CHAPTER TWELVE - TRADERS (CONT)

You see, fifty years ago there were eight operating farms on our road from where it branches off of Mountain Road to where it meets the main highway. Each had their own farm family with a little dairy herd. Some had hogs, too, and most had chickens or other poultry. Since then, every time one of those farmers died or retired and the farm was sold, it was rare that the farm was passed onto a family member or even to another aspiring young farmer. Prices of farms continually rose and farming just didn’t pay well enough for anyone to afford one by just squeaking an existence from a single, average farm. However, the upper middle class could afford them; therefore many of the new owners were not farmers.
As a result seven of the eight farms, not Harvey’s of course, were owned by someone who did not do the farming on it. Not that the land was idled though, for it was still somewhat profitable for a farmer to absorb the farmland into his existing operation by simply paying rent for the cultivated acres. Harvey farmed three, including Butch’s, Roger farmed two, and another farmer named Roscoe worked the other three, one of which was Reuben’s. Yet each of the farms still had a barn that feed could be stored in and livestock housed. They each had some land that was pasture with the creek running through for a water source. All of the farms could easily support a couple cows or a few hogs or chickens. So Reuben’s request made sense.
“Tom and his family moved in with us from the city,” Reuben continued, “and between the two families, there are four kids under ten years old – milk drinkers. We have the stable, pasture and water, plus Roscoe has baled hay in the barn that he said we’re welcome to use. He’ll give us corn, too, when we help him with his harvest.”
“You sure one cow’s enough?” Harvey asked, always having the thought that we couldn’t use all the milk we had, not to mention the amount we might get as more cows freshen.
“Yes, one’s enough,” Tom said, “so, what would you accept as trade for one?”
In typical Stump fashion Harvey started gently tugging at his hairs on his chin; his eyes showing deep thought. “It just don’t seem right,” he finally said, “taking something from you that you might really need some day in exchange for something we have plenty of.”
“But that’s the idea,” Reuben retorted, “we chose things out of our abundance to trade, just like you would be doing.”
“I suppose you’re right, but I just wish you had something else we could use…that you wouldn’t miss,” Harvey concluded.
“Like nails and insulation!” Josh exclaimed. “You’re a home builder; do you have some to trade?”
“Yeah,” said Jeremiah, “we need insulation for this building. We have none and we hated the idea of using straw, it being so flammable. We were leaning to using old sofa and chair cushions; might be a little safer, but still flammable, and we’d rather save the ones we have for future needs. If you would have regular fiberglass insulation to trade, that would be great.”
“And nails,” added Dennis, “especially sixteen pennies; we’ve been straightening out every used, bent nail we could find. Sure could use those, too.”
“Got both,” answered Reuben, “several bales of insulation and all sizes of nails. Gladly trade what you need for a cow.”
“Now we’re cooking,” Harvey jubilantly declared. “I’ve just the cow for you. It’s Frenchie, that black one Dennis is milking,” he announced to the boys. “She’s in good production and early lactation nor bred back, so she’ll keep producing a long time. In addition she’s a young cow, but doesn’t act it; she’s real calm and will handle well. You want to take her with you, now?”
“I suppose,” Reuben said, “but we haven’t given you the insulation or nails.”
“Ah come on; we’re neighbors, and honest traders. Besides, wouldn’t want to make you carry everything back home plus carry the insulation here. We’ll hitch up Brutus to a lighter hay wagon we have, haul your knapsacks home for you with Frenchie in tow, and bring our building materials home. Larry can run the backhoe while I’m gone if they need to. Alyssa, I imagine you’ll want to go along?”
“Heck yeah,” was my response.
“And your dad and Poppop?”
They nodded and then Dad added, “Was planning on going to Butch’s this afternoon anyway with the young’ns. We can be dropped off on the way.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Harvey said, and then turned to me. “Alyssa, would you fetch a few strands of the rope you were braiding yesterday, oh, about fifteen feet or so. Larry can make a halter for Frenchie and a tow rope. Just bring it to the butcher house. We’ll be heading in for dinner. You boys are invited.”
