The Journal: Ash Fall

by Moore, Deborah D.

  “Do we have a purchase limit?” I asked. “We’re paying cash today.”

  She raised her eyebrows. The township always used a chit from the county emergency management office, and never had to pay, we also had to take whatever was sent. I don’t think they got many that paid cash.

  “No limit, unless marked on the shelf. We’re happy to help Moose Creek,” she answered. We had gotten quite the reputation after the Wheeler fight. I didn’t correct her assumption that the supplies were for the Stone Soup Kitchen, which had also developed a following and had been mimicked across the Upper Peninsula.

  Out of earshot, John stopped me. “Shouldn’t we tell her it’s for us, not the town?”

  “Some of it will be for the town and the Kitchen, John, I just don’t know what they will need yet,” I replied in all honesty. “Besides, we’re replacing what I gave them. I think that’s fair.”

  As we moved down the aisles, I noticed that almost everything was marked “limit of one”. We wheeled the cart up and down each aisle, carefully selecting items, some in bulk that I could re-can into smaller jars like mushrooms and nuts and crackers, some in everyday size, no longer packaged in four or six units as they once were. John went back to the entrance to get another cart for the big items. The flour had a limit of only one fifty pound bag, and the same for rice. I was happy with anything. There was also a limit on the twenty-five pound bags of sugar and salt, and I felt better knowing some of it was going directly to the Soup Kitchen. The dried beans were emptied out and pasta had no limit. The shelf for oil was empty save for two five gallon containers of canola oil, and though not my choice, it was better than nothing. Remembering the first fish-fry the Stone Soup Kitchen held where they grilled the fish because there was no oil to fry, I took both jugs of oil. I avoided canned vegetables since I would be canning all the produce from the garden, and hopefully so would the town residents. I then reconsidered and took two #10 cans of mixed vegetables that would also go to the Kitchen; then took two more cans for us. Something flickered across my mind, and I went back for a large can of spaghetti sauce. The Kitchen will put it to good use at some point. Our last stop was for hard cheeses. I had read on the internet how to wax them to make them last longer. It was worth a try. I was dismayed to see only one small wedge of parmesan. I would ration it deeply.

  “Do you see what I see?” John whispered to me. My mouth watered at the sight of a small ham sitting in the cooler. It would make a wonderful celebration dinner for our family.

  Checking out, I was stunned at the total. My windfall was dwindling fast. At least I had replaced some of the basics we had used up or given away over the winter. I had hoped we could restock all at once. I guess I would have to do it slowly, just like I did in the first place. Some of my fears of being so short were assuaged, though there was still more to get. There would always be still more to get, however, this was a decent start.

  The last stop was at a well-guarded liquor store. The AR-15 carrying soldier at the door dressed in casual camouflage checked our IDs. Mine was the official Emergency Management badge I carry with me all the time now, and since John only had an out of state driver’s license, he was stopped.

  “Hey, I’m only her grunt, they didn’t give me the fancy ID,” he told the young man with a straight face. The soldier cracked a stony smile and let him pass.

  I hid my chuckle beneath a cough, remembering all the times I had called John my bodyguard.

  We were in luck. There had just been a delivery of inexpensive Michigan wines— “inexpensive” now being $20 per bottle instead of $8. I calculated how much I had left and selected a case of wine, several bottles of liquor, and a cube of cola. Jason would be ecstatic to have a rum and cola again. Providing for my children, even though they were adults now, has always been in the forefront of my mind when prepping. The two bottles of whiskey and vodka could be very useful medicinally.

  John talked with the clerk at the counter, who then accepted the cash handed to him. He carefully counted it out, smiled and slipped some of it in his pocket. Another guard stood quietly to the side, alert and intent. John said something else to the clerk that I couldn’t hear. A stock boy came from the back pushing a dolly, loaded with double my order. I gave John a questioning look. With the slightest shake of his head, I knew not to say anything. The boxes just fit in the back of the truck. As we walked out, John dutifully slipped the stock boy and the guards some folded bills. I hadn’t planned on John paying for any of this. There are now some things I don’t argue with him about, and this was one, besides, I still needed to refill the drums of gas.

  “What was all that about, John?” I questioned once we were alone again.

  “Graft. It’s the new old way of doing business.”

  The borrowed pickup truck was well packed when we made the long drive home to Moose Creek. I did well suppressing how giddy I felt over what we accomplished, even though we were a long way from where I was last Fall in supplies.

  May 10

  With the fresh eggs I collected this morning, the incubator was full. I placed the last of the eggs tip down, refilled the lower trough with more water and turned it back on to warm. The automatic egg turner hummed in its slow motion travel, slightly shifting all the brown and tan eggs, just like a broody hen would do, a full rotation every twelve hours. I replaced the thermostat at an angle I could read through the window in the top of the lid. The heat needed to be warm and steady. Opening the top to check the temperature would let too much heated air escape. Hopefully in three weeks we’ll have forty baby chicks. I contemplated how to divide the hatchlings up.

  “Why will you divide them at all, and to whom?” John asked, a very valid question.

