The Siege Part II: Victory Garden

compost

Photo above is a load of organic compost and cow shit. I’m expanding my garden.

I was talking with my Dutch bud yesterday, Dirk. We both agreed that this situation was probably the craziest thing we’ve seen. Probably the worst disruption since World War Two; no, definitely the worst disruption since then. He and I discussed where all of this may be heading, and we both agreed that our logistics chains are going to be stressed to the limit, both in Europe and the US. Probably Australia and worldwide.

No, I haven’t forgotten about my Aussie friends.

Today, though, I’m going to be addressing my readers in the Northern Hemisphere. Planting season is upon us up here, the time to prepare is right now. Actually, preparation was November, but this coming month will do.

It wouldn’t hurt for us to be thinking about planting a Victory Garden, like our ancestors did during WW2. In different parts of the world it was called different things, but the reason for planting one remained the same; to ease the burdens on the national logistics chains and to get the excess food to the troops.

OK, this time around there are no massive standing armies. But what we do have is an increased proportion of city/urban dwellers to rural populations that we didn’t have in the forties. This means that the vast majority of people are completely dependent upon the modern just-in-time supply systems that have sprang into being in the last few decades.

In short, there are no massive warehouses full of food. They do not exist. All that food sitting around represents a loss to investors, therefore shipping and storage schedules are as tight as a drum. One of the first things that happened during this crisis was for various governments to scrap safe-driving hourly limits on freight truck drivers. Think. There’s a reason that happened.

So for those of us who can, it’s time to start thinking about raising a garden. I’m not going to publish a book, I’m just going to make a few suggestions. And by the way, it’s never a bad thing to have your own produce. So if all this blows over (wouldn’t that be nice), you’ll have a nice little supply of self-raised vegetables.

Everyone can raise some veggies. Even people in flats can raise some tomatoes and herbs in pots. Every little bit helps. There are a thousand ways to garden, but the fundamentals remain the same no matter which method you choose.

  1. Good dirt.
  2. Water.
  3. Sunlight.
  4. Adequate drainage.
  5. Tools.
  6. Seeds.

Good dirt- sounds like a no-brainer, huh. It isn’t. This can actually be pretty tough. So cheat. Go buy potting soil or topsoil from a store. Chances are what’s out in your yard in a city plot is horrible stuff. So CHEAT. That’s what I do. Oh yeah, and I use chicken shit. Mixed with compost, it’s the best.

Water- this can be tough. If drinking water is scarce where you live, use non-potable water. Once again, cheat. Lots of people let perfectly good water literally go down the drain with their eve spouting. Capture some. Use it for your little garden, water every day at night. But not too much.

Sunlight- At least eight hours of direct sunlight a day. Nothing less.

Adequate Drainage- Only swamp plants and gators grow in mud puddles. Common sense.

Tools- Bare minimum a shovel, a trowel, and a hoe. That’s it. You can scale up from there all the way to a tractor. Me? I have a rear-tine self-propelled roto-tiller, that’s enough for this little acre.

Seeds- Easier said than done. There is a bewildering variety, so I am going to be very specific and tell you only what we have used- each variety that I mention has done yeoman’s work around here (Ohio, North America). What works for you may very well be different! This is a rough guide. Heirloom, meaning the seeds, if preserved, are true.

  1. The staples of our ancestors- the Three Sisters Garden. Elegant and nearly foolproof. Indian corn for you and your animals, if you have any. This is supported by a living lattice of climbing beans that can be eaten raw or allowed to dry for soup. Then all the weeds are drowned out by a squash variety like pumpkins. These three things alone will sustain life and are easily stored. Plus, you will be astonished by how much you can grow in a small 5ftx10ft plot. So, corn. Indian or Golden Bantam. Beans. Rattlesnake. Squash. Don’t use a bush variety, because the whole point is to drown out weeds. Go with Sugar Pie pumpkins, or any vine squash.
  2. Cucumber- Marketmore 76.
  3. Broccoli- Waltham
  4. Lettuce- Black Seeded Simpson
  5. Kohlrabi- Early White Vienna
  6. Squash- Black Beauty Zucchini
  7. Bell pepper- Emerald Giant 
  8. Tomato- Mortgage Lifter
  9. Carrot- Nantes (limited success)
  10. Potatoes- buy a bag at the store. Plant.

You may have noticed that such staples as cabbage and cauliflower are missing. That’s because we have had awful luck with those. Cabbage attracts loads of green worms, and cauliflower draws rabbits like crazy. So yeah, I didn’t list those.

If you want to know more, do a little research on the internet for your unique conditions. No matter what your situation, there is bound to be something you can do.

