Chapter 2. Stop, Think, Observe, Panic
two | Stop, Think, Observe, Panic
Tired or not, I still had phone calls to make. And a job to get back to - I couldn’t afford to be sacked, whatever happened. I made a few quick calls, to the fuel delivery bloke and the fertiliser company, then phoned in to the clinic. Nola, the office manager, answered.
“Oh, there you are, dear. Bad calving?”
“Not so bad. I actually finished about fifteen minutes ago - I had a phone call. Hey Nola, is there any chance of me getting off early tonight? There’s a few things I’d like to get done.”
I could hear her tapping at the keyboard. “Unless something comes up, you’ve only one more call scheduled. Uveitis in a horse at the Jensens, on McArthurs Road. It’s fairly quiet otherwise, so I don’t think anyone would mind if you left early. A lot of people have cancelled, probably because they’re watching the news. Did you hear - ?”
“Yes, I did. Thanks Nola. I’ll be back at the clinic soon.” The Jensen horse was just a check-up, and I knew it wouldn’t take long.
As I headed towards McArthurs Road, still listening to the radio reports with half an ear, my brain was working furiously, thinking over what I had stored away and what else was absolutely vital to get.
I’d been interested in self-sufficiency since I was about sixteen - all the pro-environmental lectures about the evils of fossil fuels had an impact, I suppose. I started researching what I soon found was called ‘peak oil’, and it all flowed on from there. As a result, I had a fairly good start on self-sufficiency - stores of food and feed and consumables, vegie garden and orchard, chooks, the cattle for income, a few lawnmower sheep, wood heating, some solar panels, a well-insulated house… but there were plenty of things that had gone on the ‘one day’ list, and it looked like ‘one day’ could be now or never.
Pigs for instance. It might be a mistake buying more livestock when I might not be able to feed what I had, but pigs could be fed more easily than most animals, and we could always just eat them if necessary. I’d been planning on getting some breeding pigs reasonably soon anyway as the next step in my plan for the farm. Selling grower pigs should be profitable in poor times, when people were raising all the food they could themselves. Judging by past experience they shouldn’t be too much extra trouble, and they could live in the calf shed until I’d sorted better accommodation for them. It was worth the investment. Thinking quickly, I did a U-turn; there was a small farm not too far away that ran free-range Berkshires, which was probably why I’d thought of the idea. My hasty visit got me the promise of a couple of gilts and a castrated male from a recent litter, along with the phone numbers of some other breeders.
The visit to the Jensens went as quickly as I’d thought (for once), and I was soon back at the clinic, stopping briefly at the bank on the way through town. The main clinic of the veterinary practice I worked for was on the southeast side of Yepperta, which is the biggest town in the shire at about nine thousand residents as well as the seat of local government. Phil, the youngest of the seven vets in the practice, was the only other one visible as I came through the back door; he and Susie, one of the nurses, were wrestling with a cat that was strongly objecting to having it’s blood taken. I skirted the melee and headed for the shared office, poking my head into the reception area on the way.
“Hi Nola, I’m back. You wouldn’t have a local paper lying around anywhere, would you?”
Nola looked up from the computer screen and smiled. Officially she was our office manager and, along with the nurses, handled reception at the clinic. Unofficially, she mothered everyone who worked there. “Hello, dear. There might be a paper in the waiting area. Do you have your logbook for me?”
Caught! “Um… I just have to scribble a few things down,” I said guiltily. I made a hasty exit as she tutted under her breath.
A few minutes later I tossed the paper down on my desk in the long room that served as an office for most of the vets in the practice. Phil’s old beagle thumped her tail in welcome from her basket in the corner.
Unearthing a pad and pen from amongst the piles of paperwork on my desk, I sat down. I figured I had half an hour before I could leave without the boss getting mad at me. In the meantime I had to think, and I did that best on paper.
Okay. The first necessity was information. I needed to know how bad the situation would be and how long it would last. The radio had said that the Prime Minister was going to make an announcement during the 6 o’clock news, so maybe I’d get a few answers then. In the meantime, I turned to the fount of all wisdom: the internet.
Most of the obvious sites were overloaded, of course, but the TB2K mirror site was up, as were some lesser-known Australian sites. Although there was a lot of panic and exaggeration, and most of the talk was naturally about the tsunami, many of the clearer minds agreed that this rock was going to have long-lasting consequences. I noted down the information, feeling my heart rate increase with every frightening word. Somehow it seemed more real, now I was reading relayed newspaper reports and the opinions of those near to ‘ground zero’, rather than just listening to overly-excitable TV and radio reporters.
