Story The Nomad

Chapter One Hundred Twenty-Five


Dale Watson drank the rest of the water in his glass and went inside. After making a ham sandwich, he turned on the TV and watched the Fox channel for a while as he ate. There were a few bright lights in the news but overall, nothing was changing much in Washington. Too much greed and too many lawyers. He saw nothing that changed his plans for the future. In fact, it made him think of a few more things to secure his financial and physical security.

Dale and Buck went over the breeding records and identified four cows and a bull that could be cut from the herd. The abattoir that had once served the community was no longer open and Dale hired three experienced meat cutters to help then set up their own slaughterhouse. Once the building was built, the equipment was bought and the butchers were happy with the layout. The most expensive equipment turned out to be the flash freezers and freezer units to store the meat. Between Buck and May, they got enough of the women who had once worked at the abattoir packaging the meat to have a full complement of workers. A couple of refrigerated trucks were purchased for meat delivery. Now, before they began processing, they had to build a list of customers. Surprisingly, Cynthia, Earl’s wife, had a marketing degree and she built a plan and started signing up customers.

They slaughtered the bull first. He was just a big pain in the ass and didn’t get along with the rest of the herd and Dale wanted to get rid of him before someone got hurt. The butchers worked hard and got the meat processed. They had never worked on anything that big before. The packers quickly got the meat shrink-wrapped with a logoed label and in the freezers by the end of the day. Buck froze the hide to have it shipped off to be tanned with the hair on.

After articles in the Knoxville News Sentinel and the Nashville Business Journal spoke about the up-and-coming business, people began stopping by the markets in Livingston to buy bison products. Soon, grocery stores in Cookville signed up to carry the meat also. Cynthia was pushing for adding a mail direct option, but Dale wanted to wait for a while. They just weren’t ready to expand that much just yet.


The next morning dawned with Dale up before daylight as usual. He and Ron were going to ride up to the reservoir site and look around. The workers had reported a heard of wild hogs running around in the woods up there before daylight.. They could do a lot of damage if they weren’t eradicated. They had fought them in Nebraska and they could be a real pain in the ass. Ron was going up because he had a pair of Gen 4 night vision goggles that would pick up heat signatures. Ron said he could get Dale goggles and scopes but it wouldn’t be quick. If the hogs needed to be killed off quickly, Ron and maybe Rhys could do the job for him.

Dale made a quick bowl of oatmeal with bacon crumbles and went to the barn. He saddled the horses and was just finishing saddling Ron’s horse when he arrived. They filled their canteens and headed up the road to where the creek came out of the hills and crossed under the road. Dale took a trail off the main road That the heavy equipment had used to get to the reservoir site. Every so often Ron would shine a flashlight with an IR lens at the ground to check out what looked like a game trail, checking for pig tracks. About three quarters of the way there, Ron stopped his horse and said.

“I see a sow with six piglets ahead.” Ron unslung his rifle and three breaths later, blasted the sow to the ground, piglets screaming and running through the brush.

Ron led the way to the sow and she was dead. Ron pulled out his field knife and quickly removed the entrails, slitting open the stomach to see what the hog had been eating.

“She’s been foraging on nuts and mushrooms, so she’s been mostly in the hills.” Ron said.

“Are you going to try to get the piglets?” Dale asked.

“Nah. They’ll be easy pickings for coyotes.”

“Well, if you see any coyotes, shoot them too. They worry the calves up and get the cows antsy.”



George Asher stopped by Bob’s with a hive kit and asked Bob if he thought he could build something like that.

“What kind of wood does it need to be? I’m short on hardwood but have plenty of pine.

“Pine works fine. When you get ready to put the racks in the supers, call me and I’ll come help. I’ve got plenty of bee’s wax to coat them with once they are built. I will trade you a five gallon of honey for every hive you build.”

“Whew, that makes for some expensive hives!”

“It’s still cheaper than what they are charging nowadays, and still in just kits I’d have to assemble.”

“Well, I’ll definitely go for the trade. I’ll sort sorting and planing wood today.”

Bob wanted Bobby in on this. He could keep the shavings from the planer swept up and bagged for the chicken coop.

It was going to take a while to properly plane the boards down. He would have enough lumber cut to do many hives but when he cut more planks, he could cut them thinner and save time on planing.

Bob had to stop every few boards to clean up shavings, or the work area got unsafe. He opened a new box of contractor bags and began filling the first one up.


Jack Crain went down to the county road, saw it’s condition and decided to wait a couple of days longer. He’d wanted to run to Walmart and get another can of boot waterproofing, but it wasn’t that necessary to risk getting on the roads today. He had enough left in the can to do one more treatment, so he was good for now. He was also craving oranges; those big, easy to peel ones. He started a wish list and stayed inside the rest of the day rereading Brave New World by Aldous Huxley except to get more wood off the rack.

