#plastic crates 2020

[justdreamsandmusic]

Call Me Cherlocked Watson.

@themistressofdolls @callmejohnholmes @scp-l4-clef-alto-001

3 13 𝄡

Seth is about to use Tumblr's nice "Video" function to upload all of his/their Youtube videos of their Bet on Providence end of East Bay EP Townie Epon Stylo camping videos to Tumblr. Well, besides the December 16 & December 22nd ones I already posted. I was raised Armenian-Asyrian-Finnish-Irish from 1995 to 2020; then I found out I was an adopted British/French=/=Italian. I am very proud of what I did near Naragansett Brewery from 2022 to 2024; I won court cases from there und reraised myself. the Washington Bridge crew destroyed my French-German Barnstable Hausen stylo camp at which point I've made a Gauli-Greco/Roman stylo Derricked Pontoon Cella' Stockade camp in a metal drainage pipe I'm rather sure may be either Granite or Iron. Woodboarded, bordered by Pine Trees, plank roof last night, split Oaken tree in Milkcrate und surrounded by hamper, Trash Bin hamper, plastic boxes for clean furniture, prayer mattress in front of Grille und larger mattress, comforters, milk crates, suitcase, Jason M's guitare, a 10 Gallon Hat with Eponna Meridiana Wojciechowski antlers from 2024 Wynndtier, bike, n shopping carts plugging the backside. I have Catholic Japanese individuals in mind, not to mention computers. I do it for my Foundation und Temple.

Seth Grant Berouty-Piett 1995-2020

Seth Michael Grant-Lafierrere 2020 Epon und on an' all

Macedonia Greeces Ebonna, Rome-Italies Emponda, Gauli-Frances Eponna

[rutujamnm]

Global Returnable Packaging Market worth $141.7 billion by 2026

The report "Global Returnable Packaging Market by Product Type (Pallets, Crates, Intermediate Bulk Containers, Drums & Barrels, Bottles, Dunnage), Material (Plastic, Metal, Wood, Glass, Foam), End-use Industry, and Region - Global Forecast to 2026" The market is anticipated to rise as a result of an increase in demand from various end-use industries for sustainable and long-lasting packaging goods. Products for returnable or reusable packing are constructed from strong materials including metal, plastic, and wood. They are meant for several travels and are built to endure rigorous treatment throughout the supply chain. Compared to disposable packaging, the initial cost of such items is significantly higher; but, as the number of travels increases, the cost per trip decreases, ensuring a quick return on investment.

Download pdf-https://www.marketsandmarkets.com/pdfdownloadNew.asp?id=231944920

Pallets segment is estimated to lead the returnable packaging market.

The returnable packaging market is segmented on the basis of product type into pallets, crates, IBCs, dunnage, drums & barrels, bottles, and others, which include racks, sacks, carts, and dollies. Pallets segment is projected to lead the returnable packaging market. The segment expansion is anticipated to be aided by the increased preference for many reusable pallets over a single disposable pallet since the former is robust and practical. The 40 by 48-inch Odyssey Pallet was added to the family of rackable plastic pallets by Orbis Corporation in September 2020. In addition to its existing line of plastic pallet products, the new pallet is developed for use in heavy-duty racking applications. With its distinctive design characteristics, such as molded-in frictional elements and optional steel reinforcements, the aforementioned pallet gives stability and a strong solution that aids in large loads.

Consumer durables is projected to be the fastest-growing segment in the returnable packaging market.

The consumer durables segment is expected to grow at the highest CAGR from 2021 to 2026. The consumer durables industry also requires tamper-evidence packaging that can also add aesthetic appeal to products. Returnable packaging, being reusable in nature, is widely used in the consumer durables industry owing to its ability to enhance the ergonomics and productivity of packaged products, ensure maintenance of their quality, improve their storage and transportation, and increase their supply chain visibility. This sector needs packaging that can satisfy manufacturer requirements and boost operational effectiveness by providing superior services like immediate product identification.

Sample Request- https://www.marketsandmarkets.com/requestsampleNew.asp?id=231944920

The APAC region is projected to be the fastest-growing region in the returnable packaging market during the forecast period.

The APAC region is projected to be the fastest-growing region in the returnable packaging market during forecasted period. The main element influencing the regional market is the existence of numerous manufacturing firms in nations like China, India, Indonesia, and Vietnam. Additionally, it is anticipated that the market would increase as a result of the Asia Pacific regions quick industrialisation due to the regions low production costs. Due to the participation of nations in the Trans-Pacific Partnership Agreement, the Asia Pacific region has served as the centre for the manufacturing industry. The TPP is a free trade agreement that has improved commerce and production across nations, which has fueled the need for returnable packaging solutions throughout time. The Middle East and Africas market for returnable packaging is anticipated to expand significantly over the next several years as attention shifts from the oil industry to the industrial sector.

Brambles (Australia), Schoeller Allibert (Netherlands), Menasha Corporation (US), DS Smith (UK), and Myers Industries (US), amongst others, are the key players operating in the returnable packaging market.

[chemicalsectorupdates]

Console Table Market Insights: Key Players, Strategies, and Opportunities

Console Table Market Poised to Grow at Highest Pace owing to Increasing Demand for Modern Home Decor

Console tables are rectangular or oval shaped tables meant to be placed against the wall in an entryway, living room, or dining area. They provide extra surface space and storage. Console tables come in different styles from traditional to contemporary and are made of various materials like wood, glass, metal and stone. The growing demand for modern home decor and organizing clutter in home interiors have propelled the sales of console tables. The global console table market is estimated to be valued at US$ 6.70 billion in 2024 and is expected to exhibit a CAGR of 5.4% over the forecast period of 2023 to 2030. Key Takeaways Key players operating in the console table market are IKEA, Ashley Furniture Industries, La-Z-Boy, Ethan Allen, Restoration Hardware (RH), Crate & Barrel, Pottery Barn, Wayfair, West Elm, and Bernhardt. Key players are focusing on developing sustainable and low-cost console tables to tap the growing demand. Technological advancements like compact folding and adjustable console tables have provided more options to consumers. Companies are coming up with innovative designs, materials and finishes to make console tables more versatile and functional. Market Trends Modern and minimalist designs are gaining popularity in the console table market. Manufacturers are focusing on sleek, versatile and space-saving designs made of materials like wood, glass and metal to match contemporary interiors. Sustainable and eco-friendly materials like recycled wood, bamboo and recycled plastics are being used widely to develop green console tables catering to the increasing demand for sustainable furniture. Market Opportunities The rising trend of blended home and work spaces due to hybrid work models has opened new growth avenues for versatile, foldable and movable console tables. Manufacturers can capitalize on it by developing multi-functional tables. Impact of COVID-19 on Console Table Market growth The COVID-19 pandemic has negatively impacted the global console table market. During the peak of lockdowns in 2020-21, furnishing stores were closed for several months restricting sales. Factory shutdowns disrupted production and supply chains leading to delays in fulfilling existing orders. Consumer spending also reduced dramatically as job losses increased and economic uncertainty grew. However, with people spending more time at home due to work from home and social distancing norms, home furnishings gained increased importance. This augured well for some sections of the console table market especially in the affordable range. Online sales helped mitigate declines to some extent as e-commerce offered contactless shopping options. Post pandemic, the console table market is expected to grow steadily underpinning economic recovery and continuity of hybrid work models. While headwinds of high inflation and rising interest rates pose downside risks, growing investments in real estate refurbishing and renovation offer new prospects. Europe region currently dominates console table market in terms of value Europe currently accounts for the largest share in the global console table market in terms of value. Countries like the UK, Germany, France and Italy have long traditions of wooden furniture making and hence a well-established console table industry. The region is dominated by prominent manufacturers like IKEA, Ashley Furniture Industries and La-Z-Boy.

[earaercircular]

Important reduction of plastic bottles on the streets in the Netherlands

Since the introduction of a deposit on small plastic bottles, there are a lot fewer floating around. Other types of litter is also less common on the street. Secretary of State of Infrastructure Vivianne Heijnen writes this on the basis of the Litter Monitor [1] in a letter to the Dutch House of Representatives.

Since the introduction of the deposit in 2021, the number of small plastic bottles in litter has more than halved compared to a year earlier. A decrease of 33 percent was seen in the same period for large plastic bottles. There are also a lot fewer drink cartons among the litter.

Litter

The State Secretary is "happy" to see "that we are achieving successes in the fight against litter". According to her, the system of deposits on small plastic bottles is low-hanging fruit. “And that is nice to see,” said the minister. There has also been a deposit on cans since April of this year, but the effect of this cannot be determined until end of this year's measurement. Heijnen expects that this measure will lead to a decrease in the number of cans in litter.

Deposit on aluminum cans from April 2023 on

In the Netherlands there is a deposit for large plastic bottles for water or soft drinks from 1 liter (€ 0.25) and small bottles of less than 1 liter (€ 0.15), glass beer bottles (€ 0.10 for regular and € 0.20 for swing top bottles) and crates (€0.75/€1.50 for half/whole crates). Legally, there had to be a deposit on cans from December 31, 2022, but according to the branch this was only possible from April 2023. The Council of State joined the packaging lobby and determined that the system only had to come into effect on April 1 2023.

Source

Redactie, Veel minder plastic flesjes op straat, in: Nieuws.NL 27-6-2023, https://heusden.nieuws.nl/nieuws/20230627/veel-minder-plastic-flesjes-op-straat-door-statiegeldsysteem/

[1] The enclosed report, with the measurements of the second half of 2022, shows the results for the whole of 2022. The litter monitor shows an increase in the number of cans found in litter, more than 40% more throughout 2022 compared to the period 2016/2017, which serves as a baseline measurement in the monitoring. Compared to 2021, there is an increase of 17%. As you know, a deposit on cans was introduced on December 31, 2022, with the system operational since April 2023. The effects of this will become visible in future measurements. With regard to plastic bottles smaller than 1 liter, a decrease of 51% was registered over the whole of 2022, compared to 2020. I am pleased that the positive effect of the deposit system on small bottles continues. For plastic bottles larger than 1 litre, there was a decrease of 33%.

