In a Pickle: A Family Farm Story

by Jerry Apps

  29

  Funeral

  The first cars began arriving at the Link Lake Methodist Church by ten o'clock, a full hour before Jake's funeral was to begin. Marshal Justin Quick, wearing a freshly pressed white shirt and his ever-present cowboy hat, was on hand to help with the parking. He was standing in the street and pointing toward the big field back of the church where cars were lining up. The marshal “howdied” each driver, and welcomed those people he didn't recognize to Link Lake. He followed the “Howdy” with a “Nice day, wouldn't you say?” He repeated the litany over and over, as each car arrived.

  A rainstorm had come through the area on Thursday and took with it the haze and humidity of summer. Friday had dawned cool and bright. It was a good day for a funeral. It was a good day for just about anything.

  The Methodist church was soon filled to capacity with people standing in the back and lined up on the steps, hoping to catch a phrase or two of the minister's message. The organ music and the singing of “Nearer My God to Thee” and “What a Friend We Have in Jesus” rolled through the little sanctuary and out the front door to the people standing on the steps.

  Soon the service was over, and the people on the steps stood back as the wooden casket and its six pallbearers slowly moved toward the open doors of the hearse. Amy walked with the pastor and Mary Meyer directly behind the casket. Two dozen red roses were lying on the casket, with the words, “From your loving daughter, Amy.”

  Amy was crying softly as she slowly moved down the steep church steps. Everyone stood quietly as the pallbearers shoved the casket into the back of the hearse and quietly latched the vehicle's door.

  Meanwhile, Marshal Quick had been organizing the funeral procession that would drive down Link Lake's Main Street, and then out of town to Link Lake Cemetery. The marshal later said that the procession was the largest he had ever been in charge of, with more than forty cars. Someone else thought there were only twenty-five, which still made it the longest funeral procession Link Lake folks had ever known.

  The cars, all with their lights on, moved slowly out of town: Marshal Quick's squad car first, with the red light flashing, then the hearse, followed by the mortuary's big black Oldsmobile. Amy, Mary, and the pastor rode in the Oldsmobile, followed by pallbearers in another car.

  The procession was slowed down when it came upon a farmer with a big load of second-crop hay. The farmer's wagon was pulled by a team of workhorses. He was going right down the middle of the narrow road. The farmer was obviously more interested in saving his hay than attending Jake's funeral. (Jake hadn't used horses for ten years.) There was no way for the farmer to pull over to the side of the road without tipping his load of hay, so he continued on, even though he could see cars backed up to the top of the hill leading into Link Lake. The marshal didn't know whether he should turn on his siren and risk scaring the horses and causing a runaway or just follow along behind, hoping the farmer would turn off into a nearby farmyard. Of course some of the people toward the end of the procession, especially those from out of town, didn't know about the load of hay and were becoming a bit impatient.

  Finally, the hearse pulled into the cemetery, followed by the entire procession. The marshal, usually quite thorough about these matters, hadn't planned how to handle the parking at the cemetery. Cars were parked here and there and everywhere and along both sides of the county road.

  Soon the crowd, more than a hundred mourners, gathered around the gravesite.

  “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,” the minister intoned as the casket was slowly lowered into the grave.

  People began returning to their cars, trying to follow Marshal Quick's muddled instructions about how to exit the cemetery.

  Amy and Andy remained at the gravesite, their heads bowed. They didn't see the man in a black suit standing in the shade of an old burr oak tree near the road. The man came out of the shadows as Amy and Andy walked toward the car, where Mary and Isaac were waiting for them.

  “It's Amos Caldwell, the banker,” Andy whispered to Amy.

  “Hello, Andy,” the banker said. Andy nodded.

  “Hello, Amy. I was so sorry to hear about your loss.”

  “Thank you,” Amy said. “Thank you very much.”

  “Your father was an important person in our community; he will be missed.”

  “Yes, I surely miss him.”

  “Amy, we have some business to discuss with you. I'm wondering if you could stop by the bank, say next Monday at eleven?”

  “Sure,” Amy said.

  “Again my heartfelt condolences to you. I am sorry for your loss. See you on Monday, then.”

  The banker briskly walked away.

  “Well, the nerve of that old bastard,” Andy muttered.

  The local gravedigger was shoveling dirt into the grave, slowly, meticulously, one shovelful after the other. A red-tailed hawk soared overhead, its wings nearly motionless.

  Andy agreed to accompany Amy to her meeting at the bank. Amy had begun sorting through her father's records and discovered that his debts were much more than she even imagined. She wasn't looking forward to meeting with Amos Caldwell.

  When Andy stopped by Stewart's to pick up Amy, he noticed a big H. H. Harlow truck parked near the metal shed where Jake had died. Workers were loading fertilizer.

  “See Harlow wasted no time in picking up the fertilizer,” Andy said.

  “Guess it's theirs to take. Pa hadn't paid for it. So good of you to come along, Andy.” She grabbed his hand and squeezed it.