Friday, well after the sun came up, Jack made sure he had his list, pulled out the Black Leather Double-Clasp Coin Purse he’d found in an antique store from his overall bib pocket and added a few bills from the coffee can to it. The roads were a little slushy but drivable with caution.
 
ncsfsgm said:
Chapter Thirty-Two

By the time Duncan had the gate securely fastened, the sky had darkened to make it a little hazardous to move around for Allie. He reached inside the garden shed and took to head flashlights off of a nail by te door and handed her one. Turning his on, he began gathering up the tools by the garden gate and putting them in the shed for now. He hoped the rabbits were disappointed tonight. Walking back to the house, Allie told him she needed to make cornbread to go with their supper and for him to get cleaned up and relax. Duncan took a quick shower and changed into some soft khaki pants, a long sleeve t-shirt and moccasins. He sat with the children in the den watching the National Geographic channel until Allie called them to supper.

Allie had made breaded pork chops, pan-fried potatoes, and turnip greens, corn nibblets and cornbread. She had even made sweet tea the way he liked it….semi-sweet. He wasn’t fond of the syrupy sweet concoction some people made. For dessert, Allie had squares of pan cake with peach slices over the top.

Bob rented Dave Macon’s Kubota excavator and he and Gene began digging out for Gene’s “warehouse” on Saturday morning. As Bob dug out with the Kubota, Gene used the skid steer to clean up. It would take three days to finish the digging, which wasn’t a problem since Gene didn’t have to work the farm. They worked from sunup to sundown each day. Angie was going back into town to open the store Monday morning and to get the kids to school but Gene would continue working. Once the concrete floor was poured, Gen had a Mennonite crew out of Kentucky come in to do the timberframing. Trucks from Volunteer Building Supply had already begun delivering the materials.

The floor had to be poured in stages. The ready-mix company arranged for finishers for the 27 truckloads of concrete. Each truck held 14 cubic yards of concrete and the floor was six inches thick, except where the post bases were located. Gene let the experts do their thing. They let the concrete cure for two weeks before calling in the framing crew.

The Mennonites arrived and Bob showed them where they could set up their travel trailers with water and electricity. Bob showed the crew leader the ten-inch skill saw, sawzalls and the Antique Mortising machine he had to which the leader said they might borrow them, especially the mortising machine. It would speed things up a bit.

Bob removed the Forestry Mulcher attachment on the skid steer and replaced it with the telescopic Boom Pole attachment to help lift the heavier timbers and trusses. The crew leader said that would be a big help and they wouldn’t have to use their gin pole arrangement. The first day of their work was cutting mortises and tenons and drilling peg holes. Bob and Gene took turns turning out pegs using the wood lathe. Ashelyn was in her element cooking meals for the men. She enjoyed cooking for a group of hungry people.

With the support posts in place, they began forming the walls and setting beams. Using the skid steer boom freed up four people to continue cutting mortise and tenons and work quickly moved on.

It took them a week before they were ready to lay the fiberglass roofing. After the first layer was laid, Bob and Gene sprayed all the seams with rubberized roof coating, laid the second layer of roofing, then sprayed the entire surface with the roof coating. They were confident the roof would never leak unless a tornado dropped a tree through it. They would have repair materials handy just in case. Last, but not least, they used more fiberglass roofing on the sidewalls and sprayed them down with the roof coating to keep moisture away from the walls. The bucket was placed back on the skid steer and was used to fill in around the building. Bob used the tractor backhoe to dig runoff channels to carry rainwater away. He and Gene lined them with concrete and gravel from the river. The Mennonites left with a crate of smoked fish, three smoked country hams and a good bit of gold…..everyone happy. Angie had already hired some trusted people to begin bringing things from her warehouse. Bob cleaned up the skid steer and put the forks back on in anticipation of Angie getting a jump start. Now they needed her to come up and tell them how she wanted things to be stored. Gene had a wheeled skid steer at the farm he hadn’t sold and would be bringing it up to use in the warehouse.

That evening after supper, Bob and Gene sat on the deck sampling some hard apple cider Bob had brewed. He had only made two carboys, not having any more but it turned out pretty good: not as good as mead, but good.

“Thankful we got that finished before the fall rains.” Gene said.

“Yeah, that would have been a mess. How much stuff do you have to move from the farm?”

“Not much. The biggest thing is the skid steer. I’ve got mostly tools and such to bring up. Everything else went with the sale of the farm. Do you have any projects planned?”

Bob took a sip of cider. “Nothing except thinning out a few trees for firewood. I don’t really have anything until it’s time to prune the fruit trees in the spring.”

Ashelyn came out with a glass of cider in her hand. “When are Angie and the kids coming up?”

“They’ll leave from down there as soon as the kids get out of school Friday.”

“What are the kids going to do about schooling when you move up here?”

“Angie has been gathering homeschool materials. She has already bought them laptop computers and is on direct dial with the homeschool association.”

“Oh! This cider has a little kick to it!” Ashelyn said.

Bob grinned. “Nah. I’d have to drink a whole carboy to get a buzz off of this, but it does taste good.”

Gene returned to Livingston the next morning after breakfast. He was going to leave sooner but Ashelyn made biscuits and a pot of creamed dried beef gravy to go with the eggs. He finally left at 08:00 with a travel cup full of coffee and a smile on his face. Bob finished up the gravy poured over a split biscuit and helped Ashelyn clean up the dishes. He didn’t have anything specific to do that morning so he decided to reattach the forest mulcher and clean some new areas and look for trees that could be used for firewood. He already had four seasoned trees picked out that could be used for firewood this winter but he’d keep a watch for trees that may be damaged and weren’t growing right. He’d have to check good along the river. Sometimes the bank wore away and weakened the trees and he didn’t want trees going into the river and messing things up. A sunken tree limb can tear the bottom right out of a boat. But today, he’d work the area up near Gary’s place. A lot of that area he hadn’t touched yet.

