Date: Mon, 12 Feb 2024 21:15:55 +0000
From: Griz <UMGriz@proton.me>
Subject: Harvard Comes To Montana - Chapter Twenty

"Harvard Comes To Montana" - Chapter Twenty

By Griz

Umgriz@protonmail.com


Hi, Farm Friends;

I hope your weekend ended well.  I have no complaints about my own, except
that Chris Pine forgot AGAIN to call me.  This makes the 1,040th Sunday
Chris Pine has failed to call me.  I'm about to start taking it personally.

Welcome to Chapter Twenty of "Harvard Comes To Montana".  This is a long
chapter, and not because I'm afraid to edit, but because it'll make obvious
sense at the very end.  Everyone had a lot happening Sunday, and they were
together for it.  I'm laughing that I thought I could tell you Jeff's story
in ten chapters, and now I know for a fact it's not happenin' in twenty
chapters, either.  I've enjoyed the letters from each and every one of you;
thank you.  There is nothing on this planet like knowing I can get you to
laugh, and sometimes cry.

Chapter Twenty has its moments of both for me.  Sometimes I'll pour
memories and thoughts out onto the screen of this old iPad, and there've
been a couple of times my own reaction was due to something I or someone
close to me experienced.  Life really is a divine comedy, though sometimes,
there's nothing to laugh at; just to endure as best as we can, and move
forward.

Hard At Work On Chapter Twenty-One Now;

Griz



*** The following story is a work of erotic fiction.  If you are under the
age of 18 or if this type of fiction is prohibited in the location where
you are reading this, do not read any further.

All characters and names are creations of the author. Any resemblance to
persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

Please show your support for Nifty, a great organization that gives
opportunities to all types of authors to express themselves. To find out
how you can contribute, go to donate.nifty.org/donate.html ***


***********************************************************


On the drive back to the farm, my head was filled with bittersweet
concerns.  Patsy's comments had me feeling bitter, but Marc's cum was still
sweet in my mouth.  I tried as hard as I could to focus on the little
swimming Taylor Tadpoles as they maneuvered between my teeth, but they
couldn't vanquish the word vomit in my ears.  I didn't blame Patsy; she
just did what many people here do.  Repeat, repeat, repeat.  She's one of
the reliable Repeaters who get it right most of the time.

It bothered me to think Junior was going to project his `victimhood' onto
Eva and Marc, but I would not be surprised if that's exactly what he would
pursue at his earliest opportunity.  Suddenly the possibility of him going
to jail for any meaningful period of time was diminishing in my mind.  I
was trying to think of whatever technicalities would get him out of
actually serving time: a trial that had a hole in it for him to extort?  A
jury of the only eight people in the county who didn't fear and hate him?

There are no guarantees with Justice when she leaves it to humans to make
up for her blindness with our own eyes, instead.  For the record: I believe
in justice, and I wouldn't have perverted it by slithering onto the jury
with my prejudices against Junior in tow.  I would, however, allow myself
to answer oh-so-honestly questions in the Voir Dire/jury selection process:



"Mr Wojtowicz, do you know Lyle Connor, Junior?"

"Yes.  And not in the biblical sense, I'm relieved to say."

"Do you have preconceived opinions about Mr Connor Junior that would
prevent you from being an unbiased member of the jury for this trial?"

"Do you mean, do I think Junior is a fuckin' useless weasel who should
never have been even preconceived?  Yes, I do; but I'd be as fair to him as
he was to Eva at the fair, and everyone else who has had the grave
misfortune of being within one hundred miles of him since the twat-waffle
was born.  The greater crime in all of this was that his parents even met.
SO: which jury box chair is mine?"



The truth is, although our system of justice isn't perfect, we have to work
with it, and hope for the best.  As heinous as his abuse of Eva has been,
it's not enough on its own to lock Junior up for life.  Who knows what
could happen, or for how long?  And the big question: If we all think
Junior can serve his sentence and be rehabilitated, and made a beneficial
member of Fergus County's human population after he does his time, are we
obligated to shake his hand if he extends it after he's out?  That's a
tough one.


I had the pizzas bundled up in some clean towels I found in the back seat
of my truck.  That'd keep them warm until I reached the farm.  I saw a long
line at Eva's, and things must've been going well, because I saw both
Anders and Eva hanging out the window, smiling and talking with customers.
Coming in the opposite direction, there were at least ten big rigs parked
along the side of the road, and truckers milling around on foot outside
`Common Grounds'.  I could tell my family were up to their ears in dollars,
but I wanted to check on `em.  I called my big brother's phone.

"What do you want, Punk?"

"A Harvard education, but without having to go there to get it."

"Are you being nasty right now?  Because we're really busy here, as I see
you can see."

"Why do you always seem to think I have something nasty on the brain?"

"Because you're a hormonal teenager, and nothing has changed in that regard
since we as a species climbed down from the trees and started talking.  Now
to what do I owe this.....interruption?"

"Dick.  I'm just checking on you and Eva.  She's gonna sell out.  Do you
need anything?  I'm taking the pizzas to the farm, but once there, I can
get them staged and then run back to town, if you need anything."

"Awww.....you're not so bad after all, I guess.  Truth, though, no; all is
well.  Eva's coffee supplier is here right now, and she's actually helping
with some stuff.  Zayn brought a hundred pounds of ice on his delivery
truck, so we're fine there, too.  No munchies; those all sold out by the
end of the first hour open today."

"How's Eva?"

"On Cloud Nine, whatever that really means.  She's very happy.  People have
been about 95% kind and genuine today."

"I suspect that's just the icing on her chocolate croissants.  She probably
slept better last night than she has since she was my age, Aleksy."

"If that's what has her smiling, feeling safe and able to continue selling
coffee, then I will make sure she never stops.  You and I should talk."

"What do you think we're doing, ya pallid Pollack?"

"`Poor Marc'.  That's all I have to say."

"Then stop sayin' stuff to me and get back to sellin' stuff to all those
Looky-Lous.  And call me if you need anything.  Lunch will last maybe
thirty minutes.  We're about two hours ahead of schedule today, and
tomorrow we'll have all the wheat and barley in.  Only need to go after
Rye, and we'll be done.  Then it's you and me and Alfalfa."

"I liked Stymie best.  And you remind me of Darla, of course."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, or who those people are."

"And yet, you got your diploma early.  Will you please just keep driving
and let me get back to trying to know the difference between `half-caf,
half-oat, full stevia, flat white' and `organic cold brew with full fat
unpasteurized cream and distilled-water ice'?"

"Please don't tell me we really have `Those People' in this county......"

"Only on a one-way trip outta here.  I did have one guy ask if our coffee
was `fair trade'.  He seemed really confused when I told him the fair left
town this morning, but that I'd trade him for an extra-hot Americano with a
Kraft Single floating on top."

"EW.  You're gross.  Is Kim working today?"

"She's here now.  Kim is actually talking a high school friend of hers into
moving to Lewistown and working with her.  I hope that'll work; Eva needs a
serious rest."

"Agreed.  I'll see you both later."

"Wait----is Marc coming home tonight?"

"I don't know.....we haven't talked about it.  I'd kinda like him to, but
he has his new house, and I know he's stressing about his job interview."

"Yeah, I get that.  I'd like some alone time with him, actually; we are
about the same age and took similar career paths.  I'm sure we have more in
common than some punk-assed farm boy."

"I'm at the farm now.  You and Marc can talk about my farm boy ass some
time later."

"I don't want to hear anything he has to say about your ass!"

"That's a nice coincidence, because he has nothing to say about it.  We are
the very definition of restraint."

"Oh-----he's using restraints on you, is he?  Well, well, well.  How
un-shocked am I at this ribald revelation."

"*GROAN*!"

"What was that?  I couldn't quite make it out.  The ball gag can sure get
in the way of a witty retort, can't it?"

I laughed and hung up on my boneheaded brother.  God, I loved him being
back on the farm.  I know difficult days lay ahead for us, the way they do
for any agro family.  But at least with Anders, I'd have one of my own to
face it all with.

When I pulled up to the house, Mom and The Team Complete were all there.  I
got out, dropped the tailgate just in time for Mom to spread a tablecloth
on it.  I jumped up to pull the big blue grazer filled with cold drinks
toward the end.  Mom got the pies out of the back of the truck, and between
the two of us, we managed to get all the boxes opened up and laid out for
some hungry harvesters.

They were all wonderful guys, and many were walking back from the barn
where they'd cleaned up a little.  They gathered in a circle and offered
thanks, hats in hand and heads bowed.  One by one, they grabbed plates,
napkins, ice-cold drinks and at least a couple of slices of pizza each.

We made off for the shaded lawn on the northern side of the house.  Nothing
but laughter and smiles from everyone.  Miguel praised his guys for the
fast, accurate work they'd managed to do.  Helen echoed his praise, saying
she liked working with them more than any other harvesting team in all her
years.  Miguel just blushed and said `thank you'.

I found a narrow slice of pie in a neglected corner of a box.  Not that I
didn't want more, but those were some hungry guys.  I knew we could've
ordered another five pies, and every last slice of pepperoni would've found
a home behind a belt buckle.  I sat and smiled, though.  Mom and I both
made our appreciation known for The Team's work to get our first harvest
without Dad a big success so far.  Still had two or so days, but at this
point, we were beyond pleased.

