Once the area immediately in front of the shed was cleared of logs, I showed John where the log splitter was, a big, shiny, red 27-ton splitter. John’s eyes got big, and his grin got bigger. Men just loved these kinds of toys. We pushed and pulled it into place, and then I remembered that over at Greg’s was a handy device for moving things like this around: a ball-to-hitch caddy. Maybe we’d use it to put it back when we’re done. We worked for hours, and then called it quits. I was exhausted and my back ached. I’m sure John was tired too, though he wasn’t admitting it.
* * *
“Have you been able to replace any of the stuff we used up this past winter?” John casually asked over dinner.
“Not yet. Most of the food we used came from the garden. I’ll start canning when the garden starts producing.” I was being nonchalant about it, and I didn’t want to worry him. Gardens are very iffy things. “I haven’t been to town to see about the basic staples like flour, rice and pasta.”
“Is there anything you would do differently?”
Even though what I had done all these years had served all of us very well, there was definitely more I’d like to do, and the question got me thinking.
“As a matter of fact, I’d like to take a break from the physical work tomorrow, and go shopping. I just got a big check from the township, a belated paycheck for the past several months. I need to cash it.”
“I’m sure whatever they paid you doesn’t come close to what you gave in return.” John smiled at me sincerely, knowing how many times I made trips into Moose Creek, sometimes under adverse conditions, to offer my knowledge and help to the community as emergency manager of the township.
“I told Anna I didn’t want it. She insisted, and I must admit I can use the money. It will sure make me feel better if I can replace some of the supplies we used up, especially what I gave to the Stone Soup Kitchen.”
The volunteer soup kitchen may have been my idea, and I may have secretly donated buckets of rice and beans to it; it was Pastor Carolyn who kept it going and the town folk that made it successful.
“Do we have a shopping list?” he asked, and I felt a warm rush at the we part. I was happy and content that John was back and I think he felt the same. I just wondered how long it would last this time.
“Not really. It shouldn’t take much to come up with one though,” I said. “Maybe we can work on that tonight?”
“It will be interesting for me to see what you’ve used,” he said, and I was gifted with one of those lopsided smiles that made me feel warm inside. “So,” he continued, “what would you do differently? Or maybe a better question is, what would you liked to have had to make things easier?”
I thought for a minute. “Well, I think a second means of power would have been helpful. Maybe a solar array with a bank of batteries, that’s really pricey though,” I said wistfully. There were a few residents that had set up huge solar panels a year or two ago, the systems were for usage and feeding back to the power company, not for energy storage. They depended on the sun for daytime power, then went back on the grid power at night, which meant they had no evening power this past winter. A large bank of batteries being charged during the sunny days would ensure electricity to use at night.
“Yeah, having solar sure would have been nice,” I said. “Not having to get dressed to start up the generator would have been much more convenient and Jacob could’ve watched TV anytime he wanted.”
We both remembered how angry I got at Jason the time he ran the gennie just for his son’s cartoons, wasting precious and limited gas.
“Anything else?” John prompted.
I gazed out the window thoughtfully. “A greenhouse,” I smiled, lost in the thought.
“A what?”
“A greenhouse. A glass room where we could start plants for the summer garden, and grow fresh things for us to eat even in the middle of winter. Of course, we’d have to figure out a way to supplement the heating when there was no sun. I think that’s a minor issue, considering a structure like that is way too expensive to even think about.”
I sighed wistfully. A greenhouse had long been a pipe-dream of mine. I could envision a large addition, with an aquaponic pond at one end for humidity and irrigation using nutrient rich fish-water, a warm, humid room with growing plants to spend time in while the snow swirled outside. I shook myself mentally. It wasn’t gonna happen.
“I suppose you could put a solar array on the greenhouse to help heat it,” John continued, tying the two things together. Interesting thought.
JOURNAL ENTRY: May 8
John has been back with me for only a few days, and there is something we still have to address, and soon: Eric and Jason. Both of my sons are really protective now, and they are still mad at John for leaving like he did. I need to fix that. I went over to talk with Eric first, finding him sitting on the front porch, whittling.
* * *
Eric didn’t waste any time letting me know he watches the house. “Looks like you’ve got company, Mom.”
I jumped in with both feet and said, “John is back.”
That stopped Eric short. He looked at me, those deep blue eyes showing concern, waiting for me to continue. It hadn’t taken long for my oldest and I to get back to the silent communication we had shared while he was growing up.
“He wants back in my life, our lives. I’m accepting his return, Eric, and I want you and Jason to accept it too.” I paused while I chose my words carefully. “He felt he had to leave in order to do some things that would allow him to come back on a more equal footing.” Still only silence from Eric. “I’ve been so happy these last few days. I’m glad he’s back.”
Eric finally smiled. “That’s what I’ve been waiting to hear, Mom. If it makes you happy again, then I will welcome his being here.” He got up and gave me a hug and I knew everything would be alright. Now I had to tell Jason.
