instead of using modern day wedges I'd use a couple of old tools handed down out of Uncle Pat & Aunt Katherine's basement tool collection.

This hammer and chisel were part of the group of stuff Dad gave me several years ago that, for untold years, occupied space in his oldest brother and sister-in-law's capital city home.

I was surprised at the hardness and overall strength of this near ancient cold chisel.  I have no idea how old it is but it appeared to be hand-forged and made to last.  Unlike most of the chisels you might acquire today at places like Home Depot or Lowe's, this one is made of very high quality steel.  After numerous hits with a perhaps equally old rock hammer (a tool-gem in and of itself) the chisel was virtually unscathed.  Not a mark on it!

For my money, I'll take an old hand-tool most of the time over the stuff you can buy today. There are no doubt a handful of places that still make and/or sell high quality hand-tools that match up nicely to the tools of old, but they are the exception and not the rule.  From my experience, if a tool is stamped "Made in China" it might as well say "Not for frequent use": Not that there's anything wrong with that providing that's your expectation.

If you're a tool man, woman or perhaps gender-neautral, consider reinforcing your tool lineup with some equipment that was made back when the lightbulb was considered new technology.  From my experience, you'll be glad you did:)

I'll try to keep you posted on old tool matters and semi-related subjects.  And if I get the chance to catch up with my Ol' friend, Nick-Nick-Nick, or should there be a Kleitus sighting, I'll let you know. 

Come Ride the Little Train

Come ride the little train as it rolls down the track to the Junction; Petty Coat Junction.
Forget about your cares it is time to relax at the Junction; Petty Coat Junction.
Lots of curves you can bet. 'N'even more when you get, to the Junction; Petty Coat Junction.

Now that little sit-com theme song from the 1960's brings back a lot of memories, lying on the floor of our family home while watching (you guessed it) Petty Coat Junction!

If you're old enough to have watched TV in the 1960's you'll no doubt remember this half hour TV show.  Hard to believe but if you lived in small town America back then there were very few choices when it came to watching television on your family's ONE "Television Set", which was likely an RCA, Zenith, or in our case, Sears brand console tv.  Inside our rural route 1 home we had good reception on only one channel; KRCG Channel 13 out of Jefferson City, Mo.  KOMU TV Channel 8 came in fairly well when it wasn't too overcast or raining, and that was it.  I can recall on occasion being so starved for TV entertainment, I'd find myself watching shows like Lawrence Welk: No kidding!

I remember the first time ever I laid eyes on a color TV.  It took place inside Biedermans Furniture Store, which was located in Rolla, Missouri during the entirety of my growing up years.  That amazing TV was tuned to "The Beverly Hillbillies" (Come'n listen to a story 'bout a man name Jed...") and I thought it was one of the most amazing things I'd ever seen!  From a technology standpoint, it no doubt was.

In honor of simpler times--and they really were simpler in many ways--the bride and I are planning a train ride sometime soon.  I've never been on a modern day train that goes more than 15 or 20 miles an hour and have never come close to taking an actual trip that lasted more than a few minutes.    We'll see what happens.  It's never too late to go on your first real train ride.

In the meantime I'll just keep driving around in the Max-Mobile in my quest to become the first Scottish-Swiss-Irish-German-American to put a million miles on a Chevy Tahoe.  I'm not goal oriented but holding the unofficial Arkansas State Record for continuous rope-jumping by a 57 year old man, is getting old.  I need to go at least one better.  1,000,000 miles on a Chevy Tahoe might just be the ticket to further stardom.  A solid train ride could put me in the running for an Oscar, as the bar for that award seems to be fairly low from what I can tell.

I'll try to keep you posted on assorted stuff like this.  Judging by how much time a couple of my extended family members spend fixated on their personal hand-held devices, some are probably to a point where they're having a difficult time coming finding things they haven't already read at least a couple times:)

Are You Chicken?

For a lot of reasons, being a chicken would be a rough way to go.  Least of all you go through your short life hearing people indirectly make fun of you by saying things like, "Hey, why don't you jump: are you chicken?"  On top of that you're ugly, have wings but can't fly and likely will end up in a situation similar to the chicken in this picture.

Speaking of that, you should give this doggone chicken a try if you haven't already done so.  It comes in assorted flavors (which may be a further insult to the chicken) and cost about the same as a combo meal at Chick-fil-A.  Sam's Club Member's Mark Chicken.  As Andy Taylor might have said around the family dinner table in 1963, "Ain't Bee, that sure is some mighty-fine chicken...mmm-mmm, might-fine!"

I wonder, given the choice, would most chickens rather wind up in a Chick-fil-A combo meal or a plastic tray at Sam's Club?  Perhaps Klietus will do some light research on that and get back with us.  Or, perhaps another Harvard study is in order?

Well, until I hear back from Klietus or the fine folks at Harvard, I'll do my best to keep you posted on all things chicken:)
 

That's a Good Question!

The right question at the right time!

A few years ago I was presented with the opportunity to fly around the bush country of British Columbia, Canada in a helicopter.  I only had a minute or two to decide whether or not I wanted to participate.  Against my instincts I responded, "I'm in".

When I walked out to climb in the helicopter that had moments before landed on the parking lot of Pioneer Log Homes of BC, I was surprised to discover a young man sitting in the pilots seat who looked to be maybe 21 or 22...tops.   Nothing against Yutes (I was once one myself) but I would have much preferred a helicopter pilot old enough to have legally voted in at least two previous presidential elections: even if they voted for the wrong guy.

As a general rule, I choose to not fly around in helicopters.  Flying around in a helicopter feels similar to what it might be like to fly around in a rock held up by fan blades.   And rocks don't float from the air: they plummet.  If the word "plummet" is ever used as an action verb in a sentence in which you're mentioned, it will likely make the front page of your local online newspaper describing the manner in which you died.   The exception being, if you're a plumber and someone in Cracker Barrel points you out as "...the fella what plummeted our house."  I'm not huge on plummeting.

After we'd made our second take off and landing on our way to two more take offs and landings, I mentioned to the young lad in the flyer's seat, "You seem kind of young to be a helicopter pilot: how long you been flying?"  "About a year", he replied.  I thought to myself, "About a year? Does that mean he may have been flying for maybe 10 or 11 months?"  Me: "I'll be darned."  Then I asked him what he did for a living before he started flying helicopters.  With no hesitation he responded, "I was a heavy equipment operator."  Now, I have nothing against heavy equipment operators either: I once was one myself.  But I would have much preferred a response like, "I flew F-15's for 9 years before I realized all I really ever wanted to do was be a helicopter pilot.  Fortunately all things turned out well and I'm still around to write this post.

Asking the right question at the right time may be one of the most under-rated actions known to modern man.  I'll have to ask my good Ol' friend, Nickadimus for his opinion on that:).  In the meantime, I'll try to keep you posted.