One of the last jobs of butchering was rendering the fat. Hog fat was kept separate during the butchering process and then melted in the kettle. It then re-solidified when cooled as lard. Amazingly, unless exposed to summer-like temperatures, it kept very well. We used the lard for frying, making piecrust, or some other uses if butter-churning had lagged behind.
Beef tallow was rendered the same way. Somewhere in their past, perhaps at some folk life fair, Jean and Dianna had both learned how to make candles. The cleanest tallow, that with the least blood or meat clinging to it, was melted separately for Jean, Dianna, and me to make candles. It was a hot job, but I was glad to help. It was fun and a wonderfully warm job during the winter. Finding the right material for wicks was challenging. Baler twine was plentiful, but too thick. Shoestrings were the right thickness, but who wanted to waste shoestrings on candles. We tried twisting straws or other plant stems, but they burned too quickly. We had a small ball of packaging string; you know, the kind you used to wrap packages. It was nice and round, the right thickness, burned at a decent pace, and the hot fat clung to it fairly well. However the supply was soon exhausted. We had to settle on spitting the sisal baler twine and retwisting it. We tried the same thing with plastic twine, but it burned kinda funny, so sisal was the best choice. We certainly had plenty of it, but sometime in the future, the supply would run out because of all the other uses we had for baler twine, like our braided ropes.
“One day,” Jean had said, “we’ll have to find some fibrous plant or weed that we can make wicks out of.”
“We’ll have to experiment next summer,” was my response.
After settling on the wicks, the trickiest part was getting the candles started. Poppop had handcrafted a dozen candle holders that eight wicks could be fastened to. The first dip in the hot tallow was the most difficult because the wicks didn’t have enough weight to make them go down into the fat. So we used a thin stout wire to force each of the wicks into the grease. It was a job we did as a team; more hands making it easier. Even then, when you pulled out the wicks, there was barely any coating on the infant candles. Every dip after that became easier and easier, as long as we waited long enough between dips, so the fat had solidified enough onto the wick to prevent it from melting off the wick on the next dip. That was why we also had to be careful not to get the fat too hot or we’d be melting the candles away faster than we’d be building them up. Grandpop was a big help with that aspect, carefully monitoring the heat. It was neat to have him find a way that he could contribute and for me to spend some time working with him. Plus he really seemed to enjoy it.
We probably had to dip the candles 12 to 15 times until we got the thickness we desired or the level of grease had gotten too low in the kettle to dip. Our finished candles weren’t always works of art. They smoked a little too much, smelled a little, and could have burned more slowly. Our flashlight battery supply would soon be exhausted and even the rechargeable ones would not last forever. So our candles became a valuable asset to the community during the months of fall and winter when we only had nine to ten hours of daylight. In addition, artificial lighting was preserved exclusively for use in the barn where no flames were permitted.
When we had finished dipping all the candles, all the dirtier, poorer quality fat and tallow and any grease leftover from frying (remember, we threw nothing away), was added to the remaining grease in the kettle for soap making. Most of us had never seen soap being made. Dad said Poppop used to make homemade soap when Dad was growing up and Grandmom used to help her aunt make soap for years. But that was years ago and neither of my grandparents remembered the precise formula and method. Fortunately, Wayne came to save the day, because he knew how to make soap.
“There’s a catch,” Wayne said when first approached about lending his expertise. “We need lye to make soap.”
“That figures,” lamented Harvey, “we couldn’t think of everything when we started to stockpile supplies for the collapse. I’m not sure where we even could have bought lye.”
“Could have checked the pretzel factories,” Jeremiah offered. “They use lye for some pretzel products.”
“Or a plumbing supply store,” Aaron said. “They use it for unclogging pipes.”
“Then we have some,” Dad announced.
“Where?” Joe wondered.
“In our bathroom and kitchen cabinets - Liquid Plumber, Drano. Most products made to unclog drains have sodium hydroxide in them – lye. I’m sure we brought three or four quarts from our house. Others could have too. Remember, cleaning agents, soaps and chemicals were high on the list of priorities of materials to salvage.”
“Yes, you’re right,” Jeremiah agreed. “I’m sure I had one or two bottles. We can check our inventory in the upstairs kitchen. Wouldn’t they be stored there?”
“Yes,” Harvey answered, “there might also be some up at Butch’s.”
“And when we need more,” Joe added, “we can have Titus trade some of our meat or flour or even the soap we make for more. Or we can make our own salvage run; check out what’s left behind in the stores in town or in abandoned homes.”
It was a touchy subject. Trading was one thing; others could use some of our produce including the soap we’d make. But was just going into someone else’s home or store and taking what was left behind appropriate, ethical, or moral?
“I guess there are a couple theories concerning scavenging,” Dad said. “Some would say you have to do what you have to do to survive.”
“Others say it would be stealing,” Barry interjected.
“But it’s on abandoned property,” Jeremiah countered.
“It’s just laying there, going to waste,” Bruce offered. “You know how our culture abhors resources going to waste.”
“Not to mention that our situation demands we waste nothing,” Jake added. “And I don’t mean only our little group, but all of society. We’ve wasted too much the last couple generations. That’s part of what got us into this mess.”
“Sounds ethical to me,” Harvey concluded. “Not immoral either.”
“Definitely appropriate,” Joe concluded, “besides, we’d take those resources to turn them into products that we’d eventually share with any folks that needed them. Only makes sense to me.”
All eyes turned to my grandparents and Wayne. I guess this was one of those issues where even my parents and their generation, already in their 40s and 50s, looked to the previous generation for wisdom. The question didn’t even need to be verbalized.
Grandpop spoke first. “You do what you have to do,” he said. “It would be best is we could trade for everything we need, but we might not always be able to do that.”
“Especially if you can’t find the owner,” Grandmom added.
“Choose the crew carefully,” Wayne proposed, “that would venture out on any scavenging missions. Choose men with sound judgment. Have them take trade goods with them and seek out the remaining neighbors first. They should announce who they are, what they’re looking for, and what they’re intending to do with it. Don’t take anything the neighbors might need in the future, but take what they agree to part with. Mention we have things or will be producing things that they might need someday. Use the trade goods as peace offerings. If our men feel it best to compensate the owners – leave them some money. I know the money is practically worthless and that the owners might never return to claim it, but if it brings peace, then so be it.”
“Then so be it,” several echoed.
Turned out scavenging, while important and necessary, wasn’t that big a deal. Many abandoned homes and stores were well emptied when the scavengers arrived. However, there were items that were left behind, like drain openers that were thought of as useless or worthless by their previous owners, but became useful and worthwhile in the hands of the industrious and ingenuous members of our community.
So Wayne helped us make soap. It took a lot of boiling and stirring and somehow adding the lye to the boiling fat enabled it to solidify when cooled. Later when the supply of lye ran out, we learned that wood ashes could be substituted. I don’t know why they worked and it was a more difficult and trickier process, but it gave us the same results –soap. The stuff actually worked, too. It didn’t smell that great though, so we tried adding perfume, after-shave, or cologne (some things we really had no other use for) to a couple batches to spice it up a little. That made it more pleasant to bathe or shower with, which was the homemade soap’s primary use. But soon we were using it for laundry and dishes as well, so we could save all the laundry and dish detergent we had on hand for sanitizing the milking equipment when Larry’s commercially produced cleaners would run out. Down the road, we even had to use homemade soap for that job as well. For the ensuing months it was an ongoing burden – finding homemade products to replace the ones we had been able to purchase just a few months ago.
To be continued……..Mort
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Chapter Twenty-one - Mortality (cont)
Death was not an uncommon experience for us. We had been killing a hog a week for a few months now and had butchered several small steers as well. We still had not tackled a larger animal because of the warm weather and the fact that at this point Joe had not perfected methods of preserving that amount of meat.
One morning Larry discovered a cow lying dead in the pasture. She was part of the nursing herd, those that we let the calves suckle instead of us milking them. Why she died, we didn’t know. That herd wasn’t attended as regularly as the milking string, making it less likely to notice any sick cows. She was old as far as cows go – eight or nine years as best Larry could recall. With no other evidence of disease or injury, we could only assume old age was the culprit. We weren’t about to do an autopsy to determine cause of death….. or were we?
“Shame to see her go to waste,” Harvey began.
“Absolutely,” Joe agreed, “we shouldn’t throw any meat away.”