  “Jason will get his choice first, of course,” I said. John nodded, understanding that my sons always came first with me. “I also want to give some to the community to raise for their own eggs.” I sighed. “I love my town, John, however, I can’t do it all for them. They have to take care of themselves.”

  “You give more to this town than anyone else,” he replied. “So, how many are you keeping for here?”

  “It’s going to depend on how many are hens. If out of the forty chicks half are hens, I think Jason having six and the community having a dozen, and each get one rooster, that would be fair. That would leave us with roosters to butcher and a couple of hens to barter.” When he looked like he was going to protest, I put my hand on his arm to silence him. “We already have laying hens. This would give everyone an early start, the chicks will need a full summer and fall of growing to survive the winter. I think I’ll start a second batch of eggs as soon as these hatch. Those will be for us to replenish the layers, and more for the freezer.”

  “You’re a generous person, Allex. Moose Creek is lucky to have you. And so am I.” I was rewarded with one of his special smiles and a loving kiss.

  JOURNAL ENTRY: May 10

  We spent most of the day putting yesterday’s purchases away. Some needed repacking, some I set aside to go to the Stone Soup Kitchen, and some got left in the middle of the room. The bulk rice went into the buckets we emptied over the winter and then were stored back in the food shed. The pasta refilled the empty spaces on the shelves that were so full last fall. With the extra flour, I needed another large metal trash can, the easiest and most convenient way to store bulk flour.

  * * *

  “I need to make another trip, John. Do you want to go with me, or would you like a day to relax?” I had been working him pretty hard, occupying all his vacation time. “I want to get the metal cans before there aren’t any, and I completely forgot about spices. Herbs I can grow, just not spices like cinnamon, pepper, and nutmeg.”

  “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll stay here,” he said, stretching like his back ached.

  “That’s okay, enjoy your day off.” Marquette wasn’t nearly as dangerous now as it was over the winter, as long as I didn’t venture downtown. I gave him a hug, and left in my shiny new car.


  * * *

  My first stop was the big-box hardware store for the trash cans. I was surprised to see so many in stock. I selected two thirty gallon ones, knowing they would just barely fit in the hatch of the car, and only if I lowered the back seats. When I couldn’t find lids for them, I was forced to take the twenty gallon instead, and got three. There would always be a use for them. Being in a hardware store made me think about Jason.

  What was once a common practice now seemed new and foreign. I called him on my little used cellphone, told him I was at the hardware store in town, and asked him if there was anything he needed.

  He thanked me, and told me he had an ongoing list, and most of it he needed to pick out himself.

  Next stop was Mack’s for the spices. We had been so accustomed to just going to any grocery store and getting anything we want. The world became a small place with the advent of international shipping. Exotic things like allspice, nutmeg, peppercorns, cinnamon sticks, cloves and paprika were once extremely expensive and hard to get. That had all changed and we got spoiled. I knew the seasonings were in the baking aisle and I wandered in that direction, going through the bakery section first. Two young women were in a deep discussion, and my curiosity got the better of me. They both appeared to be in their mid-thirties, both blondes. One might have been a true blonde; the other had dark roots that were showing noticeably. Well dressed, thin and attractive, they each had the look of being a trophy wife at some point. Now, they were just young and scared. I made a pretense of checking out the donuts so I could eavesdrop.

  When I finally got the gist of their conversation – the lack of decent bread, and what there was, was now $10 per loaf – I couldn’t resist. I asked them why they didn’t just make their own bread.

  “Make bread? No one does that anymore,” one of them said in a huff.

  “Don’t you have a neighbor or someone who could teach you?” I suggested. Once I said that, I knew I was interfering and moved away. Their lack of basic cooking skills was really none of my business.

  In the baking aisle, the spices were where they always had been. I found one ounce jars of peppercorns and whole cloves, plus a larger container of cinnamon sticks. There was no whole allspice or nutmeg to be found, not even a space for it. All of the pre-ground spices were gone so I was out of luck for the paprika I wanted. Then I remembered what paprika was: ground red peppers plus some cayenne pepper to zing it up. I could make my own!

  The meat section had very few items, most of it now being kept behind glass in the butcher case. At $20 per pound for a steak, there was a sharp rise in theft. There were a few small chickens, some cut up, and some left whole, also behind the glass. There was no seafood at all, not one shrimp, which wasn’t a surprise.

  The produce section fared only a little better. No one was trying to steal; there wasn’t much to be had anyway. There was a pile of sad and bruised red apples emitting just a hint of sour over-ripeness, cabbages wrapped in plastic, a few limp carrots and a bin of papery onions. The stock boy, Andy, whom I’ve known for years, saw me and gave me a hug. Not a normal thing, and these days, we were losing those we knew at such a rate it was heartwarming to see a familiar face.

  “We’re really hoping to have a better selection later in the season after the local farms and gardens have some time to produce a crop, though I doubt there will ever be scrap again for the chickens,” Andy admitted. That didn’t surprise me, as people were finally learning not to be wasteful.

  “Andy, I really appreciate all that you guys have done for me in the past by giving me the old produce for my chickens and I really do understand. I’ll manage.”

