by Mic Roland
Others in the crowd nodded. A few vocalized that they, too, had become recipients of refugees or the wandering poor.
“What do we do with them?” Martin sat down. No one seemed to have an answer.
Lance broke the long silence by clearing his throat.
“Yes Lance?” said Landers.
“When I was a little boy, my grandfather used to threaten me by saying, that if I didn’t behave, he’d take me to the farm. Never made sense to me as a kid. We were already on a farm. His grandfather used to threaten him with the same phrase. But, back in his grandpa’s day, the town actually had a poor farm. That’s where people were sent who went broke, went homeless, or had to work off some community service and such.”
“Work farms?” Candice sounded outraged. “That’s just cruel. This isn’t the middle ages! These poor people have done nothing wrong. They should not be punished, like bad children, simply because times are hard. It’s kicking people when they’re down! Where’s the humanity in that?”
“Times were hard in my grandpa’s day too,” countered Lance. “Not like it was all roses n’ clover back then. People hit tough patches, but there weren’t a bunch of governmental teats to suck on…oh…sorry ladies…I didn’t mean…what I meant was…”
“Go on, Lance,” said Landers.
“Yes, well, I meant that they didn’t have all them federal ‘safety net’ programs back then. The town farm was a way to give people work to cover their keep. Most people, my grandpa said, only worked on the farm for only awhile. Most of ‘em would work hard and earn a bit more, until they were back on their feet.”
“So, guess I’m wondering, since we don’t have any federal anything now, if there was a way to have a town farm again. Give all these people a place to be and something productive to do.” Lance sat down. Heads leaned together. The buzz of many soft conversations filled the room. The selectmen were conferring among each other too.
“It’s an interesting idea, Lance,” said Landers at last, “but we have nowhere we could set up such a farm — especially now with the power out, no fuel and all.”
“We’ve got room.” An old man raised his hand. “Got our big ol’ house. The kids never moved back like we thought. Could double up families in the four bedrooms. Old farmhouse. Every room’s got a fireplace. Had the little barn set up with simple bunk beds for a family reunion a couple years ago. Bunks are still there. People would at least have somewhere dry and sorta warm.”
“That’s awfully generous Don, but you’d have to feed them too.”
“Well, we’ve got a fair amount stored away. The missus and I don’t eat all that much at our age, and I’m confident the Lord will provide more when that runs out. But, a fair day’s work should earn folks a bed and a hot meal.”
“Work doing what?” asked Wilder.
Mr. and Mrs. Webster consulted privately for a moment. “Well, sir, we have the wood my grandson cut down for next year’s firewood. Still just downed trees at this point. Don’t look like he’s gonna be coming to finish cutting it up. They could cut, split and stack.”
“And there’s the hay,” added Mrs. Webster. “The Scott brothers cut and bail hay off our back fields. It’s still all stacked up way out there by the trees. Hauling all that into the barn by hand will be a ton of work without their tractor.”
“We’ll think of something else too,” added Mr. Webster. “Having six kids taught us to think of chores.” The Websters smiled at each other.
“Um…” said a man in brown flannel with his hand raised. Landers pointed his gavel at him. He stood up hesitantly. “I don’t know if this helps or not, but my brother in law works…or used to work, at a dairy farm up in Canterbury. He was telling me how his boss has been really upset lately because he doesn’t have enough hay laid up to feed all his cows for the whole winter. His usual truckloads of Canadian hay didn’t come. Probably never will. He’s all worked up that he’s gonna have to slaughter some of his herd to fit his existing hay supply. The guy loves his cows like pets, you see. Has names for ‘em all.”
“So what are you saying?” asked Landers.
“Well, sir. What if we offered to take in some of his cows — just for the winter maybe — on the Webster’s farm? Give people something to do and provide some milk.” Flannel man sat down, looking like he regretting speaking up.
Milk cows? Martin’s mind took the ball and ran with it. Margaret was looking for more protein sources. It would not be enough for the whole town — or at least those who remained — but it would be something. If the town really was on its own, it would need as much food production as possible. Simply eating out what was in everyone’s pantry was a dead-end strategy — literally.
He knew Margaret was dead set against cows, but thought her childhood skills might be a bargaining chip to securing some renewable food for his household of seven. Margaret would understand, he hoped. They had the others to think of. Cows would be wonderful.
“Oh now, I don’t wanna be the wet blanket,” started Don Webster. “But our farm isn’t set up for cattle. Most we had was a few horses years ago…and a couple pigs.”
“There hasn’t been a dairy farm in Cheshire since the Cauloff’s closed up their operation years ago,” said Wilder.
Martin’s spirits fell for a moment. Then he recognized that these were not deal-breaking problems. These were technicalities. What did it matter if the Webster’s farm was not set up for cows. Maybe it could be. What did it matter that the Cauloff’s stopped running a dairy farm? They, or someone else could start.
