Prep Time

Cleaning out the barrels with a tin of gun oil that's older than I am sitting on my coffee table.  How many missions has this handed down tin relic helped in prepping?  How many tiny drops have secured the confidence and actions of my brother, father, and our friends?  It doesn't take much, it's the good stuff.  Boxing up the empties from last time, still lingering in the pockets of thick canvas along with puffs of down and a top knot.  The dog likes the top knot.  It goes on her nose while she's sleeping.
Maps spread, the Google Machine doing the satellite checking.  New grounds.  Unproven, but in those rendered images lay the hope of this old friend crew.  The promising signs of good chukar sticking out to each of us: cheat grass, rocky ridges, and some sage.
Filling the water jugs at the last minute so they don't freeze so quickly.  Grabbing wood from the neighbor's oak he dropped in the fall.  He may or may not be pleased about this, depends on if he's got a wood stove and knows how to use it.  Booze money thrown into the pot.  Dogs loaded up, attempts are made to feed them well but they're too excited to eat.  One stop at the last supermarket before the desert melts from Reno.  Sturdy smiles hidden on the inside, we're damn lucky for this.