The Year of the Windmill Part Two

     Every year in the fall, Dothan has the National Peanut Festival,  It is a huge ten day event that celebrates the farmers and the peanut industry.  Over the years, it has become more and more a social event, with recipe, arts and crafts and beauty contests taking over more and more of the festivities.  Of course the parade on the last Saturday of the event is the highlight and for a couple of hours everyone forgets their problems and enjoys the atmosphere.  When the festival moved to the Houston Co. Farm Center Daddy carried me, Benny, Wayne and mama to watch them set it up.  At the entrance was a big Pepsi bottle tied down with ropes.  I had never seen an inflatable before and it was an amazing sight.  You could actually see the giant sweat drops running down the sides of the bottle.  I don't remember going back after they opened, but I an sure that we did.
     As I am walking through the midway this year, it is in a strange place and the light is slightly different.  The crowds are the same, walking in all directions, bumping into each other and not even realizing it.  The sounds of kids' excited screams, parents scrambling after them, trying to keep up.  The clanking of the roller coaster chains, the game vendors barking at you from every direction, "come on over, knock the balls down and win".  There must have been hundreds of them, and that awful music.  Confusion reigned supreme.
     I began to notice that at every game tent, one of the workers was out of character. He was quiet and unassuming, but his eyes were cold and dark.  It seemed that he was only looking at me with no expression.  I grew concerned as I could not shake him.  I tried to escape by getting out of the crowd and going behind the tents.  It as darker here and I thought I could escape.  Not running, but walking briskly, I headed toward a utility pole in the distance.  There I thought I could lean against it and have my back protected and be able to see what was coming at me.  I made it, looked around and leaned up against the pole.  Regaining my breath, I began to feel foolish at being afraid.  From behind the pole, I could feel the terrible grip clamp down on my throat.  Already afraid, I struggled valiantly against the hard boney fingers and felt the finger nails dig into my flesh.  I could feel the blood run down my chest.  As everything went dark, I gave a final hard jerk, twisting my body into his thumb and as I fell to the ground I could feel his grip was broken.
     As I awakened , the alarm clock was making an awful noise.  I was at once awake, in sweat soaked sheets and knew I would not be able to snooze.  I felt like destroying the clock, but realized that it had awakened me at just the right moment, so I gently turned it off.  Not wanting to dwell on the night's events, I tried to think of the fact that the new gearbox for my windmill was to arrive today.
     I had sent the old one to Miller's Windmill Service in Indiana to be rebuilt.  I knew it was in bad shape, but he thought he may be able to repair it.  The shaft had worn through the bearing and most of the snout on the bottom side.  I could feel the shaft turn when I turned the hub.  When Mr. Miller received the box, he informed me that the top of the snout was worn through also.  When he tried to force the shaft out, it snapped the snout, and the photos he sent showed that only 25% of the metal remained of the snout.  However I was concerned about welding cat iron so I was o k with purchasing a new gear box anyway.