Windrow Garden Page 9

  Groundwork

  Sally’s mother, Gwynn, knew what being alone was like. Her husband of thirty-five years had died of a heart attack late one evening eight years ago. She had been at the house, cooking supper and waiting for the sounds of the John Deere tractor to chug through the farmstead and up to the barn. At six o'clock she had begun to worry. By six-thirty she went looking for her husband. It was a long walk across the fields.

  She saw the tractor first. It was parked near a large oak tree that had been partially ravaged by lightning years before. The engine of the tractor was still running, churning away in the low thrum-drum of neutral. The sight of it made her wonder what her husband was up to, and she searched the wooden fence line to see where he was and why he had left the tractor unattended.

  Then she saw him. He was sitting under the remaining branches of the old oak tree, and his back leaned awkwardly against the trunk. She waved to him, but he did not respond. It was as though he were in deep contemplation. Then she noticed the slouch in his head and the uncomfortable angle of his leaning body, and fear touched her heart. She ran to him on uncertain legs and knew he was dead before she fell down to hold him for the last time.

  She stayed with him under the tree, pleading to him and to any angel that might listen while the sounds of the tractor and the evening breezes accompanied the soft sounds of her sobbing.

  For five long years she had managed the farm with the help of the hired hands, but although the work provided comfort, it no longer gave joy. Then when her daughter had returned to the farm, a breath of fresh beginnings had seemed to sweep through Gwynn. She had decided, at her daughter’s urging, to take up residence in town, snowbird to Arizona, and recreate her life.

  During the first week of May of every year, Gwynn O’Conners returned to the farm to run the greenhouse sales. She could bear to return to the farm and enjoy it with her daughter and granddaughter. It was a time she looked forward to, although she did not mind retirement. Wintering in Arizona was fine, but there were only so many clubs to join, bridge games to play, and concerts to attend.

  Being a widow and a woman of leisure occasionally made Gwynn feel that she had too much time on her hands. Working at the farm again gave her a break from some of her more ardent gentlemen pursuers. She was grateful for the break and felt useful, wanted, and needed by her little family.

  She had considered remarrying, but at sixty-one she didn’t see any need to rush romance. Besides, remarrying was, for Gwynn, a matter of finding the right man who would let her go her own way, who would also enjoy traveling and being together, and who was a good companion. There were few who would or could meet those criteria. There was time enough for all that. Spring brought about the need to make her renewed contributions to the farm she had handed over to her daughter. For now, being at Windrow Garden again was enough. She enjoyed the farm and her necessary part in it.

  Advising local gardeners about the flowers, herbs, vegetables, and fruit trees they purchased from Windrow Garden gave her a sense of daily renewal and joy. The spring and long summer months would give her time with her daughter and granddaughter and the opportunity to renew old friendships with families in the outlying county.

  She loved and worried about her daughter and granddaughter. More particularly, she worried about Sally. Gwynn worried that Sally was working too hard and trying to do too much on her own. She worried that her daughter was trying to be everything to everyone as she took on the burden of running Windrow Garden and raising her daughter alone. Gwynn would have preferred for her daughter to be happy, secure, and loved. However, the way things were going, it seemed to Gwynn that Sally was getting few rewards from her hard work. Gwynn wanted Sally to love and be loved as wholly and completely as she herself had been for the thirty-five years with Sally’s father. She worried that Sally might let all her opportunities for happiness pass her by.

  In the greenhouse, as Gwynn put the starter change and bills into the cash register, she decided that there had to be something she could do to encourage her daughter’s happiness. She determined to figure out how she could help her daughter find fulfillment.

  The morning hours flew by as customers picked over the flowers and tender young vegetable plants. Gwynn took time to help each new gardener and shared tales of gardening secrets and mishaps with old friends.

