Chapter 10 #2
“I’d like to see where your family came from,” I say, surprising myself with the admission. “Not the corporate offices, but the original farm where it all started.”
She looks sad. “It’s a mall now. The land was sold decades ago.”
“That sucks. I wanted to understand how the Caldwells went from forty acres in Pennsylvania to running an agricultural empire.”
Her smile is thoughtful. “We could drive out there sometime if you want. It’s not far from where my mother grew up before her family moved west, but there’s no sentimental value attached to a sprawling building full of retail shops and restaurants.”
It seems like the trip might actually make her sad rather than inspire her, but the conversation gives me an idea that’s better than anything involving expensive restaurants or jewelry store rings.
Lindsay wants to understand my family’s history, and I want to understand hers.
Maybe the perfect proposal isn’t about expensive gestures but about honoring our shared heritage while planning our future.
“Actually, I have a different idea,” I say, my mind racing with possibilities.
“How would you feel about a trip to the original homestead cabin where my great-grandfather first settled? It’s up in the mountains, maybe a day’s journey from here, and I’ll bet it gives a similar rush of nostalgia even though it’s not the same as your family’s history.
It’ll bring us both closer to how it all started and what our ancestors wanted. ”
“I’d love that.” Lindsay’s eyes brighten, losing that tinge of sadness. “Is the cabin still standing?”
“Barely, but yes. There’s also a natural hot spring nearby that my family has used for generations.” I’m already planning the logistics in my head. “We could make it a camping trip, just the two of us.”
“When?”
“This weekend? The weather’s supposed to be clear, and Midnight’s recovery is going well enough that I can leave him for a couple days.”
“That sounds perfect.” She seems truly enthusiastic. “I’ve been wanting to get away from phones and emails anyway.” That makes her laugh. “I never thought I’d say such a thing.”
“It’s good you want a digital detox because there’s no cell service up there. It’s just you, me, and whatever wildlife decides to investigate our campsite.”
Rather than look horrified, she seems excited by the prospect. She’s so much different and more open than she was when we first met that it’s marvelous to see her blooming. “Even better.”
That night, after Lindsay falls asleep curled against my side, I lie awake planning the proposal that’s starting to take shape in my mind.
It doesn’t require expensive restaurants or elaborate staging.
It’ll be just the two of us in the place where my family’s American story began, talking about the future we want to build together.
The ring situation still needs solving, but I think I know someone who might help with that.
Three days later, after getting a package from Pennsylvania, I go two towns over and park outside a small jewelry shop that’s been run by the same family for three generations.
Unlike the feed store’s generic engagement ring display, this place specializes in custom work and repairs for locals who value craftsmanship over brand names.
Selma Kowalski emerges from the back room with a warm smile. “Josh, I haven’t seen you in ages. The last time was when you bought that pretty filigree locket for Emma’s twenty-first birthday, if memory serves. What brings you by?”
I’m a little surprised she remembers a purchase I made eight years ago, but that’s one of the personal touches the Kowalskis provide that keeps them in business.
“I need an engagement ring, but not a traditional one.” I settle into the chair across from her workbench.
“The woman I want to marry isn’t traditional either. ”
She reaches for a sketchpad. “Congratulations. Tell me about her.”
I spend twenty minutes describing Lindsay and her love for the ranch, her connection to her donkey shifter heritage, her family’s agricultural roots, and the way she’s found purpose in helping family farms navigate corporate systems. Ellen listens without interrupting, occasionally nodding or asking clarifying questions.
“She sounds remarkable,” she says when I finish. “What did you have in mind for the ring?”
“Something that honors both our histories. She comes from Pennsylvania farming stock, and my family has been on this land for four generations.” I pull out the small bag I brought with me. “I was thinking about incorporating these somehow.”
Selma examines the contents, which include a piece of granite from the foundation of the original ranch house and a small chunk of limestone I’d ordered online from a Pennsylvania quarry near where Lindsay’s family originally farmed. I’d put off this shopping trip until it arrived.
