"To everything comes a season; a time to live, a time to die." That is a paraphrase from the Bible. It fits this particular journal more than any of the others. I was thinking of using a line from an old country song; "You got to know when to hold 'em; know when to fold 'em." Both of these literary truths fit our particular predicament. Our little community has some serious choices to make If you remember from the last journal, we are facing an amazing number of growlers. They are streaming their way out of Kansas (or at least what we used to call Kansas). The growlers were now directed by controllers; those who give the orders to the mass. They have left the roads; now spreading out over the prairie. They have upped the ante by being able to run, though not what you would call gracefully any. They don't get tired so this makes them even more dangerous than we ever could have imagined or wanted to We had fallen head first into the shit-pile; I had no idea what the hell to do at the moment