Story Neighbours
- Thread starter Lake Lili
- Start date
stjwelding
Veteran Member
Lake Lili I just caught up WOW!!! this is one great story and you are a fantastic story teller thank you for sharing your time and gift with us. I am looking forward to more of this story.
Wayne
Wayne
Lake Lili
Veteran Member
Chapter 39 - Harvest
Harvest time arrived hard on the heels of Eggie’s loss. The transplanted apple trees had all produced some fruit, but Jan knew that it would be several years before they were producing fully again. So one Wednesday afternoon, she took all available kids and they went down to Getman’s Cherry Red Orchard near Big Fork, MT, south of Kalispell, along the shores of Flathead Lake.
“Okay,” Jan told her troops. “Our goal today is to pick Gravenstein apples. These are a cooking apple and from them we are going to make apple sauce, dried apple slices and fruit leather for lunch boxes. So I need you all to pick as many as you can.”
With the kids help, they picked 15 bushels of apples, each bushel weighed in between 42-lbs and 48-lbs. When the owners saw what they were doing and that they didn’t require perfect unblemished apples, they were able to get five more bushels of apples. Later in the kitchen Jan was able to get 18 lighty sweetened quarts of apple sauce from each of 15 bushels. The 270 bottles were boxed and stored in the pantry. Two bushels were dried into apple rings. The rest were turned into juice and fruit leather. While Jan could remember her grandmother making fruit leather the traditional way by just tenting the tray with some cheesecloth and leave it outside in the sun on a hot day, she preferred to use the dehydrators.
The apples were part of a long line of produce that Jan and the children had processed. Apricots had been picked in July. They were dried and made into jam with some of the nicest peaches Jan had ever seen. She had seen this sign on the highway, just a small one that said simply “PEACHES”.
Jan had the Three Amigos with her that day and they agreed that an adventure that might end in peaches was a good idea. Past the end of the highway, down a stretch of dirt road, tucked into a small valley, was an old trailer and a questionable barn. Jan and the boys were met by a good old boy in his early 20s, wearing a dirty white wife beater that read “Alcohol, Tabacco, Firearms – who’s bringing the chips?” and greasy jeans. He had obviously not been expecting company, but pulled on his boots and held out his hand to Jan. When Jan explained to Rusty Dupont why they were there, he lit up like six free games. He explained that his grandfather had passed on and he had inherited his farm. He was obviously proud of his new property and he talked non-stop, about all the improvements he aimed to make, all the way back to the small orchard filled with peaches.
“Them’s Contenders,” Rusty told her. “$20 a bushel if you pickem yerselfs.”
“What are you weighing a bushel at?” asked Geordie.
“Yous a smart young’in,” laughed Rusty. “Fer yous, I’ll go with 48-lbs as a bushel. $2 for each bushel basket and yous gets yer money back on the baskets if yers bring’em back.”
“I want a taste test first,” stated Drew.
“Okay,” laughed Rusty, “one fer each of yous.”
The Three Amigos raced into the orchard and each took a peach from a different part of the orchard.
“Ohhh,” moaned Joe. “These are the best Tante Jan.”
‘Hmmm,’ thought Rusty. “Yous is their Aunty?”
“Yeah,” laughed Jan. “I have 31 war orphans that I am caring for. Six of them have since been called up to active duty but the rest are still at home and I’ll likely have more before this mess is over.”
The boys with faces and hands drenched in peach juice approved the crop and Rusty showed them where to wash up before they drew bees and wasps.
“Well Mr. Dupont, you’ve got yourself a deal,” said Jan sticking out her hand.
Rusty pulled the bushels out of the barn and watched as the boys, scampering like monkeys, and they and the woman proceeded to strip about half the small orchard. They were careful with his trees. The boys laughed, listened to their aunt and were having fun with each other. He didn’t see any fighting or crossness and she didn’t yell at them once in anger. They also never stopped picking. They were getting 2-3 bushels per tree. Jan stopped them at 20 bushels. The boys were still eager to pick more, but Jan stopped them and they began to load the bushels into the truck. Jan paid Rusty for the peaches and they all piled back in the truck. With a honk and a wave they were gone.
As they drove off, Rusty reassessed that woman. She was a keeper that one. One you’d stop toking and hanging out in bars with city girls for. He headed back to the trailer, picking up garbage as he went. Within a week the farm yard was tidied. The collapsing barn was fixed and given a new lease and its doors painted barn red. Within two weeks the trailer was cleaned inside and out and Dusty had begun to work on himself. He took all his clothes into the laundry mat in town and stopped in at the barber for a cut. When he came out is was only marginally longer than when he’d done his BCT and people began to treat him with the respect he deserved.
That Sunday, he took a seat the Community Church and was surprised when he saw Jan arrive with her brood. He watched her link her arm through that of a man who was clearly unwell. Mrs McGinty, the local busybody, smiled at the smart looking young man.
“I see our newest family has caught your attention. That’s Jan McConnell and her husband Angus Jones. He was serious injured by the thugs in Ontario before being saved by our army. The old man is her father-in-law, our new doctor and in the Spring past he married, Allison Jones, Angus’ mother…”
“Got him all updated Mrs. McGinty?” asked Jan with a laugh and smile. “Hi Rusty. Nice to see you. Those peaches of yours sure are fine. We got 250 quarts of jam, 50 quarts of apricot/peach jam, 40 gallons of juice and the pressing made some fine leather. Sure do appreciate your letting us come over and pick. Mrs. McGinty, have you seen the fine Contender peaches Rusty has grown? I bet his grandfather would be proud of what he’s done at the farm.”
Mrs. McGinty hummed and hawed and allowed as how she hadn’t driven by recently and if he had 5-lbs of peaches still, she’d be right pleased to buy them. Jan waved and headed out.
Rusty looked after her… ‘Yup,’ he thought, ‘a fine woman. She’d be worth giving up city girls for and settling down in the mountains and raising a family.’
*****
Dear Dr. A.
Sadie and me are good. Tante Jan is very nice. We sleeps on bunk beds and cause we is older than Inga and Aggie, me and Sadie gets the top bunks. There is a window up top beside our beds and I can see the horses. Sally and Erin have to look at cows out their window.
We have been really busy getting ready. Tante Jan calls it “being prepared”. Did you know that strawberry jam comes from a plant called a strawberry? I got to pick lots… and eats some too… and then Aunt Jan taught me and Sadie how to make it. You have to be careful cause it gets really hot when you cook it with sugar. Have you ever made jam? We also made jam out of blueberries, chokecherries, plums… lots of stuff. Tante Jan made a special one with cherries that she called a preserve. She says you eat it with goose. They are like super huge chickens and they are really mean and hiss at you.
We have been riding bikes a lot. The Salvation Army in Kalispell found bikes for all of us. Don’t tell Sadie I told you but she still needs training wheels…
INCOMING WOUNDED ALL DOCTORS REPORT TO THE OR
With a small smile, Dr. Anderson tucked the letter into his jacket. He had been to his CO the night before along with four others. They were all single men without families. They had all changed their NOK to Jan McConnell so that their benefits would pass to her War Orphans. This was something that Jan was not to know of until sometime later when the MASH unit came under fire and Corpsman T.J. LaRoche was killed. When the military jeeps drove up her driveway, she had wanted to head to the back pastures. When the chaplain explained why they were there, and not because of one of her boys, she had sobbed with relief. A grainy snapshot of LaRoche was added to their Wall of Angels beside the picture of Eggie and as many of the parents as photos could be found.
Jan then sat down and wrote a letter to the Special Assignment Editor for the Natchitoches Times in Natchitoches, Louisiana.
Dear Mr. Greyson,
I am writing to you from Rexford, Montana, where I have opened my home to War Orphans. We have had 31 with us so far, although six have now been called up for active service, and one killed in action. I am writing today because of the generosity of one of the citizens of Natchitoches, Corpsman T.J. LaRoche. T.J was serving with a MASH unit at the 2nd Battle of St. Louis last months when he was killed. Perviously, he had served with the same unit at the Battle of Big Stone Gap in Virginia where he and his colleagues treated two small girls. These girls, without families, were sent to me. Corpsman LaRoche later changed his papers to reflect that we were his next of kin. While I understand that T.J. did not have family in the Natcitoches area, he may well have had friends and more distant kin, who would appreciate knowing of his death and might take comfort in the fact that in his death he was not only serving our great nation but that his final caring act was to think of the children displaced. We have planted a tree in his name on our farm and enclosed is a photo of us all in front of the tree.
We are sorry to have to relay this news but hope that we will all meet again in the Glory days to come.
Sincerely,
Jan McConnell
Rexford, Montana
*****
In early December, Pastor Neuman was sitting in his office throwing out the debris of the past year, when he came across the letter to the Editor of the Natchitoches Times. It had been a hard year with so many gone from his congregation to serve in the war. He himself had been called up and would go in January to serve as Chaplain. His wife Eliza would serve as lay preacher until a new minister could be found. In the meantime, he wanted his office cleared out. He sat there with the clipping.
“Eliza…” he said. “Do you remember this?” He handed her the clipping.
She read it again and nodded.
“For our Christmas Charity… do you…” he paused.
“Yes. Remember you made us learn Act 4:32 as our memory verse?” She closed her eyes and recited:
“Now the multitude of those who believed were of one heart and one soul; neither did anyone say that any of the things he possessed was his own, but they had all things in common.”
“Exactly,” he said with a smile.
Three weeks later, Jan saw a truck coming down the drive. She stepped out of the kitchen to say a how do to Rusty.
“Call them older boys, Jan,” he said. “This came in at the train station in Kalispell and I allowed as to how I knew you and brought it up.”
The boys gathered around and maneuvered the wood crate off the back of Rusty’s pick-up. With his crowbar they pried the top off. Under the layers of straw… “Best take that right back and burn it,” Jan told the boys. “No knowing what might be in it and we don’t want any critters that don’t belong”… was a bunch of smaller boxes and laid on top a note that read simply:
Merry Christmas and May the Lord Bless You All – The River Community Church, Natchitoches, LA
Jan peaked into one of the boxes. It contained wrapped and labeled gifts – one for each child named in the photograph. Rusty watched as her eyes grew bright with unshed tears.
11-year old Sally wandered over to see what was happening. She slipped her arm through Rusty’s.
“Heyah Rusty!” she said smiling up at him. Jan wanted to laugh as he turned bright red with embarrassment but he smiled back at her.
*****
“Sally was something else,” John told the Committee. “She marked Rusty as hers from the moment she met him at Church. They married shortly after her 18th birthday. He never had a chance. They settled back on the farm that he had inherited from his grandfather. It was a fairly small farm, only 80 usable acres, so they gardened big and raised goats and chickens and children… ten children at all, including three sets of twins. It was a zoo but they were incredibly happy.
Harvest time arrived hard on the heels of Eggie’s loss. The transplanted apple trees had all produced some fruit, but Jan knew that it would be several years before they were producing fully again. So one Wednesday afternoon, she took all available kids and they went down to Getman’s Cherry Red Orchard near Big Fork, MT, south of Kalispell, along the shores of Flathead Lake.
“Okay,” Jan told her troops. “Our goal today is to pick Gravenstein apples. These are a cooking apple and from them we are going to make apple sauce, dried apple slices and fruit leather for lunch boxes. So I need you all to pick as many as you can.”
