Farmed Out by Christy Goerzen

She’d asked us to keep our eyes closed from the porch to the shack.
    â€œTa-da!” she said, flinging her arms above her head. “The junk shed has been officially feng shui-ed. The yin and the yang are in balance.”
    My mom looked proud. Ruth, Klaus and I squished around the door and looked in. Ruth looked hopeful at first. Then her face fell.
    Inside the shed, stacks of cracked plant pots stretched from floor to ceiling. There must have been about eight stacks, all crammed on one side of the shed. Take one pot off the stack, and the whole thing would fall over. In the middle of the shed was a big pot full of water, with a few rose blossoms floating in it. I recognized the roses from Ruth’s well-tended rosebush in the front yard.
    â€œThat’s your water feature,” said my mom. “Very important. You need to change that water every two days, or else it’ll go stagnant.”
    The Friesens, of course, were too polite to say anything. But I saw them exchange looks that said, We’ll have to fix this when she leaves .
    â€œUh, well, thank you, Lynn,” Ruth said. “For all your hard work.”
    â€œI am glad to provide my helping hands where needed,” my mom said, “and to teach you a little about feng shui along the way.”
    She didn’t get it. These nice farmers couldn’t wait to get rid of her, and she thought she’d done them a great service. I had that familiar I-could-just-die feeling again.
    Smiling, my mother turned to me.
    â€œAll packed, Maddie?” she asked.
    â€œAll packed,” I replied.
    â€œOkay,” she said. “See you at the car.”
    â€œI just need to do one last thing,” I said.
    I hurried to the guest bedroom and opened the big drawer in the desk. There it sat, my portrait of Frida Cowlo. My masterpiece. I had wrapped it up in two blank pages from my sketchbook. I thought about looking at it one last time, but I decided not to. It might break my heart.
    I leaned the wrapped-up portrait against Anna’s bedroom door.
    I turned and walked away. At the end of the hall, I hesitated. You’re doing it for Anna, I reminded myself, and Frida.
    I walked out into the hot summer morning, leaving my chances at winning the Canvas art contest behind.
    The Friesens were gathered around my mom’s car. By some miracle, she was able to start it after all that sputtering on our way there.
    â€œThank you for coming,” Ruth said, clasping my hands and then my mother’s hands.
    â€œIt has been interesting,” said Klaus, winking at me.
    Anna had come out of the barn to say goodbye. She gave me a big hug.
    â€œBye, Maddie. I’m really going to miss you.” Her voice came out whispery. She seemed too worn-out to say much more than that.
    â€œI’ll miss you too,” I said.
    I hate goodbyes. They’re the worst. I hopped in the car before I started blubbering. Or worse, before I decided to run back in the house for the portrait of Frida Cowlo.
    I waved as we drove down the long dusty driveway. The Friesens waved back.
    There were a few blissful moments in the car when my mother didn’t speak.
    When I say a few moments, I mean a grand total of about twenty-seven seconds.
    â€œWell, that was fun. I’m so glad I could be of service to the Friesens.”
    I didn’t say anything.
    â€œIt was a lot of work reorganizing that shed,” my mom continued. “But in the end I really improved the flow of chi .”
    I couldn’t hold it in anymore. My chest felt heavy, and I burst into tears.
    â€œWhat’s the matter, Madison?” my mom said, her eyebrows knitted together.
    I still didn’t say anything. I couldn’t, with all the tears and the hefty helping of snot.
    â€œAre you sad about leaving the farm?” she said.
    â€œI guess so,” I said.
    I was crying for Anna, and Frida, and the little calf without a mother. And I was crying because I left