HEAD SAWYER, IRON MAN NORMAN GIBBONEY trims another slab for his new sawmill. Mom readies for the ''catch'' while son, Jim, jostles on the vibrating deck of Ol' Advance at far end of flopping belt.
UNION CITY, INDIANA.
And, of course, it became even more clear to me when Iron Man Norman Gibboney explained that some neighbor up the way had given him the big load of straight hickory logs, just because he hadn't found a buyer for'em. And for a sawmiller with a new sawmill out in the openand nice spring weather coming up, what better way to spend his spare time than to saw out a new sawmill building to shelter the precious innards.
Then too, the new sawmill building which is taking shape at such huge proportions of 150 by 25 feet, will be all the more productive in helping Iron Man Gibboney and his family to saw out the dimensional lumber for some of his forthcoming projects as filling orders for field gates, hog panels, feed bunks and the like for which he is contracting.
'I make up models of these things and then factory representatives come by to look 'em over,' says Gibboney. 'They're simple, strong and useful. And, if they meet their approval, maybe I will get the contract.'
'Just worked out a new idea for the backyard picnickers,' muses Norman. 'It's a picnic table that you tilt the top down and it becomes a bench. Set the two benches together, tilt the backs up and it becomes a table again.'
Just a few timely suggestions from Iron Man Gibboney that other home-type sawmillers, a bit discouraged, might take note. (Using the ol' bean to drum up business, that is.)
But the family-style sawmill, with sonny boy yanking throttle on steam, and Pop buzzing logs into heavy beams which Mon helps stack is not the only unique thing that transpires around the Norman Gibboneys' eight acres of fertile Darke County soil.
For sometimes when Dad and Lad are busy buzzing wood, Mom just takes off, milks the family cows, stirs up a batch of top cream adding vanilla and sugar for flavoring and cranks out a freezer full of real countrfied homemade ice cream. All of which tastes so mighty good to tired 'n hungry sawmillers that Mom's soon forgiven all her 'sins' for not staying on the job.
Also there's that fresh country butter which Mom sometimes churns, with buttermilk to bootall lending both calories and poundage to Iron Men's biceps and waistlines, the better to heave those heavy logs and wood slabs.
'We still do our own butchering,' says Iron Man Gibboney, in a day when it's rare to see the hog hang high by the steam in' 'kittle' down on the farm.
'Raise as much as a hundred pounds of 'taters in my garden,' explains the hardy Norman who believes in getting his 'vittles' the farm-fresh way.
'Think I'll get me a horse to do the gardening with,' says he.
Thank you, Iron Man Norman Gibboney for keeping things going 'down on the farm' the good old-fashioned way.
And now we'll be tip-toeing out of here, lest we disturb young Jim Gibboney who's writing a school theme on 'How To Run An Advance Threshing Engine.'