Carrot rebellion stirs homeland committee

It was an unhappy group of campers that gathered in the community hall for the spring conference of the Homeland Security Committee. The sun was shining but they were not.

Chairperson Ork Dorken didn’t even get a second bang of his Coke bottle before Orville Jordan, the retired Soo Line depot agent, started to vent whatever organ needed venting. Usually, it was the spleen but today it was all the major parts, right out on the table. This was no time to mince words.

“When are we going to get the gardening plots measured off so we can raise some carrots?” he asked acidly, turning on his heel to face the citizenry.

“It’s the middle of June,” he continued. “The carrots should have been planted three weeks ago. At this rate, we’ll be raising mini-carrots this year. You can buy those in the store…cheap.”

“Maybe we should just summer fallow this year,” Josh Dvorchak proposed with a grin. He knew when to throw gas on the fire.

“Summer fallow!” stormed Holger Danske. “My family has been growing vegetables since we settled here in 1909. It’s the only family tradition we have left.”

“If we could only raise clean carrots like they sell at the store they would be worth the trouble,” Elsie Thorvald wondered. “Ours always has dirt on them. Is there such a thing as a clean carrot variety?”

But the nine electors present were not to be diverted.

“Mr. Chairman, who has fallen down on the job that we should be sitting here with our seeds and no place to plant,” demanded Orville.

“Well, I appointed this committee of three to do this by May 15,” Ork reported defensively. “Madeleine went back to Montana; Dorsey went to the Black Hills on his motorcycle until July, and Holger had a death in the family.”

“When Holger comes back he will have another death in the family if we don’t get our vegetables planted,” threatened Einar Stamstead.

“Ma is expecting a good cucumber crop, so her pickles can win another blue ribbon at the County Farm and Garden Fair,” he explained.

“Mr. Chairman, I move that we unseat three delinquent appointees on the grounds of nonfeasance and name a new committee,” Orville proposed.

Three electors cheered. One gave it an “amen” and the rest shouted seconds to the motion.

Ork knew he had a rebellion on his hands. He never saw so much mad in one room in his whole life. He didn’t know if he should resign or call out the National Guard.

“I’m not sure we have authority to do anything,” Security Officer Garvey Erfald hedged, hoping to insulate Ork from the wrath that clouded the room.

“Do we have a quorum?” asked Little Jimmy, the only person in town who was online.

“Quorum! What’s a quorum?” asked Holger.

“That’s enough people to do business,” Jimmy responded.

It was a new question because the Homeland Committee never had business before.

Garvey stood up and put on his most official face.

“Vegetable gardens are a matter of national security,” he said in his most official voice.

“What an argument! I wish I had thought of that,” Orville whispered to Einar as he slapped his knee. Orville knew it would carry the day.

“I like the argument but what is the connection between carrots and national security?” asked Holger.

“Simple,” Garvey said. “Everybody in America planted victory gardens in World War II and we won the war, so we know they work.”

“That’s it!” exclaimed Ork. “We are not appointing a new committee. Instead, we are personally going out to measure the plots right now.”

And they did.