With the kids help, they picked 15 bushels of apples, each bushel weighed in between 42-lbs and 48-lbs. When the owners saw what they were doing and that they didn’t require perfect unblemished apples, they were able to get five more bushels of apples. Later in the kitchen Jan was able to get 18 lighty sweetened quarts of apple sauce from each of 15 bushels. The 270 bottles were boxed and stored in the pantry. Two bushels were dried into apple rings. The rest were turned into juice and fruit leather. While Jan could remember her grandmother making fruit leather the traditional way by just tenting the tray with some cheesecloth and leave it outside in the sun on a hot day, she preferred to use the dehydrators.
The apples were part of a long line of produce that Jan and the children had processed. Apricots had been picked in July. They were dried and made into jam with some of the nicest peaches Jan had ever seen. She had seen this sign on the highway, just a small one that said simply “PEACHES”.
Jan had the Three Amigos with her that day and they agreed that an adventure that might end in peaches was a good idea. Past the end of the highway, down a stretch of dirt road, tucked into a small valley, was an old trailer and a questionable barn. Jan and the boys were met by a good old boy in his early 20s, wearing a dirty white wife beater that read “Alcohol, Tabacco, Firearms – who’s bringing the chips?” and greasy jeans. He had obviously not been expecting company, but pulled on his boots and held out his hand to Jan. When Jan explained to Rusty Dupont why they were there, he lit up like six free games. He explained that his grandfather had passed on and he had inherited his farm. He was obviously proud of his new property and he talked non-stop, about all the improvements he aimed to make, all the way back to the small orchard filled with peaches.
“Them’s Contenders,” Rusty told her. “$20 a bushel if you pickem yerselfs.”
“What are you weighing a bushel at?” asked Geordie.
“Yous a smart young’in,” laughed Rusty. “Fer yous, I’ll go with 48-lbs as a bushel. $2 for each bushel basket and yous gets yer money back on the baskets if yers bring’em back.”
“I want a taste test first,” stated Drew.
“Okay,” laughed Rusty, “one fer each of yous.”
The Three Amigos raced into the orchard and each took a peach from a different part of the orchard.
“Ohhh,” moaned Joe. “These are the best Tante Jan.”
‘Hmmm,’ thought Rusty. “Yous is their Aunty?”
“Yeah,” laughed Jan. “I have 31 war orphans that I am caring for. Six of them have since been called up to active duty but the rest are still at home and I’ll likely have more before this mess is over.”
The boys with faces and hands drenched in peach juice approved the crop and Rusty showed them where to wash up before they drew bees and wasps.
“Well Mr. Dupont, you’ve got yourself a deal,” said Jan sticking out her hand.
Rusty pulled the bushels out of the barn and watched as the boys, scampering like monkeys, and they and the woman proceeded to strip about half the small orchard. They were careful with his trees. The boys laughed, listened to their aunt and were having fun with each other. He didn’t see any fighting or crossness and she didn’t yell at them once in anger. They also never stopped picking. They were getting 2-3 bushels per tree. Jan stopped them at 20 bushels. The boys were still eager to pick more, but Jan stopped them and they began to load the bushels into the truck. Jan paid Rusty for the peaches and they all piled back in the truck. With a honk and a wave they were gone.
As they drove off, Rusty reassessed that woman. She was a keeper that one. One you’d stop toking and hanging out in bars with city girls for. He headed back to the trailer, picking up garbage as he went. Within a week the farm yard was tidied. The collapsing barn was fixed and given a new lease and its doors painted barn red. Within two weeks the trailer was cleaned inside and out and Dusty had begun to work on himself. He took all his clothes into the laundry mat in town and stopped in at the barber for a cut. When he came out is was only marginally longer than when he’d done his BCT and people began to treat him with the respect he deserved.
That Sunday, he took a seat the Community Church and was surprised when he saw Jan arrive with her brood. He watched her link her arm through that of a man who was clearly unwell. Mrs McGinty, the local busybody, smiled at the smart looking young man.
“I see our newest family has caught your attention. That’s Jan McConnell and her husband Angus Jones. He was serious injured by the thugs in Ontario before being saved by our army. The old man is her father-in-law, our new doctor and in the Spring past he married, Allison Jones, Angus’ mother…”
“Got him all updated Mrs. McGinty?” asked Jan with a laugh and smile. “Hi Rusty. Nice to see you. Those peaches of yours sure are fine. We got 250 quarts of jam, 50 quarts of apricot/peach jam, 40 gallons of juice and the pressing made some fine leather. Sure do appreciate your letting us come over and pick. Mrs. McGinty, have you seen the fine Contender peaches Rusty has grown? I bet his grandfather would be proud of what he’s done at the farm.”
Mrs. McGinty hummed and hawed and allowed as how she hadn’t driven by recently and if he had 5-lbs of peaches still, she’d be right pleased to buy them. Jan waved and headed out.
Rusty looked after her… ‘Yup,’ he thought, ‘a fine woman. She’d be worth giving up city girls for and settling down in the mountains and raising a family.’
*****
Dear Dr. A.
Sadie and me are good. Tante Jan is very nice. We sleeps on bunk beds and cause we is older than Inga and Aggie, me and Sadie gets the top bunks. There is a window up top beside our beds and I can see the horses. Sally and Erin have to look at cows out their window.
We have been really busy getting ready. Tante Jan calls it “being prepared”. Did you know that strawberry jam comes from a plant called a strawberry? I got to pick lots… and eats some too… and then Aunt Jan taught me and Sadie how to make it. You have to be careful cause it gets really hot when you cook it with sugar. Have you ever made jam? We also made jam out of blueberries, chokecherries, plums… lots of stuff. Tante Jan made a special one with cherries that she called a preserve. She says you eat it with goose. They are like super huge chickens and they are really mean and hiss at you.
We have been riding bikes a lot. The Salvation Army in Kalispell found bikes for all of us. Don’t tell Sadie I told you but she still needs training wheels…
INCOMING WOUNDED ALL DOCTORS REPORT TO THE OR
With a small smile, Dr. Anderson tucked the letter into his jacket. He had been to his CO the night before along with four others. They were all single men without families. They had all changed their NOK to Jan McConnell so that their benefits would pass to her War Orphans. This was something that Jan was not to know of until sometime later when the MASH unit came under fire and Corpsman T.J. LaRoche was killed. When the military jeeps drove up her driveway, she had wanted to head to the back pastures. When the chaplain explained why they were there, and not because of one of her boys, she had sobbed with relief. A grainy snapshot of LaRoche was added to their Wall of Angels beside the picture of Eggie and as many of the parents as photos could be found.
Jan then sat down and wrote a letter to the Special Assignment Editor for the Natchitoches Times in Natchitoches, Louisiana.
Dear Mr. Greyson,
I am writing to you from Rexford, Montana, where I have opened my home to War Orphans. We have had 31 with us so far, although six have now been called up for active service, and one killed in action. I am writing today because of the generosity of one of the citizens of Natchitoches, Corpsman T.J. LaRoche. T.J was serving with a MASH unit at the 2nd Battle of St. Louis last months when he was killed. Perviously, he had served with the same unit at the Battle of Big Stone Gap in Virginia where he and his colleagues treated two small girls. These girls, without families, were sent to me. Corpsman LaRoche later changed his papers to reflect that we were his next of kin. While I understand that T.J. did not have family in the Natcitoches area, he may well have had friends and more distant kin, who would appreciate knowing of his death and might take comfort in the fact that in his death he was not only serving our great nation but that his final caring act was to think of the children displaced. We have planted a tree in his name on our farm and enclosed is a photo of us all in front of the tree.
We are sorry to have to relay this news but hope that we will all meet again in the Glory days to come.
Sincerely,
Jan McConnell
Rexford, Montana
*****
In early December, Pastor Neuman was sitting in his office throwing out the debris of the past year, when he came across the letter to the Editor of the Natchitoches Times. It had been a hard year with so many gone from his congregation to serve in the war. He himself had been called up and would go in January to serve as Chaplain. His wife Eliza would serve as lay preacher until a new minister could be found. In the meantime, he wanted his office cleared out. He sat there with the clipping.
“Eliza…” he said. “Do you remember this?” He handed her the clipping.
She read it again and nodded.
“For our Christmas Charity… do you…” he paused.
“Yes. Remember you made us learn Act 4:32 as our memory verse?” She closed her eyes and recited:
“Now the multitude of those who believed were of one heart and one soul; neither did anyone say that any of the things he possessed was his own, but they had all things in common.”
“Exactly,” he said with a smile.
Three weeks later, Jan saw a truck coming down the drive. She stepped out of the kitchen to say a how do to Rusty.
“Call them older boys, Jan,” he said. “This came in at the train station in Kalispell and I allowed as to how I knew you and brought it up.”
The boys gathered around and maneuvered the wood crate off the back of Rusty’s pick-up. With his crowbar they pried the top off. Under the layers of straw… “Best take that right back and burn it,” Jan told the boys. “No knowing what might be in it and we don’t want any critters that don’t belong”… was a bunch of smaller boxes and laid on top a note that read simply:
Merry Christmas and May the Lord Bless You All – The River Community Church, Natchitoches, LA
Jan peaked into one of the boxes. It contained wrapped and labeled gifts – one for each child named in the photograph. Rusty watched as her eyes grew bright with unshed tears.
11-year old Sally wandered over to see what was happening. She slipped her arm through Rusty’s.
“Heyah Rusty!” she said smiling up at him. Jan wanted to laugh as he turned bright red with embarrassment but he smiled back at her.
*****
“Sally was something else,” John told the Committee. “She marked Rusty as hers from the moment she met him at Church. They married shortly after her 18th birthday. He never had a chance. They settled back on the farm that he had inherited from his grandfather. It was a fairly small farm, only 80 usable acres, so they gardened big and raised goats and chickens and children… ten children at all, including three sets of twins. It was a zoo but they were incredibly happy.
Last edited:
sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
Heart warming chapter 
stjwelding
Veteran Member
Thanks for the great chapter.
Wayne
Wayne
Lake Lili
Veteran Member
Chapter 40 – Peace of mind…
As the long days of summer eased into fall, the harvest continued. The potato crop had been nothing short of spectacular. They had filled their contract with the army by providing over 4,000-lbs of potatoes. They had pulled 300-lbs of baby potatoes back in July but now they were pulling the Yukon Gold and the bins for the root cellar were filling rapidly. Before they were stored, the potatoes were cured for two weeks allowing them to dry completely. The potato bins were 10-inches deep with slatted sides, and allowed for the storage of about 20-lbs of potatoes each. Each bin was a week’s worth of potatoes. Joe counted them and proudly told Jan that they had 50 bins of potatoes – enough for almost the whole year.
“There’s also 10 bins of turnip, 30 of butternut squash, 40 of sweet potatoes… we also have 40 stockings full of yellow globe onions.” Joe counted for her.
The Ailsa Craig and Vadailia-type sweet onions were eaten fresh because of their short storage lives. Jan had been surprised to learn that true Vadalia’s could only be grown in certain counties of the state of Georgia. But the heirloom Ailsa Craigs were a good substitute and more over their 2-lbs average size made them good for the big family.
The carrots and parsnips were all stored in sand. The tight heads of cabbage, that had not been turned into sour kraut had been wrapped individually and then stored in their own small side cellar, with the door firmly closed to ensure that the smell didn’t permeate the main cellar.
In the fruit house, now well insulated with bales of straw, Jan had the fresh fruit out on its shelves – apples, Asian pears, pears, apricots, peaches, and in their bottles were bunches of grapes. The small woodstove in the corner was fed twice daily and its goal was to keep the fruit house at around 3°C – above zero but below 5°C when apples start to spoil. The fruit was checked several times a week and those that were starting to rot were eaten first.
