Aftershock

It's all about the garden

noreply@blogger.com (mcnalan) — Tue, 03 Jun 2008 17:29:00 +0000

The collapse is underway, and there has been little more to add about that. Fuel prices reflecting export land model (ELM) has the rear of the bell curve collapsing faster than Hubbert could ever have expected. It's good to be aware of global warming but perhaps we would all be better served by trying to figure out a way to do without fuel, oil and cars at all. If we could do that, we would have some insulation, personally, from the complete transportation collapse that is on our door step.

I have been busy pursuing all those processes that might give me maximum flexibility in the uncertain, but certainly lesser energy future. A big part of that is providing that which will be not provided in our future - food and energy. So spring for me has been spent converting a field and old garden space into food production. My hope is to be able to feed the vegetable/starches part of the diet for two humans at least, working up to 8 humans eventually on 1/2 acre of land. I can see that 4000 sq ft may be a reasonable garden for feeding 4 people in Oregon's wet and then dry climate, but personally the doing of it is very labor intensive, time intensive and just plain wears me out.

The earth is a she. Why do I think that? Because I feel her when I till and plant and encourage the baby plants. I feel her like you feel a lover, like you feel your mother but never know it until she dies, and then only by her absence. I miss my mother. I miss that embracing acceptance, the durable love. Oddly I feel an attachment to the dirt I work and to the plants she gives me.

Gardening is too soft word for the process of raising food to eat to live. Gardening is Mr. Rogers in a tweed sweater encouraging a young cabbage to grow through kind words. Gardening is for modern man or woman. Gardening is about one tomato a year, a sprig of parsley. That was gardening before. It is not the food production of now and of the future. Gardening was about accent, now it is about substance. It was optional, now becoming mandatory.

That was my mindset anyway when I covered a thirty foot by forty foot area of semi abandoned but somewhat mowed flat soil and clay with cardboard and plastic last year. I could see future food feeding me and seven others. It was all math and size and production and a long to do list leading up to it. As most of you know, I came back early to Oregon this year to get into "production.

I felt a cold resistance to removing the card board and plastic. There are two garden plots and one area of fruit trees. I dug in the new trees, the soil was wet and heavy, the water table high, everything asleep, almost dead in heavy clay. I felt nothing but alone and wet and cold. I had to hand spade the small garden, and my back was so sore every day as I dug and hoed, slamming the hoe down into the unyeilding black wet muck. I planted onion bulbs, and soon peas and beets there. My back was sore every day.

The last month and one half has been a maelstrom of fence building, making a green house out of casa blanca, planting apple trees, blueberries, building new compost piles, tilling, digging, hoeing, planting. Recently I have been surprised to find that I seem to have entered into a contract. I planted she reluctantly gives me her babies, she yeilds. I understand that, the reluctance to bring forth, the offering of baby plants, waiting to see if I will water, weed and care for them. She questions my durability, my commitment to take and use the bounty that she provides. It is one thing to plant, another to reap.

Like most people, my life is buying food, or fast food and that's it. Now as the garden rows are visible and promising, I think of the ways in which I can meld that productive plenty to a lifestyle that is 8 feet wide and 22 feet long. But that is the nature of all enterprises. The contract is always drawn between parties that have yet to yeild, yet to perform and each must then rise.

The earth is rising, shit, burgening actually, and my new contract is to use that, to use the food, and to increase the fertility, to make the food that best that it can be to eat (the right nutrients and trace minerals), and most of all, to complete the many cycles of growth and decay. To do that I must constantly set aside what is easiest and work on that which is present in front of me.
For her part, the earth soothes my mind as I hoe, and bubbles delight up through me when I find new plants pushing up. Potatoes tight grimaced an a darker green than possible to the frightening visage of slasher movie zucchini come to pillage. Carrots are diffident in their small barely commited feather wisp, next to beans who are the only ones who can talk to the zucchini at all.
The corn masquerades as grass, nothing special it says to surrounding weeds, but holding coiled inside the code to tower over them all, and shade them to death. Only the beans and the zucchini are unimpressed. Floppy topped onions all hilled up, droopy leaved beets craving viagra, and radishes, already entering their final days, tall and proud and providing.
These all are the world under her control and my performance, sore back or not. The fecund earth is the real thing, our jobs and twitches and automatic responses, cream, no sugar, no jacket, no straw, these are the meaningless noise of "civilization."
I say all this to let you know that when your desparately trying to grow food there are rewards that might be unexpected, and connection that while unexpected is deep and good in unexpected ways.

It was the contract that has been drawn, an agreement that has grown up. Like an ugly dog who persists, I have been let in again, and now she has expectations of me. Who? The she that I have woken.

Rhizome

noreply@blogger.com (mcnalan) — Fri, 11 Apr 2008 13:55:00 +0000

FBR is delayed because I'm traveling back to Oregon, actually in Oregon right now in Cave Junction. Once I land and get the garden fencing project underway I'll have more FBR.
I'm posting today because I was reading Archdruid and in the comments saw a brief discussion of Jeff Vail, who posts sometimes on The Oil Drum blog. He has a concept of independent family or groups who are self sufficient for their necessities, but interconnected via fairs and festivals for trade. He has five essays that are worth a look. See what you think. When you hit his home page click on Rhizome on the right navigation bar. I've aimed you at his homepage so you can get an idea of biases before delving into the essays. I think there is something there to really think about.

FBR chapter 6 scene 2

noreply@blogger.com (mcnalan) — Tue, 01 Apr 2008 17:24:00 +0000

Foreign Body Reaction
Alan McNeill
Chapter 6 Scene 2

“Ouch, damn,” Mark cursed as he caught the inside of his forearm on the frame of the solar panel. He looked at the scratch, watching the blood begin to peak up through the abrasion.

The muscles of his right arm were burning from holding the Makita up so long. The panels were much more difficult to remove than he had expected. Getting all four of the 120 watt Kyocera solar panels off and loaded into the truck was taking much longer than he had planned.