The earth tremors had been in the back of Duncan’s mind since they had occurred. He remembered his grandfather telling stories his grandfather had told him about the earthquakes at the west end of the state. That was the reason he had done that school project. When his grandfather had built the house, he used as many techniques as they knew then to earthquake-proof the structure and foundation. Duncan went into the attic, basement, the storm shelter, the tunnel to the shelter from the basement, and the tunnel running to the three-car detached garage, as well as the generator room off the tunnel and inspected them for areas of stress or damage but found none. Not saying there could be an earthquake or a series of strong tremors, but he went on the internet and looked up about being prepared for something like that. He downloaded FEMA’s Earthquake Safety Checklist and read through it. There was some simple things he could do to be somewhat prepared if they had stronger tremors. Having food on hand for at least 72 hours made sense, but he was not buying salt free crackers just because the salted ones made you thirsty. He’d eaten pilot crackers before and had to lick the cracker and sprinkle salt on them for them to taste any way good. The other foods he could start buying and storing a few at a time and store them in the basement and pantry. He had a well but if the power went off, he had no way of pumping water. He’d need to look into that. He was too accustomed to having electricity. This could run into some money so Duncan checked his investment portfolio. He was going to have to do some serious planning.

Grandpa had put in a blast door, valves and hatch on the shelter and later added one of the Safe Cell Air Filtration systems to the shelter and extra sets of filters when they first came on the market.

The Suburban had a Cummins 6BT engine. He would see about getting Allie some sort of diesel engine vehicle.

When the tremors hit, Ashelyn and Bob moved into the emergency house just to ease Ashelyn’s mind. He was pretty sure their main house would stand more severe shocks but she was less nervous in their underground shelter. Alie had her own checklist she had thoughtfully put together. She had small suitcase that held things dear to her and important papers that had not yet ben placed in the safe in the emergency house. Her heavy robe, sturdy shoes, and that case were the first things in her hand once the tremors had ceased. Bob was surprised, but pleased, she had already put some thought into such a situation. After getting her situated in the emergency house with a glass of wine. They sat and went down through their mental checklist of things that needed to be done.

Bob went down to check the chickens and they were none the worse for wear, In fact, they were all out in the run busily eating earthworms driven out of the ground by the tremors. Earthworms move upwards and out of the way when predator vibrations (like moles) are felt, so they were practically jumping out of the ground. Cal remembered reading something about “fiddling” for worms. You drive a stake into the ground then drag sawblade across the top of the stake to cause vibrations and worms would come out of the ground. Anyway, Bob checked the feed, grit, and water and returned back to the emergency house. Ashelyn was heating up a can of corned beef, frying cabbage and cooking a pan of cornbread.
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I have never heard of "“fiddling” for worms" before. Thank You for a great story.
 
I've seen people use two wires stuck in the ground attached to an AC extension cord to bring up worms. I've read about people making vibrations with a notched stick against the ground to bring up worms. Supposedly the vibration is perceived by the worms as the vibration caused by large raindrops striking the ground.
 
Chapter One Hundred Twenty-Six


The morning sun filtered through the tall white oaks that Bob had spared during the clearing, casting long golden shafts across the newly gravel drive. Two years had passed since Ashelyn followed him through that chained gate, her Denali kicking up dust behind the Earthroamer. The land no longer felt like a haunted memory; it had become home.

Bob stood on the wide front porch of the new log home they had finally finished that spring. The massive hand-hewn timbers—sourced from their own property and milled with help from Gene and the Mid-State crew—gleamed with a fresh coat of boiled linseed oil. The house sat nestled against a gentle rise, its foundation anchored deep into the Cumberland Plateau’s sandstone. A full basement provided storm shelter and storage, while the main floor opened to a great room with a massive stone fireplace that could heat the entire place. Solar panels on the south-facing roof, supplemented by a small wind turbine and the Micro-Hydro system on a redirected stream above the house, kept everything humming off-grid. Bob still grinned every time he checked the battery bank.

Ashelyn stepped out behind him, wiping her hands on a dish towel. She carried two mugs of coffee, one laced with just enough cream the way he liked it. “The biscuits are in the oven. Bobby’s bringing fresh trout up from the smoker in a bit.”

Bob accepted the mug and slipped an arm around her waist. She had filled out in the best way—strong from garden work and river walks, her face tanned and peaceful. The veiled prize he had first noticed stepping out of the RV had become his partner in every sense. “You sleep okay? That wind last night was howling.”

“Better than I used to in the city,” she said, leaning into him. “I keep thinking about that first night you let me sleep in the over-cab bed. I was terrified you’d drive off and leave me somewhere.”

“I thought about it,” Bob admitted with a wry smile. “Then you started organizing my sock drawer and hiding trackers in it. Figured I was stuck with you.”

She laughed and bumped his hip. Duke, now graying around the muzzle but still spry, thumped his tail from his spot on the porch rug. The old German Shepherd had adapted to homestead life better than anyone, patrolling the garden perimeter each morning before claiming his sunny patch.

