Getting By, Country Style - Continued
Apr 5, 2019 13:38:26 GMT -6
texican, 9idrr, and 5 more like this
Post by Ozarks Tom on Apr 5, 2019 13:38:26 GMT -6
Some continued ramblings of the other story.
Getting By, Country Style - Continued
May 11th
Short of stature with a fireplug build, the Sheriff had the florid complexion of a heavy drinker. He reminded me of some bullies I’ve encountered, motivated by insecurity about their size. They came in a seventies something Chevy pickup, with official decals on the doors. I guess that makes him feel more important.
Now that we’re coming and going, we’ve gotten rid of the barriers and moved the alarm sensors out to a half mile. Not a lot of time to prepare, but enough. We met him a quarter mile up the road from our place.
“Yes sir, that is quite a pile of carcasses out at the highway. No sir, I don’t know how they got there, we’re guessing someone dumped them, but can’t figure why. We just sort of keep to ourselves. Sure, we’d be glad to share what we’ve got with the community, come back in a month and we’ll load you up with turnips. Could you send someone out to collect those carcasses in the mean time?”
He asked if we’d payed our property taxes for last year, knowing full well we’d never received a statement, so I asked him if he knew what we owed. Not surprisingly, he had a list showing we owed $846. No problem says I, I’ll be right back. A few minutes later I delivered the exact amount in worthless paper, to which he said the County is also accepting silver and gold in payment these days. I asked “didn’t you say eight hundred and forth six dollars? Well, these are dollars. If you’d said 60 ounces of silver, you’d be out of luck, we grow turnips, not silver”.
That’s pretty much the way our conversation with the Stone County Sheriff went, although I was all smiles and pleasantry, I got the impression he really didn’t want to press the issues, seeing how he had two deputies with him, facing 7 heavily armed scarecrows.
I asked for a receipt.
May 19th
A very good day, we traded two motorcycles and five 1/10th ounce gold coins for 700 gallons of propane. Darrell, the propane guy at Highlandville, hasn’t heard from his bosses in Joplin since the lights went out. His truck went down with the rest of them, and his big tanks were nearly full. We unhooked our tanks one at a time, and with the help of a ramp winched them up onto the big trailer. Hauled them to Highlandville and refilled them. Getting them off the trailer was a lot harder than getting them on, especially when they high centered and wanted to roll over. We’d experienced that problem loading them, but that first full one was exciting to say the least. Rather than risk broken limbs, we tied off to both sides with ropes to keep them upright, then drove out from underneath them. It took two days, but we’re back cooking with gas.
That’s a good thing, we’ve got a lot of canning to do in the next months, and the wood stove is a real pain in butt for keeping pressure level.
We’re nearly out of gasoline, even after scavenging from all the Johnson and the missing neighbor’s vehicles we’re down to about a quarter tank and 15 gallons in cans. James, Bill’s cousin is a mechanic who says he thinks he can use the tri-fuel conversion kit from the small generator to power the Bronco. I trust James, he’s sure kept things running around here, but I’m hesitant to mess with the Bronco until it’s absolutely necessary.
June 15th
We sure love Tattler lids. We’d bought 20 dozen of each size a few years ago, and although you can get away with using regular metal lids twice, that’s about it for them. Tattlers are reusable indefinitely. There’s a definite learning curve to using them though, if you tighten them down like a standard lid, they won’t seal most of the time. You tighten them to barely snug, back the ring off a quarter turn, and when you take the jars out you tighten the ring down fairly tight. Once we got the hang of it our failure to seal rate dropped to nearly zero. Another thing we learned the hard way when canning meat, or anything with meat in it, was making sure we got any grease off the jar rims. Wiping them with a wet cloth won’t do it, we found a final wipe with a little vinegar on a cloth cuts any grease off.
