Getting By - Country Style

[Ozarks Tom]

Getting by, Country Style
A Diary of Sorts

April 2nd:  Power went out about 7:30, not all that unusual being this far out in the country. The light wired between the meter and breaker box on the power pole is out, so it’s not our breaker, probably another drunk on AA Hwy took out a power pole.

Plenty to do this morning anyway, the garden needs tilling and seeding. Set out the tomato and pepper plants we started in the sun room, get the hoses out of storage and set up. Hoping the power will be back on when that’s done.

No need to crank up the 8.5 kw generator, the freezers will stay cold for hours unless we open them.


Monday noon: Still no power! Maybe it wasn’t a drunk on AA Hwy after all. I needed a shower, and the freezers could use a boost, so cranking the genny in the old milk barn seems like a good idea about then. I’d converted it to tri-fuel a couple years ago, which is good because I’ve only got 12 cans of gasoline. It’s exhausted through a hole in the back door with a flexible metal exhaust pipe, but I’ll leave the front door open just in case there’s a leak. I put an old tractor muffler in line, you can’t hear it running from 50 yards away. I know the routine by heart, but I’ve still got the steps listed on a laminated instruction sheet on the wall above the generator, just in case I’m not around.

1) Throw the breaker on the power pole to disconnect from the main line.
2) Open the valve on the 500 gallon propane tank behind the barn.
3) Open the valve in the barn coming through the wall.
4) Turn the generator to “ON”
5) Push the primer button for 10 seconds
6) Hit the “start” button
7) Let run for a minute, then hit the switch on the front to “demand”
8) Throw the breaker on the wall to back feed the house.
9) If the light on the power pole comes back on, reverse the steps.

After a shower I decided to go down to Bill Johnsons a couple miles away to see if he’s out too. He’s on a different feeder line, so maybe not.

Tried starting the Suburban, I’ve had trouble with it before after sitting for a few days, but jiggling the shifter usually gets it going. Nothing. Try my wife’s pickup, same results. Starting to worry now, my fertile paranoid mind is wondering if this is the “big one”. I’d spent a lot of money converting the ’88 Bronco to “old style”, supposedly EMP proof with no computers, and it cranks right up.

When I get to Bill’s I can see from the road he’s got his welder/generator hooked to his breaker box. It’s one of those trailer mounted rigs that runs on diesel, I wonder how much diesel he’s got.

Bill is the perfect image of an Ozark hillbilly, if he were wearing a straw hat and smoking a corncob pipe he’d be a dead ringer for a Normal Rockwell painting. Average height, but skinny as a rail, grey beard and longish hair, face creased and browned from years in the sun. Wiry strong, he’s helped me run fence, build barns and sheds, with stamina belying his 63 years. He doesn’t talk much, at least to me, seeing how I’ve only been here 15 years and I’m the new guy. I wasn’t surprised when he said both his telephone and cell weren’t working. I’d told him about EMPs and CMEs when he helped me set the three used propane tanks, but he’s thinking it’s probably a problem at the generating plant.

I asked him if his truck would start, he didn’t know, but when he turned the key he got nothing. He was starting to wonder then too.

We decide to go down to his brother Bob’s place about a quarter mile away to see how he’s doing. Bill & Bob are part of a large extended family in the area, I doubt even they know how many Johnsons there are around here. If you added 17 years to Bill, you’d have Bob. 80 years old and still cutting firewood and splitting it by hand. Bob’s on the same line so he’s without power too, but he has two chest type freezers and no generator.

We decided to go up to see if by chance Bob Jr was home, being a work day probably not, but we’d look anyway. Nope. Bob Jr manages a blasting company, contracted to the several quarries around here. Nice guy, dour like the rest of the family, but that’s where the similarity ends. He’s well over 6’, bald headed, built like a football player. I’ve never met his mother’s family, but he sure doesn’t take after the Johnson side.

Anyway, it was time to do some planning. I’d go home and get my spare 4 kw generator and some heavy cable, take it to Bob’s where Bill would hook it up to the box. Bob would run it for a half hour every 3-4 hours to keep his freezers cold. It’s converted to tri-fuel too, so I’d bring a couple 20# propane bottles along with a can of gasoline. I could refill the bottles as needed with a hose from the wet leg on my 3rd propane tank. Then I’d go to the Highlandville quarry where Bob Jr works out of to see if I could find him. Time was ticking away, no time to lollygag.