Compared to the year 2016/2017, an average of 55% fewer beverage cartons were found, with a slight, steady decrease in recent years. As previously communicated to your House, these figures therefore do not indicate a shift from plastic bottles to drinks cartons. https://www.rijksoverheid.nl/documenten/kamerstukken/2023/06/26/monitoring-zwerfafval-2e-helft-2022

[multipackpk-blog]

Plastic Crates Manufacturer | Plastic Crates - Multi Pack pk

Plastic Products: - Over the most recent couple of decades, the plastic industry has developed to turn into India's one of the main parts with a sizable base. Since 1957, which saw a promising start with the creation of polystyrene, plastic items have increased striking significance in various circles of movement with a consistently expanding per capita utilization. With nonstop headways and advancements in polymer innovation, preparing apparatuses, and financially savvy producing, plastic is quick supplanting the run of the mill materials in various portions.

The Industry:- based on our examination, the following are a portion of the outstanding realities:

India's plastic industry is about 0.5% of India's GDP.

The fare of plastic items yields about 1% of the household sends out.

half turnover of the

plastic business

is gotten from the little scope organizations where it has a huge nearness

Creation of the plastic gives work to a gauge of 0.4 million individuals in the nation

The handling of the plastic items include around Rs 100 billion as interest as fixed resources

20% of the business turnover originates from little scope undertakings

Just 10 to 15% of the complete market players can be sorted as medium scale endeavors

Kind Of Plastic Products:-

A portion of the significant

plastic items

produced and traded from India can be ordered under the accompanying headings:-

Crude Materials like PVC, polypropylene, polyethylene, polystyrene, and so forth.

Bundling Materials like a scope of plastic sheeting and movies, pockets,

boxes, bottles, compartments, barrels, jars and so forth

Movies like Polyester film, multilayer films, photograph films and so forth

Buyer Goods like toothbrushes, cleaning brushes, hairbrushes, nail

what's more, restorative brushes, brushes, shaped furnishings (seats,

tables, and so forth.) House product, kitchenware, and some such

different durables.

Composing Instruments like Pens, ball pens, markers, sign pens, tops off, and so forth.

Travel product like formed baggage, delicate gear, a scope of packs like school

sacks/women purses, wallets, and so forth.

Water Storage Tanks Toys and Games Engineering Plastics

Electrical Accessories

Wellbeing head protectors

Sterile Fittings

Development Materials like PVC profiles, entryways, windows, and so on.

An Overview:-

The Indian plastic industry is developing at a quick pace. Be that as it may, with an expanding efficient progression rivalry in this industry is relied upon to increment extensively. To endure the developing rivalry, the accompanying changes should be embraced by our producers and providers:

Cost decrease by embracing increasingly extreme strategies and approaches

Putting more weight on the handling stage to decrease time and cost-related with the assembling of the last items

In spite of the fact that the per capita utilization of plastic items in India is well underneath the world normal, the nation will keep on being perhaps the biggest wellspring of plastic items.

[backlinks8595-blog]

Plastic Crates Manufacturer | Plastic Crates - Multi Pack pk

Plastic Products: - Over the most recent couple of decades, the plastic industry has developed to turn into India's one of the main parts with a sizable base. Since 1957, which saw a promising start with the creation of polystyrene, plastic items have increased striking significance in various circles of movement with a consistently expanding per capita utilization. With nonstop headways and advancements in polymer innovation, preparing apparatuses, and financially savvy producing, plastic is quick supplanting the run of the mill materials in various portions.

The Industry:- based on our examination, the following are a portion of the outstanding realities:

India's plastic industry is about 0.5% of India's GDP.

The fare of plastic items yields about 1% of the household sends out.

half turnover of the

plastic business

is gotten from the little scope organizations where it has a huge nearness

Creation of the plastic gives work to a gauge of 0.4 million individuals in the nation

The handling of the plastic items include around Rs 100 billion as interest as fixed resources

20% of the business turnover originates from little scope undertakings

Just 10 to 15% of the complete market players can be sorted as medium scale endeavors

Kind Of Plastic Products:-

A portion of the significant

plastic items

produced and traded from India can be ordered under the accompanying headings:-

Crude Materials like PVC, polypropylene, polyethylene, polystyrene, and so forth.

Bundling Materials like a scope of plastic sheeting and movies, pockets,

boxes, bottles, compartments, barrels, jars and so forth

Movies like Polyester film, multilayer films, photograph films and so forth

Buyer Goods like toothbrushes, cleaning brushes, hairbrushes, nail

what's more, restorative brushes, brushes, shaped furnishings (seats,

tables, and so forth.) House product, kitchenware, and some such

different durables.

Composing Instruments like Pens, ball pens, markers, sign pens, tops off, and so forth.

Travel product like formed baggage, delicate gear, a scope of packs like school

sacks/women purses, wallets, and so forth.

Water Storage Tanks Toys and Games Engineering Plastics

Electrical Accessories

Wellbeing head protectors

Sterile Fittings

Development Materials like PVC profiles, entryways, windows, and so on.

An Overview:-

The Indian plastic industry is developing at a quick pace. Be that as it may, with an expanding efficient progression rivalry in this industry is relied upon to increment extensively. To endure the developing rivalry, the accompanying changes should be embraced by our producers and providers:

Cost decrease by embracing increasingly extreme strategies and approaches

Putting more weight on the handling stage to decrease time and cost-related with the assembling of the last items

In spite of the fact that the per capita utilization of plastic items in India is well underneath the world normal, the nation will keep on being perhaps the biggest wellspring of plastic items.

[minnesotadruids]

Reformed Druidism — What Altar Tools Do You NEED?

Short answer: NONE!

The Reformed Druid movement wasn’t overtly intended to be anti-consumerist, but by default it is very compatible with ecological non-materialism. That’s great if you’re on a budget; even the founders of the Reformed Druids of North America (RDNA) were on a college student budget, and they were resourceful and used what they had on-hand for the most part. Ritual robes were literal bedsheets, liturgical stoles were satin ribbons (they still are). They bought all their trappings at the local Ben Franklin Five & Dime store. You can be a Reformed Druid without needing any of that though.

Longer answer: You can opt-in to using whatever tools you might want, but here are the basic tools that help...

Chalice: If you plan on practicing Reformed Druidism, particularly any of the extant written rituals thereof, you might want to have a chalice. Most of the rituals incorporate a chalice that traditionally contains diluted whiskey from Beltane up to Samhain. Then from Samhain up to Beltane it contains spring water or something non-alcoholic. Alternatives to alcohol are always fine for any reason, but something strong should be used in the summer half of the year. The type, material, or shape of the chalice truly does not matter. You can use a plastic travel mug if that’s what’s keeping it out of a landfill. Antique stores usually have something nice, but get a lead (Pb) testing kit from a hardware store to make sure the antiques are safe for use if it’s made of metal or cut crystal. Wine glasses are fine though not very durable. Pottery is a fair choice.

If you are just an attendee of an RDNA ritual, in a post-pandemic world it’s a good idea to bring your own chalice and beverage. Until 2020 it was customary for everyone to share one chalice in the ritual. Yay germs? Not anymore. Plus we now know that the alcohol in the whiskey is not strong enough to sterilize the rim of the goblet between sips.

Altar: Altars are a suggestion to the extent that they give your chalice a place to sit rather than on the ground. There’s no sacred geometry to worry about in terms of layout, height, or other dimensions. You could use a block of limestone, a granite countertop remnant, marble cheese cutting board, clay flooring tile, etc. Heck, the first altar the Reformed Druids used was a portable record player covered in a white cloth. Oakdale Grove’s travel altar consists of two stacked crates - the top one being reversible - with a linen napkin as an altar cloth held down by a granite chinchilla cooling slab from the pet store (the Kaytee “Chin Chiller” for those wondering). It stands 22 inches high, which is a bit low, but still keeps everything within arms reach.

Sickle: In the greater pagan community and particularly Wiccan circles, the sickle is also called a boline, or knife with a bow-lined (curved) edge. Sickles actually aren’t mentioned in the original RDNA writings, but back then it was customary for the priest presiding over the ritual to cut a sacrifice of an oak branch and tuck it under the belt until it is offered to the altar or fire. For this purpose, any good sharp knife will do. If you want it to be sickle-like as an homage to the writings of Pliny the Elder about the druids gathering mistletoe, that’s also befitting of a modern druid. You can use an actual sickle, or bill hook, grape hook, pruning knife, hawkbill knife, plain pocket knife, gardening shears, etc. Disclaimer: you are responsible for your own safety when handling knives.

Plant Sacrifice: It’s always good form for a Reformed Druid ritualist to have a plant-based (and only plant-based) sacrifice or offering. We mentioned above that customarily the sacrifice is an oak branch tucked under the priest’s belt, but it doesn’t have to be oak anything. You can have a bouquet of arranged flowers, a selection of pristine acorns, leaves, vegetables, or anything from a myriad different plants taken with mindfulness, humility, and respect, acknowledging our own mortality in the process. We sacrifice the plants that are valuable and special to us, symbolically setting them aside so that we cannot benefit from their use, and instead we offer it back to the Earth-Mother, dedicated to her beauty. You can offer it directly into a ritual fire if you have one, or onto the altar.

Those are the basic accoutrements used in Reformed Druidism. They are purely optional in themselves and certainly nothing more is needed. All else is up to you depending on your aesthetic and what you want to put into your experience.

[snowbird-down]

Prompt 13: Oneirophrenia

(CW: light body horror)

(A sequel to this prompt from 2020)

----------------------------------------------

Lights, for a moment. Laelia tried to move her arm to block them.

Nooo, no light, the hurt too early. She wanted to sleep, dammit.