The solar panels were rectangles about four feet long and a little less than that wide. Each was held by two screws on each side of the steel frame. The screws were anti tamper, theft resistant, stainless steel. They could be screwed in, were designed with a ramp that made it impossible to unscrew them.

That had not been a surprise, Mark had spotted that on his first exploration of the abandoned microwave site. He was drilling every single screw out, using his Mikita cordless. He had gone through two batteries so far, throwing the exhausted ones down off the roof of the microwave shack. Jasper had the battery charger plugged into an old inverter in the truck bed, and was recharging them as Mark worked.

'That poor truck battery!” thought Mark. But he knew their dying truck battery problem was nearly solved. The microwave tower site was remote enough that it had been designed with deep cycle battery bank to backup the grid supplied power. They were large batteries, six volts each, that required all of Mark's strength to lift into the back of the truck. They and the solar panels were crucial to keeping their little tribes small level of technology alive. Mark still hated doing this, this stealing, not from the social consciousness perspective, but only because it was taking too long, and it was making noise. He just knew that you could hear the Makita miles away from the hill top.

He disregarded his burning arm and got back to work.

“Should I go inside and see what else we could use?” asked Jasper from below.

“No, this is bad enough, the longer we are here the more likely we are to have company. We need to get out of here quick.”

“It would just take me a moment.”

“No. The more we do here, the more traces of us we leave, and the greater the danger of us being followed. No, the panels are enough.”

Jasper looked at him on the roof of the small hut, reaching up the pole, arms extended, holding the Makita as it drilled down to free yet another screw head.

Jasper was delighted by the cool drizzle that had enveloped the mountain top. It cut visibility and sound, which was a good idea while they stole the panels and batteries, but it also reduced what she could hear.

“I'm going to check around for a minute,” she called up to Mark, and with that,Jasper melted back through the cut steel woven wire fence into the forest that fringed the hill top.

Mark got the third panel released and carefully lifted it from the frame. He reached under the panel and used side cutters from his tool belt to clip the wires that exited out of the weather proof box. He was careful to save as much as the copper wire as he could. They would need that to wire later when they put the panels into service.

Mark looked at the remaining panel as he climbed down and swapped out the Mikita battery for another more charged one. He rubbed his shoulder and realized that he no longer worried too much about Jasper when she disappeared into the forest. She seemed natural and at peace when she moved between the boundaries of the two worlds, the one of the forest and the one of the tribe.

Jasper moved through the wet brush and debris and into the second growth fir that sheathed the lower mountain. She moved in a spiral down, checking the logging trails and skid roads, seeing how they rent through the top soil, exposing the red orange flesh of the mountain. It had been many years since the mountain was logged, and the second growth fir was a full young forest, but those orange scars still ran rust colored blood in the February rain. She saw the rabbit tracks, coyotes scat with it's telltale hair, owl droppings but no signs of tires or feet, other than their own.

Mark exhaled in relief as the last screw head snapped off. He just needed to get them loaded and start the truck and get out of here.

A click, a ratching snick, broke the silence.

Mark froze and turned slowly to see three men standing just outside the fence, next to the truck, grinning up at him.

“We'll help you load those panels for you, wouldn't want you to drop 'em with all the hard work you did in stealin 'em.”

"Thats OK, but thanks, I'm done and just leaving."

The three men were dressed in camouflage hunting gear, and all had machine pistols over their shoulders. The one doing the talking had a revolver pointed at Mark, casually almost, comfortable with the gun. Mark knew the man was comfortable with the weapon.

Fuck! he thought to himself, Jasper? Where is she? Shit.

“Sorry partner, we're going to have to take those panels and confiscate your truck. Hope you don't mind?” asked the one with the revolver. “See we all were thinking the same thing I guess. Great minds think alike right? But we had couldn't figure out a way to get them panels off of there without breakin' em. You coming along with good tools, well damn, that was plain fortuitous, wasn't it boys."

The other two men had moved out in an arc around Mark's position on the roof, each with their right hands resting on the machine pistols, still slung from their shoulders. Mark could see that they weren't to concerned with resistance from him, but still, they stood with their feet slightly apart, weight on the balls of their feet, ready to move a foot in any direction as they would bring their guns up. Ex-military, Mark bet. Trained. Fuck!.

The leader, the talker, leaned back against the truck as Mark handed the panels down, lit a cigarette and exhaled into the damp morning air.

He pointed to one of the two men. “Break that door open and lets see what we got.”

There was no mistaking it, thought Mark, these are trained soldiers. National Guard, Army, didn't matter Mark thought, the question now was how Ben and the others and Jasper would survive without the truck and all the equipment in it. It was their lifeline. But Mark understood of course, that they would find tools and panels, maybe, but they could only do that if they stayed alive. That was first. The only important thing now was to get them out of here before Jasper came back. That and stay alive himself if possible.

Mark was thinking calmly but he was sweating and his pulse was racing. He didn't fight the fear, just greeted it as an old friend. Fear always made him faster, and he doubted that these men could keep up with him in the woods if he could only get to outside the fence.

Mark heard the crash of the door as it gave up under a hard kick. The man was directly beneath him. The leader was still outside the fence leaning against the truck, but an easy shot from there would kill Mark as well as a closer shot. It wasn't more that fifteen yards away. The man who had taken the panels was carrying them now one at a time to the fence and pushing them through the hole.

Third soldier came out of the microwave hut and shook his head towards the leader.

He stood from the truck and holstered his weapon. Mark moved to the edge of the roof to get down, the slick corrugated metal made it hard to stay balanced.

“No, you just stay up there. You know I can't leave you to yap about seeing us right?”

Mark's head swiveled to the edge of the roof closer to the fence on the north side of the little compound.

“You won't make that jump. Besides, I can hit you running, or jumping or hell, even flying, as easy as just standing there. But maybe we can make a deal?

“What sort of deal?” answered Mark cautiously.

“Well,” drawled the man, “you weren't getting all this stuff just for you, right?”

