Story The Nomad
- Thread starter ncsfsgm
- Start date
ncsfsgm
Veteran Member
Chapter Ninety-One
Monday found Dale Brighton back over in the Big Fork Recreation area at the Oscar Blevins Historic Farmstead. One of the Park Rangers had found an anomaly there and Dale needed to check it with a ground penetrating radar (GPR) unit. The Ranger met him there and helped unload the unit and walked with Dale as he did his scan of the suspect area. Dale found an underground dome had worn out under the area and a slight depression had formed so he scanned the edges, three meters out from the edge of the dome, while the Ranger painted the perimeter of the danger area. A section of the split-rail fence would have to be moved but the area was not normally an area visitors usually walked to. It was several hundred yards from the old homestead. With nothing else to do that afternoon, Dale helped the Ranger move as much of the fence as they could. They only had to move about thirty rails and they would come up short. They still made the outline of the fence and estimated another twenty rails would have to be brought in to completely rebuild the fence.
Otis picked up Andy right after Andy had returned home from school. In fact, Otis passed the school bus as it headed down its route after dropping the Brighton kids off. Andy had promised his mother he’d be gone for a couple of hours and be back to get his homework done. Andy changed out of his school clothes and hopped on the Rokon behind Otis. The bike didn’t go that fast but didn’t falter as they went up the trail to Percy’s cabin. Andy was amazed at the views as they climbed the south side of the mountain. As they came into view of the cabin, Andy saw the biggest dog he had ever seen and an old man sitting on a high-back bench on the porch.
“Welcome!” Percy called out.
“Percy, this here is Andy Brighton, our new neighbor.”
“Pleased to meet you Andy, come on up and take a seat!”
Andy shook Percy’s hand and said, “I’m pleased to meet you sir.”
Percy asked Andy a few questions and got Andy talking about his life in California with the earthquakes, wildfires, and the Democrats slowly destroying the state. Andy finally asked Percy how he came to live on the mountain.
“Peace and quiet.” Percy replied. “Sometimes you reach a point in life that you say, ‘to hell with it all’ and head for the bush….some place you can be alone and get away from what some folks call ‘Normal People’. I found I liked it and have been here coming up on twenty years.
“Have you always wanted to be alone?” Andy asked.
Percy chuckled. “Ever since I was old enough to figure out that I could use my gizmo for more than just writing my name in the snow. Nowadays, folks go to fancy doctors or spa resorts to sort themselves out. All I have to do is come out here on the porch and look at the beauty God created here. It might seem lonely up here but I’m never really alone. Someone once wrote ‘Sometimes you need to be alone. Not to be lonely, but to enjoy your free time.’”
“What do you do for fun?”
Percy chuckled. “Now see, that’s one of the problems with people down below. The generations of today are always looking for the ‘fun’ aspect in everything. It slows a fella down. I look for enjoyment. Watching a doe and her fawn, watching squirrels playing around, even watching Buster’s face there when he cuts a big fart and doesn’t understand where that nasty smell came from. Look at the enjoyment of just being there and not just for the ‘Fun.’”
Andy had to go do homework and Otis had chores to do so they left.
“What do you think Buster? That boy have any sense?”
Buster looked at Percy and let out a low “Ruff.”
“Yeah, I think he’ll do all right too.”
He slid the right bipod leg down to level the gun and adjusted the sight on the rifle. With a half-exhaled breath and a slight squeeze of his finger, the rifle fired and took down the old boar black bear right in front of his winter den. Otis took his time. He had to go around a deep ravine and he was dragging a one-wheel trailer behind the Rokon to haul the carcass back to Percy’s. The boar bear’s den was on Percy’s property and had taken to poking around Jeb Brewer’s old place. Jeb’s granddaughter had about a dozen of those pygmy goats…well less than that now, and the bear had taken a liking to them. Once he’d taken a liking to those kids…he had to go. Percy had lived with the bear on the mountain for quite a while, but he’d crossed the line. It wasn’t the bear’s fault but he had to go. Percy had asked Otis to bring him the bear. He could always use another skin and Buster wouldn’t mind the gamey meat, and Percy could maybe get a quart or two of bear fat off of him.
Duncan dragged another log up to the pasture to catch the sun and dry. He had enough logs laid out for firewood for him, the Hendersons, and the Harpers for the next winter. He’d just have to keep a watch on that bend to keep logs from piling up too badly and becoming a navigation hazard. There was an eddy there that kind of swirled everything around and often left a log sticking out into the channel, waiting for a boat to impale itself on it. He retrieved his chains and drove the tractor back to the equipment barn. As he was walking to the house, Allie came out with a dishpan and went to the compost bin next to the greenhouse. She raked the last of the potato peels into the bin as Duncan walked up.
“Whatcha making?” Duncan asked.
“I’m planning Shepherd’s Pie for supper. You want something else?”
“Nope, that sounds perfect.”
“Can you get me another braid of garlic from the root cellar? I’ve only got one bulb left.”
“Sure, coming right up.”
Duncan retrieved the garlic and went into the kitchen. Allie was emptying a bag of freeze-dried white cheddar cheese in a bowl to rehydrate. Duncan hung the braid from the end of a shelf in the pantry and washed his hands in the kitchen sink.
“When are you going to plow the garden?” Allie asked.
“I’ll do the first plowing next week and get it fertilized. After the last frost I’ll do the final tilling and lay the rows by. I want to try some different heirloom corn this year and a few other things. The grapevines are starting to bud so it won’t be long before I need to start tying them up.”
“Can we try planting popcorn?”
“Oh, sure.” I’ve ordered heirloom popcorn, Dent, and Sweet corn kernels from a farmer up in Michigan. I’ll have to plant a different field for the popcorn though. I don’t want things cross-pollinating.”
“What do you use Dent corn for?”
“Fine cornmeal, tortillas, tamales, beer and animal feed.”
“I want to freeze more corn on the cob this year. Buttery corn on the cob is comfort food for me in the winter. That reminds me. We need to stock up on Foodsaver bags. We ran out last year.”
“I’ll plant some extra rows. You can always use the rest for creamed corn. As for the bags, I can order them online cheaper than you can pick them up piecemeal around here.”
“What about canning jars?”
“Probably those too. We’ll go online to the Uline site this evening and you can compare prices. We can get them in 12 case units.”
“Okay, I’ll make a list of canning supplies and we can determine if we can get them cheaper online.”
Alex set up the last feeder and poured two bags of wildlife feed into the hopper. He spread a couple of handfuls of feed around the base, and hung a salt block on a tree in the woodline near the game trail. He had seen signs of turkey and was hopeful he could get a couple this year. There was a spring turkey season but he would wait until the fall to actually do any hunting. Right now, he was just setting up feeders and game cameras to see what came out to eat. He set up a mineral supplement block near a spring that ran down to the creek. Hopefully, the block worked as advertised. In a couple of weeks, he would start planting the food fields just before Hank did his. That would bring the deer into his plots first then they would drift over to Hank’s. Hank was fine with that. It gave him plenty of time to fill a couple of tags.
Alex returned the tractor and trailer to the shed and went inside. AnnaMarie was just taking out a pan of what he called “Tenderloin Rolls” from the oven. Alex washed his hands, then took out two slices of breaded pork tenderloin from the freezer and prepared to fry them.
“Ready for lunch?” AnnaMarie said, giggling.
“With your rolls, I could eat these things for every meal.” Alex replied.
“And the doctor would have you on heart medication in no time.”
Alex grunted and laid the tenderloins into the hot oil.
“Uncle Hank is getting ready to plow his fields for the garden and corn.”
“Do you want to plant a garden?” Alex asked.
“No use to. The garden space he has will feed us all and then some.” AnnaMarie replied.
“Okay then. Well, keep me informed. I’ll help as much as I can.”
Monday found Dale Brighton back over in the Big Fork Recreation area at the Oscar Blevins Historic Farmstead. One of the Park Rangers had found an anomaly there and Dale needed to check it with a ground penetrating radar (GPR) unit. The Ranger met him there and helped unload the unit and walked with Dale as he did his scan of the suspect area. Dale found an underground dome had worn out under the area and a slight depression had formed so he scanned the edges, three meters out from the edge of the dome, while the Ranger painted the perimeter of the danger area. A section of the split-rail fence would have to be moved but the area was not normally an area visitors usually walked to. It was several hundred yards from the old homestead. With nothing else to do that afternoon, Dale helped the Ranger move as much of the fence as they could. They only had to move about thirty rails and they would come up short. They still made the outline of the fence and estimated another twenty rails would have to be brought in to completely rebuild the fence.
Otis picked up Andy right after Andy had returned home from school. In fact, Otis passed the school bus as it headed down its route after dropping the Brighton kids off. Andy had promised his mother he’d be gone for a couple of hours and be back to get his homework done. Andy changed out of his school clothes and hopped on the Rokon behind Otis. The bike didn’t go that fast but didn’t falter as they went up the trail to Percy’s cabin. Andy was amazed at the views as they climbed the south side of the mountain. As they came into view of the cabin, Andy saw the biggest dog he had ever seen and an old man sitting on a high-back bench on the porch.
“Welcome!” Percy called out.
“Percy, this here is Andy Brighton, our new neighbor.”
“Pleased to meet you Andy, come on up and take a seat!”
Andy shook Percy’s hand and said, “I’m pleased to meet you sir.”
Percy asked Andy a few questions and got Andy talking about his life in California with the earthquakes, wildfires, and the Democrats slowly destroying the state. Andy finally asked Percy how he came to live on the mountain.
“Peace and quiet.” Percy replied. “Sometimes you reach a point in life that you say, ‘to hell with it all’ and head for the bush….some place you can be alone and get away from what some folks call ‘Normal People’. I found I liked it and have been here coming up on twenty years.
“Have you always wanted to be alone?” Andy asked.
Percy chuckled. “Ever since I was old enough to figure out that I could use my gizmo for more than just writing my name in the snow. Nowadays, folks go to fancy doctors or spa resorts to sort themselves out. All I have to do is come out here on the porch and look at the beauty God created here. It might seem lonely up here but I’m never really alone. Someone once wrote ‘Sometimes you need to be alone. Not to be lonely, but to enjoy your free time.’”
“What do you do for fun?”
Percy chuckled. “Now see, that’s one of the problems with people down below. The generations of today are always looking for the ‘fun’ aspect in everything. It slows a fella down. I look for enjoyment. Watching a doe and her fawn, watching squirrels playing around, even watching Buster’s face there when he cuts a big fart and doesn’t understand where that nasty smell came from. Look at the enjoyment of just being there and not just for the ‘Fun.’”
Andy had to go do homework and Otis had chores to do so they left.
“What do you think Buster? That boy have any sense?”
Buster looked at Percy and let out a low “Ruff.”
“Yeah, I think he’ll do all right too.”
He slid the right bipod leg down to level the gun and adjusted the sight on the rifle. With a half-exhaled breath and a slight squeeze of his finger, the rifle fired and took down the old boar black bear right in front of his winter den. Otis took his time. He had to go around a deep ravine and he was dragging a one-wheel trailer behind the Rokon to haul the carcass back to Percy’s. The boar bear’s den was on Percy’s property and had taken to poking around Jeb Brewer’s old place. Jeb’s granddaughter had about a dozen of those pygmy goats…well less than that now, and the bear had taken a liking to them. Once he’d taken a liking to those kids…he had to go. Percy had lived with the bear on the mountain for quite a while, but he’d crossed the line. It wasn’t the bear’s fault but he had to go. Percy had asked Otis to bring him the bear. He could always use another skin and Buster wouldn’t mind the gamey meat, and Percy could maybe get a quart or two of bear fat off of him.
Duncan dragged another log up to the pasture to catch the sun and dry. He had enough logs laid out for firewood for him, the Hendersons, and the Harpers for the next winter. He’d just have to keep a watch on that bend to keep logs from piling up too badly and becoming a navigation hazard. There was an eddy there that kind of swirled everything around and often left a log sticking out into the channel, waiting for a boat to impale itself on it. He retrieved his chains and drove the tractor back to the equipment barn. As he was walking to the house, Allie came out with a dishpan and went to the compost bin next to the greenhouse. She raked the last of the potato peels into the bin as Duncan walked up.
“Whatcha making?” Duncan asked.
“I’m planning Shepherd’s Pie for supper. You want something else?”
“Nope, that sounds perfect.”
“Can you get me another braid of garlic from the root cellar? I’ve only got one bulb left.”
“Sure, coming right up.”
Duncan retrieved the garlic and went into the kitchen. Allie was emptying a bag of freeze-dried white cheddar cheese in a bowl to rehydrate. Duncan hung the braid from the end of a shelf in the pantry and washed his hands in the kitchen sink.
“When are you going to plow the garden?” Allie asked.
“I’ll do the first plowing next week and get it fertilized. After the last frost I’ll do the final tilling and lay the rows by. I want to try some different heirloom corn this year and a few other things. The grapevines are starting to bud so it won’t be long before I need to start tying them up.”
“Can we try planting popcorn?”
“Oh, sure.” I’ve ordered heirloom popcorn, Dent, and Sweet corn kernels from a farmer up in Michigan. I’ll have to plant a different field for the popcorn though. I don’t want things cross-pollinating.”
“What do you use Dent corn for?”
“Fine cornmeal, tortillas, tamales, beer and animal feed.”
“I want to freeze more corn on the cob this year. Buttery corn on the cob is comfort food for me in the winter. That reminds me. We need to stock up on Foodsaver bags. We ran out last year.”
“I’ll plant some extra rows. You can always use the rest for creamed corn. As for the bags, I can order them online cheaper than you can pick them up piecemeal around here.”
“What about canning jars?”
“Probably those too. We’ll go online to the Uline site this evening and you can compare prices. We can get them in 12 case units.”
“Okay, I’ll make a list of canning supplies and we can determine if we can get them cheaper online.”
Alex set up the last feeder and poured two bags of wildlife feed into the hopper. He spread a couple of handfuls of feed around the base, and hung a salt block on a tree in the woodline near the game trail. He had seen signs of turkey and was hopeful he could get a couple this year. There was a spring turkey season but he would wait until the fall to actually do any hunting. Right now, he was just setting up feeders and game cameras to see what came out to eat. He set up a mineral supplement block near a spring that ran down to the creek. Hopefully, the block worked as advertised. In a couple of weeks, he would start planting the food fields just before Hank did his. That would bring the deer into his plots first then they would drift over to Hank’s. Hank was fine with that. It gave him plenty of time to fill a couple of tags.
Alex returned the tractor and trailer to the shed and went inside. AnnaMarie was just taking out a pan of what he called “Tenderloin Rolls” from the oven. Alex washed his hands, then took out two slices of breaded pork tenderloin from the freezer and prepared to fry them.
“Ready for lunch?” AnnaMarie said, giggling.
“With your rolls, I could eat these things for every meal.” Alex replied.
“And the doctor would have you on heart medication in no time.”
Alex grunted and laid the tenderloins into the hot oil.
“Uncle Hank is getting ready to plow his fields for the garden and corn.”
“Do you want to plant a garden?” Alex asked.
“No use to. The garden space he has will feed us all and then some.” AnnaMarie replied.
“Okay then. Well, keep me informed. I’ll help as much as I can.”
feralferret
Veteran Member
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ncsfsgm
Veteran Member
Chapter Ninety-Two
Bob canted the landscaping blade on the tractor and began cleaning out the side ditches on the driveway. He started at the gate and made his way down the right side of the driveway. His thoughts turned to the company in Wisconsin that made an above soil ditch liner that he could install. It would last for years and save him some time on spring cleanups. When he reached the end of the ditch near the house, he raised the blade, aligned in the opposite ditch and headed toward the gate. When he reached the gate, he leveled the blade, turned it 45 degrees and went down each side of the drive, making one row of debris in the center of the drive, making it easier to remove the debris with the scoop bucket on the skid steer.
Turning the pork tenderloins, Alex heard a vehicle pull up and a door slam. He looked out the window and saw it was Duncan. Alex grinned and went to the freezer and pulled out another loin.
AnnaMarie let Duncan in and he followed her into the kitchen. Duncan peeked over Alex’s shoulder and said, “I thought I smelled pork tenderloin cooking up at the road.”
Alex chuckled. “Remember Des Moines?”
Duncan grunted. “The Iowa Taproom. I gained ten pounds and almost went into a coma from protein overdose! Where did you find breaded pork tenderloins?”
“I had the manager at the IGA order me a case.” Alex replied.
“Good to know. Now I’ve got another reason to go to town.” Duncan said.
AnnaMarie built the sandwiches with a little mayonnaise, lots of mustard and a leaf of lettuce, just the way Alex liked them. Alex got out three beers and they sat down and “pigged out.”
“What have you been up to?” Duncan asked.
Alex told him about the feeders, the salt blocks and the future food plots.
“I’m seeing a lot of turkey tracks on the sand bars down at the river.” Duncan said between bites. “I might put out some feeders also. I don’t want to attract the deer so much because of the gardens.”
“Angie has feed just for turkeys, and she carries feeders too.” Alex said.
“I’ll check her out. I need to do some research to see where the best places are to put the feeders.”
“I don’t understand why someone hasn’t figured out how to make turkeys grow four legs. I love smoked turkey legs.” Alex said, wiping a bit of mustard off his mouth with a paper towel.
“Check the IGA. Surely someone sells the things by the case.” Duncan said.
“Good idea.”
“And I’ll have the doctor check your cholesterol.” AnnaMarie said.
“I’ll have you know turkey meat is very healthy! It’s high in B Vitamins, low fat…”
“Not when you bookend them with pork tenderloin sandwiches.”
Duncan laughed. “She’s got you there buddy!”
Duncan finished his sandwich, drained his beer and dropped his trash into the trashcan.
“Sorry, I have to run. That was delicious. The only thing that would have made it better would have been a big slice of gooey butter cake. I’ll make sure to stop by the IGA.” Duncan said. “I’ll see if they can order turkey legs too.”
“We’ll see you later!” Alex said as Duncan went through the door.
Bob, Gene, and Bobby raked and bagged the leaves off the boat ramp. Bob wasn’t fond of the leaves and debris forming mats in the eddies at the base of the ramp. The leaves would be run through the chipper and added to the compost pile along with a couple of pounds of sugar, two cups of nitrogen fertilizer, and two shovelfuls of leaf mold gathered in the hardwood groves. It made some great compost. The mixture drew ants but the addition of coffee grounds, he occasional citrus peels and borax and honey traps helped keep them at bay. Bobby loaded the bags onto the trailer and drove the tractor to the compost bins. Gene added fuel to the chipper and Bob began emptying the bags into the hopper. Bobby was ready with the seed scoop, filling the bins and adding the magic ingredients as he went along. After all the leaves had been ground, Bob sprayed the bins down with a little water and shut the covers. All they had to do was keep the compost damp and turn it every couple of weeks and they would have some sweet compost. They put their tools away and put the tractor and trailer in the equipment shed.
Ashelyn was putting a pan of lasagna in the oven and Bob headed to the bathroom to wash up.
“I need some more Swedish Dishcloths.” Ashelyn said. “Do you have any plans on going to Knoxville anytime soon?”
On their trip to Bass Pro Shops before Christmas, Ashelyn had picked up a pack of these dishcloths. Swedish dishcloths are reusable, super absorbent cloths made from wood pulp and cotton. They dry fast, grab dirt without cleaner, and can be sanitized and reused. You use them like you would paper towels but are reusable and don’t fall apart like paper towels do.
“I haven’t anything planned. Have you tried Amazon? They probably have them.”
“I’ll check.”
Bob turned on the NOAA weather radio and listened to the forecast. Severe clear to their area, so he turned on the TV to the weather channel and watched a few minutes. Nothing but possibly a little rain was headed their way so he turned the TV off.
“I need to go to Angie’s store tomorrow and pick up more chicken and wild game feed.” Bob said to Ashelyn.
“I’ll go with you. The IGA is having a special on smoked ham hocks and have a two for one specials on some canned things.” Ashelyn replied.
“Your carriage awaits, Madam!” Bob said, bringing his arm across his chest and bending slightly at the waist.
“Behave, or I’ll feed you cauliflower for a week!”
“Only if you serve it with pickled boiled eggs!” Bob said.
“Then you’ll be sleeping in the survival house with all the vents closed.”
“You are a horrible woman!”
“Not nearly as horrible as your gas!” Ashelyn said, barely suppressing a grin.