Our green bean crop was more than bountiful, we’ve put a couple people out at the road with the overage to see what they can barter for. Any deal they make includes getting a canning jar in return, and jars that we’re trading have standard lids. Most of what they’re getting is small barter material like sewing supplies, tire patch kits, ammunition, etc., but some folks are paying with pre-’65 coins. Until a stable economy is functioning they’ll always be welcome.
We’re down to 9 people now, with two more leaving in July, 7 people really isn’t enough to maintain security, but things have calmed down considerably. Maybe we can forego putting someone in the little bunker out with Bill’s cattle now.
July 16th
Talk about speaking too soon! Last night someone pinched two chickens. How they got into the coop we can’t figure, but it’s a sure thing that since they’ve gotten in once they’ll be back like a raccoon. We really don’t have an alarm sensor to spare, but we’ll have to take one off the road to put near the coop & rabbit pen area. I really hate this, I was hoping the violent part of this mess was over.
We’ve built our flock up to 22 hens and 2 roosters, but when they go into molt we’ll be glad we’ve stored a dozen gallon jars of eggs in “water glass”. They’ll last through the molt, mainly useful for scrambled eggs and baking. Over time the yolks lose their shapes, but as long as we don’t wash them before storing they’ll keep up to six months or better.
July 18th
Got em! About 3am the “alert zone 3” sounded and we were there in less than a minute. He was just coming out of the coop with two dead chickens. Now what to do with him? Nobody is going to beat a 12 year old kid, let alone shoot him, so we took him in the barn to hear his story. He’s a skinny kid, but then we’re all skinny, wearing what even in the old days a homeless guy would be ashamed of, and a couple sizes too small to boot. Nobody could get close for the smell.
He said his name was Barry, he and his sisters were from Galena, and had been paddling a little jon boat up and down the river for a month, scavenging whatever they could. That’s how he got past the alarms, he’d scaled the bluff in the dark! They’d left Galena after some of the local toughs took too much a liking to his older sister. Their parents were in Kansas City the day the lights went out, no idea if they’re still alive. His sisters were waiting with the boat below the bluff, 14 and 9, could he just take one chicken and go?
Everyone but James went outside, more to get away from the smell than for privacy, and talked it over. If we let him go, we’d be sentencing him and his sisters to a slow, or possibly abrupt, death. It wasn’t like they were a threat of any kind, and we could use some more help with the gardens. Well, in truth those were my wife and Donna’s thoughts, but I’ve got to say I didn’t argue with them. We went back inside and told Barry he and his sisters could stay here, and work for their room & board if they wanted. He didn’t even think about it before he said “you bet”, just let him tell his sisters. We went to the bluff, where he shouted down for them to float down to the access, they were going to be all right.
The boat was so small and so loaded I was surprised it could float. Cook pots & utensils, blankets, a couple fishing poles, some clothes, and a few other things I guess they thought were important. His older sister, Catherine, didn’t look in any better shape than Barry, little sister Gwen looked the healthiest of the three. Catherine had an old single action .22 holstered, it looked like a Dirty Harry cannon hanging off her slight frame. Barry explained our offer, and you could see the answer in their faces before he even finished.
I cranked up the generator, and we moved the shower schedule up a couple days, them first. We had plenty of ill-fitting clothes, so we’d burn theirs, no sense wasting soap trying to get them clean. We hauled the boat up to the shed while the gals started plucking chickens for that night’s chicken soup.
August 29th
We’re out of gasoline. Our mechanical magician James did indeed have a way to make the Bronco run on propane. It’s a little funny looking, due to the shortage of pipe or tubing he welded a bracket to the hood for the 20 lb propane bottle, but as long as it runs who cares?
The government, what there is of it, sent a few trucks of food into Springfield, but we heard about it so late they’d already emptied two trucks and started on the third when we got there. I recognized the markings on the sacks, USAID, from my days in Vietnam. Just like the sacks we’d give to the villages to “win their hearts and minds”, but the next day you’d see for sale in the markets. They were handing out 10 pounds per person, but there were only three of us there, hardly worth the trip. I spotted the head man, and had a short talk. We came back after “business hours”, and traded 20 old half dollars for three sacks of beans, a sack of rice, and two sacks of wheat. Meet the new government, same as the old government.
