CHAPTER SIXTEEN - TIME (cont)

The mo-ped was also a valuable tool for Dad. Near the end of the week, he said he would be going back to the old house to check on his beans in the garden as well as on our old neighbors. “Is there anything you can think of,” he asked Mom, “that we left behind that you could use?”
“All I can really think of is my sewing machine,” she answered. “Originally we thought it would be of no use without electricity. But the way things are progressing around here, the boys might be able to make it functional.”
“OK,” Dad answered. That struck me as a little odd. How could he bring Mom’s sewing machine back with him on the moped? Although, I recolected, Dad often had a way of making things work. So just after breakfast, off he went.
Later that morning, Uncle Jeremiah, Amy, Lynette, and I were working with Chip and Pepper, our young oxen. We were up to the point where we were actually leaving them yoked together for eight hours. They were getting used to it, were able to eat and drink while yoked, and even had gotten accustomed to being led around by us. We had started to give them verbal commands, not that they knew how to obey already, but they needed to hear the repetition of the commands to learn. The commands were simple enough. Of course, the obvious one was “whoa” for stop. Go was “hup”, left was “gaw” and right was “hee”. The actual word wasn’t that important, the sound of them was. Each had a distinctive ending vowel sound so the animals would not confuse them. We had just finished and Uncle Jeremiah was measuring them for the next size yoke that needed to be made soon, when we looked down the road and noticed a large charcoal gray Ford pick-up with some things loaded on the back approaching.
“Looks like the landlord from the old place,” I said.
“Wouldn’t know that,” my uncle replied, “but it’s your dad driving it.”
Sure enough, it was Dad. As he wheeled into the driveway, he throttled the diesel engine loudly enough to catch the attention of Josh and some of the others who were working close by. As they came out to see what was going on, we took stock of the items loaded on the truck. Of course there was Mom’s sewing machine and Grandpop’s mo-ped. We saw two cases of honey, a basket of beans from the garden and three implements that I wasn’t exactly sure what they were; one looked like a cultivator.
“Nice trade,” Josh said to Dad. “So this is what you got for our coal stove?”
“You remembered?” Dad replied. “This and more.”
“More?” Larry asked.
“Yep, the landlord’s son-in-law is a beekeeper. That’s where the honey comes from. But also in the deal are two hives of bees he’ll deliver next spring. That way we can have our own honey, but more importantly, ensure better pollination for all the fruit and vegetable crops we’ll be growing around here.”
“That hand cultivator is nice too,” Jeremiah said. “It’ll save a lot of hoeing when the time comes.” The hand cultivator had a high steel wheel in the front with wooden handles in the back, similar in design to a wheelbarrow. In between and at ground level was a row of narrow harrow like tines for scratching the dirt, making it loose for killing weeds.
“And look at that!” Joe exclaimed as he had just arrived and peered into the pickup bed. “A foot pedal driven grinding wheel for sharpening knives and axes.”
“And scythes and sickles,” Larry added. “We can sure use that. But what’s this third item?” The third item was shaped like the hand cultivator, but with a smaller wheel and a chain drive coming back to some kind of mechanism mounted under a metal box.
“It’s a planter,” Poppop announced. “One you can just push by hand through the field. It makes the furrow, drops the seed and covers it all in one pass. That’ll sure save us some time.”
“Sure will,” Jeremiah replied. “Do you have different plates for it?”
“Yep,” Dad responded, “in this box here with some spacing gears too.”
“Plates? Spacing gears?” I inquired.
“The plates are the metering mechanism. Round rings of metal with holes in that catch and drop one seed at a time. The holes have to be different sizes because some seeds are large like lima beans and others are smaller like sweet corn or pea beans,” Dad explained.
“The spacing gears,” Poppop added, “change the speed at which the plates rotate, either decreasing or increasing the distance traveled between each seed drop, hence changing the distance or spacing between each seed. You don’t plant every crop in the garden with the same distance between plants. There a chart for it?”
“On the underside of the seed box lid,” Dad answered.
“Good,” Poppop responded, “look here Alyssa. The chart tells you what gear to use with which plate to get the inches between seeds that you want. You’ll see when we use it.”
“Thanks,” I said, “looking forward to it.”
“And,” Dad continued, “got one more thing in the deal.”
“What’s that?” Josh asked.
“A Ford, four-wheel drive, diesel, pickup truck.”
“Neat,” Josh responded, “just for our old coal stove?”
“The truck couldn’t heat the house,” Dad answered. “Besides, what value does a truck have when there’s no fuel to run it?”
“Tank empty?” Larry inquired.
A big smile emerged on Dad’s face and then he said, “No, full. Part of the deal. Landlord filled it with the heating oil left in the tank in the cellar for the oil burner. It’s a forty gallon tank. I figure enough to combine twelve to fifteen acres of soybeans. Sound about right, Larry?”
After a little mental calculation Larry replied, “That would be just about right. No matter, every little bit helps.”
Poppop was looking at the beans and then asked, “This all there were?”
“No,” Dad answered, “they need about a week of good weather to dry well enough to keep. These will either have to be dried more, canned or eaten. If we don’t, they’ll spoil.”
“Either way,” Poppop responded, “these need to be shelled. I’ll take them in and we can get started on them. The cooks can decide later what to do with them. You picked them pretty quickly.”
“Had help,” Dad said, “a few of the neighbors were there. We actually picked more than these. I shared them.”
“Good for you,” Poppop replied.
“Which neighbors?” I asked. “Was Marie there? Did you talk to her?”
“No, she wasn’t, sorry,” Dad said. “But next time we go, you make the trip as well. Then you’ll get to see her. Everyone else seems to be doing fine. A couple other families moved into the house, must be about eighteen people in all. They had to take our things we left behind out into the wagon shed. No problem, I had told them. Next time we go over, I figure we’ll use Brutus and a wagon. Take Mom and a few others to pick the beans. That way we have a way to bring home the beans as well as anything Mom or Jean root out of our belongings that might be useful here.”

To be continued….. Mort

CHAPTER SIXTEEN - TIME

Haymaking didn’t happen without some consternation. Friday morning Jean was bound and determined to get some laundry done; the job had been neglected for nearly a week.
“Now Mother,” Harvey had said, “we have hay to make today; we need all the hands.”
“Maybe so,” Jean answered, “but you know hay drying weather is also clothes drying weather and besides that, soon all your hands will be walking round in dirty underwear. We need to get started today!”
Now Harvey didn’t rule his dairy farm as a king. On the family level, he was quick to consult Larry about farming matters and his wife as well on all matters. But with the arrival of the additional families, a new triumvirate had been formed. Harvey, Dad, and Joe collectively made the decisions. It seemed to be working so far. This being somewhat of a marital issue, it appeared Dad knew better than to interfere. Joe, on the other hand, had his own thoughts.
“It’s also time to butcher the largest hog we have. We need meat and I can’t have the butcher house full of laundry when I’m working on the hog,” he had said.
“But there’s hay to put away!” Harvey exclaimed.
“We need food,” Joe stated.
“And clean clothes,” was Jean’s response.
“And there’s two days to accomplish it all,” Dad finally interjected. “Joe, aren’t you going to roast the whole hog?”
“Yes, I was,” he answered.
“Well that you’ll do outside. You’ll only need the butcher stove to can the leftover meat. Isn’t that correct?” Dad continued.
“Yes.”
“And that you can do Saturday, instead, aren’t I right?”
“I suppose so,” Joe agreed, “if the tables aren’t being used to fold laundry when I want to go at canning.”
“If they get started right away, they should be done by dinner tomorrow. And Harvey, I believe there’s less than half of the amount of hay to put away today as we did yesterday.”
“Yes, that’s true,” Harvey answered.
“So we can do without ten or so women and girls and still get it all loaded and under roof. If we have to unload the last wagons on Saturday, then so be it,” Dad concluded.
“Then so be it,” Harvey concurred as he once again took the lead. “Mother, get started as soon as you can. Keep whomever you need. Larry and the boys will stoke the fire well so you have plenty of hot water. Joe, we’ll do the hog tomorrow. It will make a great dinner. The canning can be done in the afternoon. The women can finish folding in the house if they need to. Okay everyone?”
It was okay. The hay got put away, the laundry was done, we had a fine hog roast for Saturday dinner, the leftover got jarred in the afternoon for future use, and I guess we learned a lesson on priorities, urgency, and cooperation.
The following week the boys came up with several versions of wringers for the wash machine. They were patterned after the feed rolls on the forage harvester. These were spring loaded cylinders which pulled and guided the crop into the knives on the harvester that chopped the material fine. The rolls had serrated edges and were way too aggressive to use directly off the machine – would have shredded the wash. But they could use the drive and tension mechanism from the harvester and then replace the pair of rolls with smooth pieces of pipe. First they tried “schedule forty” plastic pipe which is about six inches in diameter, fairly heavy and is used for sewage lines both inside a home and underground. Harvey had several pieces lying around from his excavating days. The pipe being hollow, it was quite a challenge to put an end cap on the four ends that an axle could be mounted dead center so the rolls would run true. After a few tries, they had it working. They mounted a big crank to turn the wringer. Unfortunately, the pipe was way too smooth, so it would not pull the wash through; it just slipped, even after making several adjustments to the tension mechanism.
“Remember,” Grandmom said, “how the wringers years ago were made out of a semi-soft rubbery type material.”
“Yes, I believe I do remember,” Jean answered. “The boys really don’t know what they were like.” Then addressing them she added, “Could you find some sort of rubber like coating to put on the rolls or a different kind of roll?”
Aaron replied, “We looked at a lot of rolls from the farm equipment around here, and they were all too rough.”
“Suppose,” Dennis wondered, “we wrapped some of the duct tape that Bruce brought around the pipe. Would that be rough enough?”
“Maybe not initially,” Joe said, “we’d have to rough it up a bit with something like sandpaper, but then it probably would only last a few loads before wearing completely off. Worth a try though.”
They tried. He was right. Waste of tape.
Uncle Jeremiah suggested we stretch a piece of an old inner tube on the pipe and glue it fast. It was a project, trying to get the tube to just the right size so the glue would hold and the rubber wouldn’t be too loose on the pipe. But patience and perseverance won out and after a couple days of sticking to it, we had a working wringer. Finally, Barry and Dennis mounted a windshield wiper motor onto it so we wouldn’t have to crank. Great improvement, but we had to be more careful not to get our fingers caught between the wringers.
About the same time, Barry and Aaron had removed the circulator pump from Harvey’s furnace and mounted it in the line inside the house. They rigged a starter motor from Poppop’s Chevy onto it. After gearing it down, it worked fine.
“Still not sure how these motors will take the continuous use when it gets cold outside and will have to run for long periods. Nor how quickly we’ll have to replace the spent battery with a charged one,” Barry said. “If it becomes too burdensome, we’ll have to rig up another bicycle for people/pedal power.” This question, however, led to the determination as to where to put Larry and Joe’s windmill. On the porch right between the house and butcher house – that’s where we were using the most electricity and needing to have the batteries recharged.
When the windmill was up and functional there must have been a dozen batteries in line for charging at any given moment. They had built little carriers to move batteries where they were needed and we used a toy wagon to take four at a time to the barn for the lights later in the fall when we had to milk in the dark in the evening.
“You know,” Poppop said, “this reminds me of something. Before we had electric companies and wires bringing electricity to the farm, my grandfather Willis used to make his own with a generator. Gasoline was cheap and the generator was only run a few hours during the day to charge a bank of batteries that were stored in that small cellar beneath the butcher house.”
“Is that what those old electric controls in the corner of the butcher house were for?” Harvey asked.
“I think so,” Poppop answered, “remember I wasn’t around now mind you; only heard about it. Then all the lights in the house were direct current, running off the batteries in the evening. Wonder if we’ll regress to that?”
“Who knows,” was Dad’s response. “For the next several months, it might be hard to tell if we’re going forward or backward.”
At least we were going forward on the heating, laundry, and electric lighting front. But on the flour mill, I wasn’t so sure. Grandpop’s mo-ped had become a popular item when it came time to go somewhere in a hurry. The younger men could pedal it most of the time and only kick the engine into gear for the harder hills. It took very little gas. One day Larry had taken it to visit the two old flour mills in the neighborhood. The one was completely abandoned and all the milling equipment had been removed. Strike one. The other mill had been turned into a home and the current occupants were not at all agreeable to Larry’s request to look around. He tried to explain to them that we would be willing to trade for the mill if they desired or that a running mill, if they allowed us to donate to its repair, would be a valuable tool for the community as well as a source of income for them. They weren’t interested. I guess not everyone’s heart had changed. Or maybe Larry was sensed as a threat in these uncertain times. Strike two. Back to the drawing board for the boys to build our own mill.
To be continued……Mort