“Touche'!” Bob said and grinned.
Martin was working in the wood shop when Ciara arrived. He walked to the door and peeked out. When he saw who it was, he walked out to her car.
“Well, good afternoon!” Martin greeted her. As he reached out to hug her she backed away.
“You’re all dusty!”
Martin looked down at himself and he did have a bit of dust where he had been sanding, and started brushing himself off.
“I was working on some wood. What brings you out?”
“There’s something I wanted to do in the morning….”
“Oh yeah?” Martin grinned and reached for her again.
“NOT THAT! I wanted to draw the view of the sun rising over that ridge over there and try to paint it.” Ciara said, showing him the 18"ⅹ24" Sketch Pad and pointing at the ridgeline to the east.
“You paint?” Martin asked, surprised.
“Only when I’m relaxed, and I’m feeling relaxed lately.”
“Well, make yourself at home. I would never stand in the way of an artist’s endeavors.”
Ciara laid the sketch pad on the roof of her car, opened the trunk, took out a comfortable looking lounge chair and set it up under the dripline of the oak tree next to the shop. She sat down, looked toward the ridge, got back up, and moved the chair forward a bit. Sitting back down, she again looked toward the ridge and nodded slightly. She went back to the car, retrieved the sketch pad and got a case of drawing and sketching pencils out of the trunk. Ciara sat back in the chair, adjusted herself until she was comfortable, then began sketching the ridgeline and the hills leading up to it. Martin left her alone to draw and went back inside the workshop.
Martin got a sheet of pasteboard and using a magnifying glass, studied the picture of a wood table leg, duplicated the contour pattern onto the pasteboard. After many erasures and re-drawing, Martin finally had what he wanted. He used a razor knife to cut out the pattern and took a break. He walked outside to see how Ciara was doing. Looking over her shoulder, the scene she was drawing might as well have been a picture taken from a camera, except it was in black and white.
“That’s really good! So, what do you have to do in the morning?”
“I need to capture the morning colors. I use colored pencils for that. Once I have the ideas in my head, I can start on the canvas and redraw an outline of everything and paint it.”
I’d like to have that sketch when you are finished.” Martin said.
“Oh, you wouldn’t want it. When I finish in the morning there will be little patches of mixed colors all along the margins and basically something a four-year old would do. It will look nicer when I finished the painting. I’ll give it to you.”
She closed the pad, boxed her pencils, folded her chair, and placed everything in the car’s trunk.
Martin went back into the shop and grabbed one of the leg blanks and clamped it in the Benchtop Wood Lathe. He selected the correct knife, turned the lathe on and began forming the leg, occasionally using the pattern to keep his cut correct. When he was finished cutting, he adjusted the speed slower and used a sheet of sandpaper to smooth everything out. Martin examined the leg and decided it was what he wanted and set it aside. Taking his apron off, he dusted himself off with the air hose and went to the house.
It was getting toward supper so Martin got a jar of vegetable soup out of the pantry and began frying bacon for BLTs. Ciara was in his office looking through his meager book collection and finally came to the kitchen.
“What are you making?” Ciara asked, reaching around him and snatching a rasher of bacon off the plate.
“If you keep eating the bacon you won’t get a sandwich. We’re having vegetable soup and bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwiches.”
“Sounds delicious! Did you make the soup?”
“No, I bought it at a Mennonite store down in Muddy Pond.”
“I’ve heard of Muddy Pond from some of the restaurant customers.”
“It’s an interesting place. I’ll have to take you there when the weather is a little better.”
“Okay!”
Martin showed Ciara how to use the folding bread cutter and had her slice bread for the sandwiches.
“Did you make the bread also?”
“Yes, I make a 2-pound loaf a week unless I’m expecting company, then I’ll make two.”
“Just go ahead and make two from here on. I can take the extra loaf home with me.” Ciara said, grinning.
“Or I could just keep you here until you finish it.” Martin replied.
Ciara feigned a horrified look on her face. “What would the neighbors say?!”
“Probably nothing as long as you wear a gag.”
“You’re not funny!” Ciara said, slapping Martin on the arm.
Bob canted the landscaping blade on the tractor and began cleaning out the side ditches on the driveway. He started at the gate and made his way down the right side of the driveway. His thoughts turned to the company in Wisconsin that made an above soil ditch liner that he could install. It would last for years and save him some time on spring cleanups. When he reached the end of the ditch near the house, he raised the blade, aligned in the opposite ditch and headed toward the gate. When he reached the gate, he leveled the blade, turned it 45 degrees and went down each side of the drive, making one row of debris in the center of the drive, making it easier to remove the debris with the scoop bucket on the skid steer.
Turning the pork tenderloins, Alex heard a vehicle pull up and a door slam. He looked out the window and saw it was Duncan. Alex grinned and went to the freezer and pulled out another loin.
AnnaMarie let Duncan in and he followed her into the kitchen. Duncan peeked over Alex’s shoulder and said, “I thought I smelled pork tenderloin cooking up at the road.”
Alex chuckled. “Remember Des Moines?”
Duncan grunted. “The Iowa Taproom. I gained ten pounds and almost went into a coma from protein overdose! Where did you find breaded pork tenderloins?”
“I had the manager at the IGA order me a case.” Alex replied.
“Good to know. Now I’ve got another reason to go to town.” Duncan said.
AnnaMarie built the sandwiches with a little mayonnaise, lots of mustard and a leaf of lettuce, just the way Alex liked them. Alex got out three beers and they sat down and “pigged out.”
“What have you been up to?” Duncan asked.
Alex told him about the feeders, the salt blocks and the future food plots.
“I’m seeing a lot of turkey tracks on the sand bars down at the river.” Duncan said between bites. “I might put out some feeders also. I don’t want to attract the deer so much because of the gardens.”
“Angie has feed just for turkeys, and she carries feeders too.” Alex said.
“I’ll check her out. I need to do some research to see where the best places are to put the feeders.”
“I don’t understand why someone hasn’t figured out how to make turkeys grow four legs. I love smoked turkey legs.” Alex said, wiping a bit of mustard off his mouth with a paper towel.
“Check the IGA. Surely someone sells the things by the case.” Duncan said.
“Good idea.”
“And I’ll have the doctor check your cholesterol.” AnnaMarie said.
“I’ll have you know turkey meat is very healthy! It’s high in B Vitamins, low fat…”
“Not when you bookend them with pork tenderloin sandwiches.”
Duncan laughed. “She’s got you there buddy!”
Duncan finished his sandwich, drained his beer and dropped his trash into the trashcan.
“Sorry, I have to run. That was delicious. The only thing that would have made it better would have been a big slice of gooey butter cake. I’ll make sure to stop by the IGA.” Duncan said. “I’ll see if they can order turkey legs too.”
“We’ll see you later!” Alex said as Duncan went through the door.
Bob, Gene, and Bobby raked and bagged the leaves off the boat ramp. Bob wasn’t fond of the leaves and debris forming mats in the eddies at the base of the ramp. The leaves would be run through the chipper and added to the compost pile along with a couple of pounds of sugar, two cups of nitrogen fertilizer, and two shovelfuls of leaf mold gathered in the hardwood groves. It made some great compost. The mixture drew ants but the addition of coffee grounds, he occasional citrus peels and borax and honey traps helped keep them at bay. Bobby loaded the bags onto the trailer and drove the tractor to the compost bins. Gene added fuel to the chipper and Bob began emptying the bags into the hopper. Bobby was ready with the seed scoop, filling the bins and adding the magic ingredients as he went along. After all the leaves had been ground, Bob sprayed the bins down with a little water and shut the covers. All they had to do was keep the compost damp and turn it every couple of weeks and they would have some sweet compost. They put their tools away and put the tractor and trailer in the equipment shed.
Ashelyn was putting a pan of lasagna in the oven and Bob headed to the bathroom to wash up.
“I need some more Swedish Dishcloths.” Ashelyn said. “Do you have any plans on going to Knoxville anytime soon?”
On their trip to Bass Pro Shops before Christmas, Ashelyn had picked up a pack of these dishcloths. Swedish dishcloths are reusable, super absorbent cloths made from wood pulp and cotton. They dry fast, grab dirt without cleaner, and can be sanitized and reused. You use them like you would paper towels but are reusable and don’t fall apart like paper towels do.
“I haven’t anything planned. Have you tried Amazon? They probably have them.”
“I’ll check.”
Bob turned on the NOAA weather radio and listened to the forecast. Severe clear to their area, so he turned on the TV to the weather channel and watched a few minutes. Nothing but possibly a little rain was headed their way so he turned the TV off.
“I need to go to Angie’s store tomorrow and pick up more chicken and wild game feed.” Bob said to Ashelyn.
“I’ll go with you. The IGA is having a special on smoked ham hocks and have a two for one specials on some canned things.” Ashelyn replied.
“Your carriage awaits, Madam!” Bob said, bringing his arm across his chest and bending slightly at the waist.
“Behave, or I’ll feed you cauliflower for a week!”
“Only if you serve it with pickled boiled eggs!” Bob said.
“Then you’ll be sleeping in the survival house with all the vents closed.”
“You are a horrible woman!”
“Not nearly as horrible as your gas!” Ashelyn said, barely suppressing a grin.
“Touche'!” Bob said and grinned.
Martin was working in the wood shop when Ciara arrived. He walked to the door and peeked out. When he saw who it was, he walked out to her car.
“Well, good afternoon!” Martin greeted her. As he reached out to hug her she backed away.
“You’re all dusty!”
Martin looked down at himself and he did have a bit of dust where he had been sanding, and started brushing himself off.
“I was working on some wood. What brings you out?”
“There’s something I wanted to do in the morning….”
“Oh yeah?” Martin grinned and reached for her again.
“NOT THAT! I wanted to draw the view of the sun rising over that ridge over there and try to paint it.” Ciara said, showing him the 18"ⅹ24" Sketch Pad and pointing at the ridgeline to the east.
“You paint?” Martin asked, surprised.
“Only when I’m relaxed, and I’m feeling relaxed lately.”
“Well, make yourself at home. I would never stand in the way of an artist’s endeavors.”
Ciara laid the sketch pad on the roof of her car, opened the trunk, took out a comfortable looking lounge chair and set it up under the dripline of the oak tree next to the shop. She sat down, looked toward the ridge, got back up, and moved the chair forward a bit. Sitting back down, she again looked toward the ridge and nodded slightly. She went back to the car, retrieved the sketch pad and got a case of drawing and sketching pencils out of the trunk. Ciara sat back in the chair, adjusted herself until she was comfortable, then began sketching the ridgeline and the hills leading up to it. Martin left her alone to draw and went back inside the workshop.
Martin got a sheet of pasteboard and using a magnifying glass, studied the picture of a wood table leg, duplicated the contour pattern onto the pasteboard. After many erasures and re-drawing, Martin finally had what he wanted. He used a razor knife to cut out the pattern and took a break. He walked outside to see how Ciara was doing. Looking over her shoulder, the scene she was drawing might as well have been a picture taken from a camera, except it was in black and white.
“That’s really good! So, what do you have to do in the morning?”
“I need to capture the morning colors. I use colored pencils for that. Once I have the ideas in my head, I can start on the canvas and redraw an outline of everything and paint it.”
I’d like to have that sketch when you are finished.” Martin said.
“Oh, you wouldn’t want it. When I finish in the morning there will be little patches of mixed colors all along the margins and basically something a four-year old would do. It will look nicer when I finished the painting. I’ll give it to you.”
She closed the pad, boxed her pencils, folded her chair, and placed everything in the car’s trunk.
Martin went back into the shop and grabbed one of the leg blanks and clamped it in the Benchtop Wood Lathe. He selected the correct knife, turned the lathe on and began forming the leg, occasionally using the pattern to keep his cut correct. When he was finished cutting, he adjusted the speed slower and used a sheet of sandpaper to smooth everything out. Martin examined the leg and decided it was what he wanted and set it aside. Taking his apron off, he dusted himself off with the air hose and went to the house.
It was getting toward supper so Martin got a jar of vegetable soup out of the pantry and began frying bacon for BLTs. Ciara was in his office looking through his meager book collection and finally came to the kitchen.
“What are you making?” Ciara asked, reaching around him and snatching a rasher of bacon off the plate.
“If you keep eating the bacon you won’t get a sandwich. We’re having vegetable soup and bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwiches.”
“Sounds delicious! Did you make the soup?”
“No, I bought it at a Mennonite store down in Muddy Pond.”
“I’ve heard of Muddy Pond from some of the restaurant customers.”
“It’s an interesting place. I’ll have to take you there when the weather is a little better.”
“Okay!”
Martin showed Ciara how to use the folding bread cutter and had her slice bread for the sandwiches.
“Did you make the bread also?”
“Yes, I make a 2-pound loaf a week unless I’m expecting company, then I’ll make two.”
“Just go ahead and make two from here on. I can take the extra loaf home with me.” Ciara said, grinning.
“Or I could just keep you here until you finish it.” Martin replied.
Ciara feigned a horrified look on her face. “What would the neighbors say?!”
“Probably nothing as long as you wear a gag.”
“You’re not funny!” Ciara said, slapping Martin on the arm.
Last edited:
ncsfsgm
Veteran Member
Chapter Ninety-Three
Martin toasted the bread slices and Ciara made the sandwiches. They sat down with steaming bowls of vegetable soup, the BLTs and iced tea.
They ate relatively quietly except for Ciara saying how good the meal was.
Cleanup was easy and they soon headed for the great room to watch TV. Martin handed her the remote and said, “I’ve got 350 satellite channels and the major movie packages; pick something for us to watch.
They ended up watching a movie on Netflix about some woman looking for her biological father. Ciara leaned into Martin and he put his arm around her shoulder but he soon was nodding off.
Percy checked the ginseng he had stored in the gallon jars in the cellar. He would soon make a trip to the herbalist outside of Cookeville who bought all he could deliver. He usually had fifteen to twenty pounds of dried root to sell each year. Depending on a number of variables, he could get between $200 and $250 an ounce which kept him above poverty level. If he did well this year, he was considering investing in propane burners to heat his drying shed. Propane would be a lot more efficient than wood to dry the roots out in the winter. He had 25 pounds on hand and if he could get premium price, he could make up to $100,000 on his Fall harvest. Some of the roots were around 27 years old according to the rings he had counted and were large enough he’d had to cut them to make sure they dried correctly. The ginseng, along with the other natural herbs, medicinal plants, and wild pecans he gathered would make a good payday.
Percy drew a cup of water and went out on the porch to drink it. He sat and remembered the stories his grandfather had told him about the Yunwi Tsunsdi—the Little People, as the Cherokee had called them. To a young Percy, it was tales of fairies, mystical things, and superstitions you could only dream about, that is, until he had grown old enough to believe you just couldn’t understand some of the things that happened in the mountains. Not long after Percy had moved to Wildcat Mountain….it was in the Fall; Percy had gone out hunting for ginseng one afternoon. The paths twisted unpredictably, and soon the familiar landmarks vanished. Fog rolled in, thick and disorienting, and Percy realized he was lost. Panic clawed at his chest. "Foolish old man," he muttered, his voice echoing faintly. The temperature dropped, and shadows lengthened into eerie shapes. He stumbled over roots, the afternoon sunlight fading quickly.
Exhausted, Percy slumped against a massive rock outcrop, its surface etched with strange, swirling patterns that resembled ancient carvings. In Cherokee lore, which his grandfather had shared around the old fire pit, these woods were home to the Yunwi Tsunsdi—the Little People. Tiny beings, no taller than a child's knee, with long hair trailing to the ground and skin like polished river stones. They were guardians of the forest, helpers to the pure-hearted, but tricksters to the wicked. Percy had always dismissed such tales as superstition, but in his desperation, he whispered a plea into the night: "If anyone's out there, help me find my way home."
As if in response, a soft glow emerged from the undergrowth. At first, Percy thought it was fireflies, but the lights danced with purpose, forming a circle around him. Tiny figures materialized, their forms shimmering like heat haze. The Yunwi Tsunsdi—dozens of them—stood no higher than his shin, dressed in garments woven from spider silk and adorned with feathers. Their eyes sparkled with ancient wisdom, and their voices chimed like distant bells.
One stepped forward, an elder with hair like cascading vines. "Why do you wander our realm, tall one?" he asked, his tone curious yet stern.
Percy blinked, rubbing his eyes. "I... I'm lost. My life's a mess. Lost my home, my wife, my work, everything. Just trying to survive."
The Little People murmured among themselves, their language a melodic blend of whispers and wind. The elder nodded. "We see your heart, Percy Wilkerson. It is heavy, but not darkened by greed. The forest remembers your grandfather's stories; he honored us. We will aid you, but you must promise to honor the woods in return—no more taking without giving back."
Percy nodded eagerly, though doubt lingered. "I promise. Anything."
The Yunwi Tsunsdi sprang into action. A group of them scampered up trees, dropping ripe nuts and Paw Paws into his lap—enough to fill his gathering bag. Others tugged at his sleeves, leading him along invisible paths. As they moved, they sang soft chants that seemed to part the fog, revealing glowing mushrooms that lit the way like lanterns. Percy marveled at their agility; they leaped over streams and vanished into crevices, only to reappear with gifts: a pouch of healing herbs for his aching joints, a carved wooden amulet that hummed with warmth, and the occasional cup, made of leaves, filled with fresh spring water.
But their help went beyond physical. As they journeyed, the elder shared visions in Percy's mind—flashes of past mistakes of the area settlers, like neglecting the land by clear-cutting for quick lumber. "Balance is key," the elder explained. "The fires that ravage some areas were nature's cry. Build with respect, and prosperity will follow."
Deeper in the woods, they led him to a hidden glade where a crystal-clear spring bubbled. The Little People instructed him to drink, and as the cool water touched his lips, clarity washed over him. Ideas flooded his thoughts: sustainable woodworking, using fallen branches to craft furniture that celebrated the forest's beauty. He saw himself teaching others again.
By dawn, the Yunwi Tsunsdi had guided him near his cabin, back to familiar trails. His pack brimmed with treasures—not just food, but nuts and seeds for planting, and a small, enchanted chisel that never dulled. "Plant these," the elder said, handing him acorns, hickory nuts, chestnuts, pecans, and ginseng seed. "Grow your future." With a final twinkle, they faded into the mist, leaving only the echo of their laughter.
Percy returned home transformed. He sold the ginseng he’d gathered to start anew, but more importantly, he honored his promise. He built his drying shed and other concealed buildings with eco-friendly materials, planting trees for everyone he used.
Percy hoped that years later, he would sit by the fire, telling his grandchildren about the Little People, but that would never be, but now he had Otis and young Andy to pass the tales on to. "The Yunwi Tsunsdi didn't just save me," he'd say. "They taught me to save myself—and the forest." The Yunwi Tsunsdi watched, their realm thriving once more.
Percy had planted nuts and had established new ginseng patches. He soon learned from the Little People which patches were the oldest and carefully harvested each year. Some of the patches he hadn’t visited in years except to check on their health. It was tricky harvesting the ginseng seed but when he ran low, he would always find a little bark pouch of seed on his porch one morning.
Martin didn’t even remember going to bed. Ciara must have got him in there anyway. When he woke up, dawn was breaking but there was no sign that Ciara had been there. He pulled on some clothes and went in the kitchen to make coffee, spying Ciara through the window setting up her chair out at the oak tree. He didn’t do anything until the coffee had perked, poured a travel mug full, added Cremora and honey to it like she drank it, then grabbed a small folding table off the deck and took the coffee and table out to Ciara. He quietly set everything up, nodding to a “Thank You”, and went back inside. He’d start breakfast when she was finished.
Percy sat and studied the ground in front of the porch and got a shovel out and began digging a new fire pit. The old one they had used when his grandfather was alive was now just ancient pieces of charcoal. When he had it to the size he wanted, he used his big two wheel cart to bring stones to line the fire pit with. When he thought he had enough, he walked down to the garage to get his truck and go into Jim Town to get some mortar mix. His trip was short. He picked up four bags of mortar mix, a length of cast iron sewer pipe with an elbow and drain screen, and four boxes of slugs for his shotgun. He didn’t know of any more bear dens on the mountain, but he didn’t want to give in to any inquisitive bears. They got goofy in the springtime.
Percy used a sharpshooter shovel to dig a trench for the drain pipe that would provide air to the pit.
