by Amy Stinnett
“She tried to steal my pork chop one time.”
“Oh.”
We settled into watching the movie, but I caught Elliot grinning at me a couple of times. I woke up in the middle of the night with a blanket and a shawl covering me. I had missed the iconic, “Come back, Shane, come back” line from the movie. I could hear Elliot snoring down the hall, and I quickly fell back to sleep.
February 23, 2013
This morning Elliot heated up some breakfast casserole before we headed back to the house to do chores and to let Frodo outside. I put on my yard clothes (still sounds so weird to say), and we got started.
Things were going pretty good until we went to do the horrible task of watering the chickens. These watering cans sit on top of a heater that keeps them from freezing over in the winter. The only problem is algae starts growing in them and they smell disgusting. Also, you don’t really want to pour huge amounts of water into the runs during the winter. It’s already so slick in places that I’ve almost bit it many, many times. Now, imagine walking through that mess with a giant watering can, half full of water so that you can dump it outside the pen, rinse it out, then carry it back to fill it with a water hose. Plus, you have to get the water hose from inside the pump house, attach it to the spigot, and drag it over to the cans. When you’re all done, you have to drain the hose before putting it back in. It sounds easy, but my arms feel like spaghetti noodles when I’m finished. I wasn’t looking forward to it, obviously, but what happened instead was worse.
After dumping the waters, attaching the hose, and pulling it over to clean the cans out, I went back to turn the hose on, and nothing happened. I turned the knob back to the right, then back to the left. Nothing, again. I went into the pump house, not sure of what I was looking for, and I found two electric panels on the wall with lights on the front cover. One had a blinking red light on it, so I timidly opened it up to find a small motherboard with a few resistors, capacitors, and switches on it. I tried to think back on an electronics class I took a few years ago, but I was lost.
Elliot came back from feeding the goats and found me scratching my head. He looked inside the pump house and saw the power was on, checked the wires and board. He flipped the circuit breaker in the breaker box on the house, but the control box came back on with the same flashing red light. I checked the house water, and it was fine, but that left watering the chickens and goats. That’s right, the goat waters were on the same line. Since I had just dumped out all the chickens’ water, we were stuck filling the cans by running a hose into the house and carrying the full cans out to the coop. That sucked for me, since one of the full cans equals about half my weight, but Elliot carried them fairly easily. Then we got some buckets from the shed, filled them, and carried them over to the gate on the goat field. As ten or so goats crowded around me, I sat the water down and they started drinking like they hadn’t had water in a week. I turned to go get another bucket, when one of them decided to stand on the rim and shoved the bucket over on its side, spilling about three gallons onto the ground. They looked up at me as if to say, “Are you going to do something about this?” I could feel my brain pulling away from my skull just for a moment, then I grabbed the bucket and started back for the water hose.
“Hang on.” I saw Elliot disappear behind the house and quickly reappear with a tire in each hand. He carried them over to the gate and sat them down where I’d just been. “Try that.”
“Is that why you keep all those tires?”
“There’s about a million uses for an old tire. You don’t know you need ‘em ‘til you need ‘em.”
When we’d set up six buckets, we went in the house for a break, and I found the number for the pump guy, which Elliot said was my only option at this point. I left him a message and then called Bill Conliff to tell him what was going on. He didn’t say much but asked if he could come out in about an hour to talk to me. That made me a little apprehensive, but I agreed. Elliot and I went out and fed the dogs. Fortunately, their water was on the same line as the house. Whew.
In less than an hour, Bill showed up, and we all went inside and sat at the table to talk. He smiled and pointed to the loft area. “You know, I used to stay up there.”
“You lived with my parents? Did I know that already?”
“Maybe. I was in my teens. My parents kicked me out, and they let me live here for a couple of years. They’re the reason I was able to go to college, you know … Anyway, a couple from Northern California are interested in the house.”
“But it’s not on the market.”
