Better Off_ Flipping the Switch on Technology - Eric Brende [46]
In addition to the adult workers, there were also the young children at play and a few older teenagers who worked alongside the grown-ups. I wasn’t accustomed to seeing children in an adult work world. They gave the event an air of festivity, like cherubs adorning the corners of a picture. Except for the few older teens, they didn’t directly participate; rather, they carried on a kind of sideshow with their own absorbing projects. They romped in the hay, poked at turtles beside the pond, and cavorted in and around a parked buggy, pretending they were on a cross-country trip.
Sometimes a child’s shriek would interrupt the rhythm of work. Once a young girl playing near the buggy began sobbing hysterically. Quick as could be, one of the men ran and comforted her. It was nice to see that crying for a legitimate reason was not considered sinful—only fussiness during church. I presumed he was her father, but then almost any adult present could have filled the role.
As we gathered by the entranceway for the midday meal, one man with light reddish hair reached out to another young girl, pulled her up to his face, and as if forgetting there were other people present, began to cuddle her and coo. Soon a little son was on the other shoulder. They snuggled in turn as he raised them up and down his sides. When the line moved forward, he set them down again, but they tried to climb up his legs as he walked.
In the washroom three preschool-age brothers dried themselves with a single large towel as they spun inside a small corral formed by the men’s legs.
Women, at this event, we knew mostly by inference. The table was set when we arrived. Their care and skill seemed to waft like an aroma from the delicacies spread upon it: the boiled new potatoes with bits of bacon; the green beans and peas; the coleslaw in heavy cream; the fresh greens, the meat and gravy; the cornbread and home-canned peaches; the variety of homemade pickles, relishes, and cheeses; the fruit and custard pies with homemade crusts. I got a plateful and began to stuff myself, but after a few swallows I felt full. The room was becoming uncomfortable; heat kills the appetite. I looked around me and saw others picking at their food as well. In a mercifully short time, grace was repeated, and we filed out-of-doors.
We had spent all of ten minutes in the ovenlike chamber; the cooks, an entire morning in it. I wondered what the wife’s mood was like now.
When we returned to the barnyard, I paused to get a sense of the progress. The mason had lain a waist-high wall around the perimeter of the barn addition, allowing an opening for a door. Inside, the concrete floor was finished, smooth and drying. Outside, several six-by-six posts lay in a heap. I was puzzled by the notches that had been chiseled from the ends.
In addition, there were several other boards.
Edward, the owner of the place, began to nail together some of the notched pieces:
This three-piece assembly was performed twice, leaving three pieces behind:
I was solicited to raise the preassembled units. The wood was heavy. I almost lost my grip, but with two others hoisting beside me, the structure rose to its proper position atop the block wall:
With the end-structures in place, all that remained was to insert the leftover six-by-sixes thus:
Their notched ends would interlock perfectly with the complex joints at each corner:
And finally, the smaller beveled two-by-fours would form diagonal braces. (Wood planks had already been bolted over the top of the block wall as a receiving surface.)
For a net effect of:
I waited in suspense to see what would happen next.
As the remaining gaps were filled in, I spent most of the afternoon handing boards up to the men overhead. They seemed to know what to do and where to go without being told. They let fly hammers on the gradually unfolding second story of the building. They pulled up the planks I passed