"The problem with prepping" John said as he leaned against his shovel. "Is that it isn't like insurance."
"How so?" Asked Bob as he flung another load of dirt onto the growing pile.
"Well" John replied philosophically as he rammed his shovel deep into the dark Pacific Northwest soil. "With insurance when something bad happens, someone else is supposed to make it better."
"True." Bob said, flinging another pile of dirt. "So think of this more as a savings account."
"All right" John said. "Although with a savings account your assets are managed by someone else."
"Ok." Bob said, brain obviously not into this conversation. "Then think of it as tucking a little something away for a rainy day."
"Except that you keep praying that rainy day never comes." Countered John. "I mean, they say we keep hoping to live out end of the world fantasies because we are prepared to deal with them."
"People say a lot of stupid shit" Bob agreed. "And yet they also buy insurance, put money into savings accounts, and tuck away a little cash for a rainy day."
"But didn't we just agree that this was nothing like that?" John argued.
"Only in the small details." Bob replied, another shovelful of dirt added to the pile. "Planning for the future is the same in all cases."
"I concede the point." John smiled, "Think we are deep enough?"
"Yup." Bob replied. "Start handing me the buckets."
One at a time the 5 gallon buckets, sealed with duct tape and wrapped in 2.5 mil barrier plastic were lowered into the pit. Food, MRE main meals and starches, peanut butter squeeze packs, . Ammunition, 308, 223, 9mm, 22lr, along with a 9mm pistol and 22lr pistol with spare magazines. Clothes in a third bucket, along with a first aid kit, some precious metal coins. The fourth bucket contained normal "survival" supplies, cordage, poncho, topographic maps, thermal space blankets, plastic bags, and even a small camouflage tent.
When the whole bundle was wrapped in more vapor barrier plastic the hole began to get filled in.
"Sure doesn't seem like opening a savings account." John commented.
"In that case consider it 'buried treasure' where 'X marks the spot' or something" Bob quipped, placing sod over the bare dirt, and vegetation over the sod.
"Well, as long as I get to talk like a pirate" John quipped, holding the "r" just a tad too long.
Bob simply confirmed the GPS coordinates, took a photograph of the surrounding area with his digital camera, and shot an azimuth to two prominent hills one last time to be sure using a lensatic compass. "When this treasure gets dug up, We can only hope it is a joyous occasion."
Neither John nor Bob would know. They were "shot while resisting arrest" late the following year. Bob's daughter was able to reach the cache on her long walk towards Canada. John's two sons stayed behind and were lost to a drone strike after trying to free political prisoners from the Yakima Concentration Camp.