Now the watering, milking, feeding, and handling of manure could pretty well be accomplished but one tricky thing was cooling the milk. Their spring had a tremendous flow of water and had a nice springhouse. There was a constant need to bring that water to the buildings for everyone’s use, so there was traffic back and forth. The water itself in the springhouse was around 55 degrees, not as cold as milk should have been, but it only had to be kept a day. Every twelve hours, you got fresh milk. So, it only had to be cooled enough to drink or cook with and whatever wasn’t used, went to the hogs.
So, the trick was getting it into metal containers and carrying it over to the springhouse every milking. Years ago, there were cans that held 80-pounds of milk, which is roughly ten gallons. But most of those had disappeared over the years. They had been painted or otherwise decorated and were now on someone’s porch or in their antique collection. Luckily there were enough stainless steel milker buckets that the little milk that Harvey’s dozen cows produced could be kept in the cool water until we used it.
Back on our farm, Tuesday morning was quite busy. We still had the fruit and corn in the drying beds. Dad said it would take a few more hours of sunlight but our main chore was loading things to take to Harvey’s. Dad and Grandpop’s pickups were already loaded. The hay wagon next to the backdoor was getting filled. We tried only moving things of value using the same list that Dad had made for his in-laws. We did take every dresser with our drawers intact. Mom said that would save us the trouble of sorting through them. We left virtually all the other furniture in the house. Even left the computers behind; wouldn’t be much use. But we took Mom and Dad’s hard drive.
“There a lot of files and programs on there that might be useful on Larry’s computer if we ever can spare a little electricity to run it,” Mom said. Other items that we didn’t need were all put in one bedroom so they’d be out of the landlord’s way. We didn’t have to do all the loading by ourselves. Dad’s cousin, Joe, and his boys, Aaron and Dennis, arrived in Dennis’ pickup with one of Harvey’s hay wagons towing behind, so we had a lot of help to get our goods loaded. Of course, we wanted to load all the food and we had to be extremely careful with the jars that we had just canned. It was necessary that they not be jostled so that their seal wouldn’t break; they ended up in car back seats with clothing from our closets. One big item we needed to load was the piano.
“Perhaps not a necessary item,” Dad had said, “But neither Harvey nor Poppop’s house has one and I sure enjoy hearing Mel and Alyssa play the piano. Without radios and record players, I think it will be something that we will find a needed comfort item.” We had plenty of hands and room on the pickup, so we got it loaded.
So the first procession to the new home was three pickups, two hay wagons, three cars and Dad drove his vintage tractor. A Farmall model A built in 1939. We used it in the garden and I loved to ride on the back when Dad was cultivating. One day he was going to teach me to drive it. That’s if we could spare some gasoline. It was his grandfather’s and originally was used on Harvey’s farm before the farm was Harvey’s. It was going back to its original home, just like Dad was.
When we got to Harvey’s, it was a little challenging where to go with everything. My four grandparents were going to sleep in Poppop and Grandmom’s house. Dad’s brother, Jeremiah and his wife were already moved into that house. Mel and I were going to stay there with my cousins, Amy and Lynette. Dad and Mom, Josh and Jake moved into Harvey’s house where Joe and his family had already settled. Harvey had a big house. It even had an extra kitchen upstairs, one that we didn’t need to use as a kitchen but all the items we had brought from home that might be valuable one day, might be of use one day, were piled in there. Everything fit. We could organize it later. The food was stored in the downstairs kitchen, the room closest to the butcher house where the stove was.
We went back home for the second load and it was a bit more challenging. We had everything out of the house that we deemed useful and valuable but then as we rummaged through the sheds, we had to determine what could be useful at the new home as far as tools, bolts, lumber, wire, scrap metals and all those things that you can accumulate on a farm in 20 plus years. But, the men went at it, and soon the pickups and Harvey’s wagon were full again. We collected the dried fruit and corn and packaged it in freezer boxes and other small containers with tight lids that we had amassed while we were packing things from the house. We loaded the drying frame onto the hay wagon so we could use that over at Harvey’s.
When we were almost finished, Norm and Jim stopped in.
Jim said, “Our canning went real well.”
“And there was none we had to throw away,” added Norm. “But we’re still going to run out in a month or so. Do you have any advice?” he asked my dad.
“First,” Dad responded, “I’m glad you could save what you did. I suggest you put off eating anything that is canned until you absolutely need it. In the meantime eat as much fresh produce as you can scrounge. Remember you are welcome to things in the garden here. All the crops growing on this farm belong to Chester Fronheiser; you know where his main farm is don’t you?”
They nodded in agreement. “He has a few cattle and will need help taking care of them and harvesting crops without machinery. Maybe you can trade labor for some of his grain or meat if he decides to slaughter any animals. Also there are many Mennonite farms on both sides of town that have acres and acres of vegetables and some fruit. Produce that no longer has the market where it was originally intended to go. However, they’re industrious and by now have probably determined that they need to harvest and preserve as much of that produce as they can. Maybe, they could use some extra help, in return for some of that food.”
“It would be something to check out while we still have gasoline to drive over there,” Jim said.
“As benevolent minded as they are, I’m sure you’ll be able to work with one of them. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if they shared their bounty even if people didn’t have much to offer in return,” Dad continued. “I just hope people don’t take advantage of them.”
“Let’s hope not,” Jim added, “Them or anyone else for that matter.”
“Check on the place here and certainly, use the water. There is wild game around. You might have to learn to trap or shoot. And don’t throw anything away. I don’t only mean food. Empty jars, bottles, cans, plastic bags, old clothing or shoes. No more store to run and get what you need. You just don’t know what you’ll be able to use one day. You know where we’ll be if you really get in a bind. We’d be glad to help you out if we can.”
“Thanks for all the help,” said Jim.
“And the advice,” added Norm, “and good luck at your new place.”
“And good luck to you, too,” we all responded.
As they left it seemed like we had everything in order and were preparing to leave when Mom exclaimed, “Hold it, we’re forgetting the chickens!”
It was no problem; there were only eight. We had a chicken roundup. One feed bag held them all. We had to leave some friends behind, almost left the cats behind. Mom had said no, but when I reminded her that there was milk to spare at Harvey’s, she relented. So on to a new place and new adventures.
Look for Chapter 7 next week… Mort
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