“But how long has she been dead?” Dad wondered.
“Hard to say,” Larry answered, “she’s not stiff. She’s not bloated from the fermentation going on in her rumen of the last feed she ate. Couldn’t be more than two, three hours. Four at the most.”
“Then I say we tackle it,” Joe concluded. “The meat can’t be bad yet, depending on what she died from. Let’s have a look and if anything looks suspicious, then we’ll abandon the meat. At least Patsy and the cats can have some.”
After hanging the cow in the tree next to the ground cellar with the head up, skinning it wasn’t really that hard. At least not with the skill that Joe had. Next he removed the entrails, carefully inspecting them for signs of infection or any other indications of disease. Nothing seemed abnormal. But when he pierced the diaphragm to remove the heart and lungs from the cow’s upper cavity, gallons of blood spewed into the tubs we had positioned under the animal for the waste to fall into.
“Whoa, that’s not normal!” Joe exclaimed. “This cow must have bled to death. It wonders me what caused it.”
After removing the organs and examining them, he continued, “Look at the heart. Now I know why she died. It’s not easy to see, but there’s a hole, I guess you call it an aneurysm, in a large vessel right where it goes into the heart. Not a gaping hole that your thumb would fit through, but a slit no more than half an inch long. Big enough, however, for all this blood to be pumped out.”
“If it’s an artery,” Josh chimed in. “If it’s a vein, it just leaked out.”
“Either way – she bled to death,” Harvey concluded, “fast enough to make the meat safe to eat, I’d say. Everyone agree?”
No one disagreed, so the cleaned carcass was sawed into quarters and carried into the ground cellar to cool. Much of the fat and tallow was removed from the meat and stored separately in buckets to be rendered later. Under normal circumstances, like the beef we were to slaughter as winter progressed, we would have cleaned up the liver, kidneys and heart and prepared them for supper on the days we killed any livestock. This time, however, because we weren’t one hundred percent sure how long the cow had been dead, all the organs as well as the head and hide were hauled for disposal to a far corner of the farm where no livestock were pastured.
“The skunks, possums, and vultures need something to eat too,” Dad had said. “It’s a shame we couldn’t use the hide, though. Don’t know if we could have turned it into leather or not.”
“We can’t waste the salt we have,” Larry said.
“I know,” Dad agreed. “Maybe someone will show up one day with the knowledge and ability to tan hides. Commercially they use tannic acid; we might be able to use oak leaves.”
“I read once,” Jake added, “that the Indians used the organs for tanning. Some chemical in the organs, when rubbed into the cleaned hide helped the process. The Indians didn’t have salt or tannic acid, but somehow they made soft buckskin. Maybe one day we’ll have to experiment.”
So for the next few days we ate old tough beef at every meal. Joe did learn some things from the incident.
First, he wished he’d have been better prepared. Second, meat won’t keep real long in the ground cellar. At 55 degrees it’s a great place for the meat in the summertime, but the meat’s actually preserved better outside in the winter and the months around it. Third, and fortunately so, the drying racks actually worked. We successfully dried some of the meat that Joe had skillfully sliced by hanging the slices next to the butcher stove on the racks we had used to make the dried apples. Joe knew how to make beef jerky, but lacked the ingredients and the electric dryer he usually used. The dried beef would have to be a weak substitute.
One of the hind quarters was roasted the first day over an open fire outside. Some of the other large pieces were cooked in the kettle of the butcher stove; it certainly made enough heat for the drying racks. Once the meat was cooked and deboned, we packed it in jars and added boiling broth to enable the jar lids to seal by creating a vacuum when the broth and jar cooled. We cooked and canned two full kettles of meat, using most of the jars we had lids for. Joe kept the leftover broth cooking after screening out any small pieces of meat and bone. We carefully separated the meat from the bones, and then using a small hand food grinder, ground it like hamburger and tossed it back into the kettle with the broth. He added a little salt, pepper, our home ground cornmeal, and a little wheat flour until it had cooked to a pasty consistency like the mush we made. We poured it into pans to cool and set-up, and then fried it in the morning for breakfast. Like I said, beef every meal. It really wasn’t that great; later batches we made that winter were a bit tastier because pork was added as well. It became a staple for two mornings after butchering. It was called scrapple, because it was made from the scraps leftover from butchering.
Also, Joe wished he could have made bologna with some of the meat, so steps were taken to have what he needed ready for the next time. Aaron rigged up Joe’s power driven meat grinder with the motor we had used to fill the soybean bin. Then Joe was able to grind the beef, add pepper and salt and a few other ingredients he had saved. The mixture was stuffed into bags that Sandy and Mom had sewn into tubes from old clothing or towels. When these tubes of meat were smoked, they kept for weeks, especially in winter. I don’t know why, but it was called summer bologna or summer sausage and unlike some of the other food we had, it was delicious. We ate it as a luncheon meat or fried it and made a milk gravy with it.
Eventually Joe started making regular pork sausage when we butchered hogs. We usually just fried it as patties, but it also made pretty good milk gravy as well. In freezing weather it kept indefinitely or could be kept a day or two in the springhouse by putting it in a sealed bucket in the cool water, but Joe knew it would keep longer if smoked, like the summer bologna. But we needed casings into which to stuff the pork sausage. The casings we used came from a job no one was thrilled to do. We had to clean the pig’s intestines. Grandmom remembered how to do it and thank goodness, out of the 60 some people in our community, there were a few people willing to tackle the task. At least I didn’t have to. The benefit was great, however, for once the sausage was inside a casing, it could be hung on racks to smoke and then it would keep for days if not weeks if necessary.
In order to smoke any of the meats another project had been tackled. There was no smokehouse on Harvey’s farm, but Joe had one at his old house. One day during the second week of November the men using, Brutus, took a hay wagon, tools, and blocking to Joe’s house and retrieved his smokehouse, cement blocks and all. Somehow they were able to tilt and lay the structure right onto the wagon without it falling to pieces. The smokehouse itself was six feet by eight feet and nine feet high, so it fit in a standard hay wagon. Once again, with some thinking, planning, muscle and extra effort we had taken another step toward meeting the food needs of our community. It was neat watching Joe tend the smokehouse. After starting a fire, it had to be tempered or smoldered to make the fire smoke all the time and not get too hot; you didn’t want to cook the meat, just smoke it. Joe used green wood (not dry), or wet sawdust and sometimes he even had to throw water on the fire itself.
To be continued…………Mort
One morning Larry discovered a cow lying dead in the pasture. She was part of the nursing herd, those that we let the calves suckle instead of us milking them. Why she died, we didn’t know. That herd wasn’t attended as regularly as the milking string, making it less likely to notice any sick cows. She was old as far as cows go – eight or nine years as best Larry could recall. With no other evidence of disease or injury, we could only assume old age was the culprit. We weren’t about to do an autopsy to determine cause of death….. or were we?
“Shame to see her go to waste,” Harvey began.
“Absolutely,” Joe agreed, “we shouldn’t throw any meat away.”
“But how long has she been dead?” Dad wondered.
“Hard to say,” Larry answered, “she’s not stiff. She’s not bloated from the fermentation going on in her rumen of the last feed she ate. Couldn’t be more than two, three hours. Four at the most.”
“Then I say we tackle it,” Joe concluded. “The meat can’t be bad yet, depending on what she died from. Let’s have a look and if anything looks suspicious, then we’ll abandon the meat. At least Patsy and the cats can have some.”
After hanging the cow in the tree next to the ground cellar with the head up, skinning it wasn’t really that hard. At least not with the skill that Joe had. Next he removed the entrails, carefully inspecting them for signs of infection or any other indications of disease. Nothing seemed abnormal. But when he pierced the diaphragm to remove the heart and lungs from the cow’s upper cavity, gallons of blood spewed into the tubs we had positioned under the animal for the waste to fall into.
“Whoa, that’s not normal!” Joe exclaimed. “This cow must have bled to death. It wonders me what caused it.”
After removing the organs and examining them, he continued, “Look at the heart. Now I know why she died. It’s not easy to see, but there’s a hole, I guess you call it an aneurysm, in a large vessel right where it goes into the heart. Not a gaping hole that your thumb would fit through, but a slit no more than half an inch long. Big enough, however, for all this blood to be pumped out.”
“If it’s an artery,” Josh chimed in. “If it’s a vein, it just leaked out.”
