I’d like to thank everyone that has followed me on this fictional journey.  There are disaster outs there, waiting to happen, some not nearly as bad as what happened here, some worse.  Will they happen? We don’t know, that’s why it’s called being prepared …for the unexpected, or even the expected.  I do hope you, the reader, have learned something, taken a bit of information and made it your own.  That’s why I wrote this.

 

Deborah

 

She sat in the old rocker by the cold cook-stove, reading. A warm September breeze drifted in thru an open window, bringing with it the fragrant scent of the wild honeysuckle that now grew by the sliding glass door.  She closed the old, well-worn Journal and set it down, the tears pooling in her dark hazel eyes.  Oh, how sad Deborah had been, she thought, searching her pocket for a hanky; cloth of course, there’d been no paper tissues in a very long time, but she did remember them.

Emilee, now 25, lovingly stroked the smooth cover of the brown leather book her Nahna had faithfully kept for many years.  There would be time to continue reading, she thought, knowing there was more written, much more beyond the five months she had just finished.  She wiped her tears, shed in sympathy for the heart ache her grandmother had felt at the time, but also knowing that Grandpa John had come back to Nahna, not a month later, unable to stay away from the woman he loved so deeply.

 

Emi stood and stretched the kinks out of her back; she’d been sitting in one place too long, especially after hours of working in the garden.  It would be a good crop this year, she thought, Nahna would be pleased.  Her heart clenched.  Nahna passed away three weeks ago; pined away is more accurate, died from a broken heart, Emi thought.  Grandpa John had a heart attack and died two weeks before that, and Nahna just didn’t want to go on without him.

She glanced once more at The Journal.  Yes, there would be time to read more of Nahna’s life later.  And what a life it was! She knew, since she, Emilee Ashton Rush, was there.

Power has been back on fully for a week now.  It’s been very easy to get used to again:  water when we want it; lights in any room; the refrigerator making ice; coffee ready before we get up; and clothes washed and dried in the same day.  The internet was back on too, and I spent way too much time catching up on the Groups, reading news, and sending emails, but it sure felt good.  Watching TV at night feels surreal and mystical.  But in reality, my life will never be the same ever again, no matter how free the power is or how much is now stocked in the grocery stores; our lives have been changed, damaged; for some, beyond repair: we’ve starved, we’ve killed, some have been killed.  No, we will never be the same.

 

I woke during the night, heart pounding, gasping for breath, the result of a bad dream.  I snuggled closer to John for comfort.  He wasn’t there.  I stretched my hand out across his side of the bed: the sheets were cold; he’d been up for some time.  Still use to moving around in the dark, I found my robe and tied it closed while I wandered silently toward a softly glowing light in the other room.  There he was, standing by the deck-door, staring out into the darkness.  I leaned against the door way to watch him:  sweat pants slung low on his hips, barefoot, shirtless.

“I can feel when you come near me, you know.  I don’t have to see you to know where you are,” he kept looking out the window, the small battery lantern cast a soft glow; his shadow bounced off the opposite wall.  I waited until he turned around.

“Are you ok, John?” I asked as softly and as evenly as I could.

“I couldn’t sleep and didn’t want to disturb you,” I noted he didn’t answer me.  “Why don’t you go back to bed, I’ll be there in a minute,” he promised.

I turned and went back to bed.  A few minutes later I felt him shift under the covers and he curled himself around me, holding me snug against him.  We both finally fell asleep.

 

We made love that morning.  It was sweet and gentle and ….. sad.  Then John slipped out of bed; I could hear the shower start.  I turned over and wept.  All I could think of were all the unexplained hours away from home; all the quickly hung up phone calls when I came near. Before the water went off, I used the second bath to rinse my face and use eye-drops hoping to conceal the redness from my tears. I slipped on my usual morning sweatpants and t-shirt, both now too baggy on me.

I was already pouring a cup of coffee, when he came out, dressed in jeans and a deep green hoodie. I turned to him.  “You’re leaving, aren’t you?” It was more of a statement than a question. My hands were shaking, the coffee sloshed; I set it down on the table.

“I got a message from Green Path.  They’re starting up operations again, and I have to report back.”  He crossed the room to me.  I backed up.  “Deb………,” his voice caught, pleading; that sweet, charming South Carolina drawl that I’ve gotten so use to, clawing at my heart.

“Why can’t you stay here and still work for them?”

