As we headed into October, the corn and soybean harvests were just weeks away. Vegetable harvest was winding down, however. Poppop’s potatoes were ready for digging, but that first necessitated another construction project. Harvey’s farm lacked a decent ground cellar, where potatoes could be stored in a constant temperature and remain unspoiled for months.
It was another job for Harvey’s backhoe. A bit of thinking was put into the decision as to the location of the ground cellar. At Joe’s insistence, the cellar needed to be high enough to hang a slaughtered beef in, to cool down the carcasses in the summer and to keep them from freezing in the winter. The location had to be somewhere where the ground level was naturally higher, so Harvey could still dig deep, but not so deep as to have groundwater or runoff water be a problem.
They decided on the north side of Harvey’s house, which had a heavy stone wall. Most of the year, the ground cellar would be in the shade, helping to moderate the temperature. There was even a crown at that side of the house, enabling Harvey to excavate the opening as a gently sloping ramp, making it easier to carry a side of beef, a hog or the potatoes into the cellar. Also, just outside the opening was a stout tree that Joe said we could us to hang up the beef to skin and clean it before hanging it in the ground cellar. When Harvey was finished digging, there was a tremendous pile of ground in the yard.
“What are you going to do with all that dirt?” I asked Harvey.
“Oh, I need every inch of it,” he answered. “I might even go find some more to make the roof as thick with ground as I can.”
“What’s going to keep the roof from collapsing?” I inquired.
“Remember last week?” Josh replied, “when we cut down all those trees on the other side of the meadow. They’re not for firewood, although all the branches we shaved off the main trunks can be burned in Harvey’s furnace. We’ll lay the cleaned up poles across the hole, pretty close together for strength. They’ll be supported by the unexcavated soil on three sides, except where the door is. On the side next to the house wall we’ll support them with some heavy metal poles Larry had laying out back. We found some two inch thick planks from one part of the barn floor that we don’t need because we no longer need to drive heavy tractors there. We will lay the planks across the trees and then cover the whole business with ground.”
“What kind of door will it have?” I asked.
“One that’s real thick; one that a little kid like you will hardly be able to open.”
“Who you calling a little kid?”
“You, compared to the door I built. I had plenty of lumber. I made it twelve inches thick with an eight inch space in the middle, where we stuffed straw and some of the insulation from Jean’s stove. You know the one we took apart to make the oven?”
“Yeah, I know,” I said.
“One big chore remains,” he continued.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Framing the door will be a challenge, and then filling in the space between the door and walls with something to keep the cellar as insulated as possible. Don’t worry, we’ll get it.”
And get it they did. It was quite a cooperative effort. Might have been ten men working on it at a time. The finished product looked good. They had screwed some hooks into a few of the tree trunks to hang meat from, and even built some wooden bins to keep the potatoes in. But potatoes weren’t the first thing to be stored in the cellar. We had quite a bit of rain for a couple days, making Poppop’s potato patch way too wet to plow. So we went at harvesting apples instead.
There was a large orchard about five miles north of us. Joe was good friends with the owner. Every year Joe would cut up some of the apple trees that were being culled for his smokehouse. Joe had always maintained that apple wood was the best for flavoring his smoked meat products. On yet another trip with the mo-ped, he had met the owner and we were welcome.
It was the Friday before the planned communion, when we went on our apple picking excursion. Brutus was out of the picture this time. We used Larry’s pickup to pull a wagon stacked with baskets and buckets for the apples. There were six bicycles on the pickup, three ladders, and one hog. We picked up ten pickers from Butch and Clare’s, including Ben and Robbie. I think that made thirty of us in all, so it was more like a wagon full of people.
When we reached the orchard, we found quite a gathering there. We weren’t the only ones who wanted to harvest apples. There must have been two hundred people there, but looking around, I estimated there might have been five thousand trees. Apples for everyone; so I thought. Quite a few people must have been there earlier in the picking season, for all the trees near the buildings were bare. The crowds of pickers were near the top of the hill, way to the back of the orchard. So up the hill we went, looking for apples. Not a problem, there were rows of unpicked fruit for the taking. We unloaded the wagon and the bicycles, and then Joe and Larry took the hog to the owner for his family.
Picking apples isn’t hard, sorting them is a different matter. We put the firmest, nicest looking apples in the baskets and the rattier looking ones, especially if they had brown spots or were getting mushy in buckets. Poppop even picked drops off the ground. Because of all the rain we had, some of them were pretty bad, but this wasn’t the year to be wasteful.
The other people there were friendly. In fact, I believe Dad knew many of them. There were a couple families from church, so we informed them of the communion Sunday. Actually, Dad told everyone they were welcome and not to worry if they had no food for the dinner; they should come anyway.
“Not a problem,” one young woman answered, “we got plenty of apples, a Dutch oven and plenty of flour. I’ll bake a giant pie.” That sounded good, but divided amongst four or five hundred people, we’d all get a pretty small portion. No matter, if she could do it, so could Jean.
We started loading buckets and baskets onto the wagon. It was full in no time. It took quite some doing to stack them, so there would still be room for the harvesters. Of course, Josh, Jake, Dean, Jennifer, Aaron and I intended to head home with our bicycles. Seemed like a much better option than being crammed into a wagon with buckets, baskets, and people. Once again, some preplanning had paid off.
Just before we left, I noticed Poppop and Jeremiah coming back from a different part of the orchard, each with two buckets. They had found the peach and pear sections. It being past the normal season for them, the pears were very soft and spotty. Similarly, the peaches were already shriveled up.
“What are you going to do with them?” Jake asked. “They look awful.”
“Oh, I have a couple ideas in mind.” Poppop answered, “You’ll see.”
Jennifer, the boys and I started down the road. It was a beautiful drive; the road followed the winding creek that later on downstream our little creek flowed into. It was surrounded by lush wooded ridges, just now starting to show fall colors on a tree here and there. We traversed some of our hunting areas. Josh pointed out where he had shot a turkey, where Dad had shot one, and Jake had shot his first buck. This was to be my first year of hunting and I wondered out loud where Dad would take me.
“Well,” Jake said, “I overheard Jeremiah and Dad talking about hunting the other night. The consensus was that we didn’t need to go hunting this year. First, we had enough meat right now. We should let the herd grow; save it for when we need it or if other people need it. Besides, we only have so much ammunition.”
“I could still use the bow,” Josh replied. “I can use the arrows more than once.”
“And probably make some, if you had to,” Aaron added.
“I suppose so,” Jake agreed and then said to me, “but it looks like you won’t get hunting this fall, unless we have to take care of some varmint problems. You really haven’t practiced much either; that takes precious ammunition, too.”
I had been practicing, but not with live ammo. I just practiced holding the gun, aiming, pulling the trigger, and bolting the next round in. But I guess I’d have to wait a couple years until I got my chance.
When we were about half way home, the rest of the crew passed us, waving and jeering. That pest, Robbie, even made a face at me and waved real nice at Jennifer. That boy might need some straightening out one day.
To be continued… Mort
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Chapter Seventeen-Communion (conclusion)
Dad and I accompanied Joe and the pastor in toward the butcher house. Dad turned to Barry and said, “Why don’t you come also? I’d like you to relate some of the technical accomplishments we’ve done around here.”
“Sure,” said Barry. On the way in, Barry, Joe and Dad started filling in the reverend about all the things we had done with motors, the water pump, the alternators, the windmill, and the batteries. They intended to show him the showers, oven and wash machine, but when we entered the butcher house, Mom and the other women took over the conversation. It was the same questions the men had asked, and the same answers. He told them where his family lived, where he got the horse, what things were keeping him busy, how everyone was doing.
Mom offered him drink and food of course and then inquired, “How are people really doing? Are there some specific people we should pray for?”
“Well,” Reverend Schneider answered, “there really are some people out there who are hurting. Not people who are starving or without shelter; the community is meeting those needs, at least so far. But there’s quite a bit of depression. They’re asking questions like: How did this happen? Why did this happen? How will we make it through the winter? There are some who are separated from loved ones and don’t even know where they are. It’s tough. I can only soothe them so much. It’ll take strong faith, perseverance, trust in Jesus, and lots of prayer as you rightly acknowledged. So pray for all those people, but there is one couple who could definitely use specific prayer.”
“Who would that be?” Jean asked.
“You know Jennie and Bob Prince from church?” he asked.
“Sure,” Jean replied, “something wrong with one of them?”
“Physically they’re fine, but you know their son, Mark, is in the Navy?”
“Oh, that’s right,” answered Mom, “where is he stationed?”
“That’s the problem,” the reverend answered, “No one knows. Last they heard from him was in mid-May. At the time, his ship was in the Indian Ocean. Haven’t heard a word since. They’re really taking it hard and just letting the worry get the best of them.”