“Either way – she bled to death,” Harvey concluded, “fast enough to make the meat safe to eat, I’d say. Everyone agree?”
No one disagreed, so the cleaned carcass was sawed into quarters and carried into the ground cellar to cool. Much of the fat and tallow was removed from the meat and stored separately in buckets to be rendered later. Under normal circumstances, like the beef we were to slaughter as winter progressed, we would have cleaned up the liver, kidneys and heart and prepared them for supper on the days we killed any livestock. This time, however, because we weren’t one hundred percent sure how long the cow had been dead, all the organs as well as the head and hide were hauled for disposal to a far corner of the farm where no livestock were pastured.
“The skunks, possums, and vultures need something to eat too,” Dad had said. “It’s a shame we couldn’t use the hide, though. Don’t know if we could have turned it into leather or not.”
“We can’t waste the salt we have,” Larry said.
“I know,” Dad agreed. “Maybe someone will show up one day with the knowledge and ability to tan hides. Commercially they use tannic acid; we might be able to use oak leaves.”
“I read once,” Jake added, “that the Indians used the organs for tanning. Some chemical in the organs, when rubbed into the cleaned hide helped the process. The Indians didn’t have salt or tannic acid, but somehow they made soft buckskin. Maybe one day we’ll have to experiment.”
So for the next few days we ate old tough beef at every meal. Joe did learn some things from the incident.
First, he wished he’d have been better prepared. Second, meat won’t keep real long in the ground cellar. At 55 degrees it’s a great place for the meat in the summertime, but the meat’s actually preserved better outside in the winter and the months around it. Third, and fortunately so, the drying racks actually worked. We successfully dried some of the meat that Joe had skillfully sliced by hanging the slices next to the butcher stove on the racks we had used to make the dried apples. Joe knew how to make beef jerky, but lacked the ingredients and the electric dryer he usually used. The dried beef would have to be a weak substitute.
One of the hind quarters was roasted the first day over an open fire outside. Some of the other large pieces were cooked in the kettle of the butcher stove; it certainly made enough heat for the drying racks. Once the meat was cooked and deboned, we packed it in jars and added boiling broth to enable the jar lids to seal by creating a vacuum when the broth and jar cooled. We cooked and canned two full kettles of meat, using most of the jars we had lids for. Joe kept the leftover broth cooking after screening out any small pieces of meat and bone. We carefully separated the meat from the bones, and then using a small hand food grinder, ground it like hamburger and tossed it back into the kettle with the broth. He added a little salt, pepper, our home ground cornmeal, and a little wheat flour until it had cooked to a pasty consistency like the mush we made. We poured it into pans to cool and set-up, and then fried it in the morning for breakfast. Like I said, beef every meal. It really wasn’t that great; later batches we made that winter were a bit tastier because pork was added as well. It became a staple for two mornings after butchering. It was called scrapple, because it was made from the scraps leftover from butchering.
Also, Joe wished he could have made bologna with some of the meat, so steps were taken to have what he needed ready for the next time. Aaron rigged up Joe’s power driven meat grinder with the motor we had used to fill the soybean bin. Then Joe was able to grind the beef, add pepper and salt and a few other ingredients he had saved. The mixture was stuffed into bags that Sandy and Mom had sewn into tubes from old clothing or towels. When these tubes of meat were smoked, they kept for weeks, especially in winter. I don’t know why, but it was called summer bologna or summer sausage and unlike some of the other food we had, it was delicious. We ate it as a luncheon meat or fried it and made a milk gravy with it.
Eventually Joe started making regular pork sausage when we butchered hogs. We usually just fried it as patties, but it also made pretty good milk gravy as well. In freezing weather it kept indefinitely or could be kept a day or two in the springhouse by putting it in a sealed bucket in the cool water, but Joe knew it would keep longer if smoked, like the summer bologna. But we needed casings into which to stuff the pork sausage. The casings we used came from a job no one was thrilled to do. We had to clean the pig’s intestines. Grandmom remembered how to do it and thank goodness, out of the 60 some people in our community, there were a few people willing to tackle the task. At least I didn’t have to. The benefit was great, however, for once the sausage was inside a casing, it could be hung on racks to smoke and then it would keep for days if not weeks if necessary.
In order to smoke any of the meats another project had been tackled. There was no smokehouse on Harvey’s farm, but Joe had one at his old house. One day during the second week of November the men using, Brutus, took a hay wagon, tools, and blocking to Joe’s house and retrieved his smokehouse, cement blocks and all. Somehow they were able to tilt and lay the structure right onto the wagon without it falling to pieces. The smokehouse itself was six feet by eight feet and nine feet high, so it fit in a standard hay wagon. Once again, with some thinking, planning, muscle and extra effort we had taken another step toward meeting the food needs of our community. It was neat watching Joe tend the smokehouse. After starting a fire, it had to be tempered or smoldered to make the fire smoke all the time and not get too hot; you didn’t want to cook the meat, just smoke it. Joe used green wood (not dry), or wet sawdust and sometimes he even had to throw water on the fire itself.
To be continued…………Mort
Wednesday, May 07, 2008
Hard to Imagine
Following is a question and answer session between a gentleman at an election rally and a presidential candidate. You pick the candidate, they’re all the same.
Q = questioner
C = candidate
Q: I understand your health care plan will provide health care for everyone in the country.
C: That’s correct.
Q: Well it’s about time. My daughter just received the immunizations for uterine cancer that the media, medical community, and the insurance companies touted so much. Our doctor billed us over $600 for the three shot series. I’m still fighting with the insurance company over getting it paid. How would a cost like that be handled under your plan?
C: Everyone would receive it at no cost.
Q: You mean the doctors won’t charge anyone anymore? And the pharmaceutical companies will give us the vaccine for free?
C: No, not for free. We will pay for it.
Q: We’re paying for it now. What’s the difference?
C: The difference is, the government will pay for it.
Q: Where’s the government going to get the money? They’re broke. There either going to have to get it from us or China.
C: From employers
Q: I thought you pledged not to raise taxes on middle class Americans, those earning less than $200,000 per year. There must be millions of small businesses and farmers that make less than that. Would you still tax them to fund your plan?
C: Well, it wouldn’t really be a tax – more like an involuntary contribution.
Q: Sounds like a tax to me. And where are employers supposed to get the money to pay your “involuntary contribution”?
C: From their profits.
Q: Oh, that’s right. You believe companies make profits they don’t deserve. Did you sleep through all of Economics 101? Companies get their money from the consumers, that’s us. Every cost they entail, including taxes, drives up the cost of their products and services to us. We would end up paying for your health care plan. The consumer always pays. So, who’s going to administer your plan?
C: We have insurance companies doing that now. They can continue.
Q: You’re kidding, right? The same insurance companies who drive up the cost of health care now and have used the money we pay in premiums to contribute generously to your campaign? For your plan to succeed, the extra costs tacked on by the insurance companies have to be eliminated. They’re not part of the solution; they’re part of the problem.
C: Next question.
Next installment, I have some of Alyssa’s story written…. Mort
Q = questioner
C = candidate
Q: I understand your health care plan will provide health care for everyone in the country.
C: That’s correct.
Q: Well it’s about time. My daughter just received the immunizations for uterine cancer that the media, medical community, and the insurance companies touted so much. Our doctor billed us over $600 for the three shot series. I’m still fighting with the insurance company over getting it paid. How would a cost like that be handled under your plan?
C: Everyone would receive it at no cost.
Q: You mean the doctors won’t charge anyone anymore? And the pharmaceutical companies will give us the vaccine for free?
C: No, not for free. We will pay for it.
Q: We’re paying for it now. What’s the difference?
C: The difference is, the government will pay for it.
Q: Where’s the government going to get the money? They’re broke. There either going to have to get it from us or China.
C: From employers
Q: I thought you pledged not to raise taxes on middle class Americans, those earning less than $200,000 per year. There must be millions of small businesses and farmers that make less than that. Would you still tax them to fund your plan?
C: Well, it wouldn’t really be a tax – more like an involuntary contribution.
Q: Sounds like a tax to me. And where are employers supposed to get the money to pay your “involuntary contribution”?
C: From their profits.
