The rest of the week saw some accomplishments. The new calves were doing well. On Wednesday Joe accompanied Butch on the pilgrimage to Roger with our few extra barrels of sour milk for his hogs. Everything was reported as going well over there. When Roger realized he had more of an outlet for the meat, he decided to kill the biggest hog they had. Of course Joe and Butch aided, and then each brought a good portion of meat for each household. Fresh pork for supper; it even gave a few jars of leftovers that were canned for another meal. We also received four new little piglets to expand our swine herd. The ones we had were growing well and Joe said there would be one large enough to butcher next week for ourselves.
Pork wasn’t the only meat we had. Larry had noticed a flock of Canadian geese landing regularly in the pasture behind the spring. Prior to the collapse, if it would have been legal goose season, he would have just grabbed his shotgun and pursued his quarry. With the mindset of saving ammunition he decided to try and trap them instead. Dad and Harvey said when they were youngsters they would try to catch pigeons in the barn by using a stick with a string tied to it to hold up a box. They would bait the trap with a few kernels of corn, hide behind some hay bales, and wait until a pigeon was under the box, then yank the string and catch the bird. Well, it was suppose to work like that. Dad wasn’t sure if they had ever caught one. Harvey seemed to think they had. Ah, what a few score years will do to brain cells. This method wasn’t going to work for the geese, however, which were ten times larger.
Instead, Larry rounded up some muskrat traps Wednesday evening and indiscriminately set them around the area the geese were usually feeding. Of course, he had to stake them well into the ground or any trapped geese would simply fly away with the trap. He knew the geese were arriving every morning just a little before breakfast, so he, Dad and I went to the pasture about an hour before to check the traps. Sure enough, a possum had wondered into a trap. With Dad’s help we were able to release the trap from the critter’s foot and shush it away from the area. The trap didn’t appear to do the possum much harm. We retreated about forty yards from the traps to the closest woods and then made a makeshift blind to hide behind until the geese came.
“Do you think those traps will hold a goose?” Dad asked Larry.
“I hope so,” he answered. “Least ways until we can run out and grab them.”
“You know as soon as we run out, the others will fly away,” I said.
“Yeah, I know,” Larry retorted, “we’ll have to be patient and wait until two or three are caught, and then rush for them all at once.”
“I’m also thinking, as soon as one trap snaps, they’ll all take off, but I wonder,” Dad thought out loud. “Alyssa, run over to the cornfield across the way and bring us back an ear of corn. Hurry!” I did, and came back puffing to where they were now standing out at the edge of the trapping area.
“Here, Dad,” I wheezed out.
“Thanks,” he said. “Now just shell a few kernels,” he said to Larry, “and carefully place them under the trap, right next to the trip plate. Let’s see what happens.”
“Anything’s worth a try,” Larry remarked as he placed about dozen kernels as Dad had directed. Then Dad took a handful of corn and just flung it out beyond the traps. Back to the blind we flew. And just in time, for within ten minutes, I heard the distinct honk of a goose.
“You know,” Larry whispered, “yesterday there was no corn here. Don’t you think that will make them suspicious?”
“Perhaps,” Dad softly replied, “but there was some undigested corn kernels in the cow manure. That’s some of what they were feeding on; it should seem familiar to them. Now don’t anyone move; looks like they’re coming in right above us.”
They did. Amazingly, they didn’t spot us. They circled the pasture twice; surveying the situation. Then finally set their wings and drifted to Earth just short of the traps. They were noisy; there was loud honking and some were hissing. I wondered if we make noise like that when we’re eating. They soon wandered into the area where the traps were set.
SNAP! One of the traps closed right on the head of a feeding goose. And then a tremendous commotion followed. Screeching and honking and as they ran to take flight, more stepped in the traps.
“NOW!” Larry yelled, “just grab them by their necks, Alyssa. Hold them till I can help you.”
The short forty yards we were from the geese seemed like one hundred as we sprinted out. Larry ran for the goose furthest away, Dad for the closest, the one with its head in the trap and I chose one in between. It was a flurry of wings and beaks. Dad secured his in no time. Larry’s wiggled free before he reached it, but he quickly switched his sights to a fourth one before it could free itself. He got it, and I got mine, but not before it nipped me in the hand. It hurt like crazy, but I still hung on though, until Larry had dispatched his and came back to finish mine. Success: goose for supper.
That same afternoon the first water pumping occurred. The milk tank, hot water tank and the shower heads were now in place. The building, including the installation of insulation and the flooring had been completed. The water line had been laid on top the ground and the pump set up in the cellar with a bicycle drive. To prime the pump, the boys poured water into the line before making the final connections. Josh proudly hopped onto the bicycle seat and started pedaling away. Sure enough, it worked, as water started flowing into the milk tank. Not that anyone in the cellar could tell, though. We were too far away.
“One of the disadvantages of this set-up,” Aaron said. “Someone has to watch the level of water in the tank, and then tell the pedaler when the tanks full.”
Dennis added, “But we decided to keep the pump in the cellar, so the person doing all the work would not have to be in the heat of the butcher house. Should make the job a little more bearable. How’s it pedal, Josh?”
“Not bad at all,” he answered. “I’m sure Mel could do it. Heck I even think Alyssa, Lynette or Amy could too.”
“Well, let one of them try,” Uncle Jeremiah said. “Go ahead Amy, hop on.” So Amy hopped on and pedaled away. Lynette took a turn and so did I. It wasn’t that hard. Nor did you have to pedal fast to make it work. Whatever speed you pedaled, the water still flowed.
“I think you girls have won an assignment,” Jeremiah continued. “As a team, keep the milk tank full of water. You can take turns. Remember someone has to watch the water level and another relay the message into the cellar. You have the time freed up because you’ll no longer have to bring as much water from the spring with Brutus. Just some for Poppop’s house, I guess. We’re hoping one day we can adapt a twelve volt motor to the pump and then you’ll be relieved. In the meantime, be timely with the job. The longer you put it off, the more pedaling you’ll have to do to fill the tank, and the greater the risk of the tank running dry. Got it?”
“I guess so,” Amy answered for us.
“Don’t worry,” Dennis added, “we’ll be around here to help you if you need us. We still have some things to finish up. The line needs to be buried and some plumbing completed to make the showers operable. No showers tonight yet, everyone. First we have to install some kind of tub above the shower head. In it, each showerer will have to mix the hot and cold water to his or her taste. They’ll be lines coming from the cold and hot water tanks that will have valves on that you’ll have to open to let the water in. Then you’ll be ready to shower. We should have that ready by tomorrow or Saturday evening.”
Even as we were completing the construction of the showering house, the boys still found time to sneak in some of the other projects. With Barry’s help they had rigged up a bicycle and an alternator on the back porch to charge batteries. It was mobile so you could carry it different places instead of carrying the batteries all over. Plus you could move it to the shade when it was hot, inside when it was cold, or under roof when it rained. It was temporary we hoped, as Joe and Larry were getting closer with their windmill project.
The water pump, furnace, and lights in the barn weren’t the only applications for twelve volt current that necessitated charging batteries. For by Friday they had installed a starter motor from our old Ford Fairmont on the wash machine. At first, the washer ran way too fast, but after some adjustments with the gearing, they slowed it enough to keep it in the building. The agitator ran much faster than it was designed to, but we’d just power it on for two, two and a half minutes at a time, as recommended by Aaron. He just wasn’t sure if the motor would hold up if we ran it continuously. Mind you, only the agitator operated, not the spin cycle, nor any of the automatic controls. It was simply “go” or “stop”. We still had to fill the tub by hand; once with hot water for washing and again with cold for rinsing. We used a set of hoses that branched off from the lines going to the shower tub. The boys had installed a hand nozzle to drain the water out of the tub. And, of course, we also had to squeeze the water out of every piece of laundry; no wringer had shown up. But it beat all the pounding and rubbing we had done to get the clothing clean with just a tub of soapy water the week before. Poppop had done a good job whittling some clothespins for us to use, but then his woodworking skills were shifted to a new project. He started manufacturing hay rakes.
We had garden rakes and lawn rakes, but their tines were too short and way too close together to rake long stem hay like Larry was going to mow. The hay would constantly be sticking in the rakes. Poppop had such an old style wooden rake, so he had one for a pattern. We rounded up every old handle we could find for him to attach a two and one half foot head onto. In each head, he used an old brace and bit to auger holes about five inches apart, and then he inserted some tines he had made from any wooden rod stock he could find. He would have to whittle and scrape them to just the right dimension. In some of the holes he used a little wood glue he had found to keep the tine in place, but usually the fit was tight enough to keep the tine from pulling out when in use. The finished product had seven tines sticking seven or eight inches from the head. We produced eight rakes in all. Saturday morning Poppop, Dad, and I carried the rakes to the equipment shed for presentation to Harvey.
We found Joe there with Harvey, who had his eyes glued to the sky. The last couple days he always had a watchful eye on the weather.
“Something’s going to give,” he said, “I can feel it. We’ll still have to wait before we start mowing. Larry’s sure getting itchy to go at it, but he can hold his horses a little longer. Ah, those are some fine rakes you got there. Looks like what, eight people can be kept busy raking. That’s good. Put them on that wagon over there.”
The wagon already had four scythes and six sickles, all recently sharpened, plus fourteen pitchforks on it, ready for Brutus to pull up to Butch’s. There was also a box full of work gloves and a toolbox with sharpening stones and some other tools that could be used to repair any implement that might break.
