“Invite her to dinner.”
He makes it sound easy, but I already know I do not want to invite Jolene to dinner, and that is very clearly on me. I sigh. “Fine, I will,” I tell him, and Josh laughs, shaking his head. Even I can hear that I sound like a sulky teenager rather than a middle-aged mom. But I really don’t want to have Jolene over for dinner… even if I know Ishouldwant to.
The first week of May, Mike comes over to help Josh build the root cellar. As soon as they’re finished, Josh and Jack are going to help Mike build his barn. Now that co-op and Bible study are ending for the summer, Jack’s life has freed right up. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone so happy to put away the books.
Homeschooling this year has definitely been hit or miss, and next year probably won’t be much better with a baby in tow, but I tell myself that Jack is reading at a ninth-grade level, has legible—if only just—handwriting, and has mastered algebra. For a thirteen-year-old, that’s pretty good, right? Plus, he has an encyclopedic knowledge of guns, something I’m less thrilled about, but at least he’s reading.
It’s barely past dawn, and I’ve just finished the milking when Mike strolls through the woods to our backyard. He raises one hand in a wave while I smile and wave back before scurrying inside to change out of my bathrobe. I had no idea he’d come so early, but knowing Mike and his can-do attitude, I suppose I should have expected it.
“Hey, Mike,” I greet him once I’ve gone inside to pull on jeans and a fleece and yank a brush through my hair. “Good to see you. How are things?” I haven’t been over to his homestead since we first said hello, but I imagine it’s coming along nicely.
“Oh, good, good,” he assures me. “Got the well built, the solar panels up, and most of the garden in. Built a greenhouse too, and my tomatoes and peppers are coming along real nice.”
Mine have barely sprouted yet, but I don’t let my smile falter. Of course, Mike the Prepper’s peppers are doing better than mine. Not that it’s acompetition.
“Have you had breakfast?” I ask. “I was just about to start.”
“Had a bowl of wild rice porridge early this morning,” he informs me cheerfully, “but I wouldn’t say no to a little something.”
“Wild rice porridge?” I repeat. I’ve never heard of it.
Mike practically does a double-take of surprise. “Have you never made it? The native Americans call itmahnomin. Creamy and delicious… better than oats, I’d say. You normally harvest it in August, but I had some stocked up from last summer. Have itjust about every morning, with a little birch sap and dandelion syrup.”
I manage not to make a face. We are never, ever going to win the self-sufficiency contest, I acknowledge ruefully. I don’t evenwantto.
“Wow,” I say instead. “Well, I hope you’re not opposed to good old bacon and eggs.”
“Is it your bacon?” he asks seriously.
I feel a flicker of shame as I have to admit, “No, from Kroger.”
“But the eggs are yours?” he presses.
I nod.
“Well, then I’ll just have a plate of eggs,” he tells me cheerfully. “I don’t hold with all the nitrates and preservatives found in store-bought bacon. But Josh told me you’ve got your own piglets now? You’ll be deep in bacon and sausage this time next year!” He smiles, seeming so genuinely pleased for us, I find I don’t have it in me to be offended he’s passing up on my supermarket bacon.
“Coming right up,” I tell him, just as Josh comes into the kitchen, dressed but clearly not having brushed his hair and definitely needing coffee.
“Mike!” he greets him, sounding surprised. “You’re here nice and early. Coffee?”
Mike holds up the thermos he’s brought along. “Made my own chicory coffee, and I’m on my second cup. Those coffee beans come from too far away for my liking. I try only to eat what’s been sourced within a hundred miles.”
“A worthy aspiration,” Josh replies easily. Mike’s attitude once might have annoyed him, but he’s learned to take it in his stride. “Well, I’m afraid I need my java,” he says jovially, and heads to the kettle.
“To each his own,” Mike replies.
Josh’s smile slips, just a little. I have a feeling it might be a long few days, working on these projects together.
I don’t have too much time to think about it, though, because I’m taking my dad to PT, doing a grocery shop, then taking Rose and Jack to dentist appointments, something we’ve let fall by the wayside. Hopefully, they don’t have a mouthful of cavities.
As I clear up the breakfast dishes, Mike and Josh head outside to get started. I stand by the kitchen sink, watching out the window as they approach the potential site; Josh wants to build the root cellar into the hillside by the pond.
Within thirty seconds, Mike is scratching and shaking his head at the same time. “Really?” he says in a tone laden with skepticism. “You want to do itthatway?”
I can practically hear Josh gritting his teeth all the way from inside. “What would you suggest, Mike?” he asks solicitously.
“Well…” Mike begins, then launches into his plan to tackle the root cellar. He’s still talking as I leave for Buckholt with my dad and the kids.
