Cider Pressin’ 2005

Dateline: 30 October 2005

In my last Blog entry I told you the story about When Me & Ed Made Apple Cider. After that experience I decided that I must have my own cider press. The Garden Way company was selling cider press kits back then and I really wanted one. But it was three years before I could afford to buy it. By then, Marlene and I were newly married and had regular jobs. There were no children yet, and we were enthusiastic about acquiring homestead tools and self-sufficiency skills.

The Garden Way kit had all the hardware needed to make a press and detailed plans for cutting out and assembling the wood parts. Parts and plans for a hand-crank apple grinder were also included. I used plywood and pine boards to make the press and put several coats of polyurethane on to seal the wood. It was a dandy press that Marlene and I used to make a lot of great cider. We also loaned it out to some of our friends so they could make their own cider.

There was, however, one problem with the grinder. It did a decent job of pulverizing the apples, but the hand-cranking was a lot of work. So I put ball-bearing pillowblocks on each end of the grinder shaft and employed an electric motor to drive it. This improvement made the tedious task of apple grinding downright fun! The grinder was spinning so fast that it violently gulped the apples down and shredded them as quickly as we could toss them in.

The years passed. I became more and more consumed with my work as a carpenter and remodeler. Homesteading was not the focus like it had once been. As a result, the cider press languished in Marlene’s parent’s basement. Then came a time of purging, which is to say, we had a garage sale. The press and grinder sold fast.

I’ve always regretted selling that cider press, especially now that the kids are old enough to participate in and appreciate the process of making fresh apple cider. For the past five years or so, I’ve been intending to make another press. I could buy another kit but Garden Way is out of business and the kits I’ve seen don’t impress me. They are also more expensive than I think they should be. An already-made press is definitely more money than I want to spend. So I’ve been giving a lot of thought to making a press of my own design. I’m still in the thinking and research stage of this project. It will come to fruition one day. In the meantime, this year I borrowed a cider press from my friend Ken.

Ken and his wife, Mary, have been good friends of Marlene and I since high school. We have a lot in common. For the past few years Ken has borrowed my Whizbang Chicken Plucker to process his chickens, and he told me I could use his cider press any time. So, last weekend, I took Ken up on the offer.

Marlene and the kids picked seven bushels of apples one weekday while I was at work. They were from a variety of big, old trees that are not sprayed with any chemicals. That meant the apples were not picture-perfect, but they were just great for cider.

Ken’s press is made from a Happy Valley kit (specifically, it’s the “Pioneer Jr.”). I can tell you that the quality of the Happy Valley kit is nowhere near as good as the Garden Way kit I once had. The fit of the pre-cut parts and the quality of the metal parts is not commendable. That isn't to say the Happy Valley press and grinder do not work, because they certainly do. I just think that the press could be made a little better.

As with my Garden Way machine, the weakest link with the Pioneer Jr. unit is the grinder. Ken’s unit has no hefty circular handle that acts as a flywheel, helping to make crushing a bit easier. I see from their web site that the Pioneer Jr. now comes with a better handle but grinding apples with Ken’s grinder is so laborious that it does not leave one feeling very happy at all.

Pillowblocks and an electric motor would make a huge difference. But my internet research into apple grinders led me to the unique concept of using a garbage disposal to crush apples. I was intrigued enough with the idea that I dipped into the Whizbang Books R&D budget to buy a 3/4 HP In-Sink-Erator garbage disposal. I jerry-rigged the disposal into a scrap of 1/2” plywood and wired it up.

We scrubbed the apples clean by hand in our outdoor sink using lots of cold water (but no soap because I didn’t want any soapy flavor) and piled them by the disposal. I put a big bowl under the disposal outlet and started feeding apples into the machine. The disposal will accept a fairly good size apple but we found it works better if the apples are quartered first. With a big knife and a cutting board, you can quarter apples fast.

The garbage disposal does a truly awesome job of crushing apples. It macerates them almost to the consistency of applesauce, which is far better than any hand-crank apple crusher I’ve ever used. Finely ground apple pomace is more desirable than coarse-ground because it renders more juice.

The only problem with the garbage-disposal-grinder is that it overheats fairly quickly and the built-in circuit breaker will trip off. Then you have to wait several minutes for the motor to cool down. This is a significant drawback. I do not see this kind of grinder as a tool that will reliably grind a lot of apples for years to come.

Be that as it may, using the garbage disposal, we managed to convert all those bushels of apples into many gallons (I did not keep track of how many) of sweet cider. My boys learned what a delight it is to make their own cider and that home-squeezed beats pasteurized, store-bought cider any day of the week.

We gave a couple gallons away, drank a few, and froze lots of it in one-gallon ziplock freezer bags. All in all, cider pressing this year was a grand success.

If you happen to have any experiences or insights into this subject of cider presses, grinding apples, or making cider, I welcome your input. And I will continue to ponder how to best make my own equipment for, hopefully, next year’s cider pressin’ adventure.

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UPDATED INFORMATION....March 2009
My book, Anyone Can Build A Whizbang Apple Grinder And Cider Press is now in print. you can learn about the book and homemade cider production in general by going to www.Whizbang Cider.com

When Me & Ed Made Apple Cider

Dateline: 26 October 2005
Updated: 18 April 2013

It was an old cider press like this. (photo link)

In my last Blog entry I told you about the year I spent at The Grassroots Project in Vermont back in 1976-77. It was during that time that my buddy Ed and I made apple cider, and I’m going to tell you the whole story....

