The Journal: Ash Fall

by Moore, Deborah D.

  * * *

  “Allexa! Tom here. I see you’ve called several times,” Tom White said apologetically.

  “Gosh, Tom, I was getting worried when I couldn’t reach you!” I replied, thinking of when I couldn’t reach Liz only to find out she had died!

  “You weren’t the only one,” he said. “Actually, I’ve been in the hospital for a couple of stents.”

  I was stunned. “Are you okay now?”

  “I’m doing much better. They just extended my warranty,” he joked. “What was it you wanted?”

  I had to think back to when I was trying to reach him. “Oh, the power had gone off and was out for days. I was wondering why and when it would be back. It’s back on now though,” I answered. “This keeps happening, Tom. Is it going to be a regular thing? I just want to know what we need to be ready for.”

  “Unfortunately it just might be.” I could hear him moving papers around. “You know that Marquette produces its own power, however, all the surrounding towns get supplied from outside the city and Moose Creek gets fed from Wisconsin.”

  “Yes, I know, and that’s why our power was cut all last winter,” I said, remembering how devastating that was to our town. “Is it going to be a regular thing?” I asked again.

  “Yes,” Tom admitted. “The edict has come down that the small towns will go on a rotational power cut. They’re still trying to figure out a schedule that will be workable for the power companies and not too hard on the communities.”

  “Workable schedule? Like being without power for five days straight? That doesn’t sound fair and it will be hard on the communities!”

  “Every other day is too hard on the transfer relays. The next outage for you is tomorrow and will last three days,” Tom answered. “Then it will be back on for three days. They’re going to give that a try and see how everyone copes.”

  “I guess I’d better let everyone know,” I replied, exasperated.

  JOURNAL ENTRY: June 26

  The rain continues to swamp the garden. Noticing how the water collects where I’ve walked, I’m now digging trenches to draw the water away from the wilting plants. Too much water is as bad as too little.

  At the risk of damaging the plants, I dug up six tomato plants, two pepper plants and an eggplant, moving them into the greenhouse, trying hard to not touch the tender leaves. At least their water logged roots will have a chance to dry out some. I can always plant them back in the garden later.

  Jason stopped over today and helped me string the few grow-lights I use for my indoor plants during the winter.

  * * *

  “I don’t know if this will help, Mom, but it certainly won’t hurt,” he professed as he finished suspending the last of the five lights and then plugged them in. A soft glow pushed back some of the darkness of the rain soaked sun light.

  “I’m really tired of the rain,” Jason complained, sitting at the kitchen table while Jacob watched cartoons.

  “Where’s Amanda?” I was hesitant to ask.

  “She’s gone shopping. Today was payday, and we need groceries,” he replied.

  I frowned. “Oh, Jason, that’s just not safe.” Changing the subject, I said, “I wanted to talk to you about another project. I’d like another woodshed built next to the greenhouse. That stove will get plenty of use this winter keeping the plants warm, and I don’t want to haul wood that far. Besides, we’ll need all that’s been put up for the stove in the house.”

  “That makes sense. How big do you want it?” he asked. I think he’s looking for more work and that’s fine with me.

  “Well, if you put it against the house it can’t be too tall or it will block the bedroom window. And if it’s against the greenhouse, it can’t be any higher than your four foot structure wall, or it will block the glass. Do you have any suggestions?”

  “Why not put it against the full wall where the stove is? I can still make it eight foot tall, making it easier to stack wood in, and if I make it still eight feet long, at only four feet deep, it won’t be so obtrusive. Of course it will hold only half the wood as the other shed, although you won’t need as much with the solar heating. It will be easier to rotate, too.”

  “I like that idea! How long will it take and can you start as soon as the rain stops?” I gave him a couple hundred dollars for materials and his labor, and left myself a note to call Keith Kay for more wood.

  June 27

  I heard Jason pull into the driveway, and quickly opened the door as he made the sloshing dash from car to house, trying not to get too wet. It was still raining.

