After returning from my time as shop foreman at Whispering Hope, I moved in back at home. There were adjustments, but the next couple of months were pleasant enough. By this time I had taken on considerable responsibility at the produce dock. I was functioning as the manager for HOPE Produce. (This was the organic side of the vegetable growing cooperative which operated in the same facility as Stoll Family Farms.)
In the winter months, I was responsible for planning with the almost 40 growers about what crops they would grow throughout the coming summer season so that we would have a consistent supply of fresh vegetables for our buyers in the big cities. I also met with the buyers over the winter months to understand what their needs would be in the coming season. Other things that I looked after included our packaging inventory and needs, the winter ice harvest for refrigerating the harvest in the summer, and the purchase and distribution of all the seeds.
In the summertime my time was filled with the marketing of the ripe vegetables. I needed to keep track of the projected harvest, make sure the buyers had accurate availability and pricing lists, receive and distribute incoming orders, (sometimes between competing growers who wanted to harvest), maintain proper inventory at the dock, and prepare the orders for shipment. I also signed all the checks for the organization which was cranking through about a million dollars of sales at that time. Hope produce had been on a decline leading up to when I took the reins, but in the years that I was there we saw around a 10% annual growth in sales. Life was looking pretty good. I was gaining respect in the community and was filling a role that benefited quite a few families there.
In August of that year, I finally scratched a note and addressed it to Tina. I sent it off and waited. Something like half an eternity later her brother dropped in at the dock and delivered an envelope with feminine handwriting on the outside. When I could, I snuck away to the break room, and breathed a prayer to God, committing myself and my all to Him. I opened the letter. It was short, and the answer was a yes.
Thus began our “courtship”. Which consisted of us arranging for an initial date. This meant that after the Sunday evening singing I had the privilege of giving my dear a ride home to her house. Upon arrival there, we unhitched the horse, and I put him in the barn. We then spent the next two hours across the kitchen table from each other in the family dining room. We’d chat about this and that. Spend a good bit of time in silence, sometimes awkward, and then have a snack and close with a prayer. At 12:00 midnight I was to be heading out the door.
The first month or so we saw each other every four weeks. And wrote one letter per week on the weeks we didn’t see each other. Then we started going “steady” at which point our visits could be stepped up to every two weeks. With a letter in between.
A week or so after our first visit, her district youth planned a trip to the Henry Ford Museum. The person responsible for arranging travel invited me along saying there was still room. I really wanted to see Henry Ford, but it would be a little awkward as everyone would think I just went along because of Tina. I knew that this was my only chance to see the museum, so I told him I’d go. I knew my parents would not approve, but I didn’t ask them.
To catch the bus I needed to be up at the Coblentz home at a given time in the early morning hours. The schedule at the dock was to load trucks in the evening/night, so when I got home the evening before the big day the family at home was already asleep. I went to bed and tried to sleep, but couldn’t relax enough to do so. Besides I didn’t want to oversleep. And I wanted to be out of the house again before Dad woke up. So I soon got up again, left with a note on the table telling the family where I was, and stepped into the night.
I walked the mile to the Coblentz home, arriving well before departure time, so I proceeded to wait. It began raining, so I huddled under the shelter of their big maple trees. Still, I was getting wet. I moved up to their porch and waited. After considerable time had passed I finally hear stirring in the house. The Coblentzs rouse and begin preparations to leave. And would you think, Mr. Coblentz comes to the porch for something. It’s dark but discovery is unavoidable. I speak and identify myself. Thankfully he is a level-headed individual and doesn’t completely shit his pants. He does mutter something about having a long wait for the bus.
No, I do not regret taking that trip.
Now the thing with my work at Hope Produce was that the only means of communication with the buyers was voicemail and phone call. The phone was at the schoolhouse about a half mile from the dock. Bikes were not allowed, so I often walked or ran to the phone. Tina used the same road to and from her teaching gig.
It so happened that one afternoon I looked up from the phone and saw that familiar buggy crest the hill. I hurried to wrap up my calls so I could be out on the road when she passed by. Now I didn’t want to be rude on the phone and almost didn’t get the conversation ended in time. I quickly grabbed my bag and jogged out the path towards the road, arriving there just ahead of her buggy. Now what do I do? If I start walking people we see that I had ran out just to wave to Tina. I’d get teased. It is drizzling slightly and I frequently jogged anyway, so I kept jogging along the road. Now the trouble is that my jog was about as fast as her horse. So this process was becoming a drawn-out affair. At some point most of the way to the dock I relented and slowed to a fast walk allowing the buggy with my love inside to lurch ahead. And yes it was one of the more stupid things I’ve done. And yes the community laughed.
After several months of seeing each other, one evening I asked her Dad for Tina’s hand in marriage, and we became engaged with hopes of a fall wedding a little over a year from when we started seeing each other.
At some point that fall before our wedding a former classmate was getting married in a neighboring community. Enough people were attending to warrant a charter bus. This was great as it meant Tina and I could travel together, (as in on the same bus) I, of course, sat in the back and she up front with the girls. (Couples were not allowed to travel together in a privately hired van.)
This was a long one-day trip. We got up in the wee hours of the morning, traveled to the wedding, then after the singing everyone piled back on the bus, arriving home in the wee hours of the following day. The first stop was our house. As I walked forward past Tina’s seat I said, “Have a good day at school.” My sister hears the exchange and reports to my parents. Dad admonishes me the next day that it is best to not make a public show of one’s courtship. I nodded but was not convinced nor repentant for wishing her a good day.
Eventually, the big day arrives and we say our vows. And become husband and wife. Grandpa Miller quips something in his Zeignis about now everything you have is ours, not mine and yours. Except for the clothes, of course.
P.S. You may wish to read the next post Homesteading.