Barry and his sisters are working out well. Even with working hard in the gardens they’ve put on a little weight. Their parents must have raised them well, no complaints about the work. My wife and Donna are trying to school them some, but without books and experience it’s difficult. Mainly math and English, but they’re learning.
Barry and Catherine are standing guard duty, but we don’t expect either to do much more than use the handhelds to alert us if there’s a problem, although I’ve got a hunch if one of her attackers from Galena showed up that would change.
October 1st
Just waiting to harvest the fall garden, squash, beets, spinach, broccoli, kale, Brussel sprouts, and yeah, turnips.
In the meantime we’ve been cutting and splitting firewood. There are plenty of dead trees around to take down, but without chainsaws and splitters it’s a back breaking job by hand. Thank God Bill had brought a two man crosscut saw, my little bow saws would have been nearly useless on anything over one foot diameter. They’re great for limbing though. When we fell a tree we cut it into 20” rounds, load the round into a wheelbarrow, and push it out to the road and load it on the trailer. This winter we won’t have anyone living in the barn, so we’ll just need three cords for the fireplace insert in the house, but we’ll stack five just in case.
The big house on the hill doesn’t even have a fireplace
Yesterday we heard a lot of gunfire from across the river, could have been a couple miles away or better, maybe 200 rounds altogether. We have no idea who’s over there, although Bill thinks it may be near the Jemmison place. He says they’re big family with three houses on their place. I guess we shouldn’t be surprised, even in good times bad people do bad things. We’ve been getting a little too comfortable of late with our security, but we’re back on edge now.
October 17th
It was the Jemmison’s place alright. It seems the Sheriff came out with some trailers and men to collect their property taxes in beef. Nobody really knows who fired first, but the Jemmisons kept their cattle, and we’ve got a new Sheriff. The County Commissioners want them arrested, but from what we hear nobody’s volunteering.
We’re getting pretty threadbare these days, even after scavenging abandoned houses everyone is looking awful ragged. Years ago we bought a treadle sewing machine, a White, an early 1900’s competitor to Singer. We had it reconditioned, then I refinished it, and it sat unused in our living room as a lamp stand thereafter. It didn’t take a lot to learn how to use it, but there was some cussing involved. The gals have been cutting open blue jeans and sewing light weight blanket strips in them for winter. Last winter we were having to wear two pairs of unlined jeans on guard duty.
It doesn’t seem getting electricity back on outside of Springfield is a big priority, too many blown transformers between here and there I guess. Our candles are history, and the original 20 gallons of kerosene is down to a little over a gallon. We should have been making candles from the butchered cattle and sheep, I don’t know why we didn’t, but that’s going to be the next project/experiment when we process a beef next week.
In the meantime, we’re eating high on the hog, literally. Someone’s Potbelly pig has been running feral apparently for some time. How it’s survived this long is anyone’s guess. I’m thinking it was someone’s pet, and when they couldn’t take care of it let it loose, like all the feral dogs that plagued us the first few months. Well, it wasn’t our pet. Barry spotted it in the tree line, and dropped it with one shot. It probably only weighed 65 pounds, but what a welcome break from beef & beans.
We’ve talked several times about building a smokehouse, but for several reasons haven’t done so. At first the reason was the aroma it would put off, hungry people would come running, also we had enough jars to can the meat. But the main reason though was the lack of permanent teeth among some of us. Dried meat, I think the Indians called it pemmican, with loose dentures would be nearly impossible to eat, even if boiled first.
November 25th, Thanksgiving
The Blessing was a long one. First we thanked the Lord for our survival, then for the good friends and family present, and for letting us have Bob & Connie with us for as long as they were. We thanked Him for the bounty of the gardens, and the continued good health of the animals. We asked His help in continuing on in safety, and for bringing the children to us. We also thanked Him for the geese He’d sent us the day before, what perfect timing. I’d written it for my wife to read, grown men aren’t supposed to cry.
