Perched atop the large blue spruce in my front yard, a Spotted Towhee sang his early morning song, loud and proud.

Little breaths visible in the crisp, cold air. Across the adjacent road, a noisy gaggle of Canada Geese landed in the barren field, taking advantage of the green blades of grass that had sprouted up in the spring-like weather of the previous few days. Every now and then, a car would pass by, disrupting the early morning birdsong. 

While my grandparents were busy getting my brother up-and-at-em for school, I was seated on my front porch with my rifle in its case leaned up against me, and a cold soda on the glass table on the other side of me. My grandpa had found a box of .243 rounds stashed away in his garage, so I spent my morning looking over each of the 14 remaining rounds in the box, silently reminiscing about the last time I had those rounds and that gun with me. 

In my mind’s eye, I could see the misty plains through the window of my hunting guide’s truck as we ventured towards the southern side of the cattle ranch. It was just barely legal light, but the mist completely obscured anything ten or more feet away from us. Just as the mist began to burn off, a frantic herd of pronghorn does appeared just before us, desperately trying to find a way to cross the barbed wire fence that flanked either side of the road. I remembered the feeling of adrenaline that shot through me when I spotted my prey just feet ahead of us, especially when the pursuing buck showed up, and the does forced a path underneath the fence with him right on their asses. 

That’s when me and Mike (my hunting guide) bolted out of the truck in hot pursuit of the animals, before Tom (Mike’s dad) had a chance to stop the truck. Together, fueled by “Buck Fever”, we scrambled under the fence where the pronghorn just had, then sprinted over to the edge of the ridge just as the buck disappeared below the draw. Mike and I dropped to the ground and lay prone in the prairie sage. While Mike located the pronghorn through his rangefinder, I desperately tried to aim my rifle through the prairie brush. Unfortunately, the brush was just too tall and the pronghorn were too far away for me to get a good shot. So, Mike and I agreed to go back to the truck, our shoulders slumped and heaving, but our hearts overwhelmed with euphoria. 

“You ready to go?” my grandpa Lyle’s voice suddenly startled me out of my daydream. 

“Uh, yeah! Yeah, I am!” I replied as I stood to my feet and gathered my things.  

I carefully placed my rifle in the trunk of my Xterra, stuffing it between the backseat and a couple of blankets I kept back there. I shoved the box of rounds between a jug of windshield fluid and bottle of transmission oil I kept in the trunk as well. Finally, I sat shotgun with the heated seat on as high as it could go, while my grandpa took the driver’s seat and grandma sat in the backseat with my brother. My brother could’ve gone to Greeley with us for the day, but for some reason, he was more interested in hanging out with his friends at school than he was in riding horses and shooting guns. 

After dropping my brother off at school, my grandparents and I ventured east then north across the plains I grew up on. On our way, my grandparents had the latest news on the radio, to get updates on the war between Russia and Ukraine going on across the pond. After some time, my grandpa asked, "What do you feel about this conflict as a young person?"

Not knowing how to initially respond, I asked back, "Well, what was it like being my age during the Vietnam war?" 

My grandpa, understanding the message, sort of smirked as he began to think back to when he was a college student in the late 60's and early 70's. In 1968, my grandpa's draft number was called. Being the hippy(ish) rebel he was at the time, he wrote a scathing letter to the recruitment office letting the military know that he was against the war. But the military soon wrote back to let him know that being a conscientious objector to the war wasn't going to get him out of it, and they'd arrest him if he tried to dodge the draft. So, my grandpa finally dragged himself into the recruitment center to be evaluated and placed in a military position.

Luckily for my grandpa, he was rejected by the military for having a minor skin condition and a fractured toe. My grandpa's brother, Delton, was also rejected for the same skin condition. My grandpa's other brother, Gary, was allowed to stay home despite his number being called because he was working for Boeing as an intern physicist at the time. 

One year after he was almost sent to fight a war he didn't believe in, my grandpa's mom passed away from cancer. In order to process and heal everything that was happening, my grandpa dropped out of college for a time and did a little traveling. One of his good friends was attending Texas State University at the time. While a few years had passed since the infamous sniper shootings that occurred at the university, the place was still rife with protests and riots from students over Vietnam and Civil Rights issues.

My grandpa recalled sitting atop a hill overlooking the university and watching a line of heavily armed police officers spraying a crowd of rioting students with tear gas. Eventually, the wind carried the tear gas to my grandpa (who was a half mile away from the chaos). It was so potent that even my grandpa was forced to leave, and was caught in a minor stampede of distraught and terrified students. Thankfully, he was able to get to his car and escape before the riot became more widespread. But, it still messed with him, and he decided to return to the farm in North Dakota to clear his mind and run the combines. 

Of course, on top of the Vietnam war, the threat of nuclear war was ever-present. My grandpa spent his whole childhood learning about nuclear bombs and being "evacuated" to the Garrison Dam to hide in during routine nuclear bomb drills his school had. My grandpa's family also had a room in the basement dedicated to hoarding emergency supplies, and they always had an extra steer or two for themselves in case things went south. But, beyond that, my grandpa admitted the wars didn't really impact his daily life all that much, especially since it was easy for him to just turn off the TV and the radio (or not tune into the radio/TV when the nightly news was on).

