The Journal: Cracked Earth (35 page)

* * *

It was hard shoeing through all that fresh
snow, but I made it to David’s in less than fifteen minutes, and
started pounding on their door. He appeared with rifle in hand,
which he quickly set aside when he saw it was me.

“Allexa! What are you doing out in this
mess?”

“Don’t worry, it’s not my first choice of
activity,” I laughed. “I picked up all of our rations early.” I
handed him the big box, and I could see the relief on his face. “I
added half a dozen eggs for you. We might be socked in for
days.”

“I know. I’ve been listening on the ham.
Munising is already shut down with two feet in the last twelve
hours. This will be one for the record books. If anyone is still
keeping records, that is,” he commented. “You better get back. And
Allexa… thanks!”

At the top of his drive, I turned north. It’s
hard to get lost when out snowshoeing: you just follow your trail
back the way you came. The exception is in a blizzard. My tracks
made only ten minutes earlier were starting to fill in. I hurried,
which was much easier to do towing an empty sled. The closer I got
to home, the less I could see my trail, but I could still see an
outline of the big, dark brown barn.

John was as relieved as I was when I made it
to the back door. I knocked the snow out of the sled and handed it
to him. I then stepped out of my snowshoes, sinking a foot deep in
the fresh powder.

I warmed up by the stove, sipping on some
soup John had thoughtfully heated. He prepped the food bank boxes,
slipping them into large garbage bags to protect them from the
constant falling snow. The bread was out of the oven, though not
really cooled enough to bag, so I wrapped them in towels instead. I
removed all the plastic wrapping from the new packs of clothesline,
and loosened the starter ends. We would have to join them along the
way. John waited until we were ready to leave before adding the one
gas can to the sled that made it very heavy to drag through fresh,
deep snow.

Outside, the snow was getting even thicker. I
took a compass heading, and I knew the house was due east of here.
John tied the rope to the bird feeder post right next to the door,
and then wound it high around the closest tree—a tree that was
barely visible only twenty feet away. We set out on our snowshoes
in the direction I felt would lead us to my sons, unwinding the
rope as we went, John pulling the heavy sled. We were never more
than a foot or two from each other. Before we got to the large
pines that marked the property edge, we stopped to attach the next
rope. I’d used a special joining knot many times before, a Boy
Scout square knot that got stronger the more tension it was under,
deciding that would be the best one to use now. We were momentarily
disoriented with the snow shrouding us in total whiteness. There
was that instant internal panic of not knowing which way to go. I
pulled out the compass to get us going again. A few more feet put
us at the pine tree Don had planted ten years ago when they first
moved in.

“See the tree, how big it’s grown,” danced
across my memory and made me giggle sadly. Fortunately John
couldn’t hear me. From there we followed the grape arbor, trailing
the rope behind us. Another stop to attach yet another segment of
clothesline. I angled our approach to put us closer to the porch,
and thirty feet later the gray house loomed in front of us. From
there the going was more confident, and John attached the line to
the banister on the steps. We breathed a sigh of relief, removed
our snowshoes, and dragged the sled up the steps to the covered
porch.

Eric opened the door when he heard us
stomping the snow off our boots. “Mom! What are you two doing here?
Don’t you know it’s snowing out?” He grinned and helped us
inside.

“Very funny. Would you help John with those
boxes, please?” I kicked off my boots in the kitchen and removed my
snowy hat and gloves, leaving my coat on. We weren’t going to be
staying. I gave Jacob and Emilee hugs, and then turned to Jason.
“Wood supply?”

“When I saw the snow this morning, we started
hauling it in,” he assured me. “This looks really bad, Mom.”

“NOAA said a Blizzard, two inches or more per
hour, for an unknown length of time.” I didn’t hide my worry from
my youngest son. He had to know the severity of this. “We brought
this week’s food rations for the four of you. I added a case of
ramen, a dozen eggs, two jars of canned bacon, and a jar of corned
beef. Oh, and two loaves of bread, still hot.”

