OLD FARMERS COFFEE CLUB

I was there to paint the kitchen ceiling but sitting around the big table was the Monday morning meeting of the Warren Center OFCC. Bob, the oldest member and the owner of the farm said, "pour yourself a cup of coffee and grab a chair." He was the customer and therefore my boss, I followed orders while the group continued with the story I had interupted, something about a barber shop in town many years ago. I sat down to hear more, "I didn't know that," I said.

"Yep, it was next to the laundry mat, in that little room where the furnace was. Ol man Roberts rented it from Bussy Bowens, and man, did he give a good shave," Stanley rubbed his chin and I felt my hand lift to my own scruffy beard. "I could use a trim," I said. All the old farmers were clean-shaven.

"Twenty-five cents a shave and thirty-five for a haircut," Ronald spoke up. I knew he was referring to my pony tail but said nothing. I didn't know this Ron guy very well, couldn't tell if he was joking or had a prejudice.

"I remember them hot towels, Roberts would pull them from his steamer and toss them from hand to hand on his way over to me, man, were they hot. I think he did that so we'd not mind his hands shakin' on that straight razor," Stanly continued, "kinda like bitin' on your palm when you cut your toe."

Bob spoke up, "So, where do you want to start, Keith?"
"I was going to paint the ceiling first, but I could dig out a couple boards from your pile while you guys finish your coffee. That is if we can talk Wally into running them through his planer sometime today." Along with painting the ceiling, I was to build a new sink cabinet, panal the walls, and lay a new linoleum. Bob had a pile of old boards laying in his barn, I'd told him, "No sense buying something you already have."

"I'd have to find the planer first, if you want to do that," Wally said. He lived just across the pasture at Lake O'Meadows. I'd recently built a woodstove hearth for him and his wife. He, "...likes to build things," he'd told me while working there. His two car garage is filled to bursting with wood working equiptment, automotive tools and assorted projects. Wally is the youngest of the Old Farmer's Coffee Club at sixty eight.

I finished my cup and walked down to the barn. The pile was mostly weathered siding boards that were warped and twisted but I spotted a couple nice twelve inch, rough-cut pine boards nailed to the wall for shelving, I started for the house to ask if I could use them when Bob caught me at the back door, the other men were leaving.

He said he didn't mind and I got my hammer and wrecking bar from the Toy. In fifteen minutes we were on the way to Wallys.

Bob and I went over the dam at Lake O'Meadows then I stopped to lock in the hubs, Wally's driveway was steep and the dirt road was covered with a sheet of ice. The Toy spun up the drive and we parked at the garage.

Wally came out of the house carrying a cup of coffee, "What took you so long?" "Got any of Pat's cookies in there?" I asked. "Nope, I finished off the last batch yesterday," Wally replied. "Get back in the truck, Bob," I grinned, "No sense sticking around here." We joined Wally at the garage door. He slid the overhead door up on it's tracks and we went inside. He pulled the door down and checked the wood stove. It had just been lit and he stuck a larger log on the flames.

"Can I bring in the boards?" I asked. "Let me do a little rearraining first, Keith." He started moving boxes and tools around, stacking them on top of more boxes and tools. The planer came into view and soon afterward we were sitting next to the stove and drinking coffee. "Have you seen the plaque I made for our coffee club?" No, what kind of club?" I asked Wally. Bob just sort of snickered and tossed a piece of wood on the fire.

Wally set his cup down on the stove to keep it warm then dug around in the garage for a while, coming back finally with a routered, wooden plaque. He handed it to me. It said "Warren Center Coffee Clutch". I started laughing, "It should read Old Farmer 's Cofffee Club, what the heck's a clutch anyways, sounds like you're talking about a cluch of eggs, reminds me of a bunch of old hens."

Wally laughed, "I think you should join, Keith, you've been over on our hill almost as much as I have in the last year." He and Pat had taken a summer cruise near Alaska and then drove a rental car back home, with many stops for family visits. I, on the other hand, had helped Bob hay-it, then hauled load after load of the baled hay back to Sonrise. I had also helped Bob and Stanly replace a broken gear in Bob's Massy Harris tractor. I guess I have drank lots of coffee with this tight group of Pennsylvania farmers.

"How much are the dues?" "Oh, you just gotta buy the next jar of coffee," Bob said. "Sounds like a plan," I said as I handed Wally the sign and picked up the boards we'd planed, "but only if you get Pat to make some more cookies."

I put the lumber into the bed and then started the truck, letting it warm up while I went in to say thanks. The truck sat running for another fifteen minutes as Bob and Wally got into a discussion about what brand of coffee I should bring next Monday.