You see, fifty years ago there were eight operating farms on our road from where it branches off of Mountain Road to where it meets the main highway. Each had their own farm family with a little dairy herd. Some had hogs, too, and most had chickens or other poultry. Since then, every time one of those farmers died or retired and the farm was sold, it was rare that the farm was passed onto a family member or even to another aspiring young farmer. Prices of farms continually rose and farming just didn’t pay well enough for anyone to afford one by just squeaking an existence from a single, average farm. However, the upper middle class could afford them; therefore many of the new owners were not farmers.
As a result seven of the eight farms, not Harvey’s of course, were owned by someone who did not do the farming on it. Not that the land was idled though, for it was still somewhat profitable for a farmer to absorb the farmland into his existing operation by simply paying rent for the cultivated acres. Harvey farmed three, including Butch’s, Roger farmed two, and another farmer named Roscoe worked the other three, one of which was Reuben’s. Yet each of the farms still had a barn that feed could be stored in and livestock housed. They each had some land that was pasture with the creek running through for a water source. All of the farms could easily support a couple cows or a few hogs or chickens. So Reuben’s request made sense.
“Tom and his family moved in with us from the city,” Reuben continued, “and between the two families, there are four kids under ten years old – milk drinkers. We have the stable, pasture and water, plus Roscoe has baled hay in the barn that he said we’re welcome to use. He’ll give us corn, too, when we help him with his harvest.”
“You sure one cow’s enough?” Harvey asked, always having the thought that we couldn’t use all the milk we had, not to mention the amount we might get as more cows freshen.
“Yes, one’s enough,” Tom said, “so, what would you accept as trade for one?”
In typical Stump fashion Harvey started gently tugging at his hairs on his chin; his eyes showing deep thought. “It just don’t seem right,” he finally said, “taking something from you that you might really need some day in exchange for something we have plenty of.”
“But that’s the idea,” Reuben retorted, “we chose things out of our abundance to trade, just like you would be doing.”
“I suppose you’re right, but I just wish you had something else we could use…that you wouldn’t miss,” Harvey concluded.
“Like nails and insulation!” Josh exclaimed. “You’re a home builder; do you have some to trade?”
“Yeah,” said Jeremiah, “we need insulation for this building. We have none and we hated the idea of using straw, it being so flammable. We were leaning to using old sofa and chair cushions; might be a little safer, but still flammable, and we’d rather save the ones we have for future needs. If you would have regular fiberglass insulation to trade, that would be great.”
“And nails,” added Dennis, “especially sixteen pennies; we’ve been straightening out every used, bent nail we could find. Sure could use those, too.”
“Got both,” answered Reuben, “several bales of insulation and all sizes of nails. Gladly trade what you need for a cow.”
“Now we’re cooking,” Harvey jubilantly declared. “I’ve just the cow for you. It’s Frenchie, that black one Dennis is milking,” he announced to the boys. “She’s in good production and early lactation nor bred back, so she’ll keep producing a long time. In addition she’s a young cow, but doesn’t act it; she’s real calm and will handle well. You want to take her with you, now?”
“I suppose,” Reuben said, “but we haven’t given you the insulation or nails.”
“Ah come on; we’re neighbors, and honest traders. Besides, wouldn’t want to make you carry everything back home plus carry the insulation here. We’ll hitch up Brutus to a lighter hay wagon we have, haul your knapsacks home for you with Frenchie in tow, and bring our building materials home. Larry can run the backhoe while I’m gone if they need to. Alyssa, I imagine you’ll want to go along?”
“Heck yeah,” was my response.
“And your dad and Poppop?”
They nodded and then Dad added, “Was planning on going to Butch’s this afternoon anyway with the young’ns. We can be dropped off on the way.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Harvey said, and then turned to me. “Alyssa, would you fetch a few strands of the rope you were braiding yesterday, oh, about fifteen feet or so. Larry can make a halter for Frenchie and a tow rope. Just bring it to the butcher house. We’ll be heading in for dinner. You boys are invited.”
Tom said, “No thanks. We brought our own; some peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.”
“Sandwiches?” Jake quizzed, “You have bread?”
“More like, we had bread,” Reuben answered, “down to our last loaves. When Tom was getting out of the city, he ran into a fella with a truckload of it.”
Tom continued, “I didn’t ask where he got it. He was trading it with people for things. I traded some gasoline for ten loaves. But like Reuben said: we’re down to our last loaves.”
“We’re thinking we’ll have bread again,” Dad said. “We have the wheat and yeast. The boys are building an oven; still have to fabricate a flour mill. That’s in the future. Right now you can still set with us to eat. Cooled milk goes well with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. But I bet they’re some kids who might want to swap their dinner for them. Either way, join us for the meal.”
“We’re right behind you,” they answered.
Dad was prophetic. When Reuben and Tom sat down to eat, the real trading began. Harvey and Dad had accomplished the main trade and were satisfied to let us continue the haggling with the Sensenig’s. Dinner was clam chowder; mostly milk with butter; had to hunt the clams and potatoes. Must have looked good to Reuben and Tom though, for in short order, they had three bowls of it and Lynette, Amy and I had two packs of gum and two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. That was two thirds of a sandwich for each of us. We needed Josh to cut them as evenly as possible. He got to lick the knife for his effort, plus a stick of gum; made dividing the remaining nine easier. Larry swapped a milk bucket full of wheat for the .22 cartridges. Jean and Mel traded four cans of salmon for the two packs of feminine napkins.
“Meat we’ll have around here when we butcher,” Jean said, “so we can spare it. Besides I’m sure the Sensenig’s will enjoy it.” I didn’t understand then all the fuss about the napkins the women were making that day. About a year later, I found out.
Lois swapped some butter for the ibuprofen. “At least you’ll have some butter for your last bread tonight,” she told them. “You can make your own butter later if you find or make something to churn the cream with; we use a hand-cranked ice cream freezer. And just because we have the ibuprofen now, doesn’t mean we wouldn’t share it later if the need arises.”
“Thanks much,” Reuben said.
After dinner, with the swapping completed, the goods were loaded onto the wagon with Reuben, Tom, Amy, Lynette, Dad and I. Frenchie was tied to the back and Brutus hitched to the front. Harvey and Poppop held the reins. When we got to Crystal View Farm, Dad and we kids got off the wagon. Poppop, Harvey and the Sensenig’s would have no trouble completing the trading trip. Dad told them not to worry about us on the way home; we could walk.
Butch and Clare put us right to work. They were manuring their chicken house and had extra shovels and brooms for all of us. It was a dusty job. We tied our handkerchiefs around our noses. Made us all look like outlaws. It wasn’t really that bad though; the job was almost half finished. Butch had a wagon hitched to a team of horses and parked right next to chicken house door. The men were shoveling the manure onto the wagon; we only had to push and sweep it toward the door. As we worked, Robbie was picking little white mealworms out of the chicken dirt and putting them in an old empty coffee can.
“What you doing that for?” I asked, out from under my kerchief.
“You’ll see later,” was his answer.
It was too hot for this kind of job, but Butch said it needed to be done. In the summertime, chickens are more comfortable and produce much better when their pens are clean and dry. The house was soon cleaned; the next thing to do was empty the wagon.
“Chicken manure is excellent fertilizer,” Dad said to Butch. “You should probably spread it in a field where you intend to grow corn or vegetables next year.”
“That’s what I figured,” Butch replied, “there’s an oat stubble field, that has deep easy working soil, with few rocks. Thought I’d put it there.”
It was a short trip. We all walked along. Normally, I wouldn’t pass on an opportunity for a wagon ride, but I had no desire to jump onto or into the wagon’s stinky cargo. Spreading went real smooth. Butch drove real slowly while Dan and Lee threw shovelful after shovelful of the manure off the wagon in easy sweeping motions. That way the manure was distributed all over the ground, not clumped on piles here and there. Not bad for a chemist and a machinist. When the wagon was empty, Lynette and I climbed onto the wagon and swept it clean. Now the rest all hopped on for the trip back.
To be continued.... see what else Butch is up to, Mort
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
CHAPTER TWELVE - TRADERS
Tuesday morning was once again warm and humid; seemed like we just couldn’t get out of the soup. Our family had different reactions to Dr. Fleming’s treatments. Most felt fine, some better, others, me included, felt no different. A few like Sandy and Mom were a little stiff.
