The Journal: Cracked Earth

by Deborah D. Moore

  The second try was easier, having already broken the trail. I was extra cautious when I came to the disturbed area where I had fallen and stepped around the bed marker. I saw the fence and kept walking, only to be jerked to a halt. I had run out of rope. I removed the loop from my wrist, and slid it over the end of the first metal fence post. Following the ten feet of fencing was easy as the huge dark barn loomed over me, and I was once again thankful I had chosen dark brown siding instead of white. The sliding metal door groaned when I pushed it open and I stepped down into the gloom. I released the clips on my snowshoes, stepping out of them. The stress of the day caused my muscles to feel rubbery and they momentarily refused to work. Ignoring my fatigue, I used what little light there was to find my way to the shelf where I knew there was more rope. The laundry lines I had taken down a hundred years ago and checked off my winter prep list were right where I expected. These lines were much shorter, having been cut, but I didn’t need much, only enough to reach the other rope.

  After attaching it to the barn door handle, I stretched the new line over to the one hanging on the fence post and knotted them together, putting them both back up on the post, above the snow.

  Back in the house, John was running the dryer. He hadn’t yet showered.

  “That took you a long time. Get lost?” he grinned, and I knew he had been worried. His smile turned to a grimace when I told him what happened.

  “It’s done now and there’s no reason for us to go back out in this storm. Well, except to turn the gennie off, and I doubt either of us could lose our way on the deck,” I tried hard to keep it light, but those few moments of being blinded by the snow, not knowing which way to go, really scared me. “I’ll fold those clothes while you shower. Take whatever time you want, it’ll be a few days before the next one!” I kissed his bald head and got the basket of clothes to fold.

  * * *

  “Oh, that really felt good,” John said when he came out of the bathroom in clean clothes, freshly shaved too.

  “Look what I found.” I pulled out the package Jason had given me, “Tenderloin steaks!” It had been quite a while since we’d had fresh meat. Canned meat was fine, but not really the same. “I’m thinking mushroom gravy on basmati rice with the steaks. Does that appeal to you?” I grinned, knowing it would indeed be a hit.

  I showered and washed my hair, taking my time, letting the hot water cascade down my back. Oh, how I missed the hot tub. To submerge myself in steamy water was now a distant memory, such an unreachable luxury. I wonder if I will ever have it running again. The thought saddened me, but over the past several months I’d gotten very philosophical about this new life. We were alive, we had food, we had heat, we had family, and we had each other. I could and would accept this all willingly, and let the old life go. I toweled off and put on fresh clothes. The gennie could run another half hour to finish drying the heavier clothes that had been air-drying near the stove. It was now five P.M. and it looked much, much later. The snow has so effectively obscured the sun it’s hard to tell dusk from night.

  * * *

  With the generator off, it was so quiet. Quiet except for the howling winds outside; those 40-50mph gusts had arrived.

  The two oil lamps I set on the table cast a warm glow across our full plates. Another lamp was near the stove where the rest of the rice and gravy were staying warm, and a fourth lamp on the cook island, shining down the hallway.

  As we sat down, John set a bottle of wine in the center of the table.

  “Where did you find that?” I asked in a whisper, looking at the Earthquake label.

  “In the wine rack where I’m guessing you put it,” he said and opened it with a flourish. It was a great touch added to the meal. With soft light, the warmth of the stove, and the horrendous storm raging outside, it all made me feel cozy and secure. We toasted to getting done all we did without mishap.

  “I do need to ask something…”

  “What?” I prompted with a small smile.

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

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

  “Cow dung?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  JOURNAL ENTRY: March 9

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

  * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

  * * *

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

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

  * * *

  JOURNAL ENTRY: March 12

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

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

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

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

  * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  JOURNAL ENTRY: March 10

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

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

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

  * * *

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

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