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A quote: “All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost; the old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not reached by the frost.” ~~ J. R. R. Tolkien
I’ll start with a story …
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“You are free to believe whatever you want,” they said, as the water was shut off, the lights no longer worked and, finally, the title to the land was discovered to be in someone else’s name.
We moved further away and started again. Shoulder to shoulder, voices raised in joy. We were good neighbors.
Until we weren’t.
They had followed and, again, somehow … “You’re free to believe. We have no idea why your copies don’t match the official records. Pity you’ll have to move.”
We do. And they follow.
“You’re free to believe. Just shut up.”
No. No more.
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Now, it’s your turn.
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. featured image, cropped, Adobe Stock standard license.
Navig8r says: Gramps bought the abandoned one room schoolhouse as a bugout shelter. Depends on what kind of SHTF, and what stage of SHTF. In a mass exodus from the cities, any structure attracts visitors, and you don’t want to be caught alone there. To stay put, you need to be surrounded by clan and community. For the present situation, it has proven quite useful as a safe house on our underground railroad for members whose social credit scores have dropped below critical. A hollow haystack will hide a vehicle and cow paths mask the signs of foot traffic to the door.
Cameron says: “The church was the cornerstone of values. We taught youngster the basics of right and wrong and they grew up to teach it to their children.” The pastor’s smile turned sad. “But we turned from that. Traditional values were scorned. Morality became based on one’s feelings. The decay was slow but inevitable.”
“And that’s why the church is in such bad shape?” I asked.
“Sadly, yes. But the fighting is over. And you notice how cleaner things look?” As I nodded, he said “And that is how we’re going to restore things. Clean up, bring people back and teach again.”
Stan tried not to let the ever-present docent bother him. He would’ve preferred solitude for this pilgrimage, but he understood why Old Earth had to be so carefully protected. If even a fraction of the Solar System’s 93 billion inhabitants were to visit each year, casual handling could erode priceless artifacts to nothing within decades.
Of course that was far more of a concern in the really famous places like Jerusalem or Washington DC. This tiny country church might get a visitor once every decade, maybe a historian researching rural lifeways in the nineteenth or twentieth century or a statistician who wanted to compare actuarial tables to records of births and deaths.
Stan’s purpose in visiting was far more personal. This was the church were his great-to-the-twelfth grandparents had been married, and they had been buried in the nearby graveyard. They had been the last of his ancestors to have lived their entire lives here on Old Earth, to watch their children and grandchildren set out on the pioneer journeys they themselves could not undertake.
Dupin says: Inspectors Report: derelict church, middle of nowhere: Bats in the belfry, leaky steel roof. Dry rot on the clapboard, some termite damage, but nothing structurally wrong. Hardwood floors: whole. Electricity and water: available once wiring and pipe were up to code. Windows: boarded up inside and out, protecting stained glass windows. Small pipe organ: operable.
The place calls to me. My art study …home. Remodel from the bare studs up. New clapboard, roof, wires, and pipes. Whatever else is needed. Then the wonderful stained glass will shine their colors again. It would be my new abode. The bats can stay.
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