Mom reaches over and smooths my hair, plucking a stray piece of hay out and holding it up as if it’s evidence of my day out galavanting with heifers and cows.
“Where’s Dad?” I ask.
“He went to take a little mid-afternoon nap.”
Neither of us says anything more—words would reveal something that’s better kept at bay. I don’t like the idea of my parents aging. They’ve been pillars in my life and our community. What happens when the pillars start to chip and crumble?
Mom gently turns toward me, and I lift my head off her shoulder.
“Did the Lawsons feed you?” she asks.
“No. They offered, but I’m not exactly indoor-friendly with the way I smell.”
“You’ve got a point.” Mom makes a show of pinching her nose. Truth be told, most of the time we can’t make out theranch smells around us. We might all stink to high heaven and we’d never know it.
“Come on,” Mom says, standing and folding the blanket. “Go shower. I’ll heat you some stew and rolls.”
The next morning, I wake in my cabin, get dressed and head over to the big house. Not seeing Dad yesterday makes me oddly antsy. It’s not him. It’s me. He’s been a ballast in my life—strong and stable.
Maybe interviewing for a job in town has me turning introspective and overthinking the future. My parents aren’t retiring anytime soon. So, he took a nap one afternoon. He’s been a little more winded lately. He’s not buying a cane and dentures anytime soon. I let out a breath that it feels like I’ve been holding for weeks.
“Hey!” I say when I walk into the kitchen.
Dad and Jace have already been out to feed the pigs. They’re sitting around the table talking shop. Mom’s somewhere else in the house or on the property.
Dad smiles. “Morning, sweetheart.”
I walk over behind Dad’s chair and wrap my arms around his shoulders and squeeze. He places one calloused hand on my forearm and pats softly. He smells faintly of the hog barn, but mostly just himself. My heartbeat slows and something settles deep inside me.
Jace looks up and smiles. “Morning, sunshine.” He makes a show of looking at his nonexistent watch. “Or should I say, ‘Good afternoon’?”
“Ha! I only skipped morning chores once this week. Did you already eat?”
He holds up his coffee as an answer.
“What about pancakes with a side of bacon?” I offer, moving toward the stove before they answer.
I lose myself in food prep while they chat. When everything’s cooked, I set a heaping plate of pancakes next to a plate of bacon in the center of the kitchen table, and the men dig in. I join them, half listening, half distracted by my plans for the day.
Dad laughs at something Jace said, but when he reaches for the syrup, his hand shakes lightly. My stomach tenses. Dad grins a tight smile and flexes his fingers.
Dad’s muttered, “Cold weather” is all that’s said by any of us.
Jace switches the subject. He looks at me with a note of amusement in his eyes. “Heard you had a run-in with a bull.”
“What’s this?” Dad asks.
“Nothing. One of the bulls at the Lawsons’ got through the fencing trying to get to his herd yesterday. He was being pigheaded.” I turn my attention to my older brother. “I actually coaxed him into the pasture.”
“That’s my girl.” Dad smiles.
I smile back even though the weight of one hundred and eighty hogs presses down on my shoulders. They’re not literally on my shoulders, of course. But they may as well be. Jace has stepped up to man the farm with Mom and Dad these days, but he’s got aspirations—maybe I’m the only one he’s told. I wonder if he’s talked to Cody about his plans since they’re best friends.
My older brother is waiting for the right moment to drop the bomb that he wants to pursue becoming a livestock vet.
I take a bite of my pancakes, then run a piece of bacon through the syrup on my plate, dragging it more slowly than necessary.
My own experience confirms that it’s never the right moment to step away for something that’s yours alone. Theranch has constant needs—it’s like raising two hundred babies all year long. We never have a break in the demands. Any talk of either of us committing to something other than the needs here on the farm is met with resistance and skepticism. Sometimes it’s shown in silence, but the message is the same. We’re Buckners. We raise hogs.