Q: Oh, that’s right. You believe companies make profits they don’t deserve. Did you sleep through all of Economics 101? Companies get their money from the consumers, that’s us. Every cost they entail, including taxes, drives up the cost of their products and services to us. We would end up paying for your health care plan. The consumer always pays. So, who’s going to administer your plan?
C: We have insurance companies doing that now. They can continue.
Q: You’re kidding, right? The same insurance companies who drive up the cost of health care now and have used the money we pay in premiums to contribute generously to your campaign? For your plan to succeed, the extra costs tacked on by the insurance companies have to be eliminated. They’re not part of the solution; they’re part of the problem.
C: Next question.
Next installment, I have some of Alyssa’s story written…. Mort
Monday, April 21, 2008
No Easy Fix
I said there is no easy fix………but you could try these:
1. Promote industries that produce items we really need like food, clothing, building materials and improvements to our infrastructure such as water, sewer, electricity, roads and railroads, especially if we now import those products.
2. Secure the dollar by eliminating credit – financial transactions need to be made in cold cash, coinage is best even if the metals used are steel, zinc, nickel or copper.
3. Provide incentives for renewable energy sources, especially solar, home grown fuels, and our garbage.
4. Establish neighborhood/community schools in churches, homes, community centers, etc., run by their owners (parents) by completely closing ALL public schools for a couple years.
5. Insure non-interference by government in business, agricultural and financial free enterprises by eliminating as many central regulatory agencies as possible, without compromising the safety aspects of those regulations as applied to the workers and the consumers.
Sorry, I said it wouldn’t be easy. It should be no surprise that the words chosen to begin each of these recommendations were also the ones used by James Madison when penning the Preamble to the Constitution. It would take some super leaders to actually have the intelligence and the courage to take such drastic steps. I guess we can hope.
Next installment?????????????? Mort
1. Promote industries that produce items we really need like food, clothing, building materials and improvements to our infrastructure such as water, sewer, electricity, roads and railroads, especially if we now import those products.
2. Secure the dollar by eliminating credit – financial transactions need to be made in cold cash, coinage is best even if the metals used are steel, zinc, nickel or copper.
3. Provide incentives for renewable energy sources, especially solar, home grown fuels, and our garbage.
4. Establish neighborhood/community schools in churches, homes, community centers, etc., run by their owners (parents) by completely closing ALL public schools for a couple years.
5. Insure non-interference by government in business, agricultural and financial free enterprises by eliminating as many central regulatory agencies as possible, without compromising the safety aspects of those regulations as applied to the workers and the consumers.
Sorry, I said it wouldn’t be easy. It should be no surprise that the words chosen to begin each of these recommendations were also the ones used by James Madison when penning the Preamble to the Constitution. It would take some super leaders to actually have the intelligence and the courage to take such drastic steps. I guess we can hope.
Next installment?????????????? Mort
Thursday, April 03, 2008
The ten main problems with society
The ten main problems with society
(ignorance/greed and their manifestations)
1. We are a nation of consumers instead of producers.
2. A fiscally irresponsible federal government which has our country 9.4 trillion dollars in debt.
3. Control of the economy (like the stock and commodities markets and credit) by the Federal Reserve and other banking type industries.
4. A valueless dollar, not because it cannot buy as much as it used to, but because it is not backed by anything of real value. (ex.-gold standard)
5. Our dependence on oil and the way our economy is driven by oil.
6. Acceptance as a right to entitlements, even if you don’t work for them.
7. Belief that the government is the savior of the people.
8. Our litigious society and the unwillingness to accept responsibility for our own actions.
9. A state enforced school system that purports the above values, fueled by a system of higher education that supports that indoctrination.
10. Failure of churches and families to instill the proper values.
There is no easy fix
Collapse and start over would be the easiest, and probably inevitable.
Maybe next installment I’ll suggest some ways we could try to fix them.
To be continued……. Mort Stump
(ignorance/greed and their manifestations)
1. We are a nation of consumers instead of producers.
2. A fiscally irresponsible federal government which has our country 9.4 trillion dollars in debt.
3. Control of the economy (like the stock and commodities markets and credit) by the Federal Reserve and other banking type industries.
4. A valueless dollar, not because it cannot buy as much as it used to, but because it is not backed by anything of real value. (ex.-gold standard)
5. Our dependence on oil and the way our economy is driven by oil.
6. Acceptance as a right to entitlements, even if you don’t work for them.
7. Belief that the government is the savior of the people.
8. Our litigious society and the unwillingness to accept responsibility for our own actions.
9. A state enforced school system that purports the above values, fueled by a system of higher education that supports that indoctrination.
10. Failure of churches and families to instill the proper values.
There is no easy fix
Collapse and start over would be the easiest, and probably inevitable.
Maybe next installment I’ll suggest some ways we could try to fix them.
To be continued……. Mort Stump
Thursday, March 20, 2008
What are you going to do?
The way things look on the economic front, it appears I may not be able to finish Alyssa’s story before the great collapse occurs. That would not be good as I still have so much to share. Perhaps in the future I’ll just run an outline of the rest of the story containing some of the more necessary details we will need to survive. If I see that this medium that I’m using to get this message out is going to die, I’ll try to quickly get something out.
A few weeks ago I commented on the foolishness of the economic stimulus package Congress passed. There has been a lot of talk and advice given about what individuals should do with that money. After hearing much and thinking some more, I’ve come up with a few options depending on your situation and your attitude.
1) If your main concern is the welfare of the United States:
Maybe your best choice is to send the check back or tear it up (I don’t know which of the two creates a bigger or more bureaucratic bookkeeping problem). Anything you could do to limit the amount of money that the US treasury has to borrow would be a step (no matter how small it would be) in the right direction. You could also buy one or two thousand forever stamps. That way the money still goes back to the treasury, but you actually get something in return, albeit when the post office closes the stamps will be worthless. Of course you could sell or trade them to other people prior to that. You know if we bought 50 billion forever stamps, that would put 20.5 billion dollars back into the treasury - might help a little, but just for a while.
2) If you’re well enough off and your main concern is the welfare of others:
You should donate the check to non-profits, the money would still be spent by someone and possibly achieve its purpose. Additionally it would give you a small tax write-off assuming the IRS is still in business in April 2009.
3) If you are barely making ends meet now, making your main concern the survival of your family:
You should purchase as many REAL goods as possible with the cash. Items like fuel oil, coal, food that can be kept safely for a long period, seeds, garden tools, soaps, toothpaste, pharmaceuticals, eyeglasses, rubber boots, raincoats, winter gloves, ammunition, batteries, hand powered generators, candles, matches, metal cooking pots. Purchase them before hyperinflation drives their prices through the roof and /or supplies have been cut-off.
Some are advising using the check to pay as much of your debt as you can, but what difference does it make if you owe $48,800 instead of $50,000? Will it really hurt you if you owe a bank money when it goes under? Isn’t it much better to owe them than have them lose your money in the collapse?
Turn your paper dollars into something real as soon as you can. Yes, and if the end becomes very imminent, I would think someone trying to insure his family’s survival might even use credit to buy those real things. I would even consider buying some items on credit now and plan to pay the card when the US check comes in May or June. Although if things snowball faster than most expect, we shall never see that check.
4) If you are of means and want to preserve as much as you have:
Assuming you have the bases already covered mentioned in #3, buy gold or silver with the check. You can’t eat it, but it will have a real value regardless of what happens to the dollar. My sincere wish is that people of means will be able to aid those of us who do not heed the warnings that are being plastered all over the place.
Sorry to paint such a grim picture. But truly, as rough as the going might be for awhile, the final outcome might not really be that bad. Our world is in need of a major cleansing, and what’s coming down the road might just do that. Please don’t feel pressured by any of my opinions. Consider the facts, draw your own conclusions, and take whatever steps you decide are necessary.
I’ll try to get back to Alyssa’s story, but in the meantime, God bless you all.
To be continued??????? Mort Stump
A few weeks ago I commented on the foolishness of the economic stimulus package Congress passed. There has been a lot of talk and advice given about what individuals should do with that money. After hearing much and thinking some more, I’ve come up with a few options depending on your situation and your attitude.