“I know, but the local realtors know about it. They consider it kind of like an off-market listing. If they have a buyer who wants something they know will be coming up for sale, they keep it in mind. When they heard about your dad’s death, they knew there would be a possibility of the property opening up.”
“Yeah, but there are repairs that need to be done, right?”
“Well, the buyer would cover those if you agreed to the price and other terms. They haven’t made an offer yet. They’re just inquiring, and I needed to get an answer from you before responding.”
“I don’t have any idea of a fair offer.”
“Me, either, but they would definitely offer you below market value. The sale would go through pretty quickly. Your dad managed to leave almost no liability on the place. My understanding is that they would raze this house and some or all of the sheds and build a larger house and garage in their place. They seem happy with the pastures, unsure if they’ll keep chickens.”
I thought about everything my dad had made disappearing in a matter of a few months. But, really, what were my options?
“And you know, your dad had a few offers from the natural gas companies over the years.”
“Uh, no. No way.”
“Okay. What do you want me to tell the realtor?”
I looked at Elliot, and he studied the grain on the table. “I don’t think so. Maybe later on.”
I heard a car pull up, and there was a knock at the door.
Ugh. I had forgotten about Jodie. How was that even possible? She was carrying a couple of coffees and some sandwiches. She was in good spirits, though, and she handed me my coffee and took a seat in the living room, waiting for us to finish.
“Okay, as to the water pump. Have you checked the power supply?”
Elliot and I both nodded.
“Are there any loose wires? Is there a reset button?”
Elliot shook his head.
“Well, really, the only thing to do is call the pump guy.”
“Great! I left him a message. It’s the weekend, so I bet I don’t hear from him ‘til Monday. How much could this cost, any idea?”
Bill winced. “Well, anywhere from a couple hundred to a few thousand, depending on what’s wrong.”
“Ouch!” Jodie shrugged. “Sorry, don’t mean to butt in.”
“It’s okay,” Bill said.
“I don’t have any money to fix that. Did Dad leave a fund for that?”
“Not really. We could maybe pull some of the tax fund, but then you could lose the whole place if you don’t make it up.”
“Elliot and I found out that it’s a pain to water everybody using the house water.”
Elliot sat up and headed for the door. “Be right back,” he said.
I turned to Bill and asked him what to do. He said that maybe he could call around to see if anyone had any spare parts or something. That phrase – “a few thousand” kept rattling around my head. Bill looked out the window. “What the?”
I turned around to see what was going on. Elliot was striding across the driveway carrying a brick with a long string tied around it. He walked over to the center of the driveway and hugged the decorative well full of flowers, hoisting it up and setting it aside.
“What is he doing?” Jodie joined Bill and me at the window.
Elliot reached down and pushed away the rocks that were underneath the well, left, and returned wit
h a shovel. He dug about six inches down, then you could tell he hit something he found curious. He dug more carefully, to clear a shallow spot a few feet across, then he reached down and pulled up a large board exposing a deep hole underneath. Soon the three of us joined him outside. He dropped the brick down into the hole, and we heard a faint splash. He pulled the brick up, and it was wet.
“Way to go, Elliot.” Bill was smiling.
“It ain’t good for permanent use, but it’d get us through until we can get the pump repaired.”
“How do we get the water up?” I asked.
Elliot straightened his pants. “I’m sure there’s some sorta pump around here someplace.”
Bill gave Elliot a ride home, and I finally sat down to lunch with Jodie. The sandwiches were cold, but still tasty.
“Sorry about all that.”
“No worries. What a crappy deal.”
“I don’t know where I’m going to come up with the money for it. Hopefully, it’s not too much.”
“Yeah, hopefully.”
“So, you ready to ride?”
“Hopefully.” I smiled. “Seems to be the word of the day.”
