This is my 53rd post - been at it for a year.
Don't look for any posts the next two weeks - I'll be away.
I'm not sure I'll be able to continue when I return, especially as it appears that no one is reading. If you are reading, please let me know - I need a confidence builder.
Mort
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
Chapter Twenty - Agronomics (cont)
Wheat sowing continued into November, when the weather was cooperative and as fields were cleared. The other major agronomic activity that fall was harvesting the soybeans. Larry had over forty acres and we had saved enough fuel to enable the use of his combine to strip the pods from the beanstalks and clean the beans from the pods. He didn’t waste fuel on the road by driving back and forth from the farm to the field. We towed the combine to the field with the Clydesdales and only started the engine to do the actually threshing. We also hauled the fuel to the combine instead of coming back to the farm for fuel. The horses could also haul the beans back to the farm with the gravity bin wagons. In good years, soybeans dry well enough in the field to keep from spoiling, and this year was no different. The beans were stored in a metal bin that Harvey usually filled with an electric driven auger. With some adaptation, the boys rigged up a 12-volt motor to run it. It ran a lot slower than usual, but still got the beans in the bin. Even at the slower speed though, it ran a battery dead in about 30 minutes; good thing the windmill could recharge a couple at a time. The bin held 2000 bushels. When the second to last wagon was being unloaded the bin overflowed.
“Over 2000 bushel,” Harvey commented, “with maybe another 250 bushel in the last two wagons. All from forty acres means the yield was over 55 bushel per acre. That’s the best I think I’ve ever had. The Lord has blessed us.”
He’s blessed us indeed,” Dad agreed. “In that bin we have soybeans for food, feed, seed or fuel.”
“Fuel?” I asked, “we wouldn’t burn them would we?”
“We could if we needed to,” Dad answered, “they are loaded with energy. Dennis and Aaron are working on a way to squeeze the oil out. We can burn the oil in our diesels, we think. The remaining pulp, called soybean meal is a great source of protein.”
“For us?” I asked.
“Us, or the cattle or hogs. I didn’t hear their plan yet; we’ll see the results sometime, if it works.”
It wasn’t a problem having the two wagons remain loaded. They could just be parked in the wagon shed as we had others to use for the corn. However, one problem we did have throughout the whole harvest was flat tires. The first one wasn’t a big deal; Larry would just go “borrow” one, wheel and all, from a piece of equipment we weren’t using. That way the tire would not have to be removed from the rim, the tube repaired, remounted, and then inflated. That method was fine for the first few, but eventually Josh and Barry, using the repair kits for the inner tubes and the 12-volt air pump Uncle Bruce had brought, mastered the task of repairing tires. All along, we had been able to repair any bicycle flats, hoping our supply of glue for the tire patches would not run out. Down the road, to preserve our usable glue for bicycle tubes, we had to put sand in some of the implement tires to keep them inflated. It was an extremely laborious and painstakingly time consuming process that took patience and perseverance to accomplish, but the men got it done. At least for this harvest season, we still had glue and could patch inner tubes. And one BIG tire we did need to fix – the drive tire on the combine.
“Thank goodness you didn’t drive into anything that made a hole too big to repair,” Harvey said to Larry after inspecting the flat tire they found one day when returning to the field. “I knew something was wrong as soon we crested the hill and I saw the combine leaning to one side.”
“Yeah, it’s only a nail or something,” Larry agreed. “We’re lucky too that it went flat at a good flat spot in the field, so we can safely work at it. But what a mess the calcium made.”
Calcium was the word farmers used to call the water that was pumped into tractor or combine tires for added weight, which would give the tires better traction in different situations. Water alone would freeze in the winter, ruining the tube or maybe even the tire, so calcium carbonate, chemically speaking, a salt, was added to the water to keep it from freezing. Unbeknownst to Larry, when he parked the combine for the evening, the hole was very near the bottom of the tire so darn near all the calcium solution had seeped out, making a soggy mess.
“We’re not going to fix it here,” Harvey said. “Don’t even have the tools we need to get the tire off the combine. We need to go back home for stuff.”
The word stuff has a lot of meanings. In this case, it means all the tools and equipment one might need to get a job done, without having to make a return trip home for some “stuff” you forgot the first time. I had seen Dad do it many a time; he’d fill the pickup half full, but only use five percent of it. It was more critical in this instance, with the combine being broke down about 25 minutes from the farm at horse speed. On the wagon they threw chains, five different jacks, wrecking bars, toolboxes, pipes, solvent for loosening rusty bolts, sledge hammers, post irons, the 12 volt air pump, six charged batteries, the inner tube patches, even a brand new tube Larry thought might fit if the old one could not be repaired; and blocking, tons of wooden blocking and long heavy boards to keep the combine from falling further into the ground when the wheel was removed. They weren’t going to have to come back for anything.
Finally, they filled the wagon up with brawn; ten men climbed aboard to make sure there would be enough help. A combine drive tire isn’t small or light; it must have been about five feet high, over a foot and a half wide, and weighed about 300 pounds even without the calcium. Even with all the forethought and muscle, it still took a good part of the day to complete the tire change. It must have been close to three o’clock when the repaired tire and wheel were back on and the combine was being lowered off the jacks.