“They just don’t work that way,” he ran his hands over his bald head in that oh so familiar way, and I lost it.  The tears just streamed down my face.

“If you have to go, John, then just go,” I was surprised the words came out.  I hadn’t seen his duffle already packed by the door. I wanted to reach out, to hold him; keep him from leaving me.  But I can’t force him to stay; I can’t make him love me.  My hands hung limp at my sides, twitching, aching to touch him, to hold him here, I wanted to beg him to stay.  I stood silent.  Pride stopped me. He picked up the duffle and walked out.

I stood at the door, hidden by the curtain and watched him walk down the road, the duffle slung across his shoulder; a sob escaping from my throat with every step he took away from me.  He turned into the drive of the other Green Path house, likely to catch a ride back to Eagle Beach.  How could he do this to me, to us? Did the past four months mean nothing to him?

On uncertain legs I went into the bathroom, hoping to find some relief under a hot shower.  There on the dryer, all neatly folded, were the clothes I had given him that first day: sweat pants, t-shirts, socks.  The 9mm Beretta sitting on top.  He wasn’t coming back.

My world shattered.  My life shattered. Then my heart shattered.  My legs collapsed and I slid to the floor, as everything around me went dark.

 

**** EPILOGUE TO FOLLOW****

The chilly nights gave way quickly to a more moderate fifty degrees, and that meant open windows to me, and fresh air sleeping.  Listening to the woods wake up in the Spring is very special: the night birds coming back, the animals rustling around in the leaves looking for food.  I was very excited to hear geese honking high above us, and I almost wept with joy to hear the very distinctive call of the Hermit Thrush looking for his mate.

This morning’s 52* grew to 65* by noon and I knew how I wanted to spend the day: washing curtains and hanging them in the sunshine!  John helped me sort thru the coils of rope stacked on a shelf.  After the blizzard was over, we retrieved all the ropes, carefully rewinding them, tying them individually and hoping we wouldn’t need them for a long time.  The shorter coils I knew were my clotheslines from last Fall.

I was giddy.  “You don’t know how this makes me feel!  I love the way things smell that have dried outside.”   There is only room for four fifteen foot lines, but it’s enough.

“Since you’ll be spending the afternoon washing curtains, you don’t mind if I take the four-wheeler out for a ride, do you?” John asked, pulling the last clothesline tight.

“No, of course not,” I replied, when actually I was disappointed I wouldn’t have the extra set of hands for some of the other work I had in mind.

 

I took down all the curtains in the kitchen and dining room, setting them to wash.  Then I started washing the windows they came off of.  Yikes!  Months’ worth of wood smoke was evident as I sprayed on the window cleaner, watching it drip in dirty streaks.  I had to wash each one twice, but now they sparkle.  When I got to the glass door-wall, I also had to clean the track that was full of mud and bird seed; no wonder it was getting hard to move; tooth picks and a tooth brush were needed to dig under the metal rod that guided the door.

When the first load of curtains was waving gently on the clothesline, I put the next load in: the bedroom and hallway.  Since this room was the furthest from the wood stove, the windows weren’t quite as dirty, but still needed cleaning.  As each window was cleaned, I left it open to help air the house out.

Trying to be systematic, I then moved the dining table, swept and mopped under it, moved it back and did the same to the rest of the room in preparation of hanging the clean window coverings back up.  For some reason I felt an urgency to clean, or maybe it was just the warm breezes that was stirring me on.  With the power readily available now, I vacuumed the bedroom and as a last thought, stripped the bed and washed those sheets too.  We might even get fresh pillowcases tonight!

When the sheets finally went on the line, and all the curtains were back on the windows, I started cleaning up the yard from the winter; a very harsh winter in more ways than one.  I stopped, leaned on the rake, getting my cloth hanky out of a pocket, to wipe the tears as memories bombarded me.  I tamped down the emotions and lifted my face into the sun, welcoming its heat.

 

With all the curtains cleaned and back up, windows washed, floors cleaned, even freshly sun-dried sheets back on the bed, I sat down in my rocker with a sigh of satisfaction.  It was then I realized it was almost 6:00 ….. And John was still not home.

The kids would be over soon for dinner.  It was our Wednesday spaghetti night, and I had yet to put it together.  I found a jar of pork shreds that would do for the meat, and two jars of sauce I made last summer; a pound of linguini instead of my usual angel-hair was next; then a package of ramen for Jacob.  My arms were full as I walked out of the pantry, almost bumping into John.  My heart leaped; I was so glad to see him.

