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Post by bretf on Jan 7, 2015 5:54:52 GMT -6
Thanks.
Chapter 11
“You need to wake up now Steve,” Jenny repeated, for what, the fourth time? He would look at her with a blank face for a moment and then his eyes would close again. He seemed unable to focus on her face, shadowed as it was by the dim glow of the lantern behind her in those brief moments.
“I need to sleep some more,” he mumbled. “It might help my headache go away. Besides, what’s the rush, we never get up early. It’s not like we’ll be late for work or something.”
For her part, Jenny also wanted more sleep, but it would have to wait. She hadn’t slept well at all. Her mind kept reliving the encounter with the thieves, the terror she had felt while they were in the house. She flinched at each remembrance of Steve’s head slamming into the wall. She would fall into a light sleep and wake up in a near panic when her mind flashed back. “We’re leaving this morning, remember?” she told him, exasperated that he needed reminded. Those knocks on the head must have done something to him. “Try to think Steve. We have the bikes all packed and we are taking off early this morning.” She knelt beside him, talking in a soothing tone. Please be able to go. We have to get out of here. I can’t stay here another day.
He opened his eyes again and looked past Jenny. The sky was heavy with night shadows, just a slight gray light beginning to appear. “But it’s not even light out yet.”
“I know, but let’s eat a little and go. We have a long way to go and we can be part way hidden by the shadows.”
“Man my head hurts,” he said and rubbed his temples with his open palms. He sat like that for a few moments before he put his legs on the floor and pulled himself to his feet. He stood, unsteady, wobbling like he had downed a six pack. Jenny reached out and helped steady him.
“I’ve got some oats and honey mixed together. Try to eat some,” she told him as she led him to the counter where a bowl waited.
“I’m not hungry and I’m not sure I could hold anything down if I did eat; I’m pretty queasy,” he answered.
“Just try,” she told him.
Instead of trying to eat, he turned and started to slowly walk away; picking up the lantern. “I need to use the toilet. I’ll try after that.”
When he returned, Steve’s face and hair glistened with water droplets. “The cold water helped quite a bit. I’ll give the food a try, but I’m not sure.” He only ate a little before he said he wouldn’t be able to eat anymore. The remaining grain and honey were spooned into a sealable plastic container and slipped into Jenny’s coat pocket along with a clean spoon. She sat the dirty bowl in the sink and started to walk away before turning back to the sink. She rinsed the bowl and spoons and laid them upside down to dry.
“Then I guess it’s time,” Jenny said, “As soon as I use the bathroom once more.”
Jenny rejoined Steve beside the bikes. She started looking around the room getting misty eyed until her gaze landed on the shattered door frame and steadied her resolve. “Let’s do it; we’ve got a grueling day ahead of us.” She shut off the lantern, missing its comforting glow the moment it went dark, and turned on the small flashlight.
Taking the bike by the handlebars, she pushed it out into the garage; the light beam bouncing; and stopped at the door. She aimed the light back to see if Steve was following. After a confused look crossed his face, he followed her. She held his ball bat up to him but after he didn’t take it right away she tightened her one-handed grip and released the door latch, clicked off the light and dropped it in a coat pocket, and pushed the door upwards. The loud noise in the pre-dawn made her cringe but she continued to raise it, trying to look in all directions at once. The driveway and street were still and she pushed the bicycle outside and rested it on its kick stand beside the immobile Explorer. Steve again followed, but oh so slowly.
She took a deep breath and pulled the door down until she heard the satisfying snap of the latch and then looked at the front of the house. Even in the dark shadows she could make out enough of it, her mind filling in the rest. Goodbye home, I wish we didn’t have to leave. Then she swung her leg over the bikes center bar and whispered to Steve, “Let’s get started.” The ball bat was held awkwardly across the handlebars; she was concerned she might drop it if she had to react to anything quickly.
He nodded and mounted his own bike and they started pedaling out into the street and into the unknown. The quiet was eerie; Jenny hadn’t ventured out into the darkness except into their own yard. She didn’t try to set a fast pace, instead letting a mantra run through her head, Slow and steady wins the race. It wouldn’t do to tire out right off. She tried to stay in the deeper shadows, searching for as much concealment for their movements as was offered.
Even at the slow pace, the unfamiliar activity made their legs ache in short order. The sun was just beginning to show over the eastern horizon when Jenny braked and dismounted. When Steve stopped beside her she spoke, hoping her voice wouldn’t carry, “Let’s walk for a while, then we’ll ride some more.” She took a long pull from her water bottle and offered it to him. He took it with a grateful look. “Are you feeling any better?” she asked him when he handed the bottle back.
“Yeah, the cool air is helping clear my head.”
“Do you want to try to eat more?” she whispered.
“Naw, the water feels like a rock down there. Let’s see what it feels like when we switch back to riding.”
Their legs tired and rubbery from peddling, they started off again, pushing the bikes. The sun at their backs was casting long shadows in front of them, drawing them forward. It really would have been a glorious morning for a walk and bike ride if they could have enjoyed it; not been pushed with a near desperate need to get away.
They couldn’t tell if they were observed or not, but they never saw any other people until they were nearing the edge of town. And something about those people made them wish they hadn’t been seen. Their suspicious stares seemed to bore through the bags, seeing all of the contents and weighing and measuring if it would be worth the effort to stop the travelers.
Even though they hadn’t been walking long, Jenny urged Steve back on his bike so they could make better time away from the penetrating looks. They pushed hard on the pedals for a short time, each push causing aches of protest from their tired legs. Jenny was looking behind them often to see if anyone was following, failing to register the cars that were parked across the street, neatly blocking it. They were nearly on top of the barricade when it registered.
Strong arms wrapped around her as she tried to stop the bike and a foul stench of unwashed body assaulted her nose. Behind her she heard a muffled “Uumph”, followed by the sound of Steve’s bike hitting the ground.
Jenny was dragged kicking and screaming off the bike and forced to turn to face the assailant. Her first impression was of the homeless people she used to pass on her way to work, unshaven, dirty, brown chipped teeth where there weren’t gaps. But the eyes captivated and terrified her with the leer he directed at her. They were cold, hungry, predatory.
“Well what do we have here?” A gruff voice asked.
Jenny recoiled, as much from the breath odor that assaulted her nose as from being grabbed. She was gripped with terror.
The man released one hand and reached to the snaps on Jenny’s coat and pulled it open despite her struggling. Twisting and pulling with all her strength, she was unable to break the vice-like grip on her left wrist. Two men standing over Steve where he was lying unmoving on the ground looked over, expecting a good show. Steve was forgotten, the men edging forward, anticipating. The man holding Jenny’s arm turned away from her and began to drag her away, her efforts to get free futile. The other men followed close behind, a half-crazed giggle coming from one. Jenny continued to struggle and lost her footing. The brute never paused, continuing to drag her across the ground. Her arm was stretched at a painful angle.
Steve’s muddled thoughts noted the ball bat mere inches from his outstretched hand; left where it had fallen when Jenny was grabbed. He extended his hand out to it, not noticing the lines of blood on the palm where his hand had slammed on the pavement. He got his legs untangled from the bike and pulled himself up into a kneeling position. Focus! I’ve got to focus. Jenny’s in trouble. He looked at the retreating figures as he used the bat to help haul himself to his feet. The knee that had hit the pavement buckled, but he was able to get it back under him and stood upright. The figures were moving further away and he was unsure the knee would support him to catch up.
Steve looked around, frantic, desperate for help. “Help us”, he screamed as loud as he could. He was answered by the silent doors and windows staring back at him. I’ve got to help her! Something, anything; he quit looking for help and instead started looking for another weapon other than the bat, an equalizer, anything, there had to be something. They can’t take her! NO, THEY CAN’T HAVE HER!
His eyes stopped at a rock in the gutter. As adrenaline surged through his body, the knee was forgotten. The rock was slightly larger than a golf ball and he snatched it up feeling the heft of it in his hand. His muddled mind shifted back to a time many, many years before.
Steve’s high school baseball team was in the district championship game for the first time in recent history. With his team leading in the final inning and two outs, the tying run was on third, the go ahead batter at the plate. The pitcher was noticeably tired but he was staying in the game, the rest of the pitchers exhausted after the grueling tournament. The pitcher took the signs, went into his windup and threw the ball with all of his remaining strength. He had velocity, but his control had faltered. Instead of hitting the inside corner, the ball was right across the sweet spot of the plate. The batter recognized the pitch and swung for the fence; the runner on third breaking for home the moment the pitch was thrown. The batter’s swing was slightly off; instead of lofting the ball, it was hit sharply on the ground toward the gap between third and short. Steve charged, throwing himself at the ball. He knocked it down, stood, palmed it, squared up and threw a bullet into the catcher’s outstretched mitt. The ball hit the target, the catcher made the tag and Steve was the hero. All of this flashed through his head in a moment as he hefted the rock in his hand and saw his wife, his Jenny, being dragged away screaming and pleading.
Steve squared up and saw the catcher’s mitt center over the man’s head. He threw with all his might, the rock sailing true. There was a sickening thunk as the rock hit square on the head; the hand holding Jenny released as the man grasped his head and fell to his knees. Everyone else, including Jenny stood in place, not realizing what had happened. Steve reacted first, stumbling to the stunned group, and grabbed Jenny by the arm and dragged her into action. “Run Jenny, Run!” he shouted and turned and swung the bat at the head of the nearest thug. He felt the satisfying contact and turned and pushed at his still immobile wife, and started running with her in tow as fast as they both could move. Some part of him wanted to stand over the man and gloat. How’s that feel you piece of trash, but survival instinct overruled and he ran, oh how he ran.
As they ran, his senses came back and he saw Jenny favoring one foot. The shoe was gone, making her hobble on that side. He paused and nearly screeched in his panicked state, “We’ve got to move faster! Now!”
They ran on; in a slow shambling manner. Steve’s knee threatening to give out with each step, Jenny’s foot protesting from the contact with the road surface. The remaining thug looked at his fallen companions and the two retreating people and gave chase. The glint in his eyes showed no compassion for the two figures on the ground. It was wolf-like and the prey was in sight. As he ran, one hand pulled a knife from his pocket and flipped it open.
Steve’s breath was coming in ragged gasps as he was hit from behind and knocked to the ground. A blinding pain flashed through him as the knife slid through his coat and deep into his side in a well-practiced thrust. He lay there as the thug grabbed Jenny’s arm where she stood stunned, yanked hard and started dragging her towards a vacant house.
Steve’s face was lying in the dirt at the roadside, his eye close to the ground; a pool of blood growing under him. The vision he saw wasn’t the dirt against his face: it was the ball field again, the dirt between second and third: he just wasn’t fast enough. His mind, occupied by Jenny and the unborn baby, he hadn’t broken soon enough. His peripheral vision had seen the flash of the ball as it passed his head by inches and he dropped into his slide, knowing he wouldn’t make it. Jenny, he thought, I’m not going to make it. Jenny! He raised his head just enough to see the sidelines. Jenny was standing with the cheerleaders, her shoulders slumped and tears running down her face. The opposing team’s fans erupted in a loud, thunderous roar.
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Post by 2medicinewoman on Jan 7, 2015 18:50:29 GMT -6
Yikes! Don't leave us hanging here not knowing how poor Jenny will fare, or how Steve will manage to man up and help her. What a mess. Although I thought the baseball throw was major cool. Clink!! hahahahahaha! Well done
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Post by bretf on Jan 11, 2015 5:58:48 GMT -6
Thank you very much 2MW. Sorry to leave you hanging, well maybe a little bit at least.
Chapter 12
“So they even have fireworks, well goody for them,” Steve thought at hearing the loud pops. “Go ahead and celebrate!” The roar of the crowd stopped abruptly. “They must be going to make an announcement. ‘Your state baseball champions for’”.
“Steve, Steve, are you hurt?” asked a girl’s voice as a figure ran to him from the large diesel powered pickup that had rumbled up beside him. He looked at the concerned face as she knelt beside him. It was so hard to focus. I don’t remember that cheer leader. She must be new.
Toni saw the pooling blood and as gentle as she could, rolled Steve over. He let out a loud groan and his eyes fluttered closed as he settled on his back. Toni could see the hole in the coat where the blood had flown through. She noted the location and opened his coat and shirt to expose the area. The tee shirt wasn’t going to open as easy so she put her fingers in the bloody hole and ripped a long tear in the cloth, exposing the hole in his side. Blood was coming from the hole. Not knowing what else to do, she used her Swiss Army knife to cut off a piece of the soiled cloth, folded it and pressed it over the wound.
***** Jake ran to his mother where she stood motionless looking down at the unmoving body at her feet. She was having a difficult time processing everything that had happened in the last few minutes. Was any of this real? Was she still at home having a nightmare? “Jake, what are you doing here? Where did your dad go?”
Paul watched from the road where Toni had let him and Jake out of the truck. His .270 was held in a ready position as he looked around his surroundings. When he didn’t see any other threats, he kneeled, still watching, picked up the spent brass from his two shots and dropped them in his pants pocket. Assessing the body language of Jake and Toni, he started toward his daughter, keeping up his vigilance of the surroundings. Where Jake was now hugging his mother tight, Toni was kneeling over a prone figure, looking around with an air of desperation. I suppose if that round will drop a bull elk, it was effective when it hit that guy. A knot formed in his stomach when he had the thought. He swallowed back the taste of bile. Later; take care of business now. You can dwell on that later. As he walked, Paul saw a face look out through a window in a nearby house that disappeared when he shifted his rifle in that direction.
Paul took a quick glance at Steve, noting his pale pallor and resumed his watching. “What’s it look like sweetheart?” he asked Toni.
“I think he’s been stabbed. He was awake but delirious when I found him. He passed out when I rolled him over. He’s lost a lot of blood; it looks to be about the amount we get when we butcher a chicken.”
“Well, he’s a lot bigger than a chicken, but that still seems like a lot. Do you have it stopped?”
“I think so for now.”
“Okay. As soon as Jake gets his mom over here we’ll get Steve in the truck on the back seat. We can’t do anything for him here besides getting the blood stopped. You can sit beside him and keep the pressure on the wound.”
“But who’ll drive,” Toni asked. “You and Jake need to be ready if somebody tries to stop us.”
“Jake will have to drive. We’ll chance it with just me and my rifle this time. Besides we made it fine getting this far and Jake will still have the shotgun next to him if we need it,” Paul said. Inside he was quaking, praying they didn’t have any encounters. He knew once they were safe the gravity of his actions was going to hit him hard.
“Yeah, we made it fine getting here, but now the goons have had time to get ready for us.”
“We’ll deal with things as they come.” Paul looked over to Jake leading his mother towards them. Jenny looked in shock. “Besides,” he said quietly, “I don’t think Jenny is going to be in any state to help, so it’s up to you to keep that bleeding under control.” He surmised that it had to be very traumatic to have a guy assault you, then see that same guy get shot right at arms-length. It had been bad enough pulling the trigger from a distance.
“Did they hurt you Jenny,” he asked when the two had gotten closer.
“N…no, not really,” was her subdued answer as she saw Steve. “Is he …?” She left the rest of the question unspoken.
“He’s alive, but he needs some medical care. I’d like to get him in the truck and get back to our place as quick as we can.”
Jenny thought a moment before responding. “Our bikes and stuff should be just the other side of those cars up there. Can we at least go that far before we leave?” she asked. “Everything we have is up there.”
Paul studied the cars not far up the road. “We’ll go there, but then we need to get Steve where we can care for him.”
Steve remained unconscious while he was placed none-to-gently on the backseat of the extended cab pickup. “I never wanted a king cab, but it sure would be nice right now,” Paul said.
Steve was bleeding again once he was settled and Toni got in position to try to staunch the flow. Jenny was white face seeing his condition and had to be led to the truck and helped in. Toni could see her father’s wisdom.
Jake drove slowly to the makeshift barricade, Paul standing in the bed of the truck, still looking all around. They both got out and walked around opposite ends of the cars, trying to watch in all directions. Jake was holding Paul’s 12ga. Wingmaster at the ready. They came closer together on the back side of the cars. Paul looked at the bikes lying in the road with the loose ropes draped over the back tires, disgusted with people. The bags were both gone. “What’s this world coming to? Some hyena uses your folks getting mugged and worse as a chance to run off with all of their stuff. Lord help us!
“I’d like to drag these rigs off the road so they don’t trap other people but we better get your Dad out of here. The bikes and rope are still useful. Let’s get them loaded and get out of this cesspool.” They were soon driving down the road at a rapid pace.
When they were in mostly farm country, Paul dropped his vigilance a slight bit. He passed a water bottle to Jenny that she accepted and took a slow drink from. “How’d you come to be there, in that situation?” he asked Jenny in the soothing tone he used with scared or hurt livestock.
“I was wondering the same thing about you, what were you doing there?” she asked.
“We were coming to get you,” he said matter-of-factly. “We’ve been hearing some disturbing stories from people that got out of town that it is was getting pretty dangerous there. So we decided we were taking you to the farm. We weren’t going to take “No” for an answer.”
“I’m glad you were coming, I just wish it had been two days earlier,” she said. Her words were soft and quavering. “Things ARE bad in town.” She stopped talking and sniffed while she wiped at her eyes. “Steve has never liked having someone help us, and he still can’t accept something like this could happen here. He has always believed in the ‘Might of America’ and we can do anything we want. So he wouldn’t accept that we needed help. He always thought things would be back to normal any day, so he refused to budge. Even after being assaulted in our own back yard and having our food stolen.”
“Hey, hold it Mom,” Jake interrupted. “Assaulted in the back yard? What are you talking about?”
“Well, it was right after we saw you last; your Dad was cooking on the barbeque,” and she went on to describe the unforgettable night.
When she finished, Jake let out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding. “Man, I wish you’d have just stayed out at the farm. We shouldn’t have let you leave.”
She looked at her son, her face full of doubt. “I wish we’d have stayed to, but just how do you think you would have made your father stay? Knock him over the head yourself, and then tie him up?”
They drove on without talking while Jenny cried softly. Jake removed a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. “Here Mom. I haven’t even used it yet.”
“Wow, a clean hanky,” she said with awe in her voice. She began to cry again when Jake slowed and turned off the road onto Paul’s driveway.
Jake drove the truck across the lawn and stopped as close to the front door as he could. Ruth stepped out of the house, knowing something was wrong for them to park like that.
“Steve’s hurt,” Paul told her. “We need to get him in a bed and take care of him. It looks like a knife wound.”
Ruth turned and went to the spare bedroom prepared the bed. Jake and Paul got Steve out of the truck and with one on each side, carried him into the house. They maneuvered their load to the bedroom and stood for a moment. “Put him in the chair first and get his clothes off so we can see what we are dealing with,” Ruth instructed them.
As the layers of dirty clothing were removed, they were able to see the wound in his side that had begun to bleed again. Also revealed were the lacerated palm and the bruised, swollen and bleeding knee. “Wow Dad, haven’t had a bath for a while huh,” Jake quipped, the evidence plain to both his eyes and nose.
Ruth looked Steve over with thorough efficiency and didn’t see any other wounds. “It’s obvious the knife wound is the worst. Lay him down on a towel and we’ll work on that first.” She left the room while her orders were followed. When she came back she had a pot of warm water and cloths. Jenny stood back white faced watching.
“Toni, get Jenny in a chair before she falls down. Paul and Jake; you two clean that wound,” she ordered and thrust the pot and cloths forward. “Toni, you can clean his hand and knee,” she said and left the room again.
Jenny looked up when Ruth re-entered the room carrying a dish pan. Jenny couldn’t tell what she had packed into it. “Do you have medicine to take care of it?” she asked.
“I think we have just what he needs,” she answered before turning to Paul. “How’s it look dear?”
“It looks pretty clean. The bleeding is light so I’m guessing the knife didn’t hit anything vital.”
“Good, good. Now you and Jake roll him up on his side.”
With Paul at Steve’s shoulders and Jake at his hips they rolled the motionless form, making room for Ruth between them. She took a squeeze jar of honey out of her dish pan and held it over the wound. “Paul if you can free a hand up, I’d like you to try to open that cut a little.”
Jenny looked on confused. “Ruth, what are you doing? I though you said you had medicine. I was expecting iodine maybe and some kind of creamy ointment.”
Ruth glanced at her before continuing her ministrations. “This is even better. Honey is an incredible medicine. When it combines with the fluid from the wound, it will create hydrogen peroxide. It won’t be strong enough to irritate the tissue but it is strong enough to kill bacteria. Also, it’s high sugar content and acidity kills bacteria. It’s a wonderful antibiotic. It is thick enough that it will seal over the top of the wound, not allowing the wound to dry out.” While she was talking she squeezed honey directly into the wound. “By keeping everything moist, scarring will be reduced because it lets new skin cells grow without forming a scab. It’s also wonderful as a burn treatment. Some honey is better than other depending on what the bees forage on. Some from New Zealand is supposed to be the best, but this is what we have.”
Jenny looked on amazed at what Ruth told her. “But if it is such a wonder-drug as you say, why doesn’t everybody know about it?” she asked.
Ruth had been putting honey on a gauze pad to place on top of the wound. She gave Jenny a flat stare before continuing, “Jenny Dear, you really don’t want to get me started on the medical industry racket and the drug companies. Just rest assured, this will work.” She put the honey infused pad over the wound and taped it in place. “You can let him back down now,” she directed the men. “Now for those other two.”
She gave the hand and knee a quick perusal and started to put honey on more gauze pads. She handed the first to Jake and instructed him to tape it over Steve’s knee. Looking back to Jenny, she said, “Actually, this one will probably hurt him worst when we try to take the tape off his hairy leg.” After looking at her husband’s grim face, she secured the pad on Steve’s hand. “Toni Dear, we need to warm him up. Go fill some hot water bottles please. Paul, we’ve got this under control. Don’t you have some chores to get done?”
Paul nodded and left the room. The rumble of the diesel engine soon split the air as he moved the truck away from the front door.
Toni brought in hot water bottles and they were placed under each of Steve’s arms and between the legs. Ruth made sure they weren’t too hot; that would have required a towel wrapped around them to protect Steve’s skin. With the bottles in place, quilts were piled over Steve.
“Jenny Dear, let’s get you closer now,” Ruth directed and nodded towards Jake to move the chair to the side of the bed. She spread another quilt over Jenny and tucked the edges down around her. “Can I get you anything dear, a cup of tea, water, something to eat?”
“Some tea would be wonderful,” Jenny murmured. She didn’t avert her gaze from Steve’s pale face.
Back in the kitchen while the tea was steeping, Ruth told Toni, “When this is ready put some honey in it and take it to her. When Steve wakes up, replenishing his fluids is going to be important. Have some rose hips ready to make tea and chicken broth ready to heat.” She put a piece of firewood in the cook stove, put on her jacket and went out the back door.
Ruth found Paul sitting near the window in his shop. His Bible was open on the bench beside him; his head was bent forward, his face in his hands. He looked up with tears streaking down his weathered face when he heard the door close.
“Paul, honey, are you all right?” Ruth asked.
