Waiting for the Dawn
By D. Jacobsen
It was a calm dawn at 6:32 a.m., September 2, 2032, as the sun peeked through the timber on the east ridge and bounced off the mirrored surface of the lake. The west shoreline, full untamed timber, was reflected perfectly on the seven acre lake surface. No breeze, just peace. A form was emerging along the southeast corner of the lake, sauntering along the shoreline, headed north. A basket in one cand and a huge cup in the other. Distinction as to man or woman was not easily determined. Dressed in a rough wool sweater, baggy canvas pants, heavy scuffed leather boots, and a ratty baseball cap, the person seemed to be ready to tackle a task of physical labor. Posture erect and head held high, each step displayed a confidence that the day would be productive.
An owl hooted wearily to the south. Four cats came running out to play in the clearing east of the lake. Taking a sharp turn to the east, the woman walked more briskly toward a large, unkempt building that had seen better maintenance in the past. Paint was worn and faded on the dark green siding. The deck that surrounded the upper floor was weather beaten and grey. Lawn bushes needed trimming and the grass was nearly knee high. Upon closer examination, one could see that other than signs of neglect, the house and its surroundings were bare of trash or abandoned appliances and farm implements. A blue heron gilded silently to rest upon the north shore on the lake among the downed willows along the lake dam.
The woman walked below the deck and through a rough wooden door into the basement of the dwelling. She placed the basket of eggs on the work table to the left and quietly closed the door. Draining the cold dregs of coffee from her mug, she moved deeper into the dark basement and moved to the farthest southeast corner. There sat an old coffee maker on a makeshift countertop. She refilled her cup and took a tentative sip of strong brew she enjoyed each morning. Sighing, she moved to the closed interior door that led farther into the hillside beyond the apparent east foundation to the lawn. Opening the barn styled door, she reached in and turned on the interior light switch. Her husband of 45 years slept soundly in the double bed across the small room. His soft snoring brought a smile to her weathered features. Sneaking up quietly to the bed, she placed her cup in the night stand and looked down at his features.
This was one of her favorite times of the day. A moment to watch the man who was her best friend, confidant, husband sleep as if there were no cares in the world. His shoulder length hair was wavy, grey, and thick. The lines in his tanned face were deep, yet gave an essence of wisdom. Behind the heavy lids were eyes of crystal blue that had begun to show worry and fear in the last ten years. Those eyes always brightened when he gazed upon his sons and his grandchildren, and they filled with tears whenever he remembered his daughter, each and every day.
She leaned over and gently kissed his gentle mouth, and his eyes fluttered open. He smiled.
"Time to rise and shine, my love. Coffee on the table." She turned, leaving the room as she heard hms rise from bed and head for the tiny bathroom off the bedroom. The day had begun.
The 69 year old woman moved quickly back into the outer basement, picked up the basket of eggs and ascended the wooden stairs to the main level of the house. As she entered the kitchen, she noticed that the house was beginning to awaken. A toilet flushed from a bathroom down the hall. The floorboards from the nearest bedroom creaked as someone was moving about and getting dressed. She set the eggs on the counter and brought out the old "chandelier" made of a round cardboard oatmeal box and a bare light bulb. Plugging in the contraption, she began to inspect each of the 17 eggs she had gathered earlier in the morning. This was a simple task, and allowed her to think about the day.
However this morning, her mind was wondering. How did they come to this place in time? How had all of them, everyone, allowed all these changes? Would things ever be normal? She had the answer to the last question, hating to admit it. No, there was no "return" to normal.
All the eggs passed inspection, so she turned to the sink and gently rinsed each off and placed them on an old, thin dish towel to dry. Looking out the kitchen window above the sink, she could see easily across the lake and a soft wispy fog rose from the warm water. It was always the coldest, and darkest, before the dawn. She felt as if she had been waiting for the dawn for 12 years. When would that dawn break?
A sharp nagging ache was settling into her left shoulder and down her arm. With deep breaths and eyes closed, she was able to will the pain away, for now. Rolling each egg of the old towel, she then placed them into a large tin bowl that had been left on the counter. She moved across the worn, nearly colorless linoleum floor to the refrigerator and placed the eggs on the bottom shelf, She then pulled out yesterday's bowl of eggs and placed it beside the stove. Two large ham steaks, peppers, onions, a chuck of sharp cheddar cheese and butter were all placed on the counter. Two cast iron skillets sat on top of the old gas range, waiting for the morning ritual of feeding her family.
