Jerry D Young
03-24-2009, 12:46 AM
An Old Man And His Tractor - Chapter 1
Tom DeMassey was sixty-seven years old when he decided one day he might as well retire and sell off the farm. His children had no interest in running it. He’d had them young, with his wife Mary. They were up there in years themselves, and had successful careers. Each would be able to retire shortly after their fiftieth birthday.
Poor Mary was long ago dead, a victim of breast cancer at thirty-five. He’d never remarried. Mary had been his high-school sweetheart, and the only woman he knew he could ever love.
So with two experienced farm hands and a housekeeper for the kids, he’d gone along with his life to this point. Tom took the farm pickup work truck into town. It didn’t take long to list the farm with a real estate broker. He’d sell all but fifteen acres, on which he intended to live out the rest of his life. The house, machine shed and shop, and all the modern farm equipment would be included.
Tom celebrated by driving on down to the city, to have a shrimp cocktail, filet mignon and lobster tail, a glass of champagne, and Strawberries Romanoff for desert. He drove home feeling half his age. Change could be good. He hadn’t had a major change in his life since the last of his three children left home to go to college.
After his shower, Tom went to bed and slept better than he had in years. The next morning it didn’t take him long to stake out the fifteen acres he intended to keep. It was the highest corner of the three-hundred-twenty acre half section of land that had been in the family for three generations, plus it was where the well established fruit and nut tree orchard was located, along with very productive grape vines.
Tom felt no qualms about selling the farm off. His grandfather had bought it in the depression for a song. It was a working investment, nothing more. Up until right now, it had been better to work the acreage than sell it. But it was time to sell and Tom knew it.
Whistling softly to himself, Tom hammered in a few more stakes, marking out various pieces of the acreage for the uses he intended for them. Tom wasn’t quite as quick on his feet as he had been, but his mind was as sharp as ever and he quickly decided just what he was going to do.
It took a while to move the 1929 Pontiac pickup, 1925 Mack 5-ton flatbed, and the 1929 John Deere GP-Tricycle tractor. All three were kept in a ready-to-use state. They’d been on the property when his grandfather bought the place and none of the DeMasseys since had seen fit to get rid of them. After all, why sell something that still works just fine, with the help of a good machine shop and a blacksmith.
Besides, they were a real curiosity when Tom and his farm hands drove them in various parades during the year. All three had been converted by his grandfather to wood-gas operation during World War II, when fuel was hard to get. The government had made plans available and Dwayne DeMassey had taken advantage of them. When fuel became available again after the war the vehicles were stored, and in the sixties cleaned up and began their tours of duty at parades.
The three vehicles were the only three known operational wood-gas vehicles in the state and had been written up several times in various mechanic magazines and even a couple of “Green” publications.
It took a bit of time to get the wood fires burning to the point it was producing gas, but once done, the vehicles would run until you let the fire go out. In the back of his mind, Tom felt they might just come in handy one day.
Going back to the farm house, Tom got on the computer and did a bit of research. Though he liked a lot of old things, as demonstrated by his keeping and use of the wood-gas fire vehicles, he was something of a fanatic for the technological advances made since World War II, the main one being the modern computer and internet.
It didn’t take him long to find what he was looking for. He’d become quite adept at browsing for information. Tom printed off a few pages from different websites and then took it easy the rest of the day, continuing to plan things in his head.
Sunday was much like Saturday. More thinking and more research on the internet. Monday morning found Tom at the diner, as usual, a cup of coffee in hand, talking to the other farmers during their traditional morning coffee klatch. The main topic of conversation, after the weather and crop prices, was Tom’s decision to sell the farm, which he announced calmly when he had the chance.
There were many eager eyes, looking at Tom, and around at what was suddenly the competition. Tom and his farm were well known in the area, and somewhat envied. There would be no lack of potential buyers for it.
His grandfather, and then his father, had done two things that made the farm so profitable for its size. Extensive crop storage, and then seed and fertilizer storage, and finally fuel storage had been added to the farm in the early days. Later on, several irrigation wells had been drilled and irrigation equipment obtained.
The storage allowed Tom to buy his seed, fertilizer, chemicals, fuel and all the other working consumables in the off season, when prices were low. And the product storage allowed Tom to do his harvest, and then hold the products until the glut on the market was over, with its low buying prices, and then sell in the off season when the markets were highest.
And with the irrigation systems, Tom never had a “dry” year. To a slightly lesser extent, the grading of all the crop fields done under Tom’s stint as owner, kept “wet” year problems to a minimum because the fields would drain and dry to the proper moisture level for maximum germination of the seed quickly.
Dwayne DeMassey, nor his son, Tom’s father, Frank, had ever been a keep up with the Jones type of person. They did what they wanted, without much concern over what other people thought. Just like keeping the old vehicles around, what new equipment that was bought was purchased with economy and longevity in mind, not just trying to have the newest and the fanciest.
Also like his father and grandfather, Tom operated the farm on a cash basis. He didn’t need the massive loans every year to get a crop in and then harvested that many farmers took. With the farm set up the way it was, and the family’s economic savvy, Tom had no trouble buying what he needed, usually when the prices were at their lowest, and pay for it by writing a check on the farm account, or pulling money from the savings account set up to pay for future equipment purchases and farm improvements.
Whoever got the DeMassey Farm was going to get a bargain, no matter how high the price was. When the coffee klatch broke up, earlier than usual, the other farmers scattered, some headed for the real estate office, and some for their bank, to inquire about funding to buy the farm.
Whistling softly, Tom went out to the farm truck and headed back home. His hands already had things up and going, ready to cultivate the row crops. Tom handed over the coffee and donuts he brought and they took a break to discuss what was to be done that day, besides the scheduled cultivation.
