Spraying, Mowing, Shearing

When the four men finished the apple thinning, they learned there was even more work to do with the apples. As the weather warmed up, the bugs came out. The apples needed spraying. There were several diseases that could seriously affect the apple crop. His mother just sprayed soapy water on the trees at home whenever bugs became a problem, which wasn’t very often. John told the crew that the bugs out here knew there were a lot of apples, and just hung around waiting for them to nibble on or spread disease to their leaves.

The men had to wear masks to keep the spray out of their lungs. The backpacks with tanks on them were heavy, but the spraying went faster than the thinning. They sprayed the trees in just two and one-half days. Harley could guess, and he found out he was right, about the next task concerning the apples. He could tell that walking around the trees was becoming more difficult, because the grass in the orchard was getting longer every day. They had been there two weeks, and it was prime growing season. The grass was growing like gangbusters! It needed to be cut, and although the sheep would make good lawnmowers, Harley was pretty sure that Uncle Gene had a plan for mowing the grass and he was right.

Uncle Gene had 950 trees on twenty-five acres of orchard. Harley had only mowed his own small front and back yard on the Iowa farm. They had a push reel mower that Charley had purchased at one of the bankruptcy farm auctions for a dollar, and he sure hoped Uncle Gene had a bigger mower than that!

It turned out that Gene had four mowers and they were imported from England. They were the Atco brand, and were apparently used to trim golf courses over there. He bought them off a train in Chelan, where they showed up by mistake. Apparently, the shipping labels and information were lost. Gene supposed they were originally destined for some fancy Hollywood estate in California, but no one could trace it. Harley had never been on a golf course, but he had seen pictures. He sure hoped Uncle Gene did not expect his orchard grass to look like a golf course! He knew the apples were a critical crop on the ranch, but he pictured himself cutting grass continuously for the rest of the season, and it was not a pretty picture.

Fortunately, John explained that the mowing took about a week, and only had to be done about every three weeks. As the summer got hotter and it was now nearing the end of June, the grass would slow down in growth, and there would be many chores to fill in their spare time between mowing days. So, the men learned how to use the Atco mowers, and headed out to the bushy green grass under the trees. John said the orchard definitely did not have to be groomed like a golf course and showed the men how to raise the cutting level to the highest mark. The mowing went pretty darn quickly at that setting, but twenty-five acres was still a lot of mowing.

Harley really enjoyed his Sundays, especially every other week when he called home. Lena was thrilled to hear his voice and Harley wanted to be updated on Charley’s health. Lena and Harley determined that he would have to wait until second semester to enroll. He was also wondering what his folks were going to do when Michael left for the University of Iowa in September. Harvest season would be approaching and he worried that they would be short-handed. He learned that one of Betty’s nephews from her mother’s side of the family was coming to work for Jim, and he would be helping Charley also. That was one less thing for Harley to worry about. He was aiming for college to help his family. He did not want his quest to harm them in any way.

On one of the Sundays, all the fellas decided that they would hike up to the hill where Clarence’s grave was. They had not heard anything back from the sheriff about any relatives in Wisconsin; they just felt like a visit from old friends was called for…so he wouldn’t feel forgotten. Uncle Gene had put up an oak cross like he said he would, with Clarence’s name and date of death on it. It matched the other three crosses up there, only it looked newer, of course. Weeds had started to grow along with the grass over it. Harley wished he had thought to bring some trimmers, but he vowed to himself to remember next time they came. He sure as heck wasn’t going to push one of those big Atco mowers up here. As long as the crosses could be seen above the grass, that would have to do. The men all agreed that it was a fine spot to be buried.

Having completed the first round of mowing the entire orchard, Harley went to John to see if he knew what task Uncle Gene had for them next. He had hoped it wouldn’t involve anything else in the orchard right away, and it didn’t, but then he learned to be careful what he hoped for. They would be helping shear the sheep.

Harley did not like sheep. Not at all. He hadn't said anything to either Uncle Gene or to his crew, but Harley thought sheep were the smelliest and most brainless animals alive. At one point, Charley brought a few sheep home from the auction in Perry, Iowa. Those sheep were so dumb. They would bust out of the snug warm barn during a heavy spring snowstorm to give birth to their lambs, in the middle of the night. Harley found seven dead lambs in snowdrifts the next morning. Lena was stomping mad, and it really took a lot to get her that mad. She literally stomped around the house that morning. Harley would do whatever Uncle Gene wanted done, but mowing the orchard again was now something he was looking forward to.

There were several crews on the ranch who did nothing but herd, feed, worm, and well, do basically anything else with the sheep. There were about 300 sheep to keep track of. Just the thought of that many sheep in one place disgusted Harley. John said they needed extra hands for shearing because while they were shearing some of the sheep each day, the other sheep still needed to be watched, fed, and taken care of as usual. He volunteered to watch the sheep instead, but John said those men had a routine; the sheep and the dogs were used to them. John kindly, but firmly, declined Harley’s offer. Then John confided to Harley that shearing was his least favorite chore on the ranch because he also hated the way they smelled. At least John understood, but he still expected the fellas to do the required work, and Harley assured him they would do whatever needed to be done with shearing.

