K Nilsen - The Yellowstone Traps

The whole of it—the blistering heat and vapor, the constant rumbling noises, the ground fractures, and the smell of the place—reeked of peril. Active volcanic summits and craters Liz had studied all presented similar portraits. Brimstone Basin, she now understood, was a high hazard zone wedded to a hair trigger. Brimstone was fast becoming the most dynamic if dangerous block of real estate in all North America.

Afully restored Dodge Dart turned onto Fourth Street and motored into the heart of the historic commercial district of Sioux City, Iowa. Abel sought Buffalo Alice Restaurant, one of the Midwest’s best-kept pizza and beer joint secrets.

He parked the car and took to the street until he saw a big yellow sign emblazoned with the full-size image of a bison’s head. He ogled the sign for a moment and scanned the boulevard.

“Hello, stranger,” called a female voice from behind him. Abel turned to see a familiar face crossing the street toward him.

Winnie approached quickly, cleared the curb and went straight for Abel. “I thought we might stage some sort of grand Hollywood greeting, but how’s this for starters?” She kissed him gently on the lips, and then stroked the side of his face. He leaned in and kissed her in the same manner. He swept a strand of hair from her face and uttered a quiet greeting: “Hello, young lady.”

“Hello, young man. I thought you would never get here.”

“Just a little tardy.”

The couple entered Buffalo Alice pizzeria, filled with young professional people down from the offices in the business district surrounding Fourth Street. Winnie found them a small booth to squeeze into. In short order, they had Alice’s famous “Works” pizza before them and mugs of Rogue Dead Guy lager.

“I must say, Winnie, thank you for the invitation.”

“My pleasure.”

“You look divine, good lady.”

“And you, sir, are dashing.”

“Aren’t we something?” Abel laughed. “We have a middle-age mutual admiration society underway here.”

“I admire what you’re doing.”

“What I’m doing?”

“What you’re doing at Independency, it’s remarkable.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“At first, I thought your work was that of some New Age charlatan. When your latest books became best sellers, I thought you were cashing in on some eco-trend, like a diet fad doctor.”

“I’m amazed at the success. Somehow, I tapped a nerve among the masses. There is such enormous discontent there, bottled up with no place to go.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“Don’t get me started, Winnie, I can’t turn off my mouth when I’m given free rein.”

“I’ll stop you when it’s my turn, remember?”

“When it’s your turn?”

“Yes, but it’s your turn now, Abel. You go first.”

“Okay, I remember the rules of the game.”

“So, why do you think your average Joe and Jane are so uptight?”

“Well, at the very core of it is the notion of helplessness, of being unable to control virtually any facet of one’s life.”

“I can vouch for that,” Winnie agreed.

“The average American lives in a culture of dependency. If you can’t meet your own needs yourself, you’re dependent on others to fill those needs. The only thing the vast majority of the people produce for themselves is an abstraction called money, in the form of wages. It gives them the honorary title of consumer. They’re consumers, nothing else. Two hundred years ago, it would have been just the opposite. They would have been producers of local goods first and very poor consumers, by our standards, second. They relied upon themselves and their families to supply a great many goods and services. They would have been quite independent in a sense that we no longer understand. Now, today, any and all avenues other than obtaining money to sustain life—the many skills and practices that humans took for granted for eons—have been closed off.

“My solution to this conundrum has been to try and create a whole new way of looking at how society goes about its life and work. The idea is to build a culture of independency, the exact opposite of dependency. To do that, we need to turn the culture on its head. We must turn the dependent consumer into a hybrid beast, a consumer-producer. Someone who is both. We have to create small, human-scale systems that are sustainable, productive, humane and that insure personal as well as community independence. Such systems would be quite the opposite of the emerging global mass economy where every individual is tied to and dependent upon a gargantuan, monolithic economic system and labor a world away.”

“How does your culture of independency make inroads against the global system?” Winnie probed.

“In order to prosper, the Independency movement, like all other social movements, needs a populace that is under terrible stress. Think of the civil rights movement. In order for the civil rights movement to succeed, it needed an entire people to get behind it, to lend it critical mass. For the idea of Independency to really catch fire, you need a population that is hurting and wants to explore an alternative to the existing social structure. I think some fraction of the middle class is already there, already ripe for change. They’re certainly buying my books.”

A waitress arrived at the table to see if they wanted a refill. They ordered another round of ale.

“Now the question is,” Abel continued, “are you ripe for change?”

“Me, change?”

“It’s your turn now. I’ve said my peace.”

“Do I need changing?”

“What I mean is, would you be attracted to a life at Independency, Minnesota?”

“You mean leave cosmopolitan Kansas City for the wilds of the north?”

Abel chuckled. “It’s not that wild. We tamed the West some time ago.”

“Oh, I’ve entertained the idea once or twice. My stay at your little town was more than a little inspiring. But to be honest with you, I have a career in K.C. I have obligations, of course, and several big projects to undertake at work. And, you know, we’ve known each other for a few weeks, really. We seem to have an attraction for each other, but we don’t have a relationship, at least not yet.”

“You’re brutally honest,” Abel sighed, as if crestfallen.

Winnie let fly a little laugh. “Besides, Abel, I’m going to be gone for a month.”

“Where are you off to?”

“I’m going to Montana on assignment.”

“Really. What are you going to be doing there?”

“There’s a large religious organization based there. I’m going to be working with them.”

“Who would that be?”

“Some sort of New Age Christian hybrid.”

“You’re not talking about the Ascendant Church of the Earth, are you?”

“Wow. Do you read minds, Abel?”

Abel launched his trademark grin across his face. “No, I can’t mind-read, but I have read a great deal about new spiritual communities and the Seer empire out there. Now that’s a curious mixture of New Age idolatry, evangelical Christian hard lining, survivalist rhetoric and flower power.”

“Thank you for that wonderful portrait,” Winnie said with playful sarcasm.

“What sort of work will you be doing for them?”

“They’re a good-sizeed far-flung organization with more than a few tentacles. Their data systems are from the dark ages. They can’t do what they want when they want it, so they’re seeking help, lots of it.”

“So you’re their salvation?”

“Mmm hmm.”

“So you work on a contractual basis?”

“In this case, yes.”

“What other sorts of clients do you work with?”