5. SAM
CHAPTER 5
SAM
After spending the morning touring the Upper Hudson Valley Cooperative Extension office, doing my best to keep my temper in check, I need answers. But when I ask horticulture team leader Carlos Gutierrez if he’s ever going to tell me why I’m being asked to transfer to the one region I asked to avoid, he deflects.
Again.
“I need to make a few farm visits south of here.” Removing his 4-H ball cap, he scratches his head through his crazy thatch of hair. “How ’bout we get some lunch on the way?”
My stomach grumbles in response, so when he tells me that we’re headed to Greene County, I suggest the Lick Your Fork diner. I offer to drive since I know those back roads like the back of my hand and so that Gomer can join us.
“You’ve never had a problem bringing him along on the job?” Carlos asks while I clip my dog’s harness to the seat. “He’s a little scary looking. ”
I give the big lug a scratch behind the ears. “Never have. Gomer’s what they call a career-change dog.”
“Like, you got him when you changed careers?”
“Well, yeah, I adopted him right before I started working at CCE.” I don’t mention my previous employer. People at the extension tend to have strong opinions about Congento. “But it’s the nice way of saying he’s a service dog who flunked out.”
“Was he a police dog?” Carlos twists in his seat to get a better look at Gomer. “Isn’t that what German shepherds do?”
“He’s actually a Belgian Malinois.” I catch my dog’s eye in the rearview. Just looking at him tends to calm me down when I’m anxious. “The breed is popular with law enforcement and the military, but Gomer was trained to be a seizure alert dog.”
“So why’d he flunk out?”
“He failed the smell test.”
Carlos leans toward Gomer and sniffs a few times. “Smells fine to me. But then again, I spend half my day tromping through manure.”
“It’s not about what he smells like. His nose isn’t good enough. Part of his job was to detect the chemical changes in the human body when a seizure is coming on. He couldn’t do it reliably.”
“And they couldn’t, like, retrain him for something else?”
“Funnily enough, he’s also too friendly. That’s a big no-no for assistance dogs.”
“How’d you end up with him?”
“I just applied. Paid a pretty steep fee to help cover the cost of breeding and training him. ”
What I don’t say? He’s also turned out to be good for my mental health. Instead of sharing that news with the guy who may be my new boss, I give him the spiel I give farmers when they meet him for the first time. “He’s kind of an icebreaker for me. He helps carry equipment, but because he was trained to find his owner’s cell phone and medical bag, if I leave something behind in the truck, he’ll find it and bring it to me—sometimes before I realize I’ve forgotten it. People think it’s hilarious.”
By the time we get to the diner, Carlos has warmed up to Gomer considerably. Sadly, that’s not the case for Lick Your Fork’s head waitress.
“Samuel Bedd.” Latonya stops us with a hand in the air. “You cannot bring that dog in here.”
“But he’s a?—”
“If you are about to tell me that this mutt is an”—she makes air quotes—“ emotional support animal or what have you, you’d best be telling the truth. Because you know I’m gon’ be on the phone to your grandmama before you say boo.”
I consider blustering through, but then realize that I don’t need to be on my grandmother’s radar. Not until I figure out what the heck’s going on with my job. “Fine. We’ll take it to go.”
Latonya tips her head to the side. “We have outside seating now, you know. In the back.”
“Oh, okay.” I raise my brows at Carlos, and he shrugs in response. “Can Gomer sit out there?”
Latonya gives Carlos a nice long look over. “If this is Gomer, he can sit wherever he pleases. Including my?—”
“Latonya! Gomer is the dog.” I gesture to my colleague, who doesn’t seem disturbed by Latonya’s perusal. “ This is Carlos.”
Unrepentant, Latonya shoots him a feral smile. “The offer still stands. Nice to meet you, honey.”
Squelching a shudder, I tap my thigh. Gomer comes to heel as we follow a gravel path around the diner.
