Sunday, December 10, 2017

Keeping Your Ass Fat After SHTF

Lethargic, staggering and weak, an ordinary guy is spied at the edge of the woods. You cautiously move out of your hiding spot and head toward him, he takes a few more steps and falls at your feet. After a few minutes Mr. X wakes from his unconscious stupor to answer a few questions.  He says he wasn't poisoned, he has plenty of filtered water and he has not a mark on him. No accidents, no wounds or no visible signs of illness. It has been several months since the lights went out, but a trace back to this guys hide-out finds he had enough dried food stored up for 20 years.  What happened to mysterious Mr. X?
You may remember from your high school history class the story of Lewis and Clark and their expedition into the north west territories. Shortly into the story we are introduced to a young Indian girl, Sacajawea, (Little Bird) who leads the unlikely troop of misfits into the vast Indian territories.
Fourteen year old Sacajawea endeared herself to the men of this historic adventure, often being called “little sister." She patched their jackets and tanned hides to make many pairs of moccasins to protect their feet, she cooked delicious meals and treated their wounds with herbs and earth. However, even this young Indian girl was not aware that, although there was plenty of antelope and mountain sheep available to hunt and feed themselves, the men of this expedition were slowly dying.

During one particular meet and greet at an Indian village the expedition picked up an old Indian grandfather. Grandfather Indian was curious about the mission and the men welcomed him to travel along. Several days of traveling with his new found friends, Grandfather Indian noticed many of the men becoming ill and faltering to keep up with evening chores.

Grandfather Indian recognized this groups problem as a depleted nutritional condition and quickly gathered up all the troops tallow candles. The old man slowly melted the candles in the cooks iron pot. When the tallow had completely melted he scooped out a cupful for each of them and instructed them to drink it down quickly. One by one, each person drank down a their share. Not one of them gaged or choked on the greasy beverage due to the fact the body knew what it needed to survive. By morning everyone was again eager and ready to hit the trail.

The moral of the story is that fat is required for many bodily functions. Your body cannot make certain fatty acids and needs to get it from outside sources. If dietary fats are not supplemented the body cannot process vitamins A,D,E, and K, creating a host of health problems. Also, fat is so very important for proper brain functions and are crucial for maintaining good eye health.

Fats add a lot of flavor to food, it is a ready source of energy contributing 4,000 calories per pound. Fats other jobs are that it provides a blanket around vital organs thus shielding them from trauma and cold. They are the third main class of macronutrients needed in the human nutrition. These can also be burned by the body to make energy.
During SHTF

You can stockpile beans, rice, pasta and oatmeal for the really hard times, but the more important fat products are seldom thought of. And of course, fats and oils have a short shelf life because they go rancid easily at room temperature. However;

Store purchased lard and beef tallow can be frozen for up to 6 months. Packaged well, I have had lard in my freezer for two years. Although, it may seem a little darker and frosty, it cooked up ok and didn't have any nasty flavors. 

Coconut oil can be frozen up to 6 months–Although, I have had some in the freezer for more than a year and it is still good if kept in a tightly sealed plastic jar.

Butter can be frozen up to a year. Some industrious folks have learned how to can butter, but that craft has escaped me. I may give it a try at some later date.

Cold water fish are quite fatty, providing the body with many needed nutrients. Cod liver oil will keep in the refrigerator for several months and is an excellent source of vitamin D.

Oh, by-the-way, organic chicken fat makes awesomely, delicious sugar cookies!

Learn more about collecting and using fat for your survival prep Goose fat for bush craft maintenance. How to collect fatwood

How to Survive and Thrive When the Power is Out on this site or find it at Ask for it at your local booksellers too. Would make a very special Christmas gift, too.

Sunday, November 26, 2017

Excuse Me Ladies. . . .

Just the ladies for this one please.      

I dare say darling,' some of yous is missin' th' point. So. . . 

This subject could get me into deep shit if I don't handle it well. But it is one that I feel is just too important, so I'm willing to risk it. I'll try to do the very best I can.

Ladies, we need this discussion! Your well-being is in your own hands!

Please understand that it is not my intent to put fear into anyone, quite the contrary.  I wish to empower us all and maybe use this forum as a deterrent for those who wish to harm.  We need get real serious. The time is now.  

How I got here. . .

  At the age of 80, my Dad was living alone when he took a swan dive out of the bath tub while taking a shower and landed on the cold tile floor. He laid there for 5 hours unable to get up before someone came to his rescue. A lady neighbor in the apartment complex "came by to check on him" thank goodness. She called me and the hospital. After his release from the hospital I stayed with my Dad in the senior living apartment complex for 4 weeks while he recovered. It was a unique situation living in a 6 story secured apartment complex full of active old people. One needed to be 65 or older to live here, however, they granted me a temporary stay to care for my father. It was during my daily trips to the laundry, store and other outings that I was able to meet and talk to some wonderful older people who were more than anxious to spill their stories on fresh ears to this 50 year old youngster within their midst. Also, seniors would gather in the commons area on my Dads floor where there was a puzzle to put together. I would sit with them and listen for hours while Dad was napping. I took copious notes of these chats.

