The next few weeks passed in much the same way. The first week or so was tough; I was weak from my starvation diet at the FEMA camp. But once I recovered my strength, I worked harder than I ever had before.
I’d spent most of my time was spent digging corn, chopping wood, or carrying water. Some mornings I helped Darla build the gristmill, but usually she was carving the grindstones and couldn’t use my help. She ruined one of the stones, cracking it as she tried to drill a hole through it, and we had to raid the cemetery for another grave marker.
Digging corn got tougher and tougher. It snowed twice more, so more than four feet covered the ground. The ash layer here was only a few inches thick, but getting through all that snow to the ash and the corn beneath it was a ton of work.
Sometimes I helped my uncle with the greenhouses. I learned that one of the tricks for a winter greenhouse was building a heat sink: an array of dark stones designed to soak up the sun’s rays during the day and release the heat at night. It didn’t seem to me that it would work since the sun was hidden, blocked by ash and sulfur high in the atmosphere. But my uncle thought enough UV light was getting through for the heat sink to be worth the effort.
He fiddled incessantly with the greenhouses: moving stones, watering the plants, and weeding. He was testing a plot of turnips and another of potatoes. He’d traded for the seeds and potato eyes in Warren, buying them with duck eggs and goat meat. So far, everything had failed to grow except for the kale.
Rebecca, Max, and Anna took care of the goats and ducks. After we’d been there a few days, the kids taught me and Darla how to do it so we could take turns. We fed the ducks corn and a little kale. The goats got mostly hay, although the hayloft was nearly empty. We also fed the goats everything else that humans wouldn’t want to eat: cornstalks, weeds, failed plants from the greenhouses, pine needles, even green twigs-they ate it all. Still, they steadily lost weight and gave less milk.
So Uncle Paul decided to slaughter one duck and one goat, a kid. He offered to teach Darla and me how to butcher them and seemed surprised when we agreed. He patiently explained each step to us, but except for plucking the feathers off the duck, it didn’t seem that much different from what Darla had done with her rabbits. And it was way easier than butchering a pig. Uncle Paul seemed amazed at how fast we caught on.
I was surprised that Max and Anna didn’t protest when Uncle Paul decided to slaughter two of their animals. The kids had evidently put a lot of effort into caring for them, so I assumed losing a goat and a duck would be a big deal. Even Rebecca seemed attached to the ducks. I asked my uncle about it while we were butchering the goat. He didn’t answer at first.
“I think we got through that with the dogs,” he said finally.
“The dogs?”
“You remember them? Denver and Gypsy?”
“Yeah.”
“We ran out of dog food. We could have fed them meat, but we didn’t… don’t have enough. They were starving, suffering. I had to… I thought it was more humane to kill them than let them starve to death. The kids were pretty upset. We all were.”
“Did you eat them?” Darla asked. I glanced at her, thinking maybe she was telling some kind of sick joke, but she was serious.
“No. We should have. I should have lied and told the kids it was goat meat. But I couldn’t make myself do it. They’re buried at the edge of the farmyard. You can ask the kids to show you, if you want. I avoid that spot… It was horrible; I didn’t want to waste a shotgun shell… I used a knife. I don’t want to think about it.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. The corners of his mouth and eyes drooped. Sorry didn’t seem to cover it. I put my hand on his arm and squeezed.
Uncle Paul blinked and turned back to the goat carcass hanging in front of us.