Good Fences

by Boyd Craven III

  “I got a complaint that you are putting mobile homes in on your property and that you’re building fences without a permit.”

  “I’m what?” I asked.

  “I’m just here to field the complaint and write the report.”

  “A mobile home park?” Kristen asked.

  “A hunting blind,” I told her.

  “Damn,” Ken said, “I’ve got to stick around if it’s always this fun here.”

  8

  For the second time in three weeks, I led the cop around my property. I could have told him to go fly a kite or come back with a warrant, but I wanted to get this done and over with. I also wanted to move the pigs again and cut the tree down so Landry could see it. Instead I showed Officer Crabtree (no kidding!) the newly installed posts.

  “See, I’m not adding a new fence, I’m making it taller. That idiot’s son,” I pointed and the back of the Landry’s McMansion, “Fell off his bike and broke his ankle. He says he was just using my field for a shortcut to get to the state land back there, but I have no clue where he fell.”

  “So you’re just adding posts between posts to string the wire higher?” He asked.

  “Yes sir,” I said.

  “That Landry is really starting to piss me off,” the cop muttered. “What about the mobile home thing?”

  “I did buy one and it’s up the hill over there. I was going to camo it and use it as a hunting blind.”

  “Well, let’s go see,” he said and we walked up the hill, both of us annoyed at George.

  “You should have brought me out here before now,” Ken told Kristen, “All the fun shit happens around this guy,” he laughed and Kristen playfully swatted his arm.

  We walked for about ten minutes, getting the cop’s pretty blue uniform pants messy from the tall grass and mud, and he looked at the single wide and laughed.

  “What is it?” I asked him.

  “That’s perfect. He can’t say shit, even if he wanted to push the issue more,” the cop said and then coughed, “I mean, you still have both axels on it, and it’s got the tongue attached. As far as I’m concerned, that’s a camper/trailer. That can’t be more than forty feet.”

  “I didn’t measure it,” I said.

  “Tell you what, Mr. Cartwright. I’ve fielded three other complaints from that guy and this is the only one that seemed worth checking on, besides, I live at the sub and the end of the road. I’m off after this. I’ll write my report from home and I have the weekend off.” He grinned as we turned to walk back.

  “Well, your office might get one more call then.”

  “How’s that?” he asked me.

  “See that big pile of dirt and the wood and hay bales?”

  “Yeah? Your shooting stop, right?”

  “Yeah. Tomorrow we’re going to light up a ton of ammo.”

  “Nothing wrong with that,” he said, looking at the grins the three of us were now sporting.

  “I’ve got a .50 Cal Barret I’m going to sight in,” Ken said smiling broadly.

  “I’d like to see that,” Officer Crabtree said as I noticed his name tag finally.

  He was grinning broadly as he got it.

  “In fact, you mind if I come out here with a toy or two and ‘practice’,” he said using his fingers to air quote.

  “I don’t mind. Fun starts at noon. Bring your own beer but we’ll have food and a cookout later on.”

  “Good, that’ll put me here when that jackass tries to interrupt my weekend off. Of course they’ll call me, because I live right by you,” he smiled.

  This worked in my favor, especially as he seemed annoyed with Landry as well. It would be good to have the cop on my side and I regretted how I talked to him and the township cop in my frustration the last time.

  “I’ll see you then,” he said as we finally got to the gate.

  “Bring all you want tomorrow, I want it to sound like World War III,” I told the pair of them.

  “We going to cut that tree down tonight still?” Ken asked.

  “How about we just feed the critters and have a few beers? Lucy will be out of work later on.”

  “You really want to piss that Landry guy off, don’t you?” Ken said smiling.

  “Yeah, I kind of do. Did Kristen tell you..?” I said not wanting to have to tell it.

  “Yeah, no worries bud. I think the fact you didn’t kill the kid when he broke his ankle says a lot about you. You seem to be a pretty good guy.”

  “So, how did you meet Kristen?” I asked him, embarrassed and trying to change the subject.

