Lost Cove

[ncsfsgm]

Lost Cove

Key Characters

Donald (Don) Glendennon – Don is ex-military, fairly well off, and is going back to his family’s tree farm in the Appalachians. He almost got married but dropped the woman like a hot potato.

Gabriel (Gabe) Galat- Farm Caretaker – Israeli ex-pat, once a member of the IDF Sayeret Matkal, widower.

Naomi Katz- Gabe’s niece. Arborist. Ex-member of the IDF intelligence services.

Conrad Gaines – Neighbor, Viet Nam vet.


Chapter 1

“Laugh, and the world laughs with you.
Weep, and you weep alone.
For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth,
But has trouble enough of its own.
Sing, and the hills will answer.
Sigh, it is lost on the air.
The echoes bound to a joyful sound,
But shrink from voicing care.”

                               by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Don Glendennon entered the Parkway at Fancy Gap and set the cruise control. It was a longer route, at least in time, but he had nothing but time on his hands. He had left his parents’ place two days before, just before they finished packing up for their new life in Florida. His dad and mom were finally retiring and handed him the deed to the Lost Cove property. Don hadn’t been back there since before basic training but had often dreamed of the clean mountain air and the smell of newly cut Fraiser Firs. The family had vacationed each year in the summer and fall and had helped Gabriel harvest the firs for the coming holiday season. The Christmas tree farm had been passed down from his grandfather who owned around 700 acres near the Blue Ridge Parkway in Avery County, North Carolina. It was secluded, some say lonely, but that was what Don needed right now. He made his way down the Parkway stopping in towns nearby the parkway and raiding the state ABC stores. Avery County, for all intents and purposes, was a dry county, except for specially permitted ski lodges and restaurants at the ski resorts. You had to go out of county to buy anything by the bottle or case. Don drank Irish Ale, Scotch, Irish and bourbon whiskies and was buying most of it by the case. He liked to keep a variety of spirits available for guests, but not show-off type beverages, very little fancy brands or blends. Let's face it, $1,200 for a bottle of bourbon is just stupid, insulting, and a ghastly affront to most people's palates and wallets. Don thought the sweet spot was $40-$60 for excellent and interesting bottles and bumping that to $100 gets you an incremental improvement in quality, but nothing mind-blowing. More than that and he thought you were paying for hype and rarity, which may look good in the liquor cabinet, but doesn't translate to more quality in the bottle. He didn’t want it noticeable that he was stocking that much. He knew there probably wouldn’t be anything at the house. His parents hadn’t been down in about 18 months.

Gabe Galat was the Lost Cove Tree Farm Manager and sole full-time employee. Dad had hired him almost 15 years ago, and he lived by himself in Don’s grandfather’s house down below the lodge-sized main house. Gabe never talked about himself to Don, but Don’s father had told him Gabe’s wife had been killed in a terrorist attack in the mid-east and was at loose ends at the time, so Dad hired him to manage the farm. It had been just what Gabe needed and although he didn’t have the least knowledge about Christmas tree farming, he studied and became proficient in growing the best trees. Dad had given him one third of the profits each year, so he had incentive. The profits were always good; they had put Don through college, and he hadn’t touched his pay for the eight years he had spent in the Army. It would be good to see Gabe again. Don detoured down to Blowing Rock to pick up a few groceries at the Blowing Rock Market that he didn’t already have packed in the trailer. He’d made a special trip to COSTCO before starting his trip and had most of the things he ate, but he had to get a couple of bags of Buttermilk/Buckwheat pancake mix he could only find at that market. Don got some deli things and had two sandwiches made he would eat for dinner. Their cheeses were another thing he wanted to pick up. Placing the bagged purchases in the trailer, Don got back on the Parkway and before he knew it, he was at the gravel road turnoff to get to the farm. Passing the Long Ridge Missionary Baptist Church, Don’s heart warmed. He was only two miles from the farm.

Don’s parents were wealthy, but he’d made his own money. He’d moved out of his parent’s McMansion in a high-priced suburb when he graduated high school and had no need to show the world that he’d made it. His father had trained him in money management and investing at an early age, but that wasn’t what he’d wanted to do in life at that time, thus aggravating his father. He did continue to invest all through his short military career and was worth six times what he was when he was 18 years old. His plan was to retire at an early age and he wanted a bankroll by then. He’d had a good chance of being a multi-millionaire when he retired.

As Don drew nearer the farm, he was swept by a wave of melancholy. Carrie should have been in the seat beside him, but she had thrown all that away. He hoped (sort of), she’d find what she was looking for. He was just glad he hadn’t married her. Divorce is a nasty business. No one comes out unscathed. Since women started growing hair on their balls and had been carrying the torch claiming that they are equal to men, it was always the men who got scorched in a divorce. Why the hell is it that when a couple divorces, even women who work needed something from their husband? He wasn’t about to be left without a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of. With those thoughts in mind, the last few miles were of Don constantly checking his mirrors for any possible tail.

He’d let Carrie keep the ring. After all, it might be the fine line someday that kept her from becoming a complete whore after he’d dumped her cheating ass. On the other hand, her daddy would probably keep her in a financial position that wouldn’t embarrass the family.

Don drove up to Gabe’s house and parked before heading to the big house at the top of the slope. Gabe came out onto the porch with a smile on his face. He had seen Don on the driveway camera.

“I just got through talking with Bill and Emma, and now you show up! It is a great day!” Gabe said.

"I haven’t talked to them today,” Don said. “I assume they are getting settled in?”

“They should be by now. I had a couple of my friends getting things ready for them this week. They walked in with the pantry and bar stocked. All they had to do on arrival was unpack their bags. They are scheduled to go car shopping tomorrow.” Gabe said. “How was your trip?”

“Great, once I got south of Crown Point. I could feel the stickiness of the corruption peeling away like skin off of a sunburned back the farther away I got. Democrats and criminals, which are synonymous, have ruined the Chicago area beyond redemption. Employers in the city have to charge more for their product, to cover the taxes and graft. Employees have to be paid more, in salary and benefits, to cover the income tax and property tax, the sales tax and highway tolls. Everything adds up, making it an expensive place for everyone."

“Well, I had the house cleaned up for you,” Gabe said. “The pantry’s stocked, the plumbing has been brought out of winterization, and the wood furnace is going. Anything else you need, give me a call on the landline. Oh, and I had the possum-trot cleaned up also.”