So give it a shot, the Victory Garden.

Good enough for Grandma, good enough for us.

 

2020, a tough year.

dreary census

OK, readers, so we are going through some pretty crazy times right now. Certainly the craziest of my lifetime. I thought 9/11 was rough. The 2008 crisis. War. There have been some hard times, to be sure.

Nothing compares to this right now.

So yesterday was a real metaphor for all that’s going down at the moment. Why?

Like hundreds of millions, billions of others, we are more or less locked down in our homey little prison. Everyone around here is giving others a wide berth. A neighbor dropped in to pay me for eggs, I handled the money like it was a potential biohazard. The man, who I have known for decades, had real fear in his eyes.

It’s been a while since I’ve seen that.

Yesterday we had abnormally heavy rain. Within a few hours almost 3 inches, or 7.6 cm, had fallen. When I woke up at 0400 it was pouring. I walked Dixie as the rain sheeted down and for a change she didn’t mess around. She went outside and squatted, and darted right back toward the house.

I knew it would flood. These hills are loaded with small creeks and streams, with heavy rainfall they fill immediately and vomit their load of water and debris into the larger creeks. Those creeks fill to capacity and then overflow their banks. Eventually the mess ends up in the mighty Ohio River, and all the cities downstream flood.

Well, my daughter had volunteered to work at a food bank in the neighboring town. It was set up for the elderly and disabled. Was I happy about her working such an event in the midst of this lousy plague?

No. But she’s going to be an adult soon, and assuming risk is an adult decision.

She wants to help out, and I respect that. So into the car we went, I pulled out of the driveway. We live on a ridgeline, so I didn’t know how serious the flooding was.

It was bad. I tried three different routes to get to the village, all were blocked by debris and raging water. A stream that under normal circumstances would be about a meter wide and maybe 30 cm deep was swollen to about five times the normal size, and the velocity had increased tenfold, at least.

There was no way I could make it through that. Logs and branches and been deposited on the roads by the flood waters, it wasn’t possible to get through, and I tried.

We were trapped. By the floods, by the plague.

Good times.

As long as I have driven, and that’s been thirty years, I have never had it that by no means could I reach the little village in the valley. Yesterday? Not a chance.

So the indigent and the elderly were stuck without a lunch, and to compound the disaster, their houses were flooded too. I saw it on the news, it was the lead story. I’ll bet the newspeople had a hard decision; lead with the floods or the coronavirus?

They went with the floods.

Also I received an email from Air Canada, I was due to fly to Oz with them.

Haha, the border was closed. No flight for you.

Well, I figured out a week ago that the trip was scuttled, this was just the icing on the cake.

Trapped again.

Of course I emailed my travel agency for a refund. If these circumstances don’t justify a refund, I don’t know what the hell does. I do feel for the agency. They are probably going to go bankrupt because of this damned plague and lockdown.

Hundreds of millions, billions, are going through the wringer right now.

And then I come across this blurb, on the front page of the Wall Street Journal on the 20th of March.

Seriously?

Huh? Why in the hell would you seek to keep those numbers secret? Every idiot knows that the unemployment figures are going to jump sky high, immediately. There is no hiding the tsunami of horrible economic data, so why even try? You don’t have to be a genius to understand that a sudden 35% drop in the stock market equals literally trillions of dollars gone, erased as if they never were.

The facts and the plain truth are what is needed in this situation.

Not obfuscation.

So what is my plan?

  1. Maintain good personal hygiene.
  2. Stay busy. There’s a bunch of writing due.
  3. Keep informed, and pass it on where appropriate.
  4. Do what I can to stay positive.
  5. Control what I can, let go what I can’t.

And hey, this may be a siege, but no-one is heaving dead cows over the walls. That’s what our ancestors endured, with sack, rapine and pillage at the end.

If my many-times-over grandparents could endure the horrible year 1348 and the Hundred Year’s War, then I think we can do this, too.

After all, we have Netflix.

At least for now.

 

 

Selfless Service

current rack

Selfless Service is one of the seven core US Army Values. Every trainee learns these by heart, and the values are featured prominently on Army performance evaluation forms, which every Non-Commissioned and Commissioned Officer is judged by.

The Army values are Loyalty, Duty, Respect, Selfless Service, Honor, Integrity, and Personal Courage.

Today I’m going to discuss Selfless Service.

The official definition is as follows:

“Put the welfare of the nation, the Army and your subordinates before your own. Selfless service is larger than just one person. In serving your country, you are doing your duty loyally without thought of recognition or gain.”

