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.   

29. The Sow and the Drive-In ... THE FARM IN PINE VILLAGE

Early that spring, sows were farrowing, and Joe had one sow left over after filling all his individual hog houses. He arranged panels wired to metal fence posts to form a narrow chute to help guide the sow from the hog lot to the stall in the southwest corner of the barn. Unbeknownst to Joe, Robert was hiding near the chicken house. Robert held a corn cob that he planned to throw at his father in an ambush whenever Joe might walk within range. Joe often entered into the fun of such mock attacks, and Robert looked forward to the surprise.

Meanwhile, Joe was ready to steer the sow toward the barn. He stood behind her, and he took hold of the top edges of the panels to steady himself, should the sow try to back up. He began nudging her forward.

“Go on! Get on up there!” he spoke sharply to the rather reluctant sow. Just as the hog had reached the high threshold of the open Dutch door, she balked.

“Come on! Get up in there!” Joe shouted.

Suddenly, the sow flexed her fat body, bringing her front legs around to her left and placing them on the edge of the panel, as if she would attempt to jump over the panel.

“Pshaw!” Joe exclaimed, as he struggled to shove her legs off the board.

No sooner had he dislodged the sow than she whirled to her right and tried to leap over the tall panel.

“Dog my cats!” Joe yelled while making a superhuman effort to shove her front legs back down to the ground. In the process, he scratched his forearm on the end of a baling wire, and blood trickled down to his elbow.

Robert watched, wondering if he could do anything to assist his father.

Joe managed to get the sow oriented in the right direction, and, with a mighty push, he made her jump up over the tall threshold and into the stall. Working at breakneck speed, Joe swung shut the bottom half of the Dutch door and locked it in place. He breathed a sigh of relief and climbed over a panel to tend to matters outside the chute.

All at once, with a splintering crash, the sow flew through the air and fell to the ground. She found her legs and bolted for the hog lot. The remains of the broken Dutch door hung from the hinges.

Joe uttered a word that Joe never said.

Robert remained hidden. Robert’s eyes were wide. He knew the word because some of his classmates at school had kindly taught him what it meant, but he never expected to hear his father use it. His father never used a naughty word!

Robert slunk away, so that Joe would never know that his son had overheard his father’s transgression. Robert would keep the secret for years to come, and he never divulged it to anyone. Robert felt certain that his father, who taught the adult class at the church on Sundays, had instantly repented!

The sow that had escaped the barn held off having her litter. Joe felt that the litter by the first sow to have had pigs in the present round was old enough to be released into the hog lot, and he readily confined the stubborn sow in the hog house vacated by the oldest piglets and their mother.

To trim down the number of pigs on the farm, Joe later loaded three pigs in his GMC pickup. He could haul them to a variety of nearby markets: Boswell, Attica, and Lafayette were the principal outlets. On that Saturday, he chose Lafayette. Charles and Robert accompanied him. After unloading the pigs at the stockyard, the morning had been spent. Joe and the boys were hungry, so Joe pulled into the Park ’n’ Eat, a drive-in restaurant on State Street with the Tastee-Freeze and the Cities Service station on the east side and the Standard gasoline station on the west side.

When the waitress stepped up to the truck, she made a face. “Pew!” she said in disgust, as she smelled the hog manure in straw lying in the bed of the pickup. Without saying another word, she turned and went back to the dining area.

“I wonder what the hold-up is,” Joe said.

Before long, the owner of the restaurant walked out to the truck. With an apologetic smile, he said to Joe, “I’m sorry. I’m afraid we can’t serve you. The smell of the pigs is too strong and will scare away our other customers.”

Robert felt embarrassed. He understood the owner’s point, but Robert knew better than to say anything.

With a sharp look in his eye, Joe returned the owner’s smile and said, “That’s the fragrance of money. I just sold three pigs, and I have good American money to spend on three of your hamburgers.”

The owner shrugged his shoulders and enhanced the apologetic look on his smiling face. “I’m terribly sorry, but I’m afraid I have to ask you to drive on. If you will come back in your family car, I will personally ensure that your meal meets your expectations.”

“You needn’t go to such trouble,” Joe replied over his shoulder, as he backed out from under the roof of the drive-in and headed home.

“I’m sorry you boys have to wait a while longer before we eat,” he said. Robert and Charles didn’t mind, but they could see that Joe was seething.

It came as no surprise that the family never returned to the Park ’n’ Eat.

The occasion when the sow broke the barn door and the occasion when the restaurant refused service were the only two occasions when Joe was angry—at least, they were the only two times when Robert could detect Joe’s anger. Joe was otherwise consistently peaceful, even amicable at all times! Robert concluded that pigs were the ingredients to upset his father’s proverbial apple cart. After all, hogs were the common denominator in both incidents. Robert developed the misgiving that, in working with swine, situations could arise that would inspire ire; for that reason, he always tried to keep his equanimity and his sense of humor when feeding pigs or helping care for new litters. Robert had reached the conclusion that pigs were catalysts for disaster.      