Mark didn't answer.

“So I'm thinking you've been collecting stuff for a group of your people hiding up here in the mountains. Hell, its getting kind of crowded up here ain't it?” and he laughed.

“So why don't you bring us back to your place and we can join up. Me and the boys don't got the virus, and I'm guessing your group don't either, right? We can make a better team you see, we got the guns and the systems, you got food, maybe women?" he said unable to keep the learing tone from his voice.

Mark realized the man would take what he wanted if he found the others. Probably kill everyone, or worse, just kill Ben and him and take the women.

“Mark, I'm back!” shouted Jasper as she looping up the logging road, swinging her arms, laughing and bright, completely oblivious to the situation unfolding before her. Even stranger, she had stripped off her work clothes down to the leather short skirt she had sewed as her underwear and had only a small rabbit fur bra she had sewed tied around her breasts.

All three of the men spun at the sound of her voice, their hands on their weapons.

“Oh, jeez”, she said as she finally noticed the men. They all started towards her.

“Run Jasper, run!” screamed Mark.

Jasper screamed and ran off the road onto a deer trail, screaming the whole way. Mark jumped down between the north fence and the wall of the shed as bullets from the third man sprayed the roof where he had been standing moments before.

The leader and the other man were in hot and hard pursuit of the fleeing girl. They wasted no time racing behind her down the deer trail.

Mark cautiously peered around the corner of the building. The man who had shot at him was edging backwards towards the trail, but unwilling to leave the truck and Mark. He was pissed. He knew he wasn't going to get his share, again. His frustration and indecision kept his focus split and when he turned back to look at the trail again, hoping the other men would drag the girl back here for all of them to share, Mark rushed him.

He spun back, feeling the rush of Mark's attack, the machine pistol already sputtering, spraying, the dirt stitched as it worked up in an arc towards Mark. Mark slammed into the man before the arc could complete and bowled him over. Both men hit the ground hard with Mark grasping the man's right wrist, trying to keep the machine pistol away.

The man was well trained and broke Mark's hold on his arm slowly pushed the machine pistol up against Marks left side. Mark scramble to pull himself away, but inexorably the pistol moved and the man's finger tightened on the trigger.

In the woods the chase lasted only a few moments. They had cornered her easily. Jasper was pressed against a large black oak, spread with her arms clutching at the bark behind her, tears running down her face, chest heaving. The men advanced.

The leader motioned the other to hold back and he advanced slowly towards Jasper.

“Now, now little girl. You needn't cry. We're not going to hurt you. We just haven't seen many girls up here ya know and we wanted to look at you. We won't hurt you. Your safe now.”

Jasper sobbed louder, her eyes dialated with fear.

Quickly he stepped right into her space and kicked her feet out wider, so she couldn't take off on him. He grinned, reached out, and ripped off her fur top.

“My my, aren't these little titties sure pretty. Hey Roy, look here.”

Jasper slapped at his face with her left hand.

“Now now, we're just going to have a little fun, no reason to be hitting. What's your name?” he asked as he laid his weapon on the ground and began unbuckling his pants.”

Jasper didn't respond, but she stopped shaking, and she smiled tentatively at the man, and whispered something.

The leader leaned in, happy that she was going to make this easy. He sighed a long drawn out sigh and they fell to the ground together, her legs laid open under him.

Roy smiled, both embarassed and excited. He was hard as a rock and waited for his turn. The sound of gun fire echoed down the mountain. He turned and his last thought was that this was turning out to be a really good day with unexpected benefits.

A burning cramp, a deep pain, started at his right kidney and arced through him in a burst of pain, it hurt so bad and hard and fast it was like lightning and then, just nothing. He collapsed to the ground, his diaphragm and heart released from any further toil.

Jasper set off at a dead run. The knife dripping, she reached the clearing in just a few moments. She could see Mark rolling on the ground with the last soldier. The soldier was trying to bring his pistol around into Mark's side.

She slid through the fence like water through a hole, and flew to the man's back. She snapped his head back, and her blade, still not dry, but razor sharp severed the ligaments and arteries of his neck, from left to right, the arterial blood spraying out to paint Mark's face and clothing. She pulled back hard and felt the weakened vertebra part. For a moment she thought of taking his head off completely, because, well, he had almost hurt Mark. She growled and let the almost severed head remain on the body.

Mark felt the man tense as his head was snapped back, and the man's warm spray over him.

Jasper rolled the man off of Mark and smiled at him. Mark stared at her, blood spattered and half naked. Her skin glowed and she smiled at him with concern.

“Sorry they got in. They were already up the trail towards you before I found them. They were very quiet, I'm sorry I wasn't quicker. You alright? Are you hurt?”

Mark shook his head in disbelief. "I think I'm OK, but I want to wash this blood off. Where are the other men?"

"They won't hurt anyone now."

“Go get your clothes. Lets collect their weapons and ammunition and anything we can use. We'll take them with us in the back of the truck and throw them down a ravine. We have to make sure they were alone before we get to the rendezvous with Ben's group.

Mark didn't want her to see how shocked he was. Almost being shot was one thing, but Jasper, well, he didn't know what to think, except one this one thing.

Good thing she is on our side.

Site metamorphisis in contemplation

noreply@blogger.com (mcnalan) — Sat, 22 Mar 2008 14:03:00 +0000

Hey chickies, its time for a change.

I believe, I think, I feel that I have lost many readers and friends with this blog as I have continued to prod and showcase the insanity that is leading us to an inevitable change in our world. I used write, "our uncertain future." I don't think that anything is uncertain now, but we do seem to sit at a Chinese restaurant with the menu of collapse and change from column A through column Z providing a plethora of choices.

Why did I begin this blog? Hubris? Because I think I'm so smart? Probably some of that, hell probably a lot of that. But my initial reason was to wake people up, hoping that each person who woke up to the problems ahead would bring their friends along and we would have pockets of people who were not going to be shocked back hard on their collective ass when Walmart was empty and interstate trucking was irregular, and the party was over, the party of free energy.