Don hadn’t thought about that cabin in years. When PaPaw had “retired” He bought a two-room possum trot cabin and reassembled it near the spring pond. He furnished it with 19th century antiques he’d bought around the county at estate sales. He even put a bathroom in with a copper slipper bathing tub and found a toilet with a copper water tank with a long chain to flush it and plumbed it all. Papaw worked on that cabin until the week before he died.

“I brought food and liquor with me. I should be fine.” Don said.

Don looked up the slope. “The chestnut still living?”

”Oh yes. If you see any strangers around up there they are probably from the Great Smoky Mountains Institute at Tremont, American Chestnut Foundation, or the Forest Service. They all have permission to access the area. I hand over about a third of the chestnuts each year for them to grow seedlings to transplant throughout the national forest. That chestnut tree is one of only a very few non-hybrid trees that is naturally immune to the blight. The researchers are thrilled to have access. None of the seedlings so far have shown any infection. That one tree keeps them from having to experiment trying to come up with an immune hybrid. My niece, Naomi, works with the institute in the summer and stayed in the area to finish her doctorate, so you should see her around here quite a bit."

“That’s great. Well, I’m going to go get settled in and get this trailer unloaded.” Don said.

“Stop by and have coffee in the morning,” Gabe said.

“Will do,” Don said, waving as he got into the truck.

The chestnut blight was accidentally introduced to North America around 1904 when Cryphonectria parasitica was introduced into the United States from East Asia from the introduction of the cultivation of Japanese chestnut trees into the United States for commercial purposes. By 1940, most mature American chestnut trees had been wiped out by the disease. Just goes to show you, diversity isn’t always good for the country.

First, Don emptied his bags and filled the drawers and closet with his clothes. Next came all the food and whiskey he had bought, and he slowly worked his way toward the front of the trailer, removing boxes of books and personal items until he came to the Federal 48-gun safe sitting over the twin axles. He knew behind it to the front of the trailer was more books, ammo, and reloading supplies. The safe would have to wait until tomorrow when he could get Gabe’s help unloading it with the tractor. Don got his sandwiches and a beer out of the refrigerator and sat on the deck and ate his dinner.


Gabe heard a vehicle pull up outside and stepped to the kitchen door. It was Naomi. He went back to the stove and gave the lamb stew another stir, then got out the bread bowl and began mixing dough.

“Hello? Dodi Gabriel?” Naomi called out.

“In here Yalda!” Gabe replied.

“That smells good! Lamb stew?” Naomi asked.

“Yes, wash your hands and you can finish the bread.” Gabe said. “I also have Pear, Apple, and Celery Salad."

Naomi washed and thoroughly dried her hands, floured them, and began kneading the dough. She wrapped the dough in plastic wrap and set it in the refrigerator for fifteen minutes.
“You certainly made a lot of stew” Naomi commented.

“It is better the next day. I’ll invite Don down for lunch.” Gabe replied.

“Oh! He arrived?”

“Yes, about two hours ago.” Gabe replied. “How was your day?”

“We planted about fifty trees today. Everything is going well.” Naomi replied. “I may work in the grove here tomorrow.”

“Good, you’ll get a chance to meet Don.”

“Maybe at lunch. I have a lot of work to do.” Naomi replied.


Gabe smiled, nodded, and thought about how she was such a pleasure to have around. She had been a blessing to him after his wife Avigail had passed. He just wished she were around more often. She was involved in a lot of other projects than the Institute concerning chestnut trees.

After breakfast the next morning, Naomi went up and checked the seedlings they had growing in nursery pots near the old chestnut. Standing at 120 feet, the old tree was the biggest she knew of growing in the wild. Checking each pot for infection, Naomi walked the line of 250 pots, then went back and gave the old tree a thorough inspection. Satisfied, she walked to the seven-acre grove they had established on the upper slope of the lower fir tree plantings and began inspecting the young trees there. So far, there was no sign of any infection by the blight.

[cashless1]

looks good. Why did you stop?

[ncsfsgm]

Jan 30, 2024 19:31:18 GMT -6 cashless1 said:

looks good. Why did you stop?I try to keep my chapters to 1700 words (+/-)

[ncsfsgm]

Chapter 2


Don checked the UTV out and realized that Gabe had kept everything in top-notch condition. The oil was clean and the fuel tank full. Even the air cleaner looked new.

The morning was crisp and clean, the view giving truth to the name of the mountainous region. Don could smell the freshness of the budding spring plants and the smell of the stream of water in the misty air. As he slowly drove down to Gabe’s he took in the surrounding scenery. The lodge was sitting up the slope about 350 meters from Gabe’s, hidden by a band of trees that sheltered the lodge from direct observation from the entrance driveway. Don had always loved it up there. It was a respite from the Topsy-Turvey world he had to live in until he decided he didn’t have to live that life anymore.

As his daily routine, Don would do pushups, situps and pullups. He moved some things around the basement to make room for exercising and found a place to put up a pullup bar. When he finished his exercises, he took a shower and got dressed.

Don drove down the gingko-lined drive to Gabe’s house and parked.

Gabe was pouring coffee as Don walked into the kitchen. Gabe handed him a mug and they went out on the back deck and sat, sipping their coffee, and enjoying the morning.

“How did the tree harvest go this past year?” Don asked.

“We sold a little over two thousand trees. Didn’t you get your bank deposit?” Gabe asked, a startled look on his face.

“Probably so, but I’ve got everything automated and let the accountants give me an end of the year report. I haven’t had time to go over specific details. It has helped me retire early though."

“Are you sure you aren’t stepping out of the frying pan into the fire?”

“From what I’m seeing, probably so. This seemed like a good place to fort and ammo up. America is sleepwalking into tyranny and there is little we can do about it but to nuke Washington D.C. off the map and start over. But then again, the major cities are run by just as much corruption.”

“Yes, it’s even creeping as close as Asheville.” Gabe said. “They don’t bother us up here, but the hanger-on dregs that follow them are getting closer, especially in the ski resorts. There’s not much money to be made around there but they can use them to develop a power base.”

Frequently refilling their coffee mugs, they sat out on the deck and talked for a couple of hours.

“I need some help unloading my gun safe. You still have the forks for the tractor?” Don asked.

“I’ve got something even better. Do you have dollies?” Gabe asked.

