As a country matures and prospers, growing into a great nation of hardworking individuals whose ingenuity and persistence creates financial opportunities for all that are willing to participate, it comes under attack by forces using less than honest means to reap the benefits of the sweat and blood of steadfast Americans. When entities outside our nation force their lifestyle upon the unsuspecting masses, the essence of our country is eroded away, over time, by thieves taking increments small enough to go unnoticed but eventually there is nothing left of the country but memories. This book depicts one of the ways this could and possibly has happened.

Conquering Rural America

VictimsBy Robert Bay

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2009 Robert Bay
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4490-0460-6

Contents

Introduction.................................................................ixIn the Beginning There Was Simplicity and Innocence..........................1We Learned To Read, Write, Add, and Love Our Country.........................13Mother Wants Indoor Plumbing.................................................20A Glimpse into the Future....................................................23Government Facilitating Rural Existence......................................27The Marxists Attack..........................................................29Elderly Rural Landowners Fight Back..........................................34Invading the Schools.........................................................40Seizing the Use of the Land and Fleecing Its Inhabitants.....................47Destruction of the Forrest Begins............................................58Our Town Dies without a Fight................................................62Transportation Stalls........................................................65What Happened to the Media...................................................68Uncle Henry Takes a Stand....................................................73Rural Eradication Efforts Make Life Difficult................................75Health Care Takes a Hit......................................................77Our Town Deteriorates into a City............................................86Marxist Officials and Thieves Take Complete Control..........................90Schools Become Complete Indoctrination Centers/Prisons.......................97The Final Stages of Rural Eradication........................................110Australia Goes to War against the Invading Marxists..........................116We are now Refugees..........................................................125References...................................................................137About the Author.............................................................139

Chapter One

In the Beginning There Was Simplicity and Innocence

Roaring down the new freeway at an astounding fifty-five miles per hour, father guides the aging station wagon over the smooth gray pavement. Light drizzle has subsided as the overcast skies become somewhat broken, allowing rays of sunlight to escape to earth through the infrequent bright blue holes in the cloud cover. Ahead, it illuminates the shiny new seventy-five mile per hour speed limit sign as we pass through a corridor of hundred-year old evergreen trees. The road cuts through the seemingly impenetrable forest where emerald branches are swaying in the slight breeze atop the sturdy, moss-covered, corky textured, trunks. This, and the mild odor of gasoline from the cans and the chainsaws behind the back seat, reminds father that his company will start logging this area tomorrow, also the station wagon is nearly out of gas.

A glistening newer sports car slows drastically as it pulls up closely behind our car. The identifying vanity license plate becomes intermittently visible through the thick blue smoke from the exhaust pipe of our car. The alien flashes his lights several times behind us before driving, illegally, around on the right side of our car. As father screamed, "Go back to Inner City where you belong", the man gestured obscenely with the middle finger of his hand while passing. Father reminds us that they must have seen the shiny new, Native, license plate cover that he had bought last year and recently installed on our car (the ticket for two years past due license plates had prompted him to install the cover).

The noise from the hole in our car's muffler, stirs to flight a flock of snow geese in the swamp adjacent to the freeway. The green and black background of the trees enhances their pure white plumage with black tipped wings. The field, once productive range for cattle, has become a wetland haven for the migrating waterfowl created by highway construction.

Uncle Henry said he was going goose hunting today and would bring over one or two for our dinner if he shot any extra. Last week someone shot his truck when he parked it in the field instead of the designated area, because he did not want to walk into the wetland. When the geese fly into the marsh, the hunters open fire from all directions. Anything in the vicinity is subject to gunfire damage. Father said he might as well have put a target on the truck because it was a candidate for certain mutilation. It is difficult to drive without a windshield, especially in the rain.

As we crest a steep hill, Mt. Constitution comes into full view between the passing wind driven puffy white and gray clouds. Completely covered in layers of deep snow, the mountain's eerie pallor stands ominous against the broken sky. Infrequent puffs of steam remind us that it is an active volcano, but an actual eruption is highly unlikely in the near future.

Our downward momentum is interrupted by the sputtering, wheezing, and lastly a smoke filled backfire of the last gasp of the engine as it ceases to run. After examining the gas gauge, which registered far below empty, father deduces that we have run out of fuel. Undaunted, he retrieves one of the chainsaw gas cans from behind the back seat and proceeds to empty it into the tank of the station wagon. Returning, he tries to start the car. Grudgingly, with extensive moaning, sputtering, popping, missing badly, and with a huge cloud of extra smoke the engine starts.

Continuing our outing, now with a great cloud of extra smoke emanating from the back of the car, father takes the no u-turn road connecting the north and southbound lanes of the freeway because he was in a hurry so it was ok. Hindered somewhat by the gasoline mixture, the car lurches forward, surprisingly, at nearly the same speed we were going before.

As battered pickup truck pulls up to the right side of our car, mother rolls down her window recognizing the vehicle as that of her niece Louise. The woman frantically lowers her heavily soiled window revealing herself and four screaming children in the seat beside her. Mother explained that the smoke was only the oil in the chainsaw gas, and we were not on fire. While driving side by side down the new road, they talked about the highway, dinner, their children, cows, and the weather until we reached our freeway exit to return home. The extensive line of vehicles delayed behind us was now visible, without the smoke. They were shouting, waving, and cheering as they passed thankful of our exodus.

Following the two lane road eastward into the lowland forests of alder and cedar, we turned onto a highly rutted muddy dirt road. Accelerating through the deepest holes to prevent our being hopelessly mired to the axles, my head nearly hits the ceiling as a chainsaw flies past and hits the back of the seat in front of me. Father and Uncle Henry say they are going to fill the holes with gravel from the river for sure this year.

As we ascend from the woodland onto rolling pastured meadows to our home, our anxiety eases, as the possibility of being stuck and having to walk home barefoot through the mud diminishes. Since school is out for the summer, the necessity of casual footwear, for financial reasons, is delayed until the fall school year.

Our journey over, we parked next to the dilapidated shed that contained logging tools and an old tractor. The roof, covered with water...