Guacamole

He roared with frustration as he scratched and scabbed at his beard. The magpie just looked at him balefully – used to such frequent outbursts. ‘Bloody, freaken heck’ he screamed. Knowing that hardly a soul resided nearby who could hear him. Who would even care anyway? After all those countless years of prepping, so sure of himself that disaster of one type or another was impending, did he ever stop to think about the pain, agony, and daily frustration of facial hair left to grow unkempt? No. And now not a razor could be found within walking distance on his corner of the face of the planet. He was shaggy, itchy, lonely, and hungry. ‘What a life’ he grumbled.

Carefully pruning, because now every single stick, every branch had to be triple thought through before cutting it away, he sawed away the last branch of the tree that needed to be pruned for this season using his weathered handsaw. ‘At least it’s a little bit of firewood for the winter’ he mumbled, now taken to talking to himself and the birds rather than be continually mute. It was frightening not hearing one’s own voice for days at a time and it made him scared, so he talked to the trees and the animals throughout each day. He surveyed the pile of branches, so painstakingly chosen over this past month, thinking on the old timers saying ‘20% of the tree cutaway this year, ensures a bountiful crop ripe for market next year’. Well, there would be no market next year. Hadn’t been one for three years now.

As he picked the last of the Fuerte crop, enough to see him through till the Haas started producing late winter, he reflected on the grim irony of his situation. Being an avid doomsday prepper for much of his adult life, he’d given in to his wife’s insistence that they move to this mountain. Not too far from either city, but with fresh air, 90 income producing trees, and three bountiful acres for all their children to run and be truly free without the limiting constraints of fences, formal schooling, or shoes. And it was paradise. For three amazing years they flourished. His cancer retreated to the deepest depths, refusing to come back for a second run. She taught art classes to excited and enthusiastic adults and children. The kids started a fabulous business with all the avocados’ selling them roadside and turning them into truffles and other gourmet delights and making beauty products with them. ‘Happiness Avocado’s’ they were called. It truly was a blissful time for them all. None of them actually liked plain avocados but mixed with the limes from their one bountiful tree – oh my, they were content to eat guacamole every day till the cows came home!

Then came The Wave. In all the varied scenarios that lead to a SHTF situation, The Wave never factored into them. It seemed so unlikely, so fantasy based, and regardless – they now lived on top of a mountain. He’d been warned of The Wave by an old woman, an Earth Elder, when they’d first moved to the land. She hadn’t said when, just soon. But he wasn’t sure if she was really connected in with the earth and the spirits or just a crazy old woman with an amazing memory for recalling odd, detailed facts. Turned out she was right. A tsunami so high, must have been almost 300m, came ripping in from the coast and obliterated everything in its path. Being on the lee side of the mountain meant he and the property were safe. But his wife and kids, his everything? They’d gone down to the coast to do some winter clothes shopping that morning.

The lime tree had died not long after The Wave. All the unprepared refugees, walking from one Estate to the next quickly picked it clean. The tree suffered stress from the constant handling and stealing of its hard born fruit and just packed up and died. With nary a bye your leave. At least he had avocados. 90 fruitful trees. Only living on avocados was pretty off. He’d never like them in their natural state and now that’s all he had. The trees had been in between seasons when the refugees came through. With most people not even realising what sort of a tree they were, the sombre group slowly moved on to pick through the next Estate, and so on, until they’d gone much further inland. Now it was just him and, in his opinion, the barely edible, though admittedly life-sustaining avocados, and a handful of birds.

As he scooped up the last mouthful of the creamy Fuerte avocado it somehow entirely missed his mouth, dropping instead on his wife’s locket that he now wore religiously around his neck. When a month had passed and she still hadn’t made her way home after The Wave, he knew in his heart what his mind had known all along. She was gone. The kids were gone. Everything he had worked the last 15 years for was gone. It would have been so easy to give in to despair and lay down without getting up. But he knew his wife wouldn’t like that. She’d want him to carry on and make a retreat for any stray who found their way into his path, so he could help them. And himself in his own way. So he’d gone into their room, looking for something of hers he could always keep on him. When his eyes fell on the heart shaped locket, he knew this was the right piece. He’d given it to her when they were courting in Mexico, an absolute eternity ago. When they’d moved to the farm he asked her why she’d stopped wearing it. She laughed, answering with a twinkle in her eye ‘well it’s totally impractical on a working farm to wear dangly jewellery, but I promise you, it has all the seeds of life wrapped up inside it, and it’s still there when I need to remember how much you love me’ she joked. She always joked with him in her playful, unassuming way.

He fondled the locket, forgetting it was covered in the avocado that had missed his mouth. ‘Bloody beard, annoy me to hell and high water but can’t even catch a bit of food, what’s the use of ya?’ Not wanting to waste the avocado, despite never wanting to eat one again in his life, he popped the locket into his mouth, sucking off all the once tasty morsels, now merely nutrition. As he did so the locket split open, filling his mouth with dirt. ‘What the heck?’ he spat and spat until his mouth felt normal. He murmured under his breath ‘what on earth?’ Lying all over the table, covered in slobber and avocado, were seeds. All the same type. He picked one up, examining it carefully, then shook with laughter. He laughed so hard he was doubled over until he fell to the floor, gasping for breath, feeling that his heart might burst from love. Lime seeds. They were lime tree seeds! His wife’s favourite smell, taste, and plant. For whatever reason, who would ever know, she had kept a dozen perfect lime seeds, ready to be planted and grow into a thriving, heaving, citrus tree. He wept with gratitude. No more plain avocados. Very soon, with patience and tenderness, he would again be feasting on guacamole.

By Katie Hooper – 13/06/2021