Christmas Surprise

It was Christmas morning. The stockings were emptied, The cows were milked and fed, the chores were done, the presents were opened, the wrapping paper was cleaned up and all in that order. The Henning children were in the kitchen taking turns preparing their flavored oatmeal and hot chocolate and preparing for a relaxing day of Christmas movies and family fellowship. Or so they thought. 

“Hey guys,” Christa called to her children. “It looks like there's one more present for you guys under the tree.”

A chorus of whats, reallys, and are you sures rang out from the kitchen as the kids grabbed their respective mugs and bowls and made their way into the living room. Dale was sitting in his reclining section of the family couch, sipping his black coffee. Christa was pulling a medium, rectangular box from the back side of the tree. 

“Who's it for?” nine-year-old Luke inquired of his mother.

“It's a family present,” Christa replied, with a gleeful smile on her face. “It's for all five of you.”

She handed it to Caleb, who, at the age of fourteen, was the oldest of the five. He glanced at his brothers and sisters and proceeded to tear the wrapping off of the festive package. He pulled off the lid and reached into the box. He removed a half sheet of paper and read...

Last but not least,

A penny-wise feast.

To get to this fellow,

You look in the jello.

“What?” twelve-year-old Scott asked in confusion. “Jello? What is this?”

Scott's look of confusion was matched by all of his siblings as they looked from the paper to their parents to each other. This cycle was interrupted by their mother who softly interjected with a suggestion.

“Maybe you five should go look in the jello jar.”

The children silently agreed with a collective nod and launched from their places on the floor. They took off towards the kitchen and made a beeline towards the counter on the far side of the refrigerator. A clear glass cookie jar sat on the counter up against the white, textured surface of the refrigerator. The jar had been re-purposed to hold jello because Christa had switched from boxed jello to bulk jello. The lid of the cookie jar sealed and kept the humidity from effecting the contents of the jar. 

Ten-year-old Kelsey was the first to reach he jar. She pulled the lid from it's place and reached inside and pulled a white offering envelope from the jar that contained a strip of paper that read...

This could take a while,

You need energy for this part.

You might walk a mile,

Better pop over and get a tart.

“Pop over for a tart,” she paraphrased to her siblings. “Do you think they mean pop-tart?”

“Yes!” they responded together as they scurried to the trash closet.

The trash closet was where the family kept their trash can, but all of the breakfast cereal and toaster pastries were kept on shelves above the trash can. They crowded around the open closet door as Luke grabbed the first open box of Aldi brand pop tarts he could find. He shuffled through the plastic wrapped pastry pairs until he found it: a white offering envelope from their church containing a piece of paper that read...

The next place you go,

Is out in the snow.

The cold might get your goat,

If you don't take your coat.

“But where are we going?” eight-year-old Kerry puzzled.

“To get our coats, I suppose,” Caleb suggested. “Maybe there's a clue there.”

The children turned on their heels and headed back through the kitchen doorway to the basement door. They opened the door and took turns grabbing their coats from the hooks that lined the basement stairwell. 

“Might as well grab our boots too,” Scott suggested. “It said we're going out in the snow.”

His brothers and sisters followed his lead and grabbed their black, rubber muck boots off of the shelf on the left side of the stairway. They set their boots on the linoleum floor and began shuffling through their pockets. They all stopped when Kerry squealed with delight at finding a white offering envelope in her coat pocket...

I was wondering, if you were the hose,

That carried the milk out when it goes,

From our tank to the truck,

How would you go so you wouldn't get stuck?

“The hose door!” she yelled with too much excitement and the five children scrambled to put their coats on and slip their feet into their barn boots.

“Make sure you zip up your coats!” Christa hollered as the five frantic children scrambled through the back porch door.

The kids gingerly ran down the sidewalk and across the snowy yard. The gravel and the salt on the driveway crunched as they speed-walked across to the milk house. The milk house was an addition on the front side of the old family bank barn. It's white, steel exterior stood in direct contrast to the faded, red barn siding. The door on the east end was sheltered by a continuation of the milk house roof. A Honda, three-wheeled ATV was parked in the gravel next to a cement slab. Directly to the left of the fiberglass man door was an eight inch by eight inch door that hinged on the top. Scott opened the door and reached in to find an envelope just like the others. He opened it up and pulled out a slip of paper and read the contents to his siblings.

Most days we must look here,

But this week, not today or the first.

We get cards with Christmas cheer,

But watch the road or expect the worst.

“Pretty sure we're supposed to go to the mail box next,” Scott correctly surmised. “That's a pretty long walk. I think mom and dad just wanted to get some time alone for once.”

“You might have something there,” Caleb agreed with a chuckle. “Oh well, you could use the exercise.”

Scott might have taken offense to that comment were it not for the general sense of joviality in the group. He just smiled as he patted his roundish midsection and the five children began their pilgrimage down the long driveway. They walked in two lines in the tire treads of the vehicles that had passed up and down the driveway in previous days. Their dad usually kept the drive pretty clear of snow, but he had let the snow get ahead of him. The middle of the drive had a four to five inch snow covering while the tire tread path on either side provided a hard packed surface on which to walk... and slide. The children took turns getting a running start and sliding as far as their balances would allow. This entertainment made the trip to the end of the driveway go fairly quick. The Henning clan made their way up the hill at the end of the drive and looked both ways before crossing State Route 172 to the family's mailbox. 

Caleb pulled open the plastic door of the mailbox and pulled a lone envelope from the plastic receptacle. He broke the seal and read from the slip of paper inside.

I was just thinking of a wedge,

And where it goes when hit by sledge.

We don't do it this way now,

but why not check there anyhow.

“What do you think, guys?” Caleb asked, not wanting to sound bossy.

“Probably around the firewood chute, maybe?” Kelsey suggested.

“Yeah, we split wood there whenever we don't split it at the woods,” Scott agreed. “You don't think they'd sent us all the way to the woods, do you?”

“No way!” Luke exclaimed. “Let's check by the house.”

“Yeah,” Kerry agreed. “If it's not there, we can go to the woods next.”

With that, the Henning entourage crossed the road and slid down the hill to begin the trip back towards the house. The trip back was somewhat slower than the trip to the mailbox. This was due partially to the decreased energy of the scavenger hunters, but the general uphill slope of the driveway might have also been a factor. The field to the left stood vacant with remnants of the previous season's corn crop poking up through the crisp snow. The tan cornstalk stubs broke the surface of the white covering like the five o'clock shadow on their father's face. 

The children came to a place on the driveway where they could branch off to the left and walk up to the back side of the house. The downside to this option was that the path had been unused up to that point and was covered with seven or eight inches of snow. The children contemplated their options for a moment and took the road less traveled. Caleb motioned to his youngest sister to climb onto his back before he led the way. The rest of the Kids fell in line in the order of age and in this manner, four out of five kids trekked through the snow to the woodpile. Upon their arrival, Kerry slid to the ground and all five scoured the pile of un-split wood for the tell-tail envelope. Luke found it underneath the heavy head of the splitting ax on top of the splitting block.

“Here it is,” he stated as he opened the envelope to read it's contents.

When you get back, you can bet,

Your little ordeal is not done yet.

Walk farther north yet if you could,

To the place where we keep the 8-foot wood.

“I think he is sending us to the lumber barn,” Caleb volunteered. “That's where we keep all the lumber.”

