JINKSTO

And it is… peace… continued.  I sit on the porch for hours that first night.  Just me, way out in the woods.  There is electricity at the camp but I have all of the lights turned off.  There are no lights for miles and miles and miles so even with extra humidity in the air the stars are clear and bright.  The moon is full but only lights half of the sky.  The other half is peppered with a billion stars.  Stars that you can’t see from where you are.

The full  moon casts an eerie blue light on everything so I can sit on the porch and watch the river.  The river is calm, as smooth as glass, and I can see the dark shapes of the trees reflected in it. The cypress stand quiet in the night with long beards of Spanish moss hanging nearly to the water line, not moving at all.   I can hear the night birds… some I can name, others I can’t… and the constant chatter of frogs.  The buzzing of a mosquito reminds me of an old Tabasco commercial, which reminds me of pizza and that I’m hungry.  I wander inside, pickup a can of Vienna sausage and a Dr. Pepper and then return to the porch to eat.

I once watched an old man sit at this camp and eat Vienna Sausages in the same way But he pulled a trick that I’ve never been able to replicate. If you’ve eaten them you know that they come in a small can with one sausage in the center that is surrounded by the rest.  They’re packed in there pretty tight so it can be difficult to get them out.  This man had it figured out.  He skewered the center sausage with his pocket knife, wiggled it a bit, and extracted it.  The rest of the contents just fell towards the center making them easy to get.  I’ve never been able to replicate that trick but I try it nearly every time I eat them.  As usual I make a mess of it but there’s no one around to see me so I dig them out with my fingers and eat.

As I’m eating I hear a quiet splash in the river that I recognize as a Nutria entering the river. Followed shortly by the beaver just down the way warning him away with a very loud THWAPP of his tail on the water.  I think briefly of people that I have known in cities who tell me that they’d be scared to death in a place like this.  I marvel that people are scared of the dark, especially here.  I love it, which is why there are no lights on this night.  I know every animal in these woods and I know them intimately.  I recognize most of the bird calls, the beavers, the fish hitting the water.  I know that the sounds that I hear of something moving through the trees behind the camp is a racoon.  I expect to hear him splashing around in the bayou looking for crawfish to eat in a bit and am not disappointed.  There’s nothing scary here… it’s familiar, quiet, beautiful.

Finally, I stand, and move quietly inside not wanting to disturb the balance of the night.  Earlier I set up a military (surplus!) cot in the cabin to sleep on.  I slide into it and wrap a military sleeping bag that I’ve had for 20 years around me.  It’s close, familiar, warm. 

I sleep like a baby.

….

There’s something about going home. 

On the one hand, it’s a beautiful thing.  The environment is the same.  The same number of pine trees.  The same, slightly moved, clearcuts of recently harvested trees.  The same planted forests.  The same log trucks. The same stores with the same people working in them.  My youngest niece is “growing like a weed” as they say there.

On the other hand, it’s sad.  Some of the stores have closed.  The roads are worse, are newly paved or in the process of being paved for the first time.  The paint on dads house is a little more faded.  A place along one eve is beginning to rot a little.  The old man is noticeably older.  My youngest niece is growing up in pictures.

While I’m there I try to focus on the good things but the sad things creep in and nag at me like an annoying mosquito buzzing near your ear on a dark night.  It’ll slowly creep in getting louder and louder and louder until you slap yourself in the head like an idiot and it goes away… for a while.   My step-sisters boyfriend is working on pops’ house and he’s a painter who’s planning to spruce the place up so that’s something that I don’t have to worry with.  The old man just had a massive surgery which should put him back on his feet for a good while.  There are counters for most of the bad things so… focus.

As soon as I could meet the familial obligations  (or, at least, cover enough bases to prove that I’d been there. Sorry Aunt Jessica!) I snuck off into the woods.

My brother and I drove his truck out to the camp to check up on things before I committed to living there for a week.  The camp is on a property behind several other properties.  Many of them leased for hunting so there is an iron gate across the road.  The gate is a two piece affair made out of pipe that meets in the middle of the road and is joined by a chain with six or seven locks on it.  Each person with access rights to any property behind the gate has a key to one of the locks.

We discovered that someone had changed one of the locks and that the key that we had no longer worked.  Which sounds like a minor setback until you realize that we’re an hour from anyone that we know and 15 minutes from the nearest paved road.  It’s another three miles of dirt trails to get to the camp and we have brought a lawnmower and a trailer full of gear so walking the rest of the way in isn’t going to happen.     We are figuratively and literally in the boondocks and our progress has been halted by a single master lock.  But no matter, we’re rednecks and rednecks solve problems like this regularly.  There’s no question about whether we’ll get in eventually, we’ll get in.  The only question is how long it’ll take us to figure it out and how much it’ll cost us in the end.