The food brokers were on the phone with Mom each day, confirming prices and
yields.  When Mom smiles about a phone conversation now, I know she's not
just being polite.  No more having to get through expressions of
condolences, regardless how sincere they were----and they were sincere.
Now the time on the phone was daily confirmation that she, Anders and I
were on track to being okay with and for each other.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.  I knew it was my boyfriend before I even saw
the screen.  I stood up and excused myself, and walked around side of the
house and into the kitchen to talk with Marc.

"Hey, Boyfriend."

"Hi, Babe.  How's it going out there?"

"All is well, thanks.  I just finished up lunch with The Team.  They're
ahead of schedule.  I think I'll see the taillights of grain trucks earlier
today than yesterday.  What great guys they all are."

"You won't have to convince me.  I feel lucky to have been part of this
week with them here."

"How's your day going?"

"It's all right, thanks; I'm spending more time in each room of this house
to see how she and I can coexist nicely.  I think some things will have to
go, but all the vintage stuff stays.  I'm going to hold onto the kitchen
appliances for as long as they continue to work.  They're original to the
house, you know.  My big challenge is The Grandies' bedroom.  I don't want
to treat it like a shrine or anything, but I also think our room is big
enough for us, and I like that if faces North.  It'll be cooler in Summer
months."

Did Marc really just say, `our room'?  *SWOON*

"I like your house.  It's unique, and somehow looks just right among all
those hundred-year-old houses around it in that neighborhood.  I wonder
what made your grandparents favor the mid-century design."

"The architect was one of my Grammy's students, in the late-1950s.  Her
name was Famke Ossenhavig.  She had drawn a house when she was only like
ten years old, and Grammy complimented the little girl on it.  She opened
the dictionary and encyclopedia to `architect' for the little Frances Lloyd
Wright, and, well, that wasn't the only house Famke drew for my
grandmother.  The blueprints and engineering specs are in a huge, flat
drawer in the dining room's built-in cabinetry.  The Grandies' house was
her senior architecture school project.  She won top honors for it."

"Wow!  That's an amazing legacy."

"Famke Ossenhavig went on to design other houses, particularly for members
of the Nordstrom family.  The ones who have the luxe department stores.
She also designed three US Pavilions for different Worlds' Fair
Expositions.  I live in the very first house she designed."

"I will never tire of you making History live, Boyfriend."

"Heh.....you're adorable, Jeff.  You make me feel the same way about
agriculture and animals."

"We're a good team, then.  Marc, are you coming back out here this
evening?"

"Oh.  I have to wait until evening?"

"You don't have to wait for anything.  Or anyone.  You heard Ma; this is
your home, too."

Just as I said that, Mom came into the kitchen with the tablecloth.

"Is that Marc?  Is he coming home this evening?"

"He hasn't said yet."

"Well, why not?  I'd bet he has nothing in that refrigerator."

"Marc, that's Maternal Logic you'd better not argue with."

"It's not completely empty.  There's a box of baking soda toward the back.
Grammy threw everything away before they flew out.  She said it would force
me to go to the store and meet people."

"Well?  Did it?"

"Nope.  The way I see it, if my fridge is empty, then I can't argue with
Maternal Logic, and come where the food will be muuuuuch better than if I
shop and cook for myself."

"You know the way out here."

"I do.  Need anything from town?"

"Oh, my god.  Mom, he's one of us, truly.  Marc just asked if we need
anything from town."

"Just his handsome face and hungry stomach."

"You heard Mom."

"And you.  I'll see you soon, Babe."

"I'm going nowhere.  Afternoon chores, then I'm going out with the drone to
fly over the rest of the crops and see where we are.  Maybe you come, too."

"Yeah, I want to do that with you.  I'll wrap up some stuff here.  I'll
bring my laptop, too, so I can get some more homework done.  Then,
later.....let's you and I discuss some things, okay?  Nothing heavy; just
my immediate plans, or plans for plans."

"Heavy or light, we'll discuss whatever, Marc."

"Bye, Babe."

"Bye, Boyfriend."



"Jeff, you and Marc seem to be doing all right."

"I think so, Mom.  We are making no assumptions about anything.  I'm
hopeful we can keep going as we are, but no pressure.  I still have school
to think about, as well as harvesting the alfalfa, calving season, Winter
wheat, and the Spangler possibilities."

"That's a lot for anyone, let alone just one young man who has faced none
of those on his own yet.  How do you fit Marc in with all that?"

"I don't.  Well, not by trying.  Here's my take on Marc: he's like a
handful of Rye grains.  If I just hold them in the palm of my hand and let
`em rest, supported and appreciated, and get a little warmth and love,
they're content to stay there.  But if I make a fist to try to hold on and
control them, they run out between my fingers.  I'm left with very little,
if anything at all.

Nothing good comes of that.  So, Marc and I talk, we see each other, we
remind each other why we're glad we met, and we kinda hold each other in
the palms of our hands.  He pursues a new career here, and I chase a whole
lotta new stuff, too.  I bet once things settle down, we'll see better if
we can, too.  I hope we can."

"So do I, Jozef.  Your brother and I both like Marc, and we like you boys
together.  How did you get so wise?!"

"Thanks, Mom.  Looks like there's nothing to clean up from lunch!  I'll
park the rest of the sodas in the barn fridge.  That was weird, but lucky;
I don't remember putting towels in the back seat of my truck."

"Probably because you didn't."

"Oh, you did?  When did you do that?"

"While you and Marc were kind of.....how shall I say.....'occupied' in the
front seat yesterday.  I initially brought them because I thought there'd
be a mess to clean up, but since there wasn't, I just left them there to
insulate the hot pizzas."

"MOM!!!"

"WHAT??!?!"

"YOU DID NOT DO THAT!"

"You're right, but damn, it sure is fun to have a gay kid who thinks he can
get away with shit!  I put the towels in earlier in the morning."

"Ohhhh.....HAHAHAHAHA!!!  My god, WHAT NEXT??!"

"Don't ask!!!  Who knows!!?!?!"


I laughed and walked out to get in my truck and drive it across the
barnyard so the maybe seven or so cans of soda could find a new home in the
barn fridge.  A whoppin' three minutes later, I was being serenaded by Lola
Cola's dulcet baritone voice.  She'd been here only a week, and already I
couldn't remember----or imagine---this farm without her on it.

As I got closer to her at the far end of the barn, her thumping tail was
setting off Richter Scales in Seattle and, I would not've been surprised,
Odessa.  She woofed her genuinely happy greeting, and I crawled right in
with her and the pups.  Yet again, they were all looking well, and looking
fatter.

I gave Lola Cola some love, and dug a little duck heart out of the cooler
for her.  Of course, Old Cat was not about to miss out on THAT, so I found
one for him, too.  They were both content for the moment, so I took
advantage of that to check on the pups.

I lifted each of them, now five days old and easily twice their original
birth size and weight.  Anders, Mom and I had continued with hand-nursing,
and after seeing they were all alive, breathing and moving around, I
returned to the little kitchen area at the other end and prepared two
bottles of puppy formula.

I loved this part; getting to hold each of them, love on them, feed them
and give them a tiny `uncle check-up', too.  I wished Tom were here with
me; I think he'd just go into immediate `Vet Mode' and put into practice
everything he'd been reading about the breed since seeing them for the
first time earlier in the week.

OC was right up on me when I picked up my little guy, whom I'd saved for
the very last.  CatDaddy again was nosing all over this baby puppy.  He was
concerned about something; this wasn't the first or the second time OC gave
particular attention to him.  Note To Self: talk with Tom and LeVar about
it.

Lola Cola took that opportunity to race out of the barn and around the
side.  She was gone just a little longer each time.  I guess I noticed it
this time, so I went out to make sure she was all right.  Oh, yeah.  Quite
all right.  Laying in the Sun, and not on her side: she was on her back,
rolling around and making silly dog noises.

Exactly what Stan had done when he was out in the little pasture.  Of
course, the Power Of Suggestion made me want a backrub, too.  I wondered if
giving a desiccated duck heart to Marc would get some attention on my old,
overworked teenaged shoulders.....I suffer so much for my craft, after
all.....

Once they were all back and nestled up against Lola Cola, I secured the net
back to the top of the stall.  I left the front net unbound, since it was
daytime and Barn Owl wasn't going to come down with Old Cat right there.
We were initially concerned that he might not always be present as another
level of protection, but I don't think he ever really moved from his spot
on the bale of straw.  OC, you have earned permanent placement in my heart.

I walked out to the corral.  There was Sebby.  Poor, lonely Sebby.  I
grabbed the brush hanging by the suede leather strip on the corral gate,
and got in with my big guy.  He saw the brush and walked toward me,
bellowing out his own `hi-and-what-the-fuck-took-you-so-long,-Human?'
greeting.


A rub between his eyes and ears, and we were friends again.  I was happy to
spend time with him.  He wasn't only a friendly steer, he was someone I'd
cared for for over five years.  We knew each other.  I loved him for his
kind protection of the pregnant cows, even though he probably didn't
realize he was providing it.

Once he was brushed down and I'd given my big guy another quick exam, I
fixed a lead to his halter and walked him out to the little pasture to
graze.  Oh, he was a happy boy; Sebby took off running and bouncing around,
and undid all my brushwork by dropping to his elbows and knees, and rolling
around on his back.

I swear, this must be a `Mammal Thing'; everyone did it.  I remembered Dad
even liking to roll around in the lawn after working the fields in Summer.
The grass was always cool, and `scratched every itch just right', he'd say.