His brothers and sisters agreed. Luke pocketed the clue as they took to the top drive and made their way towards the lumber barn. The lumber barn was built as a heifer barn, but hadn't been used for that purpose for most of the youngsters' lifetimes. It's primary purpose was to house the family's supply of home sawn lumber.

The snow began to fall gently as the children walked, lingering on their heads and shoulders before melting or being whisked away by a brisk winter breeze. The children watched as a large section of snow slid off the steep roof of the red bank barn and crashed violently on the pavement of the barnyard below. The top doors of the barn and the shop were closed against the winter weather. As the group passed the sugar camp, they looked over the bank into the pasture below. The clean surface was deceptive. The children knew that just beneath the cover of snow and ice was marshy, muddy ground that threatened to keep their their boots should they venture from the relative safety of the snow covered, gravel drive. They made their way past the pile of slab wood that lay against the side of the single story structure to the open doorway in the center of the building. The children walked in and turned to the pile directly to the right, inside the building. Sure enough, slipped in between the sticked layers of wood, a white envelope was patiently awaiting them

.

Caleb pulled it cleanly from it's resting place and gave it to Kerry to read the note aloud...

Well, you finally made it, I hope you laughed,

At things I said 'cause all that's left,

is go back to the barn and look in the loft,

At the blue thing you find there-just lift.

“The bank barn!” all five exclaimed in unison

.

Eager to see this adventure to it's end, the five children jogged all the way back to the red bank barn. Scott picked up the push-pull that stood propped against the barn door as Caleb pushed the door open. (The push-pull was a six foot length of three inch steel pipe with hitch ends on both ends so that it could be used to push a wagon into the barn backwards while being steered by hand from the other end.) Kelsey, Luke, and Kerry stepped over the straw bales that were used to fill the foot and a half of space between the bottom of the door and the barn floor. Caleb and Scott followed closely behind. 

The five children walked into the barn and glanced around. It wasn't immediately obvious which mow they were to check. The south mow was used mostly for equipment storage. The square baler was parked there. The kids turned towards the north mow which was stocked with square bales. About one third of the bales had been used so far, which left part of the barn floor exposed, with the exception of some loose hay and a blue tarp.

“Hey,” Kelsey wondered out loud. “Where did that tarp come from?”

The five kids looked at each other and approached the mystery tarp with some hesitation.

“That's it, kids,” their father stated from the doorway. “Go ahead. Move the tarp.”

The kids took a moment to recover from the surprise of having Dale sneak up on them and grabbed the tarp. They removed the tarp to reveal a number of items laid out on the barn floor. The children looked towards their father who had since been joined by Christa.

“Well,” their mother prodded. “Their all labeled. Find the one with your names.”

The kids started examining the items on the floor. One by one they found their names and exclaimed with glee.

“A new computer desk!” Caleb exclaimed as he examined the box with his name in it.

“Check it out,” Scott said with his voice thick with excitement. “It's a sander!”

“I got a huge tub of Legos!” Luke exclaimed ecstatically. 

“We both got brand new baby dolls!” Kelsey spoke for her and her sister as she held up a doll that peered through the plastic window of her card board box. “Porcelain!” She clarified.

The kids took turns hugging their parents before grabbing their gifts and marching towards the farm house.

“I hope we can do this every year,” Kelsey stated with enthusiasm. “It'll be our new tradition.”

“I hope they don't get their hopes too high,” Dale remarked to his wife. “That was a lot of work for me.”

“Yeah,” Christa replied, smiling. “But I think it was worth it.”

Dale nodded as they watched their clan of five trot joyously into the house.

Ill Fated Sledding Endeavor

The five Henning children trudged up the steep pasture hill just west of the sugar camp. They struggled against the steepness of the hill as well as the ten inches of snow. Twelve-year-old Caleb led the family as he pulled their orange, plastic sled up the hill. Scott and Luke walked on either side of their older brother as Kelsey and Kerry trailed slightly behind. They weren't making very good time, but they hoped the ride down the huge hill would be worth all the trouble. 

Sledding was the favorite winter activity of the Henning clan, followed closely by building snow forts and having snowball fights. However, the children had grown tired of the hill in front of the house. After some debate and discussion, the children had decided to look for a bigger and better hill. They hadn't been satisfied to settle for anything lees than the biggest hill on the farm. So, they found themselves trudging through ten inches of snow to the top of the biggest pasture hill on the entire farm. 

“Man,” Luke gasped. “This is taking a lot longer than I thought it would.”

“I know what you mean,” Scott agreed. "It usually takes a lot less time to get to the top of this hill.”

“Well, we usually don't have a reason to climb this hill in the winter,” Caleb reminded his younger brothers. “We don't put the cows out to pasture when there's snow on the ground.”

“Hey,” Lizzy interrupted. “Can we take a little break?”

“Yeah,” Kelsey seconded. “I think we could all use a break.”

“Um, okay,” Caleb nodded as he turned around and sat in the snow.

The other children followed suit and caught their breath as they took in the view beneath them. They had nearly made it to the top of the hill, so the view was quite spectacular. They looked across the valley at the snow covered fields on the opposite side. The gray branches of a large oak tree stood out against the blue horizon as the trunk stood in contrast to the white field behind it. The fence posts of the adjacent pasture stood like sentries around the few wandering, Holstein cows who moseyed around the trees and the clumps of wild rose that spotted the pasture. The crick zig-zagged through the middle of the snowy ground, creating a blackish brown line dividing the pasture roughly in half. Their grandpa's gray barn stood in direct contrast to the blue sky behind it. 

A large, white house stood directly south of the barn. The red, steel roof was partially concealed with a white layer of snow. Every so often, a portion of the snow would slide off the roof, plummeting to the ground creating a plume of fluffy snowflakes that rose up from the ground. The children's grandparents lived in the house trailer right next door to the house, partially concealed by the bare branches of the trees in front. 

“Well,” Caleb ventured after a few moments. “My bottom is getting cold, so I think we should get to the top of this hill, and do this thing!”

A chorus of Yeahs and yes's sounded out as the children pushed themselves up from their frozen hillside thrones. It only took them a few minutes to reach the top of the hill. Caleb turned the sled towards the bottom of the hill and took his place on the front. His feet hung off the sides of the sled and prevented it from beginning it's downward journey prematurely. Scott sat directly behind his older brother. The other three kids followed suit, sitting down on the sled in order of age. Each child wrapped his or her arms around the midsection of the person in front as Caleb tightly gripped the nylon rope which was fastened to the front of the sled.

“Okie dokie,” Caleb announced with some apprehension. “Everybody ready?”

“Yup,” Scott responded as he felt his sister's grip on his chest tighten. “I guess we're as ready as we'll ever be.” 

“Well,” Kerry interrupted. “I'm not sure I'm ready. My bottom is half off.”

“Well,” Caleb replied with a smile. “I guess that means your on sale. Just hold on real tight and you'll be fine.” (Caleb couldn't take credit for this joke. His father had used it just a few days earlier at the dinner table.)

With that, Caleb picked up his feet and the sled slowly began to slide across the frozen tundra. The children quickly picked up speed as their orange rocket flew down the hill. The lightly falling snow brushed across their faces as snow from the ground flew across the front of the sled. The bumps under the snow jarred the children as their sled flew across the ground. Kerry let out a loud squeal about halfway down the hill as she lost her grip on her older brother and slipped off the back of the sled. 