Pinned at the top of the American board was a thread listing the members who were being evacuated, and my heart went out to those people. It must be incredibly heartbreaking, to have prepared for so many disasters, then to have to abandon it all because the one scenario you didn’t plan for turned up out of the blue. I hope they all have places they can go. I quickly added my best wishes to the last page of the thread - it was over 50 pages long already - and logged off.
Well. The situation was bad, but at least it looked like I didn’t have to plan for an indefinite term in darkness and Antarctic conditions. Between news articles and commentary, the consensus was that - apart from the damage done by the tsunami - there could be one, perhaps two years of cool temperatures, similar to those that occurred when Mount Tambora blew up and caused the Year Without a Summer. While that was going to be disastrous for colder areas, my part of the world should survive it better than most. Crop yields would certainly be down, but Australia would still be able to feed herself and have exports to spare. If some of the water thrown into the atmosphere ended up circulating down here, it might even mean the end of the drought, I supposed wryly.
That still left the financial implications. I’d already known they would be bad, and although a few dissenters on the board pointed to the economical boost from rebuilding, they were mostly squashed by those asking where the money for that would be coming from. The vast majority agreed: the writing was on the wall for the global economy
Well, this scenario I could deal with, anyway. It was one I’d planned for, along with pandemic flu and a few other likely disasters. Unfortunately I wasn’t nearly as ready for it as I’d have liked, although I’d been ramping up preparations for a while now. My ultimate goal had been total food self-sufficiency with a good surplus to sell or share, but I already had one and a bit full-time jobs so it just hadn’t been practical. On that subject, I was fairly sure my job would be safe, but if things got bad enough then Deb would probably lose hers. Mum’s retirement investments would be hit as well, although I’d convinced her to diversify into low-risk areas and cash when the global economy started to look shaky. From what little I knew about economics, I thought the Aussie dollar would be pretty safe. A lot of my own savings were in the farm and my assorted preps, but I had a decent sum currently residing in a high-interest saving account. I never was one for spending much money, especially on useless toys. As for Deb, she was a single mother with two high school kids who’d recently upgraded her car - enough said.
So. First I wanted more cash out of the bank. I always kept some on hand, but the more the better, in case the banks started restricting withdrawals. I’d have to leave a fair bit in the farm’s and my cheque accounts though, because I’d be writing a lot of cheques today and tomorrow. I really didn’t want anyone remembering me as someone who had cash in their pockets.
Secondly, food. Fortunately I had quite a bit on hand. I’d planned for some of our friends and family to join us on the farm if the sh*t really hit the fan, and I’d thought that some extra to share with neighbours wouldn’t be a bad idea either. But at the same time I’d been reluctant to store more of any one food than the five of us could eat before it reached it’s use-by date. As a result, if we had to rely entirely on stored foods, we could eat fairly normally for about six months (providing we had power for the freezers) and decently for another four. After that we’d be down to the long-term stores: rice, wheat, sugar, and so forth; foodstuffs that I’d stored to round out, or form a safety net for, what we’d grow on the farm. Which is all very well in a normal growing season, but not so good if summer decided to take a year or two off.
Third most important, farm and garden supplies, especially feed. That had become even more urgent since I decided to become a pig farmer, so the first thing on the to-do list would be a visit to the farm supply. Seeds were something else I had to re-think. It seemed likely we’d get some sort of a growing season next summer, but many of the vegetable varieties I had seed for probably wouldn’t cope. I needed more short-season varieties, or a whole lot of plastic and glass for extra cloches. Or both. And it probably wouldn’t hurt to get seed of plants like kale that can overwinter outside in any weather, despite the fact that I hate brassicas with a vengeance. Hell, what about the fruit trees? The nectarines and grapes would take the occasional frost, but extended cold would probably kill them. I’d have to figure out some way to cover them, or maybe propagate replacements inside, but I only had so much greenhouse space and I’d need every inch of it. More things to scribble down on the shopping list I’d started.
I needed to grow more grain too. I’d played at it for a few years now, mostly just for fun, partially so I’d have seed on hand. I usually only grew a hundred-odd square metres of wheat and a garden bed each of oats, maize and barley, but with prices going up I’d doubled that this last year to save having to buy scratch for the chooks. If grain was going to get even scarcer I’d want to try to grow enough to be self-sufficient, which meant acres of crop, not metres. I’d need enough seed for at least two years, too, in case the first crop after the impact failed. I could get winter oat seed locally, but maize seed wouldn’t be in for months yet, and no-one grew wheat or barley round here. I didn’t like using feed grain for seed, but in some cases I might have to plan for it. Rye would probably do better than wheat in cold conditions; buckwheat too, with it’s short growing season. And legumes; I hadn’t bothered with them before, but I’d need to if I stopped buying pre-mixed feed. I had most of the machinery I’d want, but a seed drill would be a huge help, if I could get one cheap...
