Leaf Piles of Liberty featuring the Kristoff Corojo Limitada

Let us start out and apologize for incorrectly saying "Liga" instead of the correct "Limitada" when I identified the Kristoff Corojo Limitada I was enjoying.  But, given that I was drinking beer and in a flop sweat... I am going to give myself some grace.

Transcript

SPEAKER_00 0:11

All right, welcome back to Liberty on Nicotine. I'm out here in the backyard. Well, technically the back and side yard, because once you commit to raking leaves, you realize very quickly that your property is not a contained system. No, no. It's part of a regional leaf sharing agreement that nobody voted on. I've got piles, piles everywhere. Organized chaos, a little brown monuments to effort, each one a testament to the fact that I briefly believed I could impose order on nature. And nature said, No, that's adorable. So I've earned this break. And in my hand today, this is a good one. We've got the Christoph Korojo Liga. Rustic, a little toothy, unapologetically old school, it feels right for the setting. This isn't some overly polished, hyper-engineered, expensive experience. This is a cigar that pairs well with sore muscles, mild resentment, and a quiet appreciation for being left alone. I cut it, light it, first straw, yeah. Pepper right up front. A little earth, that corojo bite that kind of reminds you you're alive. And I sit back. Now let's talk about these leaves for a second. Because this isn't just yard work, no. This is a master class in unintended consequences and municipal overreach. See, in Myrtle Beach, we've got rules. Well, of course we do. You can't just bag your leaves in whatever you want. Oh no. That would be chaos. That would be freedom. We can't have any of that here in the low country. No, no. You've got to use paper lawn bags. Paper. Because somewhere in some fluorescent lit room, a committee decided that leaves from your trees, your trees, mind you, must be transported off your property in a very specific biodegradable fashion. And I'm standing there earlier, rake in hand, thinking, this isn't about leaves. This is never, ever about leaves. This is about control. It's about standardization. It's about someone somewhere whose brother-in-law just happens to have a paper lawn bag business that's doing very well all of a sudden. You ever notice that? Regulations always seem to come with a conveniently positioned beneficiary. It's like magic. Like economic predestination. Poof. You can no longer use plastic bags, and poof, there's a company that sells compliant alternatives. I mean, look, I get the environmental argument. I do, I really do. I'm not out there trying to suffocate sea turtles with my leaf disposal strategy, but there's something deeply irritating about being told exactly how to solve a problem that I didn't ask the government to solve in the first place. Let me burn my leaves, let me compost them, let me use plastic if I want, let me negotiate with my own yard for crying out loud. That's the thing about these cigar breaks. They're not just about nicotine, they're not even really about the cigar, though this Christoph is doing its part beautifully. It's about reclaiming a little pocket of sovereignty. Out here on this porch or in this yard, nobody's interrupting. Nobody's regulating the angle of my lawn chair or the acceptable burn rate of my cigar. This is a voluntary interaction between me, a well-made product, and a moment of time. And that matters more than people think. Because modern life is loud. Not just noise, though there's plenty of that, but informational noise, demands, notifications, obligations, little nudges and prods from systems that want your attention, your compliance, your participation, your money. And then there's this a cigar. A drink. A very sore back, reminding you that you did something real today. Let's talk about that for a second. The sore back. Because I am feeling it. I'm still coming off a road trip. You know how that goes. You spend hours sitting in a car or your truck, in my case, your body slowly transforming into that question mark. And then you come to home and immediately decide, you know what I should do? Manual labor. Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant decision making on my part. So now I'm out there earlier, raking like a man possessed, convincing myself I've still got it. And about 30 minutes in, my lower back files a former complaint. Hey, we're gonna need to revisit this strategy. And I ignore it, of course I do, because there's a certain stubborn pride in finishing what you started, even if you started was ill-advised to begin with. So I push through, I get these leaves into piles, I step back and admire the work. I immediately realize I still have to bag them. Which, thanks to our friends at the municipal level, requires a very specific kind of paper bag that tears if you look at it wrong. Now I take a sip of my Rocky Mountain Ultralight Ale. And let's talk about this for a second. Rocky Mountain Ultralight Ale. This is not a complicated beverage. It's not trying to impress anyone. It's the kind of beer that shows up, does its job, and doesn't ask for a performance review. It's cold, it's light, it's refreshing. And right now, it might as well be the nectar of the gods. Because when you've been working, when you're tired, and when your back is sending you strong worded messages, simplicity becomes luxury. Same with the cigar, same with the moment. You know, there's something almost philosophical about yard work. It's not one of the few activities left where effort and outcome are directly connected. You can rake the leaves, the yard looks better, you stop raking, the leaves win. There's no bureaucracy in that equation, no middleman, no abstract metric. Just cause and effect. And I think that's part of why it feels so satisfying, so frustrating at the same time, because we live in a world where that clarity is increasingly rare. Most of what we do is mediated, filtered through systems, evaluated by criteria that we didn't set. But out here, you either move the leaves or you don't. And right now, they're moved. They're in piles, they're waiting. And for this brief moment, so am I. The Kristoffs opened up quite a bit now. An initial peppers smelled into something a little more balanced. Still got that spice, but now there's some earth, maybe a little woodiness creeping into the flavoring. It's a kind of cigar that rewards patience, which is fitting because patience is exactly what you need when you're dealing with well, everything, including leaf bag regulations. Let's circle back to that idea of ritual because that's really what it this is. This isn't just a break, it's a ritualized pause. And humans need that. We're not designed to be in constant motion, constant input, constant reaction. We need moments where we step out of the flow and just observe, think, feel the weight of the day, process it. And for me, and I know for a lot of you, that ritual often involves well, a cigar. Not because it's glamorous, not because it's trendy, but because it forces you to slow down. You can't rush a cigar. You can try, but it'll punish you. Burn too hot, get bitter, fall apart. It demands a certain pace, a certain respect for time. And in a world that's constantly telling you to go faster, that's a quiet act of rebellion. And isn't that what libertarianism is at its core? A series of quiet rebellions against unnecessary control, not chaos, not anarchy in the cartoon sense, but just the instance of where individuals are capable of making their own choices, and maybe, just maybe, we don't need centralized authority dictating the acceptable thickness of a lawn bag. I mean, imagine explaining this to someone from, say, 200 years ago. Yes, I own land. Yes, I maintained it. Yes, I collect the leaves that fall naturally from my trees. And then I am required by government body to place those leaves into a specific type of container approved by that same governing body for removal? They look at you like you just described a very polite form of insanity. But here we are. And you know what? Despite all that, this moment is still good. Because the key isn't eliminating all the nonsense. That's a losing battle. The key is carving out spaces where the nonsense doesn't get to dominate. Where you get to sit, take a draw, sip your drink, and remind yourself, I'm still here, I'm still thinking, I'm still choosing. And eventually, I'll get up, I'll grab those paper bags, and I'll start stuffing leaves into them, one fragile, over-regulated sack at a time. I'll probably tear a few. I'll mutter under my breath about city councils and unintended consequences, but I'll finish the job because that's the deal. You live your life, you navigate the systems, you push back where you can, and you take your moments where you can find them. Now through this last third of the cigar, it's gotten smoother, warmer, a little richer, kind of like this break itself. Started as relief, turned into reflection, and now it's just contentment. Alright. I think this is where we wrap this segment up. The leaves are still out there, the bags are waiting, my back has filed another complaint, but for the last what? Half an hour, forty-five minutes in spirit of what actual time is, this has been exactly what it needed to be. A pause, a reset, a reminder. This has been Liberty on Nicotine. Take your breaks seriously. Question your regulations, and never underestimate the power of a good cigar and a quiet moment to put the world back into perspective. Now let's go bag some leaves.

SPEAKER_01 13:00

Woke up this morning with a little free monkey grim.