Tom said, “No thanks. We brought our own; some peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.”
“Sandwiches?” Jake quizzed, “You have bread?”
“More like, we had bread,” Reuben answered, “down to our last loaves. When Tom was getting out of the city, he ran into a fella with a truckload of it.”
Tom continued, “I didn’t ask where he got it. He was trading it with people for things. I traded some gasoline for ten loaves. But like Reuben said: we’re down to our last loaves.”
“We’re thinking we’ll have bread again,” Dad said. “We have the wheat and yeast. The boys are building an oven; still have to fabricate a flour mill. That’s in the future. Right now you can still set with us to eat. Cooled milk goes well with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. But I bet they’re some kids who might want to swap their dinner for them. Either way, join us for the meal.”
“We’re right behind you,” they answered.
Dad was prophetic. When Reuben and Tom sat down to eat, the real trading began. Harvey and Dad had accomplished the main trade and were satisfied to let us continue the haggling with the Sensenig’s. Dinner was clam chowder; mostly milk with butter; had to hunt the clams and potatoes. Must have looked good to Reuben and Tom though, for in short order, they had three bowls of it and Lynette, Amy and I had two packs of gum and two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. That was two thirds of a sandwich for each of us. We needed Josh to cut them as evenly as possible. He got to lick the knife for his effort, plus a stick of gum; made dividing the remaining nine easier. Larry swapped a milk bucket full of wheat for the .22 cartridges. Jean and Mel traded four cans of salmon for the two packs of feminine napkins.
“Meat we’ll have around here when we butcher,” Jean said, “so we can spare it. Besides I’m sure the Sensenig’s will enjoy it.” I didn’t understand then all the fuss about the napkins the women were making that day. About a year later, I found out.
Lois swapped some butter for the ibuprofen. “At least you’ll have some butter for your last bread tonight,” she told them. “You can make your own butter later if you find or make something to churn the cream with; we use a hand-cranked ice cream freezer. And just because we have the ibuprofen now, doesn’t mean we wouldn’t share it later if the need arises.”
“Thanks much,” Reuben said.
After dinner, with the swapping completed, the goods were loaded onto the wagon with Reuben, Tom, Amy, Lynette, Dad and I. Frenchie was tied to the back and Brutus hitched to the front. Harvey and Poppop held the reins. When we got to Crystal View Farm, Dad and we kids got off the wagon. Poppop, Harvey and the Sensenig’s would have no trouble completing the trading trip. Dad told them not to worry about us on the way home; we could walk.
Butch and Clare put us right to work. They were manuring their chicken house and had extra shovels and brooms for all of us. It was a dusty job. We tied our handkerchiefs around our noses. Made us all look like outlaws. It wasn’t really that bad though; the job was almost half finished. Butch had a wagon hitched to a team of horses and parked right next to chicken house door. The men were shoveling the manure onto the wagon; we only had to push and sweep it toward the door. As we worked, Robbie was picking little white mealworms out of the chicken dirt and putting them in an old empty coffee can.
“What you doing that for?” I asked, out from under my kerchief.
“You’ll see later,” was his answer.
It was too hot for this kind of job, but Butch said it needed to be done. In the summertime, chickens are more comfortable and produce much better when their pens are clean and dry. The house was soon cleaned; the next thing to do was empty the wagon.
“Chicken manure is excellent fertilizer,” Dad said to Butch. “You should probably spread it in a field where you intend to grow corn or vegetables next year.”
“That’s what I figured,” Butch replied, “there’s an oat stubble field, that has deep easy working soil, with few rocks. Thought I’d put it there.”
It was a short trip. We all walked along. Normally, I wouldn’t pass on an opportunity for a wagon ride, but I had no desire to jump onto or into the wagon’s stinky cargo. Spreading went real smooth. Butch drove real slowly while Dan and Lee threw shovelful after shovelful of the manure off the wagon in easy sweeping motions. That way the manure was distributed all over the ground, not clumped on piles here and there. Not bad for a chemist and a machinist. When the wagon was empty, Lynette and I climbed onto the wagon and swept it clean. Now the rest all hopped on for the trip back.

