Chapter Twenty-One - Mortality (conclusion)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Anniversary

This is my 53rd post - been at it for a year.
Don't look for any posts the next two weeks - I'll be away.
I'm not sure I'll be able to continue when I return, especially as it appears that no one is reading. If you are reading, please let me know - I need a confidence builder.
Mort

Chapter Twenty - Agronomics (cont)

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

To be continued………….. Mort

STRUGGLING

One of the premises of “Are You Ready” is that this country, if current fiscal policies do not change, is doomed to an economic collapse that, of course, would affect the whole world. Many people pooh-pooh that possibility, having faith, (or is it gullible ignorance?), in our federal government. But many economists think the collapse is inevitable. More information is on Andy Sutton’s website: my2centsonline.com. Educate yourselves and form your own opinion.

I tend to also view the current economic situation as dire. In my story, I used a war in the Middle East and China playing their financial trump cards as the catalyst for the collapse. The cause of the forthcoming regression, however, might not be one of such a grand scale, but instead be very subtle. We can read what the experts write and listen to the media’s perception of the way things are, but that doesn’t mean we can see the signs.

On a personal level, I see the signs and I’m struggling. My wife is self-employed and none of my three employers provides health insurance, so we as a family have that bill to pay. Blue Cross/Blue Shield has just requested a 9.9% increase from the state insurance board for our plan. That’s $885 per year – after taxes. My wife pays 15.3% social security taxes, none of which we ever expect to get back. Roughly calculated, including the tax breaks we receive on our 1040 schedule for paying our own insurance, she would have to earn $1125 to actually receive the $885 to give to BC/BS. At $100 per day earnings, she would have to work eleven more extra days next year to enable us to afford health insurance. Perhaps the Fed or the impotent Congress can legislate the earth to revolve slower around the sun like they get the earth to spin faster that Sunday in March when daylight savings time starts – enough to add eleven days onto the 2008 calendar?

So last week bread at our local grocery chain went up 10%, with other foodstuffs comparably increasing. My first tank full of heating oil was 10% higher than last year’s highest price. With the recent record high crude oil futures, I expect to pay even more for the next. In spite of those record highs, gasoline prices remain somewhat stable, but I can’t see them staying there for much longer. Our electric company’s agreement with the Socialist State of Pennsylvania to limit rate increases expires in 2008. We’re looking for 10-20% increases then. Yet none of my employers are offering the 13.7% increase in wages needed to earn 10% more (after taxes), actually required to give you the purchasing power to offset these forthcoming price increases. All in all, it’s becoming very, very hard to make ends meet. This is not news to most of you.

I’m not bragging, but for the last 16 years, we’ve been very faithful in our giving to the church. I’m actually ashamed to say – that as of right now, we’re failing to do so to the extent we have in the past. Is it me, my lack of faith, or just a consequence of a failing, inflationary, recessional economy? We’re a couple months behind in our rent, owe my brother $400, my daughter $1000, and my son a couple hundred. Should we drop health insurance so we can pay our other bills? Should we let them repossess the car so we don’t have to make that payment? Are we really going to be forced to stop giving to the church? The savings necessary to stay afloat go beyond keeping the thermostat at 62 degrees, burning more wood, changing over to energy efficient fluorescent light bulbs, and driving less. Other people have to be in a similar situation, don’t they? Yes, I know I’m just supposed to give the problem to Jesus and TRUST him for a solution, but even with faith, it’s becoming more difficult and more difficult……….

How are you all handling it? What methods are you using to make ends meet? What do you see coming? Please let me know!

