beaglemama
Contributing Member
Thank you for the new chapter!
Story Nann
- Thread starter Kathy in FL
- Start date
sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
Enjoyment whooee, thank you.
Chapter 54
I was up before dawn as usual. Mom and Dad had always believed in early to bed and early to wise blah, blah, blah. I shouldn’t be like that I guess but what’s so important about being healthy, wealthy, and wise when you’re all alone? I mean okay, I get it. People aren’t meant to be alone and for sure my cheese started slipping off my cracker there for a while.
Like that morning after the plane fell out of the sky. I was up and just acting like nothing had happened. I could see the mess from the front porch … sorta. I could definitely see it from the windbreak tree line because we are up on a knoll. But, it wasn’t really registering. Or I wasn’t letting it register. Or something along those lines anyway. I had work to do and someone else could clean up that mess was my general attitude.
My plan for the morning was to pull the peanuts and stack them to let them finish drying out. I’d checked the previous day and the pods were filled out. So, I hefted ye ol’ garden fork and headed to the peanut field. Mitch had already explained that Uncle Hy had planted/drilled the peanut field right before I showed up and him leaving this earthly realm. He’d also explained that normally when Uncle Hy planted peanuts he would get about 4300 pounds of peanut per acre. But to do that he had to run the monster irrigator. We weren’t able to do that this year. As a result Mitch thought we’d only get 3800 pounds per acre. Thank the Good Lord Above that Uncle Hy had only planted an acre because I kid you not, I had no idea what I was going to do with 3800 pounds of peanuts. A bushel of green peanuts weighs about 22 pounds. I was going to have roughly 172 bushels of peanuts on my hands.
You cannot just dig up peanuts and expect them to keep. Nope. You have to dry them or process them in some way. Well Mitch and I had figured we could dry them in the dryhouse. We’d have to run it a little hotter than normal – about 130 degrees which meant … you guessed it … more wood. But I surprised Mitch by telling him that Grammy had a recipe for canning boiled peanuts that we’d tried last year, and Uncle Hy had liked them so well they didn’t last through Christmas. He said if I was inclined, he’d help out and we’d can boiled peanuts for us since I still had plenty of jars. So that’s what I was planning on doing.
You get roughly 20 quarts out of a bushel of peanuts. I figured even if I canned 100 quarts of boiled peanuts, that was only 110 to 125 pounds of peanuts used. That still left a whole doggone bunch of peanuts. The dryhouse would hold about 660 pounds of green peanuts at a time which was still nearly 6 drying cycles and I couldn’t just stop to dry peanuts, I had too many other things that I needed to do at the same time.
It was also a sure thing I wouldn’t be able to do all them peanuts at one time. Trust me, the maffs was hurting my head as I started turning part of the first row of peanuts so I could shake the dirt off and haul them up to the house porch for picking and processing.
That’s when I heard, “Call ‘em off! Call ‘em OFF! CALL ‘EM OFF!!”
I turned and saw this poor guy climbing a tree.
“You better climb higher. My dogs know how to climb too.”
“I know! Decker … Decker!”
I finally realized he was a friendly and ran over. “Down. Down! Right now you two. Doggone I fed you breakfast not that long ago. Soldiers are friends, not food.”
I was lucky that he was a good ol’ boy and he was laughing. “Dang, I want me a dog like that one of these days. Is yer boy ready for me to climb down yet?”
“Just do it slow and easy. And tell me you are here to clean up that mess over in the Delray field.”
“If you’re talking about the bomber then yeah. We’re already over there. Major Mendelssohn would like the pleasure of your company please.”
“I’m working.” He gave me a look that told me he was sorry but it wasn’t a request. “Oh all right.”
Well I’m not going to record the conversation that was had, not that there was much of one. Essentially I confirmed what I saw and they cross-checked my report to see if both reports matched. I was then told to stay out of the way … like I was some curious lookie-lou … only as I turn to leave I see men heading to a water station and their hands … oh my word.
“Didn’t your mother teach you any commonsense?! Don’t touch that spigot until you’ve cleaned your hands! No telling what you’ve been touching! I know for a fact there’s a dead guy over there smeared around like tomato guts in a food processor!”
Most everyone was standing around looking at me like I was crazy on steroids. Except for the guy who had come to get me. His name was Private Tyson Turnbridge, and he was used to crazy females. “And this war has just made y’all crazier. Not to mention Mitch warned me you could be cussed hardheaded about things like washing your hands, brushing your teeth, and dirt tracked into the house. My momma and sisters are the same way. Hey, you okay?”
I almost sat on the ground but someone got a camp chair under me before I went all the way down.
“What’s wrong?”
“I … I haven’t … Mitch … it’s been over a month and … and …”
“Oh hey, someone was supposed to swing by here and let you know. Dundee is going to scalp someone and that’s a fact. ‘Scuse me. I need to ask the sergeant something and I’ll be right back.”
I wanted to hear so bad but there’s no way I was letting any of them touch the water spigot. It was bad enough watching them touch their own canteens with such dirty hands. I was filling up canteens for people when Pvt. Turnbridge came back with someone named Lt. Sandra Clark. It was she that told me that Mitch was still in the field hospital because right when he just about had them convinced to let him go so he could come back, an outbreak of viral gastroenteritis hit the hospital. Many of the patients, already in a weakened condition due to other injuries, succumbed to the epidemic hard. Mitch was one of them.
I was up before dawn as usual. Mom and Dad had always believed in early to bed and early to wise blah, blah, blah. I shouldn’t be like that I guess but what’s so important about being healthy, wealthy, and wise when you’re all alone? I mean okay, I get it. People aren’t meant to be alone and for sure my cheese started slipping off my cracker there for a while.
Like that morning after the plane fell out of the sky. I was up and just acting like nothing had happened. I could see the mess from the front porch … sorta. I could definitely see it from the windbreak tree line because we are up on a knoll. But, it wasn’t really registering. Or I wasn’t letting it register. Or something along those lines anyway. I had work to do and someone else could clean up that mess was my general attitude.
My plan for the morning was to pull the peanuts and stack them to let them finish drying out. I’d checked the previous day and the pods were filled out. So, I hefted ye ol’ garden fork and headed to the peanut field. Mitch had already explained that Uncle Hy had planted/drilled the peanut field right before I showed up and him leaving this earthly realm. He’d also explained that normally when Uncle Hy planted peanuts he would get about 4300 pounds of peanut per acre. But to do that he had to run the monster irrigator. We weren’t able to do that this year. As a result Mitch thought we’d only get 3800 pounds per acre. Thank the Good Lord Above that Uncle Hy had only planted an acre because I kid you not, I had no idea what I was going to do with 3800 pounds of peanuts. A bushel of green peanuts weighs about 22 pounds. I was going to have roughly 172 bushels of peanuts on my hands.
You cannot just dig up peanuts and expect them to keep. Nope. You have to dry them or process them in some way. Well Mitch and I had figured we could dry them in the dryhouse. We’d have to run it a little hotter than normal – about 130 degrees which meant … you guessed it … more wood. But I surprised Mitch by telling him that Grammy had a recipe for canning boiled peanuts that we’d tried last year, and Uncle Hy had liked them so well they didn’t last through Christmas. He said if I was inclined, he’d help out and we’d can boiled peanuts for us since I still had plenty of jars. So that’s what I was planning on doing.
You get roughly 20 quarts out of a bushel of peanuts. I figured even if I canned 100 quarts of boiled peanuts, that was only 110 to 125 pounds of peanuts used. That still left a whole doggone bunch of peanuts. The dryhouse would hold about 660 pounds of green peanuts at a time which was still nearly 6 drying cycles and I couldn’t just stop to dry peanuts, I had too many other things that I needed to do at the same time.