Edwin Parker Bais sounds like such an erudite name, but Ed was a regular guy from the suburbs of Cleveland, Ohio. His dormitory room was across the hall from mine and we became good friends. When my school-assigned roommate, Dave, got himself kicked out of school, Ed became my new roomie.

Ed and I became such good friends that when we had some sort of mild disagreement (real or imagined), we would settle it by fighting. It might start, innocently enough, with me pushing him so he tripped and fell down. To which he would respond by getting up, yelling out a battle roar, and body slamming me across the room into the wall. This clash would be the beginning of a real donnybrook. We would tumble, pummel, wrestle and toss each other about the room, out the door, and down the hall.

It was, of course, an exaggerated and somewhat theatrical mock brawl, but we were good at it. So good, in fact, that, the first time it happened, our fellow dormitory dwellers came to see what was happening, and they were not sure if we were serious or not. It was physical enough to hurt and, eventually, exhaust us. When that happened, we would call a truce, pick up the mess we made, nurse our wounds, discuss the fight and, in general, feel pretty good about ourselves.

Several years ago, Ed sent me a photo he had taken of me just prior to one of our “rumbles.” I have just burst through the door (he knew I was coming) and have a heavy length of tree-branch-for-a-club raised in my right hand. A menacing scowl is on my face. I’m about to thrash him. I’m sure Ed was laughing when he took the picture, which, I’m also sure was just before he commenced to boldly meet my challenge.

Friendships like me and Ed had are rare and memorable.

One day Ed found out the school had a cider press that anyone could use and he wanted me to help him make some apple cider. It sounded like something new and fun to do even though I absolutely did not like apple cider. Ed wondered how anyone could not like apple cider.

I explained to him that the first and last time I had a drink of apple cider was when I was 5 years old. I still remember it very well.... I was at someone’s house for a special occasion. The cider was hot and mulled. Everyone around me was raving about how delicious it was. I took one sip and got a headache. It tasted toxic. It was so gross, and I was so traumatized by the experience, that I never again took even a tiny sip of the stuff. So, as far as I was concerned, Ed could have all the cider we made to himself.

There were several apple trees here and there around the school and the town. We collected a bunch of the ripened fruit and hauled it to the press which was in the yard behind  the dormitory called Madison House. The press was a heavy, dark, old thing with a hand-crank, cast-iron apple grinder. The ground apple mash fell into a slatted tub and, when the tub was full, a wooden disc was set on top of the mash. Then a big screw was turned down to squeeze out the juice. I’m sure you have seen a cider press like I’m talking about.

Ed and I worked together to collect and crush the apples and we captured the juice when it started to run out the bottom of the press. Ed drank a bit, raved about how awesome it tasted, and urged me to try some. I reluctantly agreed and took a tentative sip.

A split-second after the amber, apple nectar hit my taste buds, my brain informed me that it was absolutely delectable. Incredulous, I took another sip and focused intently on tasting it. There was no mistake. That cider was not merely awesome... it was the most exquisite, luscious, ambrosial experience of my life. That moment was my apple cider epiphany. I had tasted the juice of apples in its purest, freshest, most unadulterated form, and I was a believer.

Nowadays, when cider season returns each year, I can’t help but remember sitting around in my dorm room with Ed and a few other friends, eating Triscuits with little chunks of Cabot Creamery caraway-seed cheddar cheese on them, and chasing it down with cold apple cider. We sure did enjoy those apple squeezin's. But that is not the end of this story....

Ed got the idea that we should use some of our sweet cider to make hard cider. I have never been an alcohol drinker, but the idea of making hard cider had an old-fashioned appeal, and I was intrigued. How, I wondered, do you make hard cider? Ed said that all we had to do was add some brown sugar and raisins to the cider, cork it shut, and wait.

With that in mind, we collected a couple dozen tall CocaCola bottles (the green, thick-glass, old-style bottles that the soda company used to refill) and bought some corks to fit the tops. Into each bottle we put some raisins and some sugar. Then we filled them most of the way with cider, pushed the corks in tight, and stored them on the top shelf of the closet in our room.

We were feeling pretty resourceful, making our own hard cider like that, and, though we had no idea how long it would take, we relished the thought of how great it would be to drink hard cider that we had squeezed and fermented ourselves.

I don’t recall exactly how long it took but I’m sure it was more than a week, maybe more than two. It was long enough that I had practically forgotten the bottles up in the closet. But all that time, in the darkness of that closet, the fermenting process had been working.....

I remember we were in our room one evening discussing something or other when, all of a sudden, there was a loud POP! sound. I looked at Ed and he looked at me. “What was that?” I asked. “I dunno,“ he replied. Then there was another POP! “The corks are popping off the cider bottles!” he exclaimed.

We opened the closet door and, sure enough, some corks were missing. Another bottle violently blew its top as we were watching. With a big grin and a sparkle in his eye, Ed said, “Let’s try some!” Seeing as Ed had a whole lot more experience with alcoholic beverages than me, I handed him a bottle. He could quaff the first one down.

Ed sniffed at the open end and took a sip. I could tell from the expression on his face that our experiment had been a failure. The cider was somewhat alcoholic but the flavor was not at all what Ed had dreamed of.

We dumped the bottles out and lamented the loss of such good cider. Then I shoved Ed against the wall (it seemed like the right thing to do) and he responded by jumping on my back and putting me in a headlock. A thrilling clash ensued. So, in the end, even though the hard cider did not come out the way we had hoped it would, we had a fun time anyway.