“It will work out,” Dad had said.
After breakfast the men started preparing the site for the milk tank and showering area. Harvey had to use his backhoe, but it was a justifiable use of fuel. It didn’t take much to dig a foundation between the butcher house and Harvey’s furnace. He dug down, removing the loose soil until he reached a level where it was firm. Actually, it was pretty rocky there, so he didn’t have to dig very deep at all. The trick was building a strong enough base to hold the weight of the milk tank, 1000 gallons of water, some piping, and the walls and roof the boys planned to build around it. Fortunately, several years earlier, Harvey had some major excavation work done when his liquid manure storage tank was installed. The excavation yielded a large pile of debris that wasn’t needed to complete the project. The pile contained soil, many rocks (some very large), and pieces of concrete that had been broken up and removed from areas where the manure pump, filler pipe, and tank had been placed. Harvey hadn’t hauled the pile away.
He had said, “No sense moving it until we know where we’ll need it.” It appeared we needed it now. The pile was only 150 yards from the butcher house. Harvey adroitly used his backhoe to sort out the larger pieces of concrete that had even, flat areas. He maneuvered them to the foundation and placed them on each corner. The next step took the most fuel. He made about a dozen trips to the meadow and scooped clay from the creek bank. A few scoops he dumped right into the foundation; the rest he strategically placed around the sides. The boys leveled out the clay in the foundation, using it to firm up the concrete cornerstones, while Harvey brought some of the larger rocks to fill in between the corners. Others and I sorted through the now disheveled pile of debris, tossing the smaller rocks we found onto one of Harvey’s dump trailers. When it was full, he towed the trailer to the construction site and dumped it near the piles of clay. We threw the rocks into the foundation where the boys positioned them, imbedding them into the clay.
I wondered out loud, “How is this all going to work?”
Josh explained, “We’ll alternate clay and stone until we’ve reached the height we want for the bottom of the milk tank. Larry found two steel beams from an old farm implement that were long enough to span the narrow end of our structure and strong enough to hold the weight. We have enough lumber to frame up the walls and roof and to attach to the butcher house. Poppop has a pile of used steel roofing to top off the building. We can use a couple four by eight panels from the walls of Larry’s milk house under the floor where the showers will be. They’re strong and are made of waterproof material. They’ll be pitched toward an old cattle watering tank in the corner to collect the water. We just have to bucket it out every so often. We can use the waste water to flush toilets or water the garden. The floor will be slatted to let the shower water drain through; we’re still hunting a material to use that won’t give us splinters in our feet when we shower. And we need to find some insulation to keep the heat in. Don’t worry, it will come together.”
It was hard, thirst-creating work. Our fresh spring water supply was getting low so Poppop and I went to get Brutus to make a trip to the spring. On the way back, we noticed two fellows walking down the road – one tall and one short. They both had immense knapsacks on their backs; the sacks looked as big as the short fellow. Poppop waited until they were closer, then said, “Pretty hot day for a hike, and the local campground is back up the road.”
They laughed, and then introduced themselves. “I’m Tom Sensenig,” the taller one said. “This here’s my brother, Reuben.”
“Oh, Reuben Sensenig,” Poppop responded, “are you the Reuben Sensenig that lives on the last farm on this road before it joins the main highway?”
“That’s right,” answered Reuben, “looks like you’re making a go of it around here. This is the Stump farm, right?”
“Yeah, sure is. I’m Harold Stump. Most call me Hap, cept’n this one here, my granddaughter Alyssa; she calls me Poppop. Get those sacks off and rest a little. Bet you could use a cool drink. We can wander in and check out what the rest of the clan is up to. Less’n you’re on a hot and heavy mission?”
“Well, it’s hot and these sacks are heavy and they’re part of our mission,” Tom answered. “The other part is talking to Harvey. But first, we’ll take that cool drink, thank you.” After the drink, they followed us to the construction site to strike up a conversation with Harvey and company. As we came into view of everyone, Harvey and the others stopped working. I wasn’t sure if it was because of the guests or our fresh water.
“Everyone take a break!” Harvey yelled. “Get a cool drink and we can see what these travelers are wanting.” I still wasn’t sure – probably was the water…
“Do you know Reuben Sensenig?” Poppop asked Harvey.
Harvey responded, addressing Reuben, “I’ve seen you drive by the farm many times. We wave at each other. I know you live on the last farm up the road and have a home construction business, but I don’t recall ever talking to you. Glad to meet you.”
That was sad. Here was a neighbor of Harvey’s, living on the same road, a scant one and a half miles away, with whom Harvey had never had a conversation. But I guess things were no different in our neighborhood or with me for that matter. At our old home there were roughly 35-40 homes within a mile and a half radius of ours. They probably contained 100 or more people, many a lot older than me, but some around my age, that I had never talked to. I can only imagine how people in a city with thousands of neighbors, living within a few hundred feet of each other, rarely get to converse with one another. I perceive it as a bane on our society.
On the other hand, Dad might have spoken to many of the neighbors. He was outgoing and generally civic-minded, often presenting himself on local government or school issues. But that was the extent of it. We didn’t stop and visit, just to talk and be neighborly. At least not until the collapse… which produced a change in people, mostly good so far, as well as I could determine. Now, however, it was apparent that talking to neighbors was becoming more popular, or at least more common. Was it due to selfishness – because we needed “things” they had and so did they? Was it because we needed each other’s support? Or was it to fill a void in our psyches created when we no longer had newspapers, magazines, radio and television to keep our minds stimulated. Probably all three. Would I soon find out?
“No, we probably never have,” Reuben responded, as he shook hands with Harvey. “Glad to meet you. This is my brother Tom. You’ve quite a crew here.”
“Need them,” Harvey said, “got a lot of work here. What can we do for you?”
“We’re thinking it’s more what can we do for you?” Tom answered.
“Or what we can do for each other,” Reuben continued. “We’ve come to trade. Got a passel of goods in our knapsacks; hoping you can use some of it.”
“There are a lot of things we can use, but not many people want to part with the things we need, like toilet paper or food. Everyone’s in the same boat,” Harvey said. “But tell us. What you got?”
The brothers opened up their knapsacks and Tom started off. “There’s some shampoo, toothpaste, flashlight batteries, and rubbing alcohol; a couple wristwatches, two cigarette lighters with a bottle of butane for them; a mess of heavy socks and some work gloves, a utility knife, a large bottle of ibuprofen, chewing gum, a couple of blankets, three leather belts, .22 long rifle ammo, and two packs of feminine napkins.”
“Well,” said Harvey, “I guess we could use most of those things. But so could you. Why would you want to part with them? Or maybe better put, what do we have worth giving those things up for?”
“A cow,” Reuben answered.
To be continued… a cow? ... Mort
“It will work out,” Dad had said.
After breakfast the men started preparing the site for the milk tank and showering area. Harvey had to use his backhoe, but it was a justifiable use of fuel. It didn’t take much to dig a foundation between the butcher house and Harvey’s furnace. He dug down, removing the loose soil until he reached a level where it was firm. Actually, it was pretty rocky there, so he didn’t have to dig very deep at all. The trick was building a strong enough base to hold the weight of the milk tank, 1000 gallons of water, some piping, and the walls and roof the boys planned to build around it. Fortunately, several years earlier, Harvey had some major excavation work done when his liquid manure storage tank was installed. The excavation yielded a large pile of debris that wasn’t needed to complete the project. The pile contained soil, many rocks (some very large), and pieces of concrete that had been broken up and removed from areas where the manure pump, filler pipe, and tank had been placed. Harvey hadn’t hauled the pile away.
He had said, “No sense moving it until we know where we’ll need it.” It appeared we needed it now. The pile was only 150 yards from the butcher house. Harvey adroitly used his backhoe to sort out the larger pieces of concrete that had even, flat areas. He maneuvered them to the foundation and placed them on each corner. The next step took the most fuel. He made about a dozen trips to the meadow and scooped clay from the creek bank. A few scoops he dumped right into the foundation; the rest he strategically placed around the sides. The boys leveled out the clay in the foundation, using it to firm up the concrete cornerstones, while Harvey brought some of the larger rocks to fill in between the corners. Others and I sorted through the now disheveled pile of debris, tossing the smaller rocks we found onto one of Harvey’s dump trailers. When it was full, he towed the trailer to the construction site and dumped it near the piles of clay. We threw the rocks into the foundation where the boys positioned them, imbedding them into the clay.
