Eighteen weekdays marked “no official business.” Fifty-three blocks of mysterious “work time.” A typical day that often starts after 9 a.m. and wraps before 5. This is how California’s highest-paid public servant spent the first four months of the year.
After months of stonewalling that forced The California Post to bring in lawyers, Governor Gavin Newsom finally coughed up his official calendars. What they show is not a man grinding away at the crises crushing the Golden State. It is a man treating the governor’s office like a part-time gig while he polishes his presidential resume.
One in four non-holiday weekdays between January and April carried zero scheduled government business. On February 6, the entire official entry was a single “work time” block from 2 to 5:20 p.m. From April 3 through April 12, the only item listed was a 35-minute stop at the North Salton Sea Conservancy. The rest of that stretch? Blank.
Newsom’s office insists the calendars are incomplete. “No official business” just means nothing was pre-scheduled, they say. Unscheduled calls and informal chats supposedly fill the gaps. Convenient. It does not explain why the public had to fight for months to see even this partial record, or why 34 entries remain blacked out.
Other states put their governors’ schedules online as a matter of routine. Oregon keeps a public archive. Virginia, Iowa, and Utah do the same. California’s progressive champion demands transparency from everyone else while treating his own daily activities like classified material.
The timing is no accident. Some of those empty days lined up with Newsom’s nationwide book tour for his memoir, “A Young Man in a Hurry.” The book is widely viewed as the necessary first step toward a 2028 White House run. While Californians deal with sky-high housing costs, open-air drug markets, and businesses fleeing the state, their governor was on the road selling his personal brand.
He found time for the media that flatters him. An 80-minute interview with Vogue after a 20-minute prep session produced a profile that opened by calling him “embarrassingly handsome.” Marie Claire got access to paint his wife as the most underestimated woman in American politics. Bloomberg declared him an economic maestro. Local Capitol reporters? They get the redactions and the legal delays.
He spent more than 19 hours rehearsing his final State of the State address. The speech itself lasted just over an hour and landed with a thud. Priorities.
California Republican Party Chairwoman Corrin Rankin put it plainly. Newsom “seems to treat the governor’s office like a part-time gig, spending his limited time pushing failed policies.”
She is right. The man who ordered 224,000 state workers back to the office four days a week cannot seem to fill his own calendar with the actual work of governing.
Scripture speaks to this kind of stewardship. Jesus said in Luke 16:10, “He that is faithful in that which is least is faithful also in much: and he that is unjust in the least is unjust also in much.”
If a man cannot be bothered to account for the ordinary workdays of the office he already holds, why should anyone trust him with more power?
Newsom still draws nearly $246,000 a year from taxpayers. He still jets off to Davos, Munich, and London. He still finds quiet time for meetings with the billionaires behind the California Forever megacity project he has never publicly embraced. What he does not find is the consistent focus California desperately needs.
This is not about one Tuesday or one “work time” block. It is about a governor whose real energy is directed toward the next job while the current one suffers. California has become the stage, not the mission. The calendar proves it. The legal fight required to obtain that calendar proves he knew exactly how bad it would look.
Voters should take note. A man who hides his schedule, fills it with vanity media and book tours, and leaves large stretches marked “no official business” is not leading. He is auditioning. And California is paying the price.
Two Storms, One Harvest
Every food crisis in living memory has been a one-shock event. The 2008 price spike was a commodity bubble. The 2020 shortages were a logistics failure. The 2022 grain scare was a war on one exporter’s ports. Each time, the system bent, adjusted, and recovered, and each time the experts assured us afterward that global markets are simply too big and too diversified to fail.
What nobody in Washington seems eager to discuss is that 2026 is shaping up to be something the modern food system has never actually faced. Two independent shocks, one climatic and one geopolitical, are converging on the same harvest cycle at the same time. Not sequentially. Simultaneously.
Start with the weather. The Pacific Ocean is currently building toward what forecasters now openly call a record event. NOAA’s Climate Prediction Center puts the odds of at least a strong El Niño near 88 percent, with roughly two in three odds it reaches “very strong” status, the tier reserved for perhaps three or four events in the entire satellite era. Every major global model now projects a median peak in Super El Niño territory, and most of them project it exceeding the 2015-16 event, which until now held the modern record. Sea surface anomalies were already brushing the super threshold in mid-July, months before these events normally peak. The atmosphere has already shifted into El Niño mode, and the event is forecast to crest in late fall and early winter.
This is not about “climate change.” It’s about the standard cycles of weather, and the cycle we’re currently in is one that has likely devastated societies in the past. We’re better prepared as a society today, but not all Americans are equally prepared.
