Our mega farm store Rural King was out of both two-cycle oil and bar chain lubricant for my chainsaws. This is the sort of common outage that no longer really surprises. I did not even bother to ask why. Cindy grows tired of hearing me come home and say, “This week, it’s yogurt! They said the truck was delayed.” Every outing it’s something — milk, butter, or, God forbid, toilet paper — those empty shelves, always rotating, never the same, our new normal.
That whatever is out of stock typically shows up by the next time I circumambulate the aisles does little to reassure me that nothing has broken. I am not an optimist, though I do play a cheerful pessimist. Which is why I notice with grim fascination and humor the signs that our world of plenty has frayed.
An old friend and I used to debate whether we had too much in this culture. When I mentioned that I aspired to a “genteel poverty” he was dismissive. Well, the reality is that world may just be dawning regardless of one’s aspirations. Certainly, there is plenty that we don’t need. But when the nearby Kroger reduces its bread aisle by half to keep up with ongoing shortages, that is more than noticeable: it is a marker. And as when the global supply of baby formula or cancer drugs is delayed, there are consequences and impacts.
Sometimes it is merely the balance within a particular commodity that is off. That common calibers of ammo for hunting rifles have been hard to find for a few years is not news and concerns only those willing to go out and claim a live animal as the next meal. That the ammo commonly favored by the disaffected for mass shootings is more easily available is a somewhat more problematic concern to the larger society.
Or consider our friends’ elderly mother. Her car was pronounced “totaled” by the insurance company after a modest accident, when a replacement part was not to be found in the supply chain. It would most likely show up, eventually. But it was easier to close out the claim than to wait months or a year for a part to arrive. That there are few cars on any car lot to purchase, and only at a dear price, matters not to anyone but the person in critical need of a vehicle.
Movement of the goods we use to maintain this global lifestyle is principally done via shipping containers. At $1,500 per container, it was a cheap method of transport at the start of 2020. But that cost ballooned to close to $30,000 last year, and it has hovered around $15,000 for the past nine months. All but the most dull-witted can figure out that the cost differential impacts the chain as either a price increase, a delay, or a simple absence of product ordered. Any of the three has a knock-on effect that ripples through the economy, and reaches consumers as shortages and inflation.
Add skyrocketing costs of diesel to the mix, and a profitable store on the West Coast has to close, because the price of sending new books jumped 300 percent, outpacing sales and the cost of goods. Then understand that those everyday profit-and-loss considerations are being factored into every business decision by both mom-and-pop operations and large corporate concerns. The ongoing nuisance shortages like yogurt or two-cycle oil are being amplified exponentially throughout the supply chain, at least in the short term. Factor in timely supply deficits in key parts, fertilizer, and the like, and “nuisance” barely begins to cover our woes. These are only the visible surface cracks of a much deeper structural fracturing of the global economy.
Moving manufacturing back home, then retooling for a national or local consumer economy, seems an unlikely course in these resource- and financially constricted days. And, says my cheerful inner pessimist, there isn’t much we can do to change this trajectory. But there is plenty we can do to provide a little more resilience in our lives, and it’s along the lines of “prepare for changes and expect less.” It is old advice, but growing a garden, developing a basic tool kit of low-tech skills, learning to repair, cultivating friends who share your values and outlook, and stepping outside the 24/7 consumer culture — all can help mitigate.
Time, however, marches on, and it passes the unwary and the unprepared at a more blistering pace than most would have anticipated at the beginning of the journey. Best to be like the ants and start preparing now for our unpredictable future.