Jim expertly used chopsticks to mop up the last of the soy sauce from a tiny bowl with his remaining Nori roll. “That was superb, Allex, and a great way to celebrate the refilling of Lake Superior!”
“I just hope that in thirty years someone remembers about the river,” I commented.
“What do you mean?” Tom asked.
“The St. Mary’s River was the main regulating drain for Superior spilling over into Lake Huron, and it was completely blocked during the earthquake in December. The Whitefish River was a secondary outlet. If it stays dammed, Superior will over fill, flooding out anyone who still lives on the shore, like Moose Creek.”
CHAPTER 32
June 12
“It took some time, Mom, but we did find the right stove,” Jason said excitedly.
He and Eric emerged from the big pickup truck Eric had parked down by the doors to the walk-out basement.
“The really tough part was getting enough copper pipe and fittings. Too bad the gas can’t travel in PVC pipe, we found plenty of that,” Eric said. “And yes, Mom, we made note of where that supply is.” He grinned, knowing I would ask. They wheeled the hand-truck carrying the new stove into the enclosed lower deck, and then into the house.
“I’m going to have to turn the gas off at the tank to sweat these pipes, Mom, just so you know… in case you want to do something else,” Jason said.
“It’s such a nice day I think I’ll work in the garden. Let me know if you need anything,” I replied. The weather had taken a nice turn with seventy degree days and muted sunshine. The sunshine was always muted or muddy these days.
*
As I loosened the dirt and pulled weeds, dropping them into the waiting basket that would go to the new compost pile, it gave me plenty of time to reflect and think. I knew I was very concerned about the coming winter and our food supply. I feared we would lose even more people to starvation, and there was nothing I could do about it. The more I thought, the more I was reminded of the Survival Creed I learned so many years ago: “The well prepared are under no obligation to endanger their own survival to assist those who have refused, for whatever reasons, to provide for their own welfare.” I tried to remember this every time I got the urge to give away some of our food. I couldn’t feed everyone. I couldn’t save everyone. I just couldn’t.
What could I do to help the people who now lived in Moose Creek to help themselves?
I finished the weeding and cultivating quickly, then headed down to the shore of Lake Meade. The water was very still, reflecting the pale blue sky like a glass mirror. I could see reflections of trees and houses around the lake in the silent water. I followed the shore, becoming more and more interested in the transformation of the houses. Once home to the wealthier of Moose Creek, with multiple boats tied to expensive docks and pristine trimmed lawns of evenly cut deep green, the long yards were now churned up and growing vegetables. I waved to the people working these gardens and smiled when they waved back. The house that caught my attention though, had no one working the ground, no toys on the porch, no bicycles leaning against the door. And that house was next to the one I shared with Tom and Jim. No one lived there anymore.
The closer I got to the house, the closer I got to an idea. This vacant building, with all its huge glass windows that faced the usually sunny lake, could be turned into a living greenhouse that could provide food during the cold winter months that were sure to come.
I turned the doorknob and let myself in. I had issued this place to a woman and her husband, along with her adult daughter and her husband; they had wanted to stay together and had wanted a large garden. They had all perished in the flu epidemic. I walked through the quiet house slowly, never having been inside before. The floor to ceiling glass walls could be used as passive solar heating and if we put in well-spaced shelves there would be a great deal of growing area.
The kitchen was massive, with lots of counter space and a large work island: a cook’s kitchen. It would be ideal for processing and canning. The large, six burner gas stove made my decision easy. We could turn this house into a food processing center for the entire community to use. I could see us holding classes for those that were unfamiliar with the art of canning. It was a good thing Harold decided to stay, as I certainly couldn’t do it all myself.
I wandered down to the basement level. That it wasn’t a walk-out was a bonus. Half buried and concrete, it would hold the temperature of the ground plus be spared the icy winds that were sure to arrive in a few months. We could install bins and boxes of soil for those crops that needed that storage method like carrots and beets. I could visualize shelves of wire to hold potatoes; hooks to hang cabbages and onions from...
This could work.
CHAPTER 33
June 15
“Are you trying to keep us busy, Mom?” Jason lamented when I told him of our latest project.
“Is that a bad thing?” I asked. “Besides, I think this is just as important as having a gas stove for the winter, maybe even more. Walk with me, Jason.” Eric had stayed home to tend his own garden, knowing that Jason would be making most of the technical decisions anyway.
I asked Harold to meet us at the house since this would be more his project than mine. I talked with Tom and Jim about how Harold could earn his keep during the winter, and they had agreed.
We entered the quiet house through the back door. Harold was waiting for us in the kitchen. The house had an eerie silence that I could almost taste as Jason and Harold wandered the house on their own while I waited in the massive kitchen.
“Nice house,” Jason said when he found me standing by the large windows. “Tell me again what your thoughts are.” Harold waited silently.