Stump Family Tree

This week, in response to requests, and to help the readers keep track of the members of the communities, I’ve decided to list the characters in the story.

I’ll do a Stump family tree first, and then list others who have joined either the Stump community or Butch and Clare’s. – Mort

Willis Stump (Harvey’s and Dad’s great-grandfather)
-- he had two sons: Thomas, Sr. and Joel
---- Thomas, Sr. had two sons: Lester and Thomas, Jr.
------ Joe is Lester’s son
--------his wife is Sandy
----------they have two sons: Dennis and Aaron
------ Harvey is Thomas, Jr.’s son
--------his wife is Jean
----------their son is Larry
------------ Harvey also has a brother, Randall
----Harold (my Poppop) is Joel’s son
------ his wife is Myra (my Grandmom)
-------- their sons are Jeremiah (my uncle) and Dad
----------Jeremiah’s wife is Lois (my aunt)
------------they have two daughters: Amy and Lynette (my cousins)
----------Dad’s wife is Mom
------------ her parents are Grandpop and Grandma
------------ her brother is my Uncle Bruce
-------------- his wife is Kristen (my aunt)
-------------------- her mother is Leticia
---------------- they have a daughter, Jennifer and a son, Dean-my cousins
------------------Dean has a girlfriend, Vanetta
---------- their sons are Jake and Josh (my brothers)
---------- their daughters are Mel (my sister) and Alyssa-that’s ME!

- - - - also Barry, our auto mechanic, has joined us

Our neighbors at Crystal View Farm:

Butch and Clare Rorher
Ben Lukens and his wife Denise
----their sons are Dave, Clark and Ted
Lee Smith and his wife Donna
----their sons are Billy and Robbie
----their daughters are Renee, Karen, Molly and Susan
Dan Parris and his wife Julie (the teacher)
----their daughters are Tina and Leslie
----their twin sons are Blaise and Matthew
------ the elderly couple, Wayne and Joan Wolfe

To be continued….. what’s up next?....... Mort

Chap 15 - We Made Hay While the Sun Shone (conclusion)

The aches and pains started even before we had eaten supper that evening. Different parts hurt on different people. For some it was backs or legs; others it was arms or shoulders. Jeremiah wished out loud that Dr. Fleming would show up, but it was too early for him to come around again. Everyone had their own remedies. Many, like Dad, just wanted a hot bath, so we kept making and carrying hot water all evening. That meant Amy, Lynette, and I had to pedal a little more than normal to keep water in the milk tank. Jenn, Dean, and Vanetta helped out by taking a few turns on the bike.
Lois was busy dispensing. Rubbing alcohol was a favorite, but she also had some analgesic cream made specifically for muscle aches. Some people just chose that stinky ointment that old people often use. A few people had chaffing in areas like their armpits or in between their legs. A little witch hazel took the sting out of that. Lois often followed that treatment up with some antibiotic ointment or Eucerin cream. The chaffing problem might get worse when we start working in the dusty, dry hay and sweating all the time. Thank goodness we all wore gloves or Lois would have been treating blisters, too.
I think everyone slept pretty well that night, but started slowly the next morning. The stiffness and soreness were more evident now, especially for Dad’s generation, but the younger ones felt it too. Dean likened it to the morning after the first practice of a new sport’s season. After all that running and using muscles you hadn’t used for a while, your body had a way of letting you know. But we got the regular chores done in good time and once again used the Brutus-pulled wagon to head to the hayfield. This time we took along every pitchfork we could find on the place.
“We have to remember to bring several back with us tonight,” Larry said, “to feed the cattle.”
When we arrived at Butch’s, his crew wasn’t too quick to join us. Definitely some of them were not accustomed to working the way we had on “Labor” Day. The job this morning was to turn the hay. With a power driven machine, it was called tedding. To start, we lined up all 35 people along the end of the field, each with either a pitchfork or a couple with Poppop’s rakes. The purpose was to get the partially wilted hay up off the ground, spread it apart, knock the dew off, and hopefully have it end up with the wettest stalks of hay on top for the sun to work at.
In the beginning we watched as Dad, Harvey, Larry, Jake, and Josh demonstrated. Each had their own style. Dad just took a forkful and flipped it over to expose the wet hay underneath. Harvey took every forkful and shook it apart. Larry would hold the fork backward and rake the hay toward him like an oar, leaving it fluffed up. Josh tended to lift every forkful waist high, and then fling it a far as he could throw it, spreading it in a wide pattern. Jake just kept flailing from side to side, scattering the hay in both directions.
I’m sure one way might have been better than another, but Dad said, “Just so we get it distributed and setting up so the air can flow through it. The tricky part is not to step on it after it’s been fluffed.” Therefore, once we were away from the end of the field, it was better if we moved backward, facing the hay we had already turned. We soon caught on – everyone using their own style. It was fun; throwing hay all over the place - had to be careful though, not to get too close to the person next to you. We also found out how poorly we had cut some of the hay the day before. Often, when I’d grab a forkful, some of the individual stalks were not completely severed. It then took a little effort to rip them free.
Our motion took us away from the barn and our water, though. In about an hour and a half we had reached the halfway mark in the field. “Time for water everyone,” Harvey yelled, “let’s take a break.” After drinking, we walked all the way to the back end of the field and worked toward the barn. It gave us a more positive feeling – psychologically - always moving toward our goal. We were done before dinner.
“Looks good,” Larry said, “now let’s mow a bit more, before we eat. What do you think, Pop?”
“Grab the scythes,” was Harvey’s answer. We mowed about an hour, until Clare called us in for dinner. We didn’t need to eat in the hot sun today. She had a tremendous pot of vegetable soup on her outside cook fire, made with the pork from Roger. It had plenty of broth and tons of vegetables, many that Poppop had brought up that morning. After the filling meal, cool drinks, and a short rest, out we went to mow some more.
When we had about six acres mown (about ¾ of what we mowed the day before), Harvey said, “Let’s pack it in. We’ve a little work to do in the barn for tomorrow.”
You see baled hay in its comparatively compact package with twine for handles, can be carried fairly easily to the horses or cattle that you’re feeding. Loose hay’s a bit more difficult, so Harvey needed to find a spot in the barn where it would be both easy to unload from the wagons and convenient to fork down a hole in the barn floor near where the horses were fed. Fortunately, Butch’s barn, like Harvey’s, was of the old style that had two stories – a lower level, we called the bottom of the barn, where the animals were housed, and an upper level, we called the top of the barn, where hay, grain and equipment were stored. In different locations around the top of the barn, holes were left in the floor to drop feed down to the animals below. We called the holes hay holes. To some extent they were dangerous, generally uncovered most of the time. There were few kids raised on a farm that hadn’t fallen through one sometime in their life. I was no exception. Heck, sometimes we jumped on purpose, if there was something soft to land on. The vintage barn that Butch had was a throwback, specifically designed for the handling of loose hay and straw, so he had no problem choosing a spot to store the hay we were to bring in the next day. We only needed to clean up about a half an hour to make the site ready.
Wednesday was the big day - eight acres of hay to bring in - another six laying. The weather appeared like it was going to cooperate – wind out of the west, blowing early in the morning, with low humidity. There was no dew left on the hay by the time we reached the fields. First we turned the hay we had mown on Tuesday, and then jumped to our original eight acre patch.
Now Poppop’s rakes came into play. Because it was mown earlier, the hay around the outside of the field was the driest. In the middle of the field, it had more moisture; the phrase we used to describe it was “it was tough” or “not fit” (for harvesting). In the corner of the field, the eight people with the rakes started shoulder to shoulder, pulling about ten feet of the scattered hay toward them – maybe each person two rake widths wide. That way they took about a 40 foot swath down the side of the field. They weren’t fussy about it; just pulled the hay together, and then stepped over it and took another ten feet. Meanwhile, the rest of us with pitchforks, gathered any hay missed by the rakes and formed it into a continuous fluffy pile, so that the drying air could flow through it. We also kept an eye out for any really tough hay and make sure that it was well off the ground, preferably right on the top of the windrow so the sun could hit it directly.
“You know,” Dad said, “for forty-five years I’ve been calling these rows of hay, that we made with machines, windrows, without giving much thought to why. Now that I’m making them by hand, I can understand.”
“It’s a row of hay, set up so the wind can go through,” I offered.
“You got it,” he answered.
From the time we started raking, it would probably take about four or five hours of good drying to be fit enough to safely store in the barn. It was well past dinner time when we had the whole field raked up.
“No problem,” Dad had said, “it might be pretty late until we quit up here this evening; supper might be late, too.”
After dinner the hay wasn’t as dry as Harvey and Butch would have liked it. “Always a trick,” Harvey told the group. “You want to have very dry hay on the bottom of the pile in the barn - makes less chance of spoilage. Still you want to get started as soon as you can, so you can finish before running out of daylight.”
Just because we couldn’t start loading, didn’t mean there wasn’t work to do. Back to field #2 we went – the one we had mowed six acres of on Tuesday.
“Let’s mow some more,” Harvey directed. “It’ll give us hay to put away Friday. Why should we waste this good weather?” For hay making – yes, good weather; Harvey had hit it. For working – today was the hottest so far this week. People’s attire had changed somewhat, too. There were a lot more long sleeves, wide brimmed hats, and handkerchiefs tied around some necks. A few people had been sunburned the last couple afternoons. I admired the men who grabbed the scythes. They ached already and with a lot more work to do today, common sense might have told them to rest and store up some energy for the looming tasks ahead. But soon the scythes and sickles were swinging away and more hay was being knocked down.
An hour later, with about another two acres cut, Harvey said, “Good enough, let’s start loading.” We all got a fresh drink of water, set a little spell, and then Harvey and Butch headed into the field. Each had a team of horses with a wagon. About 15 people climbed aboard Harvey’s and went to the far end of the field. Butch stopped at the near end. We reversed the roles we had the day before. Today the men had both the pitchforks and the meat of the job. They plunged their forks into the piles of hay and then “pitched” it onto the wagon. As the pile increased, a couple boys climbed onto the wagon to “pitch” the hay higher and get as full a load as possible.
This time, I had a rake, and was relegated to gathering together the last few stalks of hay that the “pitchers” had left behind. The process really didn’t take too long – there were four of us raking and at least a dozen with pitchforks. We actually had to stay out of each other’s way. Before the wagon was full, Clare and Ben came out with the third team and an empty wagon. The switch was easy, but this second load would take much longer to fill, for the eight strongest loaders went back to the barn with Butch to unload the first wagon.
“Just pace yourselves,” Dad said. “From the looks of it, you’re all getting the knack of it.” I watched Butch and company as they neared the barn. They drove the wagon straight into the barn, close enough to where Butch wanted the hay piled and allowing enough room to unhitch the horses from the wagon, wiggle around it, and bring the team out of the barn to yet another empty wagon. They hitched it up, and then Butch drove it right past us toward Harvey’s crew. By the time Butch reached them, their wagon was full; a switch was made and back came Butch with another full load and four more men to help unload it. When he reached the barn the first wagon was empty – another switch and back to the field. What planning. Load after load, teams switching wagons, workers switching tasks. I even tried tossing hay onto the wagon for a spell.
We didn’t work non-stop. A couple times we’d just sit in the shade a few minutes. There were water breaks for the horses and drink breaks for us. Clare had prepared a concoction that was to be like Gatorade, that her family had used long before Gatorade was invented. It was water flavored with lemon juice, sweetened with honey, and some vinegar and a little salt added. It was OK, I’m no fan of vinegar, but it was supposed to keep our electrolytes balanced and provide us with stamina and energy. Must have worked: we just kept going. The job was getting done.
By late afternoon, six of the unloaders left for Harvey’s for milking chores, slowing things up a bit. But I believe we only had two loads of hay left laying in the field. An hour later, the field was clean with all four wagons full.
Inside the barn, the task was getting tougher. The first loads of hay were easily thrown down off the wagon onto the floor. Now, however the hay had to be thrown up for the pile was over eight feet high. Then others standing on the pile threw the hay even higher. I finally got to help in the barn and out of the sun, but now I realized another purpose for those long sleeved shirts and handkerchiefs – the dust. And even though I thought it was hot outside, inside it was stifling. The heat collected under the roof of the barn and the higher the pile of hay grew, the hotter it got. No wonder the men were rotating in and out of the barn all day – another benefit to numbers.
It went pretty fast though, what with two dozen plus forks in the barn at the same time. Right after we started the second to last load, Josh, Jake, and Uncle Jeremiah came back from milking.
“Is it that late?” Dad asked, “that you guys are finished with the milking already?”
“We milked our cows,” Josh said, “then Larry said he, Joe and Harvey could clean-up and feed all the animals. We needed to bring Brutus back, to haul everyone home and besides, we figured you were wearing out.”
“Naw, we’re still in great shape,” Butch huffed. “But appreciate it just the same. Why don’t you two young guys climb up in the pile?”
When the wagon was empty, Ben said, “Fourteen down, one to go.”
“We did fifteen loads today?” Mel asked.
“Yep,” Ben answered, “time flies when you’re having fun.”
Uncle Jeremiah and I got the last forkfuls of hay on the wagon. He stuck his fork into the final remnant, lifted it up and said, “There it is! That’s what I’ve been looking for all afternoon!”
“Did you lose something?” I asked gullibly. “What were you looking for?”
“The last forkful!” he laughed along with everyone else. It was an old joke and I fell for it, but I vowed not to let it happen again.
“The wagons can stay where they are until tomorrow,” Butch announced. “Bring my horses to the front of the barn so we can take off their harnesses, feed them and loose them in the pasture.”
That finished, we started climbing on board the wagon hitched to Brutus for the trip home when Josh said, “Wait! There’s something I need to do, yet.” He ran across the pasture, took off his shoes and leaped into Harvey’s pond. Didn’t take long for the rest of us to follow suit. None of us stayed in very long, however. Harvey’s pond was only a couple degrees warmer than spring water. Most of us jumped in, screamed, and popped right out again. Cooled us off though, and washed off the dust, sweat, and grime of a day’s hard work.
We repeated that day’s hard work on Thursday and Friday, then several more times in the ensuing weeks. A few more acres at Butch’s farm, and then several acres at Harvey’s other rented farm; that hay we brought home for Harvey’s animals. In all, it gave a nice pile of hay in the two barns. Mission accomplished; we made hay while the sun shone.