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P.S. Hey Ed Bais! Where are you? If you ever Google your name and read this, drop me an e-mail. It's been a long time...... herrick@planetwhizbang.com

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UPDATED INFORMATION....March 2009
That episode of cidermaking so long ago was the genesis of my interest in homemade cider, and it has recently led to the publication of my book, Anyone Can Build A Whizbang Apple Grinder & Cider Press. You can learn more at www.Whizbang Cider.com

The Grassroots Project in Vermont

Dateline: 24 October 2005

Updated: January 2024

Back in the mid 1970s, when I was in high school, I didn’t have a clear plan for what to do after graduation. I had a vague idea that I wanted to be a homesteader or farmer or something like that, but I lacked direction and focus. My high school guidance counselor, Gary LaRoech, tried to help me figure out what to do. He suggested I go to the same state university he attended. I remember him showing me the school’s catalog. He opened it to a picture of his dormitory. “My room was right here,” he said, pointing to the book. I wasn’t persuaded.

Then, in a quirk of Providence, Gary remembered something that he had recently received in the mail. “Maybe you'll be interested in this,” he said to me as I was about to leave his office. He handed me a small booklet titled The Grassroots Project in Vermont.

I took it with me and flipped through the pages. There were pictures of kids driving work horses, working on a farm, and participating in other outdoor activities. This was clearly not a conventional school. The classroom was the outdoors. The school’s motto was Working Hands. Working Minds. The place looked custom made for me.

Tuition for the one-year program was $4,000. That was a whole lot more money back then than it is nowadays (accounting for inflation, it's the equivalent of $16,000 dollars in 2013). My parents certainly could not afford it. But my grandmother could. What a blessing my grandmother was! My English teacher, Carm Pennella, wrote a recommendation for me and I was accepted. It was a good feeling to know I had a plan for after graduation and that I was going to be going to such a nifty school.

In September of 1976 my parents drove me to the quaint town of Craftsbury Common in Vermont’s beautiful Northeast Kingdom. Within an hour after arriving, mom and dad were on their way home and I was, figuratively speaking, in heaven.

The school I found myself at had once been a stodgy, traditional, New England prep school for boys, most of whom were, I imagine, uppercrust scions. Officially known as Sterling School, the institution had become an educational anachronism; prep schools just weren’t cool anymore. In a last-ditch effort to save the institution from closing, several faculty members came up with a new idea called The Grassroots Project. The idea worked. Although "Grassroots" is now history, it served its purpose. Today, Sterling has evolved into an accredited four-year college. And tuition is only $38,000 a year!

My class of 1977 started out with somewhere around 60 kids. We came from almost every state in the Union and from very diverse backgrounds. The small size of the school, its remote location, and the unusual curriculum made for a most unique educational experience.

We camped, we hiked, we worked together in teams to get ourselves through wilderness obstacle courses, we whitewater canoed, we learned to sharpen and use chainsaws and two-man crosscut saws. We cut pulp wood and hauled it out of the forest with horses. The school had a farm where we cared for animals. They even had a team of oxen. There was some classroom instruction, some guest speakers, and lots of field trips. I remember one field trip where we helped a farmer butcher a cow. On another we helped build a barn. I helped for a day in a sugarbush collecting sap and watching it boil down. Stuff like that.

We played volleyball, basketball, softball. We played broomball on the ice under lights on frigid winter nights. There were Ultimate Frisbee games on the common. And yes, of course, there was skiing. Backgammon was a popular board game in “The Barn”, which was actually the lounge (with a big fireplace) where we congregated before and after meals. There was also a good share of typical college partying, along with drunkenness, pot smoking, and other immoral activity. But, contrary to popular belief, “everybody” was not doing those things in the ‘70s.

As good as the curriculum was, the best part of that fleeting year from my past was the friendships I made and the spiritual growth I experienced. Although Sterling is not a Christian school in any way, I went there as a Christian with strong convictions about what was right and wrong, and I had predetermined how I would and would not act based on those beliefs. This became evident to a fellow classmate who, it turned out, was also a Christian. Joe Miller was an avid surfer who came from Rehoboth Beach, Delaware. He had a genuine zeal for his faith like I had never seen before. We were brothers in Christ and became great friends, and we shared some wonderful adventures that year.

But Joe was not the only Christian among the student body. There was also Robin, Mike, Randall, and Deby. We got together for Bible studies and fellowship. As a result, we all grew in our faith that year.

My golden year of schooling in Vermont did not give me any college credits and it did not specifically prepare me for a particular career. It was, in many respects, an expensive year of vacation; a downright good time. But the year was not spent in vain. The experiences I went through gave me a fresh, new outlook; they helped to shape and refine my life in many positive ways. One of those ways is that I left Craftsbury Common with a clear understanding of what I wanted to do next, and I’ll tell you how that came about someday.

Another positive experience was that I made apple cider, which is what I actually intended to write about here today. Now that you have this background information, you’ll be able to better understand the context of my next Blog entry... When Me & Ed Made Apple Cider.

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It has been 30 years since I was a student at the Sterling School in the Northeast Kingdom of Vermont, but I think of it often. What I think of most is the common. Many an afternoon I would sit on a bench at the southeast corner of the common, by myself, and soak up the beauty of the scene before me.

That's the common at Craftsbury Common, exactly as I remember it. And there on the right is the bench where I would sit and drink in the beauty of the place.

