 The Family Inventorby Faye MillerDaddy was an inventor. None of his inventions was ever patented, but that didn't matter.They were family events--and that was important. His unique ideas provided solutions for problems that arose. Take, for instance, the first year we raised cucumbers for the Gedney Pickle Company. I was in junior high school at the time. Daddy thought raising pickles would be a bonding family experience that would also bring in additional income our farm needed. As soon as the decision to grow cucumbers was made, Daddy's mind went into creative overtime--what kind of contraption could he make that would ease the labor of cucumber picking? I didn't pay too much attention to his activities until one day he called us out to look at our new "cuke" machine. It looked odd, but the more we studied it, the more ingenious it seemed. The implement was comprised of a bare frame, an axle, a motor, a steering wheel, and four used wheels rescued from old trailers. Daddy had fashioned two platforms that extended out from each side of the machine. They were long enough for two people to lie on them on their stomachs. The apparatus was close enough to the ground that, laying on our tummies in "complete comfort," we could inspect each plant for perfect-sized cucumbers. We were five in our family, so the contraption turned out to be exactly the right size--one person to drive and two to pick on each side. The platforms we lay on were modified in such a way that our heads had support, but the corner of each person's platform was angled to allow room for our arms to move comfortably. Dad had thought of everything. He had rigged up a conveyor belt on each side of the machine, underneath us and perpendicular to our bodies. As we picked the cucumbers, we put them on the conveyor belt, which dumped them onto another conveyor belt, and finally into a huge bag in back by the driver--and it all worked! Our maiden trip through the field was quite an event. It was early in the morning, when the day was at its coolest. Each of us "pickers" donned gloves, ready to start. We knew we had the deluxe-model cucumber machine when we discovered that Daddy had covered each of the wooden platforms with thick foam mats. My brother, Lauren, who is six years younger than I am, was designated as the driver. Daddy warned him to drive slowly so we would have enough time to look through the foliage. Mostly he did a good job, but we sometimes felt he had lucked out with the driving gig. Since he had to drive so slowly, he spent a lot of time singing and throwing too-big cucumbers to our constant companion, Poochie, who would run after them like they were giant dog bones. Turning around was a big challenge because of the lumbering nature of the machine, so Dad would take the controls at the end of each row. Every so often, Lauren would yell "full bag," and we would stop. Dad would shake down the bag, tie it up, set it in the row, and position a new bag. Because we started in the early morning, dew was a problem. Our gloves would get soaked, and we'd either put up with it or change gloves. My younger sister, June, hated the way her wet hands turned into white puckered flesh. The scratchy vines sometimes caused rashes on our arms too, but we persevered. The patch was probably about one-half to three-quarters of an acre and would take us about three to four hours, working on alternate days, to pick. Mom always brought a jug of ice water and cinnamon graham crackers for rest time. I can still see Daddy wearing his usual white t-shirt, a man of average build, sporting the crewcut he wore his whole adult life. He was even-tempered even when one of us kids did something not smart out in the patch--or in life, for that matter. His parenting style reflected his personal faith in God. Although he didn't attend college, Dad was a person who constantly enjoyed the challenge of learning on his own. He always maintained he was shy by nature (which we kids thought was funny, because he could carry on a conversation with anyone), but he had trained himself to be gregarious and at ease with people. We picked cucumbers for at least four years, and we kids usually got a portion of the money earned, which was incentive enough for next year. Each summer the cucumber plot eventually dried up and the cash opportunities were gone for the year, but it accomplished what Daddy hoped--bringing in some needed income and providing rich memories as we worked together as a family. 
Faye Miller is a Soleil LIfestory Network Affiliate.
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