It was also a sure thing I wouldn’t be able to do all them peanuts at one time. Trust me, the maffs was hurting my head as I started turning part of the first row of peanuts so I could shake the dirt off and haul them up to the house porch for picking and processing.
That’s when I heard, “Call ‘em off! Call ‘em OFF! CALL ‘EM OFF!!”
I turned and saw this poor guy climbing a tree.
“You better climb higher. My dogs know how to climb too.”
“I know! Decker … Decker!”
I finally realized he was a friendly and ran over. “Down. Down! Right now you two. Doggone I fed you breakfast not that long ago. Soldiers are friends, not food.”
I was lucky that he was a good ol’ boy and he was laughing. “Dang, I want me a dog like that one of these days. Is yer boy ready for me to climb down yet?”
“Just do it slow and easy. And tell me you are here to clean up that mess over in the Delray field.”
“If you’re talking about the bomber then yeah. We’re already over there. Major Mendelssohn would like the pleasure of your company please.”
“I’m working.” He gave me a look that told me he was sorry but it wasn’t a request. “Oh all right.”
Well I’m not going to record the conversation that was had, not that there was much of one. Essentially I confirmed what I saw and they cross-checked my report to see if both reports matched. I was then told to stay out of the way … like I was some curious lookie-lou … only as I turn to leave I see men heading to a water station and their hands … oh my word.
“Didn’t your mother teach you any commonsense?! Don’t touch that spigot until you’ve cleaned your hands! No telling what you’ve been touching! I know for a fact there’s a dead guy over there smeared around like tomato guts in a food processor!”
Most everyone was standing around looking at me like I was crazy on steroids. Except for the guy who had come to get me. His name was Private Tyson Turnbridge, and he was used to crazy females. “And this war has just made y’all crazier. Not to mention Mitch warned me you could be cussed hardheaded about things like washing your hands, brushing your teeth, and dirt tracked into the house. My momma and sisters are the same way. Hey, you okay?”
I almost sat on the ground but someone got a camp chair under me before I went all the way down.
“What’s wrong?”
“I … I haven’t … Mitch … it’s been over a month and … and …”
“Oh hey, someone was supposed to swing by here and let you know. Dundee is going to scalp someone and that’s a fact. ‘Scuse me. I need to ask the sergeant something and I’ll be right back.”
I wanted to hear so bad but there’s no way I was letting any of them touch the water spigot. It was bad enough watching them touch their own canteens with such dirty hands. I was filling up canteens for people when Pvt. Turnbridge came back with someone named Lt. Sandra Clark. It was she that told me that Mitch was still in the field hospital because right when he just about had them convinced to let him go so he could come back, an outbreak of viral gastroenteritis hit the hospital. Many of the patients, already in a weakened condition due to other injuries, succumbed to the epidemic hard. Mitch was one of them.
Jeepcats27
Senior Member
Poor Mitch, alone in the hospital without Nan to look out for him!!! Thank you for the chapter!!!
Thank you Kathy!!!
Probably some orderly or food handler that didn't follow basic sanitation. Check the first cases and see who they had in common. Give me their names, I want them. I promise I will leave something for Nann if she wants me to. That is if the other team mates don't get them first.
Probably some orderly or food handler that didn't follow basic sanitation. Check the first cases and see who they had in common. Give me their names, I want them. I promise I will leave something for Nann if she wants me to. That is if the other team mates don't get them first.
Chapter 55
Mitch is going to be okay. He’s over the worst of it but he is still weak. And he is still in quarantine.
“Is there anything I can do?” I asked.
She pulled me off to the side. “You … could possibly help him.”
“How?”
“You help us. We see that Mitch gets a little extra.”
I almost fell for it. Almost. I don’t know what would have come of it if I had. Instead I said, “Oh tell me this isn’t some kind of racket? I already got the lecture of all lectures from a Sgt. Cahill that said I better watch that kind of stuff.”
She blinked at me. Then smiled. “You just won me a beer.”
“Is … er … that a good thing?”
“Yep. Since the Major is the one buying. He says you must be hiding supplies around here someplace. I think he was going to try and squeeze you a little.”
“Puh-leeze. If I haven’t touched the stuff those salvagers brought in …”
She was suddenly all business and asked for details. I told her, “They came after Mitch and the outpost got shot up. I wouldn’t have even known they were here except I hiked over to the outpost looking for some fuel or anything like that. Only I saw someone had gotten there ahead of me. I thought at first that it was you guys cleaning up the outpost and taking your equipment away and I was kinda in a funk so I kept hiking to see if this grove of hazelnuts I knew of had produced this year. Sometimes they skip a year, like the ones around here did.”
“And?” she prompted after my story trailed off.
“Oh. Sorry. So I’m walking along and well there was trash and I knew that Sgt. Cahill had had it all cleaned up. I mean the Millhouse. Sorry, just … been a while since I’ve had anyone to talk to and … yeah, anyway I went inside and in the back room there was a bunch of ugly paintings and things like that.
She looked at me then hauled out a map on her handy dandy computer tablet and asked me to show her where on the map the millhouse was located.
“Right there where you have it marked,” I said pointing.
She went over to talk to the Major and I was left doing maffs in my head again to keep from having the heebies. Finally I waved and said I had to get back to the house or the dogs would worry. I was given a strange look by some and the Major gave me an approving look and told me to stay out of the way again.
Lt. Clark said, “Please don’t ask. We don’t have any Red Cross packages to hand out.”
I don’t know what got into me but Pvt. Turnbridge had to walk real fast over to the port-o-john they had and climb inside. “Aw, it’s all right. I got lucky this morning and found a patch of mushrooms that’ll go real good with the kudzu tips I clipped and cooked up last night. They shouldn’t give me the runs too bad.”
“Er … kudzu.”
“Yeah. If we don’t eat it it’s gonna take over the world.”
“Kudzu.”
“Yeah. The tips aren’t as tender as they were in the spring but hey, better than getting’ out and peckin’ bugs with the chickens. ‘Course ain’t got too many of them left either. Something keeps gettin’ into the henhouse, and it took my last egg layer a few days ago. Not that I got too many eggs with the feed all gone. Think it’s a raccoon. If I can catch that jobber and feed him up with something besides snails and slugs, I might have a meal come Thanksgiving.”
She looked a little green as I turned to leave. I noticed a couple of the younger soldiers had pulled their caps down over their faces like some do when they take a break from hard labor. But that wasn’t snoring they were hiding under there.
# # # # #
It took them three days to clear the debris field (as they called it) of the bomber and the remains of the enemy fighter jet took them another two. I stayed as away as I was allowed to though Pvt. Turnbridge came by every day and left snickering. He finally allowed as he could be “bribed” to take a letter to Mitch.
“You good as you think you are about keeping things hid?”
“As good as you are at telling them clankers to Lt. Clark.”
I made a small stack of corn meal cakes and gave him a sack of dried fruit. I also gave him a small jar of honey.
“Now that I can’t take. It’s too much.”
“Do you have an extra canteen?”
“So happens I do.”
I took it, cleaned it out (I was boiling water for laundry) and pour that honey and some more I had into it.
I then put the letter in his hand. “I want this to get to Mitch. I don’t want it just tossed in a ditch or used to light a fire with. You got it?”
He gave me look for look and said, “I’ll put it in his hands myself if I can. If I can’t, there’s plenty here to get it done.”