“Yeah. I just need to get the safe lifted up on the deck, then we can maneuver it into the house.” Don replied. They heard the front door slam and then heard water running in the kitchen. They later heard footsteps coming toward the back door, so Don turned toward the door to see who it was.

Don did a double take. A woman, the spitting image of Josephine Langford, an Australian actress, stood in the door then walked out on the deck.

“Hi, I’m Naomi Katz, Dodi Gabriel’s niece.” Naomi said, offering him her hand.

“Uh, hi. I’m pleased to meet you.” Don said, standing up and taking her warm, moist hand.

Naomi saw him flinch and misunderstood what he might be thinking.

“Sorry!” Naomi said, wiping her hand on the apron. “I was just heating up lunch and washing some dishes.”

“Smells delicious, whatever you’ve cooked.” Don said.

“Don’t get your hopes up, it’s just leftover lamb stew.” Naomi grinned. “I’ll go get everything ready.”

Don looked at Gabe questionably.

Gabe chuckled. “What’s wrong?”

“Well, I pictured her as having dark hair, brown eyes and a fat butt.”

Gabe laughed and slapped his knee. “Well, I'm glad you don’t have any preconceived notions about Sabras. Israel is a conglomeration of people from many countries. Her father was Norwegian born. She even did her time in the IDF. She’s a graduate of Hebrew University-Jerusalem with a degree in Plant Science in Agriculture."

“Impressive!” Don said. “Where are her parents?”

“Oh, they still live in Yad Binyamin. Her father is an architect at an Engineering and Construction firm there.” Gabe replied. “He and I served in the Sayeret Matkal together.”

“Interesting.” Don said.

Gabe tossed the rest of his coffee into the back yard, and they went inside. Naomi was using a large cast iron fry pan to cook flatbread to eat with the stew. Gabe got the salad out of the refrigerator and set the places at the table with salad plates and soup bowls. Naomi set the platter of warm flatbread on the table and filled the water glasses.

“Do you want a beer, Don?” Gabe asked.

“No, water is fine. I don’t want anything that might mask the flavor of this stew,” Don replied.

Don’s mouth was watering as he scooped stew broth out of the bowl with a piece of the chewy flatbread. It was delicious! Gabe explained he’d made the stew the day before and it had been sitting in the refrigerator overnight, marinating and enhancing the flavors. It only made it better. The combination of Fuji apples, crimson pears and celery salad only enhanced the flavors of the stew.

After lunch, Gabe and Don went for a ride in Gabe’s Gator UTV around the farm.

“What made you come back here?” Gabe asked.

“I needed peace and quiet away from the phoniness. Everywhere you turn there is deceitfulness.” Don said. “Plus, too many liberals had moved into Vermont and the crime is terrible in Chicago. If you defend yourself, you’re more likely to go to prison than the perp. I don’t know what has happened to this country. The education system is screwed, attitudes have changed for the worse, The FBI has morphed into a dangerous, psychopathic, anti-American organization, politicians passing laws they don’t intend to follow themselves. People don’t trust their government anymore. Hell, I damn sure don’t. ”

“And you’ve come back here to pull the covers over your head and hide from the monsters?” Gabe asked.

“No, I’ve come back here to prepare for the showdown, away from prying eyes,” Don said. “Incompetent Elitists are opening up America to a massive terrorist attack. The people running this country have made choices – like throwing open the border – that are going to kill a lot of Americans because our enemies, unlike our alleged leaders, are serious people. They’re serious about subjugating and killing us. But the only things our leadership is serious about are keeping their names off pervert passenger lists, skimming endless Ukrainian cash, and pronouns, pronouns, pronouns, always pronouns. We have a distinctly unserious elite in the most serious of times."


“Naomi and the others started a 7-acre grove of chestnuts here,” Gabe began. “She cares for the trees like she would her own children. She works hard to keep the underbrush clear, giving the young trees the sun they need. Soon, she and the others will have re-established the forests of chestnuts of decades ago.”

“That’s good. I like roasted chestnuts,” Don said.

“I’m surprised you didn’t return with a pretty young thing on your arm.” Gabe said grinning.

“I almost did, but her true colors came out just in time. She became complacent and tripped her own self up. I’ll not fall for that again,” Don said, resignedly.

“Don’t be too quick to paint all women with the same brush.”

“Oh, I don’t, I’m just more particular these days,” Don said. “I’m just looking for love from a woman like I'd never experienced, never even imagined. Love like I didn't believe is even possible. It is probably not realistic, but I’ll keep looking.”

“I had that once with my Avigail,” Gabe said, reminiscing.

“Sometimes holding on is worse than letting go, so I let go and came here,” Don said.

“Yes, I know the feeling,” Gabe said.

The two men cruised the acres of Fraiser firs, occasionally stopping and walking through the rows.

“How are you fixed for weapons?” Gabe asked.

“I’ve got a few I’m intimately familiar with,” Don replied.

“Ammo?”

“I could use more ammo; a man can never have enough ammo.” Don replied.

“Let me know what you need. I have sources,” Gabe said.

“I have a pistol and a 300-meter range set up if you want to keep your hand in,” Gabe said. "I hope you have mufflers because gunfire can be heard a long way in these mountains.”

“Yeah, I’ve got them,” Don replied.

Gabe dropped Don off at the lodge, and Don went in and began setting up his Man Cave which would be where he kept his guns and reloading equipment in a downstairs bedroom. Then he assembled his reloading table.

Don checked his watch and went and added more firewood to the furnace. It was supposed to drop down into the 30s tonight. He carried a couple of armloads of wood and set it in the wood storage area next to the masonry fireplace/bake oven and started a fire after turning the thermostat down. He went and pulled a thick rib eye steak out of the fridge and set it out to warm up. Then he wet a baking potato, laid it on a sheet of aluminum foil, covered it in kosher salt, and wrapped it up. Turning the oven on, he set the time alarm on high and would have the potato baking while the steak was getting to room temperature. He went out to the grill and built a fire of oak wood to get some good coals going. While waiting on the fire, Don went to his reloading room and took a gun out of the gun safe and disassembled it. The 1941 USMC sniper rifle had actually started out as an M1903 Springfield with an 8X Unertl scope added. It was still as accurate as the day it was modified, or at least it was the last time he’d shot it. There was also an M1D, a Winchester Model 70, and an M24 rifle to fill out his small sniper rifle collection. The barrels had been modified to accept some of the best, but very expensive suppressors he could find. The only thing was they weren’t papered.