“They have some cause to worry,” Grandmom said. “He could be dead I suppose, but there hasn’t been mail for two months. How could he write home? He’s probably part of the force we’re using to protect our shores. He’s doing his duty and serving his country and I bet he’s proud to do it. The service probably wouldn’t let him go, the way things are right now. But if they did, how would he get here from whatever part of the world he’s in? He’s probably just as worried about his folks as they are about him. Jennie and Bob and Mark do need our prayers - and everyone else who’s hurting. If you’re finished eating, Reverend, why don’t we pray right now?”
“Great idea,” answered the reverend, “and I am finished. Why don’t we all sit around the table and hold hands? But first, is anyone here in need of healing?”
Joe replied, “My back hasn’t quite been the same since we mowed that last field of hay.”
“Then sit on my right, next to me, and I’ll lay hands on you. In James chapter 5 verse 14 he writes: ‘Is any one of you sick? He should call the elders of the church to pray over him and anoint him with oil in the name of the Lord. And the prayer made in faith will make the sick person well…’. I have a little vial of olive oil in my pocket, just for these occasions.”
Sandy sat on the other side of her husband and laid her free hand on his back as well. Dad coaxed a very uncomfortable Barry in position on the other side of the minister. And then Dad sat next to him. We all held hands and Reverend Schneider anointed Joe with a dab of oil and then prayed. He didn’t pray terribly long, as he sometimes could, but when he finished he didn’t let go of Barry’s or Joe’s hands.
He continued, “I have a strong feeling that someone else here is in pain, too. Physical perhaps, but maybe spiritual as well. Is there someone else in need?”
There was silence as we glanced around the table. Then Barry started sobbing.
“What is it, brother?” the pastor asked. “How can Jesus help you?”
It was hard for him. He stumbled a few words, took a couple breaths, and then restarted, “I’ve known my brother here on my left ever since grade school. Later he was a good customer at my repair business. We’d share a lot of things and he knew what my physical problems were.” He paused, trying to compose himself.
Reverend Schneider aided by asking, “And what is the difficulty you have?”
“My breathing,” Barry replied. “I have emphysema; smoked too many years.”
He paused again, so Dad jumped in, “Jesus can help you with that difficulty; we can pray for you, like the scripture the reverend quoted instructed us to do.”
Barry sobbed again and then took another deep breath before blurting out, “That’s the real difficulty! I don’t know God! Just a few years ago, when my emphysema started becoming more serious, you stood right in my garage. I’ll never forget it. You offered to pray for me, for healing. You quoted those passages from James, but there was more to it and that’s where I fell short. You told me it depended on both the faith of the person making the prayer and the faith of the person receiving it. I told you it was no use then, because I didn’t believe in any of that stuff, or a word similar to that. I could tell you were hurt, but it was the truth. You countered well enough by saying something like, ‘Well, maybe today’s not the day, God’s timing, He can do it. I’ll still pray for you’.”
“I wonder if today is the day?” he concluded.
“Praise Jesus!” Reverend Schneider exclaimed. “Today can be the day! It’s your decision. Jesus is waiting with open arms to receive you. Now here’s the rest of that passage that you heard those few years ago: ‘…the Lord will raise him up. If he has sinned, he will be forgiven. Therefore confess your sins to each other so that you may be healed. The prayer of a righteous man is powerful and effective.’ Have you sinned?”
“That’s an easy one,” Barry replied, “of course I have.”
“Do you believe Jesus is real?”
“That’s harder, I did go to Sunday School and I do remember the stories, but how could I say ‘no’ with all the evidence of Him in this community?”
“Open your heart and think harder. Faith doesn’t require evidence. What you see around here is a product of the faith, not the other way around. Is Jesus real to you?”
Barry looked intently at the minister, and then at Dad, and then skyward and then finally, quietly declared through teary eyes, “Yes, I do believe in Jesus.”
“Praise the Lord,” many voices echoed.
“And that he died for your sins, even if you really don’t understand all this now, and that you will be forgiven by your faith in Him because he loves you, and that He can heal you, and that you’ll be able to abide in Him forever?” Reverend Schneider concluded.
“Yes, Yes, Yes, Yes,” cried Barry. And so did a few other people, Dad included. And more ‘praise the Lord’s' were heard. The pastor anointed Barry and then prayed for healing. This time he prayed longer, a prayer filled with joy.
“How does it feel to be born again?” Dad asked Barry when the prayer was over.
“Born again?”
“It’s what Jesus called it. You have a new life now, the old is gone. It will be different. You will still have troubles, but one thing you’ll always have is Jesus by your side. Relish it.”
“I think I will,” Barry replied.
“I’ll have to be getting on my way,” Reverend Schneider said. “Thanks for the meal. Is there anything I should be on the look out for you?”
“Roosters,” Mom said as she packaged up some pork and string beans for the pastor to take home.
“Roosters?” he inquired.
“We only have laying hens here and at Butch and Clare’s. None of our eggs are fertile. If we’re going to increase our egg production, and we have the corn to do so, we need to hatch some broods of chicks. But we need some roosters to make it happen. If you get my drift?”
“Yes, I understand,” the pastor answered, “I’ll be on the lookout.”
Leave it for Mom to bring practicality into a moving moment.
“Oh, one other thing,” he continued. “The other ministers in the area are making an effort to observe World Wide Communion on its usual date, the first Sunday in October. We feel we need to bring as many followers together as we can that day, not only to honor God, but also to support each other and have a time of fellowship. I’ve talked to a few elders about this and have their support. We’d like your support too.”
“Agreed,” responded Dad, “what can we do?”
“First of all, spread the word, and then bring as many people as you can, by horse and wagon, bicycle, walking, trucks if necessary. Pick up anyone you can along the way. We want to have a big meal afterwards, so could we count on you for a healthy supply of some kind of barbecue? Pork, beef or venison, whatever you have available.”
“Can do,” answered Joe, “for how many people?”
“Hard to say. We’re hoping for a church full. Let the Spirit lead you. Nearly everyone will bring something. You know our culture; a food shortage won’t be the problem. And also, if you have some, we could use some more wine; our supplies are low.”
“No problem,” said Jean, “we’ve some to spare.”
“Okay then, I’ll hop on old Flash and head on down the road. Thanks again for the food and the fellowship. The communion service is in two weeks, so I probably won’t be around before then. See you all there and don’t forget to bring the newborn, Brother Barry.
(Author’s note: to the best of my knowledge, the real life Barry has not yet accepted Christ as his savior. I continue to pray for him and really need to make a harder effort to reach him. I ask that all of you think of the Barry in your life and do the same…To be continued……Mort)
“Sure,” said Barry. On the way in, Barry, Joe and Dad started filling in the reverend about all the things we had done with motors, the water pump, the alternators, the windmill, and the batteries. They intended to show him the showers, oven and wash machine, but when we entered the butcher house, Mom and the other women took over the conversation. It was the same questions the men had asked, and the same answers. He told them where his family lived, where he got the horse, what things were keeping him busy, how everyone was doing.
Mom offered him drink and food of course and then inquired, “How are people really doing? Are there some specific people we should pray for?”
“Well,” Reverend Schneider answered, “there really are some people out there who are hurting. Not people who are starving or without shelter; the community is meeting those needs, at least so far. But there’s quite a bit of depression. They’re asking questions like: How did this happen? Why did this happen? How will we make it through the winter? There are some who are separated from loved ones and don’t even know where they are. It’s tough. I can only soothe them so much. It’ll take strong faith, perseverance, trust in Jesus, and lots of prayer as you rightly acknowledged. So pray for all those people, but there is one couple who could definitely use specific prayer.”
“Who would that be?” Jean asked.
“You know Jennie and Bob Prince from church?” he asked.
“Sure,” Jean replied, “something wrong with one of them?”
“Physically they’re fine, but you know their son, Mark, is in the Navy?”
“Oh, that’s right,” answered Mom, “where is he stationed?”
“That’s the problem,” the reverend answered, “No one knows. Last they heard from him was in mid-May. At the time, his ship was in the Indian Ocean. Haven’t heard a word since. They’re really taking it hard and just letting the worry get the best of them.”
“They have some cause to worry,” Grandmom said. “He could be dead I suppose, but there hasn’t been mail for two months. How could he write home? He’s probably part of the force we’re using to protect our shores. He’s doing his duty and serving his country and I bet he’s proud to do it. The service probably wouldn’t let him go, the way things are right now. But if they did, how would he get here from whatever part of the world he’s in? He’s probably just as worried about his folks as they are about him. Jennie and Bob and Mark do need our prayers - and everyone else who’s hurting. If you’re finished eating, Reverend, why don’t we pray right now?”
“Great idea,” answered the reverend, “and I am finished. Why don’t we all sit around the table and hold hands? But first, is anyone here in need of healing?”
Joe replied, “My back hasn’t quite been the same since we mowed that last field of hay.”
“Then sit on my right, next to me, and I’ll lay hands on you. In James chapter 5 verse 14 he writes: ‘Is any one of you sick? He should call the elders of the church to pray over him and anoint him with oil in the name of the Lord. And the prayer made in faith will make the sick person well…’. I have a little vial of olive oil in my pocket, just for these occasions.”