  There was a local dairy still in production, so I checked out that department too. John loved cottage cheese as much as I did, and I was thrilled to find some in the cooler. I got us each a carton. Next to it was sour cream and butter, all with limits posted. I still had some butter, although it was one of those things I really had the anxious need to keep plenty of, and who knew when I’d make it back to town? I got the posted limit of two of both.

  I was delighted to see Marie at her register, and put the few items on the conveyor. When she looked up, I smiled and her face just lit up.

  “Hey, girlfriend!” Marie greeted me. “It’s so good to see you. I’ve thought about you, wondering how you’re doing.”

  We chatted for a few minutes. I asked how her cousin and his son were doing, and was pleased that all was well. It was nice to catch up. I took my bag and headed to the parking lot, remembering another time, and I shuddered with the memory, while unconsciously feeling for the reassuring weight of the Kel Tec in my shoulder holster.

  May 11

  Watching the news in the evening was disturbing. There had been several large earthquakes on the West Coast, thankfully with minimal damage. The Ring of Fire, that area which circles the Pacific Ocean Basin, had been unusually active and violent. There were more quakes along the coast of South America, too. In one small town in Chile, there was a mine cave-in as a result of the 6.2 quake that rocked the countryside. I shuddered and John tightened his arm around me, knowing what I was thinking. He assured me that it was a completely different kind of mine than the one here, and that he was perfectly safe down in the tunnels. Nothing would ever completely convince me of that.

  CHAPTER 5

  May 13

  Over a light dinner of chicken Marsala on linguini pasta, one of John’s favorites from this past winter, we talked more, knowing he had to go back to work tomorrow afternoon.

  “I remember you saying when one of the other guys moved his wife up here and rented a house, Green Way cut his pay because they then considered him a ‘local’ employee.” John nodded, mopping his plate with a crust of fresh Italian bread. “Will that happen to you if you stay with me?”

  “Yes, and I’m ready to accept that. What I can’t accept is not seeing you, not holding you.” He pushed his plate aside. “Besides, Sven is really mad at me, because he can’t see you either, for his weekly massage.” Sven, the big Swede I also saw at Eagle Beach. “This way you can go there.”

  I thought about this for a few moments. “I have an idea.”

  We took our iced tea out to the back deck and sat at the black wrought-iron bistro set. Shaded by the numerous trees on the hill, and buffered from any noise by the house, the deck was quiet, peaceful and secluded. I took John’s hand across the small table.

  “Before you say anything, I want you to listen to what I’m going to suggest. There’s nothing I want more than to have you with me all the time. I also know you have to work, and so do I. I know you well enough to know that the money you earn is important to you. If your pay is cut, it will take that much longer for you to earn enough for whatever it is you want to do.”

  “Are you saying you don’t want me to stay here?”

  “Goodness, no! I never want you to leave me again. Just hear me out, John. If you stay here, we would hardly see each other anyway, because of your hours.” If I recalled correctly, they worked twelve hours a day, seven days a week for four weeks, changing from days to nights midway, and then got two weeks’ rest.

  “If you stay at Eagle Beach during your four weeks of work, you keep your pay rate. You take your rotation here with me for those two weeks. I’ll start coming back to give you massages, so we will see each other, and I’d like you to spend your shift change here with me, it’s only a few hours, I know, but it’s better than nothing. Very soon I’m going to get busy with work too, though just for the summer.” His expression was so unreadable. “Do you think this might work?”

  “So, I stay at the Green Way house, and come here during shift change, not missing any work, and then spend my two weeks off here? And you resume coming to do massages? Sven will be happy about that...” he muttered. “That’s more time than the other guys get with their wives and family. We’ll make it work.” He gave me one of those smiles that tell me everything is alright.

  JOURNAL ENTRY: May 13

&n
bsp; The news tonight had a long story about the first bridge to be rebuilt across the Mississippi. It is a four-lane bridge that will allow limited traffic to resume. Auto ferries have been pulled out of storage and have been shuttling cars and semi-trucks across the big rivers for two months now, but it’s a slow route. The new bridge will greatly improve the delivery system.

  The film footage of this new bridge couldn’t hide the surrounding devastation from the quakes that rocked our country last fall. Much of that damage is still apparent and likely will be for a long time to come.

  * * *

  May 14

  We were just finishing our morning coffee that John insisted on making with the French press like he had done most of the winter, when Keith Kay drove up with the next load of wood for my winter supply. He carefully backed the long trailer across the lawn, stopping short of the log-splitter we had left in front of the half-filled woodshed. After unlatching the metal doors on the back, the hydraulics lifted the trailer, spilling the heavy load of wood. Keith drove out slowly, while the cut wood continued to tumble out, leaving another huge mound. John frowned; I was delighted. I retrieved some cash from a drawer, and handed it over to Keith, who left happy to not have to extend me credit this time.

  “Why the frown?” I asked, puzzled at John’s expression.

  “I’m leaving in a few hours,” he stated. “Promise me you won’t do all this wood by yourself.”

  “I can’t promise you that. Look, I’ve been doing these chores for years before you came along. I really don’t mind.” He still had that look etched on his tanned face. “Tell you what, I promise I will ask one of the boys to give me a hand, how’s that?” It seemed to satisfy him.