Granite was used to build the pit. It was nonporous and and wouldn't explode and would retain heat, radiating the heat as the fire die down. Otis helped him a bit, breaking off smaller pieces with a sledgehammer. Otis did bring up a battery powered saw with a rock blade that they cut off slimmer pieces to top the fire pit walls. Otis would cut the rock while Percy slowly poured water on the blade to cut down the heat and the rock dust. Steel splitting wedges were then driven into the cut until the slice of rock came off. They finished the pit on a Wednesday and decided to wait until Friday night to try it out to allow the mortar to set. The weather was supposed to be good so Otis decided to bring up his sleeping bag and make it an all-nighter. He was going to see if Andy could come up and camp out with him. Otis checked his supplies to make sure he had enough eggs and such to make the boys a good breakfast on Saturday morning. Pancakes, ham and eggs should hold them.
Otis picked up Andy Friday afternoon as soon as he got home from school. Andy quickly changed clothes, picked up his camping gear, and tossed it into the one-wheel Rokon trailer. They were soon at Percy’s cabin. The young men quickly set up a waterproof nylon tarp from Andy’s gear that had space for both of them, blew up their air mattresses and laid out their sleeping bags. They then went into the woods and gathered kindling and what Otis called “Lighter Knots”.
“Otis, what is a Lighter Knot?” Andy asked.
“It’s fatwood, but this piece comes from the joint where a tree limb joined the trunk. See, it’s shaped like a pinecone. The tree was probably struck by lightning, the sap in the limb drained down to the trunk then the tree rotted, leaving this. It burns like hellfire when lit and good to start fires with, especially in wet weather.”
Martin toasted the bread slices and Ciara made the sandwiches. They sat down with steaming bowls of vegetable soup, the BLTs and iced tea.
They ate relatively quietly except for Ciara saying how good the meal was.
Cleanup was easy and they soon headed for the great room to watch TV. Martin handed her the remote and said, “I’ve got 350 satellite channels and the major movie packages; pick something for us to watch.
They ended up watching a movie on Netflix about some woman looking for her biological father. Ciara leaned into Martin and he put his arm around her shoulder but he soon was nodding off.
Percy checked the ginseng he had stored in the gallon jars in the cellar. He would soon make a trip to the herbalist outside of Cookeville who bought all he could deliver. He usually had fifteen to twenty pounds of dried root to sell each year. Depending on a number of variables, he could get between $200 and $250 an ounce which kept him above poverty level. If he did well this year, he was considering investing in propane burners to heat his drying shed. Propane would be a lot more efficient than wood to dry the roots out in the winter. He had 25 pounds on hand and if he could get premium price, he could make up to $100,000 on his Fall harvest. Some of the roots were around 27 years old according to the rings he had counted and were large enough he’d had to cut them to make sure they dried correctly. The ginseng, along with the other natural herbs, medicinal plants, and wild pecans he gathered would make a good payday.
Percy drew a cup of water and went out on the porch to drink it. He sat and remembered the stories his grandfather had told him about the Yunwi Tsunsdi—the Little People, as the Cherokee had called them. To a young Percy, it was tales of fairies, mystical things, and superstitions you could only dream about, that is, until he had grown old enough to believe you just couldn’t understand some of the things that happened in the mountains. Not long after Percy had moved to Wildcat Mountain….it was in the Fall; Percy had gone out hunting for ginseng one afternoon. The paths twisted unpredictably, and soon the familiar landmarks vanished. Fog rolled in, thick and disorienting, and Percy realized he was lost. Panic clawed at his chest. "Foolish old man," he muttered, his voice echoing faintly. The temperature dropped, and shadows lengthened into eerie shapes. He stumbled over roots, the afternoon sunlight fading quickly.
Exhausted, Percy slumped against a massive rock outcrop, its surface etched with strange, swirling patterns that resembled ancient carvings. In Cherokee lore, which his grandfather had shared around the old fire pit, these woods were home to the Yunwi Tsunsdi—the Little People. Tiny beings, no taller than a child's knee, with long hair trailing to the ground and skin like polished river stones. They were guardians of the forest, helpers to the pure-hearted, but tricksters to the wicked. Percy had always dismissed such tales as superstition, but in his desperation, he whispered a plea into the night: "If anyone's out there, help me find my way home."
As if in response, a soft glow emerged from the undergrowth. At first, Percy thought it was fireflies, but the lights danced with purpose, forming a circle around him. Tiny figures materialized, their forms shimmering like heat haze. The Yunwi Tsunsdi—dozens of them—stood no higher than his shin, dressed in garments woven from spider silk and adorned with feathers. Their eyes sparkled with ancient wisdom, and their voices chimed like distant bells.
One stepped forward, an elder with hair like cascading vines. "Why do you wander our realm, tall one?" he asked, his tone curious yet stern.
Percy blinked, rubbing his eyes. "I... I'm lost. My life's a mess. Lost my home, my wife, my work, everything. Just trying to survive."
The Little People murmured among themselves, their language a melodic blend of whispers and wind. The elder nodded. "We see your heart, Percy Wilkerson. It is heavy, but not darkened by greed. The forest remembers your grandfather's stories; he honored us. We will aid you, but you must promise to honor the woods in return—no more taking without giving back."
Percy nodded eagerly, though doubt lingered. "I promise. Anything."
The Yunwi Tsunsdi sprang into action. A group of them scampered up trees, dropping ripe nuts and Paw Paws into his lap—enough to fill his gathering bag. Others tugged at his sleeves, leading him along invisible paths. As they moved, they sang soft chants that seemed to part the fog, revealing glowing mushrooms that lit the way like lanterns. Percy marveled at their agility; they leaped over streams and vanished into crevices, only to reappear with gifts: a pouch of healing herbs for his aching joints, a carved wooden amulet that hummed with warmth, and the occasional cup, made of leaves, filled with fresh spring water.
But their help went beyond physical. As they journeyed, the elder shared visions in Percy's mind—flashes of past mistakes of the area settlers, like neglecting the land by clear-cutting for quick lumber. "Balance is key," the elder explained. "The fires that ravage some areas were nature's cry. Build with respect, and prosperity will follow."
Deeper in the woods, they led him to a hidden glade where a crystal-clear spring bubbled. The Little People instructed him to drink, and as the cool water touched his lips, clarity washed over him. Ideas flooded his thoughts: sustainable woodworking, using fallen branches to craft furniture that celebrated the forest's beauty. He saw himself teaching others again.
By dawn, the Yunwi Tsunsdi had guided him near his cabin, back to familiar trails. His pack brimmed with treasures—not just food, but nuts and seeds for planting, and a small, enchanted chisel that never dulled. "Plant these," the elder said, handing him acorns, hickory nuts, chestnuts, pecans, and ginseng seed. "Grow your future." With a final twinkle, they faded into the mist, leaving only the echo of their laughter.
Percy returned home transformed. He sold the ginseng he’d gathered to start anew, but more importantly, he honored his promise. He built his drying shed and other concealed buildings with eco-friendly materials, planting trees for everyone he used.
Percy hoped that years later, he would sit by the fire, telling his grandchildren about the Little People, but that would never be, but now he had Otis and young Andy to pass the tales on to. "The Yunwi Tsunsdi didn't just save me," he'd say. "They taught me to save myself—and the forest." The Yunwi Tsunsdi watched, their realm thriving once more.
Percy had planted nuts and had established new ginseng patches. He soon learned from the Little People which patches were the oldest and carefully harvested each year. Some of the patches he hadn’t visited in years except to check on their health. It was tricky harvesting the ginseng seed but when he ran low, he would always find a little bark pouch of seed on his porch one morning.
Martin didn’t even remember going to bed. Ciara must have got him in there anyway. When he woke up, dawn was breaking but there was no sign that Ciara had been there. He pulled on some clothes and went in the kitchen to make coffee, spying Ciara through the window setting up her chair out at the oak tree. He didn’t do anything until the coffee had perked, poured a travel mug full, added Cremora and honey to it like she drank it, then grabbed a small folding table off the deck and took the coffee and table out to Ciara. He quietly set everything up, nodding to a “Thank You”, and went back inside. He’d start breakfast when she was finished.
Percy sat and studied the ground in front of the porch and got a shovel out and began digging a new fire pit. The old one they had used when his grandfather was alive was now just ancient pieces of charcoal. When he had it to the size he wanted, he used his big two wheel cart to bring stones to line the fire pit with. When he thought he had enough, he walked down to the garage to get his truck and go into Jim Town to get some mortar mix. His trip was short. He picked up four bags of mortar mix, a length of cast iron sewer pipe with an elbow and drain screen, and four boxes of slugs for his shotgun. He didn’t know of any more bear dens on the mountain, but he didn’t want to give in to any inquisitive bears. They got goofy in the springtime.
Percy used a sharpshooter shovel to dig a trench for the drain pipe that would provide air to the pit.
Granite was used to build the pit. It was nonporous and and wouldn't explode and would retain heat, radiating the heat as the fire die down. Otis helped him a bit, breaking off smaller pieces with a sledgehammer. Otis did bring up a battery powered saw with a rock blade that they cut off slimmer pieces to top the fire pit walls. Otis would cut the rock while Percy slowly poured water on the blade to cut down the heat and the rock dust. Steel splitting wedges were then driven into the cut until the slice of rock came off. They finished the pit on a Wednesday and decided to wait until Friday night to try it out to allow the mortar to set. The weather was supposed to be good so Otis decided to bring up his sleeping bag and make it an all-nighter. He was going to see if Andy could come up and camp out with him. Otis checked his supplies to make sure he had enough eggs and such to make the boys a good breakfast on Saturday morning. Pancakes, ham and eggs should hold them.
Otis picked up Andy Friday afternoon as soon as he got home from school. Andy quickly changed clothes, picked up his camping gear, and tossed it into the one-wheel Rokon trailer. They were soon at Percy’s cabin. The young men quickly set up a waterproof nylon tarp from Andy’s gear that had space for both of them, blew up their air mattresses and laid out their sleeping bags. They then went into the woods and gathered kindling and what Otis called “Lighter Knots”.
“Otis, what is a Lighter Knot?” Andy asked.
“It’s fatwood, but this piece comes from the joint where a tree limb joined the trunk. See, it’s shaped like a pinecone. The tree was probably struck by lightning, the sap in the limb drained down to the trunk then the tree rotted, leaving this. It burns like hellfire when lit and good to start fires with, especially in wet weather.”
feralferret
Veteran Member
Thanks!
ncsfsgm
Veteran Member
Chapter Ninety-Four
Bob and Gene emptied half the dirt out of each greenhouse bed, mixed in fresh compost, and refilled the beds. When they had finished that task, they emptied the rest of the compost bins on the outside garden area. Bob went ahead and plowed it in to let it rest before they hilled the rows in a couple of weeks.
They laid a fire but waited for the sun to go down before they lit it. Percy finally handed out venison jerky and pemmican bars to nibble on and they lit the fire.
Percy, what’s the strangest thing you have seen around here?” Andy asked.
Percy then began telling them about his run-in with the Yunwi Tsunsdi all those years ago.
Andy sat mesmerized as he listened to the story. Otis had heard the story before but was just as entranced as Andy.
“Do things really happen like that in the mountains?” Andy asked.
“There are a lot of strange things that happen. You can believe them or not, but at least take note of them. I’ve heard of strange lights, flying saucers, bigfoot, cougars, haint bears…….all sorts of stuff. People have talked about them all the way back before the first Native Americans lived in the area. Just because someone has listed it as ‘folklore’ doesn’t mean something didn’t happen.”
Percy took a drink out of the jar next to him and said, “Of course some of those people saw things because they were loaded up on shine. You boys want something to drink?”
Otis and Andy’s eyes opened wide and Percy tossed them a two-quart canteen over to them.
“You boys are too young to start drinking this stuff. It’ll rot your liver before you’re my age.”
“Aren’t you worried about your liver?” Andy asked.
Percy looked at the two boys and said. “At my age, there’s a lot of things worse in this world than dying.”
“You see boys, several years ago I lost my wife. I loved the ground she walked on and gave her the best I could. Things changed and I came up here to get over her. For a long time, I felt a big hole was missing from my soul. Time and experience have mostly filled that hole in and I just live my life enjoying what you see around me. After a while, you just learn to deal with loss and pain. It’s nature’s way of saying you’re still alive. That’s sad, isn’t it? To know you are alive because you can still feel pain?”
“Otis said he shot a bear for you. Did you save the skin for it too?” Andy asked.
“”Yep. Got it nailed up in the drying shed. I’ll start scraping and oiling it soon. It’ll make a fine blanket on the bed. I cooked the meat for Brutus and he’s still cracking bones from it.”
“How do you replace a bear when you kill it?” Andy asked, thinking of Percy’s promise to the little people.
“Oh, there’ll be another one along to take its place. I just don’t try and kill every one that comes around. You let nature fill in and keep balance, same as you would rabbits and squirrels.”
“It must be lonely living up here with no electricity, TV, or news of what’s going on.” Andy said.
“Oh, I get the news. I have a battery radio I turn on once in a while. What’s the use when after you listen for a bit you ask yourself, ‘What the hell is wrong with people?’”
“Boys, the world has changed, and not for the better. Everything is a war on something or a huge crisis. Every time a major problem surfaces — whether it’s war, climate change, crime, or public health — billions of dollars get thrown at it. Committees are formed. Programs are launched. Studies are commissioned.
It looks like action, but too often it's just theater.
Behind the scenes, that money flows into the hands of consultants, contractors, nonprofits, and corporations with political connections. In many cases, these programs never actually fix anything.
“Why would they? If the problem goes away, so does the funding. Graft and corruption is the rule of the day.”
“Why don’t politicians want to solve the problems?” Otis asked.
Percy rubbed his whiskered chin. “Here’s a theory I’ve been thinking about…and the more I look at the world, the more it seems to hold up:
Politicians don’t actually want to solve problems.
Because there’s more money, power, and influence to be gained in keeping those problems alive — especially in times of chaos and fear.
Let me explain.
Crisis Means Cash. Remember what I said about spreading the money around to their cronies.
Fear Justifies Control
Fear is one of the most effective tools in a politician’s toolbox. When people are afraid, they’re more willing to:
• Accept surveillance or censorship “for their safety”
• Support emergency powers “for the public good”
• Vote for politicians who promise to “fix it”
Once those powers are in place, they rarely go away — even after the crisis has passed.
Then you have the perks of perpetual problems .
If you solve a problem, you lose a campaign talking point. But if you keep a problem just bad enough, you can keep saying:
‘We’re working on it — just give us more time, more power, and more money.’
It’s a great way to get re-elected without ever delivering results.
On any of these things, you have to follow the money.
Most government programs are complicated…by design. That complexity makes it easy to hide waste, corruption, and ‘skimming off the top.’ The bigger the problem, the more layers of bureaucracy. The more layers, the more opportunities to quietly redirect funds to friends, donors, or pet causes.
“Is every politician corrupt?” Andy asked.
“No, not all of them. There are honest public servants out there. But the system itself is built in a way that often rewards dysfunction more than results. Even well-meaning politicians can get caught in the machine.”
“Pa says the left is just trying to get into power forever.” Otis said.
“It isn’t about left versus right.” Percy said. “It’s about how power thrives in chaos… and how solving
problems can be bad for business in the political world.”
Percy stood up and said, “You boys best get some sleep. We’re planting chestnut saplings in the groves tomorrow.”
Otis got a bucket of water and doused the fire to make sure it didn’t flare up during the night, then stirred the coals and doused it again. He lit a lantern Percy had left on the porch and he and Andy went to their sleeping area and turned in.
As Otis raised the globe on the lantern to blow it out, the Little People stirred in the shadows, turning and heading into the forest.
Percy was up early and sliced several pieces of ham to fry. After he drained most of the grease out of the pan after frying the bacon, he began making pecan pancakes. After making three large pancakes a piece, he took a dish pan and a large spoon and went out on the porch and began banging the spoon on the pan and calling to boys to get up, that breakfast was ready. Otis and Andy stirred and got up. Otis led Andy over to the end of the cabin, opened the diverter and drew a bucket of water. Otis splashed a double handful of water in his face and used the towel hanging from a nail to dry his face. Andy did the same and went into the cabin. Percy had just finished scrambling nine eggs and was dishing them onto small enamel plates. Larger plates containing three large pancakes were already sitting on the table. Percy added bacon to each plate and added the smaller plates on the table.
“Go on…eat!” Percy said, drawing water into cups for everyone. Otis poured syrup from a jug over his pancakes, salt and peppered his eggs, and begin eating. Andy mirrored his actions and quickly began eating.
“When we get through eattin’, I’ve got eight saplings to plant in the chestnut grove. I’d appreciate you boy’s help.”
Both young men finished their meal and Percy got up, took a bucket of water off the stove, squirted some dish detergent into the bucket and the boys dropped their plates and utensils into the hot water.
“I’ll finish those when we get back.” Percy said.
Percy ate the last bite of pancake off his plate and added his plates and utensils to the bucket. He filled a large pot of water and placed it on the stove to heat. They all went to a shed outside and they got out two shovels and a pick mattock and loaded the saplings into the big-wheeled cart. Otis added his shovel to the cart and he and Andy followed Percy on a faint trail that led to the Chestnut grove. The grove wasn’t far; close enough Andy didn’t even get a chance to have a turn pushing the cart. Percy pointed at the ground for the first hole and the boys dug it. Percy carefully removed the sapling from the plastic nursery pot and they planted the first sapling. Percy showed them the location for the next hole and they dug and planted until all the trees were planted. Percy added a little water from a large canteen to each sapling.
“That about does it, boys!” Percy said, tossing the canteen and the empty pots into the cart. Andy tossed his shovel into the cart, grabbed the cart handles and followed Percy back to the shed.
Martin looked out the window and watched Ciara rapidly scribbling on the drawing pad and changing pencil colors frantically. He started frying bacon and poured another cup of coffee. While the bacon was draining, he began mixing crepe batter and sat out six eggs to scramble later. He quickly cooked the first crepe, added a line of apple butter to it and rolled it up. Adding a little more butter to the pan, he cooked and built another one. When he had finished cooking the last one, he scrambled the eggs and placed them in a covered dish and put the dish into the warming oven along with the crepes and bacon.
When Ciara finally came in, she showed Martin how messed up the pad was. She had color splotches all along the edge of the pad with lines from the splotches to certain areas of the drawing.
“I see what you were talking about,” Martin said. “You didn’t put in the tree line next to the river.”
“I can add that on the canvas. I needed the colors around the ridge.” Ciara replied.
Bob and Gene emptied half the dirt out of each greenhouse bed, mixed in fresh compost, and refilled the beds. When they had finished that task, they emptied the rest of the compost bins on the outside garden area. Bob went ahead and plowed it in to let it rest before they hilled the rows in a couple of weeks.
They laid a fire but waited for the sun to go down before they lit it. Percy finally handed out venison jerky and pemmican bars to nibble on and they lit the fire.
Percy, what’s the strangest thing you have seen around here?” Andy asked.
Percy then began telling them about his run-in with the Yunwi Tsunsdi all those years ago.
Andy sat mesmerized as he listened to the story. Otis had heard the story before but was just as entranced as Andy.
“Do things really happen like that in the mountains?” Andy asked.
“There are a lot of strange things that happen. You can believe them or not, but at least take note of them. I’ve heard of strange lights, flying saucers, bigfoot, cougars, haint bears…….all sorts of stuff. People have talked about them all the way back before the first Native Americans lived in the area. Just because someone has listed it as ‘folklore’ doesn’t mean something didn’t happen.”
Percy took a drink out of the jar next to him and said, “Of course some of those people saw things because they were loaded up on shine. You boys want something to drink?”
Otis and Andy’s eyes opened wide and Percy tossed them a two-quart canteen over to them.
“You boys are too young to start drinking this stuff. It’ll rot your liver before you’re my age.”
“Aren’t you worried about your liver?” Andy asked.
Percy looked at the two boys and said. “At my age, there’s a lot of things worse in this world than dying.”
“You see boys, several years ago I lost my wife. I loved the ground she walked on and gave her the best I could. Things changed and I came up here to get over her. For a long time, I felt a big hole was missing from my soul. Time and experience have mostly filled that hole in and I just live my life enjoying what you see around me. After a while, you just learn to deal with loss and pain. It’s nature’s way of saying you’re still alive. That’s sad, isn’t it? To know you are alive because you can still feel pain?”
