Previously: Noah receives an offer from Al—the man in the pawnshop basement.
REINHARDT was sitting on the porch swing when the parents returned home.
“How’d the morning go?” Noah asked.
Reinhardt shrugged, “Typical morning, I guess.”
“Is the fence work prepped?”
Reinhardt slipped off the swing and shook his head, “We didn’t get that far.”
“Where is your older brother?”
“I think he must have gone to the woods, or the Quonset. I saw him walking that way earlier.”
“Did you have lunch?”
“Eggs in a Basket.” He smiled.
“Reinhardt and I are going to head out to the woods,” Noah said to Eleanor. “If you see Jonah, send him out there please.” In the mud room he grabbed the chainsaw and a can of gasoline mix. They went to the shed where the tractor and wagon sat jackknifed and loader arm still detached. Noah set the chainsaw and gas into the loader bucket.
“Close but no cigar, huh?” He put both hands on the loader and gave it a push; it budged an inch. “Order of operations,” he said smiling, “I’ll have to teach you and Jonah that.”
He started the tractor and maneuvered it enough to release pressure on the hitch pin. “Reinhardt, pop the hitch pin please,” he called over the gentle engine rumble. With the movement unhindered, Noah lined the tractor up and clamped the loader quickly. “Practice makes perfect, not really, but it definitely improves efficiency. Why don’t you hop into the seat and back it up.”
Reinhardt’s face grimaced.
“Practice also builds confidence.”
“Alright then,” Reinhardt said and climbed into position.
“Just put it in first gear—reverse obviously,” Noah instructed, he took a step back.
Reinhardt fumbled with the levers to engage the gears.
“Just keep it all at an idle, foot off the brake, easy off the clutch.”
The tractor jolted into reverse as the clutch forced Reinhardt’s youthful foot into submission.
“Easy there, turn your wheels, that’s close enough. Now brake.”
Reinhardt strained the clutch back down with his left leg and struggled to pushed the right and left brake pedals with his right foot. The little tractor slowed to a shaky halt. “Pop it into neutral,” Noah instructed.
He lifted the wagon tongue and the hitch was close enough that he could rock the wagon the rest of the way. Reinhardt watched his dad work the wagon into place and drop the hitch pin through the holes. “Practice builds strength too.” Noah smiled.
Noah took the driver’s seat, and Reinhardt rode on the hitch. As they rounded the farrowing barn, Noah stopped to check the rain gauge mounted on the corner fence post. There was water in the gauge.
“Did it rain?” Noah asked.
“I don’t think so.”
Noah frowned at the rain gauge and rubbed his beard.
“Reinhardt, hop down. I want to show you something.”
Together they walked back to the farmhouse. Noah opened the storm hatch to the basement. They both descended the smooth cement steps. Cobwebs hung in tatters from either side; the opening of the hatch caused daddy-long-legs to scatter.
From a shelf Noah gave Reinhardt a Mason jar. “Open this please and grab three of those little packets.” The packets were about the size of a standard Band-Aid with a color scale ranging from green to orange with a number system corresponding to each color.
“What are these?”
“Test strips,” Noah replied. “Come along. I’ll show you.”
They left the basement and went to the garden side of the home. Along the wall there sat a large barrel that collected rain water from a crack in the rain gutter from above.
“Open one of the packets and dip a test strip in the barrel.”
Reinhardt dipped the strip and watched as a color emerged on the tip: green. He looked at the packet’s number that correlated with the color. “Green means zero,” he said, holding up the test strip.
“That means zero hardness: no calcium, magnesium, or iron. Rain water is naturally soft. Let’s go back to the farrowing barn.” Noah had Reinhardt repeat the process, testing water from the hydrant near the farrowing barn.
Reinhardt watched a burnt orange hue emerge that matched the “15” range.
“The barnyard has well water. Well water is full of minerals collected as water seeps into the ground—in this case 15 grains per gallon. We call that hard water.”
“Hand me the last test strip,” Noah said as he detached the rain gauge. He tipped it sideways and the strip touched the water. As the color appeared he held it out for Reinhardt to see. “Is this water in the gauge hard or soft?”
“Hard.”