“We lost Kerry!” Kelsey yelled across Scott.

“We'll go back for her when we're done!” Caleb replied. “I can't stop now! We're going too fast!”

The Children were in fact going too fast and they realized it just in time to notice a large pile of snow-covered, locust logs at the bottom of the hill.

“We're going to crash!” Scott yelled over the rushing wind. “We gotta try to steer this thing!”

Caleb and Scott shoved their left hands into the snow attempting to steer the sled, but found that the speed of the craft was too great for their efforts to have the desired effect. Realizing their trouble, they tried the other side to no avail. They each frantically shoved both gloved hands into the snow as they tried to slow their descent. They let their legs slide off the sides of the sled and dug their heels into the snow. This helped a little but then the sled began to twist to the left. The children were relieved until they realized that their trajectory was unchanged. They were going so fast that the reorientation of the sled didn't actually change their direction of travel. The orange death trap was simply sliding towards the log pile sideways.

Realizing that it was too late to stop the inevitable, the four remaining passengers leaned towards the high side of the hill and braced for impact. The sled slammed into the logs with considerable force. The collision threw their bodies against the snow-covered obstruction as they jostled against each other. The four children groaned as their youngest sister slid into them on her slippery snow pants. Everyone, including Kerry, who had experienced only a relatively soft impact against her older siblings, laid groaning in the soft snow. Snow fell softly from the sky, melting on their warm faces as the wind gently teased the strands of hair that had managed to escape from their warm, winter hats.

Eventually, the youngest rolled over on her hands and knees and pushed herself up to her feet.

“Maybe this hill was a bad idea,” she stated as she surveyed the erratic markings left in the snow by the sled. “Are you guys okay?” she finished as she turned to her older siblings.

Nobody answered right away. Luke, having found himself more or less on the top of the sibling heap, rolled off of his brothers and sister and gingerly rose to his feet.

“I guess I'm okay,” he confirmed with uncertainty. “I mostly just hit you guys.”

The remaining children started untangling themselves from each other. One by one, they apprehensively rose to their feet and checked themselves for injuries, each fully expecting to find any number of broken bones. None of them did. Other than what would develop into a few bruises, the children had made it through their ordeal unharmed. They stood at the bottom of the gigantic hill, dumbfounded at the favorability of their situation.

“So,” Caleb began as he took stock of the situation. “Nobody is hurt?”

“I guess not,” Scott replied as everyone in the improvised circle shrugged their shoulders. “Guess we got off pretty lucky this time.”

“I guess so,” Kelsey concurred. “Maybe we should just not try that again.”

All five daredevils nodded their heads in agreement as Scott bent down and grabbed the sled rope. The children silently made their way to the driveway and began the long trek back to the house. Eventually the stunned silence was broken by hopeful daydreams of hot chocolate and maybe a Christmas movie.

“So,” Caleb said, interrupting the beverage discussion. “What are we gonna tell Mom and Dad about what we did this afternoon?”

From Radio Cabinet to Dresser

“Grandpa,” fourteen-year-old Scott approached his aged companion. “I need a dresser for my room.” 

“Is that so?” Richard responded thoughtfully. “Lets head to the barn and see if we can find something we can work with.”

The pair walked out of the small workshop door and took an immediate right. They trudged slowly up the grassy hill to the gravel driveway and turned left, towards the barn. 

The big bank barn stood silhouetted against the cloudy sky. The walls of the barn had originally been painted gray. They were still gray, but it was hard to tell if it was colored from the paint or from years of exposure to the various Ohio weather patterns. The bright, corrugated aluminum roof shone in the intermittent sunshine as a number of black and white heifers milled about in the barnyard. A green pickup truck sat on the slope of the east bank, rust slowly creeping across it's surface. The primary feature of the barns north side was it's oversized sliding doors. 

Richard walked up to an unmarked man door and pulled a string. The string was attached to a hook on the inside. Once the hook was disengaged, the door was able to swing open towards the outside. The younger Henning hung back until his grandfather unlatched the hooks that secured the larger sliding door. Richard pushed it open to his right, allowing the daylight to flood into the upper floor of the barn. Scott stood in the doorway for a minute taking in the sight. His grandpa's flat bed wagon sat in the middle, in front of an old corn picker that hadn't been used in years. A forage wagon and a bale wagon sat in the west bay. The west haymow was stacked with hay bales. The east mow was used primarily for storage. That was the mow of interest on this particular day. 

They walked down an unintentional isle through a large variety of odd and somewhat obscure items. There was an old lawn tractor to the right, an old fashioned traveling trunk to the left. A stack of fifty-five gallon drums stood against the east wall while picnic tables stood on end against the south wall. They sorted through the elder Henning's stockpile of obscurities until Richard came upon and item that caused him pause.

“What do you think of this?” Richard asked as he gestured to a slightly odd looking piece of furniture.

Scott looked it over carefully before answering. The piece was made out of wood. It stood about three feet tall and four feet wide. The face of the piece had four panels with a handle in the middle of each one. The teenager reached forward and tugged on the handle of the top left panel expecting it to pull out like a drawer. Instead, the panel pivoted at the bottom and revealed a strange control panel of sorts.

“What is this thing, Grandpa?” Scott inquired with confusion thick in his voice.

“This is an old radio cabinet,” Richard explained. “Radios used to take up a lot more space so they made them into furniture. This door here is the radio. The one right next to it used to be a record player. This door on the bottom used to be the speaker and the other one was used to store records.”

“Wow,” Scott marveled. “That's pretty sweet. It kinda reminds me of the old wooden TV's but cooler.”

“So, what do you think?” Richard pressed.

“I think it's pretty cool,” Scott responded with excitement. “Are you sure you want to change this into a dresser?”

“Well,” Richard responded in his trademark deliberation. “I don't suppose it's doing anyone any good just sitting here in the barn, now is it?” 

The next few weeks were fairly busy for the cross-generational team. They loaded the radio cabinet into Richard's garden cart and rolled to the small, back room workshop. The radio cabinet took up a large percentage of the workshops floor space, but nobody seemed to mind. They removed the radio components from the one compartment and removed both front panels. They built boxes that were attached to the face panels which created drawers. The back of the cabinet had sustained some water damage and had to be replaced with a new panel. Richard insisted on staining and varnishing the new back panel even though Scott insisted that the back of the piece would be against the wall and nobody would ever know it wasn't finished.

“Ahh, but you'll know now won't you? And someday that'll bother you.” Richard had responded.

There was a small spot on the top of the piece that had been damaged by water. Richard stirred together a mixture of sawdust and wood glue, referring to the mixture as plastic wood. Using a putty knife, he worked the mixture into the cracks and crevices of the damaged portion until he was satisfied with the results. After it dried, he instructed his young assistant to sand it smooth. Applying just the right amount of stain, the elder man was able to blend the imperfection into the rest of the top panel to both of their satisfaction.

Finally, the job was done. Christa, Scott's mother, drove the family van up to her father-in-law's house trailer and stood by expressing concern for his welfare as the grandfather and grandson team loaded the bulky piece of furniture into the back of the van. Christa insisted that her oldest son would help Scott carry the newly converted dresser up to its destination, and left Richard to his own devices.

Caleb and Scott unloaded dresser and carried it into the house. As they passed their father, who was reading in his easy chair, they paused to show off the piece of furniture. Dale looked it over and smiled ever so slightly.