It’s cold an raining outside, but we know we’re blessed.
March 1st
We lost Bill today. The bull he’d had for seven years, even led around with a halter, turned on him. Pinned him to the ground and crushed his chest. There was nothing to be done. We all know not to turn our backs on an intact male, even rams, but Rufus was nearly a pet. Bill was a lot of things to us, husband to Donna, brother, uncle, cousin to most, and dear friend to me. He was handy as pockets on a shirt, knew seemingly everything about animals, and a good listener when you’re down. We laid him to rest along side his brother, hardest hole I’ve ever dug.
We need the animal, so revenge would be wasteful, but nobody will be going near him again.
June 14th
Finished the house, such as it is, for Donna and the kids. We’d torn apart a couple abandoned houses for the materials, pulled and straightened the nails, and ran a water line from our valve box. It’s about 40’ away from our house, so within our security perimeter. We were able to scavenge a wood stove and pipe, and reuse some insulation, so it’ll be snug and warm come winter. The shingles were the hardest part, having to pry each piece loose from the nails without fracturing the entire sheet, then pulling the nails. Just 3 rooms, not pretty, but it’s home.
Last week we were able to barter a motorcycle for 30 gallons of questionable gasoline. I added the last of the Pri-G stabilizer to it, let it sit a day, and tried it in the tiller. It runs, but doesn’t have near the power it would with good gas. The guy didn’t ask where we got the motorcycle, and I didn’t ask where he got the gas.
The gardens are doing well, ever since we first plowed the big one we’ve been hauling wheelbarrows of manure from the cow pasture, that, and the rabbit droppings have really helped the soil. Barring any weather catastrophes we’ll eat well next winter.
We look at the cattle as stored wealth. We were able to barter a couple of last year’s calves at the market in Ozark for salt, sugar, and wheat. Funny how some people come up with 50# bags of wheat and 25 # bags of sugar. I guess it’s just a coincidence, but they’re all marked USAID.
September 20th
The lights are on in Highlandville! Nobody can tell us when we’ll have power on down here, but the progress is promising just the same.
The government says it’s reestablished the dollar, this time backed by gold. Nobody trusts it, or them. The broadcasts on the emergency channel are all sunshine & lollipops, progress everywhere, but we’ve heard the same stuff for so long nobody believes it.
At first they said it was N Korea than put out our lights, then they said Iran. I’d imagine those places are glowing in the dark. Who knows? I’m betting if they’d blamed the Russians or Chinese we’d all be dust by now. It doesn’t really matter to us, we’ve got 12 mouths to feed, work to be done, and nobody to depend on but ourselves.
December 8th
I’m thinking this will be my last journal entry. Last couple months I’ve been coughing a lot, short of breath, and my legs ache something terrible just walking to the barn. No biggie. I’ve always figured I’ve been playing with the house’s money since Nov 14th, 1965. I guess it’s time to break even.
We got the power on last month. The crews were going to bypass anyone who wasn’t right up on the road on their way to Galena, but my charming personality, plus two ounces of gold coins, encouraged them to come our way.
We “jerry rigged” a TV antennae so we could watch the government pat themselves on their backs constantly for bringing us all through the mess. Who knew the government had a sense of humor?
Commerce is starting to come back, but in varied ways. Some people want nothing but old coins or small denomination gold, others will take dollars (must be liberals) believing there’s still gold at Ft Knox. Barter is the easiest way of doing business if you’ve got food to trade, and thank the Lord we’ve been blessed with bountiful gardens and fertile animals. We’ve even gone to eating three meals a day.
We were worried about Donna after Bill died, and she took it hard, but she’s adopted the kids and has a new purpose in living. They adore her, treating her like a grandmother queen. All the rest of the folks are well into the routine, but looking forward to building their own houses here on the place.