The sound of tires on gravel announced Angie’s truck. Gene, Lorrie Jo, and Bobby piled out, arms loaded with baskets. Lorrie Jo had a fresh Bundt cake; Bobby carried a stringer of cleaned trout and a jar of smoked fish he and Bob had put up the week before. “Uncle Bob! Aunt Ashelyn! We brought extra mead from the last batch. Dad says it’s your best yet.”

Gene clapped Bob on the shoulder. “That honey from George’s hives made all the difference. The monks up at St. Benedict’s would approve.”

They settled around the long farmhouse table Ashelyn had insisted on—big enough for the whole extended family. Ashelyn’s parents, Maybelle and Bill, had visited twice already in their own new Class A, parking beside the Earthroamer, which now served as a comfortable guest cabin. Bill still talked about driving the rig back from Augusta and how it handled better than his old pickup.

Conversation flowed easily over biscuits, sawmill gravy, fried trout, and eggs from their own chickens. The garden was producing beyond expectations—Roma tomatoes already hanging heavy, Tokiwa cucumbers climbing their trellises, and the new orchard of pecans, walnuts, and apples starting to take hold with companion planting and smudge pots ready for late frosts.

After breakfast the men walked down to the river. Bob had built a proper dock and small boathouse. The inflatable was gone, replaced by a sturdy jon boat and a larger drift boat for serious fishing. Bobby had taken over most of the angling, turning the offal into prime catfish bait and keeping the smoker busy.

“Place looks nothing like it did when you first brought Ashelyn here,” Gene said, surveying the cleared fields and the new greenhouse.

“Wasn’t just me,” Bob replied. “Whole family pitched in. Even the Carters helped with the interior finishing.” He paused, looking across the Obey. “I spent years running from ghosts. Turns out they were just waiting for me to come home and lay them to rest.”

Angie joined them, linking arms with her brother. “You did good, little brother. Mom and Dad… they don’t get to define this land anymore. We do.”

Bob nodded. The old chimney and burned sill logs had been respectfully cleared and incorporated into a small memorial garden near the treehouse site. He and Ashelyn had rebuilt the platform higher and stronger—less sanctuary from chaos, more place for quiet reflection.

That afternoon, while the kids played with Duke near the sandbar, Bob and Ashelyn walked the perimeter trail they had worn smooth over two seasons. Spring wildflowers gave way to summer greens. The air smelled of river water, woodsmoke, and blooming gardenias Ashelyn had planted near the house.

“You ever miss the road?” she asked.

Bob considered it. “Sometimes the freedom. But I don’t miss the loneliness. Or wondering what I was looking for.” He stopped and turned her toward him. “Found it right here. With you.”

Ashelyn’s eyes shone. “I left everything I knew because something told me you were heading toward a real life. Not just surviving—building. I was right.”

They had built more than a house. The property now included a root cellar, expanded workshop, and a small barn for the two horses they kept for trail riding. Neighbors like old Amos Colter (still alive and ornery) traded produce and stories. The community around Livingston and the lake had grown tighter after the last big ice storm and tornado season—mutual aid groups, shared knowledge on canning, smoking with hazel alder and hickory, and proper moisture reduction for long-term storage.

Word had spread about Bob’s mead too. George Asher’s bees thrived, and the trade for hives had turned into a small side business. Ashelyn managed the garden and preservation side with Angie, while Bob focused on infrastructure and security. The new firearms they had acquired sat secured but ready. Times felt uncertain—political noise from afar, weather growing more erratic—but here on the river, they were rooted.

As the sun dipped toward the western bluffs, the family gathered again on the porch. Bobby fired up the outdoor kitchen Bob had built using plans inspired by Dale Brighton’s ranch setup to their southwest. Ribs smoked low and slow; Ashelyn’s potato salad and fresh greens from the garden rounded it out. Mead flowed from ox-horn tankards and modern glasses alike.

Bill Carter raised his glass. “To the nomad who finally found his harbor. And to my daughter, brave enough to follow him there.”

Glasses clinked. Laughter rose with the fireflies.

Later, after everyone had gone home and Duke was curled in his bed, Bob and Ashelyn sat on the porch swing. The river whispered below. Stars wheeled overhead, unhindered by light pollution.

“I was thinking,” Ashelyn said softly, “about that first breakfast at Marcy’s Roundup Café. You asked if my job made me happy. I didn’t really know then. Now I do.”

Bob pulled her closer. “Same. I thought I was chasing sunsets. Turns out I was driving toward sunrise.”

The next morning dawned clear and warm. Bob checked the Berkey, topped off the wood rack, and walked the garden with Ashelyn. Seedlings they had started in the greenhouse were ready for the main beds. Bobby arrived on the Rokon to help plant. Life moved in rhythm—planting, tending, harvesting, preserving. Canning sessions turned into family events. Ice storms and tornadoes would come again, but they were ready.

Farther afield, the wider community Bob had brushed against—Dale’s bison ranch, Duncan’s river work, Martin and Ciara’s quiet life, the Henderson place—formed an invisible web of resilience. Stories traveled along back roads and radio nets. People helped people. Self-reliance wasn’t isolation; it was foundation for something stronger.