  “I need a huge favor, Mom, and before you say ‘I told you so’, I’ll admit how right you were.” He slumped into the wooden kitchen chair.

  “Well, that’s nice to hear, Jason, but what are you talking about?”

  “Amanda. She went shopping yesterday, and spent almost $500 on groceries. She said it really didn’t buy much,” he looked down, embarrassed.

  “What happened, Jason?”

  “After shopping she went to see Lori, and you know how she loses track of time. She thought it had only been a few minutes, except she was inside for over an hour. When she went to leave, the hatch was open on the car and all the groceries were gone.” He choked on those last words. “She didn’t even lock the car!” He was on the verge of tears. Money was not worth much anymore and work was very scarce, so to lose all that was devastating.

  “Where’s Amanda now?” I asked quietly, feeling so sorry for my son.

  “She’s at home, alternating between crying and being depressed. She didn’t want to come with me. Actually, she didn’t want to face you, because she knows how much you have tried to warn us about security.” Jason finally looked up at me, tears brimming beneath his green eyes.

  “What is it you want from me, Jason?” I asked, promising myself that I would not be harsh on them, that I would not be judgmental. I reminded myself that we all make mistakes.

  “I’m not even sure if we can replace what was taken,” he said, “but can I borrow some money?”

  “I’m just glad she wasn’t hurt – or worse,” I said.

  I sat back down at the table, and set some bills in front of him. Six one hundred dollar bills. I normally didn’t keep that kind of cash on hand, but John had been very generous when he paid for his massages, giving me way more than he should. Even Sven had been paying more.

  “Here’s the five hundred, and extra to put gas in the car.” I spread the bills out a little so he could see what was there. “There is one condition, Jason, and that is Amanda must promise that she will never go into town alone again! Is that clear?”

  JOURNAL ENTRY: June 28

  The rain has finally stopped! Five days of a steady downpour has been devastating to the garden. I don’t know if it will recover.

  I emptied the rain-gauge every day. Some days there was one inch; some days there were three inches; total was eight inches. After the first day I had to move it closer to the house since I was squishing across the sodden lawn to get to it.

  My little creek down the hill is beyond swollen, it’s way over the banks and the bridge is underwater. I can’t get within ten feet of either. I’m afraid the soggy land will loosen the shallow tree roots near the creek, and the trees will topple in the first wind. At least that will give us more firewood.

  * * *

  I stopped in town to see Anna. It was very slow going on the main road with so much water running across the asphalt. I’d never seen it this bad, not even the year we had six inches of rain that mixed with feet of melting snow during spring meltdown.

  “The rain was hell on my garden,” I commented as I sat down across from her. “How’s Bradley’s Backyard doing?” The community garden had quickly adopted the nickname.

  Anna frowned. “It’s ruined. At least it looks it right now. A lot of sunny days will help dry it out. And everyone is praying that our fast draining sandy soil will come through for us. So basically, it’s too early to tell, but it
looks bad,” she replied with exasperation. “You’re the gardener, why don’t you stop and take a look?”

  “I’ll do that, though there isn’t anything I can do to help, Anna. Everyone who has a garden is in the same boat. It’s going to be another lean winter, I’m afraid.” I sat back in my chair. “You know, this is why our grandparents and great-grandparents stocked up for a year or two. They knew there might be a lost crop at some point. There was always, or should always, be enough to get a family through a bad season.”

  This was a harsh reality that had been lost over the generations. It had been too easy to go to the grocery stores and get whatever we wanted, whenever we wanted. Since the New Madrid earthquake last November, all that had changed and most people were having a hard time adjusting to this new life.

  JOURNAL ENTRY: June 30

  The recent batch of eggs has now started hatching. I don’t have high hopes of a good outcome, considering the five days without power during the beginning of incubation. Although I was careful to roll the eggs every morning and every night just like the egg turner would do, the heat was inconsistent and may have damaged the growth, in spite of the blanket I kept over it. So far there are six new baby chicks. The next few days will tell us a lot.