“No I’m not. I did a horrible thing today, a truly horrible thing. I ended a man’s life.” The words came out in a soft whisper. Ruth had to strain to hear him.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not really,” he said just as softly and then continued to speak. “It looked like someone had put up a makeshift roadblock with some cars so we were approaching it slowly. As we neared it we saw some goon dragging a woman away. Jake recognized it was Jenny. I didn’t see Steve right away but Toni saw something on the ground so Jake and I piled out to help his mom. I put a warning shot right at the guy’s feet and he just looked at me and then started pulling Jenny even harder. He looked right at me and went back to what he was doing. The next shot was for keeps,” he finished, barely audible.
“You only did what you had to do. Jenny was in grave danger. That man didn’t leave you any choice, especially after he ignored your warning shot. I think you were placed there at that time for a purpose. If you would have hesitated or been just a little slower, Jenny wouldn’t be here now.” She pulled one of his callused hands up and wrapped it in both of hers.
“I know that; I knew I might have to do that when I first started carrying a gun. I made the decision then; that faced with my family in peril, I would shoot. But that doesn’t make it any easier. Life is precious; even though a lot of people don’t share my opinion, it is. That man was someone’s son and I ended his life. Some parents might be sitting in their own house wondering when their son will come home. He never will and it’s something I’ll have to live with the rest of my life.” Fresh tears ran down his face, contrasting sharply with the sun and wind hardened features.
Ruth was at a loss for words to comfort him, electing to squeeze and pat his hand. After a long silence Paul spoke, “I would do it again, faced with the same circumstances,” he said. “But I would cry and pray over being thrust into that situation. I can only ask the Lord not to place that load on me again.”
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Post by ydderf on Jan 11, 2015 12:14:27 GMT -6
Whew, we made it over that cliff. Thanks for the update.
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Post by kaijafon on Jan 11, 2015 15:41:55 GMT -6
powerful chapter. I was lost a bit at first, I did not realize just where Jenny was and who had been shot. but the rest was easy to follow.
thanks!
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Post by bretf on Jan 14, 2015 5:54:43 GMT -6
Chapter 13
Jenny was amazed at Steve’s recovery. The honey did everything Ruth had assured her it would do. Daily changes of the dressing showed the wound was healing rapid and clean. If she hadn’t been so concerned for him she would have laughed at his reaction when the tape was removed from his knee. When it was apparent he was getting better each day, she did laugh at the ribbing Jake gave him at his insistence to shave that section.
Steve was soon sitting up in bed, ready to get up and move around. Ruth forbid it; requiring him to stay in bed until she was satisfied the knife cut wouldn’t open up again. The first two days he was there, she had only allowed him liquids, however there was a lot available. He never knew Jello made a good hot drink; prior to that, he had only had it in the chilled, gelatinous form, most of the time in shooters laced with rum. After the two days, the chicken broth had become chicken soup with soft vegetables, noodles and small bites of meat.
He was going stir crazy lying in bed all the time. Even though he had done little more for the last four months, at least he could move around in his house. He made up shapes in the textured ceiling surface, just like the clouds on the outside. He would gaze out the window, seeing the early signs of spring starting to show and daydream of sitting out in the sunshine, longing to be watching the real clouds. Other times, he was lulled to sleep by rain hitting the window.
“How you holding up,” Paul asked him one morning, pulling up the chair beside the bed. “I know Ruth can be a pretty determined warden when she sets her mind to it.”
Steve grinned at the warden comment. “Yeah, she keeps pretty tight tabs on me. My side is feeling good, but man, I’m about to crawl the walls here.”
“Are you a reader?” Paul asked.
“Not usually, but I’m willing to start now. Anything to break up the monotony of just laying around.”
Paul held up two books. “Here are a couple of books you might try. This one,” he held up The Encyclopedia of Country Living by Carla Emery “is full of useful information for the way we are living now. And this one is fiction.” He held up One Second After by William Forstchen. “You might find it interesting too.” He passed both books over to Steve.
Steve studied the book covers. “It doesn’t look much like Sports Illustrated but I guess I can give them a shot.”
Paul stood and hitched his pants up. “Sorry, no Sports Illustrated here; not even the swimsuit issue.” He reached over and patted Steve on the shoulder. “You’ll be up and about soon. Then we’ll see about fixing your boredom.”
Jenny had watched the exchange from outside the door and followed Paul to the kitchen. “That was nice of you Paul. I, ah, I mean WE are so grateful to you and Ruth for everything, but we don’t want to be treated as guests. We’ve been discussing it, and we want to earn our keep here. We really don’t have any idea of what to do but we’re willing to learn. If you’re patient with us we’ll do whatever you need done to help out.”
Paul looked over his coffee cup at her and thought. “Well, there is a lot of work here since we are pretty much providing for ourselves. But it’s messy business. The rabbits and chickens don’t magically appear in a cellophane wrapper, or get delivered by the waiter to the table. The manure doesn’t just fall on the ground where it’s needed.”
She digested what he said before answering, “Yes, we know it will be hard and messy, but we have to do it.”
“All right then, I was just going to go back outside and get to work. Let’s get bundled up and I’ll show you around.” He went to the coat and boot rack near the back door. “First thing is footwear. There’s a cowboy poet by the name of Baxter Black that I like. One of his lines that has stuck with me forever is “Here in cow country, there are two seasons: winter and mud”, or something to that effect. It just happens that we are in the mud season now. Once the ground thawed out and softened, and then getting those rains we’ve had recently, it’s a mess out there.” He pointed to a pair of irrigator boots. “Those are Ruth’s. I think your feet are about the same size. So put those on instead of the shoes you’re wearing. There are some spare boots in the shop. Let’s try to remember to bring them in when we come back to the house.” He knew very well Jenny could wear Ruth’s shoes; that was what she had been wearing since arriving at the farm with only one shoe. They each changed shoes and Paul handed Jenny her coat before donning his own. A shelf above the coat hooks held a box that he took down. “These should work for you,” he said, removing a pair of brown Jersey gloves and a wool cap. When they were both prepared for the cool weather he led the way outside.
He took her first to the chicken house and pen. “So here is the egg factory. Now while it is freezing pretty hard every night, we pack out a tea kettle of hot water each morning to melt the ice and make sure they have good drinking water during the day. Lack of water slows down the egg production more than lack of food. This time of year, they are just starting to lay more eggs as we get more natural daylight. The amount of light really affects their production. The hens lay during the day, so we gather eggs in the late afternoon. If we leave them over night, they’ll most likely freeze and break.” He pointed out the feeders. “I keep food in those feeders all the time. They can eat however much they want. We also give them all the vegetable scraps.”
“So why do you have two big pens for them but I don’t see any chickens out in the other pen?” Jenny asked.
“Because I’m lazy,” he said with a big grin. The fenced off areas were each about a half-acre in size with the hen house between them. “I’d love to have the hens free range and feed themselves as much as possible, so this is the next best thing, at least for me. See those plant stalks there? That’s from last summer’s garden. Once the garden freezes up, I put the chickens in that garden space. They spend a year cleaning up the ground and spreading fertilizer. They’re also great for bug control. While they are on this side, we’ll grow the garden in the other patch this year. We switch sides each year. That way one side is not having the nutrients pulled out but instead is getting nourished and cleaned up by the hens. Another thing about the chickens is the manure.” He pointed at a pile behind the chicken house. “They poop a lot from the roost and every so often we have to shovel it out. We let it sit in the pile as long as we can before spreading it on the garden. And we spread it pretty thin. Chicken manure is very hot, I guess technically it’s high in nitrogen. It will burn up the plants if there is a lot of it. So we spread it in a thin layer and work it into the soil. But we try not to put it where the root crops are going to be. Lots of nitrogen tends to make some interesting root shapes.”
“That seems like a lot to know,” Jenny said, overwhelmed by the information.
“It is a lot but you don’t have to remember it all right off. It gets easier the more you’re around it.”
“I hope so,” she said.
Paul led the way towards the machine shed where the tractors and machinery were parked out of the weather. One end section didn’t have anything parked in it. When they got there, Jenny saw there were rabbit hutches lining the wall. “So there are the rabbits. We don’t raise them for pets; we raise them for the table.” Paul had noticed she hadn’t finished eating the piece on her plate when she and Steve had been there right after the blackout began. “We give them food and water every day. When the young are six weeks old, I take them away from the mother and put them in the grow pen. He indicated a much larger pen with a number of rabbits inside it. When they are three months old they are usually around five pounds, perfect size for eating, so that’s when we butcher. When we went to the farmers market, I would butcher a bunch of them at the same time. Now we butcher strictly for the table. Speaking of that, Ruth wants me to butcher a couple today. Do you think you’ll be up for helping me out with it?”
Jenny took a deep breath and said, “I guess I’ll have to be won’t I.”
“That’s the spirit,” he told her. “To tell you the truth, I don’t like killing them myself; but it’s that or become a vegetarian and I’m not ready to make that change,” he said with a chuckle. “But if you want to take a pass on it this time, Jake is working in the greenhouse. There is always stuff to do in there, and I’m sure he’d be happy for your help.”
“I have to learn it sooner or later, so I might as well do it now.”
Paul studied her, liking the resolve he saw in her face. “All right, I’ll also welcome the help. Now speaking of the greenhouse, notice those trays under the hutches catching the droppings? We take that and use it to fertilize the soil in the greenhouse. It’s a lot easier to work with than the chicken manure. Besides that, it doesn’t smell as bad; that’s pretty important to me in the enclosed space.”
He began to walk away and Jenny fell in beside him. He went to a pasture where a group of red cattle with white faces were eating hay. She saw one smaller brown cow. “That one cow is different. Why?” she asked.
“She will soon be our milk cow. I traded a beef steer for her this winter; she’s a jersey, the rest are herefords. A jersey cow produces a lot of milk that is really rich with cream. Once she freshens,” Paul saw the puzzled look at the term and changed the wording, “Once she has her calf that is, we’ll milk her every morning and evening. She’ll produce more milk than we can use and we’ll have all the fresh butter and cottage cheese and cream that we want. Now for the cows, we have to make sure they have water and we put out a couple of bales of hay each morning and evening.”
Paul continued to walk and pointed to the large greenhouse. “Of course, that’s the greenhouse. We grow a lot of vegetables in there. We’ve been picking fresh salad greens, carrots, beets and small onions out of there all winter. You’ll have the opportunity to spend a lot of time working in there. The fruit trees are there,” he said pointing, “and the grapes over there.” Again he indicated by pointing. We have to do a lot of pruning on them pretty soon. I usually prune after the hard freezes are past but the new growth hasn’t started yet.”
Paul led the way toward the shop. “Well, Ruth asked for rabbits so I better get that job done. I understand if you don’t want to watch.”
“No, I’ll help. But I need to know now; do you provide barf bags like the airlines?”
Paul looked aside at her to see if she was serious or joking. He couldn’t tell, maybe a little of each. “We’re going to need a pan to put the meat in. Would you mind going to the house and getting it? Ruth or Toni either one can show you where they are.”
Jenny went to the house while Paul continued on to the shop. He took his container of pellets off the shelf and put them in his coat pocket, picked up a sharp knife and a cut hook from the same shelf and his air rifle in the other hand. He returned to the machine shed and laid his tools down on a small hand-crafted wooden table. The table wasn’t much to look at, but was sturdily built to a height that made for easy working.
The rabbits came toward the door of the cage when he opened it, thinking he might have a treat for them. He felt the twinge of guilt he always had at that moment and asked a quick blessing on his activities while thanking the Lord for providing for his family. With a struggling rabbit in one hand, he managed to get the door latched, barely, without losing his hold. He went behind the structure to an area with a short fence around some grass. It was wilted and dormant with the winter weather, the first new shoots of green just showing, but would be a lush green spot in a few weeks. A similar round of wire was a few feet away. The rabbit snuffled around in the grass while Paul returned for the rifle. He pumped it up, loaded it and went back to the pen. After another quick prayer he held the rifle to the back of the rabbits head and fired. It collapsed on its side and began to kick and thrash around. He turned and saw Jenny at the corner of the machine shed, staring white faced at the rabbit. Paul got a second rabbit and repeated the process. “Some people just snap their necks but I never liked that method. I’ll do it this way as long as I have pellets for the air rifle, and then . . .”
After putting the gun back inside the machine shed, the rabbits were mostly motionless, just having occasional spasms. He picked up both rabbits and led Jenny to the side of the building. “Set the pot on that table there,” he instructed Jenny and after she did, he handed her one of the rabbits. She held it far away from her body on stiff arms like it was going to turn and chew her face off.
Paul stopped where a number of bailing twines hung from a rafter with loops on the dangling ends. He showed her how to feed the twine back through the loop and hung his rabbit, the twine tightening over the back foot. Jenny copied his actions, glad to not be holding the dead rabbit, but not thrilled to have it hanging directly in front of her either.
Paul picked up the knife and made a cut mid-way down the torso on the rabbits back. After setting the knife back down, he pulled on the hide, removing it from the body like a sock, and then cut it free at the legs, taking the feet with the hide on all but the one the held the rabbit suspended. The hide was pulled as far down to the head as it would go before he took the knife and cut the hide free. “Now that we’re doing for ourselves, I’ve been saving the hides and trying to tan them. I never bothered before, but they’ll come in handy if this lasts for a long time.” After setting the hide aside, he cut through the meat to the bone at the base of the head. A pair of heavy snips was hanging on a nearby nail that he used to cut through the bone, removing the head cleanly. He handed the knife handle first to Jenny and told her, “Your turn.”
She took the knife tentatively and held the point to the rabbit and stopped while she gulped a large breath. Paul decided she had been serious about the barf bag. After a couple more deep breathes she pierced the skin and made a cut like the one Paul had done. “About like that?” she asked in a voice that was steadier than Paul would have expected.
“That looks good. Now you can start to pull the skin off.”
She handed the knife towards him point first, then realized what she was doing and set it on the table instead. Expecting to be grossed out by a slimy feel she hesitantly reached for the skin and started to pull it off the same way Paul had. Her arms were stiff, almost straight out from her body, as if she was fending off the offending creature. Eventually the rabbit looked like Paul’s, hanging without its skin. Paul mused that he would be cleaning up by now if he had done the job himself, but that was how it went when teaching someone new to a job.
“So the next thing is to open it up and remove all the organs and intestines.” He picked up the knife again made a small incision into the abdomen. “You have to be careful with this. If you cut deep, you can cut through an intestine and make a mess. So try to just get through the muscle.”
Jenny made the cut with clenched jaws. Don’t cut deep. Don’t cut too deep.
“That’s good Jenny,” Paul told her. “Now we’ll trade tools.” He picked up the cut hook and showed her. “See how it has a cutting edge here on the inside of the hook and it’s smooth on the outside? That lets it slide past the intestines and organs without damaging them while it cuts the animal open so we can get inside.” He put the hook in the incision and began to pull down, opening the abdominal cavity, and cutting right down through the ribs. After setting the cut hook back on the table, he picked up a metal bowl that was sitting upside down on a nearby shelf. He held the bowl under the rabbit with one hand and put the other hand into the abdomen and pulled out all of the organs, dropping them into the pan. He set the pan on the table. “Most of this is waste, but I do save the liver and heart.” He showed her both organs, removed them, and then showed her the green, pea-sized gallbladder attached to the liver and carefully removed it. He glanced over at her. We just might need that barf bag yet. The liver and heart were both dropped in the pan Jenny had brought from the house. He noted that Ruth or Toni, whichever had gotten it for her had instructed her to put some water in it.
Paul looked at Jenny, Okay, your turn.”
She picked up the cut hook and with some hesitation, began to copy his actions. When the organs dropped into the pan, the white look on her face made Paul certain she was going to drop it and run to the back of the shed, but after several deep breathes and some eye closing she continued.
“Very good,” he told her. “We’re almost done. Now we just have to make it fit the frying pan.” He cut the carcass into six individual pieces; the front legs, the loins and the back legs, dropping each piece into the pan of water as it came off. The final hind leg was separated from the foot and it was done. Jenny found that step less disgusting than removing the organs.
“So other than clean up, that’s about it,” Paul told her. “You did a really good job for your first time. It just gets easier from here. Now, if you’ll take the pan to the house, Ruth can help you out. After we’ve rinsed the meat, we soak it in salt water until we’re ready to cook it. We used to refrigerate it for a couple of days in the salt water, but that was when we had refrigeration. Now we just let it go as long as we can.”
Jenny took the pan and headed towards the house. Well, I did it, but I’m not sure if it wouldn’t be worth it to become a vegetarian.
Paul watched Jenny walk toward the house with the pan. Well, she got it done, I wasn’t sure she would. He went to the table and gathered the tools first. After cleaning them he ran a whetstone over each blade a few times and applied a light coating of mineral oil. A hole was dug and filled with the organs and the pan washed and returned to the machine shed with the clippers. He picked up the two hides and went towards his shop to begin working them. I’ve sure got a ways to go in making good tanned rabbit skin, but I’m gaining. He looked at the house, seeing shapes at the kitchen window. And those two have a REAL long way to go, but at least they’re on their way.
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Post by papaof2 on Jan 14, 2015 13:41:33 GMT -6
Good chapter.
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Post by ydderf on Jan 15, 2015 8:22:04 GMT -6
Well done, thanks.
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Post by bretf on Jan 18, 2015 6:38:11 GMT -6
Thank you Papa and Fred!
Chapter 14
Steve looked up from his reading when he heard someone enter the room. “Have you read this book?” he asked Ruth. “I’m thinking that despite everything that happened, we’ve been lucky, no, make that extremely lucky. Do you think they are eating dogs somewhere, like the family does in this?”
“Yes Steve, we are very fortunate here. One of the neighbors has a shortwave radio and can hear people talk from all over the country. The cities that haven’t burned are pretty much war zones. They are eating dogs, rats and anything else they can. We are even hearing about cannibalism.” Her body gave a slight shake and she closed her eyes before she continued. “The president declared martial law in those places, but doesn’t have the manpower to enforce anything. So yes Steve, we are extremely fortunate.
“I was devastated when Paul lost his job, but now I’m thankful it happened. I shudder to think what would have happened if we were still in the city.” She was quiet for a while thinking. We would be dead now. I just pray our friends got out of Chicago safely before it erupted.
“Well enough of that, it’s something I don’t even want to contemplate. We’ll just count our blessings for what we have. And enough of you laying around. It’s time you got out of that bed.” Even though you’ve been getting up when you thought I didn’t know.
He set the book aside and came out of the bed, much too easy, adding more confirmation to what Ruth knew.
“Does it pull at all?” she asked, looking at the fine red line on his side.
“Not at all. The only thing that feels off is my knee. It’s kind of stiff.”
“Maybe a soak in hot sudsy water with Epsom salts will help it, because that’s where you’re going. You might not have noticed, but, well Steve, you stink. We have the bathtub full for you with everything you need. There are even scissors and a fresh razor if you want to shave.”
Steve pulled his hand away from his beard at the comment; it was itching enough he wondered if he had lice. “What about clothes? All we ended up with was the clothes we were wearing.”
“Yours have been washed and Jake and Paul have each set some things out for you. It won’t be a huge variety but you won’t be naked on laundry day either.” She scrutinized him closely. “I’m not sure if that’s a good or bad thing.” The corners of her mouth twisted up into a grin and she began laughing. “Now go get clean while I fumigate this room,” she told him, still chuckling.
He looked at her, not sure how to take her comment and the laughter. I don’t think that was so funny. He didn’t spend time to puzzle over it, but obeyed her orders, anticipating the hot water and chance to finally get clean. Jenny had rattled on and on about how good it felt to soak in a hot bubble bath and get clean for the first time in so long. And her hair! She had washed her hair and it didn’t feel greasy, gunky and itchy anymore. Then she had sniffed the air and wrinkled her nose at the strong odor from the bed.
Steve stripped off his underwear thinking they needed burned and eased himself into the water, luxuriating in the feeling as he was enveloped by the hot water. After he had fully submerged, he laid his head back, appreciating the tub full of water. The conversation with Jenny came back to him.
“A hot bath? Well where did the water come from? Do they hand pump it and heat it on the stove? That’s a lot of work for a bath.”
“No, I wondered about that too, but when Ruth was getting my bath ready, she just turned the faucet on and adjusted the temperature. I was shocked and asked how that worked because when we came here before we had to use water from a bucket, remember?”
Two days of hand pumping and carrying water had been enough for Paul. Although he hadn’t planned on the current circumstance, he had lucked out when he bought the farm. He had loved the location of the creek that bordered the farm and had the water rights to use it for irrigation. With some work he diverted some of the water to use for the livestock. Domestic water had to come from somewhere else. There was a small seep on the hillside above his orchard. He allowed the water to run into the orchard but had never done anything with it beyond having it tested. The state division of water quality had tested it and stated that it was safe to drink, but he hadn’t done anything to utilize it further, just taking the occasional drink when he was working in the area.
He and Jake had taken the better part of two weeks setting it up to supply the house; hand pumping in the meantime. They had buried a large poly tank below the seep and run black poly pipe in a three foot deep ditch to the pump house. The ditcher attached to the tractor had aided with the top half of the trench. The rest was done with shovels, leaving them both exhausted at the end of each day. The pipe was teed into the existing house supply line, with an extra valve put in place to flush the line when needed. The pipe was buried, the tractor doing the job with the scraper blade for which Paul and Jake were both grateful. They dug out the seep and put in a Rubbermaid container that was filled with fine clean sand to act as a primary filter. A cloth filter went between the sand and the outlet. Pipes adjoined the filter to the large tank. The tank began to fill, slow, but it was filling. They secured everything and added a new fence around the seep and tank to keep all but very small animals out.
The wood stove Paul had purchased was like the one his parents had, just missing the hot water jacket. He had some stainless steel pipe and fittings he had paid a steep price for, for a previous project, then hadn’t completed the project they were intended for. He dug them out and made a loop through the side of the stove’s firebox and plumbed it for the water to flow through and then into a spare hot water heater he had. A neighbor had replaced his water heater and was going to throw out the old one when Paul had stopped by. He had carried it home, planning on making it into a stock tank. He was glad he hadn’t gotten it done. He made sure the relief valve opened, cleaned the tank and he and Jake set it up near the cook stove. They got it hooked into the house’s hot water line with an input from the loop through the firebox. By the time they had the water heater set up, the tank at the seep had accumulated enough water to test the system. Everything worked just as Paul had envisioned.
It was cause for a mini-celebration that night. Ruth made a cake and Paul brought out a dusty bottle of wine. The tank didn’t provide as much water as the well, but with careful use it supplied their needs. They had to space the heavy water uses out to different days, but they had developed an efficient system over the winter.
Steve only knew part of the story; he couldn’t relate to the hard days of work and aching muscles his son and Paul had endured, but he luxuriated in the results of their hard work. He stayed in the tub until the water was cool, drained the tub and took another five minutes getting the grime cleaned out of it. Studying himself in the mirror, he decided he didn’t want to start shaving each day, but he was looking pretty ragged. He trimmed his beard and put on fresh clothes, feeling like a new man when he stepped out of the bathroom. Then he could relate to Jenny’s droning on about the bath.
The door was open to the bedroom he had been occupying and he looked in. The window was open with the spring breeze blowing through. The blankets, sheets, mattress cover, everything, had been removed from the bed. The mattress was standing upright against the bed. He didn’t see anyone as he walked towards the back porch.
