The elephant in a prepper’s room

Ubi Libertas

3 years ago

You’re smart. You see our world clearly, correctly, both its threats and its opportunities. You have the proper mindset ahead of a crisis and the discipline to give yourself a fighting chance of emerging from it.

You’ve prepared. You’re ready.

One aspect of preparedness that isn’t given nearly enough oxygen, in my opinion, is how folks who are ready will deal with those who aren’t. When the SHTF, people who’ve prepared no doubt will be approached by family, neighbors and friends who’ll put the touch on them for a portion of their stores — food, water, tools, ammo, whatever.

And you’ll have a decision to make.

Fundamentally, preparedness isn’t about benevolence. It isn’t about sharing or caring or any of that Sunday School shit. We prepare so that we can sustain and defend ourselves, our families, our tribe.

And we must be prepared not only to survive, but to say no.

Here on The Mountain, our tribe is tight. Because we cooperate in the normal course of everyday life, I suspect that’ll continue when the SHTF. Beyond that, we’ve put family and friends on notice that this is not their safe haven. It’s not to be a primary bug-out location.

Adults handle their own business.

We’ve granted permission to a select few. They’re prepared people who’d show up with their own preps, useful skills or other ways to make meaningful contributions.

Anyone who’d consume more than they bring wouldn’t be welcome.

At the same time, Deb and I are mindful of being (and becoming) an addition, not a subtraction. We don’t want to be a drain. That’s why we’re always on the hunt for new skills, refining and expanding what we’re capable of.

You’ll read about some of that here. I promise you, however, that I disclose, describe and hint at only a tiny fraction of what we do. That’s intentional — when it comes to prepping, it pays not to advertise.

Respectfully, I suggest that you do the same. Stop bragging. Crissakes, stop posting pictures of your gun collection, your stockpile of ammo and your basement full of MREs. And once that who-woulda-thunk-it moment is here, don’t be that guy whose generator can be heard a block away, or who doesn’t understand the risk of grilling steaks outdoors in a neighborhood of hungry, unprepared people.

Be careful. And yes, be selfish. Seriously, it’s okay — in fact, it’s essential.

This was to be the day that our mobile RV tech returned to complete repairs to the furnace. We cleared the decks, figuratively speaking, and made no other plans. But a late-arriving part bumped that ’til Monday.

We’re out of the cold snap, though. Last night’s low bounced off the freezing mark, and the day that followed was bright and warm. The extended forecast shows no challenges to our systems.

Actually, the outlook is downright balmy. We’ll still get our share of wintry weather, sure, but damn, it’s good to be in The South.

For the record, I took trash to the transfer station this morning and I picked up mail at the post office. I dumped the waste-water tanks. I ran the generator awhile, just to exercise it, and I fired-up a couple of our two-stroke power tools to keep ’em limber.

Using one-inch webbing and a quick-release buckle, I fashioned a strap to add support to the rifle bag mounted on the Ranger.

I did not start stacking the cordwood that arrived yesterday. Not yet. Not in the mood.

I sauntered around the homesite for a bit, noticing. Eventually I crossed the road and entered the woods. (It’s undeveloped and unoccupied, and the owner doesn’t mind.) I took in a view of the Crooked Creek valley that we don’t get from our perch.