Castle Argghhh! brings you Day Three of our Living History Event, “1850’s Kansas!” Or, “How I learned to appreciate electrons spilling from that thingy in the wall.” More accurately named, “Living in a chilly world lit only by fire, except when at the office.”
Oh, and there’s that problem that at least with an *actual* 1850’s Kansas house, it was built to maximize the benefits of the fire (yeah, sometimes *too* well) whereas the 1970’s simulacrum we’re using… isn’t.
The one thing *all* of my compatriots participating in this Living History event agree on… the thing that sux the most is… no coffee that first day, if you were unprepared (as we were) for that eventuality.
I’ve got it easy. The office is open, so I go to work, where there’s light, internet access, heat… and coffee.
SWWBO is learning that fires have to be fed, a lot. This means schlepping wood from the substantial pile and staging it by the fireplace. Plus, with the ground frozen, she’s got to schlep hay out to the horses twice a day. Yesterday the two guys who pasture their horses with us brought out a round bale, so SWWBO doesn’t have to schlep as much hay… but then there is the water for the horses. The ice is thick enough now that the horses can’t easily break it themselves, so SWWBO has to go crack the ice. Firearms do that nicely, actually. And the horses are getting used to it… so we’ve got the beginnings of a cavalry Remount Station going here.
Me, I get fire duty at night, which is fine, since I don’t sleep worth a fiddle because my CPAP doesn’t work well sans electricity. So, since I’m up - a lot - I keep an eye on the fire.
The one thing all of my compadres-in-flickering-light agree on is… coffee. SWWBO made it clear yesterday that if I didn’t produce a coffee-making miracle, to not bother coming home last night. I ended up driving 20 miles away before I found a place (Cabelas) that had any stoves, much less old-timey coffee pots. Or propane. Or batteries, for that matter. But that’s not as much fun as my buddy with the $40,000.00 coffee grinder. It’s largish, in fact, it looks a lot like a pickup truck. But it has an ac/dc converter in it… and so that big old diesel was fired up to grind coffee… Hmmmmm. Ac/dc converter for the truck… (scribble).
I was successful.
On the drive home, the Ur-Armorer came out. Driving out Eisenhower, past all the snug, warm homes with Christmas lights ablazin’, my Inner-Grendel awoke, muttering darkly at those strange creatures in their strangely bright surroundings.
Moving farther out, I found “my people,” the Morlocks, flickery shadow-beings in dimly-perceived structures, with flickering, red light casting eerie dancing shadows, as they huddle around the communal fire.
Heh. Move from the oasis of lights into the abyss and something else happens… the fog. Only it isn’t fog – its wood smoke. Talk about 1850’s Kansas… or London. Well, in London it would have been coal-smoke.
Turning north I passed by some more islands of Eloi, before plunging back into the Morlock demesne. Then, head west again, and find little groupings of Eloi, with their thrice-damned Christmas lights ruining my Morlock-vision before plunging back into the realm of darkness, and its huddled denizens. Here and there you’d see proto-Eloi, with a single room illuminated; watching TV while the little generator out back made a racket – a racket disturbing to the ears of us Morlocks. My inner-Grendel howled at the heartless stars above the leaden clouds!
Motoring on north again, we approach the Demesne of Argghhh! still in Morlock-thrall. But wait- there’s a difference this night. There’s a line of light on the horizon… only a half-mile away, once-worthy Morlocks have sold their souls to the Electric Demon and have regained Eloi status! Rage burns in a sullen breast.
As I pull up to Castle Argghhh! the wolves coyotes howl. One not fifty meters behind me as I get out of the truck, another just a hundred or so meters away on the hill… both answered by another on the hill a ¼ mile to the east.
And a dog, barking defiantly into the darkness.
Two other things. 1. Will Sell Rent Soul For Electricity, Wanna Be An Eloi Again! 2. Writer’s strike? Who cares?
Of course, it could be worse, much worse. I could have lights, heat, hot chow... and people shooting at me or trying to blow me up. So, all in all, we're doing fine living in our little Living History event of "1850's Kansas!"
Oh, and the utility tells us, two more days if we're lucky, 4 if we're not.
Feh.
Oh - it really *is* pretty. However, once this stuff starts melting... look for local flooding! Which *we* being on top of the ridge that is the highest ground in the county... are pretty much safe from.
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