There are about one million Soldiers in what is known as the Total Army.

Well guess what. I have an idea they are about to be put to work in the effort to combat this damned plague. Thus the ribbon rack above; National Defense, Humanitarian Service, and Army Service.

Not the stuff of martial glory or movies, but they are ribbons that commemorate the necessary; the military helping out our fellow citizens, no matter where they may be found.

I’m sure many of you have read “The Stand,” by Stephen King. It’s a great book. But there is something I strongly disagree with in there.

In his work the US Army is depicted as a distinctly negative force, a group of ghouls who use extreme violence in an attempt to deceive the public about the extent of the outbreak  that eventually ends in 99.97% of humanity dying. In fact, the Army was responsible for “Captain Trips” because the disease inadvertently escaped from one of its secret biological warfare labs.

Well, it makes for a great book but I think its bullshit in much the same way that I don’t believe in stupid, swirling-around-the-bathtub-drain conspiracy theories.

Here’s why.

Soldiers are fucking human. They are your neighbors, friends, sons and daughters. Are they capable of great evil? Of course. But so is your average grocery clerk at Walmart. Much of my time in the service I spent dealing with stupid crap and correcting the mistakes of others. I just don’t buy it that there are evil masterminds lurking in the ranks who are intent in wiping us all out if they receive some Faustian order from the National Command Authority.

Long story short: I think simple human incompetence would doom any grand conspiracy in the ranks.

Here’s the next point.

Soldiers WANT to help the society they live in. Many, many joined up, volunteered, for just that.

They are going to get the chance here shortly to do just that. If I was a betting man, I’d wager good money on the fact that Army Medicine, Regulars, Guard and Reserve, is gearing up for a massive struggle against this lousy disease and the potential strain on our civilian healthcare system. Our market-driven healthcare system does not have the overflow capacity needed to handle a no-shit pandemic. We can assign blame later.

The military must step in.

I am confident that they will. Whether its enough, I don’t know. But they will try, and I don’t doubt that many will sicken and die. They will do their duty in the face of adversity and mortal danger, because they raised their right hands and they feel the need, the solemn duty, to risk their lives for God and Country.

In other words, more MASH than The Stand.

This is the hour of need. Will Army Medicine do what it must? Can they meet the need?

We’ll see.

People doubt in the ability of the current generation to rise to the occasion like our ancestors did.

I think that’s bullshit.

Courage is not generational. We may be living in a disaster movie, and there may be villains, but there will be heroes as well.

Good luck, Army medicine. Do your damndest.

 

 

 

 

 

The Siege

toilet paper

Pictured above is the toilet paper aisle at the local Walmart. I took this a few days ago; Lord knows I wouldn’t go there now. I have heard reports that it’s crazy in there, people are emptying out the store. I think for now that if we can’t get it at our local gas station, that we can do without.

The question for me is how long of a disruption is this going to cause? No one is discussing this at the moment, but I’m thinking this might be a really good year to expand my Three Sisters Garden. This would be akin to the old WW2 Victory Garden, where you ease strains on the country’s logistics chain by raising what you can yourself on your own property.

I know for certain that my great-grandparents did exactly that during the Depression, there was always a chicken in the pot and maybe some dumplings if you were lucky. Ketchup soup if you were not.

But they got through that, and so will we. War, famine, disease and perfidy; our ancestors have seen it all. Now it’s our turn.

It is amazing how one week can change everything. Last week I was still on the knife edge of visiting Australia, balancing on the decision. And then the decision was taken out of my hands. Borders slammed shut, mandatory quarantines were announced. Poof went my vacation; and it went from being a major focus to vanishing insignificance next to dwindling resources and sickened friends.

Every morning I go for a walk around dawn. A few days ago I noticed significantly less traffic, the schools had closed.

schools out

My youngest daughter was affected by this, so I wasn’t surprised not to see the usual bustle in the village around 6-7 AM. I let out a small whistle. Lord, the streets were empty. It was weird. I eventually made it to my buddy’s industrial shop, it’s my turn around point on the walk.

Oddly, his vehicle was out in front. Usually he would get to the “office” around 8 or 9, it was 0645. I walked to the small door and called out; my friend opened the door and turned on the light. He had been sleeping on a piece of foam with a jacket for a pillow.

What the hell, I asked. Had he been in a fight or something?

No. His wife, an RN, had self-quarantined. She returned sick from a cruise and told him to get out of the house.

Whoa.

I walked back to my house, got an Army cot and a sleeping bag. I threw it in my Jeep and returned to the shop. The hell if I would let my bud sleep on the cement floor. I gave him the camping gear. While I was at it, I ran into town. There was some maintenance due on my truck, so I stopped by the Jeep garage.