As he looked for a way around the gate through the woods (he has an F250 4×4 too) I search through his toolbox for bolt cutters to cut the offending lock.  Failing both of these quests we stand on the road staring at the gate.  One of us calculating how much trouble we’ll get into with Dad for jerking the gate down and the other… well, I don’t know what HE was thinking but I’m sure it was along the same lines because at about the same time we realized that the gate was attached to 6X6 Creosote posts with lag bolts. 

Most of the hinges had six bolts and various nails and spikes driven into them to secure them but that top right one only hand two lag bolts holding it.  so 5 minutes with a 3/4 inch socket and a ratchet left us with nothing more to do than lift the gate off of the bottom hinge and open both  sides of the gate as a unit.  For the next few days that’s how I’ll get in and out.

We drive the last few miles into the camp and check things over.  He’s missing his keys to the camp itself so we spend another 10 minutes locating a ladder (under the pump shed), finding a window that’s unlocked (the one with the tiny window unit A/C) and breaking into our own camp (we put it back). Another disaster averted.

We get the lights going and the water pump and discover that every water pipe in the place is busted.  The camp is about six foot above the ground on posts so all of that water spewing from about 70 feet of busted pipe was actually pretty spectacular to watch. 

Someone closed things down improperly last fall and left water in the pipes over the winter.  This is going to hurt.  We take a quick inventory of the damage and head back home. 

My brother is headed back offshore to work the next day so later that day I say goodbye to him and then drive to the local Stines to buy everything (mostly) that I will need to fix the pipes before trundling off into the wilderness on my own. 

That night.  Sitting on the porch of a camp on a swamp in central Louisiana 10 miles from the nearest house, with no working toilet and a thousand miles from home I found a peace that we all seek.  I tend to find it more regularly than most, even at home, but it’s always nice to find when you do.   Sitting there, in the darkness listening to the birds and frogs sing the sun to sleep. 

I’ll be herding people into the camp from various places the next day and working on the pipes to get the camp in shape but…  that’s another story.

…

I went camping a few weeks ago.  I went with Rob and his brother Scott who you already know along with a few other folks. 

One of the guys was my room (tent, hooch, hot bunk) mate in the first gulf war.  While there and in the years to follow he became one of my best friends.  You know, he’s the one that knows things about me that he’d never tell the cops (or my wife!) but doesn’t mind telling those stories around a camp fire.  I have the deepest respect for him and the deepest trust.  He knows my social security number and my bank PIN number and the password to all of my accounts… everywhere.   And, I only get to see him once a year.  A few years ago he came up with the idea of doing a yearly camping trip.  We go all over.  Last year was Alabama for a week.  The year before it was the backwoods of Mississippi.   This year it was our home turf… Louisiana.

My dad has a camp on Old River which is about as descriptive as saying that you rode in the yellow taxi.  There are thousands of places called Old River in the US.  This one happens to be an old ox-bow lake off of the Sabine River near the Texas/Louisiana line.

I could spend hours writing up what it looks like there but this will be faster.  Here’s a video that I shot the first morning that I was there with my cell phone.  The quality isn’t great but it should give you an idea.

Here’s a picture of the camp itself.

And a shot from the porch… one evening

Yeah… that Louisiana.   Those things in the chairs… them’s swamp rats.

I’ve got a couple of good stories to tell about this but not a lot of time.  I just wanted to get the pictures out for folks to see.

A few months ago I hinted at several things that I had managed to do for others but didn’t share them.  I want to share those things but haven’t figured out how to do so for a couple of reasons. 

First the people are too close to jinksto so I can’t hide the identities of those people from other people who know parts of the stories.  

Second, I haven’t figured out how to share the stories without calling undue attention to myself.  I want to encourage others to do things like the things that I try to do because I think that they truly do help people.  However, at the same time, I don’t do them for the acknowledgement or even for gratitude.  I do them because they need doing and I’m in a position to do them. 

How conceited is that? I want you to be more like me but I won’t tell you why… or even how.  And what the heck makes me think that you’re not better than me anyway?  *sigh* .. see my problem?  Maybe if I were a better writer I could come up with a way to do it.  I’m not so… sorry.

All of this to say that someone reminded me of that hint that from a few months ago and listed off several things that he thought I was referring to.  In all cases he was wrong which made me giggle but prompted me to post this to say, “for those of you who think you can guess what the stories were based on things that you see happening in my life… trust me, you’re wrong.”

So there.

HAH!

…

I was thinking something similar when driving across the country earlier this week and thought about a blog post on the topic but someone on facebook summed it up nicely.

Q: What was the most positive result of the “Cash for clunkers” program?