“No. That’s all for you. If you need bribe money, use this.” I put more dried fruit in the bag and then filled his canteen to the top with honey.
“Yeah buddy. That’ll do it.”
“Just make sure. I want Mitch to get well quick and he won’t if he is wasting energy worrying about me.”
Less than an hour later Lt. Clark found me, and she made a face at my scrubbing board and the smell of the socks I was boiling. They were the ones I wore when I was mucking the barn. I was careful because my first thought was that Turnbridge had already gotten caught.
She said, “I just wanted to let you know that you don’t have to worry about those salvagers.”
Carefully I responded, “I don’t?”
“Yeah. Karma ripped them a new one.”
“Uh …”
“The enemy plane came down on their camp. Not a single one left alive.”
“Are you serious?” I asked, wondering if she was joking.
“I am,” she said. “The area was burned over by the crash but there was still ample evidence of their camp and the members getting blown up.”
“Really?! Well, that’s good news I guess. Guess that’ll teach ‘em to cross the river.”
She nodded and said, “Exactly. As for Captain Decker, I’m sure he’ll be released soon. It is the quarantine that he is going to have to wait out.”
When she turned to leave all I could think was, “God sure has a strange sense of humor.” Second thought was who the heck is Capt. Decker?”
Mitch is going to be okay. He’s over the worst of it but he is still weak. And he is still in quarantine.
“Is there anything I can do?” I asked.
She pulled me off to the side. “You … could possibly help him.”
“How?”
“You help us. We see that Mitch gets a little extra.”
I almost fell for it. Almost. I don’t know what would have come of it if I had. Instead I said, “Oh tell me this isn’t some kind of racket? I already got the lecture of all lectures from a Sgt. Cahill that said I better watch that kind of stuff.”
She blinked at me. Then smiled. “You just won me a beer.”
“Is … er … that a good thing?”
“Yep. Since the Major is the one buying. He says you must be hiding supplies around here someplace. I think he was going to try and squeeze you a little.”
“Puh-leeze. If I haven’t touched the stuff those salvagers brought in …”
She was suddenly all business and asked for details. I told her, “They came after Mitch and the outpost got shot up. I wouldn’t have even known they were here except I hiked over to the outpost looking for some fuel or anything like that. Only I saw someone had gotten there ahead of me. I thought at first that it was you guys cleaning up the outpost and taking your equipment away and I was kinda in a funk so I kept hiking to see if this grove of hazelnuts I knew of had produced this year. Sometimes they skip a year, like the ones around here did.”
“And?” she prompted after my story trailed off.
“Oh. Sorry. So I’m walking along and well there was trash and I knew that Sgt. Cahill had had it all cleaned up. I mean the Millhouse. Sorry, just … been a while since I’ve had anyone to talk to and … yeah, anyway I went inside and in the back room there was a bunch of ugly paintings and things like that.
She looked at me then hauled out a map on her handy dandy computer tablet and asked me to show her where on the map the millhouse was located.
“Right there where you have it marked,” I said pointing.
She went over to talk to the Major and I was left doing maffs in my head again to keep from having the heebies. Finally I waved and said I had to get back to the house or the dogs would worry. I was given a strange look by some and the Major gave me an approving look and told me to stay out of the way again.
Lt. Clark said, “Please don’t ask. We don’t have any Red Cross packages to hand out.”
I don’t know what got into me but Pvt. Turnbridge had to walk real fast over to the port-o-john they had and climb inside. “Aw, it’s all right. I got lucky this morning and found a patch of mushrooms that’ll go real good with the kudzu tips I clipped and cooked up last night. They shouldn’t give me the runs too bad.”
“Er … kudzu.”
“Yeah. If we don’t eat it it’s gonna take over the world.”
“Kudzu.”
“Yeah. The tips aren’t as tender as they were in the spring but hey, better than getting’ out and peckin’ bugs with the chickens. ‘Course ain’t got too many of them left either. Something keeps gettin’ into the henhouse, and it took my last egg layer a few days ago. Not that I got too many eggs with the feed all gone. Think it’s a raccoon. If I can catch that jobber and feed him up with something besides snails and slugs, I might have a meal come Thanksgiving.”
She looked a little green as I turned to leave. I noticed a couple of the younger soldiers had pulled their caps down over their faces like some do when they take a break from hard labor. But that wasn’t snoring they were hiding under there.
# # # # #
It took them three days to clear the debris field (as they called it) of the bomber and the remains of the enemy fighter jet took them another two. I stayed as away as I was allowed to though Pvt. Turnbridge came by every day and left snickering. He finally allowed as he could be “bribed” to take a letter to Mitch.
“You good as you think you are about keeping things hid?”
“As good as you are at telling them clankers to Lt. Clark.”
I made a small stack of corn meal cakes and gave him a sack of dried fruit. I also gave him a small jar of honey.
“Now that I can’t take. It’s too much.”
“Do you have an extra canteen?”
“So happens I do.”
I took it, cleaned it out (I was boiling water for laundry) and pour that honey and some more I had into it.
I then put the letter in his hand. “I want this to get to Mitch. I don’t want it just tossed in a ditch or used to light a fire with. You got it?”
He gave me look for look and said, “I’ll put it in his hands myself if I can. If I can’t, there’s plenty here to get it done.”
“No. That’s all for you. If you need bribe money, use this.” I put more dried fruit in the bag and then filled his canteen to the top with honey.
“Yeah buddy. That’ll do it.”
“Just make sure. I want Mitch to get well quick and he won’t if he is wasting energy worrying about me.”
Less than an hour later Lt. Clark found me, and she made a face at my scrubbing board and the smell of the socks I was boiling. They were the ones I wore when I was mucking the barn. I was careful because my first thought was that Turnbridge had already gotten caught.
She said, “I just wanted to let you know that you don’t have to worry about those salvagers.”
Carefully I responded, “I don’t?”
“Yeah. Karma ripped them a new one.”
“Uh …”
“The enemy plane came down on their camp. Not a single one left alive.”
“Are you serious?” I asked, wondering if she was joking.
“I am,” she said. “The area was burned over by the crash but there was still ample evidence of their camp and the members getting blown up.”
“Really?! Well, that’s good news I guess. Guess that’ll teach ‘em to cross the river.”
She nodded and said, “Exactly. As for Captain Decker, I’m sure he’ll be released soon. It is the quarantine that he is going to have to wait out.”
When she turned to leave all I could think was, “God sure has a strange sense of humor.” Second thought was who the heck is Capt. Decker?”
Bps1691
Veteran Member
Wow, that's just mean Kathy. To split it like that ... but good writing!
Chapter Break
You do realize all of us who aren't late nighters went to bed after reading that sad and won't know of the trick until sometime tomorrow???
Of course you did and that's why you did it I'll bet.
Good job!
Chapter Break
You do realize all of us who aren't late nighters went to bed after reading that sad and won't know of the trick until sometime tomorrow???
Of course you did and that's why you did it I'll bet.
Good job!
Jeepcats27
Senior Member
Nice update!!thanks for the new Chapter!
Last edited:
sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
OH my, me thinks Decker has been keeping things from Nan. Thank you.
Griz3752
Retired, practising Curmudgeon
A guy thing, because we're sure we can handle it (whatever it is). Eventually those of we men who survive, learn how wrong we were - if we're lucky.
As my uncle used to say, 'too soon we get old and too late, smart'
Jeepcats27
Senior Member
I am beginning to think Decker is leaving a LOT out of what he told Nan!