* * *
Leaving John at home, I drove my new car out to the Dam Road to see Jason. He had been working daily on the remodeling of the doctor’s new quarters and I wasn’t sure where I would find him. His truck wasn’t at the doctor’s office when I drove past, so he had to be home.
I pulled into his driveway off the rutted stone and dirt road. The county trucks weren’t wasting the limited diesel fuel on grading residential roads and the quarter mile was rather bumpy. Jason stepped out of his workshop, shotgun in hand.
“Sorry, Mom, I didn’t recognize the car,” he said, leaning the rifle against the door frame. “New wheels?”
“Actually, yes.” It was a great lead in, as I had hoped. “An apology gift from … John.” Jason’s head snapped up at the name. “He’s back. I’m happy he’s back. I might even forgive him for leaving,” I smiled.
“And he gave you a new Subaru to say he’s sorry? Wow.” He ran his hand over the shiny pale green fender. “Can I have the old one?”
I laughed. This was going easier than I thought. “You and Amanda have a gas efficient car. I might give the ’01 to Eric so he doesn’t have to always use the big pickup.” We chatted for a few more minutes and I asked how the doctor’s project was coming along.
“I’m just about done with the residence. I have a few pieces of trim to finish staining and install in the bathroom, then I’ll move down to the office. Amanda is there now cleaning. He’s moving in tomorrow.” Jason took a deep breath. “Mom, thank you. We both really needed this work, and not just for the money. Amanda was getting really depressed not having anything to do. Dr. Mark has hired her to clean every week now. Her spirit has really picked up.”
“You two were perfect for the job, Jason.” I smiled at him, gave him a hug and told him dinner was at my place tonight, for everyone to welcome John back.
JOURNAL ENTRY: May 8
Beef has gotten outrageously expensive, just like gas. At $15 per pound for ground round, we don’t have it anymore. I still have some canned, though since it’s already cooked, it’s good for only certain dishes. Now that
we have power again, most of the deer Eric recently took is curing in the second refrigerator out in the barn. Of the remainder, twenty five percent has gone to the soup kitchen, and a haunch to Bob and Kathy, whom Eric has grown very fond of. Tonight I showed John where the venison is and asked him to cut off a big chunk for me to grind into burgers.
* * *
I mixed the freshly ground meat with some fresh chopped ramp bulbs, herbs, seasonings, a cup of oatmeal and two eggs, and shaped the mixture into five large patties and two smaller ones. It filled the plate nicely. I wrapped a towel around it and set it in the refrigerator for the flavors to blend.
The bread I started before going to see Jason was ready to form into buns, with enough left over for one loaf of bread. I covered that with a towel to rise and started the oven warming to bake.
“What would you like with the burgers tonight, John, potato salad, macaroni salad, three bean salad or veggies?” He was sitting at the table watching me, chin on his hand, lost in thought.
“Can we do a potato salad and a macaroni salad? I remember Emilee doesn’t like the macaroni, and Jacob won’t eat the potato salad.”
I smiled that he did remember those little things about the kids. Then I reminded myself it hadn’t really been that long ago.
“Sure, let’s go get what we need from the pantry.” I took a basket that was hanging on the wall and started for the back room. Though there was still a decent amount of food on the shelves, the supply was down by a good fifty percent.
John looked at the empty shelves, with a solemn expression. “These shelves used to be so full.”
“Using the food is why it was there in the first place,” I reminded him. “I’ll replenish the stock from the garden.” I was trying to reassure myself as much as him. I handed him the basket, then loaded it with a quart of canned potatoes, dried corn, a box of macaroni, a can of ripe olives and a jar of peas.
“This basket is new, isn’t it?”
“Yes, I made it a few weeks ago while the tree branches and bark were still supple with sap. It gave me something to do.” To help me stop thinking about you. “Oh, by the way, Eric has gotten very good at making beer. Don kept very detailed notes on the process and the results. When I was there earlier, I noticed he had a fresh batch going, which means he recently bottled. I hope he remembers to bring some tonight.”
* * *
Even with grilled venison burgers on fresh buns, potato salad, macaroni salad and chilled, foamy pale ale, dinner still started out a bit strained. By the time I cleared away the dishes, the mood was lighter and it was like John had never left.
May 9
With the birds singing right outside the window, I woke earlier than usual. As I lay there in a sleepy glow, I could hear the singsong of the robins hopping from branch to branch, and the two note lament of the chick-a-dee. Somewhere in the nearby underbrush by the creek was a hermit thrush calling to his mate with the crystal like song that to me is the most beautiful sound in the woods. I smiled, and nudged John.
“Let’s go fishing!” I whispered in his ear. He instantly came awake.
* * *
Breakfast was quick. While he made the coffee and toast, I got two fishing poles out of the barn, and my tackle box. I hadn’t been fishing with John before, and his enthusiasm told me it was a good way to start the day. With a thermos full of coffee and several pieces of toast wrapped in a cloth napkin, we headed out on one of the four-wheelers.