Sandy sat on the other side of her husband and laid her free hand on his back as well. Dad coaxed a very uncomfortable Barry in position on the other side of the minister. And then Dad sat next to him. We all held hands and Reverend Schneider anointed Joe with a dab of oil and then prayed. He didn’t pray terribly long, as he sometimes could, but when he finished he didn’t let go of Barry’s or Joe’s hands.
He continued, “I have a strong feeling that someone else here is in pain, too. Physical perhaps, but maybe spiritual as well. Is there someone else in need?”
There was silence as we glanced around the table. Then Barry started sobbing.
“What is it, brother?” the pastor asked. “How can Jesus help you?”
It was hard for him. He stumbled a few words, took a couple breaths, and then restarted, “I’ve known my brother here on my left ever since grade school. Later he was a good customer at my repair business. We’d share a lot of things and he knew what my physical problems were.” He paused, trying to compose himself.
Reverend Schneider aided by asking, “And what is the difficulty you have?”
“My breathing,” Barry replied. “I have emphysema; smoked too many years.”
He paused again, so Dad jumped in, “Jesus can help you with that difficulty; we can pray for you, like the scripture the reverend quoted instructed us to do.”
Barry sobbed again and then took another deep breath before blurting out, “That’s the real difficulty! I don’t know God! Just a few years ago, when my emphysema started becoming more serious, you stood right in my garage. I’ll never forget it. You offered to pray for me, for healing. You quoted those passages from James, but there was more to it and that’s where I fell short. You told me it depended on both the faith of the person making the prayer and the faith of the person receiving it. I told you it was no use then, because I didn’t believe in any of that stuff, or a word similar to that. I could tell you were hurt, but it was the truth. You countered well enough by saying something like, ‘Well, maybe today’s not the day, God’s timing, He can do it. I’ll still pray for you’.”
“I wonder if today is the day?” he concluded.
“Praise Jesus!” Reverend Schneider exclaimed. “Today can be the day! It’s your decision. Jesus is waiting with open arms to receive you. Now here’s the rest of that passage that you heard those few years ago: ‘…the Lord will raise him up. If he has sinned, he will be forgiven. Therefore confess your sins to each other so that you may be healed. The prayer of a righteous man is powerful and effective.’ Have you sinned?”
“That’s an easy one,” Barry replied, “of course I have.”
“Do you believe Jesus is real?”
“That’s harder, I did go to Sunday School and I do remember the stories, but how could I say ‘no’ with all the evidence of Him in this community?”
“Open your heart and think harder. Faith doesn’t require evidence. What you see around here is a product of the faith, not the other way around. Is Jesus real to you?”
Barry looked intently at the minister, and then at Dad, and then skyward and then finally, quietly declared through teary eyes, “Yes, I do believe in Jesus.”
“Praise the Lord,” many voices echoed.
“And that he died for your sins, even if you really don’t understand all this now, and that you will be forgiven by your faith in Him because he loves you, and that He can heal you, and that you’ll be able to abide in Him forever?” Reverend Schneider concluded.
“Yes, Yes, Yes, Yes,” cried Barry. And so did a few other people, Dad included. And more ‘praise the Lord’s' were heard. The pastor anointed Barry and then prayed for healing. This time he prayed longer, a prayer filled with joy.
“How does it feel to be born again?” Dad asked Barry when the prayer was over.
“Born again?”
“It’s what Jesus called it. You have a new life now, the old is gone. It will be different. You will still have troubles, but one thing you’ll always have is Jesus by your side. Relish it.”
“I think I will,” Barry replied.
“I’ll have to be getting on my way,” Reverend Schneider said. “Thanks for the meal. Is there anything I should be on the look out for you?”
“Roosters,” Mom said as she packaged up some pork and string beans for the pastor to take home.
“Roosters?” he inquired.
“We only have laying hens here and at Butch and Clare’s. None of our eggs are fertile. If we’re going to increase our egg production, and we have the corn to do so, we need to hatch some broods of chicks. But we need some roosters to make it happen. If you get my drift?”
“Yes, I understand,” the pastor answered, “I’ll be on the lookout.”
Leave it for Mom to bring practicality into a moving moment.
“Oh, one other thing,” he continued. “The other ministers in the area are making an effort to observe World Wide Communion on its usual date, the first Sunday in October. We feel we need to bring as many followers together as we can that day, not only to honor God, but also to support each other and have a time of fellowship. I’ve talked to a few elders about this and have their support. We’d like your support too.”
“Agreed,” responded Dad, “what can we do?”
“First of all, spread the word, and then bring as many people as you can, by horse and wagon, bicycle, walking, trucks if necessary. Pick up anyone you can along the way. We want to have a big meal afterwards, so could we count on you for a healthy supply of some kind of barbecue? Pork, beef or venison, whatever you have available.”
“Can do,” answered Joe, “for how many people?”
“Hard to say. We’re hoping for a church full. Let the Spirit lead you. Nearly everyone will bring something. You know our culture; a food shortage won’t be the problem. And also, if you have some, we could use some more wine; our supplies are low.”
“No problem,” said Jean, “we’ve some to spare.”
“Okay then, I’ll hop on old Flash and head on down the road. Thanks again for the food and the fellowship. The communion service is in two weeks, so I probably won’t be around before then. See you all there and don’t forget to bring the newborn, Brother Barry.
(Author’s note: to the best of my knowledge, the real life Barry has not yet accepted Christ as his savior. I continue to pray for him and really need to make a harder effort to reach him. I ask that all of you think of the Barry in your life and do the same…To be continued……Mort)
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Chapter Seventeen - Communion (cont)
Harvey pursed his lips a little, scratched behind his neck a bit, and then answered, “Well, according to agricultural historians, in the 19th century one farmer fed six other people. Heck, most of them were his family. With engine powered equipment and technology that number rose steadily through the 1900’s. I recall about the time I started farming with Pop, the number might have been calculated to be about 60. And with further advances the last thirty years, maybe I heard once the number approached 90. There are two farmers in our operation, counting Larry, so theoretically our operation could feed 180 people.”
“Now,” added Larry, “one might have to discount the fact that we won’t have the technology, you know fertilizer, pesticides, and animal health products. But we have the acres necessary to grow a lot of food. We just need the labor. Between Butch’s farm and ours right now, there are twenty full grown men. Applying the 19th century standard, we should be able to feed 120. And absolutely the women and the kids around here work as well as many men, so you have to factor that in, too. Plus, every family that shows up provides at least one if not more workers. It will take some managing, but it’s doable. It also takes some faith.”
“Hey, that’s usually my answer,” Reverend Schneider answered. “But you certainly are on target. Keep thinking that way.”
“You know,” Joe said, “you said earlier you were very busy the last five weeks. What else you been doing?”
“Funerals,” he responded, “you see, not all the news I have for you is positive. In fact, there’s been a lot of trouble.” Then turning to my dad he added, “Remember you and me talking about nursing homes?”
“Yeah, I just thought of Springside Manor, that large one just to the west of town. How did it go over there?”
“Could have been worse. When I realized things were okay at the food bank, it dawned on me they might need help, so I headed over there. Management saw this coming and advised the families of the guests there to take them home. Adequate care could not be provided. As a result, the numbers were down as families took their parents or grandparents home to care for them as best they could. But many remained. Some had no family, or their families just lived too far away and lacked the means to get there. And then some just were in too poor a medical condition to leave. And, I guess, maybe some families just didn’t care.”
“When the electricity ended, the emergency generators they had only had enough fuel for a couple days. Quite a bit was used up the previous weeks when electricity was being rationed. It wasn’t a pretty sight; middle of August, no air conditioning or lights for the inner rooms; preparing food on charcoal grills and propane stoves. Of course it was too much stress for several of the patients. There were heroes though.”
“Heroes?” Jeremiah asked.
“The workers themselves. Several came to work even though they knew they wouldn’t get paid. Some used their precious gasoline, but many just stayed on the job. They became live-in caregivers. Just stayed day after day. One by one, however, they had to return to their families, but that created a chance for more heroics. A few took a resident with them, basically agreeing to care for that person as long as he or she lived. It was amazing. Of course, the local neighbors pitched in too. Bringing, water and food and helping with the care. Some of my family members accompanied me and put in a few days, too. The most able residents ended up in private homes somewhere, another credit to our community. But about a dozen did not pull through. Last Saturday, I buried the last one that had remained. The place is empty now. It’s usable. Perhaps it could house migrants this winter.”
“I did a few funerals at the church, too. Nothing out of the ordinary. Just want to let you know that Steward, the contractor that usually digs the graves, is housing his backhoe there. He says it might have enough fuel in it to dig maybe 50 to 75 graves, unless some other project in the neighborhood requires his hoe and he’d have to donate fuel to that. Bottom line, if you need a grave dug, there’s a backhoe there. You wouldn’t have to run yours up, Harvey, or dig a grave by hand. There are other troubles I could tell you about, if you’re interested?”