“Otis said he shot a bear for you. Did you save the skin for it too?” Andy asked.
“”Yep. Got it nailed up in the drying shed. I’ll start scraping and oiling it soon. It’ll make a fine blanket on the bed. I cooked the meat for Brutus and he’s still cracking bones from it.”
“How do you replace a bear when you kill it?” Andy asked, thinking of Percy’s promise to the little people.
“Oh, there’ll be another one along to take its place. I just don’t try and kill every one that comes around. You let nature fill in and keep balance, same as you would rabbits and squirrels.”
“It must be lonely living up here with no electricity, TV, or news of what’s going on.” Andy said.
“Oh, I get the news. I have a battery radio I turn on once in a while. What’s the use when after you listen for a bit you ask yourself, ‘What the hell is wrong with people?’”
“Boys, the world has changed, and not for the better. Everything is a war on something or a huge crisis. Every time a major problem surfaces — whether it’s war, climate change, crime, or public health — billions of dollars get thrown at it. Committees are formed. Programs are launched. Studies are commissioned.
It looks like action, but too often it's just theater.
Behind the scenes, that money flows into the hands of consultants, contractors, nonprofits, and corporations with political connections. In many cases, these programs never actually fix anything.
“Why would they? If the problem goes away, so does the funding. Graft and corruption is the rule of the day.”
“Why don’t politicians want to solve the problems?” Otis asked.
Percy rubbed his whiskered chin. “Here’s a theory I’ve been thinking about…and the more I look at the world, the more it seems to hold up:
Politicians don’t actually want to solve problems.
Because there’s more money, power, and influence to be gained in keeping those problems alive — especially in times of chaos and fear.
Let me explain.
Crisis Means Cash. Remember what I said about spreading the money around to their cronies.
Fear Justifies Control
Fear is one of the most effective tools in a politician’s toolbox. When people are afraid, they’re more willing to:
• Accept surveillance or censorship “for their safety”
• Support emergency powers “for the public good”
• Vote for politicians who promise to “fix it”
Once those powers are in place, they rarely go away — even after the crisis has passed.
Then you have the perks of perpetual problems .
If you solve a problem, you lose a campaign talking point. But if you keep a problem just bad enough, you can keep saying:
‘We’re working on it — just give us more time, more power, and more money.’
It’s a great way to get re-elected without ever delivering results.
On any of these things, you have to follow the money.
Most government programs are complicated…by design. That complexity makes it easy to hide waste, corruption, and ‘skimming off the top.’ The bigger the problem, the more layers of bureaucracy. The more layers, the more opportunities to quietly redirect funds to friends, donors, or pet causes.
“Is every politician corrupt?” Andy asked.
“No, not all of them. There are honest public servants out there. But the system itself is built in a way that often rewards dysfunction more than results. Even well-meaning politicians can get caught in the machine.”
“Pa says the left is just trying to get into power forever.” Otis said.
“It isn’t about left versus right.” Percy said. “It’s about how power thrives in chaos… and how solving
problems can be bad for business in the political world.”
Percy stood up and said, “You boys best get some sleep. We’re planting chestnut saplings in the groves tomorrow.”
Otis got a bucket of water and doused the fire to make sure it didn’t flare up during the night, then stirred the coals and doused it again. He lit a lantern Percy had left on the porch and he and Andy went to their sleeping area and turned in.
As Otis raised the globe on the lantern to blow it out, the Little People stirred in the shadows, turning and heading into the forest.
Percy was up early and sliced several pieces of ham to fry. After he drained most of the grease out of the pan after frying the bacon, he began making pecan pancakes. After making three large pancakes a piece, he took a dish pan and a large spoon and went out on the porch and began banging the spoon on the pan and calling to boys to get up, that breakfast was ready. Otis and Andy stirred and got up. Otis led Andy over to the end of the cabin, opened the diverter and drew a bucket of water. Otis splashed a double handful of water in his face and used the towel hanging from a nail to dry his face. Andy did the same and went into the cabin. Percy had just finished scrambling nine eggs and was dishing them onto small enamel plates. Larger plates containing three large pancakes were already sitting on the table. Percy added bacon to each plate and added the smaller plates on the table.
“Go on…eat!” Percy said, drawing water into cups for everyone. Otis poured syrup from a jug over his pancakes, salt and peppered his eggs, and begin eating. Andy mirrored his actions and quickly began eating.
“When we get through eattin’, I’ve got eight saplings to plant in the chestnut grove. I’d appreciate you boy’s help.”
Both young men finished their meal and Percy got up, took a bucket of water off the stove, squirted some dish detergent into the bucket and the boys dropped their plates and utensils into the hot water.
“I’ll finish those when we get back.” Percy said.
Percy ate the last bite of pancake off his plate and added his plates and utensils to the bucket. He filled a large pot of water and placed it on the stove to heat. They all went to a shed outside and they got out two shovels and a pick mattock and loaded the saplings into the big-wheeled cart. Otis added his shovel to the cart and he and Andy followed Percy on a faint trail that led to the Chestnut grove. The grove wasn’t far; close enough Andy didn’t even get a chance to have a turn pushing the cart. Percy pointed at the ground for the first hole and the boys dug it. Percy carefully removed the sapling from the plastic nursery pot and they planted the first sapling. Percy showed them the location for the next hole and they dug and planted until all the trees were planted. Percy added a little water from a large canteen to each sapling.
“That about does it, boys!” Percy said, tossing the canteen and the empty pots into the cart. Andy tossed his shovel into the cart, grabbed the cart handles and followed Percy back to the shed.
Martin looked out the window and watched Ciara rapidly scribbling on the drawing pad and changing pencil colors frantically. He started frying bacon and poured another cup of coffee. While the bacon was draining, he began mixing crepe batter and sat out six eggs to scramble later. He quickly cooked the first crepe, added a line of apple butter to it and rolled it up. Adding a little more butter to the pan, he cooked and built another one. When he had finished cooking the last one, he scrambled the eggs and placed them in a covered dish and put the dish into the warming oven along with the crepes and bacon.
When Ciara finally came in, she showed Martin how messed up the pad was. She had color splotches all along the edge of the pad with lines from the splotches to certain areas of the drawing.
“I see what you were talking about,” Martin said. “You didn’t put in the tree line next to the river.”
“I can add that on the canvas. I needed the colors around the ridge.” Ciara replied.
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Chapter Ninety-Five
When Martin awoke the first thing he noticed was the light…thin, golden, and slanted like it had somewhere better to be but decided to linger on his face anyway. It slipped through the half-open slats of the wooden blinds and painted stripes across the rumpled quilt. He lay there a moment, suspended between sleep and waking, listening to the birds in the holly bushes outside his window chirping excitedly about the beginning of the day. The birds weren’t giving a polite chirp or two, but a full choir…cardinals whistling like they were late for church, a pair of Carolina wrens rattling the air with their teakettle song, and somewhere down toward the river a pileated woodpecker hammering on a dead chestnut oak like he had a personal grudge. Spring in the foothills doesn’t ease in; it explodes.
Martin pushed the quilt back and felt the cool kiss of the pine floor on his bare feet. The bedroom window was cracked open just enough for the morning to sneak inside, carrying the smell of fallen wet leaves and the sharp green bite of pine sap. He could smell the blooming redbud near the garage; He could smell its faint sweetness riding under everything else like a promise.
Martin got out of bed, brushed his teeth, used the toilet, headed for the kitchen in his bare feet, and set up the percolator. When the coffee pot started its gurgle, he padded through the hall, past the framed photograph of a huge oak down by the river. The picture always made him smile.
The screen door whined when he opened it, then slapped gently shut behind him. The deck boards were damp with dew, cool enough to make him curl his toes. From here the mountains rolled away to the east, close enough to touch if he stretched hard enough. The closest ridge was still wearing its nightcap of fog, a soft gray veil that clung to the hollers and refused to leave until the sun burned it off. Dogwoods dotted the slope like someone had spilled popcorn across the green, and here and there the first pale shoots of trillium pushed up through last year’s leaves.
A quail called once from the locust thicket, then thought better of it and went quiet. The valley, stretching out to his left and right was waking up slowly: chimney smoke curling from the Edison place, the low bawl of a calf looking for breakfast, the far-off rumble of a tractor coughing to life. Everything smelled alive—turned earth, woodsmoke, crushed mint from the patch by the steps where he’d stepped barefoot without looking.
He leaned on the porch rail and watched a pair of turkey vultures ride a thermal high above the ridge, wings motionless, patient as death and twice as graceful. The sun cleared the ridge line, spilling light across the pastures like someone overturned a bucket of melted butter. The grass lit up emerald, every blade edged in fire. Somewhere down by the river, a kingfisher rattled and dove, and the splash carried clear up the hill.
Inside, the percolator gave its final death-rattle sigh. He went back in, poured coffee into the chipped ceramic mug that had been his for what seemed like forever, and carried it outside again. The steam rose and mingled with the mist still drifting off the mountain. He took the first sip…black, bitter, perfect…and felt the day settle into his bones.
Spring in these hills doesn’t ask permission. It shoulders winter aside, kicks the door wide, and dares you not to follow it outside. So, he did. he left the mug on the rail, walked down the steps in nothing but an old T-shirt and yesterday’s jeans, and started across the wet grass toward the woods. The cold shocked the sleep out of him, sharp and clean, and behind him the house stood quiet, windows glowing, waiting for the rest of the world to catch up.
By the time he reached the tree line, the fog had lifted enough to show the first pale purple of waking iris along the tree line. He stood there barefoot in the mud, breathing mountain air so sweet it hurt, and thought: if a morning could be a prayer, this one would do.
Martin walked back to the deck, wiped his feet off, and went in to get dressed. He had a 10:00 zoom call schedule with him, his accountant, and his financial manager. He couldn’t keep track of where he had money, or where it was stashed. He knew he had over five million spread across several GCAs <(Grand Cayman Accounts) and as far as treasuries and bonds, metals and gold, real estate and venture capital, and stocks which include options, stocks, REITs, and IPOs; He let Jerry handle those. Jerry was a financial virtuoso who considered amounts between $500,000 and two million pocket change. Whenever Martin needed “pocket change” Jerry knew what stocks or bonds he could liquidate. All Martin had to do was tell him the amount and Jerry would do a bank transfer to Martin’s account at the U.S. Bank in Jamestown. Jerry transferred $9,000 bi-monthly to his account and Martin wasn’t worried about cash right now. He did want to buy his own property though and had started looking.
He didn’t want to get too far from where he was now. He liked the people he had met and liked the land and it was far from the hustle and bustle of the bigger cities he had grown to detest.. He had Sharon Mason, a local realtor looking for properties. That all got kicked to the wayside when Gillum returned on Wednesday afternoon.
“I heard you’re looking to get your own place?” Gillum said.
“Yeah, I’m thinking about it. This place is great but I want a place I can call my own and maybe start a family.”
“You have that here. Check with the county clerk. This place is deeded in your name. Everything from the beginning was designed for you to take over. George and John are getting a little long in the tooth and Otis is like Ferdinand the Bull. He doesn’t think tactically and I don’t think he ever will. The money that bought this place was taken from drug cartels, drug runners, and corrupt politicians. We are now working on the gangs that want to take over whole cities. Keeping the pressure on them is what we are about. We are beginning to get a foothold and can’t afford to slack off right now.”
“Well, that’s painting the picture a little clearer. So, you are saying I can make any improvements I see fit?”
“Sure you can! Just make sure nothing interferes with the support roll this base has.”
“I’ll stick around then. There are some things I want to change though. One question…about how many ‘travelers’ can I expect to move through here at a time?”
“The contact teams are set up in six-man groups. Most of the time you’ll have only one team through at a time, but if there is a cause to have more than one here, send one of the teams into the hills to await extraction.”
“Good. Just in case, I found a spot above the bunkers we can build comfortable quarters for a six man team to await as long as needed. I’ll get started on that and see how it flies.”
“That’s good. We don’t need all of our eggs in one basket. See George. He has a credit card you can use to buy building materials. There will be two more trucks of supplies coming in this week. I’ll make sure there is a pallet of rations on it to keep on hand for visitors.”
“That will help.”
Martin went down to the Edison house with Gillum. They talked with George for a while then Otis showed up.
“You ready to do some work?” Martin asked Otis.
“Sure, what ya got?”
“I need you and the backhoe up behind my house. We need to do a little dirt moving.”
“Okay, I’ll be up around 1:00.”
Martin gathered wooden stakes. Two shovels, a sledge hammer and a rake and waited on Otis to arrive.
Martin guided Otis up an old trail until they were about 300 yards behind the house. They measured and staked off an area and Otis began removing the soil after they had raked the leaves from where they would dig. Martin had Otis dig a pit five feet deep, twelve feet wide, and twenty feet long. Martin had picked the place because there were no trees that had to be removed.. Martin squared it with a shovel and explained to Otis what they were going to build.
“We built these in Europe as kind of ‘way stations’ for stay behind operations. If we went to war, our unit, instead of retreating with the rest of the NATO forces to better positions, would stay behind and conduct guerrilla operations. They are big enough for a twelve man team if you hot bunk. They kept you out of the weather but concealed from outsiders. They were concealed well away from the walking trails Europeans like to use and provided shelter from the harsh weather. We’ll use logs to line the structure but I want to use waterproofing, something we didn’t have over there. The shelters can be used to house any visitors out of sight.
“What kind of waterproofing?” Otis asked.
“Simple pond liner. We can seal this thing up and make it dry as a bone. I can get it at most agro-farm stores. It comes in rolls and with a paste used on the seams, and a propane torch, it will keep out all water. All we have to do is properly line the pit, add the logs for structure and roof it over, and we can hide it easily.”
Martin and Otis moved a distance away from the pit and were unable to detect the soil that had been removed. The soil was dark enough to blend into the natural background. They gathered up there tools and Otis returned the tractor to the farm. Martin took marking tape and began selecting the trees they would use.
Jacob picked up another log with the skid steer and placed it on logs laid to keep the drying logs off the ground and let the air circulate around them. By fall, they would be dry enough to process into firewood. The previous winter had littered the river with broken off trees which Duncan was trimming off the broken ends. The broken ends didn’t feed well into the processor.
“How many cords of firewood did you use during the winter?” Duncan asked Jacob.
“Well, I came out about even with four cords.” Jacob replied.
“Better take another two cords in the fall. The Farmer’s Almanac says we’re supposed to have some rougher spells next winter.” Duncan said. “There will be plenty of wood dried.”
“Yeah, I suppose so. Better to have it.” Jacob replied.
“I won’t start processing firewood until late September. There will be more than enough to give everyone extra.”
Jacob switched to the grappler bucket on the skid steer and began picking up the sawed broken ends of the logs and stacking them in a pile. They would be used in the fire pit later in the fall.
When Martin awoke the first thing he noticed was the light…thin, golden, and slanted like it had somewhere better to be but decided to linger on his face anyway. It slipped through the half-open slats of the wooden blinds and painted stripes across the rumpled quilt. He lay there a moment, suspended between sleep and waking, listening to the birds in the holly bushes outside his window chirping excitedly about the beginning of the day. The birds weren’t giving a polite chirp or two, but a full choir…cardinals whistling like they were late for church, a pair of Carolina wrens rattling the air with their teakettle song, and somewhere down toward the river a pileated woodpecker hammering on a dead chestnut oak like he had a personal grudge. Spring in the foothills doesn’t ease in; it explodes.
Martin pushed the quilt back and felt the cool kiss of the pine floor on his bare feet. The bedroom window was cracked open just enough for the morning to sneak inside, carrying the smell of fallen wet leaves and the sharp green bite of pine sap. He could smell the blooming redbud near the garage; He could smell its faint sweetness riding under everything else like a promise.
Martin got out of bed, brushed his teeth, used the toilet, headed for the kitchen in his bare feet, and set up the percolator. When the coffee pot started its gurgle, he padded through the hall, past the framed photograph of a huge oak down by the river. The picture always made him smile.
The screen door whined when he opened it, then slapped gently shut behind him. The deck boards were damp with dew, cool enough to make him curl his toes. From here the mountains rolled away to the east, close enough to touch if he stretched hard enough. The closest ridge was still wearing its nightcap of fog, a soft gray veil that clung to the hollers and refused to leave until the sun burned it off. Dogwoods dotted the slope like someone had spilled popcorn across the green, and here and there the first pale shoots of trillium pushed up through last year’s leaves.
A quail called once from the locust thicket, then thought better of it and went quiet. The valley, stretching out to his left and right was waking up slowly: chimney smoke curling from the Edison place, the low bawl of a calf looking for breakfast, the far-off rumble of a tractor coughing to life. Everything smelled alive—turned earth, woodsmoke, crushed mint from the patch by the steps where he’d stepped barefoot without looking.
He leaned on the porch rail and watched a pair of turkey vultures ride a thermal high above the ridge, wings motionless, patient as death and twice as graceful. The sun cleared the ridge line, spilling light across the pastures like someone overturned a bucket of melted butter. The grass lit up emerald, every blade edged in fire. Somewhere down by the river, a kingfisher rattled and dove, and the splash carried clear up the hill.
Inside, the percolator gave its final death-rattle sigh. He went back in, poured coffee into the chipped ceramic mug that had been his for what seemed like forever, and carried it outside again. The steam rose and mingled with the mist still drifting off the mountain. He took the first sip…black, bitter, perfect…and felt the day settle into his bones.
Spring in these hills doesn’t ask permission. It shoulders winter aside, kicks the door wide, and dares you not to follow it outside. So, he did. he left the mug on the rail, walked down the steps in nothing but an old T-shirt and yesterday’s jeans, and started across the wet grass toward the woods. The cold shocked the sleep out of him, sharp and clean, and behind him the house stood quiet, windows glowing, waiting for the rest of the world to catch up.
By the time he reached the tree line, the fog had lifted enough to show the first pale purple of waking iris along the tree line. He stood there barefoot in the mud, breathing mountain air so sweet it hurt, and thought: if a morning could be a prayer, this one would do.
Martin walked back to the deck, wiped his feet off, and went in to get dressed. He had a 10:00 zoom call schedule with him, his accountant, and his financial manager. He couldn’t keep track of where he had money, or where it was stashed. He knew he had over five million spread across several GCAs <(Grand Cayman Accounts) and as far as treasuries and bonds, metals and gold, real estate and venture capital, and stocks which include options, stocks, REITs, and IPOs; He let Jerry handle those. Jerry was a financial virtuoso who considered amounts between $500,000 and two million pocket change. Whenever Martin needed “pocket change” Jerry knew what stocks or bonds he could liquidate. All Martin had to do was tell him the amount and Jerry would do a bank transfer to Martin’s account at the U.S. Bank in Jamestown. Jerry transferred $9,000 bi-monthly to his account and Martin wasn’t worried about cash right now. He did want to buy his own property though and had started looking.
He didn’t want to get too far from where he was now. He liked the people he had met and liked the land and it was far from the hustle and bustle of the bigger cities he had grown to detest.. He had Sharon Mason, a local realtor looking for properties. That all got kicked to the wayside when Gillum returned on Wednesday afternoon.
“I heard you’re looking to get your own place?” Gillum said.
“Yeah, I’m thinking about it. This place is great but I want a place I can call my own and maybe start a family.”
“You have that here. Check with the county clerk. This place is deeded in your name. Everything from the beginning was designed for you to take over. George and John are getting a little long in the tooth and Otis is like Ferdinand the Bull. He doesn’t think tactically and I don’t think he ever will. The money that bought this place was taken from drug cartels, drug runners, and corrupt politicians. We are now working on the gangs that want to take over whole cities. Keeping the pressure on them is what we are about. We are beginning to get a foothold and can’t afford to slack off right now.”
“Well, that’s painting the picture a little clearer. So, you are saying I can make any improvements I see fit?”
“Sure you can! Just make sure nothing interferes with the support roll this base has.”
“I’ll stick around then. There are some things I want to change though. One question…about how many ‘travelers’ can I expect to move through here at a time?”
“The contact teams are set up in six-man groups. Most of the time you’ll have only one team through at a time, but if there is a cause to have more than one here, send one of the teams into the hills to await extraction.”
“Good. Just in case, I found a spot above the bunkers we can build comfortable quarters for a six man team to await as long as needed. I’ll get started on that and see how it flies.”