She managed to sink into the water. Deep, deep, inky, but then the seaweed swirled all around her like dry hair, tangling around her wrists and ankles and tickling her stomach unpleasantly. The more she fought it the more it tickled. It was a violating tickle. Thankfully she was able to roll over and reach the sand ground underneath her foot and she looked over as the Twins stopped to stare at one critter or another they’d spotted crawling under the rocks. It was such a feline thing to do and without fail they’d do it every time, forcing the whole company to halt. Dec was pissed. She turned her reaper about, its headlights shining right in Laelia’s face again.

Lights, the lights. Sirens screaming. Why did her body shake when she wasn’t moviDelphinus, Delphinus, Delphinus, where was her ship, where was the Delphinus? They needed to get out of here, now.

Now.

Now it was her turn to open a present. She tore open the package to find a little plastic doll inside, a beautiful blonde woman in the likeness of the Empress. Irene was disgusted. “Why would you play with those?” her sister asked.

But Laelia liked to brush their hair and dress them up. The rest of her family crowded around, judging. They were too close. Too dark. Suffocating.

She couldn’t breathe.

Something lurked at the edges of her consciousness. A long, mournful drone. A high pitched squeal.

Pain! Pain! Scream but she couldn’t find her mouth! Where was her body!

Lightning rolled across the sky. Something in the clouds rolled to look back over his shoulder at her.

She had to move, so her vehicle was full of all her things. But she’d allowed her pet rabbit free run of the cabin, because she felt guilty leaving it crammed up in its crate. Laelia opened the door to get something but the rabbit escaped. Panic. If she lost the rabbit here it’d be lost forever! She was in the middle of nowhere after all and if it got lost would die. Oh, she scrambled so frantically for the rabbit! Finally she was able to catch it, and cradled it protectively in her hands. It was so tiny, black, fuzzy. It twitched its nose up at her in placid confusion. What was the big deal? Why was she worried? Laelia turned and laughed at Mater. Solus, that had been close.

It was time to go to bed now but the lights kept shining outside. Laelia closed the blinds but a police bit floated up the tower to peer through them, the single red lens of its eye illuminating the room. She raced to another room, but it followed. Then another and it followed. Then another and it followed. Everywhere she ran, the police bit followed. This was it. The Frumentarii were coming for her. She’d gone too far. She raced into the bathroom, the only room without windows, and closed the door. There, she leaned in over the sink to check her teeth in the mirror. She pulled back her lips to find skeletal finger-like growths protruding from her gums, ending in jagged teeth.

“...me, jen Belisar?...”

There were so many places she had to go about the city. She had to go to school and coffee. But like any plebian, Laelia had to travel on foot. She was by the bakery now. She mostly just took the train. Sometimes it’d go underground, winding around in tunnels that went on for hundreds of malms. She could see all tunnels at once and all the trains at once, moving around in one big colony. But also she was on the sidewalk. Laelia kept taking the wrong train. People would come and talk to her, they had to move. Eventually she sat down by the window, whereupon a hummingbird phased through it in order to land upon her hand. She held the hummingbird for exactly five minutes. It looked up to her and told her it was time to start over again. She stepped off the train and let the hummingbird fly back up the stairs to the surface outside, but the train was still moving and Laelia was still on it. The train continued on out of the city. The sky turned blue and clear, the landscape turned green. It went out over the water but the bridge collapsed and the train fell into the sea.

Laelia died the moment she hit the water.

She shot up, gasping and wild-eyed, clutching the blanket to her chest. Was all of that bullshit a dream just now? The pilot slowly dragged her eyes around the room, unready to trust that she was in a room at all, let alone awake and free from her mind’s apparent madness. Her head hurt like hell, and her mouth was dry, and – honestly, it felt like she was waking up from the worst hangover of her life. She tried to move her body but it wasn’t really responding; there was an ache in her extremities not unlike the pain of a limb that’d fallen asleep. Only...that limb was evidently all of her.

Her head could move though, mostly. And her eyes. The knife-black spires of Garlemald rose through her window outside, sparkling as fresh snow fell upon them. Everything glowed that familiar ceruleum blue. That was when she realized she was in a hospital, hooked up to life-support magitek.

“Shit...” Laelia muttered. “What did I do?”

[kintatsujo]

My wardrobe is currently divided between a floordrobe and a boxdrobe

Cratedrobe? The point is my clothes were only supposed to be in these plastic crates and baskets on a temporary basis while I organized and then 2020 happened

(and on a personal level 2021 was even worse so)

And now even though I know there are "real pants" (jeggings) in there somewhere I can only find three pairs

[alwaysalreadyangry]

most of the UK reviews i’ve read of martin eden have been a disappointment, tbh. i don’t know if this is because critics have been busy with cannes or because outlets here just don’t have the space, or because it’s kind of seen as old news. i have seen no real engagement with the politics or form beyond a couple of cursory lines, and it’s a shame because... i think it’s really rich wrt those elements?

so i am looking again at the (wonderful) review from film comment last year and it’s such a shame that it’s not available freely online. so i thought i’d post it here behind a cut. it’s long but worth it imo (and also engages really interestingly with marcello’s other films). it’s by phoebe chen.

COLLECTIVE CONSCIOUSNESS              Jan  3, 2020                    BY PHOEBE CHEN

EARLY IN JACK LONDON’S 1909 NOVEL MARTIN EDEN, there is a scattering of references to technical ephemera that the 20th century will promptly leave behind: “chromos and lithographs,” those early attempts at large-scale reproduction; “a vast camera obscura,” by then a centuries-old relic; a bullfight so fervid it’s like “gazing into a kinetoscope,” that proto-cinematic spectacle of cloistered motion. These objects now seem like archaic curios, not much more than the flotsam of culture from the moment it shifted gears to mass production. It’s a change in scale that also ensnares the novel’s title character, a hardy young sailor and autodidact-turned-writer-célèbre, famously an avatar of London’s own hollowing transmutation into a figure for mass consumption. But, lucky him—he remains eminent now on the other side of a century; chance still leaves a world of names and faces to gather dust. Easily the most arresting aspect of Pietro Marcello’s new adaptation is its spotlight on the peripheral: from start to end, London’s linear Künstlerroman is intercut with a dizzying range of archival footage, from a decaying nitrate strip of anarchist Errico Malatesta at a workers’ rally to home video–style super 16mm of kids jiving by an arcade game. In these ghostly interludes, Marcello reanimates the visual detritus of industrial production as a kind of archival unconscious.

This temporal remixing is central to Marcello’s work, mostly experimental documentaries that skew auto-ethnographic and use elusive, essayistic editing to constellate place and memory, but always with a clear eye to the present. Marcello’s first feature, Crossing the Line (2007), gathers footage of domestic migrant workers and the nocturnal trains that barrel them to jobs across the country, laying down a recurring fascination with infrastructure. By his second feature, The Mouth of the Wolf (2009), there is already the sense of an artist in riveting negotiation with the scope of his story and setting. Commissioned by a Jesuit foundation during Marcello’s yearlong residency in the port city of Genoa, the film ebbs between a city-symphonic array and a singular focus on the story of a trans sex worker and her formerly incarcerated lover, still together after 20-odd years and spells of separation. Their lives are bound up with a poetic figuration of the city’s making, from the mythic horizon of ancient travails, recalled in bluer-than-blue shots of the Ligurian Sea at dawn, to new-millennium enterprise in the docklands, filled with shipping crates and bulldozers busy with destruction.

Marcello brings a similar approach to Martin Eden, though its emphasis is inverted: it’s the individual narrative that telescopes a broader history of 20th-century Italy. In this pivotal move, Marcello and co-writer Maurizio Braucci shift London’s Oakland-set story to Naples, switching the cold expanse of the North Pacific for the Mediterranean and its well-traversed waters. The young century, too, is switched out for an indeterminate period with jumbled signifiers: initial clues point to a time just shy of World War II, though a television set in a working-class household soon suggests the late ’50s, and then a plastic helicopter figurine loosely yokes us to the ’70s. Even the score delights in anachronism, marked by a heavy synth bass that perforates the sacral reverb of a cappella and organ song, like a discotheque in a cathedral. And—why not?—’70s and ’80s Europop throwbacks lend archival sequences a further sense of epochal collapse. While Marcello worked with researcher Alessia Petitto for the film’s analog trove, much of its vintage stock is feigned by hand-tinting and distressing original 16mm footage. Sometimes a medium-change jolts with sudden incongruity, as in a cut to dockworkers filmed in black and white, their faces and hands painted in uncanny approximations of living complexions. Other transitions are so precisely matched to color and texture that they seem extensions of a dream.

Martin’s writer’s optimism is built on a faith in language as the site of communication and mutual recognition. So follows his tragedy.

Patchworked from the scraps of a long century, this composite view seems to bristle against a story of individual formation. It feels like a strange time for an artist’s coming-of-age tale adapted with such sincerity, especially when that central emphasis on becoming—and becoming a writer, no less—is upended by geopolitical and ecological hostility. At first, our young Martin strides on screen with all the endearing curiosity of an archetypal naïf, played by Luca Marinelli with a cannonballing force that still makes room for the gentler affects of embarrassment and first love. Like the novel, the film begins with a dockside rescue: early one morning, Martin saves a young aristocrat from a beating, for which he is rewarded with lunch at the family estate. On its storied grounds, Martin meets the stranger’s luminous sister, Elena Orsini (Jessica Cressy), a blonde-haloed and silk-bloused conduit for his twinned desires of knowledge and class transgression. In rooms of ornate stucco and gilded everything, the Orsinis parade their enthusiasm for education in a contrived show of open-mindedness, a familiar posture of well-meaning liberals who love to trumpet a certain model of education as global panacea. University-educated Elena can recite Baudelaire in French; Martin trips over simple conjugations in his mother tongue. “You need money to study,” he protests, after Elena prescribes him a back-to-school stint. “I’m sure that your family would not ignore such an important objective,” she insists (to an orphan, who first set sail at age 11).