I wondered out loud, “How is this all going to work?”
Josh explained, “We’ll alternate clay and stone until we’ve reached the height we want for the bottom of the milk tank. Larry found two steel beams from an old farm implement that were long enough to span the narrow end of our structure and strong enough to hold the weight. We have enough lumber to frame up the walls and roof and to attach to the butcher house. Poppop has a pile of used steel roofing to top off the building. We can use a couple four by eight panels from the walls of Larry’s milk house under the floor where the showers will be. They’re strong and are made of waterproof material. They’ll be pitched toward an old cattle watering tank in the corner to collect the water. We just have to bucket it out every so often. We can use the waste water to flush toilets or water the garden. The floor will be slatted to let the shower water drain through; we’re still hunting a material to use that won’t give us splinters in our feet when we shower. And we need to find some insulation to keep the heat in. Don’t worry, it will come together.”
It was hard, thirst-creating work. Our fresh spring water supply was getting low so Poppop and I went to get Brutus to make a trip to the spring. On the way back, we noticed two fellows walking down the road – one tall and one short. They both had immense knapsacks on their backs; the sacks looked as big as the short fellow. Poppop waited until they were closer, then said, “Pretty hot day for a hike, and the local campground is back up the road.”
They laughed, and then introduced themselves. “I’m Tom Sensenig,” the taller one said. “This here’s my brother, Reuben.”
“Oh, Reuben Sensenig,” Poppop responded, “are you the Reuben Sensenig that lives on the last farm on this road before it joins the main highway?”
“That’s right,” answered Reuben, “looks like you’re making a go of it around here. This is the Stump farm, right?”
“Yeah, sure is. I’m Harold Stump. Most call me Hap, cept’n this one here, my granddaughter Alyssa; she calls me Poppop. Get those sacks off and rest a little. Bet you could use a cool drink. We can wander in and check out what the rest of the clan is up to. Less’n you’re on a hot and heavy mission?”
“Well, it’s hot and these sacks are heavy and they’re part of our mission,” Tom answered. “The other part is talking to Harvey. But first, we’ll take that cool drink, thank you.” After the drink, they followed us to the construction site to strike up a conversation with Harvey and company. As we came into view of everyone, Harvey and the others stopped working. I wasn’t sure if it was because of the guests or our fresh water.
“Everyone take a break!” Harvey yelled. “Get a cool drink and we can see what these travelers are wanting.” I still wasn’t sure – probably was the water…
“Do you know Reuben Sensenig?” Poppop asked Harvey.
Harvey responded, addressing Reuben, “I’ve seen you drive by the farm many times. We wave at each other. I know you live on the last farm up the road and have a home construction business, but I don’t recall ever talking to you. Glad to meet you.”
That was sad. Here was a neighbor of Harvey’s, living on the same road, a scant one and a half miles away, with whom Harvey had never had a conversation. But I guess things were no different in our neighborhood or with me for that matter. At our old home there were roughly 35-40 homes within a mile and a half radius of ours. They probably contained 100 or more people, many a lot older than me, but some around my age, that I had never talked to. I can only imagine how people in a city with thousands of neighbors, living within a few hundred feet of each other, rarely get to converse with one another. I perceive it as a bane on our society.
On the other hand, Dad might have spoken to many of the neighbors. He was outgoing and generally civic-minded, often presenting himself on local government or school issues. But that was the extent of it. We didn’t stop and visit, just to talk and be neighborly. At least not until the collapse… which produced a change in people, mostly good so far, as well as I could determine. Now, however, it was apparent that talking to neighbors was becoming more popular, or at least more common. Was it due to selfishness – because we needed “things” they had and so did they? Was it because we needed each other’s support? Or was it to fill a void in our psyches created when we no longer had newspapers, magazines, radio and television to keep our minds stimulated. Probably all three. Would I soon find out?
“No, we probably never have,” Reuben responded, as he shook hands with Harvey. “Glad to meet you. This is my brother Tom. You’ve quite a crew here.”
“Need them,” Harvey said, “got a lot of work here. What can we do for you?”
“We’re thinking it’s more what can we do for you?” Tom answered.
“Or what we can do for each other,” Reuben continued. “We’ve come to trade. Got a passel of goods in our knapsacks; hoping you can use some of it.”
“There are a lot of things we can use, but not many people want to part with the things we need, like toilet paper or food. Everyone’s in the same boat,” Harvey said. “But tell us. What you got?”
The brothers opened up their knapsacks and Tom started off. “There’s some shampoo, toothpaste, flashlight batteries, and rubbing alcohol; a couple wristwatches, two cigarette lighters with a bottle of butane for them; a mess of heavy socks and some work gloves, a utility knife, a large bottle of ibuprofen, chewing gum, a couple of blankets, three leather belts, .22 long rifle ammo, and two packs of feminine napkins.”
“Well,” said Harvey, “I guess we could use most of those things. But so could you. Why would you want to part with them? Or maybe better put, what do we have worth giving those things up for?”
“A cow,” Reuben answered.
To be continued… a cow? ... Mort
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Chapter eleven - Visitors (cont)
We found some pots and pans, spatulas, cooking spoons and mixing bowls that were taken right down to the butcher house. Even found some cans of clams and baked beans that somehow had ended up here; probably gotten packed or unloaded in too much of a hurry. Those went to Jean’s kitchen together with a bag of chocolate covered peanuts. It made Mom’s eyes light up; they were her favorite. Dad had said we shouldn’t worry about bringing too many books from home, but we did find some interesting ones like cookbooks, some self-help manuals for plumbing and electrical work. Lois was tickled to find a half a dozen alternative medicine books, home cure books, and both a first aid manual and CPR booklet. She found a place for them on the kitchen counter right above the ‘first aid’ drawer.
“Look’s like this might as well be the spot for our dispensary,” she said. “And look at this good selection of old or broken eyeglasses we’ve accumulated. They’re going to come in real handy as there’s no eye doctor to go to.”
We found deodorant, shampoo and soap; there were a couple unopened boxes of those fancy little perfumed ones that people kept in bowls on their toilet. We found some jewelry. Didn’t know if any was gold or silver which would have made it worth something. Either way we saved it for some unknown future use. There were also cufflinks and tietacs and even money. Almost every drawer had some loose change in it; some was even collectable coins. Then there were several cans of Dad’s penny collection. Sandy put all the coins in a can as well as the paper currency then stashed it all on the floor of the linen closet as we now had a path cleared to it.
“Don’t know if it will ever be worth anything,” she said, “but you never know.” Soon we had several boxes full and many more started. We had boxes of sweaters, pants, shirts, winter hats, coats, and gloves. All stored where we could find them when we needed them. There was quite an assortment of cameras and film.
“Not that they’ll do us any good,” Jean said. “There’s no place to have film developed.”
“But we can still take pictures,” I said. “The exposed film might keep well enough that it could still be developed if photo labs ever come back into being.”
“She’s right,” Mrs. Smith said, “one day, we might really enjoy having a pictorial record of our life without electricity. Even if we have to wait a few years to get the film developed.”
“And,” added Lois, “we should scrutinize what we take pictures of; you know, wait for special occurrences or for some of the creative inventions we might use. But right here is something that we can use right now to take pictures: Jeremiah’s Polaroid camera. He even went out and bought four packs of film when he smelled this coming.”
“That’s great,” Jean said, “but we should still use it judiciously.”
We found some disposable diapers, tissues, and quite a few handkerchiefs.
“That’s something everyone will have to learn to use,” Mom said. “We have to save any tissues we have for toilet paper. We rarely used tissues when I was a kid. It’s been like two generations now that have learned to be a throw away society. For example, from now on we won’t be able to run out and buy new socks; it’s darning time again. Disposables have become a very bad habit that might even have contributed to this economic predicament we’re now in.”
“Oh Mom,” Mel whined, “you’re starting to sound like Dad.”
“Well, so what if she does?” Jean commented. “Probably more of us should have listened when people like your dad talked. Here I found a few packs of garden seeds I can give him. He’ll be glad for them. What’s that you have there, Alyssa?”
