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
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