Maybe next week, I can resume Alyssa’s story………….. Mort

Chapter Twenty - Agronomics

“Looks like all the illegals didn’t make it back to Mexico,” Uncle Jeremiah said when he first saw the Diaz’s. Thank goodness only a few people were near enough to hear him. However, my father was, and shot him that look that you never wanted to get from Dad.
Aunt Lois wasn’t as subtle; even before Dad’s glance had a chance to reach Jeremiah’s eyes, she smacked the back of her husband’s head.
“Schwetz net su dumb,” she said in the dialect. “That’s not a nice thing to say at all, especially in front of the girls. I don’t ever want to hear anything like that again!”
“Ah, I was only joking,” he responded.
It’s good it was only he and Lois, Dad and I, and Amy that heard it. I was pretty sure Amy and I weren’t adversely affected by it; we wouldn’t be scarred for life. But grown-ups need to be more careful what they say around impressionable adolescents. He said he was joking, and I believed him. Our family was a bunch of wise guys, good at joking and teasing, especially politics, but we didn’t always stop and think about the damage it might do. There had been so much talk in the media, like radio call-in shows, about the immigration problem, or at least what some people called a problem. People just like to ride the waves on an issue; becomes the popular thing to do. When some movement gets started, everyone jumps on the bandwagon, regardless of what they really believe about the issue; if they would just stop to think about it.
In any event, comments like that didn’t reoccur, at least any that I heard. But I wondered if the problem could resurface as more and different people joined our community. Bottom line, we made the Diaz’s feel welcome, just like we did any other newcomers. Beyond their cooking skills, they were a valuable addition to our crew; always willing to pitch in, learn new things, and boy could those boys play soccer!
That’s right, we hadn’t given that up; we played every Sunday afternoon. Enrico and Luis had to be on separate teams though, to keep it fair. Benny, as we called their father, was pretty good, too. But we had good players to even it out. Joe loved playing both with them or against them; either way, it was challenging.
Even though we had to wait for the corn to dry to harvest it, that didn’t mean any other farming had not occurred while waiting. Sometime in early September, Larry and Harvey had planted rye in a ten acre wheat stubble field that had earlier been pastured off by the cattle. The fast growing grain could be pastured in late fall if they needed it, but would certainly provide the first new forage n the spring. The planting was possible because of three things: they had a good supply of the summer’s rye harvest remaining to use as seed, they had successfully adapted two pieces of farm equipment to operate without tractor power, and Butch’s Clydesdales.
Larry estimated he had enough rye seed to sow 60 acres, but was determined to only use one half of it, so their would be some preserved for next fall’s planting. When he sowed the ten acres that left him enough to seed another twenty later in the fall in the harvested cornfields that he hoped at least a few acres might be harvested for grain somehow next summer. We would see.
The two pieces of farm equipment that were adapted were a field cultivator and the grain drill. A field cultivator had tines in it with two inch wide shovels on them that dug in and loosened up the earth as it was pulled through the field. The grain drill had a metering system to accurately drop the seed into small seed furrows created by the drill’s disks, which ran through the soil as the drill was pulled. It wasn’t a problem for Butch’s horses to pull the equipment; the problem was disengaging them. Both the field cultivator and the grain drill worked when they were in the down position and didn’t work when raised up. They were designed to be raised and lowered by hydraulics powered by the tractor. Before tractors and hydraulics were the norm, some machinery had a ground driven hand clutch or a lever system to raise and lower the piece, but the boys were not able to locate either of those on any old machinery that could have possibly been fitted onto our equipment to adapt them for use with horses. By good fortune, Larry had some handjacks, a hand powered, screw type mechanism that would lengthen or shorten depending on which way you turned the screw. When the hydraulic cylinders on the equipment were replaced with these handjacks, by shear brute strength, Larry could raise or lower either piece of equipment to the proper operating or transporting height.
He didn’t want to do that very often, so once the field cultivator was in the ground, it stayed there until the field was finished; similarly with the drill. It gave Butch a chance to show off his horse handling skills, making sure they didn’t walk into a situation where the machine would have to be lifted and steering them precise enough to not overlap the seed with the drill or leave skippers (areas of no seed). He and his horses did admirably; even Dad, Jake and Larry took tries at it, and learned well. One team could easily pull the drill; it was on rubber tires and rolled easily, but the cultivator was another matter. Larry’s field cultivator was twenty feet wide and he usually used a one hundred and ten horsepower tractor. While the correlation is not exact, we only had six horsepower, so no way could they pull twenty feet. Speed through the field is the other component in the equation, so the horses, going slower could still accomplish the task when the cultivator was narrowed. Larry’s machine had wings that were folded up for transport; they were taken off. And then, six tines on each side of the remaining frame were removed, bringing the working width down to about eleven feet. They tried it that way, with the intent of taking more off if the job was too difficult.
The first time through the field was the hardest as the soil had not been tilled since October the previous fall, it had been driven on by the combine, tractor, baler, and wagon, baked by the summer sun, plus the cattle had been treading on it in all kinds of weather making it very hard. I don’t know if Butch ever had his six horses hitched as a single team before, but with some chains, our braided ropes, some keen thinking, and the work of all, they accomplished it. Then Larry started them out only lowering the cultivator a little at a time, until the point was reached that the horses could pull without out over-straining, but still do a good job ripping up the soil. One time over the field was not enough to make a good seedbed. Back and forth through the field they went a second time and even with Larry setting the machine deeper, it pulled easier and put good tilth in the soil. But for final seedbed preparation, which required a third trip, Dad added a spike toothed harrow that we used in the garden that leveled off a nice even fine seedbed.
Because the farmers had successfully completed the task of sowing rye in September, when October came and we had cleared some cornfields, sowing wheat was accomplished as well using the same procedures. Harvey and Larry’s farming operation only had about one third of its acreage in hay. With the emphasis on pasturing, some acreage would need to be shifted to some kind of hay crop. Hay was hard to harvest, but easy to pasture. Unlike corn, there was no practical way to manually harvest grains like rye, barley, wheat, and soybeans. We would try some by hand, but needed to cut down on those acres. The necessity of that shift mandated that Larry plant timothy as well in every field of wheat he sowed that fall. Timothy was a grass that was planted in the fall, was excellent horse feed, really easy to dry, not so bad to harvest, and would first produce a crop the following summer after the grain had been harvested and the straw cleared off the field. So to get a crop next year and subsequent years (as timothy is a perennial), it needed to be planted this year. Larry had traded for timothy seed. The grain drill, in addition to having a compartment for the wheat, also had a seedbox for the grass seed. It took very little extra effort to plant the timothy in the same trip we made to sow the wheat.