Anyone who has ever been thrilled into critical pursuit by a single moment of understanding knows the first beat of this story. Bolting through book after book, Martin is fired by the ever-shifting measure of his knowledge. In these limitless stretches of facts to come, there’s the promised glow of sheer comprehension, the way it clarifies the world as it intoxicates: “All hidden things were laying their secrets bare. He was drunk with comprehension,” writes London. Marcello is just as attentive to how Martin understands, a process anchored to the past experiences of his working body. From his years of manual labor, he comes to knowledge in a distinctly embodied way, charming by being so literal. At lunch with the Orsinis, he offers a bread roll as a metaphor for education and gestures at the sauce on his plate as “poverty,” tearing off a piece of education and mopping up the remnants with relish. Later, in a letter to Elena, he recounts his adventures in literacy: “I note down new words, I turn them into my friends.” In these early moments, his expressions are as playful as they are trenchant, enlivened by newfound ways of articulating experience. His writer’s optimism is built on a faith in language as the site of communication and mutual recognition. So follows his tragedy.

One of Marcello’s major structural decisions admittedly makes for some final-act whiplash, when a cut elides the loaded years of Martin’s incremental success, stratospheric fame, and present fall into jaded torpor. By now, he is a bottle-blonde chain-smoker with his own palazzo and entourage, set to leave on a U.S. press tour even though he hasn’t written a thing in years. His ideas have been amplified to unprecedented reach by mass media, and his words circulate as abstract commodities for a vulturine audience. For all its emphasis on formation, Martin Eden is less a story of ebullient self-discovery than one of inhibiting self-consciousness. There is no real sense that Martin’s baseline character has changed, because it hasn’t. Even his now best-selling writing is the stuff of countless prior rejected manuscripts. From that first day at the Orsini estate, when his roughness sticks out to him as a fact, he learns about the gulf between a hardier self-image and the surface self that’s eyed by others.

WITH SUCH A DEEPLY INHABITED PERFORMANCE by Marinelli, it’s intuitive to read the film as a character study, but the lyrical interiority of London’s novel never feels like the point of Marcello’s adaptation. Archival clips—aged by time, or a colorist’s hand—often seem to illustrate episodes from Martin’s past, punctuating the visual specificity of individual memory: a tense encounter with his sister cuts to two children dancing with joyous frenzy; his failed grammar-school entrance exam finds its way to sepia-stained shots of a crippled, shoeless boy. These insertions are more affective echoes than literal ones, the store of a single life drawn from a pool of collective happening.

But, that catch: writing in the hopes of being read, as Martin does (as most do), means feeding some construct of a distinctive self. While the spotlight of celebrity singles out the destructive irony of Martin’s aggressive individualism, Marcello draws from Italy’s roiling history of anarchist and workerist movements to complicate the film’s political critique, taking an itinerant path through factions and waves from anarcho-communism in the early 1900s to the pro-strike years of autonomist Marxism in the late ’70s. In place of crystalline messaging is a structure that parallels Martin’s own desultory politics, traced in both film and novel through his commitment to liberal theorist Herbert Spencer. Early on, Martin has an epiphanic encounter with Spencer’s First Principles (a detail informed by London’s own discovery of the text as a teen), which lays out a systematic philosophy of natural laws, and offers evolution as a structuring principle for the universe—a “master-key,” London offers. Soon, Martin bellows diatribes shaped by Spencer’s more divisive, social Darwinist ideas of evolutionary justice, as though progress is only possible through cruel ambivalence. Late in the film, an image of a drunk and passed-out Martin cuts to yellowed footage of a young boy penciling his name—“Martin Eden”—over and over in an exercise book, a dream of becoming turned memory.

In Marcello’s previous feature, Lost and Beautiful (2015), memory is more explicitly staged as an attachment to landscape. Like Alice Rohrwacher’s Happy as Lazzaro, Lost and Beautiful plays as a pastoral elegy but lays out the bureaucratic inefficiency that hastens heritage loss through neglect. Rolling fields make occasional appearances in Martin Eden, but its Neapolitan surroundings evoke a different history. Far from the two oceans that inspired a North American tradition of maritime literature, the Mediterranean guards its own idiosyncrasies of promise and catastrophe. Of the Sea’s fraught function as a regional crossroads, Marcello has noted, in The Mouth of the Wolf, a braiding of fate and agency: “They are men who transmigrate,” the opening voiceover intones. “We don’t know their stories. We know they chose, found this place, not others.” Mare Nostrum—“Our Sea”—is the Roman epithet for the Mediterranean, a possessive projection that abides in current vernacular. Like so many cities that cup the sea, Naples is a site of immigrant crossing, a fact slyly addressed in Martin Eden with a fleeting long shot of black workers barreling hay in a field of slanted sun, and, at the end, a group of immigrants sitting on a beach at dusk. Brief, but enough to mark the changing conditions of a new century.

Not much is really new, however: not the perils of migration, nor the proselytizing individualists, nor the media circus, nor the classist distortions of taste, nor, blessedly, the kind of learning for learning’s sake that stokes and sustains an interest in the world. Toward the end of the film, there is a shot of our tired once-hero, slumped in the back seat of a car, that cuts to sepia stock of children laughing and running to reach the camera-as-car-window, as if peering through glass and time. It recalls a scene from Wim Wenders’s Wings of Desire, which leaps backward through a similar gaze, when the weary angel Cassiel looks out of a car window at the vista of ’80s Berlin and sees, instead, grainy footage of postwar streets strewn with rubble in fresh ruin. Where human perception is shackled to linearity, these wool-coated and scarfed seraphs—a materialization of Walter Benjamin’s “angel of history”—see all of time in a simultaneous sweep, as they wander Berlin with their palliative touch. Marcello’s Martin Eden mosaics a view less pointedly omniscient, but just as filled with a humanist commitment to the turning world, even as Martin slides into disillusion. All its faces plucked from history remind me of a line from a Pasolini poem: “Everything on that street / was human, and the people all clung / to it tightly.”

Phoebe Chen is a writer and graduate student living in New York.

[nakey-cats-take-bathsss]

GRIFFIN GIRLS (a moment in the life): 2020

A short companion Drabble to Griffin Girls

2020 has brought a lot of weird changes to the little town of Polis. But while the world around them seems to be constantly moving, their little corner of the world will always feel like home.

“I’m so glad I came home for this,” Madi whispered, taking a red vine from the bag in Clarke’s purse.

“You say that as if you haven’t been home for the last six months,” Clarke teased, nudging her daughter’s side.

Madi rolled her eyes, pulling her mask just enough that she could slide the candy underneath.

“This is a spectacle,” Bellamy muttered, pulling Clarke into his side as he eyed the crowd wearily. Thelonius had a small group of people tucked behind a curtain, preparing for his first town meeting in six months.

They were spread out in the town square, the town hall too cramped to meet social distancing guidelines.

For the most part, everyone was adhering to the rules. Except for the town troubadour, who was staging a one man protest where he’d trapped himself inside a plastic bubble.

“As you know, we are in the middle of a pandemic!” Thelonius announced, emerging from behind the curtain to stand on top of an old milk crate. “I would just like to make a few reminders!”

“Wash your freaking hands and wear a mask!” Octavia yelled from the crowd, chucking a mini bottle of hand sanitizer at the troubadour’s bubble.

“Thank you Ms. Blake...now as I was saying. These are unprecedented times and I know that these rules can be a little difficult for you all to understand. Sooo I’ve commissioned the Polis High School drama club to provide us with a little demonstration,” Thelonius said, drawing back the curtain to reveal a group of teenagers all clad in costume.

“Oh my God,” Bellamy said and Octavia said in unison, both momentarily forgetting to keep his voice to a whisper.

“Shhh...this is the most exciting thing that’s happened in months,” Clarke scolded, swatting him with a red vine.

The demonstration as it turned out, involved a high school boy dressed as a germ and a giant roll of toilet paper.

“This is Oscar worthy…” Madi choked out, covering her laugh with the sleeve of her sweatshirt.

“We’re moving…” Bellamy sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It’s been great but I think it’s time to throw the entire town away.”

“You say that every time that Thelonius does something stupid. I should make one of those signs, ‘it’s been 0 days since Bellamy tried to leave this town’ and mark it with a little piece of chalk.”

Bellamy gave Clarke his best exasperated stare, hindered by the cover of his mask.

“Hey Blake, is the outdoor patio going to be open after this?” Jasper asked, leaning across the massive aisle.

“It isn’t a patio it’s literally a bunch of folding tables in the street.”

Jasper stared at him expectantly, waiting until Bellamy finally nodded yes before he pulled back to relay the news to Maya.

“You love it here,” Clarke said fondly, moving in for a kiss before she remembered her mask was in the way.

The teenagers wrapped up their play with a final musical number, throwing the crowd into enough chaos that Thelonius adjourned the meeting early.

“I’ll see you guys at home, I’d really rather not run into Jordan,” Madi whispered, squeezing her parents’ hands before she slipped into the crowd.

Clarke watched her go, a mess of dark hair sticking out even between a hundred people. Somehow, she blinked and her daughter was 20 years old. This was the longest she’d been home since high school—and global pandemic aside, the town felt a little more whole with her in it again.

Eventually, everyone went in their separate directions, leaving Bellamy and Clarke standing alone in the square.

“It’s nice to have her back isn't it?” Bellamy murmured, hugging her tightly.

“Makes me realize how big that old house is when it’s just the two of us,” Clarke agreed, leaning back into his chest.

They stood in silence for a while, staring out at the gazebo where they got married, the tree where they had their first kiss, the town that brought them together.

“I could never actually leave this place,” he admitted, unhooking his mask so he could kiss the top of her head.

“There is something missing though, isn’t there?” Clarke sighed, sinking into the embrace. It’d been on her mind for a while now, the idea of having more kids.

Sure, Madi was in college but Clarke was only 36–there was still time. Or they could even adopt. She wanted to have that with Bellamy, to be able to grow their family together.