Jan and Joe were walking back up to the house from the fruit house when she saw an unknown truck pull into the yard. A man and a small boy got out.
“Mrs. McConnell,” asked the man, taking off his hat and twisting it in his hands. “My name’s Ed Murray. We’re from Big Fork. This is my boy Callum. He’s five years old. His momma done run off back when he was a baby and his grandparents are all gone... I work as a picker at the Getmen’s and saw yous all earlier this summer and the Getmans suggested…” He stopped for a minute and pulled himself up.
“I’ve been called up Mrs. McConnell. The army wants me back. Thought I was done after ten years’ service but Uncle Sam wants me back. I know sometimes you take in kids, and I was hoping you might have room to keep my Callum safe.” He stopped again.
Then in quiet anger, he continued, “The state says if I can’t make arrangements myself, they’ll take him and put him up for adoption. He’s the best of me and I don’t want that to happen to him.”
“Come on into the kitchen Mr. Murray. Joe run get Tom for me. Tell him I need him to run to town and get Miss Louise for me.” Jan dispatched the boy and led Ed and Callum Murray into the kitchen.
Ed was struck by the big warm space with the big wood stove. Three teenaged girls in long skirts were busy concocting something that smelled delicious. Nothing was new but everything was neat and clean. There were smiles and giggles as work was being done
“Erin, Gayle, Lydie… this is Mr. Murray and his son Callum. Could we have some coffee, milk and cookies. Then perhaps Joe and Drew could show Callum around the farm.” Jan organized. “Come have a seat, Mr. Murray.”
Jan grabbed her notepad and a pen and sat across from him. In short order she had his full name, rank, serial number and all of Callum’s particular’s too. He agreed to pay $150 every two weeks towards his son’s care, the pay to be drawn automatically from his account after his army pay had come in. When Louise Simpson arrived, she went over everything again with Ed Murray and satisfied that he understood what he was doing, signed off on the placement. She also submitted an application to the CSA to bring the monthly payment up to $475 as with the other Primary school children. Jan noted that the extra $175 would be banked for Callum as she did with the other children. Louise nodded and explained the arrangement to Ed. He then agreed to make Callum his NOK with Jan and Louise as his trustees should the unmentionable happen.
“When do you ship out Mr. Murray?” asked Jan.
“The day after tomorrah,” he said. “I brought Callum’s thing with us in hope. The Army only gave me five days from call up to show up and ship out…” His voice trailed off.
“Well come and let me give you a tour.” Jan told him. “The Kitchen here is the original kitchen and living room of the log house we had back in Ontario. Off the east end is the pantry and laundry. We are completely off grid but do use solar panels to provide the electricity we need to run fridges, freezers and computers. Our laundry is done in the traditional manner – we boil it in coppers and put it through the mangle and then hang it. We do have a drier for the winter when items like sheets need to be soft and warm. But washing and drying as we do it far better for the cloth than the dryer and so our clothes last longer.
“The frame house belonged to the Hendricks family. They were killed on our trip from Ontario and the US Army suggested we incorporate their house and it has given us, on the ground floor two living rooms – one is really a playroom and the other is the quiet room, used for reading, homework and a hangout for exhausted adults. Off the quiet room are three bedrooms and a bathroom - one is used by myself, one by my husband and the third is a guest room. You should know that my husband sustained a serious brain injury and currently requires full time care.
“On the second floor are two bedrooms – one for the boys and one for the girls, with a bathroom for each. They each have their own staircase and are not accessible to each other on the second floor. We have basement storage but it is out of bounds for the children.
“Our house is not a complicated one. The kids are actively involved in the farm and in the house. The older children also have apprenticeships they are involved in. The school buses pick up from our front door. The kids are expected to complete their homework and signoff on completion is a part of our tracking mechanism. The kids do scouts and guides. With all that we have on here, we do not do organized sports.
“The house across the yard is my mother-in-law and her second husband’s. He’s a doctor. In the trailer is my cousin who works the farm with us. Currently six of my orphans have been called up and are serving. Sadly we lost one at the First Battle of St. Louis.”
Ed stopped and looked around at the neat farm yard. Then he heard a bell ring. Two boys were standing with Callum beside a big cauldron steaming over an open fire. An older child appeared and carefully ladled something warm into three mugs.
“Hot chocolate today,” said Jan. “We have a real emphasis on safety. The girl pouring is Sarai. She is the eldest girl and she is being courted by one of oldest boys, Jamie. He is currently serving behind the lines as a Scout. Three of our youngest are her nieces and nephew. Jamie and Sarai are planning to build a house just down the lane on the other side of the orchard. Anyways back to the firepit. .. We cook on open fires and so we want the kids to be able to treat them with respect and a continuous fire in the fall and winter is a good way to do that. Tonight the kids will roast hot dogs on that fire and put them in the buns the girls baked today. We are hoping to build a dedicated bake house soon, but that will have to wait for a bit longer.”
Ed nodded. This was a far bigger and better organized place than he had imagined. He had heard gales of laughter and the sound of boys chasing and wrestling but nothing that indicated panic or pain. Jan led him over to the milking barn.
“The girls who just went into the barn ahead of us are Sama and Andrea – they manage our dairy herd. We had sixty head when we arrived but we have sold off some and culled other, so now we are down to a more manageable forty head. The girls turn the milk into butter and cheese. We can’t sell the milk because (1) raw milk sales are illegal in this state, and (2) we are non-mechanized so Darigold can’t buy our excess milk. But we can make cheese and Fairburn Farm cheese is starting to make a name for itself at the local farmer’s market.”
Jan and Ed stood at the door and he was amazed looking at the gleaming white barn. The girls were washing down the last of the milking stalls as two boys began to bring in the cows, their enormous bags ready to be stripped.
“The boy in the green shirt is mine,” Jan told him quietly. “His name is John and he is 13-years old. This move and all the kids have really brought him out of his shell. He has mild autism and he still has his days but things are much better for him now.”
Ed watched as the boys brought in the cows, put some feed in their buckets, tucked up their tails, and washed their bags as the girls moved in and expertly milked the cows. The whole dance took five minutes as the milk was covered and the girls took the buckets back to the storage tank. The boys then took the deflated cows back to the loafing pen and sought out the next willing victim.
“It will take them about an hour. They do it morning and night, seven days a week. The girls are very dedicated and I think that David has the makings of a good dairyman. John not so much,” she said it with a smile and Ed got the feeling that this was a joke of long standing.
He was feeling solid and safe in his decision to leave Callum with the McConnells. He was surprised to find that Callum had not sought him out even once. But Jan took him over to where the kids had built a fort. Callum was happily playing in the sandbox with a group of other kids. When his father called him, he gave Sally a high-five and ran off.
“Let’s go get your stuff Callum,” said his father.
With suitcases in hand, Jan led them into the house.
*****
“Callum was with us for five years,” John Told the Committee. “He was a great kid. His father did come back but was scarred by what he’d seen and done. He visited Callum regularly but Callum stayed on with us. Callum went on to become a fireman. After his military service, he became a smoke jumper. He did that for about 20-years and then after one close call too many, he settled in Eureka and ended up the fire chief. He married twice. His first marriage didn’t survive the first fire season. The second marriage was more successful. Marggie had two kids from her first marriage and Callum was a fine step-father.
About fifteen years after the War, Ed came to the end of his rope. Literally. He was buried in our family cemetery. We were sad to have him go but life teaches you that people can only deal with so much pain. Callum talked it out with my mother and found a way to cope. Mostly he understood that his father had loved him dearly and done the best he could… really all anyone can ask.
As the long days of summer eased into fall, the harvest continued. The potato crop had been nothing short of spectacular. They had filled their contract with the army by providing over 4,000-lbs of potatoes. They had pulled 300-lbs of baby potatoes back in July but now they were pulling the Yukon Gold and the bins for the root cellar were filling rapidly. Before they were stored, the potatoes were cured for two weeks allowing them to dry completely. The potato bins were 10-inches deep with slatted sides, and allowed for the storage of about 20-lbs of potatoes each. Each bin was a week’s worth of potatoes. Joe counted them and proudly told Jan that they had 50 bins of potatoes – enough for almost the whole year.
“There’s also 10 bins of turnip, 30 of butternut squash, 40 of sweet potatoes… we also have 40 stockings full of yellow globe onions.” Joe counted for her.
The Ailsa Craig and Vadailia-type sweet onions were eaten fresh because of their short storage lives. Jan had been surprised to learn that true Vadalia’s could only be grown in certain counties of the state of Georgia. But the heirloom Ailsa Craigs were a good substitute and more over their 2-lbs average size made them good for the big family.
The carrots and parsnips were all stored in sand. The tight heads of cabbage, that had not been turned into sour kraut had been wrapped individually and then stored in their own small side cellar, with the door firmly closed to ensure that the smell didn’t permeate the main cellar.
In the fruit house, now well insulated with bales of straw, Jan had the fresh fruit out on its shelves – apples, Asian pears, pears, apricots, peaches, and in their bottles were bunches of grapes. The small woodstove in the corner was fed twice daily and its goal was to keep the fruit house at around 3°C – above zero but below 5°C when apples start to spoil. The fruit was checked several times a week and those that were starting to rot were eaten first.
Jan and Joe were walking back up to the house from the fruit house when she saw an unknown truck pull into the yard. A man and a small boy got out.
“Mrs. McConnell,” asked the man, taking off his hat and twisting it in his hands. “My name’s Ed Murray. We’re from Big Fork. This is my boy Callum. He’s five years old. His momma done run off back when he was a baby and his grandparents are all gone... I work as a picker at the Getmen’s and saw yous all earlier this summer and the Getmans suggested…” He stopped for a minute and pulled himself up.
“I’ve been called up Mrs. McConnell. The army wants me back. Thought I was done after ten years’ service but Uncle Sam wants me back. I know sometimes you take in kids, and I was hoping you might have room to keep my Callum safe.” He stopped again.
Then in quiet anger, he continued, “The state says if I can’t make arrangements myself, they’ll take him and put him up for adoption. He’s the best of me and I don’t want that to happen to him.”
“Come on into the kitchen Mr. Murray. Joe run get Tom for me. Tell him I need him to run to town and get Miss Louise for me.” Jan dispatched the boy and led Ed and Callum Murray into the kitchen.
Ed was struck by the big warm space with the big wood stove. Three teenaged girls in long skirts were busy concocting something that smelled delicious. Nothing was new but everything was neat and clean. There were smiles and giggles as work was being done
“Erin, Gayle, Lydie… this is Mr. Murray and his son Callum. Could we have some coffee, milk and cookies. Then perhaps Joe and Drew could show Callum around the farm.” Jan organized. “Come have a seat, Mr. Murray.”
Jan grabbed her notepad and a pen and sat across from him. In short order she had his full name, rank, serial number and all of Callum’s particular’s too. He agreed to pay $150 every two weeks towards his son’s care, the pay to be drawn automatically from his account after his army pay had come in. When Louise Simpson arrived, she went over everything again with Ed Murray and satisfied that he understood what he was doing, signed off on the placement. She also submitted an application to the CSA to bring the monthly payment up to $475 as with the other Primary school children. Jan noted that the extra $175 would be banked for Callum as she did with the other children. Louise nodded and explained the arrangement to Ed. He then agreed to make Callum his NOK with Jan and Louise as his trustees should the unmentionable happen.
