As I quietly get to the kitchen and methodically begin to make coffee, I ponder the day before. I fell asleep exhausted, on the couch in the old farmhouse. I awoke in my own bed. I smile at the thought of how I got there, how blessed I am to have such great kids. I set the percolator on a high heat, and my mind starts to wander about what we have, and how long it will last. How long will the propane tank last? It's half empty I'm sure. Where can we get a replacement? What do we do when there is no more propane? Can we convert this stove to a wood stove?
The rooster crows again. I see the first peeks of dawn come over the ridge. The sight is beautiful; the deep pinks, the dark purples, and the vibrant oranges spreading across the eastern sky. No man can paint such a beautiful scene. I do some kitchen clean up as the coffee begins to percolate. After pouring a cup for myself, I pour the rest of the coffee into a thermos carafe, and walk out to the eastward facing porch.
I sit down and enjoy my fresh cup of coffee, lighting up a cigarette, enjoying the nicotine jolt. My mind wants to wander to things I should worry about. I refuse to go there, willing my mind to enjoy the moment of peace. The sky lightens to shades of dark blue and brilliant oranges. A hoot owl is heard in the distance, giving his last call of the night. A steer moos lowly as the tit mouses and chickadees get active at the bird feeder. Not to be outdone, two blue jays show up and begin fighting and cawing over the few berries left on the elderberry tree. It is a good morning at the farmstead, I smile.
I take a few moments to pray. To thank God for helping us to get to where we are, to pray for those in distress, to pray for my family who arr not here, to pray for those who would bring evil upon this land, that He may change their hearts,. To pray that God will guide us in the days to come.
A loud shrill shriek in the distance disturbs my time with God. I look about, recalling the noise: a bobcat or coyote, getting a kill, a rabbit looking for a tender green shoot is now food for a higher predator. The circle of life continues in nature, even when man's world has been turned upside down.
I hear the clanking of a coffee mug, and the shuffling of feet. Linc soon appears at the door. He comes out and joins me on the porch.
"Good morning," I say quietly. "Early riser?" I ask.
"Good morning to you, and no, not usually. But, I went to bed shortly after sunset, so I guess the new normal is to get up at sunrise," he responds.
"Well, if you look right over there, between those two big willows down by the pond, you will see the sun rise over the ridge in just a few minutes. So technically, you woke up at dawn, not sunrise. But I'll give a city slicker like you a break." I turn and smile at him. He nods and smiles back.
We sit quietly on the porch for several minutes. But nature is not quiet. The blue jays continue their bickering, several pairs of cardinals sing their distinctive chirp as they warily make their way to the bird feeder. The ducks have begun to get noisy, and the hens are starting to cluck. Several more low moos come from the pasture as the steers begin foraging.
The sounds of a normal morning in the country surround us. I see a smile emerge on Linc's face. Too quickly it is replaced by sternness. "I can't believe I'm sitting here watching the sun rise, and actually enjoying it, but then I think of the chaos we saw. Two days ago we gunned down five people to save our lives. Now I'm sitting here, five hundred miles from home, and I feel like I am at home. I'm sorry, Mark, but I can't put my arms around it."
"If it's any consolation, Linc, I can’t either. One moment, I am praising the Lord for all his blessings, the next moment I am praying that He will touch the hearts of those who want to kill us. And right now, with these meth head savages running around, there is a lot of killing going on. Yet, I pray for those doing the killing. That they may turn from the path they are on. And I know chaos is overtaking the entire country, if not the entire world. Yet we sit here and enjoy the beauty of this place that God has blessed us with and plan to not only survive but thrive, and to also help others survive, and thrive too.
"Linc, its all part of a plan. Not necessarily my plan, nor my family's plan, but God's plan.
I don't know why these attacks occurred. I don’t know why God is allowing chaos, and anarchy to consume this country. Maybe it's part of some great reset, a test of the faithful through which we will all emerge stronger and better people, a kinder and more loving people, a harder working more self reliant people. Heck, Linc, when this all started, I thought it was going to be the Rapture, when God calls those who believe in him home. But we're all still here, struggling to make sense of it, struggling to survive. I can't make any sense of it, but I have to trust in God, he has a plan."