  * * *

  July 1

  The hatching was complete, however, there were only fifteen baby chicks. A very poor outcome for all the work, but it was better than nothing.

  The news for the past week had glossed over the swarms of earthquakes along the Caribbean rift. Experts, though, when one could find a station that would air the commentary, say the swarms verify that the mantle is shifting. Nothing to be concerned about they say, as it might take decades or millennium to move enough to be a problem.

  July 3

  “I’m glad to see you today, Joshua. How is Martha doing?”

  “She’s doing very well, thank you, Miss Allexa. Here’s your milk. I’ll have more cheese next week, and I have a surprise for you,” he said, producing a small bowl.

  I lifted the cover to find butter!

  “This is wonderful, Joshua! Was it very difficult?”

  “Not really. That book you lent me was great help. I thought you should have some of the first batch. Martha insisted we used some on her biscuits. It came out real good, even if I do say so myself.” He beamed with pride.

  “Well thank you and I have a surprise for you, too. How would you like to take your chicks home today?”

  His face lit up. “Are they big enough already?”

  “They’re almost a month old, so yes. They will still need to be kept warm, especially at night, but they’re ready to go.”

  I found a small cardboard box in the barn while Joshua picked six chicks. He had a good eye as he selected all hens. I looked over the brood and gently grabbed two more that I was fairly certain were roosters.

  “Miss Allexa, our agreement was for seven, not eight,” he protested.

  “I know, this extra one is insurance. Besides, I just hatched more,” I told him. “If this extra one is a rooster, then in two months you can have a fresh chicken dinner.” I could tell that appealed to him.

  * * *

  During dinner of scrambled eggs on toast with some of Joshua’s fresh butter, I watched the news, dumbstruck that no one had said anything. Maybe no one in Moose Creek knew that the Turks and Caicos Islands were hit by a 9.2 earthquake during the night and were now – gone!

  The Islands covered one hundred seventy square miles with a population in excess of thirty thousand people and it was now all under water. The Caribbean Mantle that was slipping slid, and quickly. Details were still few. So far it was known that the quakes struck at around two o’clock in the morning while most of the population was asleep and consequently were crushed in the collapsing buildings that were shaken to rubble. Within a half hour a second quake hit; an aftershock of 9.2, which was the mantle sliding, taking the small islands underwater. The people didn’t stand a chance. If they weren’t crushed, they were drowned.

  The earthquake warning system sent out a tsunami warning, however, with it being in the middle of the night, very few were made aware. With that much displacement of land into the ocean the circular tsunami was monstrous. With nothing in its way, a wall of blue-green seawater one hundred feet high bashed the shores of Haiti and the Dominican Republic first, obliterating the northern shoreline of those two tropical countries. The same wall took longer to hit Cuba so had more distance to grow and it swallowed the southeastern end of that island, devouring Guantanamo and the Guantanamo Bay U.S. Naval Station along with several small villages inland.

  To the north of the epicenter the devastation was just as bad. Although the tsunami wasn’t quite as high, a ninety foot wall was enough to wipe clean some of those very small islands, carrying the debris of buildings and bodies onward to the Florida Keys assaulting Key West with a fast moving twenty-five foot high putrid wave of destruction.

  It had been eighteen hours since the first quake struck and news footage was just starting to come in. In the past I had found that the early coverage was the most complete and accurate, since the government controlled media hadn’t had time to filter the information yet.

  As daylight was breaking, the news helicopters had taken to the air, hoping to out-scoop each other. Rather than the usual running commentary, some of the footage was accompanied by reverent silence, punctuated occasionally with an audible intake of breath or a heartfelt sob. Bodies by the thousands floated in the churning muddy waters, pushed and pulled by lumber and walls that were once homes and businesses, symbols of lost life. Occasionally there would be a small animal, a dog or a parrot perched on a floating mattress, otherwise, no life was visible. The destruction was complete.

