The Journal: Cracked Earth (36 page)

“I do need to ask something…”

“What?” I prompted with a small smile.

“How did you know to run those ropes? You
said this blizzard wasn’t like anything you’d seen before.” John
set his wine glass down and cut a piece of meat.

I laughed. “Believe it or not, I saw it in a
movie!” I took a forkful of rice and mushrooms, savoring the tastes
and the warmth. “It was set in the 1800’s. A young wife had been
left alone when a blizzard happened. She tied a rope from the house
to the barn to go get cow dung to burn.”

“Cow dung?”

“Yes. The husband hadn’t cut enough firewood
before he left and she ran out. The movie stuck with me. When I
started to burn wood for heat, I made sure I would never run out of
firewood. And although I’ve never had to use the rope thing, it was
part of the memory.” I took another sip of the zinfandel and let it
sit on my tongue for a pleasant moment before swallowing.

“Something else I wanted to ask,” John said.
“What will happen to the rope when the plow comes by?”

“They’ll break it. It’s strong, but not
that
strong,” I said. “By the time the plows come, we won’t
need it anymore.”

For an additional treat, we split a jar of
canned peaches, some of what I put up two years ago. It had been a
long and exhausting day and we both needed the extra calories of
the sugar.

I washed the dishes quickly in some of the
heated water from the stove and left them to air dry. It brought
back memories of my time deep in the woods, pleasant ones this
time. We closed the blinds to the storm outside, added wood to the
stove and sat back down at the table.

Over a game of Obilquo, John asked me about
the cost of supplies. When I asked why, he simply said he wondered
why more people didn’t do this.

“It’s a question I’ve often asked myself.” I
set an odd shaped piece of wood in place and the tower toppled.
John laughed and I groaned. “Yes, prepping costs money, eventually
lots of money. If it’s done over time, it’s easier on the
budget.”

“How much do you figure you’ve gone through
these past few months, money-wise?” he asked nonchalantly while he
took a dowel piece and set it in the middle of the block I had
placed as a base to start over.

“Probably a couple thousand dollars.” I tried
to sound casual, but it’s a big chunk of money to me. “If you
figure the average grocery budget might be $100.00 a week per
person, and it’s been almost five months, and there are now six of
us. It adds up, and it’s not just food, its supplies too.” I set my
piece down and looked at John. “I’ve been at this for a lot of
years, John. I’ve sacrificed going on vacations so I could fill
buckets of food, and toothpaste, deodorant and canning seals, and
those seventy-five rolls of toilet paper, and soap. But it isn’t
only about food and toothpaste. I haven’t gotten a new car so I
could stock up on ammo. Let’s face it, a new car wouldn’t have
helped us when the Wheelers came here.”

“No, it wouldn’t have,” he said, deep in
thought. “I still don’t understand how you afforded all of
this.”

“I did a little at a time, John, a little at
a time. Besides, buying bulk is cheaper. A twenty-five pound bag of
wheat or rice is half the price per pound as opposed to buying a
five pound bag of the same item. I would check the bakery at Mack’s
every trip for empty frosting buckets, and when I could get a
couple, I would clean them thoroughly and let them air dry for
days. Then I would find something to fill them,” I smiled. “One of
the keys is to do something every trip or every week.” I paused,
thinking of a few odd looks I got in the checkout lines. “I was
also careful to vary where I made larger purchases, to not raise
suspicion.” I chuckled. “One time I found a really good sale on
rice and bought thirty pounds, which fills one bucket. The gal
ringing me out said ‘that’s a lot of rice’. All I replied was ‘yes
it is’, and left it at that. I remembered who she was, and made
sure I never went in her line again. Prepping becomes a way of
life. It’s a different kind of lifestyle, that’s all. The way I
look at it, I’m not spending money right now on groceries, I
already did, so it’s a wash,” I answered, trying to reassure him
with a smile.

“No, it’s not a wash, Allex. If nothing had
happened, you’d be feeding yourself, not five extra people. This is
costing you a lot. I wish I could repay you somehow.”

So that’s what he was getting at. I waved it
away with a flip of my hand and reminded him it was his turn to
place a piece on the growing tower of wooden blocks. Inwardly I was
hoping he’d drop the questions of cost, but I could tell it weighed
heavily on his mind.