Chapter Nineteen-Corn (conclusion)

And corn as a supply of food was becoming evident, based on two developments. Shortly after the corn harvest started we ran out of oatmeal and cereal - no more Cocoa Puffs. And all through the fall harvest and later that winter, more people starting arriving; people we didn’t know – a couple from Bedford, a family from New Jersey, single women, single men, some older than Dad, and quite a few children. They arrived at different times and in different ways. Most walked; a few came on bicycles, a couple even still had their cars, one even came on horseback. Some looked well and brought goods with them, but many were very thin, dirty, poorly clothed for wintry weather, and carrying few belongings. Their arrival was always a cause for suspicion. Questions would go through our minds. Are these good people? Is one a thief? Are they sick? Are they running from something? Will they fit in? Do they understand our culture?
They had questions too, but in almost every instance it was the same one: Can we work for food? Harvey and Jean always had the same answer: First you eat, wash, and rest. Tomorrow, there’s work. Some would pridefully argue they should work first, all would smile. Most would express gratitude immediately; a few would be skeptical and cautious in their acceptance of the farm owners’ graciousness. All would eat, they didn’t all stay. A few chose to settle in at Crystal View, some just moved on. Some came with skills, some had none. Either way we had work for them - in the cornfields, in the barn, in the butcher house. Plenty of help to bring in the corn crop, but also to help shovel feed, move fences, fork manure, milk, cook, sew, do dishes and laundry.
With the increased number of workers, we could even devote time to woodcutting. Harvey’s furnace, Poppop’s woodstove, and the cook stove in the butcher house took a lot of fuel. Up until now they had been using the supply of firewood they had on hand and burning scrap that had accumulated over the years. That supply had reached its end. Now that there had been a frost and the cooler temperatures were prevalent, crews could venture into the woods with less annoyance from the bugs or fear from disease carrying ticks. It took some skill to chop and saw trees up, but it was one that could be learned. Even some of the youngsters could tag along and help by picking up the smaller pieces of sawed branches, stacking the firewood, or loading and unloading the wagon. The crews also spend timing cleaning up fallen branches and dead trees in the fencelines along the edges of our fields.
All these extra workers came with a few challenges, too. Where will they all sleep and use the bathroom? What about meals? Because our houses were getting pretty full and there was a concerted effort to maintain some privacy for the owners themselves, the newcomers were asked to sleep in the top of the barn. We had bedding and mattresses. Like the barn floor wasn’t already overfilled, there was no heat, and what kind of privacy could they have? Fortunately, Harvey’s barn was built in an “L” shape, so one wing was devoted to single women, the other end to single men, with families in the middle. Hay bales were rearranged into makeshift walls or pieces of the plastic from the silage bags that Larry was feeding from were hung as dividers. Small dressers or end tables, boxes or crates from the two houses were provided for the newcomers to keep their few belongings and toilet articles in. Eventually, the milking herd was housed underneath and a little bit of heat from the cows would help, but realistically, it was just like camping out in winter. Our guests needed good sleeping bags or plenty of covers, long underwear and heavy clothing, all of which we were able to find in our inventoried goods. As an added benefit, moving some things out of Jean’s upstairs kitchen made some more room for Lois’s infirmary.
There was one certainty; as expressed by Harvey and Dad in a huge sign at the barn’s main entrance with reminders at other doors. The sign said:
NO SMOKING OR FIRES IN THIS BARN
UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES SHOULD CANDLES
MATCHES OR LIGHTERS BE FOUND HERE
IF YOU BURN DOWN THIS BARN
YOU BURN YOUR HOME AND FOOD
No matter how cold it got that winter, the ban was never lifted. At one point the residents had learned to heat up bricks or stones at an outside fireplace, built far enough away from the barn to provide some light for bathroom trips during the night. They would then put them in their sleeping bags or under the covers like in colonial times. Harvey and Dad allowed that. Also, Barry, Uncle Bruce, and Dean installed a few car headlights in the barn to make some light during the evening and early morning.