Bob paused at the treehouse oak, now with a proper ladder and small deck. He placed a hand on the bark. The past felt lighter. Ashelyn joined him, slipping her fingers through his, her rounded stomach with their first child outlined in the smart cotton smock.

“Ready for whatever comes next?” she asked.

He looked at the house, the river, their life taking shape. “Yeah. I am.”

Duke barked once from the porch, tail wagging as if in full agreement. The nomad had found his place—not at the end of the road, but at the beginning of something enduring.

And as the sun climbed higher over the Cumberland Plateau, Bob Doyle, traveler turned homesteader, felt the deep satisfaction of roots finally sunk true. The darkness before morning had passed. A new day stretched ahead, rich with possibility, family, and the honest work of building a life worth passing on.

The End​
 
Freebirde said:
In my dream green house I would slope the floor to an eight foot deep, culvert lined dry well. The dry well would be filled with pea gravel and several six foot long PVC pipes. The pipes would be eight or ten inch ID with caps and plugs. A good place for long term, discrete, storage for things such as heirloom seeds and game harvesters.
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Freebirde said:
In my dream green house I would slope the floor to an eight foot deep, culvert lined dry well. The dry well would be filled with pea gravel and several six foot long PVC pipes. The pipes would be eight or ten inch ID with caps and plugs. A good place for long term, discrete, storage for things such as heirloom seeds and game harvesters.
Click to expand...
This is a great read, Thank You!
 
ncsfsgm said:
Chapter Fifty-Five

Alex adjusted the scope on the Winchester Model 70 on the sign next to where his target was supposed to appear. He hoped his first shot took the bagman down and make him drop the briefcase flat on the ground or his second shot wouldn’t have the impact he needed. On time, the Tesla pulled up and a man with a large black and silver case got out. Alex let out his breath slowly and shot the man through the thigh then racked in the second round. He quickly sighted on the case and pulled the trigger. The explosion of the bullet blew the case up in the air and open, scattering packets of money and shreds of packeted bills. He quickly moved from the room in the building on Wisconsin Avenue and headed for the elevators. Pressing the call buttons on both elevators he continued around a corner, opened up and air duct vent and dropped the rifle into the void. He continued on to the freight elevator next to the maintenance room and took the wedge out of the door and slipped in before the door closed. Stripping off the black latex gloves, he placed them in his coat pocket and adjusted his tie. Stepping out of the elevator he took a side entrance out of the building and walked quickly away with his phone to his ear, acting as if he had an important call. He walked to a parking garage and pressed the key fob until he heard a chirp and was soon on the Alexandria Aqueduct heading away from the sirens.

Alex crossed the Arlington Memorial bridge and pulled into a parking garage. Pulling up beside a camping van, he left the keys in the car’s ignition and quickly entered the van. Stripping off his suit, he changed into travel clothes, pulled out of the garage, and headed to connect with interstate 70 with the CD player blasting Allman Brothers tunes. Pressing on the air vent, a small frame 9mm pistol laying in a tray popped out. He quickly checked the pistol for a round chambered and slid the tray back in, continuing on down the highway.
Alex had dinner outside Indianapolis and found an RV park for the night. He was pleased with the RV setup and the mattress was just the right firmness. He wanted to thank someone, but didn’t know who. He had a good night’s rest and headed for Waukegan, Illinois after breakfast at a greasy spoon diner. In Waukegan he had stored his things in a storage facility after his grandmother passed. He would have to buy a trailer to move his things and thankfully the camping van had a good towing system installed. With the trailer and the rental contract canceled, Alex got on I-94 and headed south. Luckily, it was the right time of day. He kept to a center lane and breezed right on by O’Hare and stayed on I-294 until he got off at I-57 south. He would stay on I-57 until he found an RV park just before nightfall.

Allie was feeling better and every morning after breakfast, if it wasn’t raining, she took Gabriel for a walk. Most of the time she ended up at the greenhouse working in the air lock, arranging and sorting things. She learned from Duncan how to test the soil moisture and turn on the drip waterers. Duncan put up little three by five instruction cards sprayed with poly for Allie. Sometimes Duncan would find her sitting on a stool, nursing Gabriel until he moved one of the Adirondack chairs and cushions down for her to use. She and the baby would spend half the day there and then go back to the house to fix lunch and for Gabriel’s afternoon nap. Every couple of days. Ashelyn would take the boat down to the landing and spend the afternoon with Allie. Bob and Gene were busy working on some project in the shop. Today, Ashelyn had brought down some venison Brats and a quart of sour kraut for the Smith’s dinner that night. Ashelyn was also going to teach Allie how to make apple strudel. Allie already had two sheets of frozen puff pastry thawing and all the other ingredients ready on the counter.

Duncan added more boards, hilled up a mixture of leaf mold and compost around the plants, and moistened the soil. When the soil reached the 24-inch level in one of the boxes he would open it up and see what potatoes had grown. He was going to let the others continue up to the 36-inch level and the leaves starting to die back, before he opened them up.

Duncan had already decided to plant three long rows of potatoes in their outside garden in the spring. Russets, Yukon Gold, and LaDonna reds.

