CHAPTER ELEVEN - VISITORS

By lunch time the rain had stopped. As we left the barn, I spied a pickup truck coming down the road. It had a utility body on it and had boxes and other things piled in the bed high above the cab’s roof and covered with a tarp. Into the driveway it pulled and as the driver emerged I recognized him. It was Barry, our auto mechanic. He was an unforgettable fellow. I remembered him as a jolly, smoking fiend and a very foul mouth. He and Dad would vigorously debate politics. Actually sometimes it would seem more like arguing, the way Barry would carry on. Yet in the end he’d be laughing about it. He had long hair and was extremely overweight. I often wondered how he could even get close enough to work in some of the tighter areas of cars. I thought I had heard Dad tell Mom one time about some of the health problems Barry had. Today, however, he looked different. Hard to describe; perhaps more humble, mellow, or subdued. Shorter hair, that was obvious. And definitely weighing less. It looked like he lost a hundred pounds.
“Good to see you, Barry,” Dad said. “What brings you out here?”
“My truck,” he said. So he had some jolliness left in him. “I’m out of business,” he continued. “When the gasoline supply dried up, no one needed their cars fixed, nor did they have money to pay for repairs. But I knew there were people out here, especially farmers, who had equipment that might still be in use and could need repair. So I packed up as many of my tools as I could, at least those I deemed to be most likely to be useful. Put all the gasoline I had in a couple cans, together with some clothing and the little food I had and hit the road. I’ve been going from house to house and farm to farm trying to trade my skill for some room and board. Hasn’t really been working out. I had to trade most of my gasoline for food. Fact is I probably couldn’t drive another ten miles before I’d run out of gas. Didn’t know this was your place. Soon as I saw you, hope returned. Is there something I can do here to earn some food?”
“Not a thing,” Harvey said. Some of the color drained out of Barry’s face. I almost couldn’t believe I’d just heard Harvey say that.
“This here’s Harvey Stump, my second cousin. This is his farm,” Dad said.
Barry remained silent. After a few moments Harvey extended his hand and said, “Glad to meet you, Barry. We’re getting ready to go to the house to eat shortly. Like I said, there’s ‘not a thing’ you need to do, except to join us. If you want to eat, you’re welcome to what we have to share.”
A big smile emerged on Barry’s face as he grabbed Harvey’s hand and shook it. “Thank you, thank you,” he said. He just kept shaking it as he looked at Dad and said, “You put him up to that didn’t you?”
“Didn’t have time to,” was Dad’s response. “But we had the same great-grandfather and they say he was a corker, so I had a pretty good idea what Harvey was doing. Let’s go eat.”
The boys were planning to tackle the project of preparing the butcher house for housing the milk tank after lunch. Of course, while it was raining they had been preparing. Larry had the sprayer pump all flushed out and cleaned up. Jake and Joe had started converting a bicycle into the drive for the pump. Aaron was working on Jean’s oven. Poppop and the rest were pulling the water line from the barn. Dennis had the least success. While we were eating, he explained the problem he was having making the blender run on 12 volts.
“I think,” he said, “the trouble is a battery is direct current and the blender as well as all these other motors around here are alternating current.”
“That would be correct,” Aaron said, “to convert it we need a transformer to go from DC to AC.”
“Sounds like a rock group,” Grandmom said. Chuckles from everyone.
“I guess the transformers we might have go the other way?” Dad asked.
“What transformers?” Dennis wanted to know.
“Like the one for a toy electric train, a re-chargeable flashlight, Mel’s laptop, the two-way radios, or an electric fencer,” Dad answered.
“Yeah, those convert from AC to DC,” Dennis agreed, “but still it makes me wonder…. I guess I should have played a little closer attention in school.”
“School?” Dad said, “did you hear that Alyssa? Dennis learned something in school.”
“Now don’t start that again,” I said.
“Enough already you two,” Mom said, “Boys, I have something on my mind. I’d like to ask you three questions. Address them whenever and in whatever order you wish.”
“What are the questions, Mom?” Jake asked.
“Number one - you are putting a lot of effort into powering our basic machines by people power, what with the bicycles and all. Rightly so, I guess, we need to do something quickly to meet some of our needs. But shouldn’t you be investigating using other power sources such as animals, water, or wind?”
“Number two - Just like practically every other farm and household in the country we have many things like motors, appliances, and tools that run on electricity. Additionally, we have a generator capable of making electricity if we only had a power source to turn it. Isn’t it feasible to spin that generator with one of the power sources I just mentioned? Or wouldn’t it be an even better long term solution to develop an alternative fuel source so we could use our tractors again to run the generator? Then we wouldn’t have put so much effort into converting all these machines we have to mechanical drive or to 12 volt. Number three…”
“Four,” Josh said, “You already asked three.”
“Don’t get picky,” Mom continued. “Number four then - A few weeks from now we are going to have more darkness in a day than daylight. So far we’ve been able to see well enough into the evening with a couple flashlights, lanterns, and candles. Without making electricity, recharging the batteries will end and our supply of them will be depleted. There is only a little kerosene left for the lanterns and it positively isn’t a good idea to have candles in the barn. Have you devised a plan to provide lighting for the winter?”
Aaron, Dennis, Jake, Josh and the others just looked at each other for a few moments, then Joe asked, “anybody get all that?”
“I think I did,” Jake said.
“Go ahead then; answer her. And give it your best shot,” Joe said.
“OK,” Jake started, “If I got them straight --- Yes, Probably, Yes, and Not entirely.” Dad and Jeremiah put their hands other their mouths in a weak attempt to keep from laughing out loud. Harvey and Larry couldn’t help it; they broke up, then the rest of us too.
Mom responded, “What the… what kind of answers are those? Yes, Probably, Yes and Not entirely?”
“Well you asked yes-no questions,” Jake said.
“You guys!” Mom shrilled, “you’re gonna miss me when I’m gone.”
“I’m sure they will,” Dad assured her, “I’m positive I will. Who’d we make fun of?”
“Oh shush,” she finished. “I won’t say another word.”
Joe took over. “Ignore them; those were good questions,” he said. “And Jake’s answers were accurate, but worthy of explanations. I’ll try, and anyone please jump in if I twist things. Yes, we should be investigating other mechanical power sources. Larry and I are designing a windmill and I think your husband has talked a little about damming the creek and building a water wheel. Design and construction might be the easy parts. The trick is getting a way to get that mechanical power to the machines we want to power.
“Probably we can spin the generator with one of those other power sources you mentioned. Problem is the generator requires a minimum of 45 horsepower to spin. Neither a windmill nor a waterwheel could produce that much, unless they were gigantic. Then the problem would be getting enough wind or water to turn them.”
Aaron chimed in, “A decent possibility, besides developing an alternative fuel, would be a steam engine. That’s kind of what the electric companies do. We have wood to burn and the excess heat could be used to heat Harvey’s house. But we haven’t come up with a design yet. It requires large pistons and some sort of control valve system.”
“Unless we could locate one of those old steam tractors that some of those antique farm tractor collectors might have?” Harvey said. “If someone would want to part with one.”
“If they aren’t being put to use already?” Dad wondered.
“Or a steam locomotive?” Josh added.
“Some of them around, too,” Joe said, “some even in museums. But no doubt someone already has claimed them.”
“And that would quite an endeavor to transport one here,” Larry said.
“So you see,” Joe said to my mom, “as we come up with ideas we often run into roadblocks. Now Aaron has already answered your third question. Yes, it would be a better long term solution to develop an alternative fuel for our vehicles. They’re all in the thinking stages for now. However your last question is a more urgent one. We need light. Especially in the barn as we will have to milk in the dark around the beginning of November. You were right about the lanterns. Kerosene’s soon gone. We thought of other fuels; it appears to just raise more questions. In the Bible they used olive oil in their lamps. Could we squeeze oil from the soybeans or render the beef tallow when we butcher? Would they burn? But still we’d like to stay away from open flame in the barn, so we’re leaning toward car headlights. A superficial solution would be to just pull two cars or trucks over to the doors and shine the lights in while we are milking. However, it would be a wasteful use of gasoline, for if we didn’t run the engines now and again, the batteries would go dead.”
“Actually,” Dennis jumped in, “charging the batteries is already a problem we need to solve. Remember we are using one on Harvey’s furnace. In fact we’re on the second one now; the first is too low on juice to keep the control working.”
Josh added, “When we rigged up the bicycle to run the water pump, we also designed it to run an alternator from my old car. But it just doesn’t seem to work right. We think it has something to do with the voltage regulator that’s built right into the alternator.”
“It never fails,” Joe resumed, “as soon as we have a good idea, glitches develop. We’re hoping as more and more people join us, they’ll bring some of the skills we need to overcome these obstacles. Our next step is to get Ben down here; remember he’s an electrical engineer. Maybe he can talk us through them.”
“I can help,” Barry said.
“Yes, Barry!” Dad said. “You’re an auto mechanic. Do you think you know what’s wrong?”
“Maybe two things,” Barry answered. “First, we’ll want to make sure the alternator is spinning fast enough, just to be sure. Second, more than likely your assumption about the voltage regulator is one hundred percent correct.”
“But can you do anything about it?” Jake asked.
“I used to keep that old beat up jalopy of a Pontiac you once had running didn’t I?” Barry remarked. “When I was a teenager back in the 60’s, my buddies and I spent a lot of time converting our hot rods with generators over to alternators. Did it for many farm trucks and tractors, too. We always had to rework the voltage regulators. I’m pretty sure I remember the intricacies of them. I can make it work for you.”
“That would be great,” Harvey said. “then we can remove some of the headlights from a few vehicles and position them right in the barn. We’d just have to keep charging the batteries as they run down.”
“And we wouldn’t have to depend on people-pedal power either,” Larry said. “We could use the windmill Joe and I are working on.”
“Right,” said Joe, “and maybe even rig it up to charge several at a time. Think that can be done, Barry?”
Barry answered, “Don’t know why not. A lot of things can be done if you try; nothing if you don’t.”
“That’s a good attitude, Barry,” Dad responded. “We should all remember that.”
“Yeah we should,” several voices echoed.

