26 September 20XX+1
My Dear Lucilius:
Today I took a walk up the road that leads to the North.
I have not been up this road in at least three months, not since I rode in a truck over the hill towards McAdams. For walking up the road it has been even longer.
It is a funny thing, heading out now. Beyond just the things that I would have always brought – my wallet, perhaps a pocket knife – I now sport other things: a much larger knife on my belt on one side and a holster on the other, a backpack that has the makings of fire and bandages and a small snack, and a foldable saw, a water bottle stuffed into the side. I recently I have taken to carrying a small coil of rope around to make a bundle of any and all wood that I can find.
The road itself looks as it always had; one could scarcely tell that the civilization went on pause a year ago, except for the fact that the weeds which would normally have been cut down have reached full grown now. Brown and dry, they chatter in the Autumn wind.
We were fortunate not to have any fire this year. The fact that we could haunts me, one of the things I cannot truly prevent except to work to cut down the weeds in a defensible space all around The Cabin. It seems like senseless work at times, this cutting of vegetation that is neither for food nor fuel. Still, senseless work is not always the same thing as useless work.
I pass one of the outlying houses as I am on my way. A small herd of cattle is in one of the fields nearby so the house has to be inhabited, but I am far enough away that I cannot make out any sign that it is. I presume, given the presence of cattle, that someone is watching me even if I cannot see them; I raise my hand in greeting to my unknown watcher. If they see me, there is no sign back.
The seasonal campgrounds where I did my laundry for years on on my left. Beyond our flow of refugees last year, there has been no-one that used the space: without electricity there is no heating things like trailers or RVs or tents, and without heat no-one stays here in Winter. The paint is a little faded – it was in a decline even in the last few years as our town became a place to drive through, not to stay – but surprisingly to me, the windows appear to all be intact. To my mind I cannot recall whether there is anything left inside the office/store, or even if the last owners that were there had simply left last year and not come back. I make a note in my mind to ask Young Xerxes about it upon my return; the supplies would be welcome and to be frank, I eye the wood of picnic tables and benches that are weathered but likely would burn right fairly.
Past the campground I pick up at the local creek with the eponymous trees lining its banks. The creeks, rivers, streams, and rills always seem to run here – a handy thing in that for all that we have endured in the last year and a bit, the loss of water has not been one of those issues (to be fair, it was one reason I chose this location). Trees have more or less lined the way here periodically, but these trees are far enough away that later in Winter they will not be as readily accessible; better to get the wood now.
Carefully picking my way through a sagging fence of rusty-red wire, I start my search. Within in a few minutes, I find two or three branches I can cut and carry back with me; pulling out my saw, I get to work.
Ideally I would have an ax to do this, as sharpening saw teeth is a bit beyond my skill level – but given that I have no transportation other than my legs, anything that cannot be bundled and carried on a back or shoulder simply becomes unachievable. I can shoulder a small bundle of branches; I can only carry a very few logs.
The branches make a raspy cutting sound as I saw them, a combination of wood and sawdust and metal that I remember from when I had to trim tree branches back in the days when I had a very different life and was perched up on a ladder. It is odd to me that it seems like a different life entirely.
As I cut and remember, it brings to mind my children. I wonder where they are in all of this. Are they safe? Are they somewhere they are protected? It is all beyond my ability to change at this point; those choices were made long before this day. Still, I worry.
I speak to Pompeia Paulina about them sometimes. She always listens attentively and says the kindest and most positive things. Part of me wishes that they could meet her and vice versa. Part of me wonders about the wisdom of that: the last conversations we had were what could only be called contentious, although I wonder that given the world that we all now seem to live in, if those things would even be worthy to consider being talked about.
The stillness between finishing with each branch is almost breathtaking. One of the greatest differences I find in our changed world is how much silence there truly is. Man-made noise – the roar of autos or the drone of mowers and weed eaters and the sounds of music – are discordant in this world; it immediately draws attention to itself in a way that is both intrusive and dangerous. One begins to understand while natural world is so often filled with silence: noise is deadly and potentially life ending.
Finishing my cuts, I carefully wipe down the saw with a rag in the bag to remove all the sawdust, then fold it gently and replace it in my backpack. Like so many things now it is effectively irreplaceable – or even if it could be replaced, what would I offer for it? Laying the cut branches into a stack, I tie my cord around them, making a bundle I can sling over my shoulder. Repacking my pack, I hoist it and the branches up and make my way back to the road.