Larry said, “I’m glad we’re done, but I never thought it would take this long. I’ll only get a few acres combined today.”
“What would we have done if we wouldn’t have been able to fix the tire?” Dennis asked.
“I gave that a little thought,” Harvey replied. “We have some tractors with roughly the same size tire, but not the same wheel mounting. I guess we could have made it work, but I’m glad we didn’t have to. Darn lucky it didn’t rain either.”
And it didn’t rain, especially not that October; it was unseasonably hot and dry. Horrible weather for shocking corn, but great weather for harvesting beans; I think Larry finished November 3rd. Finally, that very next week in November colder weather came, and so did more people. Some to stay, but a lot were neighbors looking to trade for cows. They were in the same boat as us; they had some feed, food, a source of water and had taken in families that didn’t. Several cows had freshened in September and October. By now there were more hands to milk and care for the dairy animals, but also more people to drink milk as our numbers had exceeded 60. All in all though, we could spare some.
“Just rubs me a little,” Larry announced one evening, “that we’re giving away our livelihood.”
“I know,” Harvey agreed. “But don’t fret; I don’t think our total numbers are down at all. We’ve had fifteen calves born since the middle of August, and I believe we only traded or slaughtered thirteen so far.”
“I didn’t realize that,” Larry responded, “and I know the neighbors need food.”
“Also, it relieves us from some work and saves us feed,” Jean added. “Think about it, what good does it do anyone to have a cow if they can’t use the milk? And besides, the cow isn’t gone; it’s just eating and being milked somewhere else - still a good use of a resource. Be satisfied that we’re doing our part. People will remember, when we need help.”
“You’re right,” Larry replied, “I’ll have to remember that.”
But what could the neighbors trade, that we could use? Food, fuel, medicine? It didn’t much matter; few had anything valuable to trade, with two exceptions. One neighbor traded an antique corn sheller that became a real time saver. We had been shelling corn by hand with a small ring-like tool that you had to turn the ear inside of. It knocked the kernels off, but at only one ear at a time, it kept a person quite busy – took maybe a half an hour to shell a five gallon bucket full of corn. The newly acquired sheller had a large crank with a heavy flywheel that one person could keep spinning while another fed ear after ear into the machine. The cob came out the other end and the shelled corn slid down a screened chute. Dirt and fines fell through the screen and the clean corn fell into a bucket. Only took two workers about five minutes to shell five gallons. It was fun, too, and Poppop had another use for it. We could hull the walnuts with it. Beat rubbing the hulls off by hand.
The other valuable trade was two dozen chickens. As the length of daylight shortened, egg production fell sharply. We tried to keep it going by using a car light and battery to make the chickens think it was still light out, but that had minimal success.
“It works in commercial operations,” Mom complained one day. “I just don’t know what we’re doing wrong. The new chickens aren’t laying any better than ours were, but at least five percent of 40 is more than five percent of 16.”
“Just an egg or two extra per day?” Dad asked.
“Yep, that’s all,” she answered, “but it’s worth the effort just to expand our flock. They’ll start laying again with the longer daylight at the end of winter. We’ll be happy for the eggs then.”
To be continued………….. Mort
“Over 2000 bushel,” Harvey commented, “with maybe another 250 bushel in the last two wagons. All from forty acres means the yield was over 55 bushel per acre. That’s the best I think I’ve ever had. The Lord has blessed us.”
He’s blessed us indeed,” Dad agreed. “In that bin we have soybeans for food, feed, seed or fuel.”
“Fuel?” I asked, “we wouldn’t burn them would we?”
“We could if we needed to,” Dad answered, “they are loaded with energy. Dennis and Aaron are working on a way to squeeze the oil out. We can burn the oil in our diesels, we think. The remaining pulp, called soybean meal is a great source of protein.”
“For us?” I asked.
“Us, or the cattle or hogs. I didn’t hear their plan yet; we’ll see the results sometime, if it works.”
It wasn’t a problem having the two wagons remain loaded. They could just be parked in the wagon shed as we had others to use for the corn. However, one problem we did have throughout the whole harvest was flat tires. The first one wasn’t a big deal; Larry would just go “borrow” one, wheel and all, from a piece of equipment we weren’t using. That way the tire would not have to be removed from the rim, the tube repaired, remounted, and then inflated. That method was fine for the first few, but eventually Josh and Barry, using the repair kits for the inner tubes and the 12-volt air pump Uncle Bruce had brought, mastered the task of repairing tires. All along, we had been able to repair any bicycle flats, hoping our supply of glue for the tire patches would not run out. Down the road, to preserve our usable glue for bicycle tubes, we had to put sand in some of the implement tires to keep them inflated. It was an extremely laborious and painstakingly time consuming process that took patience and perseverance to accomplish, but the men got it done. At least for this harvest season, we still had glue and could patch inner tubes. And one BIG tire we did need to fix – the drive tire on the combine.
“Thank goodness you didn’t drive into anything that made a hole too big to repair,” Harvey said to Larry after inspecting the flat tire they found one day when returning to the field. “I knew something was wrong as soon we crested the hill and I saw the combine leaning to one side.”