“We tied ropes as we came across,” John said,
“but—”

“But you need to stay here,” I cut in. “Don’t
try coming over until the snow stops, which might be days. It’s bad
out there, really bad, and I do
not
want to worry that you
might try taking the kids out in this!” I looked at both of my
sons, sternly. “Promise me!”

I felt better when they both nodded.

“Moooom,” Jason said, sounding exasperated,
like he was the parent and I was the child.

“
PROMISE ME
!!”

Eric stepped in front of his brother. “We
promise, Mom. We will not come across while the snow is still
falling. Not unless it is an emergency.” He looked sternly at his
younger brother, taking the lead. Jason nodded, agreeing.

“Okay,” I breathed. “Have you pumped water?
How much gas do you have for the gennie? We only brought five
gallons, so it will have to last.”

“There’s one container left. That gives us
ten gallons. We
will
make it last, Mom,” Jason said
contritely.

“You’ve still got the FRS radio? We will be
on from 9am until 10am, from noon until one, and again at 5pm until
6pm. Check in at least once a day, okay?”

They agreed.

“Something else…” I handed Eric the remaining
hundred foot clothesline package. “I want you to run this from the
back porch to the wood pile.
Now—
before we leave. We’ll
wait.”

Eric looked over at his younger brother.
“Come on, Jay, she’s right. Besides, they won’t leave until we do
this,” he poked Jason in the ribs. This reminded me of when they
were young boys. My boys are now men. When did that happen?

When they came back in, I said, “Just one
more thing,” Jason rolled his eyes. “I love you both,” and I kissed
each on the cheek. “See you in a few days.”

As we put our boots back on, getting ready to
leave, Jason came in with a package. “We were going to bring these
for dinner, so you should take yours with you now.” I nodded and
tucked the package in my large pocket, giving him one more hug.

I didn’t think the snow could come down any
harder, but it did. The rope was truly a life line as it guided us
back across the road. I’m not sure I could even see the compass. We
literally pulled ourselves along until the big maple tree and then
the bird feeder post came into sight. A foot away from there, the
brown house came into view. Once inside, I collapsed from
exhaustion. John was tired too. I could see it etched in his
face.

“We still have some things that need to be
done,” I said and I pulled my list closer to look at, “though I
think we need a break, and something to eat. Shoeing is hard work!”
I gave him a wan smile. “Soup or a sandwich?”

John picked out a jar of tomato soup, and set
it to heat, while I made a single cheese sandwich to grill. We
would split both. It wasn’t good to eat too much and then do the
heavy work that lay before us. The deck needed some shoveling so we
could run the generator again, and one last safety-line needed to
be run, to the barn. I would make sure we had a substantial
dinner.

“All the laundry is done, Allex, why the
gennie?”

“We need showers, John. We’ve been working
and sweating all day,” I glanced at the battery operated wall
clock, the one that had housed his Beretta. It was only three P.M.,
and with the heavy snow blotting out the sun it looked dark enough
to be past dusk. “It might be days before we can have normal
showers.” I brought in that shower bucket only as a last resort.
“If you shovel and get the gennie going again, I’ll run the line to
the barn. And don’t give me that look!” I gave him my most
confident smile. “The shoveling is too hard for me, and I’ll not
have you do
all
the work. Besides, I’ve walked that route in
the blackest night. I’ll be done before you.”

We used paper plates for the sandwich, and
burned them in the stove. The soup bowls would be washed later. We
both put on lightweight dry clothes, and set to our tasks. John
reluctantly started on the shoveling, while I donned my bright
blue, pink and purple ski jacket, hat, gloves and snowshoes to make
the short trek to the barn.