Chapter 56
The “Night of the Bomber” was a turning point, but it wasn’t a huge, standout event in so far as it changed my life. It helped put it back on course, but it didn’t really change anything.
Work, work, work
All day long
Crank it up
Back it up
Bring it on home
Uncle Day-Day loves that song. Aunt Fran hates it. Mom would just roll her eyes because it talked about snuggling and stuff which Mom thought a little inappropriate though she and Dad do it. They just don’t make a production of it when Dale and I are around. They are private people with their affections. Aunt Fran was very demonstrative, she just didn’t like country music. She preferred 1950s pop and didn’t listen to that too much because Uncle Paul would lecture when he came around.
Wow, I can still go down rabbit trails in my thinking. I’m doing a lot better than I was, but looks like I need to stay on guard.
What I was saying was the night of the bomber was a turning point, but it didn’t change much if anything. After the soldiers left, I was still just as alone as I had been. They didn’t send on the radio but I know that they are receiving so I guess I can say that did change a bit. Air traffic in the sky has been noticeable but not nearly as “interesting” as it was that night. I can tell they have increased zone patrols and are using the bigger drones instead of those little no-see-um sized ones. The ones they use now would register on radar if anyone bothered monitoring that altitude. And no signs of salvagers and I can say that because I’ve taken to using Sundays as the day I check things out along the Ridge. I do it as I’m bringing the hives back in so I conserve fuel.
What’s more, I’m not as worried about the fuel reserves as I was. There was fuel in Aladdin’s cave; a lot of it. That’s how I’ve started to think of the cave that no longer exists in Skunk Hollow. Skunk Hollow no longer exists either. Not really. That fighter plane pretty much did so much damage that even if the cave was still there, a smart man wouldn’t go in it on a high-dollar bet. And I lied about not finding fuel at the outpost. I could justify the lie and rationalize why but I don’t want to do that too much. It might become too easy and then I’d get into a habit that I might not be able to get myself out of without some severe consequences.
I finally managed to get all the peanuts in. I had given serious consideration to giving some to Turnbridge and those guys that cleaned up the planes, but I decided against it based on the vibes I was getting from Lt. Clark and Major Mendelssohn. I think those two have some kind of racket going, one that shouldn’t be condoned. I noticed they told me not to worry about the salvagers, but they didn’t say anything about the salvaged items I claimed to have found in the millhouse. Makes you go hmmmm and wonder things that you shouldn’t have to wonder about when it comes to people in authority.
I found the big mesh bags that Uncle Hy kept stocked for peanuts. I took them, filled them with peanuts as they came out of the dryhouse, and then hefted those suckers and carried them down to the sub-cellar where I stacked them in a far corner with a lot of peppers to keep them safe. I wish I had some more barrels, but I barely had enough for the last batch of honey and the others I need as water barrels. I did manage to rearrange some of the stuff out of those galvanized trash cans from the haul from the Millhouse but that only helped a little.
My snack on most days is peanut butter with apple. I do it so often that I moved the antique hand-crank peanut sheller to the kitchen as well as the hand mill grinder that I then turn the peanuts into peanut butter with. The fresh peanut butter goes rancid if you don’t keep it refrigerated or use it within a few days. No refrigerator, so I have gotten pretty good at measuring exactly how many peanuts to grind for butter that will get used up before it spoils. And even if I do have a little extra I give it to Pretty who seems to be getting pregnancy cravings. I find her chewing or loving up on the weirdest stuff. Butch doesn’t know what to make of it either but I’ve seen him bring her rabbits and squirrels that he caught on his own and she just licks him to pieces. They seem to have more sense than humans on most occasions.
I’ve got apples coming out of my ears. And now that I’ve managed to get my brain back in mostly working order, I’ve been doing a lot with them besides juicing and drying them. Had to while the peanuts took up the dryhouse for so many days. Let’s see, I’ve pickled apples, made applesauce by the gallon, made glace’ apples, canned sliced apple rings, made quarts of apple pie filling, apple-maple jam, apple-cinnamon syrup, apple-blueberry conserve, apple preserves, apple marmalade, apple-raisin marmalade, plain and spiced apple jelly, apple chutney, apple ketchup, apple BBQ sauce, apple butter by the wheelbarrow full it seems, apple and green tomato chutney because some of the tomatoes aren’t going to ripen before the first frost, pear apple jam because the pears are near as bad as the apples it seems, and even managed to find Grammy’s recipe for her prize winning Dutch Apple Pie Jam. I’m still digging around for other apple things to can. I’ve also found ways to use apples in a lot of different recipes but it’s just not as fun to cook when it is only me. I’ve been eating the tail ends of anything that won’t fit in a jar when I’m canning or just eating stuff raw. I’d give a lot for some sausage or a burger or whatall but it is just too much trouble and I’m worried about wasting stuff before it spoils.
I’ve never really hunted anything big on my own. I’ve trapped and stuff like that, but not used a rifle for deer and the like. I know I can do it, I’m just not sure it is worth the effort right now. Something or someone got to the nutria colony that Mitch and I were picking off to manage their population. Wouldn’t be surprised if it were bobcats or bears as I’ve seen a lot of sign for both, but thank goodness now around the farm. Butch marks and re-marks his turf pretty regularly. I’ve stepped in a few marks unfortunately. I’m hoping that keeps the bigger predators away. I’m not sure I could hold off a bear before it did damage.
And there is a lot of stuff I can eat without having to cook. Muscadines, both the red and gold varieties, are still coming in. I can make a decent meal out of a bell pepper with some fresh salsa. I’m still eating table grapes though it gets irritating having to stop and spit out the seeds. I got spoiled with the seedless types that used to come in the grocery and I’ll admit I miss them. The yellow raspberries that I don’t can, get eaten up. Tomatoes are still coming in though they’ve slowed down enough that I don’t have to make juice with them to use them up before they spoil. There’s still a few pawpaws ripening on the trees and the persimmons are finally ripe enough to use without turning your face inside out. Some crazy little thing called an aroniaberry is making if Uncle Hy’s name tag on the little stand of bushes is to be believed but I haven’t got a clue what to do with it. I guess it is one of his experiments. The black chokecherries are out in the forest and I’ve gathered enough, but not too many, and the deer are coming down and getting into them as well.
In addition to the apples and pears, the crabapples are ready. I don’t eat those things fresh however. They do make some good apple butter, but you have to cook them way down and add plenty of honey. The last of the plums have come and gone, something Grammy called a red elephant heart. Some heirloom variety but I always thought the name was bizarre and a little icky.
I’ve picked the last of the fresh beans and now the rest of them have to dry on the vine so they can be held back for seeds and for dry beans over the winter. The last keeping cabbage went into the root cellar. I can’t decide what to do with it. I’m considering making a bunch of cabbage soup and canning it.
The last of the white potatoes have finally been dug. For now I’ve put them all down in the root cellar too. I need to hold back some for planting next year but … I’m still figuring things out and my motivation is one of them. If it is still just me, I’m not going to plant a big garden just to have something to do. That’s manpower I could use for other projects though I admit I’m not sure what those projects could be right yet. One step at a time Nann.
Sweet potatoes have a while yet before I’m done harvesting them. Uncle Hy, God bless him, used sense and planted in succession rows meaning he didn’t plant all of a thing on the same day for it to come in and be ready for harvest on the same day. Except for the field crops and he left most of the farm fallow this year.