“That’s good. We don’t need all of our eggs in one basket. See George. He has a credit card you can use to buy building materials. There will be two more trucks of supplies coming in this week. I’ll make sure there is a pallet of rations on it to keep on hand for visitors.”
“That will help.”
Martin went down to the Edison house with Gillum. They talked with George for a while then Otis showed up.
“You ready to do some work?” Martin asked Otis.
“Sure, what ya got?”
“I need you and the backhoe up behind my house. We need to do a little dirt moving.”
“Okay, I’ll be up around 1:00.”
Martin gathered wooden stakes. Two shovels, a sledge hammer and a rake and waited on Otis to arrive.
Martin guided Otis up an old trail until they were about 300 yards behind the house. They measured and staked off an area and Otis began removing the soil after they had raked the leaves from where they would dig. Martin had Otis dig a pit five feet deep, twelve feet wide, and twenty feet long. Martin had picked the place because there were no trees that had to be removed.. Martin squared it with a shovel and explained to Otis what they were going to build.
“We built these in Europe as kind of ‘way stations’ for stay behind operations. If we went to war, our unit, instead of retreating with the rest of the NATO forces to better positions, would stay behind and conduct guerrilla operations. They are big enough for a twelve man team if you hot bunk. They kept you out of the weather but concealed from outsiders. They were concealed well away from the walking trails Europeans like to use and provided shelter from the harsh weather. We’ll use logs to line the structure but I want to use waterproofing, something we didn’t have over there. The shelters can be used to house any visitors out of sight.
“What kind of waterproofing?” Otis asked.
“Simple pond liner. We can seal this thing up and make it dry as a bone. I can get it at most agro-farm stores. It comes in rolls and with a paste used on the seams, and a propane torch, it will keep out all water. All we have to do is properly line the pit, add the logs for structure and roof it over, and we can hide it easily.”
Martin and Otis moved a distance away from the pit and were unable to detect the soil that had been removed. The soil was dark enough to blend into the natural background. They gathered up there tools and Otis returned the tractor to the farm. Martin took marking tape and began selecting the trees they would use.
Jacob picked up another log with the skid steer and placed it on logs laid to keep the drying logs off the ground and let the air circulate around them. By fall, they would be dry enough to process into firewood. The previous winter had littered the river with broken off trees which Duncan was trimming off the broken ends. The broken ends didn’t feed well into the processor.
“How many cords of firewood did you use during the winter?” Duncan asked Jacob.
“Well, I came out about even with four cords.” Jacob replied.
“Better take another two cords in the fall. The Farmer’s Almanac says we’re supposed to have some rougher spells next winter.” Duncan said. “There will be plenty of wood dried.”
“Yeah, I suppose so. Better to have it.” Jacob replied.
“I won’t start processing firewood until late September. There will be more than enough to give everyone extra.”
Jacob switched to the grappler bucket on the skid steer and began picking up the sawed broken ends of the logs and stacking them in a pile. They would be used in the fire pit later in the fall.
ncsfsgm
Veteran Member
Chapter Ninety-Six
Gene and Angie had just returned from Livingston shopping for groceries. Gene joined Bob on the deck while Angie went inside to talk to Ashelyn. The two sat on the covered deck, sipping mead from mugs, watching the slow rain turn the earth into mud. "You know, Bob," Gene grumbled, wiping steam from his glasses, "these grocery prices are highway robbery. Lettuce costs more than a steak used to. We gotta get the garden and greenhouse planted."
Bob's eyes lit up like fireflies at dusk. "I just got in the heirloom seeds I ordered. If this rain doesn’t last long, I can till the garden in a couple of days but we can start tomatoes, peppers, maybe even some exotic herbs in the greenhouse."
Gene chuckled, his belly shaking. "Exotic? Like basil? Alright, professor, but I'm in charge of the heavy lifting. No fancy theories without sweat."
A couple of days later, under a sky as blue as Gene's favorite flannel shirt, they began. Gene hauled out his rusty tiller from the garage, its engine coughing to life after a few persuasive kicks, while Bob disked the large garden plot. After disking, they marked the garden plot with string and stakes, a neat rectangle thirty feet by ninety, right where the sun hit strongest. "Soil test first," Gene insisted, pulling a kit from his backpack. "pH levels matter. Too acidic, and nothing grows."
Bob rolled his eyes but helped dig samples. The results showed the earth was decent but needed amendments. They drove to Angie’s store in Bob's battered pickup, loading up with bags of compost, lime, and mulch. Back home, they spread the rich, black compost over the tilled soil, Bob's muscles straining as he shoveled, Gene turned the supplements into the soil with the tiller.
"See? Teamwork," Gene said, wiping sweat from his brow. "Now for the plants. Heirloom varieties—better flavor, no GMOs."
They chose seeds and seedlings: rows of carrots, beets, and radishes for the root veggies; beans climbing trellises Bob welded from scrap metal; and leafy greens like spinach and kale that Ashelyn swore would keep them healthy into their nineties. As they planted, Bob knelt in the dirt, pressing seeds into furrows with his thick fingers. "Reminds me of fixing engines—gotta get the parts in right or the whole thing stalls."
Gene nodded, transplanting collard and cabbage starts. "Exactly. Nature's like history; one wrong move, and empires fall. Or in this case, crops wilt."
By midday, the garden was taking shape, a patchwork of promise. They planted two rows of sweet corn. They would plant two rows of corn a week apart so when the corn was ready, they would have a constant amount of corn for a month to can and freeze.
They emptied out the beds in the greenhouse and mixed in fresh compost and refilled the beds. The first two beds were planted with delicate lettuce starts. Parsley seeds, along with Cilantro were planted and other salad vegetables.
As the sun dipped low, they stepped back to admire their work. The greenhouse gleamed like a crystal dome, a sanctuary for warmth-loving plants. "Now the fun part," Gene said, unpacking trays of tomato seedlings...Beefsteak, Cherry, and Roma. Bob handled the peppers: bell, jalapeño, and even a few habaneros for spice.
Planting in the greenhouse was meditative. The air inside was already warmer, humid with potential. Gene droned about companion planting: "Basil with tomatoes keeps pests away. Marigolds around the edges—natural bug repellent."
Bob planted a marigold, its orange petals bright against the soil. "A lot of people don’t know flowers could be bodyguards."
The garden and greenhouse were being watched closely. Weeds sprouted like uninvited guests; they pulled them by hand, backs aching. Aphids attacked the peppers; Gene mixed a soap spray, non-toxic and effective. The garden and greenhouse were watered by the drip irrigation system from hoses and timers. They were soon getting salad greens from the greenhouse and the tomatoes were blooming.
As spring bloomed into summer, so did their garden. Vines heavy with beans twisted skyward; carrots bulged orange beneath the soil. In the greenhouse, tomatoes ripened red and juicy, peppers adding pops of color. They harvested baskets full, sharing with neighbors, turning surpluses into sauces and salads, canned and froze a good deal.
Alex counted Fifteen turkeys around the feeder. There were more Toms a few days before but he figured the older males had driven the younger ones off. He was planning on taking a turkey the first day of fall hunting season. There were enough turkeys to take at least a tom and a couple of hens to have in the freezer.
Alex reset the camera and went to the next feeder, changed out the memory card without going through the pictures and headed back to the house.
“What do you know about Boko Haram?” Gillum asked.
“Oh, just some stuff on the TV about jihadists in Africa doing massacres and kidnappings of anyone not Muslim.” Martin replied.
“Boko Haram, officially known as Jama'atu Ahlis-Sunna Lidda'awati wal-Jihad (JASDJ) roughly translated as ‘People Committed to the Prophet's Teachings for Propagation and Jihad’, is a Nigeria-based Salafi-jihadist militant group. The nickname "Boko Haram" is Hausa for "Western education is forbidden," reflecting its ideological opposition to Western influences and secular governance.
The group was founded in 2002 in Maiduguri, northeastern Nigeria, by Mohammed Yusuf, a charismatic preacher who aimed to establish an Islamic state based on strict Sharia law. Initially a socio-religious movement attracting disenfranchised youth amid poverty and corruption in northern Nigeria, it turned violent after Yusuf's extrajudicial killing by Nigerian security forces during a 2009 uprising.
Yusuf's deputy, Abubakar Shekau, took over in 2009 and led the group into a brutal insurgency. In 2015, Shekau pledged allegiance to the Islamic State (ISIS), briefly rebranding as Islamic State's West African Province (ISWAP). A 2016 split occurred: Shekau's loyalists retained the Boko Haram name, while the majority faction became ISWAP under Abu Musab al-Barnawi (Yusuf's son). Shekau died by suicide in 2021 during clashes with ISWAP.”
“What is this Boko Haram’s goal?” Martin asked.
“Boko Haram seeks to overthrow the Nigerian government and impose a puritanical Islamic regime, viewing democracy, Western education, and secular institutions as sinful. It has carried out bombings, suicide attacks; often using females and children, mass abductions, and killings targeting civilians, Christians, moderate Muslims, schools, security forces, and infrastructure. Notable incidents include the 2014 Chibok schoolgirls kidnapping where over 200 girls were abducted and attacks on UN facilities. The insurgency has killed tens of thousands, with estimates exceeding 35,000 direct deaths, and displaced millions across the Lake Chad Basin region covering Nigeria, Cameroon, Chad, and Niger.
The group has fractured: ISWAP, the larger faction, remains affiliated with ISIS and focuses on governance in controlled areas, taxation, and attacks on military targets. Boko Haram, under successors continues sporadic violence. Both have escalated attacks in 2025, including village massacres, abductions, and raids in Borno and Yobe states, with resurgence noted in the Lake Chad region. They cooperate with bandits in some areas, contributing to ongoing humanitarian crises. Designated a foreign terrorist organization by the U.S. and others, the insurgency persists despite military efforts. The conflict is still one of Africa's deadliest, rooted in socioeconomic grievances, religious extremism, and weak governance.”
So, what does that have to do with Shield?” Martin said, frowning.
“Intelligence reports have indicated someone is offering them weaponized Ebola virus to target Europe and America because of their military assistance to Nigeria. They may turn suicide bombers into walking weapons that won’t be exposed until they are on target.”
“…and if you quarantine movement from the area or put extra attention on visitors from sub-Saharan Africa….America is bad and you have an instant race war.” Martin said.
“There is that but also what if the suicide bombers are already in the country?” Gillum asked.
“They’ll hit the cities first.”
“We’re stockpiling all of our enclaves to be gathering places for our people to hunker down in. We can’t save everyone but we can build a nexus of safe areas to protect those we can.”
“What do you want me to do?” Martin asked.
“Start building housing for around a hundred people, as quick as you can. When you are ready, I’ll start directing supplies to you. You’re going to need a big warehouse to handle it all. You do the planning and directing and George will handle the heavy stuff.”
“I’ll do the best I can.”
“Do that. We may have only one chance.” Gillum said.
After Gillum left, Martin went down and talked to George.
“Did Gillum brief you?” Martin asked.
“Yeah. I’ve been expecting something like this for years and already have some things set up.”
“Good. I’ll need your help in setting up areas for housing, and determine what we need.”
“First, we’ll need family housing and dormitory type housing for single males and females.”
“Well, I guess you’ve given this some thought.”
“Yeah, but it was for a different scenario, but it will work. I know of a company that builds cabins for the forest service they put in the parks for rentals. They can deliver several at a time. We’ll have to custom order the dormitories.”
“Well, I guess the next thing we need to do is work out the placements.” Martin said. “What about a warehouse?”
“”We’ll put up a General Steel warehouse. They are quick.” George said.
Nothing bad stays a secret for long in the government. There are always reporters out looking for the next Pulitzer. When one enterprising junior reporter stumbled on the fact that commercial rapid diagnostic tests such as RealStar, ReEBOV, OraQuick Ebola, or similar antigen-capture kits were made available to all customs checkpoints along with sterile testing and quarantine areas, questions began rolling in.
Gene and Angie had just returned from Livingston shopping for groceries. Gene joined Bob on the deck while Angie went inside to talk to Ashelyn. The two sat on the covered deck, sipping mead from mugs, watching the slow rain turn the earth into mud. "You know, Bob," Gene grumbled, wiping steam from his glasses, "these grocery prices are highway robbery. Lettuce costs more than a steak used to. We gotta get the garden and greenhouse planted."
Bob's eyes lit up like fireflies at dusk. "I just got in the heirloom seeds I ordered. If this rain doesn’t last long, I can till the garden in a couple of days but we can start tomatoes, peppers, maybe even some exotic herbs in the greenhouse."
Gene chuckled, his belly shaking. "Exotic? Like basil? Alright, professor, but I'm in charge of the heavy lifting. No fancy theories without sweat."
A couple of days later, under a sky as blue as Gene's favorite flannel shirt, they began. Gene hauled out his rusty tiller from the garage, its engine coughing to life after a few persuasive kicks, while Bob disked the large garden plot. After disking, they marked the garden plot with string and stakes, a neat rectangle thirty feet by ninety, right where the sun hit strongest. "Soil test first," Gene insisted, pulling a kit from his backpack. "pH levels matter. Too acidic, and nothing grows."
Bob rolled his eyes but helped dig samples. The results showed the earth was decent but needed amendments. They drove to Angie’s store in Bob's battered pickup, loading up with bags of compost, lime, and mulch. Back home, they spread the rich, black compost over the tilled soil, Bob's muscles straining as he shoveled, Gene turned the supplements into the soil with the tiller.
"See? Teamwork," Gene said, wiping sweat from his brow. "Now for the plants. Heirloom varieties—better flavor, no GMOs."
They chose seeds and seedlings: rows of carrots, beets, and radishes for the root veggies; beans climbing trellises Bob welded from scrap metal; and leafy greens like spinach and kale that Ashelyn swore would keep them healthy into their nineties. As they planted, Bob knelt in the dirt, pressing seeds into furrows with his thick fingers. "Reminds me of fixing engines—gotta get the parts in right or the whole thing stalls."
Gene nodded, transplanting collard and cabbage starts. "Exactly. Nature's like history; one wrong move, and empires fall. Or in this case, crops wilt."
By midday, the garden was taking shape, a patchwork of promise. They planted two rows of sweet corn. They would plant two rows of corn a week apart so when the corn was ready, they would have a constant amount of corn for a month to can and freeze.
They emptied out the beds in the greenhouse and mixed in fresh compost and refilled the beds. The first two beds were planted with delicate lettuce starts. Parsley seeds, along with Cilantro were planted and other salad vegetables.
As the sun dipped low, they stepped back to admire their work. The greenhouse gleamed like a crystal dome, a sanctuary for warmth-loving plants. "Now the fun part," Gene said, unpacking trays of tomato seedlings...Beefsteak, Cherry, and Roma. Bob handled the peppers: bell, jalapeño, and even a few habaneros for spice.
Planting in the greenhouse was meditative. The air inside was already warmer, humid with potential. Gene droned about companion planting: "Basil with tomatoes keeps pests away. Marigolds around the edges—natural bug repellent."
Bob planted a marigold, its orange petals bright against the soil. "A lot of people don’t know flowers could be bodyguards."
The garden and greenhouse were being watched closely. Weeds sprouted like uninvited guests; they pulled them by hand, backs aching. Aphids attacked the peppers; Gene mixed a soap spray, non-toxic and effective. The garden and greenhouse were watered by the drip irrigation system from hoses and timers. They were soon getting salad greens from the greenhouse and the tomatoes were blooming.
As spring bloomed into summer, so did their garden. Vines heavy with beans twisted skyward; carrots bulged orange beneath the soil. In the greenhouse, tomatoes ripened red and juicy, peppers adding pops of color. They harvested baskets full, sharing with neighbors, turning surpluses into sauces and salads, canned and froze a good deal.
Alex counted Fifteen turkeys around the feeder. There were more Toms a few days before but he figured the older males had driven the younger ones off. He was planning on taking a turkey the first day of fall hunting season. There were enough turkeys to take at least a tom and a couple of hens to have in the freezer.
Alex reset the camera and went to the next feeder, changed out the memory card without going through the pictures and headed back to the house.
“What do you know about Boko Haram?” Gillum asked.
“Oh, just some stuff on the TV about jihadists in Africa doing massacres and kidnappings of anyone not Muslim.” Martin replied.
“Boko Haram, officially known as Jama'atu Ahlis-Sunna Lidda'awati wal-Jihad (JASDJ) roughly translated as ‘People Committed to the Prophet's Teachings for Propagation and Jihad’, is a Nigeria-based Salafi-jihadist militant group. The nickname "Boko Haram" is Hausa for "Western education is forbidden," reflecting its ideological opposition to Western influences and secular governance.
The group was founded in 2002 in Maiduguri, northeastern Nigeria, by Mohammed Yusuf, a charismatic preacher who aimed to establish an Islamic state based on strict Sharia law. Initially a socio-religious movement attracting disenfranchised youth amid poverty and corruption in northern Nigeria, it turned violent after Yusuf's extrajudicial killing by Nigerian security forces during a 2009 uprising.
Yusuf's deputy, Abubakar Shekau, took over in 2009 and led the group into a brutal insurgency. In 2015, Shekau pledged allegiance to the Islamic State (ISIS), briefly rebranding as Islamic State's West African Province (ISWAP). A 2016 split occurred: Shekau's loyalists retained the Boko Haram name, while the majority faction became ISWAP under Abu Musab al-Barnawi (Yusuf's son). Shekau died by suicide in 2021 during clashes with ISWAP.”
“What is this Boko Haram’s goal?” Martin asked.
“Boko Haram seeks to overthrow the Nigerian government and impose a puritanical Islamic regime, viewing democracy, Western education, and secular institutions as sinful. It has carried out bombings, suicide attacks; often using females and children, mass abductions, and killings targeting civilians, Christians, moderate Muslims, schools, security forces, and infrastructure. Notable incidents include the 2014 Chibok schoolgirls kidnapping where over 200 girls were abducted and attacks on UN facilities. The insurgency has killed tens of thousands, with estimates exceeding 35,000 direct deaths, and displaced millions across the Lake Chad Basin region covering Nigeria, Cameroon, Chad, and Niger.
The group has fractured: ISWAP, the larger faction, remains affiliated with ISIS and focuses on governance in controlled areas, taxation, and attacks on military targets. Boko Haram, under successors continues sporadic violence. Both have escalated attacks in 2025, including village massacres, abductions, and raids in Borno and Yobe states, with resurgence noted in the Lake Chad region. They cooperate with bandits in some areas, contributing to ongoing humanitarian crises. Designated a foreign terrorist organization by the U.S. and others, the insurgency persists despite military efforts. The conflict is still one of Africa's deadliest, rooted in socioeconomic grievances, religious extremism, and weak governance.”
So, what does that have to do with Shield?” Martin said, frowning.
“Intelligence reports have indicated someone is offering them weaponized Ebola virus to target Europe and America because of their military assistance to Nigeria. They may turn suicide bombers into walking weapons that won’t be exposed until they are on target.”
“…and if you quarantine movement from the area or put extra attention on visitors from sub-Saharan Africa….America is bad and you have an instant race war.” Martin said.
“There is that but also what if the suicide bombers are already in the country?” Gillum asked.
“They’ll hit the cities first.”
“We’re stockpiling all of our enclaves to be gathering places for our people to hunker down in. We can’t save everyone but we can build a nexus of safe areas to protect those we can.”
“What do you want me to do?” Martin asked.
“Start building housing for around a hundred people, as quick as you can. When you are ready, I’ll start directing supplies to you. You’re going to need a big warehouse to handle it all. You do the planning and directing and George will handle the heavy stuff.”
“I’ll do the best I can.”
“Do that. We may have only one chance.” Gillum said.
After Gillum left, Martin went down and talked to George.
“Did Gillum brief you?” Martin asked.
“Yeah. I’ve been expecting something like this for years and already have some things set up.”
“Good. I’ll need your help in setting up areas for housing, and determine what we need.”
“First, we’ll need family housing and dormitory type housing for single males and females.”
“Well, I guess you’ve given this some thought.”
“Yeah, but it was for a different scenario, but it will work. I know of a company that builds cabins for the forest service they put in the parks for rentals. They can deliver several at a time. We’ll have to custom order the dormitories.”
“Well, I guess the next thing we need to do is work out the placements.” Martin said. “What about a warehouse?”
“”We’ll put up a General Steel warehouse. They are quick.” George said.
