by A. American
“You’ll have everyone around here in new shoes in no time,” I replied.
He nodded. “Yeah. That’s part of the problem. Business is slowing down.”
The statement gave me an idea. “You know; you should go to Eustis. I bet you’d be covered up with work there.”
Kelly whistled. “I probably would be. But that’s a hell of a walk.”
“Hell, I’ll give you a ride down there and get you back if you want. It would really help out the people down there. I’ve already noticed some folks going barefoot. I don’t know if it’s by choice or not, but I’m certain you’d be a popular man.”
“You’d really do that for me, Morgan?”
I nodded. “Hell yeah I would! It’d be a service to the community.”
Kelly thought for a minute. “I’m all for it. I’ve got a little work to do here today but I’d be free to go any time after that. I’ll post a note here telling people to just leave their shoes for me.”
“Sounds like a plan then,” I said. “I’ll have someone pick you up tomorrow and carry you to down there. We always have someone going.”
Kelly came out of the small booth and wiped his hands on the canvas apron he wore when he worked. Offering his hand, he said, “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.”
Shaking his hand, I said, “We’re all we have, my friend. We have to look out for one another.”
He looked into his booth and said, “I’ll fix me up a traveling kit and be ready to go. Thanks again.”
I gave him a nod and went off to find the guys. Thad was making a trade with our resident dairy man. Once their business was done, we got back in the truck and onto the road. I told the guys about my talk with Kelly and what we were going to do. Both thought it was a good idea.
Thad reached up and grabbed my shoulder. “You see, Morgan. That’s why you’re the Sheriff. You’re always thinking about other folks. Always looking for a way to help, any way to assist.”
“I guess,” I replied.
We made a quick stop at the Umatilla market as well. It may be good to get ole Kelly over here once a week too. After my talk with him, I found myself looking at people’s feet. There were many more barefoot than I first thought. Again, this could be by choice. But I was certain it wasn’t for everyone.
The Umatilla market had one major difference from Altoona. Every time we stopped in, there was some sort of bullshit to deal with. I don’t know if it was because Umatilla was more of a town than Altoona, where most folks lived farther apart and were by necessity more self-reliant. Or if they were just plain nuttier.
Almost as soon as my feet hit the ground, I heard a familiar voice. “Sheriff Carter! Sheriff Carter!” I looked back to see a thin bandy-legged woman trotting my direction. I looked at Thad. The coward wouldn’t make eye contact with me and went off into the market.
“Sheriff Carter,” she said again, nearly out of breath when she got to me.
Exasperated, I asked, “What is it this time, Jean?”
Pointing, at what I had no idea, she said, “That Gail is at it again, Sheriff. She’s been in my garden stealing my pole beans.”
“Jean, I told you last time, I can’t just take your word for it. If she’s stealing your beans, you need to catch her doing it. If I come up here and find her hog-tied in your garden, I’ll believe you.”
She protested, “But Sheriff, she ain’t got no garden! Where’s she getting beans to trade?” She pointed at Gail, “Look at her. She’s got a fistful of my beans!”
Shaking my head, I looked at Dalton. He asked, “Want me to call the crime lab?”
“Shut up,” I replied, which just made him laugh. And that wasn’t helping. At all.
“Alright. Come on, Jean.” I walked over with Jean in tow to the other woman, who had watched the entire exchange.
Jean jabbed a bony finger at Gail, “I know you’re sneaking into my garden. I know them are my beans!”
Gail looked at the pathetic handful of green beans in her grip. “No they ain’t.”
“Look. I’m tired of dealing with this crap between you two.” Pointing at Gail, I said, “I promise you, if you are stealing from her garden and I catch you, you will pay the price.”
Gail huffed up. “What are you going to do to an old woman for stealing food?” She then looked at Jean and added, “Which I ain’t!”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Well, if you were, and I catch you, since you like being in gardens I’ll put you on the chain gang in town to work on the farm.”