It was dead as a stone. Of course they could get me in. What needed to be done took an hour and a half, so I had some time to kill. I listened to the not-so busy salesmen chatter. To hear them, there were some pretty choice rumors floating around. They seemed to be the mirror image of what a Chinese Foreign Ministry spokesperson had tweeted a couple of days before.

foreign ministry spokesman

This was getting weird.

After a period of coffee drinking and mounting nervousness, I got back in my truck. I slathered my hands with precious hand sanitizer and drove off, destination a big-box DIY store called Lowe’s.

As I drove, the strong scent of the stinging hand lotion filled the truck’s cabin. How had a ninety-nine cent bottle of sanitizer transformed into a six-dollar bottle of gold? I shook my head and decided that if the parking lot of Lowe’s was full, I would keep driving.

To my relief it seemed fine. I pulled in and went into the store, we needed some gardening supplies.

No, raising a garden is not an oh-shit thing for us, we have always kept a small patch. Some years bigger, some years smaller. I went to the seeds department, I passed by cleaning supplies. I glanced at it.

Suffice to say that if you needed to wipe your butt or clean the counters, you were out of luck.

I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw that the gardening section hadn’t been subjected to the same horde of locusts. Not yet, anyhow. Picked up some planting pots, some seeds and of course a bag or two of organic potting mix. Our garden last year was pretty awesome, no reason to think that this year it would be any different.

The clerk looked tired when I checked out. She made a comment about how the night before had been a madhouse, customers were losing their minds. I thanked her and threw my swag in the Jeep. With haste, I left town. On the way home my phone vibrated, when I pulled in I checked it.

My buddy Pete texted to say that he was pulling security on a butcher shop by a large city.

Really?

Within 72 hours, we had gotten to the point that it was necessary to post a guard by a butcher shop in an ultra low-crime area.

I wished him luck.

Unloaded the truck and went inside. My daughter asked if she could go with a friend into the city. She wanted to go to a book store, she was bored. Under normal circumstances, no problem at all. But with what I had just witnessed and heard?

No, I said.

The siege had begun.

 

The Tactical Pause

@ferry crossing

Alright, so why am I posting more pictures of me in shitty places?

Well, I guess because the past is an important part of my present-day decision making, and the photo above illustrates what I’d like to discuss today.

The tactical pause.

We need to rewind to 2005, so let me do that. I was an enlisted soldier back then, fresh off an OIF tour when the war was still young. The Army was begging for junior officers in combat units, they couldn’t get enough lieutenants. I saw an opportunity and allowed myself to be recruited. It was a real honor to be selected for officer’s training, considering that I had enlisted in 1991 as a no-stripe private. I should have taken it as a warning sign when the Army granted me an age-waver for training without qualm. A few years earlier and I would have been out of luck.

But hey, hundreds of thousands of soldiers were in Iraq and Afghanistan, the rubble was still settling in places like Fallujah.

With the war in the background, I secured my slot in Officer Candidate School, an in-your-face months long torture test. At the other end I emerged a prior-service Second Lieutenant, an O-1E.

Why am I telling you this.

Because I’d like to talk about the Army’s officer training process at the height of the US’s longest war. A lesson learned, and a bit about my instructors.

The number one thing, hammered over and over into us, was not to lose your shit while everyone else was freaking out. Why? Because you might find yourself to be the Head Motherfucker In Charge while it goes into the pot.

After OCS I was sent to Infantry School, or BOLC PhaseII as it was known at the time. They’ve changed things since. When I arrived for training, it was nothing but beatings for months on end. Harsh, brutal lessons constantly reinforced. No excuse, and no forgiveness schooling. An example.

I injured my right knee on a ruck march. It hurt. I was afraid to go to the medics. Didn’t want to be pulled from training. So I popped a lot of naproxen and sucked it. One frigid morning, my worst times, we went on an eight-mile run. I couldn’t maintain the pace, my knee throbbed. So I fell back about one hundred meters, but I concluded the run.

It didn’t matter. I was lumped in with those who had not completed the run, on time and to standard. They stood us in front of the rest of the battalion and proceeded to punish us with calisthenics and a speech about how we had failed and we were worthless shitbags, barely qualified to lead soldiers.

Stuff like that. You don’t forget those lessons.

And I couldn’t forget my instructors.

Every one of them had just returned from the war. Some were awaiting medical retirement. There was a guy with one arm. Another short an eye. A dude with a voice box, shot in the throat. And some of the students were the same. A good friend with hearing aids, IED in Iraq. A fellow who drank himself to sleep every night, he had been sent down caves in Afghanistan with a pistol and a flashlight.