One story from a 95 year old Nazi occupation survivor left me horrified at the brutality of her male captors. (Her story was one of the reasons why I took on the arduous task of writing How to Survive and Thrive When the Power is Out. You will find her story and others in the book. These gals are true female heroes.)

A few years previous to my Dads accident, I spent 4 years working for a not-for-profit womens' shelter. Women, (and a couple of men too.)who had suffered beatings from the ones that were supposed to love them sought respite from their sufferings at this place. Women beaten and raped  had it the worse, emotionally. Physical wounds heal for the most part, that emotional trauma sometimes never goes away.

One tiny 34 year old mother of two was beaten, raped and tossed into a trash can by her live in boyfriend in a fit of drunken/ drugged rage. A saving grace was that her two small boys happened to be at her parents at the time.
The man had beaten her severely and stuffed her into that trash can outside by the garage. Not satisfied with this torment, he went back into the house to retrieve his pistol. Still in his rage, he came back to the trash can and shot it point blank several times. To his surprise, the can was empty when looked inside. She had silently climbed out, ran barefoot with everything she had, several blocks to us at the Womens' Shelter.

That is just one of the heart breaking stories from all the women and children in just one shelter. There are hundreds of stories out there that you never, ever hear about.

Then there is my own story. I was walking out to my car simply to close the windows before it rained when all of a sudden I felt myself being grabbed up by two drunks and stuffed into their car. I happened to be alone and my timing was really bad. I hadn't put my situation awareness into action that night. One of the men decided "he took a fancy to me, out here all alone, and all." Luckily one drunk had to take a piss and was standing in front of the car, while the other drunk was unzipping his pants. He had is hands busy with his zipper, so I kicked the shit out of him and ran like hell. I was lucky.

High school history books won't tell you the real tragedy of the losers of battle. In the bygone eras, the bigger, more powerful army sweeps through their target area, hell bent on occupying it. Eventually, the lesser army is defeated and their women are subjected to brutal beatings and rape by the victors. It further humiliated and disparages the losers. 

Recently, a story came out in the news where a top Imam told Muslims to breed Europeans to conquer their countries . "Put your children in the wombs of the European women." Their weapon of choice in this new and current war is a penis. This tactic isn't really new, it's been repeated over and over throughout history by occupiers of cities, villages, tents and even castles. The seeds of victory are planted! Literally.">

There IS something you can do to protect yourself and your daughters. 

I am of Scottish ancestry. We are a tough lot, stout and thick boned. As we have learned in history class Scotland had its share of battles. There was even a time when swords and knives were out lawed in Scotland because the Scottish were such fearsome and relentless fighters.  But as with everything there are winners and there are losers.

My dear creative ancient sisters weren't going to go down without a fight when the any battle was lost.  Because weapons carried by the peasants was outlawed by the King of England, they risked death by hangman if caught by the authorities to carry a little knife known as Sgian Dubh, pronounced scheeeeian doo.

"This was a knife (Dirk) slightly larger than the Sgian Dubh and was carried in the upper sleeve of the jacket, under the left arm. It is believed that this is the same knife, Scottish women carried under the apron of her wraparound "kilted" skirt, along with her purse. Just as with men, they would have to carry their own eating utensil, and many a Scots woman had need for a weapon. I don't believe that it was carried under the apron of her kilted skirt, because research has shown me, that Scottish women, 'never' wore kilted skirts, thus no apron front on their skirts. They wore softly gathered skirts.  Therefore, let us remember, if a Scots woman carried a dagger (little knife) for eating or her own defense, it would probably be hidden in the folds of her gathered skirt. A pocket deep enough to accommodate the sheathed knife; (so as not to fall out) and well hidden from view; thus protecting her from search,  a Scottish woman would avoid being searched at all cost."

For what ever your reason for not wanting to or unable to embrace a firearm this little handy knife is the perfect self defense necessity. Easily hidden but even better, it could be undetectable if the blade were ceramic. An option our Scottish sisters didn't have. Her little metal bladed knife was in use during a time of history when danger and pillaging was at it's peak. When word got around that peasant women were packing Sgian Dubhs,(hidden knife) rapes became all-but extinct.

On the market today, there are many, many small, concealable knives. Perfect for self-defense if/when the day or moment should arise. We live in precarious times, ya'll.  

