34. The Figurine and the Feed ... THE FARM IN PINE VILLAGE

That spring, Joe and Ida brought home the last boxes of items from the house of Grandma Rhode, who had passed away in her sleep on the final day of March. The only remaining thing that had to be moved before the property could be sold was the cultivator that Joe stored in the garage when it was not in use. Ida drove the Chevrolet into town while Joe ran the Minneapolis–Moline tractor into position to receive the cultivator. Charles and Robert were with their mother. They tumbled out of the car and stood waiting to help their father.

In years past, the boys nearly always had been on hand when Joe had attached the implement to his tractor. Grandma Kosie Rhode would serve everyone orange juice in tiny glasses with oranges painted on the sides. It seemed odd for Grandma Rhode to be missing the fun. Joe carried the heavy front sections of iron with their V-shaped hoes to either side of the tractor. He balanced each on a concrete block while he slid heavy bolts through the holes he had patiently aligned. When it came time to lift the doubly heavy back section, he enlisted the help of Ida and both boys: Ida to assist in lifting and the boys to steady and guide the ironwork into place. While Joe was fastening the nuts, Ida and the boys took one more look around the empty house.

Their footsteps echoed in the small rooms. Robert peeped into the tiny bathroom.

“Mom, you missed something,” he said.

Ida came to look. On the shelf above the sink was an inexpensive porcelain container in the shape of a lady at a costume ball in the 1700s. The upper portion—including her head with a funny hat—was a lid that covered the bottom portion—her light blue gown. The container had nothing in it and had been kept spotlessly clean. (Grandma Rhode had been meticulous in dusting and sweeping.)

“I guess we missed that,” Ida said.

Robert looked up with eyes that asked, “Could I have it?”

Reading his expression, Ida questioned, “Do you really want it?”

“Yes,” he answered.

“Then you may have it.”

On the way home, Robert held the upper half of the container in one hand and the lower half in the other hand, to keep them from harm. He put the fragile piece out of the way on the bookshelf above his bed so that he would not accidentally break the figurine.

Joe, meanwhile, took Robert and Charles to the feed store in town to order ground feed for the shoats.

He switched off the GMC in the alley beside the store, and he and his sons walked into the office, where “Fireball” greeted them.

Lester Crane had two nicknames: “Let” (the more obvious of the two) and “Fireball.” Let’s father had known not only Joe but also Joe’s mother, her brother, and her parents. The roots of camaraderie between the Cranes and the Cobb family (Kosie’s maiden name) ran deep.

“Hi, Let,” Joe said.

“What can I do for you today?” Fireball asked.

“I need to load the bed of my pickup with ground feed for my feeder pigs.”

“Let me fix you up,” Fireball said good-naturedly, as he pulled an order form backed by carbon paper into place on top of the metal box that held the blank forms. He felt around the pocket on the bib of his overalls until he found the pen that he knew he had stuck there.

While Let was preparing the form, Joe peered through the window at the street to watch the traffic. His back was turned when Russell Mitchell entered the office.

“What d’ya say, Fireball?” Russell began, then, noticing Joe, he said, “Hi, Joe!”

Surprised to hear his name, Joe spun around. “Hi, Russell,” Joe said.

“Are you keeping those boys of yours in line?” Russell inquired, nodding in the direction of Charles and Robert.

Joe smiled. “I reckon so,” he replied. “How are your boys?”

“Oh, I have them working in the barn today. I thought I’d sneak off to order some feed. They probably haven’t missed me yet.”

Robert listened to the conversation, while he looked forward to seeing the ground feed falling from the chute into his father’s truck. He always enjoyed the sight of the rushing feed making a mountain in the bed of the GMC and the dusty fragrance of the crushed grain.

“When I drove past your place the other day,” Russell said, his eyes becoming narrow, “I saw your boy there—”

“Charles.” Joe provided the name.

“Charles—leading a heifer around the yard.”

“That’s right,” Joe said. “He’s training her for the 4-H fair.”

Russell smiled. “So he’ll have her entered in the heifer class, then.”

“Yes. It’s his first year for the dairy project.”

“I was gonna say you’ve had pigs at the fair before this.”

“Yes, and we’ll have our Chester Whites there again this year.”

Fireball interrupted, “Joe, I need your signature right there.”

After Joe had signed his name with his customary elegant cursive, he handed the pen back to Let and said, “I reckon your boys will have cows at the fair.”

“Roger and Richard,” Russell said with a twinkle in his eye. “Yeah, we always have our Holsteins in the various classes.”

Joe hesitated, then he asked, “The heifer class, too?”

Russell peered intently at Joe. “We have a nice looking heifer that we think is gonna bring home a champion ribbon for us.”

“Is that right?” Joe commented, smiling.

“’bout so,” Russell said.

“You’ve generally had the champion in that class, haven’t you?”

“Fairly consistently,” Russell agreed, nodding.

Accidentally dropping the carbon copy of the form that Fireball handed him, Joe fumbled to pick it up from the dusty floor but managed to grab it on the third try. He carefully folded it and slid it in the pocket of his overalls.

“Pull around there, and I’ll get you loaded right now,” Fireball said to Joe.

“We’ll be seeing you, then,” Joe said to Russell.

“Take ‘er easy,” Russell responded.

Robert was not disappointed. The ground feed cascaded into the truck with a satisfying rumble.

His father’s conversation had given Robert an idea for the use of his figurine: he would keep his 4-H pins in it.