To be continued……. Mort

Break in the action

I decided to take a break in the story this week to broach two subjects.
First, in conversation with someone who read quite a bit of this story it was relayed to me that the situation I describe after the collapse would never occur. This person said that the way our society is today, we would simply kill each other for food. So my story should be about how people with food have to defend themselves from the heathen marauders. While I can't rule out this possibility, my heart says (as you probably sense in my writings) that we would overcome those attitudes. This person said there would be a group of people who had food who say, "it's ours and we're not sharing with anybody" and a group of people who have no food and say, "we need food , but no one will share it with us." Perhaps this is realism, but by now you know that I'm not a realist, but an idealist. I would like to see people change to the point where those without would say, "We need food, who will share some?" And those with would say, "We have food, who would like some?" Oversimplification, I guess. None-the-less, it's an attitude that needs to change for the sake of survival. My sincere hope is that my writing changes some hearts. Could I have feedback on this? (which brings me to #2)
Second, I receive little feedback. I do not know for sure if it's because no one is reading "Are You Ready" or if there is some glitch that does not allow readers' e-mails to come through. It is getting to the point that I feel I'm wasting my time, if no one is reading Alyssa's story. If you do read the story, please let my know. I need the encouragement. I do this for you.
By the way, I do have the end of chapter 15 written and a good portion of chapter 16.
To be continued................Mort

CHAPTER FIFTEEN - We Made Hay While The Sun Shone (cont)