He didn’t respond, just tilted her chin up kissing her soundly, in the same spot where they got married two years ago and where they’d fallen in love at the Christmas carnival almost a decade before that.

It was all the confirmation she needed.

“We should get to the diner…or should I say, the outdoor patio,” he said, pressing one last kiss to the tip of Clarke’s nose. “The sooner I get Jasper a piece of pie the sooner we can go home.”

“Hello, your wife would like a piece of pie too…” Clarke teased, kissing his nose before pulling his mask back up

They walked arm in arm back toward the diner, a cluster of customers already settled at the widely spaced tables. Thelonius had invested in rolling plexiglass dividers a few weeks ago and it was a great excuse for Bellamy to ignore people who were trying to get his attention to order coffee.

“You serve coffee, I’ll serve pie. Meet back here in fifteen minutes to make out in the store room,” Clarke said with a wink, tapping him gently on the butt as she picked up a tray of apple pie.

Bellamy watched her dip back out the door, unable to wipe the grin off his face. He loved her and by the grace of God, she loved him back.

Taking extra care to not touch the lip of the mugs, he followed her out. The crowd had only grown, backlit by the town’s string lights with the muffled crooning of the bubble clad troubadour filling the air.

Things may look different, and they may be a little scarier than he would’ve liked. But Clarke was right, he did love this town. And it was times like this that really made him understand how fortunate he was. 

[atths--twice]

Called on Account of Rain

Today is Father’s Day and that needs to be celebrated. This is the second one Mulder and Scully will experience and this year, things are a bit different in the world. As a result, the plans involve being closer to home. But plans sometimes change and sometimes... they change for the better. 

Hope you enjoy!

June 2020

Mulder woke with a start, the sound of rain falling heavily on the roof. He hummed as he listened to it, thunder rumbling softly in the distance.

Turning his head, he looked over at Scully, hoping she was asleep; thunder sometimes causing her to feel uneasy. Blinking his eyes in the soft light of the nightlight in the corner, he saw she was not beside him. Glancing at the bathroom, he saw the door stood open, the room dark.

Not hearing her moving around quietly in the dark bathroom, he sat up with a yawn, the rain sounding louder than a couple of minutes ago. Looking over at the baby monitor, wondering if perhaps Faith had woken up, he saw she was sleeping soundly in the corner of her crib, her knees pulled up underneath her. He smiled at the sight, taking a deep breath as he stood up.

He stretched and walked toward the bedroom door, opening it quietly and listening to hear if Scully was puttering around downstairs. Not hearing anything, he walked down the stairs to have a look around.

Bella was asleep in her crate, the small lamp in the corner providing a warm light to the room. Everything appeared as it always did, and yet Scully was nowhere to be seen.

Turning around, he caught sight of something through the blinds. Stepping closer to get a better look, his breath held as he did, he saw it was a flashlight. The beam of it was dancing across the yard and heading toward the garage.

“What in the hell?” he muttered, letting out his breath as he stepped away from the window. He slipped on his tennis shoes, grabbed an umbrella, and  walked out the door, closing it behind him.

Opening the umbrella, he stepped through the open baby gate and walked down the stairs, heading toward a soaking wet Scully.

“Hey!” he called out to her over the sound of the falling rain. She jumped and turned around, her arms full of something, the flashlight in her hand. “What in the hell are you doing out here?”

He put the umbrella over both of them, although he knew it was quite pointless as she was soaked to the skin, her pajamas clinging to her. She sighed and he looked down at what she was holding, frowning as he looked back up at her.

“What… Honey… what?” He shook his head and brushed her wet hair back from her forehead.

“I…” she started and then sighed. “Come on and I’ll tell you.” She turned back around and they walked together toward the garage, where he could now see the light was on and the door was open.

Stepping inside, he shook out the umbrella, setting it down as he turned to her. She set the flashlight on a shelf and began to place the brightly colored plastic Easter eggs beside it. Brushing her hair back before looking at him, she shook her head.

“It was supposed to be a surprise,” she said with a sigh. “I didn’t expect it to rain again and I really didn’t expect it to rain this hard.” She gestured out the door and he looked, watching as it poured down. Looking back at her with a small smile, he raised his eyebrows.

“It’s Father’s Day tomorrow… well, today I suppose,” she explained with a sigh. He stared at her and waited for her to continue. “I had a plan for… for a fun scavenger hunt type thing. I hid the eggs earlier when I said I was going to go for a run. I had it all planned out. The notes in the eggs… the places to set them… and then…” She gestured outside again and he smiled wider, catching on to what she was implying.

“So, you put these out,” he said, reaching for an egg on the shelf. He opened it and found a wet piece of paper inside, the ink heavily smeared, the words under the rock the only ones still readable.

“The plan was to have you find them and it would lead to your Father’s Day gift… something I had set up and gotten ready. But now…” she grumbled and he smiled even wider, placing the egg back on the shelf.

“What was the gift?”

“Oh, well the gift itself wasn’t ruined, just the road leading to it, as it were. So no... I won’t be telling you about the gift,” she said pointedly, with a smirk. He grinned and nodded, picking up the flashlight and the umbrella.

“Well, I’m sorry that your plan was rained out. It looks like it would have been fun.”

“Yes, it would have,” she agreed with a deep sigh and another shake of her head.

“Hmm… well, as there is nothing that can be done about it, especially right now, I say we do what is within our control,” he said with a wink. “I say we make a run for it. I mean… you really need to get out of those wet clothes.”

“Oh, really?” she asked, reaching for his hand and stopping him from opening the umbrella, taking it from his hand. “Then I think, if we’re going to make a run for it, and you’re relatively dry yet, while I’m wet- actually, soaked is the word I would use…” He moaned with desire and she chuckled.

He stared at her, taking in her dripping hair, the way the dark, almost metallic gray of her pajamas appeared nearly the color of midnight black as a result of the rain. His eyes were drawn to the way it clung to her body, specifically her breasts, her nipples hard beneath it. The lace at the end of the sleeves and the small shorts she wore, were even more appealing than they had been a few hours ago, the rain adding a sensual element.

He shook his head as he tried to stop his thoughts from running away too far away from him. She was right; she was soaked,  and he was barely wet. With a large grin, he turned off the light and reached for her hand. Pulling her out of the garage, she slammed the door as heavy raindrops hit their skin, causing them both to shiver. Laughing, they ran down the driveway hand-in-hand.

He was as soaked as she was by the time they turned the corner. Stopping her from running up the stairs, he laughed as he spun her around, and pulled her back, the useless umbrella held in her hand. Wrapping his arms around her, they danced in the rain, laughing hysterically, not a care in the world.

Stripping, their wet clothes left in a soggy heap on the porch, they giggled as they stepped inside. Locking the door behind them, they hurried up the stairs, water dripping from both of them. A shared shower later, in which the water was not the only thing that was warm, they laid down in bed.

She wore a different pair of new pajamas to bed: short sleeved blue satin with white polka dots and white piping. He liked the new sets she had bought recently. They were like her old ones, the ones she had worn in countless motel rooms, but with shorts instead of pants. Shorts which he could slide his fingers under, his touch causing her to catch her breath and moan.

He loved those shorts.  

Her bare legs grazed his under the covers as he pulled her closer and he sighed with happiness. She hummed as she rubbed a hand across his chest, before holding onto his t-shirt as she breathed his name. She  breathed deeply, as the sound of the rain falling steadily down, played like a lullaby and sang them to sleep.

He woke to an empty bed, the day dark, cloudy, and already warm. Stretching, he sat up and rose from the bed, stumbling sleepily into the bathroom.

Yawning as he left the bathroom a few minutes later, he put on some sweatpants. Rubbing at his face as he opened the bedroom door, he walked down the stairs, following the laughter he heard.

Finding Scully and Faith in the kitchen, he smiled as he watched them. Scully was singing softly to her, tickling her as they sat at the table, and Faith ate her breakfast.

“Oh, look who finally decided to get up, my Love,” Scully teased as she looked up at him.

“Funny,” he smiled, walking closer to them, Faith turning her head to look at him.

“Dada,” she said with a smile and clapped her hands. “Hi. Hi, Dada.” She waved at him, and he bent to kiss her repeatedly and loudly in her neck, making growling monster sounds. She laughed and pulled away, looking at him with a big smile.

“Good morning, my ladies,” he said, kissing the top of Scully‘s head as he stepped to the counter. Opening the cupboard to grab a coffee mug and poured himself a cup of coffee. Sitting down beside Scully, he smiled happily at both of them.

“Happy Father’s Day,” Scully said with a sigh and a shake of her head. “Faith woke up early and I haven’t had a chance to make a special breakfast for us yet, just hers. But, there is waffle batter in the fridge and a pack of bacon.” She looked at him and he nodded.

“That’s fine, I’m not hungry just yet,” he said, with a shake of his head and a hand on her arm. She sighed again and he rubbed her back. “Scully?”

“I had a plan… and a title to uphold,” she said with a pout and he laughed softly.

“We aren’t betting this year,” he reassured her, squeezing her shoulder. “It’s been cancelled on account of this being quite a shitty year.”

“I know… ” She glanced at Faith, finding her distracted, and then looked back at him. “And it’s been a fucker of a year.” She told him quietly as she shook her head, letting out a sigh as he rubbed her back with a chuckle.

“Still, you had such thoughtful and beautiful gifts for me. We're stuck inside, it’s been hard on all of us at times and… it would have been fun, but the weather was just not on my side today.”

“It’s okay, Honey. Neither of us needs gifts, but of course they’re nice. This… this right here,” he said, gesturing to her and Faith. “This is all I need.” He smiled and leaned toward her, waiting for her to meet him halfway for a kiss. She grinned and kissed him softly, her hand resting lightly on his chest.

“Dada!” Faith yelled and he pulled back, smiling at Scully, and squeezing her hand gently before he looked at Faith.

“Yes, my love,” he said and she smiled at him, slapping her hands happily on the table.

