Ending and Beginning

I hunted in the rain for about an hour and a half this morning. I saw some chickadees.

I hate to say it, but that’s pretty typical – the wildlife grapevine goes into high gear as soon as I set foot in the woods with a gun, and all the animals hide or leave the area. Sure, when TEOTWAWKI comes, I’ll feed my family by hunting. Hahahaha.

I did see an interesting small tree that appeared to be blooming, which is really weird for this time of year in central Wisconsin. It also had what appeared to be an old nut shell attached, about the size of a marble and covered with short spines. I’m looking forward to regaining Internet access again so I can find out what it is. [Update: It’s Witch Hazel.]

And speaking of Internet access, I’ve been out of touch with the world for about 36 hours now. There may have been a dramatic increase in H1N1 cases, paralyzing some major city. The stock market may have lost 25% of its value. War may have broken out in the Middle East, forcing oil to $200/barrel. It may be snowing in the Sahara.

But we’re still alive, pretty much as we were, and I’ll bet the world is still going on pretty much as before, slowly and sloppily slipping towards whatever the future holds for it. I don’t need to be the disaster news hound I’ve been for the last 18 months. I know what’s right, I know what’s happening, I just need to get on with what I know is the right course of action.

And yet, there’s a tiny tiny chance that I’ll get advance warning of some developing disaster that will give me a reason to take some immediate action. As silly as it may be, that tiny chance is one of the things I think of when I’m scanning the news.

Why is that invalid? Because if there were a disaster that affected us locally and immediately:
• Someone would call us.
• I’d hear it on the radio.
• The chances are infinitesimal of advance warning doing us any good.
• I don’t have a get out of Dodge (GOOD) plan or preparations anyway.
That last one I can and should do something about. The others, put together, mean that I don’t have to waste time on the computer scanning for the first signs of impending disaster.

And speaking of the right course of action, many times when I come up to this part of the state, I start to think about finding and buying an old farm around here with a five or ten acres to serve as a vacation/weekend getaway/retirement home as well as our TEOTWAWKI retreat. Actually making that purchase would create many problems that we would have to deal with, but then again, pretty much any major change does the same.

The answer is always the same: if you want to do something, you do it, and you make it work, you resolve whatever problems it causes, you make whatever sacrifices it takes. You just have to make sure you really want to do it. If you let potential problems stop you, you’ll never do anything.

Today, while G and I were hanging out at the cabin and M and D were off buying some stuff we forgot, a man drove down the ¼ mile driveway, parked by the cabin, and walked up to our door. He knocked, then opened the door. His first word was, “Ojibwa?” His story was that he was looking for some Ojibwa friends of his who were supposed to be camping nearby. He said he saw no car but the light was on in our cabin, so he decided to stop. We chatted for a few minutes and then he left.

Being the paranoid person that I am, I suspect that if we hadn’t been here and the door hadn’t been locked, he would have come in. He was about my age, with a beard and aviator-style plastic glasses, clean cut, a matching logo on his sweatshirt and baseball cap. Was he a thief? Possibly, but probably not. He was just a little too forward for my tastes. Anyway, that’s why I prefer that the gate at the end of the driveway is locked

Today the family and I drove up to our favorite rental cabin in Black River State Forest. It has electricity and heat and plumbing, so it’s definitely not roughing it, but it is a nice getaway.

And it’s a wee bit of training for all of us in living minimally, in eliminating all but the necessities, and a lesson in what each of us really needs to live our daily lives. Not that I’m trying to pretend this is anything other than a vacation, but this blog is about seeing my life from the perspective of the coming Change of climate change, peak oil, and the political/financial self-destruction of the US. Perhaps we need a reminder now and then of what true silence is like so we won’t freak out when most of the cars and combines and airplanes and dehumidifiers fall silent.

Speaking of which, even though the price of oil is climbing and many of the prophets of financial doom are telling us that we’re on the precipice again, I’m beginning to think that everything is going to keep on keepin’ on for the foreseeable future. I may finally be getting desensitized to the doomsayers.

And that’s good and bad. Good because you can’t live your life in a state of high alert all the time. Bad because you can’t forget your goals and what you think is going to happen in the world, either, and I do feel myself drifting back into complacency and letting my job/kids/home routines become my whole life.

My surging complacency may also be a perverse indicator that the shit really is about to hit the fan.

The journey into preparedness I began 18 months ago is, in a couple of ways, nothing more than giving myself permission to indulge my long-time fascinations with growing things and security. I’ve been interested in growing things for as long as I can remember, as you can see by this photo of me watering the garden when I was two years old.

The need for security – keeping myself and mine safe – is something I’ve felt for a long time also. Maybe it originated with my parents telling me how awful people are and what a terrible place the world is. I fear the otherness of people and places unfamiliar to me.

So here we are in this cabin tonight, far, far away from any kind of authority. That’s one of the charms of the place for me (because I also fear and loathe authority), but I drove out to the end of the ¼ mile driveway and locked the gate before it got dark, and I made sure the car was locked and all the doors are locked, even though, objectively, we’re safer here than we are at home. I also have my 12-gauge pump here (hope to get some rabbit and grouse hunting in), and I’m very glad I do.

To me, all that seems nothing more than prudent. To others, such as my sweet, trusting wife, I’m paranoid.