"You have great faith in God," Linc says. "I see it in your actions, I hear it in your words. You're not the hypocrite that many of my Christian friends sometimes seem to be. You smoke, and you have shared your bourbon with me, which some would say makes you a sinner, and therefore a hypocrite. But you have a peace in your heart that I can't fathom.
'You go out of your way to help people, setting out cases of water on the road for strangers, trying to talk peace with the bandits on the road, offering rides to strangers, helping the town folk work things out. I know there is a violence in you to protect your family from harm, but that is held deep down. You show kindness, and respect, even love to total strangers. I hope someday to have that same peace you have, that love for God and for my fellow man: a true sense of why God put me here, that great sense of purpose that I see in you." He pauses and sips his coffee. "I'm sorry, Mark, I didn't mean to ramble on like this, but I think I will enjoy having coffee in the morning with you." We sit together quietly for a few moments. "I need to go check on Kim." He states. Before I can respond, he heads back in the house.
Here is a man I need to reach out to. I need to find the right words, the guidance he needs to build a stronger relationship with God. I say a short prayer that God will give me those words.
As the farmyard sounds grow louder, I rise to make sure people are getting up to take care of the chores. Becca begins to start making bacon and eggs for breakfast as I head up to the old farmhouse to see how things are up there. Ken and Larson are sitting watch on the front porch, Ken watching the sunrise while still keeping an eye on the lane, Larson watching the laptop display of our remote cameras. I have the next watch with Blake. Ken goes to roust him, and he soon joins me, a bit grumpy, and sleepy-eyed. Larson and Ken head off for some breakfast with the rest of the household.
An hour later, Becca shows up with two plates of cold eggs and some bacon. We both hungrily chow it down. Becca and I discuss what needs to be done for the day. We have an abundance of tomatoes that need to be stewed and canned. Same with the green beans and sweet corn, all of which needs blanched and canned. This will keep the women and kids busy all day. The camera system is good, but I want a better roadblock on the lane, in front of the old farmhouse, at the property line. I also tell her of another project I want to get started. I get glares from her on this project. She says I need to talk to the kids first, meaning our adult children. She doesn't want them thinking they are living in a fortress. We agree that we need to talk it over with Ken, Britt and Janie before I start this new project.
Everyone gets about their chores as the day moves on. We tow my 2012 Dodge up and place it across the opening in the fence at the property line. We rig up a quick tow system with the lawn tractor so it can be moved easily, if needed. Beyond the fence is my neighbors leased cornfield, which the farmer, Thad, also maintains. The cornfield helps keep us hidden, but can also hide anyone encroaching on the farmstead. We decide that it must be harvested, and that we need to talk with Thad about getting that done soon, and maybe trading for the crops to help feed our livestock. We have an agreement with Thad that we get enough corn from our acreage to feed our beef cows, and two pigs, but since we want to expand our livestock, we will need more feed.
I have Rusty and Janie walk with me to the neighbor's house. It has been lifeless for three days, but we feel we shou
ld check in, before we proceed with our plan. Our neighbors are empty nesters. He is in consulting and is often in DC or other cities, and she is a nurse at Windber Hospital. The house is still dark. No one answers after repeated knocking at the doors. We say a brief prayer, that the Lord will protect them. We decide to have Thad harvest the corn as soon as he can.
When we get back to the old farmhouse, lunch is being served. We have bread for tuna sandwiches, Britt made two loaves of bread from scratch. After we have eaten, I pull Britt, Ken, and Janie aside with Becca. I share my concerns with them that if some meth heads decide to roll down the lane, and shoot up the house, we could be devastated. A few years back, my brother John found a pallet of military grade sandbags for cheap, and had them shipped here. My proposal is to start filling those sandbags, and fortifying the front wall of the farmhouse. I refrain from using the phrase fighting positions, but the idea has been put forward. The initial goal would be to secure the areas around the front facing windows, so that we could fire at anyone coming down the road from a safe position. I also stress that this will make anyone in those rooms mainly them, and their children, more secure if we get assaulted. The conversation that follows goes in favor of fortifying the farmhouse, and any place else that needs to be made secure. I am surprised, and so is Becca. But what we are doing will make everyone safer, and we all have seen the savages’ ability to attack ruthlessly.