“Did you have a good ride?” I asked, though I really wanted to tell him I was getting worried.

“Yes, I did.  It was a beautiful day.  Let me help with that,” and he took two of the jars from me.  As we set everything down on the work island, he turned back to me.  “The house looks great; nothing like fresh air.”  Small talk.  Inane, stupid, small talk.  I wanted to scream. It was burning in me to know where he had been all this time, but just then the kids came in and the moment was lost.

The sap has been running really good, a constant flow instead of a fast drip; the weather is just perfect for collecting sap.  From each of the six taps, we’ve collected almost two gallons twice a day; these are big, mature trees.  In just two days of constant boiling we have enough for a gallon of fresh syrup.  The work has been tedious and continuous, but certainly not hard.

I had just set a loaf of cheesy bread to its final rise, when John came in.

“You want to check this batch?  I’m thinking it’s getting close to being ready.”  He really has been pleased with having something to do and learning something new at the same time.  We walked back out to the barn, steam rolling out of the big doors in fragrant clouds.

I stirred the dark golden liquid with the big spoon and let it run off the edge.  “Yes, very close; you’re getting a good eye for this.  Keep it cooking while I get the jars prepped and the canner heating.  It shouldn’t take too long; I’ll let you know when that’s ready.”

A half hour later, we were ladling hot, deep gold syrup into pint jars, fixing them with a sterilized lid and ring.  Five jars were submerged into the boiling water bath, and timed for ten minutes.  I lifted them out and John set them on a folded towel to cool, and we started on the next five jars.

 

“Now that’s a beautiful day’s work!” I hooked my arm into his as we admired the ten pint jars of deep amber liquid, all perfectly sealed and lined up on the counter.  I rested my head comfortably against his shoulder.

“Do we need to do more?” he questioned.

“Not really, not unless you want to.  This should last us a while.  Jason is doing his own, so we don’t need to provide for theirs.”  I heard something tired in his voice.  “We could pull the taps, now.”  He just nodded.

I got the small wagon from the garden, and armed with a hammer and a near empty can of pruning seal, (another hole in my preps) we started at the furthest tree;  First removing the tent, then the bucket, emptying any sap into the five gallon pail for tomorrow’s final coffee, and putting everything in the wagon.  Next came pulling the tap out, which John did while I searched for just the right stick to plug the hole.  I jammed the stick as far as I could and broke it off; John used the hammed to drive it in.  A quick spray of sealant and we moved to the next one.  The last bucket to come down reinforced John’s desire to stop syruping:  the bucket had 2” of milky fluid in the bottom proving this tree at least, was done.  I dumped it on the ground.  It really didn’t surprise me though, the temperature had climbed back into the high 50’s.  The removal process took less than a half hour, but I still had to wash everything so it could be stored for next year.

 

I told John I wanted to make something special with that first small batch he had made: the one we had used to dip Emilee’s bread into.  There was about a cup left.

I melted two sticks of precious butter, plus a ½ cup of evaporated milk in a pot.  I now had only four pounds of butter left from the ten I had in the freezer back in October; a sobering thought.  Then I added the one cup of maple syrup to the pot, ½ cup of brown sugar, and two cups of graham cracker crumbs I found in the back of the cupboard, sealed in a glass jar.  I cooked that at a boil for five minutes.  Next I open one of the jars I had of canned crackers, using the club crackers.  I lined a 9×13” pan with the crackers, then poured 1/3 the cooked mixture over them; then another layer of crackers, another 1/3 of the mixture; one more layer of crackers, using all that one jar.  I took a chocolate bar I’d been hiding, and grated it into a bowl.  I made sure the final 1/3 of the mixture was hot, spread it over the top, and sprinkled the chocolate over the surface.  The heat softened the chocolate just right. Then I set the pan in the pantry to chill.

John watched, fascinated.  “What did you just make?”

I grinned, “Maple Kit Kat bars! You are going to be amazed how good they are!”

“But you used a whole jar of crackers,” he reminded me.

I looked at him and smiled.  “Yes, but, John, this is the reason I stored up what I did.  All the canning I did, all the work I went thru, has been to provide things for myself and my family:  things that might not be available when the time came to need them.”  I got serious.  “That’s what prepping is all about, Hon.  Having what you need, when you need it.  It might be tomatoes and ready-made soup; it might be aspirin and band aides; or it might be rope and crackers.  It might even be something I forgot.”

