By Phil Rowe
The year is 1943, and the place a four-room schoolhouse in a small New England town. The players are fifth-graders listening to their teacher, Miss Wilson, explaining to them the details of their special field trip this sunny September day.
"Pssst, Billy, what's a field trip?" curly-haired young Andy whispered to the fellow in front of him.
Billy just shrugged his shoulders, afraid to turn around and attract his teacher's attention. He didn't know either.
"We are going to ride the bus to Peterson Farms this afternoon," Miss Wilson explained. "As our contribution to the war effort we are going to gather milkweed pods and send them to a company that makes life jackets for our sailors and merchant seamen."
The twenty-odd members of the class looked puzzled. "What are the milkweed pods going to be used for?" asked a girl in the front row. "They're just useless weeds and pests that grow in the pastures."
Patiently, Miss Wilson explained again that the white silky fibers of the seed pods would be used to fill life jackets.
She said that those fibers were hollow and provided excellent floatation. "Yes," she responded to Charlie Bolduc's question. "Some life jackets use cork, but most of that comes from Spain and Mediterranean regions. But now, with the war going on, we can't get that. The milkweed is a substitute and lots of it is needed. Are you all ready to go pick some to help out?"
"How much do we have to get?" asked Susan Michell, politely holding her hand up.
"Each of you is asked to pick one bag full and place it in the back of the bus. Okay now, let's file out to the bus in an orderly manner. No talking in the hallway, because other classes are in session. Don't disturb them, please."
Kindly old Mr. Haines, their regular driver, greeted each of the children as they climbed aboard the big yellow bus. He handed them gunnysacks, rolled up and tied with a strip of cloth. These were the huge potato sacks that the school received from the government as part of the food subsidy program.
"Jack Davis," Miss Wilson sternly shouted. "Sit down and leave Billy alone. Behave yourself."
As the bus pulled out of the schoolyard, the youngsters began singing, at Miss Wilson's urging to keep them occupied and paying attention. "Not too loudly," she cautioned. "Mr. Haines doesn't need all that noise."
Soon the bus pulled off the narrow winding country road onto an open pasture a quarter mile from the Peterson Farm house. Mr. Peterson, seated atop his big green John Deere tractor, waved to them as they arrived. Miss Wilson gathered the excited crowd around the tractor, as the farm owner explained where they were to go and how to pick the pods.
"Half of you go down the left side of the field, and the rest of you take the right. Line up side by side and walk down the pasture. Fill your bags with pods only, no leaves or twigs. Only pick those that are opening up. If you can see the white fibers, those are good ones. Don't bother with the closed ones, because they aren't ripe enough yet. Any questions?"
"Do we really have to fill these bags?" asked Elizabeth.
They're awfully big," she complained, while holding her back up high. It reached all the way to the ground and completely hid her from Mr. Peterson.
"Yes. We need to collect as many pods as we can this afternoon. It won't take very long. Just do the best you can. I have more bags on the wagon, if you need them. Isn't this a lovely day to be outside and not stuck in the classroom?"
For over two hours the youngsters wandered back and forth over the huge pasture, picking pods and stuffing them into their bags. Some of the boys began grabbing pods just ahead of the girls, who complained to Miss Wilson that they couldn't find any. "The boys are getting all the ripe ones."
Miss Wilson assured them that there were plenty to go around. "You children couldn't possibly pick them all. Just keep going up and down the pasture."
Billy turned to Andy and declared, "I guess this is what Miss Wilson meant by a field trip. All we're doing is walking back and forth around the Peterson's field."
After two hours the back of the bus was filled with pod-stuffed bags, each tied with the strips of cloth. As Miss Wilson instructed the children to get back onto the bus, counting carefully to make sure she had the same number of students she came with, Mr. Peterson shouted, "Well done youngsters. These pods just might save the lives of our sailors. You've really helped today. Thank you."
He waved goodbye as the big yellow bus backed out of the pasture gate and turned down the lane toward town.