“Would you mind taking Bella out?” Scully asked. “I let her out to pee, but she could use more time outside, especially before it starts to rain again.”

“Sure.”

“Let her run for a bit and when little miss here is finished, I’ll start on our breakfast.” He nodded, taking a sip of his coffee and standing up. Kissing the top of her head, he picked up his mug and stepped back from the table.

“Bella!” he called to her and she stood from her bed, stretching before coming over to him, her body wiggling happily.

“Good girl. Come on then,” he said, smiling as he pet her, scratching behind her ears.

Putting on a different pair of shoes than he wore last night, as those were still on the porch, along with their wet clothes, he opened the door. Bella ran out ahead of him, running quickly back and forth across the porch before waiting at the baby gate for him to open it, her tail wagging excitedly.

“Okay, Bella. I can see your excited,” he laughed, unlocking the gate and letting her run down the steps and onto the rain covered grass.

He closed the door, not wanting to let the humid heat of the day inside. Setting his coffee mug on the railing, he stretched his arms up over his head, yawning as he did. Bringing them down, he twisted and turned, his back popping, before he rolled his neck and exhaled.

Whistling for Bella, he picked up one of her tennis balls and threw it to her. She ran after it, her feet slipping a little in the grass, as she ran back to him and dropped the ball.

“Good girl. Here you go.” He threw it again and she scampered clumsily down the steps, her too-long legs and feet getting tangled up. Smiling, he walked across the porch, looking up at the dark sky. Bella dropped her ball and ran after it, playing fetch on her own.

He chuckled softly and then paused, standing completely still, thinking he had heard something. Hearing it again, he bent down with a frown, listening closer. Hearing it again, he exhaled in surprise.

“Holy shit.” He stood up quickly and opened the other gate. Hurrying safely down the wet steps, he squatted down and looked through a small hole in a broken slat on the bottom of the porch, but could not see anything. Bella came running up with a bark, pushing into him, and licking his face.

“Hey, Bella, back up a bit,” he told her, pushing her back gently, as he patted her back. She whined and as she did, he heard the sound again, closer than before. Bella whipped her head toward the sound, her ears up.

“Yeah, you hear it too, huh?” he asked and Bella whined again, pushing closer to the broken slat. She sniffed and whined softly, looking back at him, then back at the slat again, when he heard it even closer this time.

“Good girl, Bella. Hey, come on out of there,” he said softly, looking into the slat, still seeing nothing. “Come on. Psst. Psst.”

Bella gave a low whine and then the small head of a kitten popped through the slat, meowing loudly as it pushed through the rest of the way. Bella sniffed at the incredibly tiny kitten, bending down low as she investigated the little creature.

“Hey there,” Mulder said, picking up the wet, gray striped kitten. It mewled as he stood up, clinging to him as Bella jumped up, her paws on his legs, trying to see the kitten again. “Yeah, we got it, Bella. Thanks for your help, girl.” He patted her head and she dropped back down to the ground.

“Where did you come from, little one?” he asked the kitten, tipping its head back with the his finger. It looked back at him with blue eyes, shaking as it meowed quietly and then began to purr loudly.

“Oh… we need to get you inside. Come on, Bella.”

He walked up the stairs, holding the small kitten close. Closing one of the gates, Bella still following him closely, he walked across the porch and closed the other gate. Picking up his coffee mug from the railing, he opened the door and stepped inside.

“Oh, Honey,” he called out with a smile, as Bella ran in to see Faith, who was playing on the floor. She gave her hello lick, causing her to giggle. “I need your help with something.”

“Mm-hmm,” Scully said, closing the refrigerator, the bowl of waffle batter in her hand. Glancing at him, she smiled as she turned to set it down. Turning back around quickly, the bowl landed with a thud onto the counter as she looked at him with wide eyes.

“Wh… what…” she stammered, walking over to him. “Where… Mulder…”

“It was under the porch,” he said, handing her the kitten, who meowed and gripped onto her, crawling up her chest and nearly to her shoulder. She grabbed it and held it in her hands, cuddling it to her chest. He set his mug on the table and sighed.

“The poor thing must have been out in the rain all night,” she murmured, looking at the kitten. “Oh, Mulder, it’s shivering. We need to wash it and get it dry.”

“Dada,” Faith said, and he felt a tug on his pants as she grabbed onto him. “Up.” He bent and picked her up, pointing to the cat.

“Look, Honey. It’s a kitten – a baby cat.”

“Cat,” she said, reaching to touch it. “Maow.”

“Yes, the cat says meow. Good job, Honey. I wonder where it came from,” he said looking at Scully.

“I don’t know, but we need to make sure it’s okay. It’s so cute.” She turned it over, glancing quickly with a smile. “She. She is so cute.”

“She,” he scoffed. “Of course it’s a she.” He gestured at Scully, Faith, Bella and then waved his arm to include the fish upstairs. “I’m surrounded forever by women.”

“And you love it,” she said, rubbing the kitten’s head as she began to purr again. “I’ll give her a bath. Can you get a towel from upstairs?”

“Yep. Let’s go Faithy. We’re on a kitten mission.” He bounced her in his arms on the way up the stairs, grabbing the towel and then stopping in Faith‘s room to find a fleece blanket, thinking the kitten would be comforted by the softness of it.

As they neared the bottom of the stairs, Faith looked at him, worry in her eyes as they heard the cat meowing loudly from the kitchen. Walking over to the sink, they saw that the kitten was in a small amount of water, the faucet on low. Bella was whining as she stood with her front paws on the counter, trying to see what was happening.

“It’s okay, Bella. She’s just a little nervous, but she’s okay. We just need to clean her off and warm her up. Yeah, you’re okay little one. We’ve got you now.” Mulder watched her smile at the terrified kitten and he smiled back.

“Cat,” Faith said, pointing at the kitten. “Maow.”

“Yeah, Honey. Mama is taking good care of her,” he said and Scully smiled again, rinsing the kitten gently.

“There we go. I think that’s good,” she said, turning off the faucet and squeezing the kitten gently to remove any excess water. “At least she’s cleaner than before. We can’t use soap, she’s too little, but that should be good enough. Hand me the towel?” She reached for it and he gave it to her, wrapping it securely around the kitten, and lifting her into her arms.

“Yeah, you’re okay. All done with the water now. Shhh… it’s okay.” She walked to the table and sat down, Bella following, her nose pressing into the towel, sniffing around and whining. “She’s okay, Bella. Aren’t you sweetie?” The kitten gave a soft meow and closed her eyes as Scully chuckled softly. “Yeah, she’s okay.”

Faith wiggled in Mulder’s arms and he set her down. Scully leaned forward so she could see the kitten better and Faith stared at her with wide eyes.

“Cat,” she said again quietly and Scully smiled, glancing at Mulder as she did. He smiled back as he squatted down beside her, his hand on Faith’s small back.

The kitten opened her eyes and her blue eyes met Faith’s, as she let out a soft meow. Faith gasped and looked at Scully.

“Cat. Maow,” she said with a surprised tone, as though she had not heard her meowing already.

“Yes, she meowed,” Scully said with a smile as she rubbed the kitten gently.

“Cat,” Faith said yet again and the kitten closed her eyes, purring louder than before.

“Oh, she’s so cute, Mulder,” Scully said, touching the kitten's forehead. “We don’t have anything here for a cat, though.” Raising her head, she looked at him and he grinned.

“So, I’m assuming we’re keeping her?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“Of course we are!” she said incredulously. “Are you serious?”

“I believe you once told me we could never have a cat because of…”

“Because you called my vagina a kitty?” she said over him and he sighed loudly.

“Yeah. That.”  

“Well... I’m over that,” she stated firmly, looking back down at the kitten. “She took shelter here, Mulder. She must have chosen us for a reason.” Looking up at him again, he nodded with a grin.

Of course they were going to keep her.

As if there was any other option.

_________________

Shutting off the car, he put on his face mask with a smile. Closing the door, he walked into the pet store to gather the items needed for the new kitten.

Food- wet and dry, dishes, treats, toys, a litter box, cat sand and a scooper, a scratching post/climbing toy, a bed, and a purple collar with a tiny bell. The cart was piled high when he made his way to the front of the store. The clerk smiled kindly at him behind her mask, as he began to place the items onto the counter.

“Looks like someone has a new family member,” she said with a chuckle.

“You could say that,” he agreed with a laugh. “Bit of a surprise on our end, obviously.” He gestured to the items and she laughed with him.

“That’s sometimes the best way to gain a new member of the family. We have a cat here who hangs about. She’s skittish and hesitant, but I love seeing her every day.”

“They do find their way into our hearts, don’t they?”

“That they do,” the woman said with a nod.

All the items purchased, bagged, and set in the car, he wiped off his hands, took off his mask, and headed home, smiling happily.

Walking into the house a few minutes later, he saw them all playing on the floor with the kitten, who was now a dry fluffy ball of excitement. She ran around, bouncing and chasing at Bella‘s tail and then the small  ball of foil Scully must have made for her. Faith was laughing and crawling after the kitten, making meowing sounds as she did. Scully was laughing as Bella barked and pawed gently at the kitten.

“Hey… all you ladies,” he said with a laugh and Scully looked up at him with a grin. Bella bounded over, greeted him quickly, and ran back to the kitten.

“Did you get everything?” Scully asked, standing to her feet.

“And then some,” he said with a smile. “She’s a cute little thing.” He watched the kitten raise a paw to Faith and slowly touch her foot as Faith giggled.

“She is. Feisty too,” Scully agreed and he looked at her.

“Of course she is. I wouldn’t have expected anything less from any woman in this house.” She laughed and nodded. “I’m going to take everything out of the car, wipe it all down, bring it inside, and change my clothes.

“Okay. I’ll get some brunch ready since our morning was sort of hijacked.”

“In the best possible way,” he said with another smile. “It just started raining on my way home, too. If I hadn’t been out there when I was, I might not have found her.”