More important to me, I wanted to force, yes force, each reluctant, in-denial person into seeing what I see for a moment. Getting it, getting what? Getting that they and their fore bearers have created this horrible mess, that we, each of right now continue to destroy our beautiful planet, plunder resources, pollute what we don't eat or destroy, and over populate out of control until two hundreds species ;er day disappear.

After the WWII, in some towns around the holocaust camps, the allied soldiers made the local towns people - who were also "unaware," and in denial, come and tour the camps. That is what I have tried to make each of you do in your mind, to hold your head and not allow you to turn from it until you would finally scream, yea, we did it, and it is our nature and we will continue to do it until we eat it all and shit it out. I simply wanted you, or those who could, to break from denial, to witness what we have wrought. Since we cannot stop, it is our nature, at least we can shed a tear for what we might have been, here on earth.

To whatever degree I did or didn't accomplish those two goals, I am done with it. Those of you might read this, know what I think and know what I think each of us should do. To those who castigate me for having the arrogance to think I know what they should do, I apologize. For the friends that don't come around, OK, I understand, hell, it's all I talk about and it's depressing, hunh? Wait to you see what comes.

To my family I am sorry that I'm not living inside the bubble with all of you and I do get that you miss me being "normal."

So after the next FBR installment I'll start rearranging things. I'll put all the links to the old blog material on the aftershock site, and I'll put the better links on the right of the blog there too. then I will evaporate the blog, and I'll begin the development of the main www.heirloomseedsource.com. Possibly more people will be interested in how to choose heirloom seeds for their area than in the philosphy of collapse. I'll probably put bunny pictures up somewhere. Certainly in our future the knowledge of gardening without hybrid seeds is going to be more valuable than my observations of the collapse we're in now. Hell, even mainstream media is getting around to mentioning little bits, here and there, once in a while, but always near a column on how the economy and energy supplies and everything is going to improve in 200X.

I wish all of you well, and we all have many sources more eloquent than me to dip into what is happening behind the scenes. I personally have a pretty great life right now, as I'm somewhat more insulated against the changes that come than many. I know to many I have sounded like chicken little saying the sky is falling and from that some of you have deduced that I am a gloomy Gus. Actually I'm happy and laugh and nap and love the sun and walk and see flowers. I love my friends and I enjoy coffee in the morning and the sun on the Dome Rock mountains in Q.

Getting out of the bubble is coming alive and having real conversations and actually listening to people. Why bother? Because I want to remember. We are in freefall right now.I want a mental snapshot of how wonderful individuals often are.

I will miss the release I got from writing out my frustrations here, but it is time for me to concentrate on my own more gentle transition to tomorrow . I am looking forward to a wonderful summer of a big garden, fishing, and continuing talks and emails with friends who are also preparing in their ways for the huge change that is upon us.

Vios con Dios whatever your beliefs.

Margin Calls, pink sky and Gary arrived in Q

noreply@blogger.com (mcnalan) — Thu, 20 Mar 2008 13:29:00 +0000

HI chickies,
I freaked when I saw how low gold and silver had dropped. That shows how perfectly self centered I am. A drop in Gold and Silver might indicate an increasing value in the dollar which would be good for everyone in slowing the rise of import prices. But my little bit of money and future are tied up in gold in silver, so I often have a divided, conflicted response to gold going down. Seeking comfort I read through the various posts of my links and saw that Archdruid has a post on just this topic, margin calls. This link goes to the top of his blog, thus is good only for a few days. It is an excellent easy read.

Gary arrived in Q late yesterday afternoon, tired, but all look pretty relaxed and happy to be out of the cold. How cold? We tried to start a fire with his cardboard from his cabinet in the fifth wheel. The paper and cardboard were not damp, but they had been frozen in the closet until they drove south three days ago. Erika tried to light the paper for about five minutes. I went and got a single piece of Q paper, and it burst into flame. That's how cold, even cardboard won't unfreeze.

I moved over to the 14 day free area and choose a flat spot for the work that Gary needs to do - putting his solar panels back up on the roof. Perhaps, if I'm not too lazy, and I'm very lazy after the packing La Casa Blanca and moving over here, I might get off my ass and take some pictures.

FBR, Chapter Six, scene 1

noreply@blogger.com (mcnalan) — Mon, 17 Mar 2008 19:19:00 +0000

Foreign Body Reaction
Alan McNeill
Chapter 6 Scene 1

“I guess since we're murderers I shouldn't complain about you turning Jasper into a thief,” said Bea, stretching her cramped legs out of her. They were taking a ten minute break on the hike. Darlene, Bea, and Ben had been hiking up and down a southeast ridge for most of the morning, carrying heavy almost forty pounds each in the packs.

“Bad to the bone, and a danger to all children, I guess,” said Ben, smiling and sitting down in front of Bea. Bea wore a long loose dress that each of the three women had come to adopt in the last three months. All the them tended to count time from the first flu case in Grants Pass.

“The truck battery's about shot. We need the shortwave and CB radios and scanner or we wouldn't know what is happening. You know that.”

“So you have to send Jasper with Mark to steal solar panels?”

Ben began working a bit precious aloe and oil into Bea's calves.

“God, not so hard, oh, that's good.” said Bea and finally, “Nice.” as Ben's hands worked.

“They'll be back soon I would think.”

“Why does he always take Jasper on these salvage trips?”

Ben thought about it a moment. “I think it is really her who takes him. Do you think she gives him a choice?”

Bea thought about it for a moment. In the three months since Jasper had come back with Mark, awake and alive and back to her old self, well no, thought Bea, she's not like her old self. Her old self was a spoiled teenager. The divorce had been hard for her, but she soon learned to play dad against mom to get what she wanted. That had been Jasper. The girl who came back with Mark that day Bea thought of, in private moments, as new Jasper.