Don’s alarm on his phone went off as he was wiping down the rifle after reassembling it, so he went out and checked the coals for his steak. He added a few thin strips of wet wood to the coals, went inside to check the potato, and took he steak back outside and put it on the grill, cranking the grid down a couple of inches to sear the steak. He added a few more thin strips of wet wood to the coals, seared both sides and raised the grid and timed the steak for turning every 15 seconds for a total of three minutes. He used the tongs to remove the steak and carried the plate back into the house. Don threw together a salad and got out the bottle of ranch dressing. While the steak was resting, he seasoned the steak with garlic butter, salt, and pepper.

When the potato was done, Don dusted the salt off of it with a basting brush, moved the potato to his plate, then cut the top off of the potato, used a fork to break up the potato inside of the skin. The salt had drawn most of the water out of the potato, leaving it just right to soak in the butter and sour cream he had added.

The Smithwicks went well with the meal and Don was soon finished eating. After rinsing off his dishes, he put them in the dishwasher and went in to check the history channel to see what war documentaries were showing. He then realized he hadn’t turned the satellite service on yet and got out his credit card. After getting the service reestablished, he went and got another ale while the system connected. While he waited, Don also renewed his satellite internet service with VOIP phone.

[iamnobody]

Don is sure speaking a lot of truth and wisdom.

[prepguy]

Very nice beginning. This is set up well.

[gipsy]

The stories are full of that type of good info. Thanks for a new start.

[feralferret]

Ncsfsgm, Thank you. A fine start to another story.

[rep1270]

Thank you for the story. Ralph

[kiwibutterfly]

Thankyou

[ncsfsgm]

Chapter 3



Gabe arrived at the lodge with a telehandler carrying a pallet handler riding on the forks. They managed to move the safe closer to the rear of the trailer with the pallet handler then picked the safe up with the telehandler and was able to extend the boom and set the safe inside the lodge through the French doors at the side steps. That saved them from having to manhandle the safe over two different levels. With a mover dolly, they were able to roll the safe easily into Don’s “reloading room.”

Don opened the safe and took out the framed Coat of Arms and hung it on the wall.
COA

Don had lived in Vermont for a few years and to keep from being bored, he decided to join a local National Guard unit. Don had chosen to serve with the 172nd Infantry Regiment (Green Mountain Boys) of the Vermont Army National Guard. He had served eight years with them just for the fun of it and to do his familial military obligation. The fun ended when they were selected by the Big Green Machine to do a tour in the Nangarhar Province of Afghanistan, home of the infamous Kyber Pass. As far as the cold wintery conditions of the area were concerned, the Green Mountain Boys had no problems, they had trained for that. The only thing lacking was the parties at the ski lodges after a day of training. Tactics in mountain warfare were second nature to them, His biggest asset had been the Biathlon competitions he had taken part in and even had gone to Norway a couple of times to compete in their skiskyting competitions. Thanks to God, they had lost no members in his company due to enemy action. Most of their firefights were done at long range and it had been one-sided. Don went through the safe, taking out every weapon then returning them in an order that made sense to him now. Don had kept a case of 5.56 and the various calibers of the sniper weapons he had and stored the rest in the 2300 square foot basement of the lodge.

Don took out his Glock 21SF, loaded a magazine and took two more out of the door pocket. Placing the pistol in his hip holster, and the magazines in their carriers, he decided to take a walk and inspect the upper side of the property. Putting on his Akubra and taking a trekking staff from the umbrella stand next to the back door, he headed up the ATV trail that went to more fields planted with Frasier firs. The trail entered the old growth trees and paralleled on the graveled path along the spring pond, which was like a small finger lake about a half-mile long, that fed a waterfall and ran on down to a creek at the base of the mountain. The route of the stream from the pond was purely manmade. Don’s grandfather had dammed up the spring-fed stream to supply hydroelectric power and Don’s father had improved on it. Papaw had hydroelectric power before the TVA built Fontana dam back in the 40s. The generator had been changed out over the years, but the original penstock was still being used. Because it was privately owned, it was not counted in the 188 hydro projects in North Carolina’s future. They had worked for years completing the diversion channel to the creek. Don’s father had later added a battery bank to draw power from when the generator was shut down, especially in those times thy needed to release sediment from the pond. Don was going to look into some type of system that would automatically open the penstock when generator power was needed. Don dipped his hand down in the ¼ acre pond and the water was icy cold Only in the summer could you bath in it without your jewels withdrawing back up into your body. The surrounding forest had been cleared of undergrowth, like the German forests Don’s father had admired. He walked on up the graveled RV trail and checked out the fields of Christmas trees to the edge of the property. Turning back, he hiked steadily until he came back to the lodge. In its current form, at just over four thousand square feet, with five bedrooms, a library, a study, a two-story great room, and an attached three car garage, all that was missing were the ski runs. He could hear Gabe running the Toolcat in the lower fields and went in and put the Glock away. He had no worries about running up on a black bear or one of those boars unexpectedly in the mostly open fields of Frasier firs. Anyway, Gabe always had a rifle with him when working on the tractor or skid steer. Don walked down to the field where Gabe was using the Toolcat with the claw attachment to pull up the roots of the firs that had been cut the previous fall and winter to prepare the soil for the new plantings. Gabe would pull the root ball out of the ground, shake as much dirt off as he could, then drop it in the dump trailer pulled by the Unimog. Don became the driver for the Unimog and when the trailer was full, dumped the trailer in an area where they let the root balls dry out in and let the rain finish cleaning the dirt off. In late summer, they would run the roots through a chipper and use the chips to fire the outside boilers, use some for mulch, and sold some to a farm store for pet bedding. When they had finished the two-acre area, Don dumped the last load, and they hooked the turn plow up to a tractor and tilled the acreage. Don went ahead and did the plowing and Gabe would come behind him and run the disc and harrow over the field.

Don left early the next morning to go to Asheville to take care of some banking chores. He needed to get a new debit card and arrange for transfer of funds from his banks in Vermont. Gabe began moving pots of fir seedlings to the field and began planting. Naomi dropped by around 0900 and started helping him.


“Where’s the Squire of the Manor?” Naomi asked.