“We’ve a few more pitchforks around here to take along. With those that Butch has, we should be able to put a tool into everyone’s hands. It’s a shame we don’t have that old ground drive hay rake that you and my father had when we were kids,” Harvey said to Poppop. “Brutus could have easily pulled it. Do you remember it?”
“I do,” Dad jumped in, “it had a metal seat on it. I spent many enjoyable hours seated on it when my grandfather was raking hay. Isn’t it still here? Up in the woods with some of the other junked farm implements?”
“No, it’s gone,” Harvey replied. “Last winter scrap iron hit $8.50 per hundred weight. Just a year earlier, it was only worth four dollars. So Larry and I hauled three loads of scrap metal to the salvage yard. The rake was on one of the loads. It’s probably being turned into a Chinese missile right now.”
“Probably not,” Joe said. “things have moved too slowly the last four months to get it that far. It could be in the pipeline somewhere on route, but more than likely it’s still at the yard in that gigantic mountain of shredded steel that they had. You are, however, correct about the reason the price jumped so dramatically. China’s need of iron created tremendous demand for the commodity. And not only iron, but also aluminum and copper, like Titus had said on Tuesday night.”
“So maybe in this case,” Dad inquired, “the rise of metal prices was caused by true market factors, increased demand and short supply? And not the currency being inflated?”
“Maybe some of both,” Joe continued. “China’s need of all the metals created the demand. The increased demand caused the higher prices. Because China had to pay more for the scrap, that actually helped lower our trade deficit a little, plus retire some of that debt we owed China. But it might also have irritated them to the point that they made the move they did to change to the Euro and do us in. Yet in this country, we unsuspectingly benefited from the increased prices of scrap metals; least ways those of us that had some to sell. But then again, maybe the price for the metals was rocketed skyward by the inflating of our currency, just like the prices of almost everything else kept climbing. Who knows?”
“Bottom line,” lamented Harvey, “is that we never seem to learn from history. Before World War Two we sold our scrap to Japan so they could build the ships, planes and bombs to go to war with half the world. Seventy years later, we do the same damn thing.”
“Extremely ironic,” Dad agreed, “the richest country in the world, maybe only second to Russia in raw materials, gives the things we now need away to our enemy.”
“Water under the bridge,” Harvey concluded, “no sense looking back; time to go forward. Soon time to make hay.”
To be continued…. Mort
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
CHAPTER THIRTEEN - THINGS (conclusion)
“I can’t help but keep thinking,” Jean offered, “about what Harlan said this afternoon about what had happened in his home county. Do you think that could happen here?”
“Hard to say,” Titus responded. “After talking to Harlan’s father, I got a little of the picture on how it went down there. Chaos might be the word to describe it. Not random violence and looting necessarily; just a lack of organization and feeling of community. Everyone lit out in different directions; just looked out for themselves. There’s a much different feeling here. Look how you’ve banded together on this farm and other people have on your neighbor’s farm up the road. I run into farms like that everywhere I travel. At my place we’re blessed by the way our neighbors, despite our spiritual and cultural differences, just bonded for the common good. Then there’s something else that might be to our advantage around here, though it’s awkward for me to talk about.”
“What’s that?” Dad asked.
“You’re armed,” Titus said, “and so are our neighbors that have joined up with us. I overheard them talking about being prepared to defend our ‘town’. Some of the leaders even came to me and said directly that they would provide protection for our families.”
“See,” Jake interjected, “the founding fathers knew what they were doing when they passed the second amendment.”
“Perhaps,” said Barry, “but I always figured it was to protect ourselves from a foreign invasion, not each other.”
“Maybe for now,” Josh said. “In the future, a foreign enemy might invade. And we’ll be ready for them!”
“Spoken just like a young whipper-snapper,” Dad said. “You’ve a lot to learn.”
“Religious beliefs aside,” Joe added. “This country probably has the highest percentage of the populace armed than any other country in the world. And although we’d love to settle all our differences without violence, in this case I don’t see that happening. But I’ll give you and your brothers credit, Titus. I know you won’t contribute to a violent solution. I wish everyone else in the world had the same convictions.”
“So do I,” Titus said.
“I was curious about something else,” Jeremiah said. “How did the idea of using coins as a medium of exchange catch on?”
“Money is only good if the users have faith in it,” Titus said. “I understand the dollar failed because China switched it’s debt over to Euros or something like that; I’m not exactly sure. Euros are paper money, too, but people still have faith in it, so they work as an accepted medium of exchange. If not in this country, at least around the rest of the world. For decades the dollar was backed by gold or silver, so the holders of dollars knew they could exchange dollars for something with a known, universal value. Ever since the US government abandoned the gold standard, that faith has been waning. On the other hand, for centuries coins have been used in exchange for goods. They had an intrinsic value. The metals in them were worth something even if the government that issued them went sour. Several of our brothers are in the wrecking/reclamation business. Last year when copper prices skyrocketed, they became aware that pennies have a value of their own, well above one cent, which is all any bank would give you for them. We all started saving them. Then last year the feds pointed out that it was illegal to melt down coins. So what? We were only saving them. Around Christmas I read that a penny was only 5% copper and the rest mostly zinc; burst that theory. But a nickel was 75% copper. So we started saving them, too. In fact, it was revealed that the government was spending 1.2 cents to make every penny and 7.9 cents to make a nickel. But they sold them for only one cent and five cents respectively. Boy was that bad business. Bottom line is, we have faith in the value of the metals in coins, even if the government issuing them is bankrupt. Metal is metal, coins are coins. We have faith in them, so we honor them. Seems to be working so far.”
“But how did you come up with the low prices for everything?” Lois asked.
“Accidentally, I guess,” Titus responded.
“Maybe not,” said Aaron, “coinage has an absolute value. But what do you base it on? Because it takes so many pennies to buy a Euro, a barrel of oil, or an ounce of gold? What does that matter to us? The value that our coins have is relative. How many pennies it takes to buy a ton of hay, a bushel of corn, a flashlight, or a watermelon?”
“I know that one,” I declared, “five.”
“Yes, you’re right little cousin,” Aaron continued. “Think how people that had tens of thousands of dollars in the bank, now have some metal half dollars and quarters in their pockets. And those who had a few hundred dollars, now have about the same.”
“The collapse was an equalizer,” Dad said. “Like Harvey said earlier today: ‘everyone’s in the same boat’.”
“Isn’t that funny,” Josh remarked. “What the Communists in other countries and Socialists in this country were trying to do for years – make us all equal – was accomplished by our own federal government’s poor fiscal policy.”
“At least when it comes to financial resources,” Aaron said. “There’s a lot of ways we are not equal. Some of us have food or resources to produce food, others don’t. Some have fuel, others don’t. And we all have different skills. But that wasn’t my point. Back to the relative value of our coins. You see there was once hundreds of billions of dollars, if not a few trillion of make-believe dollars in this country’s economy. A large portion of it was just numbers written with ink on paper. Worthless. Now there are a several million, maybe a billion dollars worth of coins belonging to the same group – us. And there is still a supply of food, building materials, tools, crops, clothing, medical supplies, some fuel, metals and other raw materials out there in the same economy. Not quite as much as before the collapse, now mind you, but a fair percentage still exists. Prior to the collapse, those goods’ value was determined by the amount of money that was out there. Goods divided by dollars out there. Now it’s divided by millions instead of trillions, therefore every unit of goods is worth fewer dollars. That’s what gives our coins their relative value; it’s in relation to the amount of goods in the economy. So what Titus’s clan is doing makes economic sense. At least that’s my theory.”
“Not too bad a theory, either,” Dad commented. “Bottom line – it works. Just like some of the other things we do or try around here – if it works: do it. You know people sure have to change.”
“How’s that?” Titus asked.
“Well, we spend our whole life accumulating things. When we’re young: toys, baseball cards, ice skates, or a bicycle. Later it’s a car, stylish clothing, video equipment, or tools. We start saving: for college, to pay for a wedding, for a house, furniture. Always we want more – things. Soon we have to have another hunting rifle, season tickets, that big screen TV, the cable, cell phones, DVD player, a four wheel drive pickup; it goes on and on. Build up your estate, buy another farm. No offense to Harvey and Titus intended – they need farms to grow food for people – that’s honorable. We’re also told to buy life insurance, for the future; IRA’s, for the future; stock portfolios, for the future. Now is the future; what good did it do us? Always more things. And what does it get you? Nothing. In the end you’re back in the ground where you came from. It’s like chasing after the wind. In Ecclesiastes Solomon says ‘everything is meaningless’. He includes wisdom, toil, advancement, pleasures and folly – all meaningless. In fact, what this desire to accumulate things really leads to is stress, frustration, and arguments over more things, like money. And what does it earn you? A hole in the ground. It’s that attitude that people have to change. Do you know what I mean?”
I really didn’t, and from the looks around the room, maybe no one else did either. Or at least they didn’t know what to say. Finally, Titus spoke up. “I think I know what you mean. And it’s something I struggled with my whole life, too. In Matthew chapter six Jesus told us: ‘Do not store up for yourselves treasures on Earth,’ yet my father accumulated things, including farms, to provide for his children. And I’ve done the same, providing for my children, just like Jesus told us later in the same chapter, verse 33 that ‘all these things will be given you as well’ by our heavenly father. So sometimes I wondered if I put too much emphasis on materialism. Did I love money more than God? The answer lies in the beginning of that same verse when Jesus said, ‘But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness.’ That’s our comfort. Jesus knows what’s in our heart. It reveals what we really feel about things. So I do know what you mean, people do have to change. Change their heart from one that loves things to one that loves God. Jesus showed us how to do that - by loving others. And also in Ecclesiastes, Solomon tells you a couple ways you can remove some of the meaninglessness and stress of life and bring a little more peace into it. He said ‘A man can do nothing better than to eat and drink and find satisfaction in his work’. And on top of that trust and obey God. If you keep those thoughts in your head and heart, you can’t go wrong,” Titus concluded.