Back at the house, I tell my wife the plan, load up the generator on the little trailer, holster a .38, throw a 20 gauge shotgun and a box of shells in the back, and head out. There’s usually little traffic on our little 2 lane Hwy OO to the main road, but I see a couple cars sitting in the road dead, the occupants must have decided to walk hours ago. The highway to Highlandville is a different matter. Normally not heavily traveled, maybe 25 or 30 vehicles stalled in the three miles to Highlandville, people walking in both directions. I don’t stop, just weave around them.

At the quarry I find about 10 people standing around, Bob Jr among them. When I pull in someone wants to know why my Bronco is running when they can’t get their trucks started. I explain it’s an old truck with no computer, then ask Bob Jr to speak privately. I tell him what I think, and he tells me he’d already figured it out. He’s sort of a doomer too, even bought some junk silver off me in the past. We’d talked about different scenarios, this being one of them, so he’s not surprised when I ask if he could gather up some explosives and detonators before we leave. No problem, just pull over to the vault.

While he’s loading, a couple guys walk over, first curious, then asking for a ride. I could see this could escalate quickly, so I suggested we’d loaded enough, let’s go. Before I closed the tailgate I handed Bob Jr the shotgun. We got in the Bronco and drove off to the sound of cussing and a couple rocks hitting the back.

Bob Jr’s wife is a nurse at the County health office in Galena, about 15 miles from my house. That’s our next stop. When we pull up there are several people, including his wife standing outside. No time to explain, jump in, and we’re on our way to Crane about 7 miles away to pick up their son Darren at the welding shop, them home. We see a few old 8n and MF tractors on the road along the way.

It’s about 6:30 when my wife and I get to Bill’s place. He and Donna, Bob and Connie, Bob Jr and Earline, along with Bob Jr & Earline’s son Darren and his wife with their 2 young children are already gathered in Bill’s front yard. Bill is cooking on the grill, and it looks like any normal family gathering, but you could tell by their expressions they were worried.

Even if we’re wrong, it’s time for some planning, and time isn’t on our side if we’re right.

Due to intended lack of OPSEC, they know we’re “preppers”, so I’ve got some suggestions as to priorities. First, food. We can’t keep the freezers going indefinitely, and we can’t afford to let the meat especially go bad. Who has pressure canners? We’ve got two, Bill has one, Junior has one they’ve never used, but Bob and Darren only have water bath canners. Junior hasn’t bought the generator he’s been meaning to, so his upright freezers are starting to thaw badly. We decide to haul the 4kw from Bob’s to Junior’s periodically to keep his food from going bad before it can be canned.

I suggest while they’ve got the small genny, when the freezers are cold, throw every breaker but the pumps to fill every container they’ve got. That little genny will handle the pump, but not freezer compressors too. Bob has an old ATV that runs, with a little garden trailer to haul the genny back and forth.

Since Junior & Earline don’t know anything about pressure canning, and some of their food is partially thawed, I suggest they thaw some meat out tonight so I can pick them, their canner, and their meat up in the morning so we can start canning at our place. We’ve got a two burner stock pot range just for canning, plus a propane kitchen stove. Plenty of room for 3 canners, and they can learn how. Bill & Donna will start canning in the morning, while Darren will put his food in Bob’s freezer and wait until Junior’s lot is done. Even with 4 canners running around the clock my guess is it’ll be nearly a week before everything is canned. We take a quick inventory of jars, and even though my wife and I have over 30 dozen quarts, 15 dozen pints, and the other folks have a rough total of 20 dozen jars, that might not going to be enough. We decide if we run short we can dump out some preserves and other non-essentials to make up the difference.

Bob & Bill have quite a few head of cattle on their places, so they’re not initially all that worried about meat. I point out to them it won’t be long before a lot of hungry people start looking for food, and it’s a lot easier to protect jars than cattle. Besides, it would be foolish to let all that food in their freezers rot.

A little layout should be explained here: We live at the end of a mile and a half of gravel road. There are 5 other houses on the road, but only one of them we’d consider friends. Three of them dislike me intensely, long story, one we’re not righteously religious enough for, and the fifth are nice folks who are into the latest everything and expensive vacations. Bill, Bob, Junior, and Darren all live off Hwy OO about 2-3 miles from us.