“Be kind. He’s just getting settled in.” Gabe said. “And if you want to be exact, he would be the LORD of the Manor. He owns all of this now.”

“Yeah. But he seems to be so weak and vulnerable right now.”

“Perhaps in matters of the heart, but he can be a formidable man when called upon. He can go from a pretty nice guy to one who Vlad Țepeș would tell to dial it back a little.” Gabe replied.

Naomi remained quiet and the only sound heard was tapping the seedlings out of the nursery buckets.

“You have some interests in the young Lord?” Gabe asked, smiling.

“Not likely!” Naomi sneered.

Gabe smiled inwardly and remained silent.

They were interrupted by a low-flying aircraft. Gabe had been expecting it, having received a call the previous evening. They watched as the H-295 turned and aligned on a lower field and slowed. It floated in and came to almost an immediate stop. The pilot got out, opened the cargo door on the port side and pulled out a large duffle. A man inside hopped out and picked up the duffle. Gabe got in the Gator and rode over to them. He greeted the visitor and spoke briefly to the pilot, then took the visitor to the house.

Naomi watched as the plane took off, no, levitated into the air. The Helio Courier was a small, but powerful airplane. She continued planting trees until Gabe came back and handed her a water bottle.

“What was that about?” Naomi asked.

“Argyle Pace. He’ll be gone tomorrow. He’s going to the old Eagle’s Nest communications site.” Gabe said.

“Why didn’t they just land at Banner River?” Naomi asked.

“Security Cameras. FAA and insurance companies require them for possible facial recognition and such. It’s not that far a drive anyway. They’ll be here just after breakfast. Are you spending the night? I still have a guest room open, or you could stay in a room up at the lodge.” Gabe replied, smiling.

“Not likely!” Naomi said. “He doesn’t seem to want to be anywhere near me.”

“You intimidate him. For now, he’ll keep shy of beautiful women.” Gabe said.

“HMMPH!” Naomi said, picking up another bucket and turning away.

Don put the envelopes of bills into his inside vest pocket and turned to leave the bank. He’d drawn out $5,000 in various denominations to keep at the house. He left the bank and was driving along and saw the Sportsman’s Warehouse. He put on the signal and turned in. Don picked out a couple of novelty T-shirts and some more gun cleaning supplies and looked over the guns. He saw a Kentucky 50 Caliber Caplock Black Powder Rifle Kit and put it in the cart along with some walnut stain and tung oil. It would look good on the wall near the masonry fireplace/bakeoven. He went ahead and picked up a couple of tins of #11 percussion caps, a can of Hodgdon Blackhorn 209, a box of Hodgdon Triple 7 pellets, and three packs of 50 Caliber Muzzleloader Bullets. He found the cleaning equipment he’d need for the muzzle loader and added that to the cart. He bought a new Smith’s knife sharpener and a couple of other things then went to the checkout.

Before leaving town, Don stopped by Mast General Store and picked up jars of peach, cherry, and apple butters and several cans of salted gourmet Virginia peanuts. Don was able to leave early enough to get back to the Lodge before dark.


The driveway alarm app on Gabe’s phone sounded and he switched over to the CCTV camera. An early model Land Rover Defender was coming up to the drive. When it reached the gate, Gabe’s phone rang, and the driver asked for the gate code. Gabe gave him the code and Gabe watched as the gate opened and the Defender proceeded through. Gabe notified his overnight visitor who came out of the guest bedroom with his duffle. Gabe went out and greeted Charlton Guest as he pulled up into the yard.

Don had been up before dawn, made coffee and had a large breakfast of pancakes, eggs, and Virginia ham. After cleaning up he sat in the breezeway sipping coffee and listening to the radio on the table next to him. The announcer out of the station in Asheville seemed a little limp-wristed to him so he tuned in a station out of Wilkesboro. When he heard the Gator down near the chestnut tree, Don pulled on his vest, filled his camelback and tugged on his Akubra and began his stroll down the hill. Don went down and found Gabe transplanting fir seedlings from the planting trays into pots in the greenhouses. Don pitched in and began with another tray.

“Did your wounded goose get picked up?” Don asked Gabe.

“Yes, about an hour ago.” Gabe replied.

“I sent them a big donation before winding things up in Vermont and Chicago.” Don said.

“That was magnanimous of you,” Gabe said, nodding.

The door closer slammed the door shut and Don looked up. It was Naomi, grinning like
Disney's Cheshire cat.

“Good morning everyone!” Naomi said, kissing Gabe on the cheek.

“Mornin’,” Don said.

“Good morning, dear.” Gabe said. “You’re not working today?”

“We’ve got a three-dayer with overnights up near Trail House Gap coming up, so they gave us the day off.” Naomi replied, picking up a tray to help transplant.

After supper, Don retired to the reloading room and got out his father’s old lever action shotgun modeled after the Winchester Model 1901. A reproduction made by ADI Limited in Australia, the gun was rare in that after the passing of the severe Australian anti-gun laws, it may just be one of the few left in the world. The modified-bore gun shot 2 ¾ inch shells and it was a test of the shooter’s abilities to bring down Ruffed Grouse with it. Don’s father was a believer the theory that if you couldn’t take the bird on the first shot, you needed more practice on the skeet range. He was planning to go check the cultivated areas where grouse usually fed and see how many he could flush. He laid the shotgun on the desk along with a box of #7 ½ brass shotshells. He would go early in the morning or in the afternoon when the grouse usually fed.

Don took the opportunity to go check out the grouse feeding areas and flushed out three. Every bird he flushed headed straight for the firs to try to get away. It was their usual tactic, so Don was always ready to swing the gun in that direction. It was almost too easy. He quit trying to take the birds after the third one, just swinging his gun and following them. He had enough birds for a meal with him, Gabe, and Naomi and left the other birds for later. When he got back to the house he dressed them and placed them in the refrigerator. He planned to grill them in the near future.

[gipsy]

I think that some of that special water is in the ground here too. Thanks for the update.

[feralferret]

Thank you for the new chapter, ncsfsgm.

[eyeseetwo]

Thank you very much!

[bluefox2]

Naomi doesn't have "some" interest in don, she probably has a lot. And if the author closed his blinds I would not be peeking over his shoulder.

[cavsgt]

LOVE IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! PLEASE keep it coming.

[prepguy]

Great update!!