"Good morning, Mums." a sleepy voice from behind startled her. Her eldest son walked up behind her and kissed the top of her head. Her thin, short, white hair allowed his warm lips to touch her scalp and brought comfort to her troubled mind. She had her family, she should be thankful. "Let me fix breakfast this morning," he offered.
"I think I will," she replied. "I want some more time with the morning." She smiled at the tall 40 year old man and walked out the screen door onto the deck.
The deck looked weathered and worn and in ill repair. That was deliberate. In fact, the deck was strout, well built, and in excellent shape. Creating a realistic look of ill repair and no worth kept the raiders away. Old farm machinery and appliances had been strategically placed halfway down the quarter mile long drive, seeming to block travel to the house. Weed, hedge trees, and wild rose bushes were grown among the rubbish to deter foot travel. No one with nice things or a nice house kept much of the “nice” from the raiders. If the free lance band of robbers visited there was not much anyone could do except survive. Resistance had met with death often in the last few years.
She pulled up an old lawn chair made of metal, sporting a faded cushion, and eased her sore legs into submission. Sitting here, looking at her lake was the perfect tonic for her foul mood. Fish were breaking the surface at the shoreline below the house. The blue Heron was still posed in the dawn laight. No breeze, peace.
How did they come to this place in time? She knew the answer, as did anyone older than twenty years of age. That damned virus had invaded the world in 2020, and the world reacted. Schools and businesses were closed in an effort to forestall the spread and higher mortality rates. Dire warnings and predictions scared the world into a bizarre reality of social distancing and mandatory face masks. God, she hated those masks. Yes, they worked, somewhat, and even though it was now the "norm" to always wear the dreaded accessories in public, she still hated them.
The screen door screeched behind her, and tiny feet snuck up behind her chair. "Mornin' Gramma." the ten year old granddaughter whispered.
"Mornin”, she whispered in return. Soft, delicate arms wrapped around her neck from behind and a kiss was placed on her neck. The smell of lavender shampoo wafted across her face, such a beautiful smell. Then the waif retreated back inside, allowing the screen door to slam. She smiled.
At least she had her family, she should be thankful. Well, she had most of her family. Her mother-in-law, after allowing three generations to move to this old farm and live here freely, had died earlier this year, leaving a huge abyss where her 80 year old wisdom and wicked humor had lighted the darkest of hours. A hard loss. They had mourned her passing, celebrated her life with the neighbors and a few townies who still remembered her, and then they had all buried her on the west ridge. Hers was the second grave on the ridge. Ten years earlier a daughter had been returned to the family, in a casket, having been ambushed and beaten beyond recognition. They had buried her in her uniform, queity, as police officers had become the enemy. Her badge was in a special place behind a family portrait on the mantle, and her duty weapon was in her father's nightstand. Now, there were no police forces. There were social intermediaries. Most rural areas had a sheriff's department to investigate serious crimes, homicide, rape, robberies. The state's national guard patrolled streets, roads, and old dirt lanes to keep order. She had most of her family, she was not feeling grateful.
After the 2020 election the world went straight to hell! First came the riots across the entire nation. Alaska and Texas seemed immune, but all other states had weeks of rioting in the bigger cities. Rural America shook their heads and tried to understand the unrest. Congress recessed for three months for safety reasons. The military had to be deployed within the borders for the first time since the Civil War of 1861. Militia groups became involved. The virus and the "war wounded'' overloaded hospitals. The economy died. Just died. In March of 2021 things began to calm down and there was hope for normal. Short lived hope. A new virus visited across the nation. Alaska and Hawaii seceded. Washing D.C. became a state. More unrest, ore health scares, more military deployment.
The woman sat up straight in the chair and mentally shook herself. She could hear the hustle and bustle from the kitchen and dining room behind her. She should go in and help, be sociable, but she just didn't have the strength. once again the squeaky screen door was opened.
"Juice, Mother?" her husband asked as he walked up beside her share and held out a small, dark green glass filled with fresh squeezed juice. "We had to finish up the oranges today or lose them." He smiled as she took the orange juice. She hated juice. "Added a little incentive for you," he chuckled and headed back inside. She sipped the offering carefully. Yep! Gin! Gotta love a man who knows his wife. A cigarette would make this moment perfect.