[Ozarks Tom]

Tuesday morning: I stop by Bob’s to see how they’re doing. Bob just got back from Junior’s with the genny, everything is staying frozen, and Darren’s food is in their freezer. Next stop is Bill’s, where his canner has been going since 3 am when the first 10 pounds of meat had thawed. Since their stove is electric, they’re canning on their turkey fryer base. He’s only got 2 propane bottles, but I can refill them as needed. I pick up Junior & Earlene, along with their stuff and head home where my wife has been canning since 5 am.

The three of them start cutting and filling jars, while I walk over to our neighbors about a quarter mile away. They’re nice folks, but about as oblivious of world events as 90% of the population. Even after a day without power or cell phones they haven’t figured it out. If Monday and Tuesday hadn’t been Randy’s days off, he’d still be walking home from Branson. I tell them what I’ve heard on our crank emergency radio, and what we’re doing. They’re dumbfounded, this can’t possibly be happening, surely the power will be back on. They’ve got about 3 days of food, no freezer beyond the one on their fridge. I know their only contribution would be grunt labor and some help with security, but I offer them to join our little group if they’d like. Still in denial, they thank me, saying they’ll think it over. They clearly think I’m nuts.

In the back of my mind I’m wondering about security. Even if Randy & Rose come over there’s no way to stay safe with just 4 people. Bill, Bob, Junior, and Darren live far enough from each other to be of little help to each other in the event of violent thieves, and no help to us. I’m thinking we’ve got two or three days before people start looking for food, initially probably individually, but over time as groups. When most people think of welfare and SNAP recipients they think of inner city dwellers, but these hills are full of them. Communication beyond sound is nil, and coordination is impossible. Time for another meeting.

Wednesday morning: I’ve gathered everyone in the Bronco back to our house. The canning is going well, but it takes nearly 3 hours per canning batch, working around the clock we’ve canned less than 200 quarts between us, with maybe another 300 to go, plus pints. Everyone is frazzled from lack of sleep and worry, not a happy bunch. Randy & Rose are there, but still not believing the government won’t fix things. Another 3 Johnson couples and 7 children showed up in a trailer behind an old Ford Jubilee tractor, unasked by me, I guess one of the brothers told them, but welcome.

Here comes the hard part, convincing them to become a group in one place, our place. I’ve given some thought to my pitch, so I start down the line of why none of their places is defensible. Bob & Connie live the farthest, in a hollow, right on the road, with high ground all around them. Bill & Donna have the same topography, and are about a quarter mile from Bob. Junior lives on a hill on the other side of the road, between Bill and Bob, but none of the three has water when their fuel runs out. If it gets too dangerous to come to our place where we have a hand pump on our well, their positions would be untenable.

I tell them we’ve stockpiled 80 5 gallon buckets of wheat, beans, rice, and other commodities. We have an alarm system of 8 sensors with a range of 1 mile, plus 2 handheld radios on the same frequency. We’re on a bluff 70 feet above the river, with a commanding view on two other sides, with the fourth side being higher but defensible due to the ability to put alarms on all approaches. Our 5 pantries are stocked with pre-made canned meals. We have an 8n tractor that runs, plus plow, cultivator, old heavy duty tiller, and enough seed stored to plant 3 acres. We’ve also got 20 sheep, 14 rabbits, and 15 hens & 2 roosters.

The opposition was foreseeable, Bob was born in his house 80 years ago and will die there. Bill can’t leave his cattle, and is concerned someone will burn his place down like they did his barn a couple years ago, besides, although he’s 63 years old he’s plenty fit to take care of himself and Donna. Junior thinks his hill is a natural fortress, even though he agrees water might be a problem. Darren & Kaylee plan to move in with Junior. Obviously we’re not part of the family, and even though we’re the only ones who are in any way prepared, I could tell they were uncomfortable with the thought of jamming in with outsiders.

I’d saved my best argument for last. I asked them since they’d lived here all their lives, how many low lives they could think of living within a 5 mile radius, and how many of those were friends enough to group up? Then how many others could they think of who would be hungry in a week or two? Really hungry a week after that? Hungry enough to kill them for a crust of bread the week after? Could they fend off 20 or 30 starving people? I told them about a guy I know from South Africa who had a farm there. Even though he and his neighbors tried to guard their cattle, groups would sneak in at night, kill a couple head with machetes, cut off what meat they could carry, and leave the rest.

I told them let’s have lunch, I’d take everyone who needed a ride home, and for them to think about it for a day or two. In the meantime we’d finish canning, and divvy up the canned goods if they decided not to join forces.

