latch, and it gets stuck sometimes. Don’t ever go in without propping it open.” Then, sizing me up, he changed his mind. “Actually, just don’t ever go in, period. Call me if you need something.”
I looked around the fridge. It seemed to do double duty as a storage closet, housing tubs of cheese as well as boxes of supplies and even a couple of folded wool blankets.
“Seems like a lot of fridge for not very much cheese,” I said.
“We’re low right now, but it’s never full,” O’Connor said. “Frank installed it when they thought they were going to expand. But then he got sick, and they never did.”
“What did he get sick with?”
“Parkinson’s,” O’Connor said.
“Oh,” I said. “And now Jean’s got arthritis.”
He nodded. “So you’ll do her jobs now—mostly milking and making cheese.”
“What do you do?” I asked.
“Everything else,” O’Connor said. “And I help with the milking. It’s faster with two.”
“And then what do we do with the cheese?”
“We sell it.”
I smiled at him instead of rolling my eyes. “Where do we sell it?”
“At the farmers’ markets in Houston and Austin.” He gave me an evaluative look. “But you’re not ready for that yet. We need to get the basics down first.”
Back outside, we crossed the farmyard toward the house.
“So, that’s pretty much the day,” O’Connor said, a few steps ahead of me. “Milk in the morning, do farm chores, make cheese in the afternoon, milk again in the evening.”
“Sounds like a pretty good life,” I said.
“It’s a great life,” he said.
He slowed under an oak tree near the house, and that’s where he told me I needed to make a run to the feed store for him. He handed me a list of supplies, along with an envelope of cash to use.
“Save the change and the receipt,” he said.
“Am I like your assistant, then?” I asked.
“Kind of,” he said. “Though you can call yourself an ‘apprentice’ if you like.” He tossed over the keys, which I didn’t manage to catch, and told me I could take the farm truck.
“Is it open today?” I asked. “I mean, do people work on New Year’s?”
“People work every day in the country.”
I got the feeling he was teasing me. “So the store is open?”
“Nah,” he said. “Not on New Year’s Day. But Tom’s left a bag of feed for us by the back door. Just drop a twenty through the mail slot.”
Drop a twenty through the mail slot. Of course. “How do I get the receipt?”
“Write one up.”
I wanted to take the minivan—if for no other reason than to be back in my own space for a little while. But I got the feeling I was supposed to do things the way they were done. So I found the truck—powder blue, parked by the old barn—and, after pausing to read the bumper sticker that said EVERYTHING IS CONNECTED , I got in. The truck had a bench seat and no shoulder belts, and the windows, which rolled with a crank, were already down.
I pulled out onto the road and hung my arm out. I tried to remember the last time I’d driven anywhere by myself, sailed along an open road with my hair blowing, or spent a morning with so many furry animals—farm manager included.
I’d needed to change my life for a while. And even though this wasn’t what I had imagined or wanted, there was no denying that this was different. I wasn’t sure if I’d made things better or worse, but there was no question I had made a real change at long, long last.
Or maybe, in truth, Jean had done it for me.
Chapter 5
And so we stayed. Though I didn’t make a decision to stay as much as I made one not to leave.
It wasn’t exactly a seamless transition. The kids, for example, did not like Aunt Jean’s food. She didn’t dine on squirrel burgers, which was a relief, but there was no sugar in the entire house. With the exception of her world-famous pancakes, she ate only homegrown meat, vegetables, and fruit because, she said, “carbs will kill
I looked around the fridge. It seemed to do double duty as a storage closet, housing tubs of cheese as well as boxes of supplies and even a couple of folded wool blankets.
“Seems like a lot of fridge for not very much cheese,” I said.
“We’re low right now, but it’s never full,” O’Connor said. “Frank installed it when they thought they were going to expand. But then he got sick, and they never did.”
“What did he get sick with?”
“Parkinson’s,” O’Connor said.
“Oh,” I said. “And now Jean’s got arthritis.”
He nodded. “So you’ll do her jobs now—mostly milking and making cheese.”
“What do you do?” I asked.
“Everything else,” O’Connor said. “And I help with the milking. It’s faster with two.”
“And then what do we do with the cheese?”
“We sell it.”
I smiled at him instead of rolling my eyes. “Where do we sell it?”
“At the farmers’ markets in Houston and Austin.” He gave me an evaluative look. “But you’re not ready for that yet. We need to get the basics down first.”
Back outside, we crossed the farmyard toward the house.
“So, that’s pretty much the day,” O’Connor said, a few steps ahead of me. “Milk in the morning, do farm chores, make cheese in the afternoon, milk again in the evening.”
“Sounds like a pretty good life,” I said.
“It’s a great life,” he said.
He slowed under an oak tree near the house, and that’s where he told me I needed to make a run to the feed store for him. He handed me a list of supplies, along with an envelope of cash to use.
“Save the change and the receipt,” he said.
“Am I like your assistant, then?” I asked.
“Kind of,” he said. “Though you can call yourself an ‘apprentice’ if you like.” He tossed over the keys, which I didn’t manage to catch, and told me I could take the farm truck.
“Is it open today?” I asked. “I mean, do people work on New Year’s?”
“People work every day in the country.”
I got the feeling he was teasing me. “So the store is open?”
“Nah,” he said. “Not on New Year’s Day. But Tom’s left a bag of feed for us by the back door. Just drop a twenty through the mail slot.”
Drop a twenty through the mail slot. Of course. “How do I get the receipt?”
“Write one up.”
I wanted to take the minivan—if for no other reason than to be back in my own space for a little while. But I got the feeling I was supposed to do things the way they were done. So I found the truck—powder blue, parked by the old barn—and, after pausing to read the bumper sticker that said EVERYTHING IS CONNECTED , I got in. The truck had a bench seat and no shoulder belts, and the windows, which rolled with a crank, were already down.
I pulled out onto the road and hung my arm out. I tried to remember the last time I’d driven anywhere by myself, sailed along an open road with my hair blowing, or spent a morning with so many furry animals—farm manager included.
I’d needed to change my life for a while. And even though this wasn’t what I had imagined or wanted, there was no denying that this was different. I wasn’t sure if I’d made things better or worse, but there was no question I had made a real change at long, long last.
Or maybe, in truth, Jean had done it for me.
Chapter 5
And so we stayed. Though I didn’t make a decision to stay as much as I made one not to leave.
It wasn’t exactly a seamless transition. The kids, for example, did not like Aunt Jean’s food. She didn’t dine on squirrel burgers, which was a relief, but there was no sugar in the entire house. With the exception of her world-famous pancakes, she ate only homegrown meat, vegetables, and fruit because, she said, “carbs will kill
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