"He did," she said.
"Dan and I talked about a year ago to square up all his plans. I think it took a while, but he did finally forgive me for leaving and going off to college. I know you plan to be gone before the formal reading tomorrow. I wanted to see you, though, so I brought these over.” Bill handed my mom a small stack of books tied up with string.
“These are his journals from when you were together. He wanted me to give them to you personally.” He shrugged. “There may be some things you want from the house, I don’t know.”
“I don’t think so, sweetie. I left that life behind me, but I will definitely read these.” She held up the journals and brushed his arm with them.
“I’m not good at these feeling things,” he said, choking up a little, “but you know, you and he were my family when I really needed one.”
“Sweetie, you were like the little brother I never had. I mean, my brother’s a little shit, God love him. But you know how much you mean to me and to Dan.” She bit her lip and pointed her head towards me.
As I stood there wondering exactly what she meant, Bill snapped back to the matter at hand. He reached in his coat pocket, pulled out the biggest carabiner I have ever seen with about a million keys on it, and handed it to me. “Here you go, you’re the new owner. I think this one goes to the house." He leaned over and held one key up between two fingers. I had been nodding, not really processing his words. I reached out to accept the keys. "Maybe you can figure out what the rest of them are for; I don't remember him ever locking anything. There'll be a little paperwork tomorrow, and I can transfer the deed. Property taxes and utilities have been covered for the year, but there’ll be some other expenses. You may need to sell some hay or some animals to cover you until you figure out what you want to do here. You could sell the place, although the market’s pretty soft right now.”
“Wh-whah?” I stuttered, and my head began to swim.
Mom raised both her eyebrows and doubled over in a huge belly laugh. She stood up and looked skyward. “Dan?! You are still a piece of work!”
January 18, 2013
I know Bill said a bunch of other stuff, but I didn't hear a bit of it. The most I thought Dad would leave me was a token item, maybe a children's book he used to read to me, or a hat or something. I just assumed he had an apprentice or someone else to give the farm to. I never once indicated any interest in farming, his or anyone else’s. I wouldn’t even have the first idea on where to start. Mom was keen to point out that Dad didn't start out life as a farmer, he had to figure it all out from books, advice, and trial and error – “lots of error,” she emphasized.
My parents met when Dad was in his late forties and Mom was in her mid-twenties, and they decided to drop out of the rat race and homestead out in Idaho. Dad loved the science of farming and took to it right away, having left his job because he’d been promoted from repairing office copiers, something he mostly enjoyed, into what turned out to be a sales job. He always had computer work of some sort, but they still needed some reliable income, so Mom returned to nursing as a floater at the hospital in Emmett. She eventually was hired by a pharmacy clinic in Boise, and by the time I was four, my parents barely saw each other. Mom and I moved in with her mom for a couple of years until she got a much better job as an OB-GYN nurse in Sacramento, where I went to school 2nd grade through 12th. With no mouths but his own to feed, my dad could make enough to get by, so he kept pushing on.
Clearly I’m going to sell the farm, but how? I begged Mom to stay and help me figure out what to do. After she stopped laughing and wiped away a few tears, she said she wouldn't touch this adventure with a ten-foot pole. So she wished me the best of luck and headed home. Note to self: Find a sketchy nursing home to threaten Mom with.
A couple of days ago, I went into Bill’s office and signed some papers, and he tried to explain some things about water rights and other farm services. I guess I’ll deal with those as they become important. He said he would have the deed to me in a number of days and assured me that there weren’t any liens, something I hadn’t even thought of. I have an appointment to go out to the farm with Bill and meet Dad’s hired hand, the other person listed in the will, and the reason the place was still in such great shape. Apparently, my dad worked out some arrangement with him, where he does work on the farm and splits money on meat sales, hay, and produce. He can keep working the farm as long as needed, so I have a little bit of breathing room. Thank god or whoever for that.
January 19, 2013
His name is Elliot, the hired hand. He is about six foot two with