“I found two rifle clips with some ammo in them and a few shotgun shells. I better take them to Larry,” I answered. Larry was in charge of our weapons. He had some of them locked up in his room and others in Poppop’s house. The ammunition was locked in a different location.
“In due time,” Jean responded. “We might find more before we’re done.”
“Oh,” Mom said, “I think we’ve just about gotten enough done for the day. It’s really getting hot and everyone is so very sweated. Why don’t we let the kids go over and splash in the creek before the neighbors need to head for home?”
“That’s a good idea,” Mrs. Smith said. “We really should get started for home in about a half hour or so.”
“But we have no swimming suits, Mommy,” Robbie’s sister Susan said.
“No time for modesty; we’re all becoming family here,” Mrs. Smith replied. “If you want to walk home in wet clothes, then keep them on. It’s your choice.”
“But Robbie’s along,” Molly chimed in.
“Like he’s never seen you girls in your underwear before? You’re all wet and sticky. Go cool off and enjoy yourselves. I’ll bring Julie’s little girls over and wash them as well. Would you have a towel I could borrow, Mrs. Stump?”
“Sure,” four women answered.
“Yeah that’s right, I guess you’re all Mrs. Stump,” she laughed.
“Here, take three towels for all to use; Alyssa can bring them back,” Mom said. We headed for the creek. Because of the cooling rain of the morning, the creek was a little fuller than usual, even a little muddy, and wasn’t terribly warm. That made it all the more refreshing and fun. We probably spent about one half an hour there, and then Mrs. Smith gathered up her crew, toweled the young’ns off, and headed for home.
Lynette, Amy, and I trudged back to the house with the towels and waved good-bye to our friends from Crystal View Farm. As they walked up the road we spied someone on a bicycle coming down the road toward us. He had large saddlebags on his bike. He looked somewhat familiar, but I just couldn’t place him. He stopped and parked his bicycle, pulled a small black leather bag out of one of the saddlebags, and approached us. He was tall, well-built and looked to be around 30 years old. But it wasn’t until he spoke that I recognized him. It was Dr. Fleming, the chiropractor my dad visited.
“Hello young ladies,” he said. “I’m Doctor Fleming. Are your folks around?
“Our mothers are in the house,” Amy answered. “Our dads and the other men are around the farm close by somewhere.”
“We don’t travel very far now-a-days,” Lynette added.
“No, I guess you don’t,” he responded. “I was just up at Butch and Clare’s, and they told me the Stump family lived at this farm.” He looked directly at me and continued, “You look familiar. I think you father is one of my patients. Is your name Lizzie, or Liddy, or Lisa, or something like that?”
“Alyssa”, I announced, “and my dad is one of your patients. I’ll go and get him. I’m sure Mom remembers you. Why don’t you head into the house with my cousins here? Dad and I will catch up.”
“Thank you,” he said, “I’ll do that.”
I gave the towel I was carrying to Lynette and sprinted to the barn to find Dad. I found him, Jeremiah, Harvey, Dennis, and Aaron working in the milk house. They had been dismantling the milk tank and making a hole in the wall large enough to remove the tank to its new home next to the butcher house.
“Dad,” I said, “guess who’s here?”
“How would I know?” he answered, “seems like we get more visitors now that people have no motorized transportation than when they could just hop in a car and drive anywhere they wanted. So who is it?”
“Doctor Fleming.”
“Really? I could sure use an adjustment.”
“So could I,” said Jeremiah.
“Well he’s headed toward the house, if you want to talk to him,” I said.
“Let’s all head in there boys. His visit might be beneficial to all of us,” Dad concluded.
We found the others in the butcher house where things had already been put into motion. One of the tables had a blanket on it as well as Lois. Dr. Fleming was working on her neck.
“What’s going on?” I asked Dad.
“Looks like Doctor Fleming is practicing his trade,” Dad answered. “Doctor Fleming! Good to see you. I see you’ve become an itinerant.”
“Yes, I guess you could say that, and good to see you, too,” he answered. “It got to the point I had to close my office. Few had the gas to continue making visits for my services; nor the money to pay.”
“Hey! What would you need money for?” Harvey asked. “All doctors are rich anyway.”
“Yes and no,” Dr. Fleming said, as he finished with Lois and Sandy hopped onto the table. “I guess some were rich, and then there were others, like myself, who still had student loans and mortgages on our offices to pay. That’s where a lot of my earnings went. But the collapse has evened it out; we’re all in the same boat. Now one of my valued possessions is my bicycle and a few tension hammers and other tools of my trade. But the possession that’s most valuable, that truly makes me rich, is the skill I have as a chiropractor; the skill that I can use to benefit others, by helping them heal. The same way you’re rich, Harvey, because you can use your dairying skills to produce milk to feed others. And Joe can use his butchering skill to put meat on the table for everyone.”
“Guess you’re right,” Harvey said sheepishly as Sandy relinquished her position to Mom for the doctor’s manipulating hands.
“And we’re all rich in friends that care,” Dr. Fleming continued. “Look how quickly you all readily received me, and I you, knowing any money you might have to give me is worthless.”
“But we’ll have something for you, Doc,” Dad answered. “At least a good meal, and some food or other supplies you can take home to your family. By the way, how are they and where are they?”
“Thanks for asking,” Dr. Fleming answered. “We found a farm, just a little out of town, similar to Harvey’s here, with a spring to supply water. The Missus and the kids are fine, helping on the farm, while I’m out applying my trade.”
One after another we jumped onto the table for an adjustment by Dr. Fleming. Dad made sure Barry received a treatment, knowing some of his previous medical conditions. Many of us, me included, had never had a chiropractor work on us before. When it was my turn, I was tense, not knowing what to expect, but Dr. Fleming talked me through, for everyone’s benefit as well as mine.
He started, “You know your nervous system is responsible for helping your body heal as well as stay healthy. All your nerves run through your spine, so anytime the vertebrae in your spine are out of alignment they can possibly rub against or pinch the nerves, thus interfering with the signals that go through them. This can make you feel bad, or feel pain, and prohibit your body from healing. There, you’re all done. Jump off and stand up straight. Do you feel okay?”
“I feel fine,” I answered, “what was wrong with me?”
“Hardly anything,” the doctor replied. “I see you have excellent posture, your back muscles appear very strong. That’s good; keeps your vertebrae in line. You evidently work hard, are careful not to lift too heavy and not from awkward positions. You only had two vertebrae slightly out of line. They popped right back into place. Now let’s see how your dad is.”
Dad lay down on the table. “More than one vertebra out of alignment here,” Dr. Fleming said. “I haven’t seen you for what, eight - ten weeks?”
“Sometime in early June,” Dad answered.
“I could tell,” the doctor replied. “A lesson for everyone: take care with your back and spine, then your spine will take care of you. I’ll probably get around every month or so.”
“Well, whenever you get here, you’re welcome,” Jean said. “You’re the only medical care we have.”
“Not quite true,” Jeremiah said. “Lois is a nurse, remember; she can handle a lot of things.”
“Sorry,” Jean replied, “she is very valuable. I just meant we don’t see any doctors or dentists.”
“But you might soon,” Dr. Fleming interjected. “Both Dr. Bear, the physician in town and the dentist, Dr. Miller have the use of horse and buggies, so they can make rounds like I am. With a buggy they can carry more of their tools and a small supply of medicines with them. Don’t know how often they’ll get around, but at least they are around. Finding them in an emergency might be tough, maybe some system should be created for the future.”
“It would be helpful if we knew where they both live now,” Jean said.
“I guess it would,” Dr. Fleming replied. “Dr. Miller is on his cousin’s farm about three miles from here on Possum Lane. I can’t remember his name.”
“Ed Miller,” Harvey said.
“Yeah, that’s it, thanks. Maybe I can find out till I’m around next time where Dr. Bear is. Well, I should be going now. I’d like to stop a few other places on the way home.”
“Won’t you stay for supper?” Lois asked.
“Not this time. I’ll take a rain check.”
“Can you handle a small sack of red beets and a few potatoes on that bicycle?” Poppop asked. “Or is there something else you might really be in need of?”
“I have some room for a few. Some people gave me a couple cans of fruit and another family some toothpaste. We could use some bath soap, if you’ve some to spare?” Dr. Fleming inquired.