  They drove slowly toward Link Lake, past the cucumber fields that had been plowed under once the spot-rot disease had been discovered, past acres of cornfields where the plants, more than head high, had tasseled and were forming ears, past potato fields with dark green plants in neatly cultivated rows as far as a person could see. All of this was a part of the Stewart farm, clearly the largest enterprise in the area. They traveled more than a mile without losing sight of Stewart holdings.

  “It's beautiful,” Amy said. “Just beautiful. Pa would have been so pleased to see how the crops are doing this year. Besides the cucumbers, that is.”

  “Good growing year,” Andy said. “Rains came at the right time.”

  “Mr. Caldwell is waiting in his office,” the woman behind the counter said to Amy and Andy by way of greeting when they entered the lobby. Andy noticed that she looked especially glum this morning. Counting money all your life must have that affect on a person, he surmised.

  Amos Caldwell, his bald head shining, stood up from behind his desk.

  “Thank you so much for coming in this morning, Amy,” Caldwell said. “I know you must be very busy.”

  A man sitting off to the side in the thick-carpeted office stood up and extended his hand to Amy. “I'm Henry Harlow, from the H. H. Harlow Company,” the man said. He turned and shook Andy's hand as well. “How are you, Andy,” he said.

  “I'm just fine,” Andy replied.

  The banker hesitated for a moment, cleared this throat, and said, “Andy, I'm afraid you will have to leave. This is a private meeting with Amy.”

  Andy stood, but Amy reached for him and grabbed his arm.

  “Andy is my fiancée,” Amy said, looking Caldwell in the eye. “He stays.”

  “Uh, I didn't know,” Caldwell stammered. “Congratulations.”

  Amy glanced at Andy and smiled. Andy, looking surprised, smiled back.

  “All right then, let's get down to business,” Caldwell said. The banker had a huge stack of papers in front of him.

  “Your father was in some financial difficulty when he died,” Caldwell said matter-of-factly.

  “I know,” Amy said.

  “Without going into all the details, Mr. Harlow and I have been doing some figuring.”

  Andy eased closer to the banker's desk.

  “We'd like to save us all some legal bills, and frankly I don't want to foreclose on your property,” Caldwell said. “By doing what we're proposing, no one will have to kn
ow how deep in debt your father really was.”

  “What are you driving at, Amos?” Andy said, leaning forward, his elbows on the desk.

  “Mr. Harlow here has agreed to buy your pa's property, the land, the equipment, the buildings, everything,” the banker said, looking at Amy.

  “The entire operation?” Andy said, surprised.

  “All of it,” Caldwell answered. It's the only way to clean up what is frankly quite a financial and legal mess.

  “What does Amy get out of this?” Andy asked, staring at Henry Harlow.

  “We're offering fifty dollars an acre for the land,” Harlow said. “That's a fair price, especially for this many acres. That totals fifty thousand dollars. That amount of money will pay off the bank and cover what your dad owed us and several other people.”

  “And Amy, what does she get?” Andy repeated.

  “Well,” Harlow said, looking down at his notepad. “With the title transfer fees and such other expenses taken out, Amy will get about five thousand dollars, the way we figure it.”

  Amy was quiet for a moment, staring down at her hands. “What about the house?” she asked.

  “The buildings go with the deal, but we will allow you to live in the house until January 1.”

  “Is that it?” Andy said.

  “I'm afraid that's the best we can offer, under the circumstances. Let us know in a week if we have a deal.”

  They shook hands all around and Andy and Amy returned to their car.

  “So, when did we get engaged?” Andy smiled as he looked toward Amy.

  “About a half hour ago,” Amy said as she turned and kissed her new husband-to-be.

  They drove quietly for a while. “What should I do?” Amy asked as she turned to Andy.

  “About getting married?” Andy teased.

  “No, silly, about the farm. My mind is swirling. I never thought we'd lose the home place.”

  “Sounds like Harlow is willing to buy it. Different from losing the farm. And nobody would find out how deep in debt your pa really was.”

  “I expect you're right, Andy. And five thousand dollars is a considerable sum.”

  “More than I've ever seen in one place,” Andy said.

  30

  H. H. Harlow

  Less than two weeks after the bank, H. H. Harlow, and Amy Stewart closed the deal on the Stewart farm, the Link Lake Gazette carried a front-page story.

  The H. H. Harlow Company of Chicago has purchased the thousand-acre Jake Stewart farm in rural Link Lake for an undisclosed sum of money. Henry Harlow, company representative, said the company has several anticipated uses for the land: “We plan to establish an experimental farm where we, in cooperation with the College of Agriculture in Madison, will test new varieties of cucumbers, green beans, field peas, sweet corn, and potatoes. We also plan to grow about two hundred acres of cucumbers for our new processing plant in Green Bay. Additionally, we'll establish a cucumber receiving station on the property, for area cucumber growers with Harlow contracts. Finally, we plan to remodel the old Stewart house and use it as a conference and training center. Vegetable experts and growers from around the world will come to Link Lake to learn what's new in vegetable growing.”