  “Gun show, she talked me into buying a sweet AR Rig,” Ken said and I burst out laughing.

  Kristen looked a little put off, so I led them inside and opened my gun safe. I pulled out my new baby and held it up to him, so he could get a better look at it. Ken took it and worked the bolt, then held it up, pointing towards the ceiling to feel the balance.

  “Little heavier in the front than I’m used to, but you got a nice barrel on here. Chromed?” Ken asked me.

  “Yes,” Kristen said, “Some guy wanted an AR for prairie dog hunting. I put this one together myself. My cousin was pissed that I didn’t get a deposit when I started the build, but if Brian here hadn’t bought it,” Kristen pointed at me with a sour face, “I was going to give myself the family discount on it after the gun show. When I saw his eyes light up when he asked for a peculiar mix, I knew I’d have to build another one for myself.”

  I was still laughing but I had to know, “So you have a matching one yet?”

  “No, but come Monday I will.”

  Ken looked to me and then to the darkening sky outside.

  “You know, it’s supposed to rain tomorrow,” he said.

  “I had a job where I was wrong more than half the time like the weatherman does, I’d never have a worry in my life. Besides, I think we’re supposed to have a break about noon or so, then it picks back up in the afternoon. I won’t be putting much fence in this weekend,” I tried to sound disappointed, but it had been a rough week and I was already sore.

  “Yeah, after you worrying about it so much, I bet it hurts your feelings,” Ken grinned.

  I liked the guy. He was on the level and seemed to understand my dry sense of humor.

  * * *

  We shared some beers, though not as much as I’d had earlier in the week, and they headed home. I threw a little extra in for the chickens in their hanging feeder, and did one last check for eggs before checking on the goats and pigs. If it rained hard, most of the animals except for the pigs would head inside to get out of the weather. Just nature of the beast. Some of the pigs did too, but my big old sow loved the rain; she’d stay out in the pen until she was almost completely washed off.

  I headed to the bedroom, noticed I’d left the AR out, and took it with me, putting it on the dresser by the bed. I usually locked up everything but my Glock, which I slid into the drawer, but I was tired, worn out and feeling like I needed some sleep.

  My dreams that night were about what I was used to. Horrible memories. The crash, then the realization that Cathy was dead. Most times I woke up sweating, sometimes my eyes were wet.

  I woke up to my alarm blaring. I fumbled around until I found the button to smack. 4:30 am. I pulled myself out of bed and walked towards the kitchen and turned on the coffee pot. While that was percolating, I headed into the bathroom and took a quick shower.

  The dreams usually made it hard for me to pop up, and I usually needed several minutes to get my breathing under control, but not that morning. I chalked it up as a victory and washed the night sweat off myself. I was turning off the water when I heard my old coffeepot gurgle, the sound it made when the last of the water went through the filter. Dressing quickly, I grabbed my laptop for the twenty minutes of catch up time that I gave myself to caffeinate my bloodstream.

  The news was full of the Russian troops building up in Syria, and they confirmed that they had “technical advisers” in the country all ready. G
reat, another war. I checked out the far right wing stuff that MSNBC loved to demonize but I loved their slant. Fox, The Blaze and then The Drudge Report. I scrolled through with things quickly, only pausing to get more caffeine. The news was pretty bleak. Things were moving along at a scary rate in the world. China had devalued their currency, which had an effect on our stock market, which caused Europe’s stock market to have a bad week as well.

  I knew a little bit about the economy, but not enough to know the how’s and why’s. I did know the Chinese were the largest purchaser of our bonds, which was how the government was keeping our currency afloat, instead of printing more and more money. For all I knew, they were probably doing that as well but, like I said, I only knew the basics. I expected things to get real scary like they did back in 2008 when the housing market crashed and many people lost jobs.

  Thankfully I had a cushion I could use if something tragic were to happen to me or my job, but if the currency was no good, what good was it to have it sitting there in the bank, drawing 5/8s of a percent interest? I looked up the prices of gold and silver, something preppers always claim you can’t have too much of, and waited for the sun to come up. It finally did and I trudged outside to start my morning chores.