I tied one end of the fifty foot clothesline
to the bird feeder post, aimed myself at the now invisible barn,
and started walking. After a few minutes, I tripped and fell. The
orange rod I used to mark the corner of the raised garden bed
caught on my snowshoe. I freed my shoe, and then realized I had
dropped the clothesline—the
white
clothesline which I now
couldn’t find. My heart stuttered. I was enveloped in a cocoon of
furious white flakes, unable to see in any direction. I had a
choice to make. The orange rod put me four feet from the garden
fence, which would lead me to the barn, which still didn’t get me
back to the house. My alternative was to backtrack quickly, right
now, before my trail filled in, get to the feeder post and get the
line again. I opted for going back. The powder was deep so my trail
was easier to follow, but only if I leaned over as I walked so I
could see past the falling snow. Partway back, I found the end of
the line I had dropped. I went the rest of the way back to reorient
myself. I tied a loop on the free end of the rope and slipped it
around my wrist. No more dropping it!

The second try was easier, having already
broken the trail. I was extra cautious when I came to the disturbed
area where I had fallen and stepped around the bed marker. I saw
the fence and kept walking, only to be jerked to a halt. I had run
out of rope. I removed the loop from my wrist, and slid it over the
end of the first metal fence post. Following the ten feet of
fencing was easy as the huge dark barn loomed over me, and I was
once again thankful I had chosen dark brown siding instead of
white. The sliding metal door groaned when I pushed it open and I
stepped down into the gloom. I released the clips on my snowshoes,
stepping out of them. The stress of the day caused my muscles to
feel rubbery and they momentarily refused to work. Ignoring my
fatigue, I used what little light there was to find my way to the
shelf where I knew there was more rope. The laundry lines I had
taken down a hundred years ago and checked off my winter prep list
were right where I expected. These lines were much shorter, having
been cut, but I didn’t need much, only enough to reach the other
rope.

After attaching it to the barn door handle, I
stretched the new line over to the one hanging on the fence post
and knotted them together, putting them both back up on the post,
above the snow.

Back in the house, John was running the
dryer. He hadn’t yet showered.

“That took you a long time. Get lost?” he
grinned, and I knew he had been worried. His smile turned to a
grimace when I told him what happened.

“It’s done now and there’s no reason for us
to go back out in this storm. Well, except to turn the gennie off,
and I doubt either of us could lose our way on the deck,” I tried
hard to keep it light, but those few moments of being blinded by
the snow, not knowing which way to go, really scared me. “I’ll fold
those clothes while you shower. Take whatever time you want, it’ll
be a few days before the next one!” I kissed his bald head and got
the basket of clothes to fold.

* * *

“Oh, that really felt good,” John said when
he came out of the bathroom in clean clothes, freshly shaved
too.

“Look what I found.” I pulled out the package
Jason had given me, “Tenderloin steaks!” It had been quite a while
since we’d had fresh meat. Canned meat was fine, but not really the
same. “I’m thinking mushroom gravy on basmati rice with the steaks.
Does that appeal to you?” I grinned, knowing it would indeed be a
hit.

I showered and washed my hair, taking my
time, letting the hot water cascade down my back. Oh, how I missed
the hot tub. To submerge myself in steamy water was now a distant
memory, such an unreachable luxury. I wonder if I will ever have it
running again. The thought saddened me, but over the past several
months I’d gotten very philosophical about this new life. We were
alive, we had food, we had heat, we had family, and we had each
other. I could and would accept this all willingly, and let the old
life go. I toweled off and put on fresh clothes. The gennie could
run another half hour to finish drying the heavier clothes that had
been air-drying near the stove. It was now five P.M. and it looked
much, much later. The snow has so effectively obscured the sun it’s
hard to tell dusk from night.

* * *

With the generator off, it was so quiet.
Quiet except for the howling winds outside; those 40-50mph gusts
had arrived.

The two oil lamps I set on the table cast a
warm glow across our full plates. Another lamp was near the stove
where the rest of the rice and gravy were staying warm, and a
fourth lamp on the cook island, shining down the hallway.

As we sat down, John set a bottle of wine in
the center of the table.

“Where did you find that?” I asked in a
whisper, looking at the Earthquake label.

“In the wine rack where I’m guessing you put
it,” he said and opened it with a flourish. It was a great touch
added to the meal. With soft light, the warmth of the stove, and
the horrendous storm raging outside, it all made me feel cozy and
secure. We toasted to getting done all we did without mishap.