There was silence again, just like after Dad had finished his expose`. Joe had a half a smile on his face as he squeezed his lower lip with his hand. He looked at Dad, and then at Titus and said, “When did you two get a chance to rehearse that?”
Dad and Titus looked at each other, shrugged their shoulders slightly, and then Dad said, “Didn’t. I just felt I had to say what was on my heart.”
Titus added, “Me neither. He was on a roll. Just thought I’d try and answer his question and explain why people should change. Did I?”
“I suppose you did,” Grandmom said. “Gave me something to think about. And pray about. But now, I think it’s time we hit the sack. Tomorrow’s another day.”
It was agreed. As I lay in bed, I pondered Dad and Titus’ remarks. Next morning, I hurried out to check on Titus and Harlan, wondering if any more revelations would be forthcoming. I guess they were anxious to get an early start for home, for the wagon load of hay, their horses, Harlan and Titus Weaver were gone.
To be continued….. Mort
“Hard to say,” Titus responded. “After talking to Harlan’s father, I got a little of the picture on how it went down there. Chaos might be the word to describe it. Not random violence and looting necessarily; just a lack of organization and feeling of community. Everyone lit out in different directions; just looked out for themselves. There’s a much different feeling here. Look how you’ve banded together on this farm and other people have on your neighbor’s farm up the road. I run into farms like that everywhere I travel. At my place we’re blessed by the way our neighbors, despite our spiritual and cultural differences, just bonded for the common good. Then there’s something else that might be to our advantage around here, though it’s awkward for me to talk about.”
“What’s that?” Dad asked.
“You’re armed,” Titus said, “and so are our neighbors that have joined up with us. I overheard them talking about being prepared to defend our ‘town’. Some of the leaders even came to me and said directly that they would provide protection for our families.”
“See,” Jake interjected, “the founding fathers knew what they were doing when they passed the second amendment.”
“Perhaps,” said Barry, “but I always figured it was to protect ourselves from a foreign invasion, not each other.”
“Maybe for now,” Josh said. “In the future, a foreign enemy might invade. And we’ll be ready for them!”
“Spoken just like a young whipper-snapper,” Dad said. “You’ve a lot to learn.”
“Religious beliefs aside,” Joe added. “This country probably has the highest percentage of the populace armed than any other country in the world. And although we’d love to settle all our differences without violence, in this case I don’t see that happening. But I’ll give you and your brothers credit, Titus. I know you won’t contribute to a violent solution. I wish everyone else in the world had the same convictions.”
“So do I,” Titus said.
“I was curious about something else,” Jeremiah said. “How did the idea of using coins as a medium of exchange catch on?”
“Money is only good if the users have faith in it,” Titus said. “I understand the dollar failed because China switched it’s debt over to Euros or something like that; I’m not exactly sure. Euros are paper money, too, but people still have faith in it, so they work as an accepted medium of exchange. If not in this country, at least around the rest of the world. For decades the dollar was backed by gold or silver, so the holders of dollars knew they could exchange dollars for something with a known, universal value. Ever since the US government abandoned the gold standard, that faith has been waning. On the other hand, for centuries coins have been used in exchange for goods. They had an intrinsic value. The metals in them were worth something even if the government that issued them went sour. Several of our brothers are in the wrecking/reclamation business. Last year when copper prices skyrocketed, they became aware that pennies have a value of their own, well above one cent, which is all any bank would give you for them. We all started saving them. Then last year the feds pointed out that it was illegal to melt down coins. So what? We were only saving them. Around Christmas I read that a penny was only 5% copper and the rest mostly zinc; burst that theory. But a nickel was 75% copper. So we started saving them, too. In fact, it was revealed that the government was spending 1.2 cents to make every penny and 7.9 cents to make a nickel. But they sold them for only one cent and five cents respectively. Boy was that bad business. Bottom line is, we have faith in the value of the metals in coins, even if the government issuing them is bankrupt. Metal is metal, coins are coins. We have faith in them, so we honor them. Seems to be working so far.”
“But how did you come up with the low prices for everything?” Lois asked.
“Accidentally, I guess,” Titus responded.
“Maybe not,” said Aaron, “coinage has an absolute value. But what do you base it on? Because it takes so many pennies to buy a Euro, a barrel of oil, or an ounce of gold? What does that matter to us? The value that our coins have is relative. How many pennies it takes to buy a ton of hay, a bushel of corn, a flashlight, or a watermelon?”
“I know that one,” I declared, “five.”
“Yes, you’re right little cousin,” Aaron continued. “Think how people that had tens of thousands of dollars in the bank, now have some metal half dollars and quarters in their pockets. And those who had a few hundred dollars, now have about the same.”
“The collapse was an equalizer,” Dad said. “Like Harvey said earlier today: ‘everyone’s in the same boat’.”
“Isn’t that funny,” Josh remarked. “What the Communists in other countries and Socialists in this country were trying to do for years – make us all equal – was accomplished by our own federal government’s poor fiscal policy.”
“At least when it comes to financial resources,” Aaron said. “There’s a lot of ways we are not equal. Some of us have food or resources to produce food, others don’t. Some have fuel, others don’t. And we all have different skills. But that wasn’t my point. Back to the relative value of our coins. You see there was once hundreds of billions of dollars, if not a few trillion of make-believe dollars in this country’s economy. A large portion of it was just numbers written with ink on paper. Worthless. Now there are a several million, maybe a billion dollars worth of coins belonging to the same group – us. And there is still a supply of food, building materials, tools, crops, clothing, medical supplies, some fuel, metals and other raw materials out there in the same economy. Not quite as much as before the collapse, now mind you, but a fair percentage still exists. Prior to the collapse, those goods’ value was determined by the amount of money that was out there. Goods divided by dollars out there. Now it’s divided by millions instead of trillions, therefore every unit of goods is worth fewer dollars. That’s what gives our coins their relative value; it’s in relation to the amount of goods in the economy. So what Titus’s clan is doing makes economic sense. At least that’s my theory.”
“Not too bad a theory, either,” Dad commented. “Bottom line – it works. Just like some of the other things we do or try around here – if it works: do it. You know people sure have to change.”
“How’s that?” Titus asked.
“Well, we spend our whole life accumulating things. When we’re young: toys, baseball cards, ice skates, or a bicycle. Later it’s a car, stylish clothing, video equipment, or tools. We start saving: for college, to pay for a wedding, for a house, furniture. Always we want more – things. Soon we have to have another hunting rifle, season tickets, that big screen TV, the cable, cell phones, DVD player, a four wheel drive pickup; it goes on and on. Build up your estate, buy another farm. No offense to Harvey and Titus intended – they need farms to grow food for people – that’s honorable. We’re also told to buy life insurance, for the future; IRA’s, for the future; stock portfolios, for the future. Now is the future; what good did it do us? Always more things. And what does it get you? Nothing. In the end you’re back in the ground where you came from. It’s like chasing after the wind. In Ecclesiastes Solomon says ‘everything is meaningless’. He includes wisdom, toil, advancement, pleasures and folly – all meaningless. In fact, what this desire to accumulate things really leads to is stress, frustration, and arguments over more things, like money. And what does it earn you? A hole in the ground. It’s that attitude that people have to change. Do you know what I mean?”
I really didn’t, and from the looks around the room, maybe no one else did either. Or at least they didn’t know what to say. Finally, Titus spoke up. “I think I know what you mean. And it’s something I struggled with my whole life, too. In Matthew chapter six Jesus told us: ‘Do not store up for yourselves treasures on Earth,’ yet my father accumulated things, including farms, to provide for his children. And I’ve done the same, providing for my children, just like Jesus told us later in the same chapter, verse 33 that ‘all these things will be given you as well’ by our heavenly father. So sometimes I wondered if I put too much emphasis on materialism. Did I love money more than God? The answer lies in the beginning of that same verse when Jesus said, ‘But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness.’ That’s our comfort. Jesus knows what’s in our heart. It reveals what we really feel about things. So I do know what you mean, people do have to change. Change their heart from one that loves things to one that loves God. Jesus showed us how to do that - by loving others. And also in Ecclesiastes, Solomon tells you a couple ways you can remove some of the meaninglessness and stress of life and bring a little more peace into it. He said ‘A man can do nothing better than to eat and drink and find satisfaction in his work’. And on top of that trust and obey God. If you keep those thoughts in your head and heart, you can’t go wrong,” Titus concluded.
There was silence again, just like after Dad had finished his expose`. Joe had a half a smile on his face as he squeezed his lower lip with his hand. He looked at Dad, and then at Titus and said, “When did you two get a chance to rehearse that?”
Dad and Titus looked at each other, shrugged their shoulders slightly, and then Dad said, “Didn’t. I just felt I had to say what was on my heart.”
Titus added, “Me neither. He was on a roll. Just thought I’d try and answer his question and explain why people should change. Did I?”
“I suppose you did,” Grandmom said. “Gave me something to think about. And pray about. But now, I think it’s time we hit the sack. Tomorrow’s another day.”
It was agreed. As I lay in bed, I pondered Dad and Titus’ remarks. Next morning, I hurried out to check on Titus and Harlan, wondering if any more revelations would be forthcoming. I guess they were anxious to get an early start for home, for the wagon load of hay, their horses, Harlan and Titus Weaver were gone.