Tom also told the two men about his decision to sell. Neither man felt a qualm. They were two of the best hired farm hands in the country and knew the operation and equipment inside and out. They wouldn’t have any problem getting work, even if the new owner let them go.
With the day planned out, Tom went into the house and got on the telephone, calling several of the places he’d researched on the internet that weekend. By noon, major operations were in the early stages of implementation. Tom didn’t have to wait for the sale of the farm to start his new life on the fifteen acres. He’d pay as he went with what he had and replenish the funds with the money from the sale, when it finalized.
He was interrupted three times by other farmers wanting to talk to him about buying the farm. He referred them all to the real estate agent. He was going to handle the sale. Tom didn’t want the hassles of friends wanting special breaks. He’d set the price he wanted, and whoever paid it, got the farm. No special deals and no favors given.
Tom was glad he set it up the way he did, for John Stevenson called the next day and told him that he needed to raise the price dramatically. Four people had already offered more than Tom was asking. “Okay, John. Get what the market will bear, and caveat emptor.”
A month later the money went into escrow, and Phil Phillips took over the farm when the sale closed. “Aren’t you going to take the things from the house?” Phil asked Tom when Tom met him and handed over the keys to the place.
“Got what I want moved and stored until I get my new place. In the mean time I’ll be living in that.” Tom pointed to the Class A motor home just pulling into the driveway. It was towing a small SUV.
“Thanks for the sale, Phil. You should do good here. I know we did.” With that, Tom walked over to and entered the motor home. The man driving pulled around the circle drive and went back onto the county road, with Tom in the front passenger seat.
Phil shook his head and then turned to the two hired hands. “Okay. Let’s get to work.”
Tom directed the delivery driver where to turn. The county had put in, over several objections, a pair of culverts in the deep drainage ditch that ran alongside the short side of the fifteen acres.
“Here?” asked the driver. “You sure? There ain’t nuten’ here.”
“I’m sure,” Tom replied with a smile. That emptiness would soon change, though not by as much as one might think, considering Tom’s plans. Always comfortable with money, both hanging on to it and spending it when he wanted, Tom’s spending plan, though large, was well thought out and would result in another showcase place. Not a farm, but still a showcase.
The driver pulled around and parked where Tom indicated. He reached down and picked up the microphone of the Cobra 148 GTL CB radio. It took a moment, but he finally contacted his return ride. They’d lost her twenty miles back, but had been in contact the entire time. She was only fifteen minutes behind.
The driver helped Tom unhitch the SUV from the motor home. It wasn’t termed that when it was built in 1986. The GMC Jimmy fired right up and Tom reached down and pulled the cable control on first the rear driveline disconnect and then on the front one. He drove around a bit to make sure everything was working as it should. Tom had asked for the driveline disconnects to be installed on the Jimmy when he bought it over the internet, so it could be towed at speed by the motor home.
The return vehicle, huge one-ton Dodge dually pickup that made the Jimmy look like a toy pulled in beside the motor home and the delivery driver got in. Tom waved as the woman drove away, with the delivery driver in the passenger seat.
Tom went into the refurbished GMC 26’ motor home and looked it over in detail. When he was investigating motor homes on the internet he’d run across the several GMC motor home sites and decided that new wasn’t necessarily better. And he remembered seeing them so many years ago. A bit of nostalgia convinced him to look for one, despite the age.
It had taken a while, but Tom lucked onto just what he was looking for. It was a 1973 deluxe model, basically. The engine, drive train, and body were rebuilt to original standards and a custom interior installed, with a custom exterior paint scheme.
What sold Tom on the particular machine was that it was for sale, and it was set up for one person, long road trips. It would do nicely for his retirement, Tom decided, both as temporary residence while his new house was built, and for the occasional trip when the house was finished.
“Might even go see the kids,” Tom thought as he stepped back outside. Looking at the Jimmy, and then the motor home again, Tom suddenly realized a factor that he hadn’t thought about consciously, but had probably entered into his decision to buy older models. They were non-electronic engines. Not the most powerful, nor the most efficient, compared to new computer controlled systems, but they could be kept running no matter what. Even an EMP.
EMP was something new to him. He’d run across it once while just randomly browsing the internet. That led him to several survival and prep sites. He’d read avidly at the time, and now realized that much of that prep information was part of his natural life style, and was part of the reasons he was making the choices he was making. He smiled suddenly. So be it. He was a prepper whether he wanted to be or not.
The refurbishing of the GMC motor home included state of the art electronics for everything except the drive engine and the generator engine and their controls. The GMC was wired for high speed WiFi internet access, plus had a dual purpose small dish satellite system for both TV and high speed internet.
After a trip to town in the Jimmy to his rental storage room, Tom got on his laptop after deploying the satellite antenna and making a couple of telephone calls on his cellular phone. He had internet. With preps in mind, Tom began to review the decisions he’d made. “Well. That’s good, then,” he said after a while. Everything he’d already decided upon was practically suited for a new to the term prepper. He’d only need to add a few things. He wouldn’t really need to change anything of the basic plan.
He showed up in the Jimmy for the coffee klatch the next morning, drawing some long looks. “Hey, Tom, did you take a low ball offer?” It was Mace Jenkins. He’d wanted the farm in the worst way and his had been one of the early offers.
“Nope. Got my full price,” Tom replied.
“Then what’s with the old Jimmy. I know you didn’t get a new rig every year, but you usually had something from the same century. Well, except for your parade stuff.”
Tom smiled again. “I’m old. I like old things.”
There was some discussion, but everyone took Tom at his word. It wasn’t like he hadn’t done similar things in the past.
Tom continued to attend the morning meetings for a while, until the work started on his fifteen acres. When a Tom plan comes together, it comes together with a vengeance. Seven different contractors showed up one Monday, with their respective equipment. There was more than a bit of confusion, not to mention a touch of heated discussion among what were often competitors for the same work.