Sunday morning was beautiful, sunny and breezy, still a tad muggy though, wind from the southeast. Dad and I met up with Harvey in the barn. “Rain’s over!” I announced. “Guess we’ll be mowing hay tomorrow.”
“We might be mowing hay tomorrow,” Harvey responded, “but the rain isn’t quite over. Wind’s still the wrong way. It will pump moist air in from the ocean. Besides, the old saying is, ‘When a rain stops during the night, it’s not finished raining’. It will rain today again.”
“You believe that, Dad?” I asked.
“Harvey’s dad believed it,” he answered.
“So did my Uncle Lester and your great-grandfather,” Harvey added. “It held out for them, many, many times.”
“All the times?” I quizzed.
“Well, probably not,” Dad replied, “but just like every other old saying, every time it did hold out, that built up the credibility of the saying. And when it didn’t hold out… well, that was kinda forgotten.”
Harvey chuckled, and then added, “I reckon your Dad’s right, but now mind you, the corollary isn’t true though.”
“Huh?” I went.
Dad explained, “what’s not true is the opposite: when a rain stops during the day, it is finished raining.”
“Right,” Harvey agreed, “then it can go either way.”
“I’m still confused,” I said.
“So, just watch and learn,” Dad exhorted. “Later today we’ll see who’s right.”
We had a little church service at Poppop’s house just before noon, and then, sure enough, a little thundershower came through about midway through the afternoon. Why are these old guys always right? The wind had shifted to a northeast one and by evening from the north.
“Now we’re cooking,” Harvey announced. “I’ll make the final call tomorrow morning, but every one get a good nights rest; I suspect we’ll go at the hay tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow’s Labor Day,” Amy lamented, “won’t we be having a picnic?”
“That’s right sweetie,” Uncle Jeremiah answered. “Tomorrow is Labor Day, and that’s what we’re going to do. And if you call the fine meal that Sandy and Jean will prepare and we’ll eat under the trees next to the hayfield a picnic, then, yep, we’re having one of those too.”
The wind blew all night. By morning it was from the northwest. “That’s the ticket,” Harvey gave the word. “Everyone eat a good breakfast, there’s a lot of work to do today.” Larry almost wanted to skip breakfast, so anxious he was to drive tractor again. “Let the air do its work a little, first,” Harvey told him. “It’s drying the grass and the ground. Everything will go better as the fields dry out.”
With all the cattle taken care of, Brutus was hitched to the wagon of tools and before we could all pile on, Larry started up his tractor and up the road with the mower he went. He was once more in his element. I believe everyone felt happy for him. Before we left, Mom brought out a dozen bonnets she and Jean had made from some old pillowcases that we had plenty of. When they found the time to sew them by hand, I had no idea.
“Everyone keep your head covered,” she ordered. “That’s still a summer sun out there.” Some of the men and boys had straw hats. Others had baseball caps like I wore. The women who weren’t raised working outside on a farm weren’t used to wearing hats, but no one needed sunburn either, so they dutifully followed Mom’s order. In spite of the hot temperature, several of our crew wore loose fitting long sleeved shirts, too, to keep our arms from burning.
When we got to Crystal View farm, we stopped at the water trough and filled up a few water jugs. Mom stayed at the house with Clare to watch the younger children as Donna Smith and Julie the teacher headed to the field with the rest of their families. Poppop drove Brutus about halfway down the edge of the field and unhooked the wagon, then tied him in the shade of the meadow near the creek. By then, Larry had mowed three times around the field and had parked the tractor. This gave us plenty of room to work. He also said the outside of a field is usually the hardest to dry, so it received a head start, plus the grass that had been mowed with the machine was conditioned or crimped by it. That would help it dry faster.
We split into four groups, headed by Harvey, Joe, Jeremiah, and Larry. Each group went to a different corner, so we wouldn’t get in each other’s way. Adding Butch’s tools to the stockpile provided one or two scythes and three or four sickles, for a total of five cutting implements per group. There were seven or eight workers in each group, so there were always two or three waiting in the wings to spell someone, or to run for water if we needed it. I was in Jeremiah’s group with Ben and his wife, Denise, one of their sons, Clark, Dad and Robbie. Everyone started with fervor with the men manning the scythes. It looked pretty awkward at first; only a few had ever used a scythe. It has a long handle with about a three foot blade. It works best with a long sweeping motion. Once they got the hang of it, they could really knock a lot of hay down, but we with the sickles learned to stay out of their way. You see a sickle only has a short handle and blade, so you have to bend over and get close to your work. We didn’t need our noses cut off by a scythe, so we kept our distance. In due time, as the mowers progressed down the edge of the mowed crop, the distance between us lengthened, decreasing the danger factor. As most of us were right handed and because scythes were built that way, the motion was always right to left. Because you wanted to pull the fresh cut hay away from the hay that was still standing, we kept migrating to our left or clockwise around the field. Even though we had started at the corners, we were soon strung out all around the outside of the unmown portion of the field.
While we were mowing it gave a lot of time for talking, even singing. In Larry’s group I heard Mel, Amy and Lynette singing some pop songs, but also a couple hymns. Uncle Bruce’s family was in that group and they were just singing right along. Soon it spread over the whole field for part of the morning.
It was Robbie who did the most talking. First, it was just chit-chat about the food or the cows. Did we still have cocoa puffs? But then his inquiries turned toward my cousin, Jennifer. Jenn and Vanetta both sort of stood out in the crowd. They weren’t dressed like farm girls, but then again, neither were half the other young women in the crew that day. Both had long well-kept hair and very light, smooth complexions. I wondered how long they stay that way after three or four days of hay making.
“Who is she?” Robbie asked.
“My Mom’s brother’s daughter,” I answered. “She’s my cousin, Jennifer.”
“Jennifer…..” he oozed, “a beautiful name for a beautiful girl.”
“What?” I responded.
“Just what I said,” Robbie countered, “she’s hot!”
“We’re all hot today,” I wisecracked back.
“I really must get to know her.”
“Yeah right, and there’s a lot of hot air around here, too,” I retorted. “Do you know how old she is?”
“Was just about to ask.”
“Thirteen. She’ll be fourteen next week.”
“Aaaah, just right,” Robbie spoke like he was in a dream world.
“Get real,” I countered, “she’d be going to ninth grade. We’re only going to seventh.”
“No matter, ain’t no school anyway,” he said. “Yeah, you really have to introduce us.” Now I didn’t think that Robbie was so dense that he couldn’t sense my tone, so evidently, he being enthralled with Jenn was affecting his judgment. He still had the capability of reading the scowl on my face, however, for then he added, “Not that she compares to you.”
“Not that she what?!” I blurted out.
“You know, stacks up to you.”
“What, are we horses on the auction block, now?” I jawed.
Maybe, just maybe, Robbie was coming to his senses. He kinda stuttered a little and even thought a little before he finally said, “What I mean is… you see…. you don’t know….I thought… Well I guess… what I’m trying to say is that I know you. And you’re special. I know what’s inside you, and I like what’s in there. You’re tough and smart. Usually pleasant and very trustworthy and loyal.” (I felt like a boy scout.) “I like that you love animals, how hard you work, respect others and that you’re easy to talk to. I only see the outside of your cousin. Don’t know what’s inside her. Don’t even know if she has a brain. So what if she is a fox? Except she has that stupid bonnet on. You know you do look really good in that baseball cap; always thought you did. I should at least get to know her, though. I should be fair about it. Oh, forget it….. I’m an idiot….. and I talk too much.”
“Now that’s the first smart thing you’ve said,” I answered. “Don’t worry; you’ll get to talk to her.” Time would tell.
Wielding that sickle was both tedious and tiring. I was always glad to hand it off to Robbie or Denise. Whenever we were at the end of the field nearest to Harvey’s water trough, we’d go for water and carry jugs back for the men, who just kept rotating the swinging of those scythes and knocking down hay. That was how the men were spelled – just hand off their hay machine whenever they needed to. It was a chance for a drink, a bathroom break in the cornfield that ran alongside the hayfield, or to just plop down on the fresh mown grass for a rest.
While we were mowing, Butch and Poppop took one of Butch’s team of horses down to Harvey’s to bring up another wagon. On the trip back, they brought Lois, Grandmom, and Jean with our picnic. Would it be hot dogs, potato chips and cold soda? No, but they really did pretty well. Of course, the cold drink was milk – couldn’t escape that. They did surprise us though by using some of our dry packaged and canned food to make a monster macaroni salad that had a few cans of spam cut into it. With our cream, some mustard and some of the sugar Uncle Bruce had bought they created a pretty decent salad dressing. It was garnished with bits of onion and several handfuls of broccoli scrounged from Poppop’s garden. The “picnic” was topped off by the last watermelon we had bartered from Titus.
The afternoon went pretty quickly. I think by 3:00 PM we had the whole field mowed. Harvey said the field was about eight acres and would probably have yielded five to six hundred bales if we would bale it with a mechanical baler. That didn’t sound like a lot until Butch pointed out that an amount like that would feed his six horses for four months. That meant we’d only have to harvest the same amount two more times to provide a year’s supply. Of course, that wasn’t enough to feed all the cattle, but it gave some perspective to our labor; made it all appear worthwhile.
Before we loaded up for home, Larry hopped on his tractor and mowed three times around the outside of another hayfield on the other side of the cornfield.
“More to mow tomorrow?” I asked.
“Maybe,” Harvey answered, “just getting a head start, in case the weather still looks promising. That field is even bigger, so I wouldn’t want to mow all of it. I need to get a feel on how much time it takes us to put away the hay we’ve already mown.”