The common is green and surrounded by a white fence. At the north end is an old gazebo. The houses around the common are, like the school’s buildings, traditional in style and sided with white clapboard. A tall-steepled white church is on the northwest corner. In the background are the Lowell mountains (I loved living among the mountains). On a clear day, when the sun sets in the west, the golden rays flood the common. It is a spectacular picture. It is this picture in my mind that I usually focus on when, for whatever reason, I need to reflect on something beautiful, when I want to be somewhere other than where I am. I stop what I’m doing, stare blankly into the distance, and return to Craftsbury Common. It is a sweet memory

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Here are links to other blog posts related to my year in Craftsbury Common...

Joseph Elbert Miller 1958-2019

My Best Memory of Dirt Class 1976

When Me & Ed Made Apple Cider

Autumn in Vermont & My Baddest Picture

Wendell BerryOn Industrial Ag

Dateline: 17 October 2005

The following quotations from Wendell Berry compliment what I was saying in my previous blog entry. Reference information is at the end.

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“The effects of this process of industrialization have become so apparent, so numerous, so favorable to agribusiness corporations, and so unfavorable to everything else, that by now the questions troubling me and a few others in the ‘60s and ‘70s are being asked everywhere.”

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“The tractor’s arrival had signaled, among other things, agriculture's shift from an almost exclusive dependence on free solar energy to a total dependence on costly fossil fuel. But in 1950, like most people at that time, I was years away from the first inkling of the limits of the supply of cheap fuel.

We had entered an era of limitlessness, or the illusion thereof, and this in itself is a sort of wonder. My grandfather lived a life of limits, both suffered and strictly observed, in a world of limits. I learned much of that world from him and others, and then I changed; I entered the world of labor-saving machines and of limitless cheap fossil fuel. It would take me years of reading, thought, and experience to learn again that in this world limits are not only inescapable but indispensable.”

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“Once one's farm and one's thoughts have been sufficiently mechanized, industrial agriculture's focus on production, as opposed to maintenance or stewardship, becomes merely logical. And here the trouble completes itself. The almost exclusive emphasis on production permits the way of working to be determined not by the nature and character of the farm in its ecosystem and in its human community, but rather by the national or the global economy and the available or affordable technology. The farm and all concerns not immediately associated with production have in effect disappeared from sight. The farmer too in effect has vanished. He is no longer working as an independent and loyal agent of his place, his family, and his community, but instead as the agent of an economy that is fundamentally adverse to him and to all that he ought to stand for.”

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Our recent focus upon productivity, genetic and technological uniformity, and global trade -- all supported by supposedly limitless supplies of fuel, water, and soil -- has obscured the necessity for local adaptation. But our circumstances are changing rapidly now, and this requirement will be forced upon us again by terrorism and other kinds of political violence, by chemical pollution, by increasing energy costs, by depleted soils, aquifers, and streams, and by the spread of exotic weeds, pests, and diseases. We are going to have to return to the old questions about local nature, local carrying capacities, and local needs. And we are going to have to resume the breeding of plants and animals to fit the region and the farm.”

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The above quotations were taken from an article titled Renewing Husbandry by Wendell Berry in the Sept/Oct issue of Orion magazine. I recommend that you read the article.

My thanks to Rick Saenz at Cumberland Books for posting a link to the article at his web site.

A Sabbatical UpdateAnd Biblical Agrarianism

Dateline: 16 September 2005

Hi Everyone,

I'm still taking time off from blogging, but I am compelled to come back and let you know about some new and thought provoking Christian-Agrarian writings I've recently discovered on the internet. Here's an excerpt:

"Agrarianism [is] the only proper seedbed for Christianity. Where Christianity has existed in an Agrarian culture, it has thrived and produced ample fruit. Where it has existed nominally in a non-agrarian culture, it has produced no fruit at all except apostasy. Examples abound...."

That quote comes from Michael Bunker. He has posted two essays that I recommend to you. One is Agrarianism vs Urbanism and the other is Towards A Biblical-Agrarian Culture.

Mr. Bunkers web site, BiblicalAgrarianism.com is worth bookmarking.

As for me, in my haitus from blogging here I have managed to get a lot of work done on the house. I also purchased a nice BCS rototiller (actually a walk-behind tractor with tiller attachment) to help with my garlic planting next month (I've been gardening and growing garlic without a tiller of my own for several years now). And I've been working on the web site that I want to put together to sell my agrarian books. I have decided to name the web site, The Deliberate Agrarian (see TheDeliberateAgrarian.com) instead of "Whizbang Books," (WhizbangBooks.com) which was my original plan. Once the site is up and running I plan to return to blogging here.

For those who are first time visitors here, please be sure to check out this blog for a sampling of stories from "the best of" The Deliberate Agrarian.

Best agrarian wishes to you all,

Herrick Kimball
hckimball@bci.net

My VisionAnd A Fond Adieu

Dateline: 21 August 2005

”I sought a piece of land which I could love passionately, which I could spend the rest of my life cultivating, cherishing, and improving, which I might leave together, perhaps, with my own feeling for it, to my children who might in time leave it to their children.”

That quotation from Louis Bromfield’s classic agrarian book, Pleasant Valley, is a wonderful summation of my own yearning desire for land and part of the reason I so desire it.

Those who have read this blog know that I do already have a piece of land. It is a beautiful, private, 1.5 acres out in the countryside, with a decent little home that I built over 20 years ago. I own this debt-free and am very thankful for it.

But the Lord has, in recent years, given me a multigenerational agrarian vision, and this vision involves, in part, more land. Because I believe God has given me this vision, I believe He will supply the land.