To be continued.... see what else Butch is up to, Mort

CHAPTER TWELVE - TRADERS

Tuesday morning was once again warm and humid; seemed like we just couldn’t get out of the soup. Our family had different reactions to Dr. Fleming’s treatments. Most felt fine, some better, others, me included, felt no different. A few like Sandy and Mom were a little stiff.
“It will work out,” Dad had said.
After breakfast the men started preparing the site for the milk tank and showering area. Harvey had to use his backhoe, but it was a justifiable use of fuel. It didn’t take much to dig a foundation between the butcher house and Harvey’s furnace. He dug down, removing the loose soil until he reached a level where it was firm. Actually, it was pretty rocky there, so he didn’t have to dig very deep at all. The trick was building a strong enough base to hold the weight of the milk tank, 1000 gallons of water, some piping, and the walls and roof the boys planned to build around it. Fortunately, several years earlier, Harvey had some major excavation work done when his liquid manure storage tank was installed. The excavation yielded a large pile of debris that wasn’t needed to complete the project. The pile contained soil, many rocks (some very large), and pieces of concrete that had been broken up and removed from areas where the manure pump, filler pipe, and tank had been placed. Harvey hadn’t hauled the pile away.
He had said, “No sense moving it until we know where we’ll need it.” It appeared we needed it now. The pile was only 150 yards from the butcher house. Harvey adroitly used his backhoe to sort out the larger pieces of concrete that had even, flat areas. He maneuvered them to the foundation and placed them on each corner. The next step took the most fuel. He made about a dozen trips to the meadow and scooped clay from the creek bank. A few scoops he dumped right into the foundation; the rest he strategically placed around the sides. The boys leveled out the clay in the foundation, using it to firm up the concrete cornerstones, while Harvey brought some of the larger rocks to fill in between the corners. Others and I sorted through the now disheveled pile of debris, tossing the smaller rocks we found onto one of Harvey’s dump trailers. When it was full, he towed the trailer to the construction site and dumped it near the piles of clay. We threw the rocks into the foundation where the boys positioned them, imbedding them into the clay.
I wondered out loud, “How is this all going to work?”
Josh explained, “We’ll alternate clay and stone until we’ve reached the height we want for the bottom of the milk tank. Larry found two steel beams from an old farm implement that were long enough to span the narrow end of our structure and strong enough to hold the weight. We have enough lumber to frame up the walls and roof and to attach to the butcher house. Poppop has a pile of used steel roofing to top off the building. We can use a couple four by eight panels from the walls of Larry’s milk house under the floor where the showers will be. They’re strong and are made of waterproof material. They’ll be pitched toward an old cattle watering tank in the corner to collect the water. We just have to bucket it out every so often. We can use the waste water to flush toilets or water the garden. The floor will be slatted to let the shower water drain through; we’re still hunting a material to use that won’t give us splinters in our feet when we shower. And we need to find some insulation to keep the heat in. Don’t worry, it will come together.”
It was hard, thirst-creating work. Our fresh spring water supply was getting low so Poppop and I went to get Brutus to make a trip to the spring. On the way back, we noticed two fellows walking down the road – one tall and one short. They both had immense knapsacks on their backs; the sacks looked as big as the short fellow. Poppop waited until they were closer, then said, “Pretty hot day for a hike, and the local campground is back up the road.”
They laughed, and then introduced themselves. “I’m Tom Sensenig,” the taller one said. “This here’s my brother, Reuben.”
“Oh, Reuben Sensenig,” Poppop responded, “are you the Reuben Sensenig that lives on the last farm on this road before it joins the main highway?”
“That’s right,” answered Reuben, “looks like you’re making a go of it around here. This is the Stump farm, right?”
“Yeah, sure is. I’m Harold Stump. Most call me Hap, cept’n this one here, my granddaughter Alyssa; she calls me Poppop. Get those sacks off and rest a little. Bet you could use a cool drink. We can wander in and check out what the rest of the clan is up to. Less’n you’re on a hot and heavy mission?”
“Well, it’s hot and these sacks are heavy and they’re part of our mission,” Tom answered. “The other part is talking to Harvey. But first, we’ll take that cool drink, thank you.” After the drink, they followed us to the construction site to strike up a conversation with Harvey and company. As we came into view of everyone, Harvey and the others stopped working. I wasn’t sure if it was because of the guests or our fresh water.
“Everyone take a break!” Harvey yelled. “Get a cool drink and we can see what these travelers are wanting.” I still wasn’t sure – probably was the water…
“Do you know Reuben Sensenig?” Poppop asked Harvey.
Harvey responded, addressing Reuben, “I’ve seen you drive by the farm many times. We wave at each other. I know you live on the last farm up the road and have a home construction business, but I don’t recall ever talking to you. Glad to meet you.”
That was sad. Here was a neighbor of Harvey’s, living on the same road, a scant one and a half miles away, with whom Harvey had never had a conversation. But I guess things were no different in our neighborhood or with me for that matter. At our old home there were roughly 35-40 homes within a mile and a half radius of ours. They probably contained 100 or more people, many a lot older than me, but some around my age, that I had never talked to. I can only imagine how people in a city with thousands of neighbors, living within a few hundred feet of each other, rarely get to converse with one another. I perceive it as a bane on our society.
On the other hand, Dad might have spoken to many of the neighbors. He was outgoing and generally civic-minded, often presenting himself on local government or school issues. But that was the extent of it. We didn’t stop and visit, just to talk and be neighborly. At least not until the collapse… which produced a change in people, mostly good so far, as well as I could determine. Now, however, it was apparent that talking to neighbors was becoming more popular, or at least more common. Was it due to selfishness – because we needed “things” they had and so did they? Was it because we needed each other’s support? Or was it to fill a void in our psyches created when we no longer had newspapers, magazines, radio and television to keep our minds stimulated. Probably all three. Would I soon find out?
“No, we probably never have,” Reuben responded, as he shook hands with Harvey. “Glad to meet you. This is my brother Tom. You’ve quite a crew here.”
“Need them,” Harvey said, “got a lot of work here. What can we do for you?”
“We’re thinking it’s more what can we do for you?” Tom answered.
“Or what we can do for each other,” Reuben continued. “We’ve come to trade. Got a passel of goods in our knapsacks; hoping you can use some of it.”
“There are a lot of things we can use, but not many people want to part with the things we need, like toilet paper or food. Everyone’s in the same boat,” Harvey said. “But tell us. What you got?”
The brothers opened up their knapsacks and Tom started off. “There’s some shampoo, toothpaste, flashlight batteries, and rubbing alcohol; a couple wristwatches, two cigarette lighters with a bottle of butane for them; a mess of heavy socks and some work gloves, a utility knife, a large bottle of ibuprofen, chewing gum, a couple of blankets, three leather belts, .22 long rifle ammo, and two packs of feminine napkins.”
“Well,” said Harvey, “I guess we could use most of those things. But so could you. Why would you want to part with them? Or maybe better put, what do we have worth giving those things up for?”
“A cow,” Reuben answered.

To be continued… a cow? ... Mort