“I doubt you’ve forgotten anything,” he put his arms around me for one of those special hugs I just love.

 

Later that evening everyone enjoyed the sugary treat, and none of it was going to the school!

I made my usual Monday run into the office, but the conversation I had with Darlene was anything but usual.

“I’m taking some time off, Darlene.  With the power back on, everyone is happy, and things are getting back to normal.  You don’t need me anymore.”  I leaned back in my chair.  “I’ll file a final report today; you can send it to Don or do whatever you want with it.  I’m also officially resigning as your deputy.”  I’m sure she conveniently forgot I was still sworn in from when she was down with the flu.

“Are you sure you want to do this, Deborah?  I understand this has been very stressful for you; it has for all of us.  You’ve been a tremendous asset to the town and we won’t forget all you’ve done.”  She was quiet for a minute, as if trying to formulate the right words in her head for what she wanted to say.  “You will be compensated, Deborah, I assure you.”

“I don’t care about that.”

“I know you don’t, but I do!”

“I just have other things I need to do now, Darlene.” This was hard to explain, and it wasn’t coming out the way I wanted. I needed to not worry about everyone in Moose Creek; I needed to talk to my sister and my friends; I needed to plant flowers and tomatoes;  I needed to get my life back.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me.  I will accept your resignation for being my deputy, but don’t you dare try to resign from being Emergency Manager, that one I will not accept.” She had that fierceness in her eyes that makes her a good Supervisor.

“Deal.”  And I turned back to my computer to do a final report.  I wanted to go home.

Once again we had brought in some slushy sap and made a small pot of coffee with it.  Fresh maple sap with fresh ground coffee; can’t get better than this.  All this ran thru my mind as we went thru the process and the motions of plugging things back into the grid, setting the cell phones, the 4G, the Bluetooth and the Tablet on their chargers; powering up the satellite receiver on the TV and setting the clocks.  How quickly we are reverting to those old ways.  I felt saddened by this for some reason.  I should be glad, shouldn’t I? Things are on the way to being back to normal, right? But was I happy with the old normal?  I think I almost preferred my new normal.  It was less stressful in some ways, and I think I was definitely happier, or at least more content.

 

It’s Saturday, no school for the kids.  I called Jason… yes, called on the phone.  Wow, does that feel strange.  I made arrangements for Emilee to come over while I made bread; she’s ten, it’s time she learned how.  I’m hoping Jason never finds Norene’s electric bread maker!  Some things are just better by hand.  Another interesting revelation: I keep mentally deferring to Jason as being in charge over there, where Eric is actually the older of the two.  Yes, very interesting.

 

“So, Emi, did your mom ever make fresh bread?”  I asked as she stood there grinning, in the blue denim apron her uncle had made me when he was just a few years older than she was.  I had required both boys to take a home ec class when they entered high school; Jason chose to make me something in the sewing segment.  My four ‘requirements’ had served them both well:  home economics, drafting, typing and shop.  They both could cook and do basic sewing; they both follow patterns and blue prints when building things; they could do many basic household repairs; and typing, it’s the way of the world with computers.  Eric even called me one time from a training session while he was still in the military, to thank me for making him take typing.  Wonderful memories for me.

“Only once, and she used the bread machine Grandpa Jim gave her,” Emilee said wistfully, stirring the flour with her finger. “It tasted really good!” she smiled, but I could tell she was thinking of her mom.

“Well, I’m going to show you how to make the same yummy bread without using a machine.  Would you like that?”  How do I get her away from thoughts of her mom; a mom she might not see for a long time?  When she nodded vigorously, I remembered how resilient young children were.

“Well first we put a cup of warm water in this big bowl; the water can’t be too hot, but not too cold; here, stick your finger in to feel the temperature.  You did wash your hands didn’t you?” I smiled down at her as she nodded.  I couldn’t help but think of a framed picture hanging on my wall: Emilee at the age of eight, set into a picture of me, at the same age; except for the one picture in color, the other in black and white, we looked like twins; it was uncanny.  “How does the water feel?”