Jasper had eaten ravenously, going through their dwindling stores of freeze dried Mountain House meals, then had fallen into a deep sleep that lasted until the following morning. Mark had sat by the fire and told them what he saw. He didn't try to make sense of it, he just told it in order. Everyone had questions, but Mark didn't have the answers, and he was not a man to supply them to ease the discomfort of others.

When Jasper awoke she spent more time with Bea, which might not seem strange, Bea thought, unless you had a fourteen year old girl, in which case you were probably aware that mom is “not cool“ at that age. In the three months they remained at the overhang shelter, she and Jasper had become mother and daughter again. They created new clothing for Jasper, and slowly Jasper's wardrobe changed to incorporate the hides that Mark tanned from the trap line that fed them throughout the winter months.

The entire three months would have been considered idyllic by most people, except at night they learned step by step what happens to an inter connected country that is slashed apart at every arterial road flu closures, military police, vigilantes and the ever increasing piles of unburied dead.

Mark and Ben took turns listening with an ear bud, and both took time in the truck during the day to listen to the CB. The CB radio provided little as they were far from I-5 but occasionally one of the linear amped rigs was powerful enough and they could hear single sided conversations for a while. The information was bleak.

The H5N1 virus burned out of control up and down the I-5 interstate corridor and across the nation. The ruined economy that had staggered zombie like after the financial collapse of 2008, had been dealt a deadly punch to trade. Roads went unrepaired, trucks did not flow like blood through the arteries of commerce, and anything that was available came by barter and trade locally, if the people dare meet each other face to face. Hunger drove them out, and they had to search and trade and barter for food, fuel, wood for heat. The flu road silently with them and it killed over two thirds of those who showed symptoms.

Some people had resistance to it, and never got sick, others got sick and got better. And a small few got it, never got sick, but continually spread the virus wherever they traveled.

The small band of five had grown together as tribe through the winter. Without Mark they would have starved. He worked harder than any of them to keep them fed and safe. His were the skills required now, and even though he worked, listened to the radio and took part in discussions about their future, he remained somewhat aloof, except to Jasper.

When Jasper wasn't with Bea working on a project she was shadowing Mark, and any time Mark went to check the trap line, Jasper was with him. When Mark looked for signs of others close to them, Jasper was right behind. At first he sent her back. He needed to concentrate, and moving through the woods like a shadow was not a game. He was armed and he didn't want to accidentally shoot her. He explained that to her.

He tried being stern, talking to Bea who just shrugged, and to Ben. Whether Ben liked it or not, he was the defacto leader of the of the small band.

Ben talked to Jasper.

Jasper stood five foot four now, at age fourteen, she had black hair that when combed out cascaded down the middle of her back past her shoulder blades. She had almond eyes with a hint of Mongol blood from some Indian forebearer. Her face was alive, and she had a new sensitivity that was unnerving. That was coupled with a warm sense of no personal space and a tendency to laugh and giggle at unreasonable worry and concern. Ben didn't make much headway with explaining why she couldn't go with Mark. She liked Ben, he really tried to make everything work out and make sense. He explained well and got excited when he talked. She enjoyed that now.

One day Mark was following a noise he hoped would be a deer in the brush ahead. He never used the pistols or rifles because of the noise. They remained undiscovered and he wished that to continue. He dispatched small game caught in the traps with a small oak club, and he carried a hickory bow that he had made years before. He made arrows from dried rose branches, straighted over the fire and broadheads from scrap metal. Fletching was provided by a coyote killed wild turkey.

The wind veered and Mark's scent drifted into the alder thicket below him. The doe was up and running, and Mark took careful aim. The arrow fell struck some limb or twig in flight and went low it seemed, but three bounds later she crashed to the forest floor, still.

Mark was pleased and drew his sheath knife to begin the butchering. He arrived at the deer as Jasper stood and wiped her knife on a handful of big leave maple leaves, and slide it back into her sheath. She handed Mark his arrow and bent to watch him dress the carcass.

“I missed.”

“Close though.”

“You killed her?”

“We needed her, and I'm hungry for something besides raccoon and rabbits.”

“Mark looked at the girl, “how . . .?”

“I knew where she would go, I heard both of you. I just sat down and waited.”

Mark grumbled, “I made no noise.”

Jasper laughed, but I can hear you anyway silly, then her face got that far away look that Mark had seen before. She placed her hand on the deer's still chest. She sighed and the wind stirred the leaves around them slightly.

Mark felt something move between all three of them, the girl, the deer, him and even the forest. He never told her not to come again.

They had returned that day, Jasper carrying part of the deer carcass wrapped in hide. Blood and fluid stained her legs as she walked, dripping from the meat. Bea watched amazed.

Jasper had been nearly a vegetarian before the, uh, attack, but now she happily munched any kind of meat, and she seemed hungry all the time. She ate rabbit thighs, chunks of raccoon, wild turkey, and fish.

Mark had mentioned once that Bea should listen closely as Jasper chewed. He swore she made a noise in her throat, sort of a growl. Bea had slapped him and just laughed. Mark was serious, but shut up. It was just good to see Jasper getting whole again, more than whole in a way she never was before. Her body was filling out. She seemed poised and thought so many things were funny. Yet she remained a fourteen year old girl woman, mercurial, changing moods, sometimes noisy and repetitive until you just couldn't stand it and then other times, in the middle of that she would become perfectly quiet, stand stock still and listen. At least Bea thought she was listening.

That had been a hard time for all of them. The destruction the flu caused, the deaths, and then the destruction people caused as the grip of civilization seemed to fall away from some of them like ill fitting clothes. Personally it had been hard for each of them not to be in contact with friends and loved ones. Ben said they couldn't turn on the cell phones because the cell phones contained chips that allowed others to know where they were. That was hard.

It was a great relief for Bea in January when Jasper started her period. Bea had been holding her breath in a way, she didn't want Jasper to have to hold onto that memory of the rapes, be defined by it, and to have to love a baby that constantly reminded Jasper of that time. So Bea was struck numb when she herself missed her period.