[ncsfsgm]

Chapter 4

The savory odor of bread baking greeted Naomi when she stepped onto Don’s porch. Knocking on the door, she waited for Don to open it. When he finally did, he was wearing an apron with a distinctive dusting of flour.

“Are you baking bread?” Naomi asked, with a surprised look on her face.

“Well, I don’t really try to get to town often enough to buy bread at the bakery or market.” Don replied. “Plus, I like the taste better.”

Don held the door open for her to enter and she followed him to the kitchen. She saw two loaves of bread and a round loaf of farmer’s bread cooling on the counter. Don took up a bread knife and cut a crusty slice off the edge of the round farmer’s bread, buttered it, and handed it and a napkin to Naomi. He poured her a cup of coffee and added cream and sugar as she bit into the bread.

“This is wonderful!” Naomi said.

Don smiled. “I’m glad you like it. As soon as the loaves cool, I’ll bag one to take with you.”

“”That is so sweet of you,” Naomi said. “How did you know how I liked my coffee?”

“I watched you make a cup the other day.” Don said.

“Very observative.” Naomi said, smiling. “Oh! Dodi Gabriel asked me to tell you he had something for you and to bring your truck down.”

“He could have called.” Don said.

Naomi shrugged. “I needed to stretch my legs.”

“After traipsing around the mountains for three days?!” Don asked.

“It’s like cool down stretches after a run.” Naomi replied.

“Oh, okay. How did it go?” Don asked.

“Everything went well. Although we did meet a few bears coming out of hibernation.” Naomi replied.

“You have to be careful. Black bears usually will shy away but can be ornery when coming out of hibernation.” Don said.

“I know, that’s why I always carry a pistol when we go out.” Naomi replied.

“What do you carry?” Don asked.

“A .45 Para-Ordinance Stainless P-14 like I had in the IDF, but it was in 9mm. Forty-five ammo was little difficult to get there.”

"Better than nothing." Don replied.

They both drank a glass of water then took Don’s truck down to Gabe’s house. Gabe had several boxes he was checking over sitting on the side porch.

“Ah! Good! She peeled you off the mountain!” Gabe said, laughing.

“Whatcha got?” Don asked.

I got these from a friend. I figured you could keep half of them up at your place.”

“What is it?” Don asked.

“K-Zero Plate Carriers.” Gabe said.

“I’ve heard of those!” Naomi exclaimed. “My friend Sheila said they were the best and protected as good or better than the heavier Level IIIA vests. At least you weren’t exhausted at the end of the day from the weight and it’s easier to get in and out of Merkava 4 hatches.”

“Your friend serves on a Merkava?” Don asked.

Naomi grinned. “She’s the tank commander.”

They loaded the boxes onto the truck and Naomi rode back to the lodge with Don. They used hand trucks to move the vest and plates into the basement.

Don had earlier been working on the guns from the gun case and went back into the Man Cave to put the last one away. Naomi followed him closely. Laying on the table was a Savage Model 24 "Bush Scout" with open choke 12-gauge barrel and a single-point sling.

“What in the world do you use this for?” Naomi asked, picking it up.

Don chuckled. “Well, believe it or not, in my younger days, I used it for grouse hunting. I could take a grouse on the wing with a hip shot, but it takes a lot of practice.”

Naomi looked at him with a wondering gaze.

Don made the last pass with the three-row turn plow, then raised two of the blades to clean out the diversion ditch on the upper side of the garden to keep rainwater running down the hill from washing through the garden. Finishing, he drove the tractor back to the equipment barn where he washed the plow down and dropped it into its place. After attaching the disc plow to the tractor, he returned to the garden and broke up the turned soil with the disc plow. He would run the drag harrow over the garden before using the hiller before planting. Before returning to the barn to put the disc plow away, Don stopped the tractor and got the garden hoses and three oscillating sprinklers out. Attaching the hoses to the freeze-proof hose bib by the garden, Don ran the hoses out and attached the sprinklers, and set them to spray toward the garden area. He would let the sprinklers run for an hour every three days until planting to keep the soil moist. The garden area hadn’t been plowed in several years because no one had stayed down here during the growing season. Gabe had his own garden and would supply fresh vegetables from his garden if someone came down unplanned.

Don cleaned and put away the tractor and plow, then returned to the house. He had some time left so he got his toolbox out and unscrewed the baseplate cap on the flagpole. The flagpole was loose and wobbling, and he didn’t want to have to replace it. He quickly found what the problem was. The hardwood wedges had become compressed and were rotting. Don found a short piece of pressure-treated 2x4 in the shed and cut new wedges. He took the wedges and a Japanese Pull Hand Saw back to the flagpole, replaced the wedges, and trimmed the wedges to fit the baseplate cap back on. Then he remembered the light that matched the Bronze anodized flagpole still sitting on the shelf in the shed. It was a solar powered, top-mounted light that would keep the flag illuminated at night. He took his tools back to the shed and carried back the extension ladder. Returning to the shed, he got a flat-tipped screwdriver and the light. The top cap on the pole had to be removed to install the light above the lanyard pulley. He wouldn’t know if the damn thing would even work until the sun went down. He decided to wait until the next morning to raise the flag.

Don left the ladder lying next to the deck and put his other tools in the shed. As he was headed back into the lodge, Naomi drove up in Gabe’s Gator.

“Just in time!” Don said. “I was about to make an Irish Coffee. Would you join me?”

“I’d love to!” Naomi replied.

She followed Don into the lodge kitchen and sat at the breakfast bar, watching Don wash his hands and put everything together.

Don made the coffees and topped each mug with a dollop of Dream Whip.

Going out on the rear deck, they sat in the waning day. In the gathering twilight, the only movement in the area around the lodge was the blades of the 400W Vertical Axis Helix windmill power generators turning in the light breeze.

Naomi sighed. “This is much better than the Negev.”

“I can imagine. I’ve always loved it here; the sound of the countryside. Or the lack of it. The word I'd used is serenity. After only a short time in Chicago having my ears pounded with city noise, the silence was kind of disturbing. This reminds me of the Green Mountains of Vermont, but there is less snow here.” Don said.

“What do you do when it snows?” Naomi asked.

“Build a big fire in the masonry fireplace/bake oven and pop some popcorn. The main thing is to keep off the roads until they are cleared. Still, there will be shady spots that don’t melt and dry out so you can have ice patches for several days at the shady parts of the roads. How much longer are you going to be here?”