“Work you like a slave,” Jean sneered.
Cocking my head, I said, “Shut up or you can go too. No more of this crap. You two understand me? This is done? I don’t have time for your nonsense.”
“So long as she stays out of my garden,” Jean replied.
“Well, I ain’t doing anything anyway,” Gail said dismissively.
“You better hope not,” I said as I turned and headed for the truck.
This is the kind of crap I had to deal with on a daily basis. It made me not want to even leave the house. Garden thieves, chicken thieves and general thievery filled my days. Oh, there were a few real crooks around. But they decided they didn’t want to live around here too long. The first offense for such trivial crime was public shaming. And for most people that was enough. A second offense came with time on the chain. If there was a third, and there’d only been two, the stakes went up dramatically.
It was Dalton that came up with it and administered it. We had talked about it and decided that if shaming and hard labor didn’t get it through their heads, we’d beat it into them. This too was done in public at the park. The only rule was we didn’t let kids watch. But as kids will do, they always managed to find a way to peak in. We took the offenders and tied them between two trees, and the habit of stealing was beat out of them with a five-foot piece of garden hose. And the results were dramatic.
Both of the men that received the punishment left town the moment they were able to. But there was an added benefit. For a week or so after such punishment was administered, all forms of theft stopped. I mean, completely stopped. But desperate folks will do desperate things and it would start back up.
Not that we enjoyed this sort of thing. But what else could we do? We tried easier methods of discouraging their behavior. We made it clear there would be further consequences. But a couple of the local miscreants wanted to test our fortitude. In the end, it was a test of theirs against ours; and they quickly discovered ours was far stronger than theirs.
I met Thad and Dalton back at the truck. Thad was holding a handkerchief by the corners, its middle weighed down. “What’cha got in there, Thad?” I asked.
He smiled. “Eggs.”
“We’ve got plenty of eggs at home,” I replied.
“These are for Cecil. I told him I’d bring him some. He’s so busy with the farm he’s having a hard time getting to the market to trade for food to eat now. He works hard and needs to eat better. Cecil is an old man and he pushes himself too hard.”
I thought about it for a minute. Nodding, I said, “Yeah. We need to make sure he’s got plenty to eat. Tomorrow we’ll bring him a load of groceries. How’s his wife doing?”
Thad smiled again. “Oh, he says Miss May is just fine. He fusses about her. That’s how I know she’s okay.”
We made the quick trip to the plant and pulled up beside the building containing all the motor-control systems. Terry was standing beside the large generator that was howling away. He had a set of earmuffs on and an instrument in his hands. Getting out, I walked over to him. Seeing me, he nodded. I leaned in and shouted, “Is everything alright?”
He gave a thumbs-up in reply, and left I him to whatever he was doing. Dalton was leaning against the front of the truck, arms folded over his chest and chewing on his fingernails. Glancing sideways at him, I asked, “What’s with you?”
Without looking away from what had his attention, he grunted and replied, “It’s that ginge
r-haired maiden. She does something to me.”
I looked up to see he was staring at Doc Baker. She was in BDU pants and a t-shirt that was a little tight, revealing her shapely figure. Looking back at Dalton, I said, “Leave her alone.”
Still chewing on his nails, he rocked his hips. With a quick jerk of his head, he replied, “I’ll do me best, lad.”
“Leave her alone,” I said again as I started to walk towards them.
She, Scott and Eric were gathered around a large motor. As I walked up, I asked, “What’s up?”
Baker, who was leaning over the motor, straightened up. She stretched her back, hands on her hips and leaning back as far as he could. I glanced over my shoulder at Dalton. He was stomping the ground with one foot. It made me laugh.
“We’re testing the motors. This is the last one,” Baker said. “It’ll be another hour and this will be done.”
“Then you’ll be ready to try and fire this thing up?” I asked.
Wiping his hands on a rag, Scott replied, “Yep. Everything else already checked out. I’m surprised we didn’t find any real issues.”