The thought of being three months pregnant shocked Bea back to the present and the warm, sensual touch of Ben's hands on her legs. She spread her legs a bit to give Ben greater access to her sore muscles. She was only three months pregnant by her back was sore already. Ben flushed. Bea laughed.

Ben was obviously attracted to her and had actually started getting pretty close until Bea had told Darlene that she was pregnant, or thought she was. Everyone knew it in short order, and Ben had withdrawn a bit more.

He listened every night to the nightmare that was modern America, and he was determined that they would not be infected or eaten by the monster that so many groups had become. But it seemed to cost him, there was no release from the horror for him, no comfort.

Bea had felt a connection to him the moment that he had touched her wound there in the mini van on that horrible day. They had been lucky. None of their group ever showed a sign of the flu. Ben was completely determined that it would stay that way.

Bea did mourn her brother Barry and was saddened that they had to bury him in hurriedly in an unmarked grave. Jasper told her mother that she knew just where Barry was and if Bea wanted Jasper could take her there. Bea no longer asked how Jasper knew, but she knew there would come a time that they would go there and she would get a chance to say goodbye to her brother in peace. Someday Bea had said, when it is safe again.

Bea only wished Ben could forgive himself for his decisions that day of the attack. Bea looked down to see if she was showing yet. Nope, not yet. After three months she needed to unwind too, and she sort of thought she could help Ben out at the same time. This massage was a good start. His hands were burning on her thighs.

“Anyway, Mark found a microwave repeater that is on top of Big Dutchman Butte,” said Ben. “There is no sign of power or life, and Mark and Jasper have been checking the trails and roads for several days. There are four good seventy five watt panels there.”

“We only have the short wave and the CB radio, why do we need it now, especially since we're on the move now?”

“We need power for the CB radios, recharging the phones if we ever use them again, and because they are valuable as trade items for other things we might need.”

“You mean we're going to actually talk to other people in person?” said Bea, betraying her excitement.

“Can't keep'em down on the farm once they've seen the city, huh?”

“Shut up, you know what I mean.”

“Anyway, The tower is not working and we might as well have them as someone else. I thought it was worth the risk slight risk.”

“Your decision boss, anything happens to Jasper, I'll kill you in your sleep, she smiled as she said it.”

“I'm not the boss, we've had this discussion before, but regarding Jasper, deal, kill me in my sleep if necessary.”

“A rose by any other name still stinks,” said Bea getting up to get rose hip tea ready for Mark and Jasper's return. During the winter, their primary drinks had been dried dandelion root and dried rosehip tea sweetened with honey. Both were excellent sources of vitamin C, and in short supply in their other foods.

Ben grumbled to himself, but he had to admit it. He ended up making a lot of the decisions. First because Bea and Jasper had been in shock for a long time after the abduction and attack, and then because they had all fallen into comfortable rhythm beneath the rock overhang on Chipmunk Ridge. Over three months, without really meaning to put much work into it, they had naturally turned it into a little tribe.

Odd thought Bea, that is how she thought of all of them, a group of five pilgrims. Every night they listened to the shortwave, the little Kaiko radio. It used little energy and was easily recharged from Mark's truck battery.

Three months had passed since Jasper's return. It was late February and in the Siskiyou mountains of Southwest Oregon the group of three women and two men continued their isolation. Spring was beginning to erupt, though early for even this warmer section of Oregon.

Ben stood up and Darlene returned from the woods, Bea said, me next and took off into the woods to relieve herself, then all there were on the way again, working by compass across the folded hills to meet Mark and Jasper. From there they would ride to their new home for the night. Game had become scarce as the months passed, and Ben was increasingly concerned about the black SUV that mark had mentioned on Jasper's return. From the description Ben was sure that it was Patricia. How and why she was there, he had no clue, and if that close, why was she waiting?

With the first hint of spring, Ben had made the case for moving towards the coast and they had agreed. There there would be more food choice and at least more distance from the flu horror of the I-5 corridor.

Titans clash, burrow in little chickies!

noreply@blogger.com (mcnalan) — Mon, 17 Mar 2008 13:46:00 +0000

This Monday will be a memorable one in the history books. Yesterday Bear Stearns, the fifth largest investment bank on Wall Street failed. In order not to make it look like it went bankrupt, our government and the Feds brokered a deal for JP Morgan to buy what was left of Bear Stearns for $2/share. Friday Bear Stearns was worth $53/share when a bail out was conceived. It didn't work, so the gutted it and gave the problem the JP Morgan.

This set off a firestorm in the Asian markets while I slept - though I watched like a rube at the carnival watching the wolf boy eat the fat lady - until late last night. The Asian markets decline 4 to five percent, gold jumped to 1030/ounce, oil to 111/gal. When the US markets opened today is seen as the most dangerous day imaginable. Earnings reports on the other banks are do, and they are expected to be terrible. The market is in free fall, the dollar has fallen yet again to record lows against the Euro and everything else, including the Yen. Asian banks this morning ceased trading with Lehman Brothers, another investment bank, but the smallest, and it may flush down the toilet today. This does not make investors happy, so like the Asians they try to pull their value out of those that will die, and that kills the banks.

Example, a report this morning that Citi bank is borrowing at 10 percent and loaning at 6 percent. That ain't going to work long.

So chickies, our financial future is tumbling through space right now. It will affect what you can buy, and how much it will cost. It will force factories to close and jobs to be lost. Any retailers selling non essentials will continue to be unable to get credit to make inventory purchases and the real estate market is just beginning to go over the edge.

Rarely do we live in a time where we can actually see the collapse of a worldwide financial system. Of course market people won't use the word collapse, they will say that the market is resetting itself. Indeed it is. Many of us will be reset right along with it.

So, as I've said before, forget the giants, watch only to avoid being stepped on as much as possible, get your plants started and get your chicks and bunnies while you can. A pig and some goats are good too if you have the room. Everything you needed to get from China via Ebay and Walmart - better do it now - with the dollar in freefall - DOWN - all imports will be going up. Cars, tools, everything in fact, because in case you didn't notice in the last 20 years, we don't make much here anymore, except noise, and there is a lot of noise being made this morning.

