Gizmology

Getting the buzz on nighttime insects

by Sally Cragin

Illustration by Lennie Peterson

For Hollis the Mountain Man, the dog days of August loom long and hot. He usually can't wait to get to the end of his Tri'd 'N Tru Potato Chip delivery route so he can jump into Picture Pond. But he's luckier than most. There's little heavy lifting (though a carton of Extra-Crunchy Dubl-Salts has slightly more heft than Regla and Vinega). A certain baseline pleasantry is expected when he interacts with his customers, but, with no direct supervision, life is agreeably simple. Yet for a man who prides himself on being the 11th-generation to live by his wits on the lee side of Mount Magoonamitichusimaug (an amalgam of French, English, and Algonquin that means "my idiot friend who lives by the bog -- he likes it"), he's mighty dependent on modern technology.

Of course, his predecessors were dependent on -- and inspired by -- the technology of their day. Somewhere in the depths of the cabin is a blunderbuss (not used since Peregrine the Mountain Man's time, and surely out of warranty). Elsewhere, there's a terrifying late 19th-century box with protruding wires, a primitive set of batteries, and a crank handle. The label reads "Dr. Peck's Revitalizing Treatment," but Hollis hasn't looked too hard to find it, for he remembers the stunning shock he received many years ago when he cranked the handle. This gadget may have been abandoned by Derry the Mountain Man, one of the only members of the clan whose death date is not recorded in the family Bible now in storage at Aunt Winnie's house ("moved West, 1917" reads the penciled inscription next to his name, though Hollis has always been tempted to add, "one step ahead of the draft," but hasn't . . . yet). Derry is legendary for having had more schemes and dreams than any other Mountain Man. He worked as a "Doctor of phrenology," a vendor of illegal punch-cards, and a repairman of broken umbrellas. So it's no surprise he left behind a motley collection of what can only be called gizmos.

The word "gizmo" in Tritown probably has as broad an application as the word "ant" does to entomologists. Gizmos make cars run, assist in the efficacy of pasteurizing milk, and help shake seasoning on Tri'd 'N Tru chips. The business end of a gizmo is always metal, though parts may be wood, bakelite, or some sinister and unrecognizable ore.

"You can't ever throw away a gizmo," Hollis thinks, as he waits at the traffic light. So many home projects are missing just one crucial ingredient: a bushing, a large-ish cotter-pin, a caster for the hand-truck (to match the one that's still tumbling around the cab floor), that weird wide valve for the air compressor. Usually, Hollis is content to go to Berk's Hardware in Tritown Center, where Freddy Barclay (nephew of Berk, the first) eventually emerges from the basement with a fair approximation of whatever Hollis needs. But Hollis has grown perversely fond of grumpily rummaging through the megastores, savoring the dumbfound expressions of the green- or red- or orange-aproned clerks as they placidly display their perfect ignorance of that essential gizmo Hollis desires.

He turns up the Post Road for his final deliveries. He's saved the R 'N R (Tritown's most venerable and seedy tavern, presided over by the indomitable Myrt Scully, ex fan-dancer at the Old Howard) for last, so he can maybe have a Coke, and recharge. He always feels particularly virtuous when he shows up late afternoon and plunks wearily and purposefully on stool #3, but still orders a soft drink.

But today, he might have a beer. He deserves it. Nancy Levesque, his winter romance, after all, has rented her house, taken her kid, and moved to Providence, just as she'd promised. Or was it threatened? Hollis still isn't sure. They met at Hasky and $erena the Waitress's Testimonial last winter, and he'd never been so happy or so surprised. At last, he had something to do on Saturday night that didn't involve a deck of cards or the somewhat motherly attentions of Delia Ellis Bell the Partial Yankee (there was a questionable great-great-grandmother). But when it became clear that Hollis's capacity to make adjustments and accommodations (beyond reluctantly removing the mostly disassembled engine from the kitchen table), Nancy had started scouting jobs closer to Rhode Island. Her mother could look after the kid, and her ex- would not have to drive 150 miles for visitation rights, just as he was currently not driving 20, Nancy explained bitterly. (There also were extenuating circumstances -- the low wages and paltry night life in Tritown -- but Hollis isn't going to think about that!)

So he's feeling sad, lonely, and sorry for himself -- caught up in his thoughts. Sighing, he slows at a stoplight and realizes he's driven past Post Road. Another three miles, though, and there's a Builder's Bounty, the ark of all gizmos. An entire aisle of doo-dads that fit air compressors.

THE HOT AND PARCHING weather has been agony for the weekend gardener, but imagine how tough it's been for the commercial farmer, with so much more acreage to tend. Last month, we checked in with Kate Stillman, an 18-year-old Lunenburg entrepreneur, who is offering the (literal) fruits of her family farm through Community Supported Agriculture (CSA), which she organized with her cousin Rick Jacobs of Fitchburg. For a fee, you can buy an "account" and receive a box of produce every week. With all the hot weather, can we expect any problems with the harvest?

"It hasn't affected us that much," she says. "We have really heavy soil and can go two or three weeks longer than other farms, but the plants are struggling a little bit. We're noticing the pumpkin plants aren't as far along as they might be."

The Stillmans are still having a good season. This month, they have five or six varieties of peppers, as well as beans (purple and wax). One solution to drought, or semi-drought, is watering plants at night. But some plants thrive under what we humans consider extreme conditions.

"Corn, tomato, and beans -- they like the hot, steamy weather. Corn can put on four inches of growth in one night," she explains. "My father, who's out in the fields late at night, says you can hear stuff growing."

Kate is a traditional, early-to-bed, early-to-rise farmer. "When you go out in the fields in the morning, stuff looks healthy and is growing fast."

You can subscribe to CSA by stopping by Stillman's Greenhouse and Farm Stand, 1399 Lancaster Avenue, Lunenburg, or by calling (978) 537-3342. n

Thanks this week to gizmologists Chuck Warner and Marty Markarian.

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