“Local or worldwide?” Jake asked.
“Local and what happened in some of the cities. Haven’t run into any preachers with news from China or Europe.”
“No I guess you wouldn’t have,” Josh agreed. “What local trouble? Anything we could help with?”
“Not really; the damage is done now. You know that big dairy west of the church, Gruber’s. Where they have about 200 cows?”
“Yeah,” Larry answered.
“Well, their operation was too, what’s the word? …. intensive. Fortunately, at this farm, your fields were already laid out with pastures and fencing. I look around and see pretty healthy and content cattle roaming around. At Gruber’s the cows were housed in big buildings and cement feedlots. Fans running all the time and silo unloaders needed to feed them. There was only a small lot for them to roam. Well when electricity became scarce, Gruber’s just kept on going. They made no adjustments in the way they were doing things, kept generating their own electricity until their fuel supply was completely depleted. Just kept feeding and milking cows just to pour the milk away. No one came to haul it away, right?”
“No one,” responded Harvey.
“They couldn’t milk or feed 200 cows by hand. No water, manure accumulated, buildings became deathly hot, cows got sick and died. They had no means to bury them. Made a terrible stink. They finally realized they had to release the cows so they could drink at the closest creek and eat in the surrounding fields. Fortunately the neighbors really pitched in by allowing it, though how could they say no. They helped to tend the herd, kept them in certain fields until some fencing could be erected. Others started taking one or two of the healthier ones home to milk and care for. Steward moved in with his bulldozer and buried the dead cows. Seems like everything’s settled now, but I’m sure more than 100 died. What a mess it was.”
“A mess that could have been mitigated by a little foresight and planning,” Jake said.
“Now Jake,” Dad admonished, “not so judgmental. Did you ever walk in their shoes?” It was one of Dad’s favorite philosophies: “Don’t judge a man until you walked a mile in his shoes”. Or is it a day in his shoes? No matter, good philosophy.
“Yeah, you’re right,’ Jake concurred. “I’m thinking a lot of other people had to make tough decisions, too, especially in the cities, perhaps. What did you hear about them, Reverend?”
“Well, a lot, but I’m not sure what’s true. Of course there was some looting. People trying to find water and food. Releasing the prisoners didn’t help.”
“Releasing the prisoners?” Barry asked. “Just yesterday, I had it on my mind how the prisons were managing. What happened?”
“Again, I heard a lot of things, but just last week I ran into a guard from the county prison. He was helping at the nursing home and he verified the story. They couldn’t keep a prison running with no fuel or water. Something had to be done. Here is one instance that shows that the federal government is still functional because they stepped in. The military came and hauled away all convicted murderers. No one knows where they took them, but they’re gone. Everyone else was released. Anyone convicted of theft, bad check writers, marijuana growers, prostitutes, drug users, people convicted of drunk driving or driving without a license or insurance; they are out on the street now.”
“Wow!” Barry exclaimed, “most of those people didn’t belong in jail anyway. I don’t know if that would have really contributed to looting and rioting.”
“Well, I’m thinking it probably did to at least a small extent,” Reverend Schneider responded. “But there’s another theory floating around. This guard said all the released prisoners received a pretty stern speech. They would be completely exonerated and in return for that would be expected to become productive members of society. They would have to learn to live with the other members of society as society needed as many productive members as could be found. It would not be easy, they’d have to learn to work, share, and give as well as take. It was necessary for them to change in order to be accepted. And finally, they would not be protected any longer. If they committed any crime, there would be no criminal justice system to save their butts, no court appointed lawyer to moderate their punishment, no getting out on bail. They would be subject to the wrath, sense of justice, and perhaps the vengeance of the communities they choose to settle in.”
“Do you think that’s working?” Barry inquired.
“Can’t say for sure; but I hear less and less about looting and criminal activities. One interesting story I did hear was about gangs in the city. Seems like when the police stopped doing their job, the gangs took over. They took control of territories and protected everyone living there. Stabilized the situation. Enforced their own law, administered justice, made everyone tow the line. Get along or get out was the dictate. Wouldn’t have been a welcome environment for criminal behavior; perhaps that’s what kept the released prisoners in line.”
“That is darn interesting,” Barry commented. “Perhaps things are working out.”
“You know,” said the reverend, “I’ve talked a lot. I really need to hear what you are all doing around here, so as I can share it with others that have the same predicaments. And, gee, I’ve been holding you up from your work.”
“Work!” Joe exclaimed, “I plum forgot. I wanted to help the girls can that pork we didn’t eat for dinner. And what kind of hosts are we? We offer your horse water and offer you nothing. Come on into the house. Maybe there’s some left for you. And the girls will be glad to see you as well.”
“I’d like that, and I’d like to hear how everyone else is feeling," Reverend Schneider answered.
To be continued….. How is everyone else feeling?.... Mort
“Now,” added Larry, “one might have to discount the fact that we won’t have the technology, you know fertilizer, pesticides, and animal health products. But we have the acres necessary to grow a lot of food. We just need the labor. Between Butch’s farm and ours right now, there are twenty full grown men. Applying the 19th century standard, we should be able to feed 120. And absolutely the women and the kids around here work as well as many men, so you have to factor that in, too. Plus, every family that shows up provides at least one if not more workers. It will take some managing, but it’s doable. It also takes some faith.”
“Hey, that’s usually my answer,” Reverend Schneider answered. “But you certainly are on target. Keep thinking that way.”
“You know,” Joe said, “you said earlier you were very busy the last five weeks. What else you been doing?”
“Funerals,” he responded, “you see, not all the news I have for you is positive. In fact, there’s been a lot of trouble.” Then turning to my dad he added, “Remember you and me talking about nursing homes?”
“Yeah, I just thought of Springside Manor, that large one just to the west of town. How did it go over there?”
“Could have been worse. When I realized things were okay at the food bank, it dawned on me they might need help, so I headed over there. Management saw this coming and advised the families of the guests there to take them home. Adequate care could not be provided. As a result, the numbers were down as families took their parents or grandparents home to care for them as best they could. But many remained. Some had no family, or their families just lived too far away and lacked the means to get there. And then some just were in too poor a medical condition to leave. And, I guess, maybe some families just didn’t care.”
“When the electricity ended, the emergency generators they had only had enough fuel for a couple days. Quite a bit was used up the previous weeks when electricity was being rationed. It wasn’t a pretty sight; middle of August, no air conditioning or lights for the inner rooms; preparing food on charcoal grills and propane stoves. Of course it was too much stress for several of the patients. There were heroes though.”
“Heroes?” Jeremiah asked.
“The workers themselves. Several came to work even though they knew they wouldn’t get paid. Some used their precious gasoline, but many just stayed on the job. They became live-in caregivers. Just stayed day after day. One by one, however, they had to return to their families, but that created a chance for more heroics. A few took a resident with them, basically agreeing to care for that person as long as he or she lived. It was amazing. Of course, the local neighbors pitched in too. Bringing, water and food and helping with the care. Some of my family members accompanied me and put in a few days, too. The most able residents ended up in private homes somewhere, another credit to our community. But about a dozen did not pull through. Last Saturday, I buried the last one that had remained. The place is empty now. It’s usable. Perhaps it could house migrants this winter.”
“I did a few funerals at the church, too. Nothing out of the ordinary. Just want to let you know that Steward, the contractor that usually digs the graves, is housing his backhoe there. He says it might have enough fuel in it to dig maybe 50 to 75 graves, unless some other project in the neighborhood requires his hoe and he’d have to donate fuel to that. Bottom line, if you need a grave dug, there’s a backhoe there. You wouldn’t have to run yours up, Harvey, or dig a grave by hand. There are other troubles I could tell you about, if you’re interested?”
“Local or worldwide?” Jake asked.
“Local and what happened in some of the cities. Haven’t run into any preachers with news from China or Europe.”
“No I guess you wouldn’t have,” Josh agreed. “What local trouble? Anything we could help with?”
“Not really; the damage is done now. You know that big dairy west of the church, Gruber’s. Where they have about 200 cows?”
“Yeah,” Larry answered.
“Well, their operation was too, what’s the word? …. intensive. Fortunately, at this farm, your fields were already laid out with pastures and fencing. I look around and see pretty healthy and content cattle roaming around. At Gruber’s the cows were housed in big buildings and cement feedlots. Fans running all the time and silo unloaders needed to feed them. There was only a small lot for them to roam. Well when electricity became scarce, Gruber’s just kept on going. They made no adjustments in the way they were doing things, kept generating their own electricity until their fuel supply was completely depleted. Just kept feeding and milking cows just to pour the milk away. No one came to haul it away, right?”
“No one,” responded Harvey.