“The kitchen is perfect as it is. The only drawback is the stove is new and has an electronic ignition, which means we can light the burners manually, but not the oven. Baking would have to be adjusted to the five hours of power time; not a big deal. There is more than enough cabinet and counter space for storing jars and the canners.
“These windows let in a lot of light that I want to utilize for growing things during the winter. We’ll need shelves for that, which is where you come in. Floor to ceiling would be my preference, though the top shelf might be too high, so could be for storage only. The shelves need to be well spaced so the available sunlight will reach all the plants, and I’m thinking no more than two feet deep. Covering all these windows will still give us plenty of shelves, which I think should be made of wire to allow ventilation, evaporation and more sunlight.
“The very bottom shelf can be wood for stability and will house the earth-boxes I found in the barn. Those are filled with water and will be quite heavy. The boxes for the upper shelves will vary, and mostly will be shallow for growing beans, greens, shallow rooted things. I can also see flats of starter plants.” I turned back to them. “Harold, do you have any thoughts or suggestions to add? This will be mostly your project.”
“Where are we getting the equipment from?” he asked.
“Some of it will be my private stock, although I thought we could approach it the same way we did the bicycles: ask everyone to check their basements and garages,” I answered. “Especially for jars, my supply of that is very limited and already in use.”
“And all this furniture,” Harold swept his arm toward the couches and tables that took up space in the open living room. “What are we going to do with it?”
“This is a four bedroom ranch. I think we can take down some of the beds to make room for moving the unnecessary items,” I responded. “Much will have to go anyway when the wood burner is installed. There won’t be any other way to keep the place warm during the winter. I’ve already arranged with Earl to do that since it’s his unit.”
“So do you want this going all winter?” Harold asked.
“That’s my intension, yes,” I answered. “Only if you decide to stay and to live in this house.” He raised his eyebrows in question. “Someone has to keep the fire goin
g or all the plants would freeze no matter how good the sunlight is.”
“Shelves are no problem, Mom. I can get a couple of guys from town to move the furniture once Harold decides which room he wants to keep as his own. Is there anything else?” Jason asked.
“There is the basement that I think would make a good root cellar, though we first need to know what kind of vegetables we’ll be storing. Regardless, we’ll need hooks to hang things from and wire shelves for storage, maybe a couple of bins with sand for root crops.”
June 25
Joshua had been bringing Emilee to school for a couple of weeks now using the extra four-wheeler.It was charming to see how he waited for her to get inside the doors before he left for the office and his time on the ham radio. As arranged, at three o’clock when school let out, Emi took her turn manning the radio until someone arrived to take her home.
“I’m really glad you suggested this arrangement, Allex,” Tom confided in me. “Joshua has an engaging personality when he’s on the mike, and we’re getting a great deal of information through him.”
“Anything useful?” I asked.
“Not anything pertinent to us, but it’s been good to hear what’s going on elsewhere. There’s yet another bridge that’s been replaced over the New Madrid crack, and traffic has increased. Those on the east side of the fault line aren’t happy about the extra population though.”
Joshua burst into the office with a sheet of paper and handed it to Tom. He read it quickly and turned to me.
“The president has died, Allex,” Tom said, stunned. “An apparent heart attack. With the VP already missing and presumed lost, that leaves the Speaker of the House as president.”
“Disturbing news to say the least. Still, I don’t see how that will affect us here,” I replied. “We are a forgotten piece of real estate, and for the most part that’s not such a bad thing, in my opinion.”
CHAPTER 34
July 1
“Have you been out to the water marker lately?” Jim asked Tom over our evening cocktail. “The water is continuing to rise.”
“How far has it come up?” I asked. “We set that marker less than a month ago.”
“It’s up to the six inch mark.”
“Wow, it’s rising quickly,” Tom said.
“That would be six feet a year,” I said after some mental calculations. “It would still take over a decade to refill the lake at that rate, so I don’t think there is much to worry about. I just hope the increase in water doesn’t affect our weather.”
July 2
Tom decided the town needed a break. Everyone was working long hours in the community garden, their private gardens, or stacking wood for the winter.
“I think we can forego a parade, however, I think a community picnic for the Fourth of July would be a nice celebration,” he said. “I know Marsha just received another deer from Art Collins. Wouldn’t it be nice to have grilled burgers for a change?”
July 4
The township park, with playground equipment for the children and a shelter with picnic tables for the adults, took on a festive air with streamers and pinwheels everywhere. I found a couple of bins in the big barn filled with all types of red, white, and blue decorations and nearly everyone came out to help decorate.
Marsha had ground up the venison to make burgers for grilling, and several of the women helped her make buns. There was a gallon container of catsup, one of mustard, and one of dill pickle slices, that she told me privately she had hidden for a special occasion.
