The Journal: Cracked Earth (38 page)

None of us want to find bodies, but better us
than some children.

We teamed up differently this time: John,
Jason and I comprised one team. Ken, Karen and Eric were on the
other. The trouble Karen had yesterday shook her up pretty good.
Ken wouldn’t let her go alone again.

Our team headed for Guy and Dawn’s place on
two of our new four-wheelers. The road looked pretty good, 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 and Dawn’s driveway was made of well packed gravel. I breathed
with relief when we got sure footing again.

“Guy? Dawn?” I called out as I was
dismounting the ATV. The door opened quickly and Dawn came running
out, grabbing me in a bear hug. The first thing I noticed as I
hugged her in return was the gun stuck in the back of her jeans.
This was a huge surprise because she 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 laughed at her look of confusion. “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 added, “she’s a damn excellent
shot!”

Dawn beamed. She nearly wept with joy when I
told her about the power coming back and why we were there.

“I’m hoping the two of you will come with us
while we search your neighborhood to turn off the power, or at
least tell us which neighbors are gone and which ones might still
be around.”

“That’s easy,” Guy said. “We’re the only ones
left on this end of Lake Meade. Everyone else left early on. Oh,
there is one house you might want to avoid— the Cutters’. They
stayed for a while, but around Christmas we heard two shots, spaced
out. When there was no more smoke from their chimney, I figure it
was a double suicide.”

He described the house, and said that he
would go there instead. John went with Guy to disconnect the houses
to the south, while 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 slightly over an hour, we met back at
their place, having disconnected fifteen empty houses.

“Don’t forget to unplug your refrigerator and
freezer on Friday morning!” I reminded them. “You certainly don’t
want the surge to short out anything. I doubt that we could get a
repairman up here. With so many that we’ve managed to take offline,
it shouldn’t be a problem, however,
I’m
sure not taking the
chance!”

“Mom, I’m sure you haven’t forgotten it’s my
birthday today,” Jason whispered after pulling me aside. I smiled;
of course I remembered; I would never forget one of my sons’
birthdays.

“I don’t know if you had anything in mind,
but could we invite Guy and Dawn, and Ken and Karen over?” He
hesitated. “We’ve been searching Uncle Don’s basement. There are
cases and cases of his homemade beer still there down there,” he
said excitedly, “and a case of Nancy’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.

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

* * *

When we all grouped again at the township
hall, Eric had already collected the kids from the school. They
played a game of tag in the near empty parking lot while the adults
watched. Jason made his offer of beer and pizza to Ken and Karen,
who quickly accepted.

* * *

“After watching those two kids playing, I
just knew I had to share what we found.” Karen 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.
“Step outside with me for a minute, and bring the kids too.”

We gathered outside and watched Karen open
the back door of their truck. She mumbled something as she reached
in, and then pulled out a Golden Retriever puppy!

“Happy Birthday, Jason!” Karen exclaimed with
excitement.

JOURNAL ENTRY: March 14

A puppy! I’m glad the boys have it and not
me. Tufts would probably run away from home! Jason has dealt with
Amanda’s Shih Tzu puppies before, so I’m not worried about the
care. Jacob was a bit leery at first, but it being a puppy, it
loved the attention, and it being a
dog
, 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 a week before the event and gave birth shortly after New
Year’s. She really is a beautiful thing, pure bred, and likely
would have gotten the owners a pretty penny. Things being like they
are, however, they gave away two of the five pups, two died, and
the fifth is now Jason’s. In honor of the only other Golden we’ve
known and loved, Jason named her Chivas. Kathy will be pleased, as
the first Chivas was her dog. Maybe someday we will give Kathy and
Bob one of Chivas’ 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 asked peeking into the shed past the boxes that I
had moved.

“You’re just in time! 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 cardboard boxes
on top of it, exactly like I would have done to keep the more
fragile boxes dry. I pushed the larger one towards him and he
pulled it out of my way.

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

“Syrup making gear. Six sets of taps, buckets
and tents, plus a brace and a selection of bits,” I answered,
wiping my hands on my jeans. “Have you 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 small pieces of sheet-metal,
crimped in half to form a tent to keep debris, snow, and rain from
falling in, and had curled edges on the bottom that would hold it
onto the bucket. The buckets were galvanized pails with a hole near
the top that hooks onto the tap.

“It’s a simple setup, really,” I explained to
John. “We’ll drill a hole in the tree at a slight angle, so the sap
runs downward, two feet from the ground. 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 will collect the sap
and start boiling.”

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

“Well, that’s really only 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 keep adding more
until it’s condensed to a dark golden color. It will take about
fifty gallons of sap to make one gallon of syrup.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“It’s worth it, trust me.”

* * *

While we were setting the six taps, two to a
tree, I told him a story about one of the locals.

“Charlie couldn’t figure out why everyone
else was having a great sap run and his was very little. He had
done it all right. He measured up two feet and set the taps on the
south side of the tree. It wasn’t until the Spring melt down when
he found out his error. He 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.”

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?”

“They must be. I haven’t tapped them in four
years,” I said. “Besides, they’re not weeping. One of the tapping
traditions I like the best is the 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.”

* * *

JOURNAL ENTRY: March 15

I already let Anna know that I will not be on
hand when the power comes back at noon. I really want to be at home
with my family for this momentous occasion because it is a step
back towards normalcy. It seems strange to consider electricity
“momentous”, and I feel certain that no one would have thought this
way six months ago. Here we were, though, waiting for a light bulb
to glow.

Last night we brought in one of the sap
buckets, poured the contents into a pitcher and replaced the bucket
on its tap-hook 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 asked.

“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, the one that 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 twenty pound propane tank, and once the
casters were installed it was as high as the counters 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 and everything could be contained inside. The
top is unique; he made it a square trough. I had collected all
kinds of rocks during my many walks and placed 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 would be
level. 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 and pieces with smooth holes
worn from water constantly beating on one spot. All were selected
carefully and they all were very special to me. Once the cement
dried and hardened, my river rock table top served as a heat
resistant countertop for cooking with propane. Now it’s used only
for cooking syrup.

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

“I did that. Once,” I laughed. “Many years
ago when I lived in lower Michigan. The steam from cooking the sap
down isn’t normal steam. It’s a sugary steam. I had a sticky
coating over everything in the kitchen, including the ceiling. What
a mess it was to clean up. From then on I cooked outside, and did
only the final cooking and canning inside.”

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

When we broke for lunch at noon, we 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 for a
period, but came back on; the clock would be blinking if that
happened.

Having power was joyous, but we still had
work to do. After some soup for lunch, back outside we went. John
poured the contents of the six collection pails into five-gallon
plastic buckets, and filled two of them. Ten gallons is a good
first day! I strained enough of one into my largest cooking pot to
fill it halfway, 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.