“When do you ship out Mr. Murray?” asked Jan.
“The day after tomorrah,” he said. “I brought Callum’s thing with us in hope. The Army only gave me five days from call up to show up and ship out…” His voice trailed off.
“Well come and let me give you a tour.” Jan told him. “The Kitchen here is the original kitchen and living room of the log house we had back in Ontario. Off the east end is the pantry and laundry. We are completely off grid but do use solar panels to provide the electricity we need to run fridges, freezers and computers. Our laundry is done in the traditional manner – we boil it in coppers and put it through the mangle and then hang it. We do have a drier for the winter when items like sheets need to be soft and warm. But washing and drying as we do it far better for the cloth than the dryer and so our clothes last longer.
“The frame house belonged to the Hendricks family. They were killed on our trip from Ontario and the US Army suggested we incorporate their house and it has given us, on the ground floor two living rooms – one is really a playroom and the other is the quiet room, used for reading, homework and a hangout for exhausted adults. Off the quiet room are three bedrooms and a bathroom - one is used by myself, one by my husband and the third is a guest room. You should know that my husband sustained a serious brain injury and currently requires full time care.
“On the second floor are two bedrooms – one for the boys and one for the girls, with a bathroom for each. They each have their own staircase and are not accessible to each other on the second floor. We have basement storage but it is out of bounds for the children.
“Our house is not a complicated one. The kids are actively involved in the farm and in the house. The older children also have apprenticeships they are involved in. The school buses pick up from our front door. The kids are expected to complete their homework and signoff on completion is a part of our tracking mechanism. The kids do scouts and guides. With all that we have on here, we do not do organized sports.
“The house across the yard is my mother-in-law and her second husband’s. He’s a doctor. In the trailer is my cousin who works the farm with us. Currently six of my orphans have been called up and are serving. Sadly we lost one at the First Battle of St. Louis.”
Ed stopped and looked around at the neat farm yard. Then he heard a bell ring. Two boys were standing with Callum beside a big cauldron steaming over an open fire. An older child appeared and carefully ladled something warm into three mugs.
“Hot chocolate today,” said Jan. “We have a real emphasis on safety. The girl pouring is Sarai. She is the eldest girl and she is being courted by one of oldest boys, Jamie. He is currently serving behind the lines as a Scout. Three of our youngest are her nieces and nephew. Jamie and Sarai are planning to build a house just down the lane on the other side of the orchard. Anyways back to the firepit. .. We cook on open fires and so we want the kids to be able to treat them with respect and a continuous fire in the fall and winter is a good way to do that. Tonight the kids will roast hot dogs on that fire and put them in the buns the girls baked today. We are hoping to build a dedicated bake house soon, but that will have to wait for a bit longer.”
Ed nodded. This was a far bigger and better organized place than he had imagined. He had heard gales of laughter and the sound of boys chasing and wrestling but nothing that indicated panic or pain. Jan led him over to the milking barn.
“The girls who just went into the barn ahead of us are Sama and Andrea – they manage our dairy herd. We had sixty head when we arrived but we have sold off some and culled other, so now we are down to a more manageable forty head. The girls turn the milk into butter and cheese. We can’t sell the milk because (1) raw milk sales are illegal in this state, and (2) we are non-mechanized so Darigold can’t buy our excess milk. But we can make cheese and Fairburn Farm cheese is starting to make a name for itself at the local farmer’s market.”
Jan and Ed stood at the door and he was amazed looking at the gleaming white barn. The girls were washing down the last of the milking stalls as two boys began to bring in the cows, their enormous bags ready to be stripped.
“The boy in the green shirt is mine,” Jan told him quietly. “His name is John and he is 13-years old. This move and all the kids have really brought him out of his shell. He has mild autism and he still has his days but things are much better for him now.”
Ed watched as the boys brought in the cows, put some feed in their buckets, tucked up their tails, and washed their bags as the girls moved in and expertly milked the cows. The whole dance took five minutes as the milk was covered and the girls took the buckets back to the storage tank. The boys then took the deflated cows back to the loafing pen and sought out the next willing victim.
“It will take them about an hour. They do it morning and night, seven days a week. The girls are very dedicated and I think that David has the makings of a good dairyman. John not so much,” she said it with a smile and Ed got the feeling that this was a joke of long standing.
He was feeling solid and safe in his decision to leave Callum with the McConnells. He was surprised to find that Callum had not sought him out even once. But Jan took him over to where the kids had built a fort. Callum was happily playing in the sandbox with a group of other kids. When his father called him, he gave Sally a high-five and ran off.
“Let’s go get your stuff Callum,” said his father.
With suitcases in hand, Jan led them into the house.
*****
“Callum was with us for five years,” John Told the Committee. “He was a great kid. His father did come back but was scarred by what he’d seen and done. He visited Callum regularly but Callum stayed on with us. Callum went on to become a fireman. After his military service, he became a smoke jumper. He did that for about 20-years and then after one close call too many, he settled in Eureka and ended up the fire chief. He married twice. His first marriage didn’t survive the first fire season. The second marriage was more successful. Marggie had two kids from her first marriage and Callum was a fine step-father.
About fifteen years after the War, Ed came to the end of his rope. Literally. He was buried in our family cemetery. We were sad to have him go but life teaches you that people can only deal with so much pain. Callum talked it out with my mother and found a way to cope. Mostly he understood that his father had loved him dearly and done the best he could… really all anyone can ask.
sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
Thank you. Yep sometimes life just hands you things.
stjwelding
Veteran Member
Thanks for the new chapter great story!!
Wayne
Wayne
Having lost an uncle who could not cope with WWII I feel an especial sadness when anyone, even characters in stories, can see no other way to deal with life than to take their own life. You write this very well and with tenderness. Great story. The young people under Jan's care have been given a rare gift. And it seems to have been just the ticket for her own son as well.
Lake Lili
Veteran Member
Morning all! Thanks for your words of encouragement. Means a lot. The McConnells will be back on Monday. I have two cakes, a baptism, and the last ski lessons of the year... so while the cakes bake, I am loading the hordes in to the truck and we're off to the mountain. Have a great weekend!
sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
You to Lili, we have been tearing down the old meat bird house and yard and are about to get the stuff to start building a new one.
Lake Lili
Veteran Member
Chapter 41 – Thor’s saga…
Moving slowly through the forest, parallel to the AT, Donaldson and his men were looking for signals and traps. Dressed as good ole boy hunters out for a deer, they were out of uniform and deep in enemy territory. The four man unit was there to extract an identified Red family.
At the call of the cardinal, the men moved to a stop. A chickadee called, then a crow. Meeting compromised, contacts captured and facing death. The men waited for Donaldson’s signal. Quick hand signals and the men moved towards the contact point.
In a small clearing was a hugely pregnant woman with two small children clinging to her skirts. Two soldiers held guns on her. Four more soldiers were beating the crap out of a fifth. One the ground lay two more men. Donald’s quick assessment was that by the angles of their necks and limbs they were already dead. The man being beaten was not so badly off. He appeared to be moving with the blows, mitigating the force of their impact while allowing his captors to think they had him.
Since the soldiers on guard were primarily watching the fight, Donaldson signaled for Llewellyn and Lewis to take them out silently. In a heartbeat the guards were dead and the woman and children melted silently back into the woods. Suddenly one of the other soldiers noted they were gone. With a shout they dropped the man they had been beating. Two of the soldiers sprouted third eyes before they could life their guns and such as it was the fire fight was on and over.
In the brief moments that bullets flew, the woman and children crawled towards a hollow, but before she could get down the woman took a bullet in the back. She fell to the ground beside the small children.
“Whistle chickadee,” she told the boy. Tears slid down her cheeks as she felt her back grow wet with her blood. “Call the crow.” She worried about the children and the baby and wondrous man who God had given her. Around her she heard shouts felt herself moved. She began to fade.
“We’re loosing her… BP dropping… can’t stop bleeding… two weeks to go… good… prep for emerg…”
She heard snatches of words but they meant nothing. They related to nothing. She faded further as the sky began to brighten. Then clearly she heard.
“Don’t worry. All three children are safe. Your husband is fine, and so are you.”
She smiled and sighed.
*****
Still bloodied and bruised, coved with bandages, a man sat on a train. Around him sat the devastated remains of his family. His four year old son looked like every Ekstrom before him… his two-year old daughter with her mother’s eyes. In his arms, wrapped in a scrap of his mother’s skirt was his son.
Back in the hollow, together with Donaldson, his men, young Olaf and Val looking on, Abjörn Ekstrom had baptized his son Thor with his mother’s blood.
“One day,” Abjörn had promised his dead wife, as they knelt by her grave. “We will bring the fight back here. And on that day your ghost will join the battle against those to whom this was acceptable. We will join with the shade of your brothers, Haakon and Olaf, and the enemy will hear our roar. The day after, we will feast in your honour in Vallhala.”
Abjörn had kissed Kaarin’s forehead. In her grave, he placed her sewing kit, her axe, her knife, a kitchen pot and her bowie knife. In the graves of his brothers-in-law, he placed their knives and bows and arrows. He apologized to their shades for the lack of food and promised an offering in the future. With the help of Donaldson’s men, the graves were coved in dirt and rocks.
Donaldson picked up Val and with Llewelyn carrying young Olaf, and Abjörn carrying Thor they set off down the AT. Lewis and his battle buddy covered the front and rear. It wasn’t the easiest walk and it was hard because they had nothing to give Thor. The other children were drooping too and silence became harder to maintain. It took a sold four hours to get to their trucks at the south end of the Caladonia State Park and drove into Waynesboro, PA. They blended in.
Once in town, he drove to the Walmart on Washington Township Blvd., Donaldson pulled out a cell phone. He activated it. He dialed a number.
“Incoming,” Donald stated in a flat voice.
“Able to receive. Home,” a voice responded.
Donaldson the cracked open the phone case. Pulled out the chip and dropped it in a bottle of Coke and tightening the lid, threw it in a garbage can beside the McDonalds at the Walmart. Abjörn went into the Walmart and bought diapers, wipes, onesies, formula and bottles. He was through in 20 minutes and found the rest of them eating McDonalds in the car. His daughter was covered in ketchup and grinning as she shoved French fries into her mouth. His son had the toy from a Happy Meal. It was all so normal that it was hard to believe the devastation of five hours prior.
He put his things into the truck and they headed out again. Donaldson drove through to the far side of Waynesboro and headed south on Hwy 316. Just over the state line in Maryland, the highway became Hwy 60. They turned right onto Miller Church Road and turned onto a small farm that straddled the state border. The farm looked run down and sad for all of its beautiful location. Standing at the door of a dilapidated trailer was a tall blonde woman. They left the trucks on the road headed north.
“Abjörn,” said Donaldson. “This is Dr. Metea Angstadt. She is a pediatrics specialist at the Waynesboro Hospital. She is going to check Thor. She is going to do it quickly as we need to be out of here within the next 30 minutes. That is how long we have between satellite pics for this area.”
The inside of the trailer was gleaming hospital white and sanitary. Abjörn was immediately reassured. Dr. Angstadt was all business. Form in hand, she ran through all the details without comment. She then unwrapped Thor and checked him over.
“All things considered,” she said. “He’s fine. He’s 5-lbs 6-oz. Expect that to drop over the next couple of days and then to pick-up again. Carry him in a sling under your coat to keep him warm – and make sure he can breathe.” The last bit was said with exasperation, like she had seen cases where parents hadn’t made sure.