A: It took 95% of the Obama bumper stickers off the road

…

… Like It’s Stolen! Was a common saying when I was growing up.  Usually it was tossed out when someone got a little more aggressive on a dirt road than was really warranted.   It was usually shouted by the passenger and either followed by or preceded by something along the lines of WOOOOOHooooo!!!!

I mentioned buying a new truck a couple of posts ago and yesterday I got a call from the dealership informing me that the finance guy needed me to come in and sign a form that got missed.  It’s 35 miles from my house to the dealership and it’s the second time I’ve had to do this.  Still, they were insistent and offered to buy me gas so I agreed to drive in at noon.   I was careful to point out that I would be in a hurry if I was going to drive a total of 70 miles on my lunch hour just to sign a piece of paper that they should have had me sign the first two times I was there.  I believe that my exact words were, “Tell him that he needs to have the form ready to sign when I get there.”

And, he did… sorta. 

Rob rode into town with me and we grabbed lunch along the way.  Rob (who, by the way is nicknamed “Bubba” and fits the name) was wearing his overalls and jesus sandals… which is only relevant to the story in order to prove that he’s as redneck as I am.

When we got there Rob wandered off to find a bathroom and I found out that  the finance guy was in with another customer.  Just to avoid beating around the bush let’s be clear that I don’t like the finance guy much. First he really liked my credit score…

… chasing a rabbit for a minute.  Mrs. Jinksto and I have worked very hard over the years to stay in the black.  I consider a credit agreement to be a personal handshake and take that seriously.  Essentially, if I agree to pay you some amount of money under specific terms I’m not going to force you to repo my house to get it back.  I SAID I would pay you and I will.  Come hell or high water…  I didn’t always have this opinion and I had to work for about 15 years to fix that, but as a result my credit score is way way way up there.  I didn’t pay my bills on time to get a high credit score, it just sort of happened as a result.  I’ll go without eating before I’ll miss a credit payment.

… back on track.  In fact, the finance guy mentioned my credit score several times and even referred to my truck as “kinda cheap on your budget”.  Thanks pal but I know what I wanted and what I wanted wasn’t a $900/mo note on a truck that I’m going to treat like a truck anyway so you can keep the $60,000 vehicle.  The finance guy was also a bit of a snob.  Me, I showed up at the dealership wearing work boots, blue jeans and a red flannel shirt and the boots were dirty… pretty much what I wear every day.  He was wearing a $70.00 shirt with cuff links.  He winked and mentioned the “other people” that couldn’t afford a truck like the one I bought a couple of times which completely turned me off and he wanted to talk about sports… even after I claimed no interest in the topic.  In short, I thought he was a bit of a snob and worse I felt like he expected me to be one too.  Once again, sorry pal.  I’m just a country boy with a good job that I worked very hard to get…

… another rabbit.  When I was talking to the sales girl the day I bought the truck she asked what I do and I told her where I work ( a multinational American Bank) and that I work from home.  Her response was, “Wow!  You’re lucky!”.  Typical attitude and completely wrong.  I’m not lucky.   Knowing what was coming next Mrs. Jinksto cut my diatribe off by saying, “no, he worked his ass off to get that.  Luck had nothing to do with it.”… thanks baby.

… back on track … I have a good job that pays me well but I’m a redneck and I don’t try to hide it so Finance boy and I had nothing in common and I generally don’t like his type anyway. 

As I walked into the dealership I explained why I was there and asked to see the finance guy.  I was told that he was in a meeting with another client.

“Well, he needs me to sign a paper and I’m here to do it can you let him know that I”m here?” I asked.

“I can’t, he’s in with a client I can’t interrupt him.” said sales guy number 1.

“OK, well… I drove 35 miles to sign this paper and he was told to have it ready for me so if you don’t mind…”

“Right, let me get someone to help!” so off goes salesguy to talk to the OTHER finance guy (not mine) who shook his head sadly and said he couldn’t help. 

Salesguy goes to find a manager who himself can’t help.  In the end, there were two managers and two salesguys as well as a spare finance guy all standing outside this guys door shaking their heads.  About this time I piped up and said, “Umm… I’m not scared of him… you guys want me to knock on the door for you?” which put them all in motion again trying to figure out what to do.

In the end one of them decided to stand in front of the window and get the guys attention so that he could signal him to call the sales desk.  It was very annoying but highly comical watching them.

Finance guy cracked open his door and stuck the form out to one of the sales guys who asked me to sign the paper.  It was the form for what’s called “Gap Insurance” which basically covers the replacement cost of the truck over and above whatever the insurance pays.  Normally, I don’t like the stuff but in this case it made sense so I bought it.

As I was signing it I asked him, “so when does this go into effect?”

“As soon as you sign it”,  He replied.

“Seriously?”, I asked to make sure.

