In lieu of content ...

Becaue I'm spending every spare minute on the family history, trying to get it done in time for Christmas, I present this for your entertainment.

H/T to Loyal Lurker.

A horizonal water wheel

My mother and her father (yes, the family that had odd ideas on raising chickens) put together a family genealogy 41 years ago. My Xerox copy is getting harder and harder to read, and so I've scanned it. I've done the OCR thing, and now I'm in the process of going through and translating the resulting hieroglyphics into English.

My grandfather’s grandfather seems to be the main focus of this history, and was one of the first settlers in Rochester, MN. According to the family history, my grandfather writes*:

The Alexanders were the proprietors of two mills on Bear Creek with­in the city limits of Rochester. The "upper mill" situated at 624 - 626 South Beaver St., (now 9th Ave. S.E.) and the “lower mill” situated at 524 East College St. (now 4th St. S.E.). The upper mill was started as a woolen mill, a grist mill was added later to the south of the woolen mill. Originally, the woolen mill was powered by a water turbine, and was later converted to steam power. The dam for the upper mill was 2 ½ to 3 ft. high. I don’t remember splash boards, but they were probably used. These were two inch planks, set between iron pins placed in the top of the dam. The water above the dam could be raised 8, 10, or 12 inches, depending on the width of the planks used. Only a low head of water was required for turbine power, compared to a water wheel.

THE TURBINE

The iron turbine or enclosed reaction wheel was brought into common use about 1850 and became quite common because of their effica­cy. They required little attention and were not affected by ice.

The turbine was made up of an outer case about 4 ft. in diameter and 11/2 f. high. Top and bottom plates were of cast iron, joined by a side band of iron. The vertical shaft of the runner ran thru a hole between two cast iron plates bolted to the top. The runner, shaped like a paddle wheel, could be taken out thru the opening at the top. The paddle wheel, including the vanes was made of inch thick cast iron.

The larger open end of the outer casing was connected to the pen­stock. Back of the opening was the gate, operated by a slide valve which was worked by a rack and pinion gear, for turning the water on or off. When open, water from the penstock rushed into the twist of the casing, and against the vanes of the runner. A wooden thrust pin below held the runner in position. In order for the water to escape thru a hole in the bottom plate of the casing the runner or paddle wheel would have to turn. Thrust pins wore usually made of oak and because they were under water, needed no lubrication.

The above drawing was copied from a drawing made by Walter Alex­ander (Big Walt). His drawing was probably made from a photograph as he was an excellent amateur photographer, starting back in the days when coated glass plates were used in place of film.

 * Or, "Guest blogging from beyond the grave". I'm thinking how he would have loved the internet for research and correspondence.

I really do wish I could sing.

This is the only way I'd be able to participate in singing the "Hallelujah Chorus".

(Sorry ... I can't get it to embed.)

Uncle Joe, eggs, and wet chickens

Reading Adaptive Curmudgeon’s stories about his chickens reminded me of the story my mom told me when I was growing up.

My mom and her brother, Joe, grew up during the depression. They did not live on a farm, but the family had chickens, and it was my Uncle Joe’s job to collect eggs in the morning. Uncle Joe really wanted to grow up to be a juggler. (Do you see where this is going?) He practiced with the eggs he gathered every morning.

He buried the mistakes.

My mother swore the chickens would line up as he juggled the eggs and walked towards the house, clutching the chicken wire fence and pleading “Don’t drop any! Don’t drop any!”

You see, my Grandpa figured each hen should lay one egg each day. He would count the eggs, and if he came up short, he would decide which hens weren’t laying. He’d then put the underperformer(s) in a crate, tie a rope to it, throw the end of the rope over a tree branch, pull the rope to run the crate up the tree, and squirt the chicken(s) with a hose.

I have no idea if this ever produced more eggs, but it probably does explain why Grandpa was an architect (and a cartographer during WWI) instead of a farmer.

My Uncle Joe did become a fantastic juggler, not that he made a living at it. I remember him juggling a basketball, a softball and a football, all at the same time. I also remember him juggling bowling pins. The kind you hit with bowling balls, not the balanced theatrical kind.  Speaking of theatrical, he appeared in a play at the Rochester Civic Center as a juggler for a run of 20 performances. My Aunt also mentioned in passing that he got in trouble for juggling eggs at a New Year’s party at a friend’s house. Somehow I’m imagining there was alcohol involved. And that someone must of egged him on.

Uncle Joe in 1949. A bit before my time.

Why I get in trouble

H/T to (shamelessly stolen from) Loyal Lurker and her brother.

Plug Bayonet

My buddy, Michael W., recently presented me with a belated birthday present. It was well worth the wait.

Doesn’t every girl want her very own plug bayonet? What? You say you can count the number of women you know who own matchlocks on one hand? Pity.

You may remember this knife that he made forJayG. Isn't that beautiful? He also made my bandolier (and the bottles, and the horn).

21" of pointy goodness!

Pictures do not do this scabbard and bayonet justice. The scabbard was dyed is what is becoming my "trademark" dark chocolate brown. The blade has been browned as well. If I had included pictures of the matchlock as well (must remedy that), you'd see that the gun is nothing fancy. It's a pipe on at stick. It's ugly. It's beat up. This bayonet, while not flashy, shows an elegance of form and function.

It is truly like casting pearls before swine.

It's a noun, not a verb

I’m sure this is considered blasphemy by many BBQ purists, but I had some boneless, skinless chicken I needed to use up, so I threw it in a crockpot and covered it with chicken broth and let it do its thing. When it was done, I removed the chicken and pulled it into shreds. I added a Memphis-style barbeque sauce, put it on a bun, and topped it with a slaw made with cabbage, shredded apple, raisins and some mayo.

Yeah. I think I’ll be making that again.