I saw Bolt and Stan out in the distance.  They both looked to see me, but I
guess since I didn't have the pan of oats in my hands, I wasn't to be
regarded seriously.  Yeah, well, be that way, ya goofy geldings.  I'm
having a just really fine day without you two, too.

There wasn't a lot going on today, now that The Team were wrapping up their
last fifty or so acres.  I had a moment to myself, and decided to get
another moment with Dad.  I don't think I was at all tired, and I'd been
having such a good day, I wasn't feeling lazy, either.  I just wanted some
introspection, and who better to get it with than my own father.  Not even
a five minutes' walk, and I already had all sorts of things to cover.  I
took a deep breath and held it, descending to my knees at the side of Dad's
grave.



`Dad.....Hi, Daddy.  Lots to tell you.  I hope you're comfortable....!

Sebastian was invited to show at the state fair.  I am honored.  I would
like to go.  I think you'd have liked me to go, too.  I can hear you: "No
one has taken a steer to the state fair; not from this county.  Your mother
and I can handle this for a few days.  Take the one-ton.  You might get a
ribbon for the truck, too!"

I don't think I can go, though; not right now.  A purple ribbon right here
is the highest honor, ever.  If we won another in Great Falls, then what?
Regionals?  A big ring for whatever the Super Bowl is for 4H projects?
Anders can handle the last couple of days of Harvest; no problem.  I'll
sleep on it.  Again.

We're ahead of schedule for Harvest, Dad.  Everyone misses you.  All those
rocks on your forehead?  From Miguel and The Team.  I cried hard when they
loved and respected you without ever saying so.

Oh; Anders and Eva!  Dad, she's home.  This is her home now.  She's finally
one of us, Dad.  `Common Grounds' is big and getting huge!  Anders and I
are going to do some light remodeling inside so she can get some counter
foot traffic, too.  All she does is smile, Daddy.  Well, today, anyway.
Lyle Connor Junior kinda fucked things up for her at the fair Saturday
night.  Daddy, I was so scared.  Not scared of Junior; just scared for
Eva's long-term emotional health after he attacked her.  I was ready to
kill him.  I know Anders would have.

Marc saved both Eva's and Junior's lives.  I don't think anyone realizes
that yet.  Marc kept Junior alive until Dan Gremaux could get there.
Someday, Junior will thank Marc for being there, and not Aleksy.  Oh, you
should've been with us when we drove home from the fair.  Women on Main
Street saw Marc and me.  They honked or shouted `THANK YOU!' to Marc.  He
was turning all shades of red.  I should've told him he looked like a
traveling traffic stop light.

You'd like Marc, Dad.  Mom already told him he's one of us, too.  Just
today, she asked me if Marc was coming home tonight.  This home, Dad.  Our
home.  Anders and I are going to make this a home for the sixth, seventh
and all future generations, Dad.  The house is big enough for wayward,
over-educated tourists and over-talented bakers, and the Wojtowicz Boys who
are enamored of them.  And for all the seventh generation they'll create
together.

Mom is doing okay.  She has thrown herself into this work.  She's not
trying to make Anders or me feel like we can't do it.  She's always asking
us questions, and not the kind wanting us to answer to her.  The kind of
questions that make us think and then ask ourselves questions to get our
own answers.  She's like her own father, Grandpa Gimbal.

Stan is doing well.  I can see him looking and listening for you.  I
believe his confusion will lead to grief when he realizes you're not here.
I take care of Stanley Cup, though, like you did.  He and Bolt are
inseparable.  Oh----Dad, Stan likes Marc, or at least he tolerates him.
They've spent time on a lead together, but haven't been out on saddle yet.
Soon.

Marc rides!  Dressage and Western.  As if Marc can't get any better, he
thoroughly throttles thugs AND he rides, too.  Not the thugs-----just the
horses.  And, well, no surprise to you, Daddy.....Marc rides my heart, too.
Expertly.  And he stays on.  Way longer than eight seconds.  As of now,
691,200 seconds and counting.

Fergus County is Fergus County.  It'll never change, at least I hope it
won't, in the ways that make this a perfect place to live.  Lewistown sees
new faces all the time.  Most are just coming and going.  Mr Boldonovic is
retiring and moving away, I think.  Just like Mr and Mrs Taylor.  Mr B is
trying to help Marc get through and interview with the Lewistown School
Board----as the superintendent.

I probably already told you that; it's something I think about all the
time.  I hope Marc gets the job; he has already resigned his professor
position at Harvard.  If he doesn't get the job but he stays here, it'll be
an entirely new life without working in academia.  I don't know what he'll
do otherwise.  He'll figure it out.  But of course, Dad.....well, if you're
feeling like you want to maybe help the process along.....Marc's interview
is Wednesday.....

I think Mom, Aleksy and I will talk about the Sanger Farm this evening,
Dad.  Damn, I want to help them.  This is the only life they know, Daddy.
Yeah, yeah.....I know.  I've said that before, and I'll probably say it
again.  Tommy was born a vet, Daddy.  My boy knows more about what goes on
underneath a hide than anyone else who hasn't gone through vet school.
Once he's in and out?  There's no stopping my boy Tom.  What would you do,
Daddy?  Not about Tom, but kinda; I mean, about helping them.

I'm kinda rethinking my own thoughts about becoming a vet, Dad.  Tom wants
to stay here and DVM the heck out of Fergus County.  Sally already wants to
bring him onboard, and she's not much older than Aleksy, Dad.  That'd be a
total of five vets in Fergus County.  I think my better move is to stay
partnered with my brother, Dad.

We're not going to ever run big herds.  We are farmers, first and foremost;
ranchers second.  Heck, we almost have as many Bernese dogs as we have
Black Angus, and they'll all be about the same size as each other by
Spring.  Heh.....I think I'll pitch an idea to Aleksy that we should brand
the pups when they're big enough.

Or maybe I won't.....that'd be the fastest way to get me down there next to
you before I turn eighteen.  Not that I'd mind being closer to you, Daddy.
Wouldn't mind it at all, but maybe just not yet.  Let me make you proud of
me a bunch more times first.  I'll start with avoiding suggestions to my
big brother that we should brand the puppies.

So, I have to decide about school.  Daddy, both Montana and Montana State
have undergrad degrees, completely online.  I can stay here, work with my
big brother, and still `go to school'.  `Agro Business', Anders says I
should consider.  I'm thinking about it, but Anders is here to stay, and he
already has two agro degrees.  I'm leaning toward staying with Montana, and
maybe even pursuing an MBA instead of DVM.

I know we're talkin', Dad.  I know you hear me.  And I'm listening to you.
Listening for you.  But what I'd give, Daddy; just one more ride, you and
me, out on Stan and Bolt.  To talk like we used to.  I really miss how you
listened to me sometimes; like you were staring right into my head and
heart, trying to understand your silly, gay, Polish kid.

I remember the first time you realized that you had more than just a silly
Polish kid on your hands.  I told you I was gay when I was twelve years
old.  And you cried.  I thought I had broken your heart, or at least you
were mad at me.  Disappointed.  Hurt.  I didn't think it was a big deal to
tell you.  I actually felt proud that I could talk with you about it.  It
never crossed my mind you'd react by crying, and I felt awful the moment I
saw the first tear fall from your eye.  I knew then I was wrong to say
anything to you.

That thought didn't last long; I remember you got down from your horse,
walked around to mine and pulled me down from Bolt.  We both just sat right
down, and you held onto me tightly, and just cried.  I cried, too; I was
sure I'd said the wrong thing.  Yeah, maybe the honest thing, but still,
the wrong thing.  I remember we sat there for what seemed like the longest
time.

Our horses had wandered away to graze.  I remember looking over your back
and saw two Chinese Pheasants, not twenty feet from us.  They were both so
brightly colored, with feathers that were tall and beautiful.  Two males.
I remember wondering if they were gay, or maybe one was a boy, and he was
telling his dad that he was gay, just like I had.  They weren't crying, but
we were.

And now I am again, Daddy.

You made sure before we tracked down our horses and rode home that I knew
you weren't mad at me.  That you were proud of me for being brave, and for
being honest.  You even said I'd be proud of you, and that we'd be the best
father-and-gay-son farmer team in the entire Fergus County.  The entire
state of Montana.  I felt, Daddy, and still feel, at this very moment, you
and I are the best father-and-silly-gay-Polish-son team in the world.  If I
never thank you for anything else in my life, which I hope will still be a
long life, I will thank you for that.  And love you for it, too.

What I'd give for one more ride, Daddy.'



I stood.  My knees were covered in rich, black soil, turned so recently it
was not yet dry dirt.  I reached down and felt the coolness of the soil.  I
saw the two indentations I'd made.  It was then that I realized someone had
come to smooth out the soil after The Team had paid honor and tribute to my
father, their friend.  Without doubt, Miguel did it himself.  He and his
men had left the little rocks as reminders of their visit, but smoothed
away the traces of them having stepped anywhere near Dad's grave.  They had
tended the little plot of Earth with the same care they exercised on
thousands of larger acres within our fences.

I turned to walk back, wiping a few dirt-stained tears from my face.  I saw
the garden rake, rested against the barn's weathered face.  Yeah, someone
had been there, using a tool much smaller than an eighteen-ton New Holland
CR9070.  I looked back, seeing Dad's grave and smiling at how orderly it
appeared.  Perspective is everything; I saw, too, that all of the graves
had been weeded.  I can tell you something about dirt on a silly, gay,
Polish farm boy's face: it disappears fast when some tears of joy and
gratitude wash it away.