These days, things are much different, and my grandpa once again asked how I felt about current events. 

"Well... Doomscrolling is certainly addicting even though I still refuse to return to social media... The news' just everywhere. Ya can't ever really escape it, unless you set all of your electronics on fire and go live in a bunker twenty feet underground." I began, struggling to put my feelings and thoughts into words, "I mean, just look!" 

I nodded out my window to a farm with a Ukrainian flag mounted alongside their mailbox. 

"I see..." my grandpa mumbled. 

"And, if you open up Google, it will automatically pull up a long list of sensationalized headlines and pictures on current events." I continued, "Hell, I can't even watch a Youtube video about puppies without encountering several different livestreams of the war in Ukraine..."

"Yeah, it's crazy how connected we are these days." my grandpa commented, "Never in my whole life did I think it would be possible for each of us to carry around a miniature super-computer in our pockets, that instantly connects us to anything and anyone we want... Yet, here we are."

"Which is why it's so important to have self-control... But, even I don't have the discipline to meticulously curate my data and internet to block every news website imaginable. I'm just so glad I can no longer doomscroll on social media, and I don't have the desire to return to social media ever again. Instagram alone would've given me a heart attack by now." I sighed, "Yet, I'm still watching the situation in Ukraine like a hawk, even though if Putin and his cronies decide to nuke us, I'd rather just not know it till I'm incinerated." 

My grandpa simply nodded. He, too, had to severely cut his social media/news consumption after having an actual heart attack. Apparently, the stress and anxiety caused by doomscrolling the news and social media is a major contributor to health issues, including heart attacks. Needless to say, I believe it!

"Well..." my grandpa muttered, "If it's any consolidation, just know that we aren't nearly as close to nuclear annihilation as we were when I was growing up, and even in the 90's. Even if Putin's crazy and egotistical enough to order a nuclear strike or strikes, I strongly doubt those who actually ready, aim, and fire the nukes will listen. I can remember several times Russia had the go-ahead to launch nukes as late as the 90's, but didn't. The nuclear technicians disobeyed. Plus, it's important to always remember that most journalists, news networks, and social media sites make mountains out of molehills to make money. They will purposefully put inflammatory words into the titles of their headlines to scare people into clicking on their articles or videos." 

"I know. But, things are still scary and uncertain, even if we can logically conclude that nuclear war is highly unlikely to happen. Because, even without the sensationalism in journalism, it seems like World War Three is imminent. If so, what then?" 

"Well, it would be tough for sure, but we'd get through it." my grandpa assured me, "In a way, we're already feeling the impacts of a possible World War. Gas prices are rising because we cut Russia and Belarus off. Covid also screwed a lot of things up in the supply chain. Things like computer chips and raw materials are very hard to come by. I mean, your mom's little Rav4 was bought by the dealership for $10,000, and it was several thousand bucks cheaper for her to purchase a brand new 4Runner than it would've been for her to purchase a used one. In times of war, the war effort will certainly be prioritized, which will cause even more inflation and shortages. However, beyond that, not a lot would actually change." 

"Are you sure, though? I mean, what if they have to reinstate the draft in the case of WWIII? What if my medication is hard to come by as a result of the war? What if the war comes to our shores, Pearl-Harbor style, this time between us and Russia? What if China sides with Rus-"

"That's enough 'What ifs' for a week, Maya!" my grandpa chuckled, "Don't let those silly little questions run away from you. We're not even close to needing to think about those questions. But, to answer a few: Just remember we live in the richest, most prosperous country in the world, in the richest, most prosperous times humanity has ever experienced. If World War Three becomes a reality, I think the government would do its best to keep us safe and healthy. They'll need a safe and healthy population to lead and aid the war effort, after all. That includes you and me."

"Plus," my grandpa continued, "If I remember correctly, all of your medication is sourced and manufactured right here, in the States. I don't think there will be a lot of people with CF on the front lines, so your medication won't be disrupted. Things like gas and certain foods may be rationed, meaning a certain amount of gas and wheat may be allotted to each person per month. We may also see the price of computers and electronics spike even more, and cyber attacks would likely become more widespread and common. But, by in large, things will be easier for us today than they were back during both World Wars because of technology and globalization. Beyond that, it seems that even China is peeling themselves away from Russia. If Russia decides to start World War Three, they may very well be facing the world alone."

"But, as I said, you don't need to worry about any of this right now, because, well, right now, we are just fine." my grandpa smiled, "And, I suspect we'll be just fine next week, and the week after, and the week after that. Even if the world ends tomorrow, guess what? We're promised everlasting life in Christ-"

"I'm not scared of death." I interrupted my grandpa, "I'm scared of the dying part. I've already felt some pretty excruciating pain. The last thing I want to go through is a slow and painful death by nuclear fire." 

"Well, I don't think anyone wants to experience that, which is why nuclear war is so unlikely." my grandpa pointed out, "I doubt even Putin- as unhinged as he is- will actually go nuclear anytime soon. His higher-ups will take him out before he has a chance to send a nuclear warhead our way." 

"I can only hope..." I trailed off, feeling the anxiety and dread rise up my throat.