Thursday afternoon: Randy & Rose have given up on the government, and their food is gone. Junior has overridden his father’s wish to die at home, and Bill has figured a way to herd his cattle a back route to our place, where we can string some temporary fencing in the adjacent field. Darren & Kaylee are coming with little food, but several guns. One other Johnson couple from a few miles away are moving here, but the rest have decided to ride it out together elsewhere. Altogether we’re 14 adults and 5 children, the oldest 14, the youngest 9 months.

I spend the rest of the day ferrying people, food, beds, clothes, guns & ammo, and other essentials. We stripped the house to make room for beds, emptied out the milk barn of anything not perishable in weather for more. Even put up a 6 person tent. By Friday evening we’ve got everything except Bill’s cattle. You could feel the depression in the air, the little jokes and kidding didn’t fool anyone, bad times were here, and worse were coming. I don’t think anyone walked past the power pole who didn’t look for the power signal light to be on.

After the evening meal I introduced the “House Rules”. I explained I didn’t intend to be a dictator, just the coordinator and final decision maker. Everyone should feel free to say whatever they want, every opinion will be considered, but there can only one person in charge. Since this is our house, we’ll go by our rules.

1) Two meals a day, no exceptions
2) Everyone bathes at least once a week, we’ve got two showers, and we’ll run the generator long enough for two at a time.
3) Weapons will be disassembled and cleaned every week.
4) Men will pee outside, women inside.
5) Flushing – if it’s yellow it’s mellow, if it’s brown it goes down. We’ve only got 30 cases of toilet paper, so use it sparingly.

These are all country folk, so no need to stress working as necessary.

[Ozarks Tom]

Saturday – It starts: I was really sort of surprised it took them so long, what with all the traffic back and forth, people coming and going. The neighbors who couldn’t countenance drinking a beer now and then, or a damn in a sentence, walked down to be friendly. I couldn’t resist starting the conversation with “hey, how the hell are ya?” They wanted to know what was going on, all the people and all. I explained we’d formed a small self-defense group, hoping for the best, but preparing for the worst. After some hemming and hawing, they finally asked if they could be part of it. If their property wasn’t our only blind spot I’d have told them to take a hike, but logistically their big house overlooking ours could be an asset. I said let’s talk about it. First, I wanted to know how they felt about hungry people begging for food, would they give it to them? Of course, the Lord instructed them to feed the hungry. I asked what if the only food you had was what we gave you? They didn’t know. Then I asked if they could kill someone who wanted to take their food by force? They didn’t know, but probably not. I told them here’s the deal, you let two people move into your house, set up defensive positions nearby, and we’ll give you enough food to live on but not give away. Either that, or we’ll wait for you to starve, in which case we’ll move in anyway. By the way, we’ll expect you to work in the garden every day. An unhappy, but mutually beneficial deal was struck.

I wasn’t surprised the other 3 neighbors never bothered to come around. Two of them up and disappeared, possibly to become refugees, and the third couple apparently had a suicide pact.

At dusk Darren spotted a guy coming up the road from the river access. We’d discussed how to handle people approaching, but for some reason he couldn’t explain, let him walk right up to our fence. Darren had a handheld radio, and had already called to the house about the guy, so I was almost there when he walked up. He said he had 3 kids who were hungry, did we have any food to spare? The way he was tweaking I was surprised he didn’t ask if we had any drugs to spare. I told him no, we didn’t have any spare anything, and if he came back he’d be shot 300 yards from where he stood now. It didn’t seem to faze him, he kept saying “anything, just anything”, and I almost broke my own rule, but instead I shot between his feet with my 30.06. The very loud gun must have made my point, as he ran away the direction he came from, stumbling several times. Damn, I felt bad about that. He probably did have hungry kids, but if we’re going to survive ourselves we can’t take care of the world. Besides, how do I harden these nice people to the reality of the situation if I don’t harden myself?

April 22nd: Apparently word has spread that there’s a guarded compound, so there must be something worth guarding.

The river makes a bend just beyond view, allowing people over on what we call “cockroach lane” to have a dry walk over to us. I didn’t go over there in good times, but the Sheriff did, a lot.

So far there’s only been two small groups, but lots of ones and twos, always with kids. I had an old piece of sheet steel, roughly two foot square, that we hung from posts about 300 yards from one the foxholes we’d dug just inside the fence. We used it for target practice and zeroing in the larger bore guns. One the side facing the river approach I’d painted “Stop”. That usually turned even small groups around. Some couldn’t be deterred by the sign alone, so we’d put a round through the steel to make a point. One time a guy retreated, only to shoot the sign from the river side.