“Warm, but not hot,” she answered.  We then added two teaspoons of sugar and the same of yeast, and then she stirred it.  We waited until it started to bubble and foam, then she added a teaspoon of salt and a quarter cup of oil, measuring it all carefully.  Then it was a quarter cup of instant milk and one cup of flour.  I let her do all the stirring.  I don’t know how she got flour on her nose and on her chin, but there it was, and my heart swelled.  We added flour until she couldn’t stir it anymore, and then I took over.  Emi added flour a bit at a time while I stirred, until the dough was stiff.  I sprinkled some flour over the top and worked it into a sticky ball with my hand, while she put more flour on the counter top.  I dumped the dough into that and scraped the bowl.

“Are you ready for the fun part?” I asked.  Her eyes got big.  “Watch how I do this.”  And I started kneading it, first pushing it with the heel of my hands, then pulling it back with my fingers, and then let her try.  She got the hang of it pretty quickly.  I was pleased.  “Keep going while I clean the bowl.”  I washed the big bowl and put a splash of oil in it, as she punch and beat the bread dough.  We then put it into the bowl, turning it so the oil coated it and covered the big yellow bowl with a sack towel to rise.

Emi and I took a walk outside to watch John work on the syrup.  He had collected and cooked down twenty gallons; the sap in the pot was turning darker all the time.  I could tell John was getting excited over the prospect of doing his first maple syrup.  By the time Emi and I collected eggs, the bread was ready for folding into a loaf, and its second rise.

“Why does it take so long, Nahna?” Ah, the impatience of youth!

“Good things take longer,” I answered.  Another hour and the bread was ready for the oven.  I set the timer for 40 minutes just as John brought in the pot of golden syrup.  I stirred it, watching it slide off the spoon.

“Almost ready!” I smiled at him and set the pot on the stove, lighting the burner.  It didn’t take long for it to start to bubble, and I lowered the heat so it wouldn’t scorch; it would be a small batch, but it was an important one.  The excitement was high:  Emilee’s first loaf of homemade bread and John’s first batch of maple syrup; both scents competing for our attention.  What a wonderful combined aroma!

I slipped away to call Eric, sure he would want to be part of this.  Everyone showed up a few minutes after I took the bread out of the oven, poking it with the instant read thermometer, to make sure it was done.

“Oh, man, does it smell good in here!” Eric exclaimed when he walked in and hugged his daughter.

“Dad!  I made bread!  I really did, didn’t I, Nahna?” Emilee looked over at me as she clung to her father.

“You sure did,” and I started to slice the hot bread, even though it was really too hot to cut.  A couple of slices cut in half, for us to dip into a bowl of John’s maple syrup.  Desert before dinner!  It was wonderful.

I had let Darlene know that I would NOT be on hand when the power came back at noon.  I really wanted to be at home, with my family for this momentous occasion:  a step back toward normalcy.  It seemed very strange to me to consider electricity ‘momentous’, and I feel certain that no one would have thought this way six months ago.  But here we were, waiting for a light bulb to glow.

 

Last night we had brought in one of the sap buckets, pouring the contents into a pitcher and replacing the bucket on its tap-hook outside on the tree.  The sap was slushy by the rapid cool down from the drop in temperature of the night.  By morning, though, it was completely melted and there was just enough for the French Press.

John took a tentative sip of his coffee.  The smile lit up his eyes first.

“Good, huh?” I smiled.

“We get to do this every morning?” he asked.

“Every morning of tapping.”

“Which is how long?”

“It will depend on the weather,” I answered honestly.  “Some years it will be three weeks, others only a week.  We can collect sap until it starts to run cloudy, then we have to pull the taps or risk damaging the tree.”

 

After we savored the flavorful coffee, we headed for the barn to uncover my old cooking stand, one I had used in the woods.  Jason had made a custom cabinet for me that matched the cupboards in my kitchen.  It was slightly smaller and just big enough to hold a 20# propane tank, but was as high as the counters, once the casters were installed, and easy to work on.  I had purchased a single gas burner and the necessary hoses and regulator to fit the tank, so Jason was able to size the opening in the top; everything would be contained inside.  The top is very unique: he made it with ‘sides’: a square trough.  I had collected all kinds of rocks during my many walks and arranged them within a bed of cement poured into this ‘trough’.  The first rocks that I placed were flat and set under the ‘feet’ of the burner so it was level; then the rest were arranged to fit.  There were rose  quartz and white quartz; sand smoothed glass;  stones with red veins; chunks of granite and the glittery hematite; pieces with smooth holes warn from water constantly beating on one spot; all selected carefully; all very special to me.  Once the cement dried and hardened, my ‘River Rock Table Top’ served as a heat resistant counter top for cooking with propane.  Now it’s used only for cooking syrup.

