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DeAnn (Wolkow) Kruempel
Hit the Nail on the Head
“We sure don’t need that in a tire.” Dad bent down to pick up a slightly bent nail in the dirt next to the old building we called the shop. I scanned the area and spotted several more. One was rusty, but the others seemed to be in decent condition. He took the nails into the shop and dropped them into an old paint bucket.
Days later I was checking my favorite farm spots and thinking I should find out what Dad was doing. I heard noises coming from the open barn doors. The sounds of pounding on wood mixed with loud, high-pitched creaking. After each “creak,” followed a final “pop.” I beelined to the barn to find what all that racket was about. Dad, Donald and Delmer were taking apart a wooden hog crate. They pounded on the two-by-fours to separate the boards, then wedged their hammer claws under each nail head to pry it out, causing the “creak and pop.”
Dad spotted me. “DeAnn, go see if Mom has an empty coffee can we can use. Then you can help.” A few minutes later I was back. The guys had tossed the extricated nails into a small pile. I picked them up, loving the clunking sound as they hit the bottom of the can. When the crate was disassembled, the boys hauled out the boards and I followed Dad to the shop, clutching the coffee can.
“You can straighten these nails so we can use them again,” Dad’s eyes twinkled. I set the can down next to a cement block outside the shop. Dad brought out the old paint can. We both knelt down next to the block. Dad showed me how to gently tap the bend on each nail to straighten it. I felt proud as he handed me his hammer and I proceeded to work on un-kinking those nails.
To set the record straight, nails have a riveting history. The ancient Egyptians carved pegs of hardwood and used them to join pieces of wood. A few thousand years later, blacksmiths forged nails out of “nailrod” made of wrought iron rods. The smithy heated the iron to yellow-hot in a forge. He then hammered a length of rod to create a tapered point, shoulder and head.
Pounding out one at a time, it took a lot of work to make a few nails. Centuries went by and American manufacturers easily produced tons of nails in every length and type and there were plenty to go around.
But then two world wars demanded every scrap of metal for tanks, airplanes and guns for our soldiers. Nails and most things made of metal were rationed. Straightening and re-using every possible nail became a necessity.
But, by the time I was following Dad around on the farm, nails were inexpensive and plentiful. The folks had farmed through good years and could well afford new nails. Why then did Dad teach his youngsters to straighten and reuse nails? Why did we take the time and effort to tap bends out of nail by nail?
Was it because of their history, their times of scarcity? Or did our father want to convey straight life lessons to his children? Thriftiness? The value of not wasting anything? Did Dad believe that giving us such a mundane task was building patience and character and a sense of belonging? Yes, I think he knew what he was doing all along. I think he hit the nail on the head!
Kruempel’s ten books are available on Amazon. Signed copies may be purchased at the Harrison County Welcome Center. Contact her at deannkruempelauthor@gmail.com.