Things, people like that will make an impression on you. Kind of like the wall in the Company dayroom. A series of pictures, a sentence in large letters above. “OUR FALLEN COMRADES.” A few empty frames below, one with a sheet of paper inside. “YOUR PHOTO HERE.”

How could you miss that?

So I trained hard, helped out the new LT’s, and listened to my instructors, many of whom would never be sent overseas again. They had done too much.

One such instructor made a big impression on me.

He was an infantryman of slight build. Skinny, dark complected. Probably hispanic, I never asked and didn’t really care. Very soft spoken. He moved like a spooked deer, he was constantly looking over his shoulder. He smoked like a chimney, his young, black/brown eyes were surrounded by crow’s feet. I can’t remember his name; he was our house-clearing instructor.

In 2004 he had spent a year in Ramadi. The. Worst. Fucking. Place. In. The. World.

He knew how to clear a house. He talked about guys dropping from the ceilings. Dogs with explosives stuffed inside. Women used as human shields. Toys with grenades attached. His eyes telegraphed hell, his murmurs spoke of horror.

He addressed us. Gently, informally.

He taught me about the tactical pause.

“Dude, when everything is going to shit, when a guy’s been shot, when they just won’t quit coming, relax.” He reached into his shoulder pocket and produced a pack of Winstons. He stuck one in his mouth and lit up; fuck the regs. He drew in, exhaled a sinuous cloud of smoke. “Just relax. You’ve got time, Haji doesn’t.” He took another hit. “Lemme tell you about the tactical pause. It’s not freaking out. It’s not fucking around. It’s not cluelessness.”

“What it is is taking a second, take a breather, and making a decision based on the best information that you have.” He looked us all in the eye. “The tactical pause will save people’s lives. Rushing in because you think you have to hurry will kill your men.” Another drag. He exhaled, his blue smoke filled the shoot-house room.

“Relax. Then go in and kill every motherfucker that gets in your way.”

What he said made sense. The lesson sank in, and squared with my past experience. How many times had I seen stupid, knee-jerk decisions made by leadership? Too many times.

One of my biggest regrets is that I can’t remember his name, although I used his lesson again and again.

When things get rough, take a second. Clear your head. Tap out a cigarette, take a piss, light up. Think things through. Then make a decision and go with it.

What brought this up.

The Corona virus, of course.

People are losing their shit. As I write this, large parts of Italy and China are locked down, and who knows what is coming next.

I am by no means immune from anxiety over COVID19, my approaching travel is in jeopardy.

What is needed is a tactical pause. A second taken where you look back at your options and then take the least-bad route.

My given trigger point is fast approaching. This is the chosen moment where I’ll have to make a decision, to fish or cut bait. And here is yet another lesson from my training- make a decision and stick with it. Remember as well that no decision is also a decision, even if its passive.

So I’m listening to that long-ago instructor. I’m taking a breath. Relaxing. Accepting that there are a number of factors in play that I can’t control.

No cigarettes anymore, so I’m sitting here and typing out my thoughts on this matter.

I’m taking a tactical pause.

An Amazing Deal

front view

Alright, so I’m in the process of gathering material for my upcoming Australia trip. The vacation may or may not happen because of COVID 19, or the Corona virus. But that’s OK, I’m proceeding as if I will travel and about a week prior to my departure date I will make a final decision and stick with it. This is a real pain in many respects, but I don’t have a lot of choice in the matter. So, the part I can control, the preparation, proceeds as planned.

I have found some amazing lightweight and very functional camping gear. As longtime readers know, the US Army is currently going through a camouflage pattern change, so they are unloading quality gear at pennies to the dollar. And I mean quality, excellent first-rate stuff.

Today I chose to write about another one of these deals, an awesome little backpackers tent called the “Improved Combat Shelter.” See image above, I ordered one and put it together in my living room.

Why did I order one? Well, I’ll tell you. And then I’ll recommend that you get one of these if you like to camp.

First, let me say I did not order this tent because I was familiar with it from my time in the service. I never saw one of these, ever. I was issued this piece of WW2 crap, the Shelter Half.

shelter2_main

Yes, they still hand these out. They are the worst tents in the world, and they were designed by monsters. Only a real masochist would go out in the woods with one of these, or someone who means to torment someone else would hand them out.

You are far better off with the humble poncho and a piece of 550 chord strung between trees. Seriously. If someone offers to sell you a Shelter Half, run away screaming.