“Oh yeah… it’s even back dated so technically you were already covered… we just needed the form signed.”

Awesome.

Ten minutes later as I was doing donuts in the sales lot Rob said, “Dang son, Drive it like you stole it!”

Rednecks… you just caint live with’em.

…

Kaveman and Thirdpwer over at Days of our Trailers keep pointing out that the Anti-2A folks think they’re winning and cite numerous examples of the fact that they’re wrong.  I found this graphic on the wikipedia concealed carry page and think it demonstrates in the best possible way that the Anti-2A movement is on a losing track.  Watch it for a bit and it should show you the progress of Concealed Carry laws from 1985 to present.:

…

Michael Perry wrote a book called “Truck, A Love Story”.  In it he talks about repairing an old truck but follows the other parts of his life in the process.  The Love Story part of it is about a real love, you know, one that includes a real woman and not just a truck but the story always comes back to the truck. 

I’m nowhere near the writer that Perry is but I recognize a good story when I see it and Perry is redneck enough to recognize but never acknowledge a love between man and truck. 

Trucks are a unique part of manhood in the rural united states.  They become a part of you and help, in some ways, to define you.  Everyone loves a good truck.

If you’ve been reading here long enough you’ve read several stories about my truck or stories in which the truck played a bit part.  From the way it smelled on frosty mornings going hunting with my nephew, to the raw power that pulled seventy feet of deck off of my house, to the way I use it to help friends whenever I can to, not to be profound, use it for God’s work.  It’s a part of who I am that truck and I am proud of it.  I wrote about it extensively in “Buy American”. 

If you’ve missed my previous posts here are two videos that tell part of the story…

Like all good things though, that time in my life came to an end today.  I took the beat up old thing to the dealer and traded it in.  After 6 years, one deck, several trees, untold amounts of personal belongings, trash, toliets, campers and 75000 miles it was still worth a third of what I paid for it.

Today, Ms Jinkto and I walked into the dealer and announced our intention to buy a new truck.  When asked what we were looking for I took the salesgirl out to my old truck and told her, “That.”   She looked confused so I explained further by saying, “…with new tires.”  At first she showed us several other trucks that were nice but not like mine.  After a while she understood that I wasn’t joking and had to admit that they didn’t have the truck that I wanted.  I nodded and asked her to find me one… so she did.  

This one:

Here’s Jinksto in his Mike Rowe Ford Commercial pose:

And finally, because life is about labels… here’s the one that tells the whole story.

Before you asked if that V10 means what you think it means the answer is… yes.  Both of my brothers work in the oil industry… gotta support the family.

Anybody need something hauled?

In getting ready for our pig roast (also known as the Tax Day Celebration of Pork) last Friday I had several projects going all at once.  It’s typical when getting ready for a “get together” though something like this takes a little more work.  I was cutting wood, stacking the fire, cleaning up, hanging the flag in the yard, planting last minute flowers (don’t ask) and just various and sundry tasks that have to be completed before people wander through your yard.

I tend to bounce from one task to another and leave things laying around the house until everything gets done.  In doing all of this I walked past our kitchen table several times before I noticed the accidental juxtaposition of the items laying there.  When I did notice I snapped a quick picture with the phone and posted it to Facebook.

I thought the picture was cool enough that it deserved a title and went through several ideas before I settled on calling the picture simply “Entitlement”:

If you can come up with a better name for it I’d love to hear it.

…

No… not the drink, or even the Obamakare package.  The real thing.  It looks like this.

This tree was rotten in the center and was in danger of falling. Since we have a pig roast coming up I thought that I’d cut it to use as firewood for that.  I learned two things quickly:

1)  It was a lot more unstable than I thought. And,
2) it wasn’t in as much danger of falling as I thought.

When I cut the tree it split in half because of the overly rotten center.  The part that remained attached slowed the falling momentum enough that it caught in another tree.   When this happens it’s known as a widowmaker.  For a reason. 

The problem is that there’s just no safe way to get it to the ground when this happens.  In order to cut the remaining piece of the tree you have to get under the tree that you’re cutting.  Pretty much everyone can see that as a “bad” thing but there are a few folks each year foolish enough to end up dead doing it.  Jinksto aint one of those folks.  As you can see in the picture my first idea was to get a chain and come-a-long and see if I could pull it off of the stump.  That didn’t work but working in the same vein and I came up with the following idea.

The observant reader will note that at some point in this process someone thought it was stupid enough to say, “hang on, let me go get a camera”.  As a general rule that’s a great time to reevaluate your decision models.  In this case, it seemed ok to continue so Jinksto films limited presents the blockbuster hit… Widowmaker:

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

After this the tree hung on for another minute and then fell on its own.  Good times.

…