The Pocket Guide to Practical Homesteading

I was madly in love for a short time, years before the war, The Pioneers and their Academies. He was the strangest, kindest and most interesting person I have ever met. For a fleeting moment, I thought I had found someone to build a life with, and then he disappeared.

I was in my final months of completing a Master's in Engineering. Evan sought me out to ask me questions about my thesis project. Somehow he’d learned that I was working on a distillation tower built with natural materials to make water safe to drink. He visited my lab and his earnest enthusiasm for my work made it easy to accept an invitation for dinner later that evening.

Evan’s interests were varied and multiple, and he mastered everything he set his mind to. After completing an undergrad in economics, Evan moved on to environmental sciences. When I met him, he was studying epidemiology. I laughed that he seemed to be focused on the letter ‘E’. He only grinned and replied that Es felt appropriate, somehow.

One night, after too much wine, he told me that the Horsemen of the Apocalypse weren’t too far from the truth. “One day,” he murmured as he held me, “after countless acts of devastation, they’ll come in with catchy slogans about family and community, and those that are left will surrender everything willingly. That'll be the true apocalypse.”

I considered his words for a moment before replying, “No way. You're not giving humanity enough credit. People wouldn’t just give away all that we’ve built.”

We lay in silence, I was almost asleep when Evan whispered, “I'd give anything to be wrong.”

Two days later Evan gave me a silver heart-shaped locket. Inside was a photo I’d taken of him that I didn’t think he knew about, his far-away gaze felt hopeful. The inscription read, “To my Sanctuary.” On the back, raised was Evan’s Es, the number four superimposed on the letter E.

“Your logo? Is the fourth E for Evan?” I asked, a smile that I couldn’t fight was spreading across my face.

“Not a logo, a symbol. I was inspired,” he shrugged and laughed. A moment passed and his smile faded. “I love you," he spoke softly, "you have changed everything.”

When I awoke, he was gone. The toothbrush he’d kept at my place was missing. All physical and digital traces of him vanished. His phone number, social media, and any photos I’d taken were wiped from existence. The silver locket was all I had to prove that the last few months were more than a figment of my imagination.

Not all I had, as it turned out. A few weeks later, while wallowing in the depths of heartbreak, nausea hit. Feeling simultaneously devastated and elated, I resumed my search for Evan and discovered that even the university had no records of him. If he truly loved me, he wouldn't have abandoned me when I needed him most. I vowed that I would never rely on others.

The Pocket Guide to Practical Homesteading arrived in the mail the day of Marissa’s first birthday. The little book with its dark green cover and tiny font was packed full of how-to and DIY tips to live off the grid. There were gardening suggestions, rules for crop rotation and canning followed by sections on hunting, setting snares and traps and drying meat. A chapter on how to clear land and fashion a log cabin was particularly fascinating (Chapter 3 - Logs and Lodging).

The PG2PH, as it soon came to be known, was sent to every household in the country. No one knew where it originated, but it enjoyed a short run on social media with dedicated ‘Homesteaders’ trialling the different aspects of the book. I called it my Guide, it seemed almost intuitive, it had an answer for everything.

Page 57 included a helpful note that allowed me to make hand sanitizer from moonshine, useful during the Mass Pandemic that overwhelmed the world when Marissa was three. The Gardening Go-To's of Chapter 8 gave me the confidence to set up community gardens when crop yields started mysteriously failing. Despite the Food Bank Riots, our neighbourhood continued to stave off starvation. Even when the garden was ransacked, canning tips from Chapter 9 (You Can Can, Too) and the note on Page 81 about building our seed library, ensured our survival.

I kept my Guide nearby, often flipping through it aimlessly. There was such a depth of information that I stumbled upon new things every few months. Finding my water distillation tower design on page 142 was a surprise. I was then captivated by Chapter 18 - Become a Backyard Blacksmith.

I converted my garage into a forge and I learned all I could about the art of smithing. I loved being a blacksmith. Marissa, my trusted assistant, would spend hours with me working together as we perfected the craft.

Due to my expertise with the gardens and the forge, I was considered a community asset and was exempt from conscription after the war broke out. We needed to protect our sovereignty from outside aggressors who lusted after our fresh-water rights. At least, that's what we were told.

The war raged on for years. The accepted rules of combat shifted, civilian targets became commonplace, provided nuclear or biochemical weapons weren't utilized. The aim was to protect natural resources, not people. We all suffered through indescribable destruction.

Shortly after Marissa turned thirteen, a cease-fire was called and peace talks commenced. The world’s population had been significantly reduced; there was no longer a need for a monopoly on water. Borders were redrawn and survivors began to rebuild. It felt like the sunrise after a hundred-year-long night.

