by Jan Drexler
“The trough. Do you tie it to the fence so they can’t move it?”
He had never thought of such a thing. Daed had never thought of such a thing...
“Here, I’ll show you what I mean.” Mary jumped out of the buggy and tied Chester to the rail before leading the way to the side of the pen where the buckets of slop were lined up.
Samuel had no choice but to follow. Surely she wouldn’t get close to the hogs with a clean dress on. And shoes. She was wearing shoes to town.
Before his thoughts went any further, he followed her, catching up before she reached the fence.
“You want to be careful not to get muddy.”
She looked at him, her eyes crinkling as she smiled. “Don’t worry. I know my way around pigs.” She pointed to the fence posts. “My daed uses pieces of barbed wire fencing and attaches the ends of the trough to the fence posts.”
Samuel looked at the mud-covered wooden trough. “He must drill holes for the wire to go through?”
Mary nodded. “Four of them. One in each end and two in the sides near the corners. He strings the wire through them and then twists in onto the fence post. The barbs on the wire keep the hogs from fooling with it and getting it loose.”
“That would do it, I suppose.”
“And it would save you the trouble of climbing into the wallow with them.”
He shot a sideways glance. Ja, for sure, she was laughing at him. He picked up the first bucket and poured the slops into the trough. The hogs squealed, fought and grunted as they buried their snouts in the mixture of cooked grain, garden refuse and sour milk.
“The girls said you sold a couple of the pigs last week.”
Samuel nodded as he grabbed two more buckets of slops and went around the side of the barn to where the young pigs were kept in a separate sty. Mary followed him, picking her way between mud puddles. Smaller and thinner than the sows, these pigs ate as much as their mothers. By fall they would be filled out and ready to butcher.
He dumped some slops into their trough. “I took two of these to the butcher last week.”
“Aren’t they a bit underweight?”
Samuel glanced at her again. She knew her hogs. The butcher had said the same thing, but Samuel fed them the same food Daed had always done.
He turned to the final pen. “This is my boar.” He heard the note of pride creep into his voice.
Mary leaned over the fence. “He’s a big one.”
“Over six hundred pounds, according to my calculations.”
“Measuring his girth and length?”
“Ja.” He shook the pail to get all the slops out of it and into the trough. This girl knew her hogs, for sure.
“It’s time to sell him, isn’t it? I mean, Daed would have sold him before he got too big to...do what boars need to do.” Her face turned bright red.
“The sows are just as big, so there’s no problem.” And no money to buy a new boar. That was the real problem.
Samuel stacked the empty pails and led the way into the barn cellar. As he set them next to the mash cooker, Mary stepped to the cellar gate and looked out over the fields.
“Is all this land yours?”
“From the woodlot to the creek, and to Sadie’s place on the other side. Fifty acres tillable.”
“Why haven’t you planted anything?”
He stared at her back. Maybe her daed had sent her to Indiana so he wouldn’t have to listen to the constant questions.
“No plow. No work horses.”
“You should consider it, anyway. Growing your own corn or barley to feed your hogs would save you money in the long run.”
Samuel thought about her suggestion as she turned back to gaze toward the woodlot. He had purchased a neighbor’s field of corn last fall, stunted from the drought and heat. Chopped and stored in the silo, the silage had fed the hogs through the winter. But now that source of feed was gone, and he was feeding them seed barley that had sprouted. The grain elevator in Shipshewana had sold it cheap, but it still cost something. What would he feed them when that ran out?
Shoving his hat back on his head, Samuel stepped up next to Mary and gazed out at the fields. Eighty acres stretched out, including the wood lot and the ten acres Grossdawdi had given to Sadie for her use. That left plenty to plant, but Daed had sold the plow and work horses years ago. Nothing had been planted in the fields as long as Samuel could remember. He had tried haying it once, but weeds had overtaken the land and there wasn’t enough grass to make the work worthwhile.
It was a wasteland.
And he was spending the little cash he had to buy grain to feed his hogs. Daed’s way of doing things just didn’t make sense sometimes.
* * *
Mary leaned on the top of the gate in Samuel’s barn cellar. He stood next to her, looking out on the fallow acres of his farm. He was a confusing man.
On one hand, strong and solid. Comfortable. He was becoming a friend.
On the other hand, the way he kept his hogs was the most wasteful and lazy way she had ever seen. Daed kept his hogs in a field, not closed in some pen. And he let them graze in the pastures, moving them often so they wouldn’t overgraze the grass.
“Where did you learn how to raise hogs?” She turned toward him as she asked the question.
Samuel shrugged, the caked mud on his shirt flaking off as it dried. “From Daed. I take care of them the way he taught me.”
“At home, we pastured the hogs. They ate grass and other things in the fields, and being out in the sunshine helped them grow faster and better.”
Samuel scowled. “They’re doing fine. Daed’s ways have been working for years.”
Mary bit her lower lip to keep the words in that she wanted to say. That Samuel was wrong, and perhaps his daed wasn’t the best teacher. But that would only spoil their tenuous friendship, and it wasn’t her place to tell a man how to manage his own farm.