There was a schedule made for showering, and as far as toileting, once again, the boys had exhibited some forethinking. A double outhouse had been built about fifty feet from the barn doors, right next to the manure pit. It was not only convenient for those sleeping in the barn, but also for all of us working around the farm. A lot less water to carry to the bathrooms in the houses. Also, it was ecologically sound. For instead of digging a hole and having our wastes go into the ground, the boys had designed the outhouses so the wastes would flow by gravity right into the manure tank, and then eventually be hauled to the fields to fertilize our crops.
Feeding everyone became our major concern. One of the first things was a change in the eating schedules. As soon as our number exceeded 30, meals had to be served in two shifts, your shift being determined by what time of the morning or evening you were needed at your assigned duties, like milking or dishes. I also noticed how happy the newcomers were to have milk with every meal. They might have not drunk milk for months and even though I was almost tired of drinking it all the time, it made me realize I lucky and blessed I was to have some.
As our oatmeal and cereal was gone, we had to come up with a new breakfast menu. Fortunately, the boys finally had a working flour mill built and running. They had carved two millstones from pieces of a concrete feed trough we didn’t need to have and then incredibly created a drive for it by using Larry’s hay rake in reverse. I mean, normally a tractor was used to power a nine foot wheel with six arms and tines on to rake hay. The boys hooked up a gearbox to rotate one of the millstones, hooked up the power take off shaft to the gear box, and then by walking around the hub and pushing the arms on the rake, transferred the power the opposite direction to make the millstone turn. It was rough for one person to do it alone, but two, three or even six people could hop in to drive the mill. Maybe some day they might be able to drive it with oxen or water, but at least for now, it worked!
They had successfully made wheat flour and were ready to tackle corn next to make cornmeal. That was good news at Butch’s farm; they had been smashing corn with bricks and hammers for over a month. With wheat flour, in addition to baking bread, cakes or pies, we could now make biscuits for breakfast. They didn’t need sugar, very little leavening, and were delicious with all that butter we had. They were also the perfect companion for the gravy we could make with all the meat we had, now that we had flour to thicken it. Our wheat supply was finite, so when they had mastered the art of making cornmeal, some could be added to the biscuits or used straight to make cornbread if we had some eggs to spare. The trick with making cornmeal was roasting it properly first. We accomplished this by spreading the shelled corn on cookie sheets on top the butcher stove whenever it wasn’t being used for cooking or laundry.
Roasting and grinding corn became a steady chore for several members of our crew. Of course some times the cornmeal would be cooked and served as mush, which was similar to oatmeal in consistency and served hot, often times for supper.
“I love mush,” Dad said one evening at supper, “especially with this blackstrap molasses on it.”
“Well I don’t,” I replied, “you can have your mush and your blackstrap. I can barely eat it smothered in butter. You know that blackstrap will be gone one day; we don’t grow sugar cane around here.”
“I know,” he answered, “maybe by then we’ll have some honey or trade for molasses or syrup. It’s to my advantage though, that hardly anyone else likes it, so my supply will last a while.”
“That was your theory with candy in the house, too,” Mom chimed in. “You’d buy kinds, like black licorice, that no one liked.”
“Yep,” Dad responded, “that way it would last weeks, instead of all the munchkins eating it in two days.”
“Oh, you’re the most loving father ever,” I crooned.
“You got that right,” he answered. “Now mother, if everyone has had there fill of mush tonight, it’s going to be pretty cold tonight. You can save the leftover for breakfast.”
“Of course dear,” Mom replied, “wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Any leftover mush would be poured into a pan and if put somewhere cold enough, would ‘set up’ overnight. It could then be sliced into blocks and fried for breakfast. Maybe it was a little better that way; at least I could handle it, again with butter and a little pancake syrup which we had fortunately managed to conserve.
One other way we were very glad to eat cornmeal, probably never thought of by anyone in our family, was brought to us by a couple with their two sons who arrived from New York City. The parents were cooks in a Mexican restaurant and could they do things with cornmeal. Not just tortillas, which were excellent, but also other dishes with our homegrown beans, beef and pork. They were immediately assigned to the kitchen crew and were glad to be there. Their names were Benito and Rosa Diaz.
To be continued………….. Mort