“That’s right,” said Red Cauloff. “We sold off our bulk tank and milking equipment years ago. We’re too old to run a dairy anymore.”
So what? Martin thought. Margaret talked about her childhood of milking by hand, cream separators and such. A farm did not absolutely need modern equipment. The old ways would be more work, but they had more people with nothing else to do.
“Did you get rid of everything?” Martin asked.
“Huh? Well, lemme see.” mused Red. “Not the little junky stuff. No one wanted that anyhow. Only the big equipment’s got value. Went to a guy out by Peterborough, I think.”
“So, what is the ‘junky stuff’?”
“Oh, you know. The cans, buckets. The stanchions are too old for anyone to want.”
“Did you have a hand-crank cream separator?” Martin was fishing, but he had an idea.
“Oh sakes yes,” chuckled Mrs. Cauloff. “I was going to make some planters out of those.”
“Okay, so what about this?” Martin addressed the selectmen. “What if we offer to take some of this Canterbury guy’s cows for awhile, so he doesn’t have to kill them, and revive the Cauloff’s dairy farm as a second town farm? They’re just up the road from the Websters, who have hay. They would be producing food that people could buy or trade for, or something. Those are details to be sorted out, but still. It would be a renewable resource we don’t have now. You just said we’re on our own now.”
“I appreciate your thinking, Simmons,” said Landers, “But there’s all kinds of problems with that idea.”
Martin took that as a challenge. More technicalities, I suppose. He crossed his arms. “Oh yeah, like what?”
“Um…well…for one, who knows how to milk cows by hand anymore?”
“My wife, Margaret. She can teach other people too.” Martin cringed inside. He was volunteering Margaret without asking her. He knew how she felt about cows. Still, she would understand.
“And what do you do with the milk afterward?” said Red. “You have to chill it.”
“It’s late October. Chilling should not be a problem. Besides, if everyone is all that hungry, how long would the milk be sitting around anyhow?”
“It won’t be properly pasteurized,” said Candice. “Do you realize what a health risk raw milk poses? This is a fool’s errand, if you ask me. You can’t risk the health of these people on such untreated products.”
“Starvation sounds p
retty risky too.” Martin was certain he was not making a friend in Candice. She was glaring at him with the look only Peter earned, thus far.
“No one needs to face starvation,” said Candice. “If we all just reconsider that silly vote and cooperate with the legally appointed authorities, there would be food enough for everyone.” Candice lobbied the crowd. “That’s all we want, right? Meals on our tables, right? Well, they’ll bring them to us. We won’t have to scrimp, or go hungry, or get sick from unprocessed milk!” Candice was working up a good pulpit-pounding cadence. “We don’t have to be hungry. Our children don’t have to cry. We can be safe, and fed, if only we comply with the law! I say we vote again and vote YES this time! Who’s with me?”
The silence was awkward for everyone. Candice’s raised arms slowly sagged like a melting snowman.
“We’re not revisiting the vote, Candice,” said Landers. “The item on the floor right now is whether we should offer to take in that man’s cows.”
“I still say you’d need some electricity,” said Red. “Some of that old hand equipment could help, but it still takes power.”
Nick stood up eagerly. “That’s easy! Martin here just built a machine that makes gas from wood scraps. He was running his generator from it just this morning! It was pretty cool. You could have power.”
Martin pulled Nick back to his seat. “Jeez, Nick,” Martin whispered. “I didn’t want that to be all public. What if someone wants to come steal it, or something?”
“Oh, wow.” Nick looked horrified. “I didn’t think of that. Sorry man. I just thought it would help…I didn’t mean to make trouble.”
Martin sat back in a funk. Doubled-up watches would be tough with who he had to work with. What defensive value would a Susan & Judy team be? Margaret and Dustin would be okay. He certainly was not going to double with Trish. He frowned at the lack of good options.
“Either way, how on earth would you get them all the way from Canterbury?” added Wilder. “Nobody in town as a cattle truck.”
“Horse trailers,” said Martin, still wearing his frown. “I’ve seen a lot of them in town.”
“A horse weighs half what a cow does,” said a man in back. “Horse trailers aren’t built for that kind of load.”
“I’ve seen two-horse trailers. Two horses would then weigh as much has one cow, right? Put one cow in a two-horse trailer. Two cows in a four-horse trailer.”
“I’ve got a four-horse goose-neck and a Sierra 3500, but I kinda ran it to near empty fetching my wife’s horses last week,” said a man in blue. Martin recognized him as Tyler from the funeral.
“I’ve got a four-horser, but my truck’s out of action. Tie rods,” said another man. “The trailer needs the big ball hitch, set real low.”
“My Laramie could pull that, but it’s near empty too. Couldn’t get any diesel once the power went out.”
It occurred to Martin that he was no longer running the furnace at his house, but burning wood alone. He still had a half a tank of fuel oil that was an under-assigned asset.
“Okay, how’s this?” Martin stood up. “I’m willing to supply the fuel to make it happen.”