What needed done was stinky and repetitive. The regular herders would bring fifty sheep in the main corral each morning. Once they were in there, a hand would have to single one out, put a rope around its neck, and bring it out of the corral to a ramp parked next to the corral gate. The sheep was led (dragged) up the ramp, to stand on a wooden platform. If it would not stand still, men were required to help the shearer move the sheep into the best positions. Then the trimmer, who held the shears, would shear the sheep. He trimmed as quickly as he could. The men helping would have to keep their arms and hands and heads out of the way so they didn’t get cut, as the man who was shearing went quite fast. This was not easy work, it was not fun, and the sheep wool smelled awful to Harley. Sometimes it had feces stuck to it, but mostly it was that greasy lanolin smell that he hated. He put a bandana over his nose and just did the job. Uncle Gene passed by the second day, giving Harley a nod and a smile.

“I don’t like the smell, either, son,” he said. That really did not help Harley feel better at all, but he nodded and smiled back.

About every third sheep, the men had to stop and shove the trimmed wool into bags. It made Harley think about the Baa Baa Black Sheep nursery rhyme. They were certainly going to have more than “three bags full” after shearing three hundred sheep! The bags were tossed up into the lower hay loft and when the shearing was all finished. A truck would come from a woolen mill near Seattle to pick up all the wool and pay Uncle Gene. Harley had no idea how much Gene would be paid per pound, or per bag, but he knew it was a big money-maker for the ranch.

Charley had always told his son, “Whatever is worth doing, is worth doing well,” so Harley sheared the sheep well. He hated it, but he did his best. He, along with Leo, Adam, and Ed, were learning how to ranch. Learning about new machines, learning about how to do jobs efficiently and on time. There was never really a schedule on the farm in Iowa, he and his father had always just done what needed to be done as the time came. He never thought of it, but here in Washington State, there was a definite rhythm to the work. He was getting in rhythm, he figured. That couldn’t be a bad thing, because it felt good. He had never felt so productive, and at the same time, he felt like he was not just helping Uncle Gene, but also his rail-riding friends.

Somehow, the sheep finally got sheared. It was getting warmer every day, and if sheep can look happier, these sheep did. Harley was just happy it was over.

The apples became his focus again. Uncle Gene said it looked like they were headed for a record crop. Uncle Gene was not the kind of man who patted you on the back and praised you for doing a good job. Harley, in his head, felt that was what his uncle was trying to tell him as he sized up the large crop of apples.

The men mowed the apple orchard again, and then went through to do a final thinning, making sure none of the branches had more weight than they could bear. Too many apples on a branch always hurt production that year, and the next year, also, is what he learned from Uncle Gene.

When the mowing and apples were taken care of again, Uncle Gene put Harley’s crew to work checking the fences. Harley knew that this was an 8,000-acre spread, but he had not given much thought to how much fence there would be on a piece of land that large. Their farm in Iowa consisted of three different pieces of land, all near each other just outside of Grimes, but there was only a total of 240 acres. Most of it, besides the barnyard and house areas, was tilled Iowa farmland. Uncle Gene had 800 acres of oats and corn, the twenty-five acres the apples were on, and pastures for the sheep. The rest of it was a series of valleys and buttes; it was wide-open western land. Not at all like his father’s little farm. Harley now knew the difference between a farm and a ranch; a ranch had a whole lot more fence!

He did enjoy doing the fences with his crew. They took out two horses pulling a wagon full of posts, fencing, barbed wire, and tools. Uncle Gene was quite particular when he was showing them what to do. There should be no breaks, no sagging, no leaning wire or posts. Everything had to be tight and square.

Gene told them, “We don’t only have sheep, we also have some cattle. These fences have to be able to hold anything.”

Gene came out about once every three days, checking on the work that had been done, and suggesting the next area he wanted checked. Harley was impressed at how Gene knew so much about every aspect of the ranch.

Harley was also amazed at how much stronger he seemed to be getting. Working all day, every day, he felt like he was in the best shape he had ever been. At home with his folks, he had never worked this hard for this long. He’d take a half-day to go fishing, or his father would take him to Des Moines or Perry with him. Lena would send him to the bank or grocery store, or there might be an afternoon now and then to lie around and read. On this ranch, Harley’s only free time was on Sundays, and he had learned to treasure that. Aunt Lou loaned him books from her library. At first some of the other hands made fun of him a little, but they found out it didn’t really bother him, so the razzing stopped.

July turned to August. Harley turned nineteen on August 11th, and Aunt Lou surprised him with a birthday cake at lunch. She made a large spice cake and all the ranch hands got a piece. She baked cakes for them sometimes for a special dessert, but Harley could tell that she had put in a bit of extra effort on this one. That was the day Harley chose to tell his friends that he was not going to stay on the ranch.

After lunch, the crew was on horseback, riding through the orchard, having been sent out to look it over by Gene. They paused for a moment about halfway through their patrol.

“Say, fellas?” Harley began, “May I talk with all of you seriously for a minute?”