To be continued…. Mort

Chapter Ten - Beasts of Burden (cont)

“And how would you like it if you weren’t able to read the Bible?”
“I wouldn’t,” I answered.
“You learned that in school, didn’t you?” Dad asked.
“Yes, but also at home when you and Mom read with me, and at church when following along in the hymn book,” I said.
“Sure, that’s right. And how are your math skills?”
Dad hit a sore spot; my math was terrible. In fact, I’d probably have liked school better if learning math had not been so difficult. “A problem with school,” I continued, “was that all the students had to fit the same mold. Those that had little math ability were taught using the same methods and were expected to achieve the same goals as those with greater abilities. Someone, somewhere in the educational system, once coined the phrase: ‘all children can learn’. The educational community fell for it, but it’s all a bunch of crap. It would be true if the word ‘something’ would be added onto the phrase, because we can all learn something. But not all the same things and definitely not to the same achievement level. Yet we were still all thrown into the same room with about 24 others of varying abilities and then all were expected to reach the same level. It’s horribly frustrating and not fair. Then they ignore the other skills we have, like music or craftsmanship. No wonder we hate school.”
Dad had a sorry look on his face. He and I were different. He was a great math student; it came easy. But play the piano or type. Forget it! He said his brain didn’t know how to tell his fingers what to do when his eyes weren’t looking at them. And read and consequently play two, three, four notes at a time? Impossible. He said it was physiological - some nerve synapses in his brain just wouldn’t let him do that. I thought it was psychological – his mind just wouldn’t let him. On the other hand, I couldn’t calculate worth a dime, but could play both the piano and the flute. Dad was very glad that I could and once said he’d be willing to trade his ability to do math for the ability to play the piano. That made no sense to my teachers though. So what if I can’t learn math? Let me excel at what I can. Allow me some level of achievement.
“I wonder how many feet of twine I’ve handled in my lifetime?” Dad asked. “A million perhaps?”
“Okay, so you’re going to push your point,” I answered. “How in the world would you know that? And who would care?”
“Well, you wouldn’t really know, we’d have to estimate.”
“Estimate! You know I hate that more than word problems. What good is it anyway?” was my response.
“Just to prove a point, and I’m curious and maybe you’ll learn something. Get that paper feed bag over there. Here’s a pencil. Do some calculations.”
“Oh great,” I grumbled.
“Look at this hay bale,” he started. “Every bale has 14 inches of twine up the end and maybe averages two and a half feet for its length. How many inches total would that be on one bale?”
“Okay, I’ll oblige you,” I said. So on the feed bag I wrote two point five times 12 as there’re 12 inches in a foot. “That’s 30 inches plus the 14 up the end equals 44 inches.”
“Yes, but that’s only one end and the top. How much then for all the way around the bale?”
“88, I don’t need the paper for that,” was my answer.
“Good, but how many strings on each bale?” Dad prompted.
“Two.” But now I needed the paper again. I scribbled 88 times two. “Comes to 176.”
“176 what?” he asked.
“OK, another point; always label your answers – inches.”
“Good,” he said, “how do we change to feet?”
“Divide by 12,” I said. The paper again. “14 point six, six, six, six...”
“How are we going to work with that number?” Dad asked.
“Don’t know,” I said.
“It’s just an average anyway,” Dad went on, “an estimate. Why don’t you round it off?”
He knew I hated rounding off, too. Couldn’t see any use to it. But, on the other hand, it sure would be easier to work with 15 instead of 14.6666.
“15,” I answered.
“So every time I pick up a bale, I handle 15 feet of twine. How many bales would it take for me to handle one million feet of twine?”
“Divide again, right?” I asked.
“Yes.”
This took me longer. It was that stupid repeating six again. “66 thousand, six hundred sixty-six point six, six, six…” I replied indignantly.
“66,666 what?”
“I don’t know…feet?”
“No – you divided feet by feet per bale. The feet cancel out. What’s left?” Dad asked.
“Bales I suppose.”
“You suppose correctly,” he continued. “So how many bales per year would I have to have picked up to handle that million feet of twine?”
“Don’t you ever give up? How would I figure that?”
Dad answered, “If the answer we’re looking for is bales per year, and remembering that ‘per’ means divided by, then we need to divide the number of bales by the number of years I’ve worked with them. This requires another skill – deduction. Let’s suppose I’ve handled bales fairly regularly since I’m ten years old. I’m now 53. How many years is that?”
“That I can answer – 43 years. So if we are looking for bales per year I divide 66,666 bales by 43 years?” I asked.
“That’s correct.”
It took more paperwork and a bit of time. “It comes to 1,558.” I paused. He gave me a funny look. “Bales per year,” I finished.
“Good. So in your estimation do you think that I have handled more than 1558 bales per year and then consequently handled a million feet of twine in my lifetime?”
“Easy,” I answered, “that’s only four or five bales a day.”
“Wow! How did you know that so quickly?”
“I don’t know. You’re just like our teachers who want us to explain our answers. Maybe I learned something?” I sarcastically commented. “There’s 365 days in a year, so four bales times 400 is 1600. Sounded like a good estimate.”
“It was,” Dad answered, “and you rounded off, too.”
“Whoopee!” I exclaimed.
“So do you think I’ve handled a million miles of twine in my lifetime?” he asked.
“You really don’t give up. Do I have to go through all these steps again?”
“No, just add one additional piece of information.”
“And what would that be?” I asked
“The number of feet in a mile. You all ready estimated four to five bales per day for one million feet. You just have to multiply by feet per mile to determine how many bales per day for one million miles. How many feet in a mile?”
“Five thousand and something,” I answered.
“5280,” Dad continued, “can you figure it out now?”
“As this is just an estimate I might as well just round it off to 5000. Times four or five bales comes to 20,000 – 25,000 bales per day. Didn’t happen.”
“No, didn’t happen. What did happen was you learned something about estimating and rounding off.”
“I suppose I did… and without a school!” I jubilantly declared. “So you don’t need to make me go to school!”
“Well, to repeat my answer to your original question. No, not now.”
“OK, I guess. What are we going to do with all this rope we’re making anyway?” I asked.
“Oh, for any need that may arise and for harnesses,” Dad answered.
“Harnesses?” I asked.
“Yes. Butch gave us a nice harness for Brutus, but you never know when it might tear or we’ll need to design some different or stronger rigging to pull a harrow or a wagon to bring Harvey’s crop in,” Just then Harvey walked in the barn. “And for the oxen,” Dad concluded.
“Oxen?” I quizzed.
“Yes,” said Harvey, “we’re going to take two evenly matched bull calves and pair them up to be oxen. We’ll have to castrate them like we do the steers now. Then maybe in a couple months we’ll start a second pair, and a third and so on. Unless we have a return of the fuel supply we are going to have some heavy work to do around here. Brutus and Butch’s other horses are pretty old and we’re afraid won’t be able to do a lot. The oxen probably won’t be able to do any real heavy pulling until they’re 15 months old, so we need to get started.”
“But how will they learn to be oxen?” I asked.
“They’ll have to be trained – taught by us,” Dad said.
That blew holes in my geese theory. “How will we do that?” I asked.
“First, after choosing the pair, we’ll use two saplings and tie the wood across and under their necks with the rope you’re making. At first they’ll hate it. They’ll struggle and bawl perhaps. We’ll have to stay with them diligently the first day so they don’t hurt each other. In fact, we’ll only leave them connected for an hour the first day, then two the second day, then three, until they get used to being yoked together. Eventually they need to learn to drink, eat, and of course, move together. They’ll have to do everything together. And get used to us. We’ll move them, walk them, pull them, talk to them. As they get older and larger, we’ll build heavier, stronger yokes for them. The whole thing’s an experiment. We don’t know how it’s going to work. We’ve plenty of animals here; more than we need for milk and plenty even for meat. As horses are in short supply, if we can successfully train several pair of oxen, we’ll be able to supply some of the neighbors with a pair or two to help with their work. Are you willing to help with the training?”
“Sure,” I answered, “I have Brutus to tend as my first priority, then cooking and dishes. I guess I’ll have some time if Dad doesn’t have me working all the time or sends me to school.”
“School?” Harvey asked, “what foolishness you telling this child? We got a lot of work to do.” It appeared I had an ally.
“Oh give it up you two,” Dad said. “I’ll remember - work first. And you know, Harvey, we can’t castrate all the bulls into steers. You’re going to need one to breed your open cows.”
“What are open cows?” I asked.
“Cows that haven’t been bred and are not carrying calves. They’re not… you know…pregnant,” he said a little sheepishly.
“You don’t need to explain. Between helping with the cows over at Chester’s and from what I learned in school, yes I know I said school Dad, I got the whole picture. Just didn’t recall ever hearing that term.”
“How many cows are carrying now?” Dad asked.
“Twenty-nine, that leaves about thirty that aren’t bred,” Harvey answered.
“How will they get bred, without a bull?” I asked.
“Same as before; Larry breeds them artificially, using semen stored in that liquid nitrogen tank in the milk house,” Harvey answered. I remembered Chester had a tank like that too. He told me never to play with it as it was very dangerous. Liquid nitrogen is something like 200 degrees below zero, much colder than dry ice, and it will burn you just as quickly. But it served its purpose well, keeping the semen frozen until it was needed.
“Do you have a good supply?” Dad asked.
“I think we have 35 ampules. We can split an ampule sometimes and breed two cows or heifers at a time. But then figuring some repeat services, maybe the best we can do is get 25 to 30 animals bred with the supply we have. Who knows? Maybe it will last six months if the nitrogen doesn’t lose its punch. Then we’ll need a bull to keep the operation running. There is one uncastrated bull calf in with the nursing cows, about ten weeks old. We can eventually use him, but he might not be old or large enough to get the job done until maybe next May. It would be best if we could trade for a bull with some other cattle producer in the neighborhood, doesn’t even matter what breed it is,” Harvey concluded.
“We’ll have to keep that in mind,” Dad said.