“If you contacted us all just to get one of us out here…” said one of the contractors.
It was the beginning of a threat of some kind, Tom knew, but he cut the man off. “Of course not. Each of your companies has a distinct job to do. I want it done fast, so there will be several projects going on at once.
Tom took all of the foremen with him around the property and pointed out what he wanted each one to do, and explained what each of the others would be doing at the same time. Everyone cooled down and the crews were soon at work. Just before noon, a chemical toilet company showed up and dropped off three porta-potties for the crews to use.
As the first of two wells was being drilled, the foundation was being dug for the earth sheltered concrete dome home that would be installed. At the same time, a large pond was being excavated, the earth removed to be used to shelter the dome and other buildings. The pond would be kept full with one of the wells, and well stocked with fish.
Another contractor was installing a large conventional septic system, while another was installing a smaller one not too far away. A small time contractor was preparing the ground for the three outbuildings Tom wanted. They too would be earth sheltered domes, but would not have basements like the house would.
Portions of fences were going up, leaving working space for the other projects. The rest of the fences would be installed at a later stage, but Tom wanted everything done as quickly as possible. His newly realized prepper standing, and subsequent perusal of news other than just farm related news, and the headlines on the major networks, had put an urgency even greater than his natural one on getting the project completed.
The fifteen acres, excluding the existing orchard portion, was abuzz with activity for over three months. But before Thanksgiving rolled around, the final touches were put on the final projects and Tom has his new prep homestead. The rental generator that provided power for the construction phase was shut down and the rental company truck towed it to the city. Tom flipped a switch and smiled. The solar PV system and the wind powered generator had the batteries charged and he had his off grid power system going.
The property was at the back end of the farm, completely surrounded by other farms. The county road did go past it, but the gravel road saw very little traffic, serving only the surrounding farms for the most part.
That suited Tom just fine. Had even been part of the decision. Only a small handful of people had seen the construction going on, though many knew about it. With various contractors doing different portions of the work, no one single person knew everything about what was done, except for Tom himself.
One of the people that had a bit more information than the rest was the young farmer and his wife that had eighty acres on the opposite side of the road, down a quarter of a mile from Tom. Glen Masterson made extra money doing custom cabinetry. Tom had hired him to do the cabinets in the house and the storage units in the other buildings.
He’d known Glen from the coffee klatch, and other farming related gatherings and knew he needed the work. When Glen showed him a few examples, Tom agreed to hire him. He trusted him enough to build the major portions of a few things that Tom said he’d finish himself.
Glen was an astute young man and offered up a couple of suggestions for hidden latches and such, surprising Tom no end. He thought he’d been very clever not letting on what he was doing with some of the wood work and cabinetry.
“So you figured it out,” Tom said.
“Kinda of obvious, to me, anyway. I doubt anyone else would ever figure them out, without having done the work I did. And you needn’t worry. I’ve build a few hidden compartments for other people that wanted a safe place to store something they didn’t want on public display. I don’t discuss them, and I won’t discuss yours.”
“Very well. Go ahead and finish up the process.”
Glen nodded and said, “Thank you. I really need the work. Things are tough right now.”
Tom knew it intellectually, but since he’d been insulated from much of those tough times by his personal economic policies, he hadn’t really had it hit home. But he took a good look at Glen. The young man had lost weight. And he wasn’t that big of a man to start with.
As Glen began to work again, Tom leaned against a door frame and began to talk farming. Glen seemed to be trying his best, but he admitted that things just weren’t working for him. Besides his own cabinetry business, his wife, Elaine, was trying to get all the house cleaning jobs she could.
Glen suddenly looked over at Tom. “I wasn’t… I’m not… trying to drum up business. I shouldn’t be talking like this, anyway.”
“Don’t worry about it. I don’t hire anyone I don’t want to. I’m a believer that people are responsible for their own actions and should suffer the consequences of them.”
Glen turned red, but went back to work without responding. When the job was finished a few days later, Tom, as casually as he was able, inquired about Elaine’s prices for house cleaning.
“Tom, you don’t have to. I shouldn’t have said anything,” Glen protested.
“I had a cleaning lady at the farm. She’s too busy to take on this place. I need someone I can trust. And I’ve come to trust you.”
“Oh. Well. I’ll bring her around and let her take a look. I don’t have any idea how she prices the work.”
“You do that.”
With the much smaller accommodations of the new dome home, versus the old rambling farm house, Tom knew he could take care of it himself. He just suddenly didn’t want to. Better to have it done, and lend a hand to someone that deserved it.
It wouldn’t have mattered much to Tom what the rate was, he would have hired Elaine anyway. But it was a good price, Tom knew. That was when he added a few things to what he might want done. Such as help with picking and canning fruit from the orchard and the new berry patches he’d put in, as well from the garden he would be growing the next year, plus what the four greenhouses would produce. He’d need some help in the green houses, too, he decided.
“Oh, my, Mr. DeMassey! I’m not sure I could do all that by myself! Especially now that I’m pregnant.”
“I see. Why don’t you talk it over with Glen and see what he says. Maybe he’d want to help. Or you could hire a helper for the heavy work. Someone we could both trust. I really don’t want to overdo it. I’m going to need the help. And call me Tom.”
“Well… Tom…” Elaine was looking at him thoughtfully. “We could sure use the work… I’ll talk to Glen and see what he says.”
“Good.” With that, Tom showed Elaine out, and watched her get into the old car she drove. Unlike Tom’s vintage vehicles, the car was not in that great of shape. Neither was the Dodge pickup that Glen used, Tom remembered.
Two days later Glen called and asked if he and Elaine could meet with Tom. Tom agreed, feeling the undertone of urgency in Glen’s voice. When they showed up, Tom immediately saw that Elaine was not feeling well. She was pale as a ghost and hung onto Glen’s arm for support.