Chapter Nineteen - Corn - Part 3

So once the uses for our corn were established, it shed some light on how to harvest it. The corn harvested as a whole stalk could be utilized by the cattle. The hogs and chickens could eat any ears of corn, even if they had grown a little mold in storage. But the corn we wanted to eat ourselves, feed our horses, and save for seed had to be harvested in the cleanest fashion and stored where there was the least chance of spoilage.
So what did a field’s location have to do with which method we employed to harvest it? Its proximity to cattle. In any field that was close enough to our cattle (or Butch’s) to be fenced off and have the cattle forage in all winter, we would only remove the husked ear from the field. It took a little more effort to harvest, but produced both a clean, safe food for us and left the most forage for the gleaning animals. An added advantage of having the cattle forage all winter in those fields was the manure they deposited there.
Just pulling the ear off the stalk, husk and all, was a much quicker process. We would harvest many more loads per day, therefore we used this method at the end of the harvest season when we were running out of autumn and afraid we might lose some of the crop to winter. Additionally, by the end of fall, the corn was dry enough that it would keep on the barn floor with less risk of spoilage. From the barn floor, as winter progressed, we would husk the corn under roof, feed the corn to the chickens or hogs, and the husks to calves, cows or horses.
By any measure, the hardest and most time consuming method of bringing in the crop was harvesting the whole stalk. It was the method we started with that Wednesday in October and we didn’t actually finish until early spring. For although we may have cut the corn at the beginning of the harvest season, we didn’t need to bring it back to the farm until we needed it, it had dried more fully, and we had time to haul it. The fields that we harvested by this method were those farthest from the farm, fences and water, where no cattle were near enough to use the forage we left behind using the other methods. This method necessitated much more horsepower, as it required less acreage to fill a wagonload of stalks compared to a load of ears only. As a result, many more loads came from these fields, plus it was the farthest distance Butch’s teams had to travel to bring in the corn.
For this job we once again brought out the sickles with their short, heavy, sturdy blades. Scythes would not work well for corn. The cornstalk was way too thick for the scythe’s thinner, flimsier, blade, and it took two hands to swing a scythe. The person wielding the sickle would grab three or four stalks with one hand about shoulder high and then cut the stalks with a couple swings of the sickle with the other hand. Ideally he would hand off the clump to another harvester I’ll call shockers. No, they weren’t electrifying; they stacked the clump of stalks in an upright configuration we call a shock. You must have seen them on Christmas or Thanksgiving cards, or pictured on calendars. That fall we created scores of those shocks immortalized by the poet who wrote:
“When the frost is on the pumpkin and the fodder’s in the shock”.
With the stalks in an upright position, the ears on the stalk could dry, but by strength of numbers, the shock was protected from the devastating effects of wind and weather through the winter. If we had plenty of shockers in the harvesting crew and our timing was on, there would always be a shocker ready to grab the clump of stalks from the cutter. If not, the cutter would throw the clump onto the ground, making it much harder for the shockers to pick them up and shock. One reason we began shocking corn in mid-October was that the stalks were still strong enough to take the handling. Trying to harvest whole stalks after they had become dry and brittle would be both frustrating and unproductive as the stalk would break off in your hand or the ear would fall off. The other reason was that we didn’t have to be as concerned that the corn was not dry enough to keep in the barn. That risk aside, whenever a wagonload of harvesters traveled to a field to shock corn, those that were not engaged in the shocking process (for we conveniently rotated jobs throughout the day), would take the wagon to a different part of the field and pull the whole ear off the stalk to create a wagonload of corn to take back home. No sense wasting the horsepower by coming back from the field empty.
Typically, we’d use a hay wagon that by design had slatted sides that bales of hay would not fall through, but ears of corn would. For these excursions the boys had fastened boards on all four sides of the wagon around the bottom foot or so from the floor of the wagon to keep the corn from falling off. Every trip home, we’d ride on top the pile of corn. It was always a pleasant ride, especially for the older generations who would reminisce about many a ride on the corn wagon they had taken while growing up. We also had a feeling of accomplishment with the fruits of our labor piled under us, not to mention the fact that we would soon be arriving back to the warmth and comfort of home, particularly if the weather was bad. Not being sure if this early harvested corn was dry enough to keep, we were judicious in the placing of it, so that we could use it first, before it had a chance to spoil.
