XI
The summer of 1961 is now hard upon us, as is the horde of vacation seekers; so, at least for a while, we are forced to give up our labors at the mill and go to other pursuits, but just as soon as autumn comes around we start in again Saturday mornings at the old mill site.
The mill stones had to be sharpened and we found out that this was really beyond the scope of our knowledge and skill.
Inquiries at Old Sturbridge Village in Sturbridge, Massachusetts led us to finding one of the few men left who could “pick up” the stones. This gentleman, Arthur Mattson, of Plainville, Connecticut, consented to come, and finally did come to the Cape, and in a matter of hours had sharpened the stones to the nth degree.
While he was here, we gleaned as much information from him as we could, in the course of which we found that he owned five mill stones which were grinding out stone ground flour, and that he had been supplying, for many years, the stone ground flour to the Pepperidge Farm Mills in Connecticut, famous for their Pepperidge Farm Bread.
Among other things, he showed us how to construct a “damsel” (which is nothing but a small flutter board hung below the mouth of the hopper) and wiggles just enough to let the grain drop into the stones at the proper quantity.
About a year from the date we started to work on the mill, to wit: August 3, 1960, we are able to open the pen gate, let the rushing water fill up the flume and wheel pit, raise the skirt in the turbine, and with a feeling of great self-satisfaction, see and hear the stones turn, albeit, a little slow at first, since the stones were not properly balanced, but, nevertheless, lo and behold, all our work finally paid off.
Someone shouted, “Ho, ho, she starts, she moves, she feels a spark of life.” You can well imagine who that was.
As near as we can figure, these stones had not been turning for exactly seventy-one years, and frankness would be lacking if we did not feel proud of our hard work and efforts.
The mill actually ran smoothly, and with very little noise, but to be sure that we were not subject to hallucinations we spent the better part of the afternoon turning the wheel off and on. The wheel and its heavy but simplified gears responded with slow speed and gradual pick-up of revolutions to a very deliberate cadence.
Again I was struck with the simplicity of the working of the turbine and wheel, and perhaps the economy of the whole affair was intriguing. One had only to look at the water pouring into the wheel pit to see the power of the stream and to reflect upon the fact that it cost absolutely nothing for this power. Gear grease, oil or other lubrication was absolutely unnecessary to maintain the operation.
The stones were originally enclosed and covered with a wooden casing, half of which we found in the mill, but the other half we had to build ourselves and make them, of course, exactly as the first half. As usual the boards that were available at any lumber yard were not the same thickness, so again we had to have proper boards milled out to match up with the old. Finally, George found an old blade adequate to make the same beading on the edge of these new boards as the original beading, and it was not too difficult to do with the aid of this old fashioned plane.
About this time we received in the express from Mr. Mattson, the genial gentleman from Connecticut, who had sharpened the stones, a cradle and a shoe. The cradle is tohold the hopper and the shoe is for support, as I said before, underneath the spout of the hopper.
The cradle was practically a perfect fit on the top of the wooden casing, and the hopper fitted the cradle perfectly. This was one time something really did fit.
And so - - - - just before the Christmas Holidays of 1961 everything seemed to be about finished. We procured a bag of whole corn, part of which we dropped into the hopper, opened up the pen gate, and lo and behold, yellow gold came flowing out of the chute. To be sure, at first the meal was a bit coarse, but after George maneuvered the “tenterer,” we obtained about the correct texture of meal.
It has been said that the end of something is better than the beginning, but I think I felt a little sad that we were finished and somewhat surprised that the mill actually worked. Sad, perhaps, because we had no more to do to complete the mill project. We were constantly uncovering new sights in the ancient mill. The actual work, the research, the conversations with new people, the reading of stories of old mills, seeing the old mills, some of which were restored and others abandoned, and being able to finally rebuild this old mill and to renew a small part of life now long forgotten, has been most fascinating.
George just called me on the phone, saying,
“Harold ... you know what?”
“No, what?”
“I think I have found an old tide mill - - - -”