Miss May’s Murricaville Adventure
A Blue Key Tale for the Hungry and Brave
The shelves were all empty. The lights flickered dim.
The bell on the door gave a sorrowful bing.
A boy held his stomach. A girl cried for bread.
And the clerk only whispered, “We’ve got ramen instead.”
The air smelled like mildew. The fridge hummed with dread.
The apples were bruised and the lettuce half-dead.
At the edge of the town, Miss May clenched her jaw.
Her hands, rough with labor, curled tight into claw.
“They’re starving,” she muttered. “The kids, and the rest.
We wait for the rich folks, they give us their ‘best.’
Rotten tomatoes. Milk past its date.
While CEOs fatten their yachts and their plates.”
Her gut was a furnace. Her skin burned with shame.
But deeper than anger, she felt something flame.
A spark lit her chest, and it rose with a roar:
“We don’t need their system. Not anymore.”
STEP ONE: FIND THE MISSION
She scribbled a plan in the dust with her shoe:
“Five food groups we need, and we’ll start something new.
Fruit. Veg. Protein. Dairy and Grain.
We’ll build it ourselves—let ’em laugh. Let ’em strain.”
She marched into town with her boots caked in clay.
The wind slapped her face but it didn’t delay.
She stood on a barrel by the old county lot,
And shouted so loud that the sky nearly popped:
“No kings! No more grocers who charge us like thieves!
We’ll grow it! We’ll share it! From dirt to green leaves!”
Her voice cracked like thunder. The people all froze.
Then someone stepped forward and quietly rose.
STEP TWO: PICK THE FIVE
“I’m Sam,” said a woman. “I can climb trees.
I’ll harvest the fruits with the wind in my knees.”
“I’m Tariq,” a man said. “I’ve hunted and fished.
I’ll take care of protein, if that’s what you wished.”
“I’m Jules,” said a baker. “I know how to mill.
Give me some wheat, and I’ll feed every hill.”
“I’m Dee,” said a teacher. “Got goats in my shed.
I can make yogurt and cheese, warm the cold with our bread.”
“I’m Greta,” said one with dirt on her face.
“I grow green things in any old place.”
Miss May felt her chest swell with fire and pride.
Five had stood up. No one needed to hide.
And around them, the crowd slowly leaned in to hear.
A baby cried softly, her mama wiped tears.
STEP 3: BREAK IT DOWN INTO TASKS
Then May raised a hand. “This is only the spark.
Now each of you five—light a flame in the dark.
Break your group down into five smaller tasks.
Pick five new leaders and hand them the masks.”
Sam built her fruit crew with branches and boots:
One picked peaches from old family roots.
One climbed the oaks where the pears had grown fat.
One ran the juicer in her laundromat.
One traded citrus from trucks driving past.
One taught the kids how to pick and hold fast.
Greta had growers with hands full of loam:
One worked the yard at the nursing home.
One farmed the ditch by the old interstate.
One taught the inmates behind the locked gate.
One did the rooftop above the V.A.
One just grew beans in her backyard all day.
Each team broke to five. Then each five found five.
The network expanded like bees in a hive.
And every new link brought a story and face:
A grandma. A vet. A teen fallen from grace.
They planted and bartered. They weeded and canned.
They cooked with their sleeves rolled, their toes in the sand.
No board, no permission. No stickers. No rules.
No forms from the city. No bureaucrat fools.
BEAT THE BACKLASH
But just when the system was starting to shine,
The mayor came stomping. “This ain’t by design!”
“You’re selling?” he shouted. “Without a permit?!”
Miss May stood her ground. “We’re feeding—so quit.”
They fined her. They threatened. They posted a sign:
“All food must be purchased through channels of mine.”
But the people said no. And the people stood still.
And the people fed others on top of that hill.
When the sheriff came knocking to drag May away,
He stopped in the field where her kids knelt to pray.
He stared at their faces. He lowered his cuffs.
Then tipped his wide hat. “I’ve had quite enough.”
WINNING
One by one, the enforcers all peeled from the line.
The judge? Ate a sandwich made fresh from their vine.
The news crews showed up, and the people all wept—
For once, no one took while the hungry ones slept.
And Miss May that night held her spoon to the moon.
The stew in her pot was still steaming at noon.
She smiled through tears as the babies grew fat—
“We built it,” she whispered. “Imagine just that.”
BLUE KEY FOR ALL
So if you are reading from far, far away,
And hunger still haunts you by night or by day—
Don’t wait for a permit. Don’t plead or knock twice.
Don’t wait for a savior or government slice.
Pick one bold mission. Then break it in five.
Find five friends with guts and with dreams still alive.
Each one finds five more, who then do the same—
And soon, you’ve ignited a wildfire flame.
Blue Key’s the method. The system. The way.
Where power grows upward, like gardens in May.
No matter the mission—be food, books, or heat—
You build it together, from just one small street.
So be like Miss May with her boots in the dirt—
Build something that feeds, something raw, something hurt.
And don’t ask for mercy from kings in their towers—
The people already have all of the power.
Author’s Note
It’s really that simple: Blue Key is a structure for returning power to the people. Anyone can use or alter the structure as needed. Decide your mission. What do you care about? What can you do to make the world better? You and five friends. Just five who find five more who find five more after that and before you know it, you have an army of people working an unstoppable mission! The find out phase has begun!
Learn more at BlueKeyDemocracy.com