“Why don’t we just use the gas stove in the kitchen?” John wanted to know.

He asks such good questions!  “I did that.  Once!” I laughed.  “Many years ago when I lived downstate.  The steam from cooking the sap down isn’t normal steam… it’s sugary.  I had a sticky coating over everything in the kitchen, especially the ceiling.  What a mess to clean up.  From then on I cooked outside, but did the final cooking and canning inside.”  He just nodded, the explanation was logical.

We set the cooking cabinet in the center of the barn after moving the car out.  It didn’t matter if the upper rafters got  some of the sticky steam, and we needed the wind block the barn would provide.  John brought one of the full 20# tanks from on the deck that was for the grill, and I showed him how I hooked it up.  From then on, it would be his job to change the tank when needed.  We should only go thru two tanks, maybe three, but that depended on the length of the season.

We broke for lunch just before noon, and were rewarded with …. Lights!  I got my digital alarm clock from the bed-stand, plugged it into a kitchen socket and set the time.  This way we would instantly know if the power went out again, but came back on:  the clock would be blinking if that happened.

Power was joyous, but we still had work to do, and after some soup, back outside we went.  John poured the contents of the six collection pails into 5-gallon plastic buckets, and filled two!  Ten gallons is a good first day.  I strained enough of one into my largest cooking pot, to fill it half way, and set it to start heating.  Remembering how I had two pots going out in the woods, over the wood fire, I asked John to bring one of the plastic buckets inside.  I filled my next pot with the cold sap and set it on the cook stove.

“What about the steam?” he reminded me.

“This is just to take the chill off.  It’s easier to boil warm sap than it is cold.  We’ll take it out and add it to the big pot before it can come to a boil.”  This was a lesson I learned that first year in the woods, and made the cooking down go much faster.

 

I saw the boys, their children, and the puppy, crossing the yard around 5:00.  Jason stopped to examine the pails on the trees, making some comments to his brother.

I was about to say something to Jason about rationing when he set the six pack of beer on the table, but then he produced a bottle of zinfandel, and I figured I could remind him later.

“Uncle Tom tapped his trees, didn’t he?” Jason asked.

“Yes, so that equipment should be around somewhere; maybe in their barn?  I know he used the deep fryer burner for cooking.  He would always set up the syrup stuff and his beer brewing in that screened shelter you built him.”  I remember seeing him sitting out there; a tarp dropped as a wind block, and felt my throat tighten a bit.  “You going to tap?”

“Yeah, I think so.  It’ll give us something to do; something productive.” Jason was getting bored; I think Eric would too, eventually. We all would in time.

I noticed Chevas sniffing around Tufts food dish, so I moved it onto the table and sat back down.  She scarfed up the pieces that had landed on the floor, just as Tufts decided to make an appearance.  We all watched with interest, but we wouldn’t let either animal get hurt.  The pup went to Tufts, sniffing with playful curiosity; Tufts hissed and Chevas stopped; the cat sat down where he was and so did the pup; but Chevas, being a puppy lasted two seconds sitting still and ventured closer to this big black furry thing; when she got too close, Tufts gave her a healthy swat on the nose with a clawless paw, and she sent her scurrying to hide behind a table leg; Tufts slowly sauntered out of the room.  I thought it went very well.

“Why don’t you build something, Jason?” We continued.  What could I ask him to make for me? “Now that the power is back, I would think you’d be anxious to fire up your tools!”

His head came up sharply, and he turned toward the clock, with its red digital numbers shining brightly, as if seeing it for the first time.

“I had forgotten today was the day.  Yeah, maybe I’ll make something,” he trailed off, lost in thought.  He turned back with a smile, and raised his beer, “To electricity!” But he still had that faraway look in his eyes.  Eric was preoccupied with his daughter.  John was silent, staring out the window.  Something felt very wrong with my family.

A puppy………. Glad they have it and not me; Tufts would probably run away from home!  Jason has dealt with Angela’s Shitizu puppy before, so I’m not worried about the care.  Jacob was a bit leery at first, but it being a puppy, it just loved the attention, and seemed to know that Jacob was special.  Emilee wants it for herself, of course.  Now to find it food!  I know we can pressure cook avian bones to the point of them being soft, and add it to other things, like rice.  The boys have always enjoyed hunting, and spring is a good time to find grouse.  It will be a win-win meal when they do:  the humans get the breasts and the rest will be cooked down for the pup.