Nothing bad stays a secret for long in the government. There are always reporters out looking for the next Pulitzer. When one enterprising junior reporter stumbled on the fact that commercial rapid diagnostic tests such as RealStar, ReEBOV, OraQuick Ebola, or similar antigen-capture kits were made available to all customs checkpoints along with sterile testing and quarantine areas, questions began rolling in.
Last edited:
feralferret
Veteran Member
Thank you.
ncsfsgm
Veteran Member
Chapter Ninety-Seven
Orders were made and preparations for cabin foundations begun. Martin and George sat down with an aerial photo of the property and selected locations for each cabin. A few days later, a trusted construction company arrived and began surveying, marking and setting up foundation forms. The steel building company with their crews began grading and preparing for the floor of the warehouse. Otis and John were filling in the gaps in the locust border that surrounded the fence line of the property. Martin Found Otis one day going along the fence line, a burlap bag strung around his neck. He would ever so often, squat down and plant something.
“What’s up Otis?”
“Planting greenbrier to add to the fence. It is strong a steel and anyone with any sense won’t try busting through it.”
“…and adding to security.”
“That’s right. I wanted to get this done today because the cabins will start arriving tomorrow.”
“Are you planting seeds?”
“No, these are the roots I dig out of the tree lines. You could plant them using seeds, but they don’t have seeds now. It’s faster just planting the roots.
Percy was drinking his morning coffee on his porch when he remembered the beans soaking. He got up and went into the kitchen area, then drained the water off and refilled the Dutch oven.
Getting a ham hock from the cellar, He added it to the pot, added a little salt and pepper then slid the pot over to a hotspot on the woodburning range and added wood to the fire. Percy checked his cellar, reviewed Its contents and made some notes. He had enough food to last for about four months. He mixed up the ingredients for cornbread, greased an eight-inch frying pan, poured the batter in, and placed the pan into the oven. He looked at his watch and went out onto the porch. The sun was shining and the breeze carried the scent of budding trees and shrubs. Percy glanced around and decided he had the time and money; he would make another trip into town and get more goods. If a pestilence was coming, he wanted to stay away from towns. He had six empty Jerrycans he could fill. That truck might not be fast, but it was good on gas. Percy chuckled. “I’m a poet and don’t know it. Make a rhyme anytime.”
For the last couple of weeks, Andy Brighton had been coming home from school, got a snack then studied for two hours. He then would take a break, do his chores and after dinner he would go back to studying. He was in his junior year of school, his end of term exams were coming soon, and he wanted to get good grades. He was maintaining a 3.8 grade point average and a good grade on the exams could pull him up a bit. His parents weren’t rich and he wanted to be eligible for as many scholarships as he could for college. Otis hadn’t seen Andy in a while and decided to head over on Saturday and see what he was about.
The first two cabins came in and offloaded the parts where George showed them. The sites were spread out for security and health reasons. George called the family owned company he contracted with sometimes and had them do the complete construction. The first two cabin foundations had been completed, The well had been dug for the first group of cabins and a water tank installed. Now, the cabins just needed to be put together and skirting applied. The driller was drilling another well now. They would have no problem with water. They were over a good aquifer and getting water for 25 cabins would be no problem at all. Otis and Floyd had been trenching and burying water lines all week, laying hundreds of feet of PVC pipe. The builders would now do the foundations for the two dormitories while another crew would raise the logs on the first two cabins. The dormitories would be stick built, two-story affairs, but sided with log slab siding, matching the cabins.
Percy awoke early Saturday to get in as Walmart opened. He hoped to get there before the crowd formed as it would by mid-morning. It wasn’t really necessary, but Percy did a complete check of the truck’s fluids before he started out. This time, he was pulling the little covered trailer converted from an Army Jeep trailer to give him greater hauling capacity. It might be months before he got out again. Not really needing to, Percy had gone in the cellar and wrote down everything he had stored. He was going to double; maybe triple up on everything he had. He had the room and might as well use it. Percy didn’t even meet any road traffic until he was passing Picnic In A Cave outside Jim town. Most of the cars in the Walmart parking lot seemed to be employees, but the doors were unlocked when he walked in. He grabbed a grocery cart and referencing his list, began filling the cart.
Otis went over to Andy’s house and caught them at the end of breakfast. He was invited to eat but he only accepted a cup of coffee.
“”What have you been up to Andy?”
“I’ve been studying. We had end of course exams and I did well.”
“That's great, Andy.”
“What have you been up to?”
“Laying water lines to build cabins.”
“Build cabins? What’s up?”
“Pa got word there may be another one of those sicknesses where people need to stay away from each other. We’ve got a lot of kin that would need help so he’s getting cabins built to bring them here to help them in case something happens.”
Dale Brighton continued eating his breakfast but listened to what Otis was telling Andy.
“We’re laying up on food so we won’t have to go to town as often. Pa thinks it could get pretty bad.”
“Well, I hope everything turns out all right.” Sarah said, glancing at her husband.
“Yeah, Pa thinks we’ll be okay if we just keep away from the towns.” Otis said.
Andy asked to be excused from the breakfast table and he and Otis went riding.
Dale was quietly finishing his breakfast. He got up, rinsed his dishes and put them in the dishwasher.
“Do you think there’s anything to it?” Sarah asked.
“I’ll look into it.” Dale said.
“You don’t seriously think some Tennessee redneck knows what is going on in the world?” Sarah asked, her face turning red.
“Sarah, in my short time here, I’ve found many of these “Rednecks” have more sense than those high-brows we left in California. I said I’d check it out.”
Percy filled his cart and filled the trailer first. He even bought things he didn’t normally buy. Powdered buttermilk, Powdered milk, and various dried fruits along with the raisins he normally bought. He took a break and walked over to a nearby MacDonalds to get a ham biscuit and a cup of coffee. When he finished, he began loading the back of his truck. Percy bought a lot of salt because he wanted to buy more meat from Tom Gray. The smoked sausages would keep longer if packed in salt. The sausages would get all shriveled up, but if you soaked them a while in warm water they would pop back out like a young boy’s pecker. Let ‘em drain then heat them up in a frying pan and they were good as fresh.
Percy went by Tom Gray’s and got four smoked pork bellies and the last of the smoke sausages he had on hand. He would cover the bellies with a paste of white vinegar and stove ashes. They would keep a long time before starting to mold. When he was ready to use a belly, he just washed off the dried paste and sliced what he wanted.
Bob and Ashelyn were already canning tomatoes and green beans. Angie helped out when she wasn’t at the store. Bob had planned to enlarge the root cellar but ended up just building a separate cellar, twice as large as the first one. Ashelyn was dead set on filling it up. She had bought pickling crocks online and they had many more cucumber and cabbage plants planted than they had the year before. Not that Bob was complaining, he loved pickles, especially bread and butter spears, he could eat a pint of them in one setting.
Angie made sure she was well stocked with canning supplies at the store, to include spices and jars. She did carry half gallon and gallon jars this year, even though mist sales were for pint and quart jars. Ashelyn had bought a case of gallon jars to add to the gallon jars she had saved that had held olives, mayonnaise, mustard and ketchup.
Duncan, Allie, Alex and AnnaMarie rode down together for a shopping trip to Muddy Pond. Duncan wanted to buy a few gallons of sorghum syrup if they still had them and a few more Mennonite delicacies. The Smith kids were busy at Caroline’s helping her hull and slice strawberries.
“What else did he say? Alex asked.
“Not much, just to stay hunkered down at any news of another pandemic or domestic terrorists. Wiley doesn’t mess around when it comes to stuff like that.” Duncan replied. That’s why I wanted to make this trip; travel may be curtailed for a long time.”
“When is this supposed to happen?” AnnaMarie asked.
“Wiley only said, ‘Maybe soon.’”
Allie grinned. “Your card is going to take a big dent, Honey.”
“Buy what you want. That’s an eight-foot truck bed behind us and with the cover you can stack it high.
“You’ve been forewarned.”
AnnaMarie laughed and poked Alex with her elbow.
Orders were made and preparations for cabin foundations begun. Martin and George sat down with an aerial photo of the property and selected locations for each cabin. A few days later, a trusted construction company arrived and began surveying, marking and setting up foundation forms. The steel building company with their crews began grading and preparing for the floor of the warehouse. Otis and John were filling in the gaps in the locust border that surrounded the fence line of the property. Martin Found Otis one day going along the fence line, a burlap bag strung around his neck. He would ever so often, squat down and plant something.
“What’s up Otis?”
“Planting greenbrier to add to the fence. It is strong a steel and anyone with any sense won’t try busting through it.”
“…and adding to security.”
“That’s right. I wanted to get this done today because the cabins will start arriving tomorrow.”
“Are you planting seeds?”
“No, these are the roots I dig out of the tree lines. You could plant them using seeds, but they don’t have seeds now. It’s faster just planting the roots.
Percy was drinking his morning coffee on his porch when he remembered the beans soaking. He got up and went into the kitchen area, then drained the water off and refilled the Dutch oven.
Getting a ham hock from the cellar, He added it to the pot, added a little salt and pepper then slid the pot over to a hotspot on the woodburning range and added wood to the fire. Percy checked his cellar, reviewed Its contents and made some notes. He had enough food to last for about four months. He mixed up the ingredients for cornbread, greased an eight-inch frying pan, poured the batter in, and placed the pan into the oven. He looked at his watch and went out onto the porch. The sun was shining and the breeze carried the scent of budding trees and shrubs. Percy glanced around and decided he had the time and money; he would make another trip into town and get more goods. If a pestilence was coming, he wanted to stay away from towns. He had six empty Jerrycans he could fill. That truck might not be fast, but it was good on gas. Percy chuckled. “I’m a poet and don’t know it. Make a rhyme anytime.”
For the last couple of weeks, Andy Brighton had been coming home from school, got a snack then studied for two hours. He then would take a break, do his chores and after dinner he would go back to studying. He was in his junior year of school, his end of term exams were coming soon, and he wanted to get good grades. He was maintaining a 3.8 grade point average and a good grade on the exams could pull him up a bit. His parents weren’t rich and he wanted to be eligible for as many scholarships as he could for college. Otis hadn’t seen Andy in a while and decided to head over on Saturday and see what he was about.
The first two cabins came in and offloaded the parts where George showed them. The sites were spread out for security and health reasons. George called the family owned company he contracted with sometimes and had them do the complete construction. The first two cabin foundations had been completed, The well had been dug for the first group of cabins and a water tank installed. Now, the cabins just needed to be put together and skirting applied. The driller was drilling another well now. They would have no problem with water. They were over a good aquifer and getting water for 25 cabins would be no problem at all. Otis and Floyd had been trenching and burying water lines all week, laying hundreds of feet of PVC pipe. The builders would now do the foundations for the two dormitories while another crew would raise the logs on the first two cabins. The dormitories would be stick built, two-story affairs, but sided with log slab siding, matching the cabins.
Percy awoke early Saturday to get in as Walmart opened. He hoped to get there before the crowd formed as it would by mid-morning. It wasn’t really necessary, but Percy did a complete check of the truck’s fluids before he started out. This time, he was pulling the little covered trailer converted from an Army Jeep trailer to give him greater hauling capacity. It might be months before he got out again. Not really needing to, Percy had gone in the cellar and wrote down everything he had stored. He was going to double; maybe triple up on everything he had. He had the room and might as well use it. Percy didn’t even meet any road traffic until he was passing Picnic In A Cave outside Jim town. Most of the cars in the Walmart parking lot seemed to be employees, but the doors were unlocked when he walked in. He grabbed a grocery cart and referencing his list, began filling the cart.
Otis went over to Andy’s house and caught them at the end of breakfast. He was invited to eat but he only accepted a cup of coffee.
“”What have you been up to Andy?”
“I’ve been studying. We had end of course exams and I did well.”
“That's great, Andy.”
“What have you been up to?”
“Laying water lines to build cabins.”
“Build cabins? What’s up?”
“Pa got word there may be another one of those sicknesses where people need to stay away from each other. We’ve got a lot of kin that would need help so he’s getting cabins built to bring them here to help them in case something happens.”
Dale Brighton continued eating his breakfast but listened to what Otis was telling Andy.
“We’re laying up on food so we won’t have to go to town as often. Pa thinks it could get pretty bad.”
“Well, I hope everything turns out all right.” Sarah said, glancing at her husband.
“Yeah, Pa thinks we’ll be okay if we just keep away from the towns.” Otis said.
Andy asked to be excused from the breakfast table and he and Otis went riding.
Dale was quietly finishing his breakfast. He got up, rinsed his dishes and put them in the dishwasher.
“Do you think there’s anything to it?” Sarah asked.
“I’ll look into it.” Dale said.
“You don’t seriously think some Tennessee redneck knows what is going on in the world?” Sarah asked, her face turning red.
“Sarah, in my short time here, I’ve found many of these “Rednecks” have more sense than those high-brows we left in California. I said I’d check it out.”
Percy filled his cart and filled the trailer first. He even bought things he didn’t normally buy. Powdered buttermilk, Powdered milk, and various dried fruits along with the raisins he normally bought. He took a break and walked over to a nearby MacDonalds to get a ham biscuit and a cup of coffee. When he finished, he began loading the back of his truck. Percy bought a lot of salt because he wanted to buy more meat from Tom Gray. The smoked sausages would keep longer if packed in salt. The sausages would get all shriveled up, but if you soaked them a while in warm water they would pop back out like a young boy’s pecker. Let ‘em drain then heat them up in a frying pan and they were good as fresh.
Percy went by Tom Gray’s and got four smoked pork bellies and the last of the smoke sausages he had on hand. He would cover the bellies with a paste of white vinegar and stove ashes. They would keep a long time before starting to mold. When he was ready to use a belly, he just washed off the dried paste and sliced what he wanted.
Bob and Ashelyn were already canning tomatoes and green beans. Angie helped out when she wasn’t at the store. Bob had planned to enlarge the root cellar but ended up just building a separate cellar, twice as large as the first one. Ashelyn was dead set on filling it up. She had bought pickling crocks online and they had many more cucumber and cabbage plants planted than they had the year before. Not that Bob was complaining, he loved pickles, especially bread and butter spears, he could eat a pint of them in one setting.
Angie made sure she was well stocked with canning supplies at the store, to include spices and jars. She did carry half gallon and gallon jars this year, even though mist sales were for pint and quart jars. Ashelyn had bought a case of gallon jars to add to the gallon jars she had saved that had held olives, mayonnaise, mustard and ketchup.
Duncan, Allie, Alex and AnnaMarie rode down together for a shopping trip to Muddy Pond. Duncan wanted to buy a few gallons of sorghum syrup if they still had them and a few more Mennonite delicacies. The Smith kids were busy at Caroline’s helping her hull and slice strawberries.
“What else did he say? Alex asked.
“Not much, just to stay hunkered down at any news of another pandemic or domestic terrorists. Wiley doesn’t mess around when it comes to stuff like that.” Duncan replied. That’s why I wanted to make this trip; travel may be curtailed for a long time.”
“When is this supposed to happen?” AnnaMarie asked.
“Wiley only said, ‘Maybe soon.’”
Allie grinned. “Your card is going to take a big dent, Honey.”
“Buy what you want. That’s an eight-foot truck bed behind us and with the cover you can stack it high.
“You’ve been forewarned.”
AnnaMarie laughed and poked Alex with her elbow.
feralferret
Veteran Member
Thank you.
ncsfsgm
Veteran Member
Chapter Ninety-Eight
When they arrived at the Country Porch in Muddy Pond, Alex and Duncan drifted over to the jams and jellies and began selecting jars. Duncan saw they had sorghum syrup sitting on a bottom shelf.
“Go ahead and get it.” Alex said. “It will save us a trip to the Gunther farm.”
“They won’t be cooking right now anyway. Sorghum season is September through November.” A woman standing nearby said.
Duncan grabbed four gallon jugs and took them to the cash register up front. A lady rang him up and placed the jugs in an original box the jugs had come in. Duncan carried the jugs out to the truck and locked them in the bed.
When he got back in, Alex almost had his wicker shopping basket filled with jars of various jellies and jams and the women’s arms were loaded with hand-made gifts for the kids. They checked out and Alex and Duncan took the boxes to the truck while the women continued to shop. When they went back in, the first thing Alex grabbed was two-quart jars of garlic dill pickles. Duncan got a bag of dried apples and a bag of dried peaches. The women caught up with them and checked out what they were holding.
“Dried fruit?” Allie asked Duncan.
“Fried pies.” Duncan replied.
Allie nodded and went to get two more bags of each.
Too bad they don’t have shopping carts.” Allie said. “I could fill one on each aisle.”
Both Allie and AnnaMarie bought several bars of goatmilk soap and AnnaMarie said they should check out and go to the Muddy Pond General Store, not far down the road.
Before they got to the front, Alex had picked up two quarts of honey and Duncan four. They checked out, secured the boxes in the truck bed and headed on down the road.
Duncan thought the Muddy Pond General Store had pretty much the same things as the Country Porch but on closer inspection, found they had furniture and products that came from other areas through a Mennonite distribution center. Allie spotted a six-foot-tall jelly cabinet she just loved.
“Duncan, this would fit next to the refrigerator.”
“Are you sure? That’s where you always have the broom.”
“I’m positive. And I need to clean up my habits. Sometimes I’m too lazy to return the broom to the pantry.”
“Well, get it. It’s well built.”
Alex and Duncan ended up carrying the cabinet to check out and storing it in the bed of the truck after rearranging boxes. When they went back in, the women were making sure they had enough jars of jams and jellies to fill it. Duncan added two more quarts of honey for weight. Duncan picked out several bags of hard candies, a bag of orange slices and some kind of peanut butter crispy things.
“Did you get enough for the kids?” Allie joked.
AnnaMarie began picking out those novelty things you hang on the walls and catch dust. Alex only liked one. It was a farm scene painted on a thin piece of slate roofing. Allie bought a quilt which must have been hand-sewn with gold thread for the price it cost. Duncan thought it was pretty anyway.
AnnaMarie got Alex a rocking chair with a wood ottoman for the deck.
“Let’s be careful with the furniture.” Duncan said. “Pretty soon we won’t have room for anything else.”
They managed to fit the chair and footstool in and continued shopping. Duncan found different flavors of bagged candies and Alex found more flavors of jams and jellies.
Allie got some hand creams, soaps and candles.
“Well, I’m about shopped out! Duncan said. “And I’m getting hungry.”
They make sandwiches here. We can get them and eat at the picnic tables.” AnnaMarie said.
They each filled out a slip of paper for a sandwich. Duncan ordered a toasted fried baloney sandwich, Alex ordered a liver mush sandwich, Allie ordered a BLT and Annamarie ordered a fried steak sandwich. They all got sweet tea and sat in a gazebo with a couple of picnic tables in it.
“The folks that own this no doubt make a good living here.” Duncan said.
“Yeah, and they seem to enjoy meeting people.” Alex said.
“I expect they do if they can sell them a quilt!” Duncan said.
“Oh hush! You know you like it and it’s going on our bed.” Allie said.
“An electric blanket from Walmart would have been cheaper!” Duncan said.
“But not near as homey!” AnnaMarie giggled.
“Well, we have one more store to visit.” Alex said.
They cleaned up their trash and got refills on tea before heading to the Muddy pond Variety Store.
“I’m going to regret this.” Allie said. “We’ll probably have to stop somewhere for me to pee before we get home.”
When they got to the Variety Store, one of the Mennonite women was carrying four loaves of freshly baked bread into the store from a house nearby. Alex held the door open for her and Allie followed her back to the bakery rack and scooped them up before the lady had a chance to place them on the rack. The store carried pretty much the same thing as the other two stores but they went around selecting things to buy to spread the wealth. Duncan got another couple of bags of jellied orange slices and a bag of horehound candy sticks, individually wrapped. The women picked out extracts for baking and Alex picked out a cookbook titled “Recipes From The Heart.” They spent less time there and headed home. Sure enough, they stopped at a convenience store a few miles up the road and all of them drained their bladders.
They stopped at Alex’s first, sorted out the boxes and bags, which turned out pretty good because the women had marked the boxes and bags containing what they had bought with their own color of lipstick. Alex and Duncan would have done the same thing but they didn’t wear lipstick, and Chapstick doesn’t show up that well.
When Duncan and Allie left, Alex made a drink and settled into his recliner.
“That was fun, but tiring.” Alex said.
