The end of an era as personified by a box
7:37 p.m.
Before his retirement my father-in-law was a millwright at The Malleable Iron Company (or some such name) in the town where Hubby was born and grew up. His was a difficult job, fixing the machinery in the iron mill. He would often come home with some new injury, and was lucky that he never lost a limb or an eye.
I�m not too clear on what happens at an iron mill. I suppose they manufacture items out of iron or steel to sell to purveyors of such goods. One of their clients must have been Stockham, a company that sold valves and fittings. I only conjecture this because Pops would bring home from work sturdy boxes that had �Stockham Valves and Fittings� printed on the side. These boxes came in handy for whatever one needed a box for: storage, moving, transporting large and cumbersome articles.
During our university days and the early years of our marriage, Hubby and I moved around a lot. We had our fair share of cardboard boxes from moving companies (some of which we still have, believe it or not), and a good supply of �Stockham� boxes. They were so sturdy that they could be used repeatedly without breaking down or wearing out. Apparently the company put out new boxes towards the end of my father-in-law�s days of employment which were not as good quality. But these were first rate.
Today the very last Stockham box gave up the ghost. We had been using it to carry wood in from the shed, and the bottom finally separated from the rest of it. I had a moment of regret, for there will never be another like it. This box was even labelled with the contents it had during our last move. I peeled off the packing tape and the duct tape that had been an attempt at reinforcement, and put it in the kindling box. It is a fitting end that it should go up in flames after carrying wood for the fire all these years. Hail and farewell.
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