Even through the hills and trees we’ve heard vehicles on the blacktop over a mile away. It’s surprising what you can hear without the ambient sounds of normal living that we never really hear. They’re old and loud, some moving slowly like tractors, but we’re not sending anyone out to see what they are. About a week ago we felled two large trees across the gravel road just short of the blacktop. We figured they would deter groups with vehicles, putting them afoot, making them vulnerable to the motion alarms in time to prepare a defense.

We were wrong about that. We think it was a group influenced by the “Stop” sign that looped around to come in from the road. Bob and Bob Jr were at the big house when the alarm sounded. The sensor about 400 yards away was set to look across the road, but they must have had a scout working his way through the brush ahead of the group. By the time the alarm sounded the scout was no more than 75 yards from the house when Bob saw him as he was going out the door. The scout wasn’t all that good of a shot, but good enough. Bob went quietly from a ruptured femoral artery. They were better at sneaking than launching an offensive, Junior returned fire, and several of us were there in time to meet them, two went down, and we think three ran off. Summary executions were in order, then we hauled the bodies out to the road behind the ATV with a sign “nothing here worth dying for”.

After that, even Randy & Rose wanted target practice. It was real now.

[Ozarks Tom]

June 12th: The other two Johnson couples have shown up, along with three kids. They didn’t bring much with them, but we’ve plowed and tilled two acres, and spring rains have the gardens full of sprouts and weeds. We’re not wasting gas on the tiller to cultivate, so weeding and picking insects is mandatory for everyone, even me. Our only seed potatoes are eyes from what people had when the lights went off. Not nearly enough, but it’s the best we can do. Hopefully we’ll get a second crop before frost.

I’ve never eaten a turnip, but obviously the Johnsons love them. They all had turnip seeds when they came, so now our original garden is nearly fence to fence with them. The rows we’d plants the day the lights went out were far enough apart to nearly double the plantings. Bill tells me it’s the wrong time of year to plant them, but we can’t wait. We might not get optimum yield, but some is better than none.

No more loners or couples lately, and the groups have either read the sign on the bodies out at the road and decided to move on to easier pickings, or they’ve thinned out through attrition. Only one incursion this past month, and that was more of a look-see than anything else. Either they figured they were outnumbered or out gunned. Everybody has a long gun slung or a pistol holstered, most both. Anyway, coming across the lower field must not have been deemed a smart idea when they saw the holes in the steel sign.

We’re keeping the sentries out 24/7, but our main focus is feeding this bunch. The crank radio tells us relief is just around the corner, but then again, it’s the government saying that.

The couple on the hill, the Turners, have quit trying to convert people to the Assembly of God, the Johnsons are all Southern Baptist and aren’t having any of it. It doesn’t stop people from praying together though.

Without Bob, Connie is failing. It seems you can see her fading away day by day. Losing Bob was tough on the family, losing Connie is going to be even harder.

Since all this started the only contact we’ve had with officialdom were two sheriff deputies on horseback coming up from the lower field. I’d wondered when they’d show up, the population over in Galena must be pretty hungry by now. We all knew the drill, everyone but myself hid, no peeking, no movement. I unslung my shotgun and went down to meet them. Of course, they wanted to know how we’re doing, and if we had any food to spare for the community. “My wife and I are doing fine, and nope, we don’t have anything to spare”. They wanted to go on up to the house, but I told them my wife was half crazy with fear, and she’d probably shoot them with the deer rifle she had pointed at them right then if they got any closer. It was obvious they didn’t believe me, but then again I might be telling the truth. They left. It was a good thing, that was their last chance to leave.

July 18th: One of the more surprising things about our situation is I’m still in charge. It started out that I was the only one with a plan, then it seemed like nobody wanted to make any decisions. The only other strong personality is Bob Jr, who’s been an invaluable second, but taking responsibility doesn’t seem to run in the Johnson bloodline. We’ve got cattlemen, mechanics, nurses, teachers, and a welder, but not one have been in the service, and nobody else has taken a life. They even left the dispatching of the two bandits up to me. I’m too old for this, somebody needs to take this stress off me.