When he stepped into the back porch, Ruth was standing over some kind of contraption; he had no idea what it was. It looked like a cut off barrel on wooden legs with a long handle running parallel to the barrel. Ruth was holding the handle, raising and lowering it. She saw him enter the room. “You definitely look better. Do you feel better?” she asked as she directed her attention back to her work.
“Yea, almost like a new man. But what are you doing? I’ve never seen anything like that before, although that part hooked to the sink looks like it came from a school’s mop bucket.” A wringer was attached to the utility sink that was at the end of the barrel contraption.
“Why this is the pinnacle of modern conveniences; it’s a washing machine. (http://www.ozarktubs.com/ ) I have one of the blankets from your bed in here and I’m just running the agitator now.” She finished raising and lowering the handle, moved the wringer from the sink to the edge of the barrel and reached into the soapy water. After she located a corner of the blanket, she began to feed it into the wringer while turning the hand crank. The blanket was fed into the deep laundry sink beside the washer. “Paul thought he was so funny when he bought it. He said since we were moving to the outback where there wasn’t electricity, I would have to use this to do laundry. It had sat in storage in his shed so long after that, we had forgotten we even had it until I tried doing some laundry here in the sink. So he and Jake got it out and assembled it. They took the electric appliances out to store. I just hope they don’t sit so long I forget about them too.”
She put another blanket in the washing machine, agitated it enough to get it thoroughly wet to begin soaking and returned her attention to the blanket in the sink. She moved the blanket around in the sink while she began talking to Steve again. “I wash in there and do the rinse in here. Then I run it through the wringer again and hang it to dry.” She continued to slosh the blanket around until she decided it was as good as she could get it. The wringer was moved and she fed the blanket into it, this time directing it into an empty laundry basket. “Now we take it to the solar clothes dryer.”
“Solar, I thought you just said you hang it to dry,” Steve asked, puzzled.
“Yes, I hang it in the sun, my solar clothes dryer; the ultimate in green power. It cracks me up that green power was the in thing, but so many subdivisions prohibited clothes lines. Figure out the logic in that.
“Anyway, in the winter, we used the wood powered clothes dryer: portable racks around the wood stoves.” She reached to pick up the basket but Steve beat her to it. “Now you tell me if something hurts. Let’s go out to the back yard.”
Steve carried the laundry basket to the back yard; Ruth watching his movements like a mother hen, making sure the work wasn’t causing him discomfort. Stiff wires were run between two steel “T” supports; the sheets from Steve’s bed were flapping in the breeze. Ruth made sure he was hanging the blanket properly and using enough clothes pins before she went back to start on the next blanket.
After the blanket was hung, Steve took some time to look around and bask in the feel of the sun hitting him. It’s so nice and peaceful here and … I don’t have the feeling someone’s going to jump out at any moment. He looked at the greenhouse and saw the shapes of people inside. Jenny had been telling him about starting seeds and transplanting the young plants. She was taking to that much better than butchering rabbits, though she had helped Paul with that chore a second time.
Supper that night was the best Steve could remember in a very long time. Home canned ham was accompanied by fresh asparagus, radishes, green salad and potato salad. He wasn’t sure if it was because the food was exceptional or the fact that he was able to sit at the table and be part of the conversation. He didn’t even begrudge Paul asking a blessing on the meal.
The buoyant feeling accompanied him through bedtime. Climbing in between clean sheets and snuggling next to Jenny brought him the most contentment and peace he had had for a long time, a time long before the power outage had hit.
The sun was shining bright as Paul led Steve and Jenny to his small orchard, each one carrying a pair of loppers and hand snips. Shadow, the Border Collie was running ahead of them, dashing one way and then the other. “You notice that the orchard yard connects to the chicken pens,” he told them as they walked. Paul opened the gate to the orchard yard and led them through, then re-secured it behind them. “The chickens do a lot of clean up in here. So I let them run in here as well as the garden plots.
“The apple trees are the most labor intensive so I usually start with them.” He had stopped near an apple tree. “You see all those sprouts that are shooting straight up? They all have to go. We need to cut them as tight against the branch as possible. Watch this,” and he demonstrated by cutting the sprout away cleanly. “After we get those out, we look for branches that look damaged or diseased. Then I look to make sure there aren’t any that cross or overlap. We want each branch we leave to have sun exposure and not be blocked by another too close above it. And look at how the branches come off the main branch. We want them out the sides, not the top or bottom. The more square they are to the source branch, the more sturdy it is. Not like this one,” he pointed to a branch and snipped it off. “I’m not sure how I missed that one last year, but I always manage to miss a few.”
He had brought ladders out earlier and leaned them against the corner brace of the fence. He got one, set it up, climbed and began trimming. His helpers began working. They were hesitant at first, asking nearly every time before making a cut.
When the obvious sprouts had all been removed, Steve looked at the tree, not sure what to do next. “I really don’t see what else needs cut here. Would it be all right if I start on the next tree?”
“That’d be great Steve. There’s not a lot left to do on this tree. Do you want to go along with him Jenny?”
She agreed and the two of them moved on to the next tree. When Paul joined them, Steve said, “I don’t see the same kind of growth on those other trees. What do you do for them?
“Not near as much. Like I said the apple trees take the most work. On those ones, I look for damage, then branches in another’s space. After that, just a general look at the tree; if it is too thick or sometimes I work a little on the shape, but nothing drastic.”
They worked on, enjoying the sunny spring day, chatting and asking occasionally about a certain branch.
They were interrupted from their work by an enthusiastic call from Nick. “Hey Grampa P, Grampa S, Gramma J; we’re having a picnic. And when we’re done, Gramma R said I might get to stay and pile branches for you.”
Ruth was coming through the gate with the garden cart. It was loaded with lawn chairs and a box, a couple of boards extending out the end. She set up the chairs and laid the boards across the cart body, turning it into a makeshift table. The lunch was spread across the table and a wash basin set up on the edge of the cart and filled with water from a jug. She set out some soap and a towel while Nick brought the workers over to eat.
After everyone had washed, Paul asked a blessing on the meal and on the day’s activities. They filled their plates and sat and began to eat. Steve was glad for the break. The long period of inactivity had sapped his strength. Even though the pruning wasn’t strenuous work, it was more than he was accustomed too. With a full stomach and the sun heating him, he was soon nodding off. His plate sat precariously on his lap until Ruth took it and packed it away in the box with the lunch containers.
While Paul and Jenny got back to work pruning, Ruth helped Nick put on a pair of gloves then she put on her own. They started to pick up the cut off branches and pile them in a corner away from the trees. “We’ll give the cuttings a while to dry out and then we’ll burn them,” Paul told Jenny where they were working. “The cut off branches tend to attract bugs and if there are enough of them, they attack the trees, so I try to keep them all cleaned up. Before they dry out though, I’ll take some of the tender ends to the rabbits to chew on.”
Steve soon awoke and got back to work. By the time evening shadows were growing long they had finished the last tree. “So are done here?” Steve asked.
“We still need to do a little raking. I try to keep the vegetation away from the trunks. If it grows up against the trees, it offers a place for mice and bugs to attack the tree. So after we do that clean up, we’re done here except for burning the branch pile.”
“But we still have other work to do, I take it,” Steve said, more of a question.
“Oh yeah, spring is a busy time. With everything coming to life, we’ve got to be a step ahead. I promise you won’t run out of things to do for a while.”
“Oh great,” Steve muttered half under his breath.
The sun had just risen over the horizon when Paul led his crew back to the orchard, this time armed with rakes and pitchforks. The jackets that had felt so nice in the early chill were soon shed as the vigorous activity warmed them up. When the last forkful was going onto the pile, Paul told them, “We might as well move on to the grapes now while we’re in pruning mode. But we’ll start that after a cup of coffee.”
The tools were put away and after their break the pruning tools were picked up and Paul led the way to the grape vines. “All of the grapes grow on last year’s new growth.” He pointed out the difference in appearance of the old growth and the new growth. Then he showed them the buds. “Each bud like this will put on a clump of grapes. You see how much new growth the plants put on last year, well that is too much for the plant to produce good grapes. I try to keep the vines fairly compact and leave enough new buds for around sixty clumps of grapes on each plant. The end plants, I’ll do a little differently.” He led them to the end to demonstrate.
“I have been letting the vines expand along this fence row. Now I could take cuttings and root them in wet sand for new plants, but I have to stay on top of that and make sure they stay moist, and then transplant them at the right time. As a rule I have too many things going on to keep track of, so my cuttings dry out and I don’t manage to get the plants going. Another way to get a new plant going is to take a tip like this one.” He freed a leading vine from the support wires and dropped it on the ground. He picked up the shovel he had leaned against the fence. “Now those buds, besides making clumps of grapes, will make roots in the right environment. I bury at least two good buds and run the vine back to the support fence. Those buds will send out roots and by fall we’ll have a new plant established here, extending the vines farther along the fence. The vine is nourished by the existing root system so I don’t have to make sure they are watered as closely.” He completed the action and made sure the vine was supported. “We’ll do the same with the vine on the other end. Now, all we have to do is start cutting.”
Jenny and Steve both watched Paul work for a while, getting the idea of what he was taking off. Soon they were both working their own clippers, although they would pause often and ask Paul’s advice. The grapes went much faster than the fruit trees and everything was pruned, piled and cleaned up before the day was over.
“What are we going to work on tomorrow, more pruning?” Steve asked as he stretched his tired muscles.
“No, we’re done with pruning for now. The easy stuff is done. Tomorrow, we really get to work.”
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Post by 2medicinewoman on Jan 18, 2015 18:27:48 GMT -6
Nice chapter. Thanks for sharing with us. I like the stories that regular people are learning and working to survive and thrive.
2mw
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Post by bretf on Jan 21, 2015 6:25:25 GMT -6
Thank you 2MW, happy to share. I think you should like the next few chapters.
Chapter 15
While walking to the shop to put the tools away, Paul led his helpers on a detour to look at the cattle. Jake had already fed, but the Jersey heifer and another young cow weren’t eating. “You notice those two staying away, that’s not normal. Now look at their udders, they are both pretty full, ready to start producing milk.” The tools were laid down and the group walked behind the two cows. “Now you can see things are happening. The cows each had a string of mucus hanging. “I think we might be getting babies tonight. Let’s move them both into the barn. It’ll be a lot easier to monitor them in there than trying to find them out here with a flashlight. Jenny, could you go open the gate and then get around to the side. Steve, let’s just move them nice and slow.”
The cows were soon in the barn and Paul filled a bucket with water and tied it to the feeder and put out some hay that was ignored. “The Hereford has had a calf before, so chances are she’ll do fine, but still, nothing’s ever certain. This will be the Jersey’s first calf so I want to keep pretty close tabs on her. They both look fine for now, but we’ll need to check on them pretty regular.”
“So they just have the baby and that’s it?” Jenny asked, remembering her own time. The epidural was the greatest thing ever!
“We can hope that’s it, but you never know. The Jersey is pretty small framed and she was bred to a big bull. Hopefully things go smooth, but we need to be ready to help her if she needs it. There’s nothing else we can do now, so let’s get our tools taken care of and have some supper.”
*****
“Steve, Jenny Dear, can you get up,” Ruth said after tapping on the bedroom door and opening it a crack. A slight glow from the lantern came through the small opening.
Jenny raised herself and sat up at the side of the bed, still half asleep. Steve rolled over to see the window. “It’s still night. I want to sleep more.” He rolled back over and buried his face in his pillow.
Shaking him none-to- gently, Jenny told him, “No, you’re not sleeping more. Ruth must have a reason to be getting us up this early. Remember we discussed how we were going to do everything we could to help out. Now get up.”
“Yeah, we’ll help, but come on; it’s the middle of the night.”
“That’s how it’s going to be, huh. We only help when it’s convenient. All right. I’ll tell Ruth we can’t stay here any longer. We need to go back home.” Jenny’s eyes were misting over, ashamed that Steve could be like that so soon.
“Oh all right,” he snapped. “I’m getting up.” He started to get out of bed but didn’t look too happy to be doing it. Jenny dressed fast, hoping Steve wasn’t going to be sullen and resentful every time things didn’t go just how he wanted. And he has been so good the last two days.
Ruth and Toni were bustling about in the kitchen and Jake was just leaving by the back door. Jenny stood near the cook stove, absorbing the comforting heat. “Jenny Dear, Paul went out to the barn more than an hour ago. I’m afraid something is wrong out there. Could you and Steve go check please? Jake’s on his way out there too, but, well, Paul has been out there a long time.” The concern was evident in her voice. “We were going to get an early start today so I was getting the oven hot and starting biscuits. Now I’m wondering if I should start cooking or wait for a while.”
“Of course we’ll go out, won’t we Steve?” He had come to the edge of the light, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the lantern glow. When his eyes were adjusted he glanced at the clock on the wall. Man, he’s been up half the night.
They put their coats and hats on and went out into the darkness. Jenny lit their path with the flashlight that had somehow remained in her coat pocket.
The pair entered the barn and stood frozen in place, looking at the scene in front of them. Paul and Jake were on their knees at the tail end of the small brown cow. Her head came off the straw covered floor and she made a pained bellow, causing Jenny to jump, before plopping her head back down. “Steve, we need you here now,” Paul snapped.
Steve moved to Paul’s side while Jenny got in a position to see what they were doing. Two small feet were protruding, each with a small nylon rope tied around it. The ropes went to an axe handle Paul and Jake were holding. “She can’t deliver the calf on her own so we need to pull it. I’ve tried but I’m not strong enough.” For the first time Jenny noticed the sweat on his forehead.
“Get ahold of this handle Steve and the next contraction, we’ll pull for all we’re worth.” Steve took the proffered end as Paul repositioned himself at the center of the handle and braced his feet against the cow’s bottom leg. The new Hereford calf in the opposite corner went unnoticed by Steve and Jenny.
The cow raised her head and bellowed again as she was wracked by another contraction. “Pull!” Paul commanded, the corded muscles standing up on his arms from the strain. All three men pulled hard, the calf’s legs stretched tight, a nose showing, and then the head came free, Steve and Jake both falling back at the sudden release. The cow lay flat breathing hard as the rest of the calf came free. The calf was covered in bloody amniotic fluid, its head partially covered by the bag of waters. After getting his breath, Paul picked up a nearby burlap bag and began to vigorously rub it over the calf, drying it and stimulating it at the same time. He was relieved when the calf gave a slight, wet cough and started breathing.
Paul sat on a straw bale, bent over while he took a few moments to catch his breath. The others stood and sat in whatever position they had been in when the calf had been delivered, each with their own thoughts on what had just happened. Jake sat where he had fallen, amazed at the whole process and how much force it had taken to get the head clear. Jenny was having thoughts of Jake’s birth and the pain she had been in before the epidural started working. How could the cow stand that? Steve’s thoughts were nowhere close to the others: he was picturing a calf-like cork popping free from a champagne bottle, the amniotic fluid replaced by the bubbly liquid. Wow, that was intense!
After Paul had sat enough he looked at the others, still frozen looking at the calf. “That was hard on both of them. That heifer has been trying to get that head out for a couple of hours, and I wasn’t tough enough to get it done. It’s too bad she couldn’t have done like that girl there.” He indicated the Hereford cow and calf, each of the three noticing the new arrival for the first time. “Let’s try to get them both standing.” He got to his feet and walked with stiff steps to the calf. He bent over it and hoisted it to its feet. It stood on wobbly legs, unable to support itself. It would have fallen onto the straw bed but for Paul supporting it. “Steve, do you think you can take my place here so Jake and I can get the mother up?” The request sounded much more like an order than a request and Steve jumped to obey, much to Jenny’s surprise.
“Jake, over here,” he continued and bent over at the young cow’s side. “Dang big bulls,” he muttered as Jake joined him. He showed Jake where to push, and the two of them lift/pushed the cow until she was on her feet. She stood unsteady for a bit before she turned to the new calf and nuzzled it. Soon she was licking it, cleaning the fluid Paul hadn’t gotten off with the burlap sack. “Can the calf stand on its own Steve?” he asked. “If it can it would be better to let the momma alone with it.”
Steve raised his hands and the calf remained upright, although none too steady. “Barely,” he answered. The mother gave an extra vigorous lick, sprawling the calf between Steve’s spread legs.
He was reaching to stand it back up when Paul stopped him. “Let’s see how they do without us helping for a minute.”
They stood back to watch while the cow continued to lick the calf and bump it with her nose. Some of the bumps were quite forceful. The calf soon tried to get to its feet. “Wow, just like Bambi,” Steve thought as it stood swaying.
Jenny was staring at the scene in wide-eyed amazement. They had ripped that calf out like that and now the cow was standing, licking it! And the calf, after almost having its legs dislocated was standing, albeit unsteady. The cow stopped licking as a contraction ripped through her and she expelled the placenta.
“Hey, are you guys having trouble? Oh, what a beautiful calf!” Toni stated as she came into the lantern light. She admired the calf with a delighted look on her face. “Mom is wondering about breakfast, should she start it or hold off.”
“They are both looking pretty good now, but it was a tough birth. I want to make sure the calf gets some colostrum before I head in,” Paul answered.
“Colos, what? Steve asked.
“Colostrum. It’s the first milk that is produced after birth. It contains the antibodies that will protect the calf. They don’t get their immunities when in the womb, so it needs to transfer from this milk. It’s also easier on the digestion and high in protein. It’s the most important meal that little guy will ever have.” Paul looked back to Toni, “Why don’t you tell Mom we should be ready in about a half hour. Jake, Steve, Jenny; could you guys feed the rest of the animals and check all the water? I’ll make sure this one eats.”
“Could I stay?” Jenny asked. “This is just so…fascinating.”
“Sure,” Paul told her. “We’ll give these two a little longer to get acquainted and then the calf should try to eat. We’ll just be here to make sure it goes smooth.”
The two of them settled on the straw bale and Paul noticed the chill in the air. He wiped his arms as well as possible, rolled his shirt sleeves down, retrieved his coat from a nail and sat back down with Jenny after pulling the coat tight and zipping it up.
“Does this type of stuff happen often?” Jenny asked. “I mean, having to pull a calf.”
“Most of the time, the cow can get everything done on her own. But this does happen on occasion. And just like people, sometimes they even need a C-section. The most problems happen with first-time mothers, but not always. And most of the time, the parent animals are closer matched in size. But this little cow is on the small size and the wrong bull got to her. The man I traded her for had a Jersey bull ready to go, but a bigger Angus bull in the neighbor’s pasture went through the fence and took care of business.”
Jenny had a puzzled look when Paul mentioned Angus. “So, I remember the grocery stores were pushing Angus, you call that one over there Hereford and this one a Jersey. You told me before that this would be the milk cow, but I’m not sure I understand the difference.”
“Look at the differences in these two cows. See how the Herford has heavier muscle mass than the Jersey. They grow bigger and faster. The cow industry is pretty much specialized now. There are certain cows that produce a lot of milk that are used in dairies, those are mostly Holsteins; the black and white cows I’m sure you’re familiar with. The Jerseys produce a lot of milk, just not as much as the Holsteins but I prefer them because they produce so much more cream. And then there are cows that produce great steaks and burgers. That’s the Herefords and Angus. There’s not a lot of crossover nowadays. When I was a kid, my Dad had “milking Shorthorns”. They produced a good amount of milk as well as a good animal for butchering. They weren’t the best at either so they grew out of vogue in the modern world.” They sat quiet while Jenny looked closer at the two cows and considered what Paul had told her.
“There now, that’s what we’re waiting for,” he said in a satisfied tone. The calf was nuzzling at the cow’s front legs and slowly moving towards the udder. “If he doesn’t get it on his own in a little bit we’ll help him out.” They watched, Jenny with continued amazement as the calf found what it was looking for and started to suckle. “It looks like we can leave them on their own for now. This evening we’ll milk the cow. That’s always fun for the first few times.” He checked that the water bucket was still filled, took the lantern from the nail and the two of them started for the house.
The mouth-watering aromas of fresh biscuits and sausage welcomed Paul and Jenny to the house. After Paul had scrubbed his arms and hands he settled into his chair at the table after accepting a cup of coffee from Ruth.
Following the blessing, plates were filled with fresh biscuits, sausage gravy and fried eggs. Steve paused between bites and told Paul, “Well, when you said the real work started today, I wasn’t sure what to expect, but that was quite a job with that calf.”
Paul finished chewing and swallowed, then chuckled at Steve. “That was just a little bump in the road. The work starts after breakfast.”
His fork frozen partway to his mouth, Steve asked, “After breakfast? But it’s still dark outside.”
“Yes it is now, but after we’ve cleaned up here and walked down the road about a mile, it’ll be light then.”
“What’s down the road?” Steve asked, not at all liking the way the day seemed to be lining up.
“Our neighbor Scott; he came by a few days ago and asked if we could help him today. He has about forty sheep that need sheared and it’s a bigger job than his family can handle on their own.”
“Sheep shearing? What’ll be next, sitting up a spinning wheel and making socks?” Steve asked snidely.
Paul shot a level gaze at him. “That won’t come right away, but it will happen this summer and fall when we have a little spare time. If you remember right, you’re not going to run down to Wally World and get a new pack of socks. Or would you rather go barefoot next winter?”
“Steve looked away from the direct stare. “Sorry, I’m still having a tough time adapting.” He finished his breakfast in silence.
They walked down the road with the sun coming up and waking everything from its slumber. Meadowlarks were on fences singing to the new day. They would fly a short distance into the nearby fields when the group came near. Shadow ran from one side of the road to the other looking and smelling everywhere. A group of quail exploded from a wild rose bush she was snuffling. She gave chase for a short distance, barking at the fast flying birds.
The sheep were bunched together in a small pen next to the barn when the group arrived. Paul led the way into the barn where Scott, his wife Janet and teenage boys Mack and Ben were working. They had cleaned and swept the plank floor. A stationary bicycle was set up near a support post.
Paul greeted the family and made introductions to Steve and Jenny. Scott lined out what he had in mind. “One of the boys can move a ewe in the chute there from the pen. At that point we need to pick any cling-on stuff off the wool.” He saw the questioning look. “The dirtier the wool, the more we have to sharpen the clippers. Then we pull the ewe out and shear her. Paul, you’ve sheared before, do you want the power clippers or the hand ones?”
“Power clippers? How are you running them?”
Scott pointed to the bicycle. “That’s my power unit. See where the chain goes up to the pulley we mounted next to the motor? As long as someone pedals we can run the clippers. We tested it on a couple yesterday and although it’s not as handy as an electric motor, it is quite a bit faster than using the hand shears.”
“You’re a lot faster than me so you better use the power clippers.”
Scott nodded his head in agreement. “So, anyway, the rest of you can wrestle the sheep to each of us, help hold the fleece out of the way of the shears, stack the fleeces and get the ewes back into the pasture. Might need to take a turn peddling that bicycle too. All right boys, get us some sheep.”
A sheep was soon brought to each of the men. Paul upended the ewe onto its rump, its back leaning against his legs with the head close to his crotch. His left hand was under the jaw, circling the nose. With the skin as taut as possible, he started clipping the wool away from the belly, going from the breastbone to the udder. He took special care around the udder not to nick it.
He moved to a hind leg, supporting it with his left hand and shearing from the hoof as far as he could get with the sheep in its sitting upright position. He did the same with the other hind leg.