To be continued…. Mort

Chapter Ten - Beasts of Burden

We couldn’t spend the whole day at Butch’s. There were cows to feed and milk, water to haul, Brutus to tend. I think everyone had a good time though. It was really fun for Lynette and me to be with a group of kids our age. Donna Smith, Robbie’s mother, had talked with Mom about spending parts of the day at each other’s farm. Monday afternoon we should look for them to come down and help us with our chores and then play something. Then on Tuesday we’d go up there. Sounded good to me.
We loaded everything up including a bag of oats for Brutus and headed home. After Josh and I used Brutus to haul water, I fed him and put him away for the night. When I went to help with the milking, sure enough Harvey was right; there was a new bull calf. Mother and newborn son were both fine.
After that fine meal we had at Butch’s, no one was really hungry for supper. But the men had worked hard since we came back and needed nourishment. Besides, breakfast was pretty far away. As there was plenty of milk to use (we had used none for lunch) Grandmom made potato soup. She didn’t use many potatoes, just digging a few from her husband’s potato patch. The soup was mostly milk. However, the addition of globs of butter and some hard boiled eggs from those we had received from Butch the day before made it pretty darn good. We just had enough crackers so that everyone had a few.
“That’s the end of our crackers,” Lois announced.
“And there is no bread or rolls, either,” added Jean. “How soon will you be able to make flour?” she asked the boys.
“Not too soon,” Jake answered, “We’ve figured we have to take two pieces of concrete, perhaps from a feed trough that we’re not using. They’ll be the grinding wheels, but it will take time to chisel them to the right shape to have the grain flow in between them. And they’ll have to be aligned just right to produce a fine enough flour or cornmeal with which to bake.”
“Then we’ll have to devise an apparatus to turn them,” Josh added. “It’s the best long term plan, but in the meantime we were wondering if anyone has an electric blender. We think flour can be made with one and we’d like to experiment if we can rewire it to 12 volts and still have it operate fast enough.”
“Sure, we have one,” Jean said. “Experiment all you want.”
“The oven’s another matter,” Dennis said. “The outdoor furnace is burning all the time to heat water and eventually to heat Harvey’s house. But the furnace is so well insulated, positioning any oven next to it wouldn’t do any good; it just wouldn’t get enough heat. So the butcher stove is the other option. It has fire going all the time for cooking and it’s mostly brick, so if we place the oven at the right spot, and maybe drill a few holes into the bricks, we think the oven would stay hot enough to bake. We’d have liked to build an oven from bricks, but we have no cement. Neither did we think clay from the creek’s banks would hold up as mortar in this application. So we decided to use Jean’s range; it has a larger oven than Poppop’s. Because it is so well insulated to keep the heat inside the oven and out of the kitchen in its designed use, we’ll have to take the back off to let heat in. Then replace it with a thin piece of steel that will let the heat through but not the smoke. We’ll probably remove the insulation in the sides and top so there’s an air space for the heat to travel forward, surround the whole stove with the insulation, cover it with more steel or aluminum siding, push the modified back against the bricks of the butcher stove, and presto, we’ll have a working oven.”
“Least we think we will,” Aaron added.
“Well it’s worth a try,” Jean said. “Get at it. Even if we don’t have flour yet, we can still use an oven.”
Joe jumped in, “I’ve been thinking a lot about our meat situation. If we kill a small hog, like Butch had today, there’s no problem. We can eat all the meat in a day’s time. But when we butcher a half-grown bull or heifer, or a full grown hog, or a cow, there will be a lot of meat to keep. In winter it will be less of a problem, but for this time of year I’ve come up with two solutions. I wish I would have thought of it this afternoon and told Butch, but any leftover meat can be heated to around boiling temperature and with a little salt be canned just like we did the soup we made from the freezer’s contents. Not to keep for months, but just to eat within a few days, so the jars are empty again for the next butchering.”
“The other way to preserve would be to dry some strips of meat. I know what parts to cut to make them real easy to hang. I wouldn’t want to depend on the sun to dry it like we did the fruits and corn or like the Indians once did, so again we’ll have to make use of the butcher house. We can build a nice rack out of some of the materials lying around here and position it around the stovepipe.”
Dad said, “We’re sure getting a lot of use out of this butcher house - cooking, laundry, eating, doing the dishes, soon baking and butchering. We’ll soon be falling all over each other in here.”
“Well it’s OK so far,” Jean said. “I suppose we’ll have to make some kind of schedule to keep us straight.”
“I suppose we will, Mother,” Harvey answered. “For now, let’s just call it quits for tonight; there are a lot of projects we have to tackle tomorrow.”
I said goodnight to Mom and Dad and headed back with Amy, Lynette, and Mel to Grandmom’s house. We stopped to check on Brutus, then off to bed. I kept thinking about what Robbie had said about Julie being a teacher. I really needed to talk to Dad about that tomorrow.
When I awoke Monday morning it was already starting to get light. I went out into the kitchen and found Jeremiah still there. “We’re late,” I said.
“No we’re not,” he answered. “While we were milking last night we had a little discussion about our milking times. As the hours of daylight lessen from now until Christmas, we know we will have to milk in the dark eventually. Even though we’re still in the month of August, the time for sunrise is rapidly becoming later and later making it very difficult to find our milking cows out in the pasture in the semi-darkness. Harvey had said we can afford to start later in the morning, wait the eleven and one half hours we usually wait to milk in the evening and still have light for the evening milking. By December it will get dark for the evening milking, too, but then we can at least gather the cows inside in daylight. He also said it was a good morning to make the switch because we started milking about a half hour later Sunday evening as we were up a Butch’s yesterday. His conclusion was that it wouldn’t bother the cows at all.”
“Some people would say we’re losing an hour of working time if we start milking an hour later and get to the fields an hour later. But we get the hour back in the afternoon because we don’t have to leave our fieldwork to start milking as early. The biggest change will be for Harvey who has been getting up at 5:00 AM for about 40 years. He’s finally going to get to sleep in a little, even if it’s just around an hour. I guess he’ll be able to handle it.”
“I know I’ll be able to,” I responded.
“Me too,” Jeremiah said.
“I guess that means Mom and Grandma can have breakfast ready at a little later time than usual and I won’t have to rush in to help them as soon?” I inquired.
“Grandma already knows,” he said. “Your mom will find out soon enough. And sure, you can help us a little longer.”
He and I went to the barn. I checked on Brutus then went with Larry and Patsy to bring in the milking cows. Patsy was his cow dog. Actually a Border collie, bred for herding sheep, but she worked well with cows, too. A Border collie doesn’t look like a regular collie such as Lassie. They’re smaller, maybe two thirds the size and often black and white, not sandy tan like Lassie was. Patsy was black and white and quite a go getter. No ornery Holstein pulled anything on her. We gathered the milking string together and had them headed toward the barn when I saw Harvey waving to me.
“Alyssa,” he called, “Come over here. I’ve something to show you.”
He was in the pen were the dry cows were kept. As I neared him I saw what he wanted me to see. Two more calves.
“With the one yesterday afternoon, that makes three,” he said. “And they’re all doing fine. Would you help me lead them into the barn?”
“Sure,” I answered. I always loved helping with the calves, especially feeding them milk from a bucket. To teach them I’d let them suck on my fingers, then lower my hand into the bucket so their nose would get into the milk and they would start drinking. Now, however, no one had to feed calves with a bucket. All of them were mixed in the pen with cows that they could drink from without our help. It saved a lot of our time, but I did miss it. It was amazing that the newborns would suck so soon after being born. I guess as newborns, we do too. Not that I remembered it. These two were no exception. As soon as I put my fingers at one’s mouth it knew what to do. Harvey did likewise with the other. We eased our way toward the barn, keeping our fingers right on their noses; the calves followed and right behind them their mothers. In this situation fresh cows can be a little dangerous sometimes, if they feel their young threatened. Jake and Patsy were soon out to help, just in case.
“That makes thirteen we need to milk now,” Jake said to Harvey. “I guess Alyssa will have to take one of these,” he teased.
“Oh, I guess she’ll get in for some share of milking duty sometime, but for now Joe, Jeremiah, or your dad can have the extra,” Harvey said. With everything settled in the barn, I headed for the butcher house to help Mom. Breakfast was uneventful except that while we were eating it started to rain. Not a storm, just a nice steady rain, but enough to keep us out of the garden. The men would still have to feed and move some animals around, but they could handle that. After breakfast, Dad and I went into the top of the barn to do some braiding.
Any farm that has animals to feed and makes a fair amount of hay and straw has a virtually endless supply of used baler twine. Twine held the bales together and had to be cut off the bales when the hay was fed or the straw was bed. It came in both sisal and plastic varieties and in different thicknesses. Back on our farm, Chester baled soybean stubble and corn fodder in large four by eight foot bales. They were very heavy so we could only move them using the skid loader or a tractor. Bales that heavy needed extra thick twine to take the pressure. For years farmers disposed of the used twine by burning it or if sisal, just throwing it in the dump to rot. Dad hated throwing anything away. So last year, he and I started braiding the extra thick plastic twine into a rope.
Braiding isn’t really that hard; it’s just like making pigtails in your hair except it goes on and on and on. You start with three strands then wrap left over middle, right over middle, left over middle, right over middle, and so forth. You don’t even think about it once you get going. We started three separate ropes with three strands each, and then braided the three newly created ropes into one thicker rope using the same method. It made the finished product nine strands strong. Each strand had a tensile strength of 450 pounds, so the new heavier rope had a tensile strength of just over two tons. We worked at it for months, but just on opportune occasions like rainy days. We quit when it was 245 feet long.
Dad put it behind the truck seat for emergency use. You never know when you might need to pull a tree off the road, or a bear up a steep bank in hunting season, to rescue someone that had fallen through the ice while skating, or to pull a vehicle stuck in the mud or snow. So be it, the twine wasn’t wasted. Today we were braiding sisal twine into rope. Although the braiding itself became boring sometimes, it was a great opportunity for Dad and me to talk. We had some good heart to heart discussions while braiding and I was hoping today would be no different. I really needed to talk to him. I didn’t need to beat around the bush with Dad either.
So I said, “Dad, you know that Julie lady with the twins is a teacher. You’re not going to make us go to school are you?”
Dad squinted his eyes, cocked a half a smile, took his hat off and with the same hand rubbed the side of his head just above the ear, a sure sign that the answer took some thought. He paused a little and answered, “Not now.” Dad was rarely accused of using too few words. I guess I’d have to pick up the slack.
“Let me ask you this,” I responded. “Do geese need to learn how to fly?”
Dad thought a little and answered, “I guess so.” It was a typical answer from Dad. He often said “I guess so” for “yes” and “I guess not” for “no”. His father did it also; showed they didn’t really want to commit to their answers. I’d have to accept that and go on.
“Do they have to be taught to fly?” I followed up.
“No, they can learn that on their own,” he answered.
“Without a teacher?” I retorted.
“Definitely, without a teacher,” he agreed.
“So if geese can learn without a teacher or a school, then so can I. Anyway I didn’t need a school to learn to do the things that need to be done around here, like pulling weeds, feeding Brutus, forking manure, putting wood on the fire, planting beans, drying vegetables, cooking, doing laundry, or washing dishes.”
“Yes, that’s correct,” Dad answered. “But think of some of the other things that get done here. Dennis rewired the controls on Harvey’s furnace to make it work off of a battery. Don’t you think he learned that at school?”
“No, at work!”
“Poor example I guess,” he said. “But believe me there are some things we do around here, some problems we solve, using the knowledge we gained at school.”
“Like what?” I asked.
Dad appeared frustrated and in my mind, losing the argument. “Like all this corn Harvey has growing here. Just putting the seed into the ground doesn’t magically make a crop. Not taking anything away from God, now mind you, but a lot of book learning has gone into crop production in the last century. There’s been years of research and experiments, things someone learned in a school, that have enabled farmers to increase their yields. How do you think Harvey and Larry knew how much fertilizer to put on the fields this spring?”
“I don’t know,” I answered.
“Well they had to read a report of a soil analysis done by a chemist that included a recommendation prepared by an agronomist, both of whom spent years in school learning. When Larry sprayed the corn for weeds, how did he know which herbicide to use, how much to put in each sprayer tank full, and how many gallons per acre to apply?”
“I don’t know,” I responded. “I guess there’s a lot I don’t know.”
“You got that right. I guess there is,” Dad continued. “He had to read instructions and make calculations. Yes, hard work will keep us going here for a while, successfully, out of necessity. But what’s going to advance us, make improvements to our situation, and actually cause progress to occur will have to come from book learning. Yes, and even from teachers. For centuries, few people went to school. Who needed to read or write or calculate? And what were we then? A bunch of people who thought the world was flat and that the sun revolved around us. We thought maggots were created from rotting meat and milk spoiled because of demons.”
“Yeah, I remember that from science class, Louis Pasteur and all,” I said.
“Oh, something from school?” Dad remarked.