We hear there are still some bad people out and around, but they’ve left us alone. There’s something to be said for having the reputation of “that crazy old man at the end of the road”.
May 11th
Short of stature with a fireplug build, the Sheriff had the florid complexion of a heavy drinker. He reminded me of some bullies I’ve encountered, motivated by insecurity about their size. They came in a seventies something Chevy pickup, with official decals on the doors. I guess that makes him feel more important.
Now that we’re coming and going, we’ve gotten rid of the barriers and moved the alarm sensors out to a half mile. Not a lot of time to prepare, but enough. We met him a quarter mile up the road from our place.
“Yes sir, that is quite a pile of carcasses out at the highway. No sir, I don’t know how they got there, we’re guessing someone dumped them, but can’t figure why. We just sort of keep to ourselves. Sure, we’d be glad to share what we’ve got with the community, come back in a month and we’ll load you up with turnips. Could you send someone out to collect those carcasses in the mean time?”
He asked if we’d payed our property taxes for last year, knowing full well we’d never received a statement, so I asked him if he knew what we owed. Not surprisingly, he had a list showing we owed $846. No problem says I, I’ll be right back. A few minutes later I delivered the exact amount in worthless paper, to which he said the County is also accepting silver and gold in payment these days. I asked “didn’t you say eight hundred and forth six dollars? Well, these are dollars. If you’d said 60 ounces of silver, you’d be out of luck, we grow turnips, not silver”.
That’s pretty much the way our conversation with the Stone County Sheriff went, although I was all smiles and pleasantry, I got the impression he really didn’t want to press the issues, seeing how he had two deputies with him, facing 7 heavily armed scarecrows.
I asked for a receipt.
May 19th
A very good day, we traded two motorcycles and five 1/10th ounce gold coins for 700 gallons of propane. Darrell, the propane guy at Highlandville, hasn’t heard from his bosses in Joplin since the lights went out. His truck went down with the rest of them, and his big tanks were nearly full. We unhooked our tanks one at a time, and with the help of a ramp winched them up onto the big trailer. Hauled them to Highlandville and refilled them. Getting them off the trailer was a lot harder than getting them on, especially when they high centered and wanted to roll over. We’d experienced that problem loading them, but that first full one was exciting to say the least. Rather than risk broken limbs, we tied off to both sides with ropes to keep them upright, then drove out from underneath them. It took two days, but we’re back cooking with gas.
That’s a good thing, we’ve got a lot of canning to do in the next months, and the wood stove is a real pain in butt for keeping pressure level.
We’re nearly out of gasoline, even after scavenging from all the Johnson and the missing neighbor’s vehicles we’re down to about a quarter tank and 15 gallons in cans. James, Bill’s cousin is a mechanic who says he thinks he can use the tri-fuel conversion kit from the small generator to power the Bronco. I trust James, he’s sure kept things running around here, but I’m hesitant to mess with the Bronco until it’s absolutely necessary.
June 15th
We sure love Tattler lids. We’d bought 20 dozen of each size a few years ago, and although you can get away with using regular metal lids twice, that’s about it for them. Tattlers are reusable indefinitely. There’s a definite learning curve to using them though, if you tighten them down like a standard lid, they won’t seal most of the time. You tighten them to barely snug, back the ring off a quarter turn, and when you take the jars out you tighten the ring down fairly tight. Once we got the hang of it our failure to seal rate dropped to nearly zero. Another thing we learned the hard way when canning meat, or anything with meat in it, was making sure we got any grease off the jar rims. Wiping them with a wet cloth won’t do it, we found a final wipe with a little vinegar on a cloth cuts any grease off.
Our green bean crop was more than bountiful, we’ve put a couple people out at the road with the overage to see what they can barter for. Any deal they make includes getting a canning jar in return, and jars that we’re trading have standard lids. Most of what they’re getting is small barter material like sewing supplies, tire patch kits, ammunition, etc., but some folks are paying with pre-’65 coins. Until a stable economy is functioning they’ll always be welcome.
