You know the question:
If you're not preparing for the worst, what are you preparing for?
You know the answer: avail thyself of long-term
food stores, good water, viable food production, shelter and meds and
supplies and security. You know the list of doomsdays too: financial
collapse, EMP, pandemic—MERS
or Ebola or worse, insurrection and civil war, and on and on—the exact
nature of the beast almost doesn't matter, preps are preps, and serious
preps put you way ahead.
The question now changes to: if you—your own corporeal self—are not prepared for the worst, that is, if you
are not prepared to personally do what has to be done, what are all
your preps for? Perhaps you only imagine you know the answer.
Assume the worst doomsday scenario: grid down,
distribution systems down, lawlessness and predation, mass privation,
disease and death. Assume it's many months into an on-going calamity.
You're skilled enough in useful crafts and were well situated at the
start.
But the growing season was as bad as it was
short. Now your supplies are low. Scary low. You're laboring long hours
but you and your family are hard pressed. You'll probably make it, but
there's no cushion. A family with small children approaches your door;
exhausted, ragged and so famished it's all they can do to walk. You
know legitimate charity is provided from surplus, that giving away
needed sustenance is an unwarranted sacrifice. The weather's turned
nasty and it's getting dark. There's a soft knock at the door.
More @ Ol' Remus
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