“Fate intervened then,” she said with a smile and he nodded happily.

“Okay, you take care of brunch. I’ve got this.”

Forty five minutes later, they were at the table eating waffles and bacon. Faith was eating a banana, Bella was eating her own breakfast, and the kitten was eating as well. They gave her just a little bit at first, not knowing how long it had been since she had eaten and not wanting to fill her tummy up too quickly.

“Cat,” Faith said, pointing at the kitten as she ate. She smiled and put more bananas in her mouth. Mulder laughed and watched the kitten, so small as she ate out of her large food bowl.

“How old do you think she is?” he asked and Scully shook her head.

“Can’t be more than ten weeks. Poor thing, must’ve lost her mom. Maybe in the rain last night, or possibly even before.” She sighed and he squeezed her hand with an understanding smile.

When they were finished, they watched the kitten playing until she climbed to the top of her scratching post/climbing toy and fell asleep. Taking the cue from the kitten, Mulder carried Faith upstairs for her own much needed nap.

“Cat,” she said, as he placed her in her crib, her eyes heavy with sleep.

“Yes, Love, the cat is downstairs. You’ll see her later. Trust me, she’s not going anywhere.” He kissed the top of her head as she yawned and laid down, reaching for her stuffed pink Easter bunny. “Good night, Love, have a good nap.”

Turning on her sound machine and setting the fan on low, he walked out and closed the door. Downstairs, he found Scully sitting on the couch, her eyes closed, the kitten now held like a baby in the rainbow fleece blanket he had brought down earlier.

Sitting down next to her, he smiled as he saw the kitten sleeping peacefully on her back, her front legs stretched straight up beside her. Bella was asleep at Scully’s feet, the morning's excitement seeming to take its toll on all of them. He knew Scully was not asleep, not quite yet anyway.

“I’m sorry that Father’s Day was kind of ruined,” she said softly and he looked at her in surprise.

“Ruined? Not in the slightest, just like I told you earlier.” He kissed the top of her head and she sighed.

“Well, maybe not ruined, but… definitely not the day I had planned. Like I said, it was going to be a scavenger hunt leading to your big gift. I had an image in my mind about how it would go, but… it’s still raining and so we’ll have to put a pause on it. I should have made sure, but…”

“Scully, what did we do for Mother’s Day? A picnic and hanging out here? It’s what we’ve been doing almost every day for months now. It wasn’t a special trip out like we did last year, but did it make the day any less special?” he asked her quietly.

“No. But, Mulder, at least it was something.”

“And the adventure of finding an orphaned kitten under our porch? That’s not something?”

“Hmm. Well, when you put it that way…”

They were quiet for a few minutes and he thought she may have fallen asleep until she sighed deeply.

“I know you have some gift, undoubtedly something I’ll love, but like I said already, I don’t need any gifts, Scully,” he whispered. “I really do have all that I need right here under this roof.”

“Cheesy,” she whispered back, moving closer to snuggle against him.

“Hmm,” he agreed, feeling very tired himself, as he put his arm around her, pulling her close. “There’s always my birthday. I don’t mind waiting.”

“That’s months away. Don’t be silly. I do have something for you, for the interim, but it’s on the kitchen table, and it’s just so far away. Also, I’m holding this sweet sleeping kitten while our dog is sleeping at my feet. I’m obviously meant to stay right here.” He chuckled softly and closed his eyes, leaning his head back on the couch as she sighed sleepily and he smiled.

“We can get it later,” he breathed and he felt her nod slightly and settle closer to him.

Within minutes, they were both asleep, the rain falling softly and steadily outside. Bella whined in her sleep and the kitten began to purr as she moved and snuggled further into the cozy blanket. Faith hummed through the monitor as Mulder gave a little snore, and Scully sighed peacefully beside him.

Yes, the interim gift on the kitchen table could wait, as could the original one. For now, they were content to be together. The day may not have been experienced with extensive plans and outings, but they had all been together.

And that was all that truly mattered.

[cowandcalf]

Writer’s Month 2020 - To Find A Way

Prompt No.6 - Ocean

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Danny kicks the entrance door gently open. "Coming in!" He shouts into the room before he hesitantly steps in, guarded, and with perked ears. He still doesn't know what's up with Steve. He's definitely ex-military or special ops, definitely ex-elite. "Hey, Steve, give a sign so I know that you know I'm coming in. You gave me quite the show out there." He calls and listens but all he hears is irritated, half-loud breathing out from the left.

It's a funny building. The façade is a solid brick wall with windows but behind the door, space opens up into one big room. It's spacious, simple white walls which have seen better days. The wooden planks on the floor are worn and dusty but add a comfy touch to the atmosphere. The set-up in the single room is sparse: there's a large navy-blue couch with a few strewn pillows pushed against the wall, right under a big America flag that is pinned to the wall.

Steve watches him with certain alertness. "Weapon's on the table. I'm not going to shoot you. If I have wanted you off my ground you would be already on your way back where you came from. I wanted to scare you off. Didn't work. You're still here." Steve states calmly. "You know Kame and you've brought food. You've gained some credit to negotiate."

There's something in Steve's voice. Danny's heart answers to the silent undercurrent. Heat spreads over his torso. "Negotiate? About what? I'm the one with the food, smartass." Danny chuckles. "You know, that's not the best way to start a conversation with a guy you don't know." Steve doesn't answer.

Danny makes out about three dirty raincoats on a racket on the wall and several bags of potting soil piled up in the corner. "Play nice, Tarzan. I come in peace." Danny strolls into the big room and sees the makeshift kitchen built from a table at the other side. He spots an electric water jug, a tray with different sized mugs, a fridge and the stuff people need to eat and cook. "Do you live out here?" He asks.

"You ask too many questions for a guy who plays a delivery boy." Steve leans against a super long and old wooden table. He darts him a hot, dark look. Danny's sure Steve aims to be intimidating but all Danny could feel is more heat spreading further south.

"Touché." Danny grins and juts his chin out. "What are you doing with all the baby flowers? Planting? Dotting the jungle with colors? Creating a magic garden?" He points behind Steve where a heap of fresh soil sits in the middle of the table. Steve must have potted flowers. The chaos has an order and next to the small, empty flowerpots are a few plastic crates with a large variety of baby flowers. Danny sweats and the flutter of nervousness makes him run his mouth.

Steve has his feet crossed at the ankles and his hands rest on the rim of the wood table. "Why is it so difficult for an HPD Detective to imagine a man doing gardening, invested in the flora and fauna of Hawai'i?" Steve slips into a defensive mechanism and wears a harder streak around his mouth.

Danny knows he has to control his brain to mouth filter. "Hey, look, I'm sorry. I know, it's super impolite to ask prying questions but you held me at gunpoint. That was rude and I guess I've earned the right to go a bit off the rails with the rules of how a stranger behaves in a guy's private room." The lunch bags noisily land on the wooden surface of the smaller kitchen table.

Steve eyes him with high concentration and an unreadable face. "Has anyone ever told you that you talk too much?"

"Safes lives," Danny answers without batting an eye. He keeps his cool but feels Steve's tension like barely-there electricity. His hair on both arms feels sensitive to the unfamiliar vibes he tries to analyze. Danny gestures a bit bashfully into the direction of Steve's baby flower collection. "I was disrespectful. I'm sorry if I've offended you. I just wanted to break the ice, get the talk going, you know."

"I'm not offended, annoyed would come pretty close though. You talk a guy's head off and I'm hungry. I don't like to waste time. I have to finish my daily workload."

"Duly noted," Danny turns his head. "Got any plates?" He feels like the fifth wheel. Steve and his plants are a solid union and he's the intruder. He can't shake the feeling Steve would want him to leave. This dark, dangerous, super handsome man gets antsier the longer Danny stays in a close range.

"And they're called seedlings or offset, not baby flowers." Steve pushes off the rim of the table he has leaned against. His voice is defensive. "Wash your hands first. Hand sanitizer is over there." He orders and points to the corner with the sink.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to contaminate your private rooms. I can assure you I'm very cautious and I take the rules of the Lockdown very seriously. Do you want me to put my mask back on?" Danny walks over to the washbasin and turns the faucet on. The liquid soap squirts on his hand. He cocks his head and glances over his shoulder. "Do you need me to put my mask back on?" He asks again.

Steve's bleak expression quickly turns, he scowls. "No."

Danny nods and watches, lost in thoughts, how the water swirls before it vanishes down the drain. The sudden mood-drop takes him off-guard. The light banter hasn't breached the steel walls Steve seemed to draw up when Danny turns his eyes in his direction. He feels sad. The dull emptiness swashes in his stomach and steals his appetite. "Do you want me to leave?" He has no idea why he asks this. It's important to hear Steve's answer.

Steve takes his time to reply. Danny dries his hands with paper towels. He tries to find the waste bin. The longer Steve makes him wait for the answer the more determined Danny gets to stay. "Okay, big guy, I get it. You don't like visitors. You don't even like visitors who bring food. And I'll leave but you just have to say it. I'm not offended. I can eat my delicious shrimps somewhere on a rock, gazing over the ocean. I just thought you might enjoy the company."

Steve has his arms crossed over his chest. A sheen of sweat covers his upper body. Danny notices the way he balls his fists and how his biceps bulge. Steve is nervous. The realization hits Danny. He keeps Steve in his sight and steps toward the big, old wooden table. Steve's stance is wide. He seems to feel uncomfortable. "You can stay." He says flatly. The vibes he gives off make Danny's neck muscles tense.

"Okay, let's eat then and I'm out of your hair." Danny grabs the bags. He still hasn't found plates. It's not very stimulating to notice Steve's not supportive. Maybe the unexpected disappointment Danny senses on his tongue makes him act unwary. He spots the waste bin at the other end of the seedling station. Steve's wary gaze gets him clumsy. Danny steps forward to throw the paper ball into the waste bin but he bumps into the corner of the huge, old table.