“That we can,” Jean said. “Amy, you know where it is. Would you go get Dr. Fleming what – three or four bars?” The doctor nodded in agreement.
“We’re hoping we’ll be able to make more in the future, after we’ve butchered a few beef. Sorry we can’t thank you more than that,” she concluded.
“Nothing more necessary,” he remarked, “it was my pleasure. You all take care of your spines now.”
As he pedaled back up the road Lois said, “That was some special man.”
“More special than me?” her husband Jeremiah asked.
“Shush, you know what I mean. People like that, with hearts like his, will be an integral part in the survival of many families and the communities of this country.”
“I do know what you mean,” my uncle responded.
To be continued….. Mort
“Look’s like this might as well be the spot for our dispensary,” she said. “And look at this good selection of old or broken eyeglasses we’ve accumulated. They’re going to come in real handy as there’s no eye doctor to go to.”
We found deodorant, shampoo and soap; there were a couple unopened boxes of those fancy little perfumed ones that people kept in bowls on their toilet. We found some jewelry. Didn’t know if any was gold or silver which would have made it worth something. Either way we saved it for some unknown future use. There were also cufflinks and tietacs and even money. Almost every drawer had some loose change in it; some was even collectable coins. Then there were several cans of Dad’s penny collection. Sandy put all the coins in a can as well as the paper currency then stashed it all on the floor of the linen closet as we now had a path cleared to it.
“Don’t know if it will ever be worth anything,” she said, “but you never know.” Soon we had several boxes full and many more started. We had boxes of sweaters, pants, shirts, winter hats, coats, and gloves. All stored where we could find them when we needed them. There was quite an assortment of cameras and film.
“Not that they’ll do us any good,” Jean said. “There’s no place to have film developed.”
“But we can still take pictures,” I said. “The exposed film might keep well enough that it could still be developed if photo labs ever come back into being.”
“She’s right,” Mrs. Smith said, “one day, we might really enjoy having a pictorial record of our life without electricity. Even if we have to wait a few years to get the film developed.”
“And,” added Lois, “we should scrutinize what we take pictures of; you know, wait for special occurrences or for some of the creative inventions we might use. But right here is something that we can use right now to take pictures: Jeremiah’s Polaroid camera. He even went out and bought four packs of film when he smelled this coming.”
“That’s great,” Jean said, “but we should still use it judiciously.”
We found some disposable diapers, tissues, and quite a few handkerchiefs.
“That’s something everyone will have to learn to use,” Mom said. “We have to save any tissues we have for toilet paper. We rarely used tissues when I was a kid. It’s been like two generations now that have learned to be a throw away society. For example, from now on we won’t be able to run out and buy new socks; it’s darning time again. Disposables have become a very bad habit that might even have contributed to this economic predicament we’re now in.”
“Oh Mom,” Mel whined, “you’re starting to sound like Dad.”
“Well, so what if she does?” Jean commented. “Probably more of us should have listened when people like your dad talked. Here I found a few packs of garden seeds I can give him. He’ll be glad for them. What’s that you have there, Alyssa?”
“I found two rifle clips with some ammo in them and a few shotgun shells. I better take them to Larry,” I answered. Larry was in charge of our weapons. He had some of them locked up in his room and others in Poppop’s house. The ammunition was locked in a different location.
“In due time,” Jean responded. “We might find more before we’re done.”
“Oh,” Mom said, “I think we’ve just about gotten enough done for the day. It’s really getting hot and everyone is so very sweated. Why don’t we let the kids go over and splash in the creek before the neighbors need to head for home?”
“That’s a good idea,” Mrs. Smith said. “We really should get started for home in about a half hour or so.”
“But we have no swimming suits, Mommy,” Robbie’s sister Susan said.
“No time for modesty; we’re all becoming family here,” Mrs. Smith replied. “If you want to walk home in wet clothes, then keep them on. It’s your choice.”
“But Robbie’s along,” Molly chimed in.
“Like he’s never seen you girls in your underwear before? You’re all wet and sticky. Go cool off and enjoy yourselves. I’ll bring Julie’s little girls over and wash them as well. Would you have a towel I could borrow, Mrs. Stump?”
“Sure,” four women answered.
“Yeah that’s right, I guess you’re all Mrs. Stump,” she laughed.
“Here, take three towels for all to use; Alyssa can bring them back,” Mom said. We headed for the creek. Because of the cooling rain of the morning, the creek was a little fuller than usual, even a little muddy, and wasn’t terribly warm. That made it all the more refreshing and fun. We probably spent about one half an hour there, and then Mrs. Smith gathered up her crew, toweled the young’ns off, and headed for home.
Lynette, Amy, and I trudged back to the house with the towels and waved good-bye to our friends from Crystal View Farm. As they walked up the road we spied someone on a bicycle coming down the road toward us. He had large saddlebags on his bike. He looked somewhat familiar, but I just couldn’t place him. He stopped and parked his bicycle, pulled a small black leather bag out of one of the saddlebags, and approached us. He was tall, well-built and looked to be around 30 years old. But it wasn’t until he spoke that I recognized him. It was Dr. Fleming, the chiropractor my dad visited.
“Hello young ladies,” he said. “I’m Doctor Fleming. Are your folks around?
“Our mothers are in the house,” Amy answered. “Our dads and the other men are around the farm close by somewhere.”
“We don’t travel very far now-a-days,” Lynette added.
“No, I guess you don’t,” he responded. “I was just up at Butch and Clare’s, and they told me the Stump family lived at this farm.” He looked directly at me and continued, “You look familiar. I think you father is one of my patients. Is your name Lizzie, or Liddy, or Lisa, or something like that?”
“Alyssa”, I announced, “and my dad is one of your patients. I’ll go and get him. I’m sure Mom remembers you. Why don’t you head into the house with my cousins here? Dad and I will catch up.”
“Thank you,” he said, “I’ll do that.”
I gave the towel I was carrying to Lynette and sprinted to the barn to find Dad. I found him, Jeremiah, Harvey, Dennis, and Aaron working in the milk house. They had been dismantling the milk tank and making a hole in the wall large enough to remove the tank to its new home next to the butcher house.
“Dad,” I said, “guess who’s here?”
“How would I know?” he answered, “seems like we get more visitors now that people have no motorized transportation than when they could just hop in a car and drive anywhere they wanted. So who is it?”
“Doctor Fleming.”
“Really? I could sure use an adjustment.”
“So could I,” said Jeremiah.
“Well he’s headed toward the house, if you want to talk to him,” I said.
“Let’s all head in there boys. His visit might be beneficial to all of us,” Dad concluded.
We found the others in the butcher house where things had already been put into motion. One of the tables had a blanket on it as well as Lois. Dr. Fleming was working on her neck.
“What’s going on?” I asked Dad.
“Looks like Doctor Fleming is practicing his trade,” Dad answered. “Doctor Fleming! Good to see you. I see you’ve become an itinerant.”
“Yes, I guess you could say that, and good to see you, too,” he answered. “It got to the point I had to close my office. Few had the gas to continue making visits for my services; nor the money to pay.”
“Hey! What would you need money for?” Harvey asked. “All doctors are rich anyway.”
“Yes and no,” Dr. Fleming said, as he finished with Lois and Sandy hopped onto the table. “I guess some were rich, and then there were others, like myself, who still had student loans and mortgages on our offices to pay. That’s where a lot of my earnings went. But the collapse has evened it out; we’re all in the same boat. Now one of my valued possessions is my bicycle and a few tension hammers and other tools of my trade. But the possession that’s most valuable, that truly makes me rich, is the skill I have as a chiropractor; the skill that I can use to benefit others, by helping them heal. The same way you’re rich, Harvey, because you can use your dairying skills to produce milk to feed others. And Joe can use his butchering skill to put meat on the table for everyone.”
“Guess you’re right,” Harvey said sheepishly as Sandy relinquished her position to Mom for the doctor’s manipulating hands.
“And we’re all rich in friends that care,” Dr. Fleming continued. “Look how quickly you all readily received me, and I you, knowing any money you might have to give me is worthless.”
“But we’ll have something for you, Doc,” Dad answered. “At least a good meal, and some food or other supplies you can take home to your family. By the way, how are they and where are they?”