“Leave it to Dad,” he chuckled. “Leave it to Dad to give up the antique value of an old radio cabinet so that one of his grandkids could have a dresser.”

Baseball and Barbed Wire

Joe was on the mound and Kelsey was at the plate. Joe wound up dramatically and then tossed her an easy under hand pitch. Kelsey swung the bat directly into the path of the incoming ball. The ash wood bat connected cleanly with the white baseball. The ball flew into left field and landed cleanly in Luke's glove. 

“Okay,” Caleb shouted from third base. “Guess that's the inning.”

Scott, Luke and Joe made their way towards the improvised home plate. It wasn't just home plate that was improvised. All the bases were. First base was a piece of fire wood, second was a large stone, third base was a small board, and home plate was an actual tin camping plate that the kids had found buried in the dirt. They had set up the field in a three sided section of the yard below the house. In an attempt to keep all the windows of the two and a half story farmhouse intact, the children had placed home plate closest to the house.

The five kids had pressured Joe, who was the oldest of the group at the age of eighteen, to join them in a game of baseball. It was a rare occasion when the Henning clan had an even number of people to play with. Usually, there was at least one 'ghost man' on base at all times to facilitate a continual game.

Scott was the first one up to bat. After two strikes, he finally managed to hit the ball. The ball flew past left field, across the driveway, and landed in the lower pasture.

“Well,” Caleb commented with some dejection. “We usually just call that a home run. Come on. We gotta find it. It's not our ball.”

The group trekked towards the pasture. The Hennings rolled under the single strand of barbed wire that designated the boundary of the pasture. Joe followed suit. They fanned out and started combing through the tall grass in search of the baseball. 

“How hard did you hit that thing, Scott?” Kelsey inquired of her brother after a few minutes with no success.

“As hard as I could,” Scott responded. “Maybe I don't know my own strength. Maybe it's further out.”

“Maybe you are overestimating your strength,” Caleb countered. “Maybe it's closer to the field...or diamond. You know what I mean.”

“It's not a big deal, guys,” Joe interjected. “It's just a baseball. I probably have a half a dozen more rolling around somewhere at home.”

The group looked for a few more minutes before they finally gave up.

“Well,” Kelsey observed. “I guess the game's over.”

“Who won?” Kerry inquired of the rest of the group.

Everyone exchanged glances of confusion, each hoping the others would come up with the right answer. In a situation such as the one they found themselves in, the temptation was often to declare one's own team the winner and their opponents the loosers. However, everyone new that no one would accept this so they just declared it a tie.

“I guess we all lost,” Scott observed. “We lost the ball, anyway.”

Everyone responded with laughter and eye rolls as they turned towards the house. They made their way back to the edge of the pasture and paused at the fence.

“Here,” Caleb began as he reached for the barbed wire. “It's not electric. I'll just hold it up so you guys can duck underneath.” 

He grabbed the wire between his thumb and forefinger and motioned for Joe to walk under. Joe bent forward and ducked under the fence. Just as he started under the wire, Caleb let out a slight cry and dropped the wire. The wire smacked Joe right on the noggin. Joe dropped to his knees immediately and clutched the back of his head with one and as he crawled under the wire. He stood up and turned towards Caleb who was still on the other side of the fence with a look of surprise and confusion on his face.

“What was that, Caleb?” Joe asked of the eldest Henning as he rubbed the back of his head. “That wire poked me in the head!”

“I'm really sorry, man,” Caleb hastily responded. “It shocked me!”

“I thought this fence wasn't electric.” Luke interjected.

“It's not supposed to be,” Scott confirmed. “We haven't had cows down here for a month. That's why the grass is so high.”

“Well,” Joe smiled. “I guess it happens. Hopefully not more than once though.”

“Right,” Caleb responded. “Okay, everyone can crawl under the wire on their own.”

Everyone agreed that this was the best method of crossing the fence line. They crawled through in turn and made their way to the house. They were empty handed, but Joe did end up with a souvenir of sorts.

Biker Under Fire

Scott pushed the pedals hard on his bike as he propelled his way up the bank barn hill. The limestone gravel popped under the off-road bicycle tires leaving little clouds of gray dust in the young man's wake. The ten-year-old sped past the big sliding doors of the red bank barn and past the open shop door. Uncle David was burning a pile of trash across the driveway. Scotty waved as he passed. He rode up to the sugar camp wire and reached in front of him and grabbed the wire in between the barbs and passed it over his head with an ease that could only have been acquired with much practice. He glanced at the pile of locust posts against the west end of the sugar camp as he rode towards the tractor drive at the lower corner of the pasture. 

The pasture was on a steep hill; the kind of hill that made people joke about the cows having legs that were longer on one side of their body than the other. The driveway Scott was on ran diagonally from the southeast corner of the pasture to the northeast corner and acted as an access road to the field on the top of the hill. Scott pedaled hard until he got all the way to the top of the hill. He turned around and took in the view below him. The big blue Harvestore silos stood out against the backdrop of the corn field to the left and the red barn behind. The weathered, gray walls of the sugar camp and its multicolored roof were partially concealed by a large oak tree. Uncle David's fire created thick, black and gray smoke that curled and billowed into the sky in direct contrast to the white fluffy clouds until it dissipated into the atmosphere.

“This view never gets old,” the young man commented out loud to nobody.

He stood straddling his bike for another minute before pushing off down the hill. He pedaled frantically for a few seconds until he gained enough speed and stood up on the pedals allowing his knees to cushion his body against the bumps of the rough road. He veered off the high side of the drive allowing his momentum to carry him up the hill until he almost came to a stop. Then he turned back down the hill to the driveway and right back up the hill again. He repeated this cycle several times until he sped off the end of the hill back onto the main gravel drive. He had a radiant smile on his face as he passed under the sugar camp wire. 

As he coasted past the shop, his elation was cut short by a sudden explosion. The young man caught a glimpse of a fiery burst in his right-hand peripherals as he lunged away from his uncle's fire. He landed on the rough gravel and rolled frantically away from what he could only assume was a terrifying inferno. He scrambled to his feet and reached for his bicycle and pulled it dramatically away from the blaze. He stood with his left hand on his handle bars and his right hand on his seat and tried desperately to regain control of his breathing. 

His heartbeat slowed down and seemed to move from his throat back to his chest. Scott quit hearing his heartbeat in his ears as his brain began to register a different sound. The sound he heard was the sound of his uncles laughter. Scott was standing directly in front of the shop door. He turned around and was surprised to find his uncle David laughing hysterically with his head back and his mouth wide open. The young man found this to be entirely inappropriate because he was certain that he had almost died.

After a few moments, the hysterical uncle attempted to explain himself.

“Oh my goodness,” he chuckled. “That was by far the funniest thing I have seen all day. I'm sure that explosion sounded huge to you and the shooting flame must have looked nearly lethal from you perspective. From where I was standing, it wasn't nearly as dramatic. Your reaction didn't loose any of the drama though. I was burning out a few old oil filters and one of them must have developed a gas bubble and exploded. That's what the noise was and the flames were the burning oil shooting out of the hole. You and your bike were not in in any real danger.”

Scott heaved a sigh of embarrassment and pushed his bike away from the shop without a response as his uncle shook his head in amusement.

A Day For Which To Be Thankful

“Okay, kids,” Christa addressed the five children at the breakfast table. “Here's the scoop. I need you to clear the table. I need the dishes done, and the table set for lunch. I need a couple of volunteers to do a hundred pickup downstairs, and I need a bunch of potatoes peeled.” 