“How’s it going there?” Scott asked as he straightened and directed the crew to get him another sheep. And get the first one in the pasture.
“It’s going, but not near as fast as you. It’s a good thing I’ve been doing all my pruning the last few days. It helped my hand quite a bit, otherwise I’d be cramping by now.” He continued to work while talking with Scott, working the wool off the front legs in the same manner he did the rear. “Speaking of working on my grip, I get to do it some more when we get home. That Jersey heifer calved this morning so I’ll have to milk her once we get back.”
“Hey that’s great,” Scott told him while starting on the next ewe. “What’d you get, a heifer or bull calf?”
“Unfortunately it’s a bull,” Paul answered while holding the sheep’s head and going as far around the sides of the neck and the top of the head as far as he could.
“Yeah, that’s unfortunate; a heifer would have been nice. Oh, well, maybe next year. So did I ever tell you what I read about professional sheep shearers? Those guys can do a sheep in under two minutes. Hey, Mack, I’m getting pretty close to having this one done.”
Paul glanced up while he was repositioning the sheep on its side with its head up near his knees. He’s finished with his second and I’m still on my first.
“So that paper I read said the world record was something like eight hundred and thirty lambs in eight hours. Can you believe that? Oh and with those clippers you’re using, a guy did fifty sheep in eight hours with those. Man, I’d like to see those guys work.”
Paul found it hard to believe a man could shear that many, but if that’s all a guy did all day he had to get good. Getting his mind back to the sheep in his hands, he worked the wool as far down the side as he could with Toni helping hold it away, rolled the sheep to its other side and repeated the process. He raised the ewe up, made a few of more snips and Toni removed the fleece. Paul stood straight and stretched his back, thankful for the break, and the delay while the next ewe went to Scott. All too soon he had his own sheep and began to shear again.
Mack, Ben, Jake and Steve each took turns shearing, giving Paul and Scott breaks from the back-wrenching, bending action. Paul noted Mack and Ben were both faster than he was, but with their youthful energy they could also handle the sheep and peddle the bicycle better. Ah, but it’s the pits to get old.
By early afternoon, the last ewe was in the pasture, her lambs by her side. Janet had taken Jenny to the house some time earlier and the two of them had a large meal prepared and set out on the picnic table. The water in the wash basin was changed after each person cleaned away the accumulated grime on their hands. They ate with appetites enhanced by hard work.
“What do you do with the wool now?” Jenny asked. “I mean it doesn’t look like you are going to just start making sweaters out of it the way it is now.” She unconsciously rubbed her hands where the lanolin had coated them while she was working.
Janet chuckled. “No, the wool is a long way from being a sweater. The next thing we do is clean it. We’ll lay each individual fleece out flat and untangle any curls that are holding dirt or junk in. Then we shake it real well to get as much stuff off it as we can. We fill a barrel or wash tub with hot water and soak it to get as much dirt and whatnot off as we can. That’s the pre-wash soak. Then we put it in another tub of soapy hot water. We don’t agitate it because that will damage the wool fibers; just make sure everything is well soaked.
“It goes from there into another tub with clean water to rinse it. We try to keep it hot or the grease will reattach to the wool, and each tub of water needs to be about the same temperature so the wool isn’t shocked. We need to keep rinsing until we get clean water after a rinse. Sometimes, if the wool is quite dirty or heavy in lanolin, we might have to wash it again.”
“Wow, I had no idea,” Jenny said. “No wonder nice wool sweaters cost so much, all the hard work to get the wool and then cleaning it. I just always thought somebody made the prices high to get rich.”
“No, there’s a lot of work involved. And at that point it’s still just a fleece with a lot more to be done on it. Of course after it is clean, we have to dry it in a way that let’s air circulate around it, but it still stays clean. Then comes carding. That is a process where we have tools with steel fingers that separate and straighten the fibers. During that step, we still find pieces of stuff that gets picked out and flicked away. It is so hard to get the wool perfectly clean. The fibers are then twisted back into one another to form strings of wool. The shorter strings are twisted into one another to make long continuous ropes of wool called rovings.
“Then out comes the spinning wheel to make yarn. The spinning process is best seen, but I take the rovings and spin it into yarn. And then it is finally time to get out the knitting needles and start turning it into something useful. It is quite a process. I’m just glad I was able to learn to do it as a hobby because it has become a very valuable skill again.” Janet was silent in contemplation. For Jenny, it was as good as an exclamation point on her narrative.
“The cleaning, I do outside. I’ll probably do it pretty soon so I can keep the water warm with fires and keep the smell, did I mention wet, hot wool tends to stink, anyway, keep the smell out of the house. The rest of the process and of course knitting are best done on long winter evenings beside the wood stove.”
Once the remnants of the meal were cleaned up and the dishes were done, Paul started his group toward home. Shadow had to be called away from the pasture where she had been keeping close tabs on the sheep.
At home, Paul put some warm water in his steel bucket and told the group he was going to the barn. Without telling anyone directly, he told them all that the young plants in the greenhouse would need watered, the cows and rabbits fed and watered, the chicken’s feed and water checked and the eggs gathered. The wood box could wait a day to be filled since they hadn’t kept the fire going through the day. All he wanted was to sit and rest, not go milk a young cow for the first time ever. He wasn’t sure he was up to the fight.
Jenny thought about the new calf and mother, how amazing she thought the whole thing was and asked if she could go along and help him. He saw the anticipation on her face and thought he just might need some help. “Sure, you can help. And when you guys feed the cows, see if any others are close to calving.” They had all been bred in a close time frame so the calves should all come soon.
The two calves were both on their feet looking strong when Paul and Jenny went into the barn. Jenny looked at them then asked Paul, “So if I understand right, the red and white cow, I mean the Hereford, doesn’t need milked because she won’t give extra milk. But the brown Jersey cow will give more than her calf will eat?”
“That’s pretty much it,” Paul told her. “Now we’ll put grain in the feed box in the stanchion – that head lock contraption there and secure the cow. And then, look out for flying feet.”
“What do you mean?”
“Cows that are new to being milked don’t like it at all. They stomp and kick and make for a not very fun time. Just watch.” Paul brought a pan of grain in and after getting the cow to eat some from the pan, he coaxed her to the stanchion and poured the grain in. She jerked back the moment her head was secured. He talked soothingly to her and soon she went back to eating. “Get me that bucket and rag there, would you please Jenny,” he said as he pointed to a plastic bucket hanging from a nail. He poured his wash water in the bucket, dipped the rag in, wrung it out and went to the cow’s side.
He patted her, then bent to her udder with the rag, keeping one hand on her flank. The moment his rag enveloped hand touched the udder, she kicked at it. He deflected it as best he could, lowering his left hand, and continued to try to clean her. The cow, kicked, crow hopped, and kicked some more. “There is a little contraption made, well it used to be made that was a sort of shackle system that chained the legs together to stop them from kicking. They work all right, but even with them, I had cows kick me when I was a kid. I prefer to have them just get used to me and accept this.” He continued to clean and the cow did slow down on kicking – a little.
He picked up his milk bucket and holding it with one hand began to milk. He was yanking the bucket away with each squirt to avoid the slashing feet. Once, he was too slow; the cow’s foot landed in the bucket, the side pinned to the straw covered floor and all the milk he had accumulated ran out. He got her foot moved shook his head and rinsed the bucket and started again. Eventually the cow accepted his actions and he tried using two hands, just to yank the bucket away again in the nick of time. He had Jenny get him his milk stool, two pieces of two by four nailed together in a tee and settled on it to try again.
“That’s a milk stool?” Jenny asked. “It doesn’t look anything like the stools I’ve seen in those specialty shops.
“No, it’s sure not like them. They are too stable. You’ve seen how this cow acts. Can you imagine setting on one of those and getting away from her kicking hoof?” Right on cue, the foot flashed out at Paul and he rolled away, avoiding contact. “If I was on a three legged stool, she would have nailed me a good one there.” He started laughing. “True story for you; my granddad was milking his cow one morning and the dog came in and spooked the cow. He wasn’t expecting her to kick and she connected perfectly. It broke his leg. I’ve always remembered that and try to watch for any movement from any cow.”
Finally Paul had the cow milked out and he stood. He released the cow from the stanchion; she rushed to her calf and started smelling it as if something had happened to it on the other side of the room. The milk was deep yellow with floating pieces of dirt and straw and whatever else had been clinging to the cow’s foot. “See the deep color? It’ll lighten up when she’s done producing colostrum and look more like regular milk. Now, I put a dish out here a few days ago. Let’s fill it for the cat, give a little to Shadow and put the rest in a pan for the chickens.”
“You mean after all that you’re not even going to keep the milk?”
“Well for one thing, look at all that stuff floating in there. Her foot isn’t what I’d call sanitary.” He watched Jenny for a reaction and saw she got his point. “Besides that, I don’t care for the first milk. I’ve tried it but it just tastes different. But it’s loaded with protein so it makes a great supplement for the chickens. He poured the bowl for the cat and called her. She soon came from the hay stack where she had been watching for mice and started lapping at the milk. Jenny gave the cat a few strokes on her soft back before Paul started for the door.
Jenny followed noticing for the first time just how tired Paul was. She reached down and took the bucket form him and went to the chicken pen. “Save a little for Shadow,” Paul reminded her. She nodded her head in affirmation and continued.
That evening after supper, they sat around in the relaxed state caused by a day of hard work. Paul was nodding off in his chair. Jenny was thinking about all of the new things she had seen that day and how fascinating it had all been. A far buried memory surfaced of her own grandfather, milking his cow and squirting the face of his cat. The cat opened his mouth and caught as much of the milk as he could in his mouth, but still got a lot on his face. A very young Jenny had laughed in delight at that. It had been so fun at her grandparents. A dreamy look enveloped her face while she thought about that time so long ago and all the enjoyment she had there and had forgotten until the day’s events had triggered it. I wish Mom would have let me go to their house more. If I knew half of what Grandma did, Steve and I wouldn’t have been in such a horrible spot.
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Post by bretf on Jan 25, 2015 6:03:45 GMT -6
Chapter 16
Jenny got out of bed stretching and looked out the window. It was nice to get a full night’s sleep after the early start and hard work of the day before. She could see that the cows were eating already; someone had fed them and she was pretty sure who it was. While she watched, Paul came out of the barn with his milk bucket and walked towards the chicken pen.
Steve reached for her missing form and raised enough to see her standing at the window. “Hey Baby, what are you doing up already. Crawl back in here with me for a while.”
“No, Paul is already out doing the morning chores so we should get out there and see what needs done.” She continued to look out the window while Steve buried his face in his pillow. “I had the most vivid dream last night about my grandparents. You never met them, but they were the sweetest people. My Mom didn’t let me go to their place much because she was ashamed of where she came from. When I was little, I could never understand it. I loved to go out to their farm.” Her eyes began to mist over. “I fell into Mom’s ways after I got a little older and started to think I was better than them too. I could see how it hurt them but I didn’t care because I was so full of myself, just like Mom.” Tears were running down her face. “Mom was so horrible to them and I turned out just as horrible. Staying here is making me remember them a lot.”
“Forget about that, come back to bed with me.”
“No, I’m going to go help. I won’t treat Paul and Ruth that same way. I can’t ever make up for the way I acted, I mean, I did it. But I can keep from repeating the same mistakes. It’s about time I grew up.” She watched Paul leave chicken house and walk to the shop.
“Wasn’t that an amazing day yesterday Steve? I mean, it was hard work, but wow. To be there and see that calf born, well, I guess you got to do more than see it. And then the sheep. It’s incredible how much work goes into getting a wool sweater. Janet said I could come and learn how to make the wool into yarn. Did you hear what she told me about the grease on the wool? It’s actually lanolin, you know like they use in makeup and lotion. It was just so much stuff yesterday. I wonder what we’ll do today?”
“I don’t know; get up too stinking early and bust my back all day, I’d guess. I could think of a lot of things that would be more incredible though. Like flicking a switch and a light coming on. Or opening the fridge and getting out a cold beer, then watching a game. Now that would be incredible. But yesterday; that’s about as far from incredible as I can imagine.”
“Steve, don’t be that way. We got to see and do some neat stuff, so what if it was hard.”
He raised his head from his pillow to look straight at her. “I can see you aren’t coming back to bed, so I better tell you something. That stuff would all be neat if you were barefoot in some grass hut somewhere. But our country was part of something called the industrial revolution, a very major player in it. You ever hear of it? It made it so we shouldn’t have to manhandle sheep and get up in the middle of the night. Now I’m planning on getting a little more sleep. You go back in time all you want, but you’re doing it by yourself.” He rolled with his back to her and wrapped an arm over his head.
Jenny looked at him aghast. “Oh Steve, haven’t you learned a single thing?” she said in a whisper.
He ignored her as she gathered up her clothes for the day and left to change in the bathroom. After dressing, she opened the bedroom door enough to toss her nightclothes on the bed and shoot a disappointed look at Steve.
“Good morning Ruth,” she said as she entered the kitchen. Ruth was cracking eggs into a bowl. “Sorry I slept late, but I’m here now and ready to do whatever you need help with. Are you making scrambled eggs for breakfast?”
“Good morning, Dear. I hope you slept well. You had a busy day yesterday and needed the rest.” She looked at the bowl in front of her, “Now this is going to be noodles. Paul asked if we couldn’t have chicken and noodles today so he will butcher a chicken later and I’m making the noodles.”
“You can make noodles? I didn’t know that. Well, there’s so much I don’t know about cooking, but I never really gave it a thought about making noodles. Would you teach me?”
“Of course I can teach you dear. This is a very simple recipe Paul’s mother gave me. They were very poor like most people during the depression so this recipe is pretty basic. I crack eggs into the bowl and for each egg, I put in one half of an egg shell of water.” She held the open end of the shell under the faucet, filled it and dumped the water into the bowl. “The more eggs you use the more batter you get. Then some salt; I never measure it.” She reached into the salt container and pinched it between her thumb and forefinger and sprinkled it into the egg and water mixture and repeated that two more times. “Now mix this all together well.”
She wiped her hands on the bottom of her apron and went to the pantry cabinet and returned with a can of flour. “Now we mix in flour until the dough is quite thick. I have heard of people putting other things into the mix, but this is so simple and I always loved it when Paul’s mother served it.” She poured some flour into the bowl and began to mix everything together with her hands. “When I have it the consistency I want, I’ll roll it out flat with the rolling pin and let it dry out a bit. When it’s dry enough, I’ll cut it into noodles and let it dry further. Sometimes I might roll the flattened dough and cut the noodles off as coils, then roll them out again to dry. Either way, by afternoon they will be all set up and ready to drop in the pot with the chicken.
“So that’s about it. Since my hands are covered with this, would you mind getting breakfast started? You can get a jar of bacon from the pantry, whip up some eggs to scramble and put the leftover biscuits in the oven. But don’t close the door all the way; we only want to warm them up.”
Jenny looked in the pantry and found a number of pint Mason jars with bacon inside them. She took one to the counter and removed the ring and popped the sealed lid free. She tipped the jar up over a plate expelling a roll of parchment paper, that when unrolled had slices of bacon arranged on it. After she had two frying pans out she noticed the large pot on the stove and raised the lid to peek inside. “Can I move this water to have the place on the stove for the eggs?”
“Of course Dear. Paul is just warming that to scald the chicken later.”
“I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about,” Jenny answered while she was moving the pot around.
“When we butcher chickens, we always dip them into very hot water; it makes the feathers come off easy.”
Jenny looked aghast. “You mean like a lobster, you throw a live chicken into a pot of hot water? And I thought butchering rabbits was bad.”
“No, no, not quite like that,” Ruth said, her mirth obvious at Jenny’s reaction. “They are dead when they go into the water.”
The frying pan was on the stove to heat and Jenny started to remove the first slice of bacon from the paper and it came off in pieces. “Well, that’s a relief. I can’t imagine putting a live chicken in hot water. But this bacon, is there a secret to this?” she asked, looking at the small pieces of bacon she was holding, knowing that when Ruth cooked it wasn’t bacon bits.
“I use a pancake turner to separate the slices from the paper. It’s still pretty fragile but you can get it loose in almost full pieces that way.” Jenny got everything started for the meal and began to set the table. She almost didn’t set a place for Steve. No, one of us acting like a baby is enough.
Jenny was just taking the eggs off the stove when Paul, Jake and Toni came into the house. Everyone cleaned up and sat down at the table. Paul glanced at the empty seat and Ruth gave him a shake of her head.
“We need to do something with some of the plants in the greenhouse,” Toni told her dad. “A lot of them need to be transplanted and we’re almost out of space.”
“I figured we were getting pretty close, but was hoping to put it off a little longer. I guess I know what we’re doing today.” Paul chewed and swallowed another bite of eggs before he continued. “Let’s get the compost and manure spread and till the garden. We can get the Wall O’ Waters set up and move a bunch of the plants to them.”
“Set up the what?” Jake asked. Jenny was glad her son asked, saving her from asking herself or remaining clueless.
“Wall O’ Waters. They’re a season extender that makes it so we can get things out in the garden before it’s warm enough for the plants to survive on their own. Basically they are a series of tubes joined in a circle that are filled with water. The plant goes in the middle. They are like a miniature greenhouse. The water absorbs solar heat during the day and releases it at night. They can protect tender plants down into the teens.”
When the meal was finished, Ruth shooed everyone out of the kitchen. “I’ll take care of this and wash the dishes and sweep. You have a lot to do outside. I’ll join you after I’ve got everything done and fed Nick.” Jenny noticed there was no mention of feeding Steve.
Outside, Paul directed Jake and Toni to the compost and manure piles. “That all needs spread out on the garden and then we’ll till it in. Let’s put the tiller on the tractor and I’ll show you how to run it Jake. I had the gas and diesel barrels both filled and stabilized just before the power went out. I don’t know how long it’ll be good, so we might as well use it for this. I’m going to get Ruth a couple of chickens for supper so I’ll have to let you guys do it without me for a while. What about you Jenny? Two wonderful choices, you can shovel manure or learn to butcher a chicken.”
“With the mental picture I have right now about chickens, I’d like to help you if that’s all right.”
“Of course it’s all right. Well, let’s get the tiller on the tractor first.”
After Jake and Toni were lined out and working, Paul led Jenny to the chicken house. There was a cage inside with two hens inside it. “I put these in before I let them all out this morning. It would have been hard to catch them once they were outside.”
“Did you just catch two random hens or did you pick these on purpose?” Jenny inquired.
“I pretty much chose these. They are both pretty old. A hen produces a set number of eggs in her life with most of them coming in the first year or two. Also, compare their combs to that hen on the nest. See how deep red hers is and these two are light pink? That is an indication they aren’t laying.” He reached into the door panel and pulled out the first struggling, squawking hen. When she was calmed he held her out to Jenny. “Wrap your hand tight around a leg and if she starts to struggle, don’t let go. You can rest her across your arm and she will be calm down.”
He removed the second hen and led Jenny to the wood shed. A large tree round of wood had an axe leaning against it. Small remnants of feathers and dark stains were on the top of the block where indented lines marked places the axe had struck.
Paul repositioned the hen; holding both legs and the tips of the wings in his left hand. “I try to control as much of their movements as I can like this. If a wing is free, sometimes they flap around making the next part tougher to do clean.” He thanked the Lord for His provisions and laid the hen’s neck and head across the block, pulling it slightly. His right hand came down swiftly, the axe removing the head in one stroke. He turned and tossed her into the grass.
“So that’s what the saying means,” Jenny said with a touch of awe in her voice.
“What saying is that?” Paul asked as he took the second hen from her hands.
“Jumping around like a chicken with its head cut off,” she murmured, mesmerized watching the chicken jump all around the area. “I had always heard it but it didn’t mean anything to me. Do they always do that?”
A loud thunk sounded from the chopping block before Paul answered, the second hen jumping all around. “Most chickens do that, well except for broiler chickens. They are so heavy and weak legged they just lay there and kick. I sometimes refer to them as Dolly Parton chickens if you get the reference.” He watched them for another few seconds before continuing. “Now we need to get that hot water from the house.”
The pot on the stove was close to boiling when Paul got it and the dishpan with two paring knives that he passed to Jenny. He carried it to his butcher table in the machine shed then went to pick up the motionless hens. He held the first by the legs and dunked it into the water, sloshing it up and down. “The water needs to be short of boiling. Too hot and the skin rips and too cool, the feathers don’t release.” He dipped the hen up and down making sure the water had gone past the feathers and pulled it up and grasped some leg feathers and tugged. When they were easy to pull away he told Jenny, “That’s about right. This one is ready to pluck.” He set the hen on the table and repeated the action with the second.
He laid the second hen on the table and held one leg tight. “Now I remove the feathers. Notice how easy they come off.” He wrapped his other hand around the leg and pushed, coming away with a handful of feathers, just a few remaining attached to the leg. He continued to push his hand firmly across the breast removing even more feathers. He dropped most of them in a pile, some still clinging to his hand and started on the other leg. Jenny reached tentatively to the chicken in front of her and held the first foot. Okay, it’s just wet feathers. It’s no big problem. The feathers came away easy and she deposited them in the pile with Paul’s, shaking her hand to get rid of the last feathers. Paul was on the wing on his bird and showed her how he grasped the feathers and tugged hard to release them and the same with the tail feathers. He was doing the fine picking and looking close for pin feathers while Jenny was still on the first leg.
She looked up from the bird when the back door of the house closed a little louder than normal. Steve was stomping head down towards the garden, a couple of paces behind Ruth and Nick. The thoughts she had about Steve, comparing him to the natural fertilizer, she kept to herself. She was sure Paul wouldn’t approve. Instead, she attacked the feathers with a new vigor, quickly stripping feathers off. Paul observed the change in intensity and the reason for it as he scraped the feathers into a scrap bucket and waited for Jenny to catch up.
When Jenny’s hen was picked for the most part he continued. “Now see this nubbin in front of the tail, that’s where they get oil that they rub on their feathers. I cut this whole section away, taking the grease out with it.” He flipped the bird on its back and straightened a foot out. “Cut here at the joint and the foot will come right off. I cut the end of the neck off, both the skin and the bone. I don’t want to keep that dirty end after she jumped around everywhere.” He pointed out the raised area at the base of the neck. “This is the craw or crop. The food goes here. We remove it.” He split the skin and pulled the rounded pouch out and pulled the connecting tissue loose. “Next is the guts.”
Jenny was handling the entire process much better that she had the first time with the rabbits. She took the other knife and prepared her bird the same as Paul’s. The craw split as she pulled it free and she gasped as grain and grass spilled onto the neck. “Oh! Did I ruin it?”
“It’ll be okay,” Paul reassured her. Just pick off what you can easy and we’ll make sure to wash that section. In fact we’ll wash the whole bird, so it’s all right. Just try not to have the same thing happen with the intestines.” He took the knife and carefully cut the skin open from below the tail bone up towards the breast bone. He reached inside the chicken and worked his fingers around at the opposite end of the cavity. “I’m trying to get the heart free. I can do it this way or pull out what comes easy and go back for the heart, but if I pull it that way, it tends to pull the liver apart.” He tugged and most of the internal organs came out onto the table. Holding the carcass up to Jenny, he told her, “See the lighter, almost pink parts? That’s the lungs tight to the ribs. Work your fingers under them and pull them out. After that just look it over and remove anything that is still hanging on.”