The dry season has hit. We’ve got 400’ of hose running from the well house to the new garden. The hand pump doesn’t deliver a lot of water at that distance, but it’s a heck of a lot easier than carrying buckets. With a strong man on it it can put out about 5 gallons per minute, so we take 20 minute shifts every other day until the whole place is watered. My wife takes an extra turn for the benefit of her flowers.

[Ozarks Tom]

July 29th: We could hear the bike out on the blacktop, straight pipes, moving pretty fast, then slow and stopped. About 5 minutes later it cranked up and headed back the direction it came from. It didn’t make a lot of sense unless it was a scout looking for a target. He’d have had time to walk in to the downed trees, look around a bit, then leave.

Time for one of those executive decisions I hate making. 8 of the men, and 3 of the women would jump in the Bronco and the trailer to go up the road and take defensive positions on both sides of the road about 100 yards from a sharp curve three quarters mile from the big house. We’d wait for 4 hours, if nothing happened we’d leave 5 people there until dusk, then replace them every 4 hours though the night. The rest of the people would watch for anyone approaching from the low meadow.

We didn’t have to wait long, before we could even get everyone positioned we could hear the roar of several motorcycles coming up Hwy OO. They stopped, like we’d figured at the downed trees, then to our surprise we heard the sound of a chain saw. That’s not how this is supposed to happen! Our farthest people were nearly 100 yards from the road behind cover, hitting a moving biker from an oblique angle was unlikely from there. I motioned them in to about 50 yards, where they didn’t have cover but at least concealment in the tall grass. A couple people were laying in the ditches, the rest either in the tree line or in the grass. I decided to lay in a ditch at everyone’s rear. It took the intruders a few minutes to cut through the downed trees and move them, darn those were long minutes.

The roar started again, no telling how many bikes, but a bunch. We could hear them coming pretty slow, maybe 20 mph, motorcycles on gravel roads, especially through curves, aren’t all that stable. The first one appeared, with several not far behind him. I’d have thought they’d send one ahead, but they didn’t. That helped.

When the lead man was maybe 50 yards away, I rolled out of the ditch onto the road, tried to put the crosshairs of my AR on his chest, but couldn’t see enough of him due to the low seat of his bike, had to raise up to kneeling, and shot twice. He went down, while the following bikes tried to maneuver around him and the bike. I picked out another, and the road was once again blocked. All our people opened up, the ones in the ditches were more accurate, but once the bunch was stopped the people in the grass had no problem.
We’ll never know how many there were, all of them hadn’t made it around the corner. When the firing stopped we could hear motors going away on the blacktop. Eight dead, or soon to be dead, bikers laid on or near the road.

Most people don’t know it, but shooting someone isn’t anything like in the movies. In the movies someone gets shot and dies, unless they’ve got some lines to say. In real life if it’s not a head shot or right through the heart, most don’t. That presents a problem normally gentle and upright people don’t like dealing with. The old saying “we don’t carry any wounded or take any prisoners” is great until you have to make it true. Our group didn’t have any wounded but we did have some temporary prisoners. Assuming this was going to be a rerun of the previous encounter, I ejected my nearly spent magazine and was digging for another when Bob Jr started doing the dirty work for me. We loaded them on the trailer and took them out to the road. Our original examples were “worse for wear” by then, and our sign was gone, but we figured this new bunch might give successive evil doers some second thoughts. An interesting sidelight, one looked familiar, and had a sheriff deputy badge pinned to his vest.

It seemed although those guys were some bad asses, they weren’t very smart. Each had a shotgun slung, but only two had rifles strapped to their bikes. I guess they don’t teach small unit tactics in biker bars. Maybe their numbers and loud bikes scared people enough to let them get close, we’ll never know.

August 30th: We’ve been harvesting beans, corn, tomatoes, peppers, cabbage, potatoes and squash right along, canning them in the empty meat jars. The turnips were a bust for the most part, but we’ll plant more in a few weeks, God knows we’ve got plenty of seed. The wheat, rice, and beans are running low though, we sure didn’t expect to feed this many people. We’ll start digging sweet potatoes before long, they’ll keep well, but we just don’t have enough. Even eating just two meals a day it takes a lot of food to keep us healthy and working.

We’ve butchered one of Bill’s cattle, and I ran the generator long enough to grind the meat, recharge the rechargeable batteries, and give everyone a chance to take a shower. We canned the meat on the little wood stove in the milk barn, now that was a learning experience for sure.