The pumpkins and winter squash are now coming in. Some of the pumpkins I’ll leave on the vines as long as I can. For now, the only thing I’ve canned is some pumpkin butter and squash butter; that and I’ve toasted a bunch of pumpkin seeds to eat as I hike around. About have the time I don’t know what I’m going to pull out of the pocket of my overalls; peanuts, hazelnuts, butternuts, pumpkin seeds, sunflower seeds (at least those I could save from the tree rats), and now I can add pecans, almost, and hickory nuts. There’s also Chinese chestnuts but I only can those so a lot of them are going to go to waste I suppose.
The strangest thing coming in right now are the kiwis. Why Uncle Hy got into growing those fuzzy things I don’t know. He said they were a good seller at the produce station. I’ll just have to take his word on that. I’ve eaten more than a fair few this year but they aren’t the tastiest thing on the planet. And I’ve made more than a couple of batches of kiwi jelly and preserves. All the other recipes I have for them call for an ingredient I don’t have right not, namely pineapple. You’d think if kiwis and pineapples went together so well they would grow in the same locations but nope, there’s God’s sense of humor again. Or maybe His way of trying to get people from different places to work together. Above my paygrade to say for sure, but it seems possible.
I had just been joking with Lt. Clark about kudzu, at least at the time, but I gave some of Grammy’s old recipes a try and kudzu really does taste like spinach when it has been cooked down. Or mostly like spinach. Or maybe it is just spinach as I remember it. Heck, anything tastes good when you add bacon or hog jowl. I’ve canned a few batches of that too just to have something to talk to the cows about when I’m out there milking Henrietta. She’s starting to wean her little bull, he’s getting obnoxious. If I pen him off from the others he cries and cuts up a fuss but when I live him in with the others he’s a bossy snot. I wish Mitch were here, he’d know what to do.
Even with Henrietta being the only cow left giving milk, and less milk at that, I can’t drink it all myself. I’ve gone back to making cheese since the stuff from the Spring looks like it is doing okay even if it is still kinda green. I’ve made the hard cheeses like cheddar, Colby, and Romano for long keeping and then I made some soft cheese for fast eating … like white farmer’s cheese and egg cheese and cottage cheese. I even figured out, on my own (with a book of directions so maybe not totally on my own) how to milk one of the nannies and make goat cheese and preserve it in olive oil which there is a pretty good amount of still. That’s not even something that Grammy did. She used to milk the goats but only for a lady in town who had a houseful of kids that were allergic to cow milk. My next project to try before the cow goes dry is to make mozzarella. I’ve got directions, I just need to find the time. The idea of a pizza is something that makes me think I might just be willing to bother cooking again.
There’s been a fair few autumn olive berries this year. I made Grammy’s recipe for Autumn Olive Berry Ketchup that won her the blue ribbon in just about every contest she entered it in. I made some AOB Jelly to go on the shelf beside it. And I might just have a prize-winning recipe of my own … crab apple salsa. It started out being a mess of a mistake because it was dark, and I grabbed the wrong bowl and dumped it in the pot before I could check myself. I wish Uncle Hy was here to taste test it. I like it but then again, I’m not too grossed out by much anymore; limp greens, slightly mushy mushrooms, bruised tomatoes. If I don’t have to cook it, it finds its way into my daily salad. Maybe there will be someone some time that can share it with me and can tell me if it is gross or not.
Beets are late this year. It looks like it is going to be another week before I can pull the row and bring them in for processing. I’m not sad about that. It will give me something to do as the rest of the garden is dying off. I need to make plans now though, get everything lined up. I’ve only got so much of the other ingredients left … vinegar and spices an such … that I need. I’ve followed Grammy’s directions for making cider vinegar but when the white vinegar is gone it is going to be gone and that’s scary.
Pulled a carrot today that looked like a milking stool. Wish Mitch was here to laugh at it with me. The cows just weren’t seeing the joke and only rolled their eyes and chewed their cud. Butch and Pretty tried for my sake but they just thought it was a new toy to entertain themselves with. I let them have it and they played with it for a good long while before chewing it to pieces.
And by the look on their faces, it is time to go in for the night. Bugs are starting to come out and drive us all crazy. I’ve already put the animals up. Not only are they safer, I don’t have to use the smudge pots to keep the blasted vampire mosquitos at bay. You’d think with it cooling off the bug population would shrink. Lately they’ve seemed to be getting worse, not better. Maybe the first frost will knock ‘em down enough we aren’t miserable.
The “Night of the Bomber” was a turning point, but it wasn’t a huge, standout event in so far as it changed my life. It helped put it back on course, but it didn’t really change anything.
Work, work, work
All day long
Crank it up
Back it up
Bring it on home
Uncle Day-Day loves that song. Aunt Fran hates it. Mom would just roll her eyes because it talked about snuggling and stuff which Mom thought a little inappropriate though she and Dad do it. They just don’t make a production of it when Dale and I are around. They are private people with their affections. Aunt Fran was very demonstrative, she just didn’t like country music. She preferred 1950s pop and didn’t listen to that too much because Uncle Paul would lecture when he came around.
Wow, I can still go down rabbit trails in my thinking. I’m doing a lot better than I was, but looks like I need to stay on guard.
What I was saying was the night of the bomber was a turning point, but it didn’t change much if anything. After the soldiers left, I was still just as alone as I had been. They didn’t send on the radio but I know that they are receiving so I guess I can say that did change a bit. Air traffic in the sky has been noticeable but not nearly as “interesting” as it was that night. I can tell they have increased zone patrols and are using the bigger drones instead of those little no-see-um sized ones. The ones they use now would register on radar if anyone bothered monitoring that altitude. And no signs of salvagers and I can say that because I’ve taken to using Sundays as the day I check things out along the Ridge. I do it as I’m bringing the hives back in so I conserve fuel.
What’s more, I’m not as worried about the fuel reserves as I was. There was fuel in Aladdin’s cave; a lot of it. That’s how I’ve started to think of the cave that no longer exists in Skunk Hollow. Skunk Hollow no longer exists either. Not really. That fighter plane pretty much did so much damage that even if the cave was still there, a smart man wouldn’t go in it on a high-dollar bet. And I lied about not finding fuel at the outpost. I could justify the lie and rationalize why but I don’t want to do that too much. It might become too easy and then I’d get into a habit that I might not be able to get myself out of without some severe consequences.
I finally managed to get all the peanuts in. I had given serious consideration to giving some to Turnbridge and those guys that cleaned up the planes, but I decided against it based on the vibes I was getting from Lt. Clark and Major Mendelssohn. I think those two have some kind of racket going, one that shouldn’t be condoned. I noticed they told me not to worry about the salvagers, but they didn’t say anything about the salvaged items I claimed to have found in the millhouse. Makes you go hmmmm and wonder things that you shouldn’t have to wonder about when it comes to people in authority.
I found the big mesh bags that Uncle Hy kept stocked for peanuts. I took them, filled them with peanuts as they came out of the dryhouse, and then hefted those suckers and carried them down to the sub-cellar where I stacked them in a far corner with a lot of peppers to keep them safe. I wish I had some more barrels, but I barely had enough for the last batch of honey and the others I need as water barrels. I did manage to rearrange some of the stuff out of those galvanized trash cans from the haul from the Millhouse but that only helped a little.
My snack on most days is peanut butter with apple. I do it so often that I moved the antique hand-crank peanut sheller to the kitchen as well as the hand mill grinder that I then turn the peanuts into peanut butter with. The fresh peanut butter goes rancid if you don’t keep it refrigerated or use it within a few days. No refrigerator, so I have gotten pretty good at measuring exactly how many peanuts to grind for butter that will get used up before it spoils. And even if I do have a little extra I give it to Pretty who seems to be getting pregnancy cravings. I find her chewing or loving up on the weirdest stuff. Butch doesn’t know what to make of it either but I’ve seen him bring her rabbits and squirrels that he caught on his own and she just licks him to pieces. They seem to have more sense than humans on most occasions.
