Fishing after shtf collapse

 Welcome to TEOTWAWKI, or the end of the world as we know it. This is my guide, written first for myself, so that in the heat of the moment I may not forget that which I once new. Written second for my children, so that if I am not here to provide for their mother, this may guide them through and they might benefit from all my hard work. This is my guide, written lastly for you. Whoever you are. May god be with us all.

The timeline currently resembles this:

EARLY PREP

As I write this, we are in the early preparation phase. What that means to me and you may very well differ substantially. I will not list things you should consider purchasing during this phase. Please consider ALWAYS being prepared to be:

Locked  into your home for at least 10 days without power. 

Sustain your family for MONTHS without the need to purchase ANYTHING.

It can be argued that this is much easier than it sounds and also that it is free. Let me explain.

If you only stock food that you will definitely consume, then being well stocked costs nothing. You were going to buy that meal anyway. Pasta has a lot of calories and a long shelf life. Pasta meals can be prioritized. Eat spaghetti once a week? Store 50 meals worth of pasta and sauce. When you eat the oldest one (always) replace it with a new one (always). FIFO. First in, first out.

10 days worth of water. FIFO.

There is plenty more to consider purchasing during the Early Prep period. 

CATALYST EVENTS

Are predetermined events that, when they happen, mean that it is time to begin a much more serious level of preparation. What are your catalysts? Dunno.  Mine are pretty simple.

If my government assures me “it” is fine, while simultaneously imposing new restrictions….. it’s a catalyst event. Think….. “there is no fuel shortage! Also we are now rationing fuel.”

ESCALATION WINDOW

Panic has begun to set in to the community. If you are lucky, this is your last chance to buy or otherwise obtain provisions. I will make the suggestion that you choose flour over cans of soup. Cooking oil over milk and eggs. Salt instead of chips.

At the closing of the escalation window, your opportunity to obtain provisions from familiar sources is gone.

At this point it is time to establish new routines and habits. You will have to consider seriously, how long can you provide for your family with the food and water on hand? Where will you dispose of toilet waste? How will you feed the animals? 

When the water is gone, you have no choice but to obtain more. You must boil this water before consuming it, if it comes from a source other than a sealed container filled by professionals. 

Food will either be handed out at distribution centers or it won’t. This is where a battery powered FM radio and or weather radio will be extremely helpful.

Calories can be obtained at corn silos and large commercial farms. Be prepared to “negotiate” and make sure to bring your own bags. Big ones.

For my family,

I have worked hard to be well prepared without spending too much. Our catalyst event is listed above and the escalation window is our last chance to buy as much;  

It does not matter if you have never cooked with these ingredients before. This is what you are to purchase. The lions share of what you buy should be flour. Followed by beans. Everything on this list is important if you have the chance.

Flour

Cooking oil/ Crisco 

Salt

Sugar

Dry yeast

Honey 

Evaporated milk 

Rice

Beans 

Peanut Butter and jelly

Potatoes 

Garbage bags. Many (for toilet)

Buy as much as you can, prioritize flour and beans

Now the escalation window is closed. The living room becomes the whole world unless it’s the middle of summer. 

The camp stove should be set up in the fireplace or even better, vented directly out of one of the narrow windows in the living room. This means breaking the window. Use something to fill the window with to make it airtight after the stove is vented through it. Make sure the stove has stone underneath it and blocks built up around it. These can be taken from our landscaping. 

The Buddy heater should be brought in from the garage and the adapter hose attached to a 20 pound lp tank. The others should be brought in to the basement. Follow the directions to start it and purge the air from the hose. It takes a long ass time. 

Beds should be brought into the living room and all the bedding as well. You are building a “nest”. Especially if it is winter, but even if it is not.

All the firewood and tools from outside and the garage, and shed, need to be put in the basement. All of them. Toss the firewood in through the foundation window. Carry the tools down and make a pile I guess. Assume anything not brought in will be stolen. This includes bicycles. Bring it all in. 

Shut off the utility valves. Gas is outside at the meter and water is inside behind the mirror in the basement.

Turn off the water to the toilets at the valve behind the toilet. Collect or flush the water. Congratulations, you now shit in a bag placed into the bowl. Piss into a bucket or something that can be dumped on the compost pile.

Load the guns. Remember red dead. Don’t touch the trigger or point the gun unless you have already decided to kill the thing that you are looking at. Guns are kept, loaded with the safety on, in the corner of the living room far from the door, so you can retreat towards the gun if someone is coming in the door.

Now discuss the plan together. Count calories, 1500 per day each. More if you are “working”, that means bringing in resources. No extra calories for loafing. Bake bread every day. Strain and Boil all the water harvested from the river. Develop healthy routines in a hurry, because it is time for the fish blitz.

The Fish Blitz

Fishing after collapse is a real wild card. My fear is that whatever disaster has you relying on fish, has the rest of the country relying on fish as well. That is why first and foremost we will focus on the fishing blitz. We are prepared to harvest and preserve many hundreds of pounds of fish as quickly as possible, It will resemble subsistence harvesting—a short period of abundance followed by scarcity, with survival based on knowledge rather than equipment.

Fish populations disappear quickly once pressure increases. This pattern has repeated across regions and generations. Creeks that once held trout have been emptied within a season of increased access and harvest. After a severe collapse, this happens everywhere, and it happens fast. Easily accessed waters are stripped first. Large fish vanish early. What remains are the species people once ignored.

Historically, many subsistence cultures relied on large fish such as sturgeon. One large fish feeds a family more efficiently than many small ones. The same principle applies after collapse. If large fish are available, they are taken early and preserved. They are not expected to last. Once the big fish are gone, survival depends on adaptability rather than preference.

As pressure increases, ecosystems collapse before hunger does. Crowding destroys water first. Rivers and lakes near population centers become camps. Waste flows directly into the water. Fish die from contamination and constant disturbance long before they are all caught. Even when fish remain, they are no longer safe by default. Human waste, chemical runoff, and decay turn fish into a gamble. Cooking reduces some risk but does not remove toxins. People who eat from contaminated water grow sick or weak and often do not understand why.

Water also becomes dangerous for another reason: it draws people. After collapse, everyone understands that water means food, travel, and shelter. Fishing requires standing still, being visible, and being distracted. Shorelines, bridges, and fords become places where violence concentrates. Anyone who fishes the same place twice teaches others where to wait. In a severe collapse, the shoreline can be more dangerous than hunger.

Preservation remains the hinge point. Eating fish immediately works only in the shortest term. Survival depends on smoking, drying, and salting during a brief window of abundance. Without preservation, fishing only delays starvation. The mistake is believing fishing will provide long-term salvation. History shows otherwise. Fishing can extend survival for those with deep ecological knowledge and controlled pressure, but only briefly. After collapse, fishing does not provide endless food.

In the early days of collapse, when cities are emptying and pressure is temporarily low, a fishing “blitz” is the most effective way to capture large fish before others arrive. Move early, before pressure builds. This is not a suggestion. So what, you don’t have any experience. Matters not. You must go. I will explain EXACTLY what you need to do during this very short window of time. DO NOT MISS THIS OPPORTUNITY JUST BECAUSE YOU ARE UNSURE. I am sure. 

These two photos show the two dams you will be canoeing between. Use the canoe to travel downstream towards echo park. Unload the canoe and drag it to the other side of the dam at the park. Then get back in below the dam. Now paddle under the bridge and hang a left at the fork. Now you can paddle upstream all the way to moms library. As you move, quietly set limb lines along bends, backwaters, and shaded edges. Let the lines work passively while you continue upstream. That means it is still catching your fish even though you are not there. Set one often. We have many in the five gallon bucket. The bait is in the freezer downstairs. Or…

For bait, start with canned corn. Load up the treble hooks. Simultaneously fish for tiny fish with the corn and very tiny hooks. If you catch a fish , it is bait. Either whole or cut in pieces, put the fish on the hook. 

Reach the dam before dark. Halfway is the highway bypass.  Fish the dam overnight. The objective is rapid protein capture while conditions still allow it.

As fish are taken, process them immediately. Fillet and salt the meat in layers as you move. Salting on the spot prevents spoilage and allows far more protein to be carried than could be eaten fresh. You may also simply cut open the fish belly and scoop out the organs from between the rib cage. Generously rub the fish with salt, inside and out, and layer in the meat bucket.

On the return trip downstream, collect each limb line in order. Every fish is processed and salted immediately. Do not camp or cook along the river. Once back home, secure and store the salted fish. Evaluate conditions. If pressure remains low and the effort was successful, repeat the cycle. If attention increases or returns diminish, stop.

There’s also a small collection of cheap overseas gill nets that should maybe be employed during the blitz. I also think maybe they should be saved for a last resort to be used later. My best thought right now is that if it is a total system collapse use the nets now. If it’s only really bad, and not all the way bad, save them.

The effectiveness of this method lies in front-loading effort during abundance, then transitioning into mobility and conservation. After the blitz, survivors retreat to safer, hidden waters carrying both fresh and preserved protein. From that point forward, fishing becomes measured, opportunistic, and conservative. In short, the blitz rewards foresight, speed, and preparation—not brute force. It is a narrow window of abundance, exactly the kind of moment that separates those who endure from those who do not.

Your next major opportunity to forage significant calories, other than cattail rhizomes , is during the fall. Tree nuts begin to fall in early September(?) and are EXTREMELY important. Acorns, both from white and red oaks should be collected ( and kept separate), walnuts and especially hickory. Collect them like Pokémon. Gotta catch em’ALL. Fishing rivers and lakes after shtf may be useless if riverbanks become encampments.  Very few people however will be in swamps and shallow mucks. We will explore this a bit later in the guide.

Let’s go ahead and fast forward through the winter….

Welcome to spring in Wisconsin. I’m sorry about TEOTWAWKI but it’s going to be okay.  So far in this guide we have covered two very important things that should be done immediately following collapse. That last chance at calories from a grocery store and possibly your last chance of calories and protein from the river. 

If it happens. If the complex systems that modern society relies upon begin to fail, or have failed, all is not lost. In fact, a healthy alternative may be found. Now please don’t accuse me of romanticizing shtf. It will be quite horrible. That does not mean that life is not worth persevering. We have a responsibility to do just that. We will not fail.

If all modern systems disappear at once, there are still societies on this planet that wouldn’t even notice. 

Let’s set the stage with a news story….

Nation Pushes AI Expansion Despite Rising Energy Costs and Economic Strain

WASHINGTON — The federal government reaffirmed its aggressive push to expand artificial intelligence this week, even as the massive energy demands of new AI data centers drive up electricity costs and deepen economic strain.

Officials argue the AI buildout is unavoidable, calling it essential to national security and long-term competitiveness. Modern AI systems require enormous amounts of power—often as much as a small city—putting pressure on an aging grid and contributing to rising energy prices.

To blunt the impact, the administration announced new energy subsidies aimed at stabilizing electricity costs for both industry and households. Critics warn the subsidies mask the true cost of AI, shifting the burden to taxpayers while the broader economy weakens.