  The rooster was already crowing, and the girls were awake and softly clucking at me. I made sure their hanging feeder was topped off, and that the automatic waterer was working, before checking out the goats. Most of them were already outside so I dumped a couple scoops of sweet feed into the bin for them and checked on the pigs. I had to smile. My big old sow Ruby, who I expected to play in the rain, was inside the barn and laying on her side. Her breathing was a little labored. Like a dolt, I checked the calendar I had tacked on the wall and realized I’d forgotten something else as well.

  Ruby was due the next day. It looked like she was coming a day early, so I opened the gate to get into the inner pen quietly so I wouldn’t attract the others from rushing back inside. Pigs are smart, at least as much so as a dog, and I should have remembered to separate her last night but hadn’t. Too much too quick and my brain was scrambled.

  “Here, Ruby,” I said, walking up and rubbing her head between her ears the way she loved.

  She grunted, lifting her head to look at me. A pink face poked its head through the doorway to their outdoor enclosure, and I ran over to slide the inner door shut, leaving me alone with the big sow. Ruby was close to 450 pounds, and the one who I bred every heat. If there was ever an animal that was safe on the farm, it was her. All the rest could go to freezer camp for all I cared, but not Miss Ruby.

  “Come on girl, let’s get you into your own hotel room,” I said, rubbing her side, which was distended and swollen from her pregnancy.

  She grunted at me again, then rolled over and got her small feet underneath her and lifted herself up inelegantly. I opened the door and she followed me out. The holding pen and crate were the next stall over, but she wouldn’t go in there on her own. I ran to the far door and made sure it was closed, then got my secret weapon out that I kept on the bench: a handful of dried apple chips from Country Life. They weren’t hard or brittle, more like leathery. I found out by accident that the pigs loved them even more than the fresh ones.

  “Hey pretty lady, you want some of these?” I asked her.

  She used her snout to push my leg, almost knocking me over.

  “Hey now!” I said, dropping a few on the ground in front of her and walking to the farrowing crate.

  She grunted, ate the offered treat and waddled over to me, her eyes begging for more. I tossed them into the back of the pen and she walked in reluctantly, like I was holding a gun to her head. I’d come out in a little while and check on her, but with that taken care of, she was good. I reopened the inner door of the pig pen and walked back towards the house, feeling good about the morning. For two days in a row, I’d forgotten things, missed things. I knew I still had a ton of bulk food on my bench waiting to be packed, but I didn’t have it in me yet; I needed one more jolt of caffeine.

  I took care of that and checked out some of the info Randy had been sending me. A couple of facts stuck out: at any given point over the United States, there’s approximately 5,000 airplanes and jets in the air. It only took 2 jets into the twin towers in New York to kill thousands of people. If an EMP hit, 5,000 jets falling from the sky… I shuddered at the thought and considered what I had here that would survive an EMP and if they were already shielded from something like that...

  The windmill, the woodstove. I wouldn’t have to worry about the septic system, but I had no way to pump it when it got full. None of my home electronics would work, unless you counted the old radio that was still set up in my dad’s den. Randy said it was tubes and crystals, so all it’d need was 12 volts of power. I’d never had any interest in it, but in an EMP event, it would be a great communication device. I got a notepad out of the kitchen junk drawer and a nub of pencil and sketched a want list.

  I wanted a small, portable solar panel. I could probably get one from Harbor Freight in town. I wanted some sort of solar setup for the house. Not only because of what could happen following an EMP, but it’d be a great backup alongside the generator in the inevitable power outage that seemed to happen every winter. Ice would build up on tree limbs and cause them to snap and fall on the lines. Even with all the extra time put in by the power companies to troubleshoot problem areas, two or three power outages every winter were still the norm.