“Thanks for asking,” Dr. Fleming answered. “We found a farm, just a little out of town, similar to Harvey’s here, with a spring to supply water. The Missus and the kids are fine, helping on the farm, while I’m out applying my trade.”
One after another we jumped onto the table for an adjustment by Dr. Fleming. Dad made sure Barry received a treatment, knowing some of his previous medical conditions. Many of us, me included, had never had a chiropractor work on us before. When it was my turn, I was tense, not knowing what to expect, but Dr. Fleming talked me through, for everyone’s benefit as well as mine.
He started, “You know your nervous system is responsible for helping your body heal as well as stay healthy. All your nerves run through your spine, so anytime the vertebrae in your spine are out of alignment they can possibly rub against or pinch the nerves, thus interfering with the signals that go through them. This can make you feel bad, or feel pain, and prohibit your body from healing. There, you’re all done. Jump off and stand up straight. Do you feel okay?”
“I feel fine,” I answered, “what was wrong with me?”
“Hardly anything,” the doctor replied. “I see you have excellent posture, your back muscles appear very strong. That’s good; keeps your vertebrae in line. You evidently work hard, are careful not to lift too heavy and not from awkward positions. You only had two vertebrae slightly out of line. They popped right back into place. Now let’s see how your dad is.”
Dad lay down on the table. “More than one vertebra out of alignment here,” Dr. Fleming said. “I haven’t seen you for what, eight - ten weeks?”
“Sometime in early June,” Dad answered.
“I could tell,” the doctor replied. “A lesson for everyone: take care with your back and spine, then your spine will take care of you. I’ll probably get around every month or so.”
“Well, whenever you get here, you’re welcome,” Jean said. “You’re the only medical care we have.”
“Not quite true,” Jeremiah said. “Lois is a nurse, remember; she can handle a lot of things.”
“Sorry,” Jean replied, “she is very valuable. I just meant we don’t see any doctors or dentists.”
“But you might soon,” Dr. Fleming interjected. “Both Dr. Bear, the physician in town and the dentist, Dr. Miller have the use of horse and buggies, so they can make rounds like I am. With a buggy they can carry more of their tools and a small supply of medicines with them. Don’t know how often they’ll get around, but at least they are around. Finding them in an emergency might be tough, maybe some system should be created for the future.”
“It would be helpful if we knew where they both live now,” Jean said.
“I guess it would,” Dr. Fleming replied. “Dr. Miller is on his cousin’s farm about three miles from here on Possum Lane. I can’t remember his name.”
“Ed Miller,” Harvey said.
“Yeah, that’s it, thanks. Maybe I can find out till I’m around next time where Dr. Bear is. Well, I should be going now. I’d like to stop a few other places on the way home.”
“Won’t you stay for supper?” Lois asked.
“Not this time. I’ll take a rain check.”
“Can you handle a small sack of red beets and a few potatoes on that bicycle?” Poppop asked. “Or is there something else you might really be in need of?”
“I have some room for a few. Some people gave me a couple cans of fruit and another family some toothpaste. We could use some bath soap, if you’ve some to spare?” Dr. Fleming inquired.
“That we can,” Jean said. “Amy, you know where it is. Would you go get Dr. Fleming what – three or four bars?” The doctor nodded in agreement.
“We’re hoping we’ll be able to make more in the future, after we’ve butchered a few beef. Sorry we can’t thank you more than that,” she concluded.
“Nothing more necessary,” he remarked, “it was my pleasure. You all take care of your spines now.”
As he pedaled back up the road Lois said, “That was some special man.”
“More special than me?” her husband Jeremiah asked.
“Shush, you know what I mean. People like that, with hearts like his, will be an integral part in the survival of many families and the communities of this country.”
“I do know what you mean,” my uncle responded.
To be continued….. Mort
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
Chapter Eleven - Visitors (cont)
After dinner the boys went at their projects in earnest. We were low on water so Mel, Lynette, Amy, and I hitched up Brutus to the cart and went to the spring. On the way back we saw that the neighbor kids were coming down the road. How could I’ve forgotten? Robbie led the way, with his sisters Molly and Susan, followed by his mother, Donna Smith, holding the hands of Tina and Leslie, Julie the teacher’s daughters who were just five and seven years old.
“Glad that rain stopped,” Robbie hollered. “They almost wouldn’t let us visit today.”
“I’m glad too,” I answered, “come on everyone. I’ll show you my horse Brutus, and Patsy our dog and all the calves we have.”
“Just for a few minutes,” Mrs. Smith instructed. “And Molly, take special care with Tina and Leslie while I go in to talk to Alyssa’s mother. Remember we came to help with the work.” As we walked toward the pens where the cows and calves were kept, it occurred to me Robbie was at quite a disadvantage. He was the only boy in the bunch. All the other boys, besides Julie’s newborn twins, were much older than he was and getting pretty close to being men, not just because of their age, but because of the situation we all were in. So to stay in his age group Robbie had to associate with us girls. I think he handled it well. Even at eleven he behaved like a leader, not too bossy, which could be dangerous in our group - what with five of us girls between ages 12 to 15. He was smart and I recall many a time at church how he could be a good spokesperson. He had garnered our respect. And I guess he was growing up fast, just like we were.
“The cows we milk are over here,” I said to the group.
Robbie asked, “Do they have names?”
“Yep, I know every one. One’s named after me: Ally; over there she is. And another one’s Jeanie for Jean. Harvey and Larry have some funny names too like Intimidator and Birdbrain.”
“That’s funny,” Robbie responded, “but come to think of it, sometimes ours act like birdbrains.”
“Did you name yours?” I asked.
“My dad did. Butch put him in charge of the cows. He said he wasn’t too fond of them. Dad named them Bonnie and Lassie.”
“Lassie’s a dog’s name,” I quipped.
“I know,” Robbie answered, “just seemed to fit. Dad wanted to give them a Scottish flavor.”
“Well that it did, laddie,” I chuckled.
“How much do you help with the cows, Alyssa? Do you get to milk any?”
“No, not yet,” I replied, “but I will someday, especially if we get a few more to milk.”
“I help already,” Robbie said proudly. “I also get to watch them when we graze them in the hayfield. I like them very much. I like the milk, too. Don’t think everyone does though. Every meal – milk. Milk with eggs for breakfast. Milk with corn for dinner, and tomato milk soup for supper.”
“Milk with corn?” I inquired.
“Yeah, we pick some of the corn from Harvey’s fields. It’s pretty dry though, not like corn-on-the-cob, so some of us crush the kernels with bricks or hammers, then soak it in water. They heat it until it’s fairly soft, drain the water, add milk and butter and warm it up to eat. It’s kinda tasty with a little sugar or syrup on it. Probably pretty nutritious; it would be a lot better with more sugar though. What did you have for dinner?”
“What else?” I answered, “string beans and red beets. Fills you up, but I’m sure getting tired of them.”
“Wow!” exclaimed Robbie. “I’d love to have some fresh vegetables. Butch didn’t have much of a garden. Only thing left in it is tomatoes. We’ve got canned fruit and vegetables, spaghetti, tuna, spam, peanut butter, and beans. But we’re not using any of it until it’s absolutely necessary, whatever that means.”
“Same here,” I replied, “have to eat what’s fresh, they tell us. Sorry about the tomatoes; they’re not my favorite either. At least you get eggs. Our few chickens only lay about six a day. Mom says it will take a week until we have enough to make a breakfast of eggs for everyone. I guess once a week’s better than not at all. So we eat cereal for breakfast, sometimes with dried fruit.”
“Cereal,” Robbie said, “what kind of cereal?”
“All kinds; Dad always had lots on hand. There’s Chex, Cocoa Puffs, Cheerios…”
“Whoa! You have Cocoa Puffs. Do you have a lot?”
“Don’t really know,” I replied, “Lois is in charge. Most of the adults eat oatmeal, so I guess there must be quite a few boxes left.”
“Sure would like to trade for some. Your dad the negotiator?” he asked.
“Knee-go-she… what?” I asked.
“Negotiator, you know, does the bargaining, the trading, talks things through.”
“Oh. That he is. In fact we just had a, what would you call it, a bargaining session this morning, talking about the school.”
“School, what school? I told you that teacher would be trouble. What did he say about it?”
“He said, ‘No, not now.’ He wouldn’t makes us go to school for now.”