We had to shovel every load of corn off the modified hay wagons. Later in the season, when the shocking was completed and we were harvesting ears only we switched to using gravity bin wagons. They were metal sided wagons that had a sloping floor and would unload by opening a gate at the wagon’s lowest point. Some shoveling was still necessary, but not near as much. Loading and unloading ears were much easier tasks than doing the same with stalks. I never helped much, but rode along a trip or two. It was back breaking work, but necessary to supply our herd with needed forage.
When either shocking or picking corn, gloves were a very necessary tool, primarily to prevent blisters and also cuts. Cornstalks are rough, but worse was their proclivity to tear in string-like strips that had sharp edges. While not threatening amputation, a cut from such a sliver was similar to a paper cut, but worse. It was very annoying, caused much burning and would be susceptible to infection as corn stalks had different molds and fungi growing on them, especially later in the growing season.
Of course the most necessary tool for shocking was the sickle, although a machete would have worked as well. For pulling and husking corn, however, a husking knife was the preferred tool. If you tried to husk corn all day long without one, the whole area between and along the sides of your thumb and forefinger would take a beating. Gloves helped some, but soon you’d wear holes in them. Husking knives were short pieces of metal with just a dull edge on it, that lay on the thumb side of the forefinger and you used to snap the ear off the stalk or the husk off the ear. Once you learned how to use one, you wouldn’t want to be without it. The knife was fastened to and held in place by rings of leather that fit over your fore and middle fingers. That way the knife was always in the right position and you didn’t drop it while husking. Poppop had two such knives in his antique collection so he used them as a pattern to make a couple dozen more from scrap pieces of metal and leather he cut out of old handbags we had found when we inventoried our belongings.
All in all, husking corn was a pretty neat experience. The horses would pull a wagon right through the field. Three people husked the rows of corn directly in front of the horses before the wagon ran the corn down. They threw the ears into buckets outside the horse’s path and then the buckets were dumped into the wagon when the wagon had moved ahead. Someone had the job of carrying the empty buckets back up in front of the horses; lots of times, it was me. On each side of the wagon, eight or ten people would each take a row and throw the plucked ear directly into the wagon. The most athletic, who wanted to show off their throwing skills, would take the rows farthest from the wagon. So they’d miss once in a while or hit someone (accidentally for the most part); ears could be picked up. Taking 18 to 20 rows in one pass down the field could fill a load in no time. It was a great time for fellowship, laughter, teasing, planning. No noise like when working with engine powered machinery. We even used the harvest moon to husk corn in the evening, the days leading up to and the couple nights of the full moon near the end of October, and then again in November. It was spooky, but at the same time peaceful, sensing God’s silent, still and silhouetted creation and knowing you were with people who cared about you.
Other years, Harvey’s one hundred acres of corn would have all been stored in those plastic bags, so there was virtually no space on the farm dedicated to corn storage. At Crystal View Farm there was an old wooden slatted corn crib, facing open air, where cleanly husked corn could be placed to dry with little risk of spoilage. But it only held about eight acres of corn. Our lack of storage space was another driving factor that forced us to shock as many acres as we did. There was space remaining on the barn floors at the two farms, but it was disappearing quickly. Loose hay took up a lot of room and also baled hay and straw had been stacked in both barns in early summer when Larry still had fuel. We used very little of that hay and straw the rest of the summer, preferring to conserve as much as we could by making maximum use of pasturing. Pasturing also negated the need for using straw as bedding – a very good thing as we didn’t want to spend time and labor forking and hauling manure out of barns. We could delay that chore until the worst part of winter. To make as much room for the corn as possible, the men had painstakingly restacked the baled hay up against the roof, and even on top of the loose hay we had harvested. Also, all the equipment and wagons that Harvey usually stored in the barns was taken outside to free up as much space as possible for the corn.
So space had been created for the corn as the harvest progressed. We piled, shoveled and heaped the ears as high as we could so we’d still have room to work at husking for the livestock and shelling for us and the chickens, or for any other purpose that might arise. The cleanly husked corn that was intended for our use was not just piled on the floor. Larry and Poppop made rings of box fence wire about eight feet in diameter and stacked them on slatted wooden pallets in upright cylinders right on the barn floor near the area where a good flow of fresh air was usually present. Similar to the wooden crib at Butch’s, this would promote thorough drying to keep our food supply as safe, nutritious, and palatable as possible.

