Every Sunday here at The Institute we have our weekly meeting where all the staff gather in the main auditorium in the central building located at the center of our compound campus. There, all the PhD’s sit in the front row, nearest the fire, intent and alert, the interns squat sullenly on the rushes that line the center of the room and our regular household staff, the cooks, gardeners, drivers, x-ray technicians, security, animal management, astronomy techs, librarians, interpreters, masseuses, fire mitigation, Zumba instructors, the ninja night squad, chain link fence and razor wire repair people, ammunition loaders and Armory personnel, all those and more, shove their way into the standing room area. Often there are squabbles between the household staff and the interns who tire of squatting and try and stand in the back to stretch their legs. This is space jealously guarded and those who don’t wear the purple tunic are quickly but roughly pushed back into their own space. But usually there is little bloodshed.

The meeting is normally an opportunity for those who need to, to confess their sins and ask for leniency so their food rations don’t get cut. We have little tolerance for those who shirk their responsibilities. As the winter drags on food becomes an important part of their daily life here at The Institute so no one wants their gruel ticket taken away. The gruel ticket isn’t actually a real piece of paper they carry around to gain entrance to the cafeteria, it’s a chip that had been implanted in the loose skin over their right eyebrow that they use to gain entrance. A simple bowing motion to plant their face against the waist-high scanner and they’re admitted. Unless we turn them off for some reason. Then they can’t get in. Those are the ones you find scavenging around the edges of the cafeteria building kicking listlessly at the snow, hoping to finding something edible that one of infraction-less has dropped.

The main announcement today is a quiet reminder that soon the road leading into the compound campus will be covered with snow. This means that entry will be restricted or closed during the duration of the inclement weather. It also means snow tires for the vehicles that need them, oil for the Thiokol snowcat trail grooming machine, laying in extra fish and fish parts to feed the dogs if we have to use them to go down to the gate at the foot of the mountain for the mail. And also to keep them fat and healthy in case we have to eat them if things get tough up here.It’s a time to implement the plan to do everything necessary to make it though the winter. It’s a DefCon 4 type of plan except without all the missiles and everything. The interns that don’t qualify yet for residency in the intern dorms have to get their tents and the occasional teepee winterized. There is a lot of work to be done.

Today the meeting was quiet. There were very few who needed to bare their souls and so security could stand down. Our portable pillory wasn’t needed and for the most part everyone just stared at the image up on the Jumbotron. Those staffers that are still with us from previous winters knew what that peaceful bucolic snow scene really meant and it kept the crowd quiet as they reflected on the long lean months to come. The image above is a shot from last winter taken along the West entrance to The Institute. Perhaps you too should check to see if you need snow tires or fish parts. They say this one is going to be a rough one. Good luck.