“We got apple trouble?” asked Ed.

“No, no trouble, just something I need to tell all of you. I have not been quite honest,” Harley admitted.

“Not honest? Ain’t never thought you was a liar,” said Leo, with a truly pained look on his face. “You ain’t no liar!”

Ed and Adam rode over nearer to Harley, as if they wanted to look more closely at him. They looked confused but said nothing.

“It’s called lying by omission. There is something that I haven’t told you,” Harley explained.

“You ain’t on the run from the law, is you?” asked Leo. It was apparent he was going to be doing the talking for the rest of the crew. Ed and Adam just sat on their horses, listening. They had looked up to Harley, even though he was younger. He had changed the path of their lives these past few months. They had a good job, money in their pockets, and the security of ‘place’ that so many men were missing in these tough times.

“No, no, no,” Harley assured them. “Nothing like that. I want to start by saying that you fellas have been great friends to me. I have learned so much from you. You know, I am the youngest among us and an only child and being with you fellas has been almost like have a couple of big brothers, honestly.”

“Ok, so just tell us,” Leo urged him.

“Here’s the deal. Everything I told you about my folks is true. My dad had to ride the rails, our house did burn down, he did have a stroke. And I set out to hobo to earn money…” he paused and looked at their intent gazes which were fixed on him. “But I need the money for college. I am going back to Iowa to start college in January. That has been my plan all along. I am so sorry I kept it secret.”

“Why didn’t you tell us that to start with?” asked Leo.

“I don’t know. I was afraid. I didn’t know you fellas would help me so much and get to be such good friends. I have grown up the past few months, a lot, and you have been so helpful,” Harley kept talking, hoping he could explain all his thinking.

“I have been poor. Our farm is small and the past few years we have been on the edge of losing it. My mother went to college, and she wants me to have a better life than the farm. I don’t want to be poor my whole life. I know how to work hard and I want to own my own business,” he blurted out all at once.

The men stared at him. They took in this new information. Harley watched them as a slow smile grew on each man’s face.

“That ain’t no bad lie, kid,” said Leo. “Is that the best lie you got? You are a pathetic liar, if it is!” The horses kind of shuffled around with their feet, like they had listened to enough and wanted to get on the move again and finish their walk through the orchard.

Ed looked thoughtful for a minute, “So you gonna leave the ranch in January?”

“No, I have to be back in Iowa in January. I'd really like to be back for Christmas. I will probably have to leave pretty soon after the apple harvest is over. My mother wants me to go to Sacramento and visit her Aunt Polly while I am out here. That will take a couple of weeks, and then I have to get back to Iowa,” Harley explained.

“You gonna ride the rails back? You gonna ride the rails to California?” Adam asked.

“Oh, no. I am not riding the rails without you fellas! The only reason I got out here alive was because of you… and Clarence. Uncle Gene is buying me a train ticket from Sacramento to Des Moines, and I am paying for my own ticket to get from here to Aunt Polly’s. My hobo days are over, and that’s the other part of this, too…” Harley said.

“What other part?” asked Leo.

“Well, I am hoping, and so is Uncle Gene, that your hobo days are also done for. He wants all you men to stay here and not wander off when I leave. He says he would be in trouble if you fellas left him. Most of the hobos are still going to California, or headed down south for the winter. He won’t have enough winter hands if you leave. He even told me he would gear you fellas up with winter clothes if you will stay.” Harley sincerely wanted these friends to have the life on the ranch that was being offered to them.

“I ain’t goin’ nowhere. Where would I go? This place is like home now. If yer uncle is gonna keep us, I’m gonna stay!” said Leo. Ed nodded his agreement enthusiastically.

Adam spoke up. “I been sending good money back to my wife and girls and would be darn happy to jest go home now, but this money is too good and the wife says she wants me to keep sendin’ money. She says to stay here for now and let her save up. We hope to get a house someday. Ed and me are stayin’,” added Adam. “Right, Ed?”

“Fer sure,” exclaimed Ed. “I ain’t leavin’!”

Harley was so relieved at their reaction to his revelation. “Uncle Gene will be so glad. Is it alright if I tell him that all three of you will be staying?” asked Harley.

“Sure,” said Leo. “Tell him we will be proud to stay. You got a fine family, Harley, ya know that?”

“Yes, I do. And I also have fine friends. Best friends a fella could ask for,” added Harley. “Let’s finish this orchard trip and put these horses up proper before dinner.”

With that suggestion, the men got their eager horses on the way, and completed the orchard check. They started the route back to the barn in contemplative silence. Each man was thinking about his own future, for sure, and counting the blessing of good friends and continued prosperity. None except Harley were looking more than a year or two into the future. Harley, however, was dreaming of his name on the sign above the door. A building all his own. A business all his own. His Lincoln parked on the street out front. His mother in a fine dress. His thoughts stopped short of his father in a fancy suit; he knew that was not going to happen. Charley was too comfortable in his shirt and overalls. His dad owned one suit and it would probably last him the rest of his life. That was fine with Harley. His father was a farmer and he was proud of him.