I laugh. “That does make a conveniently convincing argument.”
“And it worked. Now he’s our mayor. Anyway, Dr.Blaire has a doctorate in animal sciences with a concentration in dairy sciences. Which is a fancy name for a really,reallysmart dairy farmer,” Callie says. “It also means she knows how to make all kinds of things with cow’s milk. Her homemade yogurt is, not to sound dramatic, life-changing.”
When we drive up, Dr.Blaire is waiting for us with an ice chest. She seems slightly older than my parents, wearing a plaid button-down shirt and jeans that are half covered by a pair of galoshes that go up to her knees. She certainly doesn’t look like any politician’s wife I’ve seen before. But when Callie introduces us, Dr.Blaire instantly knows who I am.
“Hey, how’s that tractor working out for your parents?” Dr.Blaire asks.
“Oh, er, great,” I say, caught off guard. I completely forgot who my parents said lent us the vehicle.
“We’ve been meaning to stop by, but we wanted to give you some time to settle in first,” she says.
What I want to say is that I’m not sure we’ll ever be settled. “It’s not quite there yet,” I say instead.
“We’ll wait before stopping by, then. Or we could invite your family over for dinner sometime.” Dr.Blaire’s warm smile is inviting, and I find myself agreeable to the suggestion.
“Is that your homemade yogurt I’ve heard so much about?” I ask, noticing the ice chest next to her.
“Guilty,” she says, holding a hand up. “Now, don’t forget to keep the ice chest closed, only opening it when you need to. There’s a thermometer here on the outside. Once it dips below forty degrees, the yogurt will no longer be good to sell. But there’s plenty of ice and thiscooler is insulated, so you should be good for a few hours.”
“Got it,” Callie says. “Hopefully we’ll be able to sell out before the temperature dips.”
“Here’s hoping.” Dr.Blaire crosses her fingers and holds them up.
Callie takes one side of the cooler and I take the other, and together we hoist it into the trunk of her Jeep. After we say goodbye to Dr.Blaire, we drive down the main road again.
“Okay, now we’re off to the farmer’s market,” Callie says as we pass a sign that tells us we’re leaving the town of Blaire. “Sorry for the delayed start.”
When I met with Callie over an hour ago, I didn’t want to spend more time than I needed to helping her at the farmer’s market. With all the stops we had to make, the real work hasn’t even begun. And yet the most unexpected thing about it is that I don’t mind.
“It’s no problem. I enjoyed meeting everyone today,” I say, surprised that I actually mean it.
Chapter 17
After spending most of the morning driving around Blaire, we’re finally on our way to Bakersfield, which is still thirty miles away. Thankfully Callie is as sociable as I am, and we find plenty to talk about on the way. As she drives, Callie tells me about how Dr.Blaire worked with the town council to create the beautification fund that is supported by the proceeds from their booth at the farmer’s market. This season, Callie hopes her family’s honey will be a substantial contribution.
“Eggs and dairy are year-round, but the honey and flowers are more plentiful in the spring and summer. So we’re hoping to make more progress this summer than we did earlier in the year.”
“How much have you collected so far?”
“Since we started this initiative in April, we’ve raised about a thousand dollars. We think we’ll be able to double that by the end of the summer.”
Although Callie seems full of hope, I’m less convinced. “That’s not enough to make substantial changes.”
“No, but it could buy the supplies we need, and we can all pitch in to do the work since the labor is what’s expensive.”
I admire Callie’s grit. She doesn’t hesitate to get her hands dirty if it means achieving the goal she has in mind. And in a way it remindsme of me. We’re both willing to do what it takes to get what we want, and we’re not above doing the work ourselves. I knew I would like Callie the minute I met her, but now I like her even more.
Thirty minutes later, we exit the freeway, and I see a large lot with tables and tents set up. The parking area is off to the side, and we have to lug everything to our spot, which is inconveniently located at the far corner from our car. We start with the cooler full of yogurt since it’s the heaviest. She takes one side, and I take the other.
“I can see why you need help,” I say, struggling to walk and talk at the same time. “There’s no way one person could do this job alone.”
“Yeah, I wouldn’t have been able to do this without Brennan. Thanks again for covering for him.”
“No problem. I’m glad it all worked out.” Though I originally offered my help in the hopes of spending more time getting to know Brennan, I’ll admit spending time with Callie is a close second.
Once we get all our items to our stall, we lay them out on a table with signs and descriptions of the products. Before the farmer’s market officially opens, Callie says she’s going to check in with the organizer. While she’s gone, I stand back to check the display, and something doesn’t look right. So I take liberties with the table and reorganize it.
“Where’s all our products?” Callie asks when she comes back to a sparse table.