My phone rang with the general ring tone, which was the first eight
measures of the `Green Acres' theme song.  I thought I was so clever.  More
like `predictable', you might be thinking.  The caller I.D. was a local 538
number, but not one I recognized.  I sure recognized the ultra-sexy,
hyper-deep voice at the other end of the line, though.

"Hi, this is Jeff."

"Hi, Jeff.  This is Ross Sweeney, at the Yogo Inn."

"Mr Sweeney; hi.  How's it going over there?"

"Just fine, Jeff.  We were full for the fair, and next weekend is the state
Shriners' Convention and Ball.  It's good to be busy."

"Oh, my gosh.....thousands of burgundy-red fez beanies, invading Lewistown!
Shriners probably saved the life of Beth Adams after she almost got burned
alive in that house fire when I was a little kid.  They're heroes; I'm glad
Lewistown will see them here for the big convention this year.  Too bad
Sebastian won't be corn-finished in time for it.  Geez, I can't believe I
just said that!"

"Jeff, that's why I'm calling.  I need to talk with you about him, but I'd
rather this be an in-person meeting.  Things are kind of hectic for me
right now, so I can't really get away; but when you're next in town, would
you please let me know, and if we can make it work, come by the Yogo for a
few minutes?"

"Oh, sure; that's fine, Mr Sweeney.  I have to be in town tomorrow morning,
probably around Eight.  Would between Eight and Nine work for you?"

"Eight, and breakfast is on me, all right?"

"Eight is great, Mr Sweeney; and I'm already drooling for those Swedish
pancakes and the lingonberries that swim around on the plate with `em!"

"I like those, too.  See you then, Jeff.  And please; call me Ross, okay?"

"I'm happy to, Ross.  See you at Eight!"

We concluded the call.  What could be so important that I was being called
in for a meeting about Sebastian?  Well, I guess I'd find out soon enough.
Just as I was putting my phone back in my pocket, it rang again.  No `Green
Acres' theme this time.

"Hi, Boyfriend."

"Babe.  In the middle of something?"

"No; just getting some small stuff done around the barn.  Everything okay?"

"Yeah, it's fine.  I met the neighbors on either side of me.  Nice people.
Nosey, but nice.  I could tell Mrs Schmelling wasn't entirely convinced The
Grandies had moved out of state.  She was doing her best Mrs Kravitz
imitation, trying to look behind me into the house to see if there were two
dismembered corpses on the kitchen floor."

"Don't do anything that will leave a stain on that perfect oak flooring in
that house.  That'd be a sin and a shame."

"I think that was Mrs Schmelling's bigger concern, too.  Jeff, I want to
drive out now, if that's still convenient.  Don't want to interrupt any
essential farm activity."

"All farm activity is essential.  Just ask anyone who has ever seen empty
grocery store shelves.  But for you?  Every plant, every chicken, every
prize-winning steer gets a rest from my exertions, just for you."

"You left out Bernese dogs."

"Well, see, that's where I draw the line, Marc.  You're hot, but the
puppies are cute.  `Cute' outweighs `hot', as sorry as I am to admit that.
I think Old Cat is still on watch, so fine; just for you, just for the
moment, `fuckin' hot man' gets my attention more than `cute puppies'."

"You say and think `fuck' a lot; did you notice that?"

"I'm a teenaged farm boy; `fuck' is all I say and think, not just `a lot'.
And just a Word To The Wise: it's also what I want to do."

"Really?  That comes as a huge surprise!"

"Surprise!  I cum huge, too!"

"And THAT is NO surprise.  May it always be thus."

"I can make a right turrible mess, Mister Professor."

"Don't I know.  You almost laminated me right to the wall of your shower."

"Well, you said you `wanted to stick around'; I was just taking you
literally."

"When do I get to literally `take you'?"

"Later.....when the farm folk have all turned in.  You wanna make my
hayloft fantasy come true?"

"Wait.....you have a `hayloft fantasy' that has yet to come true??"

"Well, kinda.  I mean my own hayloft, right here.  I've already `done the
work' in other haylofts."

"HOW MANY HAYLOFTS??!"

"Oh, there are dozens of barns with haylofts.  Or do you mean the ones just
here in Fergus County?"

"Holy fuck, Jeff!  Is there much of a difference?!"

"There's a big difference!  Probably twelve dozen in a wide radius, versus
four dozen in the county."

"TWELVE DOZEN??!  That's just a......"

"Gross."

"To say the least!"

"No, I mean, twelve dozen is `a gross'.  It's actually an old term specific
to how grocers would order eggs from farmers, Boyfriend."

"`Gross'/`Gross'.  `Potato'/`Potahto'.  Okay, but you haven't really been
in that many haylofts, living out farm boy fantasies.....have you....?"

"Well, since it's my fantasy and not yours, we'll just keep moving the
conversation forward and leave you guessing."

"Or worrying."

"Don't worry, Boyfriend; I haven't done it in a grain silo yet."

"Whew.....well, THAT'S something still on the list, I guess."

"Oh, I meant I haven't done it with a Harvard History Professor yet, is
all."

"Who have you....?"

"By subject or by grade?"

"I think I need to race out there right now....."

"Oh?  Feeling like you want to pleasure me?"

"No, like I have to protect you.  From yourself."

"A full-time job, if ever there were one.  How WILL you find time to go
into the superintendent's office?"

"I'll work remotely, if necessary.  And it sounds like it'll be necessary,
to say the least."

"Why don't you just say the least and drive the most?  You'll be out here
before I have to tell you about all the other places on my list to `Do
It'."

"Where are the keys to the old `57....?"

"Hotwire it if necessary; just get the old `57 and the old 29 out here,
pronto."

"Wait.....'old 29'?"

"Aren't you 29?"

"Yeah, but.....oh, you fucker."

"Rather be the fuckee, but any port in a storm, I guess....."

"Despite how I'm REALLY feeling right now......I'll say `I like you'."

"I like you."

"Bye."

"Kiss."


Heh.....I bet Mr and Mrs Taylor were getting drunk on their own laughter at
that very moment, knowing just what a mad world their grandson got lost
running around in, only a week earlier.


I was sending a text to Tom, to ask him about my little guy.  The initial
squeak a few days earlier, and ever since then, OC's incessant care given
to him specifically.  Maybe Tom had an idea, or if not, he might give me
some specific questions to ask LeVar or Sally.  I counted each day that I
found them all eating and moving to be good days, but that's as superficial
as opening up a carton of eggs in a store and just looking at them.
There's no knowing if any are cracked underneath, or eggs going `bad'
beneath the shell.  I didn't want to obsess on my little guy, but I wanted
him checked out.

Tom wrote back that he'd drive over this evening, like 8:00PM.  That would
be about the last time of day the pups would eat, and the best time to
observe them afterward.  I told Tommy to plan on staying for dinner, which
he is always happy to accept.

I wanted to talk with Tom, Anders wanted to talk with Marc, and I know Mom
and Eva would talk, too.  I went and found Mom.

"Mom, Tom's coming over around Eight to check on Lola Cola and her pups;
one particularly.  I think it's the one I call my `little guy'.  Old Cat
seems very concerned about him, and he's the pup who made a strange squeak
a couple of days ago."

"It's growing pains.  I know the pup you're talking about.  If you look at
him side-by-side the others, you'll see he's just a little longer, and head
a little big around.  I'd bet he had a painful headache on occasion each
day.  You were right to call Tom, though; he'd done lots of study on the
the breed.  If he doesn't know, Sally and LeVar will.  Your little guy will
be okay.  We just need to convince Old Cat about that.  Speaking of OC; he
needs a check-up, too.  I don't remember any vaccinations he's ever had, or
check-ups."

"Oh----on the issue of domesticated farm animals.....I meeting Ross Sweeney
in town tomorrow, at the Yogo Inn.  He wants to talk with me about
Sebastian.  No clues, though.  He said it would be a short conversation.
Has he said anything to you about this?"

"Yes, he has, Jeff.  But it's your conversation to have with him.  He told
me first because you're not old enough yet to have contractual
conversations.  He has good reason to want to talk with you.  What time is
your meeting, and do you want me to go with you?"

"It's at Eight, at the Yogo.  Thanks for the offer, but I'll go alone.  If
there's anything beyond my abilities, I won't make any decisions.  Whatever
it is, I'm not worrying about it until tomorrow morning.  Maybe not even
then."

"Also, Jeff: Anders and Eva are on their way home.  This has been a trying
day for her, despite me and then Anders there with her.  I am going to give
them a wide berth so they can de-stress.  Need to figure out something for
dinner, though; especially if Tommy and Marc will be here, too.  Six of
us.....is tonight a good night for spaghetti, meatballs and garlic bread?"

"EVERY night is good for that!  Heck, yeah!  And I know we have Spumoni in
the freezer.  I'll go get some ground beef and hot Italian sausage out of
the freezer in the cellar."

"Will you please get several pint jars of tomato sauce and paste, and a
large package of pasta?  I'll harvest an onion and garlic out of the
garden.  We can make and simmer the bolognese while the meats thaw."

"Spaghetti Night is one of my favorites.  Oh-HO!  Look who arrives on his
trusty, rusty steed; Prince Marc-A-Lot from Camelot."