The puppy is about ten weeks old.  The mother was bred just before The Event and birthed just after New Year’s.  She really is a beautiful thing, pure bred, and likely would have gotten the owners a pretty penny.  But things being as they are, they gave away two of the five pups, two died, and the fifth is now Jason’s.  In honor of the only other Golden I’ve known and loved, her name is Chevas; Kathy will be pleased.  Maybe someday we will give Kathy and Bob one of Chevas’ puppies; I’d like that.

 

The days have cooled back down and the nights are cold.  With the bright sunshine during the day though, it’s perfect weather for tapping trees and making Maple syrup.  I was out digging in the small shed when John came looking for me.

“Are you looking for something in particular?” he peeked into the shed, past the boxes I had moved.

“You’re just in time!” I smiled up at him.  “Can you pull these boxes out so we can get this big one out?”  I rapped on a plastic box.  He slid one of the other plastic boxes out first and set it on the soggy grass, then put two card board boxes on top of it; just as I would have done to keep the more fragile boxes dry.  I pushed the larger box toward him and he pulled it out of my way.

“What’s in here?  It’s not as heavy as it looks.”

“Syruping gear:  Six sets of taps, buckets and tents, plus a brace and a selection of bits.” I answered wiping my hands on my jeans.  When he gave me a blank look, I asked if he had ever made maple syrup.

“Made it? No, but I’ve eaten it on pancakes,” he grinned.  He set the box aside and handed the other boxes back to me to put away.

 

I lined everything up on the counter, and filled the sink with hot soapy water, adding the taps to soak, and washing the tents first.  They were just pieces of sheet-metal, crimped in half to form a tent to keep debris, snow and rain from falling in and curled edges on the bottom that would hold it onto the bucket.  The buckets were galvanized pails with a hole near the top that would hook onto the tap.

“It’s a simple set up, really,” I explained to John.  “We’ll drill a hole in the tree, two feet up from the ground at a slight angle, so the sap runs downward.  We drive the tap in, let it run a couple of minutes to flush out the sawdust, and then attach the pail and tent.  Tomorrow morning we collect the sap and start boiling.”

“That’s it?  I thought it would be more involved than that.”

“Well, that’s really just the first step.  Once we collect a couple of gallons, and before boiling, we filter the clear sap to get any debris or bugs out of it; then it goes into a pot on the stove.  When it cooks down, we add more, and keep adding until it’s condensed to a dark golden color,” I explained further.  “It will take about fifty gallons of sap to make one gallon of syrup.”  He raised his eyebrows at me.  “But it’s worth it, trust me.”

 

As we were setting the six taps, two to a tree, I told him a funny story about a local:  “Bob couldn’t figure out why everyone else was having a great sap run and his was very little.  He had done it all right: measured up two feet and set the taps on the south side of the tree.  It wasn’t until melt down that he found out his error:  when had to get a step ladder to pull the taps that were six feet up from the ground; he had measured two feet up, from the snow.  We all had a good chuckle, and try not to remind him of that spring.”   I showed John where I had set taps before, that were now plugged with a branch from that tree, and sprayed with pruning seal.  “These old tapping spots are well healed, so we can drill as near them as we want, otherwise we’d have to move over a few inches.”

“How do you know they’re healed?” he asked.  It was a good question.

“They must be; I haven’t tapped in four years,” I admitted.

“One of the tapping traditions I like the best is the morning coffee made from fresh sap!”  I smiled at the thought of tomorrow morning. “It gives the coffee an interesting and pleasant taste.  You’ll like it.” I assured him.

March 13

Even though the oatmeal cookie recipe made four dozen cookies, I sent only two dozen with the kids to school; not good to have anyone, young or old, get use to something they can’t always have.  The kids were dropped off shortly after 9:15am; school starting time has gotten very fluid with only a dozen students.  Some showed up later, some not at all.  I made a simple jelly sandwich for Emi, and sent a package of ramen for Jacob.  The school was very use to Jacob’s finicky eating, and happily boiled some water for his noodle-meal just so they could be sure he would eat.

The four of us were at the township hall when Paul and Donna showed up; Darlene was already there.  Vinnie didn’t show.