I’ve got apples coming out of my ears. And now that I’ve managed to get my brain back in mostly working order, I’ve been doing a lot with them besides juicing and drying them. Had to while the peanuts took up the dryhouse for so many days. Let’s see, I’ve pickled apples, made applesauce by the gallon, made glace’ apples, canned sliced apple rings, made quarts of apple pie filling, apple-maple jam, apple-cinnamon syrup, apple-blueberry conserve, apple preserves, apple marmalade, apple-raisin marmalade, plain and spiced apple jelly, apple chutney, apple ketchup, apple BBQ sauce, apple butter by the wheelbarrow full it seems, apple and green tomato chutney because some of the tomatoes aren’t going to ripen before the first frost, pear apple jam because the pears are near as bad as the apples it seems, and even managed to find Grammy’s recipe for her prize winning Dutch Apple Pie Jam. I’m still digging around for other apple things to can. I’ve also found ways to use apples in a lot of different recipes but it’s just not as fun to cook when it is only me. I’ve been eating the tail ends of anything that won’t fit in a jar when I’m canning or just eating stuff raw. I’d give a lot for some sausage or a burger or whatall but it is just too much trouble and I’m worried about wasting stuff before it spoils.
I’ve never really hunted anything big on my own. I’ve trapped and stuff like that, but not used a rifle for deer and the like. I know I can do it, I’m just not sure it is worth the effort right now. Something or someone got to the nutria colony that Mitch and I were picking off to manage their population. Wouldn’t be surprised if it were bobcats or bears as I’ve seen a lot of sign for both, but thank goodness now around the farm. Butch marks and re-marks his turf pretty regularly. I’ve stepped in a few marks unfortunately. I’m hoping that keeps the bigger predators away. I’m not sure I could hold off a bear before it did damage.
And there is a lot of stuff I can eat without having to cook. Muscadines, both the red and gold varieties, are still coming in. I can make a decent meal out of a bell pepper with some fresh salsa. I’m still eating table grapes though it gets irritating having to stop and spit out the seeds. I got spoiled with the seedless types that used to come in the grocery and I’ll admit I miss them. The yellow raspberries that I don’t can, get eaten up. Tomatoes are still coming in though they’ve slowed down enough that I don’t have to make juice with them to use them up before they spoil. There’s still a few pawpaws ripening on the trees and the persimmons are finally ripe enough to use without turning your face inside out. Some crazy little thing called an aroniaberry is making if Uncle Hy’s name tag on the little stand of bushes is to be believed but I haven’t got a clue what to do with it. I guess it is one of his experiments. The black chokecherries are out in the forest and I’ve gathered enough, but not too many, and the deer are coming down and getting into them as well.
In addition to the apples and pears, the crabapples are ready. I don’t eat those things fresh however. They do make some good apple butter, but you have to cook them way down and add plenty of honey. The last of the plums have come and gone, something Grammy called a red elephant heart. Some heirloom variety but I always thought the name was bizarre and a little icky.
I’ve picked the last of the fresh beans and now the rest of them have to dry on the vine so they can be held back for seeds and for dry beans over the winter. The last keeping cabbage went into the root cellar. I can’t decide what to do with it. I’m considering making a bunch of cabbage soup and canning it.
The last of the white potatoes have finally been dug. For now I’ve put them all down in the root cellar too. I need to hold back some for planting next year but … I’m still figuring things out and my motivation is one of them. If it is still just me, I’m not going to plant a big garden just to have something to do. That’s manpower I could use for other projects though I admit I’m not sure what those projects could be right yet. One step at a time Nann.
Sweet potatoes have a while yet before I’m done harvesting them. Uncle Hy, God bless him, used sense and planted in succession rows meaning he didn’t plant all of a thing on the same day for it to come in and be ready for harvest on the same day. Except for the field crops and he left most of the farm fallow this year.
The pumpkins and winter squash are now coming in. Some of the pumpkins I’ll leave on the vines as long as I can. For now, the only thing I’ve canned is some pumpkin butter and squash butter; that and I’ve toasted a bunch of pumpkin seeds to eat as I hike around. About have the time I don’t know what I’m going to pull out of the pocket of my overalls; peanuts, hazelnuts, butternuts, pumpkin seeds, sunflower seeds (at least those I could save from the tree rats), and now I can add pecans, almost, and hickory nuts. There’s also Chinese chestnuts but I only can those so a lot of them are going to go to waste I suppose.
The strangest thing coming in right now are the kiwis. Why Uncle Hy got into growing those fuzzy things I don’t know. He said they were a good seller at the produce station. I’ll just have to take his word on that. I’ve eaten more than a fair few this year but they aren’t the tastiest thing on the planet. And I’ve made more than a couple of batches of kiwi jelly and preserves. All the other recipes I have for them call for an ingredient I don’t have right not, namely pineapple. You’d think if kiwis and pineapples went together so well they would grow in the same locations but nope, there’s God’s sense of humor again. Or maybe His way of trying to get people from different places to work together. Above my paygrade to say for sure, but it seems possible.
I had just been joking with Lt. Clark about kudzu, at least at the time, but I gave some of Grammy’s old recipes a try and kudzu really does taste like spinach when it has been cooked down. Or mostly like spinach. Or maybe it is just spinach as I remember it. Heck, anything tastes good when you add bacon or hog jowl. I’ve canned a few batches of that too just to have something to talk to the cows about when I’m out there milking Henrietta. She’s starting to wean her little bull, he’s getting obnoxious. If I pen him off from the others he cries and cuts up a fuss but when I live him in with the others he’s a bossy snot. I wish Mitch were here, he’d know what to do.
Even with Henrietta being the only cow left giving milk, and less milk at that, I can’t drink it all myself. I’ve gone back to making cheese since the stuff from the Spring looks like it is doing okay even if it is still kinda green. I’ve made the hard cheeses like cheddar, Colby, and Romano for long keeping and then I made some soft cheese for fast eating … like white farmer’s cheese and egg cheese and cottage cheese. I even figured out, on my own (with a book of directions so maybe not totally on my own) how to milk one of the nannies and make goat cheese and preserve it in olive oil which there is a pretty good amount of still. That’s not even something that Grammy did. She used to milk the goats but only for a lady in town who had a houseful of kids that were allergic to cow milk. My next project to try before the cow goes dry is to make mozzarella. I’ve got directions, I just need to find the time. The idea of a pizza is something that makes me think I might just be willing to bother cooking again.
There’s been a fair few autumn olive berries this year. I made Grammy’s recipe for Autumn Olive Berry Ketchup that won her the blue ribbon in just about every contest she entered it in. I made some AOB Jelly to go on the shelf beside it. And I might just have a prize-winning recipe of my own … crab apple salsa. It started out being a mess of a mistake because it was dark, and I grabbed the wrong bowl and dumped it in the pot before I could check myself. I wish Uncle Hy was here to taste test it. I like it but then again, I’m not too grossed out by much anymore; limp greens, slightly mushy mushrooms, bruised tomatoes. If I don’t have to cook it, it finds its way into my daily salad. Maybe there will be someone some time that can share it with me and can tell me if it is gross or not.
