“Just trying to work some things out. All good.” I roll my shoulders. This problem isn’t going anywhere, and neither is the fact that it snowballed into a bigger one.
For now, my attention needs to be on the sometimes chaotic field trips so I can make sure everyone stays safe.
Most of the time, the kids are respectful and follow the rules. But there are always a couple who are a little too curious, and a couple who want to test your limits.
To be honest, I’d love to figure out how to harness their energy and teach them to work. That’s where the world has changed the most. Kids love to play outside, but they don’t know the satisfaction of working hard on their own land.
I sound like my dad.
“Why don’t you take a few minutes? I’ll do the welcome meeting. I could do it in my sleep.”
Owen flashes a smile, the same one that always got him out of trouble in school and with our mom, and I have to smile back. Without saying another word, he heads to the roped-off area to teach the kids about our trees and to give them the “law of the land”.
He’s just over a year younger than me, but sometimes I think he’s got a better head on his shoulders.
He deserves the truth. He and Evie both.
Once I have a solution, I’ll lay it all out. I just need to figure it out first. Evie would be great at raising money, but that means telling her more than I’m ready to. And there’s no guarantee it would be enough.
Ultimately, they’ll both encourage me to just do what Dad wants. Only, it’s not their heads on the chopping block. It’s mine. And while my options are slim, marriage is a last resort. There’s no one to consider.
The fact of the matter stands: this farm isn’t going anywhere. I’ll do anything to protect it, and Dad knew that.
Every clause in that will was written like a dare: how far will you go to keep what you love?
I gave up the love of my life for it, so I’d say I’d go pretty darn far.
The high-pitched chatter of kids grabs my attention as they head my way, so I walk over to the field of wooden cutouts by the barn. It doesn’t give me much distance, but it’s enough.
The wood pieces don’t need it, but I inspect each one again anyway. Owen and I already came by each cutout, painting touchups, and smoothing edges to keep them bright and splinter-free for little fingers.
Dad built each figure by hand, cutting the outlines with his SKIL saw after tracing each picture with a projector. Favorite characters from my childhood litter this area, and will continue to do so until they fall apart.
There’s a giant grinning Christmas tree with measurements painted on so parents can take a picture of their kids next to it. The Great Baron’s doghouse is covered in real Christmas lights Evelyn hot-glued to the wood.
This area looks like the type of cheer you’d see at the North Pole—enchanted and ridiculous. Despite my mood, things somehow feel like they used to here, like the farm forgot to feel the sting of loss with the rest of us.
The lights on the doghouse shine, but I don’t see an extension cord. On a second inspection, the cutouts are almost as bright as they were the day we all painted them the first time.
Christmas used to be my favorite holiday.
Now, every day here is a mix of conflict and comfort.
I can walk out here and be instantly surrounded by memories, mountain air, and the pines my family raised.
But I also see everything I’ve lost.
A cold gust of wind whips around me, and I check the sky to see if the forecast might be wrong. Snow isn’t due until maybe late afternoon, but Mother Nature is fickle. Our business has been at her mercy my whole life, and for the first time, I hope the forecast is wrong. Snow would buy me some time to figure things out.
I need a miracle.
As if on cue, a single snowflake spirals from the blue, landing on my glove and vanishing instantly. I can’t explain the feeling, but it’s like the tiniest nudge from the Ridge.
Just then, my watch vibrates with the first scheduled alert of the morning—Owen is wrapping up with the kids, and chaos is about to infiltrate my peace.
“Alright. Time to pull your boot straps up,” I mutter.
A flash of color in the trees to my left snags my attention, and I sigh. How can a kid already be out there, away from the rest? I’ve already rescued one today, I’m not in the mood for another.
