Daughter Number Three and her husband came for a few days’ visit, last weekend. We were their base of operations as they met with friends and attended the University of Michigan football game. They were also generous in the amount of time they spent with us. It was a bit harrowing for them to be away from their North Carolina home as Hurricane Helene hit, but friends and relations kept them updated on what was going on there. A cousin in Tampa, Florida documented her situation as well; it included water and mud halfway up the first floor of the building that houses her second-floor condo, and a note saying, “We will never not evacuate again.”
Saturday afternoon, D#3 said she’d like to try for brunch somewhere on Sunday. An on-line search identified what looked like a suitable restaurant and, at the appointed hour, our party, which included Daughter Number Two, set off. We turned onto the correct block of East Washington and saw that we would have no trouble finding the Stray Hen.
That would be because of all the other people who’d already found it. The line to get into the restaurant stretched, two to four people deep, at least to the other end of the block. It may have turned the corner and kept going, but it kept going without us. We went to Barry Bagels instead. It was crowded, as it normally is, but crowded in a way that would still let D#3 and husband get to Detroit Metro by two p.m. We’ll have to try the Stray Hen sometime other than Sunday brunch, because it must serve pretty wonderful food.
Like the Stray Hen, our dog is a cinch to find, these days, at least when he’s out for a walk. He sounds like a motorcycle or a child’s approximation thereof, the approximation being a bicycle with a playing card so affixed to the back wheel that it creates a series of percussive sounds when the wheel turns. Rascal’s fur gets so full of dry rustly stuff during the autumn that the dry bits collide with each other as he walks. He sounds like a little two-stroke engine as he makes the rounds of sidewalks and trails.
Great-granddaughter Number One turned three years old this summer. Her grandmother, known to us as Daughter Number One, informed us this week that GGD#1 is now riding a two-wheeler. Not even a two-wheeler with training wheels. Nope, at the ripe old age of three, GGD#1 zips around on an itty-bitty two-wheeler. She used to have a balance bike—a tiny two-wheeler no pedals—but now she’s graduated to a two-wheeler.
“With hand-brakes,” D#1 tells us. “She’s a muscle.” D#1 assures us that the two-wheeled whiz wears a helmet but didn’t mention anything about a card in the spokes
The machinery at Parker Mill does not sound like there’s a card in the spokes. It sounds old, sort of creaky and groany. Built in 1873 and operating till 1953, the grist mill is now part of a Washtenaw County park. The county gets the mill up and running for demonstration purposes, from time to time, and yesterday was one of those times.
From my visit there and further searches on-line, I learned a number of things. One of them is that millstones are not simple affairs. They have distinct patterns on the grinding surfaces, and the patterns go in opposite directions, which sets up the scissoring action that cuts the grain—the grist.
Another thing is, the millstones don’t touch each other as they grind, for a whole host of reasons. The grain has to fit between them. The stones would wear down too fast. Bits of stone would get into the finished product. And most important, two stones grinding against each other would generate sparks, which would, in turn, cause explosions.
I got to operate a hand-crank machine that removes corn kernels from the cob. It was tough going, but got easier once I understood the mechanism includes a flywheel. Get the flywheel turning, and it’s not so hard to keep the crank going. The guide at the mill said turning the crank used to be the children’s job. Those must have been strong kids.
Parker Mill had a pretty nifty method for turning water power into grinding power. Instead of a waterwheel, which could freeze and get damaged in Michigan winters, which meant the mill couldn’t work in the winter, the river was dammed across the street and thence routed underground to power the millworks in the basement of Parker Mill. Easy peasy, never freezy, and the mill could run year-round.
4 October 2024