Serious households have started doing the quiet math on their own. Grocery bills tell part of the story, and the forecast maps tell the rest, which is why long-term food storage has moved from fringe hobby to mainstream line item in the family budget, with established suppliers like Heaven’s Harvest seeing demand from people who five years ago would have rolled their eyes at the idea. That instinct is not paranoia. It is pattern recognition, and the pattern is worth walking through carefully.
Editor’s Note: Heaven’s Harvest IS a sponsor, but the warnings of this article are real and would be written even if we didn’t have a survival food sponsor. With that said, those who take advantage of what they offer can use promo code “Patriot” for 15% off.
The Fertilizer Clock Is Already Running
While the Pacific warms, the second shock has been unfolding in the Strait of Hormuz. The conflict with Iran turned the world’s most important energy chokepoint into a contested waterway, and the consequences reach far beyond the gas pump. Roughly a third of global fertilizer trade moves through Hormuz, and the disruption sent urea prices up 86 percent year over year by March, with a 53 percent jump in a single month.
The World Bank projects energy prices rising about 24 percent in 2026 and fertilizer about 31 percent. By its own accounting, fertilizer prices ran 35 percent higher in the first five months of this year than the same period last year.
Here is the mechanism the nightly news will not explain. Fertilizer is not a grocery item. It is a time-delayed input. The nitrogen a farmer in Iowa or Punjab could not afford to apply this spring does not show up as a problem this spring. It shows up as a thinner harvest six to twelve months later.
The World Bank’s own food security brief concedes that the effects of reduced applications earlier this season “are likely to become visible only later in harvest outcomes.” Translate that from institutional language into plain English and it means this. The damage is already done, it is already in the ground, and we are simply waiting for it to arrive on the shelf.
Now check the calendar. Six to twelve months from the spring planting season lands us squarely in late 2026 and early 2027. Which is precisely when the strongest El Niño in the instrumental record is forecast to peak, bringing its signature droughts to Southeast Asia, Australia, southern Africa, northern Brazil, and South Asia, the very regions that grow the world’s rice, sugar, and oilseeds.
The World Bank warns openly that a strong El Niño “could disrupt multiple crop belts simultaneously” on top of the conflict-driven input costs. Their baseline projection assumes the Middle East disruptions ease by autumn. What in the last two years of Middle East history suggests that assumption is safe?
The System Has No Slack Left
The comfortable answer is that global markets always adjust. But adjustment requires slack, and the slack is gone. Global cereal production is expected to decline from last year’s records even before El Niño does its work. The UN World Food Programme, hardly a den of right-wing preppers, is calling this the most significant disruption to its supply chains since Covid and the invasion of Ukraine, and its supply chain director put the stakes bluntly.
Today’s supply chain challenges are tomorrow’s hunger crisis.
There is also a political dimension that markets cannot price. When food gets scarce, governments do not behave like economists. They behave like politicians. Export bans, hoarding mandates, and panic buying at the national level turned the modest rice shortfall of 2008 into a global crisis, and analysts are already warning that import-dependent nations are the first dominoes.
The 2015-16 Super El Niño, a far weaker event than what is now forecast, threw tens of millions into food stress across Africa and Asia. This one is projected to be stronger, and it arrives with fertilizer already rationed by price and shipping lanes already contested by missiles.
What Joseph Knew
Scripture does not treat preparation for lean years as faithlessness. It treats it as wisdom delivered in advance to those willing to act on it.
Behold, there come seven years of great plenty throughout all the land of Egypt: And there shall arise after them seven years of famine; and all the plenty shall be forgotten in the land of Egypt.
Joseph did not respond to that warning with a hashtag or a committee. He stored grain during the years of abundance, and when the famine came, Egypt stood while its neighbors begged. The lesson is not that famine is certain. It is that the time to prepare is precisely when preparation still looks optional.
Nobody who filled a pantry in a year of plenty has ever regretted it, and nobody standing in an empty aisle has ever been glad he waited for certainty.
None of this calls for panic, and panic is the enemy of sound judgment anyway. It calls for the same unglamorous prudence our grandparents considered ordinary. Keep some cash margin, know your local growers, and put real food in deep storage while it is cheap and available, because the entire arc of this story is that cheap and available is a closing window.
Families looking for a straightforward place to start can visit Heaven’s Harvest and use promo code Patriot for 15 percent off long-term storable food. The forecasts may yet soften, the strait may yet reopen, and we should pray they do. But hope is a fine thing to hold and a foolish thing to eat.
