Chapter 22
“The mess is likely where they had to combine another load into this one real quick. Maybe they took it off the other group and that’s why they were fighting,” Mitch said answering one of my earlier questions about the mess in the van.
“Sounds possible,” I responded.
“So do some other scenarios but no sense wasting time on it.” Picking up another box of cans Mitch asked, “Room for this stuff in the cellar?”
“And more besides. Cans are easier to stack than jars. Even adding all this stuff, we still have a lot of food storage space without having to store it in the new sleeping area. Grammy told me the house was built back when the family hardly ever went to the grocery store so needed storage space for everything they needed during the year, including the coal and kerosene. Material and stuff like that was stored in that weird room up in the attic … the one that looks like a cedar chest turned on its side.”
We both continued to drag in what had been in the large step van. Mitch said, “Surprised there’s not more damage to the cargo than there is. Them bullet holes in the roll down in the back … ain’t seeing no punctured cans, so the holes come from before the van was loaded.”
“Some of the cans are dented.”
“Not as many as I got used to seeing in a haul like this. This ain’t your average salvage. They either hit a warehouse or … I don’t know …” He scratched his head then continued moving stuff to the porch. “That barrel of odds and ends you helped me to get down the stairs is more like it should be; not full of cases of cans.”
“What about the tubs?” I asked referring to the large storage totes that Mitch had already taken inside.
“That was out of the other van that the other group was driving. That group was likely a straight up salvage operation. One tub holds rice, two tubs hold beans, one tub holds pasta noodles, there’s a tub of sugar, and another one of salt. But it’s obvious that it didn’t come from the same container to start with.”
Rolling my eyes I said, “You ain’t kidding. I don’t even know what variety some of those dried beans are. I swear a couple of them are marked like Uncle Hy’s old appaloosa horse he had when I was little. And whoever heard of mixing table salt, sea salt, ice cream salt, and Himalayan pink salt all together like that? And don’t even get me started on the mess in the sugar tub. I just hope it is all sugar.”
“I do admit it looks a mess but that’s what I’ve seen done. You should see it when they mix in that colored sugar like Grammy used to sprinkle on her Christmas cookies.” He shook his head leading me to understand that it must have been really strange. He continued by explaining, “Too much work for your average salvager to keep things separate. Saves space if you get rid of the packaging as well. They trade or barter their stock by weight or by measure rather than by package.”
“I understand the why of it,” I told him. “It still just looks … I don’t know. Wrong somehow. And I find it hard to believe people are buying it in the mess it’s in.”
Stopping for a moment to wipe his face with a bandana Mitch told me, “Nann, desperate people are willing to settle for strange things. People figure out they got a hole in their needs, then their want of spiffy packaging ain’t near so important as it used to be.”
“I suppose. About like the plain black and while labels on the commodities I guess and how people hated them at first but then got used to them when there just wasn’t anything else. It still looks strange though and I can’t imagine what Mom and Aunt Fran will say about it. But … I’ll be honest … I ain’t got a whole lot of motivation to separate the dried beans into new containers by like and hope they don’t get that stray hair either.”
With a little bite to his tone Mitch said, “I’m not worried about Aunt Dina. Your mom is a realist. As for Aunt Fran, she better find it in her to be one and quick. It’s our butts working overtime. If anyone wants to complain then they can learn fast to live without.”
Changing the subject a bit since I’d struck a nerve I hadn’t meant to I said, “Look, I got a question for you. Do … um … look you reckon while we’re finishing up getting the beehives and stuff I can look and see if Mr. Delray left jars and stuff too? Would it be considered stealing? I know that’s how he used to store the honey when he was sending it to flea markets and stuff to be sold. I just thought … you know … um …” I stopped on a shrug.
He lost his irritation and said, “That’s not a bad idea … looking for jars and lids. But what’s your reasoning? We’ve already got more work than we can shack a stick at and I don’t see the list getting shorter anytime soon. And I told you it isn’t stealing under the current circumstances so knock it off.”
“But …”
“Nann, we aren’t turning around and selling stuff like the salvagers do. We might be repurposing any that we find, but not to make a ton of money off other people’s misery.”
“Okay, don’t snap at me please. I’m just trying to … to wrap my head around all of this. And, to be honest, I’m not just talking about jars per se but containers for storing things in. I’m grateful for all this stuff … really I am … what you call bulk supplies. But we can’t leave them in plastic or cardboard. I do NOT want a repeat of the two weeks I spent last summer when Grammy found a mouse turd in the pantry. We never did find the mouse it belonged to, but Grammy still had me … uh uh, forget it … just don’t want a repeat. Also wouldn’t mind finding any mouse/rat repellent or poison since we used so much at the Winters place to keep from having a problem start.” Acid came up my throat at the memory and I had to shake it off.
Mitch grunted in understanding then rubbed his forehead and since I knew he wouldn’t stop that I’d have to do it for him. I told him, “Too late to do any of that tonight either way. Sun is almost down. Let’s move this van.”
After a tired nod he said, “Sounds good. We’ll drain the fuel as well so let me grab a container.”
“And when we get back you let me make you up a compress for your eyes. It helped last time.”
With a concerned look he asked, “I was gonna put some salve on your hands. Don’t you want me to? You still upset?”
“Don’t get silly ‘cause it’s embarrassing how much I like it. It’s just it’s my turn to do something for you.”
He looked at me kinda squinty then grinned tiredly. “Don’t try so hard to save my pride. You’ll give me a fat head. And I’ll ‘let you’ do me that favor so long as I get a solid gold rain check on salving your hands.”
Even with his sore eyes Mitch saw me blush and that turned his tired grin into an actual smile.