Marc drove down the drive from the county road in the blue and cream-white
old truck.  The motor in it sounded so smooth and quiet.  As much as I
loved the thought of a Mustang, it wasn't really farm-practical.  Marc
parked by my truck, and I walked over to meet him.  We hugged when he
stepped out of his truck.

"Boyfriend."

"Babe."

Our smiles at each other were well past the `gee, you're hot and I want to
fuck you all day and all night!'.  Sure, it's how we felt, but we didn't
smile about it.  Not in public.  I knew, though, the moment I could get him
to our bedroom, or in the hayloft, even the grain silo.....all bets were
off.

Of course, our first stop had to be at the barn.  Marc used the restroom
there and washed up before walking to the other end of the one hundred year
old post-and-beam structure.  Lola Cola sensed Marc and me approaching, and
again woofed and wagged.  All the animals liked Marc.  A good sign.  Marc
carefully opened the stall gate.  Even OC meowed a welcome to Marc,
although I didn't tell him Old Cat was more than likely just wanting a duck
heart.

Marc got right down with Lola Cola and the pups to love on each and all of
`em.  He didn't pick any of the pups up; just stroked their silk-fine fur
and spoke lovingly to all of them.  Lola Cola leaned forward to give Marc's
hand a lick or two.

"Jeff, they all look so much bigger than the last time I saw them, which
was what, just hours ago?"

"Pretty much, Marc.  Tom is coming over for dinner, and to give all of the
newborn four-legged furries some Doctor Time.  My little guy is a concern
for me, although Mom says he's all right.  Just growing fast.  I don't
doubt her, really; I just want a second opinion that'll rule out anything
to keep me awake at night."

"I hope Tom isn't going to come toward ME with his stethoscope; I have
every intention of keeping you awake at night."

"Oh, no.  He's here for little puppies and big meatballs on a mound of
Mom's spaghetti.  Maybe a few hands of `Cards Against Humanity' after.  You
ever play?"

"Heck, yeah!  That and UNO, and Gin Rummy.  Backgammon.  Cribbage.  FBA.
That one is my favorite."

"What's `FBA'?"

"`Farm Boy Ass'.  It's only for two players, but once you get started, it's
not easy to stop.  Sometimes games can go on until five in the morning."

"And I assume there's a point to the game?"

"Yeah, of course.  The point is to put the point in the farm boy's ass."

"You're making this all up!  There's no such game!"

"Sure there is, and no, I'm not!  The best part: two can play almost
anywhere.  In a barn's hayloft, in the front seat of an old truck; even in
a grain silo."

"And you've played this game, have you?"

"Only in theory, but the first time was about 5:00AM last Sunday, after I'd
been out running.  Truth be told: I knew right then I wanted to play FBA
with you."

"Can I deny you anything, Boyfriend?"

"Deny me all the things that don't matter, Babe; I won't ask for them in
the first place."


Who talks to a seventeen year old farm boy like that?  My man does.  While
we walk toward our big home on a increasingly-harvested plain.  During
which my heart beats right out of my chest.  `FMA', indeed.  You'd better
bring your best moves to THAT game, Boyfriend.

Mom was hanging out some sheets and other linens.  The Sun and breeze would
bring their own intoxicating scent to them in a matter of only minutes.  I
could see Mom had washed several complete sets.

"Take some of these up with you later, Jeff.  Oh, would you also take some
to Aleksy and Eva's room, too?  Hi, Marc.  I hope you brought your Sunday
Dinner appetite; spaghetti and meatballs."

"One of my favorites, Marie.  Let me know how I can be useful."

"You are such a bachelor!  You can't shop for food; how do I know you can
cook it?"

We laughed and Marc shook his head and turned red.  Again.

"You have a point.  Well, your sons can attest to my ersatz kitchen
talents; I can set the table and help wash the dishes, anyway."

"Salient and necessary skills, Marc.  I'll have the Bolognese simmering
soon, and we'll deal with the meatballs after that.  Otherwise, this is a
quiet Sunday for us.  The Team are wrapping up the last few acres, and
they'll be going back to town, and the drivers to the train."

The Team's white vans came to the barnyard while the three of us continued
to talk about everything except Saturday night.  Both stopped by the barn
and twelve men piled out to use the restroom before their trip into town.
We walked out to greet them, and thank them for the day's work.

"Senora W, we are happy to report only two days more, and your harvest will
be all done!"

*SCORE!* I called four days.  I'm about to be 50¢ richer!

"Thank you, Miguel!  That's just fine."

"Oh, Seniorito Jefe!  Thank you for the pizzas today.  You are all so good
to us on this farm."

"We could not have this farm without you and your team, Miguel.  Dad said
that for as long as I can remember."

"Muchas Gracias!  Oh----we are providing the music for the 6PM Mass at St
Leo!  Mariachi music!  We bring with us seven guitars, some fiddles and
trumpets, wherever we go.  Maybe you would like to come this evening."

Mom and I both got big smiles on our faces and looked at each other.  Heck
YES, we'd come!  We said as much, and I could tell Mom was already planning
on parking the sauce in her biggest crockpot.  No farm wife loved a
crockpot like Mom did.  She had hers, as well as her mother's and Dad's
mother.  Three crockpots, and it was not uncommon for them to be all busy
on the same days.

The Team said their good-byes, and we waved them up to the county road.  We
could go to Mass and come back with plenty of time to get the salad and
garlic bread made.  Mom looked at me while she headed for the house phone.

"Jozef, get more ground beef and Italian sausage out of the freezer.  Two
more pounds each.  Marc, there are four leaves for the dining room table,
in the closet.  Please get them in the table, and find the long table cloth
in the top drawer of the buffet, too."

We nodded and got on with our assignments.  Mom called and got Jon Spangler
on the phone.

"Jon, how're you?  It's okay here.  Miguel's team ran like race horses
today.  That's why I'm calling.  They're playing music at St Leo's for the
6:00PM Mass.  We're planning on going.  Lots of guitars, fiddles, trumpets.
True Mariachi!  Exactly.  So, Tommy's coming over around Eight to look at
the puppies so Jeff can stop worrying about them, and then stay for
spaghetti and meatballs.

Well, that's exactly why I'm calling!  We're going to have a lot.  I know
we called off the picnic, but let's have a nice Sunday Italian dinner,
still.  Bring Trace.  Okay, then him, too.  I don't think I know Toby,
though.  I have twelve chairs and a table the size of South Dakota.  No,
don't bring anything, but I want to know how Kelly makes her incredible
garlic bread.  Perfect, Jon.  Now: meet us in town if you want hear The
Team's music, or come out here around 7:30.  That'll be fine.  Okay, see
you Spanglers there or here!  Oh----Kristi is welcome.  Have Tom call her,
or I'll have Jeff do it.  Great!  Bye!"

"Mom, I'm counting eleven people.  Down to the cellar again and back up."

"Agreed.  Better bring up five more pounds each of ground beef and sausage,
and more stuff for sauce.  Grab a pound of butter out of the freezer, too.
I'm going to get Kelly to help make the garlic bread, and this time, I'm
watching her like a hawk."

Mark returned from the dining room.

"Marie, is everyone going through a buffet line for dinner? If so, I can
get plates and stuff set up, and silverware on the table."

"Please, and thanks, Marc; that's just right.  Yeah, this'll all work.  Do
either of you boys know who this Toby is?"

Marc and I looked at each other for a brief moment before I answered Mom.

"Just met him, Mom; he was in the rodeo, too.  I think he's a friend of
Trace's, from Baker.  So, he's, um, coming over, too?"

"Maybe.  I invited him, through Jon.  I haven't seen Trace in a long time.
I remember thinking what a handsome guy he was.  All the Spangler men are
handsome.  They have nothing on my boys, though."

We laughed and did what we could to help Mom get the Bolognese sauce going
in the crockpots.  It was a nice, light-hearted conversation; made better,
I think, because Marc was truly integrating into his new home, and we were
all looking forward to hearing The Team's music in two hours.  Anders and
Eva rode down onto the farm in tandem, her rig following Anders'.  Our
barnside parking lot was filling up these days.

Those two walked into the house and brought with them a sound I don't think
we'd heard before.  They were laughing, but not just any laughter; it was
calm and peaceful.  Joyful, really.  Not even slightly uncomfortable.  Not
at all reminiscent of the horrors of the night before at the fair.  This
was how friends laugh with each other; like they truly `got' each other,
and were happy to be together.

I wanted that with Marc.  Right now, we were still in the joyous process of
getting to know each other, and yeah, we laughed a lot.  But we didn't have
Anders' and Eva's history, going back almost all of their lives from grade
school to now.  So much darkness in those years, with last evening at the
fair eclipsing what had been the perfect `First Re-Date'.

What my big brother and Eva had endured, alone and together, earned them
their calm and peaceful laughter.  Marc and I would come into our own,
someday.  For now, though-----hearing theirs was inspirational and
aspirational.  And how it made Mom stand upright, turn to look at them and
smile like I think I'd never seen Mom smile before.


As seems to be her `new usual', Eva carried in a beer flat with something
good in it.  She set it on the counter, and Mom, Marc and I peeked over the
top and just stood back up straight, laughing.

Eva and Anders looked at each other with huge question marks on their
faces.  They looked at us, waiting for someone to explain.  I live for
moments like this one:

"You didn't forget the Cannoli!"

We laughed again, and Marc explained that Mom and I were working on a
Sunday Night Spaghetti Feast.  What could go better with that than Cannoli?
Once they were in on the coincidence of participating in the spaghetti
dinner and an old movie line (slightly adulterated) to go with it, Anders
and Eva laughed along.  Yeah, and hugged each other.  Calm, peaceful,
joyful everything between those two.