To be continued… Mort

Chapter Nine - Two Families (cont)

While we were still gathered, Dad gave a blessing for the food then as soon as he had finished, people sprang into action. More tables were brought and setting them commenced. From the four families that had moved in with Butch and Clare, there were plenty of plates, cups and utensils. For this meal we even needed knives. Besides the pork, Clare had mashed a huge pot of potatoes and some tomato gravy. I guess she didn’t need ours. Our salads were an excellent addition to the fare. And there were several pitchers of that good spring water and some even had a little powdered lemonade mix added. Soon Butch, with the help of a few others, came with four big trays of the pork and we sat down to eat a fine meal.
As we ate, I surveyed the families that were now our new neighbors. There was one elderly couple, who probably couldn’t have fended for themselves. I was glad they found their way here. Of course there was Ben and his wife, with their three college-age sons. Another family, the Smith’s, with their six children, the youngest one named Robbie who was in my Sunday School class. And finally Dan and his wife Julie, who had two girls ages five and seven and a new set of twin boys, just two months old. They were the center of attention; every female there had to hold them.
As we finished, it was evident that our little bit of fruit salad didn’t go very far as the only desert.
“Eat up the pork, if you’re still hungry,” Butch declared. “It won’t keep til tomorrow.” So we did, in fact everything was gone, but no one was complaining they hadn't enough. We started cleaning off the tables and carrying the dishes.
“No hurry,” said Clare. “We have to wait for hot water. Butch and Ben
have put the big butcher kettle on the spit where the pig was. The water should be hot enough in about a half hour. Let’s just set a spell.”
No problem for me. Robbie produced a deck of UNO cards, so Lynette, I, he, and his two youngest sisters, Molly and Susan, started a game on one of the now cleared tables. Most of the adults were sitting right behind me.
I heard Dad ask, “I’ve been wondering about Reverend Schneider and the church; has anyone been there in the last few weeks?”
Lee Smith, Robbie’s dad answered, “Took the whole family last week. There were only a couple cars in the parking lot, but I bet 100 bicycles. We had ridden ours; Reverend Schneider rode his, too. I think he’s doing fine, by the way. Must have been 300 people there, but I bet not even a third were members. Most were just people who lived right around the church, those who could easily bike or walk. Some were members at other churches too far away to go to or perhaps were not having services. But I got the impression there were many who rarely if ever went to church. Seems like this collapse woke ‘em up a little. Church was sure different, too. In part I mean the building itself; no lights, no organ, no bulletins, no electric drums or guitars, no air conditioning.”
“But we’re getting used to no air conditioning,” Jean said.
“You might be,” said Mom, “But I sure miss it.”
“We miss a lot of things,” Sandy said, “What else about church?”
Lee continued, “The service itself was like.....well… one big explanation.”
“Explaining what?” Jake asked.
“Different things. Our beliefs, from the beginning. The Garden of Eden. Sin. Who Jesus was; why we confess sins. What the Lord’s Prayer is. Salvation. Being born again. I think Reverend Schneider was trying not to alienate the unchurched in attendance. I tell you he didn’t scare them away with the offering basket. There was none; it was weird. But why bother, nobody has any money, nor does the church need any. There are no bills to pay. However, people brought some produce or some canned goods for the minister. Also he kept his message simple, like your Dad’s; talked about faith and hope and to trust Jesus and not worry too much about what is going to happen in the future.”
“What is going to happen in the future?” Lois asked.
“Who knows?” said Clare, “Who knew this was going to happen?”
“Dad did,” Josh said. All eyes turned to Dad; we even paused our card game.
Dad held his hands up in front of him and quizzically said “What, am I E.F. Hutton?”
“No, you’re not,” Butch chuckled, “but you did know this was going to happen.”
“I didn’t know exactly what was going to happen. Just knew something had to happen. Couldn’t keep going the way it was. I just made some logical deductions or assumptions based on the facts and a lot on what other much smarter people than me had said or written. As to what is next, I don’t have any strong feelings one way or the other. We’ve been doing without the mass media now for what, six, eight weeks? I’ve little information to go on. Has anyone heard anything, perhaps by radio or from travelers? Has anyone heard about trouble in the region, anything?”
“I haven’t,” Ben said. No one else did either.
Dad continued, “So do we have to prepare for an attack and build barricades? I think not. China and Russia made a huge mistake by allowing Iran to destroy Jerusalem. It wasn’t only a holy place for Christians and Jews. It also housed the Dome of the Rock, an extremely sacred place to the Muslims. Plus, they’ve caused death, destruction, and radiation sickness in a sizable part of the Islamic world. Now worldwide the fanatical and even the more moderate Islamists are mad at Iran, China, and Russia. We are no longer the main enemy for either group. They hate each other now. I think our image as Americans appears much better to them than it did a year ago.”
“We just have to concern ourselves with food, water, heat, shelter and things here at Crystal View Farm and Harvey’s dairy. But I will make one prediction, which some of you have heard already. There will be more people coming and we need to be ready.”
“But the good news,” said Butch, “Is that whoever comes will have skills. They’ll have hands to work and brains to think. Look how we already have a butcher and contractors. Ben here’s an electrical engineer, Dan’s a chemist and Lee’s a machinist. Many who come will bring additional skills. Sure some who come might be dead weight, but we have to care for them just like the sheep did in Jesus’ description of the judgment.”
“Slowly but surely, we’re getting ready,” Larry said, “And Butch, would you finish that story about Roger? He hasn’t been around for several days.”
“He’s very busy,” Butch answered, “he must have over 400 hogs. With no electricity for ventilating fans and to run the water pump, he had to remake a lot of the pens so all the hogs could get some fresh air and be able to get to his creek to drink. Back when it was so hot, a dozen or so did die. They seem to be acclimated to the changes now. He still has to shovel or bucket all his corn and barley out of the grain bins and carry it to the herd. Even has to carry some water into the farrowing house for the sows that are birthing, plus milk those two cows you gave him. Fortunately several neighbors stop over every day to help. He’s been roasting a pig every day to feed his helpers and somehow get his herd numbers down. He’s gotten rid of about fifty to three other farmers like you and me, but I think he said last week alone he had three litters born which increased the herd by 41.The work just doesn’t go away; that we know from here. Maybe a greater concern is that some of his hogs are now about three to four weeks past market weight. He’s not feeding them as much, of course, but some are still getting mighty heavy. They’re too big to butcher and be able to eat all at once, even for a couple dozen people. That’s where you come in, Joe. You’re the butcher, right?”
“Yes I am,” Joe answered, “But we’re too busy at Harvey’s for me to run over to Roger all the time.”
“Actually,” Butch said, “he knows that. What he was hoping you could do was accompany me over there on our next trip, look over his operation and perhaps give him some ideas on how he could use some of those bigger hogs.”
Joe responded, “Until we get much colder weather, it’s going to be quite a challenge. It will be for us here, too. I’ve had it on my mind ever since we moved in with Harvey. I’ll think about it more and certainly I’ll be glad to go with you next time.”
“Roger has quite a few acres of corn and soybeans to harvest doesn’t he?” Dad asked.
“Yes he does,” Butch responded, “he told me he’s saving diesel fuel for the combine so the soybeans can be harvested; the corn can be harvested by hand.”
“Same as we’re thinking,” Jeremiah said. “He’ll be all right; we’ll all pull through this together.”
“Good attitude,” Dad replied. “Another thing, Butch, you and I need to talk about feeding Brutus. We have a good supply of clean grass hay and a little dry corn, but can he handle fresh corn? Pop says oats would be best. Do you have a good supply?”
“You can start him on fresh corn now – maybe three or four ears a day. With this spell of dry weather you must have some that’s fairly dry by now.”
“I think our driest corn is up here on your farm in the field next to the woods,” Larry said, “If you need it for your horses, help yourself.”
“Thanks,” Butch responded, “I noticed that field was pretty dry. That’s where I pulled some for the cows. As far as oats, I have a pretty big pile in the barn. Remember you harvested it for me. If you just take a bag a week for Brutus, that would be good for him, and still leaves me plenty for my horses.”
“We appreciate it,” Dad said, “What do we owe you?”
“Nothing, you’ve done enough already,” Butch answered.
“Also,” Dad said, “We need to save some oats to plant next spring. And don’t feed any to the cows or pigs; they can do without it.”
“Right, the horses are first priority. “And we do need to save some for seed; however, I have four full bags of seed leftover from this spring.”
“Wonderful,” Larry said. “now we have to figure out how to prepare ground for planting, sow the oats and then harvest them without fuel.”
“No, not now,” Joe jumped in, “we’ve time to plan that. Now would be a good time to have a soccer match. Aren’t you all tired of talking? Let’s go compete.” He got the attention of me and the other kids, but his directions were to the adults, too. The younger ones jumped up, just as we did.
“Where are we playing?” Jake asked.
“There’s a pretty flat hayfield, right behind the barn,” Joe answered, “Not too high; must have been one of the last fields you baled when you still had fuel.”
“It was,” said Larry, “and we can carry a few bales of straw out of the barn for goals, too.” We had a nice match, even with the adults helping. We didn’t keep score, of course, but our side won 6-4. Afterwards, we all got drinks and splashed ourselves with that cool water from the horse trough. As we headed back toward the house, Robbie called Lynette and me aside. His two older sisters and Amy joined us.
“See that woman over there?” Robbie asked, “The one who has the twins.”
“That’s Julie,” Amy said.
“Right,” said Robbie, “That’s the one. She’s big trouble.”
“Trouble?” I asked, “what you mean? She’s real nice.”
“Yeah on the outside,” Robbie said, “But when she’s not a mom, I’m sorry to say, she’s a teacher.”
“A teacher!” Lynette exclaimed.
“Yeah a teacher, and like I said, BIG trouble!”