“They couldn’t milk or feed 200 cows by hand. No water, manure accumulated, buildings became deathly hot, cows got sick and died. They had no means to bury them. Made a terrible stink. They finally realized they had to release the cows so they could drink at the closest creek and eat in the surrounding fields. Fortunately the neighbors really pitched in by allowing it, though how could they say no. They helped to tend the herd, kept them in certain fields until some fencing could be erected. Others started taking one or two of the healthier ones home to milk and care for. Steward moved in with his bulldozer and buried the dead cows. Seems like everything’s settled now, but I’m sure more than 100 died. What a mess it was.”
“A mess that could have been mitigated by a little foresight and planning,” Jake said.
“Now Jake,” Dad admonished, “not so judgmental. Did you ever walk in their shoes?” It was one of Dad’s favorite philosophies: “Don’t judge a man until you walked a mile in his shoes”. Or is it a day in his shoes? No matter, good philosophy.
“Yeah, you’re right,’ Jake concurred. “I’m thinking a lot of other people had to make tough decisions, too, especially in the cities, perhaps. What did you hear about them, Reverend?”
“Well, a lot, but I’m not sure what’s true. Of course there was some looting. People trying to find water and food. Releasing the prisoners didn’t help.”
“Releasing the prisoners?” Barry asked. “Just yesterday, I had it on my mind how the prisons were managing. What happened?”
“Again, I heard a lot of things, but just last week I ran into a guard from the county prison. He was helping at the nursing home and he verified the story. They couldn’t keep a prison running with no fuel or water. Something had to be done. Here is one instance that shows that the federal government is still functional because they stepped in. The military came and hauled away all convicted murderers. No one knows where they took them, but they’re gone. Everyone else was released. Anyone convicted of theft, bad check writers, marijuana growers, prostitutes, drug users, people convicted of drunk driving or driving without a license or insurance; they are out on the street now.”
“Wow!” Barry exclaimed, “most of those people didn’t belong in jail anyway. I don’t know if that would have really contributed to looting and rioting.”
“Well, I’m thinking it probably did to at least a small extent,” Reverend Schneider responded. “But there’s another theory floating around. This guard said all the released prisoners received a pretty stern speech. They would be completely exonerated and in return for that would be expected to become productive members of society. They would have to learn to live with the other members of society as society needed as many productive members as could be found. It would not be easy, they’d have to learn to work, share, and give as well as take. It was necessary for them to change in order to be accepted. And finally, they would not be protected any longer. If they committed any crime, there would be no criminal justice system to save their butts, no court appointed lawyer to moderate their punishment, no getting out on bail. They would be subject to the wrath, sense of justice, and perhaps the vengeance of the communities they choose to settle in.”
“Do you think that’s working?” Barry inquired.
“Can’t say for sure; but I hear less and less about looting and criminal activities. One interesting story I did hear was about gangs in the city. Seems like when the police stopped doing their job, the gangs took over. They took control of territories and protected everyone living there. Stabilized the situation. Enforced their own law, administered justice, made everyone tow the line. Get along or get out was the dictate. Wouldn’t have been a welcome environment for criminal behavior; perhaps that’s what kept the released prisoners in line.”
“That is darn interesting,” Barry commented. “Perhaps things are working out.”
“You know,” said the reverend, “I’ve talked a lot. I really need to hear what you are all doing around here, so as I can share it with others that have the same predicaments. And, gee, I’ve been holding you up from your work.”
“Work!” Joe exclaimed, “I plum forgot. I wanted to help the girls can that pork we didn’t eat for dinner. And what kind of hosts are we? We offer your horse water and offer you nothing. Come on into the house. Maybe there’s some left for you. And the girls will be glad to see you as well.”
“I’d like that, and I’d like to hear how everyone else is feeling," Reverend Schneider answered.
To be continued….. How is everyone else feeling?.... Mort
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
Chapter Seventeen - Communion
Reverend Schneider’s horse was unlike my Brutus, the Clydesdale, and Titus’s workhorse. It was much sleeker, a shiny dark brown, and exhibited a lot of pep.
“Got yourself a racehorse there?” Joe asked the reverend.
“Suppose so,” he answered, “been winning every race, too. Got here first didn’t I?” Looking back up the road he added, “Don’t even see the second place finisher. Do you see him, Alyssa?”
I had a notion to look, but then caught the joke. It was getting to the point I had hung around these wise guys long enough to be aware of their trickery. “I’ll just keep an eye out for him, so you can hop on and head down the road, if’n he catches up to you. Wouldn’t want you to lose your lead. How far back do you think he is? Do I have time to water your steed before he gets here?”
He chuckled, then said, “Smart girl; sure you have time to water old Flash. Thank you.”
“So whose horse you acquire?” Joe asked.
“The neighbor farm, right next to the church; my whole family moved there. They still have a hand water pump, so we can pump all the water we need from their well. Their livestock can drink from the creek. The wife and kids work around the farm and they loaned me old Flash here for me to make my rounds. Miss you all at church. And I’m not being a wise guy. I’m not condemning you for not coming to church; I really do miss seeing and talking to you. Just came down from Butch and Clare. I told them the same. It was great to see everyone there, too.”
“It’s great to see you too, Reverend,” Harvey said. “What you’ve been hearing in your travels? That is, I assume you’ve been traveling.”
“That I have. This is one of the first days in the last five weeks that I could actually just go visiting. Seemed like every other day I had something to take care of.”
“Like what?” asked Dad.
“Well, as soon as we lost power and water, I knew a lot of people would be in trouble, just like you and I talked about a couple months ago. As I was on the board of the food bank in town, I headed into there to see what I could do. You know, it wasn’t as bad as I suspected.”
“How so?” Joe asked.
“When the power went off, the store managers knew that all the food in the freezers and coolers would spoil, so they gave it away. Just opened up their doors and announced any perishable food and fresh baked goods were free for the taking. They had moved most of the dry goods into the back of the stores, thinking maybe they could sell that later. So at least for the first week or so, no one was hungry. Eventually, when they realized that money as we knew it wasn’t coming back too soon, they allowed people to have some of the other food too. As a result, the food bank still has food. The whole thing was pretty sensible too. People didn’t cart away truckloads at a time; just what they needed for a few days. Oh I’m sure they didn’t wait until there was no food in the house before acquiring more. We’re a community of ants, not grasshoppers; food’s being stored for winter. Many are using the food from their gardens or farmers just out of town. Of course there aren’t as many people living in town anymore.”
“Where did they go?” I asked.
“Like I said, out to the country. Found a place with water and moved. Besides, if you had a home dependent on gas or heating oil to keep warm, what good would it do you to stay there? And those remaining had to cart all their water from the reservoir outside of town, at least their drinking water since the creek flowing through town provided some for washing and flushing toilets. But that became a problem too. Sewage treatment plant eventually became non-functional. They had to just allow the sewage to drain into the river.”
“Not so good for the people downstream,” Joe said.
“Not good, however, it isn’t a large volume. Mostly only toilets being flushed. Not near the number of showers and baths being taken and loads of laundry being done. And other people moved north.”
“North?” asked Dad, “What’s up there, cleaner water?”
“Yeah, I guess there is, but really, they moved for coal. They heard the coal mines needed workers to keep the mines open. All the work’s being done by hand, like in the 1800’s. Horses bring the coal out the mountain. They’re using steam engines to power the crushers. Others are chopping wood for the engines or sawing lumber for the tunnels. Whole families are working there.”
“For what?” responded Harvey, “there’s no money to pay workers. What good does it do them?”
“You’re correct, no money; they get paid in coal, or more precisely, coal credits.”
“Coal credits?” Dad asked.
“Yep, they get paid by the hundredweight of coal. Work a day; get ten hundredweight or whatever the going rate is, depending on the job you do. The mine owner just keeps a tab or you can take it home in script.”
“Script?” Harvey inquired.
“Sorry,” the reverend responded, “coal script. It’s a fancy piece of paper that tells others you own so much coal.”
“What can you do with it?” Joe wondered.
“You can redeem it for the coal, anytime and anywhere; anyone with coal will honor it.”
“But you can’t eat coal,” Joe responded.
“No you can’t,” Reverend Schneider agreed. “But you can also trade the script. Of course the main commodity right now is food. So workers are using their script to buy food. Unlike our little town, where the stores are pretty much out of business, in parts of the coal regions the stores are still open. Sure they don’t have all the goods they used to have; actually the dry goods are at a premium. They’re being stashed for winter. The local farmers provide the bulk of what’s being sold. They have produce to market. They’d rather accept the script than U.S. dollars. Script is worth something; you can redeem them for coal or trade them for something else you need, but dollars are worthless.”
“So coal script is their money now?” Dad asked.
“I suppose you’re right,” the reverend answered, “it would be like money. I tell you the other industry that’s flourishing.”
“What’s that?” Harvey asked as Josh, Jake, Barry and a couple others joined us.
“Transportation,” Reverend Schneider replied, “Coal and produce have to be moved. Horses are at a premium. Only so much hauling can be done by them. A lot of hand carts have been built; even heard of some dog carts. Townsfolk that walk to the farms to work or trade, wear baskets as backpacks and always carry something with them – coal out, food back. Or they carry the coal to the river.”