We’re down to 9 people now, with two more leaving in July, 7 people really isn’t enough to maintain security, but things have calmed down considerably. Maybe we can forego putting someone in the little bunker out with Bill’s cattle now.
July 16th
Talk about speaking too soon! Last night someone pinched two chickens. How they got into the coop we can’t figure, but it’s a sure thing that since they’ve gotten in once they’ll be back like a raccoon. We really don’t have an alarm sensor to spare, but we’ll have to take one off the road to put near the coop & rabbit pen area. I really hate this, I was hoping the violent part of this mess was over.
We’ve built our flock up to 22 hens and 2 roosters, but when they go into molt we’ll be glad we’ve stored a dozen gallon jars of eggs in “water glass”. They’ll last through the molt, mainly useful for scrambled eggs and baking. Over time the yolks lose their shapes, but as long as we don’t wash them before storing they’ll keep up to six months or better.
July 18th
Got em! About 3am the “alert zone 3” sounded and we were there in less than a minute. He was just coming out of the coop with two dead chickens. Now what to do with him? Nobody is going to beat a 12 year old kid, let alone shoot him, so we took him in the barn to hear his story. He’s a skinny kid, but then we’re all skinny, wearing what even in the old days a homeless guy would be ashamed of, and a couple sizes too small to boot. Nobody could get close for the smell.
He said his name was Barry, he and his sisters were from Galena, and had been paddling a little jon boat up and down the river for a month, scavenging whatever they could. That’s how he got past the alarms, he’d scaled the bluff in the dark! They’d left Galena after some of the local toughs took too much a liking to his older sister. Their parents were in Kansas City the day the lights went out, no idea if they’re still alive. His sisters were waiting with the boat below the bluff, 14 and 9, could he just take one chicken and go?
Everyone but James went outside, more to get away from the smell than for privacy, and talked it over. If we let him go, we’d be sentencing him and his sisters to a slow, or possibly abrupt, death. It wasn’t like they were a threat of any kind, and we could use some more help with the gardens. Well, in truth those were my wife and Donna’s thoughts, but I’ve got to say I didn’t argue with them. We went back inside and told Barry he and his sisters could stay here, and work for their room & board if they wanted. He didn’t even think about it before he said “you bet”, just let him tell his sisters. We went to the bluff, where he shouted down for them to float down to the access, they were going to be all right.
The boat was so small and so loaded I was surprised it could float. Cook pots & utensils, blankets, a couple fishing poles, some clothes, and a few other things I guess they thought were important. His older sister, Catherine, didn’t look in any better shape than Barry, little sister Gwen looked the healthiest of the three. Catherine had an old single action .22 holstered, it looked like a Dirty Harry cannon hanging off her slight frame. Barry explained our offer, and you could see the answer in their faces before he even finished.
I cranked up the generator, and we moved the shower schedule up a couple days, them first. We had plenty of ill-fitting clothes, so we’d burn theirs, no sense wasting soap trying to get them clean. We hauled the boat up to the shed while the gals started plucking chickens for that night’s chicken soup.
August 29th
We’re out of gasoline. Our mechanical magician James did indeed have a way to make the Bronco run on propane. It’s a little funny looking, due to the shortage of pipe or tubing he welded a bracket to the hood for the 20 lb propane bottle, but as long as it runs who cares?
The government, what there is of it, sent a few trucks of food into Springfield, but we heard about it so late they’d already emptied two trucks and started on the third when we got there. I recognized the markings on the sacks, USAID, from my days in Vietnam. Just like the sacks we’d give to the villages to “win their hearts and minds”, but the next day you’d see for sale in the markets. They were handing out 10 pounds per person, but there were only three of us there, hardly worth the trip. I spotted the head man, and had a short talk. We came back after “business hours”, and traded 20 old half dollars for three sacks of beans, a sack of rice, and two sacks of wheat. Meet the new government, same as the old government.