We all cleaned up, a little or a lot, and piled into Dad's big truck.
Honestly, it was the cleanest, and technically, we WERE going to church.
It only made sense.  Driving past `Common Ground', I honked and we all
waved at Kim.  With none of us surprised, she was entertaining the Wix
twins, Kris and Kras (short for `Kraswell', their mother's maiden name) in
their old Nash Metropolitan convertible.  Those boys were drop-dead
gorgeous Townies, beginning their Junior year in only two weeks.

Kim was kind to everyone, but she enjoyed being `The Slightly Older Auntie'
to kids in town.  If they were coming through `Common Grounds' for boba
teas or caramel apple ciders, they weren't likely to be ducking in and out
of each other's houses, drinking their parents' liquor.

Kim had a fascinating ability to remember names and facts-----which could
work against the kids as much as it worked for them.  Parents hadn't begun
phoning `Common Grounds' yet to check out alibis, but if they did, they'd
hear only the truth from Kim and Eva.  Ah, that `Blind Justice' thing
again.....expose the kids to it early, and maybe they won't have to get a
reminder when they're in the same position and condition as Junior.

Sunday after the fair would otherwise be a sedate, quiet day.  That
might've been true for all of Lewistown, except one address: 124 West
Broadway.  That Sunday was about to get really jumpin' and jivin', and rigs
were circling in a four-block radius, looking for parking.  We found a
space right in front of the post office, only a block away.  Lucky us!  The
walk to St Leo's was fast; not only because of the short distance, but
because we wanted to get a seat-----apparently just like everyone else.

We walked in, and oh, my gosh.....shades of Dad's funeral Mass.  So many
people there, smiling and laughing, looking forward to hearing Miguel and
his guys bring some much-welcomed new music liturgy to town.  I saw people
I knew were not members of the church, but were welcome, regardless.
Seating was going to be very tight.  Father Tim would probably be the
bishop's Golden Boy twice that week.

Anders and I were the tallest in our group, so we stood just inside the
narthex doors and looked around to find any seats for five of us together.
It wasn't necessary we all sit in one section, but it'd be nice.  While we
looked around, I felt a hand on my shoulder.  I turned to see Ignacio
smiling down at me.  He was standing on the third step up on the stairs to
the choir and organ loft.

"Senorito Jefe!  Familia!  Follow me!"

He spoke quietly, but he was smiling and clearly had a plan.  Who were we
to interrupt a man on his plan?  Up the narrow, winding stairs we climbed,
and found ourselves in the choir loft, where probably one hundred more
chairs had been set up.  It's also where The Team were, in their Mariachi
suits, looking soooo handsome.  Those suits were musical in their own
rights; just looking at them made me hear notes and want to dance.

All their instruments were laid out carefully.  So they were going to
perform all the music from up here!  Perfect!  The acoustics in St Leo's
were already as close to perfect as one would find, and from up here, well,
`close' was no longer a word in the sentence.  As people continued to
gather below, I sent a text to my boy.

"Hey, if you're coming to hear Miguel's guys play, take an immediate left
inside and come up to the choir loft.  That's where we're sitting."

I was busy looking at all the instruments while I waited for a response
from Tom.  My favorite of them all was the huge, radius-back
guitarrón Mexicano, the bass guitar.  I had my phone in my left
hand, reading Tom's response, while I continued to look at the beautiful,
polished instruments.

"Why would I want to sit by you?  I know how you are in concerts; you're
whistling when you're not holding up a BIC lighter."

"You're coming, then?"

"Nope."

"Aw, damn.  This'll be something!  Why not?"

"Because I'm sitting right next to you now, you Polish Pecker!"

I whipped my head around and saw Tom and his whole family sitting with my
family and me.  I laughed and slugged my boy's shoulder.

"OW!  `Dislocation', remember??!  You dick!"

"I thought that was your other shoulder!  Oh, shit....sorry, Tommy!"

"It was my other shoulder, but you probably need to be sorry for something
anyway, so this was just as well!"

We laughed, and Anders introduced Marc to Jon and Kelly.  Both Trace and
Toby smiled and did the fist-bump thing with Marc.  Perfect.  Everyone was
getting along just fine.  I didn't see Kristi, but just because I was
liking seeing her and Tommy together didn't mean it had to happen each and
every time.  Besides......we were still fewer than twenty four hours from
the previous public spectacle, and maybe Kristi wasn't ready for another
one.  Even if there was zero chance the same thing would happen tonight
that happened Saturday night.

"Tom, um, is Kristi coming?"

"No, she's staying in; at least for this.  She'll let me know if we should
swing by and pick her up on our way out to your place for dinner."

"I hope she'll come for dinner.  Mom's spaghetti and meatballs are the
best.  And Mom is going to finagle your mom into showing us how to make the
best garlic bread, too."

"Well, we brought our appetites, and Trace brought his friend Toby, so
that's another stomach to fill."

Tom lowered his voice and leaned in closer to me.

"`Tween you and me, I think Trace found himself his own version of you.  I
think Toby is his gay best friend.  Just a hunch."

I tried not to smile, but Tom was far closer than `just a hunch'.  Toby
found himself his own gay best friend, too.

"Huh.....well, whaddya know about that.  I've said forever there must be
something in the water....."

We laughed and before we could talk about something else, Diego broke away
from The Team and sat at the organ console.  Miguel smiled and nodded at
him.  Diego was one of the young guys, very possibly my own age or so, and
new to The Team this year.  He began playing a quieter piece as people
continued to gather.  Many heads turned up and behind them to see a new
face playing.

Playing all four ranks and from memory, Diego moved from one hymn to the
next.  These were recognizable to a great number of the Catholic Christians
there, and even some of the folks from other churches.  Soon we heard some
humming, and even harmonies of it.  A nice way to start Mass.

I saw Miguel speaking to Anders and Eva.  She smiled and nodded, and looked
at Anders.  He, too, smiled and nodded.  Eva stood and moved behind the
musicians, sitting at the grand piano also in the organ loft.  Miguel
handed her a loose-leaf notebook, filled with piano music.  He had already
tabbed the pages of the pieces they'd play.  While Diego continued to play
the music for gathering, Eva flipped through the tabbed pages and made
herself comfortable.  Well, Eva.  You don't stay down for long, do you?
Welcome back up, Eva.

Father Tim entered through the door behind the altar, and spoke from the
steps where the communion rail used to be, prior to the window opening for
some fresh air in 1965.

"Welcome, Friends, to Sunday Mass in Week Sixteen of Ordinary Time.  That
is all that will be `ordinary' about Mass this evening.  We are
blessed----truly and happily blessed---to be joined by Miguel, Ignacio,
Diego, Pablo I, Estoban, Francisco, Pablo II, Pedros I, II and III, Enrique
and Florenz.  They've been our community's farm business partners for
years, helping bring in the harvest in a timely and efficient manner.  This
evening, they are here to bring our hearts and voices in to celebrate our
god, our saints, our community and our friends----all of you and more.

For those here who are visiting St Leo's Parish for the first time, please
know you are welcome to return.  Let us know how we can help you feel you
are a part of us, as we hope to be a part of you, too.  You'll notice no
hymn numbers on the board behind me.  If you know what Miguel and his band
are playing, by all means; sing along, and make a joyful noise!

Otherwise, just sit back and enjoy, and feel the spirit of the musicians
and their instruments fill this space.  I will do my best to keep my own
contributions to this mass as brief as possible, so as not to interrupt
what I believe will be one of the best musical experiences in Fergus County
this year.  And so, we begin with our custom of greeting each other....."

And so, we began; and for the next 75 minutes, our faces hurt from smiling,
laughing, singing (if we knew what we were singing), clapping, and stamping
our feet.  As Father Tim made the bulletin announcements, The Team made
their way quietly and hastily down the stairs, all the way to the church
basement.  They raced forward beneath the overpacked congregation above
them, and up the other set of the stairs which led to the presbytery, on
the other side of the door where Father Tim had entered earlier.

Father Tim held his arms up to indicate we should rise for his blessing as
we parted and prepared for the new week, and Miguel and The Team came
through the door behind the altar playing the recessional music, which was
raucous, joyful, sweet and perfect, too.  Father Tim stepped down from his
lectern, and The Team lined up by two behind him.

As Father Tim walked forward, The Team followed a step behind, playing a
fast and upbeat recessional, and smiling at everyone.  It wasn't a concert,
but it was the best concert I'd ever been to.  My boy Tommy and I had our
arms around each other's shoulders, holding each other tight and just
grateful and happy to be in each other's lives.

People in the pews filled in behind Miguel and The Team, and they continued
playing at the bottom of the steps from the street into the church.  People
of all ages were dancing and laughing, hugging and greeting even more, and
celebrating each other's lives.  Father Tim offered one more blessing, and
Miguel and The Team played the final few measures, then bowed and thanked
everyone.  You would not have believed the applause.  You would not have
believed the past week, but I was there for all of it, and I've only just
begun to share it all with you.


My gosh.....getting out of downtown Lewistown was no easy feat.  So much
for a lazy, quiet Sunday.  For me, my reflections over the past 75 minutes
were on the week; all that had happened, all the work we were also doing
for all the weeks that would follow, and how the losses and gains in my own
family were transformational in a way I would not have fully understood or
appreciated if I were any younger.