Of course, I would like the land right now because there is so much I want to do, right now. But I’ve learned very well that God does not give His children everything they want. And even when He has given us a vision for something, he provides according to His plan in His time. After all, God does not exist to please me. I exist to please Him. More specifically, as I have only in the past couple years learned, from the Westminster Catechism, The primary purpose of man is to glorify God and enjoy Him forever.

Does borrowing money to finance my yearning bring glory to God? No. I have concluded that it would not. But, humbly, contentedly, patiently waiting and trusting for His provision does. Working (using the talents and opportunities He provides) and saving, slow and steady, also brings glory to God. It is a testimony of God’s truth and faithfullness to my children, and to others.

All of which leads me to the fond adieu: it is time for this Deliberate Agrarian to take leave of blogging for a season. As much as I love writing here, I am feeling very strongly that I must allocate my time more toward projects that will help me one day acquire the land I so desire.

Unfortunately, I have so much more that I would like to write about in this blog. I have not told you about making apple cider, my boys splitting firewood, Marlene’s homemade soap, shooting PVC spud guns, propolis tincture, peppermint sinus saunas, helping my grandfather on his farm when I was little, how I invented granola bars, my Grandmother Kimball's greatest gift to me, and so much more. There are just not enough hours in the days to do everything I want, and that means I must prioritize while maintaining a healthy balance. So, as difficult as it is for me to do, I must take this self-imposed sabbatical from blogging.

In case you are interested,there are six projects I am working on that will contribute to helping me achieve my vision. Let me tell you about them:

1.) I have been and am currently working to get my house in better shape to sell, if that becomes necessary. Toward that end I have been siding (cedar shakes--I do not like vinyl siding) and staining on the outside. I have put in a couple new windows, new flooring in the kitchen, and done other interior modifications. Yesterday the boys and I started building a small (10ft by 12ft) addition on the back of the house. This will give us a bit more needed room and a big sliding door out onto a backyard patio (next year’s project, along with general landscaping) made with large flat stones we gleanded from the creek bed behind our house (we pulled the stones up out of the creek using our old Ford Taurus station wagon). My sons are at an age where they can be a big help to me with the construction. They worked hard yesterday and learned a lot.

2.) Though I have not written about it here, I do have a small agrarian business growing garlic and processing it into delectable homemade garlic powder. I have done this for several years now. It is enjoyable and financially rewarding and will require a lot of work in the coming weeks.

3.) Another thing I have not written about here is the small home business I have as a writer and self-publisher. My goal is to write and publish one new how-to book (with an agrarian focus) every year until I am no longer capable of doing so. I currently have half a dozen books in mind and partially written. Producing books that help others realize their own agrarian dreams is something I enjoy more than anything else I’ve ever done. This little business is slowly growing and I believe it has great potential.

4.) Closely related to one of the books I’ve published is the small mail order business I have making and selling parts to people who want to build their own chicken plucking machine. As with everything else, this business takes time.

5.) I must get a web site for my various agrarian ventures up and running. I have been putting it off and need to get it done, hopefully before the end of this year.

6.) Marlene’s home baking business has a lot of potential and I am planning to convert part of my workshop into a summer kitchen for her. I will be able to use the kitchen for processing my garlic into powder. And it could be utilized in so many other ways. If ever I build another house, you can bet it will have a large summer kitchen built into it, right from the start.

There are other projects but those are the primary ones. I am pursuing these things while working a regular 40-hour-a-week job—an industrial job, I might add (one that I hope to leave in due season). And I’m also endeavoring to be a good father to my children, which is a big job in itself, and far more important than making money.

So you can see that I have a full plate here. I will continue to read and enjoy the wonderful blogs of my agrarian friends (they are listed over on the right side of this page). I hope that more agrarians and aspiring agrarians will take to blogging because it is an inspiration and encouragement to others (me included). Occasionally, I will post a story here, but the stories will, for awhile at least, be few and far between. But please do check in once and awhile.(My next post will be a collection of links to the blogs I’ve written and enjoyed the most.)

God's blessings and my sincere best wishes to you all,

Herrick Kimball

The Deliberate Agrarian

E-mail: Herrick@PlanetWhizbang.com

My Oldest Son’s Summer Job

Dateline: 18 August 2005

As I’ve mentioned in a previous blog entry, my oldest son, Roy, made some money in past summers by helping his mother bake bread and sell it at the farmer’s market. It was a good experience for him. But Marlene and I felt that this summer he needed a more regular job of some sort. He wanted a job too. One that he could, hopefully, make more money at because he is saving to buy a car. This is a good thing because I have told my boys I will not be buying a vehicle for them. They will have to earn it themselves. If a boy earns his car he will appreciate and care for it better than if it is given to him. I know this because I had to work and save to buy my first car.

Finding a decent summer job for a 17-year-old when you live in the country can be kind of difficult. It seems like the typical kid-job these days involves working in town at a retail store or a fast-food restaurant. I did not want my son doing these kinds of jobs. I wanted him doing physical work. A 17-year-old needs physical work. A farm job would have been nice but they are few and far between these days. So Marlene and I were praying about this, and Roy was too.

Last winter, as we were thinking about this, it occurred to me that the lumber yard in Moravia might be able to use a teen for summer help. I’ve done business at this lumberyard for at least 25 years and I know the manager fairly well. His name is Ed. So, with the snow still on the ground, I asked Ed about a summer job for my son. He said that sometimes they hire a student for the summer and to mention it to him again in the spring.