“The river?” Jake asked.
“Oh, didn’t I mention? Some entrepreneurs are building barges to float the coal to market.”
“That’s interesting,” Joe said, “but like I said before, you can’t eat coal. Only so many homes can burn coal, and those that can, like us, can also burn wood. Besides, what commodity could the people downstream trade for the coal? Sounds a bit risky to me. The whole operation might be fruitless. They’re creating a coal-driven economy, just like our country had an oil-driven economy.”
“And look what happened to us,” Josh touted.
“Now fellas,” Dad interjected, “let’s applaud their industriousness; and maybe their benevolence. Just like we share food with hungry people, they might share their coal with cold people. At least their producing something and not sitting around on their butts, waiting for someone to bail them out.”
“Right,” offered Harvey, “we’re all in this together and we’ll all pull through this together, provided we become a nation of producers, instead of consumers. All those people that had jobs manufacturing unnecessary items, like DVD’s, VCR’s, CD’s, video games, TV’s, I-Pod’s, walkman’s, or working at a computer, making movies or TV shows, or advertising, not to mention insurance salesman, lawyers or bankers; you get the idea; they’ll now be working to grow food, provide heat or shelter and the other things we really need.”
“It’s a chance for the faithful to shine,” the reverend added.
“Don’t keep your light under a bushel,” Jeremiah said.
“And speaking of lights,” the reverend said, “the way I hear, some parts of Pennsylvania are doing just fine.”
“How’s that?” inquired Josh.
“Well, there are thousands of natural gas wells drilled in Pennsylvania, mostly in the mountain regions, waiting to be tapped. Property owners, who have wells on their property, use the gas all the time. It’s naturally pressurized so the flow hasn’t stopped. They should have heat all winter and even be able to generate electricity. I hear people are migrating to those regions as well, helping with the harvest where there is farming.”
“Very interesting,” Jake said, “but you keep saying, ‘I hear’. How do you hear all these things? We hear practically nothing here.”
“Good question, Jake,” Reverend Schneider responded. “It’s from the other ministers and the doctors. We are all operating under the same system. Everyday we head out, making the rounds and looking for people to help. We hear stories from all kinds of people we run into and we meet each other both coincidently and on a planned basis, to discuss the needs of the community and to determine what we might do about it. We’re out spreading the word, hope, information and ideas, encouraging everyone to let their fruits emerge.”
“Makes sense to me,” Jeremiah said. “As you brought up doctors, here’s a piece of information we’d like to know. We heard Dr. Bear’s operating like you, but we don’t know how to reach him in an emergency. Do you?”
“Just get on a horse and fetch him. I’d say it’s only four or five miles from here where he’s headquartered. He’s on the farm on Dogwood Road, just north of the church, belongs to Milt Snyder. Know where it is?”
“Sure, that’s easy to find,” offered Joe.
“No guarantee he’ll be there during the day. He makes rounds like me then. I hope you don’t ever need him too quickly.”
“Hope not either,” Harvey said, “but the more people that keep moving in here, the greater the chance.”
“You expect more people?” the reverend asked.
“Yep.”
“How many, and can you feed them?”
To be continued…..What is Harvey’s answer? …… Mort
“Got yourself a racehorse there?” Joe asked the reverend.
“Suppose so,” he answered, “been winning every race, too. Got here first didn’t I?” Looking back up the road he added, “Don’t even see the second place finisher. Do you see him, Alyssa?”
I had a notion to look, but then caught the joke. It was getting to the point I had hung around these wise guys long enough to be aware of their trickery. “I’ll just keep an eye out for him, so you can hop on and head down the road, if’n he catches up to you. Wouldn’t want you to lose your lead. How far back do you think he is? Do I have time to water your steed before he gets here?”
He chuckled, then said, “Smart girl; sure you have time to water old Flash. Thank you.”
“So whose horse you acquire?” Joe asked.
“The neighbor farm, right next to the church; my whole family moved there. They still have a hand water pump, so we can pump all the water we need from their well. Their livestock can drink from the creek. The wife and kids work around the farm and they loaned me old Flash here for me to make my rounds. Miss you all at church. And I’m not being a wise guy. I’m not condemning you for not coming to church; I really do miss seeing and talking to you. Just came down from Butch and Clare. I told them the same. It was great to see everyone there, too.”
“It’s great to see you too, Reverend,” Harvey said. “What you’ve been hearing in your travels? That is, I assume you’ve been traveling.”
“That I have. This is one of the first days in the last five weeks that I could actually just go visiting. Seemed like every other day I had something to take care of.”
“Like what?” asked Dad.
“Well, as soon as we lost power and water, I knew a lot of people would be in trouble, just like you and I talked about a couple months ago. As I was on the board of the food bank in town, I headed into there to see what I could do. You know, it wasn’t as bad as I suspected.”
“How so?” Joe asked.
“When the power went off, the store managers knew that all the food in the freezers and coolers would spoil, so they gave it away. Just opened up their doors and announced any perishable food and fresh baked goods were free for the taking. They had moved most of the dry goods into the back of the stores, thinking maybe they could sell that later. So at least for the first week or so, no one was hungry. Eventually, when they realized that money as we knew it wasn’t coming back too soon, they allowed people to have some of the other food too. As a result, the food bank still has food. The whole thing was pretty sensible too. People didn’t cart away truckloads at a time; just what they needed for a few days. Oh I’m sure they didn’t wait until there was no food in the house before acquiring more. We’re a community of ants, not grasshoppers; food’s being stored for winter. Many are using the food from their gardens or farmers just out of town. Of course there aren’t as many people living in town anymore.”
“Where did they go?” I asked.
“Like I said, out to the country. Found a place with water and moved. Besides, if you had a home dependent on gas or heating oil to keep warm, what good would it do you to stay there? And those remaining had to cart all their water from the reservoir outside of town, at least their drinking water since the creek flowing through town provided some for washing and flushing toilets. But that became a problem too. Sewage treatment plant eventually became non-functional. They had to just allow the sewage to drain into the river.”
“Not so good for the people downstream,” Joe said.
“Not good, however, it isn’t a large volume. Mostly only toilets being flushed. Not near the number of showers and baths being taken and loads of laundry being done. And other people moved north.”
“North?” asked Dad, “What’s up there, cleaner water?”
“Yeah, I guess there is, but really, they moved for coal. They heard the coal mines needed workers to keep the mines open. All the work’s being done by hand, like in the 1800’s. Horses bring the coal out the mountain. They’re using steam engines to power the crushers. Others are chopping wood for the engines or sawing lumber for the tunnels. Whole families are working there.”
“For what?” responded Harvey, “there’s no money to pay workers. What good does it do them?”
“You’re correct, no money; they get paid in coal, or more precisely, coal credits.”
“Coal credits?” Dad asked.
“Yep, they get paid by the hundredweight of coal. Work a day; get ten hundredweight or whatever the going rate is, depending on the job you do. The mine owner just keeps a tab or you can take it home in script.”
“Script?” Harvey inquired.
“Sorry,” the reverend responded, “coal script. It’s a fancy piece of paper that tells others you own so much coal.”
“What can you do with it?” Joe wondered.
“You can redeem it for the coal, anytime and anywhere; anyone with coal will honor it.”
“But you can’t eat coal,” Joe responded.
“No you can’t,” Reverend Schneider agreed. “But you can also trade the script. Of course the main commodity right now is food. So workers are using their script to buy food. Unlike our little town, where the stores are pretty much out of business, in parts of the coal regions the stores are still open. Sure they don’t have all the goods they used to have; actually the dry goods are at a premium. They’re being stashed for winter. The local farmers provide the bulk of what’s being sold. They have produce to market. They’d rather accept the script than U.S. dollars. Script is worth something; you can redeem them for coal or trade them for something else you need, but dollars are worthless.”
“So coal script is their money now?” Dad asked.
“I suppose you’re right,” the reverend answered, “it would be like money. I tell you the other industry that’s flourishing.”
“What’s that?” Harvey asked as Josh, Jake, Barry and a couple others joined us.
“Transportation,” Reverend Schneider replied, “Coal and produce have to be moved. Horses are at a premium. Only so much hauling can be done by them. A lot of hand carts have been built; even heard of some dog carts. Townsfolk that walk to the farms to work or trade, wear baskets as backpacks and always carry something with them – coal out, food back. Or they carry the coal to the river.”
“The river?” Jake asked.
“Oh, didn’t I mention? Some entrepreneurs are building barges to float the coal to market.”
“That’s interesting,” Joe said, “but like I said before, you can’t eat coal. Only so many homes can burn coal, and those that can, like us, can also burn wood. Besides, what commodity could the people downstream trade for the coal? Sounds a bit risky to me. The whole operation might be fruitless. They’re creating a coal-driven economy, just like our country had an oil-driven economy.”
“And look what happened to us,” Josh touted.