“Even though we both knew we were doing something important, I think Vinnie was really bored yesterday,” Jason commented.  “Or maybe he didn’t want to face any bodies today.  I have a feeling as we branch out, that becomes more of a possibility.  I’m not sure that I want to either, but I’m willing to risk it to get the power back on and stable.”

I’m so proud of Jason; I thought: he’s come a long way. None of us want to find bodies, but better us than some children.

We teamed up differently this time: Paul, Donna and Eric; John, Jason and me.  There was a reason:  yesterday Donna had met some opposition, some not-so-friendlies, and tough as nails as she is, it shook her up pretty good.  Paul wouldn’t let her go alone again.

 

The three of us headed for Guy and Dawn’s place, on two of our new four-wheelers.  The road looked pretty good, but only because no one had used it; with two of us on one machine, the weight bogged us down and we had a rough go of it for a stretch.  Guy & Dawn’s drive was well packed gravel, and I breathed with relief as we got sure footing again.

“Guy? Dawn?” I called out as I was dismounting.  The door opened quickly and Dawn came running out, grabbing me in a bear hug, all 5’3” of her.  The first thing I noticed as I hugged her in return, was the gun.  This was a huge surprise: Dawn was deathly afraid of guns!  I stepped back, holding her by the shoulders.  “Okay, who are you and what have you done with my friend?” I smiled as she looked confused.  “The gun, Dawn, the gun.”

“Oh, that; I took your advice and ‘got over it’,” she grinned.  “Turns out I’m a pretty good shot!”

“No,” Guy spoke up, “she’s a damn excellent shot!”  Dawn beamed.   She almost wept with joy when I told her about the power coming back and why we were there.

“So I’m hoping the two of you will come with us, or at least tell us which neighbors here are gone, and which ones might still be around.

“That’s easy,” Guy said.  “We’re the only ones left on this end of the lake.  Everyone else left early on.  Oh, there is one house you might want to avoid: The Cutter’s.  They stayed for a while, but around Christmas we heard two shots, spaced.  When there was no more smoke from their chimney, I figure it was a double suicide.”  He described the house, but said he would go there instead.  John went with Guy to disconnect the houses to the south, and Jason, Dawn and I went to the north.  The only thing we came across was more dead pets.  I don’t think I will ever become immune to the anger and sorrow I felt;  from an early age, I was always more connected to animals than I was to people; and I would get emotionally distraught even hearing about the death of a beloved pet.

In just over an hour, we met back at their place, having disconnected fifteen empty houses. “Now, don’t forget to unplug your refrigerator and freezer on Friday morning!  You certainly don’t want the surge to short out anything. I doubt we could get a repairman up here,” I reminded them.  “With as many as we’ve managed to take off line, it shouldn’t be a problem, but I’m sure not taking the chance!”

Before we left there, Jason pulled me aside.

“Mom, I’m sure you haven’t forgotten it’s my birthday today,” I just smiled, of course I remembered, I would never forget one of my son’s birthdays.  “I don’t know if you had anything in mind, but could we invite Guy & Dawn and Paul & Donna over?” He hesitated.  “We’ve been searching Tom’s basement.
There are cases of his home made beer still there down there,” he said excitedly,  “and a case of Norene’s wine too.  If I could talk you into making a couple of pizzas, it could be a good way to celebrate getting the power back on.”  How typically unselfish of him.

“Of course, Jason, it’s your birthday, invite anyone you want.” I tried to remember if there’s enough Mozzarella cheese for two large pizzas; if not, there’s always parmesan.

 

When we all grouped again at the township hall, Eric had already collected Emilee and Jacob from the school.  The kids played a game of tag in the near empty parking lot, while the adults watched.  Jason made his offer of beer and pizza to Paul and Donna, who quickly accepted.  Little did we know that Donna had a surprise gift for Jason.

 

“After watching those two kids playing, I just knew I had to share what we’d found,” Donna paused to sip her cold beer.  Jason had filled a cooler with snow from the north side of the barn, the side where the snow lasts the longest, and packed in a dozen brown bottles.  A cold beer was the biggest treat of all.  “If you will all step outside with me for a minute, the kids too.”

Once we were all there curious as can be, except for Eric; he knew what was coming, Donna opened the back door of their truck, (I was pleased to see they didn’t use the patrol car for personal use).  I heard her mumble something as she reached in, and pulled out a Golden Retriever puppy!