1) If your main concern is the welfare of the United States:
Maybe your best choice is to send the check back or tear it up (I don’t know which of the two creates a bigger or more bureaucratic bookkeeping problem). Anything you could do to limit the amount of money that the US treasury has to borrow would be a step (no matter how small it would be) in the right direction. You could also buy one or two thousand forever stamps. That way the money still goes back to the treasury, but you actually get something in return, albeit when the post office closes the stamps will be worthless. Of course you could sell or trade them to other people prior to that. You know if we bought 50 billion forever stamps, that would put 20.5 billion dollars back into the treasury - might help a little, but just for a while.
2) If you’re well enough off and your main concern is the welfare of others:
You should donate the check to non-profits, the money would still be spent by someone and possibly achieve its purpose. Additionally it would give you a small tax write-off assuming the IRS is still in business in April 2009.
3) If you are barely making ends meet now, making your main concern the survival of your family:
You should purchase as many REAL goods as possible with the cash. Items like fuel oil, coal, food that can be kept safely for a long period, seeds, garden tools, soaps, toothpaste, pharmaceuticals, eyeglasses, rubber boots, raincoats, winter gloves, ammunition, batteries, hand powered generators, candles, matches, metal cooking pots. Purchase them before hyperinflation drives their prices through the roof and /or supplies have been cut-off.
Some are advising using the check to pay as much of your debt as you can, but what difference does it make if you owe $48,800 instead of $50,000? Will it really hurt you if you owe a bank money when it goes under? Isn’t it much better to owe them than have them lose your money in the collapse?
Turn your paper dollars into something real as soon as you can. Yes, and if the end becomes very imminent, I would think someone trying to insure his family’s survival might even use credit to buy those real things. I would even consider buying some items on credit now and plan to pay the card when the US check comes in May or June. Although if things snowball faster than most expect, we shall never see that check.
4) If you are of means and want to preserve as much as you have:
Assuming you have the bases already covered mentioned in #3, buy gold or silver with the check. You can’t eat it, but it will have a real value regardless of what happens to the dollar. My sincere wish is that people of means will be able to aid those of us who do not heed the warnings that are being plastered all over the place.
Sorry to paint such a grim picture. But truly, as rough as the going might be for awhile, the final outcome might not really be that bad. Our world is in need of a major cleansing, and what’s coming down the road might just do that. Please don’t feel pressured by any of my opinions. Consider the facts, draw your own conclusions, and take whatever steps you decide are necessary.
I’ll try to get back to Alyssa’s story, but in the meantime, God bless you all.
To be continued??????? Mort Stump
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Chapter Twenty-one - Mortality
“Joan Wolfe, Wayne’s wife, passed away this morning,” Butch announced.
“How? What from?” Joe inquired.
“She awoke at the usual time,” Butch answered, “appeared a little sluggish, ate about the same breakfast she normally did, and then lay back down. It was her normal routine, not unusual for an eighty-nine year old. About an hour later, Clare went back to check on her, and she was gone. What from? We’re not really sure. Our best guess is some complication from her diabetes. She had been on insulin for years. When her supply ran out, we managed her sugar pretty well with her diet, but evidently her system couldn’t take it. At least it appears she went peacefully.”
“That’s good,” Dad said. “How’s Wayne taking it?”
“So far, really well,” Ben responded. “He’s been expecting it for some time now; he knew he could lose her any day. Right now he has other things on his mind, which is what brings us here. He needs your help.”
“Of course,” Harvey replied, “how can we help?”
“Joan always wanted a big church funeral,” Ben continued. “Had her scriptures and hymns all picked out; even discussed the plans with Reverend Schneider. She and Wayne often talked about it. Wayne says it was important to her, that he had promised her he would carry out her plans, and he intends to do so.”
“Rightly so,” Harvey agreed. “What’s our part?”
“We need to get the grave dug ASAP,” Butch answered. “There’s no undertaker around with embalming fluid; she should be buried tomorrow. We assume Steward’s backhoe is still at the church cemetery. Would you accompany us to the church to run the backhoe and could you spare a couple gallons of diesel fuel in case its tank is dry?”
“I will,” Harvey said, “but are you sure the backhoe still works?”
“No, we’re not,” Butch continued. “We’re planning on taking charged batteries and jumper cables. We’re hoping your mechanic, Barry, can go along as well, and bring his tools. And if we can’t get it running, the men at our farm are gathering shovels and picks, so we can dig the grave by hand if we have to.”
“Do we know where the gravesite is?” Harvey asked.
“Wayne drew us a map and there’s already a stone there; shouldn’t be a problem,” Butch answered.
“Sounds like a plan,” Dad said. “I guess the minister needs to be notified some way as well?”
“Right,” Ben replied, “we thought it would be a good idea if we took your moped along on the wagon so one of us could track the Reverend down and let him know.”
“Good idea,” Harvey said. “Your wagon will be pretty full. How many of us do you need?”
“Just you and Barry,” Butch answered. “It’s dinnertime already. It will probably be after dark until we get back. Your men need to be here to get your work done; we’ll have enough hands.”
“Then let’s get started,” Harvey said.
“Oh, one more thing Wayne could use some help with,” Ben added.
“What’s that?” Dad asked.
“Well, the women are helping Wayne getting Joan ready for the funeral,” Ben continued. “You know, talking out what she’s going to wear, fixing her hair, and the like. But he plans to build a coffin for her, and I believe he fully expects to carry out his plans. Your dad’s really good with woodworking. It would be great if Harold would come up with us to give Wayne a hand. We have the lumber, hardware and the tools. Maybe your father-in-law could come as well. I think it would be good for Wayne if the task wasn’t so solitary and that he’d be in the company of two fellas nearer his own age who could talk things through, if he needed to.”
“Kinda like years ago, when a widow, together with other women family members and friends, would have to devote all kinds of time to the funeral and wake preparations,” Dad said. “It kept her mind off all the grief she was bearing.”
“Yes, like that,” Ben agreed.
“I’m sure Poppop and Grandpop will be glad to help Wayne,” Dad said. “They’re probably getting things ready for dinner. Alyssa, let’s go find them.”
We found my grandfathers with the kitchen crew and shared the news with all the others there. Everyone was glad to comply with Wayne’s wishes and to follow Butch’s plans. The funeral came off without a hitch. We used Brutus to haul some of us to church. Others rode bicycles or rode on the two wagons Butch had hitched up, one of which bore the coffin.
It was a dreary, drizzly day; maybe the way it should be for a funeral. The church was cold and somber; not how I was used to it being. It usually had a warm, bubbly, cheerful, and friendly atmosphere. Mel played the piano for the hymns. She was good, considering the pressure. Though it wasn’t the same as organ music. Of course, Reverend Schneider had successfully been located. We even found Joan’s closest living relative on a farm north of town. It was her youngest sister and a nephew and his family. They sure were glad we did. Countless hours had been spent by thousands of people the last few months, worrying and wondering how distant family members had survived. It was good to have closure for at least one of those families.
That evening I heard Mom, Dad, Jean, Harvey, Poppop, and Grandmom talking about funerals.
“You want to be buried at church?” Jean asked Harvey.
“Why do YOU want to know?” Harvey joked. “I plan on burying YOU first.”
“In your dreams,” Jean replied. “I’m serious, where do you want to be buried? We never did get around to buying plots at the church cemetery like we talked about years ago.”
“I know,” Harvey said. “I’d just as soon be buried here on the farm.”
“Me too,” said Poppop, “hope that’s alright with you, Grandmom?”
“Machts nichts aus,” she replied. “(Makes no difference) where we’re buried; been here for over 55 years. Might as well be here on the farm. Either of you have a spot picked out?”
“I kinda like,” Harvey answered, “at the far end of the meadow, up near the top of the hill, near the pine woods. It’s peaceful; you have a nice view of the whole valley and the farm buildings.”
“Like you’ll be able to see anything after I’ve planted you there,” Jean quipped.
“I know mother,” he replied, “it’s the thought that counts.”
“I like that spot too,” Poppop said. “It’s close to a couple of our deer hunting stands. I shot a few deer up there.”
“Yeah, that’s right,” Dad agreed, “good memories.”
“Now ain’t that an important reason to pick a burial sight,” Mom countered. “But in the meadow? You want cows stomping on you for eternity?”
“Don’t worry; you won’t feel a thing,” Dad answered, “I’ll put you in extra deep.”
“Oh, so you’re burying me?” Mom whined.
“Planning on it,” Dad replied.
“Don’t worry; we’ll build a fence around it,” Poppop said. “Maybe even a stone wall. The old limestone quarry is only a few hundred yards from there.”