To be continued…… Mort

Chapter Nineteen - Corn (cont)

Gathering nuts was both easy and fun. Like Harvey had envisioned, we youngsters did the bending and the picking, while our elders aided by moving the buckets from tree to tree and carrying the full ones to the wagon. To get started, we used Brutus to pull the wagon full of empty buckets and nut-pickers. A carefully thought out route was followed, dropping off people and buckets at predetermined nut-infested areas of the farms. I stayed with Brutus to the last stop, where we only had seven empty buckets and five people remaining. While Brutus was resting in the shade and munching early fall grass, Jake, who drove the wagon, Uncle Bruce, Aunt Kristen, Dean and I filled the seven buckets with nuts and loaded them onto the wagon.
We then retraced our steps, picking up people and loading buckets of nuts all the way back to the farm. It quickly got to the point where there were more nuts than people on the wagon; though Harvey commented once that it was hard for him to tell which were the nuts. Soon every square inch of the wagon floor had a bucket of nuts on it, so everyone was walking back to the farm. Some of the kids, Robbie, of course, clung precariously onto the sides of the wagon as Brutus plodded along. He’s such a show off.
We unloaded the nuts into Poppop’s basement in time for lunch, and then repeated the whole process by another route in the afternoon. They yielded well; we must have gathered over 100 buckets. But the pile of nuts in Poppop’s basement wasn’t the only evidence of our toil. The juice in black walnut hulls possess the powerful ability to stain. Depending on the maturity of the nut or how long it lay on the ground, the stain was either a light greenish-yellow brown or a deeper brownish black. Practically everyone had come across a black walnut tree that day, so Wednesday morning when we started the corn harvest, we all had yellow-green-brownish stained hands. It wouldn’t wash off so I figured we’d have to work it off. The corn harvest gave us just that opportunity.
Prior to the collapse, Harvey and Larry’s corn was harvested by two methods. One was to use a machine called a forage harvester to chop into fine pieces the whole stalk and ear while there was still a fair amount of moisture in it. Then the chopped material was packed into oxygen limiting, tube-like plastic bags where the material would ferment similar to sauerkraut and thus be preserved as what is known as silage. The second was to use the combine to shell the kernels of corn off of the ear, leaving the rest of the stalk, cob and husk in the field. If the right moisture, the shelled corn could be ground into the plastic tubes as well, or if it contained less moisture, could be dried with artificial heat and stored in a grain bin. Neither of these methods could be used this year – we did not have the fuel to spare, nor were there any bags available.
Fortunately there are ways to harvest corn by hand and we had the tools, the know-how, and the manpower to do so. The three ways that we employed were harvesting the whole stalk, the ear with the husk on, and a husked ear. The method we used was determined by the field’s location and the intended use of the corn. There was much discussion about how we should use the corn.
“I recall,” Mel said during that discussion, “a chart I saw in school in an environmental biology class, that compared the amount of grain consumption by various animals to the amount of product produced.”
“I bet dairy cows were the most efficient,” Larry declared.
“I think it’s hogs,” Dad offered.
“Has to be chickens,” Mom chimed in. “What did the chart say?”
“I don’t remember exact figures, or the exact order,” Mel responded. “But I remember their groupings. Raising cattle and sheep for their meat took the most: five to six pounds of grain for every pound of meat produced. Hogs took less, three or four pounds. Producing milk took around three pounds of grain per pound of milk, while egg production took two and a half, I think. And chickens for their meat use two pounds of grain.”
“That’s hard to believe,” Dad commented, “that a six pound chicken only ate twelve pounds of grain in its short lifetime.”
“I don’t believe the figure on milk production either,” Larry complained. “A cow giving 100 pounds of milk per day doesn’t eat 300 pounds of grain.”
“That’s very true,” Mel replied. “I thought about that at the time. I think the two keys were that it measured the grain consumption of the animal over its whole lactation and lifetime and that the figure was a grain equivalent. Think of all the days you feed a heifer before you even get one drop of milk and also the grain a cow eats while it’s dry. All that grain was figured in.”
“That makes sense,” Harvey said. “But what did you mean by ‘grain equivalent’?”
“I concluded that the study was conducted as part of the ecology revolution,” Mel answered.
“You mean the environmentalist whackos?” Joe asked.
“I suppose you could say that,” Mel chuckled. “The study’s purpose was to show that we should be feeding people with the grain instead of feeding it to animals – to show it was an ecological, financial, and moral obligation to not feed animals the grain that starving people could eat.”
