Long lines

Big E wasn't a very big town, but we had two elevators, the CoOp, and the Bunge CoOp.  Mom  worked at the Bunge Elevator. Our house, which we bought right after my 8th grade year, was 2 blocks south of the CoOp.

During those days, most wheat was delivered to the elevators in farm trucks, not the big semi's that most farmers use today.  Farms were still family farms and they were pretty small.  Most of the Wheat trucks had been bought in the 50's and 60's and held 300-400 bushels.   Wheat trucks were usually driven to town by the wives, daughters, and younger sons of the locals.  Small trucks meant frequent trips to town which  meant long lines at the elevator, sometimes stretching from the CoOp past our house and out to the edge of town. There could be 20 - 30 trucks in line at any given time.  Many of the drivers knew to take a book along to pass the time.  Drivers either read, or visited with one another by yelling from truck to truck, or if the elevator was slow dumping trucks, they'd get out and congregate in small groups which would break up and re-form as the drivers had to move their trucks one to tow places forward in line.

I have to admit, sometimes the line of trucks in front of our house were annoying.  They'd be there from 10 in the morning until midnight or later.  The exhaust could be smelled in the house.  You could always hear the rumble of truck engines and the grinding of gears.  I would usually check a couple of times a day to see how long the line was, or how fast it was moving and sometimes, I'd check out the custom cutters.

There were a couple of times when I made treats for some of the drivers I knew.  I was in 4-H and I was always trying out new recipes.  I know that at least once I made cake donuts and gave some to some of the drivers sitting outside.  A couple of times, I had girls ask to use the bathroom and a few times, I was asked to "Call Mom and have her tell Dad that the line is really long, so I won't be back for a while."

Before I started working at the elevator, I envied the girls driving the wheat trucks.  They had a "job", and got to drive a truck to town, read, and talk to cute custom cutters.  I never dwelt on the fact that those trucks weren't air-conditioned, that they were slow, rough-riding, or that the girls were hot, sweaty and bored while waiting in line to dump their loads.  I also didn't realize how much pressure they were under to hurry to town, get dumped and get right back to the field to be reloaded and start the process all over again.

And yet, knowing that it wasn't that glamorous, I still miss those days of the long lines at the elevator.

"Is Carol busy?"

Harvest is starting up around home.  It's 2 to 3 weeks early, but when the wheat is ready, it's ready.

I always get a little nostalgic when harvest rolls around.  While Daddy didn't have wheat (he's a COWBOY, not a FARMER), harvest touched our lives simply because everyone was touched by harvest.  Mom started working at the elevator during harvest in 1975 or 1976.  She just worked during harvest those first couple of years.  I don't remember what I did during those first couple of years.  I might have gone to stay with Grandma, or I might have stayed at home.  I might have cooked for Dad and Steve, but I don't remember doing so. I don't remember cooking for them until we moved to town.

We moved our trailer house into town in 1977, and I know I had to cook and do chores that summer.  In fact, Mom would leave me a written list of chores that were to be done by lunch time.  An addendum she always added to the bottom of the list was this phrase:  No swimming until chores are done.  MY DONE, not yours.  And, if she came home at noon, she'd check and quite frequently, I'd have to re-do my chores before I could walk to the pool.

It was about that same time that I had to take on the job of cooking the noon meal for Dad and Steve.  There weren't any Cafe's in Big E.  Dad refused to eat sandwiches, so I had to cook.  I was 13, old enough to cook one meal a day.

I'd decide what I wanted to fix, and then I'd call Mom at the elevator to find out how to cook it.  I knew she wouldn't be able to talk to me if they were busy, so when I called, I'd ask, "Is Carol busy?  Can I talk to her?"  If she wasn't busy, she'd tell me over the phone, how to cook meatloaf, or swiss steak, or how to fry potatoes, or how to make gravy  and I'd cook it for Dad, Mom and Steve.  Sometimes, we'd run a plate up to Mom, sometimes, she'd come home.

  I remember once when I called for instruction.  Bob, the manager answered.  I hated it when Bob answered because he always sounded mean.  "Is Carol busy?" I asked.  "YES," he yelled into the phone and slammed it back into the receiver.  Scared me half to death!  A little while later, Mom called me and said that it had been a rough morning and suggested I not call back that day. Believe you me, I didn't call back that day!  Bob later apologized to me, which didn't mean much to 13 year old me, cause he'd proved how mean he was.  Once I got to know him and could understand the pressures of harvest, I understood his reaction.  ( I can now look back and realize how annoying it must have been for everyone there to have me calling every single day, multiple times!)

That summer was the first summer Mom continued working once harvest was finished.   I still was a little leery of calling when I thought Bob was in the office, but I did call, I had to!  Dread filled my heart every time he answered.  I was so scared of him.  I learned to not call as often and to only call when I really needed Mom.  I would call her for cooking instructions, and permission to go to the pool, but I'd call Grandma for other stuff.  Grandma was't as good of a cook as Mom was, so I tried to not call her with cooking questions very often!  

I can't help but remember that time every single summer.  I still hate calling Mom when she's at the elevator--during harvest.  And, she's still working harvests.  She's retired, but she still is working harvest.   I still won't call here when I think she'll be busy.  I might get yelled at and hung up on!

Arkie

One summer harvest was very memorable. I think it was the summer before my Senior year. Working at the elevator that year was: Bob, the manager, Mom, the "second man", Rick, Muriel, Me and Nina.

In one way or another, we were all related too. It's a small town thing...Bob's little sister married Mom's cousin. Rick is their son, which technically makes him my second cousin. Nina was Rick's little sister, and Muriel was his wife. So we were basically all family in one way or another. Nina, Muriel and I were working in the office. Rick was dumping trucks. Mom and Bob were either in the elevator, or they were loading railroad cars with wheat. Mom was also responsible for posting all tickets and keeping everyone's account in order and most importantly, she was the payroll person!

But, that year, we needed more help. The corporate office in Hutchinson sent out this guy to work with us. I do not remember what his name was, and I'm not sure I took the time to really learn his name. We all called him Arkie and he left quite an impression on us all.

I'm pretty sure Arkie was from the Ozarks. He pulled in on the first day of harvest driving an old school bus that he had reconditioned and made it his home on wheels.

Arkie himself was a tall man, at least 6 foot. And he weighed a good 300 lbs. He always wore overalls. In fact, I think he wore the same pair the entire time he was working with us--2 weeks. Mrs. Arkie was short, probably 5'2" all the way around. Her favorite outfit consisted of a big loose skirt and a tube top. Oh, and no bra, and no underwear, and, she didn't sit in a ladylike manner either.

Yep, they were quite the pair. He was a fairly good worker, and the Mrs. would sit out in the elevator watching him work all day. The truck drivers really enjoyed that view; Ms. Arkie, sitting on the steps, or in the corner in line with the side mirror, sitting with her skirt hiked and no underwear...

Arkie knew everything about anything. He was very well educated. All you had to do was ask. Which we tried not to do, but somehow it didn't matter. He knew everything.

Our favorite part of Life with Arkie was when he'd come in to use the facilities.

We'd have to evacuate the building and fumigate before going back into the office. Which wasn't real convenient during harvest.

Seriously, the man had serious gas. Noxious gas. It took a vvvveeeeeerrrrryyyyy long time for the place to air out. And Air freshener did not work. It just made it worse.

Late one night, (or early one morning) we were shutting down. Arkie had gone out to his Bus, and we were all getting ready to go. Mom and Bob were even in the office. Rick said he just had to tell us the latest piece of information... Arkie had asked Rick if he would like to switch wives for the night.

To be honest, I'm not sure how Rick kept a straight face at that, and I do think he told Arkie just where he could go with that idea. But, by the time he told us, he could laugh about it. Because the idea was just mind boggling! Muriel and Rick were still newlyweds, and they were crazy about each other. The thought of Rick trading Muriel for one night of "pleasure" with Mrs. Arkie...well, yeah, it was hilarious. Especially since Arkie had already shared with us (on one of his facility visits) that he and the Mrs. liked to...well, their favorite spot for conjugal matters was the cemetery.

So now, we all knew that they were...odd...added to their dress and overall hygiene, and well...yeah. I know I would have been tempted...

tempted to run the other way.

Fortunately for us, we only needed Arkie at the elevator for 2 weeks. He moved on; in his bus, with his wife. I have to admit though, we all thought that some of our family and neighbors in Big E were eccentric, and very red-necky, and down right odd; but no one, and I mean no one, could hold a candle to Arkie.

Working at the elevator

My first job was at the Elevator during Harvest. Now, working at the Elevator is a short term job, because wheat harvest lasts 2-3 weeks usually. Short term, but long hours. I'd been looking forward to being able to work for a very long time. My plan was to work there the summer between my 8th grade and Freshman year, when I was 14.

You had to be 14 to work at the Elevator, and all a 14 year old could do there was roll tarps, but it was a job, and jobs were scarce in Big E. Unfortunately, the Federal Government stepped in that year and changed the law. No one under the age of 16 could work at an Elevator, and you had to be 18 to work in the Elevator.

Instead of working at the elevator that summer, I painted window trim for some friends and my grandparents.

But, the year I turned 16, I worked at the Elevator.

My job that first summer was to write out the tickets that we gave to the truck drivers. They'd pull on the scales, get weighed, and go on to the elevator. After being dumped, we'd weigh them again and figure the number of pounds of wheat they had, and figure the number of bushels. Another gal weighed the trucks (using a bar scale), she had her scale tickets, and I had the other tickets--the official tickets. We'd check our numbers with each other to make sure we matched and then I'd run my ticket out to the driver. My ticket also had the account name on them. Since several farmers leased ground, or farmed on shares, I'd have to change the names on tickets as they changed fields.

We took wheat from farmers for miles around, some from the Ditch Valley area of Oklahoma, some from the Mennonite settlement, and some from the northern part of the county. There were lots of names to remember. And, I did pretty well. Except, I did make one lady very angry.

One of the trucks came in and I ran out to find out who's wheat it was. The lady in the cab said it was "Minnow F.......'s wheat." Minnow? Who on earth would name their poor kid Minnow? But, I went inside and wrote Minnow's name on the ticket, we dumped the truck, I gave the driver the ticket, and she drove off --normal procedure.

But on their next trip to town, the driver came storming into the office, madder than a wet hen. She was furious. She stormed into the office where my Mother, who was also my Boss, was posting tickets from the night before. We gals didn't know what went wrong, so we quietly went about our work. The lady left, somewhat calmer. Mom came over and said, "Shell, you made a mistake on Mr. F.......'s ticket. Minnow is spelled M E N N O, after the founder of the Mennonites. Mrs. F....... thought you did it on purpose, but we got it straighted out, so from now on, make sure you get it spelled right." And then, she laughed, and Bob, the manager laughed and thumped me on the back.

O my. I felt awful, and I was so embarrassed. But, how was I to know that Menno wasn't Minnow?

Every year after that, Mom and Bob would come in each time the F.......'s came in and checked to see if I had spelled "Menno" correctly, and then they'd laugh. Real comedians...

But, I never miss-spelled it again.