Means must have farm.
However, logic dictates commandeering farm relatively nearby. Too much of value in shelter; must maintain reasonable access. Availability of tools, books, etc., beneficial in coming project: provisioning, repairing fences, overhauling well pumps, etc.
Plus work needed to put house in shape for winter. Wisconsin seasons rough on structures; characteristic swayback rooflines usually not included in builders’ plans, zoning regulations. After summer’s neglect, buildings of farm selected apt to need much work — none of which am qualified to do. Expect will find remainder of summer, fall, highly educational, very busy.
So perhaps should quit reflecting on plans, get move on. Best reconnoiter nearby farms. Be nice to find one with buildings solid, wells pumping, fences intact, etc. Be equally nice to meet jolly red-dressed, white-bearded gentleman cruising down road in sleigh pulled by reindeer.
Hi, again. Surprised to see me? Me, too. Thinking of changing name to Pauline, serializing journal. Or maybe just stay home, take up needlepoint. Seems during entombment character of neighborhood changed; deteriorated, gotten rough — literally gone to dogs. Stepped out of A P right into -
Nope, this won’t do. Better stick to chronology; otherwise sure to miss something. Might even be important someday. So:
Awoke fully recovered — again (truly growing tired of yo-yo psychology). Since planned to be out full day, collected small pile of equipment, provisions: canteen, jerky, dried apricots, bag of parrot mix; hammer, pry bar (in case forcible investigation indicated). Went upstairs, outside.
Retained breakfast by force of will until accustomed to aroma.
Took bike from garage, rode downtown (first ride in three months; almost deafened by twin’s manic approval). After three months’ neglect, tires a tad soft (ten-speed requires 85 pounds); stopped at Olly’s Standard, reinflated. And marveled: Utilities still on, compressor, pumps, etc., still working — even bell rang when rode across hose.
Started to go on way; stopped — had thought. Returned, bled air tanks as had seen Big Olly do. Had explained: Compression, expansion of air in tanks “made water” through condensation; accumulation bad for equipment. Found was starting to think in terms of preserving everything potentially useful against future need. (Hope doesn’t develop into full-blown neurosis; maintaining whole world could cramp schedule.)
Set about conducting check of above-ground resources: Eyeball-inventoried grocery stores, hardware, seed dealers; took ride down to rail depot, grain elevators. Found supplies up everywhere; highly satisfactory results. Apparently business conducted as usual after flash until first symptoms emerged. No evidence of looting; probably all too sick to bother.
And since power still on, freezers in meat markets maintaining temperature; quantity available probably triple that in shelter. If conditions similar in nearby towns, undoubtedly have lifetime supply of everything — or until current stops.
(Personally, am somewhat surprised still working; summer thunderstorms habitually drop lines, blow transformers twice, three times a year — and winter…! One good ice storm brings out candles for days; primary reason why even new houses, designed with latest heating systems, all have old-fashioned Franklin-style oil stoves in major rooms, usually multiple fireplaces. Doubt will have electricity by spring.)
OH HELL! Beg pardon; unladylike outburst — but just realized: Bet every single farm well in state electrically operated. I got troubles…!
Well, just one more problem for subconscious to worry about. Can’t do anything about it now — but must devote serious thought.
Back to chronology: Emerged from A P around ten; kicked up stand, prepared to swing leg over bike. Suddenly Terry squawked, gripped shoulder so hard felt like claws met in middle. Dropped bike, spun.
Six dogs: Big, lean, hungry; visibly exempt from “Best Friend’ category.
Given no time to consider strategy; moment discovered, pack abandoned stealth, charged. Had barely time to toss twin into air, general direction of store roof, wish Godspeed. Then became very busy.
Had not fought in three months but continued kata; was in good shape. Fortunate.
First two (Shepherd, Malamute) left ground in formation, Doberman close behind. Met Malamute (bigger of two) in air with clockwise spin-kick to lower mandible attachment. Felt bones crunch, saw without watching as big dog windmilled past, knocking Shepherd sprawling. Took firm stance, drove forward front-fist blow under Doberman’s jaw, impacting high on chest, left of center. Fist buried to wrist; felt scapula, clavicle, possibly also humerus crumble; attacker bounced five feet backward, landed in tangle. Spun, side-kicked Shepherd behind ear as scrambled to rise; felt vertebrae give. Took fast step, broke Malamute’s neck with edge-hand chop. Spun again, jumped for Doberman; broke neck before could rise.
Glanced up, body coiling for further combinations — relaxed; remaining three had revised schedule; were halfway across parking lot.
Looked wildly about for Terry; spotted twin just putting on brakes for touchdown on shopping-cart handle 20 feet away. Wondered what had been doing in interim; seemed could have flown home, had dinner, returned to watch outcome.
Retrieved; lectured about stupidity, not following orders — suppose had been flankers? Would have been lunch before I got there.
Birdbrain accepted rebuke; nuzzled cheek in agreement, murmured, “You’re so icky-poo!”
Gave up; continued sortie.
Wondered briefly at own calmness. First blows ever struck in earnest; halfway expected emotional side effects. But none; only mild regret had not met attackers under favorable circumstances. Doberman in particular was beautiful specimen, if could disregard gauntness.
Decided, in view of events, might be best if continued explorations in less vulnerable mode. Decided was time I soloed. Had driven cars before, of course; country kids all learn vehicular operation basics soonest moment eyes (augmented by cushions) clear dashboard, feet reach pedals.
Question of which car to appropriate gave pause. Have no particular hang-ups: Familiar (for nondriver) with automatics, three-, four-speed manuals, etc. But would be poking nose down vestigial country roads, venturing up driveways more accustomed (suitable) to passage of tractor, horses; squeezing in, out of tight places; doubtless trying hard to get very stuck. Granted, had been relatively dry recently; ground firm most places. But — considering potential operating conditions, physical demands…
Would take Daddy’s old VW. Happy selection: Answered physical criteria (maneuverable, good traction, reliable, etc.); besides, had already driven — for sure could reach pedals, see out. Did give thought to Emerson’s Jeep, but never had opportunity to check out under controlled conditions. Further, has plethora of shift levers (three!). True, might be more capable vehicle, but sober reflection suggested unfamiliar advantages might prove trap; seemed simpler, more familiar toy offered better odds of getting back.
Pedaled home quickly, keeping weather eye out for predators (can take hint). Arrived without incident. Found key, established blithe sibling on passenger’s seatback; adjusted own seat for four-foot-ten-inch stature, turned key.
Results would have warmed ad writer’s heart: After standing idle three months, Beetle cranked industriously about two seconds, started.
Gauge showed better than three-quarters full, but wanted to make sure; lonely country road frequented by hungry dog packs wrong place to discover faulty gauge. So backed gingerly down drive (killed only twice), navigated cautiously to Olly’s. Stuck in hose, got two gallons in before spit back. Beetle’s expression seemed to say, “…told you so,” as capped tank, hung up hose.