The five kids sat at the kitchen table trying not to make eye contact with their mother while they waited for each other to talk. 

“If you guys speak up, you'll be able to pick your jobs,” their mother reminded them gently. “If no one picks anything, I’ll pick for all of you.

“I wanna peel potatoes,” Scott spoke up.

“I'll wash the dishes!” Kelsey exclaimed as if there would be competition for such a task. 

“I'll dry, I guess,” Luke volunteered with a decidedly defeated tone.

“Okay then,” Christa declared with satisfaction. “Caleb and Lizzy are on a hundred pick-up. Everything on the first floor, no cheating. Deal?”

“Deal,” all five responded in unison.

Scott settled in at the kitchen table with a twenty pound bag of potatoes, a vegetable peeler, a paring knife, and a stock pot. Kelsey started washing dishes as Luke pushed a stool up to the counter. Caleb and Kerry started their hundred pick-up. Hundred pick-up was like a game except not fun. The deal was that the participants in this game had to pick up and put away a hundred items each. Depending on the target cleaning zone and the number of participants, that was usually enough to ensure a pretty thorough cleaning. It was tedious, but effective. Every once in a while the kids would try to pull on over on their mother. They might tear a piece of paper apart so it counted as more pieces or count every page in a book as an individual item. They thought they were getting away with it, but every once in a while their mother made sure to let them know that she knew what was going on in her house.

As the children busied themselves with their tasks, their mother retrieved a twenty-five pound turkey from the back porch. (The back porch wasn't actually a porch. It would have been better described as a mud room. None of the children really knew when or why it became known as the back porch.) The turkey had been marinating in a saltwater brine overnight and was ready to roast. She stuffed the turkey in the back porch wash sink before sticking it in an oven bag and tossing the whole kit and caboodle into a roasting pan. 

“What's that red thing sticking out of the turkey?” Scott asked as Christa put the roaster in the oven.

“That is going to tell me when the turkey is done,” his mother explained. “It measures the temperature of the inside of turkey. When it get's hot enough, the red dot will pop out and we'll know it's safe to eat.”

“Yeah, silly,” Kelsey chuckled from the sink. “Everyone knows that.”

“Apparently not,” Scott mumbled from his potato peeling station. “I guess everyone knows that now.”

It wasn't long before the dishes were done, the potatoes peeled and boiling, and Caleb and Lizzy were reporting back from their hundred pick-up. The five children helped their mother set the table. They were extremely careful as they handled the tan Pfaltzgraff dishes with the dark brown design. These were Chista's special dinnerware, only used for guests and special occasions. There was some discussion over the placement of the silverware in relation to the plate. Finally, it was decided that the napkin and the fork would go on the left side of the plate and the knife and spoon would go on the right with the spoon on the outside and the glass at the point of the knife. With the table set and dinner preparations well underway, Christa turned to address her children.

“Okay, here's the scoop. You guys can go play, but stay clean and don't make a mess. And stay out of the kitchen. Deal?” 

The children nodded. 

“Say deal.” their mother prompted with some sternness in her voice.

“Deal,” the five children responded in unison.

The children separated, each doing his or her own thing until mealtime. Scott went to his room to read one of his Great Illustrated Classics. Caleb got on the family computer to play a military strategy game called Red Alert. (The family desk was in the kitchen, but Christa said it would be alright as long as he stayed out of the way.) Luke joined his brother Scott in their shared room, though not to read. Luke's preferred recreational activity was playing with his army men. He became extremely interested in the stationary, green plastic figures ever since he had first seen the movie Toy Story. The girls went to their room to play with their dolls. The children managed to keep themselves busy and out of trouble for the next few hours, which was really quite and accomplishment.

“Dinner's ready,” their mother called from downstairs.

The children converged in the kitchen withing seconds. They were greeted by the heavenly aroma of Thanksgiving dinner and boy, were they thankful. The turkey sat at the head end of the table. A huge bowl of mashed potatoes, steaming and swimming with butter sat in the center of the table with a gravy boat of light brown turkey gravy on either side. The green beans sat directly in between the stove top stuffing and the cranberry sauce. The entire family sat down at the table, the two girls on the far bench, the three boys on the near bench, Christa on the right and Dale on the left. They all joined hands as Dale led the family in prayer.

“Dear Lord, thank you for this day. Thank you for this food. Bless this meal to our bodies and bless the hands that prepared it for us. Thank you for this family and everything you've provided for us. In Jesus name, amen.”

After a slight pause out of respect, Dale began to carve the turkey and dished out each person's plate as they held it out to him. The potatoes started next, directly followed by the gravy. The rest of the courses followed in no particular order. The family enjoyed their meal immensely as they chatted about the typical family subjects. The main subject of conversation was the general title of the meal they were enjoying. The children were confused because dinner was normally the name of the evening meal. The children wanted to know why what would normally be referred to as lunch was suddenly being referred to as dinner.

“Well,” their father explained. “Dinner is not actually synonymous with the evening meal. Historically, the term dinner refers to the largest or most important meal of the day.”

“I thought breakfast was the most important meal of the day,” Luke commented even more confused.

“Well,” Dale responded with a mischievous smile on his face. “You're right about that, but there is only one name for breakfast so that's why we just call it breakfast.”

The young man nodded with understanding, satisfied with his fathers answer as Christa stifled laughter at the other end of the table.

They finished up their meal and one by one, the children asked to be excused. They picked up their respective plates and silverware, carried them carefully to the counter by the sink and returned to the table for the glass. The children congregated in the living room as they allowed their dinner to settle. After a few minutes, their parents stood in the kitchen doorway and addressed the children.

“Well,” their mother began. “As you all know, the extended family Thanksgiving gathering is underway and usually goes well into the evening.”

“Now, we're going to give you guys a choice,” Dale continued. “We can either head over to my cousin's house and join the festivities, or you can put the Christmas tree up.”

A chorus of cheers erupted from the living room. The decision was unanimous. All five children tore up the stairway to the rat attic. (The rat attic was a crawl space above the kitchen that was used for storage. It was named for its size rather than its contents and did not, in fact, contain any rats...as far as anybody knew.) Moments later two of the boys reappeared carrying a large cardboard box and the other three carried a variety of smaller boxes. The five children gathered around the larger box and began sorting out the color coated, artificial pine fronds. Dale and Christa relaxed in their seats on the double reclining couch and smiled as they watched their children do their work.

Cow Skiing

The four older Henning children walked through the lower level of the barn in their rubber
muck boots. They glanced from side to side trying to decide what to do with their afternoon. They had already jumped from the hay mow into the pile of chopped straw. They had jumped from stanchion to stanchion across the cow stalls until Luke had missed a step and nearly gotten the wind knocked out of him. After that little misstep, the oldest child, fourteen-year-old Caleb,  had decided to look elsewhere for entertainment.

The concrete barn floor was  covered in a couple of inches of fresh cow manure. This
created a slightly slippery surface on which to walk. Caleb smiled and two brothers and sister. Scott, Kelsey, and Luke waited with anticipation to see what their fearless leader had in mind. Caleb started running, with some hesitation, across the slick,concrete floor, stopping abruptly into a slide, leaving skid marks in the manure from his boots.

“Wow! Check those marks out,” he exclaimed. “They must be at least six or seven feet long!”