To be continued….. Mort
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
CHAPTER THIRTEEN - THINGS (cont)
“Good horse hay?” Harvey asked.
“Good horse hay I could use the most. I usually try to end up at a farm that doesn’t have livestock. They’re much more willing to part with some. You have a lot of livestock here, so I’d understand if you wouldn’t want to part with any.”
“Our hay is valuable,” Harvey responded. “But no more valuable than the load of produce you started out with this morning. How many bales does your wagon hold?”
“About 85.”
“Good enough,” Harvey decided, “I’ll apply the Golden Rule again. And you know your horses will need a night’s rest to pull over two tons of hay home.”
“That settles it then,” Dad said, “you’re staying the night.”
“I guess we are,” Titus agreed.
Fortunately, during the whole conversation, no one had started to unhitch the horses; so we drove the wagon right over to the springhouse to unload and store the fruit and vegetables. “Put one of the watermelons right into the spring water,” Dad instructed. “Should make it cold enough for supper. Tomorrow we’ll send word to Butch. They can use some fresh produce, too. I think he’s particularly fond of hot peppers. I know you and I aren’t, are we Alyssa?”
“No we’re not,” I answered, “but watermelon I can handle.” After letting the horses have a long drink, we drove the wagon to the barn where the hay was that Harvey had traded. On the way we dropped the honey and the sweet corn at the butcher house. Lois was the cook for supper and was quite agreeable to adding the corn to her planned meal, as there’d be two extra for supper.
Titus and Harlan unhitched the wagon next to the pile of hay. We led the horses back to the pasture, where they could spend the whole night eating grass. Dad brought them each five ears of corn.
“That’ll do them fine,” Titus said. The men folk had started milking; supper, of course, wasn’t near ready, so the four of us started loading the hay. My grandfathers joined us, which led to quite a conversation. Trouble was, I only could understand what Dad was saying. The others spoke in the Pennsylvania German dialect. If Dad listened real closely, he could understand, but he had never learned well enough how to speak in German. Of course he often tried. Usually got some laughs, the way he butchered it, generally messing up the grammar. Today was no different – he tried – the others would chuckle. From what I caught from Dad’s percentage of the conversation, they talked about old times and who lived on which farm. Seemed like Poppop and Dad knew everybody. They talked about the improvements to the butcher house, our plan to pump water, how we divided up the cows and our dilemma with using electric motors. It didn’t take long to get 85 bales onto the wagon. We used baler twine to fasten the load. Didn’t need to use the braided rope Dad and I had made. The load of hay wasn’t going to careen down the road at 55 miles per hour; it would stay on. As we tied on the last pieces of twine, the conversation ended with talk of some of the things we were looking for.
I heard Titus sum it up by saying, “Yeah, when I’m on my trading missions I can keep an eye open for you for those things like a wringer washer, a breeding bull, or a smaller generator.
“Thanks a lot,” Poppop said, “and if you would, we’re going to need something else; seed for next year’s crops. Trouble is, so does everyone else.”
“That’s right,” Dad added, “but one thing I think you do have, Titus, that I hope you can spare, is sweet potatoes.”
“I have quite a few growing,” Titus answered. “I’ll keep a share for you.”
“Thanks,” said Dad. “Well, it looks like the rest are heading in for supper. Let’s go wash up and join ‘em. I can almost taste that fresh sweet corn already.”
“And our homemade butter on it,” I added.
It was a fine supper, and after the watermelon was devoured and the supper dishes were finished, we learned a few more things about Titus’s community. “You know our lifestyle hasn’t changed that much since the power went off,” he commented. “We still farm and travel with horses. We milk by hand and fork silage by hand. We have wood fires and butcher our livestock at home. We’re canning like we did before. We go to church every Sunday by buggy or bicycle. Didn’t have televisions, radios or computers; don’t miss them. The women are making homemade baked goods. And our children are going to school.”
“Your schools are open?” Jake asked.
“Sure,” Titus answered, “Monday was the first day at our one room schoolhouses. Our children walk or bike to school. The teacher goes by buggy and brings a cooler of spring water for the students. We don’t need electricity this time of year. When it turns colder, the heat source is a wood stove. We’ll have to come up with some lighting eventually. There’s time to figure some things out yet.”
“If your school’s in session, how come you’re not there, Harlan?” Sandy asked.
“I’m fourteen, and finished eighth grade last year,” he said. “We only go to school eight years.”
“Learned all you need to know, I bet,” I said.
“Oh, I’m sure I’ve got a lot to learn yet,” Harlan answered, “Just like you.”
“You’re darn right she does,” Mom said. “You said your women were baking. Are you milling flour?”
“No, not yet,” Titus responded, “we still have a good supply. But with sharing our food with all the townsfolk that are helping us, it won’t last much longer. Some of the boys are trying to build a grinding mill.”
“So are we,” Larry retorted, “but it would sure be nicer if we could find one.”
“You mean one that’s operating?” Grandpop asked.
“I was thinking about an unused one,” Larry replied, “if there was one operating somewhere, then that would be even sweeter.”
“I’ll ask around in my travels,” Titus offered. “Wait a minute. On our way here, we passed an old mill near a golf course. Do you know where I mean?”
“Sure,” answered Harvey, “I know where you mean, and there’s one about three miles north of here, too. You thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Probably,” Titus said.
“You mean we should investigate them?” Larry wondered. “There could be an old grinding mill in good enough repair for us to use or fix. Or maybe it would work right where it is. They were both run by a waterwheel years ago. We might be able to get them operational.”
“We wouldn’t have to be the operators,” Dennis added. “Someone else could be set up there to handle that chore. Like some of the people migrating from the town or city.”
“Then we’d just have to take some of our wheat there every so often and bring back flour; like my grandparents did,” Poppop said.
“Either way, like Larry said, it’s worth investigating,” Josh said. “It might be easier than building our own from scratch.”
“Something we can do on a rainy day,” Harvey said. “When this weather turns dryer, we’ll be busy here. In your travels, Titus, have you discussed with anyone how they might be planning on putting hay away?”
“Got a couple of ideas,” Titus replied. “First, a few farms north of town have a lot of acreage in hay and only a few livestock to graze it. Been talking with one of them, Amos Adam. We’re already planning to shift our produce workers from town out there when he’s ready to harvest some. He’d also need to borrow a few of our teams to haul the hay to the barn. Last I talked to him he was rounding up scythes, sickles, rakes and forks. When I left him, he was in the shop, sharpening.”
“It’s a shame there aren’t any ground driven mowers around this area,” Harlan added. “Down where my family lived, many of our Amish neighbors still used them. Used teams to pull them, as well as rakes and tedders. If you were lucky, you might find some old ones in a fencerow, in the woods or on a junk pile that you could repair,” he said to Harvey. “Titus, are you going to mention Sam Burke’s idea?”
“That was the second idea I was thinking of,” Titus continued. “Sam Burke’s a neighbor of ours; has a pretty good machine shop. He’s trying to convert some of the power driven mowers we have to ground drive, so they can be operated by horses instead of tractors. It’s quite an undertaking. I’ll let you know how he makes out. If successful, he might be able to convert yours or at least give you the design.”
“Anything like that would be useful,” Harvey said. “You know, Titus, you’re doing a valuable service by gathering and sharing information as you travel about. Keep up the good work.”
“Thanks, I’ll try,” he answered.
To be continued… is there more to Titus’ story? Mort
“Good horse hay I could use the most. I usually try to end up at a farm that doesn’t have livestock. They’re much more willing to part with some. You have a lot of livestock here, so I’d understand if you wouldn’t want to part with any.”
“Our hay is valuable,” Harvey responded. “But no more valuable than the load of produce you started out with this morning. How many bales does your wagon hold?”
“About 85.”
“Good enough,” Harvey decided, “I’ll apply the Golden Rule again. And you know your horses will need a night’s rest to pull over two tons of hay home.”
“That settles it then,” Dad said, “you’re staying the night.”
“I guess we are,” Titus agreed.
Fortunately, during the whole conversation, no one had started to unhitch the horses; so we drove the wagon right over to the springhouse to unload and store the fruit and vegetables. “Put one of the watermelons right into the spring water,” Dad instructed. “Should make it cold enough for supper. Tomorrow we’ll send word to Butch. They can use some fresh produce, too. I think he’s particularly fond of hot peppers. I know you and I aren’t, are we Alyssa?”
“No we’re not,” I answered, “but watermelon I can handle.” After letting the horses have a long drink, we drove the wagon to the barn where the hay was that Harvey had traded. On the way we dropped the honey and the sweet corn at the butcher house. Lois was the cook for supper and was quite agreeable to adding the corn to her planned meal, as there’d be two extra for supper.
Titus and Harlan unhitched the wagon next to the pile of hay. We led the horses back to the pasture, where they could spend the whole night eating grass. Dad brought them each five ears of corn.
“That’ll do them fine,” Titus said. The men folk had started milking; supper, of course, wasn’t near ready, so the four of us started loading the hay. My grandfathers joined us, which led to quite a conversation. Trouble was, I only could understand what Dad was saying. The others spoke in the Pennsylvania German dialect. If Dad listened real closely, he could understand, but he had never learned well enough how to speak in German. Of course he often tried. Usually got some laughs, the way he butchered it, generally messing up the grammar. Today was no different – he tried – the others would chuckle. From what I caught from Dad’s percentage of the conversation, they talked about old times and who lived on which farm. Seemed like Poppop and Dad knew everybody. They talked about the improvements to the butcher house, our plan to pump water, how we divided up the cows and our dilemma with using electric motors. It didn’t take long to get 85 bales onto the wagon. We used baler twine to fasten the load. Didn’t need to use the braided rope Dad and I had made. The load of hay wasn’t going to careen down the road at 55 miles per hour; it would stay on. As we tied on the last pieces of twine, the conversation ended with talk of some of the things we were looking for.
