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
No comments:
Post a Comment