“Yeah,” twelve-year-old Scott replied surveying the tracks before him. “I'll bet I could do
better.”

“Oh really?!” ten-year-old Kelsey inquired with skepticism thick in her voice. “What makes you
so sure about that?”

“I'm lighter than he is,” Scott responded matter-of-factly. “A little bit of a head start should give
me more distance.”

“I'm not sure it works that way,” nine-year-old Luke argued. “Besides, I'm pretty sure you guys
weigh the same”

“Well, I guess we'll just have to find out,” Scott replied as he started running.

He put on the brakes and went about six inches further than his older brother. Caleb wasn't
satisfied to leave it go at that so he marked his original streak and his brother's so they could keep track of which was which and proceeded to attempt to beat his and his brother's previous marks. He lined up and took off running, with much less hesitation than his first try, and flew past Scott's line by three feet. Scott's cries of mock anguish marked his defeat. Caleb marked his new line as his brother lined up for another shot. Kelsey and Luke joined in and the four kids took turns this way for about fifteen minutes until they got board and started looking for other ways to supplement their fun.

In a weird kind of deja vu, one of the boys got a mischievous look on his face which was
greeted by the same look of anticipation from the other three kids. Only this time, it was the Scott who had the bright idea. Scotty walked up to a cow, several of which had been eating at the bunk or bedding down as if the boys had never existed, and grabbed a hold of it's long tail. The cow, having found the sensation of someone tugging on her tail to be undesirable, attempted to get away from the young man by running away. Scott just hung on and left two long foot marks as the cow trotted through the barn, dragging him along. Scott's skiing pattern became somewhat erratic and he let go before he lost his balance, saving himself from a messy yard sale.

“Did you see that?!” Scott exclaimed as the deja vu continued. “That was awesome! She was
really picking up speed there, wasn't she?!”

“That was pretty awesome,” Caleb agreed. “I gotta give that a try.”

He waited for his chance, grabbed the tail of a passing cow and went for his own ride. He didn't
make it quite as far as Scott before his footing began to give way. He let go and regained his balance
before he jogged back to where he had left his brothers and sister.  The four kids discussed skiing
techniques before they all grabbed a tail for a trip through the barn. Every time they finished a trip, they would compare notes on ways to improve their skiing experience. They would consider each other's suggestions and try them out one at a time some of them improved their distance or stability while others nearly ended in messy disasters.

What they failed to notice was that as they continued to have their fun, the cows got more and
more agitated. They began to run through the barn instead of jog. The Henning children were too engrossed in their fun to realize that they had stopped improving on their techniques due to the
rowdiness of the animals. They had essentially graduated from the bunny slopes to the black diamond
without their knowledge or permission. Soon, more than two or three cows were barreling through the barn at once. They might not have realized what was going on if they hadn't had an unexpected visitor.

A loud holler interrupter the shenanigans mid-ride causing all four of the adolescents to let go of
their respective tails and loose their balance. They fell solidly on their rumps and slid a few feet before scrambling out of the way of the oncoming bovine traffic into the relative safety of the free stalls. They looked around frantically for the source of the booming voice that had brought them from the heights of skiing glory down to the embarrassment of the manure yard sale. They finally saw the intruder on a platform that ran the full length of the feeding trough. The platform was referred to as the cat-walk and the feeding trough, the bunk.

Standing on the cat-walk with his arms folded across his broad chest and a sour scowl on his
face stood Dale Henning. A look of abject fear invaded the faces of the children as they realized that the posture of the older Henning clearly indicated that they were in deep trouble. Caleb, Scott, Kelsey, and Luke rose awkwardly to their feet and made an attempt to hold themselves in a way that projected confidence. However, they realized that it was nearly impossible to project confidence when ones hind quarters were covered in manure. They stood for an agonizing amount of time as the herd calmed down. As soon as it was deemed to be safe for them to move through the barn full of black and white animals, their father addressed the children.

“You four will calmly make your way to the house. Do not go inside. If I beat you there, you
will be in exponentially more trouble than you are now.”

With that, he turned crisply on his heal and walked from the cat-walk, into the barn. The Henning tribe calmly made their way through the barn on their way to what they were certain would be their execution.

“What do you suppose 'exponentially' means?” Luke inquired of his older siblings.

“I don't know,” Kelsey replied. “If we survive this, we can look it up.”

“You think it's that bad?” the Scott pushed.

“He's pretty mad,” Caleb confirmed. “He's probably gonna meet us with four shovels and make
us dig our own graves.”

Nobody had a response to this final statement. They made it to the front yard a full minute
before their father. The suspense was pure agony for the kids. Finally, Mr. Henning approached the
white picket fence and walked straight into the old farmhouse. He returned a few seconds later with a
wooden paddle that everyone recognized as The Double Five. The Double Five was a plain wooden
paddle with ten holes drilled through the business end. The children had argued about the purpose of
the holes. Caleb, however, was old enough to know that they decreased the wind resistance which
drastically improved the performance of the disciplinary tool.

Their dad motioned to the children to turn around. They obliged, placing their hands on the
wooden deck of the wrap-around porch to brace themselves against the punishment that was coming.
Mr. Henning swatted each of them crisply on the rump, twice. Each child reacted in his or her own
way. Caleb pursed his lips against the stinging on his hind end. Scott gritted his teeth and bounced on
the balls of his feet. Kelsey sniffled as she quietly sobbed with her bottom lip quivering. Luke fought
his urge to cry as he switched back and forth between crossing his arms tightly across his chest and
rubbing his nose with the top of his pointer finger. Tears still streamed down his face despite his best
efforts.

“Do you kids know why I spanked you?” He inquired of the sniffling youths.

They merely shook their heads, not really sure if that was the answer for which Mr. Henning was looking.      

“I spanked you because what you were doing in there, although fun I'm sure, was
actually very dangerous,” He explained. “Didn't you see how those heifers were running around down there?”

The kids looked at each other and truthfully shook their heads as their youngest sister, Lizzy,
watched from the porch bench.

“Okay,” their father sighed. “Well, here's the deal. You five are going to promise me that you
will never do that sort of thing again because one of these days, you're going to end up a trampled mess on the floor. Got it?”

The boys and girls nodded.

“Okay, good,” Dale muttered as he stormed back out to the barn.

“Wow,” eight-year-old Lizzy exclaimed from her spot on the park bench. “For once, I'm glad
you  guys left me out. I'm the only one who didn't get spanked today.”

“Give it time,” her oldest brother muttered as he stomped to his room in the basement

Island Excursion

“So, do you think it's changed much?” 

“I don't know,” Caleb responded to the inquiries of his younger brother.

“You never know what sort of things can happen over the course of a winter,” Wayne interjected.

Scotty shrugged his shoulders as he continued the long trek to the island. Caleb and Wayne were best friends. At the age of thirteen, they tolerated the presence of Caleb's younger brother who was two years their junior. Scotty trailed a couple of steps behind the older kids as the best friends chatted about things the younger brother didn't quite understand. He didn't mind, it was either this, or hang out with his younger sister, who always seemed to act older anyways.

The three boys were headed out to The Island. Years earlier, when the farm was in it's infancy, the field the boys were walking through had been covered in trees. The trees had been cut down and used for lumber and firewood. The stumps had all been pushed into a pile in the middle of the field. Over the years, small trees and grass grew up through the stumps and created an island like formation in the middle of a wide open field, hence the name The Island.