I heard Titus sum it up by saying, “Yeah, when I’m on my trading missions I can keep an eye open for you for those things like a wringer washer, a breeding bull, or a smaller generator.
“Thanks a lot,” Poppop said, “and if you would, we’re going to need something else; seed for next year’s crops. Trouble is, so does everyone else.”
“That’s right,” Dad added, “but one thing I think you do have, Titus, that I hope you can spare, is sweet potatoes.”
“I have quite a few growing,” Titus answered. “I’ll keep a share for you.”
“Thanks,” said Dad. “Well, it looks like the rest are heading in for supper. Let’s go wash up and join ‘em. I can almost taste that fresh sweet corn already.”
“And our homemade butter on it,” I added.
It was a fine supper, and after the watermelon was devoured and the supper dishes were finished, we learned a few more things about Titus’s community. “You know our lifestyle hasn’t changed that much since the power went off,” he commented. “We still farm and travel with horses. We milk by hand and fork silage by hand. We have wood fires and butcher our livestock at home. We’re canning like we did before. We go to church every Sunday by buggy or bicycle. Didn’t have televisions, radios or computers; don’t miss them. The women are making homemade baked goods. And our children are going to school.”
“Your schools are open?” Jake asked.
“Sure,” Titus answered, “Monday was the first day at our one room schoolhouses. Our children walk or bike to school. The teacher goes by buggy and brings a cooler of spring water for the students. We don’t need electricity this time of year. When it turns colder, the heat source is a wood stove. We’ll have to come up with some lighting eventually. There’s time to figure some things out yet.”
“If your school’s in session, how come you’re not there, Harlan?” Sandy asked.
“I’m fourteen, and finished eighth grade last year,” he said. “We only go to school eight years.”
“Learned all you need to know, I bet,” I said.
“Oh, I’m sure I’ve got a lot to learn yet,” Harlan answered, “Just like you.”
“You’re darn right she does,” Mom said. “You said your women were baking. Are you milling flour?”
“No, not yet,” Titus responded, “we still have a good supply. But with sharing our food with all the townsfolk that are helping us, it won’t last much longer. Some of the boys are trying to build a grinding mill.”
“So are we,” Larry retorted, “but it would sure be nicer if we could find one.”
“You mean one that’s operating?” Grandpop asked.
“I was thinking about an unused one,” Larry replied, “if there was one operating somewhere, then that would be even sweeter.”
“I’ll ask around in my travels,” Titus offered. “Wait a minute. On our way here, we passed an old mill near a golf course. Do you know where I mean?”
“Sure,” answered Harvey, “I know where you mean, and there’s one about three miles north of here, too. You thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Probably,” Titus said.
“You mean we should investigate them?” Larry wondered. “There could be an old grinding mill in good enough repair for us to use or fix. Or maybe it would work right where it is. They were both run by a waterwheel years ago. We might be able to get them operational.”
“We wouldn’t have to be the operators,” Dennis added. “Someone else could be set up there to handle that chore. Like some of the people migrating from the town or city.”
“Then we’d just have to take some of our wheat there every so often and bring back flour; like my grandparents did,” Poppop said.
“Either way, like Larry said, it’s worth investigating,” Josh said. “It might be easier than building our own from scratch.”
“Something we can do on a rainy day,” Harvey said. “When this weather turns dryer, we’ll be busy here. In your travels, Titus, have you discussed with anyone how they might be planning on putting hay away?”
“Got a couple of ideas,” Titus replied. “First, a few farms north of town have a lot of acreage in hay and only a few livestock to graze it. Been talking with one of them, Amos Adam. We’re already planning to shift our produce workers from town out there when he’s ready to harvest some. He’d also need to borrow a few of our teams to haul the hay to the barn. Last I talked to him he was rounding up scythes, sickles, rakes and forks. When I left him, he was in the shop, sharpening.”
“It’s a shame there aren’t any ground driven mowers around this area,” Harlan added. “Down where my family lived, many of our Amish neighbors still used them. Used teams to pull them, as well as rakes and tedders. If you were lucky, you might find some old ones in a fencerow, in the woods or on a junk pile that you could repair,” he said to Harvey. “Titus, are you going to mention Sam Burke’s idea?”
“That was the second idea I was thinking of,” Titus continued. “Sam Burke’s a neighbor of ours; has a pretty good machine shop. He’s trying to convert some of the power driven mowers we have to ground drive, so they can be operated by horses instead of tractors. It’s quite an undertaking. I’ll let you know how he makes out. If successful, he might be able to convert yours or at least give you the design.”
“Anything like that would be useful,” Harvey said. “You know, Titus, you’re doing a valuable service by gathering and sharing information as you travel about. Keep up the good work.”
“Thanks, I’ll try,” he answered.
To be continued… is there more to Titus’ story? Mort
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
CHAPTER THIRTEEN - THINGS
Titus Weaver was an old chum of Dad’s. They had gone to elementary school together for the first five grades. Then the Mennonites built their first one room schoolhouse in the neighborhood and Titus finished his schooling there. Titus was extremely bright. Years later, Titus told Dad that he treated his years of school with Dad as a competition; always trying to better him. Dad had said he really hadn’t remembered, but credited Titus for his ambition and for complementing his ambitious and competitive spirit with a kind, friendly attitude. Titus was very outgoing and not afraid to speak his peace. Dad loved talking to him, about almost anything. They had gone their separate ways for many years. Titus had moved and his farm was at least twelve miles from Harvey’s.
But about 20 years ago, a group of farmers shifted some of their cash grain and livestock operations to produce. Titus was instrumental in leading the way, helping to start a produce auction in the neighborhood. Soon after that, Dad started growing some produce, too, opening the door to seeing more of Titus. Today you could tell Titus was in the produce business, for on his wagon were several boxes of fruits and vegetables, some almost empty. Harvey, Joe, Dad and I walked over and took a look. He had sweet corn, cantaloupes, watermelons, cabbage, lima beans, green and hot peppers, peaches and a few jars of honey. You could also tell he and Dad had a special bond between them, for as Titus jumped off the wagon he gave Dad a hug as fellow believers are instructed to do.
“Glad to see you Titus,” Dad started.
“And you, too,” he replied.
“What in the world brings you so far from home?” Dad asked.
“Well you know my farm and many of my neighbors are growing produce. For years we had an excellent market, but because the people in our sect don’t use rubber tired vehicles, we depended on others coming to the auction or to the farm. Those who had motor vehicles would buy and haul away our produce. When the supply of fuel dried up, so did our market. We’ve got plenty of produce and people still need food, so everyday I load up the wagon and travel to sell, trade, or give it away. Never did intend to get this far from home, though. This afternoon I reached your old place, anxious to see how you were making out. Your landlord told me where you live now. I still had produce on the wagon, so I decided to spend the extra time and drive the extra miles, just to see you.”
“I’m flattered, I guess,” Dad answered. “But how can you take the time away from home, what with all the work you must have?”
“You wouldn’t believe the help we have. Since the power went off, folks from town come to the farm everyday. First they came just looking for water, food and work. Our water pump is powered by a windmill; no problem there. And we were certainly willing to share our produce especially with people who want to work. Now it has become a real working relationship. I’ve had over one hundred people on my farm some days. Men, women and children; they all work hard. Not only weeding and picking produce, but with the livestock, too; we also spend a lot of time and effort canning and drying fruits and vegetables. We’re putting a real emphasis on drying, as we’re running out of canning supplies. Still, everyday the townsfolk bring empty jars and lids they used or found at home. We have a great feast of fruits and vegetables, and of course, all the workers go home with some, too; their earnings for the day. Not only on my farm, now mind you, but almost every farm in our community is operating pretty much the same way. Not all our help is local, however.
“How’s that?” Harvey asked.
“Well, things aren’t going nearly as smoothly nearer the city. You’re aware of the Amish and Mennonite communities located in the counties south of here, only ten to fifteen miles from the city limits?” Titus questioned.
“Yes,” Harvey answered.
“There’s been a lot of trouble there. Unlike our neighbors, who came to the farm willing to work for what they need, seems like the city dwellers think they have a right to everything,” Titus lamented.
“Years of entitlement programs,” Joe interjected.
“I suppose so,” Titus continued. “In my mind, it’s more of a lack of morals and absence of kindness in their hearts. This here’s Harlan, by the way. He’s my cousin’s son.”
“Glad to meet you,” Dad said for all of us.
“And you too,” Harlan said.
Titus concluded, “His family lived near Friarstown, close to the city… too close. They had to leave; came and moved in with us. I’ll let him tell you why.”
“You know our people practice passive resistance,” Harlan related, “so we daren’t lift a finger to oppose someone. Of course, we gladly shared our water and our food with the first refugees who came out from the city. Some paid, some worked for it. We even opened our homes for some of them, if they needed it. But that wasn’t good enough for some; they wanted more. First, while they still had gasoline, they’d come in their cars as they fled the city and want the trunk filled up with all the food they could take. What could we do? We don’t resist. But our other guests weren’t so inclined to put up with such antagonism. Over our objections, fights would break out. Usually they ended with little injury, but a lot of hurt still the same.”