Saturday afternoon, Harold and Carolyn came driving up in his beat-up Nissan Frontier pulling a dump trailer of manure for Duncan’s compost pile. Carolyn went into the house while Harold dumped the manure. Duncan would work the manure in with the rotary tiller attachment on the tractor later. Harold walked through the greenhouse checking the beds and nodding.

“Try adding a few drops of vinegar to those tater boxes.” Harold advised.

“Did you see what I got out of that box over there?” Duncan asked.

“Yeah. Those are some nice red potatoes. Are the rest red also?”

“Half are LaDonna red, half are Yukon Gold.” Duncan replied.

“Did you chit them potatoes before you planted them?”

“Sure did. Made sure they had sprouted at least three quarters of an inch before burying them. It’s more tedious that way but I remember getting a better crop if you chit them.”

“Yep. If you take your time, they do right well.” Harold said. “I’ve never grown Yukon Gold before. Much difference between them and LaDonnas?”

“Not much as far as growing. The Yukons like a little more water.” Duncan replied.

“I might try those Yukon Golds this spring.” Harold said.

“Just yell. I’ll have plenty of seed potatoes.” Duncan replied.

The Harringtons stay for the supper of kraut and sausages and had Apple Strudel and ice cream for dessert.
Sunday morning after breakfast, Carolyn was taking the kids for the day so Duncan told Allie they were going for a ride. Allie said she was taking the baby with them and started packing up a diaper bag. Duncan like to aimlessly drive around sometimes and there was no telling when they would be back. Duncan packed a small cooler of bottled water and lemonade to carry with them. When they dropped off the kids at the Harringtons, Duncan went out to T-111 and turned left. Going down a couple of miles, he turned back on the Willow Grove Highway that went up to the Fairview community. He kept his speed around forty to forty-five miles per hour and they just looked. Allie pointed out some hand-made lawn furniture on the side of the highway and a few utility buildings for sale. Duncan pulled into the lot to see if they had any deals. Allie was checking the furniture while Duncan inspected the buildings. They were soon joined by a black man somewhere in his late twenties or early thirties who welcomed them.

“Howdy folks, I’m Jacob Harper. You looking to buy a shed?”

“Depends on the price.” Duncan said.

“Well, they’ll come cheap. I’ve got 60 days to clear all of this.”

“You going somewhere?” Duncan asked.

“Got to. The man that owns this land is going to bulldoze our house and put up a new one for his daughter when she gets married next summer.”

“That seems like a waste. The house looks in good condition.” Duncan said.

“It is. My Daddy moved here thirty years ago and built up everything you see. He even put in an orchard of apple trees that we dry and sell the apples every year. They make some fine pies.”

“Why could he not just add a new coat of paint and such and use the house?” Allie asked.

“He doesn’t want his daughter living in a house that’s held colored folks.” Jacob said.

“In that case, you’re just as well living somewhere else.” Allie said. “That’s despicable!”

“We don’t have any choice,’ Jacob said. “You folks wouldn’t be interested in dried apples would you? We’ve still got 78 half-gallon jars to sell.”

“We sure would,” Duncan replied. “And I want a couple of those chairs too!” Allie said.

“I don’t think you folks have enough room in that truck to carry everything. The jars are cased, but 13 cases of jars will pretty much fill the back of your truck.”

“Well, we can take the dried apples now and come back this afternoon for the chairs.” Allie said.

Duncan agreed and Jacob had Duncan pull his truck to a bigger barn on the property. Duncan and Jacob loaded and strapped the cases down, Duncan paid Jacob and said they would be back in a couple of hours for the chairs.

As they were driving back to the farm, Allie was raving about the asshole landowner. “I wish there was something we could do.”

Duncan just drove along, mentally agreeing with what Allie said and thinking. It would be a risk, but he didn’t think it would be much of one. When they got to the house, Duncan carried the cases down into the basement and they headed back to Jacob’s place. Just after they passed the Harrington’s house, Duncan turned to the right and pulled in front of a house Allie had never been to before.

“What is this?” Allie asked.

“This house is part of the farm too. I own it. What do you think about letting Jacob and his wife move here? It’s got two bedrooms and potential to add more. There is a big shed where Jacob could build his products. We already have an orchard, although maybe not as many trees as he has.”

“I think it would be perfect. He may not want to lease again because of how he was treated.”

“Then I’ll give him a land contract. Make it airtight.”

“Okay, let’s try it.
 
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That is the way to build community! I really enjoy your stories, Thank You!
 
ncsfsgm said:
Chapter One Hundred-Three

Not seeing anything else that caught his eye, Dale checked out and headed back to what passed for home in Nebraska these days. A light, powdery snow drifted down as he drove southwest on I-80. Before leaving the Omaha area, he stopped at a Hy-Vee for groceries to tide him over. The house was empty, so he'd likely sleep in the RV trailer tonight.

He loaded the cart with eggs, coffee, oatmeal, bread, canned beans, bacon, hash browns, bananas, apples, grapes, and sandwich fixings. In housewares, he grabbed two carbon monoxide detectors, cleaning supplies, a mop, broom, and dustpan. Thinking ahead to winter, he added a gallon jug of clumping cat litter for traction. After stowing everything in the trailer, he pressed on toward the ranch.

In Kearney, he stopped at an auto parts store and picked up tire chains, a snow brush with integrated scraper, a magnetic windshield cover, booster cables, windshield de-icer, a pack of foldable warning triangles, a 250-piece first-aid kit, and deer whistles.