The Island had been a favorite canvass for the imagination of the children. They would play all sorts of different games out there. Sometimes they were soldiers fighting unseen enemies in the jungles of Vietnam. They'd weave in and out through the stumps and trees providing cover fire for their comrades as they made their way through enemy territory. Occasionally, one of the old root clusters would become the figurehead of a pirate ship off the coast of South America. The boys would become captured sailors fighting their captors as they tried to escape from the perils of walking the plank.

Sometimes, their imaginations would create more structured environments. Sometimes they'd hold mock senate meetings, with Caleb as the president, Wayne as the vice, and Scott as the finance minister. It wasn't lost on any of the three that the position of finance minister held no power since there were no finances to be placed under Scott's control. The boys had carved seats out of a particularly large root formation and used an old rubber milker liner as a microphone, which the youngest rarely got to hold. 

The summer before they had become convinced that they were going to dig an intricate tunnel system just like the one in one of their favorite TV shows, Hogan's Heroes. They had brought shovels out and started digging in two or three different places. They had gotten a couple of two foot deep holes dug, just wide enough to sit in before they realized that the stump laden soil was not conducive to tunneling.

 

The boys were headed out for the first island excursion of the season. As they approached their yearly hangout, they looked around. They saw their partially eroded tunnel non-starters with hard packed bottoms covered in pebbles and leaves. They saw various signs of animal activity such as nibbled leaves and trails through the stumpage. 

The older two boys immediately pulled their pocket knives from their hip pockets and got to work on a couple of small saplings. It was practically a yearly tradition to pick a staff. Staffs were universally useful. There were the obvious uses, such as using it as a walking stick or for Robin Hood and Little John bridge fighting. However, with the help of some bailing twine, a green staff became a long bow, a fishing pole, or a whip. With a little imagination, a staff became a Kentucky long rifle or a broad sword. The possibilities were endless. A summer in the country just wasn't complete without a staff.

The youngest of the three followed the example of his older companions and picked a sapling for himself. Unfortunately, his hand-me-down pocket knife wasn't nearly as sharp as those of the others. Caleb and Wayne were well into their island exploration by the time the younger brother finished his staff.

“Wait for me, guys,” He called out as he chased after his older companions. “Where are you guys anyway?”

“We're over here, behind the pirate ship stump,” Caleb responded.

Scotty walked around to the other side of the root cluster to find the older two boys examining a small hole in the ground. 

“I don't remember this being here,” Wayne remarked to the brothers.

“Maybe it's a ground hog hole,” Scotty suggested. 

“I don't thinks so,” Caleb disagreed. “I think it's a little too small for that.”

“Yeah,” Wayne agreed as Scotty shrugged. “What do you think it is?”

“I'll bet there's bees in this hole,” Caleb declared with supreme confidence.

Wayne and Scotty stepped back as Caleb drew back his staff. He gripped it with both hands and plunged it into the hole with all his strength. As it turned out, there were indeed bees in that hole. Three pairs of eyes widened as a cloud of stripped insects erupted from the three inch hole in the ground. The three boys turned on their heals and ran as fast as they could from The Island, the stinging insects hot on their tails. 

Caleb, having been closest to the hive, had the greatest motivation for putting distance between himself and The Island. It wasn't long before the other boys had been left in the dust. They paused for a moment and listened. With the lack of any tell tale buzzing, Wayne and Scotty breathed deeply as they attempted to catch their breath.

“Well, I guess we lost them,” Wayne commented in between breaths.

“Yeah, and Caleb lost us,” Scotty wheezed. “Who knew he could run so fast? Do you think he got stung?”

“Probably,” Wayne surmised. “He was right there when those bees came flying out of there. I'll bet this is one time in his life that he wishes he was wrong.”

“For real,” Scotty agreed. “I guess we'd better get back to the house and see how he's doing.”

Wayne nodded and the two of them made their way back to the farm house. They reached the gravel driveway after a couple of minutes and crossed the creek bridge. Scotty made certain to keep to the center. A few years earlier, he had fallen into the creek on his way to his grandpa's house. After that, he made it a point to keep away from the edge unless he actually wanted to get wet. The two of them looked towards the big white farmhouse and could just see Caleb and his mom through the gaps in the picket fence. He looked a little strange. As Wayne and Scotty got closer, they began to see why.

Caleb was standing in the middle of the sidewalk wearing nothing but a sullen, defeated look and his whitey tighties. His mother was using a basting brush to apply a paste of baking soda and milk to the tell tale red spots that dotted the older brother's body.

“Well, there you guys are,” Mrs. Henning greeted. “I was wondering if you two got lost. Do you think you managed to find enough excitement for the day?”

“Yeah,” the three replied in unison.

“So,” Mrs. Henning pressed with some hesitation. “What exactly happened out there today?”

“Well,” Wayne began. “As it turns out, there was bees in that hole.”

Combine Training Day

“So, this is the steering wheel, Scotty,” Dale explained with mock seriousness to his second son. 

“Thanks Dad,” the teenager replied with a smile on his face.

Scott looked through the slanted, glass window as five rows of corn were being pulled, simultaneously, stalk by stalk, into the broad corn head of the old Allis Chalmers Gleaner model K Combine. The movement of the stalks was somehow both fluid and jerky, both violent and mesmerizing. The teenager's eyes locked onto the pointed paddle housing of the center corn head as the paddles guided each stock into the cutting bar. He glanced through the rear window at the crumpled ear-less stalks that were left behind. From his vantage point, beside the driver seat and just inside the open cab door, he had an exhilarating view of the complex machinery at work. 

It was harvesting time. The rolling hills of the one hundred acre, family farm were covered with crops of various colors ranging from the vibrant green of the distant alfalfa fields to the grayish brown of the adjacent soy bean field to the golden tan of the corn field surrounding the two Hennings. Scott loved harvest time. There was so much to do and so much heavy equipment with which to do it.

Caleb, Scott's older brother, had just gone off to his freshman year of collage. This meant that Scott, who had up to this point been allowed to avoid a fair amount of the farm responsibility, had to step up. Scott had then endured a veritable crash course in farm equipment operations ranging from the big 1486 International Harvester tractor to the broad headed, New Holland hay-bine. Today, it was combine training day. 

Butterflies danced in the teenagers stomach as he anticipated his turn to operate the heavy piece of equipment. He loved riding shotgun with his dad, but there was something about have his own foot on the clutch that made him feel important.

“Okay,” Dale nodded. “Switch with me, it's your turn.”

With the gleaner still in full harvesting operations, the elder Henning pushed himself up from the padded seat. He kept one hand on the steering wheel and braced himself on the cab wall behind his son's back. Scott slipped into the seat and took the reigns as his father relinquished them. He grasp the steering wheel with both hands and addressed his father.

“How do I stop this thing if I need to?”

Not hearing a response, the amateur operator looked to his left and found, much to his horror that he was very much alone. His father and teacher had apparently abandoned him with only a cursory knowledge of combine operations. Scott looked around frantically for any signs of his missing instructor. Within a few seconds, the teenager's mind was inundated with frantic questions.

“How do I stop this thing? Is dad okay? How do I slow down? What if it pops out of gear and freewheels down the hill? What should I run into to make it stop?” 