Beets are late this year. It looks like it is going to be another week before I can pull the row and bring them in for processing. I’m not sad about that. It will give me something to do as the rest of the garden is dying off. I need to make plans now though, get everything lined up. I’ve only got so much of the other ingredients left … vinegar and spices an such … that I need. I’ve followed Grammy’s directions for making cider vinegar but when the white vinegar is gone it is going to be gone and that’s scary.
Pulled a carrot today that looked like a milking stool. Wish Mitch was here to laugh at it with me. The cows just weren’t seeing the joke and only rolled their eyes and chewed their cud. Butch and Pretty tried for my sake but they just thought it was a new toy to entertain themselves with. I let them have it and they played with it for a good long while before chewing it to pieces.
And by the look on their faces, it is time to go in for the night. Bugs are starting to come out and drive us all crazy. I’ve already put the animals up. Not only are they safer, I don’t have to use the smudge pots to keep the blasted vampire mosquitos at bay. You’d think with it cooling off the bug population would shrink. Lately they’ve seemed to be getting worse, not better. Maybe the first frost will knock ‘em down enough we aren’t miserable.
Jeepcats27
Senior Member
So what is happening with Decker? Interesting Chapter! I went back and I couldn't find out what rank Mitch was. Has he been a Captain all along?
Last edited:
sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
Thank you. 
I have been scanning family records most of the day, as some are so old and need not to be handled much in the future. I have a letter written to my great grandmother Anna in 1906 from my great, great grandmother Lydia. Lydia was murdered 1 July, 1918.
I have been scanning family records most of the day, as some are so old and need not to be handled much in the future. I have a letter written to my great grandmother Anna in 1906 from my great, great grandmother Lydia. Lydia was murdered 1 July, 1918.
Thank you.
Wow. Holey Smokes.
Chapter 57
It was cold that morning. I don’t think it had frosted overnight but it couldn’t have been far off of it. That meant I was way late getting the last bunch of hives in. I was praying I hadn’t killed ‘em. I’d never done this stuff by myself before, had never been around when the hives were being brought back in. Out yes, but not brought back in. And there was also a load of other things that still needed doing. And if it was getting cold early that meant my daily workload had doubled, maybe even tripled. Sure, it was the month of the last of most things, but the weather was saying the end was coming faster than I had planned on.
I wasn’t paying the attention that I should have. I don’t know how I didn’t run them over. They were laying in the middle of the road. I almost didn’t believe what I was seeing at first. And the crazy, angry midget mutt standing in front of them like it was going to stop the truck just made everything crazier.
I braked hard and jumped out of the truck before I even thought about it being a set up. Good thing God looks out for children and fools (sorry Mom) because otherwise I’m not sure what would have happened to any of us.
“Hey! Hey kid! Tell your dog it’s okay so I can come check on you!”
No movement and my voice just set the dog off even more. Finally after getting nothing from the pitiful pile in the middle of the road I said, “Look dog, I’m a friend okay? I like kids. I even like dogs. But if you bite me there’s going to be trouble.”
The dog stumbled and I realized it was hurt too. Great.
Trying to hold me off had taken the last of its energy and it stumbled and went down. I knew I’d have to work fast. I grabbed a blanket out of the back of the truck and ran over. The dog was still alive but scared and shaking and I knew it was going to get in the way if I wasn’t careful. I took my own jacket off and laid if over the dog but left its head out so it could see what I was doing. I went to throw the blanket over the kid when I realized there were two of them. A boy and he was wrapped around a younger girl.
You know how you can tell when someone is of mixed heritage? Well both kids were dark headed but their skin tone didn’t quite match. Of course at the time I thought it could also be because they were way colder than they should have been and thus paler as well. The boy tried to fight me when I picked them up.
“Whoa Kiddo. I can’t carry both of you if you’re going to wiggle. You’ll squish the little girl.”
“Amy.”
“Sorry Kiddo, my name is Nannette. You can call me Nann, most people do.”
I was blathering trying to keep them calm, and myself too.
“Amy.”
“Oh, you mean the little girl’s name is Amy. That’s cool. I have a cousin named Amy.”
“Amora.”
“Amy is short for Amora? That’s cool. What’s your name?” I asked carrying them to the truck.
“Dan.”
“Cool. Look … er … your folks around?”
He shook his head. “Uncle Carlos gave us to the men for food.”
I sure hoped that didn’t mean how it came out.
Then he said, “The boat turned over.”
“It did? Boats do that sometimes.”
“Those men couldn’t swim. Me and Amy can. We had to take swim tests to go to camp. She’s a Lion. I’m a Tiger.”
I stopped for a second and then asked, “You’re Cubbies?!”
“Yeah. We passed our swim tests for camp only we never got to go. Momma …” Then he started crying.
I got them in the truck only to find the little girl was awake and staring at me. “Hey you. Dan here says that your name is Amy.”
She nodded.
“Was there anyone else with you?”
Something was pulling on my pants leg. “Hey Muttuckus Maximus. I had you under my jacket for a reason. Use some sense will you. You’ve been banged around and shouldn’t be trying to play King Kong.”
Both kids just kinda stared at me.
“Is that dog yours?”
The boy nodded but the girl shook her head until she saw the boy nodded then her head changed direction.
“Uh huh. I take it the dog adopted you at some point. If I stick him in this box at your feet you think he’ll stay?” They both nodded.
Well it wasn’t easy but the mutt finally figured out I was trying to put him where he wanted to go so he settled down. “Whew, you need a bath. All three of you do. But first you probably need something to drink.” I sighed. “I only have one thermos so you’re going to have to share.”
The little girl volunteered, “Our bag is by the tree.”
I was wondering what tree when the little boy looked miserable. “What’s wrong Bub?”
“I had to put it down. I couldn’t carry it and Amy.”
“You picked the more important one,” I told him, trying to reassure him.
It took convincing but I got them to slow down and not inhale the broth that I’d put in the thermos and they didn’t even mind that it was green. All that seemed to matter was that it was warm and food.
“Look, I don’t want to scare you, but I need to find out if there is anybody else besides you two. The river isn’t far from here …”
“Bridge. The water was moving so fast and we ran into it. There were stairs.”
“You got out of the water at Mackey Bridge,” I told them guessing. “Well that’s not the river but that’s a creek that leads to the river. I still gotta check it out. I’m a civilian spotter and I have to make a report.”
The boy lit up even though he was obviously exhausted. “Daddy works with the planes on the base.”
“You don’t say. That’s cool.
They were semi-okay about me driving back towards the water but when I got out of the truck, they got nervous and went from nervous to scared when they realized I was going to be walking away. “Relax. I’m not going to keep us here long. You and the dog need to get cleaned up and something more than broth to eat.”
I looked and I only saw two sets of small prints in the dirt near the bridge. I also found their “bag” which was a drawstring cub scout backpack. No other sign of anything. It was back to the truck and then we headed back to the farm. I was trying to figure out how to put all the information I had into a report using a code that did not have words for kid or things like I needed to say.
It was cold that morning. I don’t think it had frosted overnight but it couldn’t have been far off of it. That meant I was way late getting the last bunch of hives in. I was praying I hadn’t killed ‘em. I’d never done this stuff by myself before, had never been around when the hives were being brought back in. Out yes, but not brought back in. And there was also a load of other things that still needed doing. And if it was getting cold early that meant my daily workload had doubled, maybe even tripled. Sure, it was the month of the last of most things, but the weather was saying the end was coming faster than I had planned on.
I wasn’t paying the attention that I should have. I don’t know how I didn’t run them over. They were laying in the middle of the road. I almost didn’t believe what I was seeing at first. And the crazy, angry midget mutt standing in front of them like it was going to stop the truck just made everything crazier.