“Uh oh,” Harvey said, “I wonder how that vein of limestone runs. I don’t want to hit limestone clunkers every time I go to plant one of you.”
“Listen to him,” Mom said, “he’s planting us.” Turning to him she added, “I’d much prefer to sing at your funeral.”
“And so you might,” Dad acknowledged. “I wouldn’t worry about the limestone, Harvey. It’s been years since that pasture ground’s been plowed, so I can’t say for certain, But the field just next to it is shaly loam soil – wasn’t formed from limestone.”
“And,” Poppop added, “in the driest summers you can see a distinct line in both the meadow and the field where the limestone soil switches to the shale. You know, on the shale side the grass or crop planted there dries up much earlier. On the limestone side it stays greener for a couple weeks longer. Your spot for the cemetery is on the shale side of the line.”
“That’s settled then,” Grandmom announced, “another crisis solved. Who wants to be first?”
Of course it was a rhetorical question. We’d have to wait for the future to give us the answer.
“Makes me wonder about the quarry, now,” Dad continued. “If we want to grow crops without commercial fertilizer, could we find a way to mine the limestone like they did a century ago, and then burn the stone in a kiln to make lime to feed our crops?”
“I guess we could,” Harvey replied. “Another project, for another time.
To be continued….. Mort
“How? What from?” Joe inquired.
“She awoke at the usual time,” Butch answered, “appeared a little sluggish, ate about the same breakfast she normally did, and then lay back down. It was her normal routine, not unusual for an eighty-nine year old. About an hour later, Clare went back to check on her, and she was gone. What from? We’re not really sure. Our best guess is some complication from her diabetes. She had been on insulin for years. When her supply ran out, we managed her sugar pretty well with her diet, but evidently her system couldn’t take it. At least it appears she went peacefully.”
“That’s good,” Dad said. “How’s Wayne taking it?”
“So far, really well,” Ben responded. “He’s been expecting it for some time now; he knew he could lose her any day. Right now he has other things on his mind, which is what brings us here. He needs your help.”
“Of course,” Harvey replied, “how can we help?”
“Joan always wanted a big church funeral,” Ben continued. “Had her scriptures and hymns all picked out; even discussed the plans with Reverend Schneider. She and Wayne often talked about it. Wayne says it was important to her, that he had promised her he would carry out her plans, and he intends to do so.”
“Rightly so,” Harvey agreed. “What’s our part?”
“We need to get the grave dug ASAP,” Butch answered. “There’s no undertaker around with embalming fluid; she should be buried tomorrow. We assume Steward’s backhoe is still at the church cemetery. Would you accompany us to the church to run the backhoe and could you spare a couple gallons of diesel fuel in case its tank is dry?”
“I will,” Harvey said, “but are you sure the backhoe still works?”
“No, we’re not,” Butch continued. “We’re planning on taking charged batteries and jumper cables. We’re hoping your mechanic, Barry, can go along as well, and bring his tools. And if we can’t get it running, the men at our farm are gathering shovels and picks, so we can dig the grave by hand if we have to.”
“Do we know where the gravesite is?” Harvey asked.
“Wayne drew us a map and there’s already a stone there; shouldn’t be a problem,” Butch answered.
“Sounds like a plan,” Dad said. “I guess the minister needs to be notified some way as well?”
“Right,” Ben replied, “we thought it would be a good idea if we took your moped along on the wagon so one of us could track the Reverend down and let him know.”
“Good idea,” Harvey said. “Your wagon will be pretty full. How many of us do you need?”
“Just you and Barry,” Butch answered. “It’s dinnertime already. It will probably be after dark until we get back. Your men need to be here to get your work done; we’ll have enough hands.”
“Then let’s get started,” Harvey said.
“Oh, one more thing Wayne could use some help with,” Ben added.
“What’s that?” Dad asked.
“Well, the women are helping Wayne getting Joan ready for the funeral,” Ben continued. “You know, talking out what she’s going to wear, fixing her hair, and the like. But he plans to build a coffin for her, and I believe he fully expects to carry out his plans. Your dad’s really good with woodworking. It would be great if Harold would come up with us to give Wayne a hand. We have the lumber, hardware and the tools. Maybe your father-in-law could come as well. I think it would be good for Wayne if the task wasn’t so solitary and that he’d be in the company of two fellas nearer his own age who could talk things through, if he needed to.”
“Kinda like years ago, when a widow, together with other women family members and friends, would have to devote all kinds of time to the funeral and wake preparations,” Dad said. “It kept her mind off all the grief she was bearing.”
“Yes, like that,” Ben agreed.
“I’m sure Poppop and Grandpop will be glad to help Wayne,” Dad said. “They’re probably getting things ready for dinner. Alyssa, let’s go find them.”
We found my grandfathers with the kitchen crew and shared the news with all the others there. Everyone was glad to comply with Wayne’s wishes and to follow Butch’s plans. The funeral came off without a hitch. We used Brutus to haul some of us to church. Others rode bicycles or rode on the two wagons Butch had hitched up, one of which bore the coffin.
It was a dreary, drizzly day; maybe the way it should be for a funeral. The church was cold and somber; not how I was used to it being. It usually had a warm, bubbly, cheerful, and friendly atmosphere. Mel played the piano for the hymns. She was good, considering the pressure. Though it wasn’t the same as organ music. Of course, Reverend Schneider had successfully been located. We even found Joan’s closest living relative on a farm north of town. It was her youngest sister and a nephew and his family. They sure were glad we did. Countless hours had been spent by thousands of people the last few months, worrying and wondering how distant family members had survived. It was good to have closure for at least one of those families.
That evening I heard Mom, Dad, Jean, Harvey, Poppop, and Grandmom talking about funerals.
“You want to be buried at church?” Jean asked Harvey.
“Why do YOU want to know?” Harvey joked. “I plan on burying YOU first.”
“In your dreams,” Jean replied. “I’m serious, where do you want to be buried? We never did get around to buying plots at the church cemetery like we talked about years ago.”
“I know,” Harvey said. “I’d just as soon be buried here on the farm.”
“Me too,” said Poppop, “hope that’s alright with you, Grandmom?”
“Machts nichts aus,” she replied. “(Makes no difference) where we’re buried; been here for over 55 years. Might as well be here on the farm. Either of you have a spot picked out?”
“I kinda like,” Harvey answered, “at the far end of the meadow, up near the top of the hill, near the pine woods. It’s peaceful; you have a nice view of the whole valley and the farm buildings.”
“Like you’ll be able to see anything after I’ve planted you there,” Jean quipped.
“I know mother,” he replied, “it’s the thought that counts.”
“I like that spot too,” Poppop said. “It’s close to a couple of our deer hunting stands. I shot a few deer up there.”
“Yeah, that’s right,” Dad agreed, “good memories.”
“Now ain’t that an important reason to pick a burial sight,” Mom countered. “But in the meadow? You want cows stomping on you for eternity?”
“Don’t worry; you won’t feel a thing,” Dad answered, “I’ll put you in extra deep.”
“Oh, so you’re burying me?” Mom whined.
“Planning on it,” Dad replied.
“Don’t worry; we’ll build a fence around it,” Poppop said. “Maybe even a stone wall. The old limestone quarry is only a few hundred yards from there.”
“Uh oh,” Harvey said, “I wonder how that vein of limestone runs. I don’t want to hit limestone clunkers every time I go to plant one of you.”
“Listen to him,” Mom said, “he’s planting us.” Turning to him she added, “I’d much prefer to sing at your funeral.”
“And so you might,” Dad acknowledged. “I wouldn’t worry about the limestone, Harvey. It’s been years since that pasture ground’s been plowed, so I can’t say for certain, But the field just next to it is shaly loam soil – wasn’t formed from limestone.”
“And,” Poppop added, “in the driest summers you can see a distinct line in both the meadow and the field where the limestone soil switches to the shale. You know, on the shale side the grass or crop planted there dries up much earlier. On the limestone side it stays greener for a couple weeks longer. Your spot for the cemetery is on the shale side of the line.”
“That’s settled then,” Grandmom announced, “another crisis solved. Who wants to be first?”
Of course it was a rhetorical question. We’d have to wait for the future to give us the answer.
