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Home > Archives > Short Stories > Once A Year Once A Year By Ed Lisay "Over by the chokecherry tree you'll find some stakes," my father told me. "And an iron bar." Each New England farm has a story. None are more interesting then others. This spring I became the third generation to plant the same ground in Tewksbury, Massachusetts. When my tomato plants began to bend under their own weight, I learned a few things about the history of my grandparents' farm. Nestled in the crouch of an old tree, just a few steps from the garden, is a collection of stakes that includes representatives from each class of pole: metal pipes, square wood and reasonably straight sticks. There is also a unique iron bar. The tall bar is camouflaged by a thin coat of rust. It is about five feet long --made of quality steel-- about two inches in diameter. It weights about fifteen pounds. One end has been forged into a loop and the other ground to a point. In between is a curious twist.  The bar is the prefect tool for making holes for tomato stakes. It is just the right length and weight for an average sized man to make a two foot deep hole. It is simple to operate. You place one hand on the ring on the top and use your other hand to steady the bar. Lift it as high as you can comfortably reach, then thrust the pointed end into the ground. Then you just pull up the bar and press the stake into the hole. During the last seventy years, the bar has been employed for a variety of task on the farm. The fascinating history of this tool provides some interesting insights into life on a New England farm. The date and place of the bar's manufacture are unknown. It came into my family's possession through George Silver, the second husband of my grandmother, Blanch Lisay. They lived on a small farm in Tewksbury, Massachusetts where they raised vegetables, pigs and five children. In 1929 George began working for the railroad. He traveled the tracks on a hand-pump cart searching out and replacing broken ties. The bar was mainly used to pry the broken tries out from under the rails and push the new ones in. One of the fringe benefits of the job was that the workers were allowed to take the broken ties home. The hardwood ties were prized as fire wood during the cold New England winter months. The only draw back to this free fuel was the tar-like coating used to prevent the ties from rotting. It also coated the chimney. The ensuing chimney fires became an expected event. One evening, as my grandfather was loading broken ties onto his plug-drawn wagon, the bar was accidentally placed in with them. When he arrived home he was astonished to see the bar had followed him. That bar never worked for the rail road again. Without the security of the Rail Worker's Union, the bar had to acquire new skills to earn its keep on the farm. Money was scarce in the 1930's. To provide for the growing family, a distillery was set up in the cellar of the farm house. Converting excess corn into whiskey proved to be a profitable hobby. The bar was wedged against the cellar door on a forty five degree angle to prevent it from being opened from the outside. On a few occasions Federal Officials, believing that the Eighteenth Amendment was being broken, unsuccessfully tried to open that door. An explosion marked the end of the moonshine factory. In 1933 the Twenty-first Amendment repealed Prohibition. During the 1940's the bar was used to combat the deadly cholera epidemic. In an effort to stop the spread of cholera that was sweeping the nation, the United States Department of Agriculture began requiring farmers to boil swill before feeding it to their pigs. New England farmers showed their ingenuity by designing a low cost swill sterilizer. The apparatus consisted of an old oil tank with the top cut off resting on cinder blocks. A wood fire was lit under the tank to provide the massive amount of heat required to kill the bacteria in the unrefrigerated waste food. The bar was given the grave responsibility of ensuring that the fire never went out. Several times a day the bar was thrust into the glowing wood embers under the enormous vat of boiling swill. The tempered steel bar was the perfect tool for rekindling the red hot coals. On two occasions the bar was unintentionally left in the fire over night. In the morning it was cherry-red and twisted. Although there haven't been an pigs on the farm in fifteen years, the twist in the bar remain to this day. The bar is now retired, but has no intention of rusting away. My father uses the bar, once a year, to make seventy or eighty stake-holes. This year I used the bar. More importantly, I learned its history. Then I returned the bar to its resting place --under the chokecherry tree-- where it watches over the farm. Remembering. Looking forward to next year. And perhaps dreaming of telling its story to another generation. |
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