To be continued……Is that all there is to haymaking? Mort

Chapter Fifteen - We Made Hay While The Sun Shone

I had assumed the goods Uncle Bruce’s family brought were personal effects, mostly clothing, toiletries, maybe some food or tools. But as we started unloading and inventorying them to their proper location in the kitchen, we found it to be much more than that. We started yanking clothing that was stuffed into the car and uncovered two cartons of toilet paper, each with 72 rolls in. Okay, we had figured out how to do without it, but it would sure be nice to have some in the meantime. Some of the other items came in cartons also. They had cartons of toothpaste, shampoo, Clorox, laundry soap, matches, and duct tape. We found fishing tackle and line, 20 packs of sewing needles, and maybe 50 spools of thread. They had a couple wood saws and axes. It was great, for other than the soap, these were all things that we would have difficulty manufacturing.
In addition, there were a dozen new bicycle inner tubes, four new bicycle tires, and a box of tire repair kits, plus a 12-volt air compressor. We were not using much equipment with rubber tires like we would have with a steady supply of fuel, but we did use bicycles and wagons and boy, would those repair kits come in handy. There were no tire repair shops to take flats to. We even came across two of those flashlights/radio combos. They were the kind you wound up to charge the batteries, so you could keep them charged without electricity. They had some replacement batteries for them and a box of regular “D” cell flashlight batteries. Even if we couldn’t depend on them forever, it would still be nice to have them as the days got shorter.
Of course, they managed to bring us some food, too – canned fruit and canned beans. But not a few cans – a few boxes, maybe 70 to 80 cans. There were six cans of black pepper and even 50 pounds of flour. That would bring joy to the bakers in the bunch, for the boys still hadn’t perfected a working flour mill. And to go with the flour, they had brought twelve, ten pound bags of sugar. Sweet!
Everything had been jammed into the two cars with their clothing, shoes and boots filling in the crevices. I think we found about 30 dozen socks - men’s, women’s, kid’s, brand new, still in the plastic packages. They were used to top off boxes that weren’t quite full, inside of boots and shoes, and stuffed into what would have been any empty space in the load. Near the end, we found three boxes of additional treasures – medical supplies. They contained Epson salts, Kaopectate, Preparation H, Motrin, Midol, Maalox, Benadryl, calamine lotion, antibiotic cream, cotton swabs, band-aids, surgical tape, and gauze pads. Not just one or two bottles or packs of each, now mind you, but one or two boxes of each; six, ten, fifteen or more of some of the items. There was a carton of Vicks Vapor-rub, witch hazel, cold tablets, zinc lozenges, vitamin C, lycopene, and other assorted multi-vitamins. I think we tripled the amount of medicine in Lois’s dispensary.
Finally, under the seats, we uncovered about 75 boxes of shotgun shells and a small cache of silver coins, including a few gold coins and a stack of Euros. Questions abounded. Where did you get all this stuff? Why did you buy that? How did you get the gold? You don’t even own a shotgun; why the ammunition? After supper, we started getting answers.
“The cars full of stuff,” Bruce responded, “originally were accumulated because I heeded some warnings and advice before the collapse. After the collapse, doing some careful and calculated bartering produced the modified bounty that we unloaded this afternoon. If you want, I can relate what happen between then and now?”
“Please do,” said Grandpop.
“Being in the banking business, I could easily see things happening. We’d look at indexes and charts and then predict what was coming down the road. Usually the quirks in those charts or graphs were dismissed as anomalies and considered nothing to worry about. The experts in both the finance industry and the government said, ‘Everything will be fine’. But there were things occurring that charts, graphs, and indexes couldn’t show us. We had to read people – people whose wages didn’t even come close to meeting their financial needs – people who had trouble paying their rent or mortgages. Some were trying to refinance, some were going through the process of foreclosure, or had started to file for bankruptcy. As fuel and food prices soared, people needed to use credit just to pay for those basic needs. And we just kept providing it; it was our biggest mistake. Or perhaps listening to the Federal Reserve was our biggest. We just did what they wanted – ‘Provide more credit,’ they told us – ‘That will pull us through,’ they said – ‘It will stop inflation,’ were their lies. Hell, it made it worse.” Bruce concluded.
“So what really is inflation, anyway?” Jake asked.
“Depends who you listen to,” Bruce answered, “what do all of you think?”
“When prices go up,” Harvey replied.
“And the dollar can’t buy what it used to,” Sandy added.
“When the government puts more money into the system,” Joe said.
“But are the products worth more or the dollars worth less?” Dennis asked.
“Products have the same value, so the dollar must be worth less,” Aaron said.
“Well, I guess it’s all those things,” Bruce responded. “Maybe the best functional definition is when too much of a currency is infused into an economy compared to the value of the goods in that economy. And our government doesn’t even have to ‘print the money’, like some people would say. They just had to expand credit. Heck they had to, so there would be money there for them to loan, too, beings they were always spending money they didn’t have.”
“What actually happened, like I mentioned before, was that families needed more and more money to meet their obligations. At the bank’s end, this is what we saw: First saving’s accounts were closed, and then insurance policies and CD’s cashed in. Next stocks, bonds, and mutual fund shares were sold. U.S. saving’s bonds were redeemed, which by the way, really put extra pressure on the feds. As people’s assets were reduced, they started to use credit, which many had already been doing.”
“What did everyone need the money for?” Lynette wondered
“Why, what did all of you need money for the last six months?” Bruce countered.
“Seed and fertilizer,” Larry said.
“Food and fuel,” said Jean.
“Energy,” Dad answered, “our electric company received an 8% rate increase last January.”
“But none of us got an 8% wage increase!” interjected Jeremiah.
“Nor for the 50% that gasoline had gone up,” Barry added.
“Nor the extra for medical bills and health insurance,” Lois chimed in.
“Nor for the tax increases,” Poppop said.
“Right,” retorted Bruce, “but what really did us in, discounting the war in the Middle East and China’s play, was when the banks were forced to discontinue credit to everyone, including our own federal government. Then when the feds asked foreign banks to extend credit, they just told us to kiss off. Pow – no money supply – that’s when everything stopped and got us to this point. Now here’s the kicker – not everyone needed the money for the present – many were cashing in for the future.”
“The future that is now,” Dad caught on, “you were one of them.”
“Yep,” Bruce agreed, “and some of you did, too. But just the few of us are not responsible for this mess. Millions of others did the same thing. In my case, I cashed in my savings, secured some Euros, and bought food, ammunition, and most of those other goods you saw earlier. Some of the goods you saw I traded for. That’s were I got the gold and silver coins, the air compressor and some of the batteries. We had a lot more food that we traded to our neighbors and some that we left behind for them. I even had more ammunition; some of it I traded for goods. I also used food to barter for gasoline to make sure we had enough to make the trip to retrieve Leticia.”
“Yes, Leticia,” Mom quizzed, “you said you would tell us about her experience.”
Kristen started it. “Most of you probably don’t know, but my mother was city born and city raised. After my father died, we tried unsuccessfully to get her to move up closer to us. As you noticed earlier today, she has a mind of her own and would not leave. She was doing well now mind you – had a nice apartment and a very dependable roommate. The last time we visited her in the beginning of August we pleaded with her to come back with us; all to no avail. We called her every day, and even the last time the phones worked, she still said everything was fine and insisted she stay. When the electricity went out, things were chaotic at home: people coming and going; uncertainties; neighbors in need. Finally, Friday a week ago, we knew someone had to go for her.”
“Deciding who should go was the first issue,” Bruce continued. “I thought it was too dangerous for Kristen to go.”
“Yet we didn’t know if Leticia would listen to Bruce alone,” Kristen added.
“Also, I didn’t like the idea of leaving Kristen behind, unless Dean would also stay to watch out for her, Jenn, and Vanetta,” Bruce said.
“Plus, I’d have been worried sick if they would have left me behind,” Kristen said. “But in the end, we decided to let the men go. We had solid neighbors who would stay with us, support me, and keep the neighborhood safe. As they drove away, I cried, thinking I might never see them again. I’ll let Bruce tell you about the trip.”
“Well the best thing about it was the result. That you know – we rescued Leticia. Driving was terrible. We wanted to get an early start and couldn’t sleep anyway, so we left in the dark of the morning. The moon was waxing gibbous; gave us light almost till the time the sun started coming through the clouds. We needed it. There were no street lights, no billboards shining, no stores lit up, and no traffic signals. I mean our headlights worked; we could see. And we needed to. Every road we traveled had obstacles. There were abandoned cars and trucks, including police cars and ambulances. Run out of gas I guess - a lot were in the middle of the road. There were accidents that had never been cleared away, some with wires down, that we had to drive onto the medial strip or shoulder to get around. Least we didn’t have to be concerned about live wires. Traffic wasn’t a problem though. We might have driven half-way there, about 25 miles, before we saw another moving vehicle. By the time we got to the city limits, it was full light and we started seeing more people on the sidewalks. Some weren’t moving. That kept us sober. Part of me wanted to stop and check on them, but it was way too risky. From the living we sure got some strange looks; looks that made us not want to stop and fraternize with them either. But stop we had to when we reached Leticia’s apartment.”
Dean took over. “That created a dilemma,” he said. “Dad didn’t want to leave me alone with the car. I didn’t want him to go into the apartment alone. Didn’t know what each other might encounter. It was about nine o’clock; we just sat there and started praying, asking God what we should do?”
“And I was praying, too,” Kristen inserted. “Almost the whole time they were gone. But about nine, I got this feeling that they really needed something. I gathered Jenn, Vanetta and a few of the neighbors, held hands and prayed. After a few minutes, I had a peaceful feeling come over me, so we went back to our business.”
“Bout that time,” Bruce continued, “we looked up and saw a gang of youth approaching our van. Now what should we do? Drive away? Sit tight? As they neared, the apprehension increased. ‘Does that one have a gun?’ I asked Dean. He didn’t think so, but then he said, ‘I think one’s a priest.’ And sure enough, one was. Well, at least one was dressed like a priest. What if it was a ruse? One quick prayer later, I decided I’d have to trust Jesus with the situation. The leader positioned himself to the front of the group, came to the driver’s window, signaled for me to put down the window and asked if there was anyway they could help us.”
“I told them they could indeed, that my mother-in-law lived in this apartment building and would they give us a hand. Of course they would was the answer. ‘These are good boys,’ the priest answered. ‘Jose and Elmadeo will watch the car, while I and the others accompany you.’ As the elevator was useless, we took the three flights of stairs to Leticia’s apartment. The door was locked. Fortunately, Kristen had given me an extra key that her mother had given her. We arrived none too soon. Leticia sat in her chair, half asleep, half awake, with an empty water bottle in her lap. Her clothing was soaked with perspiration. We quickly gave her some water that Dean had carried in. And then we opened the windows and let some fresh air in. Her roommate was no where to be found.”
“There was an open pack of cookies on the kitchen counter. She was able to eat a couple and then shortly regained her strength. She was in no position to argue about whether to stay or not. After getting her into some dry clothing, the boys carried her and her walker down the steps to the van. We had two boxes of food inside the van that Dean offered to the youth for their assistance. We also had several empty boxes along that the boys brought back up the steps so I could pack some of Leticia’s things. I was most concerned about her medicines, so I cleaned everything out of the medicine cabinet and off her dresser top. Found some on the kitchen counter, too. Not knowing what clothing she might need the most, we just carried her dresser drawers out intact, piling clothing and shoes from the closet on top. The van was getting pretty full and there were still things in the apartment we could have used, but so could others. I gave the key to the priest and told him to use the contents for anyone that had the need, especially if the roommate returned.”
“We thanked them and wished them luck as we headed for home. The priest told us that we’ve done them a favor, too. He realized there might be other people in the same situation as Leticia was. Just in case there were, he and his boys would search the rest of the building and others in the neighborhood.”
“On the way back, Leticia told us her roommate had gone out Wednesday in search of water. She had never returned. I feel the worst may have happened. We got out of the city as quickly as we could and made it home by three in the afternoon with no problems - truly a blessing from God,” Bruce concluded.
There wasn’t a dry eye in the butcher house. Nor was it dry outside either. All through Bruce’s tale we heard rumbling and saw flashes of lightning outside. Just before Bruce finished, a heavy downpour had started. Grandpop said, “God certainly is wonderful. We’re blessed by Leticia’s rescue and your return to us. Your mother and I were worried about you. We’re blessed by having a place where we can feel safe, have water and food. We’ve Harvey as well as God to thank for that.”
“Thank God,” Harvey said.
Grandpop agreed, “Yes, thank God, and also for the rain and the crops; and that my son had the foresight to accumulate and bring us all these wonderful goods.”
“I just made hay while the sun shone,” Bruce replied.
“Yes,” replied Harvey, “I guess that’s what it was. And that’s also what we have to do … as soon as this rainy spell ends.”
That was our cue to get to bed. It only poured a few minutes and then slowed to a gentle rain; slow enough to head to the house without getting drenched. We were getting a houseful. Jenn and Vanetta had squeezed into my room. Leticia, Kristen and Bruce were set up in the living room. Dean stayed with my brothers somewhere in Harvey’s house. I didn’t sleep real well that night, thinking about the things that were said, wondering if something like that could happen here, and planning hay making in my mind. I’m sure Harvey was too. I should have been able to sleep, though. The rain had cooled things off quite a bit and the steady dripping and easy breeze sounded so peaceful. I just lay there and took it in. I guess around midnight it stopped raining altogether and I fell asleep.

To be continued…. Finally time for mowing? Mort

CHAPTER FOURTEEN - REUNION (cont)