As spring neared, I casually mentioned the job a couple more times. Ed wasn’t saying yes or no. Finally, school was near closing for summer and we were thinking the job was not going to pan out. Marlene took Roy to a nearby Methodist summer camp to apply for a job as a dish washer (we heard there was an opening). It was the only thing that we could find. I wasn’t too thrilled about a dishwashing job but if that was the way it worked out, that would be fine.

Then, a couple days later, Ed asks me if my son found a job yet. I said no but he had applied for the dishwashing job. Ed said he had decided to hire a teenager for the summer and had another boy in mind but to have Roy stop down and see him.

This was a positive development, but Roy was not very enthused with the idea when I told him. He is a reserved and somewhat shy boy. He is also very self conscious. He was afraid he would not know how to do something or that he would make a mistake. I think it is normal for a teenager to feel this way. Washing dishes would surely be a lot easier to figure out and less likely to lead to embarrassment. I told Roy that he did not have the dishwashing job and God had presented him with another opportunity. He needed to go talk with Ed.

Would I go with him for the interview? No, I would not. I told him I was not going to hold his hand (he did not like me saying this). He said he did not even know who Ed was. I told him he’s the oldest guy in the place, to just go in and ask for Ed and tell him who you are.

Well, I set up an interview time with Ed and dropped Roy off an hour before closing on a Wednesday. He was quiet as we drove to the lumberyard. I coached him about shaking Ed’s hand firmly and looking him in the eye when he talked and to speak clearly; not to mumble, not to speak so softly that he could not be heard. He remained quiet and, when we got there, he resolutely got out of the car. “God bless you.” I said as he departed.
I stayed in the car and prayed. Marlene was doing the same at home. We were nervous about this little interview too.

Time passed. A full half hour later he came back out to the car with a grin. “How’d it go?” I asked. “Good,” he replied (he is not a person of many words). I asked him questions about what had happened. He responded to the questions. Then he blurted out, “Now I’m really nervous!” I asked why. “Because I think I might actually get the job.”

I went into the lumber yard two days later and Ed waved me into his office. He told me he had a couple concerns about hiring my boy. I listened carefully. First, he thought Roy might be too shy, too quiet. But more than that, he wasn’t sure if he could physically handle the work. I could see why he would think these things. I wondered them myself. I figured the other kid Ed had in mind was probably some sort of body building football player and he was going to get the job. So I said, “Ed, you’ve hired a lot of people over the years and you know who is going to work out and who isn’t. If you don’t think Roy is a good fit for the job, that’s okay. No problem.”

Then Ed said something I did not expect. “I’d like to give him a try to see how he does.” I wasn’t sure I heard him right. I think I said something like, “Really?”

Well that was a Friday afternoon. Roy started his new job on the following Monday (the first Monday of his summer vacation) at 7:30 am. Marlene would take him the six miles into Moravia and I would pick him up at 5:00 on my way back home from work.

I waited for him in the car outside the store after his first day. He came out smiling. He said his day had gone good. He told me he had worked hard. It had been a brutally hot day and his t-shirt was soaked with sweat. His arms and neck were dirty. It was a beautiful sight.

When I went to pick him up the next day I went into the store about 15 minutes before closing. Ed waved me into his office. I steeled myself for bad news. “How’s he doing?” I asked. “He’s going to work out fine!” Ed replied. Then he joked about how everyone there was taking bets that first day about whether or not he would come back the second day. I breathed a sigh of relief. Ed’s approval was like music to my ears.

This has been a hot summer. Roy has been working 5 days a week and 4 hours on Saturday mornings. He continues to come home sweaty and dirty. He helps load lumber, drywall, concrete blocks, and and other building materials into customer’s vehicles. He unloads and stacks lumber from delivery trucks. He goes on deliveries to job sites. He has learned to drive a fork lift. He carries a radio on his hip to communicate with the people inside the store. He has not missed a day of work. He has lost weight. He has developed muscles that needed to be developed. He is meeting all kinds of people and getting to know some of them. One customer even gave him a three dollar tip the other day. He has learned a lot. He has gained self confidence. He loves his job. It is a good job, for so many reasons. And the pay (which was not even an issue- -I’d have paid them to put him to work!) is good too. Roy has saved almost all he has made.

Now there are only a couple weeks left before my son goes back to school. He has been homeschooled all but the last two years when we paid for him to go to a Christian school. But this year he will be attending a vocational program at the public school for 1/2 day and do homeschool the other half.

I never would have thought one of my children would ever be going to public school (Marlene and I were attending homeschool meetings when Roy was still in the womb), but I think this is going to be a good thing. It is a brand new graphic arts program. The class size is limited to 16 kids. The teacher is highly qualified and new (and full of enthusiasm). I checked the guy out behind the scenes and we all met with him a couple days ago. Another good thing is that Roy’s good friend, Kasey, another homeschooled boy, will be in the same class. And Roy is really looking forward to the program. He has a great opportunity to learn a useful skill. We are feeling very good about it.

Better yet, Ed says Roy can continue to work on weekends and vacations until business slows down in the winter. It looks like he will have a summer job waiting for him next year.

To sum it up, this summer job has been, as Marlene says, “a God thing.” We are so thankful for the Lord’s care and provision in our son’s life.

The Sermon I’ll Never Forget

Dateline: 18 August 2005

Updated: 18 April 2013

Iwo Jima and Suribachi today.

When I was halfway through the 9th grade, my family moved from our tiny ranch house in a suburban subdivision outside Syracuse, New York, to a big old farm house with 25 acres out in the countryside.