The dead grasses crunch as I make my way back to the road, where they transition to a short crunch of gravel before they hit the less yielding ground of pavement. Overhead I hear the chanting of flocks of birds, heading to their Winter quarters. I wonder if they realize that for the first time in almost 200 years, likely they can fly most or all of the way there without seeing a single human or hearing the below of a single rifle or shotgun.
The trip back is as silent as the trip out. As I pass the cattle, I see a figure now standing by the tree. They wave at me; I wave back. People waved here before any of this started on the roads as one would drive by; the fact that they still do it is a bit heartening.
Hitting the gravel road that leads home, my feet start crunching again. The creek in front of the house burbles as it runs by, an occasional “plop” suggesting a fish that is after the encroaching insect population. I have tried to manage my fishing here, reserving it for when things are truly desperate and I need a food source outdoor.
A thin trail of smoke leaks from the chimney, dissipating into the breeze as I turn into the lot The Cabin sits on. This remains the one thing I worry about in terms of the appearance of habitation and for which I do not have a good solution yet; perhaps I can bank the fire lower and still generate some heat.
I am hopeful that something exciting is on the menu, but in my heart I know it likely be the same selection of things that we have had for the last few months. I am grateful for it of course, even as I am grateful for the company that will serve it and eat it with me.
It is the small things that we must look to, Lucilius, for joy in these times.
Your Obedient Servant, Seneca
Just a FYI when I was doing medical in Africa, they used the heavier woody dry weeds as what was called bread firewood in tin stoves.
ReplyDeleteTwisted along with found twigs it gave a fast hot fire for flat breads.
As you noted they are a fire hazard and do burn smoky if not fully dry.
Good to see the scouting trips with an eye to salvage.
Michael - Thanks for the information! Smaller cooking items are not something I am really familiar with - which is odd, as with backpacking we use that sort of technology. Who knows, there may be an oven of sorts at the end of this for Seneca.
DeleteI think after people "sort themselves out" there may be more salvage trips.
I've seen a gallon sized tin can turned into a cook stove. They used the open end as the bottom of the stove so that the dirt or concrete paver took the worst of the burning process.
DeleteKept out of the weather they lasted several months.
Not bad for a throw away restaurant can.
Michael
Michael, I think I have seen pictures/videos of what you are describing.
DeleteWorth asking for a can at a restaurant and doing it.
DeleteMichael
Sadly, I think my current apartment management would frown upon me trying such an experiment at the moment...
DeletePerhaps one of the things I miss most about living on the farm is the waving. We waved whenever we saw someone, albeit in a vehicle on the road or from a distance. Living on the edge of city limits, I wave at nobody except if I see one of my neighbors walking by my house.
ReplyDeleteHaving lived in a wood burning heated house for most of my childhood, I don't recall the smoke emanating from the chimney to be visible from a great distance away. If they are close enough to spot the smoke, or more than likely, smell it before seeing it if downwind, checking it out for other signs of habitation is likely so going smokeless is probably not necessary. Of course if you are burning rubber tires or even coal, it might be different than seasoned dry wood.
Ed, in the location where Seneca lives (an actual place), they do wave at each other on the road - or they did, the last time I was there. In Suburban land, almost nobody waves except when you let them into merge. Other hand gestures, however, are more common.
DeleteThe issue with smoke here is that The Cabin is relatively close to the main road. I do know from even my small experience that a burning fire produces less than a smouldering fire; the smell is likely the bigger issue as you point out. Fortunately, Seneca has neither coal nor tires to burn.
Seneca needs to find binoculars TB. Reading this post reminds me, while I have paracord something a bit heavier needs to be put on the looking-for list.
ReplyDeleteEh, good point Nylon12. I will have go back and look at his list of things he has - if he does not, perhaps one of what has essentially become his tribe does (I bet Young Xerxes does; he is a hunter).
DeleteI have a pair here with me in New Home 2.0; I should check their cord out as well.
If not binoculars, at least a monocular. That saves a lot of extra walking about while you scavenge and perhaps spot evidence of recent residents being in area. If I were on foot - I'd definitely want magnified optics, even a scavenged riflescope would help.
ReplyDeleteA great point I had never thought of, Anon.
DeleteI actually have a form of monocular - a replica collapsible brass telescope. Not ideal, but it is better than nothing.