To be continued… Mort

Chapter Nine - Two Families

This Sunday morning we awoke much earlier than the previous. The boys had cows to milk and feed. Remember Mom and I were on the breakfast crew. And now I had a horse to take care of. Before I did anything else I headed for the barn to check on Brutus. Jake and I led him to the creek for water. There I could tie him under a big willow tree for shade, where anyone could find him if they wanted to haul water, but really when Brutus worked, I wanted to be there, too. Dad and Poppop came over with a third of a bucket of corn and a cake of dry grass hay for him.
“He has grass to eat here all day,” Poppop said. “But it’s good if he has some dry feed in him, too. Oats would be better, but there are none here. Maybe your dad can talk to Butch later about his eating regimen. Watch that he doesn’t get anything with mold on it, especially if it’s dusty. Horses just can’t handle moldy feed like cattle do.”
I hurried into the butcher house to help Mom and Grandma with breakfast. They were making a big pot of oatmeal. Nothing they needed me for, but Lynette and I could set the table. We needed twenty-one bowls, cups and spoons. We scattered a few knives around the table even though we were out of bread. At least now we had some butter to add to the oatmeal. We still had sweeteners for it thank goodness. We had both sugar and brown sugar, which we were supposed to use sparingly. Also there was pancake syrup and Dad’s blackstrap molasses. Then just as the crew was arriving, we brought about five gallons of chilled milk and the last bottle of chocolate syrup from the springhouse. We distributed the milk in six pitchers around the table. There was hot water ready as we had a decent supply of tea bags remaining and a little instant coffee. I guess it was a little bit of everything for everybody.
“I wonder what we’ll have to eat up a Butch’s?” Lois asked.
“Don’t worry,” said Jean, “Butch’s wife Clare is a great cook and hostess. I’m sure she has something in mind or they wouldn’t have invited us. My concern is this: what can Sandy, Mel and I make that will keep until it’s time to eat? A month ago I would have picked up the phone and called her to ask what we should bring.”
“If you make something that needs to stay cool, just put it in containers that can be placed in his horse trough and it will be fine,” Harvey said.
“And how are we all getting up there?” Grandmom asked.
“Larry and I talked about that this morning,” Dad said. “Those who can bike or walk, should do so. The rest of us can ride in Larry’s pickup; it’s only two miles round trip. Won’t take more than a quart of gasoline. That way we can take a bunch of our lawn chairs, a couple folding tables, and load the food, too.”
“Good idea,” said Joe, “And honey,” he said to Sandy, “Don’t fret over what to make. Whatever it is, we’ll eat it, and be thankful for it. In fact, Larry, if you can spare me from the rest of the morning chores, I’d like to stay and give them a hand. It’s only about two and a half hours until we should leave.”
“Go right ahead,” Larry responded, “If everyone else pitches in we can get everything done in time.” I went to help the men as usual. We shoveled feed to the different groups. There was only one fence that needed to be moved. We were done with plenty of time to spare; time enough to run into Grandmom’s house, wash up a little, and put on some clean clothes and shoes. By then Larry had pulled his truck to the butcher house to load up. Sandy, Joe and Lois came out with several big bowls of food.
“Well, what did you come up with?” Mom asked.
Sandy answered, “We took stock and figured we had a lot of cabbage, some peppers, vinegar, enough sugar, salt and pepper.”
“So you made pepper cabbage.” Lois said.
“Right, but just two bowls. We also had cream.”
“So you made cole slaw, too?” Mom asked.
“Right again,” Sandy said. “In the other bowl we splurged a little, opened up a few cans of fruit, added some of the apples from the tree in the back meadow and some dry coconut and walnuts to make a little fruit salad.”
“Sounds right good,” said Dad, just as Joe and Mel came out carrying a couple boxes.
“If you like sour cabbage,” Mel bemoaned. “I hope Clare doesn’t have the same thing. I wonder if she’ll have some meat.”
“If she does, she does,” Mom said. “What’s in the boxes?”
“Four jars of chow-chow in case there’s not enough salad and some tomatoes; Clare might not have any and no meal in August is complete without tomatoes.”
“Ha ha,” Dad snorted, “well let’s get going. Alyssa and Lynette, would you bring the hymns?”
“Yessa,” we answered and went into the house to get a large piece of cardboard on which she and I had used a fat black crayon to write the words to two hymns, one on each side.
“Thanks,” said Dad as he put the cardboard in back of the truck right behind the rear window. “You’ll have to use your side mirrors,” he said to Larry. “I guess no cop will pull us over.” Larry just shook his head. “And Mel, did you practice enough?” Dad asked.
“Yes Daddy, more than enough. You picked simple hymns. For how many people will I have to play piano in front of, fifty?”
“Not quite that many. Are you nervous?”
“A little,” she answered.
“Don’t sweat it,” he said, “you’ll do fine.” People piled on and into the truck. I biked of course and others had started walking. My grandmothers were in the front of the truck and Larry let Grandpop drive. Joe came out of the house with a soccer ball and threw that in the pickup bed before beginning his hoof.
“What’s that for?” I asked.
“You never know, “he answered, “there are a few kids up at Butch’s. Do you want to sit around and listen to us talk all afternoon?”
“No, I guess I don’t,” I replied. Joe was a soccer coach. It was probably something he missed. So up the road we went, except for Harvey and Poppop. Dad had told me they weren’t churchgoers. Maybe they were believers; that I couldn’t say for sure. It’s sad when you can’t tell. Or maybe they just didn’t like church. Of course they both had excuses. Harvey said he needed to keep an eye on the cows, especially the one calving. Poppop said there was manuring to do. His sister, my dad’s aunt Mary, had said once that Poppop has been using that excuse to stay home from church since he was ten years old. To each his own.
Crystal View Farm was a beautiful place, well manicured. Of course, no one else had mowed lawns in weeks. Almost everyone stopped when the gas stations ran out of fuel. However people with push reel mowers could still keep after their lawns and Butch had a set of ground driven gang reel mowers that he usually pulled with a tractor. Now he pulled them with a team of Clydesdales and had the lawns looking pretty good.
Clare and Butch’s home had a big front porch facing a nice size lawn which was surrounded by big maple trees. When we arrived, there were already tables and chairs set up for the service. We unloaded ours to add to the configuration. Clare’s piano was in the front room, right next to the door, which was large enough for the boys to easily pull out the piano onto the porch. You couldn’t have asked for a more beautiful day; blue sky with big puffy white clouds, a little breeze and the temperature felt like it was in the 70’s.
When Mel, Lynette and I took our bicycles around the back of the house to park them, we were greeted by a grand surprise. Between Butch’s chicken house and his barn there was a fire going and a spit with a good sized hog roasting away.
“Guess that answers your question about meat?” I asked Mel.
“Answers it well,” she said. Dad, Joe, and Larry had come back to put the bowls of salad in the horse trough and to greet Butch, who was turning the spit skewered into our soon-to-be dinner.
“I didn’t know you had hogs,” Dad said.
“Yesterday morning I didn’t,” Butch answered. “When we returned from your place yesterday afternoon I ventured over to Roger. It’s a five mile trip if you follow the roads, but all I had to do with my team was use the old lane through my woods, cut across one neighbor’s field, another’s lane, and I was there in 20 minutes, no sweat. Roger was kind enough to give me a couple hogs of varying sizes so they become ready for the butcher at different times. In addition to the extra milk we have from the two cows you gave us, I’m hoping I may use some of the corn you have here to feed them.”
“Not a problem at all,” Larry said.
“Oh, I brought some of Harvey’s empty barrels back from Roger, too. Our arrangement is that I can haul them over for him, when we’ve accumulated too much milk in return for some of the hogs he needs to move. He has quite a challenge there, but we can talk about that later. It looks like the others are waiting for us to get started. I’ll stay here to keep this pig rotating; Others will relieve me every ten minutes so no one will miss all the service.”
We headed for the front porch. Just about everyone was seated. Mel took her place at the piano and Dad got started.
“I’d like to welcome everyone here on such a beautiful day. I’m at an advantage here. I know everyone from my family who’ve just come up from Harvey Stump’s dairy and I know everyone else here as they’re part of my church family. We won’t take the time here for introductions, for after the service there will be time for food and fellowship. I encourage everyone to get to know each other then. With everything that has happened in the last several weeks we might be tempted to be thinking a lot about the past. And with uncertainty, we might also be wondering about the future. But for the present, for right now, I’d like you to forget everything else and just focus on God and his Son Jesus Christ for the next 15 to 20 minutes. Let us begin with prayer.”
We all stood as Dad led in prayer. He then introduced the first hymn,
“We praise Thee, O God, our Redeemer, Creator.”
Mel played pretty well and as the tune was fairly familiar and with the aid of our sign, the group sang terrifically. It was a good praise hymn, but in spite of Dad’s instructions we couldn’t help thinking of the past and the future when we sang some of the lyrics such as:
“Through life’s storm and tempest our Guide hast Thou been.
When perils o’er take us, escape Thou wilt make us,
Thy strong arm will guide us, Our God is beside us,
And with Thy help, O Lord, life’s battles we win.”
After the hymn, Dad led us in silent confession and then went on: “The scripture I’ve chosen today is from the Gospel of John, chapter 20, verses 24-29, the story of Thomas.”
“Now Thomas (called Didymus), one of the Twelve, was not with the disciples when Jesus came. So the other disciples told him, ‘We have seen the Lord!’”
“But he said to them, ‘Unless I see the nail marks in his hands and put my hand into his side, I will not believe it.’”
“A week later his disciples were in the house again, and Thomas was with them. Though the doors were locked, Jesus came and stood among them and said, ‘Peace be with you!’ Then he said to Thomas, ‘Put your finger here; see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it into my side. Stop doubting and believe.’”
“Thomas said to him, ‘My Lord and my God!’”
“Then Jesus told him, ‘Because you have seen me, you have believed; blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed.’”
Dad continued, “Is it safe to say that no one here is in Thomas’s camp? No, not because you do not doubt. Almost everyone has doubted if just for a smidgen of time since your walk with Jesus began, or during the time before you accepted Christ as your Lord and Savior. That’s not it.”
“You’re not in Thomas’s camp because you have not seen the risen Lord; he did. You’re not in Thomas’s camp because he had to see to believe; you don’t. The last line in the last verse has always had great meaning to me when Jesus said, ‘Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed.’ He’s talking about us, about you! We who are not in Thomas’s camp are blessed! Now I’ll renege on my own suggestion about thinking about the recent past and future; it’s hard not to, isn’t it? With what’s happening around us do you feel blessed? Believe me you should.”
“When you lose your job, you are blessed!”
“When you lose all the money you have in the bank, you are blessed!”
“When your retirement checks stop coming, you are blessed!”
“When the gasoline supply dries up, you are blessed!”
“When the electricity goes out, you are blessed!”
“When the food in your refrigerator spoils, you are blessed!”
“When you have to carry water to flush the toilets, you are blessed!”
“When you’re sick and tired of eating oatmeal or tomato soup, you are blessed!”
“When you have to leave your home just to find water to drink, you are blessed!”
“When your back hurts from picking beans, or your arms from shoveling feed, or your hands from milking cows or your feet from walking when you used to ride, you are blessed!”
“When your heart aches from wondering about the rest of our families and friends who we’ve not been able to contact, not knowing how they are faring to the point that you just want everything to go back to the way is was before, you are blessed!”
“Yes and when you see suffering around you, when you are persecuted for your belief in Jesus Christ and even when you suffer the final pain of death, you will be blessed!”
“And why are you blessed? Because the scripture says so, in Jesus’ own words: ‘Blessed are those who have not seen yet have believed.’ Why are you blessed? Because you have not seen, yet you believe! Your faith in Jesus Christ as Lord and Savoir has made you blessed. And it’s our faith that will pull us through this, will provide through Jesus’ love for us the things we need, will heal our bodies when they hurt, and fill our hearts with even more faith, with hope and with love for one another.”
“Love for one another - brings me to one more additional and somewhat counterpoint. In Matthew chapter 25, Jesus talks about judgment and the separation of the sheep from the goats. Where the sheep are judged as righteous and declared ‘Blessed by my Father’. Does anyone remember what the sheep did to receive the favorable judgment?”
It was quiet for a few moments, and then Ben finally got it started, “When I was hungry and you gave me something to eat.”
“When I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink,” Mom said.
“When the prisoner was visited,” said another.
“When someone was given clothes, and you looked after the sick.”
“And when the stranger was invited in!” concluded Jean.
“Good,” Dad continued, “So when we see someone hungry, thirsty, sick, naked, in prison, or a stranger we are in some sense seeing Jesus. Don’t let that confuse you; it’s not like Thomas seeing Jesus. We are still blessed by believing without seeing, that’s faith. But we are also blessed, again in Jesus’ own words when ‘Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me,’ that’s action. And I have a feeling that in the near future there will be numerous occasions when we will be able to put our faith into action by ministering to the needy.”
“In conclusion, hold steadfast in the faith and be prepared to put it into action then we will continue to be blessed just as Jesus has promised.”
Dad said a short prayer, followed by the Lord’s Prayer and we concluded by singing “What a Friend We Have in Jesus,” and it was the last line that really caught my attention: “In His arms He’ll take and shield thee, Thou wilt find a solace there.” And I thought to myself, up until this point in my life it was my mother’s arms I wanted to be in when I needed solace. Alas, she would not be there forever, but Jesus would and with all the unforeseen things that might soon be happening, it would be His arms I wanted to be in.