For a moment I became keenly aware that it was just Jodie and me now, alone without her dad, Elliot, Bill, library patrons, or staff. We threw away our food wrappers, put on our coats and muddy boots, and went outside. Sometimes in the winter, it feels like nightfall is always threatening, even at two in the afternoon. We walked down the driveway towards Sheila’s place, intent on making the most of what was left of the daylight, with our heads back and thick clouds trailing behind us from our laughter and conversation on everything and nothing.
February 24, 2013
I was so hyped from yesterday that I was not ready to write about my evening with Jodie yet, but here goes.
It was amazing! We talked about all sorts of things; farm stuff, geography of the area, school (she went to a local community college and BSU), books, movies, the community, and, of course, horses. When we got over to Sheila’s, the horses had already spotted us walking over and met us at the barn. Since it was winter and later in the day, Jodie didn’t want to do too much with them. She said Tucker was too much horse for me, so she had me talk to and pet Rosemarie while she put halters on both of them and wrapped their leads around the fence panel.
We went into the barn and pulled out a couple of brushes and some tack and sat them on a barrel outside the barn, then we went back for saddles and pads. Jodie showed me how to brush the horse down and how to clean and place the saddle pad, then she did the same with Tucker. She took one saddle and placed it on Tucker, tightened a bunch of straps, walked him a few feet, and cinched up a strap so tight, I’m surprised the horse could breathe. The whole time, she ran her hands all over the horse and talked to it in hushed but cheery sounds. “Good girl,” she said after every adjustment.
She grabbed Rosemarie’s saddle and asked me if I wanted to try. “Sure,” I said, “As long as you finish it. I’ll probably make it too loose and end up riding upside down.”
She handed me the saddle and had me hold it while she folded the straps over the top. Then she showed me the motion to swing the saddle onto Rosemarie’s back. My first attempt almost knocked the saddle pad off, but I managed to pull it back and give it a more successful try. Jodie went around and laid the straps down, then came back and walked me through everything else.
Mid-way through, I must have looked a little goofy, because she stopped and said, “I’m boring you, aren’t I?”
“No, this is great, I don’t think I’ll remember it all, but I really like all the little steps you have to take. You must have done this forever, huh?”
“Pretty much. We always had horses when I was younger. I was a 4-H kid. Don’t make fun of me, but I was a rodeo queen.”
“What?”
“Well, it was just local, I did it for scholarship money. I took it pretty seriously back then, though.”
“Like the hair and makeup stuff?” I had never seen her wear any makeup, at least I didn’t think she wore any.
“No, rodeo and 4H stuff. I raised rabbits and broke a horse. In rodeo, I’ve done just about everything but ride bulls. I don’t really see the point in getting crushed by an animal the size of a car just to prove I can do it. Your dad helped me when I raised a goat one year.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. He called me over to watch a birth, and I got to raise that goat and show it in the summer. Tooney, we called her. ‘Cormallen Tooney.’ She looked like a Tiny Toon. You should have kids coming soon, you know.”
“Cormallen?” It sounded familiar.
“It’s an obscure Lord of the Rings reference. Your dad named the farm Cormallen Fields.”
“Doh. Now, I remember.” I remembered seeing it on some checks. I felt like an idiot.
She slipped the horse bridles inside her coat, and we led Rosemarie and Tucker along at a slow pace. Puffy clouds hung high in the sky, which was a rare blue, for a change. A slight breeze blew through every so often, sending a little chill over me, but Jodie and the horses did not seem to notice it at all. We walked in a large circle a couple of times, then she took out a bridle and slipped it over Rosemarie’s nose and arranged it on her head.
“I just want to walk them today. Do you want to give it a try?”
Looking at the stirrup hanging from Rosemarie’s saddle, I felt kind of like a hobbit. “I guess, I’m willing, if I can figure how to get up there. The stirrup is about half-way up my shoulder, and I don’t really bend that way.”