Many years back, I purchased a 10-30x collapsible telescope. I put together a 3" PVC pipe sleeve with threaded ends to armor it while carried in rucksack (I wrap in kerchief to protect it rattling around inside). Very nice indeed at scenic areas but the higher power does require a fixed object as hand held too shaky to see details.
DeleteAnd if worried about lens reflection giving you away, a layer of black netting will help kill off the reflections.
Ah! The steadiness indeed an issue; thank you for suggest a solution! I do like the portability of it on the whole, but I am not the steadiest person in the world.
DeleteLove this series but I'm thinking long term. What are they doing, individuality or as a group effort for 5 years from now. Shoes are going to wear out. Have they considered what will be a replacement. Anyone experimenting with different "weeds" out there. Has anyone looked for a flour replacement or building a mud baking container. Keeping the skins of any of the dead quail. Drying it and saving it and the sinew? for the thread? Has anyone taken to making a bow and arrow to hunt with?
ReplyDeleteHe's looking ahead for each season but time passes quickly.
Always enjoy Thursdays but I'm always questioning.
Anon - Thanks! Hopefully it is entertaining as a thought exercise, if nothing else.
DeleteAs I see it, this has been a progression - perhaps an illogical one but perhaps not It is one thing (I suspect) to experience a complete collapse like a war or significant civilization ending event; it is perhaps another for things to simply drift apart. It takes time to realize they are drifting apart, and then the realization that this really is the new normal.
I suppose I cannot really address every aspect of such an event - the first, of course, is that it would be a little overwhelming to write (and likely I would get lost in the weeds to the point of not return), the other is that in some ways this is as much a thought exercise about experiences and thoughts as much as actual "action reports". All of that said, I suspect we are turning the corner from "This happened" to "This is the new normal". Although it has taken me forever to get this far, it has been a little over a year for Seneca - perhaps just long enough to recognize that things really are different now.
As much as I like raising cattle, I wonder if it would even be possible to hold on for a year after a significant collapse with any amount of cattle.
ReplyDeleteHow would you stop hungry people from stealing them? How would you turn a steer (or a couple dozen) into anything of value if nobody had anything to trade for them?
Rich, those are legitimate concerns. I suspect smaller homesteads that can supply some or all of their feed needs would obviously be in better shape than those who rely on outside feed. Obviously prior to the 20th Century, people did this sort of thing (though perhaps with smaller herds).
DeleteThe stopping of hungry people from stealing them is indeed a problem (thus, I suspect, the unseen guard). Even a guard animal would at least give some warning - but cattle rustling or cattle raids has a long and storied history in Celtic and Western culture.
I suspect culling would largely be for personal use - if like pigs, perhaps in the Autumn/Winter season when one could use the climate to good effect. And likely a smokehouse would come in handy as well. At least as I recall, this is what the plan of action was as explained in Colonial Williamsburg.
Smaller livestock (quail - rabbits) hutches can be kept in protected areas to maintain privacy. Some people even keep fish (tilapia) in small tanks for a food source that do not make noise. I do agree that protecting large cattle would be difficult to protect in a world where foraging people could not be prevented from helping themselves. Let alone keeping them fed and watered in a drought situation.
ReplyDeleteAnon - In Seneca's case, he does have quail and bees (although I suppose the bees are a giveaway as well). In this particular case, the area is relatively well supplied with fish (if they can be caught, of course).
DeleteThe drought would indeed be a problem - some breeds (Longhorns, for example) might make a go of it as they were bred for such an environment, but not others. Let alone, as you point out, foragers.
Wonderful descriptions. I could picture Seneca's adventure easily.
ReplyDeleteInteresting tidbit about Seneca's children. An small but interesting peek into him as a whole person.
For the smoke problem, he needs a rocket mass heater! Something like what Dan and I built that produces near invisible exhaust. Of course, he has no way of knowing about such things.
Thanks Leigh. This is one of those things that, knowing the area and reviewing pictures of it, is easy for me to visualize.
DeleteSeneca has referred tangentially to his children many letters ago, in a similar vein. What the issue was, he has never revealed. Before the current events, I am sure it was a bother but a manageable one because in theory communication was always available. Now it is not; such things are well beyond his ability to find out.
Yes, a rocket mass heater would have solved that problem for sure! I do not know how he would have fit one into the space as it is, although given the square footage - maybe 900 square feet or so - it would have easily heated the whole house.