“Good. Good deal. If this will run, then we’re going to have a ton of work to do.” I replied. Eric was looking around nervously. I laughed and said, “Don’t worry, Eric, the old man isn’t here.”
The relief on his face was obvious, but he replied, “Oh, I’m not worried about him.”
I laughed at him. “You say because he isn’t here.”
Thad walked up and looked at the instrument connected to the large motor. “What is that thing?”
“It’s called a High Pot, or high potential machine.” Baker said. “It induces high voltage into the motor to check for faults. Right now we’re running 14,400 volts through it.”
Thad’s eyebrows went up. “I don’t do electricity. Anything you can’t see, hear or smell that could still kill you, I don’t want anything to do with.”
With a chuckle, I replied, “Oh, you can see, hear and smell it sometimes.”
Scott smiled. “Yeah, but when you do, it’s never a good thing.”
“Indeed,” I replied. Then, looking over at the large yellow gas line, I asked, “is the gas pressure still up?”
“I check it every day. It’s still good,” Eric replied.
I shook my head. “I’m really curious why we still have gas pressure.”
Baker brushed hair from her face. “I’ve wondered myself. I mean, it’s strange that it’s still pressurized.”
Scratching at my beard, I thought about it for a minute, then said, “I’d like to know where it comes from. Someone, somewhere is keeping it going.”
“Keeping what going?” Terry asked as he walked up.
“Gas,” Baker replied.
Terry smiled. “Oh that. MREs.”
I was confused. “What do MREs have to with the gas?” I asked.
Baker rolled her eyes. “Because he shits himself all day long. Blames it on the MREs. Personally, I think it’s because he’s rotten inside.”
Terry patted his stomach. “I have a sensitive pallet.”
“You’re a garbage disposal,” Baker shot back.
Looking at Baker, I said, “I’ll leave you and the disposal to your work. We’ve got to run to town and will stop by on our way back. I’d like to be here to see if this thing will start.”
“It’ll start, Sheriff.” Scott said with a smile. “Have faith.”
“We’ll find out in a couple of hours,” I replied with considerable skepticism.
Thad and I walked back to the truck. On our way, he asked, “You really think this will run?”
Shrugging, I replied, “We’ll see.”
Dalton was still leaning against the front of the truck as I passed him on my way to the passenger side. I said, “Wipe your chin.”
Dalton let out a low grunt. “She does something to me.”
Opening the door, I said, “A goat would do something to you right now.”
Dalton looked down. “I’m wearing the wrong boots for that.”
Thad started to laugh heartily. “That’s just wrong, Dalton.”
Dalton pulled out of the plant headed towards Eustis. Since I wasn’t driving, I was afforded the opportunity to really look at things. I’d noticed the trash and leaf debris before. But now that I was able to just observe it, it really stood out.
The road was covered with windblown trash. Papers, wrappers and the like seemed to be everywhere. For some strange reason, potato chip bags seemed to be prolific. Maybe it was what they were made of and the fact it would take them a very long time to break down. Add that to how light they are and it’s easy to understand how they are easily carried by the breeze far and wide.
Of course, there was the usual natural detritus. Leaves, small twigs and dirt littered the road. With no traffic on the roads, this really built up. I could see in a couple of years there would begin to be a natural layer of compost beginning to form that would allow the growth of grass. It wouldn’t take long for long black strips of asphalt to become long green strips of grass. The Florida Bahia grass was already encroaching from the sides of the road. Someday, it would conquer the blacktop.
We sped down the road as trash swirled in little vortexes created by the passing of the old Suburban. We arrived at the farm quickly. The field was crowded with people, much to my surprise. Dalton pulled to a stop near the tents used by the Guardsmen that provided security for the farm. The fields were now full of quickly growing crops. The curse of daily rain showers was also a blessing for the production here at the farm.