Abjörn showed her the formula and vitamin drops he’d purchased.
“The drops are good. Give them to him once a day. While the formula is okay, at this stage he’ll likely do better on the goat’s milk formula. I am going to give you all the ingredients now and you give me the formula. The recipe if from Joe Stout over at Mr. Capra*. Here is a one month supply of ingredients.
“He’s a fine boy and he’ll do you proud. I am sorry about the circumstances but wish you well. Now get out of here!” She turned to Donaldson. “You owe me. I am going to need to get out of here soon. They are starting to conscript doctors and soon the pediatric label isn’t going to help. I figure I have at the most 2-weeks. I will be ready to leave in two days.”
He nodded. “We’ll be back for you Mettie.”
They raced for the cars and were north back across the state border when the next drone came over and saw the road empty.
The trucks headed west towards Morganstown, West Virginia. This involved having to cross the battle lines so they got off Hwy 40 before the check points and slid south on Hwy 219 south to Oakland. They then went west again on Hwy 39 for a short distance to Old Crellin Road., then onto Underwood and shortly after midnight, running without lights, they crossed the border on Graham Road. At the Brookside Church of the Brethren, they stopped briefly in the parking lot. They were met by Pastor Russell.
As they talked, license plates were switched out for West Virginia plate. A decal for a construction company in Clarksburg was slapped on the doors of one truck.
“The two families that came through last week have been moved on to Kentucky,” the Pastor told Donaldson.
“Good. We’ll have three more to move this week. Next load within 48-hours. Watch your back.” Donaldson told him taking a deep drink from the coffee supplied.
“Railroads have always been vulnerable,” said the Pastor. “We have endured for right before. We will again.”
Abjörn fed Thor who was responding well to the formula. He was feeding him 2-oz every hour and he was grateful for the plug in cooler in the bucket between the two back seats. He changed a diaper and looked at the two in the back, asleep and looking more angelic than they had any right to. He was too exhausted to sleep and scared that if he closed his eyes that he would see Kaarin and their life together… Kaarin and her terror as they were captured…. Kaarin and her lifeless body…
They headed out west on Hwy 50. The kids were slept on. At Bridgeport, they got on I79 after Thor showed his military ID. They flew down the interstate as a part of a convoy. They arrived at the base in Charleston, WV, 5 ½ hours after they left Waynesboro and 12-hours after Thor was born.
The rest of the night was spent in a motel in Charleston, WV, and the next morning Donaldson contacted his commander. He flagged one of his team. “I want you to take the Ekstrom’s home. I can’t think of anywhere else the kids will be safe and I know that Abjörn will want to come back and fight. Take some leave now and take them west. Best way to go is drive to Lincoln, Nebraska then pick up the train to Salt Lake. From there connect with the train to Spokane, then back east to White Fish. I’ve made the arrangements. All you need to do is get on the road. Its normally a 14-hour drive, but add an extra six-hours for stops and delays. I’ve requested that you rejoin me after your leave, but who knows. We are off back to get Mettie…”
Matt Cody nodded.
*****
“So 16-hours after leaving Charleston, WV, the Ekstroms and Matt were on a train headed west,” John told the Committee. “They hitched a ride up from Whitefish and my mother was thrilled. My mother had a hard time recognizing Matt. The boy was gone and a battle hardened man stood in his place. Abjörn Ekstrom couldn’t have cared less where he was. He was beyond drained and exhausted by caring for the children under his mountain of grief.
“Sarai took procession of the baby. She would become his principle care giver. Young Olaf and Val settled into the puppy room and adapted extremely well. Miss Louise sorted out the guardianship paper work and Abjörn was relieved to see the care that would be taken in his children’s care. He headed down to the recruiting office with a heady mix of relief and deadly fury. He scared the recruiting officer with his intensity.
"Matt stayed three days and headed back east to rejoin Donaldson's unit. He arrived to find that Lewis had been killed in the doctor's extraction. Someone on Underwood Road had reported trucks running at night and the team was ambushed. They made it through but despite all the doctor's efforts to patched them up, Lewis bled out internally. He was nineteen years old. He always made m think of that song The Green Fields of France**.
“But my mother had other fish to fry. While the war was not actively being fought in our corner of northwest Montana, it was having a significant impact in other ways.”
=====
*http://www.mtcapra.com/discover-how...ilk-infant-formula-changed-my-daughters-life/
** Green Fields of France sung by John McDermott - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p_mBJgsaxlY
Moving slowly through the forest, parallel to the AT, Donaldson and his men were looking for signals and traps. Dressed as good ole boy hunters out for a deer, they were out of uniform and deep in enemy territory. The four man unit was there to extract an identified Red family.
At the call of the cardinal, the men moved to a stop. A chickadee called, then a crow. Meeting compromised, contacts captured and facing death. The men waited for Donaldson’s signal. Quick hand signals and the men moved towards the contact point.
In a small clearing was a hugely pregnant woman with two small children clinging to her skirts. Two soldiers held guns on her. Four more soldiers were beating the crap out of a fifth. One the ground lay two more men. Donald’s quick assessment was that by the angles of their necks and limbs they were already dead. The man being beaten was not so badly off. He appeared to be moving with the blows, mitigating the force of their impact while allowing his captors to think they had him.
Since the soldiers on guard were primarily watching the fight, Donaldson signaled for Llewellyn and Lewis to take them out silently. In a heartbeat the guards were dead and the woman and children melted silently back into the woods. Suddenly one of the other soldiers noted they were gone. With a shout they dropped the man they had been beating. Two of the soldiers sprouted third eyes before they could life their guns and such as it was the fire fight was on and over.
In the brief moments that bullets flew, the woman and children crawled towards a hollow, but before she could get down the woman took a bullet in the back. She fell to the ground beside the small children.
“Whistle chickadee,” she told the boy. Tears slid down her cheeks as she felt her back grow wet with her blood. “Call the crow.” She worried about the children and the baby and wondrous man who God had given her. Around her she heard shouts felt herself moved. She began to fade.
“We’re loosing her… BP dropping… can’t stop bleeding… two weeks to go… good… prep for emerg…”
She heard snatches of words but they meant nothing. They related to nothing. She faded further as the sky began to brighten. Then clearly she heard.
“Don’t worry. All three children are safe. Your husband is fine, and so are you.”
She smiled and sighed.
*****
Still bloodied and bruised, coved with bandages, a man sat on a train. Around him sat the devastated remains of his family. His four year old son looked like every Ekstrom before him… his two-year old daughter with her mother’s eyes. In his arms, wrapped in a scrap of his mother’s skirt was his son.
Back in the hollow, together with Donaldson, his men, young Olaf and Val looking on, Abjörn Ekstrom had baptized his son Thor with his mother’s blood.
“One day,” Abjörn had promised his dead wife, as they knelt by her grave. “We will bring the fight back here. And on that day your ghost will join the battle against those to whom this was acceptable. We will join with the shade of your brothers, Haakon and Olaf, and the enemy will hear our roar. The day after, we will feast in your honour in Vallhala.”
Abjörn had kissed Kaarin’s forehead. In her grave, he placed her sewing kit, her axe, her knife, a kitchen pot and her bowie knife. In the graves of his brothers-in-law, he placed their knives and bows and arrows. He apologized to their shades for the lack of food and promised an offering in the future. With the help of Donaldson’s men, the graves were coved in dirt and rocks.
Donaldson picked up Val and with Llewelyn carrying young Olaf, and Abjörn carrying Thor they set off down the AT. Lewis and his battle buddy covered the front and rear. It wasn’t the easiest walk and it was hard because they had nothing to give Thor. The other children were drooping too and silence became harder to maintain. It took a sold four hours to get to their trucks at the south end of the Caladonia State Park and drove into Waynesboro, PA. They blended in.
Once in town, he drove to the Walmart on Washington Township Blvd., Donaldson pulled out a cell phone. He activated it. He dialed a number.
“Incoming,” Donald stated in a flat voice.
“Able to receive. Home,” a voice responded.
Donaldson the cracked open the phone case. Pulled out the chip and dropped it in a bottle of Coke and tightening the lid, threw it in a garbage can beside the McDonalds at the Walmart. Abjörn went into the Walmart and bought diapers, wipes, onesies, formula and bottles. He was through in 20 minutes and found the rest of them eating McDonalds in the car. His daughter was covered in ketchup and grinning as she shoved French fries into her mouth. His son had the toy from a Happy Meal. It was all so normal that it was hard to believe the devastation of five hours prior.
He put his things into the truck and they headed out again. Donaldson drove through to the far side of Waynesboro and headed south on Hwy 316. Just over the state line in Maryland, the highway became Hwy 60. They turned right onto Miller Church Road and turned onto a small farm that straddled the state border. The farm looked run down and sad for all of its beautiful location. Standing at the door of a dilapidated trailer was a tall blonde woman. They left the trucks on the road headed north.
“Abjörn,” said Donaldson. “This is Dr. Metea Angstadt. She is a pediatrics specialist at the Waynesboro Hospital. She is going to check Thor. She is going to do it quickly as we need to be out of here within the next 30 minutes. That is how long we have between satellite pics for this area.”
The inside of the trailer was gleaming hospital white and sanitary. Abjörn was immediately reassured. Dr. Angstadt was all business. Form in hand, she ran through all the details without comment. She then unwrapped Thor and checked him over.
“All things considered,” she said. “He’s fine. He’s 5-lbs 6-oz. Expect that to drop over the next couple of days and then to pick-up again. Carry him in a sling under your coat to keep him warm – and make sure he can breathe.” The last bit was said with exasperation, like she had seen cases where parents hadn’t made sure.
Abjörn showed her the formula and vitamin drops he’d purchased.
“The drops are good. Give them to him once a day. While the formula is okay, at this stage he’ll likely do better on the goat’s milk formula. I am going to give you all the ingredients now and you give me the formula. The recipe if from Joe Stout over at Mr. Capra*. Here is a one month supply of ingredients.
“He’s a fine boy and he’ll do you proud. I am sorry about the circumstances but wish you well. Now get out of here!” She turned to Donaldson. “You owe me. I am going to need to get out of here soon. They are starting to conscript doctors and soon the pediatric label isn’t going to help. I figure I have at the most 2-weeks. I will be ready to leave in two days.”
He nodded. “We’ll be back for you Mettie.”
They raced for the cars and were north back across the state border when the next drone came over and saw the road empty.
The trucks headed west towards Morganstown, West Virginia. This involved having to cross the battle lines so they got off Hwy 40 before the check points and slid south on Hwy 219 south to Oakland. They then went west again on Hwy 39 for a short distance to Old Crellin Road., then onto Underwood and shortly after midnight, running without lights, they crossed the border on Graham Road. At the Brookside Church of the Brethren, they stopped briefly in the parking lot. They were met by Pastor Russell.
As they talked, license plates were switched out for West Virginia plate. A decal for a construction company in Clarksburg was slapped on the doors of one truck.
“The two families that came through last week have been moved on to Kentucky,” the Pastor told Donaldson.
“Good. We’ll have three more to move this week. Next load within 48-hours. Watch your back.” Donaldson told him taking a deep drink from the coffee supplied.
“Railroads have always been vulnerable,” said the Pastor. “We have endured for right before. We will again.”
