One of the great experiences in life is being part of a complex machine designed to do extraordinary things. A sublimation of “personal” interest to the unified mass of a good cause. We were arguing- no, “discussing” current affairs- down at the Loading Dock this morning. Climate change was one of the topics up first, since it is what it is. Rocket gestured at the sky. “The Vultures are headed south again. Change of season.”

Five of them wheeled with a certain majestic dread over the south pasture. The earth and its various inhabitants are, without hysteria or declaration of emergency, preparing for the change. Being sited outdoors for our working group meetings keeps us in touch with that. But of course the affairs of humans reaches out to touch us whether we like it or not.

Confusing morning. The curious September to Remember is back. Someone apparently woke up the United States Senate, which will convene this afternoon at the gracious late hour of 3:00PM to enable the Senators to travel from their posh homes back to The Swamp to determine our collective fate.

Considering the number of emergencies in progress, their air of je ne sais quoi is a bit perplexing. Their relaxed aura seems to conflict directly with the state of alarm being stoked in several other directions. Senator Joe Manchin, D-WVA, has made a bit of a splash with his proclamation of opposition to the budget bill, which we understand intends to print enough money to make everyone happy except for the coal and gas workers in his state.

It is an interesting adventure in our democracy. Actually, just saying something simple like that is difficult these days. DeMille sniffed at the waft of smoke from Loma’s Marlboro, sipped his café Americaine and said: “It is a Constitutional Republic.”

Loma tossed the dog-end of the cigarette in the general direction of the fire ring where it smoldered on the gravel. “Fine. But isn’t the system designed to prevent people from doing illegal or illogical things in our names?”

DeMille smiled. “Theoretically. But that was sort of old school. Now, if someone has a great idea that will enrich their friends to such an extent that they are guaranteed comfort regardless of what happens to the money, that is the answer to emergency.”

Rocket laughed. “Well, how do you get to be one of their friends? Comfort is all I am asking for.”

“Comfort is the least pressing issue here. We need to save the planet. If we can’t do that we could all perish in excruciating fashion.”

“Well, that would be at the top of the list, if true.”

“Guaranteed true. There are hundreds of scientists whose jobs depend on it.”

“Do they have any friends downtown?”

“Yes, but that is where things get tricky. People who learned their geology and practical physics in the fossil fuel industry are evil.”

“Well, sure. But what about the people paid by the green industry? Aren’t they friends with the people who use forced labor to manufacture the stuff that can’t be recycled and works mostly when people can’t use the power they produce?”

“Just stop. You have to take care of your friends. Just make sure they are not evil friends.”

“But the evil friends keep the power on all the time. That is what their system was designed to do.”

“But it doesn’t. Sometimes the fossil-fueled power goes out.”

There was noise up slope, and a familiar little white station wagon was visible near the back gate. A burly man in a mask waved in our general direction and vanished around the corner of the deck. A moment later the lights inside the house blinked off, and the raspy sound of the new generator bathed us in mildly industrial noise. A few moments later the lights blinked out again, and in silence they flashed on again.

“Our fossil fuel friends successfully provided backup to any irregularity in electrical generation.”

“Does this mean the world is going to end?”

“Technically, yes. But not today. And before the catastrophic change occurs we will have ice to cool that delightful stuff we buy from Belmont Farms.”

“It pays to have friends. Particularly in the field-to-flask industry.”

“Again, technically true, but the process you describe is backwards. You actually have to pay them.”

Being a crowd with previous experience in needing things to work when they are really important, there were some mostly peaceful nods in agreement. DeMille used to run small mobile nuclear plants, and he summed it up pretty nicely.

“Our friends- today’s friends, anyway- hauled a 500-gallon tank to the side of the property away from the septic field, connected it to that big gray box, cut the distributed power at the box, which signaled the generator to come online. It all checked good and our pal the County Inspector certified “No issues, permit complete, file pulled.”

“Ain’t friendship wonderful?” Rocket smiled at the sky.

Copyright 2021 Vic Socotra
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