Poncho hooches are OK, but if I was ever issued the “Improved Combat Shelter,” it would have been awesome.

I don’t know who got these things, but it wasn’t me. And now they are being unloaded on the surplus market for 59.99 USD.

Wow.

At this price you need to buy one of these right now, surplus has a way of drying up.

Why.

Because this is a 250 USD tent, that’s why. At the least.

A few first impressions when I cracked open the vacuum sealed bag. The tent stank like US Military surplus, they use a preservative chemical that stinks somewhat like cat pee. Don’t worry, this is normal. Just make sure that either no-one is around or that you air it out outside.

Then I looked at the material this tent is made from. Good Lord, genuine ripstop nylon, the same as the rugged, unbeatable USGI poncho. The tent was used, but pretty gently. Everything was included and in good shape; top quality like the tent material.

As I assembled it without the included instructions (none really needed), I marveled at its ease to throw it up and once again at the pure quality- the shock poles were excellent aluminum, the tent stakes were even first rate. This was a tent designed to be used in all four seasons, not just at a kid’s sleepover.

And something the ad doesn’t show is that this tent has a huge vestibule on the weather side, and the tent can be exited from either side. The vestibule is great for storing gear, and is very handily designed. This is a soldier’s tent.

vestibule

And have I mentioned the quality? Everything was first rate, including the zippers, all of which worked. I closely examined the tent for defects, as you should always do with surplus, and at least on this example found no problems.

Heavyweight material, USA made (how often do you see that), small and compact. What more could you want?

BTW, I measured the inside, it’s about 32 inches wide and about seven feet long. So, in a pinch you could fit two adults if they were friendly.

If you are in the market, I can’t think of a better, more economical tent. Seriously, even if it may need minor repair (a possibility). Something kind of like this will cost you about fifty bucks at a big box store, and it won’t be anywhere close to as good.

The only caveat is that these have been used by soldiers and they are surplus. If you buy one, set it up and inspect it carefully. If it passes muster, you have one hell of a piece of gear.

I think one of these may be headed south.

Provided circumstances allow me to travel.

In 2020, this is not a given.

1348

mortality

The above book is a gem I found over a decade ago, I read and enjoyed it in less fraught times than these. Well, it appears that our world is no less prone to disease than the world of our ancestors, although we usually have some prospect of recovery without some overzealous monk draining our suppurating buboes (yes, this is a word) to balance our bodily humors.

You all are doubtless aware that I speak of the Corona virus.

You are also aware that I have some travel upcoming.

Wow, I picked a winner this time. Hopefully I can manage to get down to Oz without full biohazard gear and a respirator, but I guess time will tell. As a friend of mine said, I could show up just as everyone is getting into the beginning stages of Book Of Eli mode.

So what does the fashionable traveler bring during the zombie apocalypse? Or a mere pandemic?

I’ve given this some thought.

I can’t just bring an M-4 and some frags. Security frowns upon such excesses.

Well, looks like I’m just going to have to go more or less raw-dog. Of course I will have a lightweight tent. A mess kit. A canteen. Compass. Map of my destination.

Because without a map you have NOTHING.

Camping utensils. Multi-tool. 20 feet of 550 cord. And this:

wise 72 hr

What can I say, Facebook had a sale.

After all, it is unlikely that your hosts will share food with you during the dawning horror of civilizational collapse. So you need enough food to buy time; time to get familiar with the local edible stuff. In Australia I am dead as shit because I literally know nothing about Aussie flora and fauna.

I do know that you can get messed up by a kangaroo, that European hares are a pest (and can be killed with a stick), and not to handle a platypus.

Can you eat a koala, or do you go straight to hell for that? Probably hell.

As for edible plants, maybe there are dandelions in Oz. The damn things seem to have spread worldwide.

I’ll have to up my game for sure. If I wanted security and comfort as the world burns, I could stay here in Festung Lambright. Instead I choose to venture forth while the sensible ones visit relatives in the country.

My shrink would be proud that the only weapon I’ll have at hand isn’t a weapon.

It’s a camping shovel, known in the military as an entrenching tool.

See below.

etool

Ridiculous you say?

Poppycock.

Go read “All Quiet on the Western Front / Im Westen nichts Neues” and then curse yourself for a fool. I’d rather have one of these than a tomahawk or a knife. Seriously. Especially if you give the edge a touch up with a grinder.

But I digress.

My VA shrink wouldn’t be happy about me catastrophizing and drawing up worse-case scenarios, which is what this whole article basically is.

No, I’m going to go hang out in a really cool place with really cool people who I have been rather keen to meet for years now.