To be continued…. Mort

Chapter Eight - Ingenuity, cont...

“Harvey, Joe, Jeremiah, should we give the boys the go ahead to begin their proposed water projects?”
“Sure,” they answered.
“But,” Harvey said, “keep thinking about the other challenges. The wash machine and wringer, flour mill, oven, lighting for the barn, hay making and manure hauling come to mind.”
“We will,” the boys answered. Josh had gone up to the workshop. He returned pulling a water cart.
“In the meantime,” Jake said, “We can use this cart to bring water to the butcher house.” Josh had built a cart with two high bicycle wheels in the back, two smaller ones in the front on a swivel, and a tongue with a “T” handle that two people could easily pull on. On the cart he had fastened one of the plastic 55 gallon soap barrels with a petcock pointing down and an opening in the top.
“We’ll still have to dip the water from the springhouse to fill this tank,” Josh said. “We’ll have to make a trip every time it gets empty. And in addition to the two pulling, one or two can push.”
“Good job,” Dad said. “Let’s give her a test.”
I went along for the inaugural trip. We had to pick a route that wasn’t too bumpy or too soft so the wheels wouldn’t dig in. I suppose the more we use the same track the easier it will become. As we neared the house we noticed a wagon being pulled by two workhorses coming down the road. I didn’t know what breed they were, but they looked a lot like the horses in the beer commercials.
“What breed are they?” I asked Dad.
“Clydesdales,” he answered. As they drew closer I recognized the driver as Butch from the next farm up the road. Crystal View Farm it was named. I knew him from church. With him was another man I knew from church and who served with Dad on church projects, Ben.
“Hallooo neighbors,” Butch bellowed as he came into earshot. “How are you making out? And what in the world is that contraption you’re plaguing yourself with?”
“We’re ‘making out’ okay,” Dad answered. “But where did you pick up this guy, hitchhiking?”
“Naw, he dropped in yesterday. He’s a paratrooper, part of the UN’s peacekeeping force. Was supposed to land in Iran; missed it by a few thousand miles. Names Ben or Beni-du-howie, something like that. Seems like a nice guy; even speaks a little English and Pennsylvania German. Es sel net recht, Ben?”
“Ja, it’s kind of right,” Ben answered. Almost everyone’s chuckling. We all knew Ben except for Joe, Dennis and Aaron, who looked seriously dumbfounded.
Joe said, “What, a paratrooper, did anyone hear a plane Friday?” We broke up. I don’t know what was funnier, Butch’s introduction or Joe’s crew falling for it. But that was Butch; a man who could be counted on for a laugh and also for help when you needed it.
As Dad and I explained it to Joe and his sons, Butch continued, “Ben and his family have moved in with us along with three other families from church. They like our water.” Butch’s farm was in the same valley as Harvey’s, had the same creek, connecting meadows, and that same vein of water that fed our spring. His spring fed a beautiful, pristine pond, that you could see clear to the bottom and as well as see the fish in it, hence the farm’s name.
A great positive advantage, however, was that they had a ram pump in the meadow. It was probably there for over one hundred years. I can’t explain how it really worked; even Dad couldn’t, but it had something to do with the fact that the water line from the spring had been installed with enough pitch to a pit outside the house that tremendous pressure was created there. The pressure was used to operate some sort of piston in the pump that pushed the water up into the house. Not all the water now mind you, that would have defied Newton’s second law, conservation of energy. Every few seconds the pressure released with an interesting psssst sound when some of the water was freed to flow into the creek. It was always neat to stand there and listen to it. Trick was, once it was started, it needed to keep the momentum going; therefore, it was never turned off. As a result the water was constantly flowing into a horse trough in front of Butch’s barn, where his animals could drink fresh spring water all year long.
“So this contraption,” Josh answered, “is our way to get water to the house until we get a pump installed. It’s too far to run a line from your pump.” Josh and our family knew about the pump set up because Harvey farmed much of Butch’s land for years. In fact the farm had been my great-great grandfather’s once. So our family members had often gotten cool drinks at the horse trough while working there. Now the families that had moved in with Butch could, too.
“Yeah, they like our water,” Butch continued. “These families have a dozen kids and they like milk, too. That’s what brings us here. Do you have some to spare? We brought some eggs to trade.” Butch had seven horses, about 50 chickens, and a few beef cows with calves. Harvey’s cows were the premier dairy breed – Holsteins – black and white with a large boney frame and bred for milk production, but they were probably had the most contentious attitude of all the breeds. Butch’s cows were bred for meat, were shorter and rounder, and through crossbreeding came in many colors – solid red, white, tan, gray, roan, and some just had white faces. “How are the cows treating you?” Butch concluded.
“The cow business has been a challenge,” Harvey said, “we’re milking twelve cows right now, two each for the five boys and me. With six of us going at it, it only takes about 45 minutes to milk, carry the milk to the springhouse and wash up the milk buckets. Gives us more time for feeding and moving fences. I’m glad you came down though; saved me a trip. I’ve been meaning to talk to you. We have two of our top notch cows due to calve next week and a heifer that looks like she might calve a little later, too. They’ll provide us with even more milk than we can use. There’re two real gentle ones in the string that I think you and your guests should be able to handle. Didn’t you try milking those goofy cows you have?”
“Yes we did, yesterday afternoon and again this morning. Didn’t go too well, did it, Ben?” Ben shook his head and rolled his eyes.
“They’re only used to being suckled by their calves; couldn’t adapt to us. And by the way they’re not goofy, they’re just not black and white and nutsy like yours,” Butch concluded.
“Okay,” Harvey said, “to each his own.”
“Larry,” Harvey continued, “why don’t you and a couple of the guys round up the two cows that we think will work well for Butch and company; you know the ones. They are both accustomed to halters, right?”
“Sure do, Pop,” Larry answered, “And yes they are.”
“I think they’ll trail behind your wagon alright. A few of us can go behind you to help,” Harvey said to Butch. “In addition to any feed you might have, feel free to start pulling corn for them, and as it seems we might not be able to harvest the hay I have growing on your farm, let them graze in it. But only twice a day, when the dew is off, about an hour at a time. You have plenty a people to tend them. These two will behave well for your crew. Meanwhile let’s carry the eggs to the springhouse and fill a jug of milk for their lunch. If all goes well, tonight they’ll have fresh milk.”
While the men went to the springhouse I ran into the house to tell Mom about Ben. You see, Mom and Ben shared two passions. They both liked me and starlight mints. I found her stash of the red striped peppermint candy, grabbed one for Ben and we both headed back out to pay our regards to him.
The men were back with the milk and the boys had two cows tied to the back of the wagon.
“Here’s some butter for your crew, we successfully made some this morning with an ice cream freezer. It was our first attempt; it’s a little soft and maybe salty, so I hope you like it,” Mom said.
“Thanks,” Ben said, “and for the mint.”
“And for the milk and cows,” Butch said.
“And you for the eggs,” Dad said.
“But trading’s not a necessity,” Harvey added. “There’s plenty of milk and cows.”
“I know,” said Butch. “But I wish there was something I could do for you.
I got it!” he exclaimed. “My horses. You can use my teams to bring your harvest in. In fact, you could use one right away to pull that funny water cart of yours and other things around the farm. We lost my seventh one’s partner a year ago, it was rough on him; he could use a change of venue and a challenge to up his spirit. Alyssa, you like horses don’t you?”
“I sure do, and I always wanted one!” I blurted out.
“Then he’s yours, if it’s alright with your father?” One look at my eyes and Dad had the answer to that question.
“Not a problem and thank you,” Dad said.
“Yes, thank you, Butch,” said Mom and I, “We’ll take good care of him.”
“Are you a horse man?” he asked my dad.
“Never, but my dad was. He can help, plus Harvey and Larry are really good with their livestock.”
“That I know,” responded Butch. “Then it’s settled. His name is Brutus by the way, but don’t let the name scare you. He’s very gentle and obedient. He’s also old, so he won’t be able to pull heavy loads. Keep them light and only a few a day. He’ll want to do more, that’s his attitude, but you have to take care with him.”
“We will,” Dad said, “As he’ll become a valuable part of this operation.”
“Then jump on the wagon, Alyssa. You and the boys can lead him home. At some point, when you and he are more familiar, you’ll even be able to ride him. I’ll still be around to help you. Is there anything else we can help you folks with?”
“Sure,’ said Aaron, “We’re looking for a wash machine wringer and a flour mill.”
“Well,” said Butch, “Nothing immediately comes to mind.”
“But we’ll work on it,” Ben added. “Oh, we almost forgot.” He looked at my dad and asked, “Would you do Sunday services for us tomorrow? We’d appreciate it.”
“Sure,’ Dad answered, “Where and when?”
“Up with us,” Butch said. “About eleven; we’ll lunch afterward. Maybe do a little fishing in the pond. Everyone’s invited.”
“Thank you,’ said Mom. “We look forward to seeing everyone.”
We completed the livestock swap and brought Brutus home. He was immense.
“He’s too big for you to handle by yourself,” Dad said. “Make sure one of us men is with you when you move him. For the time being anyway, until I’m sure you can do it safely.”
We seemed to take to each other right quickly. Poppop gave him a good look over; he seemed as thrilled as me to have him. Together with Josh and Dad we pulled a couple of carts of water over, then found him a spot in the now empty dairy barn for overnight. It took everything for me to not stay with him. But eventually I found my own bed and finally fell asleep much different than I had woke up. I was now a horse owner.