Meanwhile, unemployment continues to rise as automation accelerates and job losses outpace new hiring. Economists note that while AI investment is booming, it creates relatively few jobs compared to the industries now contracting.

Despite mounting concerns, officials insist there is no alternative. “This transition is necessary,” one senior official said, acknowledging the disruption but arguing that pulling back would risk economic decline.

For now, the country faces a stark tradeoff: soaring energy use to fuel AI growth, higher costs throughout the economy, and a government determined to proceed regardless.

The Native American, who had separated into small family groups to ride out the winter on stores of food cooked on small fires, first came back together in spring, to tap the sugar maple for its sap. Some winter days they hunkered down, and stayed warm, with their children and spouses. Other winter days were used to hunt and ice fish. Then upon the spring they sought out their brothers and sisters to begin a more collective effort. 

I tell you this because the lessons they have to teach us are now extremely valuable. The natural system that supported them must now support us. We need not face this new reality completely ignorant! And that is great news. We have a map. Living directions. And it begins here. And now. 

Without fear. Trusting in those who pioneered this knowledge. Trusting in me. In this guide. In yourself. Yes, trust yourself but above all trust GOD. Ask him for help everyday. I have been lost numerous times, in numerous ways. In my despair I have asked GOD for forgiveness.  For mercy. For a way out of whatever trouble I may have caused myself. I was rewarded a wonderful life, family and his amazing grace. 

Before we jump in, we must remember that, in a shtf situation, there is no longer much forgiveness from small mistakes. Once a mistake is made, it must be corrected. If we follow a mistake with another, our mistakes may very well kill us. This is not a drill. We must be careful. Always. Before leaving the house, talk the whole thing through with each other. What should you bring? What mistake should be avoided? How can you be even safer? Every task has a procedure, complete with tools and PPE to prepare in advance. 

You will be doing things you have never done. That means that you have not already learned “the hard way” the dangers of the task. The danger of that tool. If you learn “the hard way” now, without a hospital to patch you up, you may well not see another season. 

ALWAYS:

• CUT AWAY FROM YOURSELF 

If you are cutting, it requires some amount of force. Apply that force so that WHEN the tool slips, it moves away from you. This is non negotiable. PRACTICE THIS. It is very difficult to master because when you are cutting, you will break this rule thinking it will make the cutting go faster or easier.  You must stay disciplined.  Whittle wood!  That tiny cut you get on the finger while whittling wood will heal easily while leaving behind a most valuable lesson in how to not die. 

• KEEP ONE HAND “FOR THE BOAT”

If it is not the ground or bolted directly to the ground, you must assume you will fall from it for no reason. Keep one hand empty and touching or grabbing something sturdy. Always. Keep each other accountable. If one of you is standing on a tree stump without at least one hand touching something sturdy,  call them out.. 

• MOVE DELIBERATELY IF ITS WET and please don’t run in the woods. 

When things are wet, they are slippery.

• LIFT WITH YOUR KNEES or better yet, DONT LIFT AT ALL, USE A LEVER!!!!

Do not lift heavy shit. Just don’t. 

• NEVER VENTURE OUT WITHOUT PROTECTION FROM DOGS.

This last one does not fit every narrative. Everyone who could not feed their dogs released them. Those dogs would soon be starving and if there are human beings who have died and are not being buried, dogs will eat them. It’s horrible, gross and true.  These dogs WILL form packs and attack you. If you don’t carry a gun, carry a pike (spear). If no spear, a pitchfork. CARRY SOMETHING SHARP AND LONG! 

BASICALLY CONDUCT YOURSELF AS AN OLD PERSON MIGHT

Let’s begin.

If it has happened and you are a survivor, then there is a first winter after shtf. It is important that you have the food set up to carry you through. I will go into great detail soon. For now, let’s assume it has hit the fan and you survive all winter on spaghetti.

“The savages gather the water of the maple tree, from which they make a sugar as sweet and excellent as that of the cane.”

— The Jesuit Relations, 1634

The tree was more than a source of sweetness; it was a medicine. A mood booster! Sap, collected in birch-bark containers, could be drunk fresh as a tonic ( A tonic is something believed to restore or improve health, strength, or well-being) or like a vitamin drink.  

“The clear sap was esteemed as a healing water, taken fresh in the Sugar-Making Moon to cleanse and enliven the body.”

— Recorded in early Ojibwe ethnographies by Frances Densmore, early 1900s

(Densmore’s work documents that Anishinaabe people drank fresh maple sap as a spring tonic for health and purification.)

Long is the winter, you know that already. When the snow finally starts to melt, when days consistently warm to above freezing but the night is always still frozen, tap the sugar maple and collect the sap. That is, if you are not already starving.  Slowly boiled down over open fires, it thickens into syrup, and eventually into sugar ( if you evaporate all the water) that can be stored and carried. Attempts to boil it down this far might be rather dangerous.  If you are already malnourished, we may consider focusing on cattail rhizomes. More on that soon.

“Their large bark vessels, for holding the stock-water, … frequently freezes at night in sugar time; and the ice they break and cast out of the vessels. … They said … sugar did not freeze, and there was scarcely any in that ice. … I observed that after several times freezing, the water that remained in the vessel, changed its colour and became brown and very sweet.”

— Colonel James Smith, An Account of the Remarkable Occurrences … during his Captivity with the Indians  

It is an easy exercise to tap into a maple for its sap, much harder exercise to identify a maple without its leaves. In the pages that follow, I will explain how to tap the tree and how to identify a sugar maple by its leaves. This means that you would be wise to know the location of a couple sugar maples near your home. 

If you are one of my children, then I have identified some for you while we walked about the neighborhood on the way to the pool, or in the nature reserve on the other side of the river. We have talked about them. Try to remember how excited I was to find and identify these things! You will now need that same energy. If you are not one of my children, please consider a walk around some trees to identify a few sugar maples. It’s easy.

Yes, I am talking to you. Please take the opportunity to learn how to identify a sugar maple. It’s EASY. Please take the opportunity to then identify a few near your home or foraging area. It’s EASY. If you don’t have the time or energy to complete this challenge. If you are here only to read, then don’t bother reading any further. You won’t be faring well anyway.

“When the leaves are off, the maples are known by the gray, rough bark, and the opposite branches. In the sugar season we tap such trees as we marked in summer, for it is not always easy to tell a sugar maple in winter.”

— Charles Lanman, “Adventures in the Wilderness,” 1851

This then is your first homework. Know where a couple of these magnificent gifts are growing.

Consider the thing I have just read…. Each tree may give you dozens to hundreds of gallons of sap. Also if the tree is large and near a river? 2000 pounds of sap may be harvested! 

There are other ways to obtain sugar in the wild, but not as fun, healthy, or easy. The sweet sugar can be stored to last through the entire year to make stuff taste better or sweeter, and if you miss it, that chance is gone for the entire year..

“The maple syrup becomes thick and heavy … Once it cools … she cuts it into small squares to store as sugar cakes … So that we have syrup to use on our pancakes all year long.”

— From a Wahnapitae First Nation Ojibwe newsletter 

For my children;

• In the pantry we have A Lot of  sugar. You should not be content to consume it all before deciding that maybe you should not miss out on the sugar maple opportunity. Same goes for you children of other people. You might have some sugar, however if TEOTWAWKI has arrived, if you can’t simply go to the store and buy some more sugar, then assume you will not be able to before you run out. It’s time now, go while you can. It’s easy. The harvest of the sap will be as important for your mental health as it will be for your taste buds. 

“It will take forty buckets of sap to get one bucket of syrup. … And so that you will remember to appreciate this gift, it will only come once a year when the snow begins to leave.”

— As told in a story about Glooskap / Gluskonba 

Good. Clearly, I’ve convinced you. This is a good idea. Don’t now go streaking into the snow naked. Boneheaded teenagers will think: “It’s warm now. I’ll be fine.” That’s when they may wander too far, get soaked crossing a muddy ditch and forget extra clothes. The truth: spring is no safer than winter unless you respect it.  Seriously. FAFO. All of the security of the old system is gone. A simple injury now can kill you.

“Though the snow begins to melt, one must not be deceived by the warmth of the sun; the streams are swift, the ground slippery, and a careless step may bring great harm. The old men warn that even a small injury can become serious in the wilderness.”

— From an early 19th-century Ojibwe account recorded by Frances Densmore

Treat every trip to the sap camp like a small expedition. Pack food, water, and at least one set of dry clothes. What feels likef a short walk in the morning could become a cold, dangerous ordeal by nightfall. Injury must be avoided at any cost. No goofing around. Walk. Wear shoes. If you must cut, and you must, always cut away from yourself. 

“The sap-gathering was no mere amusement; each journey into the bush was treated as a serious undertaking. Men carried extra clothing, provisions, and knives, and were ever mindful of the dangers of slipping on ice or mishandling tools. One careless moment could turn the day’s work into a misfortune.”

— James Smith, An Account of the Remarkable Occurrences… during his Captivity with the Indians, 1799

The safe choice seems to be staying home, huddled by the fire, eating from the bag of field corn you carried back from up the road ( more on that later). No wet socks, no freezing nights at the sap camp, no risk.

But here’s the truth: staying home is not safe, it is slow death.

“Most men lead lives of quiet desperation.”

— Henry David Thoreau, Walden (1854)

Making Living Bread Yeast 

You know how bread needs life in it to rise?

This is how we grow that life from flour and water, without buying yeast.

But listen well: cold will kill it, same as frost kills seedlings.

The First Day

Take:

• A half cup of flour
  
  
• A half cup of water that is just warm, like water you’d give a horse to drink in winter
  
  
• A small spoon of honey or sugar (to feed the life)
  
  

Put it in a glass jar or crock.

Stir it till it’s smooth.

Cover it so dust stays out but air can get in — a cloth is best.

Now set it near the stove, but not where it can scorch.

If it freezes, it dies. Remember that.

The Next Few Days (Days Two Through Five)

Each day, at about the same time:

1. Throw away half of what’s in the jar
   
    (This keeps it from growing sick or weak.)
   
   
2. Add:
   
   
• A quarter cup of flour
  
  
• A quarter cup of water, not cold
  
  

Stir it well.

Cover it again.

Put it back where it’s warm.

What You’ll See

• Little bubbles, like breath trapped in mud
  
  
• A smell like apples turning or beer starting to work
  
  

That smell means it’s alive.

If it smells rotten like bad meat, throw it out — it’s gone wrong.

Making It Strong Enough for Bread

When it’s bubbling well, take a few spoonfuls and put them in a clean jar.

Feed it well:

• Half a cup of flour
  
  
• Half a cup of warm water
  
  

Stir it. Cover it.

Set it in the warmest safe place you have — near the stove, wrapped in cloth if need be.

Leave it overnight.

By morning, it should be swollen and full of bubbles, grown two or three times its size.

Now it’s strong enough to lift bread.

Important Winter Wisdom

• Do not let it freeze.
  
   At night, keep it near warmth or wrapped. Maybe even sleep with it in your sleeping bag.
  
