Cranberry Red: A Novel

25. Fred and Oscar

105 July in central Wisconsin had been hot and humid. In the early part of the month, farmers complained that their hay just wasn’t drying well, that it took an extra couple of days before they could bale it. Corn farmers not affected by the hail were happy because with the heat the corn was shooting up, way beyond knee high by the fourth of July. Fred had driven over to Oscar’s farm without any purpose other than to spend a quiet evening with his old friend on the back porch, sitting in a rocking chair, sipping lemonade, and sharing stories. Both men had long retired from the hard work of farming, but you couldn’t drag either one of them off their farms to live in town or, worst of all, one of those new “assisted-living centers” that seemed to be springing up everywhere, even in Ames County, Wisconsin. “You know, Fred, I been thinkin’ about 4-H the last couple days,” said Oscar. “Forage, why you thinkin’ about forage? You’re too old to be makin’ hay,” replied Fred. “Not forage; 4-H. You know, 4-H clubs. Like the 4-H club we both belonged to back during World War II,” Oscar reminded him. “The Tamarack Twisters. That was the club’s name.” “Oh, yeah, 4-H. The Twisters. I think about that, too. I remember the Victory gardens everybody was growin’ in those days. Even the city people. Everybody had a little garden. Not a bad idea either. Wouldn’t hurt if we went back to that,” Fred mused. Fred and Oscar 25 “You ’member what them four H’s stood for?” asked Oscar. “Bet I do. Head, heart, hands, and health. Head for clearer thinking. Heart for greater loyalty. Hands for larger service. Health for better living,” said Fred, confidently. “Hey, you ain’t losing your memory near as much as I thought you were.” “Course not. Memory’s as good as ever,” said Fred, touching a finger to the side of his head. “Well, how about this? You ’member the 4-H meeting when we were at the Higgins farm and Henrietta Higgins said she wanted to show us their haymow?” “Yup, I remember that well,” said Fred, a big grin spreading across his wrinkled face. “She had more on her mind than showin’ off their big barn full of hay,” Oscar said. “She was a wild one, wasn’t she? Whatever did happen to her?” Fred asked. “Last I heard she retired from being a vice president of some big bank down in Chicago.” “Became a banker, huh? Just never know how people turn out. You just don’t,” commented Fred. “Know what I liked best about 4-H?” asked Oscar. “What was that? You’re not goin’ back to the haymow story?” “Nah, it was the fair. The county fair. Staying there overnight with our project calves, sleeping in an old tent. You ’member that?” asked Oscar. “Them was the days all right. County fair was a sweet time. Nobody around to tell ya what to do and what not to do. Ferris wheel to ride. Games of chance. Didn’t have much money for that stuff, though,” Fred said. “Yup, good time all right,” Oscar agreed. “Too bad what happened to 4-H. It goin’ away when all the ag agent offices closed,” said Fred. “Yup, too damn bad. That 4-H was a good outfit. Taught us farm kids lots of stuff, besides going up to a haymow with the likes of a Henrietta Higgins,” offered Oscar. 106 Fred and Oscar 107 Fred and Oscar “Country’s goin’ to hell, Oscar. Just plain goin’ to hell. Most of the little farmers have all disappeared. What’s gonna happen next?” said Fred. He took a long sip on his lemonade and commenced rocking once more. ...