“Mr. DeMassey… Tom,” Glen said, helping Elaine to a chair in the small living room of the dome home. “I’m afraid that Elaine isn’t going to be able to do the work for you. I’ll be glad to lend a hand whenever you need something done you don’t want to do yourself.”
“What’s wrong? Are you all right, Elaine?” Tom asked.
She nodded. “Just a bit of trouble with the baby.”
Tom looked at Glen sternly. “Has she been in to see the doctor?”
“We just can’t afford it. I’ll take her to the clinic if things…”
“Get worse?” Tom asked. “I think they just did.”
Elaine had bent over in pain. Glen jumped up. “I have to get her to the clinic…”
“Stay calm,” Tom said. He was already dialing 911. “The ambulance crew is top notch,” he said to the couple. “They’ll be here before we can get you to the clinic. Or emergency room.”
Glen paled slightly at the mention of the emergency room. Where was the money going to come from? But he didn’t protest. He couldn’t stand to see Elaine in pain. And it was risking the baby they’d been trying for since they’d married three years before.
Tom was right about the ambulance crew. They made it there quick and they were good. Two worked on Elaine, now lying on the floor, while the third talked to Glen. When insurance was mentioned, Tom spoke up before Glen could.
“My insurance will cover it. She works for me as cleaning lady and kitchen help.”
“But…” was all Glen got out of his mouth before a sharp look from Tom shut him up. He watched as Tom gave the paramedic the insurance information. Glen was pretty sure that the insurance wouldn’t cover Elaine, but he wasn’t going to argue. Elaine needed help, now, and Tom was making that possible.
Glen rode in the ambulance with Elaine and Tom followed in the Jimmy. Elaine was immediately checked into the hospital from the emergency room. Tom made a beeline to the admissions desk to forestall any problems about money for the treatment.
“Sir, your insurance will not cover…”
“I know. I know. I just wanted her in here as quickly as possible. They don’t have medical insurance and Elaine will be working for me when she can. I’ll guarantee the payment. Do everything you can to let them think the insurance is covering it.”
The clerk didn’t like it, but Tom pulled out his debit card and handed it to her. “Put the initial charges on this. I think you’ll find it adequate.”
“Very well. This is irregular, but as long as you make payment, we’ll be happy.”
“Don’t worry. I’m good for it,” Tom said and then hurried back to be with Glen. He was beside himself. Elaine had not even been taken to a room. She’d gone immediately into surgery.
“What am I going to do? This is all my fault. I just couldn’t provide…”
“Take it easy, Glen. She and the baby will be all right. I can feel it,” Tom said gently. He went to get Glen some coffee and found him talking to a doctor when he returned.
Glen began to smile. He turned to Tom eagerly and said, “It’s minor, after all that. But it could have been serious if we hadn’t brought her in. Thank you, Tom.”
“It’s okay. Can’t have my new hired hands marking time in a hospital.”
“Hired hands?” Glen asked. “We can’t…”
“Sure you can. We’ll work out the details later. You just go see about Elaine and don’t worry about finances right now.”
“But…”
“Go!”
Glen nodded and followed the doctor down the hall.
Three days later Elaine and Glen were again at Tom’s place. Elaine and Glen both looked much better than they had that afternoon at the hospital. “Tom,” Glen said, with Elaine holding his arm, “We don’t know how to thank you. Or repay you.”
Tom shrugged. “You can both work for me, for a fair wage, when I need help. That’s all I ask in return for lending a hand when you need it.”
“Elaine can’t do much right now, and I’m still trying to get the soybeans out. My old combine isn’t working right now and I don’t have the money to fix it or hire the beans harvested.”
“Sit down. I have a proposition for you,” Tom said.
“We can’t take any more charity,” Elaine said quickly.
“It’s not charity. Don’t believe in it. Lending a hand, that gets passed on down the line or even returned in kind is what I believe in. Now, I’ve got this place much like I want it. But I’m a crop farmer. Don’t know anything about raising cattle, pigs, or even chickens. Glen, you mentioned your degree was in animal husbandry. Yet you don’t raise any stock.”
“Again, reality raises its ugly head. It’s a lack of money. I’d like to turn the farm into a stock farm, growing my own feed, rather than raising commercial crops. But everything is so expensive… I’m barely keeping our heads above water doing what I’m doing.”
“Well, for a guaranteed return in fresh meat and dairy products, I’m willing to lend a hand, if the two of you would consider converting to stock, the way you want to.”
“You can buy all the meat and dairy you want,” Glen said. “Why would you want to go to all the trouble of helping start a stock farm, right after you’ve retired?”
“I’ll let you in on a little secret,” Tom said, dropping his voice a bit and leaning forward conspiratorially.
The two looked at him curiously as he continued. “I think that commercial sources of food are going to be very difficult to get in the near future. Just watch the news. Not just main stream media, but alternative news sources, too.
“Farmers are running into trouble already getting the supplies they need, at a price they can afford…”
“Tell me about it,” Glen snorted. Elaine hushed him.
“There are too many farms that are literally running on a shoestring, despite being huge operations. My small farm was very profitable, but that’s because decisions were made a long time ago about how it would be run. And when it came my turn to operate it, I based my operation on the same sound principles.
“But between weather, legislated restrictions, bad decisions, and a variety of other reasons, food production in this country is going to be way behind the curve on what is needed. I’m old and getting lazy. I don’t want to worry about where my next meal comes from. Not because I can’t afford it, I surely can, but that is if it is available. I want to be sure quality protein is available to me, and a few others, no matter what happens in the coming years.
“I’m willing to invest in you in return for that guaranteed return in food I mentioned.”