Abjörn fed Thor who was responding well to the formula. He was feeding him 2-oz every hour and he was grateful for the plug in cooler in the bucket between the two back seats. He changed a diaper and looked at the two in the back, asleep and looking more angelic than they had any right to. He was too exhausted to sleep and scared that if he closed his eyes that he would see Kaarin and their life together… Kaarin and her terror as they were captured…. Kaarin and her lifeless body…
They headed out west on Hwy 50. The kids were slept on. At Bridgeport, they got on I79 after Thor showed his military ID. They flew down the interstate as a part of a convoy. They arrived at the base in Charleston, WV, 5 ½ hours after they left Waynesboro and 12-hours after Thor was born.
The rest of the night was spent in a motel in Charleston, WV, and the next morning Donaldson contacted his commander. He flagged one of his team. “I want you to take the Ekstrom’s home. I can’t think of anywhere else the kids will be safe and I know that Abjörn will want to come back and fight. Take some leave now and take them west. Best way to go is drive to Lincoln, Nebraska then pick up the train to Salt Lake. From there connect with the train to Spokane, then back east to White Fish. I’ve made the arrangements. All you need to do is get on the road. Its normally a 14-hour drive, but add an extra six-hours for stops and delays. I’ve requested that you rejoin me after your leave, but who knows. We are off back to get Mettie…”
Matt Cody nodded.
*****
“So 16-hours after leaving Charleston, WV, the Ekstroms and Matt were on a train headed west,” John told the Committee. “They hitched a ride up from Whitefish and my mother was thrilled. My mother had a hard time recognizing Matt. The boy was gone and a battle hardened man stood in his place. Abjörn Ekstrom couldn’t have cared less where he was. He was beyond drained and exhausted by caring for the children under his mountain of grief.
“Sarai took procession of the baby. She would become his principle care giver. Young Olaf and Val settled into the puppy room and adapted extremely well. Miss Louise sorted out the guardianship paper work and Abjörn was relieved to see the care that would be taken in his children’s care. He headed down to the recruiting office with a heady mix of relief and deadly fury. He scared the recruiting officer with his intensity.
"Matt stayed three days and headed back east to rejoin Donaldson's unit. He arrived to find that Lewis had been killed in the doctor's extraction. Someone on Underwood Road had reported trucks running at night and the team was ambushed. They made it through but despite all the doctor's efforts to patched them up, Lewis bled out internally. He was nineteen years old. He always made m think of that song The Green Fields of France**.
“But my mother had other fish to fry. While the war was not actively being fought in our corner of northwest Montana, it was having a significant impact in other ways.”
=====
*http://www.mtcapra.com/discover-how...ilk-infant-formula-changed-my-daughters-life/
** Green Fields of France sung by John McDermott - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p_mBJgsaxlY
sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
Lost another 
. Thank you for the chapter.
. Thank you for the chapter.A warning would have been good for this pregnant woman who had to keep her uncontrollable sobbing silent so as to avoid interrupting DH's teleconference. (I don't expect you to start with warnings, this was just far beyond dust in the eyes. Darn pregnancy hormones and amazing writing!)
Amazing tale as always, you have me walking beside your characters. Thank you.
Amazing tale as always, you have me walking beside your characters. Thank you.
Lake Lili
Veteran Member
Chapter 42 - Time for Lunch...
“As I told you,” John continued with the Committee, “My mother grew potatoes. The soil on the land we were given was quite sandy but shallow, so potatoes were really ideal. Our growing season was 104-129 days because of the micro climates created by the mountains around us. Although cold winds could wind their way down the Kootenai River, we had a long enough growing season for almost all the crops we wanted.
“We grew the Yukon Gold variety. The plants grew quickly and had a medium, upright vine, with a slight tendency to spread as they approached maturity between 85-90 days. The vines had a purplish colour to their lower leaves. The flowers were pale, red-purple but not overly abundant. The root system was somewhat compact, ideal for those sandy soils. The easy thing about their cultivation was that they have a defined rate of growth. So harvest was easier to gauge as the vines wilted back between 90-100 days and we knew then it was time to harvest. Our cows loved too munch on the potato and pea vines have been mixed with corn stalks, and put in the silage pits for a couple of weeks to marinate.
My mother worked hard each year trying to get the ph levels in the soil to between 5.2 and 5.5. We did fertilize using green crops for added nitrogen and rotating with Green Arrow shelling peas – a heritage pea with a 62-70 day growing season.
“Now our farm was located on the Kootenai River but because that section was part of the reservoir, we could not draw water directly from the river. It had to come from wells. For that we used pumps. Initially we purchased electricity from NorthWestern Energy to run those pumps, but the price kept rising to over $0.089178/Kwh. But we began to get more and more brown outs as our power supply was interrupted. So my mother had moved the farm to solar power drip lines. It was pricey initially but well worth it in the end.
“The Libby Dam's powerhouse contained five turbines and was capable of generating 600 megawatts. The electricity was managed by the Bonneville Power Administration and it serviced eight states. If I recall correctly they were Montana, Idaho, Washington, Wyoming, California, Utah, Oregon and Nevada. But the money that was earned from electricity sales went directly to the United States Treasury to repay the cost of building and operating Libby Dam. That treasury was located within the Blue States and they decided to turn off the tap. One night the workers there simply disappeared. Key components to the operation of the hydro-electric portion of the dam were removed. Not just computer chips, but the computers themselves were then destroyed – smashed into tiny pieces. Wires were pulled and the entire system rendered inoperable.
“It didn’t just happen to us. It happened in all the Blue States and a few Red ones. Here in Montana alone we lost the power capacity of the ten major dams – in addition to the Libby Dam, there was the Hungry Horse Dam on the south fork of the Flathead River; the Black Eagle Dam, the Canyon Ferry Dam, the Hauser Dam, the Holter Dam, the Morony Dam and the Toston Dam all on the Missouri River; and the Milltown Reservoir and Noxon Rapids Dam on the Clark River. There were about a thousand people who disappeared that night – the maintenance as well as the operators. Here and there some people were missed but they went into hiding pretty quickly.
“But the power was down and there was no means of bringing it back up. Suddenly our farm went from viable to just about the only game in town and our solar panels went from being expensive to being irreplaceable. Mom took to putting armed guards on them after someone tried to steal them. They didn’t survive the attempt but Mom found a list in his pocket of all the farms with panels. She figured that he had broken into the offices of the store in Kalispell and was taking himself shopping. They back tracked to his truck and found a cube van loaded with panels. Jan called Todd Stewart and he came out and collected them and the list.
“As the reality of the power situation grew worse, we began to see people on the highway heading south to avoid the approaching winter. We locked the farm and food down hard and prayed with equal effort. We were far enough off the highway that we really didn’t get anyone here. Every time we went into town, we now heard stories of who had packed up and left. Kids who had avoided the draft were now lining up to go somewhere where they would be warm and have 3-squares a day. Couples who had been fighting now were going over the edge. There was a rash of domestic murder/suicides with small children often also killed but equally often abandoned. Many of those children came to us.
“Many of these children were abused and it took time for them to settle into our house. We took in eleven children during this period. In the end, there was only one 15-year old girl who was a problem. My mother gave her all the care the girl was willing to accept but that all came to an end the day the girl went to the police after school and accused Jones of raping her. That caused an uproar for everyone, except my mother and Jones. My mother, because she didn’t believe a word of it; and Jones because he had no idea what they were even talking about. My father’s medical condition had continued to deteriorate. His balance was affected and he had to walk with a cane or he would fall. He spoke very little and would communicated only with his mother.
“My mother, her lawyer and the doctors from the clinic went to the police and CAS. It was resolved almost immediately. The doctors were able to show that that portion of Jones’ brain had been completely destroyed. He was incapable of the act as the brain would respond to no stimulus. CAS then turned on the girl. It turned out that she was pregnant by a boy, who on hearing the news had promptly signed himself up for early service. He was gone. She was scared and lonely and wanted far more than we could provide. But for some the damage was done. As Relocators, we had not been in town since God was a child and that meant we were suspect. My mother was cut dead by some at church and not even the minister’s lessons on murmuring and bearing false witness were going to change their minds.
"My Uncle G got married at this point. He married a young widow from the CoKL Colony. Anna was plump and cheerful and had three children under six. Her husband had been killed in a silo accident the year before. His parents had taken back their farm and put another son on it. Although technically, Anna had been an equal owner of the property, her in-laws held the mortgage and took the property back. This caused some bitterness within the Colony that took a lot of time to heal. Anna had been living in the grossdaadi haus on her parent’s farm. Once they were married Big G and Anna and their children moved into the guest house across the farm yard. When our neighbour came over and announced that he was headed south and asked if we wanted his chicken business, Big G and Anna jumped at the opportunity. After much discussion, the terms were settled on and they moved next door. Without power, the massive operation could not be run, so they scaled it back and became very successful. The few fields they had were converted for hay and additional pasture.
Anna and Big G had four more children of their own and took in five Native children who were found abandoned along the road after a large group of wanderers had pulled out. All they could get out of the kids were that they had walked from north of Edmonton. Anna approached the local Flathead and Blackfoot tribes who sent out counselors. They determined that the children had probably come from the Athabascan Chipewyan people around the Wood Buffalo district of northern Alberta, but the communities up there were mostly gone. The police in Fort McMurray took the photos and information, but while they were helpful, they were not hopeful. So in the end, the children stayed with Big G & Anna in the hope that their parents might someday be found.
“Now gentlemen… you are all young men… but I have been talking non-stop and I need a break for lunch and to use the loo. So what time would you like us to reconvene?”
The Committee started. They had been so caught up in the story that they had failed to note that it was now 1:30pm.
“Mr. McConnell, our apologies,”intoned the Congressman from Idaho. “Would an hour be sufficient time for you? We would like to invite you to join us in the Congressional dining facilities…”
“A kind offer,” replied John, “by my great-granddaughters have provided us with a picnic. Could you direct us to a lawn where we could eat.”
“Certainly, Sir,” was the surprised reply. “Martinson and Hogart would you please take Mr. McConnell and his family over to Grant's Memorial. Tell Hendricks to release a cart and take them yourselves and bring them back when they are finished.” The Committee members tried to remember the last time some one had turned down their invitation or in fact the last time any of them had gone on a picnic.
The two security guards nodded and they escorted the McConnells from the Committee Room.
“As I told you,” John continued with the Committee, “My mother grew potatoes. The soil on the land we were given was quite sandy but shallow, so potatoes were really ideal. Our growing season was 104-129 days because of the micro climates created by the mountains around us. Although cold winds could wind their way down the Kootenai River, we had a long enough growing season for almost all the crops we wanted.
“We grew the Yukon Gold variety. The plants grew quickly and had a medium, upright vine, with a slight tendency to spread as they approached maturity between 85-90 days. The vines had a purplish colour to their lower leaves. The flowers were pale, red-purple but not overly abundant. The root system was somewhat compact, ideal for those sandy soils. The easy thing about their cultivation was that they have a defined rate of growth. So harvest was easier to gauge as the vines wilted back between 90-100 days and we knew then it was time to harvest. Our cows loved too munch on the potato and pea vines have been mixed with corn stalks, and put in the silage pits for a couple of weeks to marinate.
My mother worked hard each year trying to get the ph levels in the soil to between 5.2 and 5.5. We did fertilize using green crops for added nitrogen and rotating with Green Arrow shelling peas – a heritage pea with a 62-70 day growing season.
“Now our farm was located on the Kootenai River but because that section was part of the reservoir, we could not draw water directly from the river. It had to come from wells. For that we used pumps. Initially we purchased electricity from NorthWestern Energy to run those pumps, but the price kept rising to over $0.089178/Kwh. But we began to get more and more brown outs as our power supply was interrupted. So my mother had moved the farm to solar power drip lines. It was pricey initially but well worth it in the end.