“Seat yourselves,” Latonya calls. “I’ll be out there in a minute with menus. Two coffees?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I yell back.
After we’re settled, Carlos looks around the patio, set up with planters full of summer-blooming perennials and colorfully striped market umbrellas. Tapping the bright red composite decking making up our picnic table, he says, “Nice place. I don’t know why I never stopped in before.”
“Fork Lick’s easy to miss.”
“How do you know about it?”
“I grew up here.”
“On a farm?”
I wince, not really wanting to get into it. “Uh, kind of.”
“How do you ‘kind of’ grow up on a farm?”
Pulling a water bottle and portable dog bowl from my messenger bag, I give Carlos the Cliff’s Notes of my tragic tale. “We lived in town, and my dad worked the family farm with my grandfather. But after my parents died, my siblings and I moved onto the farm proper.”
“I’m sorry for your loss. How old were you, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“I was twelve.”
Thankfully, before Carlos delves further into family history, Latonya arrives to take our orders. Once we’re alone again, Carlos clears his throat. “You know that having roots in a community makes you a more effective extension agent, right?”
Busying myself with stirring sugar into my coffee, I nod.
“Then why didn’t you request an assignment in eastern New York in the first place?”
Before I can let out a frustrated groan, Gomer noses my hand, and I remember to take a deep breath before answering. “The problem with growing up here is that everybody—including my family—sees me as the nerdy kid who may have won all the science fairs, but also never buttoned his shirt right.”
“Seems like you’ve got that problem figured out.” Carlos’ gaze tracks to my shirt front, and I run a hand up my chest to check the buttons, before I remember that I’m wearing a CCE polo.
Pushing my glasses back up my nose, I cough out a laugh as bitter as the coffee Latonya poured us. “Nobody around here’s going to listen to my advice, not when my family’s farm is failing.”
“Every farm has its challenges. Especially small ones.”
“How about seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars’ worth of debt?”
Carlos blanches. “That is… a challenge.”
“Even worse, they’re growing soybeans. Monoculture. Stripping the soil and sinking cash into fertilizer and pesticides year after year.”
“Did you suggest small grains or maybe hay as an alternative?”
“Yes, Carlos, I’m not an idiot,” I snap. Gomer whines, and I blow out a breath. “I’m sorry. This gets me all kinds of riled up. I knew the farm was headed for trouble, even when I was in undergrad. But my grandfather wouldn’t listen to me.”
Carlos nods. “That’s tough.”
“Worse, now my older brother Ethan’s equally resistant to change.” I roll my eyes. “At least he was until his girlfriend blew back into town with her grand ideas. Now they’re growing strawberries.”
Before Carlos can say anything further, Latonya shows up with our sandwiches. We eat in silence until I can’t take it anymore. “So do you see why it’s a terrible idea for me to work here?”
Carlos wipes his mouth carefully and folds his hands on the table in front of him before meeting my gaze. “That isn’t the only reason you’re being considered for a move.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“As you know, CCE likes to rotate new hires through a few different regions for the first year or so. But your supervisor out in Erie County had some frustrations with your work, and I was the only team leader interested in mentoring you.”
“Are you serious?” Shame has my face heating. My hand instinctively finds Gomer, fingers sliding through his fur.
Carlos nods, his expression grave. “Your passion is appreciated, but your attitude is a problem. You can’t goad people into doing things differently.”
“Is this because of that sweet corn grower in Springville with Stewart’s wilt?” I sit back, crossing my arms over my chest. “All I told him was the truth, and he got pissed off.”
“Let me guess.” Carlos mimics my posture. “You told him we haven’t yet developed varieties resistant to the disease.”
“Exactly. Climate change is real. Things are changing fast. You have to adapt to survive.” The farmer’s angry face surfaces in my memory. “I told him about grant programs for solar farming as an alternative.”
“We’re talking about people’s entire lives, son. Their family history. You must get it.”
