The Journal: Cracked Earth

by Deborah D. Moore

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  I heard the plow truck this morning! Then they stopped and cleared out the snow they piled in my driveway. They never did that before. Since they did, and I had already cleared the drive myself with the snow blower, I went to the township offices to see what was going on.

  Apparently Anna ordered the plow truck to clear the road just for me, so I could get into town. I’m glad she did. She sure needed the help and obviously couldn’t call me since the cellphones aren’t working. There was another town meeting scheduled for noon and I made it there by 11:00, with plenty of time to get brought up to speed on the weekend events.

  It seems that a lot of people are upset over the limited gas situation, and the lack of food at Fram’s store. I was not happy to see Lenny pacing at the back of the seating area but I was relieved to see Carolyn in the front. Lenny is the type that paces, working up his steam to lash out. He was effectively dodging the chairs in his way better than he was dodging the people that were milling about.

  After the Pledge of Allegiance, Anna opened the meeting to public comment. All hell broke loose when Lenny started shouting at us. Anna stood up and told Lenny to shut up or Karen would escort him out. I hadn’t noticed Karen and Ken standing on either side of the room serving as our new police force. I grinned. Lenny would be shamed by Karen ejecting him, but he would have been okay with Ken doing it. It’s that macho thing. Anna reminded the audience that all who wished to speak would have their turn and were limited to three minutes each. I pulled a timer out of my pocket and set it on the table in front of me. All eyes went to that small device. There’s no arguing with a machine.

  “Now, Lenny, what is it you want to say?” Anna said, giving Lenny the first spot.

  “First, what’s she doing here?” he said while glaring at me.

  “Allexa? Well, Lenny, you should remember that Allexa is the emergency manager,” Anna replied. Her voice was saccharine sweet and I knew what was coming. “You were the one who appointed her eight years ago and authorized her to take all the classes that she needed to know her job well. Since we are deep in an emergency,” her voice suddenly got very steely, “she’s been activated and is my second in command. Do you object?”

  “I guess not,” he mumbled. “Anyway, why can’t we get any gas? When will the power be back on? Where has all the food gone? If it weren’t for Carolyn and the church, we’d all be hungry!”

  Anna hit her gavel on the table for order after the crowd yelled in agreement.

  I rose slowly, trying to keep my composure. Were they really that stupid? I said nothing for a few minutes and the room gradually came to a quiet stillness.

  “I have a question for you, Lenny,” I said, looking him in the eye. “What do you need the gas for? Your car? The 4-wheeler in the driveway? A generator? The township needs that gas for the fire truck to put out the fire next door to your house so your house doesn’t burn down. The township needs that gas for the EMS to get your sorry ass to the hospital when you have a heart attack! The township needs that gas for the generator to run the pumps that keep water coming to your faucet!” I took a short breath. “We just don’t know when or even if we will get another gas delivery! Don’t you understand that?? And power? I’m assuming you’re referring to the electricity that comes from Wisconsin,” I continued. “You remember Wisconsin? One of the states affected by the two massive earthquakes that have taken this entire country to her knees?” I knew my voice was rising in pitch; I couldn’t stop myself. “I talked with Emergency Management in the county seat a few days ago, before we all lost cellphone service, and was told we were SOL! We are too small to be of a concern to the government. Our power stays in a bigger city. So we are on our own. Do you hear me? ON OUR OWN!” I let that sink in a minute. “I tell you what, Lenny, and everyone here,” I said sweeping my arm across the audience, “I will allot anyone who wants it five gallons of gas to get into town, but you can’t come back.”

  Anna’s head snapped around at me. I knew she wasn’t expecting that. Frankly, neither was I.

  “What do you mean, we can’t come back?” Lenny’s wife, Anne, asked. The room was silent.