A half mile down the road from our new place was a tiny one-room schoolhouse that had been abandoned in the 1960’s. Shortly before our arrival in the community, a handful of local families made a church building out of the schoolhouse. They painted and repaired the structure, moved in a piano, lectern, and lots of folding chairs, before putting up a sign: Calvary Baptist Church. My family started attending regularly.

Prior to that, we had irregularly attended a medium-size suburban Methodist church. Whereas I did not really like going to church before, I thoroughly enjoyed the small, rural, community church. We were packed to the walls on Sunday mornings. If there were any fire codes with maximum capacity allowances, they were surely violated.

Our pastor was Ralph West. He and his wife lived in a neatly-kept trailer next to the church. Pastor West drove a school bus to supplement his income. I remember Pastor West doing his best to teach his flock the complicated Baptist doctrine of dispensational eschatology (a.k.a., rapture theology), complete with diagrams on the blackboard. I remember Pastor West baptizing me. The schoolhouse had no water to dunk me into so we had a ceremony at the bigger Baptist church in Moravia. And I remember Pastor West preaching a sermon that has been lodged in my mind now for 32 years.

In his younger days, Ralph was a soldier in the Marine Corps. On the morning of February 19, 1945 Ralph was among the tens of thousands of soldiers who stormed the black volcanic sand beaches of a jerkwater Japanese island named Iwo Jima.

Iowa Jima is an eight-square-mile speck of creation where God, in His providential plan, foreordained that 6,821 American Soldiers and more than 20,000 Japanese would die in brutal, bloody warfare.

When young Ralph and his fellow Marines swarmed onto the beach that fateful day, they had to make their way uphill in deep sand, with 100-pound packs on their backs. All the while they were totally exposed to the withering gunfire of a well-entrenched enemy (the Japanese had 800 pillboxes and over three miles of tunnels). This attack has been described as “throwing human flesh against reinforced concrete.”

Men were dropping, wounded, dead, and dying, all around him, but Ralph pressed on. Ralph turned to look at his best friend beside him and saw the greater portion of his head instantaneously blown away. This is the way Pastor West’s sermon began. He took his congregation into the battle and he had my rapt attention.

Later, during that first day, having found his way to a secure area, Ralph was part of a body of soldiers who were ordered to march to a tall mountain in the distance. It was Mt. Suribachi, the highest point on the island, and the primary target of the invasion.

After what those men had been through, they were too physically exhausted to make the march. To make matters worse, it was a brutally hot day. Pastor West told us that Suribachi looked so far away. But it was not a voluntary exercise. They started out. Many soldiers fell by the wayside from exhaustion and heat stroke. Ralph felt he would be one of them before he reached the mountain. He did not see how he could possibly make it.

But private West did make it when so many others with him did not. He told us he was able to overcome the pain and fatigue by keeping his eyes on the Mountain and taking it one step at a time. Step. Step. Step. Step. Surely he could take one more step. Each was a challenge. Step. Step. Step. Step. And each step was a small victory. Pastor West told us that he never would have made it if he did not take it one step at a time.

As he preached his sermon that day, he kept returning to those five words: “One Step At A Time.” At one point, he said the words over and over in a crescendo. It was a powerful sermon.

His objective was to associate the struggles involved in the Christian walk with the hardships of a soldier in battle, and to encourage his little congregation to keep their eyes on Jesus as they take life’s journey, one step at a time. It is a fine and compelling analogy.

============================

Five days after the start of the invasion, at 10:20 A.M. the first Marines reached the summit of Suribachi and Lt. Harold Schrier raised a small American flag. Ralph West saw it go up. Later on, a group of marines raised a much larger flag. This raising of the 2nd flag was staged and photographed by Joe Rosenthal. It is the most famous and recognizable war photograph in American history. Private West saw it firsthand.

I have read that the U.S. underestimated the Japanese strength on Iwo Jima by as much as 70 percent. It took 33 days to completely take the island. In addition to the 6,821 American dead, there were more than 20,000 wounded. Only 1,083 Japanese survived.

On top of Suribachi

Marlene BlogsAbout Her Bread Business

Dateline: 16 August 2005

The Deliberate Agrarian (my husband) has asked me to write about my farm-market bread business. Here goes....

I started out doing the farm market on a whim-- a new one had started in our small town six miles from our home. As Herrick mentioned I thought it would be good for our oldest to do the market with me and earn a little cash while getting “real life” learning. I have always loved making and selling things and this has served as a wonderful creative and social outlet for both me and the boys.

I started just using the bread recipes that I was used to-- my grandmother’s oatmeal bread and Herrick’s mom’s whole wheat. (Both recipes are of very sentimental value to me and right now I’m not ready to share them. ) I grind my own whole wheat flour and I also use only unbleached white flour, honey and olive oil for the sweetening and fat. My customers who truly care about the quality of their food really appreciate that. There’s something about homemade bread that people just go crazy over it. The low-carb craze has had no effect on my business.

From the oatmeal recipe I make plain oatmeal, oatmeal raisin,cinnamon swirl and nutty grain. The nutty grain was something I came up with one day when I wanted to be creative and do something different. It is now my signature bread--my best seller. It is the oatmeal base bread with raw cashews, sunflower seed, sesame and ground flax. People absolutely love it. It was fun to create and we had fun coming up with a name for it.

From the whole wheat bread, I have expanded to a whole wheat and toasted walnut bread, and also a cracked wheat and oat bread. Those two recipes you can find at www.breadworld.com. I have added a cup of oat bran to the cracked wheat bread and increased the water a bit because I have quite a few customers who want lots of fiber in the bread.

