In a Pickle: A Family Farm Story

14 Salt Bin

105 W ith the soaking rain, no cucumbers could be picked the following morning. The crew at the pickle factory needed a break. But there was no time for relaxation. Helen needed to keep the records up-to-date, the cucumber sorter required cleaning and oiling, several wooden cucumber boxes had loose slats and needed renailing, and broken boards covering the pickle vats called for repair. But the big job for the day was emptying a boxcar-load of salt that had arrived sometime in the night, when the Chicago and Northwestern Railroad’s northbound freight had unhooked the car and located it on the railroad’s pickle factory siding. Andy noticed the salt car when he arrived at the factory—he had been expecting it but hadn’t known the exact date it would come. He pulled open the boxcar door to see salt, tons of it, piled about four feet high. A wooden gate prevented the loose salt from tumbling out when the car door was pulled open. Andy considered which workers he should ask to shovel salt— the procedure required two men standing in the car, shoveling salt onto an electric-powered canvas conveyor belt that moved the material from the railcar to the salt bin. A third person worked in 14 Salt Bin the bin, shoveling the salt around so it filled uniformly. All three jobs were backbreaking, miserable work. The inside of the car was stifling hot, and it was even warmer in the windowless salt bin. Helen Swanson arrived shortly after Andy, all smiles and bubbly. “Hi there, Andy,” she said as she walked into the office. For the first time in many months she felt like her old self, thanks to Preacher’s skilled counseling and personal attention. Talk around the pickle factory about the two of them didn’t bother her. But she was a little miffed hearing the rumors spreading to downtown Link Lake where a bunch of busybody old women were always looking for juicy gossip. It was none of their business. Helen snapped on the little Philco radio that stood on her desk, and the factory filled with the sounds of hit songs that Helen enjoyed: “Unchained Melody,” “Cherry Pink and Apple Blossom White,” “Earth Angel,” “You My Love” sung by Frank Sinatra, Doris Day doing “Love Me or Leave Me.” Preacher arrived next. He stuck his head in the office door, said hi to Helen, and then asked Andy what he should do. “Why don’t you start cleaning the sorter,” Andy said. “Scrape the crud off the sorter bars first; farmers are complaining they aren’t getting many number-one cucumbers these days. They may be right. With all the dirt on the sorter bars, it takes a smaller cucumber to make number one. Got to fix that, or Johnson will be on me. Got a carload of salt to unload, too. May ask you to help with that once Quarter Mile and Blackie get here.” Agnes slowly climbed the steps to the factory floor and then walked over to where Andy and Preacher worked at the sorter. “Good mornin’,” she said as a big smile spread across her face. “Say, do you know what happens when two bullets marry?” 106 Salt Bin 107 Salt Bin “No, what happens when two bullets marry?” Andy responded with a smile. “They have a BB.” Andy and Preacher both rolled their eyes. “Hey, what’s up this mornin’? Kinda wet for pickin’ cukes, ain’t it?” “How about helping Preacher clean up the sorter until the other two get here. Got salt to unload today, and it feels like it’s gonna be a hot muggy one. No fun shoveling salt on a day like this, but we gotta do it. Almost out of salt.” Quarter Mile Sweet and Blackie Antonelli arrived at the same time, parking their cars under the big shade trees west of the pickle factory. They did not so much as acknowledge each other’s existence as they climbed the factory steps side by side. “What do we do today?” Blackie asked Andy. “Doubt we’ll see many cukes until this afternoon.” “Salt car came in last night. I want you and Quarter Mile to unload it. Preacher here will work in the salt bin. You can take your time, but we gotta have it unloaded before we leave tonight.” Blackie...