The Journal: Raging Tide: (The Journal Book 4) (35 page)

“I think your pumpkins and acorn squash will
continue to ripen in the cold pantry,” I said to Eric when Jim and
I were getting ready to leave. “I left you one of the quart canners
and dozens of jars with enough seals.”

“Thanks, Mom. We wouldn’t have gotten this
done in time without you,” Eric said, giving me a hug.

*

People struggling with small wagons and
wheelbarrows continued to beat a path through the snow, taking the
harvest next door for storage or processing.

The three of us worked nonstop to harvest
the small garden that would keep us fed.

“Don’t pull the plants yet. It’s a long
shot, but we might still have some growing time.

Jim, Tom, and I harvested two bushels of
green and yellow beans and I intentionally left six plants of each
unpicked that might be our seed for next year.

“I’m surprised there are this many
tomatoes,” Tom said, looking at the basket of nearly ripe tomatoes
and two more boxes of green ones.

We used the plastic milk totes for the
potatoes and onions, leaving some still in the ground. Many years
in the past I’ve dug spuds only to have missed a few and they came
up the next year. Leaving some may be our only way of propagating.
I instantly thought of Jacob’s French fries and Emilee’s chips and
my heart heaved.

“We can dig half of the carrots now and they
will keep well. I think if we mulch the rest down with the compost
we just might be able to dig more in a couple of months.”

We did the same for the beets and rutabaga.
I had no idea what we would do with two dozen green peppers, except
share them with Marsha.

“Where are we going to put all of this?” Jim
asked.

“Right now, we just need to get it into the
house so it doesn’t freeze. We’ll work on storage later.”

*

The blanket of snow was now a foot deep and
snowflakes drifted down in a lazy spiral. The temperature hovered
at thirty-five degrees. Tom stared out the glass door to a curtain
of all white and shivered. He looked worried.

“What are we going to do?” he said.

The lights blinked and went out. It was six
o’clock.

“Tom, I think it’s time for you to move
downstairs with us,” Jim said, clamping his large hand on Tom’s
shoulder. He looked forlornly at Jim, and then at me, and grimly
nodded.

“Tom,” I said, “we
are
going to make
it. It won’t be easy. It’s going to be a bad winter and there will
be more losses, but we
will
survive.”

*

History is written by those who can, not
necessarily just by those who survived it. I survived it and I hope
I’ve written the facts as best as I can remember them, so those who
come after know where they came from.

*

Emilee closed her grandmother’s journal. She
got up from the old rocker, wiped her tears with a cloth hanky, and
put the journal back on the shelf.

Deborah Moore is
single and lives a quiet life in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan
with her cat, Tufts. She was born and raised in Detroit, the kid of
a cop, and moved to a small town to raise her two young sons, then
moved to an even smaller town to pursue her dreams of being
self-sufficient and to explore her love of writing.

Being a life-long Prepper, Deborah has done numerous
articles for magazines, and speaking engagements at conventions
regarding the subject.

Her first published novel,
The Journal: Cracked
Earth
, made the Best Seller’s list in just six weeks. Book Two
of the series
, Ash Fall
, went to the printer eight months
early because of the unprecedented popularity and Book Three,
Crimson Skies
, is proving to be even more popular.
Raging
Tide
, the fourth book in the series was to be the final
chapter, but Deborah is delighted to announce that book #5 is right
around the corner.