"The two most important days of your life are the day you were born and the day you find out why."                                                                                                    Mark Twain

Saturday, November 11, 2017

Hide-Behinds and the Silent Winters Night

Creatures of the long silent night. . .

Many years ago, the young and adventurous me, discovered a 40 acre parcel of heavily forested property which none of the locals even knew was for sale. It was smack dab in the middle of a state forest. Deep in the middle of  this secluded 40 acre parcel  in the wild’s of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula stood a 20’X20′ tar papered shanty I was about to call home. It took every penny I had to buy the property that had been up for sale for more than 15 years. I was beside myself with excitement! I was 43.

The cabin/now shanty was built as a hunting camp in 1963 using real saw milled 2X4’s. Sturdy, well built, no electricity or water as there were no power lines out there in the early days. It was dirty, run down and ghost like from all the years of no human intervention. However, a local population of mice and raccoons had made a claim to it over the years, moving in their own families. And really large, gray wart covered wolf spiders inhabited every crack and corner of the tiny, lovable little cabin nestled in amongst the over growth of trees and flora. These guys were the biggest, most horrifying eight legged creatures I had ever witnessed! Repulsive as all hell.

I was anxious to get started and arrived early on the day after I had taken procession of my new home. There were no keys handed to me at the time of signing at the bank.  Even the realtor was unaware of the shack on the property. Gus, my yellow lab took off to explore his new environment and was no help what so ever helping to unload the boxes of cleaning supplies, hammers, nails, crowbar and a shovel I figured it would take to make this place near as livable as possible. It took me most of that summer to fix up what was to be the most memorable 20 year adventure of my life.

By now it is late fall. My first night alone out here in the woods, in my now cleaned one room shanty found me laying in my bed with my blanket pulled up to my chin with one hand and a flashlight gripped tightly in the other. Listening to the night time parade of mice playing tag in the ceiling and walls, my thoughts turned to; “What the hell am I doing out here 30 miles from town,  in the middle of this 1000’s  of acres of woods? All alone! Was I nuts?”
“OMG! What’s that noise? Listen, there it is again!”

It sounded like something was actually chewing on my cabin.  Sometime during the night I did doze off but only briefly. A thunderstorm demanded that I not get too comfortable. Loud claps and bright lightening fueled my anxiety of this precarious first night in the woods. Then suddenly as a lightening bolt lit up the room, there on the ceiling was a monstrous, wart covered wolf spider the size of my hand, hurriedly making his way in my direction. . .

To make a long story short and the purpose of this post, when the power is out it is quiet! I will be the first to tell you that the constant buzz of human activity, electronic gadgets, cell phones and all sorts of technology along with traffic noise and streetlights are so natural to the every day guy and gal that we just don’t notice the noise, that is, until it is gone. When the electrical plug has been pulled and the power goes out, the first sense is that of ahhhhhhh. It actually feels good.  (Personally, I miss my days and nights living unattached to the power grid and even today, going into town seems so loud.)  It doesn’t take long, however, before you begin to feel withdrawal symptoms, much like that of a cigarette withdrawal. Then night comes, the stillness of the true light less night becomes the monster in the closet of our childhood.

My first long winter night played games with the stillness of my snow covered wilderness. I suddenly became acutely aware that the moon light uses shadows as an accomplice; it tricks the imagination into seeing beasts stalking the darkness. A wise older man I knew called them hide-behinds. Elusive mystical creatures without true form, created purely from ones own imagination, hiding behind leafless hardwoods, he liked to say.  I remembered his words one night  as I sat reading quietly by oil lamp,  the muted flickering of the yellow flame demanded entrance into the playful party of dancing shadows. At that moment, as I look up from my reading, the icy stillness crept up and stole away with my struggling confidence. A mythical hide-behind ran an icy finger up my spine.

Twenty years have now come and gone since my first night time encounter with the night time hide-behinds deep in my forest. My tiny cabin has given way to a fit a proper homestead and a husband. The moral of this story you may have guessed is that when the lights go out, and they will, it is the quiet people will surrender to. More often that not, even before the lack of food sets in. Humans have adapted to noise, to the hustle of activity and having every desirable electronic device at their finger tips. You can and should prepare for as many physical aspects of the coming take down of the U.S. as possible. But will you be able to survive the quiet? It is truly a possibility that needs to be understood.

History has recorded that silence created a debilitating  madness in the unprepared pioneer women  during the 1800’s westward movement.  Women whose husband had settled them in the prairies of the western U.S. and were left alone for a long periods time often went mad due to the silence. Their only companion was the never ending wind, the mournful song of the elusive wolf and the fear of an Indian raid. Returning husbands sometimes found their wives, if the were lucky, wandering the open prairie looking for another human neighbor, babbling gibberish.