She was extra careful opening the chicken up after splitting the craw and was able to remove everything without rupturing an intestine.
“Very good,” Paul assured her. “The hens go in the dish pan. Now the organs, we save the heart and liver just like on the rabbits, after removing the gall bladder. But the birds have one more part I take; the gizzard.” He pointed out the hard round muscle. “The food goes here and gets ground up. Remove the connecting tissue and then make a shallow cut across the muscle. There is another layer inside that we try not to cut through, although it happens often enough.” He rolled the muscle away from the inner layer and removed it, then cut off everything that connected to it. “So there, we have a nice piece of some of the toughest meat you’ll ever eat. It’s tough, but I sure like them.” He tossed the gizzard into the dishpan and slid the knife across the Jenny.
She was concentrating very hard on cutting just right when she was startled by Ruth’s appearance and question. “Are those about ready for me to take in and get on the stove?” The knife cut deep when she jerked, scoring deep into the gizzard and exposing the ground grain and gravel.
“Oh, I ruined it,” she said, disappointed in her action.
“No it’s going to be fine. You just need to clean that all out.” He showed her where to start working it then told Ruth, “Almost there. We’re just cleaning the second gizzard and then you can have them.”
Ruth looked at what Jenny was doing. “Oh you’re doing great. My first time was a lot messier than that.”
Jenny looked at Ruth, “Thanks.” She actually means it. She finished the gizzard and put it in the dishpan, relieved to have the chore done.
“So now, the chickens need cleaned up and the mess here needs cleaned up. Ruth, do you want to show her how we singe them now?”
“Wait, that’s another term I don’t understand. Remember, I still don’t speak fluent country,” Jenny told him with a smile.
“Right. See all the hairs on the carcass?” he asked as he held one near her. “I don’t like to eat hair, so we singe, or burn, them off. In the past, we used a small pan with some rubbing alcohol in it. I would light it and hold the bird over the flames, rolling it all around to burn off the hairs. I liked the alcohol because it burns so clean. Nowadays, not knowing when we’ll be able to get more alcohol, we have been lifting a plate on the cook stove and using the flames to singe off the hair. It’s not as clean but we scrub the birds anyway before we cook them.” Ruth put the knives in the pan and picked it up and started for the house, Jenny falling in beside her. Paul turned back to the table and began to clean up the mess. When it was done he would take care of the axe.
The tractor started up before Paul was finished so he looked at the garden to check on the progress there. Steve and Toni were still spreading fertilizer on one side. Jake was on the tractor with Nick nestled in front of him. They drove to the side that already had the manure spread on it and started running the tiller. Nick was making a great show of helping his Dad operate the tractor. Paul chuckled and got back to work.
*****
Jenny and Ruth found Paul at the shed where he was loading the garden cart. “The chickens are on the stove cooking. What do you need us to do?” Ruth asked.
“Well, I was just getting everything loaded to set up the Wall O’ Waters. I’ve got them in, now I need a couple of five gallon buckets and a bunch of hoses. We’ll also need the hand cultivator.” He pointed to a contraption against the wall with a high metal wheel, two handles and a cultivator blade. When the cart was loaded, Paul wheeled it to the garden while Ruth pushed the cultivator.
“I’ll put in the row first. We’ll use it for a line for the transplants and set the plants close enough to it they’ll irrigate from it but not tip over the covers.” Paul took the cultivator and picked an aiming spot at the opposite end and started cutting a row in the fresh tilled dirt. He turned around at the other end and pushed the cultivator back to where Ruth and Jenny were waiting, removing more dirt from the row. After he leaned the cultivator against the fence he admired his work. “Well, it’s not exactly straight, but I’ll bet it’ll run water and the plants will grow.
“I’m going to run the hoses from the ditch in the pasture. I’m hoping we’ll get enough water flow to fill the tubes up. Why don’t you start laying the Wall O’ Waters out while I do that?” Paul picked up a hose and began rolling it out while Ruth and Jenny started to lay the Wall O’ Waters on the ground at two foot intervals.
When the hoses were laid out and a small dirt dam put in the ditch at the end of the last hose, Paul returned to the other end, pleased to see a slow trickle of water flowing. He stood a bucket on its end and set a Wall O’ Waters around it. Jenny stood to the side to see the process. The end of the hose was put into one of the tubes and it began to fill with water. “The bucket will hold it upright while we fill the tubes with water. I like to fill one on each side, then in a cross pattern. If I just start going around the circle, the weight will pull the whole thing over.”
After watching for a couple of minutes, Jenny set up the second bucket to be ready. Paul soon handed her the hose end and she began filling. He lifted the bucket out of the middle of the one he had filled with water and moved it to the next spot. Indicating the first, he told her, “I overfilled that; see how it stands pretty straight and is open at the top? After we get the plant inside it, we’ll squeeze the top together so it looks like a miniature teepee. The plants will utilize any water we squeeze out.” Jenny nodded her head in understanding.
“You’re doing fine with this so I’ll go get a load of plants,” Paul said and picked up the cart handles and started for the greenhouse.
Jenny had just started on the next Wall O’ Water when Steve sauntered over. “Boy, don’t you get the easy job. Holding that water hose looks a whole lot easier than all that shoveling and pushing wheelbarrows.”
The icy stare she gave him should have frozen him in place. She held the gaze while coming to a decision to be the bigger person. “All right, you can do this and I’ll shovel,” she told him and thrust the hose at him. The reaction caught him by surprise; the hose fell to the ground as she strode away.
“Well, I see somebody could have slept in a little longer,” he quipped to her back. He picked up the hose and started filling the plastic tubes. He had about a third of them on one side filled when the weight pulled the bucket over, all the water spilling out onto the dirt.
*****
The transplanting was done for the day and Ruth had gone to finish supper while the rest went separate ways to get the evening chores done before they ate. Steve followed Jenny to the chicken house and held the door closed when she tried to open it and go inside. “So are you going to talk to me? You’ve been pretty shrewish all day.”
She gathered herself and spoke in a calm tone despite the desire to lash out at him. “I just didn’t know what to say to you. You don’t seem to get it that Paul and Ruth are putting us up out of the kindness of their hearts. They don’t owe us anything so I am trying to do as much as I can to help out in return. But you,” she had been stewing all day, hoping the right words would come to her. As she had worked, she kept remembering her grandparents and her mother’s horrible treatment of them. Am I mad at Steve or Mom? Probably both of them. “You need to get it through your head that things are different. We can’t work for a paycheck and then pass it off to a waitress, then go home and watch Sports Center. That world died Steve, no matter how much you refuse to admit it, it’s gone. We have to adapt so we don’t die along with it. Personally, I’m trying to live in the new world and I’m done being an embarrassment.” The look she leveled at him left little doubt she considered his actions embarrassing.
“It looks like you’ve adapted enough for both of us. You’re turning into a regular little Laura Ingalls,” he snapped back.
“Steve, I know you said that to mock me, but that might be the best compliment you’ve ever given me. Now if you’ll move, I have work to do.” She pulled his arm from the door and went into the chicken house, leaving him stunned in place.
*****
Jenny walked into the living room where the rest of the family was seated in a circle, Steve trailing behind. There were two empty chairs in the circle. Paul finished the verse he was reading, lowered his Bible and looked at the two of them. “Do you know Jesus as your personal savior?” he asked with concern in his voice. “We would love to have you sit in with us.”
Steve scoffed at the statement. “You mean an all-powerful being that allowed a bunch of illiterate sand crawlers to turn our great country into a third world, backwoods place? For the survivors that is. Who knows how many millions of people have died because of this. And how many more are going to die before it’s all through. If that’s what you’re talking about, then no, I don’t know him and don’t care to know him.”
“We can never know the reasons the Lord allows things to happen as he does. But you need to know, Satan is the one causing all of these things. However, I do believe it was the Lord that drew us to that road block just when Jenny was being taken. We were put there at that time to save you both.”
“It seems to me that he put you there a little too late. I can still feel that knife going into me. I wake up at night sweating as that dirtbag stabs me again.” Steve delivered each word forcefully, small bits of spittle flying with each word. “For that matter, your lord put you there days late. How about getting my head knocked against the wall? Getting over the headaches was even worse than the knife wound.”
“The Lord,” Paul began before he was interrupted by Steve.
“I’ve listened to all I’m going to and said my piece!” He turned on his heel and stormed out the door, rattling the door casing with the force of closing.
“I’m so sorry,” Jenny said. “He just, he just, ….”
Ruth stood and walked to her and put a comforting arm around her. “It’s all right, Jenny Dear. We understand, we are concerned about him, but we do understand. Would you like to sit with us?”
Jenny nodded and allowed Ruth to lead her to a seat. “I haven’t looked at a Bible since I was little.” She sat down beside Ruth and the other woman took her hand and patted it. The seat that was there for Steve was conspicuous in its emptiness.
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Post by ydderf on Jan 25, 2015 10:02:48 GMT -6
Looks to me as if Steve has the ID ten t disorder. Thanks for the update.
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Post by ydderf on Jan 25, 2015 10:08:44 GMT -6
ID ten T = ID10 T
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Post by bretf on Jan 28, 2015 5:59:00 GMT -6
Fred, Steve’s a pretty slow learner, kind of stuck in his spoiled mindset and Paul is just a compassionate person. Steve works, just at his own pace. I watch people I work with that are “Citified” and live their life with Sports Center. I can’t believe they would be able to adjust to a new life style. Maybe, but I have my doubts. Doesn’t anybody else know him? The first time I posted this story, two different people accused me of using their brother-in-law as a model.
Chapter 17
Jenny found Paul seated near the large window in the living room. His reading glasses were perched on his nose and he was poring over printed pages from a manila folder. He skimmed one page and crinkled his brow. Two pages later, he must have found something more agreeable. The look on his face had become more content. Jenny thought he was pleased by what he had just read.
“Paul,” she said, breaking the reverie. “You said I could try to milk Jennifer this morning.” Jenny had accompanied Paul to the barn numerous times when he milked the cow. She had decided the cow was now an important member of the family and deserved a name.
“So what do you think would be a good name for her?” Paul had asked, looking up from milking.
After some time to think, her face flashed in an elated smile. “Jennifer,” she stated.
“You want to name her after you?” Paul asked, confused. “I must be missing something here.”
“No, not Jenny; Jennifer or maybe J.F. It’s for Jennifer Farley,” she stated, very satisfied with the idea.
Paul wracked his brain but was unsuccessful in coming up with the name. “Sorry Jenny, but I’ve never heard of her. Was she that actor Chris Farley’s wife?”
She looked back at him; shocked he didn’t know and then reconsidered. Paul and Ruth lived so different than she and Steve had before everything had fallen apart. “No, not Chris Farley’s wife, Jennifer from Jersey Shore.” She watched him close to see if that would make a connection for him. The look on his face showed he was as confused as she was when he used farm terms.
“Jersey Shore was a reality television show and Jennifer Farley was one of the participants. I just thought tying Jersey cow to Jersey shore was a fit, especially considering the other aspect of Jennifer.”
“The other aspect? I’m sorry Jenny, but I really don’t have a clue what you’re talking about. I’ve never heard of that show. I wasn’t much for TV after I was down-sized and went through a lot of soul searching.”
“Okay, I understand. But Jennifer, well, in a way she reminds of the cow. For her twenty first birthday, she, well, … she gave herself breast augmentation. And just look at that cow. It doesn’t look natural!”
Paul bust out laughing, the cow startled by the outburst.
“What?” Jenny asked, not sure if she was being mocked. “You’re the one that calls those chickens Dolly Partons. I was just following your example.”
“Oh it’s perfect, although now you’ll have me wondering about Jennifer here’s namesake. I don’t suppose you could find a picture of her do you?” He continued to chuckle while he milked.
*****
“Oh sure, you get to milk this morning. I was just doing some reading while I was waiting,” he said as he set the folder and his glasses on the coffee table. He picked up his coffee cup and took it to the kitchen to rinse. He looked at the pot with longing, but didn’t pour himself more. He had cut back to one cup a day, knowing they were almost out. The lack of caffeine might give him a headache but he couldn’t think of an alternative at the time. It would be much easier on his system to cut out the stimulant from just one cup than the numerous cups he used to consume each day.
“So what were you reading?” Jenny asked as they put wash water in the milk bucket.
He handed her coat to her and started to pull his own on before answering. “I was reading about bio-diesel and using vegetable oil in a diesel engine. I found some pretty good stuff in that folder.”
A crowing rooster announced the morning as they were walking to the barn. “So does that mean you have some oil stored and can start using it in the truck?” Jenny asked.
“No, not exactly. What I have is a lot of edamame seed. They were very popular at the Farmer’s Markets with the health food crowd. I got a lot more seed than I needed to grow enough for the markets. So I was thinking we could grow them and make oil. We can mix it with the diesel in the fuel tank and run it in the tractor. That makes it so we can do so much more by stretching our fuel out. One of the neighbors has a small combine we could run. A combine harvests grain crops and beans and separates the edible part out,” he said after seeing the confused look from Jenny. “And grain, well besides the soybeans, can make flour and we all feed grain to our stock. Grain also makes ethanol. Another neighbor used to grow a lot of mint and has a mint still. Now I don’t know the first thing about stills. I had enough alcohol during college to last my lifetime, but still I wonder. Can it be much different to distill mint or grain? Really, I don’t know, but I think I need to do some visiting real soon.
“We are all in a rough spot, but I think the best way for us all to get through this is by cooperation. We have to work together for things to work out. I think Ben Franklin said it best: ‘We must all hang together, or assuredly we will hang separately.’”
He poured the water into the wash bucket and called Jennifer to the barn with the help of a shaken grain pan. When the cow was in the stanchion eating grain, Jenny sat on the milk stool, remembering Paul’s instructions.
“Grasp tight with your thumb and forefinger to hold the milk there and then squeeze the rest of your hand closed, all the way down to your pinkie.”
“I did it!” she exclaimed as her right hand managed to produce a small squirt; far short of what Paul produced. The left hand produced two drops of milk.
“That’s it; that’s a real good start,” Paul told her.
Soon, she was producing good squirts of milk with each hand, though not matching Paul’s production. It wasn’t long before she was feeling aches in her fore arms and hands. “My arms feel dead and I bet I don’t have much more than a cup. I’ll never be able to get as much milk as you do.”
“It takes a lot to work up to milking her without your arms hurting.” He well remembered aching arms and pushing through until he was done. “When you’re ready to take a break, I’ll take over until you’re ready to take another turn at it.” They would end up switching off numerous times before Jennifer was milked out; Jenny wanting to get as much time milking as she could bear.
“I sure hope you’re able to milk her alone soon; we’re coming up to my least favorite season for milking.”
“Really, why is that?” she asked, looking up from her milking.
“Well, in the summertime, the cow is hot; she seems to emanate heat. And then there are the flies. They buzz her like crazy and she is constantly swatting them away with her tail. It hurts to take a full blow from that tail, so I lean in to her even closer to protect my head and face.”
Jenny got up to trade off again on the milking. “You’re not encouraging me to master this you know?” she said as she handed him the bucket.
Paul grinned as he resumed milking. “But I haven’t even told you the worst part yet.” He glanced up to gauge her reaction. She was still taking the information in good humor, but would it hold?
“Well?” she asked.
“Yep, the worst is after she switches to fresh green pasture after eating dry hay all winter. It blasts out the other end in almost liquid form without any warning. It splatters all over everywhere. And it clings to her tail. That’s when you really have to duck.” Again he was watching for her reaction while he fought to suppress a grin.
“That’s quite a mental picture you’re giving me. You know a real gentleman would have explained all this before getting his victim hooked on the milk. I thought you were better than that,” she said shaking her head with a deep frown on her face.
Paul thought he might have gone too far and looked at her, ready to apologize. Her frown couldn’t hold and she grinned at the concerned look on his face. “Eviscerating rabbits, beheading chickens; what’s a little runny poop to the head after all that? The party never stops here.” Paul had a tough time deciphering her final words that were delivered in a burst of laughter. “All right, my arms and hands are ready for another shot at it and now I guess I need to practice ducking too.” She traded places with Paul, still giggling at their conversation.
When the milking was done and Jennifer was turned out in the pasture, they took the bucket and left the barn, continuing the light hearted conversation, laughing often. A noise at the hay shed made them look that way. Steve was muscling a bale of hay free and looked at them with a scowl on his face. An uncomfortable silence enveloped Jenny while Steve shot her an accusatory look; Paul greeted Steve and thanked him for getting the cows fed.
Steve’s response was an unintelligible grunt and he turned his back and took the hay to the feeder. Jenny began to apologize to Paul when he interrupted her. “Don’t Jenny; he’s responsible for his own thoughts and actions, just like you are.
“I have to admit, I think I can relate to what he’s going through. After I finished school, my life revolved around work and climbing the corporate ladder. I’m sorry to say, but I missed too much of Toni’s special times because I had to work. I always had to work; the goal of the corner office drove me on. Once I got it, I thought everything would be perfect. But the stockholders, well, they didn’t think everything was perfect. So they found a buyer and sent all of our jobs overseas. Oh, I could have had a job in the new company but my pride was hurt, my dream shattered; my world….” He was quiet for a while, thinking of his past.
“Stubborn pride wouldn’t let me take a demotion, not after everything I’d done and given up to get where I was. And I certainly wasn’t moving to India. We men can be kind of funny. We put on a tough exterior, but our egos can be bruised very deeply, very easily. One of my friends looked for answers in the bottle. The last time I saw him he was a hopeless mess.
“I got sullen, not unlike how Steve is now. I floundered. Ruth was so patient with me, that woman’s a saint. At the time, I thought it was the lowest point of my life but looking back, I feel I was delivered. I’m not saying that Steve will ever come to the same realization I did, but he needs time and support to find his place in this new reality.”
Jenny was deep in thought, digesting everything Paul was telling her. She thought he was so strong; it was hard to picture him any other way. His humbleness and willingness to admit his faults was just more of his strength. She resolved to try to be more patient with Steve.
After breakfast they started for the greenhouse and garden to water, weed and transplant. A tarp suspended under the large maple tree drew Jenny’s attention. “What is that for?” she asked pointing. “It looks like it’s filling up with all of the helicopters.” Like so many people, she had often taken maple seeds and tossed them in the air to watch them spin their way to the ground.
Toni was closest to Jenny and explained to her. “Dad is collecting the seeds to eat.”
“You eat them?” Jenny asked.
“Well, we’ve all been having them on our salad the last few days,” Toni answered. “You know those things like pine nuts; that’s the seeds.”
“I thought they tasted different but I never thought about it enough to mention.”
Paul joined them looking at the tarp and picked up a seed. He used his thumbnail to split the hull and pulled out the green seed and held it up. “This is what I’m collecting. You can eat it like this but it’s kind of bitter. Ruth has been putting the ones we’ve been eating on a cookie sheet and lightly roasting them. We can also boil them and it takes the bitterness out. They’re pretty good either way, but I like the crunchy addition to salads. And look at how many are collecting. That’s just too much food to let go, even with the work to hull them.” He popped the seed in his mouth and grimaced at the flavor. As he resumed walking to the garden, he muttered, “Should have roasted it.”
There were few weeds in the garden to pull, but a number of chickens paced the separating fence hoping for a treat. Jenny saw the hens and remembered something she had meant to mention to Paul. “Paul, when I’ve gathered eggs the past few days, there’s been a hen on the nest that doesn’t want me to get her eggs.”
“Has it been the same hen on the same nest?” he inquired.
“Yeah it is, and she sure pecks hard.”
“She’s probably gone broody. She wants to hatch some chicks,” he added, remembering she wouldn’t know what the term meant. “Why don’t you show me?” He nodded toward Steve before Jenny started for the chicken house.
“Steve, would you like to come along?” she asked, understanding Paul’s intent after their earlier conversation.
He looked up from the water he was directing and gazed at his wife’s face for a moment. “Sure, I wouldn’t mind coming along.” He took his hoe and hung it on the fence and joined Jenny and Paul. Jenny couldn’t keep from wondering if he was curious to learn or just wanted to stop working for a while. She suppressed the thought.
In the chicken house, Jenny pointed out the hen, “That’s her. She’s been on that same nest three days in a row.”
Paul reached under her as she squawked loud and pecked the offending hand numerous times. “Yeah, I think she wants babies. I do too. We’re going to need new chickens for eggs and meat. I can’t go to the hatchery and get new chicks to replenish the flock like I used to. We have to do it the old-fashioned way. So we need to get her on eggs.
“I don’t like to set a hen with eggs in here because the other hens will fight for the nest, eggs get broke and extra eggs get laid in here. The side of the henhouse that isn’t used, that’s my brooder room where I always raised chicks. We’ll set up a feeder and some water in there. Tonight, when it’s dark, we’ll put twelve to fifteen eggs in one of the nest boxes in there and put the hen on them. I’ve been successful moving a hen that way, though they don’t always accept it the first time. If they wake up on a bunch of eggs it works a lot better than moving her during the day.”
Paul led them to the brooder room. He pointed out the nest box they would use and made sure there was clean, albeit dusty lining in it. A feeder was on the floor that he took to fill with grain and he picked up a dusty waterer to fill. “You called this the brooder room and that you raised chicks in here?” Jenny asked.
“Uh huh. When we did the farmer’s markets, fresh chicken was always popular. I would go to Dunlap Hatchery in Caldwell and buy broiler chicks that I raised in here. I’d usually pick up a few pullets, the girls of good laying varieties too. Those broilers were the worst chickens I’ve ever been around. All they do is eat and poop.” He started chuckling before he continued. “Did you guys see the movie Wall-E? Nick brought it along once when he spent the weekend with us so Ruth and I watched it with him. Those people in deep space all their lives reminded me of those broiler chickens.” He chuckled more at the memory. “Those chickens lay around so much it rubs the feathers off their breasts and their legs have a hard time supporting them. Eat and poop. I would put layers of newspaper under the brooder and change it out twice a day. Those chickens grew so fast, at six to eight weeks I would butcher them. Sometimes, they would have heart failure about that time because of the way they grew. I’m glad I won’t be doing that this year. That is something from the past I certainly won’t miss. Still, I wouldn’t mind being able to go buy a bunch of chicks anyway. However, now I would get a variety that lays good and makes a decent sized carcass for eating.”
They returned to the garden in time for Jake to pull up with the garden cart loaded with plants from the greenhouse that were ready to be put into the garden. “I think frost danger is pretty much over now so we’ll get everything into the garden in the next couple of days. We also need to take off the Wall O’ Waters and drain them and put them away,” Paul told them. It had been many days since they had staked the Wall O’ Waters to stay open and tomato leaves were sticking out the top of many of them.
Paul soon excused himself and returned sometime later with the wheelbarrow, steel fence posts sticking out the front. A post driver was in the load as well as loops of baling twine left over after feeding the cows through the winter. After stopping the wheelbarrow at the end of the garden, he went into the garden section occupied by the chickens. A number of chain link fence top rails were against the fence. He picked them up one at a time and dropped them on the other side of the fence. The chickens ran to investigate his actions and began scratching the dirt where the rails had been. A rooster started calling to the hens, inviting them to the spot he had just scratched up. The hens were in a frenzy ridding the spot of any bugs or worms they could find.
