In light of certain peanut threads, I thought of a time when my dad seemed to do the imposable with his little knife. Including getting a car out of some very deep mud.
In 1954 dad bought a new Pontiac Star Chief. It had a huge trunk, and gobs of torque from a long strait 8 cylinder engine, and dad would take us traveling in it. Suitcases for four disappeared in the trunk, and two children could fall asleep in the backseat with comfort.
One day dad had to run an errand that entailed paying a visit to a person who lived down the end of a long ill maintained dirt road. By bad misfortune it was a cold January day with a slanting driving rain coming down. Dad drove his car carefully at a slow speed down the dirt road with very little difficulty, but soon we came to a car that had slid on the slick muddy surface and was stuck over on the muddy shoulder were the surface was softer, and it was bogged down good. Being the good Samaritan dad stopped to see if he could do anything.
The driver was an elderly lady of the area, and she was very upset that she had slid off the road, but dad calmed her down and said she would be on her way soon. I have to admit I did not feel as optimistic as dad. I didn't see what we could do expert take her home so she could call a tow truck.
Dad told her to get in his car to stay warm and he got into her car. He rocked it back and forth a bit, and then when it was going in the reverse rock he took it as far as it would go then stopped it at the hight of the rocking so the back wheels had the hubcap deep hole just in front of them. He pulled the parking brake all the way out and carefully got out of the car after cutting the engine.
Then he stood looking at it for a moment, and slowly looked with a searching manner around the wooded roadside. Needless to say I was mystified as to what he was up to. He went over to his car and opened the door and told the lady to stay put for a while, we'll be right back. Then he told me to come with him. He walked right off into the woods. He moved slowly, like he was inspecting the trees for something special. Then he took out his little pocket knife. There were a few evergreen trees scattered around, and he started to cut off small limbs about index finger thick with lots of smaller branches on it. He told me to take my pocket knife and do the same. He told me to only cut them forefinger thick leaving all the branches on them for weaving. I asked him what he meant by that and I can still recall his words.
"You know how they make plywood, son?"
"No sir." I replied.
"Well, they take a real, real thin piece of wood, so thin that if you and Ev tried to hold it up between you it would sag all the way to the ground." he said while he kept trimming small finger thick branches. "Then they put glue all over it and lay another piece of real thin wood on it, but with the grain going 90 degrees to the first piece. They do that several times and you got a real strong piece of wood. "
"We making plywood, dad?"
"No, but were going to make a surface that lady can drive out on."
Soon we had a pile of bushy pine limbs to carry back. Dad took some of the limbs and shoved them down into the muddy holes in front of the back wheels with the thicker cut ends stuck under the tires. Then he took some of the other limbs and set then cross ways over the first layer. Then he stuck more of the limbs with the cut end down through the first two layers to weave a third layer of pine boughs into the mix. Soon there was no sign of the muddy holes, but a woven layer of pine boughs almost all the way to the front wheels of the old Chevy.
Then dad stood back and walked around the car, eying our work. His little peanut and my scout knife were coated in sap, and splotches of sap stuck to our coat sleeves, but dad didn't even notice as he was intent on what he was doing.
He put away his knife and got in the Chevy and started it up. I was holding my breath, wondering if it was going to come out, or bog down again. Dad didn't appear to worry at all, he just put it in gear and gave it some gas and that old Chevy drove right over all those pine branches right out on the road. Dad stopped when he got it out on semi firm ground and walked over to his Pontiac and offered his arm to escort the old lady to her car. She was gushing gratitude and wanted to pay dad some money, but dad just patted her hand and told her to be careful going home.
When we got home and dad mixed up a couple of hot buttered rum's to get the chill out of our wet soaked persons, I had to ask him how he knew what to do. He told me that most any problem can be solved if you look at it carefully. In this case was making a surface that would not sink into the mud and give some traction. Since he only had a pocket knife, then you approach the problem with the question of what can you make with a pocket knife. Since his peanut and my scout knife were not very big, we would have to make a number of layers of small branches for the tires to go over. Then he explained that three layers can be better than one big layer, like laminations are stronger than one piece.
Then we sat there together at the kitchen table, using some of the lighter fluid that dad used to run his Zippo, and cleaned up our pocket knives and gave them a good stropping.