  
• If the kitchen is cold, set it close to the stove after cooking.
  
  
• Treat it like a living thing — feed it, keep it warm, and it will serve you.
  
  

This is how families make bread rise all winter, even when snow covers the fields and no yeast can be bought.

Now you can bake bread and still keep your yeast alive for future use — just like a sourdough starter.

Simple Bread Recipe Using Your Homemade Yeast

Ingredients:

• 1 cup of your natural yeast starter
  
  
• 2 ½ cups flour
  
  
• ¾ cup warm water (adjust if needed)
  
  
• 1 tsp salt
  
  
• 1 tbsp sugar or honey (optional, helps browning)
  
  
• 1 tbsp oil or butter (optional, for softness)
  
  

Instructions:

1. Activate your yeast:
   
   
• Take 1 cup of your starter and add 2 tbsp flour + 2 tbsp warm water.
  
  
• Wait about 1 hour until it’s bubbly and active.
  
  
2. Make the dough:
   
   
• In a bowl, mix your active starter, flour, salt, sugar/honey, and water.
  
  
• Knead for 8–10 minutes until smooth and elastic.
  
  
3. First rise (proofing):
   
   
• Cover and let the dough rise in a warm place until doubled (4–6 hours, depending on room temperature).
  
  
4. Shape & second rise:
   
   
• Gently punch down, shape into a loaf, and place in a greased tin or on a tray.
  
  
• Let it rise again until nearly doubled (about 1–2 hours).
  
  
  

LETS BAKE AFTER SHTF!!!!!!!

Cast iron Dutch oven.

Preheat it. Don’t start baking in a cold pan.

Flour the bottom of the pan.

Put the loaf in.

Set the Dutch oven over a small bed of coals.

Put the lid on. Scoop a small bed of coals on the lid. Directly on the lid.

Bake it near the fire, at least 45 minutes. 

It is very easy to burn with a bed of coals too hot…. Hold your hand about the distance from the coals to the pan…. Should be able to “comfortably” leave them there for a couple seconds. Same for the coals on the lid. 

TINY LOAFS!!!!!!!! 

Dough the size of a baseball. Not bigger.

Smaller bed of coals. Top And bottom.

I have baked mini loafs using 3 candles under the Dutch oven. CANDLES! tea lights actually. 3 tea lights to preheat the pan. Three more to bake the loaf with a small pan as a lid over top. Bake for the whole life of a tea light, do NOT lift the lid. 

🧫 

How to Keep Your Yeast Alive

After taking some for the bread:

1. Feed what remains: Add equal parts of flour and water — e.g., ½ cup flour + ½ cup water.
   
   
2. Mix well and leave at room temperature for 4–6 hours until bubbly again.
   
   
3. Then store with a loose lid.
   
   

Feed it once a week (take out, add flour + water, let bubble,).

It’ll live indefinitely!

These extremely basic foods are made with just flour and water.

With just flour and water, you can make several very basic foods. For flatbreads, mix flour and water into a soft, thick dough, let it rest briefly, flatten it, and cook it on a hot dry pan, flipping once. For pancakes, mix flour with more water to make a thin batter, pour it into a hot dry pan, and cook until it sets, then flip. For noodles, mix flour and water into a stiff dough, roll it thin, cut it into strips, and boil the strips in water until soft. For dumplings, mix flour and water into a stiff dough, shape small pieces, and boil them in water until they float.

The Corn Silo Trap

We live in a land of abundance. In Wisconsin, the fields stretch wide, and in every county rise the steel towers of corn silos — monuments to modern farming. They look like salvation. They look like food security. But be careful: the silo is a trap.

Henry David Thoreau (1854)

“The cost of a thing is the amount of what I will call life which is required to be exchanged for it.”

Yes, there is food in those towers. Shelled field corn, mountains of it, enough to feed everyone. And in desperate times, it will be handed out to people ( or looted ) — a bag at a time, or a bucket, if you’re willing to stand in line. At first, it feels like rescue, and in a way it is. But if you spend this year moving between those lines and your fireplace, processing and boiling field corn day after day, you will pay the price. This corn should be collected and stored as next winter’s emergency ration only. A last resort. If you learn nothing else, learn to nixtamilize this corn with hardwood ash. It WILL save your life

When it comes time to eat the fields corn. Grind and cook it well. Nixtamilize it! If you settle in to eating just the corn, after a month your health will begin to rapidly decline. Nixtamilize to prevent this! Soak the corn in acidic water overnight! It will plump up. Wash away the skin and water before cooking. 

Acid water???? Easy. Mix water and hardwood ash from the fire place. Maybe 1-3 cups per gallon???? Taste it….. bite the tongue a bit? 

If you check the emergency pantry, you may find six bags of pickling lime. Rinse 1 lb dried field corn, then in a non-aluminum pot dissolve 1 tablespoon Mrs. Wages pickling lime in 2–3 quarts water, add the corn, bring to a gentle boil, and simmer 15–30 minutes until the skins loosen and the kernels are just tender, not mushy; remove from heat, cover, and soak 8–12 hours. Drain, then rinse and rub the corn under running water several times until all hulls and any slippery lime residue are gone and the water runs clear—this step matters for taste and safety. The corn is now nixtamal and can be ground into masa. 

Right, off track. Maple syrup…

Maple sugar, however, was prized because it would not spoil, and it flavored otherwise plain foods of corn, beans, or dried meat. Whole camps were built around the sugaring process, with fires burning day and night, and children learning how to cut the bark, set the spiles, and tend the kettles. This was a season of hard work, but also celebration: the maple marked the turning of the year, a first sign of renewal, and the promise that fresh food would soon follow.

The sugar maple is a factory. Many gallons of sap from each factory. It produces something you really want. Now you must poke a hole in its bark and hold a cup in the stream of sweet syrup! 

     Find and map, or memorize, the sugar maples near your home. This may one day be important information. It is much easier to find the sugar maples using the leaves as a guide, and the leaves have not yet emerged during spring sap time. We will also be noting stands of oak, walnut and hickory. More on that later.

The big maple nearest the party pavilion outside of the pool is a sugar maple and is on public property.

The sugar maple has five lobes, and a “U” separates the biggest lobes. Compare to the other maples, spend an hour looking at maples and it becomes surprisingly easy. Best part, there is no risk to getting it wrong! ALL maples sap is edible! Sugar maple is much sweeter and better flavored.

SO NOW IS THE TIME!

We also have waited out winter in our small family group at home with a small fire, just as the natives did. Now let us leave our nest and begin to thrive. I hope you and I will meet our neighbors there in the forest. Winter survivors unite! It time for some sweet tonic.

Choose 10+” diameter trees.

Tap below large branches or above large roots.

Any maple will produce sweet sap. The Sugar Maple sap is 2x sweeter. A simple hole, drilled upwards angled slightly, 2” into the tree, with a nail or twig shoved in, will guide the sap to the bucket. A drill bit is the best tool! And we have one. You will turn the bit with a manual drill, and we have that too. Garage. Guess what! I bought some maple tree syrup things that insert into the tree and guide the sap into a bucket with a tube..:::

Drill a hole as instructed, insert a straw or something to carry the sap away from the tree, and out over a bucket. Drink it raw (that’s right you don’t have to boil it, or heated up or boil it down into syrup. The sugar never expires. If the syrup develops mold (it will), scrape it off and reheat (it’s perfectly safe).

We are lucky enough that our neighbor has two or three maple sugar maples in their front yard. The house on the corner two doors down toward downtown.

At the nature preserve across the river, a trail leads up the hill. At the top of the hill you turn east and walk for just a couple of minutes maybe just one minute. The very first maple tree is on the left and is a sugar maple! Note it’s right at the edge of kind of a steep drop off…. again on the north side of the trail.

40 or 50 feet further up the trail to the east and growing on the south side of the trail by this dead tree is the second sugar maple

Here I have centered the second sugar maple in between the fork of the dead tree

And as we had hiked to the top of the hill and turned, east marched a few hundred meters and now directly on our left or the north side of the trail is a dense marsh of Sawgrass? However, on the south side of the trail is a pond surrounded by cat tail… Probably cattail camp.

A fire may be made there at camp. Find a way to safely support a kettle over the fire. Burn it all day, adding sap. Make it hot before bed, and it will remain hot (safe from spoilage) all night long. Sleep there to guard it if you are worried. 

The goal of syrup production is to collect sap, evaporate its water content, and preserve the resulting concentrated liquid. The proportion of water to sugar determines quality: darker syrup indicates a higher concentration and is generally considered more valuable. The finished product is extremely sweet.

Producing syrup requires a great deal of energy. A steady fire must be maintained using large quantities of wood to keep the boiling vessel hot. This process typically continues from early morning until nightfall. Because of the prolonged heating and basic principles of thermodynamics, the equipment and surrounding area retain heat well into the night.

Once the syrup reaches the proper concentration, it must be prepared for storage. Improperly stored syrup spoils quickly. Preservation requires sterilization of both the syrup and its container, much like canning. When contamination occurs, fermentation begins rapidly, producing an alcoholic liquid. This transformation was well understood historically.

One technique for storage involved allowing mold to form on the surface, which created a seal protecting the syrup beneath. Sealing through sterilized containers later became a more reliable method.

Maple sugar was also produced in solid form as candy. Candy making carried serious risks. Maintaining open fires posed danger, and boiling sugar behaves much like hot oil—thick, adhesive, and capable of causing severe burns. Sugar is also flammable, increasing the risk of fire. Pouring the boiling liquid into small molds required care, as even minor mistakes could result in injury.

First Foods of Spring

When the nights still freeze and the days begin to warm, the sugar maple comes alive. Clear, cold sap rises in the tree, dripping steadily into any vessel placed beneath a tap. This is the signal: spring has returned. For generations people in Wisconsin have waited for this flow. 

While the kettles boiled and sap turned slowly into syrup, the forest floor also stirred. At the very same time, or very soon after,  sap is collected - the first wild greens begin to push through the damp soil. Stinging nettles send up tender shoots, garlic mustard unfurls its pungent leaves, and ramps spread their wide, green blades in shaded hollows. That resembles a forest lawn! These foods arrive almost in unison with the sap run (maybe a little later if it was a snowy winter), and their collection can occur side by side.

In practical terms, this means no wasted motion. A person tending maple kettles could, while gathering firewood or checking buckets, also forage the first nettle shoots or a handful of ramps for a fresh meal. Sap provided the drink and the sweet; greens provided the vitamins and strength after the lean winter months. Both are fleeting — sap stops flowing once nights no longer freeze, and the wild greens toughen quickly as the season warms.