Just guesstimating, but it looks like if we go heavier on meat and can every vegetable we’ll make it through the winter. Some folks have been fishing, but with diminishing results as time goes by. We’re not too wild about the quality of the water they’re swimming in anyway, being down river from Springfield. We’d rather have butchered some deer, but they’re getting even scarcer than the fish.

I’ve started hauling round bales from Bill’s hay lot on my 16’ trailer. A few years ago I’d installed a wench on the tongue, so between the cable and some rope we can roll them up on. Without those bales the cattle aren’t going to make it. Bill’s three year old John Deer with all the fancy accessories is still in his shed.

December 24th: There’s no reason to think food in any quantity is available nearby for barter. Maybe some odds and ends, but things like wheat or rice are surely either gone or protected like ours. We’ll just have to wait things out. The government is touting successes in restoring power, but mainly on the East Coast.

We’ve scouted the surrounding area, only to wish we hadn’t. Bill & Donna’s place is burnt to the ground, Bob & Connie’s place is half burnt and trashed beyond repair. Bob Jr & Earlene’s place is busted up pretty bad, filth everywhere, but probably fixable.

Christmas Eve, gathered in the house we drank hot chocolate my wife had been saving, taking some to the lookouts in their enclosed little bunkers. We were about to disperse for the night when James Turner, from the big house, asked Bill to lead us in prayer. Seems he’s a Southern Baptist now.

[Ozarks Tom]

April 2nd
One Year to the day:

Everyone is skinny but healthy, but we lost Connie in January. Those danged turnips produced a bumper crop, pretty much keeping us going. I hope I never see another one the rest of my life.

The generating plant in Springfield is partially on line, but there aren’t enough trained personnel around to make any kind of real progress our direction.

At least the roads are for the most part safe. The gangs who thought the countryside was their buffet hadn’t reckoned on all the deer hunters living out here. There are still some attempts at roadblocks, but nobody goes anywhere alone or unarmed.

Trucking has come back to maybe 25% of what it was, and we’ve heard the farmers from Wisconsin to Montana are getting priority shipments of fuel. The computers in the big planting and harvesting machinery that were fried have been bypassed and are operating nearly manually.

We’ve been to Springfield and Ozark a few times, scored a few things we needed, especially some nearly rotten potatoes, enough to plant a half acre. There aren’t any stores open to speak of, most have been looted and burned. I can understand someone desperately in need stealing, but burning the place down too? The population is less than a third of what it was, I’m told they used the landfill for a cemetery.

At least I was right about the junk silver and small denomination gold coins. Paper money is useless, there’s no economy left. The people who’ve made it through this far aren’t falling for the promises of a government who put us here.

The County governments have decreed they’ll take gold and silver, even some jewelry in payment for property taxes. Last I heard nobody was paying.

Bob Jr & Earlene are moving back to their place, I’ve plowed up a good sized garden for them. Darren & his family are going with them. Junior found a couple of Bob Sr’s cows and a bull calf, so they’ll do all right.

The rest are staying here for the foreseeable future, no place else to go, but I’ve noticed people glancing at the signal light on the power pole again when they go past.

[paisley]

Send it in tyo reader digest!!

[Deleted]

Great story! Thank you.

[fordy]

...........I'd call it ........"Diary Of A Mad Prepper"  !, fordy

[themotherhen]

Ozarks Tom, very well done! Would I be greedy to ask for more, please?

[farmgirl]

What a great read! Very educational.

[farmgirl]

Jan 2, 2017 5:48:11 GMT themotherhen said:

Ozarks Tom, very well done! Would I be greedy to ask for more, please?

I totally agree!

[Ozarks Tom]

Ozarks Tom,paisley,@wvfarmgirl,fordy,themotherhen,farmgirl, Thanks everyone, this was my first attempt at fictional storytelling, so I'm very relieved y'all liked it. I'm thinking of doing a continuation of the story, maybe a little more insight into characters, and more detail as to the how and why of doing things. It would be a new experience for me, since as you can tell I'm not big on adjectives.

Thanks again,

Tom

[paisley]

Tom, at least no one needs a decoder ring to read your writing.

[fordy]

............I've always thought that , the hard-est facet of writing is the conversational dialogue between the various characters in the story . Each person in the story has an attitude , personal opinions , various motivations , etc. and interacts with the 'Other' people at different levels . The dialogue is how the writer develops the plots , subplots , and simultaneously , but slowly reveals their personality , without giving too much info too early , which keeps the reader engaged and turning those pages . , fordy