I sent the children to check the old well on the far side of the property today. The indoor plumbing still works, but I notice every day that the water pressure is dropping more and more. I started making both girls bathe at once about a week ago, and I wash Toby down with a wet cloth every evening before I nurse him and put him to bed. The priority is keeping plenty of water to drink now, and the gallons of water we were getting from The Red Cross have gotten fewer each week. I'm stocking up on canned goods--they keep a long while, but things like canned fruit and soft drinks are already scarce in our local grocery store. I tried ordering online, but all the big box retailers sold out of water, juice and sodas weeks ago. If the old pump brings up water, I'll feel less worried about providing for my children. If not, I will have to leave Toby with the girls and go out in search of what we need to survive. I pray for rain every day, but my faith must be too weak; not a drop has fallen in nearly two years. Our cupboard sits still mostly full with canned green beans and tomatoes, a few jars of pickeld beets and some crowder peas that Grandma carefully stored away from the last garden harvest over two years ago. They sit carefully lined upon the shelf, dated in Grandma's handwriting, beside the grocery store cans of whole kernel corn and English peas.
Our apple trees died a year ago, and grocers stopped carrying fresh vegetables and fruit long ago. Sometimes I catch myself deep in fantasy, remembering the taste of a juicy ripe peach or the crunch of a bright green apple. My girls probably don't remember such things, and Toby mostly only knows the taste of breastmilk mixed with instant oatmeal. Soon, he will need more solid foods, which means less for the girls. Somehow, we have to find a way to survive this drought.
I anxiously await news from my daughters about the well. I do so hope the water flows clean and plentiful, even if only until our prayers for rain are answered.
In the meantime, we will ration our supplies and keep our pantry safeguarded. Rumors abound of intruders, hungry and close do death from dehydration or poisoning, forcing their way into homes where water and food still exist. I hipe we do not meet with such fate as to be visited by poor souls in search of a drink or a bite to eat, for I fear I would not have the heart or the courage to turn them away, especially if they brought children.
I sit now by the window, Toby on my lap, watching for the girls to come bouncing back up the rear pathway with buckets of water in their hands. The shotgun sits next to me always, though I hope to never need it. Jim taught me how to shoot, thank God; though I often wish he were still here instead, so I wouldn't have to even think of such things. Nothing about this world measures up to the world Jim and I shared together once, here in this very home.
Who would have ever thought such a simple thing as rain could send the entire world into a tailspin so quickly, or that a virus spreading quickly across the landscape of the country would leave so many of us cut off from civilization--living like our ancestors, but with the constant fear of intruders, starvation or poisoining ever-present in our minds.
Ah, there they come, Jan and Beatrice, just over the hillside. Toby is gidddy at the sight of them, but I see they are empty handed, their heads held low.
No luck at the pump I presume.