“Were you ever concerned you might be called
a hoarder?” John asked with concern.

“No, because I’m not a hoarder. See, hoarding
is a compulsion; stocking up is an activity,” I explained. “My only
compulsion is wanting to eat.”

JOURNAL ENTRY: March 9

The snow came down all day on Tuesday, the
fifth. It was a blinding whiteout most of the time, and then toward
the evening it stopped. During the short respite of snow and wind,
John took a bucket of water out to the chickens and was rewarded
with eight eggs. Within an hour, though, the winds started up
again, picking up the fallen snow and lashing it around into
another whiteout condition that lasted two more days, piling drifts
across the yard and across the road. It got cold, very cold, down
into the teens during the day, and near zero at night.

* * *

“I really do have to bring more wood in now,
there’s no putting it off,” John sighed.

“I know, perhaps we can make it go quicker
though. We’ve got two slings, and—”

“No, I don’t think it’s good to expose both
of us to this frigid cold,” he said, blue eyes pleading with
me.

“I understand, but if we work together,” I
said, holding up my hand when he tried to interrupt again. “By you
bringing the wood into the cold room, taking the second sling to
fill, while I take the full sling and stack the wood, and we keep
switching, we can get this done in half the time and get
you
out of the bitter cold.”

He smiled and kissed my nose. “You’re so
smart and logical.”

We were done filling the space behind the
stove in fifteen minutes.

* * *

The days went by slowly. I baked bread and
pastries, fixed meals and read. John cleaned and oiled the guns and
read. And we played games— two-handed solitaire, cribbage, dominos,
tri-ominos, Obilqo, and we put jigsaw puzzles together, plus we
planned this year’s garden.

The boys called every day at noon on the FRS
radio. Emilee is quite the chatterbox, always having something to
tell her Nahna. Jacob is the silent one, and I’m used to that.

* * *

JOURNAL ENTRY: March 12

Today, three days after the snow stopped, the
wind finally stopped and the sun came out. It’s beautiful. The sun
reflected off the pristine snow in a blinding display of sparkles.
Sunglasses are a must now to prevent snow-blindness. Since Don and
Nancy both wore glasses, there is no non-prescription eyewear
anywhere in the house. I do have some cheap sunglasses stored out
in the barn and in the car. As light sensitive as my eyes are and
have been since a bout of Rubella when I was ten, I wear clip on
sunglasses over sunglasses; nothing is dark enough for me when it’s
this bright out.

It was a strenuous walk out to the barn. The
snow is deep and I sunk at least eight inches with every step.
Thankfully, it’s a short walk when I can see where I’m going. I
remember the last walk during the blizzard when I fell.

I tried to pack down some of the snow in
front of the barn so it wouldn’t all fall inward when I opened it
the door. Once in, I was amazed at how deep the snow was against
the doors. I had to shovel a “step” to get back out. I collected
all the sunglasses from the storage drawers and the car, and I knew
that Emi would lay claim to the Barbie sunglasses, while Jacob
would want the Sponge Bob ones. I smiled at the fifty cent
clearance price tags; fifty cents to save strain on their young
eyes. There were standard sunglasses too. Eric and Jason won’t have
to deal with wearing Dora or Nemo specs. John got the standard pair
from the car for his use.

John volunteered to shoe over to the boys and
take them four pair of sunglasses and a sled. Having dragged a
sled, full and empty, over a mile long driveway in deep snow when I
lived deep in the woods, I knew how strenuous it was with weight.
Those two youngsters together were well over a hundred pounds, very
difficult to pull in one sled even a short distance. One in each
sled would be easier, and I was anxious to see my family.

* * *

I planned an interesting dinner of
sandwiches, canned coleslaw, macaroni salad, and apple pie for
dessert. There were tuna sandwiches, egg salad, grilled cheese and
corned beef with sauerkraut, all grilled if desired, heated or
cold. I cut all the sandwiches into four pieces for sampling. Jacob
was very happy with a grilled cheese sandwich and a juice box, with
popcorn for his snack. We even invited David and Jane. It was a
post-blizzard event, and everyone was happy to be out from under a
blanket of snow.