“The Libby Dam's powerhouse contained five turbines and was capable of generating 600 megawatts. The electricity was managed by the Bonneville Power Administration and it serviced eight states. If I recall correctly they were Montana, Idaho, Washington, Wyoming, California, Utah, Oregon and Nevada. But the money that was earned from electricity sales went directly to the United States Treasury to repay the cost of building and operating Libby Dam. That treasury was located within the Blue States and they decided to turn off the tap. One night the workers there simply disappeared. Key components to the operation of the hydro-electric portion of the dam were removed. Not just computer chips, but the computers themselves were then destroyed – smashed into tiny pieces. Wires were pulled and the entire system rendered inoperable.
“It didn’t just happen to us. It happened in all the Blue States and a few Red ones. Here in Montana alone we lost the power capacity of the ten major dams – in addition to the Libby Dam, there was the Hungry Horse Dam on the south fork of the Flathead River; the Black Eagle Dam, the Canyon Ferry Dam, the Hauser Dam, the Holter Dam, the Morony Dam and the Toston Dam all on the Missouri River; and the Milltown Reservoir and Noxon Rapids Dam on the Clark River. There were about a thousand people who disappeared that night – the maintenance as well as the operators. Here and there some people were missed but they went into hiding pretty quickly.
“But the power was down and there was no means of bringing it back up. Suddenly our farm went from viable to just about the only game in town and our solar panels went from being expensive to being irreplaceable. Mom took to putting armed guards on them after someone tried to steal them. They didn’t survive the attempt but Mom found a list in his pocket of all the farms with panels. She figured that he had broken into the offices of the store in Kalispell and was taking himself shopping. They back tracked to his truck and found a cube van loaded with panels. Jan called Todd Stewart and he came out and collected them and the list.
“As the reality of the power situation grew worse, we began to see people on the highway heading south to avoid the approaching winter. We locked the farm and food down hard and prayed with equal effort. We were far enough off the highway that we really didn’t get anyone here. Every time we went into town, we now heard stories of who had packed up and left. Kids who had avoided the draft were now lining up to go somewhere where they would be warm and have 3-squares a day. Couples who had been fighting now were going over the edge. There was a rash of domestic murder/suicides with small children often also killed but equally often abandoned. Many of those children came to us.
“Many of these children were abused and it took time for them to settle into our house. We took in eleven children during this period. In the end, there was only one 15-year old girl who was a problem. My mother gave her all the care the girl was willing to accept but that all came to an end the day the girl went to the police after school and accused Jones of raping her. That caused an uproar for everyone, except my mother and Jones. My mother, because she didn’t believe a word of it; and Jones because he had no idea what they were even talking about. My father’s medical condition had continued to deteriorate. His balance was affected and he had to walk with a cane or he would fall. He spoke very little and would communicated only with his mother.
“My mother, her lawyer and the doctors from the clinic went to the police and CAS. It was resolved almost immediately. The doctors were able to show that that portion of Jones’ brain had been completely destroyed. He was incapable of the act as the brain would respond to no stimulus. CAS then turned on the girl. It turned out that she was pregnant by a boy, who on hearing the news had promptly signed himself up for early service. He was gone. She was scared and lonely and wanted far more than we could provide. But for some the damage was done. As Relocators, we had not been in town since God was a child and that meant we were suspect. My mother was cut dead by some at church and not even the minister’s lessons on murmuring and bearing false witness were going to change their minds.
"My Uncle G got married at this point. He married a young widow from the CoKL Colony. Anna was plump and cheerful and had three children under six. Her husband had been killed in a silo accident the year before. His parents had taken back their farm and put another son on it. Although technically, Anna had been an equal owner of the property, her in-laws held the mortgage and took the property back. This caused some bitterness within the Colony that took a lot of time to heal. Anna had been living in the grossdaadi haus on her parent’s farm. Once they were married Big G and Anna and their children moved into the guest house across the farm yard. When our neighbour came over and announced that he was headed south and asked if we wanted his chicken business, Big G and Anna jumped at the opportunity. After much discussion, the terms were settled on and they moved next door. Without power, the massive operation could not be run, so they scaled it back and became very successful. The few fields they had were converted for hay and additional pasture.
Anna and Big G had four more children of their own and took in five Native children who were found abandoned along the road after a large group of wanderers had pulled out. All they could get out of the kids were that they had walked from north of Edmonton. Anna approached the local Flathead and Blackfoot tribes who sent out counselors. They determined that the children had probably come from the Athabascan Chipewyan people around the Wood Buffalo district of northern Alberta, but the communities up there were mostly gone. The police in Fort McMurray took the photos and information, but while they were helpful, they were not hopeful. So in the end, the children stayed with Big G & Anna in the hope that their parents might someday be found.
“Now gentlemen… you are all young men… but I have been talking non-stop and I need a break for lunch and to use the loo. So what time would you like us to reconvene?”
The Committee started. They had been so caught up in the story that they had failed to note that it was now 1:30pm.
“Mr. McConnell, our apologies,”intoned the Congressman from Idaho. “Would an hour be sufficient time for you? We would like to invite you to join us in the Congressional dining facilities…”
“A kind offer,” replied John, “by my great-granddaughters have provided us with a picnic. Could you direct us to a lawn where we could eat.”
“Certainly, Sir,” was the surprised reply. “Martinson and Hogart would you please take Mr. McConnell and his family over to Grant's Memorial. Tell Hendricks to release a cart and take them yourselves and bring them back when they are finished.” The Committee members tried to remember the last time some one had turned down their invitation or in fact the last time any of them had gone on a picnic.
The two security guards nodded and they escorted the McConnells from the Committee Room.
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Dosadi
Brown Coat
Thanks
Ya know you reminded me of underground railroads. It may be necessary to set up them for folk in places like Connecticut when they start killing people for not giving up their firearms.
Humm, need to make a few calls and maybe visit sipsey street.
Thanks again, love this story
D.
Ya know you reminded me of underground railroads. It may be necessary to set up them for folk in places like Connecticut when they start killing people for not giving up their firearms.
Humm, need to make a few calls and maybe visit sipsey street.
Thanks again, love this story
D.
Lake Lili
Veteran Member
Dosadi - underground railroads are an excellent way to move people to safety. The conductors put their lives on the line. There was an excellent children's book called Underground to Canada by Barbara Smucker. It has been on reading lists in Canada for more than 35 years. Highly recommend it. There is a quote at the beginning of the book by Martin Luther King Jr from the 1967 Massey Lectures given on CBC Radio. A part of it reads...
"The legendary underground railroad started in the south and ended in Canada. The freedom road links us together. Our spirituals, now so widely admired around the world, were often codes. We sang of 'heaven' that awaited us, and the slave masters listened in innocence, not realizing that we were not speaking of the hereafter. Heaven was the word for Canada and the Negro sang of the hope that his escape on the underground railroad would carry him there. One of our spirituals, 'Follow the Drinking Gourd', in its disguised lyrics contained directions for escape. The gourd was the big dipper, and the North Star to which its handle pointed gave the celestial map that directed the flight to the Canadian border."
It has been a challenge for me to write making Canada the evil one. But our current system is one with which I have issues and huge concerns but the socialist/ultra-liberal agenda when combined with the PC means that the rights of a few triumph over the rights of many with disastrous long term consequences. The long term impact is scary and the next time the underground railroad may run south...
"The legendary underground railroad started in the south and ended in Canada. The freedom road links us together. Our spirituals, now so widely admired around the world, were often codes. We sang of 'heaven' that awaited us, and the slave masters listened in innocence, not realizing that we were not speaking of the hereafter. Heaven was the word for Canada and the Negro sang of the hope that his escape on the underground railroad would carry him there. One of our spirituals, 'Follow the Drinking Gourd', in its disguised lyrics contained directions for escape. The gourd was the big dipper, and the North Star to which its handle pointed gave the celestial map that directed the flight to the Canadian border."
It has been a challenge for me to write making Canada the evil one. But our current system is one with which I have issues and huge concerns but the socialist/ultra-liberal agenda when combined with the PC means that the rights of a few triumph over the rights of many with disastrous long term consequences. The long term impact is scary and the next time the underground railroad may run south...
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DustMusher
Deceased
My Aunt and Uncle lived in a small town about halfway between Toledo, Ohio and Detroit. They bouth an old house in the town and as kids do, my cousins started hearing stories about that town being a stop on the Underground Railroad and their house was one of the stops.
My Aunt and Uncle poo-pooed the idea as just folk lore (this was in the 1950's and not that many generations removed from those who would have been active in the UR), It wasn't until my cousins and I decided as late elementary school age decided the folk lore was true and we would discover where the 'secret rooms' were.
Our Grandfather was still alive and we asked him all about that era and the stories. Even though he was from a few counties away, his parents had talked about the UR and he filled us with living history. He was born in 1876.
The next few times I stayed he weekend with my cousins, we started searching their house and we did find two hidden rooms and where a part of the basement wayy was different that the surrounding area. My Uncle Gill, bless his heart took us seriously and actually called in workmen to check that wall. Seems there was a tunnel from their house about a quarter mile long before it had collapsed. The local historical society went nuts and the house was declare a historical home.
So don't tell me things that are folk lore necessarily are fiction - we got to run from the secret rooms to the hidden ladder to the basement tunnel and did - playing conductor.
Thanks for bringing this up in the story as I had thought about this for years.
Learn your history, not only may it help you from repeating the mistakes, but give you skills and ideas to help you survive when history decides to repeat itself.
DM
My Aunt and Uncle poo-pooed the idea as just folk lore (this was in the 1950's and not that many generations removed from those who would have been active in the UR), It wasn't until my cousins and I decided as late elementary school age decided the folk lore was true and we would discover where the 'secret rooms' were.
Our Grandfather was still alive and we asked him all about that era and the stories. Even though he was from a few counties away, his parents had talked about the UR and he filled us with living history. He was born in 1876.
The next few times I stayed he weekend with my cousins, we started searching their house and we did find two hidden rooms and where a part of the basement wayy was different that the surrounding area. My Uncle Gill, bless his heart took us seriously and actually called in workmen to check that wall. Seems there was a tunnel from their house about a quarter mile long before it had collapsed. The local historical society went nuts and the house was declare a historical home.
So don't tell me things that are folk lore necessarily are fiction - we got to run from the secret rooms to the hidden ladder to the basement tunnel and did - playing conductor.
Thanks for bringing this up in the story as I had thought about this for years.
Learn your history, not only may it help you from repeating the mistakes, but give you skills and ideas to help you survive when history decides to repeat itself.
DM
sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
Always great, thank you.
Lake Lili
Veteran Member
Wow! Its amazing how quickly it cease to be academic when there is a face and a name to the people involved. The days when people were willing to put their lives on the line for the most part have long passed for the majority of the population of North America. Our respective militaries have become the sole bastion of that willingness. The majority are far too complacent to believe strongly enough in anything.
===
With apologies it will be a bit before anything is posted. We've had a wicked cold/flu thing go through the house and my spare time has been spent cleaning linens and pouring flat gingerale down the throats of feverish children. My turn to lie down... Later all...
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I understand completely - I'm just now up and moving; DH is still down with the crud. I really appreciate the stories that have been written down from my ancestors, not just the genealogy standpoint, but the STORIES. I keep thinking..."If Aunt Addy (at 8) could help cook for the whole family - she had to first put up the kettle, then fill it, then start the fire because she was too little to do it any other way - I can suck it up and do whatever I need to do." "If Ggrandma Sarah could pick out the clothes for her children to wear to her funeral - in a wagonyard in Ada, OK where she was buried (think truckstop of the 1880s), I can plan ahead enough to....".