  So, solar panels. I knew the Saginaw Home Depot had them, wasn’t sure if they still did, but I figured I could place an order over the phone and have them delivered. What else? I was all set for food, good on water - if I didn’t mind going to the barn for it - and pretty well set for firewood. But I could always use more propane. The only thing it ran was the water heater and stove, but I knew I could use it for supplemental heat in the winter time with a high efficiency ventless wall heater. Those didn’t take any power to run, so I added that to the list to buy from home depot someday.

  My phone rang as I was draining the dregs of the pot and I got up to answer it. I fumbled around the bedroom, almost knocking the AR off the dresser when I pulled my cellphone off the charger.

  “Hey Brian, whatcha doing?” Randy asked, excited.

  “Having a cup of coffee, reading the news.”

  “Oh, so you saw then?” he asked.

  “Yeah, and I did some reading on a couple articles you sent me. Pretty spooky stuff my man.”

  “It is, but don’t let the spook bog you down. The key is to be ready for whatever it is and not worry about it when it happens.”

  “Easy for you to say,” I said, smiling at his 100% excitement for everything in life. “Hey, if an EMP happens, would solar panels still work?” I asked him, curious because I didn’t really know what went into them.

  “Yeah, at least during the daytime. You’d have to unhook them at night though.”

  “Why’s that?” I asked, interested.

  “They have a blocking diode, kind of like a check valve in plumbing. They let power go down to the charge controller, then off to the batteries, but if the blocking diode is fried, the saved charge can go back and discharge at nighttime.”

  “So what’s the answer, keep extra diodes in a microwave somewhere?” I asked, knowing microwaves were sometimes used as small faraday cages by some of the tinfoil hat brigade I’d come to read more and more of.

  “That’s one way to do it, but you’d still have charge controllers and all the other stuff to replace too. Faraday cage… I dunno, I think we could build one pretty easily inside the barn.”

  “Wait, what?” I asked, both excited and confused.

  “I mean, I sort of know the theory from when I was in the Navy and we could probably set it up over that concrete slab the buckets were sitting on. Everything inside it should be safe.”

  “How do…”

  “Hey, I’ll show you. Do you have any re-rod and old metal sheeting?” Randy asked.

 
“It’s a farm; what do you think?!”

  “Ok, I’ll head out a little earlier. Is it ok if the Brenda and girls stop out later on?”

  “They’re always welcome, you know that.” I said, remembering the last time the twins were out and how excited they were to pet the goats.

  “That sounds great, I’ll let Brenda know.”

  “Oh, Ruby is due anytime now, so we might have some piglets popping out. I bet you the girls would love that.”

  “What, bacon bits?” Randy chuckled and so did I.

  “You head over whenever you want to buddy,” I told Randy and then said my goodbyes.

  I stretched, my shoulders and back popping. It wasn’t much past 7am, but I was ready to tackle my day off. I’d been lazy enough already, so I got my boots back on and headed to the garage where I had my chainsaw.

  I’d planned on waiting for Ken, but I could drop the tree and start cutting limbs until folks started to arrive. I took one of my two older quads and a small black plastic dump trailer to haul my gear. Chainsaw, my bucket that held bar oil, files, extra chains and of course a gas can. I worked slowly and let the kinks of the week unwind themselves.

  * * *

  Sometimes, there’s something magical about cutting firewood and dropping trees. You look at the tree and see the way it leans, how it’s connected to the land. Then you look and see where the wind is pushing it. Some people have the knack for dropping trees and some people have a knack for dropping trees on fences and cars. I hoped I was a still part of the former camp, and that Murphy had slept in late that morning.

  The willow wasn’t as big as some that lined the property, probably only three feet diameter at the trunk. It grew somewhat crookedly, pointing northeast away from Landry’s fence. It would be an easy drop, and I wouldn’t have to worry about the kid using it to scale my fence any more. Two more reasons I wanted to drop the tree was that Willows are known for dying and getting hollow, dropping limbs and damaging property. I’d avoided dropping this one because it shielded me from George, but it was time to go. The second reason, was it was 7 a.m. on a Saturday and the tree would give George a perfect view onto the back field of the farm I would never sell him.