“Sounds too simple to be doable,” Glen said.
Copyright 2009
Tom DeMassey was sixty-seven years old when he decided one day he might as well retire and sell off the farm. His children had no interest in running it. He’d had them young, with his wife Mary. They were up there in years themselves, and had successful careers. Each would be able to retire shortly after their fiftieth birthday.
Poor Mary was long ago dead, a victim of breast cancer at thirty-five. He’d never remarried. Mary had been his high-school sweetheart, and the only woman he knew he could ever love.
So with two experienced farm hands and a housekeeper for the kids, he’d gone along with his life to this point. Tom took the farm pickup work truck into town. It didn’t take long to list the farm with a real estate broker. He’d sell all but fifteen acres, on which he intended to live out the rest of his life. The house, machine shed and shop, and all the modern farm equipment would be included.
Tom celebrated by driving on down to the city, to have a shrimp cocktail, filet mignon and lobster tail, a glass of champagne, and Strawberries Romanoff for desert. He drove home feeling half his age. Change could be good. He hadn’t had a major change in his life since the last of his three children left home to go to college.
After his shower, Tom went to bed and slept better than he had in years. The next morning it didn’t take him long to stake out the fifteen acres he intended to keep. It was the highest corner of the three-hundred-twenty acre half section of land that had been in the family for three generations, plus it was where the well established fruit and nut tree orchard was located, along with very productive grape vines.
Tom felt no qualms about selling the farm off. His grandfather had bought it in the depression for a song. It was a working investment, nothing more. Up until right now, it had been better to work the acreage than sell it. But it was time to sell and Tom knew it.
Whistling softly to himself, Tom hammered in a few more stakes, marking out various pieces of the acreage for the uses he intended for them. Tom wasn’t quite as quick on his feet as he had been, but his mind was as sharp as ever and he quickly decided just what he was going to do.
It took a while to move the 1929 Pontiac pickup, 1925 Mack 5-ton flatbed, and the 1929 John Deere GP-Tricycle tractor. All three were kept in a ready-to-use state. They’d been on the property when his grandfather bought the place and none of the DeMasseys since had seen fit to get rid of them. After all, why sell something that still works just fine, with the help of a good machine shop and a blacksmith.
Besides, they were a real curiosity when Tom and his farm hands drove them in various parades during the year. All three had been converted by his grandfather to wood-gas operation during World War II, when fuel was hard to get. The government had made plans available and Dwayne DeMassey had taken advantage of them. When fuel became available again after the war the vehicles were stored, and in the sixties cleaned up and began their tours of duty at parades.
The three vehicles were the only three known operational wood-gas vehicles in the state and had been written up several times in various mechanic magazines and even a couple of “Green” publications.
It took a bit of time to get the wood fires burning to the point it was producing gas, but once done, the vehicles would run until you let the fire go out. In the back of his mind, Tom felt they might just come in handy one day.
Going back to the farm house, Tom got on the computer and did a bit of research. Though he liked a lot of old things, as demonstrated by his keeping and use of the wood-gas fire vehicles, he was something of a fanatic for the technological advances made since World War II, the main one being the modern computer and internet.
It didn’t take him long to find what he was looking for. He’d become quite adept at browsing for information. Tom printed off a few pages from different websites and then took it easy the rest of the day, continuing to plan things in his head.
Sunday was much like Saturday. More thinking and more research on the internet. Monday morning found Tom at the diner, as usual, a cup of coffee in hand, talking to the other farmers during their traditional morning coffee klatch. The main topic of conversation, after the weather and crop prices, was Tom’s decision to sell the farm, which he announced calmly when he had the chance.
There were many eager eyes, looking at Tom, and around at what was suddenly the competition. Tom and his farm were well known in the area, and somewhat envied. There would be no lack of potential buyers for it.
His grandfather, and then his father, had done two things that made the farm so profitable for its size. Extensive crop storage, and then seed and fertilizer storage, and finally fuel storage had been added to the farm in the early days. Later on, several irrigation wells had been drilled and irrigation equipment obtained.
The storage allowed Tom to buy his seed, fertilizer, chemicals, fuel and all the other working consumables in the off season, when prices were low. And the product storage allowed Tom to do his harvest, and then hold the products until the glut on the market was over, with its low buying prices, and then sell in the off season when the markets were highest.
And with the irrigation systems, Tom never had a “dry” year. To a slightly lesser extent, the grading of all the crop fields done under Tom’s stint as owner, kept “wet” year problems to a minimum because the fields would drain and dry to the proper moisture level for maximum germination of the seed quickly.
Dwayne DeMassey, nor his son, Tom’s father, Frank, had ever been a keep up with the Jones type of person. They did what they wanted, without much concern over what other people thought. Just like keeping the old vehicles around, what new equipment that was bought was purchased with economy and longevity in mind, not just trying to have the newest and the fanciest.
Also like his father and grandfather, Tom operated the farm on a cash basis. He didn’t need the massive loans every year to get a crop in and then harvested that many farmers took. With the farm set up the way it was, and the family’s economic savvy, Tom had no trouble buying what he needed, usually when the prices were at their lowest, and pay for it by writing a check on the farm account, or pulling money from the savings account set up to pay for future equipment purchases and farm improvements.
Whoever got the DeMassey Farm was going to get a bargain, no matter how high the price was. When the coffee klatch broke up, earlier than usual, the other farmers scattered, some headed for the real estate office, and some for their bank, to inquire about funding to buy the farm.
Whistling softly, Tom went out to the farm truck and headed back home. His hands already had things up and going, ready to cultivate the row crops. Tom handed over the coffee and donuts he brought and they took a break to discuss what was to be done that day, besides the scheduled cultivation.