Knowing what kind of stock you come from gives you a standard to aim for - and a hope that if they could do it, you can too.
Knowing what kind of stock you come from gives you a standard to aim for - and a hope that if they could do it, you can too.
Dosadi
Brown Coat
If ya can get it ya might try some elderberry. I put it in a mullen tea with some mint added. Sweaten as you choose. Seems to help clean out the head.
Also if you can use one a Neti Pot with a saline solution sure flushes out the sinus'. Problem is some people get a drowning sensation and can't discipline themselves to use it.
Makes me feel like I'm breathing ocean salt air after I use it.
Hope all feel better, and While I will try to be patient, I am eagerly anticipating MOAR
D.
Also if you can use one a Neti Pot with a saline solution sure flushes out the sinus'. Problem is some people get a drowning sensation and can't discipline themselves to use it.
Makes me feel like I'm breathing ocean salt air after I use it.
Hope all feel better, and While I will try to be patient, I am eagerly anticipating MOAR
D.
Laurane
Canadian Loonie
Lili - you are writing a great adventure tale and I am enjoying the content extremely........but I live in Alberta and have a problem understanding how the situation in Ontario could have come to such a sorry state by 2020 (in your story). If things had transpired in the way you have written, Alberta would have seceded along with Saskatchewan from Canada......probably allying itself with maybe BC and Western States and would not still be part of the federation of Canada.
I also do not understand why the USA was involving itself in the way Ontario "did business" and its rules and regs.......I have read 4 pages so far and just don't know why another country would concern itself to the point of bombing and invading, unless its trade was being impacted. The grains, timber and oil and gas from Alberta/Sask would still be flowing southwards to US States and unless it was for humanitarian reasons, I don't believe the US .gov as now constituted under the Democrats would care enough about farmers being transported to the Western prov/states. My husband who is dual US/Cdn has always said that if the oil and gas was shut off to the USA, we would see US tanks in our streets within a week.
Can you elaborate a little on why the farmers were being relocated, or am I a bit dense in figuring that out LOL??........is there something specific going to happen to Ontario? The military certainly took great pains to move these farmers, but it is not like there are no farmers left in the west........
Looking forward to finishing it and enjoy your style and the wisdom you show in conversations.......and wonder how you went from the Lake district to the Rock......thanks for the read.
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I now know that part of the relocation was to supply the US Army with food supplies - I imagine that they had been negotiation with the Amish for quite a long while before it all went down......but I am a bit surprised that the Amish would have agreed to anything that supported aggression in any form. Maybe better to move than to be wiped out by the Ontario locals.
There are a lot of Hutterites in AB/SK who could have supplied the Army with food but it would have had to come across the border, which wouldn't have been a problem, as they drive a long way to sell their products........would have saved a lot of effort relocation their own supplies to MT etc.
I also do not understand why the USA was involving itself in the way Ontario "did business" and its rules and regs.......I have read 4 pages so far and just don't know why another country would concern itself to the point of bombing and invading, unless its trade was being impacted. The grains, timber and oil and gas from Alberta/Sask would still be flowing southwards to US States and unless it was for humanitarian reasons, I don't believe the US .gov as now constituted under the Democrats would care enough about farmers being transported to the Western prov/states. My husband who is dual US/Cdn has always said that if the oil and gas was shut off to the USA, we would see US tanks in our streets within a week.
Can you elaborate a little on why the farmers were being relocated, or am I a bit dense in figuring that out LOL??........is there something specific going to happen to Ontario? The military certainly took great pains to move these farmers, but it is not like there are no farmers left in the west........
Looking forward to finishing it and enjoy your style and the wisdom you show in conversations.......and wonder how you went from the Lake district to the Rock......thanks for the read.
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I now know that part of the relocation was to supply the US Army with food supplies - I imagine that they had been negotiation with the Amish for quite a long while before it all went down......but I am a bit surprised that the Amish would have agreed to anything that supported aggression in any form. Maybe better to move than to be wiped out by the Ontario locals.
There are a lot of Hutterites in AB/SK who could have supplied the Army with food but it would have had to come across the border, which wouldn't have been a problem, as they drive a long way to sell their products........would have saved a lot of effort relocation their own supplies to MT etc.
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maineforlife
Contributing Member
Glad to find time to catch up with this fantastic story. Finally got the crib together. it had been sitting in the hallway for 2 weeks.
Lake Lili
Veteran Member
Well folks it was a lulu of a bug, and we are still not all recovered.
Dosadi - Thanks for the elderberry recommendation, unfortunately we can't get it here.
Laurane - You have posted some great questions and comments and I appreciate them, I just can't unfuzzy my head enough to give a coherent answer. The times I've tried look like the response you'd get from a bunch of monkey on a keyboard.
Hey Maine - Hope you and the babe are well. Always good to get that crib dealt with before you go to the hospital.
Moldy - hope you have continued to get better and your DH too.
Here's just a snippet. Hopefully I'll be a bit clearer again tomorrow.
Dosadi - Thanks for the elderberry recommendation, unfortunately we can't get it here.
Laurane - You have posted some great questions and comments and I appreciate them, I just can't unfuzzy my head enough to give a coherent answer. The times I've tried look like the response you'd get from a bunch of monkey on a keyboard.
Hey Maine - Hope you and the babe are well. Always good to get that crib dealt with before you go to the hospital.
Moldy - hope you have continued to get better and your DH too.
Here's just a snippet. Hopefully I'll be a bit clearer again tomorrow.
Lake Lili
Veteran Member
Chapter 43 – Lunch…
“So the question,” John said to the girls as they stood on the steps of Grant’s Memorial. “The question is... who is buried in Grant’s Tomb?”
“Der Grossdaadi!” giggled the girls.
“You always ask this!” giggled Allison. “General Grant is buried in Grant’s Tomb, and George Washington’s white horse is still white.”
“And isn’t General Grant’s tomb in New York City?” asked Sarah.
John laughed with his great-granddaughters as they all sat on the steps and admired the landscaping and goggled at the hordes of tourists following red umbrellas. Equally the tourists goggled at them as the girls unpacked the picnic basket and set out plates of roast chicken, fresh rolls and pickles. A quiet Grace was said over the food and plates were offered to the guards, who were sorry to have to decline. The impossibly elderly man and the two sweet-faced young girls in bonnets and shawls eating their lunch made for a lovely picture and many snaps were taken. One matronly woman from Georgia remarked to her husband that the trio was the only group of visitors not likely to have caused General Grant to blink an eye.
They were enjoying the sun and the breeze, when they were approached by another elderly man. His erect carriage suggested a military history while his tattered and somewhat eyewateringly fragrant clothes suggested a more recent vagrant life. The guards went to move him along but John stopped them.
“Good afternoon to you all and welcome to my city,” the man said.
“Good afternoon to you,” replied John.
“See you’ve acquired some watch dogs,” said the man.
“Well,” agreed John. “They are well trained, very personable and absolutely committed to our safety. In this day and age, that would be a good thing.”
“That it would be,” agreed the man.
“May we offer you some lunch, sir,” asked Allison, holding out a plate of food.
“Well that would be a kind a pleasant thing to do missy,” said the man. “However, I’d best be sitting downwind from you all.” He smiled at his statement and took the offered plate.
“You shouldn’t have done that miss,” said Martinson, one of the guards.
“Matthew 25:35-36, replied Allison.
“I don’t get the reference,” said Martinson.
“For I was hungry, and you fed me. I was thirsty, and you gave me a drink. I was a stranger, and you invited me into your home. I was naked, and you gave me clothing. I was sick, and you cared for me. I was in prison, and you visited me,” answered Hogart, the other guard.
“How’d you know that?” asked Martinson.
“He’s a Christian,” said Allison.
“You are?” asked Martinson, his face showing disbelief.
Martinson’s face then showed concern. “Hey man, you really should be careful who you say that too.”
“Part of being Christian is being willing to accept your Savior's name as a part of who you are,” Allison said. “And being willing to accept that there may be persecution that comes with taking the stand for Jesus.”
“I’m a Christian too,” said an unexpected voice. During the discussion they had completely forgotten their lunch companion. Startled they turned and looked at him. “Yup… I know you alls think I’m a couple bricks shy of a load, but being homeless doesn’t mean your insane, only that you might be…”
“On that note,” said John. “I believe that it time for us to collect our things and head back. I want to be finished with that barrel full of monkeys today.”
“So the question,” John said to the girls as they stood on the steps of Grant’s Memorial. “The question is... who is buried in Grant’s Tomb?”
“Der Grossdaadi!” giggled the girls.
“You always ask this!” giggled Allison. “General Grant is buried in Grant’s Tomb, and George Washington’s white horse is still white.”
“And isn’t General Grant’s tomb in New York City?” asked Sarah.
John laughed with his great-granddaughters as they all sat on the steps and admired the landscaping and goggled at the hordes of tourists following red umbrellas. Equally the tourists goggled at them as the girls unpacked the picnic basket and set out plates of roast chicken, fresh rolls and pickles. A quiet Grace was said over the food and plates were offered to the guards, who were sorry to have to decline. The impossibly elderly man and the two sweet-faced young girls in bonnets and shawls eating their lunch made for a lovely picture and many snaps were taken. One matronly woman from Georgia remarked to her husband that the trio was the only group of visitors not likely to have caused General Grant to blink an eye.
They were enjoying the sun and the breeze, when they were approached by another elderly man. His erect carriage suggested a military history while his tattered and somewhat eyewateringly fragrant clothes suggested a more recent vagrant life. The guards went to move him along but John stopped them.
“Good afternoon to you all and welcome to my city,” the man said.
“Good afternoon to you,” replied John.
“See you’ve acquired some watch dogs,” said the man.
“Well,” agreed John. “They are well trained, very personable and absolutely committed to our safety. In this day and age, that would be a good thing.”
“That it would be,” agreed the man.
“May we offer you some lunch, sir,” asked Allison, holding out a plate of food.
“Well that would be a kind a pleasant thing to do missy,” said the man. “However, I’d best be sitting downwind from you all.” He smiled at his statement and took the offered plate.
“You shouldn’t have done that miss,” said Martinson, one of the guards.
“Matthew 25:35-36, replied Allison.
“I don’t get the reference,” said Martinson.
“For I was hungry, and you fed me. I was thirsty, and you gave me a drink. I was a stranger, and you invited me into your home. I was naked, and you gave me clothing. I was sick, and you cared for me. I was in prison, and you visited me,” answered Hogart, the other guard.
“How’d you know that?” asked Martinson.
“He’s a Christian,” said Allison.
“You are?” asked Martinson, his face showing disbelief.
Martinson’s face then showed concern. “Hey man, you really should be careful who you say that too.”
“Part of being Christian is being willing to accept your Savior's name as a part of who you are,” Allison said. “And being willing to accept that there may be persecution that comes with taking the stand for Jesus.”
“I’m a Christian too,” said an unexpected voice. During the discussion they had completely forgotten their lunch companion. Startled they turned and looked at him. “Yup… I know you alls think I’m a couple bricks shy of a load, but being homeless doesn’t mean your insane, only that you might be…”
“On that note,” said John. “I believe that it time for us to collect our things and head back. I want to be finished with that barrel full of monkeys today.”
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