A new political party made their way onto our radar. They called themselves The Pioneers and pushed a platform called “Back to Basics.” They seemed refreshingly honest and I was swept up in the hype. I loved the idea of focusing on our communities and helping our neighbours, it’s what I’d been doing all along. I dreamt of how I could reinvigorate the PG2PH and teach families about sustainability practices. The drunken night with Evan felt like a lifetime ago, I had forgotten his words of warning.

At first, the changes were small. A form to request aid after the war forced us to identify as either male or female. Those that protested the lack of inclusion were quickly overwhelmed and accused of focusing on small, essentially irrelevant details. The Pioneers were simply trying to help and get aid to everyone that needed it, why argue about gender or sex on a form? It was just a form. One after another, the protestors were silenced.

Modesty Rules were enforced, followed by the Justice Reforms. The Pioneers pointed to the multitude of cases that were thrown out because evidence was mishandled or criminals simply had access to a better lawyer. Criticism of the Reforms was met en masse with the phrase, “If you were truly innocent, this wouldn’t matter to you.” One after another, the critics were silenced.

The Great Reset was The Pioneers’ pivotal achievement. Across the country, institutions simply known as The Academy were stood up. All young people would spend the first two years there after high school graduation. They were to learn how to contribute to a moral and just society.

Perceived morality was the heart of “Back to Basics”. Shortly after Marissa turned sixteen, I received a notice on my door that read:

The Pioneers thank you for your dedication to The Community! Although your daughter does not have a proper male influence in her life, your contributions have been adequate to ensure that she is raised with proper moral obligations. To ensure continued familial independence, you are required to provide a weekly bundle of fresh produce to the governor’s residence. Failure to comply will result in the seizure of your property and relocation of your daughter to suitable moral influencers.

Marissa laughed and called it my single mother tithe, but I felt grim. Too late, I feared for our future.

With the electricity rationed, I would stay up late after Marissa was in bed, reading my Guide by candlelight. The succinct instructions gave me comfort while I watched helplessly as my community shifted into something unrecognizable.

Marissa began to change, too. She became withdrawn and seemed a shadow of her vibrant self. Finally, in tears, she told me that she’d fallen in love with a sweet boy at her school. He’d convinced her that he loved her and that they should express their love physically. Afterwards, he’d laughed and told her that she was as immoral as her mother, to fall for his false promises. Marissa failed a test of propriety, and the school’s population turned against her.

I held Marissa sobbing against me, my heart aching. Her sobs lessened until she could catch her breath to whisper, “There’s more.” She hesitated, “I’m late.” Marissa pushed away from me and folded her hands tightly in her lap, “I think I might be -"

“Don’t say it,” I interrupted. “There are ears everywhere. Don’t say anything to anyone. It will be alright. We will find a way through this. Together,” I promised.

My daughter lived her whole life amongst chaos, without knowing the peace and security of the past I had taken for granted. Through it all, she was sunshine personified, my heart. I couldn’t stand to see her hurt. I’d heard rumours of other young girls in similar situations. They had been sent early to The Academy, their family’s homes forfeit and no one had heard from them again.

That night, I wrestled with our reality and sat absentmindedly flipping through my Guide. The book was worn from many years of use, the last page was beginning to separate from the cover. I slowly peeled it up and gasped, dropping the book.

With shaking hands, I looked again, certain that my eyes were playing tricks on me in the candlelight. Yet, there it was. Evan’s 4E, his logo. His symbol, I corrected myself.

The page was mostly empty, save for an N, a W and dashes. One word was written at the bottom: “Sanctuary”.

My heart caught in my throat, Evan had sent me a clue to find him fifteen years ago. The rest of the puzzle must be hidden in the Guide somehow, I thought. I began skimming it until I noticed a three where an ‘e’ should have been.

The next few days were a sleepless blur. I sent Marissa back to school with instructions to stay as quiet and humble as possible. She reminded me of our weekly tithe, I had lost almost all concept of time.

Meticulously line by line, I pored through the Guide, hunting for numbers hidden in plain sight. There they were, latitude and longitude coordinates. Evan had left us a location, a Sanctuary.

N 58 degrees 38’ 37” W 97 degrees 54’ 46”

The coordinates pointed towards a small lake in what used to be Northern Manitoba. No one lives that far north anymore, the roads were long since reclaimed by nature. We would need to go on foot.

Marissa and I planned and prepared. There was no time to waste, Marissa could only hide so much under the pretense of modesty. We packed only what we could carry, including our seed library and yeast culture (page 256 - Beer and Bread Basics). Assuming we survived the trek, we wanted to contribute to what we hoped would be our new home.

The day finally arrived. We delivered our last bundle of produce to the Governor, hoping to buy some time before anyone would miss us. I drove North until the roads became impassable. We hid the truck and continued on.

With map and compass, my locket and my trusted Pocket Guide to Practical Homesteading, Marissa and I braved the wild to find the Sanctuary her father had built.