The Work Of Ronald Berkley by Adam Oakley - Read Online
The Work Of Ronald Berkley
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Ronald Berkley has become used to his life on the farm. But somewhere in his mind, he suspects that something is not right. Is it normal to be spraying the crops like this? Is it normal for the soil to seem so overworked and depleted of nutrients? He can not quite remember how farming used to be, before they started spraying, but he suspects it was better than this.

Inhaling some of the toxins he is working with on his farm leads him to find out what has really been going on, what he has been spraying, and what real effect it has on humans. What he later discovers about himself out in the country, beyond the reach of the town, is something he never expected...

Publicado: Adam Oakley el
ISBN: 9781311450135
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Despite the regulations, I began writing a diary. It had been going on for a few weeks, and it was all rather uneventful, other than my symptoms becoming worse and worse. I wished to record what seemed like an illness, and log my journey back to recovery. I say it seemed like an illness, because I had never felt like this before. I began to suffer bouts of complete haziness, a loss of balance and a sharp stabbing pain in the back of my head, as if a demon was attempting to break into the back door of my brain. My bouts of strangeness coming all over me tended to emerge two to three times a day, and were increasing in both frequency and duration.

I was also finding that my memory was beginning to fail me. If I thought back to any time before a few years previous, everything was beginning to feel very misty for me; I could not remember details of events that I knew were important in my life. This was another reason for my diary entries – to ensure that I could at least keep a record of what had been happening from day to day. I recorded whatever events, comments or memories arose in me at the time of writing, which I thought may also serve as a guide for anyone else who may later experience what I was currently going through.

And after a few weeks of this diary writing, I have come to a more eventful entry, one that can stand as a summary of the past few weeks and tie up a few loose ends. I will write it as a record of what I may feel might be a pivotal turning point my life.

I will begin from yesterday afternoon. I was not sure what was going on inside me, with my strange episodes and decreasing memory, and so I made an appointment to visit Dr Henley at the medical centre, the next day at 9.00am. He was my regular doctor who I knew to be trustworthy. On my small number of visits to him in the past, never had I seen such genuine care in a man's eyes. Never had he forced any treatment on me, or insisted I do anything at all. He gave me his professional opinion, and reassured me always that any decisions to be made lay in my own power.

I was making short entries in this diary almost every evening in bed just before sleep. There was something about the night air, the dark stillness, which allowed me to write and recall events with relative ease. I kept the diary in my coat pocket by my front door. We were always told we weren’t allowed to keep any kind of private journal, and I noticed that whenever my house was searched by the farming authorities, the goons never checked any of my things by the front door. They were always searching behind closets, in books or underneath the furniture.

With my appointment at 9.00am the next day, this would give me enough time to begin the morning's spray, which would hopefully be running smoothly and swiftly by the time I was to leave for the medical centre.

I arose early the next morning to get a good start on remineralising the crops. This fruit and vegetable farm was the hugest I had ever seen, let alone worked on, and together with three other farmers living on the land, we grew and harvested crops, ready to be sent off to the markets far and wide.

The only downside was that our processes were now very different to the ones my father had taught me on his own farm. I couldn't recall many of the details, but I knew that we used many more synthetic compounds now, and the soil we used to grow our produce in now was overused and overworked. It never got a moment's rest from feeding and providing nutrients for the food growing within it, and so we had to help it, by adding extra nutrients to the soil and plants. If we didn't do this, usually using the Yellowfeed spray, then what came out of the soil was barely worth harvesting. I could not help but feel that the land was becoming barren, and we were trying to keep it fertile with our own intervention.

Oh, what was my father's farm like?! It was frustrating trying to recall a memory that seemed hesitant to complete itself. I could remember tall, strong looking plants, lots of colour, and had no memory of having to spray the crops. Balance is key! Balance is key! is all I could remember my father saying. It all seemed so distant.

Then there was the Redrepellant Spray. Pests and insects feeding on our crop were absolutely forbidden on the farm, and so all crops were sprayed with this stuff, which kept everything and anything off of the plants and fruits. I had seen that even if an insect was to