Work here was concentrated on the morning and late afternoon. It was just too hot during the day, not to mention unnecessary. If people came out in the morning, the rows could be weeded and the bugs abated some. There was no sense in being out here in the heat of the day.
And those bugs. Worse even that the persistent grass were the bugs. But Cecil handled it in a way I would never have imagined. As I looked out across the field, I saw many of the kids from town working their way through the crops. He made it a game and offered small rewards for the kids that removed the most pests from the plants.
All across the field were young kids, mason jars in hand, picking the insects from the plants and dropping them in the jars. At the end of the morning shift they would gather around Cecil who would inspect the jars and shower the kids with praise. The Guardsmen had agreed to giving all the candy from their MREs to Cecil for the rewards for the best buggers as Cecil called them. And while back in the day most kids would probably turn their noses up at a roll of Charms candy, today they were highly coveted prizes.
As a result of this little bit of motivation, the bugs were being kept in check. The war raged everyday against the army of invading pests, but for the moment at least, we were winning. If we kept things up as they were, we would have a bumper crop. There would be an incredible harvest of veggies of all sorts. And it couldn’t come soon enough.
Shielding my eyes from the sun, I surveyed the field, looking for Cecil. Thad pointed him out on the far side of the field. “There he is.”
I squinted even harder in the glare. “How the hell can you see that far?” I asked.
Thad smiled and replied, “Good vision runs in the family.”
We walked through the rows, passing both adults and kids hard at work. An older woman stopped grubbing in the dirt with a hoe as Thad and I approached. She wore a broad-brimmed straw hat. Standing up, she wiped sweat from her flushed face. “Morning, Sheriff. Morning, Thad.”
“Morning, ma’am,” Thad replied.
“How’s it looking?” I asked.
The old woman leaned the hoe against her shoulder and looked around the field. “I think it’s looking pretty good. Everything is growing really nice.”
“You folks are doing a fine job,” Thad replied.
The woman pulled a cloth from the pocket of the dress she wore. Looking up, she wiped her face and said, “It’s getting hot though. I hope the rains keep u
p or we’ll lose it all.”
Looking up into the searing blue sky, I replied, “Let’s hope Mother Nature takes pity on us.”
Thad gave the woman a nod as we continued across the field to where Cecil was talking with a small group of people. As we walked up, he offered his hand. “Morning, fellers.”
Shaking his hand, I replied, “Morning, Cecil.” Then I nodded at the others, “Guys. How’s it going today.”
One of the men looked around the busy field. “We’re getting it done, Sheriff.”
“Honestly, it’s coming along better than I thought it would,” Cecil added.
I took a long leaf of a corn plant that was already chest high. “It’s looking good out here. I hope it all makes it to harvest.”
One of the other men in the group nodded. “We need it. My youngins are hungry.”
Cecil took off his hat and wiped his forehead. “We have another issue, Morgan.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Salt. We’re running very low on salt.”
“We’re not just running low, Cecil. Most people don’t have any salt at all.” Another of the men said.
“I don’t know anybody that has any,” another man said.
“That’s not good in this heat,” Thad said. Looking at me, he asked, “Is there anything we can do about it?”
I thought about it for a minute, remembering an old book I’d once read. Nodding, I replied, “There is a way to get salt. If we lived near the coast it would a lot easier. But can get salt from hickory wood.”
Cecil bunched his eyebrows. “Hickory?”
“Yeah, the roots are best. You chip up the wood and boil it. When the water turns dark, and that won’t take long, keep boiling until it starts to thicken a bit. Then strain out the wood and keep boiling. You’ll end up with a thick black sludge. Take it off the heat before it burns and spread it out to dry. Then pound it into a powder. It’s mostly salt with some other minerals.”
Thad shook his head. “How in the world do you know all this stuff?”
Shrugging, I replied, “Like I say, I used to read a lot.”
One of the men in the group rubbed his chin. With more than a little skepticism, he said, “Does that really work? Sounds like a lot of work to me.”