Barry and his sisters are working out well. Even with working hard in the gardens they’ve put on a little weight. Their parents must have raised them well, no complaints about the work. My wife and Donna are trying to school them some, but without books and experience it’s difficult. Mainly math and English, but they’re learning.
Barry and Catherine are standing guard duty, but we don’t expect either to do much more than use the handhelds to alert us if there’s a problem, although I’ve got a hunch if one of her attackers from Galena showed up that would change.
October 1st
Just waiting to harvest the fall garden, squash, beets, spinach, broccoli, kale, Brussel sprouts, and yeah, turnips.
In the meantime we’ve been cutting and splitting firewood. There are plenty of dead trees around to take down, but without chainsaws and splitters it’s a back breaking job by hand. Thank God Bill had brought a two man crosscut saw, my little bow saws would have been nearly useless on anything over one foot diameter. They’re great for limbing though. When we fell a tree we cut it into 20” rounds, load the round into a wheelbarrow, and push it out to the road and load it on the trailer. This winter we won’t have anyone living in the barn, so we’ll just need three cords for the fireplace insert in the house, but we’ll stack five just in case.
The big house on the hill doesn’t even have a fireplace
Yesterday we heard a lot of gunfire from across the river, could have been a couple miles away or better, maybe 200 rounds altogether. We have no idea who’s over there, although Bill thinks it may be near the Jemmison place. He says they’re big family with three houses on their place. I guess we shouldn’t be surprised, even in good times bad people do bad things. We’ve been getting a little too comfortable of late with our security, but we’re back on edge now.
October 17th
It was the Jemmison’s place alright. It seems the Sheriff came out with some trailers and men to collect their property taxes in beef. Nobody really knows who fired first, but the Jemmisons kept their cattle, and we’ve got a new Sheriff. The County Commissioners want them arrested, but from what we hear nobody’s volunteering.
We’re getting pretty threadbare these days, even after scavenging abandoned houses everyone is looking awful ragged. Years ago we bought a treadle sewing machine, a White, an early 1900’s competitor to Singer. We had it reconditioned, then I refinished it, and it sat unused in our living room as a lamp stand thereafter. It didn’t take a lot to learn how to use it, but there was some cussing involved. The gals have been cutting open blue jeans and sewing light weight blanket strips in them for winter. Last winter we were having to wear two pairs of unlined jeans on guard duty.
It doesn’t seem getting electricity back on outside of Springfield is a big priority, too many blown transformers between here and there I guess. Our candles are history, and the original 20 gallons of kerosene is down to a little over a gallon. We should have been making candles from the butchered cattle and sheep, I don’t know why we didn’t, but that’s going to be the next project/experiment when we process a beef next week.
In the meantime, we’re eating high on the hog, literally. Someone’s Potbelly pig has been running feral apparently for some time. How it’s survived this long is anyone’s guess. I’m thinking it was someone’s pet, and when they couldn’t take care of it let it loose, like all the feral dogs that plagued us the first few months. Well, it wasn’t our pet. Barry spotted it in the tree line, and dropped it with one shot. It probably only weighed 65 pounds, but what a welcome break from beef & beans.
We’ve talked several times about building a smokehouse, but for several reasons haven’t done so. At first the reason was the aroma it would put off, hungry people would come running, also we had enough jars to can the meat. But the main reason though was the lack of permanent teeth among some of us. Dried meat, I think the Indians called it pemmican, with loose dentures would be nearly impossible to eat, even if boiled first.
November 25th, Thanksgiving
The Blessing was a long one. First we thanked the Lord for our survival, then for the good friends and family present, and for letting us have Bob & Connie with us for as long as they were. We thanked Him for the bounty of the gardens, and the continued good health of the animals. We asked His help in continuing on in safety, and for bringing the children to us. We also thanked Him for the geese He’d sent us the day before, what perfect timing. I’d written it for my wife to read, grown men aren’t supposed to cry.