  “If you’re going to take precious resources from the town, then you can’t return to take even more. It’s that simple. There are shelters in the city where you will be kept warm and fed. We can’t do that on such a scale here. The County EM said they can’t send us any food either. No power, no food, no gas, no help. So you are welcome to leave. Next spring, when we no longer need heating and we can all get a garden going, you can return. It’s your choice.”

  “Rick, you have the floor, three minutes,” I said when I saw his hand shoot up for a question.

  “What about those of us who want to stay, but don’t have a woodstove for heat? It’s really cold out now.”

  “Good question, and one of the reasons this meeting was called. We would have addressed this already if the last meeting hadn’t dissolved into a shouting match,” I said, making it a point to look at Lenny, who looked down at his toes. “Anna?”

  “We know it’s cold out,” Anna said, “and we know it’s going to get colder since the winter is only starting. I have a list here of those who have wood heat and those who don’t. This is completely voluntary. Nobody has to share their home with anyone else unless they want to. Nobody will be assigned, and it must be mutually agreeable. For those who may be going to another’s home, understand and remember you are a guest there and can be asked to leave at any time. You should be willing to help with chores and not expect to be waited on in any fashion. You should also share any food that you might have.” She pushed the clipboards to the front of the desk. “You can add your name to the lists on your way out. We will compare them and notify you later.”

  “If you were smart enough to stock up on supplies for the winter,” I added, “good for you! I want this very clear—there will be no confiscation of food. I know this has been a concern for some of you.” I noticed a few nods in the audience. “What you have is yours. Period. Fram’s is running low, yes, and that’s because he can’t get restocked, just like he can’t get more gas. There’s nothing he can do about it and it certainly isn’t intentional. Joe Fram has lived here in Moose Creek all his life, just like you, and you know he’d rather earn a buck, so he’s not keeping anything from you on purpose.” They chuckled over this. “Now, that being said, if you have anything to share take it to the Stone Soup Kitchen. That’s where it will do the most good. Also, I’m using my authority to extend hunting season, but only on the condition that if you take anything out of the normal season, you take half of it to the Soup Kitchen. Half a deer should last you two weeks, and then you go and get another. It’s simple. Do not abuse this, people,” I pleaded. “If we work together, we can survive!”

  The room erupted in applause, which was unexpected and embarrassing. At least the town’s people were in agreement to do something proactive.

  Another topic of discussion was what we were going to do about our trash. I hadn’t thought much about it, the chickens get anything organic, I burn anything that’s paper, and I have very little of anything else. That wasn’t the case with most others. Usually, everyone takes their trash to the transfer station on Tuesday afternoon, but the compactor needs electricity to work. We used to have an actual dump many years ago that we might have to reopen. That’s something that will have to be remedied before it gets to be a problem.

  * * *

  JOURNAL ENTRY: November 27

  Yesterday, after everyone left the township offices, Anna and I went over the two lists. The one of the folks who had wood heat and were willing to take someone in was a lot shorter than the list of those who needed heat. We made notes beside each name for what we knew of the people: age, sex, health, where their house was, and anything that we thought was useful. Then we went over the list with Carolyn. We were able to make recommendations for less than a dozen people. It was a start.

  I was surprised at how many pe
ople are so dependent on their propane gas or electricity for heat. We are in “wood country” and it’s virtually free for the taking in the right areas, but it is still a chore to cut it, haul it, split it, stack it, let it cure and then haul it into the house daily to burn. The upside is that when the power goes, you still have heat and a means to cook. Those with a propane furnace rely on the power to run that furnace and are soon without heat.

  Bob and Kathy are still holding on because although their furnace won’t run, their gas fireplace in the basement will work being lit with a match and doesn’t require a blower. Their extra bonus is they are one of the few that have a one thousand gallon tank and recently had it filled. Most of us only have a five hundred gallon tank. I talked with Kathy about this when they were over for Thanksgiving dinner. They have shut off all of the rooms in the basement except for the bathroom and the main area, which they now use as a bedroom and living room. They are getting a real taste of living in a one-room cabin. Bob is native to the area and has experienced many harsh winters. He knows how quickly water pipes can freeze without heat and then burst when heat is restored. He had the foresight to shut off all the water to the upstairs and then drained those pipes. Kathy hung blankets on the glass door to the lower deck to keep the chill out. Fortunately, the gas grill they’ve been using has a direct line to the tank, and doesn’t use the smaller twenty pound tanks like mine does. Now, if they only had stocked up on food.