“Now fellas,” Dad interjected, “let’s applaud their industriousness; and maybe their benevolence. Just like we share food with hungry people, they might share their coal with cold people. At least their producing something and not sitting around on their butts, waiting for someone to bail them out.”
“Right,” offered Harvey, “we’re all in this together and we’ll all pull through this together, provided we become a nation of producers, instead of consumers. All those people that had jobs manufacturing unnecessary items, like DVD’s, VCR’s, CD’s, video games, TV’s, I-Pod’s, walkman’s, or working at a computer, making movies or TV shows, or advertising, not to mention insurance salesman, lawyers or bankers; you get the idea; they’ll now be working to grow food, provide heat or shelter and the other things we really need.”
“It’s a chance for the faithful to shine,” the reverend added.
“Don’t keep your light under a bushel,” Jeremiah said.
“And speaking of lights,” the reverend said, “the way I hear, some parts of Pennsylvania are doing just fine.”
“How’s that?” inquired Josh.
“Well, there are thousands of natural gas wells drilled in Pennsylvania, mostly in the mountain regions, waiting to be tapped. Property owners, who have wells on their property, use the gas all the time. It’s naturally pressurized so the flow hasn’t stopped. They should have heat all winter and even be able to generate electricity. I hear people are migrating to those regions as well, helping with the harvest where there is farming.”
“Very interesting,” Jake said, “but you keep saying, ‘I hear’. How do you hear all these things? We hear practically nothing here.”
“Good question, Jake,” Reverend Schneider responded. “It’s from the other ministers and the doctors. We are all operating under the same system. Everyday we head out, making the rounds and looking for people to help. We hear stories from all kinds of people we run into and we meet each other both coincidently and on a planned basis, to discuss the needs of the community and to determine what we might do about it. We’re out spreading the word, hope, information and ideas, encouraging everyone to let their fruits emerge.”
“Makes sense to me,” Jeremiah said. “As you brought up doctors, here’s a piece of information we’d like to know. We heard Dr. Bear’s operating like you, but we don’t know how to reach him in an emergency. Do you?”
“Just get on a horse and fetch him. I’d say it’s only four or five miles from here where he’s headquartered. He’s on the farm on Dogwood Road, just north of the church, belongs to Milt Snyder. Know where it is?”
“Sure, that’s easy to find,” offered Joe.
“No guarantee he’ll be there during the day. He makes rounds like me then. I hope you don’t ever need him too quickly.”
“Hope not either,” Harvey said, “but the more people that keep moving in here, the greater the chance.”
“You expect more people?” the reverend asked.
“Yep.”
“How many, and can you feed them?”
To be continued…..What is Harvey’s answer? …… Mort
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
Chapter Sixteen - Time (conclusion)
The following week we made quite a bit more hay, but by Friday we had a break in the action to make the excursion back to the old house. It looked pretty much the same. For twelve years, other than when I was at camp or on vacation, I had woken up here. By now, I was just getting used to waking up at Grandmom’s house. Here I had my own room, but it made we wonder who slept in it now.
I got to see Marie and the other neighbors. They all looked well. Dad gave Marie and Bill directions to our new farm. They said they might take occasion to visit someday, especially if some trading was necessary or advice needed. While we were picking the beans, Dad related to our old friends all the technological things pertaining to direct current and batteries that the boys had accomplished at Harvey’s Dairy. Bill said that it might be worth the trip, just to get some ideas. In the meantime he said he’d experiment on his own, and then he’d know what obstacles he might need to overcome. Bill and Marie had become daily workers at our old farm.
There were other changes evident at our old place. The old springhouse now had water running through it and was surrounded by a thick layer of straw bales.
“Not exactly an ice house,” Bill said, “but it cools the milk and keeps the fruits and vegetables fresh.”
“Milk?” I inquired, “Where do you get milk?”
“We acquired three cows from Chester,” Marie offered. “Milk for the whole neighborhood. I’ve learned how to milk a cow. Have you?”
“Not yet,” I answered, “but I’m sure I’ll get my chance pretty soon.”
“There’s a nice supply of fruits and vegetables in the springhouse,” Mom pointed out. “Where do they come from?”
Bill responded, “Jim, Hallie and their family travel everyday by bicycle to a produce farm this side of town. They have baskets fastened to their bicycles and bring produce home every night to trade for milk. It’s been working real well so far. They also bring some dried and canned food as well for winter. We’re supposed to save every jar we open and the lids for them.”
“Just like Titus was telling us,” Jean offered.
“Titus?” Marie asked.
“Titus Weaver,” Dad replied, “he’s a Mennonite from the other side of town. He visited us a couple weeks ago and traded produce for a load of hay. He told us how things were going in his neighborhood.”
“Sure, I remember him,” Bill said. “Chester told him where you were.”
Mom and Jean sorted through our remaining goods that had been stashed in the shed and came up with nothing we needed. There were plenty of things we didn’t need: electric appliances, lamps, light bulbs, decorations, books, toys, pictures, mirrors, TV’s, VCR’s, DVD’s, video tapes, and air conditioners.
Mom wondered out loud, “What if the boys figure out how to make electricity? The lamps would come in handy and maybe even the air conditioners could be used to cool food or something?”
“Or the mirrors,” Dad added, “could they be used to collect solar energy some how?”
“Unanswered questions,” Jean responded, “but if items such as these do become useful, we have ours and your in-law’s to use back at the farm. We can always come back for these or perhaps maybe someone else will need them more?”
“You’re right – just let them here!” Mom concluded. And then we headed for home.
When we arrived back home, Poppop and Joe had the drying beds set up in the yard between Jean’s house and the barn in a spot the shade doesn’t hit.
“Just in case some of the beans need to dry some more. We wouldn’t want any of them to spoil – or spoil a whole batch,” Joe said.
“Good thinking,” Dad commended them. “We’ll let them dry thoroughly before we pack them away.”
We shelled all the beans by nightfall, and then put them on the screens when the sun had risen. Just after dinner on Saturday, I went to check on the beans and found Uncle Jeremiah and Jake with a funny looking table. They were digging the legs into the middle of the yard, near the drying beds and just off the sidewalk that we used most often to travel to and from the barn and house. It had four steel legs, that I suppose were made from some scrap found lying around the farm, bolted to a three by four foot plate of white appliance colored steel. I found out later it was a refrigerator door. On one side of the door was a triangular piece of steel mounted upright. Opposite the triangle painted like the end of a spoke with the triangle being the hub, was a single black line. It was labeled with a large, black, capital “N”. Harvey, Joe and Dad walked over to investigate.
“I get it,” Harvey said. “I saw this laying in the shop before the triangle and line were on it. Now I see what it is.”
“Should work,” Dad added, “if it’s positioned correctly.”
“Good spot for it,” said Joe. “We walk by it so often. With those long legs, it will stay above the snow, too. What do you think, Alyssa?”
“What do I think? I think I’m the only one here that doesn’t know what it is.”
“If you figure out what the “N” stands for, then you’ll know,” Jake offered.
“I’m surrounded by people who talk in riddles,” I lamented.
“That’s how you learn,” Dad said. “You have to figure things out, then you’ll remember. If we just tell you, then you’ll forget. Just observe what they’re doing.”
Just what I needed – more Stump philosophy. So, I watched. Jeremiah and Jake were carefully aligning the ‘door’ so that the shadow from the triangle fell on the line, every so often checking their watches and filling ground into the holes each leg was in.
“Hope it stays for you,” Joe said.
“No matter,” Jeremiah answered, “we can adjust it, if it wanders.”
“Know what the “N” stands for yet?” Jake asked.
“Must stand for ‘no’, I have ‘no’ idea.”
“Ha, Ha,” Jake laughed, “which direction is the shadow pointing?”
“So now I’m a geographer. Just like my teachers – answer a question with another. Well let’s see. Harvey talks about an east wind from that way, of course that’s where the sun comes up. Middle of the day the sun is to the south, so the shadow points NORTH! That’s what the “N” is for. It’s a compass!”
Everyone laughed. “I guess that’s true,” Dad agreed. “But what time is it when the sun is directly to the south?”
I thought a little, and then exclaimed, “NOON! The “N” stands for noon, too. It’s a sundial!” Everyone applauded, but then I added, “But you missed it. Noon was an hour ago. It’s nearly one o’clock.”
Harvey chuckled, “Noon used to be twelve o’clock, Alyssa. But you see in this country we have on omnipotent Congress.”
“Om-nip….what kind of tent?”
“Omnipotent means ‘all-powerful’. You see, back one Sunday morning in March, Congress had the power to make the Earth rotate faster, so that there was a 23 hour day. Remember, we had to get up an hour earlier, once again in the dark, just like it was winter again. They call it daylight savings time. Moved noon ahead to one o’clock. Was supposed to solve the energy crisis,” Harvey concluded.
“That worked just like everything else Congress did. They aren’t omnipotent, they’re impotent,” Jeremiah announced. The men broke up. Harvey rolled on the ground laughing. I didn’t get it.