As things appeared ready as far as equipment was concerned, we headed back to the butcher house to see how the rest were doing finishing up that project. We looked down the road and noticed a mini-van approaching with its rear bumper darn near dragging on the road. It looked like the van my Mom’s brother, my Uncle Bruce had. Sure enough, as it pulled into the driveway we spotted Bruce as the driver, with Aunt Kristen by his side and my cousin Jennifer and an elderly lady in the back seat. There was barely any room for her. The van was packed solid with boxes and clothing and with mattresses and bicycles tied on the roof. “More things,” I muttered to myself.
“Quick Alyssa!” Dad exclaimed, “get your mother, Grandma and Grandpop. These arrivals are going to make them happy.” Mom came running out; my grandparents a bit more slowly, followed by most of the others. There was hugging and kissing and sobbing and crying and praising God. Then the questions started.
“Where’s Dean?” Mom asked.
“About two miles down the road,” Bruce answered. “He’s with his girlfriend, Vanetta. They ran out of gas. We toyed with siphoning some from our van, but we had very little also. Thought it was better to make sure that at least one of us would get here for help. Do you have a pickup with enough gas to go and retrieve them and everything we have loaded in his car? It’s also packed to the gills.”
“No need to use a truck,” Dad said. “Let’s bring the whole car back; we can use the car parts as well, so we’ll just take Brutus down with a few of the boys. He can pull the car here while the others can help push up some of the grades.”
“Could they go as soon as possible?” Bruce asked. “I hate leaving them there alone and Kristen’s surely worried about them.” That struck me as odd. My Aunt Kristen always impressed me as a strong, take charge, doesn’t let anything bother her individual. And my cousin Dean, why he was as strong as they come. He had just finished his senior year in high school where he had lettered in three sports. I couldn’t imagine him not being able to deal with any circumstances that might occur. On the other hand, Vanetta, who I had only met a few times, appeared quite timid. I could see her being a bit frightened stranded in an unfamiliar place and not knowing for how long. Grandpop read his son’s request differently though.
“Is trouble following you?” he asked.
“Not imminently,” Bruce replied, “and really none that we could see; just been hearing a lot of stories in our travels.” Bruce didn’t need to say more. Jake grabbed the nearest bicycle and headed down the road, followed by Dennis.
“Be careful!” Mom yelled after them, as Josh ran to the pasture to get Brutus. At the same time Dad headed to the equipment shed and brought back some of the rope we braided for a tow rope. Shortly thereafter, Larry came out of Poppop’s house with two shotguns that he handed to Dad. When he and Josh were astride Brutus, Dad gave them the weapons and bid them haste.
“You be careful, too,” Dad advised them, “and use your best judgment.” He turned to Bruce and Kristen and offered, “Don’t worry. Those boys can handle anything. They’ll all be fine and back in no time.”
Still sensing fear in Kristen’s and Jennifer’s eyes and uncertainty in Bruce’s he added, “If you really feel the need, you could take the moped and join them, but I advise you not to. You look tired and stressed out. Just take a breather and relax. Let’s sit in the shade. How about a cool drink?”
“Sure could use a cold beer,” Bruce answered.
“Sorry, none cold,” Dad replied. “And we’re really saving anything canned for future needs. We’ve fresh spring water.”
“Actually,” Mom interjected, “Jean made some mint tea this morning, if you need more than water.”
“Iced tea?” Aunt Kristen inquired.
“Course not, we’ve no ice,” Mom responded. “Spring temperature cool, though, and not too sweet. She made it with a mixture of that Blue Balsam tea that grows around the flower beds and some of the wild tea from the meadow. She only added a little sugar.”
“Still sounds like a good idea,” Kristen agreed. “First, let’s get mother out of the van. She’s been crammed in there for hours. I’m sure she’s hot and thirsty. Which house will she be in? We should drive closer to the door.”
“”Don’t know yet,” Grandma responded. “I’m sure she’ll want to be close to where you and Bruce bed down. We’re guests here; it’s really up to the Stumps. These are Harvey and Jean’s and Harold and Myra’s homes.”
“No hurry to decide,” Jean said. “For now just pull your van over to the back porch where we can unload the goods. She and the rest can sit on the porch until things get settled. Meanwhile, I’ll fetch the tea from the springhouse.”
“Thanks,” said Kristen. The van was driven to the door of Jean’s upstairs kitchen entrance. Then I first realized who the fourth person in the van was: Aunt Kristen’s mother, Leticia. Only my immediate family would know her. As my Uncle Bruce’s mother-in-law, I had often seen her at my cousins’ birthday parties and such. In fact, the last time would have been just a couple months ago at Dean’s graduation party. She was a frail woman, who needed a walker to get around. She was still, to her credit, pretty spry for her age. But today, as they helped her out of the van, she looked much different. She had a haggard look on her face, the lines on her face deep and more pronounced. Actually, she looked like she had been through a war. We found out, however, that she still had her spirit.
“Bout time you got me out of there,” she snapped. “After all I’ve been through – and I need to go to the bathroom!”
“Yes mother,” Aunt Kristen answered. I saw Harvey roll his eyes at Jean. She responded with that little quirky smile she had. Oh… this could be a good one brewing. They took Leticia into the house to use the bathroom, jabbering all the way. It had become quite muggy that afternoon and the inside of the house was very hot, so they brought out a chair for her to sit on the porch where a nice breeze was flowing through. She took some of the tea, and then started up.
“This tea sure isn’t very cold,” she complained, “and my, was that bathroom dirty.”
Harvey grabbed Jean by the wrist and I think some of the men wanted to run for cover. There was an instant determination made where Leticia was going to sleep. Obviously not in Jean’s house. Actually, I think at that moment, Jean would have made her sleep in the barn. No, in with my grandparents and me she would go. In retrospect it was a good decision for everything was on one floor in Poppop’s house. Also, as it was very difficult for Leticia to come to the butcher house for meals, Kristen would have to take her meals to her, enabling our meals to remain peaceful.
Humans react quite differently to stress. As Bruce relayed to us later that evening, Leticia had been through a lot the last few weeks. Her way of coping, providing a means of survival, was to bitterly lash out. It wasn’t her normal behavior, but now served as her crutch. It successfully got her to this point, and as she settled in she settled down. As some peace was injected into her life, the more peaceful she became – thank goodness. Her irritability that afternoon did serve a useful purpose, however. You see as Kristen, Mom, and Jean catered to and fretted and fumed over Leticia, their fears and concerns about their sons down the road were assuaged.
Uncle Bruce was a different matter. As we started unloading his van, he would pause at least twice a minute to look down the road, searching for signs of his son’s safe return. Within five minutes, which must have seemed like five hours to Bruce, he caught a glimpse of Brutus cresting one of the little knobs in the road about one half mile away. Relief – brought a suspension to the unloading, for Bruce sprinted down the road, followed a bit more slowly by Joe, Aaron, Jennifer, and me on my bike, each with our own concerns. There were two thinking about their sons, three for their brothers, plus me for Brutus, with Joe having enough foresight to carry a bucket of spring water and ladle. Long before we reached them, as they were in full view of the farm, they had shown good sense and pulled Brutus under a big hickory tree so everyone could rest in the shade. Josh was wiping down Brutus and scratching his neck.
“Is something wrong? Is Brutus OK?” I frantically asked when I reached the crew.
“He’s fine,” Josh replied, “and doing a fine job. It’s almost effortless with us pushing. I would say pulling a car on four rubber tires is easier than pulling a plow through hard soil. We’re probably working harder than he is. We needed the break more than he did.”
“Just the same,” Joe said to me, “beings it’s so darn hot, as soon as everyone’s had a drink, take the bucket over to the creek and get him a bucket of water, too.” While they were drinking, I greeted Dean and Vanetta who were riding Jake’s and Dennis’s bicycles.
“You don’t have to stay with us,” Bruce instructed them. “If you’re well rested, just pedal up to the house. The car’s not as important as you are. We’ll get it there. Besides, you mother’s sure anxious about you.”
“Yeah right, Uncle Bruce,” I chided. “You were more bent out of shape than she was.”
“Naw, it was no sweat,” he said. “I knew they’d be all right all along.”
I thought it was a good cover. Why men have to be so macho is beyond me.
“Jennifer,” I offered, “you may have my bike if you want. Ride home with your brother. I’d like to stay and lead Brutus up.”
“Why thank you,” she answered. “Is that OK, Dad?”
“Sure,” Bruce replied, “it’s safe now.”
“Safe?” I quizzed, “safe from what?”
“Oh nothing,” he said, “just an expression.” He couldn’t fool me. Something was amiss. I guess I’d find out in due time. After I’d brought Brutus his water, we finished the trip home. Dean and Vanetta had been warmly received by the clan. The afternoon was waning. So after a short refreshment break, the boys headed to the barn for the evening chores and the cooks to the butcher house to start supper. That still left us with a nice size crew to finish unloading the vehicles, so we continued pulling the stuff out of Bruce’s van and Dean’s car.