“Where are we going?” John asked from behind me.
“There’s a bend in the Snake River that’s good for trout.” I called back to him. This was also the same area that I took Eric and Emilee ramp picking, so we could get some greens too. If we were lucky, dinner would be all fresh caught or foraged.
In less than five minutes, we were heading down a little used and crumbling asphalt road, shaded and overgrown with massive trees. The non-existent shoulders dipping low into swampy areas were rich with decay. We came to a two-lane concrete bridge, sporting faded graffiti so old it was spray painted by teenagers who now were grandparents. The Snake River churned below us.
“Are there snakes in the river?” John asked nervously.
“Not at all. It’s named that because it snakes through the land, turning back on itself several times.” I had spent some time when I first moved up here, learning the history behind the names of the rivers, streams and lakes, and why roads and settlements were called what they were.
I left the green, brown and tan camouflage painted four-wheeler parked on the stone bridge and peered over the edge. John handed me a tin mug of coffee and a slice of buttered toast. Even as generous as I was using the butter over the harsh winter months, feeding six of us did not deplete the twelve pounds I had started with in the freezer last November. John’s toast was smothered in one of my jams. I definitely would have to make more this summer.
“That looks like a good pocket right there,” John commented, pointing with his toast. An errant crumb fell, hitting the surface. It was immediately snatched up, and a flicker of tail followed the rainbow scaled body as the trout dove for deeper water. He laughed gleefully. Further downstream, fog rose off the moving water as it went from deep shade to new sunlight. The shallow wisps looked like ethereal wraiths, disappearing into nothingness as the heat of the day grew.
I handed John a pole and took one for myself and slipped a small piece of crust from my toast onto the ready hook, then cast over the edge of the bridge.
“Trout won’t bite on bread,” John announced. I just looked at him as I got a hit.
I shrugged. “My daddy always said to feed the fish what they want to eat.” I played the fish a bit then reeled in a nice sized rainbow. “Grab the net, will you? We’re kind of high over the water and I don’t want to lose this beauty.” I caught another one and John caught three more. Our toast gone, we switched to flies, but they were done biting for the morning. It was 10:30, still early in the day, and we had other things to do.
“Let’s pick a few ramps to cook with these tonight,” I suggested and we filled a small cloth bag I had sewn for collecting wild edibles. I used to use plastic grocery bags; those were now a thing of the past.
We had five fish and a bag full of wild greens, all fresh, all healthy and best of all, free for the taking. We would eat well and leave the stored food for another day.
* * *
We gutted the fish, giving the entrails to the hungry chickens. I had thought of just burying it in the garden for fertilizer, but the chickens provide plenty of that when they’re fed well. Washed and packaged in a well-worn baggie, the fish sat chilling in the humming refrigerator. John and I split a jar of soup for lunch, and after cleaning up, we headed to town for shopping. Hoping the trip would be successful, I had talked Eric into lending me the pickup truck for a few hours.
* * *
As much as I love to shop, especially for prep items, going from store to store was depressing. There was so little available, and what was on the shelves was either useless or outrageously expensive. People had finally seen the benefits of clothesline and clothespins, evident by the empty shelf space, making me grateful I still had plenty of both. Ammo, of course, was not available at any price. Word was out the government had purchased all reserves, and then shut down the manufacturing plants.
We did, however, find soap and shampoo, deodorant and toothpaste. They were all at hyper-inflated prices, even so, I felt we should replenish those supplies.
“Do you really want to pay $10 for a $2 bottle of shampoo?” John asked me.
“No, I don’t want to, but I’m going to,” I replied simply, placing four bottles in our cart. “Look at it this way, twenty years ago, that $2 bottle of shampoo was only fifty cents. What’s the difference? We need it, it’s available, and we can buy it. Besides, some day it might become a barter item. Twenty years from now, there may be no shampoo at any cost. We just don’t know.” He looked sullen, and accepted it.
One of the items on
my list there seemed to be plenty of - children’s clothes. I found this sad. To me it meant there weren’t many children left. I picked up generic pants, shorts and t-shirts in a variety of sizes for both Emilee and Jacob. Emilee’s clothes could be passed down to Jacob, and as she grew, Emi would fit into some of mine. I could alter what I had to to fit her if needed. I added socks and underwear for each child. I was surprised to find adult socks, thick heavy, winter socks. Then I realized this was leftover stock. There was nothing lightweight for the warmer months. I wondered out loud if the clothing mills were shut down too.
“When I was down in Indiana with my daughter and my mom, the news was that all industrial plants had been closed. I heard that only once, so I don’t know how accurate it is,” John piped in. My thought was that sound bite probably got silenced and so did the newscaster.
From there we went to the bulk food store. The gal at the front desk recognized us from previous trips, and allowed us in.
The Journal: Ash Fall Page 4