We were finally at the edge of town, but the vista before us was of
countless red tail lights disappearing at the horizon.  In the big truck's
big mirrors, I could see a long line of headlights coming up Main Street
Hill behind us, too.  And these were just the vehicles traveling West!
When we got to `Common Grounds', Eva and Mom gasped.  Anders and I let lose
with a `holy shit!' each, and Marc offered a `what the.....?!'

We counted 21 vehicles in line, and others parked and people standing to
get inside on foot.  Eva and Mom both spoke at the same time:

"STOP."

I knew what that meant.  Besides the obvious.  I pulled over as far off the
road as possible, though with all the other rigs standing there idling,
there was little room for one more at the inn.  Mom and Eva began climbing
out the back of the truck.  Mom stopped at my window and made the motion
for me to crank it down.  A total anachronism these days, but everyone
still knew what it meant.

"Jozef.  The sauce will be fine.  You've seen me make the meatballs a
million times.  Get started on them now.  Marc, check on Lola Cola, and
round up Bolt and Stan.  You know where the oats are, and where the pan is
to shake `em around in.  We'll call when we're ready to come home.
Probably 30 or so minutes.  This is just a rush.  Come on, Anders.  You,
too."

Marc and I laughed.  This is just what you do here.  `e pluribus unum', and
all that jazz.  I told you last Sunday that Mom keeps her antennae up, just
in case someone, somewhere, needs help.  It was the look on Anders' face,
though; that's what made us really laugh.  He had an expression of, `is
this the New Normal?'  I wasn't sure Kim's friend from Helena would be
enough; maybe another two, as well.

"Boyfriend, it's you and me until they're ready to come home.  You and I
might be hosting this Sunday Spaghetti thing on our own."

"Well, we can keep everyone entertained until someone calls for a ride.
There are a dozen puppies, after all.  I think I saw lots of cold drink
options in the barn fridge, and I know there are iced tea and real lemonade
in the house."

"Wow----you DO pay attention.  Allrightythen!  This is gonna go easily, and
I already know how we're gonna twist this dinner just a little, and keep
the house cool at the same time."

"Wait.....you're not really going to barbecue the meatballs!"

"Sure am!  It'll be like baking them, and I can do all of them at once on
that huge charcoal grill.  Um, do you know what charcoal is.....?"

"Oh, yes.  It's the stuff found in college freshmen's heads, whether those
are heads at Harvard or Montana.  HA!  Didn't expect THAT, now did you?"

"No, but the real surprise was how fast you shot back.  I'd kind of thought
you had to plan your witty rejoinders on a calendar."

"I'd choose your next words very carefully, unless you want your big, heavy
balls of meat to have the unmistakable aroma and flavor of lighter fluid."

"You know, I don't really choose my words; they choose me.  It's like they
just shoot out of my mouth sometimes."

"You realize you just admitted to not knowing what you're talking about
most of the time, right?"

"I think I'm safe."

"`Safe'?"

"You're not going to remember this moment when you see the puppies again.
You go all `ga-ga' over them, and I get away with whatever I want."

"Well, if I have to have my own Kryptonite, I'll choose the Wheezey
Berneezies for it.  Get away with what you want; I'll always have
tiny----for now---huge dogs.  Oh, and Stan.  Remember: I'll wave to you
when I come out to visit the menagerie."

"What about a game of FBA?"

"Oh, do you know how to play `Farm Boy Abstinence'?  If you don't, you're
about to become an involuntary board leader.  And as always, your natural
talent will help you win: all you have to do is just lie there."

"DAAAAAAAADDY!  MARC'S BEIN' MEAN!  MAKE HIM STOP!!!!!"

I guess I whined just a little too convincingly, because Marc was coughing
from laughing at me.  If nothing else, we would not bore each other!
Nothing about my man bored me.  I love bantering with him.  Dad and I used
to, and Tommy and I sometimes get down and busy with the loving insults.

With Marc, though.....maybe because we were new to and for each other, I
had to actually think about what he was saying.  I'll admit: I wasn't
exactly a remedial learner, but I was a little intimidated by Marc's
intelligence and intellectual capacity.  I was playing verbal Chess with a
grand master, and he had every single cell in my brain firing at a million
volts and just as many amps.  An MRI would've revealed my brain had an
erection.


My boyfriend went off to take care of the dogs and horses, and yeah, he
knew the routines and where everything and everyone was.  He even had an
apple waiting for Sebby, who came in with Bolt and Stan.  Hearts, apples
and carrots.....I think that's where our profits will be going from this
year.

I got inside and stirred the sauce.  It was missing something, but I'd stay
out of that one.  Mom always knows what she's doing, anywhere she is at any
moment on that land.  The ground meats were thawed, so I opened all of them
into the huge mixing bowl.  Mom's recipes were all inside the cupboard
doors, where they'd been taped by many Moms over the generations.  Mom's
meatballs, though, were her own creation.  I found the index card and found
the spices and seasonings.

Measured and ready to go, I turned my attention to the onions and garlic.
For whatever reason, the Propanethiol S-oxide gas that releases when an
onion is cut had little if any effect on me.  Mom often enlisted my aid
when it came to chopping or dicing or even just slicing onions.

As for the name of the gas: it was still fresh in my memory, since it was
on the Biology final exam, just before graduation.  I demonstrated at every
available opportunity why I was able to skip a year, even if some of the
opportunities, like this one, were pretty silly.  But, now you know the
name of the dreaded onion stuff, just like I did.  Did you notice the word
`propane' in there?  Everything has something to do with everything else.
See you at your own graduation ceremony!  Don't be late!

In only fifteen minutes, I had the meatball recipe completed, except for
forming and baking them.  Marc walked in the kitchen at just the right
time.  He saw the huge bowl and walked to the sink to wash his hands.  Marc
joined me at the big center island, and before digging into the bowl like I
was, he leaned to give me a kiss on the cheek.  Awww.  That was nice.

"I have another cheek, you know."

"Did you pay attention in Sunday School?"

"Always."

I turned my head, and sure enough, Marc planted another on me.  Awfully
sweet, that man.  Soon, we were up to our forearms in meatball makin's.  I
showed him the size I was looking for, and how to slam each meatball into
the palm of a hand to condense the ingredients.  We were done in no time,
and we got the meatballs reloaded into the same bowl.

"Babe, the grill is already going.  The charcoal is on one end, so you'll
have the indirect heat thing going on.  I'll help you get these on so they
can cook evenly."

I smiled and reached for two long-handled tongs in the drawer specific to
outdoor cooking utensils.  Out we went.  While we were walking, my phone
buzzed.  That was Anders' buzz pattern.  I parked the bowl next to the
grill and answered.

"`My Balls Are Big And Juicy' food truck; how many can you fit in your
mouth?"

"Ewww!  Fucker!  All of a sudden, I'm a vegetarian!  Hey, that run seems to
be less busy now, but it's still busy.  Eva is going to stay with Kim, but
Mom and I are ready to be picked up."

"Okay.  I'll dispatch Marc; I'm starting to cook the meatballs now."

Marc was already feeling around for his keys.  They were probably in the
kitchen, and we were by the barn.  I pulled my own truck's keys out for
him.  He nodded and smiled, and took off running to go get Mom and Aleksy.

"He's on his way, Big Brother.  I'm sorry Eva is going to miss out."

"Oh, I think if she'd have come back with Mom and me, it would've been a
horrible dinner.  Eva would be sitting there all fidgety, and not really
enjoy herself or the dinner or anyone else.  Right now she needs to feel
safe and in charge, and `Common Grounds' is where she can do that.  I'll
bring both her and Kim some big plates so they're not missing out
entirely."

"Of course you will.  I don't know how we can make it work, but somehow we
need to get Kim and her friend out here, too."

"That'll happen only if Eva and I go in.  She has decided, and I support
this, that if emergency responders, truckers and travelers don't get a day
off, then `Common Grounds' will be open for them.  Holidays included.  You
want to hear something else that has my head spinning?"

"Wow.....um, sure."

"She is already peeking around for another mobile home to buy and put at
the other end of town, on the highway toward Grass Range.  You know where
the old, old original building for KXLO-AM radio station was?"

"Yeah......that's an old house, actually."

"WAS an old house.  The roof collapsed because it had been abandoned for
almost ten years.  The parking lot in front is where all the kids turn
around when they're out cruising Main on Friday nights."

"Heck, yeah; I know that.  I've been in that parking lot lots of times.  So
she wants to buy the property?  Smart move; the utilities are already
there, and she can actually have lanes and windows on both sides."

"Has Eva already told you about this, Little Brother?  That's exactly what
she wants to do."

"Aleksy, are you ever going to see Eva?"

"Of course.  Even if I have to work part-time for her and part-time for
you."

"I need a full-time partner.  So does Eva, but a different kind of partner,
Brother."

"Well anyway, she's just talking about it.  She hasn't bought anything yet.
It makes sense, though.  Good sense.  She's talking about buying land,
we're talking about buying land; in both cases, business moves that make
sense, and will pay for themselves."

"Well, I still wish Eva were going to be with us tonight.  I know where
Junior is and all, but....."

"I know what you mean, and don't disagree.  Since I'm spilling all the tea
in this phone call: I brought her a .357.  I'll be showing both her and Kim
how to use it.  Junior might be behind bars-----for now.  But that doesn't
mean all the bad guys are."