  On the rare occasion that I need something quick, I light the burner of the stove with a match, however the oven won’t run without power. I’m completely dependent on the wood cook stove for baking. Because of the nature of how it heats I have to do any regular baking early in the day. Consequently, with all these meetings in the morning, I’m now out of bread. I’ll have to remedy that tomorrow. I’m finding that I really have to pre-plan so many things now.

  I pulled some chicken out of the freezer for dinner tonight. The freezer is finally starting to look less packed. Back in October I filled it with good sales. I can’t complain about my ‘paranoid’ prepper buying habits now. It’s keeping me fed and alive.

  * * *

  It’s hard to believe that tomorrow is the first day of December. Twenty-five days left until Christmas. What kind of Christmas will there be this year? We can barely drive anywhere, can’t call anyone. I can’t easily visit anyone except Don and Nancy, there’s no mail and most people barely have enough to eat. I wonder if at some point I should make some cookies and visit David and Jane next door, twenty acres over. I know they use wood heat and have a generator, yet I have no idea how prepared they were for something like this. I have gifts for everyone already. I’m glad that I shop early and practical. I have a new Carhartt jumper and jacket for Jacob, in the next size up. His old jacket is getting tight on him but he loves wearing it since it matches his daddy’s. I got Jason a set of four new LED flashlights and a knick-knack table for Amanda that looks like a sunflower. I bought that last June. I don’t know when I will be able to give them their gifts and this saddens me. I think that the next time I’m in town at the offices, I will see if their road is clear enough for me to get down it, at least to see them. I almost feel silly. I just saw them last week. As the days get shorter and the snow gets deeper, I feel isolated from my family.

  * * *

  I had a visitor this afternoon. I heard a car pull into the driveway, and Tufts growled, sounding the alarm and headed for under the bed. He doesn’t like strangers. It was a familiar jeep. I knew it was local, and I couldn’t place it, until Lenny got out. What the hell?

  I opened the sliding door and looked at him coming up the walk, carrying a heavy garbage bag.

  “Can I talk to you for a minute, Allexa?” he asked meekly.

  I was not afraid of Lenny, even if he is a jerk, arrogant, even obnoxious at times. I opened the door for him to step in.

  “Thank you. Nice and warm in here,” he said making conversation, which made me a touch uneasy.

  “What is it that you want, Lenny?” I said getting right to the point. He was making me nervous.

  “Pastor Carolyn told me what you’ve done. Are doing,” he said, his blue eyes magnified behind the thick lenses of his glasses welling up. “That the soup kitchen was your idea, and that it was you who gave the church the turkey so we all could have a Thanksgiving dinner.”

  Uh, oh. Where was this going? Was he going to hit me up for some food? This was exactly why I didn’t want her to tell anyone!

  “I wanted to thank you and apologize to you for being such a jerk,” he said. “And I want to give you this to thank you.” He handed me the garbage bag.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s a hind-quarter. I got a deer yesterday, a six pointer,” he grinned. “I gave half to the church like you asked us to do. I kept the other quarter for me and Anne. I figured if you could share with all of us, I could share with you.”

  “That’s very generous, Lenny. Thank you.” I meant it. I shifted the bag to my left hand, and held out my right. He looked down at my extended hand, pulled off his glove, and shook my hand.

  Maybe the town will make it after all.

