Day ? of THE MOVE: "Men to Feed"

The title says it all. I'm not sure what day this is of the process. I only know it is going FAST. Since my band farewell, I have undertaken the arduous task of cleaning away 21 years of family and business accumulation. I knew the basement was full, but now I'm truly amazed at how much I was able to cram into it. Last week after purging the contents, Thomas and my other son, Colin, spent 7 hours cleaning cobwebs and crud out of the cellar. The photos attest to the fact that they still had maintained a sense of humor after laboring in a "toxic" environment.

"Men to Feed"

A big part of why they stayed pleasant was due to being fed well. Growing up on the farm, I always enjoyed harvest or haymaking because it meant that there would be "men to feed" — code for delux meals. In addition to knowing we'd feast, "men to feed" meant Dad's brothers and occasionally one or two of his friends came in as extra hands. Having my uncles around insured a jolly work environment. Uncle Frank and Eddie always teased us and told stories prone in the grass next to the haymow drive drinking ice tea and sucking on their King Edwards and White Owls. "Men to feed" guaranteed a half day in the kitchen minimum. The ultimate disgrace of a Belgian farm family is to run out of food or serve something uninspiring. As a farm wife, you wanted the men to go tell their wives about the great "such and such" they ate at Chuck's and Alice's. A typical "men to feed" meal consisted of fried chicken (sometimes home raised), creamy homemade mashed potatoes, slaw with Miracle Whip, homemade rolls, and cake or pie. I remember the pies being exceptionally popular as Mom's pastry was to die for.

The last week of hard physical work has reminded me of those "men to feed" days on the farm. As I told Grandma Pierick over dinner last night, the best part of "men to feed" days is that you are so hungry--food tastes better; you are so dirty--baths are divine; you are so tired--you sleep like you're dead.

But back to Thomas and Colin's big day in the basement. What kept them happy was that I served "men to feed" meals and started with one of Mom's crowd pleasers -- dutch oven roast beef and vegetables. This is a fool-proof meal. You braise even the toughest of meat and then simmer it in a dutch oven for hours. Mom would brown it in it's own fat but I put in some olive oil and minced garlic. Mom would salt and pepper it and let it steep in its own juices. I cheat sometimes and add beef bouillon or packed onion soup. Even the cheapest of meat becomes so tender it falls apart after a few hours. In the last 20 minutes, you add pealed white potatoes, carrots, and quartered onions. Every once in a while I'll add green pepper. The smell cooking will make your mouth water. All the vegetables are browned and seasoned by the juice which you ladle over the meat. It was one of our favorite meals on the farm and one of the boys' most requested meals for special occasions growing up. I love to listen to people when they eat it. They have been known to purr.

10 Days Later: T minus 1 Day (til the movers arrive)

A lot has happened since the basement was cleaned: a "new" vehicle, a wedding, a fire, a moving sale, arrival of "special forces", "Feeding Women" and "Women to Feed."

The day after the big basement purge, Thomas became the proud owner of a white Buick Park Avenue--Mike Esch's mother's car...purchased the same year Thomas was born. Be it ever so old lady, I haven't seen a smile that big on Thomas' face in a long time. Seeing Leinie (our black chow/spaniel mix) with his head hanging out the back window and Thomas in his "big white hope" was just about as good as it gets. I saw it as a harbinger portending a glorious holiday weekend. (Did I mention I'm nearly blind without contacts?)

The next day, I proved I could chip the dirt of moving off my filthy feet. The occasion was my "other" son's (Jim Thoreson) wedding.

Philip was a groomsman--his first adult wedding gig. As 8th graders, Jim and Philip took a lot of abuse for looking like Harry Potter stand-ins. Some of you are familiar with the story of Philip's and Jim's last summer baseball game that year. Both the boys were among the smallest on the team and often sat on the bench most of the game--indeed, Philip, had games where he never stepped onto the field. The experience had been discouraging for Philip and he wanted to quit early in the season. But I emphasized that he made a commitment and needed to see it through for the team and himself. During the last game, Jim got called in earlier than usual and after playing the last couple of innings, he asked the coach to put Philip in the game replacing him. Philip got to play and hit the last run that won the game. Jim's Mom, Randi, and I sat in the bleachers together alternately laughing and crying. Jim will always have a special spot in my heart for making a personal sacrifice to give his buddy an opportunity. But back to the wedding--

It was a beautiful outdoor event at Olbrich Gardens where I saw Dr. Beat (Dave Heilman) and his wife as well as good friends from Swiss Colony days, Richard Klemm and Harv Thompson (pictured with their neighbor and groom's mother, Randi). I called in good friend, Frank Huitt, for escort duties and danced with my oldest--who dressed me down for trying to lead.

Because there is some cosmic rule of excess never far from my life, the next day my house caught fire. After an afternoon burning papers while preparing for a moving sale, I supervised extinguishing the fire and removing the wet ashes from the outdoor fireplace. Three hours later I smelled smoke. Checked the outdoor to see I hadn't missed some bad ash that had attached itself, I came back inside and noticed a red glow between the drywall and my indoor fireplace. Grabbed a hose and extinguished the glow. The wall was still very, very hot and I called 911. Unbeknownst to us, there was a crack somewhere in the back of the outdoor pit. We were lucky. Only suffered a lost stud, some drywall damage inside along with some siding and flashing ripped up and a few bricks knocked out of the outdoor fireplace, soon to become a lovely architectural feature with a shelf to hold potted plants.

Not to be detered by a little fire, plans progressed for the moving sale. My Mom stayed over Tuesday night and pitched in a bit.

The sale ran Thursday and Friday. I'd mentioned to those who wanted a "last meal" before my departure that coffee and conversation at the sale would be a good alternative. I didn't get a picture of Bea Nolan who was the first to show with scones in hand, but I did manage to remember my camera for visits from Mike Esch, Norb Krusiec, and Judy Sauer. Later on Rosemary Mueller from Vermont stopped in with her sister and my good friend, Sue Waeffler.

I could write a book about the people who stopped in at the sale: the asian woman who's husband left her for a younger woman after 40 years, the contractor who hasn't had work in 8 months and his various and sundry personal calamaties, and the woman who left her good city job to open a dog kennel where the dogs live better than she does. Mike Esch can tell a better version of those stories. I did realize that a moving sale isn't as much about getting rid of things as it is getting acquainted with what's really going on in life.

Today marked the arrival of "special forces." With trash moved and unwanted items sold, I had room for the plumber to check over and repair all the bathrooms. A carpenter friend who needs work, came to change the locks, replace doorsets, and check outlets. My dear friend and "sister," Sue Waeffler offered to help and spent the better part of the day getting my furniture ready for the new house.

Last night, "sister" Ellen Bernards, brought in a picnic of healthy food (thank, god!) and ministered to my need for a green meal.

Today it was back to "men and women to feed" and my last roast in the McFarland house. In an hour, I'll be back to the last preparations before Arpin comes in to pack. I got a little misty packing my books yesterday--but last night I thought of how the internet will keep me connected to the great people I call my friends and finally began to dream of what my things would look like in Ohio. Sweet dreams.