“I knew that one day we would have a celebration worthy of something normal. This is it!”
Father Constantine led the town folk in the Lord’s Prayer, followed by a very short sermon. He was getting well known for his brevity in the pulpit.
*
Jim and I strolled through the baseball field. I could almost hear voices coming from beneath my feet, reminding me to be careful where I stepped. I knelt down and cleared the sand from the only grave marker, the flat one that I placed there for Bob and Kathy. It had been less than a year, yet it felt so much longer that they’d been gone.
JOURNAL ENTRY: July 14
With having lost so many people, and so many children, to the flu, birthdays are celebrated with gusto. Today Jacob turns eleven. School is running all summer, so Jacob gets to celebrate with his new friends.
Marsha has taken on baking cupcakes when a child has a birthday and delivers them to the school at lunch, which was nice. I dug a couple of potatoes out of the compost in my greenhouse yesterday, and I’m going to make him a big batch of French fries for lunch. I think he’ll like that better than a gift.
~~~
July 19
“Mom, you know what today is, don’t you?” Eric asked when he found me working in the raised bed garden.
“Do you think I could forget that my only granddaughter is now a teenager??” I laughed. Jacob and Emilee were two years apart in age, and five days apart in birthdays.
“Can I ask what you’re giving her?”
“No, it will be a surprise for you too.”
I had thought long and hard about what to give Emilee that would be appropriate for a young lady in this new world of ours. I found it behind the township hall, and with Tom’s approval, I cleaned it up and had it readied by Earl Tyler.
*
All of us showed up at the school for the now traditional lunch cupcakes, to help celebrate Emi’s thirteenth birthday. She had grown into a beautiful young lady and had matured way too fast, though that was expected these days. This was a true milestone for the town.
Eric and Rayn “purchased” a leather satchel from Art Collins that was similar to mine, though a bit smaller, as their gift, and Emilee was overjoyed with it. Everyone turned to me, especially an expectant Emi.
“I bet you’re waiting for my gift, aren’t you?” I said to my granddaughter. She solemnly nodded. “We will have to take a walk outside for it.” The entire school poured out the doors behind Emilee when she spotted her very own new, metallic purple, four-wheeler that was parked at the curb. She was speechless. She turned to me with tears in her eyes and wrapped her thin arms around my neck in a fierce hug. Then of course she bolted to the curb to sit on her new ride.
*
“Mom, I’m not sure about this,” Eric said. “Those things can go really fast!”
“Not this one,” I assured him. “I had Earl fit it with a governor. She can’t go more than twenty-five miles per hour. Once she has proven herself on it, he can remove it, but only at your request.”
Eric grinned. “I can deal with that.” He watched his daughter for a moment. “Did we grow up this fast?”
“All children grow up faster than their parents want them to, Eric. You and Jason were no exception.”
JOURNAL ENTRY: July 20
Even with muted and darkened skies, the weather has turned pleasantly warm, and the town has settled into a productive routine. Everyone works their share in Bradley’s Backyard, sometimes even if they have their own garden to tend, which most of them do. In part, I think, it’s something to do, and partly to socialize.
With the lack of instant communication, no one is supposed to venture anywhere alone. Small groups go out fishing, mostly on Lake Meade. When there is a reasonable catch, the excess is turned over to Marsha to dole out during meals.
Tom spends fewer and fewer hours at the office, and since that one altercation, Jim’s security team has little to do except patrol. Occasionally all they do is help someone move or lift something heavy. The security team has a good reputation in town. Often I see people riding the streets with their bicycles, and for a while it was difficult to spot the security guards, until someone came up with the idea of putting a rod with a red, white, and blue mini-flag attached to the back. Now they are easy to find.
With Ken and Karen in the house down the lake, they are now back leisurely patrolling the town too.
Life has taken on a blissfully boring air.
>
~~~
July 21
It was mostly a peaceful afternoon, with high, dark clouds and a soft breeze. The dim daylight was now a constant companion. The colonel, Tom, Eric, Perky, and myself were in the office discussing the duty schedule, while Emi sat on the ham chatting.
“DAD!” Emi screamed from the other room.
We all ran into the small office that was once the township treasurer’s space and now was home to our communication to the world. Eric reached her first.
“What’s wrong, Emi?” he asked, panic lacing his voice.
She turned to face him, setting down the radio earmuffs. “It’s Mom.”
Eric took the mike reluctantly. “Beth?” Emi reached over and pulled the plug on the muffs so we could all hear.
“Oh, Eric it is so good to hear your voice. I’ve been trying to get in touch with you through military channels but my messages have never gotten through,” Emilee’s mother said. The relief in her voice was obvious.
The Journal: Raging Tide: (The Journal Book 4) Page 25