In 1954 dad bought a new Pontiac Star Chief. It had a huge trunk, and gobs of torque from a long strait 8 cylinder engine, and dad would take us traveling in it. Suitcases for four disappeared in the trunk, and two children could fall asleep in the backseat with comfort.
One day dad had to run an errand that entailed paying a visit to a person who lived down the end of a long ill maintained dirt road. By bad misfortune it was a cold January day with a slanting driving rain coming down. Dad drove his car carefully at a slow speed down the dirt road with very little difficulty, but soon we came to a car that had slid on the slick muddy surface and was stuck over on the muddy shoulder were the surface was softer, and it was bogged down good. Being the good Samaritan dad stopped to see if he could do anything.
The driver was an elderly lady of the area, and she was very upset that she had slid off the road, but dad calmed her down and said she would be on her way soon. I have to admit I did not feel as optimistic as dad. I didn't see what we could do expert take her home so she could call a tow truck.
Dad told her to get in his car to stay warm and he got into her car. He rocked it back and forth a bit, and then when it was going in the reverse rock he took it as far as it would go then stopped it at the hight of the rocking so the back wheels had the hubcap deep hole just in front of them. He pulled the parking brake all the way out and carefully got out of the car after cutting the engine.
Then he stood looking at it for a moment, and slowly looked with a searching manner around the wooded roadside. Needless to say I was mystified as to what he was up to. He went over to his car and opened the door and told the lady to stay put for a while, we'll be right back. Then he told me to come with him. He walked right off into the woods. He moved slowly, like he was inspecting the trees for something special. Then he took out his little pocket knife. There were a few evergreen trees scattered around, and he started to cut off small limbs about index finger thick with lots of smaller branches on it. He told me to take my pocket knife and do the same. He told me to only cut them forefinger thick leaving all the branches on them for weaving. I asked him what he meant by that and I can still recall his words.
"You know how they make plywood, son?"
"No sir." I replied.
"Well, they take a real, real thin piece of wood, so thin that if you and Ev tried to hold it up between you it would sag all the way to the ground." he said while he kept trimming small finger thick branches. "Then they put glue all over it and lay another piece of real thin wood on it, but with the grain going 90 degrees to the first piece. They do that several times and you got a real strong piece of wood. "
"We making plywood, dad?"
"No, but were going to make a surface that lady can drive out on."
Soon we had a pile of bushy pine limbs to carry back. Dad took some of the limbs and shoved them down into the muddy holes in front of the back wheels with the thicker cut ends stuck under the tires. Then he took some of the other limbs and set then cross ways over the first layer. Then he stuck more of the limbs with the cut end down through the first two layers to weave a third layer of pine boughs into the mix. Soon there was no sign of the muddy holes, but a woven layer of pine boughs almost all the way to the front wheels of the old Chevy.
Then dad stood back and walked around the car, eying our work. His little peanut and my scout knife were coated in sap, and splotches of sap stuck to our coat sleeves, but dad didn't even notice as he was intent on what he was doing.
He put away his knife and got in the Chevy and started it up. I was holding my breath, wondering if it was going to come out, or bog down again. Dad didn't appear to worry at all, he just put it in gear and gave it some gas and that old Chevy drove right over all those pine branches right out on the road. Dad stopped when he got it out on semi firm ground and walked over to his Pontiac and offered his arm to escort the old lady to her car. She was gushing gratitude and wanted to pay dad some money, but dad just patted her hand and told her to be careful going home.
When we got home and dad mixed up a couple of hot buttered rum's to get the chill out of our wet soaked persons, I had to ask him how he knew what to do. He told me that most any problem can be solved if you look at it carefully. In this case was making a surface that would not sink into the mud and give some traction. Since he only had a pocket knife, then you approach the problem with the question of what can you make with a pocket knife. Since his peanut and my scout knife were not very big, we would have to make a number of layers of small branches for the tires to go over. Then he explained that three layers can be better than one big layer, like laminations are stronger than one piece.
Then we sat there together at the kitchen table, using some of the lighter fluid that dad used to run his Zippo, and cleaned up our pocket knives and gave them a good stropping.
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