Tom also told the two men about his decision to sell. Neither man felt a qualm. They were two of the best hired farm hands in the country and knew the operation and equipment inside and out. They wouldn’t have any problem getting work, even if the new owner let them go.
With the day planned out, Tom went into the house and got on the telephone, calling several of the places he’d researched on the internet that weekend. By noon, major operations were in the early stages of implementation. Tom didn’t have to wait for the sale of the farm to start his new life on the fifteen acres. He’d pay as he went with what he had and replenish the funds with the money from the sale, when it finalized.
He was interrupted three times by other farmers wanting to talk to him about buying the farm. He referred them all to the real estate agent. He was going to handle the sale. Tom didn’t want the hassles of friends wanting special breaks. He’d set the price he wanted, and whoever paid it, got the farm. No special deals and no favors given.
Tom was glad he set it up the way he did, for John Stevenson called the next day and told him that he needed to raise the price dramatically. Four people had already offered more than Tom was asking. “Okay, John. Get what the market will bear, and caveat emptor.”
A month later the money went into escrow, and Phil Phillips took over the farm when the sale closed. “Aren’t you going to take the things from the house?” Phil asked Tom when Tom met him and handed over the keys to the place.
“Got what I want moved and stored until I get my new place. In the mean time I’ll be living in that.” Tom pointed to the Class A motor home just pulling into the driveway. It was towing a small SUV.
“Thanks for the sale, Phil. You should do good here. I know we did.” With that, Tom walked over to and entered the motor home. The man driving pulled around the circle drive and went back onto the county road, with Tom in the front passenger seat.
Phil shook his head and then turned to the two hired hands. “Okay. Let’s get to work.”
Tom directed the delivery driver where to turn. The county had put in, over several objections, a pair of culverts in the deep drainage ditch that ran alongside the short side of the fifteen acres.
“Here?” asked the driver. “You sure? There ain’t nuten’ here.”
“I’m sure,” Tom replied with a smile. That emptiness would soon change, though not by as much as one might think, considering Tom’s plans. Always comfortable with money, both hanging on to it and spending it when he wanted, Tom’s spending plan, though large, was well thought out and would result in another showcase place. Not a farm, but still a showcase.
The driver pulled around and parked where Tom indicated. He reached down and picked up the microphone of the Cobra 148 GTL CB radio. It took a moment, but he finally contacted his return ride. They’d lost her twenty miles back, but had been in contact the entire time. She was only fifteen minutes behind.
The driver helped Tom unhitch the SUV from the motor home. It wasn’t termed that when it was built in 1986. The GMC Jimmy fired right up and Tom reached down and pulled the cable control on first the rear driveline disconnect and then on the front one. He drove around a bit to make sure everything was working as it should. Tom had asked for the driveline disconnects to be installed on the Jimmy when he bought it over the internet, so it could be towed at speed by the motor home.
The return vehicle, huge one-ton Dodge dually pickup that made the Jimmy look like a toy pulled in beside the motor home and the delivery driver got in. Tom waved as the woman drove away, with the delivery driver in the passenger seat.
Tom went into the refurbished GMC 26’ motor home and looked it over in detail. When he was investigating motor homes on the internet he’d run across the several GMC motor home sites and decided that new wasn’t necessarily better. And he remembered seeing them so many years ago. A bit of nostalgia convinced him to look for one, despite the age.
It had taken a while, but Tom lucked onto just what he was looking for. It was a 1973 deluxe model, basically. The engine, drive train, and body were rebuilt to original standards and a custom interior installed, with a custom exterior paint scheme.
What sold Tom on the particular machine was that it was for sale, and it was set up for one person, long road trips. It would do nicely for his retirement, Tom decided, both as temporary residence while his new house was built, and for the occasional trip when the house was finished.
“Might even go see the kids,” Tom thought as he stepped back outside. Looking at the Jimmy, and then the motor home again, Tom suddenly realized a factor that he hadn’t thought about consciously, but had probably entered into his decision to buy older models. They were non-electronic engines. Not the most powerful, nor the most efficient, compared to new computer controlled systems, but they could be kept running no matter what. Even an EMP.
EMP was something new to him. He’d run across it once while just randomly browsing the internet. That led him to several survival and prep sites. He’d read avidly at the time, and now realized that much of that prep information was part of his natural life style, and was part of the reasons he was making the choices he was making. He smiled suddenly. So be it. He was a prepper whether he wanted to be or not.
The refurbishing of the GMC motor home included state of the art electronics for everything except the drive engine and the generator engine and their controls. The GMC was wired for high speed WiFi internet access, plus had a dual purpose small dish satellite system for both TV and high speed internet.
After a trip to town in the Jimmy to his rental storage room, Tom got on his laptop after deploying the satellite antenna and making a couple of telephone calls on his cellular phone. He had internet. With preps in mind, Tom began to review the decisions he’d made. “Well. That’s good, then,” he said after a while. Everything he’d already decided upon was practically suited for a new to the term prepper. He’d only need to add a few things. He wouldn’t really need to change anything of the basic plan.
He showed up in the Jimmy for the coffee klatch the next morning, drawing some long looks. “Hey, Tom, did you take a low ball offer?” It was Mace Jenkins. He’d wanted the farm in the worst way and his had been one of the early offers.
“Nope. Got my full price,” Tom replied.
“Then what’s with the old Jimmy. I know you didn’t get a new rig every year, but you usually had something from the same century. Well, except for your parade stuff.”
Tom smiled again. “I’m old. I like old things.”
There was some discussion, but everyone took Tom at his word. It wasn’t like he hadn’t done similar things in the past.
Tom continued to attend the morning meetings for a while, until the work started on his fifteen acres. When a Tom plan comes together, it comes together with a vengeance. Seven different contractors showed up one Monday, with their respective equipment. There was more than a bit of confusion, not to mention a touch of heated discussion among what were often competitors for the same work.
“If you contacted us all just to get one of us out here…” said one of the contractors.
It was the beginning of a threat of some kind, Tom knew, but he cut the man off. “Of course not. Each of your companies has a distinct job to do. I want it done fast, so there will be several projects going on at once.
Tom took all of the foremen with him around the property and pointed out what he wanted each one to do, and explained what each of the others would be doing at the same time. Everyone cooled down and the crews were soon at work. Just before noon, a chemical toilet company showed up and dropped off three porta-potties for the crews to use.
As the first of two wells was being drilled, the foundation was being dug for the earth sheltered concrete dome home that would be installed. At the same time, a large pond was being excavated, the earth removed to be used to shelter the dome and other buildings. The pond would be kept full with one of the wells, and well stocked with fish.
Another contractor was installing a large conventional septic system, while another was installing a smaller one not too far away. A small time contractor was preparing the ground for the three outbuildings Tom wanted. They too would be earth sheltered domes, but would not have basements like the house would.
Portions of fences were going up, leaving working space for the other projects. The rest of the fences would be installed at a later stage, but Tom wanted everything done as quickly as possible. His newly realized prepper standing, and subsequent perusal of news other than just farm related news, and the headlines on the major networks, had put an urgency even greater than his natural one on getting the project completed.
The fifteen acres, excluding the existing orchard portion, was abuzz with activity for over three months. But before Thanksgiving rolled around, the final touches were put on the final projects and Tom has his new prep homestead. The rental generator that provided power for the construction phase was shut down and the rental company truck towed it to the city. Tom flipped a switch and smiled. The solar PV system and the wind powered generator had the batteries charged and he had his off grid power system going.
The property was at the back end of the farm, completely surrounded by other farms. The county road did go past it, but the gravel road saw very little traffic, serving only the surrounding farms for the most part.
That suited Tom just fine. Had even been part of the decision. Only a small handful of people had seen the construction going on, though many knew about it. With various contractors doing different portions of the work, no one single person knew everything about what was done, except for Tom himself.
One of the people that had a bit more information than the rest was the young farmer and his wife that had eighty acres on the opposite side of the road, down a quarter of a mile from Tom. Glen Masterson made extra money doing custom cabinetry. Tom had hired him to do the cabinets in the house and the storage units in the other buildings.
He’d known Glen from the coffee klatch, and other farming related gatherings and knew he needed the work. When Glen showed him a few examples, Tom agreed to hire him. He trusted him enough to build the major portions of a few things that Tom said he’d finish himself.
Glen was an astute young man and offered up a couple of suggestions for hidden latches and such, surprising Tom no end. He thought he’d been very clever not letting on what he was doing with some of the wood work and cabinetry.
“So you figured it out,” Tom said.
“Kinda of obvious, to me, anyway. I doubt anyone else would ever figure them out, without having done the work I did. And you needn’t worry. I’ve build a few hidden compartments for other people that wanted a safe place to store something they didn’t want on public display. I don’t discuss them, and I won’t discuss yours.”
“Very well. Go ahead and finish up the process.”
Glen nodded and said, “Thank you. I really need the work. Things are tough right now.”
Tom knew it intellectually, but since he’d been insulated from much of those tough times by his personal economic policies, he hadn’t really had it hit home. But he took a good look at Glen. The young man had lost weight. And he wasn’t that big of a man to start with.
As Glen began to work again, Tom leaned against a door frame and began to talk farming. Glen seemed to be trying his best, but he admitted that things just weren’t working for him. Besides his own cabinetry business, his wife, Elaine, was trying to get all the house cleaning jobs she could.
Glen suddenly looked over at Tom. “I wasn’t… I’m not… trying to drum up business. I shouldn’t be talking like this, anyway.”
“Don’t worry about it. I don’t hire anyone I don’t want to. I’m a believer that people are responsible for their own actions and should suffer the consequences of them.”
Glen turned red, but went back to work without responding. When the job was finished a few days later, Tom, as casually as he was able, inquired about Elaine’s prices for house cleaning.
“Tom, you don’t have to. I shouldn’t have said anything,” Glen protested.
“I had a cleaning lady at the farm. She’s too busy to take on this place. I need someone I can trust. And I’ve come to trust you.”
“Oh. Well. I’ll bring her around and let her take a look. I don’t have any idea how she prices the work.”
“You do that.”
With the much smaller accommodations of the new dome home, versus the old rambling farm house, Tom knew he could take care of it himself. He just suddenly didn’t want to. Better to have it done, and lend a hand to someone that deserved it.
It wouldn’t have mattered much to Tom what the rate was, he would have hired Elaine anyway. But it was a good price, Tom knew. That was when he added a few things to what he might want done. Such as help with picking and canning fruit from the orchard and the new berry patches he’d put in, as well from the garden he would be growing the next year, plus what the four greenhouses would produce. He’d need some help in the green houses, too, he decided.
“Oh, my, Mr. DeMassey! I’m not sure I could do all that by myself! Especially now that I’m pregnant.”
“I see. Why don’t you talk it over with Glen and see what he says. Maybe he’d want to help. Or you could hire a helper for the heavy work. Someone we could both trust. I really don’t want to overdo it. I’m going to need the help. And call me Tom.”
“Well… Tom…” Elaine was looking at him thoughtfully. “We could sure use the work… I’ll talk to Glen and see what he says.”
“Good.” With that, Tom showed Elaine out, and watched her get into the old car she drove. Unlike Tom’s vintage vehicles, the car was not in that great of shape. Neither was the Dodge pickup that Glen used, Tom remembered.
Two days later Glen called and asked if he and Elaine could meet with Tom. Tom agreed, feeling the undertone of urgency in Glen’s voice. When they showed up, Tom immediately saw that Elaine was not feeling well. She was pale as a ghost and hung onto Glen’s arm for support.
