The mother of all disastersThink of the 1800s, the wagontrains, and the people who crossed the prairie looking for a better life. Now fast-forward to the new millennium and the worldwide economy totally crashing, causing unbelievable chaos and violence.Through Native American prophecy, Aaron Hodges sees it coming and envisions building a hidden colony to ride out the likely decades-long crisis.When the crash came nobody could point a finger and blame a specific thing. The United States and the world were locked in drought, stagnant economy, and rampant pollution. Too many people were wasting too much, demanding too much standard of living, and too much money created too much free time and entertainment, for, as one height was reached boredom prevailed, and more and greater thrills were demanded.More wood, more metal, more food and drink, and more oil.The oil flow stopped.Then the flow of supplies stopped. The civilized world found itself trapped inside a steel, concrete, and plastic wasteland with no utilities, no food, no water.And no gasoline.Aaron Hodges is the bellwether. He sees the future through the prophecies of his Nez Perce friend, Four Crows.When the crash happens, martial law is declared. No taking a caravan down a hardtop road. So some 60 people go cross-country in 16 covered wagons each pulled by a 4-horse team, over fields, prairie, and forest, about 40 days and 300 miles from southern Minnesota farming country into northern Minnesota wilderness.Caroline Jentner is the love of Aaron
About the Author: James W. Nelson was born in a little farmhouse in 1944. Some doctors made house calls back in those days. He remembers kerosene lamps, bathing in a large galvanized tub, and their phone number was a long ring followed by four short ones, and everybody else in the neighborhood could rubberneck. (Imagine that today!) He was living in that same house on the land originally homesteaded by his great grandfather, when a savage tornado hit in 1955 and destroyed everything. They rebuilt and his family remained until the early nineteen-seventies when diversified farming began changing to industrial agribusiness (not necessarily a good thing.) He spent four years in the US Navy, worked many jobs and finally has settled on a few acres exactly two and one half miles straight west of the original farmstead, ironically likely the very spot where the 1955 tornado first struck, which sometimes gives him a spooky feeling.