  Spring was the hopeful and energetic time of the year. Practiced gardeners had all but forgotten their good intentions about not wanting to over plant, and they behaved like eager children as they loaded their cars with more potential produce than they and their families could use. Novice gardeners, eyes bright with expectation and the thrill of a new hobby, came in and generally required at least one of everything. Everyone went away intent, content, and alive with the prospect of rewards for their tender purchases. Gwynn was pleased. The cash register rang its merry tune, making her wonder if the whole county was under some spell of gardening fever.

  In the late afternoon, Gwynn noticed that the drip and mist lines in the greenhouse did not come on as scheduled. She walked toward the pumping machinery at the back of the greenhouse and listened to the angry humming in the pumps as they protested with the timer. A wisp of smoke seeped out of the pump housing, and the smell of hot metal wafted toward her nose. She quickly hit the emergency off switch and hurried to the phone next to the register.

  She was waiting on another customer who had stacked several cartons of tiny green geraniums on the wide countertop table when she looked up to see an attractive, tall, olive-skinned woman walk in carrying a toolbox. As their eyes met, Gwynn noticed the polite whisper of a smile fleet across the woman’s face as she walked to where Gwynn and the customer stood. Gwynn tried to place the woman’s face and then realized that the woman carrying the red toolbox was the person Sally had hired as the farm’s new mechanic.

  “Are you here about the pumps?” Gwynn asked, taking new measure of the woman.

  “Yes, ma’am. Could you point me in their direction?” Nicole asked, looking around the greenhouse expectantly. Her gaze came back to Gwynn when the older woman did not immediately respond. Nicole noticed a small hint of a downward turn in the older woman’s mouth as her eyes flicked over Nicole in concern.

  “Ma’am?” Nicole queried.

  “My daughter hired you,” Gwynn stated distractedly. Nicole reminded Gwynn of someone, another friend of Sally’s, a friend from long ago. There was something about the woman, and the feeling coursed like a disquieting shadow through Gwynn’s mind.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Nicole said, taking a step forward and offering her hand. “Name’s Nicole.”

  Gwynn looked at the hand, its long fingers, strong broad palm, and accompanying calluses as she tentatively extended her own hand. She received a firm but calculated handshake. Not too soft, but warm and assured. Gwynn recognized the handshake of a person who was conscious that she could crush frail fingers of someone who might be prone to arthritis. She appreciated the mild yet full grip and preferred it to the soft lazy handshakes she’d run into before. A tiny spark of gratitude and admiration threaded through her mind. Then it, too, caught on the elusive memory from the earlier moment.

  “Could you show me the pump?” Nicole asked again.

  “Certainly. Funny, you remind me of someone. Or, at least I think you do. Can’t rightly put my finger on it,” Gwynn said, waving Nicole to follow her. “Probably a figment of my imagination anyway. Don’t mind me. I’ve met so many people over the years that just about everyone begins to remind me of someone or something else.” Gwynn shrugged as she led the way back to the silent pump and pointed to it.

  “Ever have anything like this happen before?” Nicole asked as she set the toolbox down and squatted next to the pump housing.

  “Can’t remember, but the pump’s probably older than you are. It runs the well water up through that casement attached to the rear. 'Bout all I know is that it can be cantankerous if it wants to be. 'Fraid I can’t be much more help than that,” Gwynn wo
rried. The pump was essential to the heat and moisture maintenance in the greenhouse. The seedlings and tender plants could not afford to be without its necessary luxury for long. If the plants were going to survive and be sold, the misting waters and moist, heated air were absolutely vital.

  “That’s all right. I’ll take a look at it and see if I can’t convince it to get back to work,” Nicole responded as she began loosening the screws on the housing.

  Gwynn watched the sure quick movements of the mechanic at her task. There was no hesitation. Nicole’s poised, confident response to each aspect of the job as she worked her way into the interior of the housing and the rear of the motor confirmed Gwynn’s confidence in her daughter’s decision to hire the woman. Not that she had doubts about her daughter’s judgment, but it was nice to have her faith in Sally reaffirmed.