“Yeah, it’s only a nail or something,” Larry agreed. “We’re lucky too that it went flat at a good flat spot in the field, so we can safely work at it. But what a mess the calcium made.”
Calcium was the word farmers used to call the water that was pumped into tractor or combine tires for added weight, which would give the tires better traction in different situations. Water alone would freeze in the winter, ruining the tube or maybe even the tire, so calcium carbonate, chemically speaking, a salt, was added to the water to keep it from freezing. Unbeknownst to Larry, when he parked the combine for the evening, the hole was very near the bottom of the tire so darn near all the calcium solution had seeped out, making a soggy mess.
“We’re not going to fix it here,” Harvey said. “Don’t even have the tools we need to get the tire off the combine. We need to go back home for stuff.”
The word stuff has a lot of meanings. In this case, it means all the tools and equipment one might need to get a job done, without having to make a return trip home for some “stuff” you forgot the first time. I had seen Dad do it many a time; he’d fill the pickup half full, but only use five percent of it. It was more critical in this instance, with the combine being broke down about 25 minutes from the farm at horse speed. On the wagon they threw chains, five different jacks, wrecking bars, toolboxes, pipes, solvent for loosening rusty bolts, sledge hammers, post irons, the 12 volt air pump, six charged batteries, the inner tube patches, even a brand new tube Larry thought might fit if the old one could not be repaired; and blocking, tons of wooden blocking and long heavy boards to keep the combine from falling further into the ground when the wheel was removed. They weren’t going to have to come back for anything.
Finally, they filled the wagon up with brawn; ten men climbed aboard to make sure there would be enough help. A combine drive tire isn’t small or light; it must have been about five feet high, over a foot and a half wide, and weighed about 300 pounds even without the calcium. Even with all the forethought and muscle, it still took a good part of the day to complete the tire change. It must have been close to three o’clock when the repaired tire and wheel were back on and the combine was being lowered off the jacks.
Larry said, “I’m glad we’re done, but I never thought it would take this long. I’ll only get a few acres combined today.”
“What would we have done if we wouldn’t have been able to fix the tire?” Dennis asked.
“I gave that a little thought,” Harvey replied. “We have some tractors with roughly the same size tire, but not the same wheel mounting. I guess we could have made it work, but I’m glad we didn’t have to. Darn lucky it didn’t rain either.”
And it didn’t rain, especially not that October; it was unseasonably hot and dry. Horrible weather for shocking corn, but great weather for harvesting beans; I think Larry finished November 3rd. Finally, that very next week in November colder weather came, and so did more people. Some to stay, but a lot were neighbors looking to trade for cows. They were in the same boat as us; they had some feed, food, a source of water and had taken in families that didn’t. Several cows had freshened in September and October. By now there were more hands to milk and care for the dairy animals, but also more people to drink milk as our numbers had exceeded 60. All in all though, we could spare some.
“Just rubs me a little,” Larry announced one evening, “that we’re giving away our livelihood.”
“I know,” Harvey agreed. “But don’t fret; I don’t think our total numbers are down at all. We’ve had fifteen calves born since the middle of August, and I believe we only traded or slaughtered thirteen so far.”
“I didn’t realize that,” Larry responded, “and I know the neighbors need food.”
“Also, it relieves us from some work and saves us feed,” Jean added. “Think about it, what good does it do anyone to have a cow if they can’t use the milk? And besides, the cow isn’t gone; it’s just eating and being milked somewhere else - still a good use of a resource. Be satisfied that we’re doing our part. People will remember, when we need help.”
“You’re right,” Larry replied, “I’ll have to remember that.”
But what could the neighbors trade, that we could use? Food, fuel, medicine? It didn’t much matter; few had anything valuable to trade, with two exceptions. One neighbor traded an antique corn sheller that became a real time saver. We had been shelling corn by hand with a small ring-like tool that you had to turn the ear inside of. It knocked the kernels off, but at only one ear at a time, it kept a person quite busy – took maybe a half an hour to shell a five gallon bucket full of corn. The newly acquired sheller had a large crank with a heavy flywheel that one person could keep spinning while another fed ear after ear into the machine. The cob came out the other end and the shelled corn slid down a screened chute. Dirt and fines fell through the screen and the clean corn fell into a bucket. Only took two workers about five minutes to shell five gallons. It was fun, too, and Poppop had another use for it. We could hull the walnuts with it. Beat rubbing the hulls off by hand.
The other valuable trade was two dozen chickens. As the length of daylight shortened, egg production fell sharply. We tried to keep it going by using a car light and battery to make the chickens think it was still light out, but that had minimal success.
“It works in commercial operations,” Mom complained one day. “I just don’t know what we’re doing wrong. The new chickens aren’t laying any better than ours were, but at least five percent of 40 is more than five percent of 16.”
“Just an egg or two extra per day?” Dad asked.
“Yep, that’s all,” she answered, “but it’s worth the effort just to expand our flock. They’ll start laying again with the longer daylight at the end of winter. We’ll be happy for the eggs then.”
To be continued………….. Mort
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)