“What do you mean?”
“Heating fuel is diesel fuel, right? I know: road taxes. Never mind. It’ll run a truck. That’s all that matters right now. If we’re going to try to make it through the winter on our own, we need new food sources. These milk cows could be just that. So, I’m willing to invest fifty gallons of my own home heating oil to power these two guys’ diesel trucks up to Canterbury and back.”
Martin’s investment challenge set the room to buzzing. Martin tried to pick out some of the conversations, but it was mostly a crashing chaos of voices. From what little he could hear, the tone seemed positive, so he stood his ground, arms folded.
Two more people volunteered their horse trailers: a two and a three bay unit. Their trucks needed regular gasoline, but a few people stepped up to invest a few gallons each.
“Let’s not get the cart before the horse,” said Landers. “The guy hasn’t said yes to any of this yet. Walter, do you think you could raise somebody up that way to go ask him? Chief? Could he use your radio gear? Good.”
Walter and Chief Burgh hurried out to the little dispatch room downstairs. In the meantime, there followed a convoluted discussion among the various ‘investors’ for return on their investment. For his contribution, Martin was entitled to one sixteenth of whatever the cows produced.
They had trucks and trailers to haul six cows. Martin recalled Margaret’s childhood stories. She told of once getting eight gallons over three milkings a day. Martin scaled that back to account for winter and less-than-optimal feed, to figure that a cow might produce 4 gallons of milk a day. 24 gallons. One sixteenth of that would be a gallon and a half. For seven people, that was not huge, but it was something, and hopefully steady.
More discussion churned over how much fixing-up the Cauloff farm would need to be ready to house cows again.
Landers waved to Martin to come join him at the selectmen’s table. “Simmons. This here is Mr. Ingalls. He’s from the governor’s office. Apparently, the governor has called for a joint meeting of the state senate and house — or at least of as many as can make it — for tomorrow.”
“Governor Vincent sent several staff to tour communities and report back today,” said Ingalls. “The governor has some big decisions coming up and wants to get a feel for how people are holding up during this crisis. I have also been instructed to invite a few people who I think the governor will want to speak to directly. Given your town’s vote just now, I’ve asked Mr. Landers to attend. Based on the discussions after that, I think the governor may want to speak with you too.”
“Really?” Martin had no idea what the governor would want with him. “Sure, I guess, but why would…”
“He said YES!” shouted Walter. He and Chief Burgh came into the room all smiles. “We got ahold of the cow guy. Took a couple links, but he carries an FRS. He was tickled pink. I couldn’t tell him how many we could take. He’s standing by to find out when we could come.”
Landers looked at Ingalls. “The governor wants to talk tomorrow, you say?” Ingall’s nodded. “Well then, Simmons, looks like we have a trip to Concord tomorrow.”
“Tell him tomorrow, Walter, and that we can handle six.”
Deals
The informational meeting had broken up without official adjournment, though no one seemed to notice. They began setting up their tables and boxes. There were many items on the tables, though transactions seemed less brisk.
The man in blue, with the Sierra, approached Martin. “Hey there. Just wanted to say thanks again for saying a few words up at the cemetery.”
“Yeah,” said his brother. “It probably would have made our father madder than hornets to have God-talk said over him, but too bad for him. It made mom happy.”
“No problem,” said Martin. “Glad I could help.”
“So, I had a question for you,” Tyler began. “I hear tell you’ve made a wood-cooker thing and that you’re running your gas generator on it.”
Martin sighed. “It’s true.” He made a mental note to kick Nick in the shins at the earliest opportunity.
“So, how’s that work?” Tyler said.
“It’s kinda complicated, but basically, it cooks wood chunks so they release a gas like natural gas. Gasoline engines can burn that gas, so that’s what we did. We made a little gasifier to run our little generator.”
“Neat,” Tyler said. “I was wondering if you thought you could make a bigger one that could run my truck.”
Martin puzzled for a moment. The principles would be the same. Things would have to be scaled up, but there could be some complications with increased sizes. “I suppose so.” He did not want to say no outright, nor appear too enthusiastic.
“Cool, cool,” said Tyler. “We can talk about it later. We live in that old green house on the highway, just over the hill from you. Charles and I
are trying to barter some alcohol for some bread. Catch ya later.” The two brothers walked off, engaged in a lively discussion.
Martin found Landers, and traded a jar of jam for his one can of beans. No one else showed much interest in jam. Jerry was there with more goat’s milk, but doing less trading. Fewer people had cash. Their barter goods did not interest him.
Martin glanced around the hall. There were some deals being negotiated, but not as eagerly as the week before. He had been trying to conserve his supply of cash at home, but hearing what the man in the yellow hat said, made him wonder. If people just decided they did not want paper dollars, they would have no value. Susan had been talking about the symbolic nature of fiat currencies. People use them, primarily because they trust that the next person will take them in trade.