“So they took things; OK it was just things. But next they wanted our horses. I understood they were trying to head south, toward warmer climes, and they knew their gasoline would only go so far. Passive resistance was put to the test. Our horses are our livelihood. But we only fought with words – angry words. Fortunately, they worked for my father. However he knew we had to flee. Loaded everything we could onto our three wagons and two buggies, tied a few cows onto the back and headed north to this community.”
“Others didn’t fare as well. Some of our brothers were beat up pretty bad – two were shot. I know one is healing OK; he made it up to here. I have no idea how the other one fared, or anyone else we left behind, for that matter. Hopefully the worst of society has already been through. I’m certainly glad to be here; it’s so much more peaceful,” Harlan concluded.
“Yes, around here it has been peaceful,” Harvey said. “And we’re glad you made it here, too.”
Joe said, “We have to keep praying for those people; both the members of your community and the perpetrators. Listen, Titus, your horses had a long hot trek already today. Couldn’t they use some water and feed?”
“Feed they can have tonight at home,” Titus said. “They just had rest and some grass along the roadside a few miles back. But water is necessary.”
“Then lead ‘em right over to the creek,” Dad said. “In fact, why don’t you unhitch them? It’s late in the day and a long walk home for them. Why don’t you spend the night? You can get an early start in the morning.”
“Naw, we couldn’t, I mean…”
“Ah, I should have thought,” Dad continued, “your missus and Harlan’s mother wouldn’t know where you are. It would be a rough night for them. We don’t know how to send them smoke signals, like the Indians did.”
“No we don’t,” Titus responded. “And that’s not it, either. When we leave home every morning, the others are aware we might run into some trouble and might have difficulty returning the same day. We know Jesus looks after us. Those at home would be at peace – peace that comes from the Lord.”
“Amen,” said Joe.
Titus went on, “We just wouldn’t want to impose. You’ve enough troubles trying to make a go of it. Why would you want four more mouths to feed?”
“Nonsense,” said Harvey, “the Golden Rule applies here. You’re welcome here just like we’d be welcome at your place. Get those horses unhitched, watered, fed and rested. Besides, by the looks of your wagon, we have some serious trading to do.”
“Titus,” Joe wondered, “you said earlier, ‘buy, trade, or give it away’. Have you been accepting money?”
“Interesting you should ask,” Titus responded. “Not paper money. We started using coins for exchanges between ourselves, not always having goods in kind. And some of the town folks have their pride – hate to accept charity – insisted on paying. They knew their paper money was worthless as well as any funds they had in bank accounts, so forget about checks. However coins still have intrinsic value, so we accept them… at extremely deflated prices.”
“You mean a nickel’s worth something again?” Dad asked.
“It’ll buy you a watermelon,” Harlan retorted.
“Wow!” Joe said, as he looked over the wagon. “Reckon we can buy everything on the wagon for six quarters.”
“I reckon that would be just about right. Unless you have goods to trade?” Titus asked.
“Here we go again,” Harvey countered. “What do we have that you need?”
“Hay,” Titus answered. “When shipping milk as you knew it stopped, the larger dairy farmers in our community spread the cows over all the farms in the neighborhood to distribute the work and the milk. Those of us that had some, swapped back steers. It was important that the dairies have enough animals to consume the corn silage and haylage in their silos at a rate fast enough to prevent spoilage.”
“That’s always tricky this time of year,” Harvey said, “when it’s so hot.”
“Right,” Titus responded, “work wise, it’s holding out really well. Feed wise, it’s a different story.”
“How so?” Dad asked.
“Most of us have a silo or two that we fed our steers from. Some contained corn silage, a few haylage. We can still fork the silage out by hand to feed the cows, steers and heifers. What with the cows from the neighbor, the steers I didn’t swap and the cows Harlan’s parents brought, we have 35 head to feed; more than enough to feed at a rate that prevents spoilage. Problem is - silo’s soon empty. We might try to ensile some corn, but it takes precious fuel to chop it. We also might want the grain for ourselves to eat. Fortunately cattle can eat corn fodder and vegetable stalks. That’s our dilemma; we’ll have to work it out. What compounds the problem is that with so many acres diverted to produce, there were not many acres of corn grown this year and virtually no hay crop acres. We found it more expeditious and profitable to buy the hay we needed at the produce auction.”
“The auction that hasn’t operated since the middle of July,” Joe added.
“Right,” Titus said, “bottom line is – we need hay. Every trip of produce I take out, I try to bring a load of hay home. In my mind, a load of hay is worth more than the six quarters you offered for the balance of the produce left on my wagon. But I had the wagon full when I left home. I didn’t sell all of it; some I traded for the honey and some I gave away. But in the process I collected another two dollars and eight-five cents in coins. You can have it all for a load of hay.”
To be continued… will the trade go through? Mort
But about 20 years ago, a group of farmers shifted some of their cash grain and livestock operations to produce. Titus was instrumental in leading the way, helping to start a produce auction in the neighborhood. Soon after that, Dad started growing some produce, too, opening the door to seeing more of Titus. Today you could tell Titus was in the produce business, for on his wagon were several boxes of fruits and vegetables, some almost empty. Harvey, Joe, Dad and I walked over and took a look. He had sweet corn, cantaloupes, watermelons, cabbage, lima beans, green and hot peppers, peaches and a few jars of honey. You could also tell he and Dad had a special bond between them, for as Titus jumped off the wagon he gave Dad a hug as fellow believers are instructed to do.
“Glad to see you Titus,” Dad started.
“And you, too,” he replied.
“What in the world brings you so far from home?” Dad asked.
“Well you know my farm and many of my neighbors are growing produce. For years we had an excellent market, but because the people in our sect don’t use rubber tired vehicles, we depended on others coming to the auction or to the farm. Those who had motor vehicles would buy and haul away our produce. When the supply of fuel dried up, so did our market. We’ve got plenty of produce and people still need food, so everyday I load up the wagon and travel to sell, trade, or give it away. Never did intend to get this far from home, though. This afternoon I reached your old place, anxious to see how you were making out. Your landlord told me where you live now. I still had produce on the wagon, so I decided to spend the extra time and drive the extra miles, just to see you.”
“I’m flattered, I guess,” Dad answered. “But how can you take the time away from home, what with all the work you must have?”
“You wouldn’t believe the help we have. Since the power went off, folks from town come to the farm everyday. First they came just looking for water, food and work. Our water pump is powered by a windmill; no problem there. And we were certainly willing to share our produce especially with people who want to work. Now it has become a real working relationship. I’ve had over one hundred people on my farm some days. Men, women and children; they all work hard. Not only weeding and picking produce, but with the livestock, too; we also spend a lot of time and effort canning and drying fruits and vegetables. We’re putting a real emphasis on drying, as we’re running out of canning supplies. Still, everyday the townsfolk bring empty jars and lids they used or found at home. We have a great feast of fruits and vegetables, and of course, all the workers go home with some, too; their earnings for the day. Not only on my farm, now mind you, but almost every farm in our community is operating pretty much the same way. Not all our help is local, however.
“How’s that?” Harvey asked.
“Well, things aren’t going nearly as smoothly nearer the city. You’re aware of the Amish and Mennonite communities located in the counties south of here, only ten to fifteen miles from the city limits?” Titus questioned.
“Yes,” Harvey answered.
“There’s been a lot of trouble there. Unlike our neighbors, who came to the farm willing to work for what they need, seems like the city dwellers think they have a right to everything,” Titus lamented.
“Years of entitlement programs,” Joe interjected.
“I suppose so,” Titus continued. “In my mind, it’s more of a lack of morals and absence of kindness in their hearts. This here’s Harlan, by the way. He’s my cousin’s son.”
“Glad to meet you,” Dad said for all of us.
“And you too,” Harlan said.
Titus concluded, “His family lived near Friarstown, close to the city… too close. They had to leave; came and moved in with us. I’ll let him tell you why.”
“You know our people practice passive resistance,” Harlan related, “so we daren’t lift a finger to oppose someone. Of course, we gladly shared our water and our food with the first refugees who came out from the city. Some paid, some worked for it. We even opened our homes for some of them, if they needed it. But that wasn’t good enough for some; they wanted more. First, while they still had gasoline, they’d come in their cars as they fled the city and want the trunk filled up with all the food they could take. What could we do? We don’t resist. But our other guests weren’t so inclined to put up with such antagonism. Over our objections, fights would break out. Usually they ended with little injury, but a lot of hurt still the same.”
“So they took things; OK it was just things. But next they wanted our horses. I understood they were trying to head south, toward warmer climes, and they knew their gasoline would only go so far. Passive resistance was put to the test. Our horses are our livelihood. But we only fought with words – angry words. Fortunately, they worked for my father. However he knew we had to flee. Loaded everything we could onto our three wagons and two buggies, tied a few cows onto the back and headed north to this community.”
“Others didn’t fare as well. Some of our brothers were beat up pretty bad – two were shot. I know one is healing OK; he made it up to here. I have no idea how the other one fared, or anyone else we left behind, for that matter. Hopefully the worst of society has already been through. I’m certainly glad to be here; it’s so much more peaceful,” Harlan concluded.
“Yes, around here it has been peaceful,” Harvey said. “And we’re glad you made it here, too.”
Joe said, “We have to keep praying for those people; both the members of your community and the perpetrators. Listen, Titus, your horses had a long hot trek already today. Couldn’t they use some water and feed?”