The sandbag project begins almost immediately. Britt and Janie both want to be involved because it is their living space that is being protected, their families that are being made more secure. That leaves Becca and Kim with the kids and the canning.
The biggest problem with this project is sand; we don’t have any. We have a short term solution to the problem; our ever-present pile of 2A limestone gravel. That’s a large pile of gravel that we always keep on hand for road repairs and other uses.
We set the older boys to filling sand bags, and hook up the bike trailer to the older tractor for hauling the filled bags up to the farmhouse. Ken, Britt, and Janie take charge of placing the sandbags. Linc and I begin to search for a good substitute once the gravel is gone.
We put the field dirt as a backup plan. It is very close to the farmhouse, but not a good option. We choose to go down by the stream on the lower edge of the property. Here we locate good sand and gravel, as I expected, and as Linc said we would. But it is far away from where we need it.
We head back up to the barn to fire up the Kubota. It is an older model with all hydraulic controls and a simple diesel engine, no electronics. As we head up to the barn I find out Linc can run the machine, and I gladly delegate that job to him. He takes the tracked backhoe down the pasture road to the closet point to the stream. I follow in the old John Deere with the front end bucket. From the end of the trail, it takes Linc about fifteen minutes to move some small trees and brush to get to where a good riffle empties into a pool, about twenty yards long, and fifteen feet wide. It is one of my favorite trout holes.
As we decide where best to situate the machines, and drop the sand, we talk about all the permits we would need to do this five days ago. The environmental impact studies, creating a system to divert the water around our dig site, the run off filters and the inspections. We laugh as we both concur that our request to dig gravel from the stream would have been denied after two years litigation, and thousands of dollars in fees.
I wait as he digs out a couple of scoops, just where the riffle ends. It is good pebbly sand. There are some bigger rocks, but most of it will work just fine. I give him my com set and leave him to his task.
It is mid-afternoon, and the skies are clouding over. It has been hot and dry for several days but I feel the humidity rising. I can tell we'll be in for a good storm in a few hours. Looking to the west, thick dark clouds are showing the signs of a storm front approaching.
I check on the ladies, and they are starting to wrap up the last batch of canned tomatoes for the day. Then they are going to clean up, and get ready to make dinner. Becca brings up that she doesn't think we should can as much corn or beans, maybe a few other vegetables as well. We should use most of them for seed. That way we will have enough seed set aside for planting next year's crops, and be able to give away or trade seeds as well. We both agree that we need to help people get their own crops going next year. She points out that we should have plenty of food from our storeroom for this year, but our ability to grow more, everyone's ability to grow more, needs to be the priority. I agree with her, but we need to get the inventory going. She says she'll get started on that with Ken and Janie as soon as the “damned sandbag project'” is done. I know it disturbs her to think that we need that kind of protection; that her kids, and grandkids need to sleep in a fortified house. But I also know she understands the need.
Up at the farmhouse I find the entire crew resting in the shade of the porch, drinking water, and trying to cool off. "What, are we all getting ready for a game of spades?" I ask jokingly, as I look around.
"We've been working our butts off, Pap," responds Larson as he throws a sweat soaked t-shirt my way.
"I can see that!" They have stacked sandbags eight feet along each side of the porch stairs to the top of the railing, forty two inches high. That’s over fifty sandbags. It looks good, well stacked with a perpendicular wall started at the steps and at about six feet from the steps on each side.
As I am surveying the progress, Janie chimes in. "There's more than that upstairs. You should go take a look." I head inside. Grace is sitting on the couch talking to Linc on the com, and watching the camera display. "Hi, Pap!" He says brightly.