In the new garden, Paul started moving the top rails to the newly planted row of pole beans, laying them on the ground with a slight overlap at each end. Jenny was curious about his actions and wanted to learn what he was doing. She looked at Steve, on his knees one row over, placing the final squash plant from the greenhouse in its new location. “Steve, I want to see what Paul’s doing. You want to join me?”
He finished placing the dirt around the plant before answering. “No.” Jenny got a pained expression on her face at his abrupt answer. He didn’t notice it but continued to talk. “No, I’d rather join you at Big Al’s with a nice tall, cold beer, beads of condensation running down the side of the glass. The big screen showing the NBA playoff game. At least I think it’s time for the playoffs.” He grimaced. “But somebody made it so we can’t do that, can we.” He picked up a dirt clod and threw it forcefully at the fence. “Fine, I’ll go see what he’s doing since we’re stuck here in purgatory.” He got to his feet and brushed the dirt off his knees with a faraway look in his eyes.
“What’s all this Paul?” Jenny asked as they approached him.
“Support for the beans,” he told them. “Once they start producing, I pick green beans two times a week and can’t stand that much bending over so I grow pole beans. They’ll grow up instead of bushing out. They’ll get higher than our heads, so this is to support the vines so there’ll be a lot less bending over.
“These pipes are about twenty feet long. We’ll put in steel posts to support them, one at each end and another in the middle. After we drive the posts, we’ll lash the pipes to them at the tops. That will put the pipes about eye level for me. We’ll run a strand of baling twine along the bottom of the posts about three or four inches off the ground. Then we tie twine vertically from the pipes to the bottom twine runner about every six inches. The bean vines will grow up the twines so we will have a wall of bean plants. There will still be a lot of bending, but a lot of the beans will grow where we don’t have to bend over to find them. I know my back sure appreciates it at the end of the day. It’s quite a bit of work to set up, but the twine is just left over anyway so we might as well use it for something else.”
Jenny worked close with Steve during the process, trying to engage him in conversation while they worked. It was awkward at best; Jenny was thrilled about learning new things that tied her to memories of her grandparents while Steve continued to fester over their situation.
A memory of her grandparent’s garden tugged at Jenny. “I don’t remember pole beans but it seems my grandparents grew tomatoes in some kind of supports. Do you do that too?” she asked Paul.
“I do, but not like other people. The stores used to sell light tomato cages, that personally, I think were junk. The plants knocked them over, the welds broke, the legs broke off. I was intrigued when I read about people using concrete rebar matting for cages. It is real heavy mesh mire. I bought a roll planning to make cages, but then changed my mind. I didn’t know about storing them; it just seemed as many as I needed would be in the way when I wasn’t using them. Instead, I cut the roll into twenty foot long pieces. I stand two of them up parallel to each other, one on each side of the tomato plants. I have a bunch of sticks that I cut notches into eighteen inches apart. I slide the notches over the wire, joining the panels together. Three or four of the sticks go on each side of the plants at various heights. I drive three steel posts beside one section and wire the panel to it. So I have support walls and cross pieces instead of individual cages.”
They spent the rest of the day in the garden, putting in supports, planting seeds and the young plants from the green house. Jenny tried to work near Steve without pressing him. With Paul’s words echoing in her head she kept any comments to herself when she wanted to lash out at him. More than once she compared Steve’s work with Nick’s and wasn’t sure which one was accomplishing the most. Much of the time he had a faraway look or a look of disgust; on occasional he joined her in conversation. She rode the wave of his moods and tried to be encouraging without being pushy. Slowly there was a slight thawing of the iciness that had been growing in each of them.
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Post by kaijafon on Jan 28, 2015 20:40:45 GMT -6
Thank you for the addition to the story. I'd like to see those supports for the tomatoes. I hate tomato cages. lol!!!
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Post by Suburban Gardener on Jan 29, 2015 13:24:42 GMT -6
I agree. Using woven wire mesh, or something similar would make a great tomato trellis. I have some 6'+ sections of 3' high mesh I used last year to make potato towers that would support about 3 tomato plants each. I think those might do better than the arrangement I used last year that involved PVC and string. I'll save the PVC and string for my beans.
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Post by bretf on Jan 31, 2015 18:48:34 GMT -6
This link is what I'm talking about. It is a lot stronger than woven wire. I cut it with bolt cutters.
www.lowes.com/pd_12142-157-05042_4294692213__?productId=3010018&Ns=p_product_qty_sales_dollar|1&pl=1¤tURL=%3FNs%3Dp_product_qty_sales_dollar%7C1&facetInfo=
Chapter 18
“So, I’ve been thinking,” Jenny told Paul.
He rose up from the row he was mulching and addressed her before she could continue. “A dangerous thing for a blonde,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.
She grimaced at him and retorted, “Well, I do try to keep it to a minimum. Anyway, it looks like work is slowing down just a little now and we are waiting for everything to grow. After we get all of this fine smelling stuff spread out, I was wondering about going to see Janet and see if she is doing anything with the wool.”
The “fine smelling stuff” was the half rotted, manure laced hay that had piled up in front of the cow’s feeder over the winter. Jake and Steve were pitch forking loads into the wheelbarrow and garden cart and wheeling it to the garden where everyone else was lining the vegetable plants with it and covering the bare ground between plants. The mixture would continue to decompose, feeding the plants while helping retain moisture in the dry summer climate and slowing down weed growth. But the hay was sure to contain seeds that would germinate and flourish in the garden. Paul thought the benefits outweighed the disadvantages.
Steve’s participation was reluctant at best, but he was enjoying the time with his son. He was impressed with Jake’s hard work, never slowing even when Steve stopped and leaned on his fork handle, panting. I guess I’ve missed out on a lot with him. When Jake was growing up, Steve remembered how his own father was always driving him on in sports, pushing him to be better. He vowed not to do that to Jake, and instead nearly neglected the boy, letting him find his own way and do his own things. He’s turned out pretty good. I guess I didn’t totally mess him up.
Paul stretched his aching back muscles, glad for the respite from bending over. “I think that’s a good idea; it’ll be good for you to go see Janet.” His brow furrowed in concentration. “But,…I want you to go armed.”
“Armed? Do you mean carry a gun? I don’t like guns.”
“Yes, I mean carry a gun. Now tell me, why don’t you like guns? Have you had a bad experience with them?”
“No, well, I don’t know. I guess because of all of those school shootings and everything. I mean, the things I saw on the news, well, there seemed to always be something bad happening because of guns. They are just so dangerous.”
Paul wasn’t surprised by her answer. Sensational news coverage had gone a long way in demonizing firearms. “I saw a news story about a guy over in Ontario that ran his car through a park full of people. I saw another story of the same thing in Reno. So I guess cars are dangerous weapons and we should all be afraid of them.” They mention those stories once and bury them but any story with a gun involved runs and runs. He bent down to lay more mulch near the plant he had been working around. Uninvited, a slow motion image came to his mind; the cross hairs of his scope settled on the bulk of the man that was dragging Jenny, he took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, as his finger tightened on the trigger, the man collapsing in a heap.
Sweat beaded on his head and the hands that had held the rifle so still began to tremble. He stood back up and swallowed hard at the taste of bile that had flooded his mouth, snatched his water bottle from near his feet and walked fast towards the shop.
“I didn’t mean to make him mad,” Jenny said, concerned about his sudden departure.
“It’s not your fault, dear,” Ruth said as she came to stand by Jenny. “He has some personal demons he is still fighting with. He just needs a little room and time while he works through it.” Ruth followed Paul’s path with her eyes, wishing she could comfort him. A tear ran down her face leaving a line in the dust that had clung to her during the day’s activities. Paul had been awoken on countless nights when the nightmare returned of that day when he rescued Jenny and Steve. After those instances, he needed time to himself while he settled his mind. It had been some time since he had had the nightmare. Ruth could only surmise that the discussion of guns and Jenny’s safety had brought the memories back.
Toni joined her mother and Jenny. “You know, a gun is only as dangerous as the person that uses it. Dad has one with him all the time. Do you consider him a danger?”
“Well…no.” Jenny answered.
“During the winter,” Toni continued, “There were quite a few people going past the house, getting away from the cities. Most of them looked like good people, just hungry, scared and tired. We helped them when we could. But some other people just looked unsavory, not much different than those guys that attacked you. Dad always had his gun visible when he talked to those people. Just seeing he was armed was enough. He has only had to fire a gun that one time since this whole thing started. Think about what happened that time. Where would you be now without that gun?” Toni went back to the row she was working on and continued to mulch the plants.
Following Toni’s example, Jenny got back to work, her mind awhirl with thoughts of guns, violence, the feel of the iron grip on her arm dragging her away. Alright, there are good people that use guns, just like there are bad people that drive cars. Maybe, no, probably, the media focused on the bad stuff. Her mind continued to go over what she knew of guns and people that used them as she worked. Didn’t Grandpa have a couple of guns for hunting? He wasn’t evil. She looked up, surprised that she was at the end of the row and that Jake and Steve had finished transporting the hay.
After cleaning up as well as she could in the irrigation ditch, she walked to the shop. Paul looked up at her entrance and set his worn Bible back on the shelf. “Paul,” she began, “I’m sorry for the way I acted when you mentioned guns. I guess I have to admit, I only know what I saw on television. I’ve never been around them.”
“I understand, but you need to understand too, I didn’t make the suggestion lightly, Jenny. Carrying a firearm is an incredible responsibility. I don’t like it, but I strongly believe it is a necessity in our current situation. I don’t like it one bit,” he stated.
“All right, but really, I don’t know anything about them. You’ll have to teach me,” Jenny said. “Whenever you’re ready.”
Paul took a deep breath and pinched his eyes closed for a few moments. “Well, the number one thing to know is that EVERY gun is loaded. Even if someone tells you it’s not, you still treat every gun as if it’s ready to fire. More accidental shootings have happened with guns someone thought wasn’t loaded.
“The next thing is to never point a gun at anything you’re not willing to destroy. Stuff happens, guns discharge when they aren’t expected to, so always, always make sure of where it is pointed.
“Your finger never touches the trigger until the sights are on the target. Again, accidents can happen, so you must learn to keep your finger clear until you are ready to fire.
“The fourth major rule of guns is to be certain of your target and what is behind it.”
Paul stopped talking to give her time to think about what he had told her. When she looked at him like she was ready for him to continue, he told her, “Never forget those four rules. They are the most important rules of gun safety. Now I guess we better get a couple of guns.”
They went to the house and Paul left Jenny in the kitchen while he went to the bedroom. Jenny was instantly drawn to what Ruth was working on. She was just pouring liquid out through the screened top of the butter churn, leaving clumps in the glass container. While Jenny had seen her skim the cream off the milk and pour it into the churn, and start turning the crank, she had never seen what happened next. She looked at the clumps she thought was butter and the thin liquid Ruth had collected in a pan. “Is that butter?” she asked. “It doesn’t look much like what you’ve been putting on the table for us.” Jenny had been amazed with the deep yellow color of Ruth’s butter, and the flavor. She had never eaten butter that compared to it. She didn’t even use jam on her bread most of the time, the butter was so much better than what she had been used to.
“It’s a start, dear. I just finished churning it, now I’m going to wash it.” Ruth drained off as much of the buttermilk as she could and added some cold water to the churn. “I prefer to drink the fresh milk, so I give the buttermilk to the chickens. They love it. Now to rinse it out.” She began to turn the crank, mixing the cold water into the clumps of butter. Jenny noticed that the crank turned a lot harder than the one time she had seen Ruth start with just cream in the churn. Two rinses later and she was getting mostly clear water out. “Now I want to get all of the moisture out,” she said and dumped the contents of the churn into a dishpan, after she had drained the water out. She tilted the dish pan up in the sink so there was a low side and began to knead the butter. Moisture ran slowly to the low end of the pan as she kneaded. The water she worked out was dumped out of the pan and she continued to work the lump, releasing as much water as possible. “After I’ve gotten as much moisture out as I can, I’ll add a little salt and work it in. Once the salt is mixed in, I’ll pat it out into the glass baking dish you’ve seen butter in.”
“May I?” Jenny asked holding a finger near the pan.
Ruth gave her a flat stare. “Not a chance, I know where your hands have been. Now, if they were clean…”
Jenny glanced at her hands, embarrassed she had to be reminded to wash. “Oh,… right.”
When her hands were cleaned, Jenny dipped her finger into the fresh butter and removed a small sample that she popped into her mouth. “Uhm, that’s good. It makes me want to get one of those biscuits we had left from breakfast and slather that all over it.”
“Help yourself,” Ruth said. “After all, the way Jennifer is producing, we’ll have more soon.”
“Naw, I’ll wait until supper and try not to drool too much until then. So that’s really all there is to making butter.”
“You missed the fun part, turning the crank on the churn. The temperature makes a big impact on how long it takes to churn. Fortunately, the house is about right now so it churns pretty quickly. But yes, that’s about it.”
Paul had returned to the kitchen and saw the two women huddled around the sink, so he set the box he was carrying on the floor near the back door. When he had gone to the bedroom, he opened his gun safe and took out a 9mm pistol and 20ga shotgun and laid them on the bed. He followed that with a box of shells for each and closed and locked the door. A cardboard box filled with hearing protection and safety glasses was on top of the safe that he took down and set near the guns. He took two paper targets from near the safe and set them on top of the box. After seeing Jenny and Ruth with the butter, he decided to leave the guns in the bedroom for the time being. After he closed the door, he checked to be sure Nick was occupied with his father and wouldn’t wander into the bedroom and see the unattended firearms.
“You might want to see this too,” Toni told Jenny once Ruth had finished telling about the butter. She was stirring a pot on the stove, a thermometer clipped to the side of the pot.
Jenny crossed the room and looked in the pot. “You’re making warm milk? Sorry, I know I’m blonde, but I think I know how to do that,” she said, certain Toni was doing something more.
“This will become cottage cheese,” Toni told her with a chuckle. “This is the milk that Mom skimmed all of the cream off of. I need to get it to 120 degrees and then I’ll put vinegar in it.”
“Vinegar, in cottage cheese?” Jenny asked.
“That’s what we use because that’s what we have. It will make the milk form the curds. A lot of people use something called rennet to make it curd. Mom didn’t have any of that though. I think I heard it is something that comes from a goat stomach, so I’m okay with using the vinegar.” The milk had reached the right temperature while Toni talked so she set the pot on a trivet she had ready on the counter. “Now I mix in the vinegar.” She poured in a measured amount and stirred for two minutes. “And now I cover it and let the curd form.”
“How long does that take?” Jenny asked.
“About a half hour. I’ll pour it through a cheese cloth in the colander after that and drain off the whey.”
“Curds and whey; just like Little Miss Muffet?”
“Yes that’s it. But we’ll give the whey to the chickens too. We wouldn’t want to invite a spider to come sit down beside you,” Toni said with a laugh. “After it drains, I need to rinse it too, just like Mom did the butter. Mix in a little salt and we have cottage cheese.”
Paul saw they were done for the time being so he brought the two guns in and set them on the table. Toni brightened up when she saw them. “Are you going to shoot some Dad? I could use a little practice.”
“We need to teach Jenny, but everyone is invited that wants to shoot. I want to get Nick out there too so we can make sure he knows these aren’t toys and what kind of destructive power they have. Now, Jenny, what are the four most important rules of guns?”
Jenny went through the rules and then Paul picked first one of the guns and then the other, explaining everything about it he could without loading it. “Well, I guess we need to go out and use them for real,” he stated as he handed the pistol to Jenny. He watched to make sure it was pointed properly and was happy to see she was very conscious of that rule. He held the shotgun out to Toni and she got a dejected look on her face.
“I have to finish the cottage cheese first,” she said. “It should be all formed up by now.” She had just washed her hands and raised the cloth over the pan and pressed on the curd. “Yeah, it’s ready; I’ll have to stay here. But Jenny come and look at this curd before you go out.”
While Jenny was looking, with Toni pressing it with a finger, Ruth came to her daughter’s rescue. “I’ll take care of that dear, you can go play with the guns,” she said with a smile.
“Thanks Mom, but you don’t play with guns,” Toni said as she took the shotgun from her dad.
Paul called to Jake and Nick to join them and then picked up the box and led the women past the small orchard. He stopped them some distance from a pair of hole-riddled pieces of OSB board. He had the women wait while he went to the boards and attached new paper targets. Jake and Nick soon joined them and Paul began to stress safe handling again.
“One other thing,” he said. “Jenny, you said you only know guns from what you saw on TV. Well, dispel all of that. It’s pretty much rubbish. Hollywood loves to have people hold guns all wrong and they have guns that shoot forever and don’t have recoil. Try a “gangsta hold” on this pistol and it’ll twist right out of your hand. And they really overdo jacking a round into the barrel. If you do that as often as some director calls for it, you’d drop half your rounds out on the ground unfired.” He was shaking his head as he finished.
By the time evening shadows were long, Paul was suited that Jenny would be safe with either weapon. He was chagrined that with his age weakened eyes, each woman had better patterns than he did with the open sights of the pistol. Nick was wide-eyed at the results of the shots and promised to never play with a gun.
“All right, that was good. Now let’s go to the house and learn how to clean those guns,” Paul said as he returned to the group with the destroyed targets.
*****
After the morning chores were complete, breakfast eaten and cleaned up, Jenny rolled her bicycle out of the shop where it had been accumulating dust for the past months. She wiped it down and checked the tires. While not flat, they both needed more air. She lamented losing the tire pump when they were attacked, the last time she had been on the bike. I hope Paul has one. She found Paul and was relieved that he did have a hand tire pump.
He led her back to the shop to show her where it was kept. “Is Steve going along with you?” he asked.
“No, he said he’d rather stay here and see if he could find any weeds in the garden.” She didn’t tell Paul the rest of Steve’s response.
“Go back down there and see those stinkin’ sheep. Are you kidding me? I especially don’t want to help wash the wool, if that’s what she’s doing now.” He had ranted more before Jenny wished him a good day and said she would enjoy the ride by herself.
“I could go along if you want,” Paul told her. “I haven’t seen any strangers go by for a long time but you never know.”
“I appreciate it, but I’m sure I’ll be fine. If I see anyone on the road, I’ll just turn around and come back as fast as I can. Besides, somebody taught me how to use this dangerous weapon,” she said with a grin, tapping the holstered pistol on her belt.
“Suit yourself. It looks like a beautiful morning for a ride. Just make sure you don’t get caught out too late. Do you have a water bottle?”
She said she did as she returned the tire pump to its hook. She put her water bottle in the holder and shouldered the small pack Ruth had asked her to take along. It contained the butter and cottage cheese Ruth and Toni had just made as well as two freshly butchered rabbits. Jenny had almost pouted when she saw the fresh butter go in but Ruth assured her they had plenty. She sat astride the bike and gave Paul a wave as she started down the driveway. The weight of the pistol on her belt felt strange to Jenny as she rode her bicycle toward Janet’s house but as she remembered her last time on the bike, she was comforted by the presence. It all depends on the person holding the gun, she reminded herself.
Paul was right; it was a wonderful morning for a ride. The late spring morning was warm enough that only a sweatshirt was needed for warmth and that soon became too much. She took it off and secured it to the rack, happy for the bungee cords Paul had provided. Her legs were already tired from pedaling but she didn’t push the bike as she had when leaving home. Instead she put the bike in a lower gear, resolved to pedal the entire way. She made a personal pledge to start riding the bike as often as possible to get her legs in shape to make longer and longer rides.
*****
Jenny enjoyed the entire time with Janet, even with pulling smelly, water-laden sheep fleeces from a barrel and helping spread them on drying racks in the barn. As they worked the beautiful day darkened; a cool breeze was blowing and the sky filled with black clouds. Jenny insisted on helping spread the last fleece, ignoring the clouds. The result was a steady drizzle of rain falling when she got on the bicycle and started pedaling for home.
Her shoulders ached from the day’s work and the unaccustomed weight of the pack on the ride there as she bent over the handlebars. Janet had exchanged the food in the pack for fresh lamb meat. It was quite a bit heavier so Scott had secured it to the rear rack. She was grateful to not have the straps pulling on her shoulders.
The rainfall soaking through her clothes did little to dampen her spirit at first. What was a little rain anyway? The wind on the other hand was more of a problem. Steadily pushing her from the side, sudden gusts would threaten to dump her and the bike at the road side. Her good humor soon evaporated. Her legs, already tired from the early ride, were soon screaming from the effort as she went to a still lower gear. The ache in her shoulders intensified. Who knew wool could weigh so much. Those poor sheep when they get rained on. As she fought through the tired aching muscles that seemed to spread from her hair to her toes, she began to berate herself. That’s it Jenny, you’re a wimp. I bet Nick could make this ride easier than you. You better toughen up girl if you’re going to last long in this new world you live in. It soon became a chant to keep the pedals moving; Jenny you wimp, toughen up. She continued to push herself and was happy to see the shape of the house and outbuildings growing larger.
She was jolted out of her thoughts as two dark figures materialized through the rain at the side of the road. Adrenaline shot through her as her mind flashed “fight or flight”? Before she could decide, Jake’s voice cut through to her. “Hey Mom, we were getting kind of worried about you. Why didn’t you come home sooner?”
She got close and stopped the bike. She was able to see Steve was the second figure; his face half hidden by the hood of the raincoat. He had a distinct scowl on his face, irritated to be out in the rain. “Oh you scared me. I was concentrating too much just on going forward and didn’t notice you there.” She made a mental note to be more aware of her surroundings in the future, no matter what the conditions were. If they had been beasts like we ran into when we were leaving town…. She squelched the thoughts and continued what she had been saying. “But anyway, we were busy and weren’t paying attention to the weather until it was already on us.” While she stood in place with her legs on each side of the bike, they were rubbery and she hoped a strong gust of wind didn’t hit just then, it might knock her over. Her wet clothes clung to her skin and she gave an involuntary shudder as the heat she had been generating through movement was drained away by the wet clothes and the wind.
Jake noticed the shake and her lip that began to quiver. “Get to the house Mom and get some dry clothes on and warm up. Leave your bike by the front door and I’ll put it away.”
Jenny accepted and pushed off again, her legs even more rubbery after the pause, but she pushed on. Remembering to be more aware of her surroundings, she noticed the cows through the rain, all backed up to the wind, the calves huddled to their mother’s sides. Poor cows. At least I’ll be able to get out of this. She turned onto the driveway, happy to be moments away from the dry house. Note to self: also pay attention to the weather. She stopped the bike right at the front door and started to reach for the handle. No, I won’t soak Ruth’s floor. Instead of opening the door, she put her head down and plodded around the house to the back door of the enclosed back porch. She peeled the soaked sweat shirt off and hung it over the faucet in the utility sink to drip there.
“Oh there you are Dear,” Ruth said, looking up from the stove. “You need to get out of those wet clothes right away. I’ve got a towel here warming for you to dry off with.” Jenny looked at the puddle she was making and grimaced.
Ruth saw the look. “Don’t worry about it dear. That’s what mops are made for. Now you go change and then sit here by the stove and get warmed up.”