“You buy that?” Josh asked.
“No,” Mel answered, “I immediately recognized the results as propaganda and missing a very key element.”
“What element?” Uncle Bruce asked.
“The study didn’t take into account the whole ration the cow, sheep or hog ate. To answer Harvey’s question, the grain equivalent was the amount of grain the animal would eat if you replaced every other ingredient in the animal’s diet with grain.”
“You can’t do that!” Larry exclaimed. “It’s not healthy for the cow.”
“We know that,” Mel agreed. “But they had to compare apples to apples. Chickens eat very little grass or other plant matter, while cattle and sheep can be on all forage diets.”
“So I might have guessed wrong,” Mom interjected. “Almost 100% of a chicken’s diet, at least commercially, is grain. They would eat the most grain compared to what you get from them.”
“True, maybe,” Jean offered, “but I’d rather eat two scrambled eggs or a drumstick than a half pound of corn.”
“Agreed,” Mom replied, “So I guess in our operation, it’s advantage cows – we shouldn’t waste so much corn on the chickens.”
“I don’t know if I would reach the same conclusion,” Dad said. “With your chickens not being cooped up and running free range around the farm, they eat insects, weed seeds and pick at the garbage. As they don’t eat much grain, we can spare some for them. Besides, eggs and chicken are a valuable source of protein in our diets. The cows on the other hand, are producing more milk than we can use without additional grain to their ration. They can grow and produce milk on grass, hay, vegetable stalks and pods, cornstalks and husks, at least this time of year.”
“When it gets colder,” Larry added, “both the cows and young stock will need more energy to grow. You see now, they’re getting some grain in the corn silage we have leftover from last fall. That supply might last until late winter at best. Then they will need more grain to grow, at least until new, rich spring grass is available for them to forage. You think about it: cows, sheep and goats might be our saviors through the next few years. We can’t eat all those forages you mentioned like grass and stalks. They can, and in turn produce food that we can eat. They didn’t mention that in the study did they Mel?”
“Of course not,” she replied.
“Bet they didn’t think of the manure either,” Poppop added. “It’s a valuable fertilizer for us to grow more feed for the livestock and food for us. Our yields would drop dramatically without it. Livestock are indeed a blessing to our operation and a solution to our predicament. Heck, goats will even eat bushes and weeds and poison ivy to give us meat and milk.”
Thinking back on that, we later learned that the several goat farms in the neighborhood had continued to prosper and provide food and work for many guests. It made me think how the Israelites survived and even thrived in the virtual deserts of Midian and Sinai and other arid areas of Palestine. Their goats and sheep could convert any scrubby growth into food, not to mention the value of their skins and wool.
“Yes,” Harvey concluded, “our cattle will keep us going. I look at some of the neighbors’ land that was placed in the Conservation Reserve Enhancement Program. In essence, rented to the government to take it out of production in order to stabilize prices and create cover for wildlife. Almost all those acres are seeded in wild grasses that we can’t eat, but our livestock can. When those agreements were still in effect, harvesting those fields was prohibited; there’s lush growth there. Now with the government inoperative and not fulfilling their side of the contract, that is paying the rent, that makes the contract void. That grass may now be grazed and will become a valuable forage, especially as winter progresses.”
“Bottom line is,” Larry said, “even with all the available forage around, when it becomes harder for the livestock to find it and the temperatures get lower, we should feed some corn to our cattle, and use some for the chickens. What about the hogs?”
“I would say,” Joe answered, “only if we have some to spare. They can grow without it, but when you go to butcher a hog fed milk only, the pork isn’t firm at all and annoyingly difficult to cut. So it would be better if we can spare some.”
“I’m sure we can,” Dad replied. “Fortunately, when we run our hogs with the cattle, the hogs can root through the manure for undigested pieces of grain. And they also find roots and tubers in the fields as well. Hogs around here aren’t totally dependent on us feeding them milk and corn; they convert some inedible materials to food for us, too.”
“OK,” Jean said, “corn for cows, chickens and hogs, and don’t forget us!”
“That’s right,” Poppop agreed, “don’t forget us. But there is one group of animals we didn’t mention yet that needs corn, too.”
“Brutus!” I exclaimed, “the horses.”
“Right,” Poppop replied, “Brutus and the horses at Butch’s. They are going to be doing some hard work and need the energy. Our oat supply is limited, so they need corn. Also when our oxen get to working age, they’ll need more grain as well.”
“And lastly,” Larry added, “we have to save some corn for seed.”

To be continued…… Mort