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
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