Jenny was amazed yet again at Ruth’s compassion and by reflection Paul. He probably told Jake to go look for me. I doubt it was Steve, seeing how thrilled he was to be out there. She accepted the towel that was offered to her and went to her bedroom.
When Jenny returned to the kitchen in dry clothes, Ruth sat her in a chair near the stove and took her wet clothes to hang and nodded towards the counter. “That cup has rose hip tea and honey I just made for you. You drink that and warm up while I take care of these wet things.”
Following supper Paul went back into the rain and secured the chicken house for the evening to keep the raccoons and other predators out. He walked through the garden and pushed into the dirt with the toe of his boot, happy to see the moisture depth. Summer rains were rare in the region, usually just thunder storms that were fast to pass over and quickly dried out by the wind. A good soaking rain would be welcome as he had noticed the cheat grass on the surrounding hills was already brown and yellow. He studied the cloud cover more, not seeing a break anywhere. He wasn’t a weatherman but it looked to him like this rain would last for a while.
After he had shaken his raincoat to remove as much water as possible and hung it in the back porch, he joined the family at the kitchen table where they were playing Rummy. “Jake, can you milk in the morning? I have something else I want to do.”
Jenny looked up from her hand of cards. “I’ll help.”
Jake looked at his mom. “Are you sure? You looked done in after your ride. You can sleep a little longer and I’ll do it.”
“I guess I’ll see how I feel in the morning,” she said.
*****
Paul was up at first daylight, such as it was, as was his practice. He was pleased to see the light rain was still falling, a good soaking rain; the sky enveloped in dark clouds. He took a butter knife out of the drawer and put his irrigator boots and rain coat on and a light pair of gloves. Slipping the knife in his pocket, he stepped out into the gloom. At the shop, he picked up a bucket and walked towards the road.
He was soon rewarded by a night crawler on the pavement. He slipped the knife under it and plopped it into his bucket, then continued down the road, searching for worms that had come up from the soaking rain. The key he knew was to get to them before the robins and starlings. In the past there would also have been cars, but that was no longer a problem. He stooped often over a squiggling worm and dropped it in his bucket.
Jake and Jenny were leaving the barn with the milk bucket when Paul walked up the drive way. Always curious, she left Jake with the bucket to take care of the milk. She waited for Paul and looked to see what he was carrying in his bucket. “Wow Paul, I’ve done some strange things since we’ve been here, but don’t tell me you’re going to feed us worms now. Yuck!”
“Hey, don’t knock them till you’ve tried them. Haven’t you seen how fat some birds get? Why if I hadn’t got these ones first, the road would be covered with fat little birds, too plump to fly.”
“No really, what are you going to do with them? Are we going fishing?”
“Fishing, wow, don’t I wish. No, I’m going to pour these out all over the garden. They are very beneficial out there. Their tunnels aerate the soil, and they will break down the compost. All of that stuff that we mulched with, they will help break it down and make even better fertilizer. Tilling always takes a toll on the worms and the chickens get a lot of them in the section they run in. So whenever we get a good rain like this one, I like to walk the road a couple of miles and get as many as I can to replenish the stock. So I’ll go dump them out, unless you want to try a couple. You know they’re full of protein.”
“Tell you what, I’ll eat as many of them as you do,” Jenny retorted with a grin.
Paul gave her a wry look and turned to walk to the garden. And I just bet she’d do it too. “I better get these in the garden before they start to dry out.”
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Post by kaijafon on Jan 31, 2015 22:25:41 GMT -6
thank you for the update! I enjoyed it!
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Post by bretf on Feb 4, 2015 5:31:35 GMT -6
Thanks Kaijafon.
Chapter 19
Jenny parked her bike in the shop and wiped the sweat from her face. She no longer wore a watch but was certain she had just made the return trip from Scott and Janet’s house faster than ever. Since riding home in the rain, she had made time to ride the bike almost every day. It didn’t take long before she could easily make the ride to Janet’s and asked Paul to show her a different route to add extra miles to the trip. The changes in her strength and stamina shocked her. Working hard and eating healthy food; who’d a thunk it? I think I’m in better shape than my friends that spent big money at fitness clubs. Of course they had the ever present mega-cup of pop and loved to follow their work outs with cocktails and finger-food. What good was a work out if you couldn’t boast about it with your friends?
Invites to Steve to accompany her on rides were always turned down. She didn’t know if it was from the memory of being knocked off his bike at the road block, irritation at their current circumstances, or just plain laziness. It was probably a combination of all of them and it was reflected in more than just refusing to go for rides. She still wasn’t sure if he could outwork Nick. That boy always wanted to help while Steve went about everything half-heartedly. She was certain he didn’t avoid the rides because he had developed a love for gardening; he spent a lot of time alone in the garden. Paul said he just needs time, but really, how much time does he need?
Jake and Toni each rode with her on occasion, but Jake decided she rode too fast and too far. Paul had ridden with her a few times, actually she had accompanied him. She took it easier with him than she did with the two younger people. He was using the rides to talk with the wide spread neighbors. Over the weeks they had determined what everyone had in excess that could help others out. It was all barter; both materials and labor. Paul used his equipment to put up hay for one neighbor that provided fuel and manpower to help Paul with his own. Paul would help fuel one man’s combine in exchange for grain. The combine would also harvest the beans and they would share the oil from the beans once they were pressed. The pressing would be done by another neighbor that would take beef once the weather cooled enough for it to keep. Meat, firewood, grain, beans, hay, labor; the trades went on and on, to the benefit of everyone.
Paul was relieved that the fuel was still good to put up the hay. He had dreaded what it would be like to scythe and hand rake enough to get the cattle through the winter. But that didn’t stop him from working the scythe around the buildings and loose stacking the dried grass. Every one took a turn with the scythe but no one could match Paul’s rhythm. He swung the long handle with a grace, the tall grass falling before it. He would love to have at least one more scythe if not more, but he had never seen the need when he could have gotten one. So he made do and spent long hours swinging the one he had.
Jenny’s rides with Paul had been very enjoyable. It gave her the opportunity to learn about more of the countryside and meet the neighbors. It relieved the feeling of isolation she had begun to have with just the family; although it was better than the winter spent with no-one to interact with except Steve. Until she started meeting the surrounding people she hadn’t even realized how much she was missing being around people. She tried explaining to Steve but if he understood how she felt, he still wouldn’t accompany her. Yes, there are other people out there; living and working hard to get by just like us. Maybe if I told him one of them has a working TV and a stack of NASCAR DVDs he’d want to go along.
Jenny wiped her face again and drank what water remained in her bottle. She saw Ruth and Toni walking towards the garden with the garden cart filled with boxes and went to join them. All right, more canning today. Once the vegetables had started ripening, they spent countless hours preserving the bounty for winter. Besides canning, they had loaded racks drying vegetables and herbs, crocks filled with fermenting sauerkraut, other crocks filled with cucumbers in salt brine.
“Did you have a nice ride dear?” Ruth asked when Jenny caught up to the other women.
“Yes, it was very nice, although it’s already starting to feel like today will be a scorcher,” Jenny said. “I saw some fox pups playing. They were so cute, I would have liked to watch them, but kept going. I hope they don’t come here and to get the chickens and rabbits. It would be a shame if we have to shoot them.”
“That’s why we keep the chickens and rabbits locked up tight at night. You’re right; it would be a shame if we had to shoot them. They get a lot of mice, and mice and voles can be very damaging if there’s nothing to control the population,” Ruth said.
“So what are we putting up today?” Jenny asked.
“The same as every day the past couple of weeks; whatever is ready,” Ruth replied.
The three picked as fast as they could, trying to beat the heat, the sun already beating down on them. They loaded the boxes in the garden cart and rolled it to the outdoor kitchen. Paul had set up a partial outdoor kitchen from his days of working the farmer’s markets. He had large benches and a utility sink under a screened in lean-to where he and Ruth had cleaned and prepared the vegetables they sold.
As the weather warmed, Paul had traded for a wood stove a neighbor had gathering dust in his barn. Payment for the stove would be a half beef once the weather cooled. In the meantime, the stove was set up in the outdoor kitchen to heat the canners. It was hot business, but at least the extra heat wasn’t added to the house. Paul had considered taking the stove out of the kitchen, but didn’t want to unhook the hot water system he and Jake had put in. Not that it was used during the summer. Instead, he had a water line running through a full roll of black ABS pipe he had never used. The summer sun heated the water nearly as well as the wood stove.
Paul was cleaning ashes from the stove when the women rolled the cart in. “Are you going to put the ashes in the garden?” Jenny asked. “It seems I heard somewhere they are good for gardens.” As she spoke she realized she hadn’t seen ashes in the garden but knew Paul had cleaned the stoves numerous times.
“No, I don’t put ash in our garden. It depends on the dirt whether or not it is helpful; you need acidic soil to use ashes. Most of the ground around here is alkaline, so adding ashes just makes the ground worse. In fact, I’ve put ashes out under fence rows and it has killed the grass there.” And a whole load of new seedlings. Paul hadn’t known about the alkaline soil in the area and had learned the hard way about soil additives. The county extension agent had since provided him with a lot of helpful information.
“So what do you do with it? Are you pouring it out to kill weeds?” Jenny asked.
“No, have you seen that wood hopper by the shop? I pour them in there.” Paul told her.
“Hopper, do you mean that big wooden box on legs?” Jenny asked, still needing help with a lot of the terms Paul used.
“Yep, that’s it.” Paul said as he stood up and picked up the ash bucket.
“Okay, but what do you do with them then? I mean, I don’t think you made that hopper box and pour the ashes in for the fun of it.”
“I’m going to make lye with the ash,” he told her.
“Lie? You’re turning into a liar now?” Jenny asked, knowing that was wrong, but not sure what he was talking about.
He chuckled at the response. “Not l-i-e lie, but l-y-e lye,” he said and started walking away.
“Well, thanks for the spelling lesson, but what on earth is l-y-e lye?” she asked following him.
He had arrived at the hopper and took off the cover. “In your past life, you would have bought lye to clean your drains. It is very caustic and was widely used for drain cleaner. It also is used in making olives. But we won’t use it for either of those things.” He poured the contents of the bucket into the hopper and looked in after the dust had settled. “I think we have about enough in here now.”
“Hey, wait a minute. You’re telling me they use corrosive drain cleaner in olives? Now I’m glad they don’t grow around here,” she said.
“They sure do. Remember the bitter taste in the maple seeds? That is something called tannin. Olives have it too and it has to be leeched out before they are edible. A brine is mixed up with lye and water and the olives put in and soaked. It takes quite a few days and changes of the brine, but eventually all of the tannin is leeched out.”
“So what do you want with it?” Jenny enquired. “You don’t do things on a whim, so what will you use the lye for.”
Paul had set his bucket down and started walking to a hose bib, Jenny going with him. “Well, it has three other uses that I’m interested in. First of all, lye can be used as the catalyst to make biodiesel. Now I don’t know what all that entails, but Jerry, you remember meeting him a couple weeks ago? He has played with making the stuff for years and said he will use any lye I have left over.
“The next thing I want to use it for is to make hominy. We’ll put some lye and water and dry field corn in a pot and boil it for a while. After it has set for a time, we rinse the lye out. It takes a number of rinses to get it all out. The dark tips will separate from the kernels; we have to work it with our hands to get that. We’ll separate the corn out and then start cooking again. We boil it, then change the water and do it again; and again; and again. After the kernels are soft we can eat it and can it.”
“Hominy, huh,” she said. “I used to eat that when I lived in the south but haven’ had any for years. That sounds like a good thing to make. But you said you’ll use the lye for three things. What’s the other one?”
“The other thing that we need it for is if we make it strong enough, it will dissolve fat.” He had reached the hose bib and turned it on and picked up the hose end and started back towards the hopper. He waited for the next question, working to keep the grin off his face.
“Wow it dissolves fat. I’ve sure been looking for something to do that. Paul’s wonder fat-dissolver. Actually, it seems to me all the work we are doing is pretty effective at that. Now would you quit being cryptic and tell me what you want it for,” she said with an exasperated tone.
At her remark, he couldn’t keep the grin from forming. “All right. We’ll make something you’ll be very happy to have. You mix the lye with fat and water, maybe mix in some good smelling stuff and it makes soap.”
Jenny stopped walking and stared at him, looking for the joke. “Really, you’re not lye-ing to me? You mix fat, drain cleaner and water to make soap?” They had been very careful with soap usage lately as Ruth’s stock was going fast. She had never intended on having it last for a long crisis, especially with five extra people using it.
“Really,” Paul stated. “Fats and lye make soap; we can also use milk in it.” He continued on to the hopper.
“So what are you doing? I mean, how are you going to get the lye out of the ashes?” she asked, even more interested now that she knew what the end product would be.
He indicated the hopper with his free hand. “I’ve been putting the ashes in there pretty much every time I’ve cleaned the stoves since we lost the power. In the bottom of that hopper, I have gravel and straw to work as a filter to keep the ashes from draining out. Now I’m going to add water and mix it into a sludge. It is recommended that rainwater or boiled water be used, but we’ll make do with what we have. I’m hoping the water from the spring doesn’t have anything that will react with the lye.” He held the hose over the hopper and started running water into the ashes.
“After it has leeched for a few of days, we’ll drain the liquid out the bottom. We have to be very careful doing that. It will burn if it touches skin. We’ll drain it off into a plastic bucket. Then we need to test it to see if it is right to make soap with. It would be easy if we had PH strips, but we don’t so we have to go old school. One way to do it is put an egg or potato in it. If it floats with an area about the size of a nickel above the liquid, it is just about right. Another way is to put a wing feather from a chicken in it. If it dissolves the feather, it’s strong enough to dissolve fat to make soap. Now, if we do those tests and it isn’t strong enough, we need to heat it and cook off the water until it is strong enough. I’ve heard of some people that run it through the ashes again to get it more concentrated.” Paul dropped the hose on the ground and stirred the sludge with a stick he had leaning against the hopper.
He rinsed the stick and leaned it back against the hopper and went to the hose bib and shut the water off. “But how do you get soap?” Jenny asked.
“Most of the soap recipes I have are for using crystalized lye. We could take our bucket and leave it in the sunshine and the water will evaporate, leaving us just the crystallized lye. But I was looking at some literature a couple days ago and found some instructions that use the lye water we will make. To use it in that form we will mix some of the water with fat, a little vinegar and some hot water. We have to boil it for quite a while and eventually we’ll have liquid soap. Put a little salt in it and it will make hard soap. Don’t ask me to explain why, I don’t know. I just know from my reading that it’s supposed to work.”
“So you keep saying fat. What fat?” Jenny asked.
“If we need to make some before fall, we’ll use lard. We still have quite a bit of that. If we can stretch what soap we have until fall, we’ll use the fat when we butcher. I’ve read that it works pretty good to do a mix of beef tallow and hog fat. I don’t know; I’ve never done it. And I told you I read about using raw milk. So we’ll just have to see how it goes.”
“So once we butcher, we can use all of the fat and make as much soap as we want?” Jenny enquired while they were walking back to the outdoor kitchen. “But we need to butcher to get the fat.”
“Yep, as much as we want,” Paul answered.
“You know, a barbecue and neighborhood party sure sounds good,” she said grinning.
Before stepping back into the shade, Jenny looked around, wondering where Steve, Jake and Nick were, what they were doing. She spotted Steve in the pasture, leaning on a shovel while Nick ran and splashed in the irrigation water. It sure seems to take a lot of time to irrigate. She never saw Jake but was sure he must be working harder than his father.
Ruth and Toni were busy cleaning vegetables so Jenny joined them while Paul worked on getting the stove ready to start and brought in another wheelbarrow full of firewood. The temperature rose fast once the fire was burning and the filled canners were heating. The group took a break outside under a shade tree where chairs had been set up, but still close enough to keep close tabs on the pressure gauges and the fire. Tall glasses of cool spring water were a welcome relief after the stove’s heat.
Jenny was thinking about a cool shower with unlimited soap. Her hair had been growing out and she had been feeling guilty about keeping it clean, but now…. No, I want Toni to cut it again. It has been so much easier to take care of and I like it this way now. She was shaken out of her thoughts at something Ruth had just said.
“I’m sorry Ruth, what did you say we need to do?” she asked.
“Oh, I was just saying that since we are getting more eggs than we use, we should dehydrate some for the winter. I don’t know if you’re aware of it, but chickens egg laying is tied to sunlight. Once the days shorten, the hens really drop off. We won’t get near as many eggs, so I was just telling Toni that we need to dehydrate a lot of them for winter,” Ruth said.
“That sounds like a good idea, but how do you do it?” Jenny asked.
“We’ll break a bunch of them into a mixing bowl and whisk them up. Now if we had electricity, we would pour that on the fruit leather trays and dry them in the dehydrator. But since we can’t do that, we’ll still use the trays, but also cookie sheets and lay them out on the seats of the car.” The immobile car had become the defacto dehydrator for many things. “After they are dry and brittle, we’ll crush them up and put them in canning jars and store them in the pantry. It would be nice to vacuum seal the jars, but they should be good enough to last until the chickens start laying a lot again.”
Supper was prepared and served in the outdoor kitchen, everyone filling their plates and sitting around in lawn chairs enjoying the coolness of evening once the sun had dropped below the horizon. Jenny marveled at all of the sounds that had become music to her ears in the short time on Paul and Ruth’s farm: a distant owl hooting, frogs croaking, crickets chirping and the very satisfying ping of sealing lids on the Mason jars.
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Post by ydderf on Feb 4, 2015 10:29:50 GMT -6
Are wild ducks and geese migrating through yet? I talked with a man in northern Saskatchewan some years ago who remembered hunting wild birds with a net hung in trees at first light the birds were gently herded with canoes close to shore then panicked into flying into the nets hung in trees/poles in the flight path.
Anyhow thanks for the update I enjoyed it.
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Post by bretf on Feb 7, 2015 22:52:54 GMT -6
It's my pleasure Fred.
Chapter 20
After the work table was cleaned up, Paul delivered the dishpan with the fresh rabbit meat to Ruth. While in the house, he gathered a number of items and set them all in the empty bucket he had carried along. He went to the shop and added a container of small finish nails, hammer, and a well-used file to his bucket and picked it up along with a section of plywood.
He carried it all back to the machine shed and laid everything down on the work table. Flies were buzzing all around the two fresh rabbit skins and the scrap bucket. He brushed away the flies from the hides and laid them out flat with the hair side down and sprinkled salt on them and spread it evenly on each skin. With the hides covered, he picked up the scrap bucket causing an eruption of the irritating insects, took his shovel in the other hand and went to bury the offal. After he was finished he washed the bucket and returned it and the shovel to the machine shed, turning the bucket upside down to drain.
He swept his hand over the hides, shooing the ever-present flies away. He had decided to set up there instead of the shop to take advantage of the light breeze that was blowing through. He could be fly-free in the shop, but along with that came the stifling heat of an enclosed room on a hot summer day. He settled for shooing flies.
He laid the first hide out flat on the plywood with the hair down and stretched it out, nailing the edges to the plywood. When it was secure he repeated the process with the second rabbit skin. Once the second skin was secured, he took the file and fleshed the hides, pushing any remaining scraps of meat and fat free. He paused often, brushing his hand over the annoying flies. When both hides appeared free of scraps, he wiped the file clean and set it aside.
He took two bowls from the bucket he had filled in the house and shop, and set them side by side on the table and then took out two eggs that he cracked into one bowl. He took a water bottle from the bucket, and with the lid off, squeezed most of the air out and placed the uncapped end on an egg yolk. Releasing his grip, the yolk was sucked into the bottle. He expelled the yolk into the empty bowl and repeated the process with the second egg. The bowl with the egg whites and the water bottle were pushed to the back side of the table.
Something brushed his leg and he looked down at Shadow. She was snuffling all around the table and the work area, hoping for some morsel that had fallen on the ground when he had butchered the rabbits. Tuning out the dog’s noises as she worked her way outside the machine shed, he picked up the fork and whipped the egg yolks. He poured about half of the whipped egg yolk onto one of the hides and was rubbing it into the skin when Shadow came back into the machine shed and lay down near him. The egg tanning wasn’t the best tanning method, but it was a close substitute for brain tanning. He was sure it would be good enough for the rabbit skins that were thin and would most likely wear through with much use.
Shadow crunched on something she had carried in with her, making him wonder if she had dug up the waste he had just buried. He was intent on rubbing the egg yolk into the rabbit skin when the dog farted; long, noisy and stinky. “Oh man, Shadow, did you have to do that here?” Paul said. “Wow, you’re making my eyes water and my nose hair curl with that one. It’s a good thing there’s not an open flame here; you’d blow us both up.”
He continued working the egg yolk into the rabbit skin while the air cleared. His hands froze in place as it dawned on him what he had said. “Shadow,” he said excitedly, making her jump up in alarm. She looked all around trying to locate the cause for her master’s excitement. “You wonderful, stinking dog. Why didn’t you remind me about this sooner?’’ He found it hard to concentrate on what he was doing as his mind raced. Eventually he had the egg yolk rubbed into each of the skins. He picked up the rag and went to the hose bib and washed his hands and soaked the rag. He carried the board with the skins on it to the shop and set it flat and covered the skins with the damp rag.
He looked around the shop and located the dusty box on an upper shelf. He wanted to pull it down then, but had to put everything away before that. Put away the stuff from one project or you’ll never get back to it. At least the rabbit skins could wait until morning. He went back to the machine shed and gathered everything up, his mind filled with possibilities, not on what he was doing. Shadow watched over him as she lay in the shade chewing on her treasure, unknowing and uncaring about what she had caused with her blast of flatulence.
He carried the bucket to the pump house and set the bowl with the egg whites in the box he had adapted as a make-shift refrigerator. When the weather had warmed too much for the dairy products to keep well, he had emptied a Rubbermaid tote and arranged a trickle of the cool spring water to run through it. A couple jars of milk, cottage cheese and butter were generally in it. It wasn’t as good as a refrigerator but it extended the life of their products, keeping them cooler than they would be otherwise.
He hurried to the house and cleaned everything he had used and set it to dry and went back outside in a rush. Ruth watched him, perplexed at his manner. Paul usually moved at a settled, steady pace. She wondered what was on his mind, but knew he would tell her when he was ready.
In the shop, Paul put away the tools and looked back at the shelves. I’ll need the step ladder. He set the ladder in front of the shelf and pulled off the box, dust filling the surrounding air as he jostled it towards him. After picking up his reading glasses from the work bench, he carried the box to the chairs under the shade tree and sat down and opened the box. It was filled with old magazines; mostly the original Mother Earth News, a few Grit and others thrown in. They had been there when he bought the farm. After thumbing through them briefly, he had repacked them, planning on looking at them more thoroughly someday.
He started pulling magazines out and glanced through the headings on the covers before setting them aside. A smile formed on his face when he saw a heading he was looking for: “Homemade Natural Gas: The Mother Earth News Methane Digester”. He found the story and read it through and marked the page with a subscription return card. He set the magazine by itself on an empty chair and picked up the next one in the box. Once he had gone through the box, he had four magazines set aside and started back through the pile, looking at each with a more careful eye. He failed to notice the garden cart pushed past with a load of vegetables to the outdoor kitchen.