“Makes me wonder about the quarry, now,” Dad continued. “If we want to grow crops without commercial fertilizer, could we find a way to mine the limestone like they did a century ago, and then burn the stone in a kiln to make lime to feed our crops?”
“I guess we could,” Harvey replied. “Another project, for another time.
To be continued….. Mort
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Chapter Twenty - Agronomics (conclusion)
We did receive a few dozen eggs from an unexpected source. The Tuesday after Larry had finished combining the soybeans, Titus Weaver returned for another load of hay. True to his promise he brought sweet potatoes for Poppop. He also had a passenger, Sam Burke. Sam brought with him a crude drawing of how he makes power driven hay mowers into ground driven ones. After a little discussion on how we adapted our equipment to sow our wheat, Sam, Larry, Aaron, and Dennis headed up to the equipment shed to show him the equipment and check out his plans.
Titus had very little produce to trade that day. His fields were pretty well cleaned out, yet food was in demand so it didn’t take long for him to move his wares. At least he was able to barter eight dozen eggs from one customer to trade to us.
“Wonderful!” Dad exclaimed. “Now that we have a flour mill and Jean is baking bread, I could sure eat a scrambled egg sandwich.”
“You have a mill up and running?” Titus inquired.
“Yep,” answered Dennis, “it’s slow and has to be tended continuously to function well, but we’re grinding wheat and corn.”
“Any neighbors bring you grain to grind?” Titus asked.
“No, not yet; I mean we grind our grain for Butch and Clare up the road, but no one else has brought any grain to grind. Don’t know that we’d want to anyway; that would tax the machine if we did too much for other people.”
“Yes, I suppose it would,” Titus answered. “However, Sam should take a look at its design and pass it on to some of our mechanically minded brethren.”
“Sure, he should do that,” Dad agreed.
“I see you’re getting your corn in,” Titus offered.
“Yes, little by little,” Harvey said. “It’s a lot of work, but with all the extras around here, we’ll get it done. The challenge is where to put it all. We couldn’t fill silage bags, like we usually do; didn’t have the fuel to spare. How is your community bringing in the corn?”
“Almost the same as you,” Titus replied, “shocking, picking and husking by hand. But we filled silo as well.”
“You filled silo?” Harvey quipped. “Where you find all that fuel?”
“Only used a little,” was Titus’s answer. “Two members of our community had stationary ensilers stashed away in their sheds; you know, the kind that chops and blows the stalks right into the silo. They were once driven by belt from the belt pulley that older tractors had. Both had been converted to be driven by gasoline engines that took just a few gallons per silo. We moved them from farm to farm, until everyone had their silo filled. All the other work we did by hand – cutting, loading on the wagons, hauling in with the horses, and feeding into the ensiler. Sure gave us a valuable source of feed, and all those townsfolk pitched in, too.”
While we were loading the hay on Titus’s wagon the conversation led away from farming when Titus asked, “Everybody know what today is?”
“Sure, it’s Tuesday,” Jeremiah responded. “Isn’t it?”
“Yeah, the first Tuesday,” continued Titus, “after the first Monday in November.”
“Why it’s election day!” a somewhat surprised Harvey replied. “I guess we forgot because for once we didn’t have to listen to all those annoying commercials for months ahead of the election.”
“By golly, your right,” Dad added. “It’s a meaningless election day, however. Today we were supposed to elect county commissioners, school directors and the like. We even had nominees to choose from. Pennsylvania was able to hold its primary in May, prior to the collapse.”
“With no state or county government, there’s no one to run an election,” Barry said.
“But with no government or schools, who needs those public offices anyway?” Joe asked.
“Well, we don’t need them right now,” Dad responded. “Don’t know what the future holds.”
“Do you suppose the current officials just keep their positions, even if there’s no job to do?” Harvey inquired.
“Suppose so,” Barry agreed. “I wonder what all our government officials have been thinking the last five months?”
“I reckon most of them got a wake-up call,” Joe replied.
“How so?” Titus wondered.
“Well,” Joe explained, “most government officials, with a few some exceptions, felt the people existed for the government – not the government for the people.”
“Like Lincoln said,” I interjected.
“Like Lincoln said,” Joe continued. “government ‘of the people, by the people, for the people’. Too many elected and for that matter, appointed officials, thought the government came first and the people, second. That the people could not exist without the government; that we could not take care of ourselves; that the government was the savior of the people.”
“I guess that proved out wrong,” Barry said.
“Sure did,” Harvey agreed. “The government couldn’t save squat; couldn’t even save itself.”
“But we’re still here,” Josh chimed in. “The people still do exist, without government.”
“The people will always exist, as long as God wills,” Titus said. “It was the rest of that line from the Gettysburg address: ‘shall not perish from the earth’ I believe it went. Governments wax and wane, are born and die, but before and after government are the people.”
“People that are better off without government,” Barry announced.
“Some would agree with you,” Dad said, “those with enough food, water, clothing, and a roof over their heads. But what about those who are cold and hungry right now?”
“Those who were foolish enough to depend on the government for their well being,” Barry countered, “got what they deserved.”
“Or were too lazy,” added Bruce.
“Whoa, that’s pretty callous,” bemoaned Titus.
“But realistic,” responded Harvey.
“Anyway, Barry,” Bruce said, “you wondered what our elected officials were thinking. I wonder what they are doing.”
“Same as before….. nothing!” Jeremiah quipped.
“Oh, no,” Josh offered, “they aren’t doing nothing. In fact it gives me great comfort to presume that some of them, hopefully the ones that got us into this mess, are doing the same things everyone else is doing: finding their own food, carrying water, chopping wood and forking manure.”
“As unkind as that might be, I guess you may find comfort in that thought,” Harvey replied. “Although I’d wager that the officials most responsible prepared for themselves secluded hideaways, like some tropical island, with all the things they’d need to be comfortable for years. But I imagine the vast majority are in the same boat we are and need our help.”
“Which you’ve demonstrated well that you’re willing to give,” Barry said.
“And many others have also,” Titus added.
“You finding people generally cooperative?” Dad asked.
“Unbelievably so,” Titus answered.
“But food is not in short supply yet,” Joe commented. “Spring is a long time from now.”
“So it is,” Titus responded. “We’ll just have to conserve what we have, look for alternative ways to produce food, and keep the faith.”
“Yes we will,” agreed Harvey just as Sam Burke, Larry and the others joined us.
“If Sam’s ready, it’s time we get this load of hay home,” Titus announced, “although I hate to leave this stimulating conversation.”
“We’ll hold the thoughts until you return,” Dad said. “That’s if you’re planning to come for more hay. Or do you have what you need?”
“I believe I’m set pretty well for the winter, but some of my neighbors might have tighter supplies. Do you still have some to spare?”
“We have a good supply, but the pasture stops growing now,” Harvey replied.
“And it won’t take long for the cattle to graze the rye and other grain fields off, so we will have to feed more hay. It’s close figuring, but we should be able to part with four or five more loads.”
“Well, we might be back for some then,” Titus replied. “Anything we should be on the lookout for you?”
“Ideas,” Larry answered, “especially any for making electricity or fuel and for converting other machinery to ground drive. Sam gave us quite a few already, but more are welcome. He can fill you in on the way home.”
“All right then,” Titus answered and down the road he went. No sooner had he reached the end of Harvey’s meadow and disappeared from sight when Butch and Ben came down the road from the other direction.
As Butch eased his Clydesdales to a halt it appeared he wasn’t his usual boisterous self. He dropped the reins, planted his elbows on his knees, looked sadly at my elders and softly announced, “Got some bad news.”
To be continued......... Mort
Titus had very little produce to trade that day. His fields were pretty well cleaned out, yet food was in demand so it didn’t take long for him to move his wares. At least he was able to barter eight dozen eggs from one customer to trade to us.
“Wonderful!” Dad exclaimed. “Now that we have a flour mill and Jean is baking bread, I could sure eat a scrambled egg sandwich.”
“You have a mill up and running?” Titus inquired.
“Yep,” answered Dennis, “it’s slow and has to be tended continuously to function well, but we’re grinding wheat and corn.”
“Any neighbors bring you grain to grind?” Titus asked.
“No, not yet; I mean we grind our grain for Butch and Clare up the road, but no one else has brought any grain to grind. Don’t know that we’d want to anyway; that would tax the machine if we did too much for other people.”
