A wide smile breaks free. “Not a chance.”
“Little shit.”
I laugh. And I can’t ignore how good that feels.
“Alright, well, I have to get back to work,” Dad says. “Let us know when you’re coming.”
“I will,” I say. “Talk to you soon.”
“Have a good one.”
“You too.”
I end the call and sink back into the couch, looking out the window at the tall buildings surrounding me. Steel, glass, brick, concrete… and the sound of traffic from several stories below drift through my open window.
My eyes close, and almost immediately, it all blurs together.
The sound of the traffic turns into breeze rustling trees, and the honking and yelling from people on the sidewalks fade into the cries of seagulls. The soft fabric of the couch beneath my fingertips feels like warm, red sand… and I smile.
When I open my eyes, they land on my laptop sitting on the coffee table with multiple job sites still open.
I reach for it and pull it onto my lap. I’ve been looking in all the major cities, like Toronto, Calgary, Edmonton, Ottawa… but maybe it’s time to think smaller.
I click on the location drop-down and scroll through the provinces, trying a few mid-sized towns in Ontario, Alberta, and Manitoba. But it’s the same listings I’ve seen a dozen times. Compliance roles buried in red tape, analyst jobs reporting to VPs I’ll never meet. None of it is what I want.
As I click on the location drop-down menu again, I pause as I hover over Prince Edward Island. Then I click it.
A few results load, but they’re what I expected. Equipment sales, field service techs, seasonal contract work… the usual. But just as I’m about to close the tab, a title catches my eye.
Agricultural Operations Support Specialist.
I click on it, and let my eyes roam over the ad.
It’s a position with Island Farm Services, based in Summerside. I remember hearing about them when I first became interested in how farms manage their data. They provide support for farms across PEI in reporting, data integration, compliance, optimization…
Shit. This actually looks… ideal.
Farms contract the company for targeted support in various areas, which means I could be doing exactly what I want to be doing. I’d be workingwiththem. I’d be supporting the people that really matter, and in the place where it all started for me…
Hm. Maybe it’s time for more than just a visit home.
FIFTEEN
The pencil glides easilyover the paper, laying down a warm, sunlit green that blends into the deeper mossy tones I already used for the fresh, spring grass. I shift in the dirt where I’m sitting and lean back against the large tractor wheel as I place the green pencil back in the tin and take out a few browns.
My drawing’s almost done, but… it’s missing something. And I don’t know what.
I look up at the hollow heart field stretched out before me, then down to the version of it I’ve been building in lines and layers of colour. We haven’t started planting yet this season, so the field is just all dark earth in various shades of brown. I just finished tilling it, so there are large clumps of soil spread over its entire surface, catching the fading sunlight on their peaks and highlighting my work for tomorrow when I’ll break them up with the disc harrow. Then, hopefully in a few weeks, we’ll start planting all the fields.
But… I don’t know about this one.
It just doesn’t seem ready yet. The soil’s holding onto moisture and still feels cold beneath the surface, even after tilling. It hasn’t settled the way it should after winter. The toplayer should be easier to break open, but it’s still dense, like it’s resisting.
Maybe it just needs more time, so it can breathe and dry out, and adjust before we start asking for anything from it. Maybe we plant this one last. Or even wait a little longer until it says it’s ready.
I choose a dark brown and layer it over the shadowed areas of the soil, and a small smile tugs at my lips. Dad made sure I went with the best pencils in the art store yesterday, and I’m glad he did. These are fucking nice.
“There you are.”