  The worse was seeing the telltale fins of the circling sharks; blue sharks, Great White and tiger, mako and hammerhead, they’d all come to feast at the expense of mankind. They showed a scene where the shark opened its gapping mouth to claim a foot or an arm, only to find it wasn’t attached to anything more, a small prize. More than once that fin emerged within the wreckage only to take something unidentifiable below the surface. I’d no doubt those scenes would be cut from the official news releases.

  I sat back, my mind reeling from this latest catastrophe, the balance of my sandwich forgotten. What was going on with our world? It was no longer local issues, or even national ones. It was becoming worldwide. A whole Earth calamity.

  July 4

  In years past, Moose Creek had put on a small Fourth of July parade. The parade would begin with a Color Guard, consisting of local representatives of the Army, Navy, Air Force and National Guard, retired or active, in full uniform, proudly displaying the American Flag.

  There would be the usual fire department truck, showing off the newest pumper or hook and ladder truck, and last year the EMS was proudly driving its new state of the art ambulance. One year Keith Kay put a dozen whole logs on his logging truck and had a few of the local women dressed in jeans and matching red plaid shirts sit on the cut trees and wave to the watching masses, calling them his “Lumber Jills”.

  For many years, Kathy and I would host a “pirate ship”, which was really just a flatbed trailer with a pole sporting a tattered bed sheet. We dressed up as pirates and had a grand time tossing out candy and Mardi Gras beads to the eagerly waiting hands of the little kids.

  We would all slowly drive around the two square blocks of town, entertaining the hundreds of people who would come to watch. I never did figure out where they came from or why, and it was a fun afternoon that ended with us having a potluck dinner back at Bob and Kathy’s lakeside house, and perhaps an evening cruise around Lake Meade on their pontoon boat.

  No pirate ship this year; no throngs of visitors; no parade.

  CHAPTER 22

  July 6

  I was just finishing my afternoon weeding when a Green Way truck pulled into the driveway and Steve got out.

  “Hey, Allexa,” he said way too softly.


  “What’s wrong, Steve?” I asked, my heart starting to race. He rarely stopped to visit and he never, ever came in a company truck. I was immediately alarmed.

  “There’s…there’s been an accident at the mine.”

  I think my heart actually stopped beating for a moment. I swayed, seeing white spots before my eyes. I don’t know where the term “blacked out” came from; the few times I’ve been close, everything went bright white first. Steve grabbed my arm to keep me from falling.

  “There’s been a cave in, Allexa. John is on the inside,” there was a definite catch in his voice. John was well liked by all the local workers for Green Way, not just me.

  “Is he …” I just couldn’t say the word… dead.

  “No one knows the condition of any of the men. The cave-in happened about two hours ago, and it’s bad, Allexa, really bad.” Steve turned away from me and looked up at the azure sky, taking a couple of deep breaths. “Your emergency management territory covers the mine,” he said, turning back to me, having collected himself. “They want you there. Simon was sent to get you. I came along because we’re friends and because of John.”

  “How soon can you be ready to leave, ma’am?” Simon, a seasoned miner and the Green Way liaison, asked. I hadn’t even seen him get out of the truck.

  “Give me five minutes,” I replied, wiping my muddy hands on my already dirty jeans.

  I grabbed an empty backpack from the bedroom closet and started to fill it: two pairs of socks, underwear, two t-shirts, one dark green and the other pale beige. I could wear the same jeans for a week if I had to. I looked down at that thought and changed into clean clothes. I have small emergency kits already made up with soap, toothpaste, a toothbrush, deodorant and a comb. I grabbed one from the pantry, and let out a sob remembering the last time I needed one and that was for John when he first came to me last December. I washed my hands and splashed cold water on my face, trying to calm myself.