“Yes, I suppose it would,” Titus answered. “However, Sam should take a look at its design and pass it on to some of our mechanically minded brethren.”
“Sure, he should do that,” Dad agreed.
“I see you’re getting your corn in,” Titus offered.
“Yes, little by little,” Harvey said. “It’s a lot of work, but with all the extras around here, we’ll get it done. The challenge is where to put it all. We couldn’t fill silage bags, like we usually do; didn’t have the fuel to spare. How is your community bringing in the corn?”
“Almost the same as you,” Titus replied, “shocking, picking and husking by hand. But we filled silo as well.”
“You filled silo?” Harvey quipped. “Where you find all that fuel?”
“Only used a little,” was Titus’s answer. “Two members of our community had stationary ensilers stashed away in their sheds; you know, the kind that chops and blows the stalks right into the silo. They were once driven by belt from the belt pulley that older tractors had. Both had been converted to be driven by gasoline engines that took just a few gallons per silo. We moved them from farm to farm, until everyone had their silo filled. All the other work we did by hand – cutting, loading on the wagons, hauling in with the horses, and feeding into the ensiler. Sure gave us a valuable source of feed, and all those townsfolk pitched in, too.”
While we were loading the hay on Titus’s wagon the conversation led away from farming when Titus asked, “Everybody know what today is?”
“Sure, it’s Tuesday,” Jeremiah responded. “Isn’t it?”
“Yeah, the first Tuesday,” continued Titus, “after the first Monday in November.”
“Why it’s election day!” a somewhat surprised Harvey replied. “I guess we forgot because for once we didn’t have to listen to all those annoying commercials for months ahead of the election.”
“By golly, your right,” Dad added. “It’s a meaningless election day, however. Today we were supposed to elect county commissioners, school directors and the like. We even had nominees to choose from. Pennsylvania was able to hold its primary in May, prior to the collapse.”
“With no state or county government, there’s no one to run an election,” Barry said.
“But with no government or schools, who needs those public offices anyway?” Joe asked.
“Well, we don’t need them right now,” Dad responded. “Don’t know what the future holds.”
“Do you suppose the current officials just keep their positions, even if there’s no job to do?” Harvey inquired.
“Suppose so,” Barry agreed. “I wonder what all our government officials have been thinking the last five months?”
“I reckon most of them got a wake-up call,” Joe replied.
“How so?” Titus wondered.
“Well,” Joe explained, “most government officials, with a few some exceptions, felt the people existed for the government – not the government for the people.”
“Like Lincoln said,” I interjected.
“Like Lincoln said,” Joe continued. “government ‘of the people, by the people, for the people’. Too many elected and for that matter, appointed officials, thought the government came first and the people, second. That the people could not exist without the government; that we could not take care of ourselves; that the government was the savior of the people.”
“I guess that proved out wrong,” Barry said.
“Sure did,” Harvey agreed. “The government couldn’t save squat; couldn’t even save itself.”
“But we’re still here,” Josh chimed in. “The people still do exist, without government.”
“The people will always exist, as long as God wills,” Titus said. “It was the rest of that line from the Gettysburg address: ‘shall not perish from the earth’ I believe it went. Governments wax and wane, are born and die, but before and after government are the people.”
“People that are better off without government,” Barry announced.
“Some would agree with you,” Dad said, “those with enough food, water, clothing, and a roof over their heads. But what about those who are cold and hungry right now?”
“Those who were foolish enough to depend on the government for their well being,” Barry countered, “got what they deserved.”
“Or were too lazy,” added Bruce.
“Whoa, that’s pretty callous,” bemoaned Titus.
“But realistic,” responded Harvey.
“Anyway, Barry,” Bruce said, “you wondered what our elected officials were thinking. I wonder what they are doing.”
“Same as before….. nothing!” Jeremiah quipped.
“Oh, no,” Josh offered, “they aren’t doing nothing. In fact it gives me great comfort to presume that some of them, hopefully the ones that got us into this mess, are doing the same things everyone else is doing: finding their own food, carrying water, chopping wood and forking manure.”
“As unkind as that might be, I guess you may find comfort in that thought,” Harvey replied. “Although I’d wager that the officials most responsible prepared for themselves secluded hideaways, like some tropical island, with all the things they’d need to be comfortable for years. But I imagine the vast majority are in the same boat we are and need our help.”
“Which you’ve demonstrated well that you’re willing to give,” Barry said.
“And many others have also,” Titus added.
“You finding people generally cooperative?” Dad asked.
“Unbelievably so,” Titus answered.
“But food is not in short supply yet,” Joe commented. “Spring is a long time from now.”
“So it is,” Titus responded. “We’ll just have to conserve what we have, look for alternative ways to produce food, and keep the faith.”
“Yes we will,” agreed Harvey just as Sam Burke, Larry and the others joined us.
“If Sam’s ready, it’s time we get this load of hay home,” Titus announced, “although I hate to leave this stimulating conversation.”
“We’ll hold the thoughts until you return,” Dad said. “That’s if you’re planning to come for more hay. Or do you have what you need?”
“I believe I’m set pretty well for the winter, but some of my neighbors might have tighter supplies. Do you still have some to spare?”
“We have a good supply, but the pasture stops growing now,” Harvey replied.
“And it won’t take long for the cattle to graze the rye and other grain fields off, so we will have to feed more hay. It’s close figuring, but we should be able to part with four or five more loads.”
“Well, we might be back for some then,” Titus replied. “Anything we should be on the lookout for you?”
“Ideas,” Larry answered, “especially any for making electricity or fuel and for converting other machinery to ground drive. Sam gave us quite a few already, but more are welcome. He can fill you in on the way home.”
“All right then,” Titus answered and down the road he went. No sooner had he reached the end of Harvey’s meadow and disappeared from sight when Butch and Ben came down the road from the other direction.
As Butch eased his Clydesdales to a halt it appeared he wasn’t his usual boisterous self. He dropped the reins, planted his elbows on his knees, looked sadly at my elders and softly announced, “Got some bad news.”
To be continued......... Mort
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
I'm still around
Hello faithful readers. I need to apologize for neglecting my blogging duties.
Things have been very busy for me the last couple months.
I haven't given up. Alyssa's story line still exists and I have a little bit written.
I just need some push to make the time.
Joke of the week: tax rebates.
First thing I thought of was - How does increasing federal debt cure the disease,
which is: TOO MUCH DEBT?
They don't have any real money. They'd have to create more - exasperating the cancer.
Second thing - We'd only spend it on food and fuel anyway. How does that stimulate the economy?
Then my elementary economic mind came up with this: Even though our debt is the problem,
the real cause is the belief that government is our savior. In no way shape or form should the feds be setting interest rates. Those rates should be market driven - good supply and low demand should produce lower rates and vice-versa. You know the drill. Our federal government needs to stop borrowing money, period!!!!!!!
Which brings me to presidential candidates. With the possible exception of Ron Paul, is there any candidate, red or blue, who recognizes what the function of the central government is?
Seems like all the candidates are spouting what they would do for us - they should be saying what they are going to stop doing TO US!!!
They don't understand the root of the cancer; they just say things to get elected.
Here I am writing when I said I have no push or time.
Keep looking for the signs.
I'll get back to you.
To be continued.............. Mort
Things have been very busy for me the last couple months.
I haven't given up. Alyssa's story line still exists and I have a little bit written.
I just need some push to make the time.
Joke of the week: tax rebates.
First thing I thought of was - How does increasing federal debt cure the disease,
which is: TOO MUCH DEBT?
They don't have any real money. They'd have to create more - exasperating the cancer.
Second thing - We'd only spend it on food and fuel anyway. How does that stimulate the economy?
Then my elementary economic mind came up with this: Even though our debt is the problem,
the real cause is the belief that government is our savior. In no way shape or form should the feds be setting interest rates. Those rates should be market driven - good supply and low demand should produce lower rates and vice-versa. You know the drill. Our federal government needs to stop borrowing money, period!!!!!!!
Which brings me to presidential candidates. With the possible exception of Ron Paul, is there any candidate, red or blue, who recognizes what the function of the central government is?
Seems like all the candidates are spouting what they would do for us - they should be saying what they are going to stop doing TO US!!!
They don't understand the root of the cancer; they just say things to get elected.
Here I am writing when I said I have no push or time.
Keep looking for the signs.
I'll get back to you.
To be continued.............. Mort
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