I’ll just have some camping gear where I stay, that’s all.

Nothing more than that.

Gear review- Harbor Freight 5W solar kit

test materials

The image above shows what I used for this review. The 5W foldable solar kit, an iPad, an OEM Apple charger cord, and a length of 550 paracord.

Alright, so many of you know I’m going to be doing some traveling this spring. One of the things that have changed over the last twenty years are our devices. They need power. I plan on bringing a cell phone, an iPad, and I’ll pick up a burner cell phone in-country. I’d rather stay somewhat self-sufficient, so just in case I’ll have some light camping gear. Thinking along these lines, of course the Harbor Freight 5W foldable solar power array caught my eye.

In theory, how flipping cool. A lightweight, very portable set of solar panels to supply all of my vacationing power needs. As you can see from the image above, the panels power a USB, all you need is sun.

“All you need is sun.”

Those turned out to be fateful words when I gave the panels a test, because of course I bought them. Then I brought them home and started messing around with them, my intent was to power my 5th generation (2017) iPad.

How did it go?

Well, the first thing to do is to throw away the instructions. They are useless. Besides, they are unnecessary. Open the panels. Orient towards the sun. Plug in a device. Wait.

Day one.

This was not exactly a serious day. With high expectations from an old calculator of mine  (a Texas Instruments. The solar panel on it would work in a mine shaft, I swear) and Harbor Freight’s 100W solar array, I busted open the panels, vaguely oriented them toward the sun, plugged in my cell phone and walked away. Came back a couple of hours later, the panels were in the shade and I had gained a few percentage points of charge.

portable solar panel

Not good enough. By the way, a little light on the USB plug glows red when the panels are getting ideal charge. I figured this out when I started propping the device up against old dictionaries, etc.

It was obvious that this thing needed real sunlight, and my haphazard technique was to blame. It was time to get serious, so I watched YouTube and came up with the set-up below.

550 cord rig

Day two.

550 cord, a window facing south, and all should have been well. As you can see from the photo, it was not. The sun had disappeared. But when it was out, the iPad took a decent charge. For half of an hour. Welcome to February in Ohio. Have I said before this thing needs REAL direct sunlight? If not, let me emphasize that again. I charged from 0830 to 1430, six hours, and bumped up the iPad’s charge by a measly 5%.

Not good enough.

OK, I needed sun and a new plan. And have I mentioned that at this point I started to sour on the Harbor Freight panels? Because a tool that needs ideal circumstances to work is not a tool. It is a toy. But, I forged onward. Maybe it was my methodology, and yes, it was very overcast (it even snowed).

I was determined to make this work. Probably mostly because I didn’t want to spend 80 bucks on a real portable power unit. But I digress.

I brainstormed and came up with a technique for a long car ride to a friend’s party. And so Day Three’s misadventures were born.

Day Three.

I figured for sure that I could get a decent charge on my iPad on day three, check out the forecast.

forecast

Cold, but ample sun. So I rigged up the 550 cord/southern window setup again (see above), plugged everything in and went for my morning walk. The iPad started the day at 65% charge. By 1015 it was at 71%, so it was charging at twice the rate of yesterday. Then I switched things up for my road trip. See photo below.

road trip

I got back from the road trip at 1700 and the iPad was at 80%.

So there you have it. Under pretty ideal but real-world conditions, the HF kit will charge an iPad 15%. I’m sure this could be increased by constantly monitoring it and tinkering around. But as I said, real-world usage. Who has time to be messing about all day?

Not I.

Is this enough? I don’t know. It is probably true that this setup is meant for cell phones, an iPad is probably a stretch. So I hate to say it, but tool or toy- I guess it depends. For true heavy usage, try something else. For intermittent use, it should do the job.

Will I take it overseas?

Probably. It ain’t fancy, but it’ll do.

“I did my job.”

rpg 2

The photo above was taken in Afghanistan, 2011 with Advisor Team 1.6. Closest, left is Pete the Ranger.

I attended a remarkable gathering today, it was a celebration of the past career of Pete the Ranger. I’ve written at some length about this gentleman, he was my old Team Sergeant in Afghanistan. If you look back at 2017, you can find some of his pieces. Ham Slice, The Girl, The Tiger and the Monkey, Pete’s Ranger School Overview, Limits.

Now his time in the Army is through. He started off as a fresh eighteen year old before the First Gulf War. Pete went straight to the Ranger Regiment out of Basic and AIT, then directly to the Gulf. He attended many schools, fought on many fronts, was promoted and thrived. But you can find a lot of this stuff in the articles mentioned above. Today I took some pretty cool pictures of stuff I’ve never seen before, it was laid out on a display for family and friends, comrades.