“You can cheat. There’s a mounting block over here.” I followed her over to a little staircase I hadn’t notice before, and she helped position and steady Rosemarie, who was starting to get a little antsy, while I shoved my foot into the stirrup and threw my other leg over.
“It’s like straddling a Buick.” Not ever being a cheerleader, I was not used to an activity that approximated splits.
“Yeah, you have to get used to it.”
She put Tucker’s bridle on and hopped on him as easily as getting in a car. Rosemarie started to move, following Tucker and Jodie, who were now a few feet away. Jodie gave me some tips on how to hold the reins, how to sit and move, and how to turn the horse. It was really cool at one point because we turned both horses to the right in unison, then stopped them and turned them the other way.
“This is the easiest thing I’ve done since I got to Milepost.”
“Well, that is about the best horse you could hope to have for your first ride.”
We ambled along the edge of the field, not going much faster than I could walk on pavement. When I asked Jodie what this was called, meaning how the horses were walking. She laughed and said, “Walking.” Then she told me about horse gaits, beating them out on the front of her saddle. Clip-clop, clip-clop. She pointed to different places around us and told me things, names of mountains, visible to us here and a little farther away, people my dad knew, and all sorts of other things. In between, we were quiet, listening to the hooves make contact with the pasture and the rhythm of the horses’ breathing as we went along. When we came up to a group of bushes, about 300 tiny birds began screeching and burst out and above us to the left. We stopped and focused, almost hypnotized, by the reflection of the sun on their wings, as they turned many times in mid-flight.
Jodie dismounted and felt the horses’ chests, then led them back towards the barn to get a drink of water. She helped me get down, checked their hooves, and we took off their tack, wiped them down with a cloth, and brushed out their manes. It was so Zen, I almost fell asleep. After a while, Jodie gave them each a couple of scoops of feed, and they almost seemed to purr.
We stood at her car, talking for a while. I asked her if she wanted to come over and have dinner with me, but she said she had to get home. I thanked her for showing me the horses. She said Sheila, who may be staying over an extra week or two, will be ecstatic to know I can help her with her horses sometimes. She said she would volunte
er me. She looked at me really hard for a moment. I guessed she wanted to go.
I heard her car drive away, and a warmth came over me. I let Frodo outside, rescued a few eggs from the chicken coop, and stacked them in the cartons by the back door. I fell face-down onto the couch, my mind racing with all kinds of thoughts. Jodie is possibly the most beautiful person I have ever met. She’s like a girl scout, an English teacher, and a cowgirl all thrown into one. And that’s probably just the tip of the iceberg.
I rolled over and pulled out my phone and texted Liv.
Me: Would I be crazy if I wanted to stay?
Liv: On the farm? Probably. In class, can I call you later?
I started thinking about heating up something from the freezer for dinner, when Frodo sat upright on my chest. He walked over and sniffed the door. A car door closed outside, boots crossed my back deck, and then someone’s knuckles knocked three taps on my back door. Frodo yipped.
I opened the back door, and there was Jodie, holding a giant bag of chili cheese fries and some frozen coffees.
“Changed my mind. It’s starting to snow like crazy. You want some food?”
I looked behind her at the beginnings of a small snow storm coming down. “Oh, thank god. I was about to cook or something. I think we are single-handedly keeping the convenience store open.”
We finished the fries and half a jar of pickles, watched City Slickers, and talked on and on. I told her how overwhelming everything has been since I got here, how it’s all I can do to hang on until the house sells, and how I can’t even think beyond what to do the next day. But then, what will I do with all the dogs, and what about Elliot?
Jodie listened very patiently to my whining. She may be a better listener than even Liv; Liv can be a little bossy. She said I probably needed time away from the place to regroup, and I tend to agree with her. She said she was wondering if I was reconsidering selling, and I had to admit I had thought about it but had no idea how I could run the place long term, even with Elliot’s help. I have really started missing Seattle, missing school, and some of my old friends. I miss walking a few blocks and going to a movie or a poetry reading, something.