Tuesday, June 23, 2020
The store bought food has dwindled down to almost nothing. The vegetable garden is sustaining us somewhat in the greens department and us two men, the previous country boys, are doing our damn best to remember everything we can on how to set homemade traps. We also have a decent size creek that we have been harvesting crawfish, frogs, and small fish of whatever we can get our hands on. I thought we would be able to hunt our way through this but I never took into account just how much ammo that takes up. That is another supply that is dwindling, not that we had a large supply to begin with. I wish we did.
We found Mr. Mitchell in the bottom of one of our spike pits that were dug to trap larger prey. It was eight-foot deep, well above what someone can climb out of. He was down there, a spike through his leg, raving mad with a fever and cough. We did not even bother to try to get him out. We just backfilled it with him in it and alive. The entire time up until his head was covered, he kept begging for help for his wife and his father. I can't get it out of my head, his insistence. But this could be an opportunity, a morbid one, but an opportunity none the less. If the Mitchells are lost, they have livestock, garden, and maybe a pantry that needs some attention from needy hands. It isn't raiding nor stealing if they are dead...I think? Waste not, want not and I do not plan to be found wanting.
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