LITMIR.BIZ

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and poor become greater than all other industrialized nations.

      Never has there been more reason to prepare. It does not have to be done on a large scale, just small inroads, chinking away at that nagging feeling of unrest we are all feeling. Frugality, penny-pinching… call it what you will, but your journey should start with a squeeze-every-nickel budget.

      When your pantries and basements begin to fill, your mood will lighten, and your feeling of helplessness will turn to resolve. Resolve translates to strength, and with strength, you can change your future.

      And don’t think you can’t do it. I did, a single woman, every bit in debt as most of the nation. I left my oversized home in the “burbs” and now homestead in North Idaho. Most of my family members see my resolve to prepare as unnecessary. But I continued to ignore them. I started by cutting the umbilical cord from a “shop ‘till you drop” mentality. Now, many years later, I call a 900 sq. ft. cabin in the wilderness home. It has a well and a shed that holds enough food for twenty-two family members for one year; many of whom have placed bets on how long it will take for me to come to my senses… until the day when my resolve is needed. I plan to give them dish duty as penance.

      I built this land-locked ark on research and determination, just as you can. Along the way, I made mistakes that I will share with you, so that your journey is made easier, and you in turn can make your own mistakes to share with others. I started with bags of rice and beans. I added to them, one sale at a time while researching that which common knowledge said could not be done; a way to preserve fresh eggs for months and cheese for years.

      Today, waxed cheese hangs suspended from rustic rafters in my small kitchen. It’s said it will last for years—some say up to 30—but that could be wildly optimistic. Recently, I taste-tested a slice of cheddar, then two years old, and it was delicious! In a crock sit eggs submerged in water glass that will last over winter.

      When research warned yeast would be lifeless in 2 years after I’d already bought a boatload of it (Hey! We all suffer temporary setbacks), I looked for a workable solution. A trusted preparedness site promised sourdough was renewable as long as you fed and cared for it, just as you would any other living thing. But each recipe I found online said it must be refrigerated. Refrigeration was not part of my survival plan. How can the grid be trusted when it is vulnerable and run by bureaucrats? Days later, my laptop revealed that sourdough starter crossed over with Columbus in 1492. And it had hitchhiked in crocks against the chests of men brave enough to climb unfamiliar mountainsides during the Alaskan Gold Rush. There were no refrigerators in Columbus’ day and none on the backs of bearded men in the 1890’s.

      Refrigeration, I came to realize, was born of cushy lives. With that revelation came another. I had lost the ability to think for myself. Like many of us, I had grown complacent with my cushy life and had lost the ability to survive. If you doubt this, just think back to Hurricane Katrina.

      Our forefathers knew how to survive. I suspect their DNA was “set” to intuit survival much like a newborn calf knows to head for the udder without invitation. But somehow, over the ensuing decades there was a disconnect. For answers, we depend on the “experts” to tell us how to live. Unfortunately their advice is dependant upon grocers, the electrical grid, municipal water, and natural gas to bath, heat our homes, provide light, and to cook.

      But there is hope. By the time you’ve finished reading this book, you will have an understanding of sustainable preparedness; how to survive if the plug is pulled on the grid and municipal water, how and what to store for survival, and why the smartest gardeners buy heirloom seed. The bravest of you might graduate to raising chickens and goats, and should you choose to, you’ll be able to preserve farm-fresh eggs and cheese and keep sourdough starter on the counter without it escaping its crock; possibly laying claim to the kitchen and part of the living room.

      My personal exodus from the city landed intentionally away from potential looters with a well that is a far cry safer and accessible than city water. I remain financially challenged, just as you may be on your journey into self-sufficiency. But better to have a basement full of life-sustaining food, and a woodstove to warm you, than a room full of gold or designer clothes vainly collecting dust.

      I’m convinced I will never be finished with my preparations. I doubt that you will be either. There is always a goal just out of reach. Mine is an ATV. It would be nice to have a mode of transportation when calamity strikes.

      In the meantime, many years of research made the impossible possible while I learned there are many ways to stretch a dollar, even a dollar as disastrously devalued as ours. There are free blogs offering food storage recipes, farmers who will happily sell you beans, wheat, fruits, and vegetables for pennies on the dollar, random grocery stores not so greedy they won’t sell you bulk goods at a fair price (bless them), craigslist for cheap supplies, and survival and preparedness websites whose generous wisdom will share how you can avoid standing in line for a handout when calamity strikes.

      You may have to abandon your TV… hit the off switch, for there isn’t time to laze around. But there is the Internet and used bookstores and libraries, where you can devour the information that will further enlighten you on the skills you will need to survive.

      This journey does not include vacations to sandy beaches, or $200 designer jeans and nights out on the town. Those are frivolous things, at best, when pitted against the ability to eat. I hope that you are blessed in this journey, that others will take up the baton and save you isolation. But if not, press forward anyway. Along the way, once some of your preparations are done, when you send off for heirloom seed whose yield will not shrivel to the earth or poison you, and you have a moments respite, give yourself a pat on the back for a job well done.

       Chapter 2

      Are You Ready?

      “Every survival kit should include a sense of humor.”

      Author unknown.

      It’s 1:45 on a Tuesday afternoon. The office is quiet and your thoughts travel to what to make for dinner tonight. As you jot down a grocery list, the radio station you are listening to is interrupted with an attention signal from the Emergency Broadcast System. You tune out the irritating blare. They’ve been stepping up the tests to the point that it serves only as a mild disruption, nothing more. Your list is complete. As you lay down the pen, it occurs to you the voice coming from the radio is not the same recorded voice you’ve grown used to with other broadcasts. You turn up the volume on the radio and suddenly your blood runs cold “…nuclear attack,” the announcer says. Where? You listen, holding your breath as your heart races. “You are advised to remain indoors until further notice. Please stay tuned to the emergency broadcast system for further instructions. I repeat, this is the National…”

      You are up and out of your seat. You grab your purse from the top of your desk and sprint down the hallway. Co-workers are milling about, their faces registering shock and disbelief. But there isn’t time to join them and try to make sense of the broadcast. You have one question, and you ask it of your boss as he exits the conference room. “Where was the attack?”

      He continues walking towards the clutch of employees crowding near the receptionist’s desk, his expression unreadable. “Las Vegas. A suitcase bomb!” he replies, continuing his determined stride to the biggest concentration of employees, possibly to calm them, or to advise them, but you will never know because your goal is to make it to your son’s school before the roads are hopelessly gridlocked.

      The elevators have gone to other floors and several crowding the bank of elevator’s are staring nervously at the uncooperative steel doors. You turn and follow the hallway to the stairwell and start down the stairs at a jog. The parking lot is seven stories down and the stairs are a blur as you take inventory of the situation. Las Vegas is 1,100 miles from Seattle. Your family has dogged the first bullet, but your getaway cabin is on Whidbey Island. Will the ferry be running? If it is, it runs to Whidbey every half-hour, so no time constraints there. But first, you will need to make the 35-mile drive to the Mukilteo Ferry. If luck isn’t with you, and the terminal is deserted when you

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