To be continued… next week - chapter nine

CHAPTER EIGHT - INGENUITY

Saturday started out a little overcast and cool. Perhaps a reminder that even though there were four weeks of summer left, fall would not be far behind. After the chores were done, the boys presented their plan to bring water to the butcher house and furnace. Josh was the chief presenter.
He said, “We decided to use the pump from Larry’s weed sprayer. It has high capacity, is fairly new, and is self-lubricated. It’s direct driven, by power-take-off now, but we can easily install a sprocket on the main drive shaft and rig up a bicycle to spin it by pedal/people power. We thought we’d set it up halfway between the spring and the butcher house, pitching the water line downhill to the pump so gravity would help to get the water started. We can build a little shelter around it so whoever’s pedaling would be out of the weather.”
“We know we’ll have to flush and reflush the pump several times to make sure there are no residual pesticides in it,” added Larry. “In fact, we might even disassemble part of it to make sure.”
Josh continued, “We think we should use a narrow diameter line, no bigger than one inch. We’d be sacrificing volume by using a small line so it will take more time to pump, but to our advantage the weight of the water in a smaller line will be less, requiring much less power to pull and push the water. It appears there is enough one inch plastic line in the barn. When we get nearer to the butcher house, we can switch to regular metal piping and tubing, some of which Dad brought from our old house.”
“What do you plan to store the water in?” Harvey asked.
“I’m getting to that,” Josh responded. “We had to really strain our brains to decide. We wanted to have a large capacity tank, so it would not be running empty all the time. Our two largest tanks are the sprayer tank itself at 500 gallons and the milk tank at 1000 gallons. We are recommending that we install the milk tank in between the butcher house and the furnace, high enough so the water feeds by gravity out of one end into the heating tank in the furnace for hot water and out of the other to an outlet into the butcher house for cold. We know it will be quite a project. We’ll have to use the backhoe to move it and lift it into place. And we’ll have to build a good base to support it. Its capacity was not the only determining factor in our decision, however. It is well insulated to keep the milk cold, so we reasoned it would keep the spring water cooler until we used it. But more importantly it should prevent the water from freezing in the winter.”
Dennis chimed in, “Our intention is to further insulate the outside of the tank and enclose it to protect it from both the sun and wind. We’d place it in the east side of the enclosure, and then in the rest of the enclosure we’d like to rig up showers. We can scrounge up enough piping to do that and both hot and cold water are right there. The shower room would have the furnace on one side and the butcher house with its stove on the other, so it should stay pretty toasty.”
Josh concluded, “Aaron’s working on a sieve to install on the end of the hose in the springhouse, so no critters like snakes, mice or frogs clog it, and we also realize that the line will have to put under ground to prevent it from freezing this winter. Another chore for the backhoe. So… what do you think?”
Harvey and Dad must have been thinking. You couldn’t see the wheels turning inside their heads nor was there any smoke coming out of their ears, but both of them were rubbing the beard on their chins.
Dad spoke first. “You all did a great job of thinking this project through. I only have one suggested change that I’ll mention later.” He turned toward Harvey and said, “But first I need to know if it suits Harvey to use his milk tank. Isn’t there a chance that we will get electricity again and then the tank will be needed to refrigerate the milk, especially if the milking herd increases toward its former numbers?”
“Yeah, I’ve certainly been pondering that,” Harvey responded. “Right now, my thinking is that we’ll take really good care when disconnecting the tank, while moving it and while repositioning it. Enough care that the whole project could be reversed in the future. Larry’s a co-owner here. Do you agree?” he asked Larry.
“Of course I had more time to think about it, and I’m OK with it. You put it well Pop,” Larry said. “Good care must be taken. We needn’t rush it either. We have water in the meantime. And thanks for your confidence.”
He turned to Dad and asked, “What is your suggestion for the project?”
Dad answered, “When Harvey’s and my grandfather lived here, before the wells were drilled, the water was pumped from the spring to the house by a pump in the cellar. Back then even that old pump was able to pull the water all the way across the meadow. Before you go too far, why don’t you just lay your lines on top of the ground and try your pump from the butcher house itself or from the cellar, where it might be even lower than the spring. That way the people doing the pedaling do not need to worry about the weather.”
“And besides,” Harvey added, “the meadow floods once or twice a year, then your pump and pedal contraption would be under water.”
“You’re right,” said Larry, “we forgot about that. We’ll definitely try it your way first. Additionally we’d like to move one of the hot water tanks from either the milk house or one of the houses. The tank in the furnace only heats about 35 gallons. The other tanks are 60-80 gallons. We have the materials and the know how to tie it into the system; it would help a lot with showers and laundry. We agree it’s doable, but what we haven’t agreed on is how to heat Harvey’s house.”
“It’s a dilemma,” Jake said. “Dennis and I keep looking and looking at it. We just can’t figure out how to drive that circulator pump in the furnace mechanically.”
“And if we come up with a way to make enough electricity to run the circulator pump, and it takes a lot, we’d have electricity to pump water, too. We could use the shower in the house. Then all this design and work to bring water to the butcher house becomes unnecessary,” Dennis said.
“But we haven’t figured out a way to make electricity, so we’ll have to come up with something else,” Aaron said.
“We can build a wood stove for the house out of a 55 gallon drum or other materials around the farm,” Jeremiah said.
“Or we could get our coal stove from the old house,” Josh said. “Right Dad?”
“Well, not exactly. I left that for the landlord; it was the only heat in that house.” Dad responded.
“You what!” Josh exclaimed, “What did you owe him?”
“I didn’t owe him anything. I guess I made a heart over a head decision. Something we all need to remember to do once in awhile. And I didn’t just give it to him. He’s giving me a couple things in return.”
“Like what?” Josh asked.
“Oh, we’ll see when I come back from our next trip over there. It’s kinda like that ‘player to be named later’ in a baseball trade.”
Joe jumped in, “I can see where we all need to step back at times and remember there are others in worse shape than we are. Our problems aren’t the worst in the world and can be overcome. The solutions won’t always be perfect. We will have disagreements, but things will work out.”
“Dennis,” he went on, “I’m wondering; couldn’t the hot water be circulated anywhere in the circuit? I’m not sure I’m phrasing that right. Do you know what I’m asking?”
“Yes I do,” Dennis answered. “And I think you’ve solved the problem. If we eliminate or bypass the circulator pump in the furnace and install one in the heating line somewhere in the house and use another pedal/people drive, then we can keep the hot water circulating around the house.”
“It’s a lot of pedaling when it’s cold,” said Josh.
“Another way to stay warm,” Harvey chuckled.
“Only until we figure out another way to drive the pump, like animal power or steam,” Aaron said.
“I like your positive thinking,” Jake said, “but we’ll still need a pump.”
“I know,” Aaron answered, “one thing at a time. Let’s get the spring water here first. We’ve time to find a suitable pump for the house.”
“But I have to come back to the possibility that just maybe,” Dennis said,
“we might come up with a way to make enough electricity to power both pumps, so we can shower in the house.”
“You just don’t give up, do you?” Aaron snapped.
“Boys! Knock it off!” their father yelled.
“It’s all right, Joe,” Harvey said, “they’re thinking. And as with most dilemmas there are two or more opinions. The boys are just defending their opinions with passion. We need passionate thinkers. Think of all the people you worked for or worked with who lacked those qualities. Dennis, you just go right on trying to find a way to make some electricity for the farm. Although,” Harvey continued, “even if we could make enough electricity to keep the showers in the houses operating, would we want every Tom, Dick and Harry who might join us traipsing into our house for a shower?”
“What do you mean,” Larry asked, “By ‘join us’?”
“What I mean,” Harvey answered, “Is that we have food, water, shelter and fuel. Four things a lot of people don’t have. And they’ll soon be out looking for some. People are going to find it here. We’ll share or trade with them, then some will move on; others may want to stay. We’ll only know a few of them; the rest will be strangers. I’d rather have them using outside shower and bathroom facilities instead of our home unless they’re ill, elderly, or otherwise incapacitated.”
“I see,” said Larry. “How many people might join us?”
“We just don’t know,” Dad interjected. “Let’s not dwell on it, but let’s recognize that as we come up with solutions to our challenges that the solutions might have to meet the needs of more than just the 21 people who are here now.”