Learn to identify nettle, garlic mustard and leeks. It’s not hard. The first two are superfoods and the leeks are delicious and grow in the woods. Consult my wild edible books for better pictures and information. In the books, you will see hundreds of different plants. Ignore MOST of them. The superfoods, nettles, garlic mustard- these are the powerhouse plants right now. Cattails are powerful survival plants also.-

Cattails are the single most reliable source of foraged calories in spring, and they grow almost everywhere water lingers—marsh edges, pond margins, drainage ditches, creek shallows, and wet meadows. While most wild spring foods offer vitamins and freshness, cattails offer something far rarer: actual starch, the thing your body must have to work, think, and stay warm. Indigenous peoples across North America knew this well. In lean months, long before gardens had come in, families walked straight to the marsh.

In early spring, the most important part of the cattail is the rhizome, the thick, rope-like root that runs horizontally just under the mud. These rhizomes store the plant’s energy for the coming season, and that energy is mostly starch, which can be scraped, pounded, or rinsed free from the tough fibers. The process is muddy and slow the first time, but it becomes second nature, and no other wild plant gives you so much return for your labor. A single armload of rhizomes can translate into enough starch for several meals—something no patch of dandelions or nettles can offer.

As the season progresses, cattails continue to feed you in different ways. The young shoots, often called “cossack asparagus,” can be peeled and eaten raw or cooked. They are tender, mild, and present right when other vegetables are scarce. Later still, the plant produces pollen, a bright yellow dust that can be shaken into bags and mixed with other flours. This pollen is astonishingly nutrient-rich and calorie-dense, and it arrives precisely when many other wild foods dip again in availability.

Because cattails grow in dense stands and regenerate quickly, they provide not just one meal, but a sustained, dependable food supply. If you know how to work a cattail bed, you are never truly without calories. When people talk about the “first foods” of spring—the greens, the flowers, the tender new shoots—they’re talking about flavor and medicine. But when they talk about cattails, they’re talking about survival.

Chapter 1.1 – The Last Winter Bread

The snow had settled into that stubborn late-season crust, the kind that glittered under sunlight but felt like concrete underfoot. Inside the Toro house, everything smelled faintly of flour—warm, dusty, almost comforting. Almost. The smell reminded everyone that the last bag was half-empty now.

Dad brushed crumbs off the cutting board as he set down the final loaf of the season. It wasn’t a real loaf anymore—more like a squat, tight slab, heavy as a brick. Not enough honey left to soften it. Not enough oil to lighten it. But it was food, and in Wisconsin in late March, that still felt like a miracle.

Mom carved it into thin, even slices. Ration slices. No one asked for a bigger piece. Asking made it harder for everyone.

The wind rattled the kitchen window. In a world where only the wealthy could afford food and energy bills, people were desperate and even the sound of wind felt threatening.

Lucas, the older teenager, leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Is this it? Like… the last of it?”

Dad didn’t answer right away. He was staring at the bread as though it were a math problem. When he finally spoke, his voice was steady, but his thumb tapped the counter in a constant, nervous rhythm.

“We’ll stretch what we have left,” he said. “Spring’s coming. Once everything thaws, the land will open back up.”

A small lie. The land was thawing, yes—but thawing into mud and dead grass and last year’s brittle weeds. They’d already learned the hard truth: early spring greens were practically calorie-free. Their bodies craved starch, not dandelion leaves.

Mara, the younger teen, poked her slice with a fingertip. “Dad, we can’t live on pretend-salad forever.”

Dad’s jaw tightened. He looked older this month. The black stubble on his face made him look tired, not tough. “I know,” he said softly. “But we made it through winter. That means something.”

Winter had been a victory of planning and luck. The pantry had saved them: jars of beans, stacks of pasta, rice bought on a whim, sacks of flour and sugar Dad had run out to get the day his factory closed down. He’d known enough to buy yeast and salt and oil. He’d known bread would be their backbone.

But now the backbone was cracking, brittle as old bone.

Mom slid the last piece of bread onto her plate, but didn’t eat it. She watched Dad with quiet intensity, waiting for him to say something more—some plan, some reassurance.

He swallowed, as if bracing himself. “I’ve been reading,” he said. “There’s something we can try once the ice melts at the marsh.”

Lucas perked up. “What kind of something?”

Dad hesitated. In that silence, the house seemed to hold its breath.

“Cattails,” he said at last. “The roots. Real starch. People used them in old famine years. They grow thick around the wetlands. If we can dig them out, clean them right… we’ll have enough calories to get through spring.”

Mara wrinkled her nose. “You mean those tall fuzzy plants? We’re gonna eat those?”

Mom narrowed her eyes at Dad. “Are you sure?”

He nodded. “It’s one of the only wild plants with enough carbohydrate to keep us going. And we still have gear. Waders. Tools. We can do this.”

Lucas sat back, considering it. Mara looked unconvinced. Mom looked scared. Why did it have to be so hard? What was everyone else doing? Almost nobody drove anywhere, who was going to work? 

But Dad… Dad looked like a man clinging to the first rope thrown to him all winter.

“Once the ice breaks,” he said, with a hint of the old confidence they all missed, “we’ll be fine.”

The others said nothing. They just ate slowly, quietly, making each bite of dense winter bread last.

Outside, the world was thawing.

Inside, the Toros were waiting for it to save them.

Chapter 1.2 – Spring Isn’t Enough

The first real thaw came with a smell—wet soil, rot, the faint promise of green things waking up. It should have felt hopeful. Instead, the Toro family stood in their backyard staring at the ground like it had betrayed them.

A thin mist coated everything. Meltwater dripped steadily from the pines. The snow had retreated in ragged patches, revealing dead grass flattened like old straw. Nothing edible. Nothing alive enough to matter.

Lucas crouched and poked a green shoot with a stick. “This is it? This is what we waited for?”

The shoot bent under the stick, flimsy and pathetic.

Dad had insisted that once spring arrived, the land would provide. But the land was still barely thawed, and what little grew was all leaf and no substance. The kind of stuff rabbits loved. The kind of stuff that filled your stomach but did nothing else.

Dad joined Lucas beside the ground. He plucked the shoot and held it between his fingers.

“You can eat it,” he said quietly. “Just… not enough of it.”

Mom stood on the porch, arms crossed tight around her chest. She’d been watching Dad carefully lately, as though waiting for a crack to form. “We can’t keep pretending the yard will save us,” she said.

Dad didn’t argue. That scared everyone more than if he had.

He straightened slowly, brushing mud off his hands. “The wetland will be different,” he said. “It has to be.”

Lucas raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

Dad looked toward the line of trees beyond their property. Beyond those trees lay a low basin of reeds, muck, and standing water. A place they rarely thought about until now.

“Because cattails don’t care about seasons the way we do,” he said. “Their roots stay alive under the ice. Thick. Starchy. Packed with energy.”

Mara looked unconvinced. “So… like potatoes? But grosser?”

Dad cracked the faintest smile. “Something like that.”

Mom sighed. “And you’re certain it’s safe?”

“Safe enough if I’m the one going in the water,” he answered. “I’ll wear the waders. And the kids won’t go deep.”

Lucas straightened, interest flickering through him. “You really think we can get calories out of those things?”

“I don’t think,” Dad said. “I know. People survived on them long before grocery stores existed.”

Mom looked toward the trees, into the direction of the marsh. The air smelled of melting snow and cold mud—like winter refusing to leave.

“How soon?” she asked.

Dad studied the yard again, as if searching for some sign that the earth might suddenly reveal hidden bounty. It didn’t. Nothing did.

“As soon as the ice breaks,” he said. “We’ll set up camp. A few days, maybe a week.”

“Camp?” Mara repeated.

Dad nodded. “Cat Camp.”

Lucas snorted. “Seriously?”

But he didn’t look opposed. Not at all.

Mom bit her lip. “If it keeps us alive, call it whatever you want.”

Dad turned back toward the house, the decision solidifying in his posture. “Tomorrow morning,” he said. “We start packing. Tools, tent, the canoe. Everything.”

The chill in the air cut through Lucas’s jacket. The idea of trudging into icy water sounded horrible. But the idea of doing nothing—of getting weaker each day—was worse.

Mara hugged her arms and whispered, “What if there’s not enough there either?”

Dad heard her. He didn’t turn around, but he answered anyway.

“There will be,” he said. “There has to be.”

Because if there wasn’t, the Toros had no backup plan left.

Chapter 1.3 – Packing for Cat Camp

The next morning arrived gray and heavy, the sky a low ceiling of clouds that looked ready to drop more cold instead of warmth. But Dad woke the house early anyway. Too early, as far as Lucas was concerned.

“Up,” Dad said, knocking on both bedroom doors. “We’ve got work to do.”

There was no point in arguing—everyone knew what day it was. Packing day. Preparing-for-survival day. The day they stopped waiting for spring to save them and tried to save themselves instead.

Mara stumbled into the hallway wrapped in a blanket. “It’s freezing,” she complained.

Dad didn’t deny it. “All the more reason to start early. We need daylight.”

Lucas rubbed sleep from his eyes. “We’re just digging up roots, not climbing Everest.”

Dad gave him a look that said not funny. “We’re harvesting in cold water. We’re camping on wet ground. We need proper gear, backups, and backups for the backups.”

Mom came out of the kitchen holding two mugs—what was left of their herbal tea supply. She handed one to Dad and kept the other for herself. She looked tired but calm, in that way she always looked right before a stressful task.

“We should make a list,” she said.

Dad nodded, then grabbed a pencil stub and the back of an old envelope. “Already started one.”

He placed it on the table and began reading items aloud.

The Tools

Chest waders

Canoe paddles

Garden forks

Two shovels

Machete

Folding saw

Rope—two lengths

Rubber gloves

Fishing net (for scooping floating rhizomes)

Hatchet

Lucas whistled when the list kept growing. “We’re gonna look like we’re going to war with the swamp.”

“We are,” Dad said.

Mara peeked over his shoulder. “What’s this?” She pointed at a scribble.

“Laundry bag,” Dad said. “Mesh. Perfect for rinsing roots in the water.”

Mara blinked. “For laundry?”

“For cattails,” he corrected. “We adapt.”

Mom added another line to the bottom:

11. First-aid kit

“You forgot this.”

Dad didn’t argue. He just nodded once.

The Camp Gear

The old two-person tent

Thick tarp for ground cover

Sleeping bags

Camp stove

Propane canisters

Lighters and waterproof matches

One big pot

Two tin mugs

One wooden spoon

Mom sighed looking at the meager cookware. “I wish we had more to bring.”

“It’s enough,” Dad said. “We’re cooking starch, not gourmet meals.”

Food & Clothing

Last jar of peanut butter

Bread scraps from last loaf

A few carrots nearing their end

A tiny jar of honey

Thermals and wool socks

Extra gloves

Towels

Dry clothes in case of accidents

As they gathered items, the house slowly transformed from home into staging area. Tools leaned against the wall. Clothes piled in baskets. The canoe, dragged from the garage, rested in the driveway like an awkward guest.

Lucas tested the edge of the machete. “It’s dull.”

“Sharpen it,” Dad said without looking up. “We’ll need clean cuts underwater.”

Lucas pulled out the whetstone and set to work.

Mara packed the tent and sleeping bags, grumbling under her breath. “I still think it’s weird. Camping, but like… for food. Not fun.”

