About the Farm: Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine: Farm Tour

Bonus Chapter post this week, for anyone who was getting tired from hanging off the cliff. As always, if you just arrived, please start at the beginning: Chapter One .

Chapter Nine: Farm Tour

A man gets out of the car and stands beside her. “This is my husband,” says Celeste.

With a rush, I realize this is Bruce, the murderer.

I am taken aback, but I cover it up with cheerful exuberance as I introduce myself and gush about how wonderful their land is and how glad I am to be buying it.

Bruce looks to be in his early sixties, with greying hair and a solid frame. “What are you going to do with the land?” he asks.

“I don’t know yet,” I answer honestly. It’s not clear whether or not Walker and Lily will use any of the resources on this new plot, or keep all of their development on the creek-side property.

“Well, let us show you around,” Bruce says.

The farms tour begins with each of us uncomfortable and hesitant, but Bruce’s enthusiasm for telling stories about his youth growing up here, and showing me the highlights, soon breaks the ice and we are chatting like old friends. Fortunately, I still have my notebook and pen, because there is a lot to learn.

With all the trees bare of leaves on this winter day, I also draw pictures of where things are so that I’ll be able to identify them come warmer weather. There are apple trees that Bruce and Celeste have planted in a row, a mulberry tree, two huge hazelnut bushes, black cherry trees, and a place where Celeste has gotten ramps to grow conveniently near the house.

Bruce shows me the well. “It’s good water,” he says. Apparently, sulfur water in local wells is a problem. It turns out the pipe running into the little creek was just for grey water, and he shows me where the septic system used to be.

Bruce points at the hayfield and tells how he and his brothers used to grow a huge field of potatoes to sell. “It was darn hard work,” he says. But they did anything to get by. His eyes are bright, remembering his childhood in this place.

They take me into the backyard and Bruce shows me a lone young apple tree with a protective cage around it. This is a very special tree, he tells me. He will leave it here if I promise to take really good care of it. Otherwise, he’ll dig it up so he can take care of it himself.

The story goes like this: When Bruce was a young child, he and his mother planted an apple tree from just a seed. He shows me where that tree used to be, next to the small creek. The tree grew and provided apples for the family for many years.

Then, when Bruce was in prison (he gives me no details—he probably figures I’ve heard it all), his mother called to tell him that there had been a big storm and their apple tree had been blown down into the creek and washed away.

The other men in prison with Bruce heard about the lost apple tree and decided to act. They saved the seeds from their apples at lunch and collected them. Bruce mailed these seeds to his mother so that she could plant another tree. This small tree, in the backyard of a house that will be mine starting next week, is the tree that grew from those seeds gathered in prison by men who cared about making something new and innocent grow. “Will you take care of this tree?” Bruce asks me in earnest. I promise him that I will.

The next thing Bruce shows me is his pride and joy, a 1944 red and white Ford tractor. He even has a 1944 penny glued to it. He shows me the working parts and explains how to get it started and run it. I busily jot down notes and draw pictures, but I’m not super confident I’ll be able to make it work. “If you need any help, just call me,” Bruce says. “I’ll be happy to come over and help you. We’ll get her going.”

While we are in the shed looking at the tractor, I push to the back of my mind the fact that this is the tractor. This is the shed.

I thank him and we move on to the hayfields to continue the tour. I hadn’t even realized how far down the road the property reached. There is a second well, where Bruce and Celeste used to live in a trailer. And there’s a big old two story barn, built with strong lumber, including some wormy chestnut. Despite being shored up, the barn is listing to one side. I climb up to the second story to have a peek, but there is the strong feeling that getting in and getting out of there fast is a good idea in case today is the day it’s going to fall over.

As we walk away from the barn, there is one moment when something sinister rears its head. The conversation has turned to deer, and I express my appreciation and support for those who hunt them. I ask Bruce if he hunts and he says he used to but hasn’t recently. Then he fixes me with an ominous stare. “Do you hunt people?” he asks.

I am flustered, let out a nervous laugh, and ignore the question. And in the next moment we are back on the tour, leaving the barn and heading toward the creek. But that look, and that question, will continue to haunt me.

Bruce points to a sheer wall of rock bordering the big creek. “There’ll be water cress growing there in the early spring,” he says. “My mom used to send me out to gather it and she’d make a salad for us when we didn’t have much of anything else.”

Bruce shows me where the property ends and his brother’s begins. On our side of the marker stand three huge spreading trees in the middle of the hayfield.

“Those are chestnut trees,” Celeste says. “They’re delicious.”

My mouth drops open. There will be enough chestnuts to feed all the deer in the hollow and the people, too. I have hit the chestnut jackpot.

I thank Bruce and Celeste for their time. I now know that I have not just bought more timber and hay, I have bought a veritable food forest, and have become the caretaker of Mom’s apple tree.

Go touch the water. If I hadn’t listened, I would have driven away without ever meeting Bruce and Celeste and would have missed it all.

Want to keep reading? Chapter Ten