I do one small batch of white bread because I have customers asking for it (All I can think of is the whiter the bread, the quicker you’re dead). Unfortunately, the boys love it too. For some reason, I have trouble with white bread. The loaves blow out the sides or one end will puff up higher than the other. The boys call these “brain tumors.”

I make the medium bread pan size (approx. 8 x 4) and then I make mini loaves (5x3). The minis have proved to be an excellent idea. There a lot of older people who are now single, or people who love bread but just don’t want to have a lot on hand, who love these mini loaves. Also newbies to the market who are timid about buying a big loaf can try out my bread to see if it’s good. ( and they usually come back the next week to buy a big loaf.)

Another thing I do that is a nice touch is that I brush most of the loaves with an egg and water mixture and put a topping down the center top. This gives the loaves a nice country look and also helps my boys identify which bread they are bagging and labeling. For example, the oatmeal has oats on top, the nutty grain has a scattering of flax seeds and the wheat and walnut has finely chopped walnuts.

At the market I always try to have my tables looking very clean and pleasant with nice tableclothes--sometimes a vase of fresh cut wild flowers. I display quick breads and cookies in wicker baskets or pretty platters. I also try to have things priced clearly--there’s nothing worse than going to a vendor’s table where nothing is marked and you have to ask.

I started out small, kneading by hand and with one oven. Now I have a mixer that can handle a 7 loaf batch, and I have two ovens. I started in a small town and did fairly well but it was very inconsistent at times. The Lord opened up several doors for me to move to a bigger market where I can get a price worthy of the quality of my bread and where people really appreciate it. I get $3.75 for large loaf and $2 for the minis.

I did have to get our water tested and the kitchen inspected by Ag and Markets but it proved to be very easy. The only drawback in this bigger market was that I had to get a vendor’s liability policy and also increase the insurance on our vehicle that would be at the market. I guess if someone trips on my tent pole and gets hurt I’m covered and the market is covered. I fretted over these extra expenses but my sweet husband told me not to worry about it.

I am making up to sixty loaves (20 on Wed. a.m. and 40 on Thurs. a.m.) while supervising the boys at baking cookies and quick breads. I also have a friend who’s helping to make pies. It is to the point now that anything I make and put on the table sells because I have built the appreciation and trust of a great customer base. My only limitations now are the smallness of my home kitchen(I am praying and researching whether to invest in a biggerb mixer) and my own stamina (sigh) It has been an extremely hot and humid summer here in central NY and it is extremely exhausting to do this many loaves with basic equipment and no “girl” help The boys do very well with most things but are still in training. They aren’t naturally intuitive about what needs to be done unless they are instructed, and though they enjoy eaning money, this isn’t something they are passionate about. They don’t “just love to bake.”

This is now my fifth year and though I’m not making a large profit the foundation has been laid for us to expand in several different directions if we so desire. I have been asked to come to sell at several other markets but I don’t want to be that busy yet. Herrick and I are working together thinking this through.

It is a nice little business that anyone could try with little starting capital--it just takes some time to build up. Children can learn a lot of business skills-- figuring change without a calculator or cash register is a lost art. They also learn “people skills”. The boys have made a lot of nice impressions on people and I enjoy sharing that they are homeschooled. I strongly believe that people can see the difference in their behavior-- that they are well adjusted normal kids and that the “need for socialization” argument can be tossed out the window. The market is also just fun to be at. We come home with lots of stories about the various interesting people we meet and different little incidents that happen. #3 son took pictures last week and we had a slide show that evening.

That’s pretty much it--I’ve rambled on for quite a bit here. I pray it is beneficial information. If anyone has any more questions, feel free to write. It just takes me a while to respond. Below is the “ molasses cookie” recipe that mistakeningly came out like fabulous pancakes. It really does make a delicious cookie.

Gingersnaps:

Cream together in large bowl: 1 cup sugar, 3/4 C butter, 1/4 C molasses, 1 egg. In another bowl mix: 2 1/ 4 flour, 2 t. baking soda (scant) 1/4 t. salt, and 1 t. each cinnamon, cloves, and ginger. Blend the two bowls together and roll into balls then flatten slightly or alot. Bake 325 for 10-15 minutes.

Note: I use 1/2 c butter (never margarine--just my convictions) and 1/4 oil. Adjust the flour if they are coming out too flat and adjust cooking time if you want them chewy or crisp. They
also come out good with whole wheat flour in place of half the white.

God bless you all--I enjoy reading about everyone and am thankful that the Lord has blessed Herrick and I with like minded people to share our thoughts with.

*****

UPDATE: September 2008

Some things have changed in the three years since this blog essay was first written. For one thing, Marlene has taken this year off from selling her baked goods at the farm market. But she still has a customer base and occasionally makes bread for several people. Due to the rising cost of olive oil, she now uses canola oil in her recipes. Also, the price for a loaf of her homemade bread is now $5. She was concerned no one would buy her bread for that price but it has been no problem.

Also, after this blog was written, she experimented with selling plates of cinnamon rolls. The price is $5 and they sell very well. They are also easier, faster, and less money to make than the bread. She gets twelve plates of rolls out of a mixer batch of dough. Each plate has seven rolls. It costs her about $10 for ingredients. The "secret" to her delicious cinnamon rolls is in the white frosting she drizzzles on the top. She uses real vanilla instead of the imitation and it really makes a difference.

Another home-baking idea Marlene has been pursuing is granola. She has been selling 12oz bags of granola for $4. They sell well if she offers samples. She says she should probably be charging $5 a bag considering the cost of nuts and dried cranberries.