To be continued…… Mort

CHAPTER FOURTEEN - REUNION

The rest of the week saw some accomplishments. The new calves were doing well. On Wednesday Joe accompanied Butch on the pilgrimage to Roger with our few extra barrels of sour milk for his hogs. Everything was reported as going well over there. When Roger realized he had more of an outlet for the meat, he decided to kill the biggest hog they had. Of course Joe and Butch aided, and then each brought a good portion of meat for each household. Fresh pork for supper; it even gave a few jars of leftovers that were canned for another meal. We also received four new little piglets to expand our swine herd. The ones we had were growing well and Joe said there would be one large enough to butcher next week for ourselves.
Pork wasn’t the only meat we had. Larry had noticed a flock of Canadian geese landing regularly in the pasture behind the spring. Prior to the collapse, if it would have been legal goose season, he would have just grabbed his shotgun and pursued his quarry. With the mindset of saving ammunition he decided to try and trap them instead. Dad and Harvey said when they were youngsters they would try to catch pigeons in the barn by using a stick with a string tied to it to hold up a box. They would bait the trap with a few kernels of corn, hide behind some hay bales, and wait until a pigeon was under the box, then yank the string and catch the bird. Well, it was suppose to work like that. Dad wasn’t sure if they had ever caught one. Harvey seemed to think they had. Ah, what a few score years will do to brain cells. This method wasn’t going to work for the geese, however, which were ten times larger.
Instead, Larry rounded up some muskrat traps Wednesday evening and indiscriminately set them around the area the geese were usually feeding. Of course, he had to stake them well into the ground or any trapped geese would simply fly away with the trap. He knew the geese were arriving every morning just a little before breakfast, so he, Dad and I went to the pasture about an hour before to check the traps. Sure enough, a possum had wondered into a trap. With Dad’s help we were able to release the trap from the critter’s foot and shush it away from the area. The trap didn’t appear to do the possum much harm. We retreated about forty yards from the traps to the closest woods and then made a makeshift blind to hide behind until the geese came.
“Do you think those traps will hold a goose?” Dad asked Larry.
“I hope so,” he answered. “Least ways until we can run out and grab them.”
“You know as soon as we run out, the others will fly away,” I said.
“Yeah, I know,” Larry retorted, “we’ll have to be patient and wait until two or three are caught, and then rush for them all at once.”
“I’m also thinking, as soon as one trap snaps, they’ll all take off, but I wonder,” Dad thought out loud. “Alyssa, run over to the cornfield across the way and bring us back an ear of corn. Hurry!” I did, and came back puffing to where they were now standing out at the edge of the trapping area.
“Here, Dad,” I wheezed out.
“Thanks,” he said. “Now just shell a few kernels,” he said to Larry, “and carefully place them under the trap, right next to the trip plate. Let’s see what happens.”
“Anything’s worth a try,” Larry remarked as he placed about dozen kernels as Dad had directed. Then Dad took a handful of corn and just flung it out beyond the traps. Back to the blind we flew. And just in time, for within ten minutes, I heard the distinct honk of a goose.
“You know,” Larry whispered, “yesterday there was no corn here. Don’t you think that will make them suspicious?”
“Perhaps,” Dad softly replied, “but there was some undigested corn kernels in the cow manure. That’s some of what they were feeding on; it should seem familiar to them. Now don’t anyone move; looks like they’re coming in right above us.”
They did. Amazingly, they didn’t spot us. They circled the pasture twice; surveying the situation. Then finally set their wings and drifted to Earth just short of the traps. They were noisy; there was loud honking and some were hissing. I wondered if we make noise like that when we’re eating. They soon wandered into the area where the traps were set.
SNAP! One of the traps closed right on the head of a feeding goose. And then a tremendous commotion followed. Screeching and honking and as they ran to take flight, more stepped in the traps.
“NOW!” Larry yelled, “just grab them by their necks, Alyssa. Hold them till I can help you.”
The short forty yards we were from the geese seemed like one hundred as we sprinted out. Larry ran for the goose furthest away, Dad for the closest, the one with its head in the trap and I chose one in between. It was a flurry of wings and beaks. Dad secured his in no time. Larry’s wiggled free before he reached it, but he quickly switched his sights to a fourth one before it could free itself. He got it, and I got mine, but not before it nipped me in the hand. It hurt like crazy, but I still hung on though, until Larry had dispatched his and came back to finish mine. Success: goose for supper.
That same afternoon the first water pumping occurred. The milk tank, hot water tank and the shower heads were now in place. The building, including the installation of insulation and the flooring had been completed. The water line had been laid on top the ground and the pump set up in the cellar with a bicycle drive. To prime the pump, the boys poured water into the line before making the final connections. Josh proudly hopped onto the bicycle seat and started pedaling away. Sure enough, it worked, as water started flowing into the milk tank. Not that anyone in the cellar could tell, though. We were too far away.
“One of the disadvantages of this set-up,” Aaron said. “Someone has to watch the level of water in the tank, and then tell the pedaler when the tanks full.”
Dennis added, “But we decided to keep the pump in the cellar, so the person doing all the work would not have to be in the heat of the butcher house. Should make the job a little more bearable. How’s it pedal, Josh?”
“Not bad at all,” he answered. “I’m sure Mel could do it. Heck I even think Alyssa, Lynette or Amy could too.”
“Well, let one of them try,” Uncle Jeremiah said. “Go ahead Amy, hop on.” So Amy hopped on and pedaled away. Lynette took a turn and so did I. It wasn’t that hard. Nor did you have to pedal fast to make it work. Whatever speed you pedaled, the water still flowed.
“I think you girls have won an assignment,” Jeremiah continued. “As a team, keep the milk tank full of water. You can take turns. Remember someone has to watch the water level and another relay the message into the cellar. You have the time freed up because you’ll no longer have to bring as much water from the spring with Brutus. Just some for Poppop’s house, I guess. We’re hoping one day we can adapt a twelve volt motor to the pump and then you’ll be relieved. In the meantime, be timely with the job. The longer you put it off, the more pedaling you’ll have to do to fill the tank, and the greater the risk of the tank running dry. Got it?”
“I guess so,” Amy answered for us.
“Don’t worry,” Dennis added, “we’ll be around here to help you if you need us. We still have some things to finish up. The line needs to be buried and some plumbing completed to make the showers operable. No showers tonight yet, everyone. First we have to install some kind of tub above the shower head. In it, each showerer will have to mix the hot and cold water to his or her taste. They’ll be lines coming from the cold and hot water tanks that will have valves on that you’ll have to open to let the water in. Then you’ll be ready to shower. We should have that ready by tomorrow or Saturday evening.”
Even as we were completing the construction of the showering house, the boys still found time to sneak in some of the other projects. With Barry’s help they had rigged up a bicycle and an alternator on the back porch to charge batteries. It was mobile so you could carry it different places instead of carrying the batteries all over. Plus you could move it to the shade when it was hot, inside when it was cold, or under roof when it rained. It was temporary we hoped, as Joe and Larry were getting closer with their windmill project.
The water pump, furnace, and lights in the barn weren’t the only applications for twelve volt current that necessitated charging batteries. For by Friday they had installed a starter motor from our old Ford Fairmont on the wash machine. At first, the washer ran way too fast, but after some adjustments with the gearing, they slowed it enough to keep it in the building. The agitator ran much faster than it was designed to, but we’d just power it on for two, two and a half minutes at a time, as recommended by Aaron. He just wasn’t sure if the motor would hold up if we ran it continuously. Mind you, only the agitator operated, not the spin cycle, nor any of the automatic controls. It was simply “go” or “stop”. We still had to fill the tub by hand; once with hot water for washing and again with cold for rinsing. We used a set of hoses that branched off from the lines going to the shower tub. The boys had installed a hand nozzle to drain the water out of the tub. And, of course, we also had to squeeze the water out of every piece of laundry; no wringer had shown up. But it beat all the pounding and rubbing we had done to get the clothing clean with just a tub of soapy water the week before. Poppop had done a good job whittling some clothespins for us to use, but then his woodworking skills were shifted to a new project. He started manufacturing hay rakes.
We had garden rakes and lawn rakes, but their tines were too short and way too close together to rake long stem hay like Larry was going to mow. The hay would constantly be sticking in the rakes. Poppop had such an old style wooden rake, so he had one for a pattern. We rounded up every old handle we could find for him to attach a two and one half foot head onto. In each head, he used an old brace and bit to auger holes about five inches apart, and then he inserted some tines he had made from any wooden rod stock he could find. He would have to whittle and scrape them to just the right dimension. In some of the holes he used a little wood glue he had found to keep the tine in place, but usually the fit was tight enough to keep the tine from pulling out when in use. The finished product had seven tines sticking seven or eight inches from the head. We produced eight rakes in all. Saturday morning Poppop, Dad, and I carried the rakes to the equipment shed for presentation to Harvey.
We found Joe there with Harvey, who had his eyes glued to the sky. The last couple days he always had a watchful eye on the weather.
“Something’s going to give,” he said, “I can feel it. We’ll still have to wait before we start mowing. Larry’s sure getting itchy to go at it, but he can hold his horses a little longer. Ah, those are some fine rakes you got there. Looks like what, eight people can be kept busy raking. That’s good. Put them on that wagon over there.”
The wagon already had four scythes and six sickles, all recently sharpened, plus fourteen pitchforks on it, ready for Brutus to pull up to Butch’s. There was also a box full of work gloves and a toolbox with sharpening stones and some other tools that could be used to repair any implement that might break.
“We’ve a few more pitchforks around here to take along. With those that Butch has, we should be able to put a tool into everyone’s hands. It’s a shame we don’t have that old ground drive hay rake that you and my father had when we were kids,” Harvey said to Poppop. “Brutus could have easily pulled it. Do you remember it?”
“I do,” Dad jumped in, “it had a metal seat on it. I spent many enjoyable hours seated on it when my grandfather was raking hay. Isn’t it still here? Up in the woods with some of the other junked farm implements?”
“No, it’s gone,” Harvey replied. “Last winter scrap iron hit $8.50 per hundred weight. Just a year earlier, it was only worth four dollars. So Larry and I hauled three loads of scrap metal to the salvage yard. The rake was on one of the loads. It’s probably being turned into a Chinese missile right now.”
“Probably not,” Joe said. “things have moved too slowly the last four months to get it that far. It could be in the pipeline somewhere on route, but more than likely it’s still at the yard in that gigantic mountain of shredded steel that they had. You are, however, correct about the reason the price jumped so dramatically. China’s need of iron created tremendous demand for the commodity. And not only iron, but also aluminum and copper, like Titus had said on Tuesday night.”
“So maybe in this case,” Dad inquired, “the rise of metal prices was caused by true market factors, increased demand and short supply? And not the currency being inflated?”
“Maybe some of both,” Joe continued. “China’s need of all the metals created the demand. The increased demand caused the higher prices. Because China had to pay more for the scrap, that actually helped lower our trade deficit a little, plus retire some of that debt we owed China. But it might also have irritated them to the point that they made the move they did to change to the Euro and do us in. Yet in this country, we unsuspectingly benefited from the increased prices of scrap metals; least ways those of us that had some to sell. But then again, maybe the price for the metals was rocketed skyward by the inflating of our currency, just like the prices of almost everything else kept climbing. Who knows?”
“Bottom line,” lamented Harvey, “is that we never seem to learn from history. Before World War Two we sold our scrap to Japan so they could build the ships, planes and bombs to go to war with half the world. Seventy years later, we do the same damn thing.”
“Extremely ironic,” Dad agreed, “the richest country in the world, maybe only second to Russia in raw materials, gives the things we now need away to our enemy.”
“Water under the bridge,” Harvey concluded, “no sense looking back; time to go forward. Soon time to make hay.”

To be continued…. Mort

CHAPTER THIRTEEN - THINGS (conclusion)

“I can’t help but keep thinking,” Jean offered, “about what Harlan said this afternoon about what had happened in his home county. Do you think that could happen here?”
“Hard to say,” Titus responded. “After talking to Harlan’s father, I got a little of the picture on how it went down there. Chaos might be the word to describe it. Not random violence and looting necessarily; just a lack of organization and feeling of community. Everyone lit out in different directions; just looked out for themselves. There’s a much different feeling here. Look how you’ve banded together on this farm and other people have on your neighbor’s farm up the road. I run into farms like that everywhere I travel. At my place we’re blessed by the way our neighbors, despite our spiritual and cultural differences, just bonded for the common good. Then there’s something else that might be to our advantage around here, though it’s awkward for me to talk about.”
“What’s that?” Dad asked.
“You’re armed,” Titus said, “and so are our neighbors that have joined up with us. I overheard them talking about being prepared to defend our ‘town’. Some of the leaders even came to me and said directly that they would provide protection for our families.”
“See,” Jake interjected, “the founding fathers knew what they were doing when they passed the second amendment.”
“Perhaps,” said Barry, “but I always figured it was to protect ourselves from a foreign invasion, not each other.”
“Maybe for now,” Josh said. “In the future, a foreign enemy might invade. And we’ll be ready for them!”
“Spoken just like a young whipper-snapper,” Dad said. “You’ve a lot to learn.”
“Religious beliefs aside,” Joe added. “This country probably has the highest percentage of the populace armed than any other country in the world. And although we’d love to settle all our differences without violence, in this case I don’t see that happening. But I’ll give you and your brothers credit, Titus. I know you won’t contribute to a violent solution. I wish everyone else in the world had the same convictions.”
“So do I,” Titus said.
“I was curious about something else,” Jeremiah said. “How did the idea of using coins as a medium of exchange catch on?”
“Money is only good if the users have faith in it,” Titus said. “I understand the dollar failed because China switched it’s debt over to Euros or something like that; I’m not exactly sure. Euros are paper money, too, but people still have faith in it, so they work as an accepted medium of exchange. If not in this country, at least around the rest of the world. For decades the dollar was backed by gold or silver, so the holders of dollars knew they could exchange dollars for something with a known, universal value. Ever since the US government abandoned the gold standard, that faith has been waning. On the other hand, for centuries coins have been used in exchange for goods. They had an intrinsic value. The metals in them were worth something even if the government that issued them went sour. Several of our brothers are in the wrecking/reclamation business. Last year when copper prices skyrocketed, they became aware that pennies have a value of their own, well above one cent, which is all any bank would give you for them. We all started saving them. Then last year the feds pointed out that it was illegal to melt down coins. So what? We were only saving them. Around Christmas I read that a penny was only 5% copper and the rest mostly zinc; burst that theory. But a nickel was 75% copper. So we started saving them, too. In fact, it was revealed that the government was spending 1.2 cents to make every penny and 7.9 cents to make a nickel. But they sold them for only one cent and five cents respectively. Boy was that bad business. Bottom line is, we have faith in the value of the metals in coins, even if the government issuing them is bankrupt. Metal is metal, coins are coins. We have faith in them, so we honor them. Seems to be working so far.”
“But how did you come up with the low prices for everything?” Lois asked.
“Accidentally, I guess,” Titus responded.
“Maybe not,” said Aaron, “coinage has an absolute value. But what do you base it on? Because it takes so many pennies to buy a Euro, a barrel of oil, or an ounce of gold? What does that matter to us? The value that our coins have is relative. How many pennies it takes to buy a ton of hay, a bushel of corn, a flashlight, or a watermelon?”
“I know that one,” I declared, “five.”
“Yes, you’re right little cousin,” Aaron continued. “Think how people that had tens of thousands of dollars in the bank, now have some metal half dollars and quarters in their pockets. And those who had a few hundred dollars, now have about the same.”
“The collapse was an equalizer,” Dad said. “Like Harvey said earlier today: ‘everyone’s in the same boat’.”
“Isn’t that funny,” Josh remarked. “What the Communists in other countries and Socialists in this country were trying to do for years – make us all equal – was accomplished by our own federal government’s poor fiscal policy.”
“At least when it comes to financial resources,” Aaron said. “There’s a lot of ways we are not equal. Some of us have food or resources to produce food, others don’t. Some have fuel, others don’t. And we all have different skills. But that wasn’t my point. Back to the relative value of our coins. You see there was once hundreds of billions of dollars, if not a few trillion of make-believe dollars in this country’s economy. A large portion of it was just numbers written with ink on paper. Worthless. Now there are a several million, maybe a billion dollars worth of coins belonging to the same group – us. And there is still a supply of food, building materials, tools, crops, clothing, medical supplies, some fuel, metals and other raw materials out there in the same economy. Not quite as much as before the collapse, now mind you, but a fair percentage still exists. Prior to the collapse, those goods’ value was determined by the amount of money that was out there. Goods divided by dollars out there. Now it’s divided by millions instead of trillions, therefore every unit of goods is worth fewer dollars. That’s what gives our coins their relative value; it’s in relation to the amount of goods in the economy. So what Titus’s clan is doing makes economic sense. At least that’s my theory.”
“Not too bad a theory, either,” Dad commented. “Bottom line – it works. Just like some of the other things we do or try around here – if it works: do it. You know people sure have to change.”
“How’s that?” Titus asked.
“Well, we spend our whole life accumulating things. When we’re young: toys, baseball cards, ice skates, or a bicycle. Later it’s a car, stylish clothing, video equipment, or tools. We start saving: for college, to pay for a wedding, for a house, furniture. Always we want more – things. Soon we have to have another hunting rifle, season tickets, that big screen TV, the cable, cell phones, DVD player, a four wheel drive pickup; it goes on and on. Build up your estate, buy another farm. No offense to Harvey and Titus intended – they need farms to grow food for people – that’s honorable. We’re also told to buy life insurance, for the future; IRA’s, for the future; stock portfolios, for the future. Now is the future; what good did it do us? Always more things. And what does it get you? Nothing. In the end you’re back in the ground where you came from. It’s like chasing after the wind. In Ecclesiastes Solomon says ‘everything is meaningless’. He includes wisdom, toil, advancement, pleasures and folly – all meaningless. In fact, what this desire to accumulate things really leads to is stress, frustration, and arguments over more things, like money. And what does it earn you? A hole in the ground. It’s that attitude that people have to change. Do you know what I mean?”
I really didn’t, and from the looks around the room, maybe no one else did either. Or at least they didn’t know what to say. Finally, Titus spoke up. “I think I know what you mean. And it’s something I struggled with my whole life, too. In Matthew chapter six Jesus told us: ‘Do not store up for yourselves treasures on Earth,’ yet my father accumulated things, including farms, to provide for his children. And I’ve done the same, providing for my children, just like Jesus told us later in the same chapter, verse 33 that ‘all these things will be given you as well’ by our heavenly father. So sometimes I wondered if I put too much emphasis on materialism. Did I love money more than God? The answer lies in the beginning of that same verse when Jesus said, ‘But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness.’ That’s our comfort. Jesus knows what’s in our heart. It reveals what we really feel about things. So I do know what you mean, people do have to change. Change their heart from one that loves things to one that loves God. Jesus showed us how to do that - by loving others. And also in Ecclesiastes, Solomon tells you a couple ways you can remove some of the meaninglessness and stress of life and bring a little more peace into it. He said ‘A man can do nothing better than to eat and drink and find satisfaction in his work’. And on top of that trust and obey God. If you keep those thoughts in your head and heart, you can’t go wrong,” Titus concluded.
There was silence again, just like after Dad had finished his expose`. Joe had a half a smile on his face as he squeezed his lower lip with his hand. He looked at Dad, and then at Titus and said, “When did you two get a chance to rehearse that?”
Dad and Titus looked at each other, shrugged their shoulders slightly, and then Dad said, “Didn’t. I just felt I had to say what was on my heart.”
Titus added, “Me neither. He was on a roll. Just thought I’d try and answer his question and explain why people should change. Did I?”
“I suppose you did,” Grandmom said. “Gave me something to think about. And pray about. But now, I think it’s time we hit the sack. Tomorrow’s another day.”
It was agreed. As I lay in bed, I pondered Dad and Titus’ remarks. Next morning, I hurried out to check on Titus and Harlan, wondering if any more revelations would be forthcoming. I guess they were anxious to get an early start for home, for the wagon load of hay, their horses, Harlan and Titus Weaver were gone.