Mom zipped a nylon bag. “Survival camping,” she said. “Different breed.”

Dad checked the rope for frays. “Remember,” he said, “no one steps into water deeper than their boots. And no one gets separated. If the mud takes one of us down—”

Mara froze. “The mud can take you down?”

“Yes,” Dad answered plainly. “Which is why we stay close, use the ropes, and move slowly. Cattails grow in muck, not sand.”

Lucas set down the machete. “You’ve done this before?”

Dad hesitated just long enough for the kids to notice. “No,” he admitted. “But our ancestors did. Plenty of people did. And if they could figure it out with nothing but bone knives, we can figure it out with all this.”

That was the closest thing to a pep talk they’d had in weeks.

By afternoon, everything lay in organized piles. The canoe was loaded on the small trailer. The tent was tied, stove secured, and tools stacked neatly.

Mom stepped back and surveyed it all. “It looks… like a lot.”

Dad exhaled hard. “It’s everything we have that could help.”

Lucas lifted the tent bag into the canoe. “So we leave at dawn?”

“No,” Dad said. “Before dawn. Coldest part of the day keeps the mud firmer.”

Mara groaned. “Of course it does.”

Mom touched Mara’s shoulder. “Just think of it as an adventure.”

Mara frowned. “Adventures are supposed to have snacks.”

Dad tried not to smile. “We’ll bring a few.”

But everyone knew the truth:

Cat Camp wasn’t about adventure.

It was about desperation wrapped in planning and hope.

They’d done everything they could.

Now the wetland would decide the rest.

Chapter 1.4 – The Road to the Wetland

Morning came like a dull ache—no sunrise, only a slow brightening of the sky that made the frost on the windows glisten. The Toro family stepped outside into the cold breath of early spring, their boots crunching the last thin crust of snow.

Dad locked the front door, not because anyone was coming, but because habit was hard to break. Lucas and Mara stood by the trailer, their breaths hanging like ghosts in the air. Mom handed out the last of their lukewarm tea in tin cups.

“Drink,” she said. “It’s something warm, at least.”

Lucas swallowed his too fast and winced. “It tastes like grass.”

Mom managed a tired smile. “Better than nothing.”

Dad gave the ropes securing the canoe a final tug. Satisfied, he nodded. “Alright. Let’s move.”

The wetland wasn’t far—just a few miles south, tucked between an old county road and a thick stand of maples. Under normal circumstances, it was the kind of place you’d drive past without a thought. But today, the marsh felt like it carried the weight of their survival on its mossy shoulders.

The family walked down the road in a quiet line, pulling the small trailer behind them. Wheels crunching gravel. Cold air biting noses. The landscape was thawing in slow motion—puddles reflecting the gray sky, ditch water trickling, patches of brown grass emerging like old secrets revealed.

Halfway there, Mara broke the silence.

“You think anyone else will be at the marsh?”

Dad shook his head. “No. Most people don’t know what’s in it.”

Lucas kicked a stone down the road. “Most people didn’t panic-buy cattail cookbooks on day one.”

Dad glanced at him. “I didn’t buy a cookbook. I bought flour and yeast.”

“Which is why we’re still alive,” Lucas said, not teasing this time.

They kept walking. A pair of crows flew overhead, arguing loudly. A rusted mailbox leaned sideways beside a long-abandoned driveway. Everything felt empty, as if winter had chased humanity away and hadn’t realized the Toros were still here.

Mom adjusted try the pack on her shoulders. “If this works…” she began, but her voice trailed off.

Dad finished the sentence. “If this works, we’ll have calories. Real calories. Enough to stay strong.”

“And if it doesn’t?” Mara asked.

Dad’s stride never slowed. “Then it has to.”

No one argued.

When they finally reached the turnoff, the smell hit first—wet earth, rotting vegetation, the faint swampy musk of stagnant water waking from hibernation. It wasn’t pleasant, but it wasn’t bad either. Just honest.

The wetland unfolded before them like a gray-brown ocean of reeds. Old cattail stalks stood tall and ragged from last year, their heads burst open into cottony fluff that clung to everything. The ground squelched underfoot, partially thawed, partially frozen. A low fog clung to the surface like a veil.

Mom exhaled slowly. “This is it.”

Mara pressed close to her. “It’s… bigger than I remembered.”

Lucas scanned the area, hands on his hips. “So where do we set up?”

Dad pointed to a slightly higher patch of ground near a cluster of young willows. The soil wasn’t dry—it probably hadn’t been dry in a century—but it was at least firm enough to stand on.

“There,” he said. “That’s camp.”

They hauled the gear off the trailer, one load at a time. Stakes hammered into soft earth. Tarps spread out. Tent assembled in slow, clumsy motions, fingers numb in the cold. The canoe was dragged to the water’s edge, positioned carefully so it wouldn’t drift.

By the time they finished, the fog had thinned and a weak slice of sun broke through the cloud cover. It wasn’t warmth—not even close—but it was light, and right now that felt like something.

Dad wiped his hands on his jeans. “We’ll rest a few minutes. Then we start.”

Lucas looked out over the marsh, at the maze of cattails stretching farther than he could count. “How do we even know where to dig?”

Dad reached into the canoe and pulled out a garden fork. “We start where the water is shallow,” he said, nodding toward the nearest cluster. “Cattails always reward the persistent.”

Mara wrinkled her nose. “Reward might be a strong word.”

Dad smiled faintly. “In hard times, anything that gives back is a reward.”

Mom put a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll make it work.”

And for the first time since the pantry had started to empty, for the first time since the last loaf had been sliced into ration-sized pieces, the Toros allowed themselves to believe she might be right.

Chapter 1.5 – First Steps Into the Marsh

The marsh didn’t welcome them so much as tolerate them. The moment Dad stepped toward the waterline, the mud made a low sucking sound, as if warning him what kind of place this was—soft, cold, unpredictable.

He didn’t hesitate. He just pulled on his chest waders, cinched the straps tight, and waded in.

A sharp gasp escaped him before he smothered it. The water was colder than expected—snowmelt cold. His face tightened the way it did when he stepped into an icy shower.

“Dad?” Mara called, inching toward the edge.

“I’m fine,” he said through clenched teeth. “Just cold. Exactly as advertised.”

Lucas knelt  w by the banks, testing the mud with the garden fork. His hand sank deeper than he liked. “This is… gross.”

Dad forced a thin smile. “That means the roots will be good.”

He pressed forward, water climbing past his knees, then mid-thigh. The mud slid and shifted beneath each step. It was like walking on half-frozen pudding. The reeds hissed around him as the breeze pushed through.

Mom stood beside the canoe, holding the rope. “Slow movements,” she reminded. “We can’t fish you out quickly if you fall.”

Dad raised the garden fork. “I’m more worried about losing a boot.”

He stabbed the fork down. It disappeared with barely any resistance.

Lucas watched intently. “So how do you know where the roots are?”

Dad lifted the tool and stabbed again, feeling for something solid. “They run horizontally,” he explained. “Just under the mud. When I hit one, I’ll feel it—different texture.”

He stabbed a third time. The fork bounced slightly, catching on something dense.

“There.” He leaned forward. “Found one.”

Mara stepped closer, curiosity overriding her reluctance. “Already?”

“Cattails grow thick in colonies,” Dad said. “If you find one rhizome, you find dozens.”

Lucas rolled up his sleeves. “Tell me what to do.”

“You and your sister stay on the edge,” Dad said firmly. “When I pry a clump loose, pull it in. Try not to fall in—it’s deeper than it looks.”

Mara made a face. “Message received.”

Dad dug the fork in again, levering upward. Mud swirled. Dark shapes shifted under the surface. Finally, with a loud schlop, a thick rope-like rhizome broke free, pale and knobby and surprisingly long—nearly four feet.

Lucas grabbed it with both hands. “Whoa. This thing’s huge.”

“Like an underwater sweet potato vine,” Dad said, catching his breath. “Some parts will be soft—those are the starchy bits we want.”

Mara examined it with narrowed eyes. “Doesn’t look like food.”

“Neither do potatoes before you wash them,” Dad retorted.

Mom held out the mesh laundry bag. “Put them in here so the mud rinses off.”

Lucas fed the first rhizome into the bag. Mud trickled out like thin chocolate milk.

Dad plunged the fork back into the muck. “Alright. Let’s get more. We need enough for tonight’s meal and enough to dry when we get home.”

The family fell into a rhythm:

• Dad pried roots free in the waist-deep shallows, moving methodically, slow and careful.

• Lucas hauled each slippery rhizome toward him, using both hands to keep his grip.

• Mara rinsed the roots in cold water at the edge, shaking mud loose, gagging dramatically more than once.

• Mom added each cleaned piece to the canoe, spreading them out so the slime wouldn’t mat them together.

Hours passed like this. The sun never fully broke through the clouds, and the air stayed sharp and wet. But as the pile of cattail rhizomes grew, so did their determination.

At one point, Dad slipped, catching himself on a dead cattail stalk. A heartbeat of panic rippled through everyone.

“Dad!” Mara shouted.

“I’m alright,” he called back, breathing hard. “Just stepped in a deep pocket.”

Mom’s voice came thin and tight. “Be careful.”

Dad nodded, shaken but steady. “Always.”

They continued.

By midday, the canoe held a mound of pale, rope-thick rhizomes—easily fifty pounds. Mud-stained, numb-fingered, exhausted, they finally stepped back from the marsh.

Dad dragged himself onto firmer ground and collapsed onto the tarp, breath steaming.

Lucas dropped to sit beside him. “So… that was terrible.”

Dad laughed weakly. “Yes,” he agreed. “But it’s the kind of terrible that keeps us alive.”

Mara flopped into the tent doorway. “These had better taste like heaven.”

Dad rubbed his cold hands together. “Let’s find out.”

Mom knelt by the canoe, touching the roots with gentle curiosity. “It’s more food than we’ve seen in weeks.”

“Then let’s cook,” Dad said.

He looked at the cattails the way a starving man looks at bread.

Not with joy.

With relief.

With hope.

Chapter 1.6 – Cleaning and Cooking the First Cattails

The sun was already sliding toward the treeline by the time they started cleaning the day’s harvest. The light turned the wetland gold, though none of them had the energy to admire it. Hunger pressed at them harder than beauty could distract.

Dad knelt beside the canoe, sleeves rolled up past his elbows. “Alright,” he said, voice gravelly from cold and fatigue. “Let’s turn these into something edible.”

Lucas dragged the big stockpot next to him, filling it halfway with clean marsh water. Mara shivered violently and wrapped her arms around herself.

Mom noticed. “Change into dry clothes first,” she urged.

“I’m fine,” Mara insisted.

Her teeth chattered loud enough to contradict her.

Mom put a hand on her shoulder. “Dry. Clothes. Now.”

Mara huffed, but obeyed, disappearing into the tent. When she came out minutes later, wrapped in a sweater and thick socks, the relief on her face was obvious.

Dad picked up the first rhizome. It was slimy, caked in mud, and looked exactly like something a person should never eat.