It’s cold an raining outside, but we know we’re blessed.
March 1st
We lost Bill today. The bull he’d had for seven years, even led around with a halter, turned on him. Pinned him to the ground and crushed his chest. There was nothing to be done. We all know not to turn our backs on an intact male, even rams, but Rufus was nearly a pet. Bill was a lot of things to us, husband to Donna, brother, uncle, cousin to most, and dear friend to me. He was handy as pockets on a shirt, knew seemingly everything about animals, and a good listener when you’re down. We laid him to rest along side his brother, hardest hole I’ve ever dug.
We need the animal, so revenge would be wasteful, but nobody will be going near him again.
June 14th
Finished the house, such as it is, for Donna and the kids. We’d torn apart a couple abandoned houses for the materials, pulled and straightened the nails, and ran a water line from our valve box. It’s about 40’ away from our house, so within our security perimeter. We were able to scavenge a wood stove and pipe, and reuse some insulation, so it’ll be snug and warm come winter. The shingles were the hardest part, having to pry each piece loose from the nails without fracturing the entire sheet, then pulling the nails. Just 3 rooms, not pretty, but it’s home.
Last week we were able to barter a motorcycle for 30 gallons of questionable gasoline. I added the last of the Pri-G stabilizer to it, let it sit a day, and tried it in the tiller. It runs, but doesn’t have near the power it would with good gas. The guy didn’t ask where we got the motorcycle, and I didn’t ask where he got the gas.
The gardens are doing well, ever since we first plowed the big one we’ve been hauling wheelbarrows of manure from the cow pasture, that, and the rabbit droppings have really helped the soil. Barring any weather catastrophes we’ll eat well next winter.
We look at the cattle as stored wealth. We were able to barter a couple of last year’s calves at the market in Ozark for salt, sugar, and wheat. Funny how some people come up with 50# bags of wheat and 25 # bags of sugar. I guess it’s just a coincidence, but they’re all marked USAID.
September 20th
The lights are on in Highlandville! Nobody can tell us when we’ll have power on down here, but the progress is promising just the same.
The government says it’s reestablished the dollar, this time backed by gold. Nobody trusts it, or them. The broadcasts on the emergency channel are all sunshine & lollipops, progress everywhere, but we’ve heard the same stuff for so long nobody believes it.
At first they said it was N Korea than put out our lights, then they said Iran. I’d imagine those places are glowing in the dark. Who knows? I’m betting if they’d blamed the Russians or Chinese we’d all be dust by now. It doesn’t really matter to us, we’ve got 12 mouths to feed, work to be done, and nobody to depend on but ourselves.
December 8th
I’m thinking this will be my last journal entry. Last couple months I’ve been coughing a lot, short of breath, and my legs ache something terrible just walking to the barn. No biggie. I’ve always figured I’ve been playing with the house’s money since Nov 14th, 1965. I guess it’s time to break even.
We got the power on last month. The crews were going to bypass anyone who wasn’t right up on the road on their way to Galena, but my charming personality, plus two ounces of gold coins, encouraged them to come our way.
We “jerry rigged” a TV antennae so we could watch the government pat themselves on their backs constantly for bringing us all through the mess. Who knew the government had a sense of humor?
Commerce is starting to come back, but in varied ways. Some people want nothing but old coins or small denomination gold, others will take dollars (must be liberals) believing there’s still gold at Ft Knox. Barter is the easiest way of doing business if you’ve got food to trade, and thank the Lord we’ve been blessed with bountiful gardens and fertile animals. We’ve even gone to eating three meals a day.
We were worried about Donna after Bill died, and she took it hard, but she’s adopted the kids and has a new purpose in living. They adore her, treating her like a grandmother queen. All the rest of the folks are well into the routine, but looking forward to building their own houses here on the place.
We hear there are still some bad people out and around, but they’ve left us alone. There’s something to be said for having the reputation of “that crazy old man at the end of the road”.