Other matters, the next two scenes of the new chapter 6 will be up later today. Guess who is pregnant? Stay tuned.

Jerked McChicken

Dancing with Giantz

noreply@blogger.com (mcnalan) — Sun, 16 Mar 2008 22:31:00 +0000

Gold at $1005 ounce and oil at $110/barrel. Unbelievable just two years ago, the press takes note but doesn't every show us the play, only the details.

Imagine you snuck into the theater on the cheap, are hidden in the alcove of one of the exits, and you can't see the screen but you can hear it sometimes. Sometimes you can see boot laces and fancy shoes walk by just outside, under the curtain. You report faithfully on the shoes, pumps, boots and sandals, and your readers know just what people are wearing at the movie but they don't have a clue as to what the theater is for, or what the movie is about.

That is where we are, each and every one of us, because all media reports are similar to our shoe reports above. True, but in being true to the detail and not the message, false. As to why the media would lie, because they are handmaidens to big business who owns both them, the appearance of government, and essentially the dance floor of our entire lives.

I've been somewhat peevish the last two days. The weather has been unsettled, I'm unsettled and the world of finance is under enough pressure to form diamonds where all the forces meet. I'm not going to write about shoes today, I'm going to talk about the theater and the real actors of capitalism, the giants and their dance.

Oil and gold are at record levels. From that we would think that the dollar must be falling – and if we check against other currencies, yep, it was at world record lows against other major currencies on Friday. So if I was the media, I could write, and would write if you paid me to, that gold rose on the dollar's fall. Yes it did. BUT WHY? They never fucking say WHY?

We are left to believe that it is because the housing market and the credit market is collapsing on some sort of shit that was done to give loans to poor people (those useless fuckers) who took those loans and now the deadbeats aren't paying. So the dollar is worth less and gold, measured in dollars goes up. We are always left with a simple answer by the capitalist machine of state and media. But of course we are not told enough to know what is happening.

Why, because you might react and cause more loss to the wealthy. So the sound bites end with gold and oil rise on the dollars fall do to inflationary pressure. Implicit in such partial truths – like the brown shoes under the curtain have brown laces generally – true but fucking irrelevant – so is the price of oil and gold to what you are doing right now.

We are dancing with giants. This is what really is on the screen folks. If you don't control the distribution of billions of dollars I'm NOT talking about you. I'm talking about the BOYZ.

Giants are the executive branch of every country that trades on the market. It is the Federal Reserve Board, it is the IMF, it is the big boyz behind the curtains one level ABOVE the governments, it is that 2 percent of the population that we do not see.

Gold and oil are rising in price because many of the boyz need to shift huge amounts of money out of failing investments and put them some place safer. This is necessary so that after the financial collapse they will have assets to shift back, buying again (in their theory) all the land, control structures, and methods of production with their preserved wealth. Friday the move to safe asset place was gold and oil. That is why gold and oil continue to rise – the big boyz are moving assets, liquidating especially real estate, and converting the money to oil future and gold bullion.

Gold is of no particular interest to them. They're not gold bugs – Oil is of no particular interest to them. Financial collapse that is ongoing is making the dollar less valuable every day, so they can't turn their money in to cash and store it in big shoe boxes. If they did, after the collapse which is a long drawn out thing, when they opened the shoe box they would find a much less valuable dollar, possibly near worthless.

If they left it in the real estate under the Trump Plaza, the new market value might mean they have lost 4/5 of what they have. No that wouldn't do.

Wealthy live by taking a percentage of what you do. Their wealth must continually be invested to make more. If they stood still eventually, well hell, eventually they would become, us, me. The work you perform, they get a cut of. Why do you think you have a job, because you're cute? You have it because you do something that allows one of the boyz somewhere UP THERE, to make more money than if you didn't have your job. That is why you work for them. In a time of economic recession, stagflation, and real collapse, the jobs collapse too. That is not good for them. They don't like this mess any more than you, but unlike you, they are willing and able to do something about it. So they are shuffling their giant feet on the dance floor, and moving huge amounts of wealth in and out of gold, oil seeking to reduce how much they will loss, where you, you will loose most of everything in this collapse.

I've heard it mentioned with horror that there are those who think there are parts of our government who are PLANNING the death of billions of people on the planet – fucking INSANE. True of course, google End Game. That's terrible right?

Well, not so much as it first seems. We are at a reset game point on this small beautiful planet Smarter and more normal and conservative thinkers and professors than I, not wackos, foil heads and white supremacists, agree that the carrying capacity of our little world topped out at 1 billion at the time of the civil war (1864). Since then we have been using coal, then oil and natural gas to feed people, and you know what we do when there is enough food, we fuck and make more of us. We we could and we did, if not you and I our parents certainly, and here we sit cheek to jowl on our little planet. All 6.8 billion of us.

Simple math. Oil and gas grew the extra food that created the more people. Less oil and gas equal less food. Less food equals LESS PEOPLE. How many can the earth support without using natural gas and oil? Woow boy. Well, we've kind of fucked up the topsoil and such and we've over farmed and under cared, so an axiom of this OVERSHOOT thing, that's the thing we're in right now, overshoot, is that when you stop destroying the top soil and cutting everything down, you're not back where you where started – you're actually quite a bit worse. So lets say less than one billion for the whole planet, and if we are sweet and sing all together and using humanure composting, and all of us play nice, in a century maybe we can support a billion and a bit again.

You counted how many we got now? Oh yea, 6.8 billion. So to those people who think that governments think tanks are not and have not been studying how to get from 6.8 to 1 billion, you are dumb as a rock or a perfect sheeple. Lets take a moment to all be shocked. You mean the population is going to have to FALL. Yep, it has to fall by 5.8 billion, not 4.5 billion. That's a lot of people. Hell it's a lot of compost. So if you lived in a democracy that you actually participated in, wouldn't you hope that someone was looking at this, making a plan, at least making sure your name wasn't on the list?

