This is where the magic happens.

Now I know. You’re going to look at the photo and say So What? A fire pit, whatever crazy lady, go back to playing with your muscles.

You think I don’t hear you? Well, I do. I HEAR YOU.

Listen, look a little closer. See that grate? That’s the grate that makes sure we don’t burn down the whole damned forest. It’s the grate that makes sure we can start a new fire in the morning after it’s rained all night. It’s the grate we use to defend ourselves against the coyotes. And see those dishes at the top of shot? In those dishes were shrimps and asparagus and other dinnerstuffs, that, prior to making their way to our insides, were marinated to salivorating perfection and skewered over the fire whose dregs you see here, and all of it held in place by this, the Grate. Except for the cup. That had either whiskey or cranberry juice, depending.

But you get the point, right? The grate, in its own way, is the key to all happiness on the mountain right now. And I don’t mean “key” in the rosetta stoner sense. Actually, yes I do. Except for the stoner part. We’re too delicate for that shit. Precious, even.

I’m not sure where the Grate came from– all I know is that it’s heavy, and Scott toted it up the mountain on a sling he fashioned, which didn’t leave it any less heavy, only easier to tote. And he brought it up and said “Found this in a freepile.” And then we got busy.

So we’ve got a nice little camp set up now on Cooter Hollow, and are expecting another payload of Crap this weekend, which excites me greatly (or grately! ha!). But while I’m bragging, do you see the nice big flat rock at the top of the firepit? I pulled that bastard out of my garden. I mean, I dug ALL these rocks out of it, virgin soil, you know, but that one was exceptionally ball-busting. Which is why Scott mostly moved that one. But I still got a big muscle from it.

LOOK AT MY BIG MUSCLE: