Pasture Neighbours

Not many people know about selective amnesia. It is the capability of the human brain to selectively wipe out memories of individual occurrences without affecting other memories. This capability is quite useful because it allows us to wipe out the memory of occurrences that cause us discomfort: Occurrences such as acts of cowardice, embarrassments, cases of gross stupidity, bad decisions, moral lapses, traumatic events, etc. In practice it is used to help prevent and cure PTSD, save marriages, get Supreme Court nominees confirmed and among other things, get presidents elected. Less useful, at least to most of us, is that criminals can use it to pass lie detector tests.

Arriving home from their weekly Saturday afternoon shopping trip to Johnson City, Elroy and Marie Klingenmeyer turned off State Route 17 into the quarter mile long gravel lane that led to their farmstead. It was a sight both loved and took great pride in and for good reason. It was after all, a sight they had created with lots and lots of elbow grease, backaches, and last but not least headaches: Well maintained barns and sheds, Hereford cattle in neatly fenced lots, winter wheat greening the fields, red foliage on the maples that they had planted over 20 years earlier -- before they had purchased the farm from their landlord. Indeed, they had every right to be proud and pleased.

When there was pressing farm work like harvest, planting, haying and such, Marie did the weekly shopping alone. But today it was late fall, the corn and beans were in and haying was long over, so Elroy went along. While Marie did the shopping, he would head over to Lizzie's Sunshine Café, order a coffee and gossip with other farmers. The 'gossip' was actually more than useless idle talk - if you heard that Ron Kuhman over by Elk Creek was thinking about going out of the beef business, well maybe you could pick up a couple nice Hereford heifers at a buyer's price.

"Marie, we're home early today. You think Wayne's still home?" When Marie didn't reply he went on, "isn't that just the hell of it? Kid goes off to college, never calls or writes and when he's home, he's off to some damn blowout at his old high school."

Wayne, now 18 and a freshman at SIU, was their only child. For the first 5 years of their marriage, they had been childless in spite of frequent and varied sex, diets and attention to Marie's monthly cycle. Then it happened. After essentially giving up and accepting that they were not going to provide any progeny for the Klingenmeyer family, Marie missed a period. They had hoped that the infertile spell was over but that turned out to not be the case. Wayne ended up being an only child.

"Elroy, it's not a blowout, it's a pep rally. Look, Wayne just likes to meet with old friends. It's not like he's ignoring us."

"Okay, it's a pep rally, not a blowout. Wasn't it supposed to start at two this afternoon?"

"I think so. Yeah, then he must be gone by now. Carol was gonna pick him up at one already, so yeah he's gone. Why?" Actually she knew why he was asking. Alone on a Saturday afternoon, no farm work outside of chores, Elroy might want to do it. Even though their bed saw lively action a couple nights a week, Elroy occasionally liked doing it on leisurely afternoons when there wasn't work pressing.

"Oh just wondering, that's all," Elroy lied. Then changing the subject, "He got anything going with that Carol?"

"I doubt it. Look they went to Cherry Hill Grade School together. The two of them are like brother and sister."

"Well you never know Marie. Kids grow up, bodies change, then they put the kid stuff behind 'em."

"I still think they're like brother and sister, just the way they act when they're together."

Then as he pulled up near their front sidewalk, "Say, Elroy honey, could you start bringing the stuff in? I really have to run and go pee right now."

Without waiting for his reply, for none was expected, she ran into the house and up the stairs to where the bathroom was -- and where all the bedrooms were. Throwing open the bathroom door, she saw things were pretty steamy. Obviously Wayne had showered and left without leaving the door open or wiping anything dry. But she had to pee, steamy bathroom or not. Inside, she backed up to the toilet bent over and had her hands up under her dress to pull down her panties when she noticed that she was not alone. There was Wayne, just out of the shower and reaching for a towel. Both mother and son got such a shock that they both took some seconds to recover from and react to. Wayne grabbed the towel and put it around his hips, his mother let go of the waistband of her panties and allowed her dress to drop.

Wayne was the first to speak. In a voice tainted with admonishment, "Mom!"

"I thought you'd already left with Carol. Isn't the rally at ......"

"She's not coming till three, plenty time to get to the rally. It's only at three thirty."

Marie, now more recovered, "Wayne, I'm so sorry to embarrass you. I really had to go to the bathroom."

Wayne wasn't one to stay upset. "Mom, go ahead and use the bathroom. No big deal. I was gonna dress in my room anyway."

Sitting on the toilet and letting her bladder empty, she let her mind process what she had just seen - her teenage son stark naked. Well, so what? She, after over 20 years of marriage, had become rather familiar with male genitals. But somehow something was different, or rather special, but still faintly familiar. What was different? Special? Familiar? Then the answer came: The end of Wayne's penis had been hanging down well below the bottom of his scrotum sack. That wasn't like what she was accustomed to with her husband, Elroy.

Thoughts of events that began nearly two decades back began floating around in her mind. After a few minutes, she uttered: "Oh my God!" A memory she had suppressed for almost 20 years had surfaced.

TWENTY PLUS YEARS EARLIER

Before Elroy and Marie got married, he was living with his parents on their farm and she was living with her parents in Johnson City where her dad worked in the county clerk's office. Elroy's parent's farm was too small to support any more than one family so after high school, he had taken a job at the John Deere dealership in Johnson City. Having helped maintain and repair machinery on his parents farm, Elroy was a good candidate for training as a farm equipment mechanic. And indeed, he learned fast and within a few years became a fully qualified mechanic.

Sometime before their marriage, another farm, about 3 miles from his parents' farm, was put up for rent. Strictly speaking, not for rent, but rather for share-cropping. In that part of the Midwest at that time, the customary share-cropping arrangement was that the landlord was due a third of all the grain crops and, logically enough, paid for a third of the seed and fertilizer and, of course, 100% of the property taxes. There was no fixed rule on who paid for improvements like the house, barns and machinery sheds. Some generous landlords paid all, some nothing and some split the cost with the renters. For very expensive stuff like for a dairy operation, a renter might pay 100% but protect his investment by making a less-depreciation refund agreement with the landlord.

It was neither a big farm nor a really good farm in the context of classic corn belt agriculture. Of the 152 acres total, 30 acres were too hilly for regular tillage and hence could only be used as permanent pasture. Of the remaining 122 acres, roughly half were first class cropland and the other half were rolling land that had been so intensely cropped for so long that there had been massive losses of topsoil from erosion. This eroded land was basically just clay hills and not very productive. Elroy knew that a big part of the crop rotation needed to be hay. The farm buildings weren't run down, they were, however, so outdated as to make efficient operation nearly impossible. In other words, Elroy and Marie were in for some challenging times.

However, Elroy was a hard worker and had prepared himself well by learning all he could about modern agriculture -- care of the land, crop rotation, green cover, use of fertiliser, seed selection and animal husbandry. His skills as a mechanic would not only help save on repairs, it would also make it practical for him to buy used machines and renovate them himself.

The 30 acres of pasture and the large acreage of hay dictated operating a farm with cattle, either dairy of beef. Dairy operation would bring in bigger profits but a heavy investment in facilities would be necessary. Being strapped for cash, Elroy decided to forego dairy and use beef cattle to utilise the pasture and capitalise on the hay. To diversify and to add value to the corn produced, he and Marie decided to raise hogs as well.

It was not only the farm buildings that were outdated. Entering the house was like stepping back into the 1920's. There was pressurized water from a well but hot water for washing dishes and cleaning had to be heated in pots on the kitchen stove. The weekly bath was taken in a round steel tub in the washhouse where there was a two-burner propane stove. The toilet was an outhouse 60 feet from the house. Initially, Elroy and Marie augmented the outhouse with a piss pot that they kept in a hallway outside their bedroom. This made winter nights a lot more bearable, however, the downside was that emptying a piss pot is not a nice way to begin a day. The house in Johnson City where Marie had grown up had hot and cold running water and a bathroom. She grudgingly put up with the relatively primitive conditions but straightaway let Elroy know that a bathroom and hot running water had to be somewhere on the horizon. After a few years of improving the farm buildings, no droughts, reasonable prices and hard work, they managed to afford having a bathroom installed upstairs where the bedrooms were located.

Their closest neighbour was Leonard Hodenbauer, a bachelor in his fifties. Elroy and Leonard got along well right from the beginning and agreed to trade labor for work like baling hay, sawing firewood, butchering hogs -- work that was more conveniently done by more than one person.

Elkhorn Creek, an almost intermittent waterway, meandered through both farms. In between the stretches that went completely dry in the summer, there were spring-fed waterholes that had enough water for fish to survive and for cattle to drink. The land near the creek was hilly with small bottoms mixed in. The hills were steep and easily eroded and the bottoms flooded during heavy rains - not an ideal situation for row cropping so both farms utilised the land adjoining the creek for permanent pasture.

Leonard was one of those rare bachelor farmers who successfully combined farming with keeping house. He canned fruits and vegetables, made jam, cooked proper meals and kept his house in order. The clothes he wore were generally up to date and clean -- Marie once observed that he was better dressed than lots of married farmers.

People, especially women, always speculate why a person, especially a man, never marries. Marie was no exception. No sooner were they moved in on the farm, she started speculating. "Elroy, I wonder why Leonard never married. Could it be that, well you know, that he is ...?"

Elroy didn't enjoy this subject and wanted to close it as soon as possible. "Look Marie, there's just some men who don't marry. And no, Leonard's not queer."

"How do you know?"

"Something like that'd get out. Secrets are hard to keep. No, no way, Leonard's not queer."

"Yeah, maybe you're right, if he were queer, it would get out, wouldn't it. Okay, so why didn't he ever get married?"

Elroy tried to inject some humour into the discussion. "Maybe he just never found the right girl."

Marie laughed politely but she wasn't done with the subject and wanted to squeeze him for more information. "You mean like he was too picky and then all the girls got taken."

"That's kinda what I meant, but look there's more to it. Leonard stayed on that farm with his parents, his mom, Luisa, always was sickly so he had to help her a lot and the same time help his dad, Milton, with the farm work. He told me they only got a tractor when Milton couldn't work anymore. Leonard never went to high school like you and I did - never had time. Actually, when he was a teenager, not many farm kids did go to high school. When Luisa died, old Milton needed him even more. Well anyway, sick and weak as he was, Milton lived till Leonard was well into his forties. Hard to find a wife when you're in your forties. Now he's in his fifties. Just not that easy to find a wife when you're that age and it keeps getting harder all the time."

Not many people know this, but a Gallup poll once showed that 68 % of all American women are compulsive cupids. Marie fell into that 68% and her next comment showed it. "Maybe he could find a widow to marry. Plenty of 'em around in the county."

"Well, I guess so, but he'd need to want to. Maybe someday he will"

"Thing is though, whether he ought to be waiting for someday. Let me think a little. I could ask around."

"No Marie! Please! You do that, it's gonna get back to Leonard. We don't need bad feelings with a close neighbour."

"What if I made an inquiry with one of those dating agencies? At least see what's on the market."

"No Marie! No, no, no and no! If Leonard wants a wife, he'll look around."

That ended the conversation and for several years, they didn't discuss Leonard's bachelorhood or how to go about trying to end it. The illness and death of another neighbour changed that. Fred and Alvina Schmeichler farmed 180 acres a half mile west of Elroy and Marie's place along State Route 17. Fred had a weak heart and as the problem progressed he was less and less able to work. For a while Elroy and Leonard helped out by doing part of Fred's fieldwork. After Fred sold off his dairy herd, he let Elroy and Leonard use his pasture in trade for their help. Then the time came when Fred couldn't work at all so he let Elroy and Leonard each sharecrop a half of his cropland.

When Fred finally died, his wife Alvina decided to continued living in the farmhouse and continued the sharecrop and pasture arrangements with Elroy and Leonard. It was around that time that Marie reopened the subject of Leonard's continued bachelorhood. "Elroy, I was just thinking, maybe Leonard could marry Alvina. She's not even 50 yet."

Elroy wasn't so enthusiastic. "Goddamnit Marie, Fred's not even cold in his grave and you're already marrying his widow off to a neighbour!"

"I'm not saying right now, I mean maybe, you know, in a year or so."

"Marie, you're not gonna start egging Leonard or Alvina on about this! Okay?"

"Oh no, I'd never do that," she lied."