So be sure that government has plans if bird flu (when bird flu) hits, and most of those plans are about keeping people docile world wide while they die. I suspect that will not go well because we're becoming a bit unhinged (personally speaking of course). Oh, and reducing the birth rate wouldn't help as we right now could run to 10 billion just by restricting each person to only one replacement person. What's the math there, you're thinking. Well each person who has a baby doesn't have the decency, given our overshoot, of quietly and immedately dying. Shit some people continue to live on and become grand parents. That's how you end up with 10 billion, if every single person today said I can only have one replacement of me. But of course with the oil past the ½ point on the dip stick, we can't even continue to do 6.8 billion, let alone 10. So we actually are going to have living people die, not of old age. You figure it out. Flu, war, starvation, nuclear war, border wars, immigration wars. Is this a fun dance or what?

So with gold on the rise, all real estate plunging, banks not loaning to you or others, everyone calling up to see if you can pay them now or early or soonest, and food rising like gold and oil every time you go to the grocery store (what about raisin bran – four dollars for the little box in Q – what the fuck is that? -well it's wheat of course, we aren't growing as much wheat because we're growing more corn – why's that – for your car – for ethanol you dipstick). Don't go there, fuck Africa and those poor countries, yea were not exporting corn, yea they're starving, so what, didn't you just say there are too many of us. Besides, listen to the rumble of my Humvee, ain't she sweet?

So here you are, you can see today's movie on the screen – rich boyz moving assets preparing for the financial collapse and their re -entry into a new a more glorious control of power in the future.

What should you do. Well, watch out for the their feet on the dance floor, we are so tiny, I am so tiny I'm an insignificant and they will close that factory repossess and salvage the home right from under your feet, in order to put themselves in a safer position that all the rest of us. That's a given.

So what you should do, if you're still reading and not in the bathroom retching, or back to watching dances with the stars:

Buy as much gold as you can get. Not jewelery, coins bars, bullion, gold with no added value. Store it IN HAND not on deposit somewhere.

Buy as much silver in ounces as you can for when the dollar is being devalued and a new dollar 100 to 1 being printed and mandated, you won't be holding old dollars. Silver is small and can purchase things, normal things like tools. Gold is so valuable that it is difficult to get change. OK the Raisin Bran is $56 and the apple is $12 and all you have is an ounce of gold which by that time is $2000. Hard to make change.

You should not worry about anything the media says anymore and any politician that you don't personally control. Just turn off the shit, you'll know when hard times are here. Simple. If the power goes off for a while and the grocery store don't have no Bud at any price, and if Walmart's looking a little thin, then yep, that's an actual American Calamity, and don't worry, it's not an American problem it is a world problem. Watch out for them big feet then, they be a' flyin, you be a'dyin. None of these people are good dancers and you are very very tiny (speaking of myself of course).

You should either get rid of all debt or maximize your debt and max out every credit line in order to put cash into your hand to buy gold and silver and stash it. Then file bankruptcy when everything is foreclosed. It won't make a bit of difference by then. The only thing that will count is land you can control, gold and silver.

If you have stocks and bonds and a 401K try to shift them to gold funds – Fidelity has one for instance, and if you can't do that, go for the energy companies. While this dinosaur is dying energy is going to be a priority for everyone, and it won't take too many brown outs and grid failures to get the boyz to pour newly created cash into the energy markets. We'll drill EVERYWHERE, will support solar and wind and tidal, though they won't make much of a difference right now – too late baby!. Invest in anything we're going to run out of.

Energy,

Fresh water,

Food.

Buy freezers and solar panels and T-105 batteries and buy a junk yard, not one all stripped but a nice fresh one full of trucks and new cars. Buy a tow truck, get a four wheel drive. Get guns and ammunition and booze. Those are the new real assets.

If you don't have money, invest your energy into your own personal solar and wind and hydro, invest into food in growing your own, fuck if you own it, just plant and harvest until they start shooting at you.

Water, get close to running water. Get close to good shallow wells, did your own.

If you can grow enough, trap, fish and hunt, have water to drink and create enough energy to keep your minimal level of personal civilization alive (lights, communications) then you will do all right.

All above simplified. Take care of yourself now, break all the rules and forget everything the last four generations told you – they lived on the rising tide of free energy, you live on the ebb tide, their homespun philosophy and wisdom is a useless anchor that will drown you (mixing metaphors – sorry). Shrug off what dad and mom would think, shrug off what it means to be a good guy, a generous guy, and see to you and yours, and stay way fucking light on your feet, because the dance floor has professional dancerz who will stomp you flat during then next 6 months.

Business does not represent you, your congressman does not represent you and your parents have the wrong tools for new alien world. If you want to survive this, or if you want your children and grand children to survive this you must change, now.

And hold your close people tight, for you can't be everywhere, can't foresee everything, and no one will remain untouched. Balance is being restored, things are likely going to fall on your head.

Club Orlov

noreply@blogger.com (mcnalan) — Wed, 12 Mar 2008 22:09:00 +0000

Many of you stalwart loyal chicklets will recognize Dmitri Orlov's name from numerous posts in the past. However, I've just placed his blog on the right hand navigation bar, replacing Ran Prieur who had died and gone into politics; pretty much the same thing. However, to ease the transition, here is a quote from a recent Club Orlov blog entry:

"All of this playing at politics is completely unnecessary. Democracy is for those capable of self-governance. Americans are not interested in governing themselves, but in watching television, and the political spectacle does not make for particularly compelling television viewing. To make it more interesting, I would like to propose a process of political reform which I call "Two-Step to Empire." Step 1: McCain chooses Cheney as his running mate and, come November, Diebold comes up with some numbers to show that they have won; Step 2: Cheney renames "Office of the Vice President" to "Office of the Emperor" while McCain gratefully fades from view, his mission completed." - read more here.