“I know. I’m going to soak in the tub for a while.” AnnaMarie said.
“What do you want for supper?” Alex asked.
“You know, there’s a DiGiorno’s Rising Crust Supreme Pizza in the freezer. Let’s have that.”
“You’ve got it!” Alex said.
Alex found the movie Rio Lobo playing on the Grit channel and watching it.
Alex finished his drink and got the pizza out of the freezer. He turned the oven on and placed a pizza stone in to preheat and set a timer for 30 minutes. Alex made another drink and unpaused Rio Lobo. When the timer alarmed, Alex took the stone out of the oven, unboxed the pizza and laid it on the stone. After adding a few dashes of garlic powder, and extra mozzarella cheese, he placed the stone back into the oven and reset the timer. AnnaMarie had just come back down in a robe and was about to make a drink when the timer alarmed. Alex got up and took the pizza out of the oven and sat it on a big trivet on the island. AnnaMarie used a pizza cutter to cut the pie into slices. She made them both a plate, Alex got two beers out and they found a movie on TV AnnaMarie wanted to see.
Duncan and Allie stopped by Caroline’s to herd the kids home. Sally drove the side-by-side home and the rest of the kids piled into the back seat of Duncan’s truck. The females went into the house while Johnny helped Duncan unload the truck. Duncan slipped Johnny a bag of strawberry fruit leather he liked for his help.
“Don’t eat any before supper.” Duncan said.
Johnny grinned, put the bag in his jacket pocket, and carried a handful of bags into the house.
Allie was warming up beef stew for supper while the girls were emptying the shopping bags and storing the many jars in the pantry.
“Mom, where do these go?” Rose asked, holding up a handful of kitchen gadgets.
“Dishwasher.” Allie replied.
Duncan took the bags he had brought in and placed them in his and Allie’s bedroom.
Bob and Ashelyn were in Sav-A-Lot in Byrdstown. Bob selected a case of canned mandarin oranges, a case of pears, a case of peaches, and a case of mixed fruit.
“What is it with the fruit?” Ashelyn asked.
Bob shrugged. “It’s healthy, easy to store and is good for snacking.”
“And one can fills two fried pies.” Ashelyn said.
“Well, that too.” Bob nodded.
They filled two shopping carts and had an early dinner at the Scratch Kitchen before they went home.
They met Angie at the driveway entrance.
“Bob, you have a big shipment from Emergency Essentials at the store.” Angie shouted out her truck window.
“Tomorrow! I’ll pick it up tomorrow!” Bob yelled back.
“What did you order from Emergency Essentials? Ashelyn asked. Replacement #10 cans and a solar generator.” Bob replied.
“A solar generator? Don’t we have power enough?”
“Yes, but I wanted to check it out and use it to charge our portable devices. When they aren’t in use, we keep them plugged in charging. If we were to ever lose power, we would still have a place to charge them. We can keep our phones, radios, and GPS units fully charged.”
“If you say so.”
When they arrived at the Country Porch in Muddy Pond, Alex and Duncan drifted over to the jams and jellies and began selecting jars. Duncan saw they had sorghum syrup sitting on a bottom shelf.
“Go ahead and get it.” Alex said. “It will save us a trip to the Gunther farm.”
“They won’t be cooking right now anyway. Sorghum season is September through November.” A woman standing nearby said.
Duncan grabbed four gallon jugs and took them to the cash register up front. A lady rang him up and placed the jugs in an original box the jugs had come in. Duncan carried the jugs out to the truck and locked them in the bed.
When he got back in, Alex almost had his wicker shopping basket filled with jars of various jellies and jams and the women’s arms were loaded with hand-made gifts for the kids. They checked out and Alex and Duncan took the boxes to the truck while the women continued to shop. When they went back in, the first thing Alex grabbed was two-quart jars of garlic dill pickles. Duncan got a bag of dried apples and a bag of dried peaches. The women caught up with them and checked out what they were holding.
“Dried fruit?” Allie asked Duncan.
“Fried pies.” Duncan replied.
Allie nodded and went to get two more bags of each.
Too bad they don’t have shopping carts.” Allie said. “I could fill one on each aisle.”
Both Allie and AnnaMarie bought several bars of goatmilk soap and AnnaMarie said they should check out and go to the Muddy Pond General Store, not far down the road.
Before they got to the front, Alex had picked up two quarts of honey and Duncan four. They checked out, secured the boxes in the truck bed and headed on down the road.
Duncan thought the Muddy Pond General Store had pretty much the same things as the Country Porch but on closer inspection, found they had furniture and products that came from other areas through a Mennonite distribution center. Allie spotted a six-foot-tall jelly cabinet she just loved.
“Duncan, this would fit next to the refrigerator.”
“Are you sure? That’s where you always have the broom.”
“I’m positive. And I need to clean up my habits. Sometimes I’m too lazy to return the broom to the pantry.”
“Well, get it. It’s well built.”
Alex and Duncan ended up carrying the cabinet to check out and storing it in the bed of the truck after rearranging boxes. When they went back in, the women were making sure they had enough jars of jams and jellies to fill it. Duncan added two more quarts of honey for weight. Duncan picked out several bags of hard candies, a bag of orange slices and some kind of peanut butter crispy things.
“Did you get enough for the kids?” Allie joked.
AnnaMarie began picking out those novelty things you hang on the walls and catch dust. Alex only liked one. It was a farm scene painted on a thin piece of slate roofing. Allie bought a quilt which must have been hand-sewn with gold thread for the price it cost. Duncan thought it was pretty anyway.
AnnaMarie got Alex a rocking chair with a wood ottoman for the deck.
“Let’s be careful with the furniture.” Duncan said. “Pretty soon we won’t have room for anything else.”
They managed to fit the chair and footstool in and continued shopping. Duncan found different flavors of bagged candies and Alex found more flavors of jams and jellies.
Allie got some hand creams, soaps and candles.
“Well, I’m about shopped out! Duncan said. “And I’m getting hungry.”
They make sandwiches here. We can get them and eat at the picnic tables.” AnnaMarie said.
They each filled out a slip of paper for a sandwich. Duncan ordered a toasted fried baloney sandwich, Alex ordered a liver mush sandwich, Allie ordered a BLT and Annamarie ordered a fried steak sandwich. They all got sweet tea and sat in a gazebo with a couple of picnic tables in it.
“The folks that own this no doubt make a good living here.” Duncan said.
“Yeah, and they seem to enjoy meeting people.” Alex said.
“I expect they do if they can sell them a quilt!” Duncan said.
“Oh hush! You know you like it and it’s going on our bed.” Allie said.
“An electric blanket from Walmart would have been cheaper!” Duncan said.
“But not near as homey!” AnnaMarie giggled.
“Well, we have one more store to visit.” Alex said.
They cleaned up their trash and got refills on tea before heading to the Muddy pond Variety Store.
“I’m going to regret this.” Allie said. “We’ll probably have to stop somewhere for me to pee before we get home.”
When they got to the Variety Store, one of the Mennonite women was carrying four loaves of freshly baked bread into the store from a house nearby. Alex held the door open for her and Allie followed her back to the bakery rack and scooped them up before the lady had a chance to place them on the rack. The store carried pretty much the same thing as the other two stores but they went around selecting things to buy to spread the wealth. Duncan got another couple of bags of jellied orange slices and a bag of horehound candy sticks, individually wrapped. The women picked out extracts for baking and Alex picked out a cookbook titled “Recipes From The Heart.” They spent less time there and headed home. Sure enough, they stopped at a convenience store a few miles up the road and all of them drained their bladders.
They stopped at Alex’s first, sorted out the boxes and bags, which turned out pretty good because the women had marked the boxes and bags containing what they had bought with their own color of lipstick. Alex and Duncan would have done the same thing but they didn’t wear lipstick, and Chapstick doesn’t show up that well.
When Duncan and Allie left, Alex made a drink and settled into his recliner.
“That was fun, but tiring.” Alex said.
“I know. I’m going to soak in the tub for a while.” AnnaMarie said.
“What do you want for supper?” Alex asked.
“You know, there’s a DiGiorno’s Rising Crust Supreme Pizza in the freezer. Let’s have that.”
“You’ve got it!” Alex said.
Alex found the movie Rio Lobo playing on the Grit channel and watching it.
Alex finished his drink and got the pizza out of the freezer. He turned the oven on and placed a pizza stone in to preheat and set a timer for 30 minutes. Alex made another drink and unpaused Rio Lobo. When the timer alarmed, Alex took the stone out of the oven, unboxed the pizza and laid it on the stone. After adding a few dashes of garlic powder, and extra mozzarella cheese, he placed the stone back into the oven and reset the timer. AnnaMarie had just come back down in a robe and was about to make a drink when the timer alarmed. Alex got up and took the pizza out of the oven and sat it on a big trivet on the island. AnnaMarie used a pizza cutter to cut the pie into slices. She made them both a plate, Alex got two beers out and they found a movie on TV AnnaMarie wanted to see.
Duncan and Allie stopped by Caroline’s to herd the kids home. Sally drove the side-by-side home and the rest of the kids piled into the back seat of Duncan’s truck. The females went into the house while Johnny helped Duncan unload the truck. Duncan slipped Johnny a bag of strawberry fruit leather he liked for his help.
“Don’t eat any before supper.” Duncan said.
Johnny grinned, put the bag in his jacket pocket, and carried a handful of bags into the house.
Allie was warming up beef stew for supper while the girls were emptying the shopping bags and storing the many jars in the pantry.
“Mom, where do these go?” Rose asked, holding up a handful of kitchen gadgets.
“Dishwasher.” Allie replied.
Duncan took the bags he had brought in and placed them in his and Allie’s bedroom.
Bob and Ashelyn were in Sav-A-Lot in Byrdstown. Bob selected a case of canned mandarin oranges, a case of pears, a case of peaches, and a case of mixed fruit.
“What is it with the fruit?” Ashelyn asked.
Bob shrugged. “It’s healthy, easy to store and is good for snacking.”
“And one can fills two fried pies.” Ashelyn said.
“Well, that too.” Bob nodded.
They filled two shopping carts and had an early dinner at the Scratch Kitchen before they went home.
They met Angie at the driveway entrance.
“Bob, you have a big shipment from Emergency Essentials at the store.” Angie shouted out her truck window.
“Tomorrow! I’ll pick it up tomorrow!” Bob yelled back.
“What did you order from Emergency Essentials? Ashelyn asked. Replacement #10 cans and a solar generator.” Bob replied.
“A solar generator? Don’t we have power enough?”
“Yes, but I wanted to check it out and use it to charge our portable devices. When they aren’t in use, we keep them plugged in charging. If we were to ever lose power, we would still have a place to charge them. We can keep our phones, radios, and GPS units fully charged.”
“If you say so.”
feralferret
Veteran Member
Ncsfsgm, thank you.
faceless 1
Member
Where is the dog
Laurane
Canadian Loonie
can someone explain to this Canadian what a Fried Pie is......also is that the same as a handpie?
A fruit Pastie. Can also be wade with pudding, usually chocolate.
Laurane
Canadian Loonie
So it is Pastry small enough to fold over in a half moon?
feralferret
Veteran Member
Yes.
ncsfsgm
Veteran Member
Chapter Ninety-Nine
Ashelyn sorted through the cans and placed most of them in the baking area. There were cans of sour cream powder, baking powder, butter powder, whole milk powder, buttermilk powder, cream cheese powder, cheddar cheese powder, heavy cream powder, instant nonfat dry milk powder, malted milk powder, Parmesan cheese powder, white cheddar cheese powder, and yogurt powder. She also had freeze-dried shredded Colby cheese, cheese sauce mix, scrambled egg mix, whole egg powder, orange delight drink mix, cheesy broccoli soup mix, and a sample box of soup mixes in pouches from another company.
She marked each can with the current date and arranged them with the newest ones at the back of the shelf. Some cans had dispensers; she made sure those were full before sliding them into place in order of purchase. Bob would need to make more dispensers.
Ashelyn opened a can of baking powder, refilled the pint jar she kept for easy dispensing, placed it on the shelf with the other ready-to-use cooking items, and resealed the can with vinyl packing tape. When Bob returned to the kitchen, she pointed toward the pantry. “I need more can dispensers.”
Bob studied the setup, calculating how many to build—individual units or racks of four. He decided on five dispensers and headed to his workshop, Duke trotting close behind.
Alex swapped the memory cards in the game cameras and refilled the feeders. There was a good amount of activity around them—hopefully enough that they wouldn’t need to buy a turkey for Christmas. He drove past the pond to check for muskrat signs and reminded himself to call the co-op about the fish hatchery delivery schedule. He planned to stock the pond with minnows, bluegill, and shellcrackers, just as Hank had advised. Once the bluegill reached a decent size, he’d add largemouth bass. To help the bluegill grow quickly, he’d need an automatic feeder for fish pellets.
Duncan took the DUKW out on the river at least once a week to exercise the engine and keep the bend from jamming with logs. It was easier to clear them gradually than to tackle a massive tangle in the spring. Any logs that had gathered were simple to pull out and beach. He trimmed remaining limbs, jacked them up with a log lifter, and set them on rounds of wood to keep them off the ground. They wouldn’t dry completely, but the air circulation would help; by spring they’d split cleanly. Jacob and Ben sometimes joined him when several trees were down.
The first bad weather arrived right after Thanksgiving. Duncan didn’t mind a little snow—it never lasted long and melted within days. Ice, though, was another matter entirely.
At first it felt like snow was coming. The forecasters had predicted it, but the air carried a heavier, wrong feeling—not the peaceful hush of snowfall, but something denser.
It began just after 6:00 PM.: rain that froze on contact. Power lines sagged under thickening sleeves of ice. Tree branches, black and glistening, bent lower until they resembled glass chandeliers too heavy for their chains. Then came the first crack—sharp as a rifle shot—followed by the slow, groaning tear of an oak splitting from crown to root. The sound rolled across the countryside like distant thunder that never quite arrived.
By morning the world was encased. Every surface wore thick, clear armor: mailboxes, stop signs, fences. Cars and trucks left in the open sat under half-inch shells, door handles frozen, windshields opaque white cataracts.
Rural power failed in waves. Overloaded transformers popped like fireworks behind the clouds. Lights died one by one until only headlamps, emergency flashers, and the pale glow of ice itself provided illumination.
People moved differently—slow, deliberate steps, arms out for balance, eyes fixed on the ground where every leaf had become a razor blade embedded in glass. Many found themselves frozen in place, unable to decide if the next step was worth the risk. Most lost that bet, bruising or breaking something as they fell.
Trees kept coming down—not dramatically like in hurricanes, but with patient, inevitable betrayal. A maple would lean another inch, then another, before releasing a long crystalline sigh as fifty feet of trunk sheared away and crashed—sometimes through a garage roof, a sunroom, or someone’s kitchen table still set for breakfast. The sound was never just one crash: it was a sequence—the snap, the tearing wood, the wet crunch through shingles, the final glassy shatter.
Inside dark houses, people huddled around single candles or dying phone screens, speaking in low voices about battery banks, blankets, frozen pipes. Outside, the temperature kept dropping. The ice thickened. Telephone poles leaned drunkenly. A radio tower on the ridge near Livingston gave up with one enormous report that echoed for miles.
In the morning the sun rose pale and indifferent, glittering off every surface so fiercely it hurt to look. The destruction was dazzling: whole patches of crystallized forest lay jumbled, waiting for the thaw. The storm was followed by four days of frigid temperatures.
Daytime warmth melted ice on the trees enough for branches to drop, shattering on the ground like glass. Roads thawed by day only to refreeze at night. There were more traffic accidents in the days after the storm than during it. Blind corners shaded by hills became death traps.
Duncan’s work was cut out for him. Not a section of his forested land had escaped ice damage. Some trees needed only pruning; others required jagged trunks cleaned so new spring shoots would grow straight. The DUKW’s winch proved invaluable for dragging recovered wood up the riverbanks. It would take two months to clean up and stack it all.
The people around Flatboat Landing weathered the ice storm better than those in towns and denser populated areas. Most were off-grid and kept enough monthly supplies that they didn’t rush to stores for bread and milk when bad weather hit. Construction on the eighth cabin was delayed, but would resume quickly once it was safe.
Percy heard the sleet begin. Before bed, he stepped onto the porch with his lantern. Icicles hung like
crystalline daggers from the old porch roof—some slender and needle-sharp, others thicker and gently tapered, ranging from a few inches to nearly a foot. They clustered unevenly along the gutter and fascia, seeming to sway faintly in the cold air and the flickering lantern light. The lantern light caught them from below and the side, turning their translucent bodies into luminous sculptures. Percy used his walking stick to rake them away, gauging how much more freezing rain might fall overnight. Buster trotted to the nearest tree to do his de-icing, then hurried back to the porch, shaking off icy rain.
What Martin and Ciara had thought was heavy fall rain had turned to freezing rain by the time she prepared to leave.
“The roads are going to be too dangerous,” Martin said. “You should stay here tonight—and tomorrow, until we see what happens.”
“May I use your shower?” Ciara asked.
“Sure. You know where everything is.”
Martin stoked the fire in the freestanding fireplace and opened another bottle of wine.
Twenty minutes later, Ciara returned wearing the flannel shirt Martin had worn earlier. It settled on her like a borrowed blanket—generous, enveloping, slightly defiant of her frame.
The shoulders drooped past her own, seams sagging an inch or two beyond her collarbones. The fabric hung loose, pooling in soft folds before the sleeves began. Those sleeves were dramatic: long enough that her fingertips barely peeked past the cuffs. She rolled them two or three times to free her hands, leaving the thick plaid cuffs bulky and warm above her wrists. The chest and torso billowed outward; the buttons floated half an inch or more from her skin. The placket gaped slightly when she moved, revealing glimpses of bare skin beneath.
When she raised her arms, the shirt lifted, excess fabric gathering in generous waves under her arms and across her back. When she sat, it puddled around her hips and pooled onto her lap like a lap blanket. The wide, soft collar framed her neck loosely, the top button undone.
It smelled faintly of his Leaf and Leather soap, of cedar closet lining, and carried his lingering warmth. On her smaller frame the shirt didn’t just fit—it swallowed her in a way that was comical and strangely intimate, turning an ordinary garment into something oversized, protective, and unmistakably his. She could disappear into it if she wanted. She didn’t. She liked how it quietly announced she was wearing something that belonged to the man she had chosen.
Dale Brighton had just returned home when the rain and sleet began. He’d finished work, stopped by the IGA, and filled Sarah’s grocery list. As he stepped out of the truck, icy sleet stung his face along with the rain. Andy helped his father unload and put away the groceries while Sarah directed and checked storage. Aimee and her sister set the table, filling bowls with beef stew. They sat down to supper to the drumming of sleet on the roof.
After supper the kids showered. Sarah selected their choice of movie for the DVD player. Later came an intermission—bathroom break, popcorn, hot chocolate.
Ashelyn sorted through the cans and placed most of them in the baking area. There were cans of sour cream powder, baking powder, butter powder, whole milk powder, buttermilk powder, cream cheese powder, cheddar cheese powder, heavy cream powder, instant nonfat dry milk powder, malted milk powder, Parmesan cheese powder, white cheddar cheese powder, and yogurt powder. She also had freeze-dried shredded Colby cheese, cheese sauce mix, scrambled egg mix, whole egg powder, orange delight drink mix, cheesy broccoli soup mix, and a sample box of soup mixes in pouches from another company.
She marked each can with the current date and arranged them with the newest ones at the back of the shelf. Some cans had dispensers; she made sure those were full before sliding them into place in order of purchase. Bob would need to make more dispensers.
Ashelyn opened a can of baking powder, refilled the pint jar she kept for easy dispensing, placed it on the shelf with the other ready-to-use cooking items, and resealed the can with vinyl packing tape. When Bob returned to the kitchen, she pointed toward the pantry. “I need more can dispensers.”
Bob studied the setup, calculating how many to build—individual units or racks of four. He decided on five dispensers and headed to his workshop, Duke trotting close behind.
Alex swapped the memory cards in the game cameras and refilled the feeders. There was a good amount of activity around them—hopefully enough that they wouldn’t need to buy a turkey for Christmas. He drove past the pond to check for muskrat signs and reminded himself to call the co-op about the fish hatchery delivery schedule. He planned to stock the pond with minnows, bluegill, and shellcrackers, just as Hank had advised. Once the bluegill reached a decent size, he’d add largemouth bass. To help the bluegill grow quickly, he’d need an automatic feeder for fish pellets.