“Of course Congress is important,” I said. More laughter.
“No, not important,” Joe replied, “impotent, means not having the power to perform.” The men laughed even more.
“What’s so funny?” I asked.
“Impotent has another meaning. Hopefully you won’t run into it until you’re married 50 years,” Dad said.
“Yeeewww,” I answered. “By the way, why did you choose to do this today?”
“Tomorrow’s the autumnal equinox, equal day-equal night, the first day of fall,” Jeremiah said. “We thought the readings would be most accurate today, tomorrow and Monday. Every hour still needs to be marked off. If we miss one, or it’s cloudy, we can add it a later day. We’ll just mark the lines; we can paint and label them anytime.”
“You know what?” Joe announced. “Let’s free ourselves from the tyranny of Congress and go off of daylight savings time today. We actually did a couple weeks ago when we started getting up when the sun did.”
“As it should be then,” Harvey declared. “Everyone change your watches and then pass the word to the others.”
“Give me liberty or give me daylight savings time!” Dad shouted. “Now look who’s all powerful. We just added an hour to September 22nd.”
“And we are important, unlike Congress,” I added.
We left my uncle and brother to the task of firming the sundial’s position. As we walked toward the barn, we saw a man on horseback riding down the road. Why it was Reverend Schneider.
“I imagine he’ll have a lot to share,” Dad said.
“Or preach about,” Harvey added, “I wonder what time he’s on.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Joe cried, “so much for our extra hour."
To be continued..........Mort
I got to see Marie and the other neighbors. They all looked well. Dad gave Marie and Bill directions to our new farm. They said they might take occasion to visit someday, especially if some trading was necessary or advice needed. While we were picking the beans, Dad related to our old friends all the technological things pertaining to direct current and batteries that the boys had accomplished at Harvey’s Dairy. Bill said that it might be worth the trip, just to get some ideas. In the meantime he said he’d experiment on his own, and then he’d know what obstacles he might need to overcome. Bill and Marie had become daily workers at our old farm.
There were other changes evident at our old place. The old springhouse now had water running through it and was surrounded by a thick layer of straw bales.
“Not exactly an ice house,” Bill said, “but it cools the milk and keeps the fruits and vegetables fresh.”
“Milk?” I inquired, “Where do you get milk?”
“We acquired three cows from Chester,” Marie offered. “Milk for the whole neighborhood. I’ve learned how to milk a cow. Have you?”
“Not yet,” I answered, “but I’m sure I’ll get my chance pretty soon.”
“There’s a nice supply of fruits and vegetables in the springhouse,” Mom pointed out. “Where do they come from?”
Bill responded, “Jim, Hallie and their family travel everyday by bicycle to a produce farm this side of town. They have baskets fastened to their bicycles and bring produce home every night to trade for milk. It’s been working real well so far. They also bring some dried and canned food as well for winter. We’re supposed to save every jar we open and the lids for them.”
“Just like Titus was telling us,” Jean offered.
“Titus?” Marie asked.
“Titus Weaver,” Dad replied, “he’s a Mennonite from the other side of town. He visited us a couple weeks ago and traded produce for a load of hay. He told us how things were going in his neighborhood.”
“Sure, I remember him,” Bill said. “Chester told him where you were.”
Mom and Jean sorted through our remaining goods that had been stashed in the shed and came up with nothing we needed. There were plenty of things we didn’t need: electric appliances, lamps, light bulbs, decorations, books, toys, pictures, mirrors, TV’s, VCR’s, DVD’s, video tapes, and air conditioners.
Mom wondered out loud, “What if the boys figure out how to make electricity? The lamps would come in handy and maybe even the air conditioners could be used to cool food or something?”
“Or the mirrors,” Dad added, “could they be used to collect solar energy some how?”
“Unanswered questions,” Jean responded, “but if items such as these do become useful, we have ours and your in-law’s to use back at the farm. We can always come back for these or perhaps maybe someone else will need them more?”
“You’re right – just let them here!” Mom concluded. And then we headed for home.
When we arrived back home, Poppop and Joe had the drying beds set up in the yard between Jean’s house and the barn in a spot the shade doesn’t hit.
“Just in case some of the beans need to dry some more. We wouldn’t want any of them to spoil – or spoil a whole batch,” Joe said.
“Good thinking,” Dad commended them. “We’ll let them dry thoroughly before we pack them away.”
We shelled all the beans by nightfall, and then put them on the screens when the sun had risen. Just after dinner on Saturday, I went to check on the beans and found Uncle Jeremiah and Jake with a funny looking table. They were digging the legs into the middle of the yard, near the drying beds and just off the sidewalk that we used most often to travel to and from the barn and house. It had four steel legs, that I suppose were made from some scrap found lying around the farm, bolted to a three by four foot plate of white appliance colored steel. I found out later it was a refrigerator door. On one side of the door was a triangular piece of steel mounted upright. Opposite the triangle painted like the end of a spoke with the triangle being the hub, was a single black line. It was labeled with a large, black, capital “N”. Harvey, Joe and Dad walked over to investigate.
“I get it,” Harvey said. “I saw this laying in the shop before the triangle and line were on it. Now I see what it is.”
“Should work,” Dad added, “if it’s positioned correctly.”
“Good spot for it,” said Joe. “We walk by it so often. With those long legs, it will stay above the snow, too. What do you think, Alyssa?”
“What do I think? I think I’m the only one here that doesn’t know what it is.”
“If you figure out what the “N” stands for, then you’ll know,” Jake offered.
“I’m surrounded by people who talk in riddles,” I lamented.
“That’s how you learn,” Dad said. “You have to figure things out, then you’ll remember. If we just tell you, then you’ll forget. Just observe what they’re doing.”
Just what I needed – more Stump philosophy. So, I watched. Jeremiah and Jake were carefully aligning the ‘door’ so that the shadow from the triangle fell on the line, every so often checking their watches and filling ground into the holes each leg was in.
“Hope it stays for you,” Joe said.
“No matter,” Jeremiah answered, “we can adjust it, if it wanders.”
“Know what the “N” stands for yet?” Jake asked.
“Must stand for ‘no’, I have ‘no’ idea.”
“Ha, Ha,” Jake laughed, “which direction is the shadow pointing?”
“So now I’m a geographer. Just like my teachers – answer a question with another. Well let’s see. Harvey talks about an east wind from that way, of course that’s where the sun comes up. Middle of the day the sun is to the south, so the shadow points NORTH! That’s what the “N” is for. It’s a compass!”
Everyone laughed. “I guess that’s true,” Dad agreed. “But what time is it when the sun is directly to the south?”
I thought a little, and then exclaimed, “NOON! The “N” stands for noon, too. It’s a sundial!” Everyone applauded, but then I added, “But you missed it. Noon was an hour ago. It’s nearly one o’clock.”
Harvey chuckled, “Noon used to be twelve o’clock, Alyssa. But you see in this country we have on omnipotent Congress.”
“Om-nip….what kind of tent?”
“Omnipotent means ‘all-powerful’. You see, back one Sunday morning in March, Congress had the power to make the Earth rotate faster, so that there was a 23 hour day. Remember, we had to get up an hour earlier, once again in the dark, just like it was winter again. They call it daylight savings time. Moved noon ahead to one o’clock. Was supposed to solve the energy crisis,” Harvey concluded.
“That worked just like everything else Congress did. They aren’t omnipotent, they’re impotent,” Jeremiah announced. The men broke up. Harvey rolled on the ground laughing. I didn’t get it.
“Of course Congress is important,” I said. More laughter.
“No, not important,” Joe replied, “impotent, means not having the power to perform.” The men laughed even more.
“What’s so funny?” I asked.
“Impotent has another meaning. Hopefully you won’t run into it until you’re married 50 years,” Dad said.
“Yeeewww,” I answered. “By the way, why did you choose to do this today?”
“Tomorrow’s the autumnal equinox, equal day-equal night, the first day of fall,” Jeremiah said. “We thought the readings would be most accurate today, tomorrow and Monday. Every hour still needs to be marked off. If we miss one, or it’s cloudy, we can add it a later day. We’ll just mark the lines; we can paint and label them anytime.”
“You know what?” Joe announced. “Let’s free ourselves from the tyranny of Congress and go off of daylight savings time today. We actually did a couple weeks ago when we started getting up when the sun did.”
“As it should be then,” Harvey declared. “Everyone change your watches and then pass the word to the others.”
“Give me liberty or give me daylight savings time!” Dad shouted. “Now look who’s all powerful. We just added an hour to September 22nd.”
“And we are important, unlike Congress,” I added.
We left my uncle and brother to the task of firming the sundial’s position. As we walked toward the barn, we saw a man on horseback riding down the road. Why it was Reverend Schneider.
“I imagine he’ll have a lot to share,” Dad said.
“Or preach about,” Harvey added, “I wonder what time he’s on.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Joe cried, “so much for our extra hour."
To be continued..........Mort
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