“Feed they can have tonight at home,” Titus said. “They just had rest and some grass along the roadside a few miles back. But water is necessary.”
“Then lead ‘em right over to the creek,” Dad said. “In fact, why don’t you unhitch them? It’s late in the day and a long walk home for them. Why don’t you spend the night? You can get an early start in the morning.”
“Naw, we couldn’t, I mean…”
“Ah, I should have thought,” Dad continued, “your missus and Harlan’s mother wouldn’t know where you are. It would be a rough night for them. We don’t know how to send them smoke signals, like the Indians did.”
“No we don’t,” Titus responded. “And that’s not it, either. When we leave home every morning, the others are aware we might run into some trouble and might have difficulty returning the same day. We know Jesus looks after us. Those at home would be at peace – peace that comes from the Lord.”
“Amen,” said Joe.
Titus went on, “We just wouldn’t want to impose. You’ve enough troubles trying to make a go of it. Why would you want four more mouths to feed?”
“Nonsense,” said Harvey, “the Golden Rule applies here. You’re welcome here just like we’d be welcome at your place. Get those horses unhitched, watered, fed and rested. Besides, by the looks of your wagon, we have some serious trading to do.”
“Titus,” Joe wondered, “you said earlier, ‘buy, trade, or give it away’. Have you been accepting money?”
“Interesting you should ask,” Titus responded. “Not paper money. We started using coins for exchanges between ourselves, not always having goods in kind. And some of the town folks have their pride – hate to accept charity – insisted on paying. They knew their paper money was worthless as well as any funds they had in bank accounts, so forget about checks. However coins still have intrinsic value, so we accept them… at extremely deflated prices.”
“You mean a nickel’s worth something again?” Dad asked.
“It’ll buy you a watermelon,” Harlan retorted.
“Wow!” Joe said, as he looked over the wagon. “Reckon we can buy everything on the wagon for six quarters.”
“I reckon that would be just about right. Unless you have goods to trade?” Titus asked.
“Here we go again,” Harvey countered. “What do we have that you need?”
“Hay,” Titus answered. “When shipping milk as you knew it stopped, the larger dairy farmers in our community spread the cows over all the farms in the neighborhood to distribute the work and the milk. Those of us that had some, swapped back steers. It was important that the dairies have enough animals to consume the corn silage and haylage in their silos at a rate fast enough to prevent spoilage.”
“That’s always tricky this time of year,” Harvey said, “when it’s so hot.”
“Right,” Titus responded, “work wise, it’s holding out really well. Feed wise, it’s a different story.”
“How so?” Dad asked.
“Most of us have a silo or two that we fed our steers from. Some contained corn silage, a few haylage. We can still fork the silage out by hand to feed the cows, steers and heifers. What with the cows from the neighbor, the steers I didn’t swap and the cows Harlan’s parents brought, we have 35 head to feed; more than enough to feed at a rate that prevents spoilage. Problem is - silo’s soon empty. We might try to ensile some corn, but it takes precious fuel to chop it. We also might want the grain for ourselves to eat. Fortunately cattle can eat corn fodder and vegetable stalks. That’s our dilemma; we’ll have to work it out. What compounds the problem is that with so many acres diverted to produce, there were not many acres of corn grown this year and virtually no hay crop acres. We found it more expeditious and profitable to buy the hay we needed at the produce auction.”
“The auction that hasn’t operated since the middle of July,” Joe added.
“Right,” Titus said, “bottom line is – we need hay. Every trip of produce I take out, I try to bring a load of hay home. In my mind, a load of hay is worth more than the six quarters you offered for the balance of the produce left on my wagon. But I had the wagon full when I left home. I didn’t sell all of it; some I traded for the honey and some I gave away. But in the process I collected another two dollars and eight-five cents in coins. You can have it all for a load of hay.”
To be continued… will the trade go through? Mort
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
Chapter Twelve - Traders - conclusion
When we arrived, Dad, Clare, and Ben had everything back in order: new clean straw on the chicken house, fresh feed in the feeders and clean water in the waterers; mission accomplished.
“Good job everyone,” Butch said. “Why don’t you wash the sweat and smell off of you, and then I’ll grab a couple fishing poles and you can try your luck in our pond.”
Sounded good to me. I hadn’t fished that often; wasn’t one of Dad’s obsessions. But he went along anyway, with Butch and Ben. Robbie was the fisherman, however, and proudly carried his can of worms to the pond. Now I got it; they were bait. Robbie showed us how to put the squirming mealworms on a hook and how to throw the line into the pond.
Butch said, “Most important part of fishing, least around here, is picking the right spot to sit, so the sun doesn’t hit you.” I guess catching fish wasn’t the main objective. In fact, when Robbie finally did catch the first one, Butch gently removed the hook from its mouth and tossed it back into the pond. “Someday, when he’s a bit bigger, we might need him for a meal. For now, just let ‘em grow,” he concluded.
So in the shade we sat, more resting than fishing, more fishing than catching. While we were there, Dad had a few things to go over with Butch and Ben. He told them about how Harvey and the boys were building the shower house and installing the water pump, tank and lines. He related our trading activities with the Sensenig’s, the training of the oxen, and the plans for the oven and flour mill. He wondered if they had come up with any kind of wringer for the washing machine. They hadn’t. He mentioned how we could charge automotive batteries with the alternators from our cars and trucks.
“Additionally, we still wish we could solve the problem we have with converting our motors from 110 volt alternating current to 12 volt direct current,” Dad said. “You’re the electrical engineer, Ben. How do we do it?”
“With transformers,” was Ben’s answer.
“But can you build some?” Dad inquired. “Or restructure the transformers we have that go the other way, like for the electric fencer or flashlight charger?”
“I could if I had the right materials, tools, and schematics. I just can’t remember from my student days what they looked like, but I don’t think we could find the needed materials anyway,” Ben responded.
Dad kinda pursed his lips tightly together and squinted his eyes. “Well,” he eventually said, “if we can’t convert the motors to 12 volt, we’re back to trying to make 110 volt alternating current. We’ll just have to continue to investigate sources of power that would turn that 45 horsepower generator Harvey has.”
“Or,” Butch said, “find a smaller generator, say 4500 to 6500 watts, that only needs ten to twelve horsepower to turn; one that you might be able to turn with a windmill, waterwheel, or animal wheel.”
“Animal wheel?” Ben wondered.
“Yeah,’ Butch replied, “they used to have one at the folk festival, remember?”
“I do,” Dad said, “It was like the wheel the Philistines made Samson turn.”
“Right,” Butch went on, “you could use some of your steers or heifers, assuming you could train them. Probably would be more difficult, however, than training your oxen when they’re young.”
“Or we could use teams of horses,” Dad added.
“I suppose we could,” Butch agreed, “but first we would need to find a smaller generator.”
“Back to trading again,” Dad said.
“I guess so,” Ben said. “Or if we could trade for solar panels; they would be incredibly helpful.”
“And valuable,” Dad added, “so who would give any up?”
“Someone who needed food more than electricity. We have a source of food,” Butch replied. “Or could we build some panels of our own?”
“Not without photoelectric cells. I don’t know even what to build them out of. The frame, glass, and wires we’d probably have. Look for some of them too, when you’re trading,” Ben suggested.
“Or 12 volt motors; we can make direct current for them,” Dad said.
“Wait a minute,” Ben said, “we have 12 volt motors.”
“What do you mean? Where?” Dad asked.
“On every motor vehicle,” Ben responded, “what we call the starters; they’re technically called cranking motors. They’re 12 volt and direct current. They’ll run off the batteries we can charge with the automotive alternators like you talked about earlier.”
“Wow!” exclaimed Dad, “why didn’t we think of that?”
“Well, I’ll be,” added Butch, “the solution was there all along.”
“Just needed someone to show us. Thanks a lot, Ben,” Dad said. “But Joe said the other day: ‘as soon as we have a good idea, glitches develop’. I guess in this case I have to wonder if starters can handle continuous service. They don’t run that way in a car; just for short bursts. And they run at high rpm’s, I think. Hope we can reduce it.”
“Don’t kill an idea with negative thoughts,” Butch said. “I know in some matters, like safety or health issues, you might have to be surer of things, but in this case, just start experimenting. You might be surprised.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” Dad replied. “I’m sure the boys will be glad to hear the suggestion and will run with it. Hey! It just occurred to me; there are other 12 volt motors in our cars. Think about it.”
Ben cocked his head, looked at Dad, and then as if a spark had ignited in his brain, he jolted out, “The power window motors and the windshield wiper motors.”
“Right,” said Butch, “and the wiper motors are designed to run continuously. Oh, we’re going to have fun adapting them to our appliances.”
“I think we will,” Dad agreed. “Now, I have one more matter before we head for home.”
“What’s that?” Butch asked.
“Making hay,” Dad continued. “One of these days the weather’s going to break. Next Monday’s Labor Day; only gives us three or four weeks of decent hay drying weather. Most of the hayfields at Harvey’s are being grazed off. But here and on Harvey’s other rented farm there are some fields that should be harvested and stored for the winter. Especially here, so you have enough feed for your horses; they’re valuable. We’ve thought it through and it’s been decided that we’ll use a little fuel to cut just some parts of the hayfields; you know, get them started and then finish mowing by hand. We have four scythes and a few sickles. Do you have some?”
“Just a few,” Butch answered.