“Oh, I totally get stubbornness and refusal to try new things.”
“In their minds, change is a risk.”
“Not changing is a bigger risk.”
“Traditions as old as these hills can’t just be uprooted. A farmer coming to us for guidance is a great first step. We have to respect their experience.”
“What do I do if they refuse to look forward? If they insist that this is the way we’ve always done things. This worked in the past. Well, buddy, research tells me that ain’t gonna work anymore.”
“Change takes money, effort and knowledge. We can provide the latter, and often some funding, but they’ve got to be ready, willing and able to put in the elbow grease. Which isn’t always the case.”
“What am I supposed to do differently, then?”
“Join my team. Tag along with me for the first couple weeks.”
“So you can confirm that I’m a problem child?” I snap back.
“Is that what you think you are?”
Feeling like I’m repeating the same mistakes over and over in my life, I avoid answering his question. Instead, I take another bite of my sandwich, which now feels like sandpaper in my mouth. After I labor through chewing and swallowing, something occurs to me. “Do I actually have a choice in the matter?”
“You could be reassigned to the central office in Ithaca, but you wouldn’t be working directly with farmers. You’d probably assist with research instead.” Before I can ask more about that, Carlos leans forward, resting folded hands on the table. “Look. Roger told me you’re the smartest he’s got. I think we can learn from each other. Plus, I’m not getting any younger. My job’ll be opening up in a few years. This district is your best shot for moving up.”
Something’s not right here. “If I’m so difficult, why would you even consider me to replace you?”
He snorts. “I’m too old to be intimidated by you, and I actually think we’d be a good team. You’re up on all the latest and greatest, while I’ve got experience dealing with recalcitrant farmers.”
“Want to meet my brother?”
He tips his head to the side, a shaggy eyebrow lifting. “Maybe he’ll listen to me. Sometimes fresh eyes and ears are helpful.”
I cough-laugh, coffee going up my nose.
Carlos hands me an extra napkin. “What’s so funny?”
Wiping my mouth, I clear my throat. I don’t think Carlos is as old as my grandmother, but the crow’s-feet crinkling the terra-cotta skin surrounding his eyes are as deep as hers. “No offense, but… you’re not exactly the epitome of fresh.”
Carlos actually harrumphs. “I’ve still got game, son.”
I don’t want to know what that looks like, especially after the way he and Latonya were making eyes at each other. Thankfully, I’m saved by the bell or, rather, the Elton John song “Daniel” that my twin sister made her ringtone. I send her to voicemail, but if I don’t text her, she’ll worry. “Sorry, that’s my sister,” I explain to Carlos. “I’ll just let her know I’m not dead.”
Me: Can’t talk rn, whassup
Colleen: Are you in town?
Me: ??
Colleen: I thought I felt a disturbance in the twin-verse.
My sister always texts full sentences, including punctuation, but she’s fast. Before I can respond, she jumps down my digital throat.
Colleen: What the heck, Sam? Were you even going to stop by?
“Everything okay?” Carlos asks. He sure is extra for an old guy.
“Yeah, she’s just being nosy,” I explain as I type out a reply.
Me: I’m working
Colleen: I thought you worked on the other side of the state.
Shit. Now I’m screwed.
Me: I might be getting transf erred
Colleen: To Fork Lick?
Me: Kinda
Colleen: Where are you staying?
Me: Not sure
Colleen: You better come home, Sam. Gran’s heart will be broken if she finds out.
Wincing, I look up. Instead of checking his own phone like a normal person, Carlos is just waiting expectantly. “I’ll never hear the end of it if my grandmother finds out I was within spitting distance of the farm and didn’t stop by. Any chance we can slot in a stop after lunch?”
Carlos’s smile is a little too pleased for my comfort. “It’s a farm, ain’t it? Visits are part of the job.”
Maybe it’ll be good for my new boss to see what I’m up against. I just hope neither of us regrets it.