“That’s a relief,” Robbie said, “but I think the danger still exists.”
“Oh, get over it,” his big sister Molly said, “let’s get into the house now; there’s work to do.” On the way to the house we passed the calves.
“Those two over there,” I said, “are going to be our oxen one day. I named them Chip and Pepper.”
“Shouldn’t it be ‘Salt and Pepper’?” Susan asked.
“I suppose that would sound right,” I responded, “but I always wanted to name something Chip, so now I did.”
We entered the house from an outside door that led right into Jean’s upstairs second kitchen, the room she didn’t really need as a kitchen as she had one downstairs. The last people to use the room as a home were Harvey’s brother’s family, but they had moved out over twenty years ago. The stove and refrigerator were gone. The sink remained as well as all the cabinets and closets. They were empty, but wouldn’t be for long. For walking into the room was like walking into a mountain. Piles and piles of boxes, dresser drawers, mattresses, box springs, and clothing – piled to the ceiling. Just a narrow path where Mom, Lois, Sandy, Jean, and Mrs. Smith were working around some empty boxes. Four households of stuff; it came from our house, Grandma and Grandpop’s, Joe and Sandy’s and Jeremiah and Lois’s. Everything had just been unloaded in our haste. The women were chattering away, just like five women can when they’re busy on a project.
Amy had a little trouble finding an opening to speak, but finally she asked, “What are we going to do with all this stuff?”
“We going to organize it,” Jean said.
“It sure ain’t organized now,” Mel said. “What’s the purpose?”
“We want to take an inventory; see what we have. And put things where we can find them when we need them,” Mom answered.
“What’s the hurry?” Lynette quipped.
“Don’t know when the need will arise,” Jean responded, “but we want to be ready when it does. Especially with any medical or hygiene items we may find in here. Also, Barry needs a place to sleep. All the beds in the rest of the house are occupied. He can sleep on the sofa in the living room for a night or two, but it would be nicer to have a little space he could consider his own. It won’t be much; there’s still going to be a lot of stuff in here.”
“You kids won’t have to do much sorting,” Lois said, “just the running.
As we decide where something goes, you can get it there for us. There are enough of you that you won’t be overworked. The more carriers, the lighter the load. Sandy found some permanent markers, so we can label boxes. You won’t be going too many places. Some cooking items we think we can use right at this time, we’ll send to the butcher house. Of course any food items we find go to Jean’s kitchen.”
“We’re trying to dig that closet open, so we can put linens in it,” Mom said, “you know, sheets, pillowcases, blankets, towels and washcloths. We can already reach the cabinets above the sink. We plan on putting eating utensils, plates, bowls, cups, and glasses in them as we have enough in the butcher house for now.”
So at it we went. Sandy was busy with her markers. She only had a few empty boxes to start; we’d get more as we’d kept emptying them. One she labeled ‘socks’, another ‘office supplies’, one for men’s underwear and one for women’s. She labeled a big box ‘shoes’. Boxes weren’t all she wrote on. One kitchen drawer she labeled ‘first aid’ for bandages, antiseptics, cough drops and the like. Any more potent medicines or prescriptions Lois put in a special box. On another drawer Sandy wrote ‘toothpaste/brushes’. On one, dishcloths. There was one for flashlights and batteries. Cleaning supplies went in the cabinet under the sink.
You couldn’t believe the stuff we found; think of the things we let accumulate in our closets, desks, and dresser & kitchen drawers. There were small tools like screwdrivers and pliers, plus screws, nuts and bolts; we took those to Larry’s tool shed. Paper clips, thumbtacks, staples, pens, pencils, and crayons were all thrown in the office supplies box. Who knew what purpose they might serve one day. We soon had a good size box that we kept throwing the candles in we were finding. Mom was meticulously gathering a storehouse of sewing supplies in a basket. We kept finding matches; a lot from weddings we had attended. Old shoestrings found a special place next to the shoebox. Discarded handbags, purses, wallets, and old belts were put in another large box; might need the leather for repairing.
“Look,” said Mel, “here’s a pocket knife with a Penn State Nittany Lion on it; it must be Jake’s. Should we take it to him?”
“Not necessary,” Jean answered. “He has one to use I’m sure. Just put it in the drawer with the other knives. If anyone needs one they’ll know where to look.”
“But it’s his,” I declared.
“Yeah!” exclaimed Lynette, “and that pair of socks Sandy just threw into the ‘socks’ box are mine!” The whole crew became uncommonly silent.
Mom looked at Jean. Jean looked at Lois and Sandy. Mrs. Smith just had a bewildered look on her face. Mom held her hand up in front of her face and just kept twirling it, like her fingers were probing her mind, searching for words. Every so often her lips would start, then stop; nothing was ready.
Jean encouraged her. “Go ahead,” she said, “you can explain it.”
“Okay,” Mom started, “I guess the adults and the near adults understand what I’m about to tell you. But you young’ns probably need to hear this. When we grown-ups agreed to move here onto Harvey and Jean’s farm, we also agreed that we would have to pool our resources. Maybe the word you would better understand is share. We knew that in order to survive we’d have to depend on each other; not only with our time and labor, but also our things. So everything that we brought from our old homes or anything that we gather or trade for in the future becomes what we call community property. I know that’s a big word for some of you to understand, but it pretty much means that the things here no longer belong to me or to Jean or to Jake but they belong to us; all of us. Didn’t you notice that when we eat we don’t say these are Poppop’s vegetables, or Harvey’s milk, or my chow-chow? It’s now our food. When you take a bath it’s not your soap, washcloth or towel that you’re using, but they’re ours. And the things we’re store housing in here are ours, for everyone’s benefit. Not to worry though; when you need something, you just need to ask and we’ll find it for you. When Jake needs a knife, they’ll be one here for him, maybe even the one that was his. And Lynette, when you need socks, there will be some here for you, even if they aren’t the ones that were yours. I don’t know what else I can say.”
Amy ventured an answer: “I guess it means there is no place for any selfishness here. That we’re all in this together and we need to support each other, including sharing the things that were once our own.”
“I think you got it, sweetheart,” Lois proudly said to her daughter. “So as we continue to sort, remember that many of these things might be sorely needed one day.” So on we went.
To be continued…. Find out next week what else they find, Mort
“Glad that rain stopped,” Robbie hollered. “They almost wouldn’t let us visit today.”
“I’m glad too,” I answered, “come on everyone. I’ll show you my horse Brutus, and Patsy our dog and all the calves we have.”
“Just for a few minutes,” Mrs. Smith instructed. “And Molly, take special care with Tina and Leslie while I go in to talk to Alyssa’s mother. Remember we came to help with the work.” As we walked toward the pens where the cows and calves were kept, it occurred to me Robbie was at quite a disadvantage. He was the only boy in the bunch. All the other boys, besides Julie’s newborn twins, were much older than he was and getting pretty close to being men, not just because of their age, but because of the situation we all were in. So to stay in his age group Robbie had to associate with us girls. I think he handled it well. Even at eleven he behaved like a leader, not too bossy, which could be dangerous in our group - what with five of us girls between ages 12 to 15. He was smart and I recall many a time at church how he could be a good spokesperson. He had garnered our respect. And I guess he was growing up fast, just like we were.
“The cows we milk are over here,” I said to the group.
Robbie asked, “Do they have names?”
“Yep, I know every one. One’s named after me: Ally; over there she is. And another one’s Jeanie for Jean. Harvey and Larry have some funny names too like Intimidator and Birdbrain.”
“That’s funny,” Robbie responded, “but come to think of it, sometimes ours act like birdbrains.”
“Did you name yours?” I asked.
“My dad did. Butch put him in charge of the cows. He said he wasn’t too fond of them. Dad named them Bonnie and Lassie.”
“Lassie’s a dog’s name,” I quipped.
“I know,” Robbie answered, “just seemed to fit. Dad wanted to give them a Scottish flavor.”
“Well that it did, laddie,” I chuckled.
“How much do you help with the cows, Alyssa? Do you get to milk any?”
“No, not yet,” I replied, “but I will someday, especially if we get a few more to milk.”
“I help already,” Robbie said proudly. “I also get to watch them when we graze them in the hayfield. I like them very much. I like the milk, too. Don’t think everyone does though. Every meal – milk. Milk with eggs for breakfast. Milk with corn for dinner, and tomato milk soup for supper.”