Here’s Pete after the Gulf War.

young mike 2

Today’s article is going to be a bit of show and tell. Something I’d like to zoom in on is Pete’s old-school black Ranger beret. It is pure hell to earn the right to wear one of these.

flash

The colorful fabric “flash” is for the Ranger Regiment (the 75th). It has one horizontal red bar for 1st Battalion, Pete’s unit. Worn superimposed upon the flash is the enamel Regimental crest for the 75th with its distinctive red lightning bolt. This is worn only by these elite soldiers. Period.

Something else I chose to zoom in on is boots.

jungles

Nothing tells the story of an infantryman like his boots. The pair above is a worn almost to destruction pair of Vietnam-era jungle boots, they were still being issued through about 1992 or so. I used to have a pair. Mine went to Turkey, Mike’s went to South America and other garden spots.

And how could I miss his desert jungles?

deserts

There is no better boot, in my opinion. A shame the Army quit issuing them. They were replaced by an inferior product, of course. Hidden in the cracks of this pair is moon dust from Iraq and Afghanistan. The stuff never goes away, no matter how hard you scrub. Kind of like Lady MacBeth’s bloody hands.

There was a lot of stuff.

Here’s another hat, and my favorite picture.

tab pc

Readers, it is hard to describe what a total badass you are as a junior enlisted soldier to wear a hat like this. Pete passed Ranger School as an E-3(!), his rank on this hat is E-4 (Corporal). He eventually made it to Master Sergeant, E-8.

Well done, Pete.

He was asked to give a speech. Pete doesn’t do speeches. Today was no exception. What did he say, as a reflection on 30 years of long and painful service? Distinguished service that really was distinguished? What did he say to the nine present members of Advisor Team 1.6?

He looked us over, shook his head and spoke.

“I did my job.”

Freshly.com meal service- a review

ideal freshly meal

OK- foodies have not taken over my site; as I have said before this blog looks at technology, space, the future of things, entertainment and pretty much whatever I feel like talking about. Right now I’m trying out something which is going to be very big; internet just-on-time food services. In a few days I’ll be reviewing a bit of solar-powered travel gear, so keep an eye out for that, too.

So let’s get down to it. Does freshly.com deliver the goods?

Yes. And here’s why.

First, ease of ordering. I’m not the best in the world about this stuff, so the so-easy-to-use website was a definite plus. There were forty-odd menu choices for the week of February 18th, all I had to do was choose a couple. We went for the Peppercorn Steak and the Cod Cakes. I’m reviewing the Cod Cakes today, we’re eating the steaks on Monday. Spoiler: if the steaks are as good as the Cod Cakes, all will be well. I put in my payment stuff, and voila! The food was on its way.

Freshly assured me that it would arrive on Tuesday the 18th, it did. The order was correct, too. Stuff came in a cardboard box with biodegradable insulation and frozen gel packs. All was cool as a cucumber, and I think in August it would be OK, too. A concern of mine is the junk and clutter. Well, nearly everything is recyclable, including the food trays. And I thought of something to do with the insulation- I’ll save it and use it as… insulation on construction projects. It’s really good stuff. But I digress.

The box had six of these in it.

front

There is a meal in each one, these ones were 670 cal units. The back had the usual handy nutritional data.

back

As you can see, mostly natural good stuff with few additives. Quality food. The preparation was a snap, super simple, just follow the instructions on the packaging. I went a little conservative and eased up on the microwave time, nuked it for thirty seconds less. Worked fine.

But how did it look, smell, and taste? Was it satisfying?

I won’t keep you waiting.

Here’s what it actually looked like cooked, you can compare it to the ideal image above (forgive my humble plating skills).

how it actually looks

I should have taken the time to have arranged it exactly like Freshly’s stock photo.

It’s not as bright as the idealized image above, but then again the lighting wasn’t great and I used a cheap Samsung phone camera. But I think it looked pretty good, tasty. The meatball looking things are the Cod Cakes.

It smelled wonderful.

And the taste? Excellent. The potatoes tasted as they should have, their texture was perfect. Not rubbery or starchy, just good. The succotash was tasty, spicy, and very filling. The hero of the dish, the protein, was very nice. Flavorful, although I’ve never had Cod prepared quite like this.

The meal was a real hit, and it did exactly as intended for the two nights of the week where everything is too chaotic for a sit down, let alone cooking. It was filling, convenient, nutritious, and healthy.

No McDonalds required for- get this- less money.

Freshly.com. So far, highly recommend.