For haymaking, Elroy and Leonard had a partnering arrangement. Elroy owned a hay baler and did the baling for Leonard. In turn Leonard helped out when Elroy baled his own hay. Because Elroy's cow-calf and feeder beef operation was a lot bigger than Leonard's feeder beef operation, this worked out pretty well for both and no cash changed hands between them. Haymaking was a multi-day thing. Mowing was on day 1, the hay was turned on day 2 and, if it didn't rain, final raking into windrows and baling was on day 3. Baling itself couldn't start until the dew was gone and that meant just after the midday meal.

In the Midwest, thunderstorms are only roughly predictable and often yield substantial precipitation -- good for the corn and soybeans but hell on haymaking. The constant threat of rain means that Midwestern farmers don't normally like to leave hay bales in the field as is common in the more arid West. As a result, in a Midwestern hay operation, a wagon was towed behind the baler and someone on the wagon would hook each bale and stack it on the wagon. When the wagon was full, it was unhitched and an empty was hitched on. While the baling continued, the loaded wagon was towed to the barn and unloaded. In short, at least 4 people were needed to bale hay -- one on the tractor pulling the baler, one on the wagon stacking the bales and two hauling in and unloading. Elroy and Leonard didn't like to risk delays so they always tried to hire 3 or even 4 high school lads.

In Johnson County, farmers ate 'dinner' at midday and 'supper' in the evening. Between breakfast and dinner, there was a morning lunch. Between dinner and supper, there was an afternoon lunch. On a normal day when the farmer was working alone, either lunch might be coffee and sandwiches and a piece of cake or pie. On a baling day when neighbours came to help and/or there was hired help, the afternoon lunch was around three to four o'clock and was taken in the farmhouse. The typical menu included coffee, bread, butter, jam, sausage, cheese, pickles, cake, pie, etc., etc. (Farmers don't like to go hungry.)

Putting out the afternoon lunch was a job the farmer's wife usually did. For bachelor farmers, putting out the lunch and clearing away the remnants meant time away from the haying so most arranged for a female relative to be there. Leonard, not having any female relatives close by, asked Marie to take care of it. Leonard's house was clean and well organised so it wasn't too difficult and she didn't mind a bit.

The series of events that triggered Marie's 'Oh My God' in the bathroom began almost two years after Fred Schmeichler died. It was late May and Leonard had 8 acres of 1st cutting alfalfa hay to bale, and as usual, Marie had gone over to Leonard's around three to put out the lunch. That day though, instead of joining the crew for the afternoon lunch and cleaning up right afterwards, she had had to go home because the appliance serviceman, Ed Lichtner, was coming to repair her washing machine.

The repair took longer than expected and then a neighbour telephoned with some juicy gossip and suddenly she saw her husband Elroy returning home with the tractor and baler. "Oh my God, I forgot about going back and clearing away the lunch stuff!" After explaining to Elroy, she got in the car and rushed over to Leonard's.

Arriving there, she went right into the unlocked house and started clearing stuff away. Fortunately, the butter and other perishables were already in the refrigerator -- of course Leonard would think of that. She was nearly done when the outside door opened.

"Hi Leonard. Hey, good thing you put away the butter and stuff, what with this heat. Sorry I had to leave, washing machine needed fixing and Ed was already on the way."

"Aw no problem Marie. Putting a couple things away, that didn't take no time at all. I sometimes think how lucky I am to have good neighbours like you and Elroy. Weren't for you, I'd have to find a housekeeper for days like this and nobody'd be able to do it like you do."

She didn't think over what she said next. Her cupid mania took charge and it just slipped out. "Leonard, you ever think of getting married?" Then she realised what she had said. "Not like I mind coming over and helping but you know, a wife'd make things good for you. When I think of all you gotta do yourself -- cook, wash, clean, can vegetables, make jam. Imagine you're married, you work in the field all day, do the chores, come in the house and your woman's got supper on the table waiting for you."

"Marie, you make getting married sound like hiring a maid. We both know there's more to being married than having a woman move in and do housework."

Suddenly realising where the conversation was going, Marie blushed. "True, but ..."

"Marie, that other part wouldn't work for me. Anyway, I'm 52 years old. Girls my age got married long ago. I just missed out."

Still blushing but regaining her composure, Marie saw her chance. "Leonard, Alvina Schmeichler's been alone now for how long? Let's see, Fred passed away, it's going on 2 years now. She's almost your age. Ever think about asking her out?"