  The company plans to employ about twenty-five people year-round, and of course more in the summer. Harlow announced that they have already hired Carlos Rodríguez, formerly of Texas, to be in charge of field operations. Rodríguez will live on the former Stewart property in a new home the company is building for him and his family. Tiny Urso, longtime Stewart employee, will continue in Harlow's employ.

  The community is planning a special ribbon-cutting ceremony for the Harlow company at a date to be announced.

  In the same issue of the paper, this brief announcement appeared.

  Andrew I. Meyer, 25, of rural Link Lake and Amy E. Stewart, 23, previously of Racine, Wisconsin, announce their engagement to be married. Mr. Meyer farms at Rural Route One, Link Lake, and is the former summer manager of the local H. H. Harlow cucumber salting station. Miss. Stewart was previously employed by the J. I. Case Company. A Christmas wedding is planned.

  Although the farmers in the Link Lake community were still smarting from Harlow's decision to only buy cucumbers from those willing to grow twenty acres or more, local merchants looked forward to increased business from all the activities the Harlow Company was planning on the Stewart farm. With the announcement in the paper, the H. H. Harlow Company was viewed in two lights in the community. Small family farm owners detested and did not trust the company. Business people saw more dollars in their cash registers. Almost everyone agreed that the H. H. Harlow Company would certainly put little Link Lake on the map if they carried out all their plans.

  Isaac and Mary Meyer were elated when they learned of their son's engagement to Amy Stewart. But they were devastated to learn how serious Jake Stewart's financial situation had been. “I'll bet old Jake didn't even know he had all that debt,” Isaac said.

  Isaac and Mary invited Amy to share Thanksgiving dinner with them. Amy had been busy cleaning out her family's old house, sorting through the attic, deciding what items she wanted to keep and what should be thrown. As difficult as the job was, both physically and emotionally, she was discovering the history of her family, from the time when her great grandfather bought the place. She found neatly written letters, notes, and documents showing that her great grandfather, Silas Stewart, had purchased the original quarter section of land in 1855 for $1.25 an acre. She burst into tears when she realized the land had been in her family for one hundred years, and now it was gone. She felt like she had let her great grandfather down by selling the land and removing the Stewart name after a century of ownership. Had she acted too quickly in accepting H. H. Harlow's offer? Could she have done something to save the place?

  Amy shared some of this information, including her second thoughts, at the dinner table where they had gathered to eat roast turkey and all the trimmings and feast on Mary Meyer's pumpkin pie, one of her specialties.

  “It's done, Amy,” Isaac said quietly. “There comes a time to move on. To set a new direction and let history rest.”

  “But it's so hard.” Amy looked like she was going to cry.

  “Change is never easy. Never easy for anybody. I hate it myself,” Isaac confessed. “I like to keep things just like they've been. It's so much more comfortable.”

  He took another bite of pumpkin pie.

  “Talking about changing and moving on, Ma and I have an announcement to make.”

  Neither Andy nor Amy knew what to expect, except that maybe it had something to do with their upcoming marriage.

  “Andy, you know your ma has always wanted to move to town when we got older. Well, we've been talking about that the past several weeks, and we've made a decision.”

  “You're moving to town?” Andy asked, too loudly.

  “Yup, your ma and I are gonna look for a little house in Link Lake.”

  “But . . . but . . . what about the farm?” Andy was both surprised and flustered by what he was hearing.

  “Oh, we'll sell the cows, probably next month,” Isaac said quietly.

  “Sell the cows?”

  “We'll use the money from the cows to buy a house. Should even have a little money left over.”

  “But what about the farm?” Andy asked. He was clearly beside himself. Amy sat quietly, with a puzzled look on her face. This was not like the Isaac Stewart she had known over the years. Isaac was always careful and deliberate, sometimes taking a year to make a decision.

  “Oh, didn't I say?” Isaac said, with a little smile spreading across his face. Mary was also smiling.

  “Ma and I are giving the farm to you and Amy as a wedding present.”

  “Giving us the farm!” Andy said.

  “Figured it was the right thing to do. Figured the two of you would come up with a way of making a living off these 160 acres.”

  “But Pa, how are you and Ma going to live without t
he income from milking cows?”

  “Remember, Andy, I'm past sixty-five now. I get a social security check each month,” Isaac said proudly.

  “Thank you, thank you,” Amy said as she put her arms around her future father-in-law and kissed him on the cheek. Isaac patted Amy on the arm.

  31

  Mystery Solved

  It took only a week for Isaac to find a buyer for his cows, and at a higher price than he had hoped for. He had milked cows since he was a small boy, and he was a bit surprised at how difficult it was to see the last animal walk up the ramp into the cattle truck. It's one thing to talk about change and how to face it, it's quite another to experience change first hand, especially when it involves animals that you have loved and cared for since they were little calves.