“No, CT. Not today. I’ll let you know when I know for sure.”
“I know ... you know ... but will they be here?” He gave her a puzzled smile, a reminder she’d overexplained. Keep it simple.
“Not today.”
“Oh.” His smile faded. “What day is it?”
She told him, and then to distract him from further disappointment, Honey decided to bring up the subject of pumpkins... again. “We need to plant pumpkins.” She reached for his empty plate. Truthfully, she didn’t particularly care if theygot planted or not, but she knew how much CT would enjoy the lush green plants once they started to grow, and even more so in the fall when the field would be spotted with bright orange orbs, and they could invite the grade school kids out to pick them. That had always been fun.
“I can do it,” he told her. It was the identical response he always gave, and she suspected the outcome would be the same too. He would soon forget and get involved in some other “task” that didn’t need doing. Like yesterday when he’d moved all her gardening tools from her gardening shed, which was handily located right next to the garden. He’d tucked every single tool into the back of the barn. Even her wheelbarrow and garden cart. It had taken her almost an hour to locate her missing tools. And it had taken more than a little self-control not to throw a hissy fit. Instead she’d retrieved her tools, locked her shed, and attempted to keep things light when she reminded him that the Lone Rearranger had struck again. Unfortunately he didn’t think that was as funny as she did. And by the time she was done re-rearranging, she no longer had any interest in weeding her garden. It could wait. But today was a new day. And if CT got focused on seeding pumpkins, she might have an uninterrupted hour.
“I’ll help you get started,” she told him as she rinsed the last plate.
“Started?” he echoed.
“On pumpkin planting.”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Today. I’ll help you.”
His brows arched. “Okay? You’ll help?”
“As soon as I’m done here.” She put a soap tablet in the dishwasher. “You go put on your boots.”
CT nodded, slowly pushing himself up from his chair. He seemed to be moving extra slow today, and Honey realized she’d need to help him not overdo things. They’d just get the process started in the cool of the morning.
Of course, the cool of the morning was evaporating by the time CT got his boots on. And, although the temperature was alreadyin the seventies, he emerged from the house wearing his winter parka and knit cap and was just putting on his heavy work gloves.
“I don’t think you’ll need those.” She tugged on his coat sleeve.
“Oh?” He looked up at the clear sky. “Guess not.”
With her help, he removed his winter wear, and she laid everything on the porch bench. “Come on,” she urged. “I got the seeds ready for you.” She handed him the gallon bucket of seeds, then picked up his old planting stick. “Remember when you devised this clever plan?” she asked.
“Clever? Plan?”
“Your pumpkin stick?” She waved the four-foot pole in the air. It had only been a year since he’d managed to do this task without too much coaching. But how quickly things could change with FTD.
“Pumpkin stick?” His frown revealed the memory lapse. “Does it grow pumpkins?”
She wasn’t sure if he was joking or serious. “Come on, I’ll show you.” She led him over to the field she’d already tilled with the old tractor, doing it piecemeal when CT had been preoccupied with his bees. Otherwise he’d want to run the tractor himself, and she’d already witnessed how dangerous it could get when CT mixed the brakes and throttle on his John Deere. Fortunately he hadn’t been hurt when the machine bucked him to the ground a few months ago. But it could’ve been catastrophic. After that, she’d quietly sold the more powerful John Deere to their neighbor and hid the old tractor key, along with CT’s ¾ ton diesel pickup key, in the back of her underwear drawer.
Honey stepped into the pumpkin field, laid the stick on the ground, then held it straight, poking a hole into the dirt with the pointed end. She reached for a seed from the bucket, popped it into the ground, then, using her foot, tamped down the dirt around it. Then she measured with the stick to the next hole and repeated the process. “Remember?”
CT’s face brightened as he reached for the stick. “I know how to do that.”
Relieved by his enthusiasm, she stood a few feet off, observinghim clumsily measure and plant a seed, and then another. The old CT might’ve laughed at this inept farmer, whose rows were as wavy as the sea. But nothing about this seemed funny to her. She bit her tongue to keep from telling him his line was way off. Really, what did it matter?
“You got this?” she finally asked. He simply nodded, eyes downward as he stomped the ground. Moving methodically, he measured and poked the next hole into the dirt, beginning a slow chant. “Poke-n-plantin’ pumpkins. Poke-n-plantin’ pumpkins.” Seeing her amusement, he attempted to give his stick a spin and shuffled his feet like he was Gene Kelly, but he nearly tripped himself.
“Soft-shoe is tricky in work boots.” She laughed, and his eyes twinkled as he went back to measuring and poking. “But thanks for the floor show, CT.” Relieved at this small success, she told him she’d be in her garden. “Just holler if you need anything.” He just nodded, still chanting cheerfully to himself as he stomped a circle around a freshly planted seed. Honey strolled over to her nearby vegetable garden, feeling happy contentment. It was possible to live with FTD. She just had to plan her activities more carefully and be patient. Not for the first time, she was grateful they lived on a farm. Oh, sure, it came with its challenges. But CT loved being outdoors, and although they only had ten acres now, it was enough room to roam and to keep him happy.
She glanced beyond the pumpkin field, over to the parcel of land that CT had sold to the Oroscos more than three years ago. At first she’d been upset about the agreement her husband struck with their friend Miguel. After all, this farm had originally belonged toherfamily. Not CT’s. For nearly a hundred years too. She’d inherited the house and barn and land from her grandparents, and she’d dreamed it would stay in the family. But Jewel had never shown the slightest interest in farming, and a hundred acres was far too much for her and CT to manage. Still, it was her family’s land, and Honey felt she should’ve been consulted in its sale.
About seven years ago, while she was still working at the middleschool, they’d started leasing half their acreage to Miguel Orosco. Miguel had retired from the Air Force in his thirties and was strong and eager to be a farmer, and CT had been something of a mentor to him. Then a couple years later, when CT was on the barn roof installing a silly weathervane that Honey had found at an estate sale, he’d slipped and fallen and broken his leg. After that, Miguel took over all the cultivating—and did a great job with it too.
While still recovering from his broken leg, CT had struck a deal to sell instead of lease the land. Again, without her knowledge or consent. Honey didn’t dispute that the enterprising younger man was the perfect choice to relieve them of that acreage, but she didn’t appreciate being excluded from the agreement.
