Saturday, August 21, 2010

Rapscallionistics, buttering biscuits

I don't know about in the states, but across the pond millers are infamous rapscallions. Fairytales abound of pranksters at the mill and the harsh retribution they provoke. The miller we met today at the European Bread Museum was no exception.
The class met him at the windmill. This impressive structure was built in 1812. It is pieced together out of unbelievably huge pieces of timber. Stairs from the ground take one up to a two story house that rotates freely on a central axis. The stone pieces, the crank wheels, and every timber is from the original construction. The central axis is from a 400 sear old oak, and so dense one can't drive a nail through it. The masterful geometry was assembled with no nails.
Our miller was constantly playing jokes on us: slamming around wooden stoppers so as to startle, cracking jokes about this or that component of the mill, having us stay in the mill house while he gets in the tractor and turns the whole thing in a complete circle (It rotates freely, as one never knows which way the wind might blow (anyways, we don't need a weatherman)). At the watermill, he convinced Barbara to reach inside the mouth of a mask, billet onto the flour vent, then he snapped the flour bag-patting battle real loud and made her jump. At the hand-crank grain cleaner he suddenly blew a fierce wind at jill and made her squeal.
All this is to say, I think it's the kind of job I'm cut our for.

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