Everything happens in slow motion. Danny watches how the impact makes the freshly repotted seedlings wobble before three pots tumble over the edge and start to fall. Danny hears the surprised and fearful gasp from Steve and he expects this athlete of a man to leap forward to catch his babies. Instead, Steve freezes and Danny has his hands full with the bags of shrimps and the paper towel. He's too slow. There's this split second where he watches how the pots get pulled down to the floor by gravity. He decides to hold on to the food and drops the paper towels. He tries to catch one of the pots, without success.

The loud noise of cracking clay pots seems to detonate in the utter silence. Danny feels the hard push of hands and he stumbles. Steve rudely shoves him aside. Danny hears Steve's harsh panting he sucks in air like a drowning man.

"I'm sorry, Steve. Shit, sorry man. I didn't mean to – "

"What have you done?" Steve crouches on the floor, hunched over the broken pots. His hands fly over the spilled baby-plants without coordination. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?" He yells.

Danny doesn't understand what's happening. He watches helplessly how Steve falls apart right before his eyes. "Steve, I'm sorry. Come on, let me help you." He drops the bag with lunch on the floor and squats down. His hand comes down to rest gently on Steve's shoulder.

Steve's wild. The angry jerk has Danny almost drop on his rear. His hand got swatted off aggressively. "Go away. Leave! You have to leave, I need – I can't," Steve's voice is a hoarse croak, laced with a fear Danny can't grasp but he’s more than willing to try to understand.

"Hey, buddy, let me help you."

"They're hurt, god, I have to – I have to," Steve murmurs to himself. Sweat runs down his temple and leaves a wet track in the smudge of dirt on his skin.

Nausea sets in the pit of Danny's stomach when he sees how Steve shakes. Within seconds he's covered in sweat and collapses slowly with his entire focus on the plants on the floor. His hands scoop up the flower dirt around the naked plants. The gentle, white baby-roots show and one of the young leaves is broken. Steve seems heartbroken. He cups them with both hands, his breathing ragged.

Danny can't move, too frightened by the shocking realization about what he's witnessing. Steve is caught in a world Danny can't see but he senses in what kind of horrible loop Steve has been sucked in. Battlefields. War zones. Destruction and death, agonizing memories Danny can't even start to fathom how unsettling those inner images must be. They seem to rule Steve's presence. The broken clay pots have flipped a switch.

"They'll make it. Yeah, you'll be fine, fine. I'm not giving up on you," Steve's eyes dart over to Danny.

The wild, helpless look on his face kicks Danny into motion. Steve must have lost friends in horrible fights, bled to death, nasty bullet wounds in impassable areas with no help to get them out alive. Danny has no idea if he's interpreting the situation correctly. Sever PTSD has many faces. And he's sure he stares in one of them now. Danny only knows he has to help Steve save the plants no matter how ridiculous this might seem. They're more to Steve than just plants. They're his friends who got killed in action. The ones Steve couldn't save.

Danny jumps to his feet. "I've got you, Steve. I'm here. We'll save your plants. Let's – " he walks over to this proud, brave man who's hunched over, unable to snap out of it. Danny empties one of the crates and is back at Steve's side in a second. "Put them in here. We'll pot them in new and bigger flower pots, okay? Here, lay them down, yes, just like that. They're strong. They're gonna make it."

Steve's hands shake uncontrollably. Danny tries not to stare at the strong arms and the helpless way Steve's experiences as a soldier let him crash completely. He's drowning in an ocean of bad memories that have messed so terribly with the emotional state he almost keens over baby-plants on the floor. "They're gonna be fine, yes," Steve mumbles and does as Danny says.

Danny wants to cry. The cruelty and the unfairness of the world cut through him like a glowing blade. He hands Steve the crate with the saved flower seedlings. "Let's get up. Come on. They need your care, new soil, and some water." Danny grunts when he pushes himself up. His knee screams with pain from kneeling for so long. He pushes the pain aside. "Steve?" He whispers.

Steve's hunched over and cleans the floor with his bare hands. Damp soil seems to be everywhere. He scoops the spilled soil to a smaller heap, totally caught up in this mundane action. Danny's eyes catch the tremor in his left hand. He bites his lips and waits a moment to collect his emotions that are all over the place. "Steve? Come on, buddy, get up." Danny touches Steve's shoulder once again, cautious and butterfly soft fingertips graze over Steve's bare shoulder. He waits and almost sobs when Steve twitches and shuffles to get up from kneeling on the floor but waits instead.

Danny doesn't know what to do. "I uh, look, I put the crate on the table. Your babies have enough earth. You take your time, okay? I'll, uhm, I'll go and make some coffee." Danny puts the box on the wooden table and turns his back to Steve. He washes his hands under the faucet. He bites his tongue and swallows the shock.

He listens with a wild beating heart when Steve gets up. Nothing. He hears nothing after that. He slowly turns around and holds his breath. Steve hugs his upper body, rocking back and forth. His breathing is labored and he still seems to be a prisoner of the relapse he experiences. His shirt is soaked in sweat. His skin glistens in the evening light. Steve looks lost.

Danny tosses the rag with which he has dried his hands in a corner of the makeshift kitchen. He knows from police training that people with an anxiety disorder need different tools to flip the switch, to get out of the loop. He has no idea if Steve has such a toolbox or if he needs something else. He has to try to get him out of the destructive undercurrent of the dark, dangerous ocean he has been sucked in. It's Danny's fault, Steve's such a mess. It's his fucking fault. He has to try!

"Steve," Danny whispers, scared to spook him with a too-loud voice, "what do you need?"

TBC

Also on AO3 - To Find A Way

[cleversa450]

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Snarled Supply Chain Trips Up Small Businesses

An Oklahoma restaurant is paying nearly $200 for a case of gloves that normally costs $40. A medical-device maker in Colorado is tweaking the way it manufactures its products to offset higher plastic costs. A clothing wholesaler in Michigan has hundreds of hoodies it has yet to sell because winter was over by the time they arrived from Bangladesh.

The supply-chain disruptions rippling across the business world are taking a heavy toll on small U.S. companies, which have fewer resources to absorb or push back on price increases and less leverage to pass along the higher costs to customers.

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An average of 30 container ships a day have been stuck outside the Ports of Los Angeles and Long Beach just waiting to deliver their goods. The backlog is part of a global supply-chain mess spurred by the pandemic that means consumers could see delivery delays for weeks. Photo Composite: Adam Falk/The Wall Street Journal

Prices have jumped for many in-demand materials. “If a steel supplier has even a little supply, they are raising prices knowing it will be difficult for them to replenish their stock,” said Matt Erfman, chief executive of Dakotaland Manufacturing, a Sioux Falls, S.D., contract metal manufacturer with about 150 employees. “It’s almost a straight-upward trajectory.”

Suppliers recently quoted Dakotaland a price of $1.10 a pound for 4-by-3-inch steel tubing that sold for 45 cents a pound last summer, said Mr. Erfman.

Dakotaland’s contracts allow it to pass along increased costs quarterly to major customers, but delays in raising prices have squeezed profit margins. “Hopefully, it washes out when things turn the other way,” Mr. Erfman said. “At this point, we don’t know when that might be.”

Sealstrip President Heather Chandler at company headquarters in Gilbertsville, Pa.

Sealstrip Corp., a Gilbertsville, Pa., maker of packaging products, has struggled to find steel storage drums and resins for manufacturing plastic films used in flexible packaging. Larger suppliers have boosted prices; some have invoked force majeure clauses that let them exit contracts due to unforeseen circumstances. Even wooden pallets for shipping are hard to find.

The cost of lumber to build crates and pallets has climbed by 50% to 100%, said Heather Chandler, president of the 40-person company, which sells resealable tape, machinery and other packaging supplies to big consumer-products companies.

“One of the biggest challenges of being a small company is we buy from billion-dollar companies and sell to billion-dollar companies,” making it difficult to fend off price increases or pass them on to customers, she said.

Transportation backlogs add to the headaches. It recently took five days for a pallet of adhesive tape to travel from Sealstrip’s Gilbertsville factory to a customer’s facility, about a two-hour drive away. “Things are sitting in freight depots because they are short on staff,” Ms. Chandler said.

Delays can be particularly troublesome for small businesses selling seasonal goods. B&S Activewear LLC, a Warren, Mich., clothing wholesaler, was still receiving shipments of zip-up hoodies and other winter apparel from Bangladesh in April, roughly two months later than expected.

Sealstrip has faced shortages of resin used in some of its plastic packaging—and even wooden pallets.

B&S has tried to speed up delivery by shipping goods via UPS Air Freight, at a cost of $8,000 for 72 boxes of T-shirts, more than 10 times the cost of sending the same items by boat. The year-old company sold most of the apparel at break-even after a prospective customer rejected the goods due to the delay, said Steven Gasparovic, the company’s director of U.S. operations.

Though smaller companies may have less sophisticated purchasing departments, they can sometimes be more agile.

MedSafety Solutions, a Centennial, Colo., maker of medical devices, began re-engineering its processes to reduce costs after supply shortages fueled cost increases of 10% or more for plastics used in the manufacture of needle products. “We are using investment dollars to improve efficiencies,” said Steve van Engen, chief executive of the 14-person company.

A Sealstrip employee worked at a slitter machine on Tuesday.

Other small companies are boosting inventory. After the 2020 hurricane season, assembly company Automation Systems LLC ordered an extra 20,000 pounds of plastic pellets, normally enough to last the Melrose Park, Ill., company nine months. One month later, prices surged due to the Texas freeze.

“They were jacking prices through the roof,” owner Carl Schanstra said. “I did it as a stability measure.” Mr. Schanstra has also placed blanket orders for steel, foam and other materials as much as 12 months ahead, instead of a more typical lead time of six months. Ordering early allows the 45-person company to lock in supply, but leaves little room to fine-tune orders or address concerns.

Global Supply Chain Woes

Write to Ruth Simon at ruth.simon@wsj.com and Dave Sebastian at dave.sebastian@wsj.com

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