He flicked at a glop of mud on his arm, then looked at her. “You never said why you’re going to Shipshewana.”
“We have some extra eggs, and I thought I’d see if any of the shopkeepers are interested in buying them.”
“Eggs?”
“The hens are laying well, and we don’t want them to go to waste.”
“You can always can them. Save them for winter when the chickens don’t produce so well.”
Mary swallowed quickly as the thought of the quarts and quarts of canned eggs filling the cellar shelves made her stomach turn. “We already have too many pickled eggs. Folks have been very generous sharing canned goods with Sadie.”
“I give our extra eggs to the hogs. They love them.”
Mary glanced at the sacks of grain piled near the mash cooker. “You buy grain to feed the pigs?”
“When I can get it cheap.”
“I still think you should raise your own grain.” She bit her bottom lip before she said any more. He would think she was trying to tell him how to farm.
“I told you, I don’t have the equipment to plant.”
“I noticed the Yoders, across the road, have finished with their planting already. Ask if you can borrow their horses and plow.”
Samuel rubbed at his chin. At least he wasn’t getting angry at her suggestion.
“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to ask.”
“If they aren’t willing to help, there will be someone at church who will, for sure.” She smiled, confident that he would take her advice. “You can ask tomorrow, when you help with the plowing.”
“The plowing?”
“I heard you talking about it with the other men at dinner last Sunday. You haven’t forgotten, have you? You promised you would be there.”
Samuel rubbed at a spot of mud on his shirt. How he could worry about that one spot when the rest of
him was caked with the stuff was beyond her.
When he didn’t answer, she took a step closer. “You did forget, didn’t you?”
“I didn’t forget. But they don’t want me there. It will be best for me to stay home.”
Mary shook her head. Did he even hear what he was saying?
“If you don’t go, you’ll only prove that the one man was right. Remember? He said you wouldn’t show up. You need to prove to him that he’s wrong.”
“Martin Troyer. And I can’t prove that he’s wrong.” He looked at her from under his lowered brow. “He was right. Everything he said was true. You heard what he said.”
Mary studied the man standing beside her. He looked just like a six-year-old boy waiting to be punished for some infraction as he stood with his thumbs threaded through his suspenders and one foot kicking at the dirt.
“Just because you haven’t helped in the past doesn’t mean you can’t help tomorrow.” This was the perfect opportunity to start over, to prove that he could change.
“I tried to help at a barn raising last summer.” He straightened, rolling his shoulders as if he bore a weight that was too heavy for him. “They didn’t want me there. Didn’t want my help.”
“I heard you tell the minister that you’d be there. You gave your word.”
Samuel sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “My daed’s word never meant anything. He never kept his promises, and they don’t expect me to, either.”
“You,” Mary said, pointing her finger at his chest, “are not your daed. He isn’t here, but you are. You don’t have to follow in his footsteps.” Especially when those footsteps are leading to ruin, she wanted to add. But she pressed her lips together, holding the words in.
He leaned on the top rail of the gate and looked across the fields, but didn’t answer her. She left him standing there and made her way out of the barn, past the hogs and toward the house.
Judith stood at the clothesline, hanging dishtowels. When she saw Mary, she stuck the last clothespin on the line and waved.
“I saw you talking with Samuel and hoped you’d come up to the house.”
“For sure I will. The real reason I came was to see if you and Esther want to go to town with me.” Mary kept her words casual, but her heart pounded. If neither of them wanted to ride with her, she would have to go into town alone.
“I’d love to go, but I’ll have to ask Esther. I’m not sure what she has planned for today.”
Judith ran up the wooden steps to the covered back porch while Mary followed. The porch held a washtub on a stand, with a wringer attached.
As Mary stepped into the kitchen, she felt like she had walked into a house from a bygone era. Sadie’s kitchen was modern and clean, with linoleum floors and painted cabinets, but the Lapps’ kitchen had not been changed in years. With no doors on the cabinets, the bare shelves were open to the room. A small table stood near the stove, barely large enough to seat more than four people. The floor, clean and smooth, was bare wood, with remnants of brown paint showing around the edges.
Judith led Esther into the kitchen from the front room. “We would both like to come with you, if you don’t mind.”
Esther’s smile was contagious. “It will be a fun lark, won’t it? Going to town twice in one week!”
“And Mary won’t hurry us along so that we can’t look at the things in the store, will you?” Judith’s grin was as wide as Esther’s.
Mary felt the tension drop from her shoulders. “We’ll have a lot of fun. I want to sell or trade some eggs, and I thought you might be able to help me find the best store to do that.”
“Ach, for sure. We’ll have to ask Samuel, but I’m sure he’ll say we can go. His dinner is in the oven.” Esther said. She untied her apron as she turned toward a narrow stairway. “We’ll just change to clean aprons and we’ll be ready.”
As the sisters ran up the stairs, Mary peered out the window over the sink. The hogs’ pen and the barn filled the view. The barn needed paint as much as the kitchen floor did. The entire farm spoke of long years of neglect. Of poverty. Sadie had told them about Samuel’s grossdawdi, but not of his daed. Whatever kind of man he had been, Samuel seemed to be caught in the same habits he learned as a boy.