  * * *

  With the gift from Lenny, I’ve spent most of the day processing the meat. I cut all of the meat away from the bones and set the bones cooking for soup, along with my usual herbs and seasonings. I’ve cut most of the meat into chunks for either canning as stew meat or grinding into sausage. Glad I checked the premixed spice supply back in September. I pulled some of the pork chops out of the freezer to grind too. I’ve got enough to do some breakfast sausage. I need to check some of my older recipe books for how to make my own sausage spice someday.

  I have been thinking about this turn of events. Lenny really surprised me. Carolyn surprised me too. Although she agreed not to tell anyone, she picked the right one to tell. I just might have an ally now. I wonder what he said to her that prompted the disregard for confidentiality?

  The temperatures are rising a bit, yet the sky is still heavy. It’s hard to tell if it’s going to rain or snow. It would be better if it snowed. Even though there’s still some on the ground, we need more. I recall one year when we didn’t get the blanket of snow early enough in the season, but it was bitter cold. Without that snow to insulate the ground, the frost line went six feet deep and all of the water and sewer lines in town broke. It was a mess. I need to run the generator in the morning and pump some water to keep my water lines moving. It might be a good time to do a load of laundry too.

  * * *

  JOURNAL ENTRY: December 1

  This morning when I got up, I noticed that I’m sleeping better. I still wake easily, as I always have been ultra-sensitive to sounds, but now all the sounds are from nature. There’s no traffic on the main road, there’s no refrigerator cycling and there’s no hum to the clock. I’m wondering if it is the absence of electricity, that constant hum and discharge of power. Either way, I’m sleeping through the night now.

  * * *

  I took my usual seat in the back of the church. It was time to take the pulse of the community again. Most of the service was devoted to two memorials, residents who had both died yesterday. Since there is no funeral home and we have no access to a coroner now, the attending EMS issued death the certificates.

  Beatrice was ninety-two, so her death was not a surprise. She ran out of her heart meds and refused to be taken into the city, saying that she had lived a long life and didn’t want to take food away from a younger person. She also wanted to die in the home she had lived in for over seventy years, shared with her now-deceased husband, and raised her children in. This she did, surrounded by friends and family.

  Leon was our local quadriplegic. He dove into the lake when he was seventeen and broke his neck on a submerged boulder. He would often be seen tooling around our small town in his motorized wheelchair, almost every day, even during the winter. The chair also kept some of his body functioning. Without power, his batteries couldn’t be rec
harged. He was fifty-two when he passed. He lived longer than the doctors expected him to. His mother had been his caregiver; she’d passed five years ago. Many of the neighbors looked in on him regularly, and one of them discovered that he was laboring for breath. Fortunately a land line was available there and they called the EMS, but he was already gone by the time they arrived.

  Following the service we had lunch in the church basement: venison soup on rice. I smiled, knowing that Lenny and I had jointly provided today’s meal. I saw that of the fifty people there, most had brought their own bowl and spoon. That would save on the soup kitchen having to clean up. Those of us who did not bring a bowl were offered one while in line.

  I looked at those around me. Hazel, in her eighties now, was pitching in. She could always be counted on to volunteer at the Catholic church across the street. It was good to see her crossing the ecumenical lines when it came to the needs of the town. I suppose that’s not a big surprise, since the two churches have coordinated events for years. Because of the limited parking, they stagger services, and because of limited population draw, they set their rummage sale fundraisers for the same day and time. It has me thinking I should put in some volunteer time too.

  Though the soup was tasty, it was lacking something. I pulled my ever present notebook out of my vest pocket and jotted down a note to bring salt for the soup. I could spare a pound or two. I was listening to the conversations around me, which seemed upbeat for the most part, when three people approached me for gas vouchers. Once I had made that offer at the town meeting, I carried a half dozen with me at all times. At home, I had used the computer word processor while the gennie was running and made up some simple vouchers. They all said the same, five gallons, so no one could change the amount. On neon green paper, I imprinted each one with my raised notary seal, and left it unsigned. I signed one and handed it over, making a note of who it was, and wished them well.