Another glance at the petting stall, and they’re starting to take the pets away and break it all down. I don’t see George or Megan.
I look for Stella and see her talking to Melodie and her husband.
“Stel,” I walk up to her. “Where are the kids?”
31
FLETCHER
I putthe last brush away and stand back to admire the mural. Most people won’t be able to tell, but I can see the different brush strokes. The parts painted by the little hands of our budding artists and those who took it a little too seriously.
If there was anything I would wish to have as a legacy, this mural is it.
Despite the controversy surrounding the event, I was glad to see a lot of families and their children, both younger and older, participating and having fun.
Karina hasn’t shown up, which didn’t surprise me, even if I hoped she’d reflect on Stella’s words and come to show her support.
Who knows, maybe next year. At least there haven't been any attempts to sabotage the fair.
I put the remaining paint cans in the storage building. I can come back for them another day. There’s still some of the fair to enjoy, and I want to make sure I don’t miss it, especially after all the hard work.
There’s a small group of people by the Knox Farm stand, but I haven’t seen Reed, the owner, in a while, so I head over to say hi.
“Fletcher, how are you?”
“Reed, dude, it’s been too long.”
“How’s the farm business?” I ask. I’ve known Reed since we were kids. He’s lived on his granddad’s farm his whole life. The old man left him the business when he passed away.
“It’s great. We’re producing mostly monofloral honey now. Want to try it?”
“Mono-what?”
He takes the wooden dipper from a jar and adds the clear honey to a small cracker before handing it to me.
The flavor is so unique I can only moan and nod as I eat it. “Oh my god, is that lavender flavor? How did you do it?”
Reed beams. “Since we expanded the farm, our bees mostly collect pollen from the lavender flowers. That’s why it’s called monofloral honey. Usually, bees collect pollen from multiple sources, and it’s rare to get naturally occurring monofloral honey.”
“Now you got him going.” A big, tall guy wearing a red lumberjack shirt appears out of nowhere. “I’m Callan. Nice to meet you. This is a great fair. Reed said you organized it?”
I shake his hand back. “Yeah, with a few of the parents. Can’t lie. It was hard work.”
“I bet. If you ever want an event-planning job, come see me.”
I look at Reed. “Callan’s my farm manager and the backbone of Knox Farm,” he says proudly.
“Don’t know, boss. It’s not hard to sell your honey, and without you, there wouldn’t be any to sell. That would certainly make my job harder.”
Reed blushes a little and shrugs. “We’re a good team.”
“Time to pack up,” Callan says. “I have a little man at home who will unleash his vocal cords on the sitter if I’m not the one to put him to bed.”
I laugh. “I remember that too well. I want to say it goes away, but you just wait until he asks for pets that might kill you if they’re hungry.”
“You mean like bees?” Callan asks, giving Reed a teasing look.
“Bees don’t kill. They just get…upset sometimes.” Reed says.