“I finish the first of June.” Naomi replied.

“And then what?” Don asked.

Naomi shrugged. “Finish up my doctorate, then find something constructive to do.”

“You’re not going back to Israel?”

“No, my father asked me to stay here.”


Before he went to bed, Don checked the flagpole, and the light was burning. The next morning, after starting a pot of coffee he went out and raised the 5’x8’ embroidered American flag and watched it roll in the breeze for a minute. He made pancakes with real maple syrup, sausage, and scrambled eggs for breakfast and decided to check the storage shelter. He knew it would be fine but wanted to look it over anyway. The buried Quonset hut had originally been located at the Asheville & Hendersonville Army Airfield near Fletcher. When the field was closed in 1947, Don’s grandfather had bought the Quonset hut at auction, had it dismantled and moved up to Lost Cove. Excavation was done above where the Lodge sat now and over several months, the hut was erected, sprayed with what Don now understood was roofing tar and shotcrete, insulated and buried. Fir trees were planted to conceal the entrance and even the air vents poking through the top were now concealed with rhododendrons. Don hadn’t been in there for several years, but he knew his father had been some sort of a prepper because he kept a lot of things stored there. He remembered a mothballed 1947 Willys Jeep Truck 4x4 sitting up on blocks with the fuel tank drained and a smaller propane fueled forklift his grandfather had stored there. His grandfather and father believed the Communists would make a move someday and were preparing for it. It wasn’t until later they understood the communists had already infiltrated the government and the threat was closer to home.

Well, things had gotten even worse over the years and were about to come to a head. Don decided to get some prepping done himself but first would have to get rid of the outdated foods and supplies that filled a part of the hut. He had a lot of work to do. Don spoke with Gabe and told him what he was going to do, and Gabe said he would help. When Don was ready to go up to the buried hut, Gabe came up with Naomi. They rode up to the hut in a Gator. Don unlocked the garage door and the three stepped in. The old Willys sat there on its stands and behind were pallets and shelves of merchandise. Don started down the lines of shelves and began placing 2”x2” post-it notes on things he identified that needed to be disposed of. There were many cases of canned foods in jars.

“You can feed the canned foods to the hogs and save the jars for canning fresh foods,” Naomi commented.

“That will fatten them up soon enough,” Gabe replied. “I probably need to get a couple of more feeder pigs.”

Don was going along, not only marking disposable stock, but also listing the things he had on hand.

“I wish I had remembered this was up here.” Gabe said, stopping at a pallet.

“What’s that?” Don asked.

“Netting for bundling the Christmas trees.” Gabe said. “I just ordered a bunch.”

“How much do we have there?” Don asked, marking it down on his clipboard.

“Ten seventy-yard boxes.” Gabe replied.

[gipsy]

Good to be ready for Christmas. Fine update.

[ydderf]

Nice start thanks for sharing

[prepguy]

Great update I very much enjoy your writing.

[ncsfsgm]

Chapter 5


It took them three days to inventory the storage shelter before they finally ran across a partial inventory list on the inside of a cabinet. Oh well. They checked the old list against theirs and Don concluded someone with logistics experience had helped set this up. Pallet and shelf positions were numbered that correlated with the old inventory. Gabe and Naomi got the forklift running and began moving pallets of items out that had expired dates on them. The canned food in jars was taken out and fed to the pigs, the jars washed for future use. Don used a spare laptop computer to build a new inventory list using Microsoft Access, building a database he could write a program for to quickly build a list of rotation times for the inventory.

Naomi was working as hard as Don and Gabe on getting things organized.

“I thought you’d be heading back to Israel by now.” Don commented during a break.

Naomi shrugged. “My father wanted me to stay here, besides, on the kibbutz, I’d either be part of a security team or picking lettuce. The air is much nicer here.”

Don nodded and went back to work on the computer. “Why the hell did she get a doctorate for if she wasn’t going to use it?” Don thought.

Don later asked Gabe the same thing and Gabe just smiled. “She likes it here in the States. She says even a kibbutz is too crowded for her. She is, at heart, an introvert. She needs relatively few people in her life, but relations with other people are vitally important.”



Don was awake before dawn, dressed in cargo pants, sweatshirt, and hiking boots, he put on his concealed carry vest, and Akubra, checked his G-21, and headed up the slope. Stopping for a moment to look at the vertical wind generators he decided to take the plunge and check out something different. There was a company in Spain that was making bladeless wind generators and he thought it might work here. They were never without some type of breeze up here. He walked the trail up to the holding pond as the mist flowed around him. The pond held that mystical and fascinating covering in the dawn, its blanket of rising mist several feet thick as heat was transferred from its surface into the cool air of a mountain morning. Below, the early morning mist was just dissipating in the hollows, thinning, and evaporating, reminiscent of some long-forgotten spirits of the night, ghostly beings losing their tentative hold on reality in the face of the soon-to-be rising sun and its warm embrace of another spring day. It was refreshing here. Back in Vermont, there was still snow on the ground, the temperature would still be in the teens, drying the eyes and nostrils in the late winter quest of sucking every bit of moisture out of your body. Don tilted his Akubra back on his head and sat on a fallen tree. He should have come back here long ago. It would have helped him dodge a lot of heartache. In the stillness of the morning, he watched as a buck and four doe deer walked out of the forest to drink from the pond. All of a sudden they alerted and trotted back into the trees. Then Don caught movement in his peripheral vision and saw Naomi walking slowly up the trail.

“How did you find me?” Don asked.

“I followed your footsteps,” Naomi replied, sitting down on the log next to Don. “It is beautiful this time of the morning.”

“It is, that,” Don replied. "Papaw had always called this his backyard, and over time he had expanded it significantly."


“You should put a bench up here” Naomi said, grunting. “This tree has knots in it!”

Don chuckled. “You just need a little more cushion.”

“I refuse to become one of those big-butt southern mountain girls. I think my butt is just fine!”

“Yes it is,” Don said, smiling.

Naomi glanced over at Don and smirked. “You’ve been looking at my butt?” she asked in feigned astonishment.

“Every chance I get. Like this view before us, it’s nice to look at in the morning,” Don replied. “Let’s go make some breakfast.”

They walked shoulder to shoulder down the trail to the lodge.