All this took place in a matter of a few seconds. Scott jerked his head between the left cab window and open door and the corn head in front of him. He finally caught a glimpse of his dad rolling down the grassy water way directly to the left of the moving combine. He waited on bated breath until Dale pushed himself to his feet and jogged towards the amateurishly piloted vehicle. Scott heaved a sigh of relief as his teacher climbed up the ladder and entered the cab, slightly out of breath.

“Whew,” Dale exhaled with a slight grin on his face. “I lost my footing and took a tumble. How'd you do while I was gone?”

“Well,” Scott replied with some hesitation. “I guess I didn't crash. I would really love to know how to stop this thing, you know, just in case you decide to leave again.”

The two Hennings shared a laugh and the lessons continued for the rest of the afternoon without incident.

From the Hive to the Honey Jar

Richard Henning rolled his two wheeled, flat bottom garden cart into the garage. The cart was made mostly out of wood and had uses that extended far beyond the garden. In addition to its garden duties, it also occasionally filled the role of fruit hauler, firewood hauler, and grandkid hauler. On this particular day it was a bee hive hauler. 

The Henning children hung back a little as the cart bearing four plain white boxes rolled into the garage. The bottomless boxes usually presented an excellent motivation to stay away as they typically contained hundreds of black and yellow insects which, despite their fuzzy appearance, were anything but cuddly.

“What are you guys so afraid of?” Richard inquired of his grand kids.

“Well,” Scott volunteered. “Bees sting.”

A chorus of “yeahs” punctuated the youngster's obvious statement.

“So?” their grandpa countered. “You've all been stung before. None of you died.”

There were eight grandchildren in attendance. They looked at each other and collectively shrugged their shoulders. Richard removed a slat from the hive. The eight inch by two foot slat was covered in wax capped hexagonal cells that were filled with honey. He carried it over to a square wash tub just a couple of inches smaller than the table upon which it sat. A small board spanned the distance across the top of the wash tub. Richard stood the comb on an inverted nail in the center of the board and reached for a knife to his right. The knife wasn't a normal knife. In was an electric heat knife. A heating element ran through the blade of the knife, keeping it hot enough to easily melt the caps on the combs. 

The children watched on bated breath as their grandfather ran the knife down the length of the come with practiced precision. The knife passed cleanly just below the surface of the wax cell caps causing them to curl over the back of the knife in a sheet, leaving the honey filled cells exposed. He turned the comb around and capped the other side. After the comb was completely capped, he set the knife down and carried the comb over to the extractor. The extractor was a galvanized barrel with several grated slots just wide enough for the combs.

As soon as their grandfather evacuated his post next to the wash tub, the grand children rushed to each grab a hand full of the honey soaked beeswax. They shoved the chunks of wax into their mouths and sighed with delight as the sweet nectar coated their tongues. Their lips smacked as they chewed the sweet, golden substance. Richard turned from the galvanized barrel of the honey extractor. He paused as he looked at his grandkids gathered around the wax tub, all chewing greedily. He shook his head and addressed the group.

“Be careful,” he warned in his calm, tenor voice. “If you eat too much honey, you'll get a tummy ache.” He paused as the group of youngsters looked around apprehensively for peer confirmation. “Don't take my word for it,” Richard continued. “It's in the Bible. In proverbs. Chapter twenty-five, verse sixteen I believe.” 

He smiled as he pulled another comb from the hive, capped it, and placed it in the extractor. The children hung back, resisting the temptation to partake in a second helping of the honey laden wax, lest they be filled therewith and vomit (Richard was an avid reader of The King James Version of the Bible). After a few minutes, the extractor was full and Richard was looking for a volunteer.

“Alrighty then,” he ventured. “Who wants to crank?”

Samuel, the oldest of the Jonathan cousins stepped forward. Richard pointed out the hand crank mounted to the top of the barrel and Sam got to work. As he cranked, the cage inside the barrel began to spin. The centripetal force propelled the honey from the comb against the inside wall of the barrel where it drained to the bottom. After a few moments, Sam stopped the spinning so that the combs could be reversed and the other side drained.

Meanwhile, Caleb, who was the oldest of the Dale cousins and Scott's brother, approached his grandfather with some apprehension.

“Do you think I could try the hot knife, grandpa?” he asked tentatively.

“Well,” Richard began slowly as was his habit. “I suppose it wouldn't do any harm to let you give it a try.”

Richard extended his right hand towards his grandson in invitation. Caleb made his way over to his grandpa and stood in front of the wax basin. Richard stood behind him and placed his left hand on the upper end of the honey comb. He directed Caleb to pick up the hot knife, warning him to be careful not to touch the blade. Richard placed his right hand over his grandson's knife hand and his left over Calebs comb hand. The elder Hennings well worn hands completely encased the youngers hands. Caleb could feel the roughness of his grandpas callouses against the back and the knuckles of his own hand as Richard gently guided Caleb through the process. With the comb successfully capped, Richard placed it in the extractor and pointed to the hive.

“Well,” he said suggestively. “Grab yourself another one and give it a shot on your own.” 

Caleb grinned broadly as he approached the hive. He returned to the wax basin, comb in hand and excitedly began his work. He carefully ran the knife down the length of the comb. Without his grandfathers guideline, his hand lacked steadiness. The knife waved in and out leaving some cells covered and cutting far below the surface on others.

“I'm not sure you were ready to try that on your own, bro,” Scott assessed as Benjamin nodded in agreement. “That thing is waving like the ocean, or something.”

“You'll get the hang of it, Caleb,” Richard encouraged, ignoring Scott's critique. “Just cap that section you missed and keep going. There's plenty of practice to be had.”

Caleb smiled as he flipped the comb over and showed marked improvement with the other side. 

“Grandpa,” Kelsey approached. “Is it okay if us girls go play outside? We're kinda bored.”

“I suppose that'll be alright,” Richard responded.

Kelsey, Kerry, and Joanna each grabbed a chunk of wax for the road, expressing intense satisfaction at the increased honey saturation due to Caleb's inexperience, and made their way outside. Caleb, Scott, Samuel, Luke, and Ben stayed with their grandpa, close to the honey drenched wax as they continued their work. 

“Grandpa,” Ben said with confusion in his voice as he struggled to crank the extractor handle. “This thing is getting hard to turn. What's wrong with it?

“Well,” Richard mused. “I believe there is too much honey in the barrel. It's probably up to the comb cage by now. Let me grab a bucket.”

He reach over Luke to an upper shelf and grabbed a clean white five gallon bucket. He set the bucket on the concrete floor underneath the extractor spout and opened a gate valve. A thick stream of amber honey poured from the spout, into the bucket. The boys gasped slightly as they watched, memorized by the thick liquid.

“That's a lot of honey,” Luke stated with a certainty that screamed experience.

“Well duh,” Caleb confirmed with a more than a little sarcasm. “And we're not even done yet.”

“Are we going to put it in jars now?” Samuel inquired as the honey reached the top of the bucket and Richard closed off the valve. 

“No,” Richard replied as he snapped a lid over the top of the bucket. “Grandma and I will do that later. We'll just fill up these bucket until we're done so that we can keep our momentum going.”

The boys nodded in agreement even though they didn't all know what momentum was. They carried on their work until Kelsey opened the man door.

“Hey,” she said with borrowed authority. “Grandma says it's time to get everything cleaned up for supper. The apple dumplings will be dine in thirty minutes.”

“Okie dokie,” Richard responded as he turned to his underage honey extracting crew. “We did good today, boys.”