My mind was racing. What about grass? The pasture varieties I grew should survive the cold, but how much would growth rates be affected? The haysheds were pretty full thanks to a good season, but if grass was going to be short for years to come I’d need every stem I could get. The place was way understocked at the moment with less than a hundred breeding head of cattle, but still… As I’d hoped the local paper had a lot of ads from farmers selling hay, and I quickly jotted down some phone numbers to call later. If diesel got scarce, cutting hay would be expensive, and any fuel rebate would probably go to the big farmers first. Maybe I should try fodder crops that would survive lower temperatures and not need harvesting? Would it be worth growing some oilseeds, canola maybe? I’d always planned on growing my own oil for biodiesel eventually, and I’d recently bought the gear for making it even though I hadn’t tried it out yet. But then again, would reduced demand during a depression keep oil prices down?
Too many questions and no real answers.
Fourth most important, to me anyway, was getting the word out to people I trusted that things were about to go arse up. I know some people believe that looking out for yourself first and last is the only way to survive bad times, but I’ve lived in small towns all my life and I know that being part of a tight-knit community makes hard times much easier. At the same time, though, I didn’t want to start a panic, especially before I’d bought what I needed! Some people were a given for a heads-up - my close friends from high school; a couple of friends from Uni (none of them living nearby), a few others from various community groups I was involved in. My colleagues too, although I wasn’t sure about the newer ones. I’d have to think about that.
Fifth, non-food supplies. These weren’t as important, I thought, because unless oil prices started hampering shipping, prices of Asian made goods should go down rather than up, thanks to the loss of trade with the USA. I kept decent stocks of most consumables on hand, but it wouldn’t hurt to pick up some extras where I could. Hardware and building supplies could get a bit scarce if Europe cornered the market, too, but I had a fair bit of timber and stuff squirreled away, so I’d probably be all right.
I knew there were dozens of other necessities I’d probably not thought of, but my half hour was quickly passing and I had things still to do. I didn’t have time to call my friends personally - that would have to wait for tonight - but I could shoot off an e-mail explaining the situation to those whose addresses were on my work computer or easy to remember. Some of them knew about my ‘hobby’. Others would probably be calling and asking me if I’d been kicked in the head lately, saying things like ‘of course it’s terrible, but it can’t affect us here!’ But even if they didn’t listen, at least I’d have the consolation of having done my best.
After sending the e-mail I quickly Googled the name of the closest mail-order seed company that I knew took on-line orders and started speed-reading through the catalogue, clicking anything that looked promising. I’d just added ten kilos of navy beans when Nola came in to see why I hadn’t given her my logbook yet.
Nola was definitely one of the people I trusted, but even she didn’t need to know everything.
I put on a suitably apologetic face, even though things like logbooks seemed very unimportant right now. “Sorry Nola. I’ll get it done in a tick, I promise, but the thing is… ever since I heard about the meteor today -”
She sat down heavily in Phil’s desk chair. “It’s terrible, isn’t it? All those people… I suppose they’re lucky in that they had enough warning to escape, though.”
I grimaced in agreement. “Yes, but I think there’s more to it. You see, I’ve always been interested in astronomy,” (actually, I could find the Southern Cross but not much else) “and I’ve read a bit about meteorites like this one. I think it could have some affects on the whole planet. Even here.”
Nola’s gaze was shrewd. “Do you mean damage to the ozone layer, something like that?”
“Worse than that. And then there’s the economical aspect.” I glanced at the clock and thought for a second. “Look, I think Chris should hear this too. Do you mind asking him if we can have five minutes, while I finish up here?” Chris Jacobs and Louise Fields were the two senior partners of the practice, but Louise wasn’t on today. I’d swapped with her, actually. I usually had Wednesday off.
Nola pushed herself out of the chair. “I’ll see if he has time between consults. It’s really important?”
“I think so. There might not be much we can do about it, but I think he should know.”
Luckily Chris was free within a few minutes. He came into the office and perched himself on the edge of a desk. Chris is a big bloke, six foot three or more, with massive shoulders, blonde hair, a grey moustache and a lot of authority. He’s incredibly intelligent, too; the sort of person who will pounce on any weak point in an argument and rip it to shreds. He has no time for fools, and I was uncomfortably aware that what I was about to say would sound foolish to a great many people.
“Sarah. Nola says you need to talk about something,” he said gruffly.