At the wood’s northwest corner was a Quonset. The inexpensive corrugated steel shed looked like a giant tin can cut in half and tipped on its side. Inside was the LT-40 Wood-Mizer, a portable monorail sawmill. Noah and Reinhardt found Jonah sitting in the operator’s chair of the sawmill reading a small book.
“Did it rain?” asked Noah.
“Just a little,” Jonah said, not looking up from his reading.
“Is that one of Granddad’s journals?”
Jonah nodded. “I’ll put it back,” he said and walked through a door at the back of the Quonset. A partition separated the bay from a shop office. Through the doorway, a desk and bookshelf could be seen. When he returned he said, “I was reading in his journal about the fence line along the woods.”
“Help Reinhardt put this stack of boards on the wagon,” Noah said, pointing out a pile of lumber among several small piles. “What year was that?”
“1982.”
Noah nodded his head. “I remember that year.” He took a chain and log tongs off a shelf against the partitioning wall.
“What happened in ’82?” Reinhardt asked as they loaded the boards.
“That’s the year your granddad bought a Wood-Mizer.” Noah said. He set tools and hardware into the tractor’s loader bucket. “It was a smaller model then, LT-30. Later he upgraded to this model.” Noah patted the operator’s box on the LT-40. “Anyways…” he trailed off in thought, mounted the tractor and settled into the seat, “all aboard.”
They crept down a path along the edge of the woods. Bare trees stood like numerous pillars, naked limbs reaching skyward. Sunlight flooded the woodland floor, and the ground sprouted with green. Soon the whole woodland would be vibrant with life. Between them and the woods was a fence line, with an occasional gate opening to paths that went deep into the woods. They stopped at the first gate.
“This looks even more smashed up than before,” Jonah said. They all dismounted the tractor and stood looking at a fallen cedar, which had crushed the gate.
“Now that the snow’s melted you can see everything clearly enough,” Noah said as he wrested a broken piece of wood from the gate. “The hinges we can salvage.
“When your granddad bought the Wood-Mizer and I was planning to raise a heritage breed with acorn finishing, we joined forces on this project here. That was all in ’82. Dad cut his teeth on the trees from these woods. He cut all the planks for the stretches of fence you see all around here.”
“Why don’t we ever use it now?” Reinhardt asked.
“He cut so much wood, we’re set for life. The boards you just loaded were from ’82.”
“But I’d like to get back into it,” Jonah said. “I remember going with Granddad to jobsites. We’d spend the whole day sawing huge tree trunks into boards.”
“I’m glad that you did that with him. It was always your granddad’s passion. He had a sizeable operation milling wood—good cash flow.” Noah waved his hand as if to wave off the thought and shook his head. “Unfortunately, it wasn’t the job for me, cutting lumber for someone else—away from the farm all day, animals needing fed. And honestly when you’re doing those jobs, the ones that pay anything to make it worth your while, you sit in the operator's chair all day.” He shook his head again, “But your granddad, now he had a knack for it.
“Jonah, unhitch the wagon.” Noah grabbed the chainsaw from the loader bucket. After a few good tugs, it roared to life and the fumes filled the air. Its teeth chewed through an arm of the tree spewing mealy woodchips to the ground. Once sectioned, the chainsaw quieted to an idle.
“Jonah, fasten the chain and skidding tongs to the bucket—good, now lift the loader over the branch.” Jonah moved the tractor into position. Noah caught the tongs on the wood and gave the signal. Jonah dragged the piece off to the side.
“Reinhardt, start collecting up the free boards into a pile,” Noah said.
Within the hour, they had the tree quartered and piled to the side, and Reinhardt had piled the broken boards alongside the wagon.
“What a mess one tree makes,” Reinhardt said.
“Looks like this one should have been removed in ’82, Dad.”
“Suppose so, but then we wouldn’t have this fun project to work on together.”
“Loads of fun,” Jonah said.
“Do you boys want to run the chainsaw a little?”
“No,” said Reinhardt, “I don't want to lose a finger.”
“I’d like to,” Jonah said, “to run the chainsaw, I mean—not lose a finger.”
“Can I look around for morels in the meantime?” Reinhardt asked.
“It’s probably too early in the season, but okay. The sinkhole isn’t too far to the northeast of here,” Noah pointed. “That’s usually a good spot, but be back in about fifteen.” Then Noah turned to Jonah and began his chainsaw instruction.