16. The Junior Fire Marshals ... THE FARM IN PINE VILLAGE

Robert and Charles thoroughly enjoyed the Hartford Junior Fire Marshal Program. Joe might have been less enthusiastic, but he didn’t let it show. A member of the Pine Village Volunteer Fire Department visited Robert’s first grade class and Charles’ third grade class to explain that all the students must take a thick booklet to their parents, who would help them examine their homes for fire safety violations. When the booklets were returned, the students would be declared Junior Fire Marshals.

Robert and Charles skipped happily homeward that evening. Joe, who had already been through the process twice for Charles, was not necessarily looking forward to a third occasion. He hurriedly milked the cows and fed the chickens and other poultry while Ida set the supper table early. Fortunately, she did not serve homemade cottage cheese! Robert was ready to take part in the examination of the house as soon as the supper dishes were cleared.

“Alright, boys,” Joe said, “we’ll start with the bathroom.” The bathroom had been added on to the old farmhouse, and it jutted out beyond the main wall as a tiny room all to itself. When the snowflakes were flying, the space was always cold. Joe had the boys look at the light fixtures and the one outlet, which passed their inspection.

“Isn’t that a violation of fire safety?” Charles asked, pointing to a heat lamp that Joe kept hanging above the pipes of the water heater during the winter.

“Well,” Joe said, “nothing can go wrong with it, and we use it only when it’s cold enough to freeze the pipes. Let’s assume the inspection is trying to find longstanding problems.”

“So which box do I check?” Charles asked.

“Check that the bathroom passes our inspection,” Joe said, removing a pen from the pocket of his overalls so that he could check the box in Robert’s booklet while Charles checked the box in his booklet.

The three moved on to the corner of the kitchen where a toaster, an electric wall clock, and a coffee percolator were plugged in.

“Could the circuit be overloaded?” Charles asked.

“Well, we’ve never blown a fuse, and the circuit is designed to carry enough watts to permit what you see there.”

“Do I check that the kitchen has a safety violation or not?” Charles asked.

“Check that there is no violation,” Joe said. Again, he took the pen from his pocket so that he could do the same in Robert’s booklet.

Robert had already concluded that you had to be older before you could understand the intricacies of electricity. He had no idea what a circuit or a watt was. Robert wondered if he would comprehend the safety of electricity by the time he was in third grade.

The group moved on to the heating stoves with their pipes that went up and over to the chimneys. Where the pipes entered the chimneys, doughnut-shaped metal plates that were painted in ornamental designs surrounded the pipes.

“If we weren’t already using the stoves,” Joe said, “we’d take off those rings and pull the pipes out to see if there might be any obstructions in the chimney or where the pipes make that angle, but the pipes are already hot. Besides, you’ve seen me clean them every spring at the end of the heating season.”

“So there’s no violation, right?” Charles asked.

“That’s right,” Joe said. Again, he marked Robert’s booklet.

Eventually, the three of them had reached the attic. Robert was a little afraid. One night three years earlier, the fire siren had sounded from the station in town. Joe and the boys had run to the GMC pickup to try to catch up with the firetruck. It was heading west on State Route 26 toward Rainsville. Where the road made a bend, a house was afire. Others who had chased the firetruck parked their vehicles and stood watching and conversing in groups. Although no one was hurt in the fire, the event was frightening. Robert vividly remembered the smoke filled with sparks and the orange flames casting weird shadows that danced in demonic patterns on the cars and the outbuildings. In his recollection, Robert could see the hoses spraying water to save the barn as the trees caught flames in their branches that were too near the house. He recalled glass in the upstairs window of the home shattering and a ball of flame rolling out. Now he glanced worriedly at the window in the upstairs of his house.

Joe, meanwhile, had slid the attic entry panel to one side. He switched on his flashlight and aimed it into the darkness. There was a conch shell that a relative had brought back from Florida. There was a Gilbert wind-up clock from the late 1800s. A dusty violin lay near the clock. A potato bug mandolin with broken strings caught the beams from the flashlight. A pair of antiquated tennis rackets leaned against the wall. There were so many interesting items, all stacked and piled together, that Robert almost forgot his fear.

“This cord,” Joe said, “runs from one side of the house to the other through the attic.” He pointed to the cord, which was attached to the rafters. “The electrical service divides fairly evenly with half of the fixtures on one side of the house and the other half on the other side of the house. My uncle Charley—your great uncle—probably had a say in the plan, which is logical and sensible. Also, there is almost nothing hidden that we need to see for our inspection.”

The inspection had lasted until bedtime.

Joe, Charles, and Robert felt much better, knowing that everything was in tiptop shape.

When the boys submitted their booklets, they received badges made of red plastic with gold lines radiating outward from a black circle proclaiming the words “Junior Fire Marshal.” In the center of the circle stood a white stag against a red background; it was the symbol of the Hartford Insurance Company. Charles and Robert also were given red plastic hats shaped like those that real fire fighters wore. The front of the hat had the Hartford trademark, as well as “Junior Fire Marshal” in large letters.

Every afternoon, the boys played “fire marshal” by wearing their hats and putting out imaginary fires outdoors. Soon, the hats cracked and were no longer usable, but they had been fun while they lasted.