  The tinkling of the greenhouse doorbell alerted Gwynn. “I’ve got to get back up front,” she said, turning to leave.

  “That’s fine. I’ve got everything here I need…I hope,” Nicole responded as she concentrated on her task.

  Thirty minutes later, as Gwynn helped an elderly neighbor load her car with two boxes of Suregrow strawberries, she glanced up to see Sally walking across the roadway. As the customer drove away, Gwynn and Sally walked back to the greenhouse together.

  “Nicole get here?” Sally asked.

  “Some time back. She certainly didn’t waste any time getting here and getting started. She seems to know what she is doing,” Gwynn commented.

  “Yes, Mom, she knows.” Sally knew how her mother worried about the farm, and she wanted her to know that she was confident in the people she hired. Years of love and habit told Sally that her mother’s offhand comments hid tiny concerns. “Is it me you wondered about because I hired a woman, or were you wondering about anything else?”

  “Neither. I’d probably worry for no reason about any new hand who got hired.”

  “Of course you would,” Sally said, putting her arm around her mother as they walked through the greenhouse door. “So put your worry away and sell lots of stuff. I’m going back to see how she’s doing.”

  “Fine,” Gwynn said as she returned to her cash register to sort the checks from the drawer along with all the bills over twenty and place them in the floor safe.

  Sally walked back to the pump area and found Nicole sitting cross-legged on the floor, a few parts of the pump housing spread out in front of her, and a yellow cylinder in her hand. Sally smiled to herself as she watched Nicole’s eyes squint in deep deliberation as she examined the cylinder.

  “Expecting it to tell you what’s wrong with it?” Sally asked as she sat down on the floor next to Nicole.

  “Ah, you startled me. I didn’t hear you sneak up on me. Are you here to check on me and see if I can figure out the mysteries of deep-well pumps gone bad?” Nicole asked as she masked the jolt of electricity she received from the charged cylinder.

  “I seem to keep surprising you,” Sally proposed.

  “You do that, all right,” Nicole said, smiling, not sure if they were still talking about her visit to the greenhouse and the condition of the pump or something else.

  “Good,” Sally said as she leaned closer to Nicole’s shoulder. “I’ve been thinking we should be friends,” Sally whispered softly.

  “You have?”

  “Of course. After all, we live in the same place, eat in the same place, work and sleep in the same place. There’s no reason not to be friends,” Sally said, justifying her decision and leaning into Nicole’s strong arm for emphasis.

  “So proximity and familiarity are the basis for this friendship?” Nicole breathed her quiet question and dared look into Sally’s wide green eyes.

  Sally diverted her glance from the question momentarily, then returned her scrutiny and searched for understanding in the dark brown depths of Nicole’s gaze. “It’s certainly not a bad reason. Having things in common is usually the basis of friendship, isn’t it?” Sally defended. She did not know what to make of the question Nicole had asked. She didn’t know if she wanted to follow the hints that she thought she heard there. The question made it seem as though Nicole was wary or doubtful, as though Sally were putting a burden on her. Sally felt the question in Nicole’s eyes carry a sting of mild rebuff.

  Nicole let a noiseless, distressed chuckle escape her mouth as she looked at the perplexity on Sally’s face. “Ms. Windrow, we can be friends. We can even be friends on your terms,” Nicole said as she touched Sally’s knee lightly where it rested next to her own hip. She watched Sally’s complexion sharply change tint from its normal peaches and cream to a high ruddy hue. Nicole let her fingers glide softly, and then she quickly moved her hand away.

  “But I’m fairly certain we cannot be friends for the sake of your inquisitiveness. I do not want to be run out of town or shot by a jealous boyfriend for contributing to the satisfaction of your curiosity.”