“It will have to do,” Dad went on. “If we have more workers than implements, that gives more opportunities for breaks for the workers; will keep the tools in continuous operation. We figure the hardest and most time consuming part of the operation is the mowing. That’s part of the reason we’re willing to use some precious fuel to mow some of the hay. We think we have enough pitchforks and rakes to get darn near all of us into the field for turning, raking and loading the hay. Hopefully we can keep two wagons and teams busy going back and forth from field to barn. That’s your part Butch; you up to it?”
“Bring it on,” he answered, “three teams if needed.”
“And when we go at it, we’ll need everyone in on the act,” Dad added.
“Don’t know why it wouldn’t work,” Butch replied. “Everyone around here has the spirit of cooperation, knowing we have to, to survive. When might we start?”
“Hard to say. We’ve no weather forecast. Have to rely on Poppop’s, my, and Harvey’s skill of reading the skies. Could be anytime. Once Harvey makes up his mind, things are going to move. Don’t be surprised if Larry comes up your lane in the middle of the night to start mowing,” Dad concluded.
Butch smiled, stuck up a thumb and said, “We’ll be ready.”
We put away the fishing gear. There were no keepers. Robbie said he didn’t feel like cleaning fish anyway. We said our goodbyes and back down the road we went.
“Oh, shoot,” I said to Dad, “we didn’t make arrangements for our next play session.”
“You mean work session,” he answered. “Don’t worry. We’ll be seeing a lot of each other when the weather turns.”
When we got home, Harvey and Poppop were already back. The boys had the milk tank over at the butcher house. They said they’d wait until tomorrow to place it on the foundation. There was cattle work to do now. As we walked out to the barn, we looked down the road and noticed a wagon pulled by a team of horses. Not Clydesdales like Butch had. They were smaller and sleeker; looked much like the horses the Mennonites used. And sure enough, as the wagon got close enough to see the driver, we could see he wore a straw hat and the typical plain garb of the Mennonites. He had a passenger, a boy about half grown, dressed the same way.
“Looks like more traders,” Dad said. And as the team pulled up to us, a big smile appeared on Dad’s face, “Well I’ll be,” he said, “if it isn’t Titus Weaver.”
To be continued… Who’s Titus Weaver? … Mort
“Good job everyone,” Butch said. “Why don’t you wash the sweat and smell off of you, and then I’ll grab a couple fishing poles and you can try your luck in our pond.”
Sounded good to me. I hadn’t fished that often; wasn’t one of Dad’s obsessions. But he went along anyway, with Butch and Ben. Robbie was the fisherman, however, and proudly carried his can of worms to the pond. Now I got it; they were bait. Robbie showed us how to put the squirming mealworms on a hook and how to throw the line into the pond.
Butch said, “Most important part of fishing, least around here, is picking the right spot to sit, so the sun doesn’t hit you.” I guess catching fish wasn’t the main objective. In fact, when Robbie finally did catch the first one, Butch gently removed the hook from its mouth and tossed it back into the pond. “Someday, when he’s a bit bigger, we might need him for a meal. For now, just let ‘em grow,” he concluded.
So in the shade we sat, more resting than fishing, more fishing than catching. While we were there, Dad had a few things to go over with Butch and Ben. He told them about how Harvey and the boys were building the shower house and installing the water pump, tank and lines. He related our trading activities with the Sensenig’s, the training of the oxen, and the plans for the oven and flour mill. He wondered if they had come up with any kind of wringer for the washing machine. They hadn’t. He mentioned how we could charge automotive batteries with the alternators from our cars and trucks.
“Additionally, we still wish we could solve the problem we have with converting our motors from 110 volt alternating current to 12 volt direct current,” Dad said. “You’re the electrical engineer, Ben. How do we do it?”
“With transformers,” was Ben’s answer.
“But can you build some?” Dad inquired. “Or restructure the transformers we have that go the other way, like for the electric fencer or flashlight charger?”
“I could if I had the right materials, tools, and schematics. I just can’t remember from my student days what they looked like, but I don’t think we could find the needed materials anyway,” Ben responded.
Dad kinda pursed his lips tightly together and squinted his eyes. “Well,” he eventually said, “if we can’t convert the motors to 12 volt, we’re back to trying to make 110 volt alternating current. We’ll just have to continue to investigate sources of power that would turn that 45 horsepower generator Harvey has.”
“Or,” Butch said, “find a smaller generator, say 4500 to 6500 watts, that only needs ten to twelve horsepower to turn; one that you might be able to turn with a windmill, waterwheel, or animal wheel.”
“Animal wheel?” Ben wondered.
“Yeah,’ Butch replied, “they used to have one at the folk festival, remember?”
“I do,” Dad said, “It was like the wheel the Philistines made Samson turn.”
“Right,” Butch went on, “you could use some of your steers or heifers, assuming you could train them. Probably would be more difficult, however, than training your oxen when they’re young.”
“Or we could use teams of horses,” Dad added.
“I suppose we could,” Butch agreed, “but first we would need to find a smaller generator.”
“Back to trading again,” Dad said.
“I guess so,” Ben said. “Or if we could trade for solar panels; they would be incredibly helpful.”
“And valuable,” Dad added, “so who would give any up?”
“Someone who needed food more than electricity. We have a source of food,” Butch replied. “Or could we build some panels of our own?”
“Not without photoelectric cells. I don’t know even what to build them out of. The frame, glass, and wires we’d probably have. Look for some of them too, when you’re trading,” Ben suggested.
“Or 12 volt motors; we can make direct current for them,” Dad said.
“Wait a minute,” Ben said, “we have 12 volt motors.”
“What do you mean? Where?” Dad asked.
“On every motor vehicle,” Ben responded, “what we call the starters; they’re technically called cranking motors. They’re 12 volt and direct current. They’ll run off the batteries we can charge with the automotive alternators like you talked about earlier.”
“Wow!” exclaimed Dad, “why didn’t we think of that?”
“Well, I’ll be,” added Butch, “the solution was there all along.”
“Just needed someone to show us. Thanks a lot, Ben,” Dad said. “But Joe said the other day: ‘as soon as we have a good idea, glitches develop’. I guess in this case I have to wonder if starters can handle continuous service. They don’t run that way in a car; just for short bursts. And they run at high rpm’s, I think. Hope we can reduce it.”
“Don’t kill an idea with negative thoughts,” Butch said. “I know in some matters, like safety or health issues, you might have to be surer of things, but in this case, just start experimenting. You might be surprised.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” Dad replied. “I’m sure the boys will be glad to hear the suggestion and will run with it. Hey! It just occurred to me; there are other 12 volt motors in our cars. Think about it.”
Ben cocked his head, looked at Dad, and then as if a spark had ignited in his brain, he jolted out, “The power window motors and the windshield wiper motors.”
“Right,” said Butch, “and the wiper motors are designed to run continuously. Oh, we’re going to have fun adapting them to our appliances.”
“I think we will,” Dad agreed. “Now, I have one more matter before we head for home.”
“What’s that?” Butch asked.
“Making hay,” Dad continued. “One of these days the weather’s going to break. Next Monday’s Labor Day; only gives us three or four weeks of decent hay drying weather. Most of the hayfields at Harvey’s are being grazed off. But here and on Harvey’s other rented farm there are some fields that should be harvested and stored for the winter. Especially here, so you have enough feed for your horses; they’re valuable. We’ve thought it through and it’s been decided that we’ll use a little fuel to cut just some parts of the hayfields; you know, get them started and then finish mowing by hand. We have four scythes and a few sickles. Do you have some?”
“Just a few,” Butch answered.
“It will have to do,” Dad went on. “If we have more workers than implements, that gives more opportunities for breaks for the workers; will keep the tools in continuous operation. We figure the hardest and most time consuming part of the operation is the mowing. That’s part of the reason we’re willing to use some precious fuel to mow some of the hay. We think we have enough pitchforks and rakes to get darn near all of us into the field for turning, raking and loading the hay. Hopefully we can keep two wagons and teams busy going back and forth from field to barn. That’s your part Butch; you up to it?”
“Bring it on,” he answered, “three teams if needed.”
“And when we go at it, we’ll need everyone in on the act,” Dad added.
“Don’t know why it wouldn’t work,” Butch replied. “Everyone around here has the spirit of cooperation, knowing we have to, to survive. When might we start?”
“Hard to say. We’ve no weather forecast. Have to rely on Poppop’s, my, and Harvey’s skill of reading the skies. Could be anytime. Once Harvey makes up his mind, things are going to move. Don’t be surprised if Larry comes up your lane in the middle of the night to start mowing,” Dad concluded.
Butch smiled, stuck up a thumb and said, “We’ll be ready.”
We put away the fishing gear. There were no keepers. Robbie said he didn’t feel like cleaning fish anyway. We said our goodbyes and back down the road we went.
“Oh, shoot,” I said to Dad, “we didn’t make arrangements for our next play session.”
“You mean work session,” he answered. “Don’t worry. We’ll be seeing a lot of each other when the weather turns.”
When we got home, Harvey and Poppop were already back. The boys had the milk tank over at the butcher house. They said they’d wait until tomorrow to place it on the foundation. There was cattle work to do now. As we walked out to the barn, we looked down the road and noticed a wagon pulled by a team of horses. Not Clydesdales like Butch had. They were smaller and sleeker; looked much like the horses the Mennonites used. And sure enough, as the wagon got close enough to see the driver, we could see he wore a straw hat and the typical plain garb of the Mennonites. He had a passenger, a boy about half grown, dressed the same way.
“Looks like more traders,” Dad said. And as the team pulled up to us, a big smile appeared on Dad’s face, “Well I’ll be,” he said, “if it isn’t Titus Weaver.”
To be continued… Who’s Titus Weaver? … Mort
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