“These are beautiful.” She studies the stones.
“The granite has lovely color variation, and the limestone will take a nice polish. I’m thinking a simple band with the stones set side by side, maybe connected by gold work that flows between them like they’re part of the same foundation.
” She sketches as she talks and turns the pad to me for my approval.
“That sounds perfect.”
Her smile is warm as she sets the stones aside.
“You said you want it for the weekend?” She looks at her phone.
“I think we can get it done by Friday evening. I’ll create something that tells your story together.
If she’s the woman you described, she’s going to care more about the thought behind it than the size of the stones. ”
Saturday morning arrives clear and perfect for the journey into the mountains.
Lindsay emerges from the house wearing layers that mark her transformation from city executive to someone who understands mountain weather.
Her pack is sensibly loaded with supplies I suggested, and she’s wearing the sturdy hiking boots she bought after our first failed attempt at a “nature walk” ended with her sliding down a muddy slope in fashion sneakers.
“Ready for an adventure?” I ask, shouldering my pack.
Lindsay grins while adjusting her pack straps. “Ready to see where the Brennan family legend began. Lead the way, mountain man.”
We walk to the edge of the pasture where the trails begin, and I stop to explain my plan. “Before we start, how do you feel about making this trip the way my ancestors would have? In our shifted forms?”
Lindsay’s expression shifts to something between excitement and uncertainty. “You mean travel there as horse and donkey?”
“We can carry packs designed for shifters and follow the old migration routes instead of human trails.” I watch her face carefully. “It would be more like the original journey, and your donkey form is probably better suited to mountain terrain than mine anyway.”
She still seems uncertain but looks like she’s warming to the idea. “I’ve never done a long-distance trek in shifted form.”
“It’s different from running for pleasure because it’s more purposeful and more connected to the landscape.
” I gesture toward the mountains rising ahead of us.
“My great-grandfather made this journey in horse form when he first scouted the territory. Something about covering that ground the same way makes it feel like a conversation with the past.”
Lindsay nods slowly while considering the proposal. “Okay, but if I collapse from exhaustion halfway up the mountain, you’re carrying me the rest of the way.”
“Deal.”
We head into the barn to get different packs and quickly transfer our things.
Then she shifts first, and I help her adjust the lightweight pack designed to distribute weight properly on her donkey form.
My own pack settles comfortably across my back and adapts to my horse form when I shift.
Within minutes, we’re moving across familiar pastureland toward the mountain trails.
Lindsay’s donkey form is perfectly suited for this terrain.
Where my horse form has to navigate carefully around rocky patches, she moves with surefooted confidence over surfaces that would challenge most animals.
Her endurance surprises me. While I need occasional rest breaks, she maintains a steady pace that eats up distance without apparent effort.
It must be those morning yoga videos she works out with since she’s no longer going to the gym, making me think I should join her in the routine.
The journey becomes a meditation on landscape and heritage.
We follow creek beds that my great-grandfather would have used for navigation, cross meadows where he might have rested in his human or horse form and climb through forests that have probably changed little in the past century.
Something feels profound about retracing his route in animal form and experiencing the land through the same senses he would have used.
By early afternoon, we reach the meadow where the original cabin sits.
The structure is smaller than I remembered from childhood visits, being little more than a one-room shelter with a stone chimney and a roof that’s somehow survived decades of mountain weather.
It’s reasonably solid for its age, and when I push open the door, the interior is dry and clean.
“This is incredible.” Lindsay shifts back to human form and stands in the doorway, taking in the simple space. “Your great-grandfather built this himself?”
“With help from other settlers, but yes. He spent his first winter here alone, planning the ranch layout and figuring out how to make a living from the land.”
“It must have been terrifying.”
“And exhilarating.” I set down my pack and begin unpacking supplies. “He was twenty-three years old, no family nearby, betting everything on his ability to build something from nothing.”
“Like you did when you took over the ranch?”