“Milk with corn?” I inquired.
“Yeah, we pick some of the corn from Harvey’s fields. It’s pretty dry though, not like corn-on-the-cob, so some of us crush the kernels with bricks or hammers, then soak it in water. They heat it until it’s fairly soft, drain the water, add milk and butter and warm it up to eat. It’s kinda tasty with a little sugar or syrup on it. Probably pretty nutritious; it would be a lot better with more sugar though. What did you have for dinner?”
“What else?” I answered, “string beans and red beets. Fills you up, but I’m sure getting tired of them.”
“Wow!” exclaimed Robbie. “I’d love to have some fresh vegetables. Butch didn’t have much of a garden. Only thing left in it is tomatoes. We’ve got canned fruit and vegetables, spaghetti, tuna, spam, peanut butter, and beans. But we’re not using any of it until it’s absolutely necessary, whatever that means.”
“Same here,” I replied, “have to eat what’s fresh, they tell us. Sorry about the tomatoes; they’re not my favorite either. At least you get eggs. Our few chickens only lay about six a day. Mom says it will take a week until we have enough to make a breakfast of eggs for everyone. I guess once a week’s better than not at all. So we eat cereal for breakfast, sometimes with dried fruit.”
“Cereal,” Robbie said, “what kind of cereal?”
“All kinds; Dad always had lots on hand. There’s Chex, Cocoa Puffs, Cheerios…”
“Whoa! You have Cocoa Puffs. Do you have a lot?”
“Don’t really know,” I replied, “Lois is in charge. Most of the adults eat oatmeal, so I guess there must be quite a few boxes left.”
“Sure would like to trade for some. Your dad the negotiator?” he asked.
“Knee-go-she… what?” I asked.
“Negotiator, you know, does the bargaining, the trading, talks things through.”
“Oh. That he is. In fact we just had a, what would you call it, a bargaining session this morning, talking about the school.”
“School, what school? I told you that teacher would be trouble. What did he say about it?”
“He said, ‘No, not now.’ He wouldn’t makes us go to school for now.”
“That’s a relief,” Robbie said, “but I think the danger still exists.”
“Oh, get over it,” his big sister Molly said, “let’s get into the house now; there’s work to do.” On the way to the house we passed the calves.
“Those two over there,” I said, “are going to be our oxen one day. I named them Chip and Pepper.”
“Shouldn’t it be ‘Salt and Pepper’?” Susan asked.
“I suppose that would sound right,” I responded, “but I always wanted to name something Chip, so now I did.”
We entered the house from an outside door that led right into Jean’s upstairs second kitchen, the room she didn’t really need as a kitchen as she had one downstairs. The last people to use the room as a home were Harvey’s brother’s family, but they had moved out over twenty years ago. The stove and refrigerator were gone. The sink remained as well as all the cabinets and closets. They were empty, but wouldn’t be for long. For walking into the room was like walking into a mountain. Piles and piles of boxes, dresser drawers, mattresses, box springs, and clothing – piled to the ceiling. Just a narrow path where Mom, Lois, Sandy, Jean, and Mrs. Smith were working around some empty boxes. Four households of stuff; it came from our house, Grandma and Grandpop’s, Joe and Sandy’s and Jeremiah and Lois’s. Everything had just been unloaded in our haste. The women were chattering away, just like five women can when they’re busy on a project.
Amy had a little trouble finding an opening to speak, but finally she asked, “What are we going to do with all this stuff?”
“We going to organize it,” Jean said.
“It sure ain’t organized now,” Mel said. “What’s the purpose?”
“We want to take an inventory; see what we have. And put things where we can find them when we need them,” Mom answered.
“What’s the hurry?” Lynette quipped.
“Don’t know when the need will arise,” Jean responded, “but we want to be ready when it does. Especially with any medical or hygiene items we may find in here. Also, Barry needs a place to sleep. All the beds in the rest of the house are occupied. He can sleep on the sofa in the living room for a night or two, but it would be nicer to have a little space he could consider his own. It won’t be much; there’s still going to be a lot of stuff in here.”
“You kids won’t have to do much sorting,” Lois said, “just the running.
As we decide where something goes, you can get it there for us. There are enough of you that you won’t be overworked. The more carriers, the lighter the load. Sandy found some permanent markers, so we can label boxes. You won’t be going too many places. Some cooking items we think we can use right at this time, we’ll send to the butcher house. Of course any food items we find go to Jean’s kitchen.”
“We’re trying to dig that closet open, so we can put linens in it,” Mom said, “you know, sheets, pillowcases, blankets, towels and washcloths. We can already reach the cabinets above the sink. We plan on putting eating utensils, plates, bowls, cups, and glasses in them as we have enough in the butcher house for now.”
So at it we went. Sandy was busy with her markers. She only had a few empty boxes to start; we’d get more as we’d kept emptying them. One she labeled ‘socks’, another ‘office supplies’, one for men’s underwear and one for women’s. She labeled a big box ‘shoes’. Boxes weren’t all she wrote on. One kitchen drawer she labeled ‘first aid’ for bandages, antiseptics, cough drops and the like. Any more potent medicines or prescriptions Lois put in a special box. On another drawer Sandy wrote ‘toothpaste/brushes’. On one, dishcloths. There was one for flashlights and batteries. Cleaning supplies went in the cabinet under the sink.
You couldn’t believe the stuff we found; think of the things we let accumulate in our closets, desks, and dresser & kitchen drawers. There were small tools like screwdrivers and pliers, plus screws, nuts and bolts; we took those to Larry’s tool shed. Paper clips, thumbtacks, staples, pens, pencils, and crayons were all thrown in the office supplies box. Who knew what purpose they might serve one day. We soon had a good size box that we kept throwing the candles in we were finding. Mom was meticulously gathering a storehouse of sewing supplies in a basket. We kept finding matches; a lot from weddings we had attended. Old shoestrings found a special place next to the shoebox. Discarded handbags, purses, wallets, and old belts were put in another large box; might need the leather for repairing.
“Look,” said Mel, “here’s a pocket knife with a Penn State Nittany Lion on it; it must be Jake’s. Should we take it to him?”
“Not necessary,” Jean answered. “He has one to use I’m sure. Just put it in the drawer with the other knives. If anyone needs one they’ll know where to look.”
“But it’s his,” I declared.
“Yeah!” exclaimed Lynette, “and that pair of socks Sandy just threw into the ‘socks’ box are mine!” The whole crew became uncommonly silent.
Mom looked at Jean. Jean looked at Lois and Sandy. Mrs. Smith just had a bewildered look on her face. Mom held her hand up in front of her face and just kept twirling it, like her fingers were probing her mind, searching for words. Every so often her lips would start, then stop; nothing was ready.
Jean encouraged her. “Go ahead,” she said, “you can explain it.”
“Okay,” Mom started, “I guess the adults and the near adults understand what I’m about to tell you. But you young’ns probably need to hear this. When we grown-ups agreed to move here onto Harvey and Jean’s farm, we also agreed that we would have to pool our resources. Maybe the word you would better understand is share. We knew that in order to survive we’d have to depend on each other; not only with our time and labor, but also our things. So everything that we brought from our old homes or anything that we gather or trade for in the future becomes what we call community property. I know that’s a big word for some of you to understand, but it pretty much means that the things here no longer belong to me or to Jean or to Jake but they belong to us; all of us. Didn’t you notice that when we eat we don’t say these are Poppop’s vegetables, or Harvey’s milk, or my chow-chow? It’s now our food. When you take a bath it’s not your soap, washcloth or towel that you’re using, but they’re ours. And the things we’re store housing in here are ours, for everyone’s benefit. Not to worry though; when you need something, you just need to ask and we’ll find it for you. When Jake needs a knife, they’ll be one here for him, maybe even the one that was his. And Lynette, when you need socks, there will be some here for you, even if they aren’t the ones that were yours. I don’t know what else I can say.”
Amy ventured an answer: “I guess it means there is no place for any selfishness here. That we’re all in this together and we need to support each other, including sharing the things that were once our own.”
“I think you got it, sweetheart,” Lois proudly said to her daughter. “So as we continue to sort, remember that many of these things might be sorely needed one day.” So on we went.
To be continued…. Find out next week what else they find, Mort
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