“I didn’t realize today was a holiday,” Jenny quipped to him. Paul was so engrossed, he never looked up. “Wow, what’s going on with your dad?” she asked Toni.
“I don’t know, but there must be something good in those old magazines. I guess we get to bring the wood in ourselves today.” She looked at the cart load and the blazing sun. “I can hardly wait to get the fire going.”
Paul soon left the chair carrying the box of magazines, leaving the short stack, and returned with a clipboard of papers and a pencil. He opened first one magazine and then the next, reading and making notes. After finishing the last article, he scanned his notes and stood and looked around.
He began to talk to himself while he looked. “All right, where to build it? Close to the house I guess, where it’s going to be used. And I need heat, as close to 85 to 95 degrees as I can get it; and that will have to come from the sun.” At another glance at his notes, he added, “It still works a little down to freezing, but pretty much stops doing enough to be beneficial at 60.” He walked towards the house, looking the area over with a critical eye.
“Toni, your dad’s acting weird,” Jenny told her.
Paul was near the house and glanced at his notes again. “Good, no tree roots around there and it’s in the sun. I can bury it as much as possible and use the ground as insulation. If I put it right there against the chimney, it should pick up some heat from the stove. I think I could scrap together enough material to build a greenhouse type shelter over it, and it’ll only need to be three sided if I use the house. That’ll save some materials. Have to make it so I can vent it easy and shade it when it’s too hot out.” He studied the site a bit more and perused his notes again. He turned and went back towards the machine shed looking at all of the materials he had neatly stacked.
Reading through his notes again after looking at his pile, he considered his options. “They say the vertical designs tend to plug easier than the horizontal, so if I can pull it off I need to go horizontal. And that also makes it easier to be a continuous feed rather than a batch system.” He looked at his notes and back at the material pile. “So, I shouldn’t use metal parts because the hydrogen sulphide will corrode it, unless I build a ‘washer’. I don’t think I can build that in our current world, and I’m not sure I can be that picky about metal. Have to see what I can scrounge up. It sure would be nice to have access to a good junkyard now,” he muttered as he looked over his supplies. “But some old farmers living at the same place forever might be just as good.” He got a big grin at the thought.
An idea formed. He picked up his short stack of magazines and walked back to the shop and removed a day pack from a nail and put his magazines and clipboard in it. After he had filled two water bottles, he went to the bicycles and put one bottle in the pack and secured it to the back rack and the other bottle in the holder. He pushed the bike to the outdoor kitchen. “I’m going to go see some neighbors. Not sure when I’ll be back.” He mounted the bike and started down the driveway.
The group watched him ride away. “His mind is really on something,” Ruth said. “I haven’t seen him this distracted for a long time. Steve, would you be a dear and bring in a wheelbarrow of wood. We need to get the stove going soon.”
It was a rare instance when Steve helped with canning. And I had to be in here today. Sure I’ll get the wood and start the fire while he goes and shoots the breeze with his friends.
The evening chores were complete and everyone was relaxing in the lawn chairs when Paul returned. Ruth saw him and went into the outdoor kitchen and stirred up the coals in the stove and added some small wood to get the fire going to fry the rabbits. The pan was already on the corner almost warm enough to cook, as well as a pot of water for cooking fresh ears of corn. Jenny and Toni followed along and started slicing tomatoes and cucumbers. Jake picked up the box of corn he had picked earlier and moved with it to the seat next to his dad. After shucking one ear and Steve not getting the hint, Jake removed two ears from the box and dropped one on his dad’s lap. Steve stared at it for a bit. Nick saw his hesitation and told him, “Here Grandpa. I’ll show you how it’s done,” and took the ear and started to pull the husks free.
Supper was ready to serve by the time Paul joined them from the shop. They filled plates and sat down in a circle and Paul asked the blessing. They began to eat, except for Ruth. She looked at Paul. “Well, are you going to tell us or not?”
He chewed and swallowed the mouthful he had and then unable to keep the grin off his face said, “How would you like to use the gas stove in the kitchen again? And have gas lights in the house?”
His answer drew everyone’s attention, at least everyone that had been working over the woodstove in the summer’s heat. Toni was the first to respond to him. “That would be incredible! How are you going to do it Dad?”
“We’re going to build something called a ‘methane digester’. Once it is done, we’ll feed it manure. We’ll be able to take methane gas and fertilizer out of it. I’m hoping we can plumb the gas into the natural gas line and burn it in the stove.” He took a bite of his corn while everyone thought about what he had said.
“That sounds like in Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome,” Steve said around a mouthful of rabbit. “I always thought they made that up, you know how movies do. I mean really, making power from manure?”
“I’m not sure if I saw that movie,” Paul said. “And if I did, I don’t remember it. So they made power with manure, huh? I’m happy to say it’s real and we’re going to be using a form of it soon. We won’t make electricity however. I’d need a generator for that but I never bought one. But we can burn the gas.”
“Hey Dad,” Jake said. “It’s like that story you told me about you and your buddies at the movie theater, only we’ll harness the power.”
“What story?” Toni asked. Jenny dropped her face over her plate, knowing the story Steve had been so proud of. While it used to be funny, now it was flat out embarrassing.
“Dad and his buddies had a whole bunch of chili and more than a few beers then went to the movies. They put their legs up on the seats in front of them and were lighting their farts on fire until they were kicked out,” Jake told her. He and Steve both laughed while Jenny felt her face getting hot.
“Nice dinnertime story Jake,” Toni told him. “So Dad, how do we make this thing?”
“Jerry has an old water tank he used with his bio-diesel until he got some better tanks. We’ll get it over here and use it for the digester tank. We’ll need to put a hole in each end and put in sewer pipe that we cap off on the outside. We’ll pour in the manure on one end and take it out from the other.”
“Pour it?” Toni interrupted. “How do you pour manure?”
“We’ll mix it with water; make a slurry out of it. One article says you can mix it as thin as six percent and have it work and another says it would work with mostly manure and just a little water. It seems like most of them mix it from one to one up to three to one with water being the three. I think that’s what we’ll start with. We’ll just have to experiment.” He took another bite from his plate before continuing.
“We’ll need one more hole and pipe near the bottom on the discharge end for cleaning. The papers say invariably, sludge will form over time and will need cleaned out.”
“I don’t get how you’re going to get the gas if there is a sewer pipe going into it,” Jenny said. “Won’t the gas just escape out the sewer pipe?”
“The pipes will go down into the liquid manure and the gas will collect at the top of the tank, above the slurry. We also need to pipe in a line in the gas collection area for the methane to exit.” Paul savored a bite of the fried rabbit and washed it down with a drink of cold milk.
“Besides the digester, we’ll set up some gas collection tanks. The process works best at 85 to 95 degrees. We’ll bury the digester for the most part and build a greenhouse type enclosure around it. I don’t know how well it will work in the winter, but it’s not as important then since we use the cook stove for room heat as well as cooking. Hopefully it’ll make enough gas that we can run some lights on winter evenings. But I’m sure we can make gas and quit burning wood during the summer. Any wood we save will be a big improvement.”
“So this methane will burn in our kitchen stove just like the natural gas?” Ruth asked.
“It won’t burn as hot,” Paul told her. “The BTUs in methane is under half what natural gas is, so it will take longer to cook. I’ll probably have to tinker with the air intake on the stove a little bit too.”
“So how are the gas collectors made?” Jenny asked.
“I have some barrels; fifty and forty gallons. We’ll set the large one on the ground with the open end up. The smaller one will fit inside it, open end down. We’ll put water in the bottom barrel and it will make a seal between the two barrels. We’ll have an in and an out fitting in the top for the gas to flow. If we need even more gas storage, I have a couple of tractor inner tubes that we can put in line to collect the methane. If we push all the air out, they will inflate as the methane enters and fills them. Who knows how warm we can keep it in winter. The inner tubes might become the primary collectors.”
“It all sounds good, but I’m not so sure about having that right at my kitchen window. What about odors?” Ruth asked.
“That’s why we’ll have caps on the in and out pipe. As long as we keep everything capped it shouldn’t stink,” Paul said. “We should only open it when we add more slurry and drain off the same at the other end.
As they ate, there was further discussion of the project, each of them excited to get started on it. Steve was having mixed thoughts. It sounds like a lot of work. But once it’s working I guess we won’t be splitting and hauling that much firewood. No wait, we’ll be hauling manure instead. I guess we’ll see if it’s worth it – if it even works. Power from manure, really?
Following chores the next morning, Paul, Jake, Jenny and Toni mounted bicycles and started for Jerry’s house. Paul had arranged for Jerry to drive the tank over, along with the needed piping, but it would be a big job to load it. Steve had turned down the chance to go along, saying parts of the garden needed irrigated and he would stay and take care of it with Nick’s help. Ruth stayed and worked on removing dehydrated food from the racks and refilling them.
Ruth had just replaced two racks when Jerry’s old flatbed truck rolled into the driveway. After Paul directed him to a place near the back of the house, Jake and Toni got off the back of the truck and started to unload three bicycles while Jerry got out of the cab. Ruth looked at the load and noticed Jenny’s absence. “Jake, what happened to your mother? I don’t see her.”
“I’m not sure what she’s up to. She told Jerry she wanted dropped off before we got home, I can’t remember what the road is. She unloaded her bike and started down that road. She wouldn’t tell us what she was doing.”
“Well I’m sure she had her reasons. So that’s our gas generator huh?” she said looking at the large steel tank.
“Yep, now we get to unload it and start digging.” Jake didn’t look enthused at the idea but went straight to unhooking tie down straps.
The tank was soon upended onto the ground and Jerry said his goodbyes, promising to be back in a few days. He was interested in any alternative fuel, and although he didn’t have livestock on his farm, he wanted to see the digester when it was finished and working. If it did everything it was hoped for, he just might have to get some animals. As he drove away, he thought more about it. Or just run the drain from the house into a digester instead of the septic tank. I might not need animals after all.
Paul laid out the footprint of the digester’s destination and they started digging. When he took breaks from the shovel he worked on the holes in the tank. Jenny soon came peddling home and parked her bike and took a turn digging. Enquiries by Jake about what she had been doing went unanswered.
By evening, the tank had been rolled into the hole and the dirt packed around it everywhere except at the drain. That would have to remain accessible. The pipes were all put in the holes and sealed with silicone. Paul wanted to get some slurry in the tank, but decided it would be wise to wait for the silicone to dry. Patience, Paul, Patience. What’s one more day after all? Weary from the tough day, he carried the tools to the shop to put them away and for the first time that day noticed the stretched rabbit hides. Oh, those still need to be taken care of. He pulled the nails and carried the hides to the machine shed, picked up the empty bucket and went to the hose bib and filled the bucket with water.
He put the hides in the water and started washing the salt and egg yolk off them. He was pleased to see Jenny go to the barn with the milk bucket. Good, I sure don’t want to milk this evening. He returned to the task at hand, continuing to wash the hides. After the water had been changed, he rinsed the hides again, then hung them on the clothes line. They needed to dry some, but should still be damp for the next step.
Ruth was putting the finishing touches on supper when Jenny came in with the milk bucket. “So Dear, are you going to tell me what secret mission you were on today?” she asked.
Jenny looked around to be sure no one else was in listening range. “What would you think of having a working refrigerator?” she asked.
“I think that would be wonderful, but how would you do it?” Ruth said.
“When we were going to Jerry’s, I saw something down one of the roads I’ve seen on my rides but never paid much attention to. While we were loading the tank Jerry was going on and on about all the things we could do with methane gas, besides cooking. I tell you, that man is passionate about alternative energy. He barely took time to breathe. But anyway, when he mentioned gas powered refrigerators, I remembered there is an old run-down travel trailer down there. The roof is caving in on it, but I figured the refrigerator might still work if it’s there. So I went to find out. It’s still there and I think we can trade some milk and eggs and a couple of rabbits for it. Think about it Ruth, a refrigerator; ice in summer. We could take some of that wonderful cream and make ice cream for Nick’s birthday!”
Ruth did think about it. “Yes, that would be incredible. Paul would be thrilled with that. He considered ice cream its own food group. He went through worse withdrawals from that than coffee,” she said with a chuckle.
Following supper, Paul retrieved the rabbit skins and a shovel. He rested the shovel handle across the front edge of his chair. He picked up one hide and started to work it across the wooden handle. When Jenny saw what he was doing she got another shovel and started to work the second skin. She had assisted him on many evenings by working rabbit skins while they dried, making the skin soft and supple. It was much better than allowing them to air-dry where they would end up hard as a board.
When they were totally dry and pliable, Paul would have Jake climb a ladder and clip them to a rack he had arranged over the chimney. The smoke would help make them waterproof. After that they would be ready to cut for mittens or whatever Ruth decided to make out of them. He had a good stack of tanned skins that were waiting for cutting and sewing.
The following day, they worked to complete the gas collectors and the piping between the digester, the collection tanks and the gas line into the house. Paul was checking the silicone seal on the input pipe when he saw Ruth whispering in Jenny’s ear. He stared at her for a moment and asked, “What? If you have something to say, share it with everyone.”
Ruth and Jenny both busted out laughing to Paul’s irritation. At his pointed look, she controlled her laughter enough to answer him. “I was just telling Jenny you were just like a little boy shaking all his presents at Christmas. I swear Paul; it will be dry when it is dry. You don’t have to check it every five minutes. There’s an old saying, maybe you’ve heard it. “A watch pot never boils.” Now just relax and wait for it to be ready.”
He glared at her for a bit longer and then his gaze softened. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I just want to get the slurry in there and let the bacteria get to working. It’s supposed to take a couple weeks if not longer before it works.”
“Tell you what, it looks like we’re done here for now. Go milk the cow and after that fill the wheelbarrow with manure. It will have to be ready to pour in by then,” Ruth told him.
He stood immobile for a while. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. See, I told you I married you for your brains as well as your beauty,” he said and gave her a quick kiss before he went to get his milk bucket. When he was out of hearing, the two women started laughing again.
After Jennifer was milked, Paul filled and rolled a wheelbarrow load of chicken manure to the digester. I needed to clean the chicken house anyway, so at least it’s good timing. He checked the silicone seals and mentally complemented Ruth on her wisdom; she had been right. He had kept busy and it was now dry enough to start adding slurry if he was careful. He mixed water with the load of manure and started pouring it in the input pipe. When the load was empty, he checked the seal on the clean out pipe and was pleased to see there was no leakage.
While he was checking Ruth and Jenny rolled the garden cart up, filled with cow pies. “We thought you might want this,” Ruth said flashing him a grin. “After all, you’ve been acting like this is your Christmas present and you always need batteries with the good presents. Consider this the batteries.”
“Thanks. Your timing is perfect, I was just ready for some more.” He transferred the cow manure to the wheel barrow, added water and started mixing it.
Each morning and numerous times during the day, Paul checked the gas collection chambers. When he noted one chamber raising, he was elated, then remembered it was supposed to make carbon dioxide first. He knew that, but he still couldn’t stop himself from getting a long lighter and holding it over the tank release valve as he cracked it open. He fought his disappointment as the release didn’t ignite. He closed the valve with a sigh. It just needs more time. The articles said it will take two weeks if not more. He looked up as Ruth and Jenny peddled past the house on the way to the road, a filled pack on Jenny’s back rack. Now where are those two going? Ruth doesn’t ride bikes like Jenny. He shook it off and went to don his bee suit to check the bee hives. ***** Paul was elated. He had held the lighter over the valve, opened it and flame had shot out. It works, it really works! He had hoped and prayed it would work, but harnessing the gas from manure seemed like it would take something more complex. While he had been monitoring the digester, he had remembered some of the large dairies setting up digesters. They had spent thousands and thousands of dollars on each system. And he had made one that was so simple, make that we made one that is simple. He decided the USDA must have had some kind of grant for setting up a system. Oh well, their policies don’t affect me now.
He opened the valve to send the gas into the house and was just stepping though the doorway when Ruth and Jenny came into the driveway, pushing their bikes. Now what happened that they’re pushing instead of riding? And what on earth do they have on Jenny’s rack? He was going to go check on them when he remembered what he was doing. I’ve got to go check the stove and make sure it is right. I guess they can tell me later what happened that they are walking.
Paul had done a little plumbing in the time he had waited for the digester to work. The gas line to the hot water heater was disconnected and capped off, the shortest possible route remaining for the gas to the stove. He sniffed around the new connections and didn’t detect any odor. After going to the stove, he cracked open a valve and held the lighter flame to it. Nothing. After an interminable wait, he finally smelled the methane and held the lighter flame to it. It burned, but was a small flame. He stared at it trying to figure out a solution. More pressure, the gas needs to come in under more pressure. He was starting for the back door when he remembered the new fittings. He gave another sniff test and ran the lighter around them all and was pleased there did not appear to be leakage. Now to increase the pressure.
He stepped out the door and stopped just before he ran into a large object. Ruth and Jenny were standing behind it with big grins. “Merry Christmas,” they chimed in unison as he looked up at them. He looked back down at the boxy object.
“We were worried you didn’t have enough to do and would be getting bored, so we found you something, well Jenny found something, that you might have fun with,” Ruth beamed.
“Is that a refrigerator? Where’d it come from?” Paul asked, amazed at the two women.
“It sure is. Jenny found it in a travel trailer so we made a little trade for it and got it out with some help from Jerry,” Ruth said.
“Jerry?” Paul asked.
“Yes, he was so interested in your project that when Jenny told him what she was working on, he jumped right on board. I think he wants you to get all the bugs worked out so he can copy your system.” Ruth was pleased with the happy expression on Paul’s face. “So if you notice some missing rabbits from the breeders, that’s what happened to them. We had to pay for this after all.”
“So, will you be able to make enough gas to cook with and run this too?” Jenny asked.
“Well, I’m not sure, but we’ll find out,” he answered. He looked around at the digester area that had become a construction project. He had been busy working on the building enclosure. A pile of bricks were nearby that he had planned on laying between the dirt and the lumber. He picked up four bricks and set them on one of the inverted barrels.
Paul looked at the women with a very satisfied grin. “I was just burning a flame on the stove. It worked, but was weak. I think this weight will increase the pressure. You want to see it?”
The women followed him into the kitchen and watched while Paul started a burner. The flame was increased with the added pressure. Ruth moved the teapot from the cook stove and set it on the burner, all three staring at the blue flame. Paul cleared his throat, “Uh, I think it might take a while. So, where do we set up that refrigerator?”
*****
Paul looked up at the unfamiliar sound of an approaching vehicle. It seemed odd that the one-time familiar sound now generated alarm. He remained tense until he recognized Jerry’s old truck turn onto the driveway. He walked over to intercept the truck and regretted it. The truck braked to a stop creating a large dust cloud in the dry dirt.
Jerry climbed out and greeted Paul. “Good morning Paul. So, is it working?”
Paul’s face wore a wide smile. “It’s working great, just like the articles said. Did you want to go see it or just stand here in the sun and talk about it?”
“Lead on Trailblazer.”
They walked to the digester, the building around it taking shape. “Do you have enough material to get it fully enclosed?” Jerry asked.
“Barely; I didn’t have enough cement for a foundation, so I’m just going with pier footings. I’ve got some brick to separate the ground from the wood, but some wood will sit on the ground. I’ll have to make sure I give it good ventilation in the warm part of the year. I’m sacrificing three of my cold frames for the glass and the wood. But that’s all right; I didn’t use them much after I got the greenhouse.”
Paul showed him the full set up, answering all of Jerry’s questions about it. “So you are making gas; how about the heat? Does it do what you hoped for?”
Paul’s smile broadened. “The ladies have been canning with it. It takes quite a while to get the canners to pressure, but no worse than the wood stove. And then it’s lots easier to keep the heat adjusted. I just wish Shadow would have clued me in earlier in the summer.” Jerry had laughed and laughed when Paul had told him his inspiration for the system.
“What about the refrigerator, do you get enough gas to run it too?” Jerry asked as Paul led him into the house.
“See for yourself,” Paul said. Ruth approached them as they entered the kitchen holding out two glasses filled with ice tea.
After Jerry had seen all he wanted to see and made some notes on the system, he walked back to his truck, accompanied by Paul. “Will you be back for Nick’s birthday?” Paul asked.
“With those ladies making a chocolate cake and ice cream? I wouldn’t miss it.” Ruth had told him of the plans she and Jenny had for Nick’s birthday and insisted he attend.
“You’ve given me a lot of good ideas here Paul. I think I should have something working before long. I’ll come and get you when it’s going and let you look it over.” He started the truck, turned and drove away, kicking up nearly as much dust as when he arrived.
***** The meal was cleaned up and Ruth put four candles in the cake and had Nick stand in front of it while everyone encircled the table. She clicked the lighter and the breeze snuffed out the flame. That’s odd, it’s been so calm. “Can you hold that tray to block the wind, Paul?” she asked, indicating the tray they used to carry the stack of dishes.
Paul did as he was asked and held the tray as Ruth lit the candles. They sang ‘Happy Birthday’ to Nick and he leaned in to blow out the candles. The swirling gust of wind coincided with Nick’s action, the candles all going out.
Paul stepped back and looked out across the fields. The sky to the west was filled with black menacing clouds. A cloud of dust was on the horizon and trees were bending from the wind. “We need to get under cover, there’s a storm coming fast,” Paul snapped.
They moved fast, carrying chairs and everything needed for the dessert into the outdoor kitchen. Ruth covered the food and dishes with a towel just as the strong winds hit, accompanied by flying dust. The dust cloud was gone almost as fast as it arrived but the wind continued with strong gusts. The sky darkened, then lit with a flash of lighting. Rain began to pound, making Nick put his hands over his ears as it hammered the tin roof. The rain was intense and short lived, but the clouds remained, sheet lightning flashing across the sky. There were constant rumbles of thunder.
Paul watched the sky with concern. Summer thunderstorms were responsible for many range and forest fires in the region. So how bad is it gonna be without the fire crews out on them. He anticipated the valley filling up with smoke soon if fires began to burn unabated, which they were sure to do. Have to make sure we keep everything here irrigated and green.
“Hey Nick, come over here,” he said as the women again started to fill bowls with cake and ice cream. He arranged a chair and sat down and pulled the boy onto his lap. He pointed out at the sky. “How’s this for your birthday? You not only get ice cream, you get fireworks too.”
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Post by 2medicinewoman on Feb 8, 2015 0:53:09 GMT -6
Good chapter. Your story is always full of interesting ideas. Besides. I like the families. Even Steve is coming around a little.
Thanks for sharing with us.
2mw
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Post by ydderf on Feb 8, 2015 10:26:27 GMT -6
With enough methane one could run a small stationary engine. The possibilities then become numerous from an overhead drive shaft many tools including an alternator could be powered. Riveting update thanks.
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Post by papaof2 on Feb 8, 2015 11:29:28 GMT -6
Wonder how much methane (in cubic feet) would be needed to run a 3.5HP B&S engine for an hour? And how much raw material would be needed for that much methane? I think storage capacity and creating enough pressure would be the keys. Remember that gas pressures (natural and LP) are measured in inches of water, so 'enough pressure' is a very low number - 1 inch of water is 0.036psi. LP typically is 0.4 psi (11 inches/water) at the appliance. Natural gas typically is 0.25psi (7 inches/water) at the appliance. See inspectapedia.com/plumbing/gas_pressures.htm
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