Shortages
On the Road and Human Survival
A half-empty plane; a bumpy ride. This is how my journey begins. After my morning walk on the mesa, I checked my tender transplants in the garden under a makeshift shade cover one more time. The sun is strong in May at 6900 feet altitude; the desert winds coming from the SW are fierce. I won’t be there to check on them for 2 weeks. I must give them up to benign higher forces, hoping they will look down on my attempt to grow my food. Seven tomato plants, double rows of carrots and root vegetables, strawberries, more peas than last year, cucumbers. The three sisters, beans, corn, and squash, are in the ground.
We have to grow our own food while we still can. As long as water is available. Grocery costs will likely skyrocket this summer due to worldwide economic supply breakdown. Airfare will go through the roof. I booked my flight a few months ago, before we started the war in Iran. No wonder the plane is half empty.
United Airlines offers free onboard Wi-Fi. Stream, scroll, game and more on board, with speeds as fast as home Wi-Fi. You can even connect multiple devices. Progress in the sky while the world order collapses. I’m enjoying it today. Who knows if I can afford another flight later this summer. The flight has become less bumpy. The Rocky Mountains, with very little snow cover, are visible below an airplane wing. Will I hike the Continental Divide Trail that cuts through those mountains later this summer? Will there be enough water for the garden? The Rio Grande river near my home originates in those mountains.
I make my way to the United lounge on my lay-over, where I enjoy quiet and a free buffet. Free comes with a price. My new United credit card offers too many perks and rewards to let it pass by. I plan to drop the card when the perks run out. You’ve got to play the system, I say. For now, my plane flight just became free with $500 cash back, a free checked bag, and 2 free passes to the United lounge. When I walk to the coffee bar with my empty cup to get a refill, the silent robot dish collector bumps into me and won’t move until I deposit my empty cup in its tray. Where have I been while the world has been progressing? My watch tells me I’ve walked 5.5 miles today despite sitting in a car and airplane seat for half the day.
The jarring difference between this luxurious travel and current global economic collapse is disconcerting. I want to enjoy this moment. Ignoring world events is impossible for me. A president obsessed with building a 400 million ballroom while the Strait of Hormuz is still closed and the oil reserves are plummeting. The Republican proposed budget includes 1 billion for structural underground upgrading for the East Wing; it won’t surprise me if the ballroom is the tip of an underground bunker where 47 and his cronies can hide when things fall apart and become dangerous for them. Fuel shortages and water shortages will lead to food shortages. We hear of food scarcity globally, yet here in US? Think about it: If you can’t move the trucks that deliver food around the country, grocery stores will have empty shelves. Not because farmers don’t grow the food, but because the food cannot reach consumers. Are you planting a garden yet? Stocking up on basics?
Cultivating present-moment awareness lessens unease, fosters inner space, plus generates a sense of wellbeing. In my current here-and-now I have luxury, plenty of food, and a quiet space to be. My body experiences a sense of wellbeing, of enough-ness, calm. Despite this, when thoughts surface in my mind, they are about the outlandish things I’ve heard about in news snippets. Stop Medicare home health funding for new providers in California? Is Vance out of his mind? The snippets are like pesky bugs - no-see-ums (Ceratopogonidae) - that make me swat and jump around, breaking the calm I so carefully cultivate. I tell myself it will be worse if I don’t practice. Continuously refocusing my thoughts on the present moment builds mental fortitude and heightens determination. The flames in the artificial fire pit near where I am sitting hold my attention. I watch the gas flames dance, blown sideways by a breeze. Flames are the wandering mind, not easy to extinguish. There’s wisdom in resting my gaze.
Having arrived in my hometown of 40 years, I walk, remembering the streets and walkways. I notice the housing density, the lush green foliage softening and naturalizing the neighborhoods. I am no longer used to the sound of traffic while I walk; I notice it now. People walk here, many more people, white, middle class. I notice the lack of diversity. The hills across the valley undulate in a green wave. Costa Rica without the heat and humidity comes to mind. Soon this green wave will turn brown and the wildfire danger will return. Another pesky notion for the minds of those who live here.
It’s difficult to be a human living on this planet. No-one ever said it would be easy. People with privilege in this country believe they can have it all and control their lives. That is about to change. Grow some food; it’s basic human survival.
My wife is growing peppers, tomatoes, kale, and lettuce. All from seed. She cares for them like children. I am grateful.
We don’t feel that things are so dire in Australia yet that people are stockpiling or preparing for food shortages. Our P. M. has been able to access fuel from a variety of countries, yet he is being blamed for rising prices, allowing a surge in right-wing politics. That is almost scarier than food shortages.