He dunked it in the pot and scrubbed vigorously with a gloved hand.

“Step one,” he said, “is pretending this looks normal.”

Lucas smirked. “That seems like a big step.”

They settled into a system:

Dad rinsed each rhizome in the pot, scraping off the outer slime.

Mom used a knife to peel off the fibrous sheath, revealing the pale, starchy interior.

Lucas chopped the cleaned sections into manageable pieces.

Mara, now warm and less grumpy, rinsed them again in fresh water.

Gradually, the canoe shifted from looking like a pile of muddy roots to something closer to food.

Mom held up one cleaned piece. “This part feels firm. Like a parsnip.”

Dad nodded. “Those are the best sections. Lots of starch.”

Mara wrinkled her nose. “It still smells… swampy.”

“It’ll smell better cooked,” Dad promised. Though he did not sound entirely convinced.

The First Boil

Dad set up the camp stove and placed the pot—now filled with clean root chunks—on the burner. A thin line of steam rose as the water heated.

The smell hit first: earthy, faintly sweet, and unmistakably marsh-like.

Mara cringed. “Are we sure about this?”

Lucas poked the bubbling pot with a spoon. “We’re not dying, so yeah.”

Mom nudged him. “Optimistic today?”

“Starving today,” he corrected.

The chunks softened quicker than expected. Dad fished one out, blew on it, and took a small bite.

The family watched him like he was defusing a bomb.

He chewed. Slowly. Thoughtfully.

“Well?” Lucas pressed.

Dad swallowed.

“It’s… food.”

Mara groaned. “That’s not a review.”

Dad laughed, short but real. “It tastes like a cross between mild potato and soggy cardboard. But it’s edible. And filling.”

Lucas grabbed a piece, cooled it, then took a bite.

His face twitched. “Yeah… that’s… not good.”

But he didn’t spit it out.

Mom sampled hers next, more gracious than the teens. “It’s fine,” she declared. “Once we mash it and fry it, it’ll be much better.”

Dad lit up. “Exactly. That’s where the real calories are.”

Making the First Meal

They worked quickly:

They drained the boiled rhizomes.

Lucas mashed them with the wooden spoon until they resembled a pale paste.

Dad added a tiny splash of the precious oil.

Mom sprinkled a pinch of salt over the bowl.

“That’s it,” she said softly, staring at the bowl as if it were a feast.

Dad heated the pan on the stove, formed the mash into rough patties, and placed them gently on the sizzling surface. Steam rose. The smell improved—still marshy, but now warmer, richer, slightly like roasted grain.

The patties crisped on the outside, browning unevenly.

When they were done, Dad served them on tin plates: two patties each.

No one waited. They ate.

The flavor wasn’t good—but it was food. The crispy exterior helped. The honey-sweet undertone of the cattail starch gave it a rustic, strange-but-satisfying character.

But more importantly, as they ate, they felt it:

warmth.

starch.

energy creeping back into their limbs.

Mara finished hers first. “I want another.”

“So do I,” Lucas said.

Dad stared at his empty plate, wiped it with his finger, and licked it clean. “We’ll cook more.”

Mom smiled weakly. “We did it.”

For the first time in months, the Toros felt something new, something fragile but real:

A future.

Not security, not abundance—just the chance to fight another day.

They sat around the camp stove, plates clean, hands warm, bellies heavier than they’d been since January, listening to frogs croak in the darkening marsh.

Dad looked out at the cattails, standing tall and silent in the evening wind.

“We’re going to be alright,” he whispered.

And for once, nobody doubted him.

Chop the ramp bulbs and leaves, then bring water or a little saved maple sap to a boil over the fire; add the ramp bulbs first and simmer until soft, then add the rinsed young nettle tops and garlic mustard leaves and cook just until wilted, finishing with the ramp leaves for fresh flavor, seasoning with a pinch of salt or dried ramp if you have it. Eat hot, adding a touch of maple sugar if you want to balance the bitterness of the garlic mustard—this simple spring stew restores fluids and delivers vitamins, minerals, and steady strength.

Planting Potatoes and sunchokes in Early Spring

Its easy to plant potatoes. So easy. Same can be said of sunchokes.  Don’t let them freeze. By the time the ground is thawing, bury them just deep enough to make sure the soil doesn’t freeze to their depth. 4” early April . Every 12 inches, bury a seed potato. Keep your rows a couple feet apart. It’s EASY. Potato have saved millions from starvation. We have enough seed potatoes safely stored in the cooler, buried in front of the shed and under the straw bales, for HUNDREDS of plants. 

Evan sat on the front porch of the single story chest freezer that used to feel like a comfortable home.  Now, It was as cold inside as it was out, so he chose outside, staring into the dark. For the last week the days had teased them—warming just enough to melt the ice, just enough to make you hope for spring—then plunging back below freezing the moment the sun disappeared.

In his father’s shtf book, the one written before he died two years ago, printed at the library for fifteen cents a page because he was afraid the power grid would fail—this was called go time. He treated preparing for disaster like a hobby. Kept a few months of food in the “end of the world” pantry and a stack of cases of bottled water in the dining room. Evan thought he was nuts. 

His dad loved the frog-in-hot-water example. Said, “we adjust our normal to compensate for crazy”. His way of saying what seems crazy today will be normal eventually if it stays that way for long enough. “What’s the catalyst that gets your ass moving?” he’d asked Evan once. “Write it down. Banks closing? Schools shutting down? Martial law? What event means SHTF to you? Because it’s a moving goalpost. If things happen slowly, you’ll wait for worse and worse signs before you act. That’s how you let your family down. Big time.”

Evan, Mark, and little June—only nine—had spent the winter with their mother- Daisy,  in a dark house. The electric company shut them off for delinquency. The news said thirty-five percent of households were behind now. Did that mean thirty-five percent were living without power too? Hard to tell. Very few lights shone at night, even though the town had ten thousand people. Energy was too expensive to waste.

January’s bill alone had been a thousand dollars. They couldn’t pay it. They still owed December. And that was just to keep the house at sixty degrees. Each degree higher changed the bill by something like seven percent. Every time the door opened to let the dogs out, it felt like throwing five dollars of hot air into the night.

So this was SHTF?  It didn’t look like the end of the world. No fires. No sirens. No soldiers. Just frozen evenings, empty houses, and people pretending tomorrow would somehow be cheaper. But it fit Dad’s description perfectly.

SHTF was easy to identify:

• Shock
  
  
• Too long to recover
  
  
• Mass reaction—and you’re already too late
  
  

Shock was the “ what the hell” phase. It could be fast or slow. Too long to recover was when reality settled in, when you realized the consequences weren’t temporary. Mass reaction was the final sign—when people started changing behavior all at once. If you waited for that, Dad said, you’d already lost the initiative.

“Don’t use your neighbors as a gauge,” he’d written. “You have a brain. Use it. When everyone acts together, that’s panic. Panic is the opposite of thinking. You don’t have to jump ship all at once. Just start taking action for just in case.”

Evan was still sitting on the porch when Mark came out. “The bread goo froze again,” Mark whispered. “Mom’s pissed.” The sourdough starter. It was a living culture—yeast and bacteria. If it froze solid, it died. They didn’t have to start completely over; they kept dried starter on hand, which could freeze safely. But every failed batch meant a day or two of awful bread. Bread mattered now.

Evan had a fix. He planned to keep the starter in a cooler packed with sand. Set it near the stove—open while the fire burned, closed overnight when freezing was most likely.

Later, Evan stood in the yard, eyes drifting to the neighboring lot. Three trees stood there. Dad had identified them in the guide, sugar maples. They looked like every other tree, but Dad had known. The women who owned the property were never home. Even before everything fell apart. Evan kept checking the street, heart thudding. The neighborhood was quiet.

The hand drill bit awkwardly into the bark. Keeping it straight took effort. He angled the hole slightly upward, drilled a couple inches deep. As soon as he pulled the bit free, the tree wept.

Sap.

He tapped the spile in gently. A clear drop fell. Then another. He slid the hose on and guided it into a bucket.

One tree. Then two more. At first the sap rushed, then slowed to a patient drip. After ten minutes, Evan went back inside. From the window he watched the buckets in the neighbor’s yard. They looked strange. Obvious. A woman and a small child appeared after a few minutes. The kid couldn’t have been more than five. They leaned over the bucket, peering inside. Before disappearing from view, the woman held out her cupped hand and let some sap pool in her palm. She brought it to her mouth and encouraged her child to do the same.

Evan felt wonderful.

Over the next three weeks, he emptied the buckets several times a day, collecting maybe three gallons total. Boiling it down took forever, but it gave them something to do—something productive. Mark and June helped. They poured sap into the bathtub, where it froze on top overnight. When Mom was ready to add more, they broke the ice and discarded it. The ice was almost sugar-free—just water. The sugar concentrated below.

A pot always sat on the wood stove, steaming or boiling whenever the fire burned. Wonderful, the sweet smell in the house. As the water left the pan, more sap was ladled in from the tub, the syrup growing ever darker as more sugars were added. 

When the logs collapsed into glowing coals, Daisy shoveled ashes beneath a Dutch oven in the fireplace. Another layer went on the lid. That’s how they baked bread most days.

The weather warmed. Snow clung only to shaded corners. Early spring flowers appeared in neglected yards. People started coming outside again—not all at once. One neighbor fixing a fence. Another lingering on a porch with a mug. All of them looking unwell, probably from relying too heavily upon field corn as food. 

Soon enough the sap started to look cloudy in the bucket and Evan wondered if he should be adding it to the rest. They decided then, that “sap camp” was done, and removed the spires from the trees. They had probably collected 80 gallons of sap, less than half remaining. Soon it too was added to the pot, and the resulting syrup, almost 2 gallons, poured ever so slowly into old spaghetti sauce jars. 

The first finished jar of syrup sat on the counter like treasure. Dark amber. Smoky. Thick.

Daisy dipped a spoon, tasted it, and closed her eyes. “This,” she said quietly, “is real food.” She had eaten enough spaghetti and soup with bread to last a lifetime. 

They used it carefully. A drizzle on bread. A spoonful in oatmeal. June licked the spoon when she thought no one was watching. Mark didn’t bother hiding it.

The power still hadn’t come back by the end of sap camp. The news promised relief. Programs. Emergency measures. Everyone nodded at that word like it explained the prices. Like it justified waiting. But Evan saw the change.

One night, as they ate thick bread with syrup, June asked, “Are we gonna be okay?” Daisy looked exhausted. Older. But she nodded. “We are,” she said. “Because we’re doing things.” The family had been discussing the next step in dads plan. Planting Potatoes.

Later, Evan stepped back out onto the porch. The air smelled like damp earth instead of snow. Somewhere a dog barked. Somewhere else, someone laughed. It still didn’t look like the end of the world.It looked like a beginning most people didn’t recognize yet. And for the first time since the lights went out, Evan felt ahead of it—

not waiting,

not hoping,

but moving.