I looked him square in the eyes. “I think there’s something you need to know about this meteor, yes. Two things actually. Firstly, you may have figured this out already, but this is going to finish America off as an economical power. I think we’re set for a bad worldwide recession, and probably a 1930s-style depression.”
I watched Chris think over what I’d said, but Nola spoke first. “Surely we’d be all right. Our economy’s meant to be doing well, isn’t it?”
“It is, and from what I understand, Australia is in a better position than a lot of countries. But the big companies of the world are so interwoven with each other that the whole thing is like a house of cards. You know the saying - America sneezes and the world catches a cold? They were starting to sneeze already, with the credit crisis. For months now, the big banks have been scared to lend money, especially to each other, because none of them know just how much they have or will admit that it’s much less than they’ve been pretending. And now, with this tsunami, a whole lot of companies are about to have their assets destroyed. The insurance companies aren’t going to pay up - they’ll either declare it an ‘act of God’ or just go quietly bankrupt. The stock markets - including those that aren’t about to be flooded - are already falling through the floor according to the radio, and a lot of people’s savings are evaporating with them.
“On top of that, America has been piling up debt for years, and the only way the American government can pay the bills is by printing more money and devaluing it’s own dollar. With their entire east coast about to be destroyed, there’s no way they can do anything but default on all those debts, leaving a whole lot of countries with treasuries full of worthless IOUs. They won’t have the money to rebuild quickly. They won’t have the money to do much of anything. The amount of sheer stuff America imports will drop by huge amounts. That means the companies supplying that stuff, mostly in Asia, won’t have a market for their products and they’ll have to seriously downsize or go bust, further affecting the Asian economies. And when they can no longer use or afford the raw materials we supply them with, Australia goes down too.
“As soon as the economy starts to slow, our housing bubble starts deflating, and that starts a whole new round of misery. For the past decade or so, with the economy going gangbusters and banks lending to anyone with a heartbeat, tons of people have taken out house loans they could barely afford, thinking that both wages and property prices would just keep getting higher and they’d be okay. But when people start losing jobs, they start defaulting on their mortgages. More and more houses come onto the market, and suddenly property values are dropping and people owe more than their houses are worth at the same time that they’re finding it more difficult to hold onto their jobs. The banks, already in trouble thanks to the credit crisis and foreign investment, now find themselves with great parcels of overvalued property that people can’t afford to buy, and they get even shakier. People get worried about how safe their money is and start withdrawing it, and if that goes too far the banks could limit withdrawals, or stop them altogether for a while. Everyone gets scared and stops spending, and the economy goes even further down the tubes.” I paused, a bit embarrassed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to go off on a great rant like that.”
There was silence for a moment, then Chris spoke.
“Actually, you summarised the situation pretty well,” he said thoughtfully. “I hadn’t thought about it in quite as much detail as you seem to have. Still, the business is in good shape, and I’ve already pre-ordered extra supplies to tide us over any disruptions. We can survive a lean year or two. People always need food, and farmers always need vets.”
“Well, that’s the other thing.” I took a deep breath, then started my spiel about volcanoes and dinosaurs and nuclear winter and the Year Without a Summer, watching Chris’ eyebrows get lower and lower as his eyes narrowed. “I don’t really know how bad it could get,” I ended. “The people who analyse these things can only guess the size of past meteors from the craters they left, and the palaeontologists can only guess the results from the fossil record. A lot depends on the composition of the meteor and just where it lands. But if their guesses are right, this rock could kick up a heck of a lot of dust.”
“That sounds like a great deal of speculation,” Chris said levelly.
“It’s speculation based on scientific evidence,” I replied. “Look, I just wanted to give you a heads up. It’s not like we can do much about it. Personally I’m going to cut way back on spending and try and stock up the pantry a bit before food prices get any higher. It isn’t like that’ll do any harm either way.”
“True,” Chris conceded dubiously. Nola didn’t say anything, but she looked worried.
Chris went back to his consults, but Nola stayed in the office, letting Susie handle the front desk. She stared at nothing while I closed down the computer and hurriedly wrote up my last two calls in my logbook. Such big economical changes must be even more terribly frightening to those nearing retirement, with their future dependant on their savings.
I hesitated before speaking, but eventually said, “Look Nola, I don’t mean to tell you what to do with your money, but like I told my Mum, it might be an idea to get in touch with your fund manager, make sure he’s on top of this.”
“Yes… you’re right,” she said slowly “It’s just so much to take in.”
I crouched down beside her chair. “It is,” I said. “But we’ll get through it.”
She took a deep breath and visibly rallied. “We will. Of course we will. Now, you get going before I find you something else to do.”
“Yes, Mum,” I teased as I handed over my logbook. She swatted at me with it as I headed out the door.