  Gwynn O’Conners stood rooted to a spot in the greenhouse twenty feet away from where Nicole and her daughter sat with their heads together talking. She had almost called to them as she walked in their direction. She almost spoke out to tell them how conspiratorial they looked sitting together on the floor. Then she had hesitated. Recognition halted her and welded her where she stood. Gwynn’s throat constricted at the flood of memories about her daughter and another special friend from high school. Memory came flooding back.

  Nicole didn’t look anything like Julie Macer. Julie and Sally had both been seventeen then. Julie was thin as a rail with short thick blond hair and an energy level the envy of her track teammates. Gwynn’s husband had mentioned something about Julie’s behavior being a bit masculine, but initially Gwynn had laughed and ignored him. Gwynn had figured that all young women athletes, born in the spirit of competition, would garner that sort of response from a man.

  Gwynn had assured her husband that it was nothing to be concerned about. The girls were dating boys in their class, and she scolded him for being unkind about the girl’s demeanor. She had reminded her husband that it was safer for girls not to be too wrapped up in boys at their age. There was time for all of that later. She had assured him they would marry and settle down like everyone else. Their friendship was healthy. It was supposed to be a phase in their life. It would pass, she had reasoned. Then it did not pass.

  Sally and Julie had become fast friends as they discovered their love for volleyball. They became inseparable. Sleepovers, trips to volleyball camps, and spending time with each other had been something both families easily accepted until the night of Sally’s eighteenth birthday. Gwynn hadn’t knocked; she couldn’t remember why. She’d never barged into Sally’s room before. But that night she had violated a trust and found Sally and Julie wrapped in each other’s arms.

  A terrible, tearful row ensued. Ultimately, Julie was sent away by her parents to live with an aunt on the East Coast. Sally had been inconsolable. Time passed, and things had appeared to return to normal. Julie’s name was never mentioned again, and years later Sally had married. Gwynn had forgotten Julie, the situation, the circumstances, and the concerns. Until today.

  The sting of memory vaulted up Gwynn’s legs and spread alarm through her soul. Her daughter stirred to rise from where she sat next to Nicole, and Gwynn fled before her daughter found her standing behind them. She ran to the far end of the greenhouse as quickly and quietly as she could. She needed, wanted, time to think, a space to be alone and to decide what she had to do to keep her daughter safe from harm.

  She was standing at the cash register when Sally walked past her. Gwynn saw her daughter hesitate at the door as if there was something she wanted to do but couldn’t remember what it was.

  “Are you all right, dear?” Gwynn asked solicitously.

  “Yes. No. I don’t know, Mom,” Sally responded as she opened the door to go out. She halted and let her head drop wearily on the glass door. “Do you ever find it hard to figure out what will make you happy? Is there a time or age
where the answers become crystal clear?” Sally asked. Her eyes showed hints of brimming tears. “Or do we just stumble around lost and alone until we die?”

  Sally flung open the door and dashed across the yard to her house.

  = Chapter 8 =

  Reservoirs & Ponds

  There are practical considerations for having and maintaining reservoirs and ponds on a farmstead. Although they can cost you upwards of a few hundred dollars, the returns are plentiful. The benefit in fish crops, fire and drought insurance, and stable water table are notable. The fun and relaxation of mind, body, and spirit are less reducible to dollars but are not to be ignored.

  The average farm pond is one-half to three acres in size. When creating a pond or reservoir, expert help is advised. There are a large number of considerations such as rainfall, seepage, silting, fertilizer, grasses, algae, and plankton.

  The pond will need to be fed by an appropriate and abundant watershed. By way of example, ten acres of pasture or woodland are needed to feed runoff water into a pond that you intend to maintain at a one-acre size at an eight-foot depth. You can starve a pond and the life in and around it if there is not proper or abundant nourishment. Worse, a shallow pond or reservoir breeds mosquitoes and can be rapidly overgrown with weeds. You will need to build a broad, well-sodded spillway. A vertical drainage pipe with its open end six inches below the level of the spillway and connected to a pipe through the dam will provide proper overflow.