Why can't she just be happy with these blessings and let it go? Rising from her chair, she walked south down the deck, away from the morning noise and leaned on the railing overlooking the overgrown lawn to the lake. Two large beavers swam south along the west bank. Good. Maybe the traps would get them today. Her youngest son ran traps here and along the river to the north. Tanning out the hides was something he had taught himself to achieve back in 2022, and his pelts brought great compliments and rewards at the barter fairs through the county. Bartering was their lifeline. The economy had recovered weakly and then Congress had encouraged virtual money and eliminated actual cash. Then the paranoia had set in. Many didn't want their spending habits traceable. No cash was a terrible hardship that led all of rural America back in time.
Farmers sacrificed everything possible to pay off land some and some equipment. Others paid off mortgages , deleting their savings. Anyone with any assets available converted it to gold and hid that gold. Bartering began by the summer of 2023. However, the electronic age of cell phones, computers, online shopping, and indoor hobbies had left two generations of citizens who knew how to do nothing to sustain a family off the land. The old county townships were once again organized and the "ole timers", like her mother-in-law, began sharing knowledge and teaching skills. Not everyone learned the same skills, that was the brilliance.
Different families worked in different areas. Her family raised beef cattle. Other families raised hogs or goats. Butchering was done on the quiet at appointed times and places. A one day event with everyone pitching in, bartering, and taking home meat to freeze. Old time smoke houses were built and jerky became a stable. Canning became commonplace. The first few years of gardening had almost proved to be their undoing. But everyone had helped where they could, and after three years gardens were treated like the meat system. Her speciality was herbs for cooking and medicinal purposes. Her husband raised blueberries ,black berries, and an envious abundance of strawberries. The Johnson sisters down by the creek east a mile built a greenhouse and raised oranges, lemons, and limes. Everyone raised their own potatoes, green beans, peas, corn and squash. If nothing else. they would eat.
Men, like her son, trapped for hides, hunted for meat, and tanned out deer hides. Hunting seasons still were enforced, but ignored if a family was truly in need. Wild turkeys had greatly multiplied in the last decade, and a few feral hogs roamed loose. The biggest wildlife worry was the black bear that had moved into residence in this part of the state.
Families worked part time jobs locally to keep electronic balances to pay taxes, utilities, and buying fuel. Most had converted gas fireplaces back to wood burning furnaces, as fuel was ghastly expensive. Fewer acres being farmed had allowed an abundance of timber to take over land, providing free fuel.
The universal health care system had been in place for five years and wasn't terrible. However, many people had sacrificed health during the virus in 2020, and nearly a generation was lost due to ailments not deemed urgent. Trust for government run healthcare was thin in rural areas. Midwives, retired nurses, military medicics made house calls and bartered services as possible. Only terminal illnesses negated a trip to the closest hospital in the next county.
Her juice glass was empty and she felt a little less rattled. Still wanted a smoke, but she hadn’t smoked in ten years, and it was illegal anyway. She had to get her act together. Today was her day for homeschool. The neighbors all homeschooled their children, as the small rural schools had never recovered from the massive shut downs in 2020. Once a week those children came to her house, twenty in all from age 10 to 18, for instruction in American History and reading. The first part of the day was spent making sure everyone was solid with the state required curriculum. Then an hour for lunch; everyone brown bagged it. Afternoons were spent teaching authentic, truthful American History. The ugly events were examined as well as the courageous and brilliant. There were children of color and children of ethnic backgrounds in Asian and Hispanic culture who came to her home for lessons, but the kids only saw their friends and neighbors. There would always be prejudice, but it was not tolerated when exposed. Everyone was basically in the same little boat, trying to make it through another year.
Today's history lesson was going to be focussed on the U.S. Constitution, mainly the Bill of Rights. It seemed as if several of those rights had been erased, especially the first amendment. No one went to "church" anymore, each family worshipping in their own fashion on Sundays. Sometimes they gathered with neighbors, sometimes not. Churches slowly closed throughout 2020 and 2021 as restrictions for gathering safely had continued to limit attendance and participation. Her mother-in-law had been a devout Catholic all her life and had baptised all the babies. Certain prayers had been passed down through generations. A Virgin Mary Statue stood protectively on the front deck. It had been years since a priest had traveled through and said Mass. Now her husband baptised new babies and those who wished to be closer to the Good Lord.
