cryptogon.com

Helen, a petite 42-year-old Nelson housewife, is racing to build her own personal TEOTWAWKI lifeboat.

Earlier this year, she and her American husband cashed-up to buy a 21ha farm in a remote, easily defensible, river valley backing onto the Arthur Range, north-west of Nelson.

The site ticks the right boxes. Way above sea level. Its own spring and stream. Enough winter sun. A good mix of growing areas. A sprinkling of neighbouring farms strung along the valley’s winding dirt-track road.

The digger was to arrive this week to carve out the platform for an adobe eco-house. A turbine in the stream will generate power. A composting toilet will deal with sewage.

Then there is the stuff that could really get her labelled as a crank (and why she would prefer to remain relatively anonymous, at least until she is completely set up). Back at her rented house in Nelson, Helen shows the growing collection of horse-drawn ploughs, wheat grinders, treadle sewing machines and other rusting relics of the pre-carbon era, she believes she will need the day the petrol pumps finally run dry.

There is the library of yellowing books from colonial times, telling how to make your own soap, spin candlewicks, care for clydesdale horses.

“In the kitchen now, I’m always thinking, well, how am I going to do this job if I’m not plugged into the power? I’ve been scouring Trade Me for the things we’ll need.”

And weapons to defend the homestead? Helen’s hands rise to her face in a mix of distress and bemusement.

That it should come to this. That this is the kind of decision you have to make if you are prepared to think future events through to their logical conclusion.