7. Hailey #2
"Oh, well that's great. I'm glad to meet my neighbor.
" I vaguely recognize his name as one of the people my aunt had mentioned.
Perhaps it had been him who'd been taking care of the place during my own and my parents' absence all these years.
How serendipitous for him to show up on my veranda like this without me having to hunt him down.
"I would love to pick your brain sometime.
This is all so new to me, and I need all the advice I can get. "
He grins even wider. "Feel free. I hope you don't mind me visiting out of the blue.
This place has been abandoned for a few years, and I've always kept my eye on it.
So, when I heard that someone had been seen on the property I came over to make sure it wasn't any of those teenagers trespassing or something. "
"No, I'm not a trespassing teen," I chuckle as I struggle to carry one of the grocery bags from the backseat. He immediately notices and comes over to my side to take it from my hands. I try to protest but he insists and firmly extracts the bag from my grasp. Southern gentleman.
I take another, lighter bag as I explain. "My parents owned the place, and they passed it down to me. So I guess that makes me the new owner."
As he lifts another bag from the backseat, he eyes the rest of my shopping in the car. "That's some pile of groceries you got yourself there. You planning on staying here long?"
"Forever, hopefully," I quip as I start forward towards the home. "I'm planning on running it as a farm."
"Oh," he says and his tone of voice makes me turn around. His face still looks as pleasant as before, but there's something in his voice that makes me hesitate. I don't mention it though, opening my door in silence and leading the way into the kitchen with the grocery bags.
He comes in after me and we drop the bags on the table. I sense there's something he wants to say but he doesn't know how to say it.
Finally, he opens up, "Forgive me if this is me being too forward and sticking my nose where it don't rightly belong, but can I ask why you would want to do that?"
I shrug. "Why not? My parents bought this place as a vacation home, but I think they always hoped one day to live here permanently and run it as a little family farm.
You know, like a little homestead—growing their own produce, maintaining the land, living a rural lifestyle.
That was their dream. They loved it here…
the mountains, the lake, the forests and the animals.
They loved it all. And they had a deep passion for the native American heritage that's embedded all around here, especially the Ute.
Though I grew up in Aurora, I've always had that same urge.
It's why I left the city and travelled all over the world.
" I smile. "I was looking for a place I could call 'home' but perhaps it was right in my backyard the whole time. "
"That all sounds well and good, but I think you're romanticizing it quite a bit," he says.
"The truth is that running a farm isn't about picking a few cobs of corn, then selling them at a market and going home to a hot bath and dinner.
It is damned hard work, and it's a tiring, thankless task that involves knowing a lot of things and being good at all of 'em.
Building and maintaining barns and other outbuildings, erecting and maintaining fences, managing tracks and roads through your property, planting, feeding, weeding and finally picking your crops.
Storing produce so it lasts and doesn't go off.
Then there's managing your limited water supply to irrigate your crops and keep your livestock alive through the summer and clearing the snow from the roof and maintaining your tracks out to the public road in the winter.
Taking a chainsaw and felling trees when they threaten to come down on top of your barn.
Chopping and stacking firewood for fuel.
Storing fodder for your animals. Buying and maintaining equipment like tractors, threshers, generators, and so on.
“It means predicting the weather, knowing who to hire, and dealing with theft and soil changes.
It's learning to love the madness and suffering.
It took me years to be able to make a success out of my farm and my father had been training me since I was a little boy.
I still make mistakes. It's going to be extremely difficult for you to start a farm here from scratch with no experience.
I don't suppose you've ever even held a chainsaw, let alone felled a fifty-foot tree with one. "
My initial urge is to get defensive, but I take a deep breath and simply nod and listen. He's right. There will be a lot to learn and it is going to be difficult, but I'm still not willing to give up on my dream.
"So, what would you advise me to do?" I ask.
"Well, hon, if I were you, I would try to sell if you can.
" he says. "It's not worth much, because it's so small—twenty-two acres, right?
" I nod. Seems like everyone here knows the size of my property.
"And half of that is taken up with the lake and the forest. So you see, no one can do much with it, not commercially. It's not big enough."
"Really?" Perhaps he's right. Perhaps this is all merely a romantic pipe dream.
Perhaps I should realize that my ideas for a little family farm here are too unrealistic.
Perhaps I should give up. He nods to confirm his words, and he must have seen my face fall at his news, because he looks sad.
Then he suddenly brightens up. "I tell you what," he says.
"I've had an idea. I could buy it off you, how about that? "
"But I thought you said it was worthless?"
"Well… no I didn't say it was worthless.
I mean, all land is worth something, right?
It's just not all that valuable is all I'm saying.
Especially because of its size. But you see, because I've got about five hundred acres right next door, so your twenty or so acres would be more useful to me than to someone else.
That means I can afford to be a little more generous.
In fact, I tell you what, in memory of your ma and pa whom I used to know years ago when they came here, I'll give you twenty thousand dollars for it.
Why that's nearly a thousand dollars an acre—good money! What do you say?"
It's about ten thousand less than what Dean offered me.
"Thanks," I say. "But I'm not willing to sell right now."
"You sure about that? Because it's not only the farm you have to worry about. Some seasons there's wild animals in these parts—wild men too." His gaze bores into my eyes, making me feel uncomfortable. "I know you know what I'm talking about."
I swallow. "Yes, but I'm still not willing to sell."
His eyebrows wrinkle a little, and a barely noticeable trace of annoyance skitters across his expression for one moment before he's back in control again, smiling as widely as ever.
"Fair enough my dear. But I hope you know that I'm trying to help you here and save you a lot of pain down the line. If you take the deal, I can even?—"
"Did you not hear her tell you that she doesn't want to sell?
" A new voice from the front door interrupts the conversation.
As the door opens wider, Victor Sinclair and I turn in unison to find Reed standing there.
His eyes glitter menacingly as they rest on Sinclair, and he doesn't shift his gaze for even a second.
I notice Sinclair's body tense, and something resembling hatred flashes in his eyes.
The two men don't like each other. That much is clear.
Before I can ponder why, Reed walks completely in and says, "You heard her. Get lost, Sinclair."
Sinclair's eyes narrow. "I don't believe that's your call to make, friend."
"I'm not your friend, and I'm making it my call." He smiles, but there's no trace of good humor in it. "Careful, old man. I'm not afraid to get down and dirty with an elder, you feel me?"
Sinclair practically bristles, the expression in his eyes shooting daggers at Reed. Finally, he turns and faces me again, with a smile that's a little too tight around the corners. "You know what, I think I'll come by later when you have less odious company."
"Oh no, you don't have to leave." I wanted to ask him questions about running a farm. He obviously knows a lot about it.
"I think I should." He nods once. "I'll see you around, Hailey."
"Sure. See you around, Mr. Sinclair. And thanks for the help with the groceries."
He tips his hat again in old-fashioned courtesy, and glares at Reed as he pushes past him.
"Why did you do that?" I ask Reed who saunters into the kitchen as if he owns the place now the older man has departed.
"Do what?"
"Run him off like that?"
"Oh. I thought you wanted him gone."
"No, I was having a conversation with him. A conversation you rudely interrupted."
He shrugs. "Well, I'm not sorry about it."
I narrow my eyes. Now he's showing his inner asshole too. "Listen, Reed, if we're going to be friends or whatever, there are a few things you need to know about me. And the first thing is that you don't get to tell me what to do."