At the ranch, Dale maneuvered the trailer near the barn to turn around, then ran a heavy-duty extension cord from the mechanical shop to power it. He was still paying for the damn electricity, after all. Later, if he needed full power, he'd switch to the 6kW Onan generator. He set a pot of beans to simmer, watched satellite TV for a bit, then did some online research. Snow continued lightly through the day but blew away without sticking.

That evening, Dale called and arranged his first shipment: twelve Plains bison to arrive in about six weeks. That would give time to finish any fence work.

Dale cooked breakfast, cleaned up, and hit the road. He planned a relaxed drive to Livingston, Tennessee—around 980 miles—breaking it into three or four days depending on weather. The recent storm had passed, leaving clear roads for now, though he kept an eye on forecasts for anything brewing farther north heading his way.

The morning was crisp with the Platte River valley stretching flat and golden under the wide sky. Again, Dale checked the trailer hook up—double-checked the hitch, lights, brakes, and tire pressures, then eased onto I-80 eastbound. The trailer tracked smoothly behind as he rolled past cornfields and the occasional grain elevator, the Great Plains unfolding in their quiet, expansive way. With a self-imposed limit of 500 miles a day, Dale planned a relaxed pace, mindful of the extra weight that means slower acceleration, longer braking distances, and a preference for major interstates over winding backroads.

Day 1 took him across Nebraska and deep into Missouri. I-80 carried him past Grand Island and Lincoln, then he dropped south onto I-29 toward Kansas City after crossing into Iowa briefly. The highway was truck-friendly, with plenty of rest areas and truck stops for easy pull-through parking. He had covered roughly 450–480 miles, settling for the night at a campground near the rolling hills around Lee’s Summit. The evening brought the smell of grilled supper outside the trailer, the hum of the interstate fading as crickets took over.

Day 2 started with the familiar urban hum of Kansas City traffic—nothing too stressful on the interstates, but he stayed vigilant for merging semis. Dale picked up I-70 east briefly, then angled southeast onto I-49 south toward Joplin, Missouri, before transitioning to I-44 east through the Ozarks. The Missouri countryside shifted from open farmland to wooded hills, the trailer swaying gently on the occasional curve. Fuel and lunch stops are straightforward at the big travel plazas. By late afternoon, after about 400–450 miles, he reached a campground near Springfield, Missouri, where the Ozark scenery feels like a reward—rolling ridges, and cooler evening air.

Day 3 brought the push into Tennessee. From the Branson/Springfield area, he headed southeast on US-65 south toward Harrison, Arkansas then on to interstates I-44 to I-55 south briefly, then east on I-40 through Memphis. The mighty Mississippi River crossing on I-40 felt monumental, the trailer rumbling over the bridge as the city skyline rises. Traffic thickened here, but it's manageable; he just kept right and steady.

East of Memphis, I-40 became his companion through Jackson and Nashville. The landscape flattened into fertile Tennessee farmland, then gently rolled as he approached the Cumberland Plateau. With Nashville's bustle ahead, he skirted the city via the interstate loop. By evening, after another 400–480 miles, he exited I-40 near Cookeville, then headed north on TN-111 toward Livingston. The final stretch wound through wooded hills and small communities—he was careful on the downgrades with the trailer, using low gear and engine braking. As he neared Livingston, he turned off onto TN-84 South and soon came to the Ranch gate.

He called Buck, the Ranch Manager, and told him he was at the gate.

"Good. I'll be right down and lead you to the RV pad near the main house," Buck replied.

When Dale arrived, not only Buck but his sons, Earl and Boone, waited by the pad.

“What are your orders, Boss Man?” Earl asked once the trailer was parked.

Dale pointed at Buck. “You take your orders from him. I’m not changing how y’all work around here—just adding four-legged occupants. I’ll go through Buck until I learn the routine.”

“Are you sleeping in the house tonight?” Buck asked.

“Not yet. There’re some renovations I want done first. I’ll wait until they’re finished.” Dale paused. “We’ll receive the first load of bison in about a month.”

Buck nodded. “Fences are checked. We’re cutting more eight-by-eight posts at the sawmill to reinforce a few spots.”

“I didn’t see a sawmill here before,” Dale said.

“It’s back in the grove we log. Guess I missed showing you.”

“I’d like to take a look.”

“Get settled, catch your breath. I’ll show you in the morning.”

“Sounds good. It was a tiring drive.”

Buck and his sons drove off in the Ranger UTV. Dale stood and scanned the ridgelines ringing the valley. Already, it felt like home.

Meanwhile, back north of Livingston, Alex mixed jerky seasoning into the ground meat, covered the pans with plastic wrap, and slid them into the spare fridge to chill overnight.

Hank came down early the next morning and joined them for breakfast.

“Got the smoker going,” Hank said. “Good supply of oak and hickory chips soaking in Wild Turkey and apple juice.”

“You didn’t drink any, did you!?” AnnaMarie asked sharply.

“Well, I had to make sure the apple juice hadn’t turned,” Hank replied with a sheepish grin.

“I’ve got the press washed and ready,” AnnaMarie said.

“Now, what’s this about a press?” Alex asked.