I braked hard and jumped out of the truck before I even thought about it being a set up. Good thing God looks out for children and fools (sorry Mom) because otherwise I’m not sure what would have happened to any of us.
“Hey! Hey kid! Tell your dog it’s okay so I can come check on you!”
No movement and my voice just set the dog off even more. Finally after getting nothing from the pitiful pile in the middle of the road I said, “Look dog, I’m a friend okay? I like kids. I even like dogs. But if you bite me there’s going to be trouble.”
The dog stumbled and I realized it was hurt too. Great.
Trying to hold me off had taken the last of its energy and it stumbled and went down. I knew I’d have to work fast. I grabbed a blanket out of the back of the truck and ran over. The dog was still alive but scared and shaking and I knew it was going to get in the way if I wasn’t careful. I took my own jacket off and laid if over the dog but left its head out so it could see what I was doing. I went to throw the blanket over the kid when I realized there were two of them. A boy and he was wrapped around a younger girl.
You know how you can tell when someone is of mixed heritage? Well both kids were dark headed but their skin tone didn’t quite match. Of course at the time I thought it could also be because they were way colder than they should have been and thus paler as well. The boy tried to fight me when I picked them up.
“Whoa Kiddo. I can’t carry both of you if you’re going to wiggle. You’ll squish the little girl.”
“Amy.”
“Sorry Kiddo, my name is Nannette. You can call me Nann, most people do.”
I was blathering trying to keep them calm, and myself too.
“Amy.”
“Oh, you mean the little girl’s name is Amy. That’s cool. I have a cousin named Amy.”
“Amora.”
“Amy is short for Amora? That’s cool. What’s your name?” I asked carrying them to the truck.
“Dan.”
“Cool. Look … er … your folks around?”
He shook his head. “Uncle Carlos gave us to the men for food.”
I sure hoped that didn’t mean how it came out.
Then he said, “The boat turned over.”
“It did? Boats do that sometimes.”
“Those men couldn’t swim. Me and Amy can. We had to take swim tests to go to camp. She’s a Lion. I’m a Tiger.”
I stopped for a second and then asked, “You’re Cubbies?!”
“Yeah. We passed our swim tests for camp only we never got to go. Momma …” Then he started crying.
I got them in the truck only to find the little girl was awake and staring at me. “Hey you. Dan here says that your name is Amy.”
She nodded.
“Was there anyone else with you?”
Something was pulling on my pants leg. “Hey Muttuckus Maximus. I had you under my jacket for a reason. Use some sense will you. You’ve been banged around and shouldn’t be trying to play King Kong.”
Both kids just kinda stared at me.
“Is that dog yours?”
The boy nodded but the girl shook her head until she saw the boy nodded then her head changed direction.
“Uh huh. I take it the dog adopted you at some point. If I stick him in this box at your feet you think he’ll stay?” They both nodded.
Well it wasn’t easy but the mutt finally figured out I was trying to put him where he wanted to go so he settled down. “Whew, you need a bath. All three of you do. But first you probably need something to drink.” I sighed. “I only have one thermos so you’re going to have to share.”
The little girl volunteered, “Our bag is by the tree.”
I was wondering what tree when the little boy looked miserable. “What’s wrong Bub?”
“I had to put it down. I couldn’t carry it and Amy.”
“You picked the more important one,” I told him, trying to reassure him.
It took convincing but I got them to slow down and not inhale the broth that I’d put in the thermos and they didn’t even mind that it was green. All that seemed to matter was that it was warm and food.
“Look, I don’t want to scare you, but I need to find out if there is anybody else besides you two. The river isn’t far from here …”
“Bridge. The water was moving so fast and we ran into it. There were stairs.”
“You got out of the water at Mackey Bridge,” I told them guessing. “Well that’s not the river but that’s a creek that leads to the river. I still gotta check it out. I’m a civilian spotter and I have to make a report.”
The boy lit up even though he was obviously exhausted. “Daddy works with the planes on the base.”
“You don’t say. That’s cool.
They were semi-okay about me driving back towards the water but when I got out of the truck, they got nervous and went from nervous to scared when they realized I was going to be walking away. “Relax. I’m not going to keep us here long. You and the dog need to get cleaned up and something more than broth to eat.”
I looked and I only saw two sets of small prints in the dirt near the bridge. I also found their “bag” which was a drawstring cub scout backpack. No other sign of anything. It was back to the truck and then we headed back to the farm. I was trying to figure out how to put all the information I had into a report using a code that did not have words for kid or things like I needed to say.
Last edited:
Griz3752
Retired, practising Curmudgeon
You had an email from Cliff and he wants to come visit?Why do I get the feeling something's about to happen?
Thanks Kathy.
Old Gray Mare
TB Fanatic
Mother Hen is the only one I know who can figure out how to put a dogleg turn in the middle of a cliff.
Sportsman
Veteran Member
Oops... "report using a code that did NOT have words for kid or things like I needed to say. "
Thanks Kathy. With you, there's always a turn in the road ahead. This pair may bring more twists with them in the near future. And we always love a good dog. We're ready, bring on Mitch and let us go down that road as soon as you have time!
Thanks Kathy. With you, there's always a turn in the road ahead. This pair may bring more twists with them in the near future. And we always love a good dog. We're ready, bring on Mitch and let us go down that road as soon as you have time!
Griz3752
Retired, practising Curmudgeon
OK ........
You went from a simple story of young adults in a stressful, wartime situation, admittedly complicated by a growing affection, to them separated by time, space and a GI infection, a two night commando stalk/scumbag-group annihilation and now, two orphan waifs and a messed up terrier of some kind intertwined w/ enough agricultural serf-labour to founder the average healthy ox.
I'm almost afraid to check in tomorrow.
BTW; what breed is the 'midget mutt'? Sorry, I'm a dog-guy; cats are great but dogs rule!
And yes, Thank You, Ma'am; never a dull moment following Mother Hen around!
G.
You went from a simple story of young adults in a stressful, wartime situation, admittedly complicated by a growing affection, to them separated by time, space and a GI infection, a two night commando stalk/scumbag-group annihilation and now, two orphan waifs and a messed up terrier of some kind intertwined w/ enough agricultural serf-labour to founder the average healthy ox.
I'm almost afraid to check in tomorrow.
BTW; what breed is the 'midget mutt'? Sorry, I'm a dog-guy; cats are great but dogs rule!
And yes, Thank You, Ma'am; never a dull moment following Mother Hen around!
G.
Thank You Kathy!
"BTW; what breed is the 'midget mutt'? Sorry, I'm a dog-guy; cats are great but dogs rule!"
Mutt is a breed in of itself. Four classes of mutt. 5 to 20 pounds, Mini/Midget/Micro mutt. 20 to 60 pounds, standard mutt. 60 to 160 pounds, Big mutt. 160+ pounds, Yes Sir Mr. Mutt!
Mutts tend to have fewer health and dietary problems.
"BTW; what breed is the 'midget mutt'? Sorry, I'm a dog-guy; cats are great but dogs rule!"
Mutt is a breed in of itself. Four classes of mutt. 5 to 20 pounds, Mini/Midget/Micro mutt. 20 to 60 pounds, standard mutt. 60 to 160 pounds, Big mutt. 160+ pounds, Yes Sir Mr. Mutt!
Mutts tend to have fewer health and dietary problems.
ComCamGuy
Remote Paramedical pain in the ass
Dogleg turn in the middle of a cliff? Sounds like a good idea!
sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
That's sure how life is, gets complicated just at any moment when you least expect it. Thank you.