To be continued….. Mort

CHAPTER THIRTEEN - THINGS (cont)

“Good horse hay?” Harvey asked.
“Good horse hay I could use the most. I usually try to end up at a farm that doesn’t have livestock. They’re much more willing to part with some. You have a lot of livestock here, so I’d understand if you wouldn’t want to part with any.”
“Our hay is valuable,” Harvey responded. “But no more valuable than the load of produce you started out with this morning. How many bales does your wagon hold?”
“About 85.”
“Good enough,” Harvey decided, “I’ll apply the Golden Rule again. And you know your horses will need a night’s rest to pull over two tons of hay home.”
“That settles it then,” Dad said, “you’re staying the night.”
“I guess we are,” Titus agreed.
Fortunately, during the whole conversation, no one had started to unhitch the horses; so we drove the wagon right over to the springhouse to unload and store the fruit and vegetables. “Put one of the watermelons right into the spring water,” Dad instructed. “Should make it cold enough for supper. Tomorrow we’ll send word to Butch. They can use some fresh produce, too. I think he’s particularly fond of hot peppers. I know you and I aren’t, are we Alyssa?”
“No we’re not,” I answered, “but watermelon I can handle.” After letting the horses have a long drink, we drove the wagon to the barn where the hay was that Harvey had traded. On the way we dropped the honey and the sweet corn at the butcher house. Lois was the cook for supper and was quite agreeable to adding the corn to her planned meal, as there’d be two extra for supper.
Titus and Harlan unhitched the wagon next to the pile of hay. We led the horses back to the pasture, where they could spend the whole night eating grass. Dad brought them each five ears of corn.
“That’ll do them fine,” Titus said. The men folk had started milking; supper, of course, wasn’t near ready, so the four of us started loading the hay. My grandfathers joined us, which led to quite a conversation. Trouble was, I only could understand what Dad was saying. The others spoke in the Pennsylvania German dialect. If Dad listened real closely, he could understand, but he had never learned well enough how to speak in German. Of course he often tried. Usually got some laughs, the way he butchered it, generally messing up the grammar. Today was no different – he tried – the others would chuckle. From what I caught from Dad’s percentage of the conversation, they talked about old times and who lived on which farm. Seemed like Poppop and Dad knew everybody. They talked about the improvements to the butcher house, our plan to pump water, how we divided up the cows and our dilemma with using electric motors. It didn’t take long to get 85 bales onto the wagon. We used baler twine to fasten the load. Didn’t need to use the braided rope Dad and I had made. The load of hay wasn’t going to careen down the road at 55 miles per hour; it would stay on. As we tied on the last pieces of twine, the conversation ended with talk of some of the things we were looking for.
I heard Titus sum it up by saying, “Yeah, when I’m on my trading missions I can keep an eye open for you for those things like a wringer washer, a breeding bull, or a smaller generator.
“Thanks a lot,” Poppop said, “and if you would, we’re going to need something else; seed for next year’s crops. Trouble is, so does everyone else.”
“That’s right,” Dad added, “but one thing I think you do have, Titus, that I hope you can spare, is sweet potatoes.”
“I have quite a few growing,” Titus answered. “I’ll keep a share for you.”
“Thanks,” said Dad. “Well, it looks like the rest are heading in for supper. Let’s go wash up and join ‘em. I can almost taste that fresh sweet corn already.”
“And our homemade butter on it,” I added.
It was a fine supper, and after the watermelon was devoured and the supper dishes were finished, we learned a few more things about Titus’s community. “You know our lifestyle hasn’t changed that much since the power went off,” he commented. “We still farm and travel with horses. We milk by hand and fork silage by hand. We have wood fires and butcher our livestock at home. We’re canning like we did before. We go to church every Sunday by buggy or bicycle. Didn’t have televisions, radios or computers; don’t miss them. The women are making homemade baked goods. And our children are going to school.”
“Your schools are open?” Jake asked.
“Sure,” Titus answered, “Monday was the first day at our one room schoolhouses. Our children walk or bike to school. The teacher goes by buggy and brings a cooler of spring water for the students. We don’t need electricity this time of year. When it turns colder, the heat source is a wood stove. We’ll have to come up with some lighting eventually. There’s time to figure some things out yet.”
“If your school’s in session, how come you’re not there, Harlan?” Sandy asked.
“I’m fourteen, and finished eighth grade last year,” he said. “We only go to school eight years.”
“Learned all you need to know, I bet,” I said.
“Oh, I’m sure I’ve got a lot to learn yet,” Harlan answered, “Just like you.”
“You’re darn right she does,” Mom said. “You said your women were baking. Are you milling flour?”
“No, not yet,” Titus responded, “we still have a good supply. But with sharing our food with all the townsfolk that are helping us, it won’t last much longer. Some of the boys are trying to build a grinding mill.”
“So are we,” Larry retorted, “but it would sure be nicer if we could find one.”
“You mean one that’s operating?” Grandpop asked.
“I was thinking about an unused one,” Larry replied, “if there was one operating somewhere, then that would be even sweeter.”
“I’ll ask around in my travels,” Titus offered. “Wait a minute. On our way here, we passed an old mill near a golf course. Do you know where I mean?”
“Sure,” answered Harvey, “I know where you mean, and there’s one about three miles north of here, too. You thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Probably,” Titus said.
“You mean we should investigate them?” Larry wondered. “There could be an old grinding mill in good enough repair for us to use or fix. Or maybe it would work right where it is. They were both run by a waterwheel years ago. We might be able to get them operational.”
“We wouldn’t have to be the operators,” Dennis added. “Someone else could be set up there to handle that chore. Like some of the people migrating from the town or city.”
“Then we’d just have to take some of our wheat there every so often and bring back flour; like my grandparents did,” Poppop said.
“Either way, like Larry said, it’s worth investigating,” Josh said. “It might be easier than building our own from scratch.”
“Something we can do on a rainy day,” Harvey said. “When this weather turns dryer, we’ll be busy here. In your travels, Titus, have you discussed with anyone how they might be planning on putting hay away?”
“Got a couple of ideas,” Titus replied. “First, a few farms north of town have a lot of acreage in hay and only a few livestock to graze it. Been talking with one of them, Amos Adam. We’re already planning to shift our produce workers from town out there when he’s ready to harvest some. He’d also need to borrow a few of our teams to haul the hay to the barn. Last I talked to him he was rounding up scythes, sickles, rakes and forks. When I left him, he was in the shop, sharpening.”
“It’s a shame there aren’t any ground driven mowers around this area,” Harlan added. “Down where my family lived, many of our Amish neighbors still used them. Used teams to pull them, as well as rakes and tedders. If you were lucky, you might find some old ones in a fencerow, in the woods or on a junk pile that you could repair,” he said to Harvey. “Titus, are you going to mention Sam Burke’s idea?”
“That was the second idea I was thinking of,” Titus continued. “Sam Burke’s a neighbor of ours; has a pretty good machine shop. He’s trying to convert some of the power driven mowers we have to ground drive, so they can be operated by horses instead of tractors. It’s quite an undertaking. I’ll let you know how he makes out. If successful, he might be able to convert yours or at least give you the design.”
“Anything like that would be useful,” Harvey said. “You know, Titus, you’re doing a valuable service by gathering and sharing information as you travel about. Keep up the good work.”
“Thanks, I’ll try,” he answered.

To be continued… is there more to Titus’ story? Mort