Duncan took the DUKW out on the river at least once a week to exercise the engine and keep the bend from jamming with logs. It was easier to clear them gradually than to tackle a massive tangle in the spring. Any logs that had gathered were simple to pull out and beach. He trimmed remaining limbs, jacked them up with a log lifter, and set them on rounds of wood to keep them off the ground. They wouldn’t dry completely, but the air circulation would help; by spring they’d split cleanly. Jacob and Ben sometimes joined him when several trees were down.
The first bad weather arrived right after Thanksgiving. Duncan didn’t mind a little snow—it never lasted long and melted within days. Ice, though, was another matter entirely.
At first it felt like snow was coming. The forecasters had predicted it, but the air carried a heavier, wrong feeling—not the peaceful hush of snowfall, but something denser.
It began just after 6:00 PM.: rain that froze on contact. Power lines sagged under thickening sleeves of ice. Tree branches, black and glistening, bent lower until they resembled glass chandeliers too heavy for their chains. Then came the first crack—sharp as a rifle shot—followed by the slow, groaning tear of an oak splitting from crown to root. The sound rolled across the countryside like distant thunder that never quite arrived.
By morning the world was encased. Every surface wore thick, clear armor: mailboxes, stop signs, fences. Cars and trucks left in the open sat under half-inch shells, door handles frozen, windshields opaque white cataracts.
Rural power failed in waves. Overloaded transformers popped like fireworks behind the clouds. Lights died one by one until only headlamps, emergency flashers, and the pale glow of ice itself provided illumination.
People moved differently—slow, deliberate steps, arms out for balance, eyes fixed on the ground where every leaf had become a razor blade embedded in glass. Many found themselves frozen in place, unable to decide if the next step was worth the risk. Most lost that bet, bruising or breaking something as they fell.
Trees kept coming down—not dramatically like in hurricanes, but with patient, inevitable betrayal. A maple would lean another inch, then another, before releasing a long crystalline sigh as fifty feet of trunk sheared away and crashed—sometimes through a garage roof, a sunroom, or someone’s kitchen table still set for breakfast. The sound was never just one crash: it was a sequence—the snap, the tearing wood, the wet crunch through shingles, the final glassy shatter.
Inside dark houses, people huddled around single candles or dying phone screens, speaking in low voices about battery banks, blankets, frozen pipes. Outside, the temperature kept dropping. The ice thickened. Telephone poles leaned drunkenly. A radio tower on the ridge near Livingston gave up with one enormous report that echoed for miles.
In the morning the sun rose pale and indifferent, glittering off every surface so fiercely it hurt to look. The destruction was dazzling: whole patches of crystallized forest lay jumbled, waiting for the thaw. The storm was followed by four days of frigid temperatures.
Daytime warmth melted ice on the trees enough for branches to drop, shattering on the ground like glass. Roads thawed by day only to refreeze at night. There were more traffic accidents in the days after the storm than during it. Blind corners shaded by hills became death traps.
Duncan’s work was cut out for him. Not a section of his forested land had escaped ice damage. Some trees needed only pruning; others required jagged trunks cleaned so new spring shoots would grow straight. The DUKW’s winch proved invaluable for dragging recovered wood up the riverbanks. It would take two months to clean up and stack it all.
The people around Flatboat Landing weathered the ice storm better than those in towns and denser populated areas. Most were off-grid and kept enough monthly supplies that they didn’t rush to stores for bread and milk when bad weather hit. Construction on the eighth cabin was delayed, but would resume quickly once it was safe.
Percy heard the sleet begin. Before bed, he stepped onto the porch with his lantern. Icicles hung like
crystalline daggers from the old porch roof—some slender and needle-sharp, others thicker and gently tapered, ranging from a few inches to nearly a foot. They clustered unevenly along the gutter and fascia, seeming to sway faintly in the cold air and the flickering lantern light. The lantern light caught them from below and the side, turning their translucent bodies into luminous sculptures. Percy used his walking stick to rake them away, gauging how much more freezing rain might fall overnight. Buster trotted to the nearest tree to do his de-icing, then hurried back to the porch, shaking off icy rain.What Martin and Ciara had thought was heavy fall rain had turned to freezing rain by the time she prepared to leave.
“The roads are going to be too dangerous,” Martin said. “You should stay here tonight—and tomorrow, until we see what happens.”
“May I use your shower?” Ciara asked.
“Sure. You know where everything is.”
Martin stoked the fire in the freestanding fireplace and opened another bottle of wine.
Twenty minutes later, Ciara returned wearing the flannel shirt Martin had worn earlier. It settled on her like a borrowed blanket—generous, enveloping, slightly defiant of her frame.
The shoulders drooped past her own, seams sagging an inch or two beyond her collarbones. The fabric hung loose, pooling in soft folds before the sleeves began. Those sleeves were dramatic: long enough that her fingertips barely peeked past the cuffs. She rolled them two or three times to free her hands, leaving the thick plaid cuffs bulky and warm above her wrists. The chest and torso billowed outward; the buttons floated half an inch or more from her skin. The placket gaped slightly when she moved, revealing glimpses of bare skin beneath.
When she raised her arms, the shirt lifted, excess fabric gathering in generous waves under her arms and across her back. When she sat, it puddled around her hips and pooled onto her lap like a lap blanket. The wide, soft collar framed her neck loosely, the top button undone.
It smelled faintly of his Leaf and Leather soap, of cedar closet lining, and carried his lingering warmth. On her smaller frame the shirt didn’t just fit—it swallowed her in a way that was comical and strangely intimate, turning an ordinary garment into something oversized, protective, and unmistakably his. She could disappear into it if she wanted. She didn’t. She liked how it quietly announced she was wearing something that belonged to the man she had chosen.
Dale Brighton had just returned home when the rain and sleet began. He’d finished work, stopped by the IGA, and filled Sarah’s grocery list. As he stepped out of the truck, icy sleet stung his face along with the rain. Andy helped his father unload and put away the groceries while Sarah directed and checked storage. Aimee and her sister set the table, filling bowls with beef stew. They sat down to supper to the drumming of sleet on the roof.
After supper the kids showered. Sarah selected their choice of movie for the DVD player. Later came an intermission—bathroom break, popcorn, hot chocolate.
Last edited:
For the last week + I have been walking around with my "emotional support" shovel. Squared tip, good for traction, breaking ice, and scooping loose stuff. Yesterday's warmer rain has melted and soften what is left. We had snow then alternating layers of ice and snow with Ice on top.
feralferret
Veteran Member
Thanks.
ncsfsgm
Veteran Member
Chapter One Hundred
The crews began construction on the last two cabins the same day. The weather had warmed enough that there was no longer any risk of the concrete freezing overnight, so they poured the foundations without delay. They brought in an additional crane to speed things along. Two more truckloads of supplies arrived, and Martin pitched in, driving a forklift as they slowly filled the storage bunkers. A separate crew showed up to trench and install telephone lines between the cabins, with the lines terminating at the Edison home. Martin didn’t question it until a branch was dug all the way to his own cabin. He tracked down George Edison.
“What’s going on with the wiring?” Martin asked.
“We’re trying to minimize wireless signals coming out of here,” George explained. “These are lines for a sound-powered telephone system. We’ll have wired phones between all the cabins. The actual phones came in on the last truck. It’s not a standard POTS line, but it’ll handle day-to-day communication and work fine in an emergency.”
Meanwhile, Percy drained the water from the pot of beans and covered them with fresh water. He added a ham hock, put the lid on, and set the pot back on the stove to simmer through the day. He split open one of the last two biscuits left from breakfast, pinched two slices of bacon between them, and carried the makeshift sandwich and a cup of coffee out to the porch. He settled onto his bearskin-covered bench and soaked in the sunshine.
Buster waddled over. Percy tore off the bacon-less biscuit and offered it. The big dog gently took it, lay down with the biscuit cradled between his paws, studied it for a few seconds, then began taking careful, small bites.
The weather after the ice storm had been miserable. Ice slowly melted and fell from the tree branches, but in the shadowy areas walking remained treacherous. Buster took it all in stride and seemed to relish the cold. He frequently found icy patches and rolled in them, especially first thing in the morning after watering the trees. He preferred sleeping on the porch, where it stayed cold, rather than inside the cabin. Percy banked the stove fire every night, leaving the interior cool enough for comfortable sleep, but Buster liked it even colder. Besides, the porch gave him a front-row seat to scare the hell out of any raccoons trying to sneak up in the dark.
Percy finished his coffee, set the mug aside, and began cleaning his nails with his pocketknife. He was running low on onions. He must be getting old—he could have sworn he had another twenty-five pounds stashed in the corner. Next bag he bought, he’d string them up in plain sight. Luckily, he’d had enough left for the beans.
He set the mug down and started filling the porch wood rack from the shed, glancing at the sky every few minutes to gauge what weather might be coming next.
Jack cleaned the floor of the chicken coop and dumped the mess into the steaming compost pile. You could feel the heat radiating off it well before you got close. He emptied the wheelbarrow, then used a pitchfork to turn the pile. Back at the coop, he selected one of the hens for butchering and quickly wrung her neck. He was getting far too many eggs and needed to thin the flock. There were only so many ways he knew to cook eggs.
After plucking and gutting the bird, Jack put it in a stockpot, added water and celery salt, and covered it. Once the chicken was boiled tender, he’d pick out the bones, reserve some meat and broth for freezing into future soups, and use the rest for chicken and dumplings. He checked his pantry and decided he needed a grocery run within the next two weeks. He could make a full day of it—drive into Knoxville, hit the big-box stores, and stock up until his next major run in the summer.
Martin was sanding a cedar chest he was building in the woodshop and didn’t hear the car pull up. His first clue anyone was there came when he caught a muffled voice: “Is he even at home?”
Martin smiled. Ciana.
“I’m in the woodshop!” he called without raising his voice.
A few moments later the door swung open and Ciana stepped in.
“Hey, what ya doing?”
“Working on a chest. What’s up?”
“I came out to draw and paint. I wanted to catch the sunset today since there are no clouds.”
“To be honest, I like it better with clouds—more color.”
“Well, I wanted to paint one for Mrs. Holston.”
“Okay. I’ll be working in here.”
Martin swapped the sandpaper on the palm sander and went back to it. As he worked, his mind drifted to the state of the country. The Socialist Democrats were foaming at the mouth. They were hemorrhaging voters in blue cities and states to Republican-held areas; party donations were drying up. They ranted about Homeland Security and ICE finding ways around their anti-enforcement and anti-trafficking blocks. Most of all, they seethed over the Republican trifecta in Washington. Heaven help the country if Democrats regained control. Martin could already see the lawfare ramping up again. American voters were either stupid, ignorant, or voting on pure emotion instead of reality. You had to be willfully blind not to see the Democrat Party’s track record over the last eighty-six years. Martin suspected things would get worse before they got better. The Democrats were going to let the socialists and communists take over the party, and the voters would have no one to blame but themselves.
He shut off the sander, wiped the surface with a tack cloth to remove any remaining dust, and inspected the chest. A coat of wood sealer followed by three coats of polyurethane should finish it nicely. He covered the piece with a cheap flat sheet from the Dollar Store and stepped outside. Ciana sat under an oak tree, sketching the western hills onto her drawing pad. He knew that come sundown she’d switch between her camera and colored pencils, chasing the light.
Alex gathered the game camera cards and downloaded them to his computer, sorting the images by date and time stamp. He was mapping the turkeys’ visits to the feeder. Mornings looked best. He hiked down midday to trace their approach route, then chose a spot about fourteen meters off the game trail for a hide. He set up camouflage netting, weaving in grass, small limbs, and fallen leaves. He added a couple more cameras to capture the birds’ first reaction to the blind. After a few days, they’d probably ignore it entirely.
Back at the house, AnnaMarie was toasting pecans she’d shelled the night before. She wanted brownies. Alex came in, washed his hands, and watched as she tossed the pecan pieces in melted butter, spread them on a parchment-lined baking sheet, and sprinkled them with ground sea salt.
“Looks like a lot of nuts in those brownies,” Alex said.
“I like them chewy with that little crunch from the toasted nuts,” AnnaMarie replied.
She baked three sheets’ worth and packed some of the cooled brownies into two Danish cookie tins—one for Duncan and Allie, one for Hank. Hank wasn’t home when they delivered his, but Duncan was. He was running the wood splitter. AnnaMarie went inside to visit Allie while Alex walked down to help Duncan. The splitter spat out chunks, and Duncan stacked them onto a trailer. Alex started gathering the split pieces and stacking them.
Duncan grinned. “You don’t have enough work to do at home?”
“I haven’t forgotten the two cords you gave me last fall,” Alex said.
“Well, I’ll have more than enough this year after the winter storms and what I’ve pulled from the river.”
“You should call me next time you’re working the river. Seems easier with someone on shore to handle the snatch block.”
“Yeah, I’ve just gotten used to doing it solo. We’d make better time with two. I’ll call you next time. Plenty of wood for your next winter.”
“Thanks. Yeah, call me. I’m happy to help.”
Alex glanced around. About a dozen logs still lay waiting to be cut.
“When are you tackling these?”
“Tomorrow. Nothing pressing right now.”
“I’ll come down in the morning to help.”
“Bring your trailer and haul some back with you. No sense stacking it twice.”
“I’ll do that.”
They finished the current log, loaded the trailer, and Alex rode along as they hauled it to the woodshed and stacked the wood to dry.
The crews began construction on the last two cabins the same day. The weather had warmed enough that there was no longer any risk of the concrete freezing overnight, so they poured the foundations without delay. They brought in an additional crane to speed things along. Two more truckloads of supplies arrived, and Martin pitched in, driving a forklift as they slowly filled the storage bunkers. A separate crew showed up to trench and install telephone lines between the cabins, with the lines terminating at the Edison home. Martin didn’t question it until a branch was dug all the way to his own cabin. He tracked down George Edison.
“What’s going on with the wiring?” Martin asked.
“We’re trying to minimize wireless signals coming out of here,” George explained. “These are lines for a sound-powered telephone system. We’ll have wired phones between all the cabins. The actual phones came in on the last truck. It’s not a standard POTS line, but it’ll handle day-to-day communication and work fine in an emergency.”
Meanwhile, Percy drained the water from the pot of beans and covered them with fresh water. He added a ham hock, put the lid on, and set the pot back on the stove to simmer through the day. He split open one of the last two biscuits left from breakfast, pinched two slices of bacon between them, and carried the makeshift sandwich and a cup of coffee out to the porch. He settled onto his bearskin-covered bench and soaked in the sunshine.
Buster waddled over. Percy tore off the bacon-less biscuit and offered it. The big dog gently took it, lay down with the biscuit cradled between his paws, studied it for a few seconds, then began taking careful, small bites.
The weather after the ice storm had been miserable. Ice slowly melted and fell from the tree branches, but in the shadowy areas walking remained treacherous. Buster took it all in stride and seemed to relish the cold. He frequently found icy patches and rolled in them, especially first thing in the morning after watering the trees. He preferred sleeping on the porch, where it stayed cold, rather than inside the cabin. Percy banked the stove fire every night, leaving the interior cool enough for comfortable sleep, but Buster liked it even colder. Besides, the porch gave him a front-row seat to scare the hell out of any raccoons trying to sneak up in the dark.
Percy finished his coffee, set the mug aside, and began cleaning his nails with his pocketknife. He was running low on onions. He must be getting old—he could have sworn he had another twenty-five pounds stashed in the corner. Next bag he bought, he’d string them up in plain sight. Luckily, he’d had enough left for the beans.
He set the mug down and started filling the porch wood rack from the shed, glancing at the sky every few minutes to gauge what weather might be coming next.
Jack cleaned the floor of the chicken coop and dumped the mess into the steaming compost pile. You could feel the heat radiating off it well before you got close. He emptied the wheelbarrow, then used a pitchfork to turn the pile. Back at the coop, he selected one of the hens for butchering and quickly wrung her neck. He was getting far too many eggs and needed to thin the flock. There were only so many ways he knew to cook eggs.
After plucking and gutting the bird, Jack put it in a stockpot, added water and celery salt, and covered it. Once the chicken was boiled tender, he’d pick out the bones, reserve some meat and broth for freezing into future soups, and use the rest for chicken and dumplings. He checked his pantry and decided he needed a grocery run within the next two weeks. He could make a full day of it—drive into Knoxville, hit the big-box stores, and stock up until his next major run in the summer.
Martin was sanding a cedar chest he was building in the woodshop and didn’t hear the car pull up. His first clue anyone was there came when he caught a muffled voice: “Is he even at home?”
Martin smiled. Ciana.
“I’m in the woodshop!” he called without raising his voice.
A few moments later the door swung open and Ciana stepped in.
“Hey, what ya doing?”
“Working on a chest. What’s up?”
“I came out to draw and paint. I wanted to catch the sunset today since there are no clouds.”
“To be honest, I like it better with clouds—more color.”
“Well, I wanted to paint one for Mrs. Holston.”
“Okay. I’ll be working in here.”
Martin swapped the sandpaper on the palm sander and went back to it. As he worked, his mind drifted to the state of the country. The Socialist Democrats were foaming at the mouth. They were hemorrhaging voters in blue cities and states to Republican-held areas; party donations were drying up. They ranted about Homeland Security and ICE finding ways around their anti-enforcement and anti-trafficking blocks. Most of all, they seethed over the Republican trifecta in Washington. Heaven help the country if Democrats regained control. Martin could already see the lawfare ramping up again. American voters were either stupid, ignorant, or voting on pure emotion instead of reality. You had to be willfully blind not to see the Democrat Party’s track record over the last eighty-six years. Martin suspected things would get worse before they got better. The Democrats were going to let the socialists and communists take over the party, and the voters would have no one to blame but themselves.
He shut off the sander, wiped the surface with a tack cloth to remove any remaining dust, and inspected the chest. A coat of wood sealer followed by three coats of polyurethane should finish it nicely. He covered the piece with a cheap flat sheet from the Dollar Store and stepped outside. Ciana sat under an oak tree, sketching the western hills onto her drawing pad. He knew that come sundown she’d switch between her camera and colored pencils, chasing the light.
Alex gathered the game camera cards and downloaded them to his computer, sorting the images by date and time stamp. He was mapping the turkeys’ visits to the feeder. Mornings looked best. He hiked down midday to trace their approach route, then chose a spot about fourteen meters off the game trail for a hide. He set up camouflage netting, weaving in grass, small limbs, and fallen leaves. He added a couple more cameras to capture the birds’ first reaction to the blind. After a few days, they’d probably ignore it entirely.
Back at the house, AnnaMarie was toasting pecans she’d shelled the night before. She wanted brownies. Alex came in, washed his hands, and watched as she tossed the pecan pieces in melted butter, spread them on a parchment-lined baking sheet, and sprinkled them with ground sea salt.
“Looks like a lot of nuts in those brownies,” Alex said.
“I like them chewy with that little crunch from the toasted nuts,” AnnaMarie replied.
She baked three sheets’ worth and packed some of the cooled brownies into two Danish cookie tins—one for Duncan and Allie, one for Hank. Hank wasn’t home when they delivered his, but Duncan was. He was running the wood splitter. AnnaMarie went inside to visit Allie while Alex walked down to help Duncan. The splitter spat out chunks, and Duncan stacked them onto a trailer. Alex started gathering the split pieces and stacking them.
Duncan grinned. “You don’t have enough work to do at home?”
“I haven’t forgotten the two cords you gave me last fall,” Alex said.
“Well, I’ll have more than enough this year after the winter storms and what I’ve pulled from the river.”
“You should call me next time you’re working the river. Seems easier with someone on shore to handle the snatch block.”
“Yeah, I’ve just gotten used to doing it solo. We’d make better time with two. I’ll call you next time. Plenty of wood for your next winter.”
“Thanks. Yeah, call me. I’m happy to help.”
Alex glanced around. About a dozen logs still lay waiting to be cut.
“When are you tackling these?”
“Tomorrow. Nothing pressing right now.”
“I’ll come down in the morning to help.”
“Bring your trailer and haul some back with you. No sense stacking it twice.”
“I’ll do that.”
They finished the current log, loaded the trailer, and Alex rode along as they hauled it to the woodshed and stacked the wood to dry.
feralferret
Veteran Member
Thank you.