The woods were coming alive now that the snow was gone. The next thing Evan was supposed to do was forage nettles and garlic mustard, and start planting potatoes He had no idea what he was doing. He took a forage guide from his dads shelf and went out into the nature preserve a half mile up the way. At first he wandered, everything looked the same, foreign. He again read the descriptions, studied the pictures. 

Then he found one. A tiny little nettle. By the end of the week, he could identify and forage nettles and garlic mustard with ease. He delivered his mother fresh greens and she prepared a delicious, nutritious meal. 

By the time the maple sap is flowing and the first wild greens — nettles, ramps, and garlic mustard — are pushing through the thawing soil, it’s also time to turn attention to the garden. If you’ve stored seed potatoes over the winter in a cool, dry, frost-free space, early spring is the perfect moment to plant them. These high-calorie staples will form a backbone of your summer and fall harvest. Now is also the best time to plant the sunchokes, just not in the same spot! More on that later.

So. Where do we plant our gardens. You will be planting in your yard, as well as public property. Our property is about a quarter acre, and the backyard half that. We will plant it entirely with potatoes if we have enough seed potatoes. We probably don’t, so just go ahead and prioritize potatoes, because they are very calorie dense.

Start by checking the soil: it should be soft enough to dig, not frozen or overly wet. Cut your seed potatoes into pieces with at least one “eye” per piece, and plant them 2–4 inches deep, spacing pieces about a foot apart and leaving rows 2–3 feet apart. Lightly mound the soil around the seeds to improve drainage and protect them from any lingering frost. The hole should be WIDE, not deep. Potato grow horizontally, and better in loose soil.

Don’t cut them too small. I’ve never cut one into more than 2 pieces, but then again I’ve never stared down TEOTWAWKI.

eyes!

The beauty of early spring is that these activities can happen side by side. While one is checking sap buckets or gathering tender greens, another can take a few steps to the garden and plant a row of potatoes. The same week can accommodate hydration from sap, nutrition from wild greens, and the first steps toward a long-term food supply.

This is why we store next year seed potatoes in a root cellar or buried safely in the ground so that if we lose electricity over the winter, our seed potatoes are not damaged. This is one of the most important things you can do. Potatoes can be planted much earlier than your other seeds, do not plant ANYTHING else right now. Just potatoes, unless you absolutely know that all threat of frost has passed.

Early April in the Garden

By early April, the garden is waking up. The garlic we tucked into the soil (or didn’t) late last fall will soon be sending up its first green shoots, pushing through the chill of the lingering frost. The beds are still cool and damp, but there’s life stirring beneath the surface.

We’ve just planted our stored potato seeds, the ones we kept safe through winter. They’ll rest in the cold ground for now, waiting for the soil to warm. At the same time, we bring out the sweet potatoes from the root cellar—or from the insulated hole we buried them in—to start growing slips indoors. It’s a bit of a balancing act: trying to get them warm enough to sprout without letting them freeze if the house gets too cold at night. More on this later.

The End of the Sap Run

By mid-April in Wisconsin, the sap season comes to a close. Nights have warmed enough that the trees no longer build pressure, and the first leaf buds begin to swell along the branches. If tapped now, the sap turns cloudy and carries a bitter edge — a clear sign that the work of sugaring is finished. The kettles are cleaned and put away, and the tree is left to push its new growth.

By this time, the focus of survival shifts. The earliest greens have spread wide across the woods and edges: stinging nettles are tall enough to cut by the basketful, garlic mustard is vigorous and tender before it flowers, and ramps form dense patches in rich, shaded soils. What was once a handful here and there has become a steady supply of fresh food.

Meanwhile, in the garden, the seed potatoes should already be in the ground. If planted when the soil first became workable, they are now covered by cool earth, sending down roots and pushing green shoots upward. Mounded rows hold the promise of the calorie-rich harvest to come, a future storehouse built while the forest provided its first nourishment.

At half past April, you are two weeks from potentially planting the rest of your seeds. Use the time wisely. Prepare a garden by scraping grass off the lawn with a shovel. Try to remove it without a lot of dirt. Pile all the grass upside down near or all around the potatoes if they are growing above ground. Make an upside down grass carpet right up to the potato plant.

By Novembers end, the land is near empty. For half a year or more, survival rests entirely on what you have stored, what you can hunt, and what you can forage. Every mistake costs calories; every preparation saves life. But don’t worry! It’s easy to collect calories in fall, especially if you have grown them! I’m going to explain. You got this.

Breaking Ground

We disturb the soil with shovels and rakes. The garden must be large. Larger than you think. But don’t let that stop you. A little effort every day turns soil into survival.

Now, corn. Take your shovel, dig deep. Turn the earth over to the south side of the hole. Or direct upside down in the hole, so the grass and roots are buried at the bottom, out of the sun. Let them rot into fertilizer. Break the dirt up with your shovel or rake until it’s loose. I think I prefer to turn the soil to the south of the hole because that clump of upside down sod will stop the grass from growing there, and in doing so provide a “runway” of light from the seeds to the southern sky, where the sun spends its day. 

Now loosen the soil in the hole, regardless of the technique you used. It is okay to dig out a 8” chunk of earth, put it next to the hole on the south side, and then loosen the soil deep in the hole. You might be looking into the hole now and thinking something similar to “I can’t plant seeds in a deep hole and then bury them deeper into loose dirt!” And maybe most seeds you would be correct…: but my Hopi seeds will thrive this way. Just make sure to bury the seeds in loose soil.

Drop ten corn seeds into that softened soil, one to five inches deep. Cover them lightly. Water them. Then move on. Again. And again. Everywhere the sun reaches all day long — plant.

Place these mounds about 3-4 feet apart. 

This is not a job for later. Early May is GO TIME. Every day counts. The corn must be in before the end of May. If you wait until June, you gamble with frost stealing your harvest.

Don’t plant anything else yet. The beans and squash will wait. Right now, it’s all about corn. Row after row, mound after mound. Each patch is security, each seed a promise of food.

Plant corn in the grass at the airport, by the river and far from the road. Plant ALL the corn seeds we have. I have seen many deer grazing there, however I don’t expect them to survive teotwawki. 

Corn may need to be protected. 24/7. I do understand the implications of that statement and do not have solutions yet. Once the pumpkin and squash leaves surround the corn, it should dissuade the deer. 

Now the real work has begun. Potatoes already rest in their rows. Corn joins them. This is the beginning of the harvest to come.

Growth and Care

Wait until the corn is a hand tall, don’t worry it’s not an exact science. That’s your signal. Now thin the mounds to 5 or six of the healthiest corn plants. Now the beans, squash, and amaranth can join the fight for sunlight and soil. Plant them all around the corn. Water them. Love them. This is the food that will see you through the months ahead.

Tomatoes, cucumbers, onions, peppers and other delicate crops go in a separate garden at home. Keep them apart from the corn, beans, and squash. Once the squash vines begin to trail and twist, you won’t be able to reach these plants without tearing through leaves that are meant to protect the soil and feed you.

Daily work matters: water your plants, keep weeds under control. Every small act keeps life growing in the dirt. Do not waste edible food! Goosefoot, plantain….. purslane…. Resource these edible things! If you remove them from your garden, they can be the first fruits of your harvest!

Meanwhile, don’t forget the wild greens: forage the nettles, eat the dandelion leaves, pluck plantain. They are medicine and vitamins when your garden is still young. They are calories, fiber, and survival. The land offers food even before your rows of corn, beans, and squash reach full strength — don’t ignore it.

Your survival garden is growing. You are feeding yourself with both careful planting and the generosity of spring. Every day is effort, every day is sustenance.

June — The Hunger Window

It is June. The snow has long been gone. Months have passed since the first white fell in November, and for half a year, you have relied on stored calories and preserved food. Now the garden grows, but it is not yet enough to feed you.

Calories and protein are still critical. The corn is rising, the beans are sprouting, and the squash spreads its leaves across the soil, but these plants are not yet ready to sustain you. You cannot afford to lack nutrients.

Grasshopper and earthworm are edible. They must be cooked through. They are protein.  Grubs are in the old rotting logs, just tear the bark off and find one. Better cook them. Just raise the temperature of the things to 160 degrees hundreds of millions of people eat these things every day. Even before TEOTWAWKI.

Seeking Protein

Without meat, it is very difficult to thrive. Plant calories sustain life, but protein and fat — the fuel for endurance, strength, and survival in cold months — come from animals.

As soon as it is safe, begin to take what the rivers and lakes offer. But be cautious. The least prepared people often crowd these areas, desperate, careless, spreading disease and conflict. They are dangerous. Never trust anyone at the water’s edge. Survival demands vigilance as well as skill.

If conditions allow, catch fish and harvest mussels. Both are rich in protein and vital fats. Prepare a kit in advance: gill nets, small hooks — very small hooks. Larger fish may have been drastically overfished, leaving only the smaller, quicker species. Your nets and tiny hooks give you the advantage, allowing you to take what others overlook.

Mussels may lie in shallow, sandy streams. Take them carefully. ALWAYS WEAR SHOES WHEN WALKING IN THE WATER. They are slow to spoil, but cleanliness matters. Rinse them and cook thoroughly to avoid illness. I have found them at wapato stand. Side note, Never eat fresh water seaweed.  Also, there is a natural dam under the first bridge from the parking lot of the white river trail. Small mouth congregate there. 

A machete with a safe case will be very helpful. 

How the technique works

• Bait: A small piece of bread (crust or soft flake) is molded around the hook.
• 
  

• Presentation: The bread is either:
  
  
• Freelined (no weight, very natural drift on the surface), or
  
  
• Lightly weighted so it sinks slowly.
  
  
• Target behavior: Carp often feed near the surface, especially in warm, calm conditions, and will readily take floating or slowly sinking bread.
  
  
• Tackle:
  
  
• Light to medium rod
  
  
• Strong line (carp are powerful)
  
  
• Wide-gape hook (sizes 6–10 are common)
  
  

When it’s effective

• Warm weather
  
  
• Calm water
  
  
• When carp are visibly cruising or feeding near the surface
  
  

Why anglers use it

• Very natural presentation
  
  
• Highly visual and exciting
  
  
• Bread is cheap, accessible, and effective for wary carp
  
  

In short, this is surface carp fishing using bread as a natural bait, relying on stealth and observation rather than heavy tackle. 

Summer Foods — Calories and Variety

By summer, survival shifts from the fleeting gifts of spring to the steady work of the garden. Calories now come not from sap or tender shoots but from crops you’ve tended since the thaw. Among these, beans and potatoes are the foundation — filling, dependable, and storable. Alongside them, tomatoes and cucumbers bring freshness and balance to the summer diet.

Beans

Beans are ready in two forms:

• Green beans: Harvested fresh by midsummer, tender and quick to cook.
  
  
• Dry beans: Left on the plant until pods rattle; high in protein and calories, they become the survival staple for storage.
  
  

Potatoes

The first “new potatoes” can be dug about 10 weeks after planting, small but nourishing. By late summer, larger tubers are ready to harvest. These form the bulk calorie source, boiled or roasted fresh, or stored for the winter months ahead.