“Mr. DeMassey… Tom,” Glen said, helping Elaine to a chair in the small living room of the dome home. “I’m afraid that Elaine isn’t going to be able to do the work for you. I’ll be glad to lend a hand whenever you need something done you don’t want to do yourself.”
“What’s wrong? Are you all right, Elaine?” Tom asked.
She nodded. “Just a bit of trouble with the baby.”
Tom looked at Glen sternly. “Has she been in to see the doctor?”
“We just can’t afford it. I’ll take her to the clinic if things…”
“Get worse?” Tom asked. “I think they just did.”
Elaine had bent over in pain. Glen jumped up. “I have to get her to the clinic…”
“Stay calm,” Tom said. He was already dialing 911. “The ambulance crew is top notch,” he said to the couple. “They’ll be here before we can get you to the clinic. Or emergency room.”
Glen paled slightly at the mention of the emergency room. Where was the money going to come from? But he didn’t protest. He couldn’t stand to see Elaine in pain. And it was risking the baby they’d been trying for since they’d married three years before.
Tom was right about the ambulance crew. They made it there quick and they were good. Two worked on Elaine, now lying on the floor, while the third talked to Glen. When insurance was mentioned, Tom spoke up before Glen could.
“My insurance will cover it. She works for me as cleaning lady and kitchen help.”
“But…” was all Glen got out of his mouth before a sharp look from Tom shut him up. He watched as Tom gave the paramedic the insurance information. Glen was pretty sure that the insurance wouldn’t cover Elaine, but he wasn’t going to argue. Elaine needed help, now, and Tom was making that possible.
Glen rode in the ambulance with Elaine and Tom followed in the Jimmy. Elaine was immediately checked into the hospital from the emergency room. Tom made a beeline to the admissions desk to forestall any problems about money for the treatment.
“Sir, your insurance will not cover…”
“I know. I know. I just wanted her in here as quickly as possible. They don’t have medical insurance and Elaine will be working for me when she can. I’ll guarantee the payment. Do everything you can to let them think the insurance is covering it.”
The clerk didn’t like it, but Tom pulled out his debit card and handed it to her. “Put the initial charges on this. I think you’ll find it adequate.”
“Very well. This is irregular, but as long as you make payment, we’ll be happy.”
“Don’t worry. I’m good for it,” Tom said and then hurried back to be with Glen. He was beside himself. Elaine had not even been taken to a room. She’d gone immediately into surgery.
“What am I going to do? This is all my fault. I just couldn’t provide…”
“Take it easy, Glen. She and the baby will be all right. I can feel it,” Tom said gently. He went to get Glen some coffee and found him talking to a doctor when he returned.
Glen began to smile. He turned to Tom eagerly and said, “It’s minor, after all that. But it could have been serious if we hadn’t brought her in. Thank you, Tom.”
“It’s okay. Can’t have my new hired hands marking time in a hospital.”
“Hired hands?” Glen asked. “We can’t…”
“Sure you can. We’ll work out the details later. You just go see about Elaine and don’t worry about finances right now.”
“But…”
“Go!”
Glen nodded and followed the doctor down the hall.
Three days later Elaine and Glen were again at Tom’s place. Elaine and Glen both looked much better than they had that afternoon at the hospital. “Tom,” Glen said, with Elaine holding his arm, “We don’t know how to thank you. Or repay you.”
Tom shrugged. “You can both work for me, for a fair wage, when I need help. That’s all I ask in return for lending a hand when you need it.”
“Elaine can’t do much right now, and I’m still trying to get the soybeans out. My old combine isn’t working right now and I don’t have the money to fix it or hire the beans harvested.”
“Sit down. I have a proposition for you,” Tom said.
“We can’t take any more charity,” Elaine said quickly.
“It’s not charity. Don’t believe in it. Lending a hand, that gets passed on down the line or even returned in kind is what I believe in. Now, I’ve got this place much like I want it. But I’m a crop farmer. Don’t know anything about raising cattle, pigs, or even chickens. Glen, you mentioned your degree was in animal husbandry. Yet you don’t raise any stock.”
“Again, reality raises its ugly head. It’s a lack of money. I’d like to turn the farm into a stock farm, growing my own feed, rather than raising commercial crops. But everything is so expensive… I’m barely keeping our heads above water doing what I’m doing.”
“Well, for a guaranteed return in fresh meat and dairy products, I’m willing to lend a hand, if the two of you would consider converting to stock, the way you want to.”
“You can buy all the meat and dairy you want,” Glen said. “Why would you want to go to all the trouble of helping start a stock farm, right after you’ve retired?”
“I’ll let you in on a little secret,” Tom said, dropping his voice a bit and leaning forward conspiratorially.
The two looked at him curiously as he continued. “I think that commercial sources of food are going to be very difficult to get in the near future. Just watch the news. Not just main stream media, but alternative news sources, too.
“Farmers are running into trouble already getting the supplies they need, at a price they can afford…”
“Tell me about it,” Glen snorted. Elaine hushed him.
“There are too many farms that are literally running on a shoestring, despite being huge operations. My small farm was very profitable, but that’s because decisions were made a long time ago about how it would be run. And when it came my turn to operate it, I based my operation on the same sound principles.
“But between weather, legislated restrictions, bad decisions, and a variety of other reasons, food production in this country is going to be way behind the curve on what is needed. I’m old and getting lazy. I don’t want to worry about where my next meal comes from. Not because I can’t afford it, I surely can, but that is if it is available. I want to be sure quality protein is available to me, and a few others, no matter what happens in the coming years.
“I’m willing to invest in you in return for that guaranteed return in food I mentioned.”
“Sounds too simple to be doable,” Glen said.
Copyright 2009