"Feeling better I see. You got clearance from your mom for this duty?"
"I nagged her till she let me. I'm good, the arm is feeling better, and no redness so it's okay," he responds. "I gotta keep an eye on these cameras, and make sure Linc is okay, Pap." He says, dismissing me so that he can attend to his duties. I shake my head, smiling at his composure and fortitude.
Upstairs the women have the bags stacked ten feet along the front wall and six feet along the side wall in both front bedrooms, three feet high. The obvious intent is to protect anyone sleeping in the beds, but one front window in each room is protected. And soon, the side windows and the other front windows will be protected, too.
"You all filled and moved about two hundred sandbags! That's impressive!" I exclaim as I walk back out to the front porch. "But that's got to be putting us close to being out of gravel."
Ken points at the trailer with maybe a ton of gravel on it. "That’s the last of the gravel there, about fifty more sandbags. We're going to use them all upstairs."
"I'm good with that. I'm glad you fortified the porch positions. And the rooms upstairs look good, too. Linc is digging good gravel and sand out of the creek, but it may take a day or two to get it moved up here. But what you all got done, that's a good start, it's more than a good start. Now, I hate to say this, but you need to rehearse with the young ones in getting out of bed and getting into the safe areas. You all need to do it too, so you know who can help defend the house, and how much room you have to move around."
That comment gets nods from all of them, but a bit of a glare from Britt. It's the same look I get from Becca when I say something that she doesn't like. "Ken, you see any structural issues with all this extra weight?"
"I'm a little concerned, but with this old chestnut framing, it's really not an issue. That old wood gets as hard and strong as steel. I don’t think we have to worry about it." He looks to the west, to the coming front. "I'm more worried abou that right now we're going to get rained on pretty good in an hour or two. We're going to finish up with the gravel we got, then start to wrap things up."
"Sounds good to me. Then we should do a few quick drills, so everyone knows where to go if these meth heads come rolling in here. Ya'll done a great job, especially you boys," I say, looking at the three teens on the porch. "Wasn't this a lot more fun than playing Halo3 all afternoon?"
I
get heckled and booed as I walk down the steps and out the drive to look at the house from our driveway. It looks good. Because of the railings, the porchsand bags are hardly noticed. Everything else looks like a normal old farmhouse.
Two hours later we are back at the new house; spread out from the porch, through the great room, and into the kitchen. Kim and Becca are getting dinner together. Linc and Larson are standing guard at the farmhouse with Grace still manning the monitors and com system. The rest of us are in various states of relaxation after a hard day's work. The storm that had been threatening all day has finally broken, starting in spits with distant rumbles of thunder, and lightning flashing across the sky. I'm on the front porch with a few others. "These are God's fireworks," I comment, as I take a sip of one of the few beers left. A loud rumbling thunderclap follows the lightning bolt, as the rain begins to come down in sheets.
"What's that ringing I hear?" asks Blake. We all freeze. The school bell is ringing, loud and constant. We have visitors, unknown visitors. There is panic, and confusion. Ken has already grabbed his AR15, and is sprinting towards the farmhouse.
I look around for my weapon. Leaning next to the front door, I think. And there it is. I holler into the house. "The alarm is ringing! You all stay here, we're going to check it out." I see Janie has already grabbed her weapon, and is heading out the door. I run with her towards the farmhouse and the clanging bell.
Chapter 30Day 4 Herc to Central City, September 14, 2018
Herc is awake as the sun comes up. Leesa and John Jr. are sleeping on the adjoining cot. He ponders what has happened over the past few days. The long walk home, fighting the fires the next day, then losing his Mom and brother. Yesterday they had traveled here, to Benson Borough. He looks around, he has his weapons, and personal belongings with him, and his family. He is in a church basement with a few dozen other people. The people here have treated him well, he is happy to be safe, and with his family, what family he has left..
Righteous Gathering: Book 1 of the Righteous Survival EMP Saga Page 20