Reinhardt walked along the sinkhole’s boundary. Evidence of a shift in the ground was visible, though time had eroded the sharp edge. Water had eroded paths between trunk and roots, like tiny canyons the width of a hand. The ground sloped, like a shallow funnel, towards the center where the last of the snowmelt soaked into the ground. Reinhardt gave a shiver as he looked at the dark water in the center, and then he began inspecting the dank areas: drifts of decaying leaves, rotting tree trunks, and slabs of fallen bark.
Jonah sawed through the cedar. Despite the strong chainsaw fumes of gas and oil, the distinct aroma of the tree filled the air. Its sweet smell coated his boots in the form of little wood schnibbles. While cutting a section of trunk, the chainsaw sputtered and died.
“Outta’ gas, Dad.”
Over by the loader, Noah poured the gas and oil mixture into the chainsaw.
He asked Jonah, “Have I shown you how to mix the chainsaw gas?”
“Granddad showed me. Forty parts gas, one part oil.”
Noah nodded. He finished and capped the tank. Through the trees, he saw Reinhardt wandering in search of mushrooms. Noah took a deep breath and sighed. “It’s a beautiful season, plants sprouting, Redbud blooming early, spring pigs being born, longer days, warm breezes…”
Jonah stood next to him listening and nodding his head.
Noah turned to his son; his steady gaze focused Jonah’s attention, “Why did you lie about the rain today?”
“What?” Jonah asked.
“I know you put water in the gauge.”
“Did Reinhardt see? Did he rat on me?”
“No, your brother had no idea. Why did you do it?”
Jonah began scraping at the bits of wood stuck on one of his boots with the other. “Sometimes we have a lot of stuff to do around the farm, and Reinhardt just isn’t all that helpful. Today we were trying to hook up the wagon and loader and I’m trying to do all this stuff and he’s just getting whiny to the point I can’t work with him.” He shook his head. Noah continued to watch him. The silence forced Jonah to continue, “Reinhardt walked off and I couldn’t finish the work alone.”
“So you lied to excuse your unfinished work?”
Jonah kept scraping at the wood bits on his boot. “I punched Reinhardt—just in the arm.”
“I see. Do you want me to punch you?”
Jonah took a quick step back, looking alert at his dad.
“Just in the arm,” Noah said.
Jonah shook his head.
“Reinhardt’s eleven. You can’t expect him to do as much as you. Have some patience. You should have been honest and asked for help. Am I understood?”
Jonah nodded.
They heard Reinhardt tromping towards them.
“Apologize to your little brother,” his dad finished with a stern look.
Reinhardt returned and looked at the two of them. “I didn’t hear the chainsaw anymore, so I’m back. I didn’t find any morels.” He shrugged. “Too early.”
“I figured as much,” said Noah.
“Dad, how’d the sinkhole get there?” Reinhardt asked
“Sometimes, when you have underground water, erosion can make the ground above collapse.”
“But just right here?”
“What do you mean?”
“What stops everything from just collapsing everywhere?”
“It’s just here where water drains into an underground aquifer or stream. I can’t explain it exactly. Years ago, I think when your granddad first bought the land, a geologist explained some of that.” He finished with a loud clearing of his throat and leaned into Jonah.
“Sorry for earlier,” Jonah said looking at his brother.
Reinhardt looked down at his empty hands. “No mushrooms,” he said quietly and rubbed his eyes.
Noah gave Jonah a guiding push forward. The brothers stood facing one another. Jonah extended his hand and Reinhardt shook it.
“And sorry I was the way I was,” Reinhardt said.
“It’s okay, and we can look for morels again in another day or two.”
Reinhardt smiled.
“Can’t you guys give each other a hug?” Noah asked.
Jonah did a quick one arm back-pat while Reinhardt gave him a solid two arm embrace.
“Now the two of you load these logs neatly on the wagon.”
Then Noah fired up the chainsaw and went back to work.
Next Part July 6th…
Great stuff C. M. Enjoyed this chapter. A great reminder of how life's little lessons, if taught well and absorbed by those learning can be large in building character. Watching and waiting for Chapter Three. - Jim