Jane was amazed we had bread. “You
made
bread? Doesn’t that take flour and yeast and other
stuff? Where did you get it?”

“I’ve been baking bread since I was fifteen,”
I smiled at the thought of my first loaf. It came out perfect.
Since then, not all have been so pretty. “I did my winter stocking
early in November, before the collapse, though I am starting to run
low on flour now,” I lied. I lied to protect our resources and so
they would understand they could and
should
keep supplies on
hand all the time. They need to be more proactive and not depend on
others, and definitely not on us. Not for their supplies
anyway.

I found my old personal DVD player and
charged the battery the last time that the generator was running.
My two beautiful grandchildren were being treated to a movie right
now,
Finding Nemo
. They had to be quiet because the volume
wouldn’t go very high on the player. It was delightful to see the
two of them together. They are so much alike, yet so different.
Emilee is full of animation and quite a pistol. Jacob has fine,
soft brown hair and eyes that are a deep shade of chocolate that
often seemed so far away, but I knew he was looking at things we
couldn’t see. Sometimes it was difficult understanding him. Four
years ago, he took a header off of his top bunk and knocked out his
two front teeth. They eventually came back in, and seem to be too
big for his mouth right now. He has the sweetest smile.

John followed me into the room and whispered,
“Are we really running low on flour? Maybe we can cut back some, I
know I can.”

I cupped his face with one hand and stroked
his beard. He was sweet to worry. “We’re not that low. There’s at
least seventy-five pounds left, and mixing the white with fresh
ground wheat will double that. It will last us months,” I assured
him. I would talk to him later about what and why I said that to
Jane.

When David and Jane left, I handed her one of
the four loaves I made earlier in the day and promised to teach her
how to make bread when things got back to normal. No one wanted to
think that normal might not come back.

The boys stayed a bit longer, and we shared a
quart of apple cider I had canned two seasons ago. I even set a
bottle of rum on the table if anyone wanted to spike their cider.
We all did. Jason and Eric had theirs with ice chips while John and
I had ours heated like a toddy. That was another thing I didn’t
want David and Jane to know: that we had alcohol. This is when I
emphasized the need for keeping quiet about our supplies.

JOURNAL ENTRY: March 10

We woke up to an unbelievable fifty-five
degrees! The air smelled gloriously like Spring, but with an
underlying chill from the snow on the ground. The chill didn’t last
long. During the day the temperature rose to sixty and as is so
typical here, meltdown came fast and furious. We might have had a
blizzard with nearly forty inches of snow only a week ago, and
today there was less than a foot left on the ground. There is water
and flooding and mud everywhere. I’m glad we didn’t try to dig out
the generator; it would have been a wasted effort. Two days of
sunshine and all the snow on the deck is gone.

Neither John nor Eric, not even Jason for
that matter, have ever seen such a fast transformation before. I
have. Almost every year of the seven I lived in the woods. I
remember one year of snowshoeing out in the morning, and by
afternoon, I could drive in, the roads were clear of snow except
for shady areas. The temperatures that year had gone from thirty to
eighty in one day. It was incredible.

We left the car in the barn. From past
experience I knew that using the gravel drive while it was so wet
would only create nasty ruts, something I didn’t want to deal
with.

* * *

By noon it was sixty-eight degrees and it
hovered there for hours. With the snow melted from the deck, the
wrought-iron patio furniture was once again exposed. After wiping
the seats dry, John and I sat in the chairs, feet propped up on the
hot tub, and enjoyed the sun and the warm air. It felt so normal,
so right.

The biggest surprise came in the afternoon
when the power came back on! Even though it was only on for two
hours, it seemed like a miracle. We came back in for lunch, and I
saw that the coffee pot was blinking. At first I didn’t realize
what it meant, then it dawned on me. I opened the door to the
breaker box and pushed the main back to its grid setting. The
coffee maker was the one circuit that remained on the grid, as an
indicator. The refrigerator started humming and it sounded like
music. I wanted to walk through the house and turn on all the
lights, but knew that was a bad idea. The grid must be very fragile
now and too much usage would overload it. We smiled at each other
and hugged for the longest time. Things were going back to
normal.