Tomatoes

Tomatoes ripen through midsummer into fall. Though not calorie-dense, they add vital vitamins and acidity to meals, pairing well with beans and potatoes. They can be eaten raw, cooked into stews, or dried for later.

Cucumbers

Fast to grow and heavy yielding, cucumbers provide crisp hydration in the heat of summer. While low in calories, they restore fluids and minerals, helping balance the heavier starchy foods. With simple brining, they can be preserved for use after the season.

The Summer Table

By midsummer, the garden offers a complete spread:

• Calories: Potatoes and beans
  
  
• Protein: Beans
  
  
• Freshness: Cucumbers and tomatoes
  
  
• Flavor: Herbs and wild greens still available in the woods and fields
  
  

Cattails — The Swamp’s Storehouse

While the maple groves and gardens sustain you on higher ground, the marshes hold their own store of food. The cattail, tall and unassuming at the water’s edge, offers nourishment in nearly every season. In survival, it is one of the few wild plants that can compete with the garden for true calories.

Spring and Early Summer — Tender Shoots

The young shoots, pulled from the base and peeled, provide a crisp food known as “Cossack asparagus.” They are refreshing but light, offering vitamins more than calories.

Mid-Summer — Golden Pollen

By midsummer, the flower spikes release clouds of fine, yellow pollen. Shaken into a bag or cloth, this pollen is one of the most concentrated wild plant foods available: high calorie! 

Year-Round — Rhizomes

Beneath the mud lies the cattail’s greatest treasure: thick rhizomes packed with starch. These can be dug at any time of year, though easiest in late summer through winter when they are fullest. Roasted or boiled, the rhizomes are heavy with calories, or they can be pounded and rinsed to release a flour-like starch for 

.

“Fermentation: The Long Game

“Alright, you got apples?

Good.

Pick every last one — clean, rotten, half-eaten, don’t matter.

Rot’s just sugar learning humility.

Mash ’em up. Bare hands, a stick, whatever’s solid. Add water ‘til it stirs easy — not thin, not sludge. You’ll learn the feel.

Cover it loose — cloth, leaves, shirt sleeve — keep the flies out, let the air whisper in.

Then you wait.

A day or two, warm if you can manage it.

When it starts to bubble and hiss, that’s yeast waking up.

Don’t fear it. Yeast’s older than any god we named.

She’s everywhere — on the skins, in the air, maybe on your beard if you’ve earned one.

Now, this is where roads split.

You can stop here — drink it.

Sweet, sharp, makes you forget the ache in your bones. That’s cider. That’s your quick comfort.

Give it a week and it’ll take the edge off your bad days. Give it two and it’ll burn like forgiveness.

But maybe you’re smarter than thirsty. Maybe you’re thinking long game.

That’s vinegar.

See, cider’s for the night. Vinegar’s for the winter.

Cider makes you sloppy. Vinegar keeps you alive.

Once the bubbles die and the sweetness is gone, pour your cider into a wide-mouth jug.

No lids now — this next part breathes.

Cover it with cloth to keep the flies out, but let the air feed it.

Then you wait again — longer this time. A month, two, maybe more if it’s cold.

You’ll see a skin grow on top — thick, milky, floating like a ghost. Don’t skim it.

That’s the mother.

She’s the one turning your booze to acid, your pleasure to purpose.

Acetobacter — you don’t need the name, just the respect. She works slow, but she don’t quit.

When it smells sharp enough to sting your nose, when it bites the back of your throat — that’s vinegar.

Strain it off, save the mother. Feed her a little cider now and then, and she’ll work for you all your life.

Remember this:

Yeast runs fast, turns sugar to spirit.

Bacteria walks slow, turns spirit to survival.

You need both. One for celebration, one for preservation.

Fire’ll warm you for an hour.

Fermentation’ll feed your people for a season.

So keep your jars clean, your patience long, and your nose honest.

You’ll know the smell when it’s right — sharp, alive, ancient.

That smell?

That’s civilization, trying to start over.”

1. Put the shredded cabbage in a very large bowl, a few handfuls at a time, and lightly sprinkle with salt as you go. The cabbage should be salty in an agreeable, thirst-inducing way, like bar nuts. So start with 2½ tablespoons and add more to taste, if needed.

2. Bruise the cabbage with a wooden pounder or your fists. Continue to pound and knead until the cabbage is limp and drippy. Flatten in the bottom of the bowl and loosely cover. Set aside in a cool place overnight.

3. The next morning, knead the cabbage again to redistribute the juices. Pack it by handfuls into a clean, straight-sided gallon container. Compress each addition. The goal is to have a tightly compacted mass submerged in its own liquids. Top up the container with the remaining brine.

4. Place a weight on the cabbage to keep it submerged. Options include a heavy plate, a mason jar filled with water, or a ziplock plastic bag filled with brine rather than water, in case of leaks. For the brine, dissolve 2 teaspoons of salt in 2 cups of water.

5. Cover the container with a clean kitchen towel topped by a plate. Put in a cool, dark place, ideally between 55° and 70°F. Check the container daily. You will almost certainly find a speck of mold at some point. It's harmless—a superficial blemish-and can be removed with a spoon or paper towel and discarded. The cabbage will begin to ferment in several days. It will taste tangy within a week to ten days and be fully mature within about 2 weeks, or longer in a chilly setting. Whenever the taste is to your liking, put the sauerkraut in the refrigerator to slow further fermentation. It will keep for months.

Note: You can add to the shredded cabbage any combination of shredded carrots, turnips, or beets, if you like.

Caraway seeds are a traditional flavoring.

Fall nuts

Native Americans had several clever ways to store hickory nuts and hickory milk products through the winter without modern refrigeration. The key was drying, concentrating, or protecting from pests. Here’s how:

1. Dry the Nuts

• Whole nuts (shells on) can be stored for months if kept cool, dry, and ventilated.
  
  
• They often buried nuts in baskets, pits, or even earthen storage cellars, which kept them from freezing and protected from rodents.
  
  
• Some tribes layered nuts with sand, leaves, or straw for extra insulation and dryness.
  
  

2. Make Hickory Nut Meal / Flour

• Shell the nuts (or lightly crush whole ones).
  
  
• Grind the kernels into meal or flour.
  
  
• Spread it out to dry thoroughly — the drier it is, the longer it keeps.
  
  
• Stored in airtight containers (wooden boxes, clay jars, or leather bags), this meal could last several months.
  
  

3. Hickory Milk / Pulp Concentrate

• Native people often reduced hickory milk by simmering it down into a thick paste or syrup, concentrating the oils and sugars.
  
  
• This could be dried into cakes or stored in sealed containers.
  
  
• The high oil and sugar content naturally preserved it through the winter.
  
  

4. Smoking / Cold Storage

• In colder climates, nuts or nut products could be kept in snow or ice pits for months.
  
  
• Smokehouses were sometimes used to keep insects away, not just meat.
  
  

5. Combining Methods

• Often, nuts were stored whole for eating later.
  
  
• Hickory milk or paste was made in large batches from nuts, then stored dried or concentrated.
  
  
• This allowed Native peoples to have both emergency rations and ready-to-use cooking ingredients throughout the winter.
  
  

Hickory milk or syrup cakes that are thick and dry will last the longest. Whole nuts in shells last a long time too, but once shelled, they go rancid quickly unless roasted and dried.

 

280

TREE CROPS

of the future housewife. Pots of beechnut butter nearly two thousand years old have recently been unearthed in Poland.

Thus far, scientific agriculture seems to have utterly neglected the beechnut.

https://archive.org/details/foodplantsofnort237yano

consider our food storage before teotwawki. 50 pounds of spaghetti noodles and 50 jars of sauce. 50 pounds of egg noodles and 75 cans of soup.

Preserving the Harvest for Winter: Sweet Potatoes

When you’re pretty sure it’s Indian summer—the last stretch of warm weather before the frost—go ahead and harvest your sweet potatoes. You can eat the leaves, steamed or boiled, all season long, but keep in mind that heavy picking might slow the growth of the roots.

Some of those sweet potatoes will be set aside for next year’s planting. To store them, layer them in a bucket: one layer of sand, one layer of sweet potatoes, then another layer of sand, and so on. Once the bucket is full, or even halfway full (?), cover the top with dry grass, straw, or a pile of super-dry leaves. Lay some chicken wire across the top to keep mice out, then bury the whole thing under topsoil. Before the cold really sets in, add another blanket of straw and leaves for insulation. Nice and thick. 

The rest of the sweet potatoes—the ones you don’t plan to use for slips in the spring —can be eaten fresh ( stored cool and dark, 4-6 weeks or more) or preserved (until gone). To preserve them, slice the tubers very thin, almost like potato chips, and lay them out in the sun to dry. Use a drying rack or even a patio table, and make sure they’re drying fast enough to stay ahead of mold or spoilage. On a warm October day I was able to slice thin and mostly dry my first batch. I brought them in for the night and back out for the next day. 

They’re ready when they’re brittle and dry, no longer leathery to the touch. Once they reach that point, pack them in jars or any airtight container. Stored this way, they’ll keep through the winter—and remind you, in the dark months, of the warmth that grew them.

The buddy heater is so much easier for indoor heating. Extra heater and fuel is advisable. Even the tent stove, burning steadily, provides less heat than the buddy heater on low setting.

Chapter: Firewood

A fire means heat, light, comfort, and the ability to cook food or dry your gear. But not all wood — or timing — is equal.

1. Dry Wood Only

Wet wood doesn’t burn; it smolders, smokes, and wastes your energy. Always look for dry wood — pieces that feel light, sound hollow when knocked together, and show cracks on the ends.

2. Avoid Rotted Wood

“Dry” doesn’t mean “rotted.” Rotted wood turns to punky dust and gives off almost no heat. If it crumbles in your hand or looks spongy, leave it. You want solid, seasoned wood that’s been drying for months, not decomposing in the dirt.

3. Gather More Than You Think

You’ll always burn through wood faster than you expect. A pile that looks huge will vanish by midnight. Double what you think you’ll need — then add a little more. Running out of wood in the dark or cold is a mistake you make only once.

4. Cut and Split in Good Weather

Don’t wait until you’re cold to start cutting. Processing firewood when your fingers are numb is miserable and dangerous. Do it early, when the weather is clear and your energy is high. Drying time matters, and you can’t rush nature.

5. Hardwood Over Softwood

If you have a choice, go for oak, hickory, or maple — they burn hotter and last longer. Pine and spruce ignite easily but burn fast and throw sparks. Use them for kindling or quick heat, not for an all-night fire. Cut hardwood, it’s worth the effort.

6. Kindling is King

You can have the best firewood in the world, but if you don’t have enough kindling, you’ll just fill your shelter with smoke. Thin, dry twigs and small splinters get your fire breathing before the big logs go on. Always gather a big pile — more than you think you’ll need.

Air too dry? Put some water to steam on the wood stove! Rainy day and Air too moist? Burn the stove to dry out!