by Delores Miller
Poverty-stricken
mid-Wisconsin families began in the 1940s to look for ways of
supplementing farm income. Milk cows, pigs and chickens were
not sufficient. Cucumbers was a quick and easy cash crop, or so it
seemed unless you were the poor individual picking pickles.
A
contract with the Bond Pickle Company and their representative Laura Mauel was
signed. Other receiving pickle stations were located at Big Falls with Otto Faehling as agent
and Eastling at Manawa. Quarter or half acre was the usual
size. Seeds were planted with the crop maturing the end of July,
and continued until frost, sometime towards the end of September. Ten
weeks of cucumbers.
Picked
and priced by size, ten dollars for a hundred pounds of two inch size
gherkins. A dollar for a hundred pounds of the over-sized pickles with
various prices in between. Hot, humid, sticky days, rainy days,
early morning, flies, mosquito bites, made no difference. The
creeping vines, prickly, the blasted pickles still had to be picked.
I was allergic, itched and suffered from hives, made no difference,
rubber gloves solved that problem.
Hauled in
gunny sacks to the pickle factory, located near the railroad tracks in Marion, east of the Plywood and the
Ziehm Brothers livestock pens. Laura Mauel ran them through a
conveyor belt and graded by size. Put in the wooden barrels, to ferment
with salt, dill and vinegar, eventually being bottled and sold in stores.
And what
to do with all the money earned, you say? Buy school clothes, supplies,
perhaps a new winter coat and a few dollars to spend foolishly at the free
shows. Money was hard to come by in those early teen-aged days.
copyright 2014 by Delores and Russell Miller
Delores Miller
lives with husband Russell in Hortonville, Wisconsin. In the summer
of 2007 they celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary with a party
hosted by their five children and ten grandchildren. It’s been a long
road. Dairy farming until retirement in 1993, they continued to 'work'
the land, making a subdivision of 39 new homes on their former hay
fields.
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