Don made a regular percolator of coffee and a smaller one of hazelnut coffee. When it had perked, Don made Naomi a cup from the smaller pot, added some heavy cream and a touch of Kahlua.

Naomi’s eyes lit up after taking a sip. “Oh my! I should come to breakfast more often!”

Don began mixing buttermilk/blueberry pancakes and asked Naomi, “Do you eat pork?”

“If you’re meaning bacon, yes. I’m not that fond of pork sausage.” Naomi replied.

“Wait until I make some smoked pork sausage. I thought Jews didn’t eat pork.” Don commented.

“Well, Dodi Gabriel and I are sort of the black sheep of our immediate family. We don’t always stick strictly to the rules."

Don lay strips of bacon in a pan and set the bacon press on top. Opening the can of juice concentrate he had set out earlier, he added water and mixed a pitcher of orange juice. Turning the bacon strips, he finished mixing the pancake batter. Taking the bacon strips out of the pan and draining the strips on paper towels, he added four more strips and added dried blueberries to the pancake batter, stirring them in. When the second pan of bacon had fried, he drained two-thirds of the grease out of the pan into a bacon grease saver.

Don made six six-inch pancakes then added a little more grease to the pan.

“How do you like your eggs?” Don asked Naomi.

“Scrambled is fine,” Naomi replied.

Don scrambled 6 eggs and poured them into the hot pan. He scrambled the eggs, then divided them onto two plates. He set her plate in front of her with three pancakes, four strips of bacon and half of the scrambled eggs on it.

They sat down and ate breakfast, taking occasional sips of coffee and orange juice. Naomi helped him clean up and they poured more coffee and went out on the front porch to enjoy the early morning sunshine.

They heard and then watched as Gabe came up the drive in his Gator. Gabe pulled up next to the steps and got out grinning.

“I couldn’t find you and came up to make sure you weren’t molesting Don.” Gabe said.

“Dodi Gabriel!”

“We took a walk and had breakfast.” Don explained. “Want some coffee?”

“No thanks.” Gabe said. “I drank most of the pot this morning. Just a glass of water will be fine.”

Gabe watched Naomi draw a class of cold water from the refrigerator and place it in front of him.

“What is your idea on the storage bunker?” Gabe asked Don.

“Well, my initial idea is to store enough food and whatever we need for a group of ten people to last them for five to ten years.”

“Why that period of time?” Gabe asked.

“Well, I have no idea what’s going to happen in that period of time with the way this country is going. When things get bad, I don’t want to have to go into towns looking for food. Bad people come out of the woodwork like cockroaches when things go bad. We’re living in a microcosm of bad times right now, but I have a feeling that things will get worse. That’s one of the reasons Mom and Dad moved to Florida. He was seeing things happening in the market that shouldn’t be happening, and the FED was propping everyone up, but it wouldn’t be enough. Politicians are spending as much money as the FED will print, and interest rates on the borrowed money are nearing our GDP. Physical gold and silver are the only things to safely invest in nowadays. They have always been God's money.”

“Yeah, I see what you mean," Gabe said. “I’ve got some websites bookmarked where you can buy Long Term Storage foods I can push to you. Also, some sites about subsistence and sustainable farming. We’ll have to grow our own food after a while. And don’t forget about means of storing the food you grow until the next harvest.”

“Yeah, I’ve got a lot to do to get smart on this stuff. At least I can start storing food and such. I plowed up the old garden up top. Do you think Bill Adams will sell us a few loads of manure?” Don asked.

“I’ll give him a call,” Gabe replied.

Gabe finished his water and left to go to Crossnore to look for heirloom seeds and plants at a nursery there. Naomi went to check the chestnut grove, leaving Don there to do some research and to contemplate.

First, he checked his financials and his investment portfolio to see what non-performing and low-performing stocks he could trim. Then checked KITCO to check gold and silver prices. He was going to be spending a lot of money and didn’t want to dip into his gold and silver until it was entirely necessary.

Don’s grandfather and father had always preached to him that gold and silver didn’t gain value except during inflation and certain market conditions, while Federal Reserve Notes lost value relative due to the government’s economic policies. Don had steadfastly bought gold and silver coins over the years as a hedge against the future. He had some funds he needed to convert soon.

It probably wouldn’t be long before that gold would have to be used. Enemies of the country probably had, and still were studying and no doubt understood the vulnerabilities caused by our interdependent networks of the power and food distribution systems, and they would know how to take advantage of them.

Don needed to get away and think. Fifteen minutes later he was off after changing into his old worn hiking boots that were as comfortable as a second skin, Akubra cocked back on his head, G-21 in the holster on his vest, his trekking pole gripped comfortably in hand, and a light backpack over his shoulders carrying his camelback, a survival kit. a towel, two liver pudding sandwiches, a small flask of Redbreast 15-year-old Irish whiskey, a radio to stay in contact with Gabe, and one San Cristobal Quintessence Churchill cigar, which constituted his tobacco ration for the week. There was a rock ledge up on the Lost Cove Cliffs that would be a good place to enjoy it while he solved the problems of the world. It took just under an hour of steady plodding up and down the 1.37 kilometers of winding trail to reach his destination at the cliffs. Upon reaching the rock ledge, Don ate the sandwiches, drank water out of the camelback, and scribbled notes in his notebook. Placing the empty sandwich bags in a side pocket on the pack, Don took out the cigar and flask. After lighting the cigar, Don unscrewed the cap on the flask, took a sip, and scribbled more notes. Four hours later, Don noticed the lengthened shadows from a ridge, packed everything up and headed back to the lodge.

Gabe was sitting in a chair at the fire pit sipping on a glass of whiskey.

“Did your perch on the cliffs give you any insight?”

Startled, Don asked, “How did you know where I was?”

“The radio I gave you show’s me the location of everyone on the net.” Gabe said, grinning.

“Well, that’s a bit intrusive, don’t you think?” Don asked, grinning.

“I thought it was a good feature to have in case of trouble.” Gabe replied.

“Were you waiting for me for something?” Don asked.

“Just Naomi. She wanted to cook us dinner and decided to do it up here.” Gabe replied. “She likes your kitchen better than mine.”

[feralferret]

Another fine chapter, ncsfsgm. Thank you.

[gipsy]

Fine update. Thanks.

[cashless1]

thanks for giving me something to go with my morning coffee, good story keep up the good work