“Uncle Hank uses it for jerky coins,” AnnaMarie explained. “You take a golf-ball-sized lump of meat and press it out.”

“I built the press from a bottle capper and a ring the size of a #3 can,” Hank added. “The capper has a forged metal plate that presses the meat into a thin three-inch coin. After smoking, they’re about two-and-a-quarter inches across—easy to chew and perfect for a vest pocket. Been making ’em for thirty years.”

“How do you hang them?” Alex asked.

“You don’t. Lay ’em on wire-mesh shelves in the smoker so smoke circulates all around. I only hang sausages so the fat drips out the end.”

They spent the morning pressing and smoking jerky coins. Hank timed them until the pork fat melted and pooled on top, then flipped for the same duration. The coins came out pliable, lightly smoky, and addictive.

While Alex finished the last batch, Hank fetched his buck. He wanted only roasts and ground venison, so they quickly field-dressed it, cut out the roasts and backstrap, and ground the rest with pork fat. The next day went to sausages and more jerky coins.

Down the road, Jacob put finishing touches on a mobile woodshed for an elderly Amish couple as Duncan drove up.

“What’s this?” Duncan asked.

“Mr. Dietz at the Amish store commissioned it,” Jacob said. “Portable woodshed on an axle from a scrapped travel trailer. The couple’s getting on in years—one of the community members can hitch a two-horse team, pull it to the main woodshed, load it, and park it near their kitchen door. Saves hauling wood far.”

“That’s thoughtful. What’s it cost?”

“Nothing. I met the couple when I lived nearby. They’re good people. Happy to help.”

Duncan chuckled. “Next thing, you’ll be in a straw hat and suspenders. You’ve got a good heart.”

“Never hurts to be kind.”

“When it’s loaded on your trailer, bring it down. We’ll fill it with their first load of firewood, drop it at the store—free advertising.”

“I’ll do that and call Mr. Dietz.
Click to expand...
I want one of those jerky coins & mobile woodshed! Thank You.
 
TALLON said:
You wrote “I found Grandma’s recipe for hickory-nut muffins and wanted to take her a copy.” Care to share? Thank You
Click to expand...
Hickory Nut Muffns​



Ingredients:
– 1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
– 1 cup granulated sugar
– 2 teaspoons baking powder
– 1/4 teaspoon salt
– 1/2 cup unsalted butter, melted
– 1 large egg
– 1 cup milk
– 1/2 cup chopped hickory nuts
– 1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Instructions:

  • Preheat oven to 375°. Line a 12-cup muffin tin with paper liners.
  • In a medium bowl, whisk together flour, sugar, baking powder, and salt.
  • In a large bowl, combine melted butter, egg, milk, and vanilla extract. Stir until smooth.
  • Add the dry ingredients to the wet ingredients and stir until just combined. Fold in chopped hickory nuts.
  • Divide batter evenly among muffin cups.
  • Take a pinch of granulated sugar and sprinkle it over each muffin by rubbing your fingers together.
  • Bake for 18-20 minutes or until a toothpick inserted comes out clean.
 
ncsfsgm said:
Hickory Nut Muffns​



Ingredients:
– 1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
– 1 cup granulated sugar
– 2 teaspoons baking powder
– 1/4 teaspoon salt
– 1/2 cup unsalted butter, melted
– 1 large egg
– 1 cup milk
– 1/2 cup chopped hickory nuts
– 1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Instructions:

  • Preheat oven to 375°. Line a 12-cup muffin tin with paper liners.
  • In a medium bowl, whisk together flour, sugar, baking powder, and salt.
  • In a large bowl, combine melted butter, egg, milk, and vanilla extract. Stir until smooth.
  • Add the dry ingredients to the wet ingredients and stir until just combined. Fold in chopped hickory nuts.
  • Divide batter evenly among muffin cups.
  • Take a pinch of granulated sugar and sprinkle it over each muffin by rubbing your fingers together.
  • Bake for 18-20 minutes or until a toothpick inserted comes out clean.
Click to expand...
Thank You so much. I used to get Hickory Nut pies at the country fair but have not eaten one in years. I will try this next fall.
 
ncsfsgm said:
Hickory Nut Muffins



:)



Ingredients:

– 1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour

– 1 cup granulated sugar

– 2 teaspoons baking powder

– 1/4 teaspoon salt

– 1/2 cup unsalted butter, melted

– 1 large egg

– 1 cup milk

– 1/2 cup chopped hickory nuts.

– 1 teaspoon vanilla extract



Instructions:



Preheat oven to 375°. Line a 12-cup muffin tin with paper liners.
In a medium bowl, whisk together flour, sugar, baking powder, and salt.
In a large bowl, combine melted butter, egg, milk, and vanilla extract. Stir until smooth.
Add the dry ingredients to the wet ingredients and stir until just combined. Fold in chopped hickory nuts.
Divide batter evenly among muffin cups.
Take a pinch of granulated sugar and sprinkle it over each muffin by rubbing your fingers together.
Bake for 18-20 minutes or until a toothpick inserted comes out clean.​
Click to expand...

Oh, you are a gentleman and a scholar! Thank you. These will taste wonderful on a chilly winter morning.

I made it to the end of your tale tonight. Well done. Bravo!
 
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