The Collapse CXXXIX: Concept

10 July 20XX+1

My Dear Lucilius:

I promised you last letter that I would “round out” my idea. In normal times, of course, likely this would have been a different path: long ago, we would discuss such ideas among ourselves before we would ever bring them to the light of day. Now, Young Xerxes will have to fill that role.

We all make adjustments based on circumstances.

The thought initiated in the most unlikely of places, sitting in the streambed near McAdams. Besides being alert while on watch, a man has a great deal of time to think when neither on watch nor sleeping. What tickled my mind were the things up the road from where we were.

Specifically wheat.

Food is an issue, and one that is likely not to disappear anytime soon. And it is not just a problem for myself or my relatively new small tribe, or even the small town I live in. It is a problem for the inhabitants of the entire range of the Garnet Valley, which travels up the old state highway to empty out just beyond the old county seat, where we staged for McAdams. Yes, it is easy enough to say “Fend for yourselves” – but given the recent incident we have had, “fend for yourself” is hardly the sort of thing that will lead to people rallying when the next set of Locusts come through.

The population? Fair question. The population here once upon a time tended to fluctuate with the seasons, Summer being the high point. Not during Summer? Maybe 5,000 people all told, and that maybe generous on my part: Small towns of 300 to 700 people and people living off in the backroads.

So, perhaps we do not need a proverbial mountain of food. But we need food none the less.

Which brings us back to wheat.

Just beyond where the Battle of McAdams was fought, one would find a turnoff to another state highway that, if followed, leads to the largest city in our area. It would be about 90 minutes by auto from here, once upon a time. Were one to take that turnoff, one would wind through smaller hills – and one would pass the wheat fields of Winter Wheat. It was something that I originally viewed as a novelty and scenic, not having grown up with such things.

Now, of course, I view it a great deal differently.

There are a lot of assumptions. I assume the wheat was not planted last year due to the actual impact of The Collapse. However, given the timing of a typical wheat harvest (end of July to the end of September), it is also quite possible that the wheat was not harvested from the previous year. Which in turns means there may actually be volunteer wheat that grew this year.

There are a lot of conditional statements involved in this, of course If there was no harvest. If there are volunteers. If the farmers left will be willing to deal. If the farmers are gone, that the wheat is still there and can be harvested. If people could get there and harvest it. If it could be brought back safely.

If, If, If.

It seems like a long shot to me as I continued to think it over, Lucilius. But a long shot – in this case, with some luck and a lot of planning – seems far better than any other option that we have at this point. It is not as if there is any sign food trucks will be rolling soon, and likely foods that had been set aside will be well nigh used up by the end of this season.

Beyond just the grain for food, of course, is the fact that the potential exists to grow it here. That would be the real benefit. An accessible, reliable grain crop would be wonderful and itself opens other possibilities.

And other issues, of course. The grain will have to be stripped and threshed and ground, all without the benefit (mostly) of modern technology. Which means that whole new processes need to be developed.

First things first. Young Xerxes thought the idea not completely implausible, and he in turn chatted with a couple of other individuals. In turn, he has let me know a larger group of people will be coming together to discuss it. For which, I understand, I now have to give a presentation.

I had not anticipated using old business skills again, my friend. Life has a way of continuing to surprise us.

Your Obedient Servant, Seneca