Next week’s lesson called for instruction on the election process of the nation. As a teacher in the 1990s, she had always loved these lessons. Watching students understand the reasoning of the Founding Fathers when they created the Electoral College and how the process was designed for a step closer to true democracy was always a highlight of each year in the classroom. Discussions ensued with the brighter and more engaged students, but even the shy student would ask questions and offer opinions. Now there was no Electoral College, and because of large city populations, many rural citizens didn’t bother to vote. Many of her friends and neighbors voted locally, but not in the national election. The general belief was their votes didn’t count. How was she going to inspire these children that voting was so very essential, a vital importance? How indeed when she was tempted to give it up and not bother herself?
“Breakfast, mom!” a voice shouted out the back door. Slowly she moved back towards the north end of the deck and slipped through the worn screen door. Everyone was scrambling to get seated, and the noise level was almost at a fever pitch. A normal morning on the Homestead. Her husband cleared his throat dramatically and silence was immediate.
As all bowed their heads for prayer, she looked around the table and found a smile creeping across her face. Her two sons with their wives sat on one side of the table, and the five grandchildren crowded along the opposite side. Aged three to ten, this was the future. Tow- headed, red headed, and one with coal black hair, reflecting his mother’s Asian ancestry, they were all part of one family, her family. What would their future hold?
A shiver ran down her left arm as she thought of the dangers they faced daily, and the opportunities they may never enjoy. Would she live long enough to see this crazy world right itself and rebuild to be a great place to raise a family? Would these five precious gifts live long enough to enjoy true freedom, freedom from fear, freedom from worry about the next safe night of sleep, freedom from the depressing stories of how the Americans destroyed their own liberties and freedoms by not being aware?
“Amen.” Prayer concluded. Conversations began as the meal was enjoyed by all. It was a good, healthy meal. Ranchero eggs, biscuits and ham gravy, fresh berries, fresh milk, juice, and hot brown rice. A warm, filling breakfast, She should be thankful. She reached up to rub her left shoulder that ached daily now. Five years ago she had taken a bad fall and broken her arm just below the joint and it now ached with determination more times than not.
The daily conversations didn’t seem to alter from the usual details of the day ahead.
“Matthew, how did the camera cards look this morning?”
“No raiders, but a couple of scruffy kids snooping around. Didn’t make it beyond the trash heap below.”
“Today is school day! I can’t wait to start our new books.”
“William is going out to run traps after breakfast, and I think I might go along.”
“Who is making a run into town for fabric and the paper?”
Everyone was lining out the day. This was the normal of the times, but she really missed a different normal. She kept telling herself that things would improve; days would be better. She really longed for internet use without a fear that others were monitoring her searches. Gone were the days of running into town to pick up a few things, spend twenty dollars, grab a soda at the local drive-in diner, and mozey home. When was the last time she had gone to a nice restaurant? A trip to town to grocery shop would be heaven! A day of no real work to sit by the fire and read a book and drink fancy coffee…
They had been ignorant and lazy! They, her generation, had allowed the darkness to slowly seep into the light. Liberties slowly eroded with mandates to wear a mask, social distancing becoming an accepted way to disengage, electronic distractions with social media and a cancel culture; gone was free speech. Then the general idea that basic good manners and human kindness were both outdated and unnecessary. People felt the need to be mean spirited and intrusive if your views disagreed with the agenda at hand. And her generation had bitched and complained, but had done nothing to change the direction the country was traveling. Now the America she had known as a child wasn’t there. All that remained was the dark shadow of a wonderful, although flawed experiment in democracy.
Breakfast seemed to be over as the youngsters were clearing plates and serving dishes. The adults were finishing the last of their coffee and looking at her. No one spoke. Raised eyebrows, shy smiles, and worried eyes seemed to be galvanized in her direction. What should she do? She knew all were wondering why she had been so quiet? She was usually the most talkative at the breakfast table. Why hadn’t she eaten any breakfast? This was her favorite meal of the day? The concern and trepidation was almost too heavy to bear. Her left arm really ached this morning. She had to do something.
Taking the coward's way out, she looked out the window. “The sunrise was beautiful this morning. Air is getting a little crisp of a morning. A frost will come early this year.” She stood and moved around the table, grabbing up placemats and used cloth napkins.
“Mother?” her husband spoke quietly but firmly.
“I’m good,” she turned with a smile. “Just one of those days. I’m just sitting in a dark place” She walked briskly down the hall to the laundry room and whispered. “I am waiting for the dawn.”
July 17, 2020
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