To be continued… Mort

Chapter Seven - Pow-wows (continued)

Friday afternoon the women had their own pow-wow, with a few men contributing. All four of my grandparents were there, of course Mom, Jean, Lois, Sandy, Amy, Lynette, Mel and I. Dad was there, too. Lois was a nurse and the dominant one in the group; she had been coordinating the meals and giving a lot of the orders.
Mom had said to me, “This is Jean’s place and it could make some conflict with Lois being so bossy.” Mom, however, played the peacemaker, kept her ear tuned to the situation and had to tactfully step between them now and again. So far things had been amicable.
Unlike Dad and Harvey the night before, who had laid out the challenges for the boys, today Lois asked us, “What are our challenges?”
“Well generally” Sandy said, “our responsibilities are food, laundry, bathroom and dishes.”
“So far so good,” said Lois. “We have hot water; we have quite a bit of laundry soap, dish soap, and bath soap. Why don’t we tackle laundry first? The boys did a good job of getting us hot water. We still have to carry water but I hear they’re working on that. We have plenty of wash lines and Poppop’s working on clothes pins. Jeremiah told me last night that the boys
are trying to convert one of the wash machines to mechanical drive. I don’t know how they’re going to power it, but we’ll see.”
Mom said, “I think we should ask them to build some kind of wringer, too, like our parents had when they started out. We wouldn’t have to squeeze them out by hand then.”
“Good idea,” said Sandy said, “I’ll say something to Aaron and Dennis.”
“Okay,” said Jean, “that should cover laundry for now. The next biggest item is food. At this point, we have a lot but conservation is the name of the game. Not only for food, but backing up a little bit, with soap, too.”
“It really helps,” Mom said, “if we prewash the dishes and pots and pans in good hot water before we put them in the soap water. That takes a lot of the grease and dirt off first and requires a lot less soap that way.”
“Mel said, “I think it’s really efficient for us to be eating our meals all at one spot. There are 21 of us. It sure saves time in both preparation and clean up to have it all at one place.”
“And,” said Amy, “I like how we can take turns cooking; where one group does breakfast, another group does dinner, and a third group does supper.”
I was on the breakfast cooking crew with Lynette, Mom and Grandma.
Lynette added, “It’s also good that we all don’t have to do dishes every meal.” This had been accomplished by dividing the work so that each of us only has to do dishes once a day. I was on the supper dishes crew with Mom, Jean and Lynette. Our placement had been Dad’s idea, so that Lynette and I could join him and the other men immediately after eating breakfast and dinner to help with the cows, in the garden or in the fields. Not that I was always anxious to work in the garden or move fences, but I loved working with the cows. Another benefit was that after supper Dad, Poppop, and Grandpop would often help with the dishes, too, lightening the load for our crew.
“I’m glad you like the way it’s working,” said Lois. “So, I guess, we’ll continue to do it that way.”
“Now,” Mel said, “the menu’s a different matter. I’m getting sick of tomato soup.” Of course, Dad loved tomatoes, and according to him, soup was just another good way to enjoy them. Fortunately we still had a few boxes of crackers. Dad could enjoy his soup without crackers, so he’d share his with Mel and me. It made the tomato soup a little more tolerable.
At this point, much of our menu was milk-driven. We still had supplies of cereal and that large bag of oatmeal that we could eat with milk, but those would be gone sometime. We also had some boxes of pudding. It was hard to chill in the springhouse, but that, too, would run out in the near future. We had quite a bit of tapioca which Mel loved to make, but at some
point, we’d run out of sugar. I’m not sure how we’d like it without sugar. We also had eggs to use in the tapioca pudding and other types of custard. We probably should save the pudding, tapioca and sugar for cooler weather; none would spoil until then. With plenty of milk on hand, we could also make milk gravy.
Lois said, “We have all these fresh vegetables to eat and all this milk. I sure wouldn’t mind if we could get some butter produced.”
“Well,” Sandy said, “I guess none of us has a butter churn, but does anyone have a homemade ice cream freezer, one that we can crank, or the boys can set up with a mechanical drive? We could try to make butter that way.”
“That’s a great idea,” Grandmom said. “Our ice cream freezer is crank-driven, so we can make butter. We’ll have to experiment a little to see how long to churn it and how much salt to add to make it work.”
Poppop chimed in, “Remember, we have to use cream, so we have to separate that somehow.”
Jean said, “We’re always stirring it into the milk we use now. We’ll just have to skim it off instead; maybe someone could come up with a separator some day. We can also use the butter for frying. I doubt if the men will come up with a way to squeeze oil out of the soybeans, but you never know. Eventually, however, we will do some butchering, then we’ll have lard and beef tallow for frying.”
“But butter is better,” shot back Mel. “It will absolutely improve the tomato soup!” Everyone chuckled.
“What can we use the buttermilk for?” Sandy asked.
“Well,” Mom said, “we can still drink it. Some of us were used to drinking skim milk anyway.”
“Or,” Lois said, “we could use it in baking.”
“Baking,” Jean said, “we haven’t done that for a while. Do you think the men can make some sort of oven using this stove?”
“I hope so,” Dad answered. “We’ll get them working on it, but what about leavening?”
“Oh,” Jean said, “Larry has a 50-pound bag of bicarbonate of soda that he used to put in the dairy ration. You know it as baking soda. He gave that to us knowing we might be able to use it.”
“And,” Mom said, “I think we also have some yeast in our supplies, but only a little.”
Sandy said, “There’s a recipe for Friendship Cake. It’s like sourdough where you keep feeding the yeast and only using part of it when you bake and you save the rest for more stock. I think you can perpetually keep the yeast growing that way.”
“That’s a great idea,” Lois said. “I’m pretty sure I can find that recipe but we need flour to keep the yeast growing and, for that matter, for any baking. We don’t have a lot. We’ll run out sometime.”
“Yes,” Jean said, “but there’s a lot of wheat in the barn.”
Grandpop said, “Sounds like another job for the boys to come up with a mill or a grinder to make flour.”
“I imagine,” Dad said, “We can come up with something. We’ll put it on the list.”
“It will be whole wheat flour,” Grandmom said.
“That’s good,” said Poppop, “it’s healthier for us anyway.”
“Then,” Mom added, “the final thing that we need to remember as far as food is concerned, is that we need to stay on top of things in the garden or in the fields, so that we use up fresh items in our cooking before they spoil.”
“That’s correct,” said Lois. “Conservation. We need to save the food that’s canned, dried, or in good packages for later use and use the fresh items as soon as possible.”
“Let’s talk about bathroom facilities now,” said Sandy. “We’re carrying a lot of water for flushing the toilets although the boys are working on a solution for that.”
I said, “I can pee outside like the boys do.”
“Yewh,” said Lynette and Amy.
Mom said, “I don’t know if you have to do that Alyssa, but every little bit helps.”
“Beats carrying all that extra water,” I answered.
“I don’t know,” said Jean. “Maybe at some point we’ll build an outhouse. But in the meantime, we might have to stop using the toilet in the house and use a bucket as a toilet instead so we only have to carry that out a few times a day instead of carrying all that water in the house.”
“Wait a minute,” Sandy interjected, “We’re carrying water in anyway to take baths. We just have to dip it out of the tub and use that water to flush the toilets. Buckets we have, let’s just remember to not let the bathwater down the drain.”
“Why sure, that’ll work,” Jean said. “Let’s talk about showering now.”
“Yeah, I sure do miss them,” Mel said. “I mean, when we wash in the tub we have to carry both hot and cold water.”
“I think,” Dad said, “The boys are working on a plan to build a shower room in the space between the outside furnace and the butcher house, so it would be warm in the wintertime and you wouldn’t have to carry the water.
It might be a trick to get it blended so that it’s not too hot or cold, but they’re working on it. They’re also trying to rig it up so that the overflow, the used water, would be caught to use to flush the toilets.”
“Well, I hope they figure that out,” Lois said. “I wouldn’t mind having a shower again.”
“Tell you what’s on my mind,” said Amy, “We’re going to run out of toilet paper too.”
“Ouch!” said Grandma, “Corn cobs are a pretty rough option.”
“Oh that’s very true,” said Mom. “We have to save any paper we have; tissues or paper towels may not be used for other purposes. We might have to use newspaper eventually. Any paper must be saved them for toileting.”
“I guess no one knows how to make paper or tissues?” I asked.
“No,” Mom said, “I don’t think anyone in this crew does. At some point, we’re going to have to use cloth. We brought with us the cloth diapers that I used when you were a baby. We can cut those into smaller pieces and use them to wipe, then they’ll have to be washed separately, perhaps the last thing we do on laundry day. We wouldn’t want to cut all of them. We might need some for babies.”
“Hey!” Lois exclaimed, “No one here is having a baby, are they?”
There were blank stares all around, so Sandy answered, “It doesn’t appear so, but you never know; none of us are getting our prescriptions filled now.”
“Plus,” Mom said, “others might join us over the next few months. Some could be expecting. We also can cut up other pieces of clothing if we need to, like some of our husbands’ holey tee shirts that they love to wear.”
“Those thick diapers can be cut for sanitary napkins, too,” Jean added. “We’re sure to run out of them, too.”
“Enough talk, already,” Grandma said. “It’s time to get supper started. Who’s on the cooking crew tonight?”
Lois said, “It’s Grandmom, Amy and I.”
“What’s on the menu?” Dad asked.
“Boiled cabbage and tomato soup.”
“Oh, boy,” sighed Lynette. “I can’t wait.”
After supper, Lynette, Amy and I were sitting outside with my dad and uncle Jeremiah.
Jeremiah said, “I saw Orion for the first time Wednesday morning.”
Dad said, “That’s great. I saw it this morning.”
Orion is an ecliptical constellation. It lies on the imaginary circle in the sky that the sun appears to travel on as we revolve around it. Unlike the North Star and the Big Dipper, which at our latitude can be seen every night of the year that’s not cloudy, about three months of the year we cannot see Orion because the sun appears in the sky at the same time. Sometime starting in late July, Orion rises early enough ahead of the sun that it can be seen before dawn. Orion is the hunter and our family treats it as a good omen, an announcement that hunting season will soon arrive.
“I guess we’re not sure how this hunting season will pan out,” Dad said. “With everything else going on, it sure makes me feel good to see Orion, even though we don’t know exactly where this year will take us.”
“Exactly,” Jeremiah answered, “seeing Orion brings me comfort, knowing that some things just don’t change.”

To be continued.... Mort