The Collapse CLXIII: Repercussions

 08 September 20XX+1

My Dear Lucilius:

Somewhat to my surprise, the Colonel and the Leftenant stopped by with Young Xerxes this afternoon as Pompeia Paulina and I were out gardening and harvesting. The last bit of the outer garden is starting to finish and the wheat – our wheat, unburned – is in its final cutting and drying.

(I say surprised. It a nine mile walk – not a morning stroll of course, but not completely impossible.)

After the initial round of greetings – it is always so pleasant to see them – I asked after the reason for their visit. After all, these days there are few visits without reasons.

The fire – The Great Fire – is already starting to have repercussions.

You may remember Little City, the largest city just over the hill from Kentucky City. It was the effective commercial capital of this entire area before The Collapse. You might also remember that both times we were there, they were a bit stand-offish at best – supportive in the way of material aid, but we never spoke to a single inhabitant that was not an actual volunteer for McAdams. There is no reason anyone knows that this is the case or should be the case, only that it was.

Apparently, that has continued to manifest itself.

The Colonel – really Kentucky City – was notified by the leadership of Little City that they were closing themselves off from everyone. The road down the mountain and to the southwest of the city could be used, but no admittance would be allowed. Anyone venturing in would be considered an intruder – and shot. The new “border” was the pass above Kentucky City, before it started to descend down the hill.

The Colonel and the Leftenant were here to both inform people and – frankly – to check in. Birch is smaller than Little City of course, but would we cast ourselves off as well?

Young Xerxes piped in at that point. He had talked to others, as many as he could, and there would be a vote.

The Colonel and the Leftenant were bound for the two towns beyond us to spread the word there as well and get a read and plead for unity in fact of what is rapidly promising to be a Long Winter and uncertain Spring.

After their departure – all too soon, given the company – Young Xerxes let us know the vote would likely be tomorrow. He had reached out to as many of his acquaintances as he could; likely he could count on an almost full house for the vote.

I say full house. If we hit 80 people at that meeting, that would virtually the entire adult population of the town along with some of the outlying farms and ranches.

Am I surprised by this? I do not know that I can say yes, Lucilius. You will remember I commented even at the time how distant the place seemed, even though in the first case we were there to fight for them. And they had near to them the remainder of the vacation housing development, a resource to be tapped. Perhaps it really was because of the fire – or perhaps it was because the fire simply gave a good excuse.

I find it both frightening and bemusing that we find ourselves looking at a vote for unity – perhaps, given the promise of a cold Winter and uncertain Spring, the last vote we will have.

I see nothing but bleakness no matter where I look.

Your Obedient Servant, Seneca

2024 Turkey: Çanakkale to Pergamon

 The morning after our stay in Çanakkale, we left the hotel.  Our destination was Pergamon, the ancient capital of the kingdom of Pergamon (or "Pergamum", as we often know it at least in the U.S.).  There is not a great deal to this post, just pictures of the countryside of Turkey as we drove - the kind of thing that never makes its way into actual travel videos or programs.

At this point we have left the Dardanelles.  The water in front of us now is the Aegean Sea.

Looking up from the water.

2024 Turkey: Çanakkale

 After leaving Troy, we continued down the road to our evening stay at the town of Çanakkale (pronounced "Cha-naka-le"; the Ç has a "ch" sound).

We are still driving along the Dardanelles at this point.

Looking across to Europe and Gallipoli.

Çanakkale itself was originally a fort; its name means "Pottery Castle" as the town became well known for its ceramic production.  We did not actually get into town, but stayed at a hotel that was right on the water.

Dinner and dessert.  Like almost all of the buffets we went to, it really was heavily based on Turkish cuisine and always included local dishes.

And cheese.  Lots of cheese.

And, of course, dessert.

Sunset over the Dardanelles. That area where the sun is sinking is the actual spot where the British and Anzac Troops landed.

(Sneak peak of breakfast the next morning.  So.  Much.  Cheese.)

Balcony

Welcome to our Balcony, perhaps better colloquially known as "The Garden in Exile".

I can pretty much take credit for none of this.  The chairs came with move, of course; it was The Ravishing Mrs. TB's idea to bring a mass-produced carpet we had in the house from New Home that we had no further use for there.  It does make the balcony a little swanky (as you will note, it seems to have enough of an overhang to protect it from the rain as well.  It does sort of need a small table between the chairs; balancing your coffee on your lap is a bit of a crap shoot.

My Aunt (the one that lives at The Ranch) gave me this little monk reading years ago. I never really had a place for it but never managed to get rid of it.  Turns out I was saving it for here.

The view at night (the lights, again, were the product of The Ravishing Mrs. TB's imagination).

In the planters I have lettuce, spinach, barley, wheat, and rye while the round planter beyond the monk holds garlic.  Not really enough to do anything of meaning, but at least I feel like I am doing something.

(The planters themselves were a bargain at a Big Box store:  Something something "recycled ocean plastic" something, which translated into apparently not selling well and being 40% off.)

The view directly off our balcony.  It really is a great view, for an apartment.  The small pattern of lights there is obviously a reflection of the lights in the camera; no matter how I try to get rid of it, it shows up.  It does make for a kind of cool effect.

What I See Around The World

 

A Week Of Busy Silence

 One of the things that an audit of your company does is completely eat up your time to pay attention to other things.  

On the whole, I suppose, it is not a bad time to have this happen at all:  as I vaguely recall, it may an election season of some kind and - given the typical cast of elections in the United States since perhaps before the turn of the last century - probably not something I missing anything in by not be aware of it.  But from the little bit I seem to glean from brief moments looking at the InterWeb (it seems to be the only time), the world seems well on its way to falling apart.

Or, perhaps, it is simply par for the course.

Autumn seems to be well on its way to arriving here:  our last Summer style day seems to have been last Tuesday and the temperature has steadily been dropping to the mid-70's F or even into the 60's.  Coworkers assure me this rather golden time will be swiftly eclipsed by what is delightfully called "The Rainy Season", which apparently lasts from about now until the Middle of March or later.

I have to say that this almost total news blackout - accidental as it seems - seems to have worked wonders for my stress levels, as the brief times I look back out on The Real World cause me frets galore.  My isolated bubble of reading, writing, Joy the Rabbit, exercising, iaijutsu, and work keep me rather grounded on a daily basis.

There remains that danger, of course, that events will overtake me and I will be surprised one morning to wake to true disaster.

Or, maybe not.  Given so many years of assuming the worst, actually seeing it manifest in any degree will be more of a "I Told You So" moment - at least right before I starting hacking my way through Apocalyptic Wasteland towards Sanctuary.

With oatmeal, of course.  Breakfast of champions and The Apocalypse.

Sunset New Home 2.0

Vanishing rails

follow the orange sunset

into evening's grace.