* * *
As Mary drove off with the girls, Samuel checked the angle of the sun. Not even midmorning yet.
Before he could talk himself out of it, he cleaned up on the back porch and changed into clean trousers. Scrubbing as much of the muck from the pigsty off his hands as he could, he rehearsed what he would say to Dale Yoder.
“Good morning, Dale.”
He shook his head. He had never had much to say to his neighbor. These Yoders were Mennonite, and other than a wave when they passed on the road, he couldn’t remember talking to the man in years.
“Fine day today, ja?”
At least the Yoders were Old Order Mennonite. They spoke Deitsch as plainly as he did, so they wouldn’t have to worry about Englisch words coming between them. And he had known Dale since they were both boys in school. They weren’t strangers.
He wiped his face with a towel, shoved his shirttail in and hauled his suspenders over his shoulders. Daed had never asked anyone for help. Never.
Samuel looked across the road toward the red hip-roofed barn. Mary was right. The fields had been plowed and planted. He hitched his trousers up and set his feet toward the road, wiping the sweat off his upper lip. His steps faltered as he reached the entrance to the Yoders’ lane, and he stopped. Pulling off his hat, he ran his fingers through his hair.
“What’s the worst he can do? Tell me to get lost?”
A boy riding a bike came down the lane toward him, gave him a wave and turned onto the road. Samuel hitched up his trousers again. If an eight-year-old could wave to him, he could talk to his neighbor.
He found Dale in the barn, cleaning the haymow.
“Good morning!” He shouted toward the high barn roof, hoping his neighbor would hear.
Dale looked over the edge of the mow. “Samuel Lapp? Ach, is there anything wrong?”
Samuel shook his head and stepped back from the ladder as Dale climbed down. “Ne, nothing wrong.” He took a deep breath. “I need to plant some corn...”
The other man brushed some chaff off his trousers. “I don’t remember the last time you folks planted anything.”
“Ja, well, times are hard.”
Dale looked at him, his eyes narrowed. “How have you been getting on since your daed’s accident? I’ve meant to come over but—”
Samuel held up a hand. “Don’t worry about it. I didn’t expect you to stop by after the way Daed treated you the last time.”
He had forgotten until just now, but it all came back. Dale and his wife coming to Mamm’s funeral, and Daed throwing them off the farm in front of everyone.
“I’m sorry about that. Daed wasn’t feeling well that day.”
Daed had been drunk. But that wasn’t the polite excuse for the way he had acted.
Dale led the way to a bucket of water placed under the shade of a sycamore tree in the yard. He took the cover off and offered a dipper of water to Samuel.
“So, you’re going to plant some corn?”
Samuel smiled as the water slid down his throat. It had been flavored with ginger and tasted crisp and refreshing.
“I hope to. Someone suggested that if I grew my own grain the farm would be more profitable.”
Dale nodded and finished off his dipper of water. “You’re buying grain to feed your hogs?”
Samuel relaxed, leaning against the tree. Dale was just as easy to talk to now as he had been when they were boys. “When I can.”
“Too bad the hogs can’t forage on their own like the cattle do.”
“Is that what you’re
raising these days?”
Dale gestured toward the eighty-acre pasture behind the barn where a good herd of steers grazed in the knee-deep grass. “The price of beef is high, and they’re cheap to feed. I buy about twenty weaned calves at the Shipshewana auction each year, feed them on pasture for a few years and then sell them. I run about sixty head of the cattle on this pasture, buying and selling a third of the herd every year. It brings in a profit, and I don’t have to fool with mixing slops for them like you do for hogs.”
Samuel rubbed at his chin. Dale had a point.
“So then, you’re planting corn?”
Samuel rubbed his chin again. “What do you feed the cattle during the winter?”
“Hay and silage. We’re going to be mowing the back pasture next month and start loading the haymow.”
“And you raise your own corn for the silage?” Samuel nodded toward the plowed fields between the house and the road.
“For sure. Raising our own feed for the cattle is necessary. Otherwise I wouldn’t make any money doing it.”
Samuel looked toward the cattle again and took a deep breath. Clean, sweet, fresh air filled his lungs. Dale had given him a lot to think about. If he grew his own grain, and pastured the hogs like Mary had suggested, would it make a difference? Could she have been right?
The thought strengthened his courage. He hitched his trousers up. “I came over to see if I could borrow your plow and team, if you’re done with your planting.”
Dale rubbed at the smooth bark of the sycamore tree. “I heard that your daed sold his equipment.”
Samuel nodded, feeling his face redden. “He needed cash.” For the next bottle. Daed had sold anything he could to buy the next bottle.
Dale’s eyes narrowed again. “I’ve heard that you’re just like him. Is it true?”
Samuel shoved down the sudden anger that had risen at Dale’s words, but his jaw clenched.
“You mean, do I drink like he did? Just say it, Dale, and have done with it. You’re wondering if I’m going to sell your team and drink away the cash.”
Dale dipped into the ginger water again and held the dripping scoop as he looked at Samuel for a long minute. He drained the dipper and dropped it back in the bucket.