"Good plan.  I wholeheartedly concur with the wisdom behind it.  Heck,
though: a .357??  That'll knock her backwards a hundred feet if she fires
it!"

"All the more reason to train her on its safe operation."

"I need to keep my eye on these meatballs.  We're really ready for most of
the rest; the sauce is fine, bubbling away.  I'll get the stockpot out for
the spaghetti, and start heating the water."

"Right you are.  I think I see your truck approaching.  Yep.  Okay.  Bye."

He hung up before I could respond, but `hi' and `bye' between brothers are
familiarities that aren't too imperative for us to worry about all the
time.  I smiled, though; my brother's and my conversations are certainly
not shallow.  I felt honored that he'd include me in some of the things he
and Eva talked about.

For the record, I liked Eva's expansion plans, as long as that included
expansion of staff.  If she was spreading herself so thin making coffee at
two locations, she was cutting out time for her and Aleksy to make babies
in one location.  Seventh Generation.  Ad nauseam, I know; if only it's
y'all having to hear me talk about it.

The meatballs were doing well, and Marc's placement of the charcoal was
actually something I had not really considered; but now it just made good,
solid sense.  And of course, then I was thinking of his good, solid chest.
And arms.  And legs.  And his good, solid ass.  Marc is good and solidly
beautiful, and I'm the luckiest farm boy in all of The Big Sky State.
There: proof positive for you that I wasn't always thinking about my
brother making me an uncle.  Happy now??

I wanted to keep my eyes on the grill, though.  They flare up, and I did
not want any smoke flavor in these.  I was pushing boundaries already by
not following the recipe to the exact letter by baking them in the oven.
They'd be back soon enough, and someone else could get the water heating
up.

I saw Kristi's 1967 Buick Wildcat turning off the county road.  Well, that
was a happy surprise!  I wasn't holding out too much hope she'd join us.  I
could see she was alone in the car.  Kristi and I hadn't had any alone time
since graduation.  She was Tom's girl, but Tom's my boy, so Kristi's my
girl, too.  If you grew up in a rural area, you were very likely exposed
to, if not part of, that very same kind of relationship.  We were each the
strands in a braid, Tom, Kristi and I.  All there for each other, and
sometimes, just two strands at any given moment, still tight with each
other and making something strong together.

I waved at her as she got closer.  I pointed to the parking space beside
Mom's rig.  I wanted Marc to park right back where he'd found my truck when
he headed in to pick up Mom and my brother.  Kristi parked and shut off
that incredible, throaty 455 motor under the hood of her car.  I was
definitely not a Flat-Earther, but I was all too willing to believe that a
Buick 455 was what turned this big, blue marble.

"Kristi!  Damn, I'm so happy to see you, Darlin'!  C'mere!"

She came up and hugged me, and not just a little hug.  It was one of
relief, apprehension, anxiety, safety and hunger.  I knew the last one
specifically because I could feel and hear her tummy rumble.

"Oh, sorry about that!  I haven't eaten since that hot dog last night!
HAHAHA!"

"Well, you'll feast tonight, K.  Marc just went to pick up Mom and Anders
at Eva's place."

"I saw your truck; figured something like that was going on.  `Common
Grounds' is the popular spot in town!  I wonder how much money and
customers Eva is taking away from the Montana Tavern and The Gold Bar!"

"She's a good businesswoman.  She knows her customers, and she knows the
market here.  Her coffee and other stuff are all good, too.  Worth the
money, I think."

"I agree.  I'm thinking of seeing if she might hire me, part-time or
full-time.  Tom and I were talking after you told him about distance
learning.  I can work toward my Education degree right here.  Might even be
able to get the whole thing online, but I'd be happy with an A.A."

"You don't want to go to Missoula?  I thought you were looking forward to
that."

"I was-----because I felt safe with you going, too.  And after last
night.....well, Tom's here, you're going to be here, and I can't very well
break up the band, now can I?  Only thing I'm kinda worried about is
Tommy.....he didn't say much, except he might not be able to afford
school."

"He needs to get any thought about not going to school right out of that
skinny-assed head of his.  Tom Spangler was born to care for animals.
Between the three or more of us, we'll figure something out.  But he has to
go to school."

"I think you love Tommy more than I do, Jeff."

"I love you both.  And I love that you two love each other.  It just makes
complete sense that my two best friends are together."

Kristi hugged me again, and I could tell she had a little weepy action
going on.  Just then, my truck came down the drive with Marc, Mom and
Aleksy laughing about something.  I'd ask them why, but I'm not entirely
certain they wouldn't each give me the same answer:

"YOUR FACE!"

While they were parking, Kristi dried her eyes.

"K, approach Eva about a job."

"You think?"

"Rarely, but sometimes when it happens, it feels good.  Then I pass out,
but I come to again after an hour or so."

"You're such a goof!  Does Marc know that yet?"

"It's about all he knows.  He just bought that Harvard diploma online, you
know.  Ask him about it, and then ask him about paying for it by being a
Speedo-wearing waiter at retirement centers in Florida."

"HAHAHAHA!!!  Thanks, Jeffrey!  I needed that laugh!"

"I have a hundred others to give you this evening, K.  We're here for
spaghetti and for spazzing out from too much laughter."

Marc, Mom and my brother walked up, and they all hugged Kristi, making her
feel welcome.  Mom whisked Kristi inside, and the guys hung with me while I
tended the meatballs.  Anders nodded in approval, and poked one with his
finger.

"That's actually smart; I would not have thought of baking them on a grill,
but for this quantity, you're getting them all at once."

"Thanks; just came to me.  Does it feel done yet?"

"Hmm.....I don't know.  You try."

I did, and the indentation from my own finger poke stayed just a little too
long.  Didn't spring back right away.  Not done.  Marc stood beside me and
smiled out of the side of his eyes.  *MELT*.  Anders noticed Marc's truck
and pointed at it.

"What's in the back, Marc?  Your first `dump run'?"

"No, but that's coming.  I forgot all about the dog run.....  Remember we
were talking about solution for getting Lola Cola and the pups out of the
barn and into the Sun and fresh air?  Well, I went to Tractor and Farm
Supply, and they had this ingenious dog run, fully enclosed on three sides,
and expandable from six feet to twenty-four feet.  Heavy-gauge steel, and
anchors that no fox or coyote can pull out.  And no barn owls can get in,
either!

I was thinking, putting this on the South side of the house, and extending
it as the pups grow bigger, well, it's a win-win.  They can all relieve
themselves without waiting for a human to help them out; particularly for
Lola Cola, she can get away for a moment by herself, and the pups can nap
in the Sun.  I also picked up a cover for part of it, so there's shade.  I
was thinking, between the three of us, we could build an actual dog house
for Lola Cola and Kids to retreat into at night, too."

Anders and I just looked at Marc, and his slightly-proud, slightly-hopeful
smile faded.

"Ohhhh.....I should've run this past you guys first.....sorry."

Anders placed his big, meaty hand on Marc's bigger, meatier shoulder.

"Are you kidding, Marc??  If there was any `should've' going on, it
should've been us thinking about a solution the same day the pups joined
us.  What was that, Wednesday?  Heck.  Just because the pups were born in a
barn doesn't mean they need to live there!  It's a perfect solution; thank
you."

I agreed, but rather than extol Marc's virtues like Aleksy just had, I
leaned beside myself and kissed his cheek.  He turned it and pointed at his
face.

"I went to Sunday School too, you know."

I smiled and doubled my efforts at a little display of gratitude.  My big
brother just laughed.

"I'd tell you two to `get a room', but I don't want to take over the
Meatball Duty.  Carry on; I'm going to go unload the dog run.  Brilliant
idea, Marc; truly, thank you.  On behalf of overpriced and----for
now---undersized dogs, this is going to make everyone happy.  Well, not
everyone."

I cocked my head at Aleksy.

"Who won't be happy?"

"OC.  He's used to being right in on the action, and within a paw's reach
if it's needed.  I'll go to my grave believing he saved Lola Cola's life by
running for help, and I want him to always know I'm grateful.  How do we
get him in there with the pups?"

"We'll figure it out, Big Brother; but I bet OC does before we can!  He's
not done being `Mr French' to Buffy, Jody and Cissy, times four."

(Thank you, Nickelodeon re-runs from my youth.)

I continued to test the meatballs, and just as they were getting to the
springy state I wanted, I handed Marc a pair of tongs, and pulled out two
of the big sheet pans we keep underneath the grill, for the finished
products.  The meatballs would continue to cook on the inside, and in about
five minutes, would be completely done.

We took them in the house, and I covered the pans with foil and placed them
in the oven, set to its lowest setting to keep them warm.  Mom had the
stockpot filled with water, and I knew it was easily sixty pounds or
heavier.  Marc saw right away that it had to get from the sink to the
oversized gas ring on the stove, which we used for the pressure cooker and
water bath pot when canning this time of year.

Lifting sixty pounds for Marc is like anyone else lifting a quart of ice
cream.  Once again, I loved how Marc moved effortlessly around the rest of
us.  I also loved how effortlessly Paco appreciated how Marc---and his
bulging muscles---moved around the rest of us.  I was glad my t-shirt was
not tucked in right then.  My handy concealing curtain that also advertised
for the University of Montana Grizzlies.  GO GRIZ!  GO AWAY, PACO!



Mom and Kristi were up to their elbows in Romaine for a Caesar Salad.
Mom's Caesar dressing was out of this world.  I'd considering consuming it
as a cold soup.  DEE-Lish!  We heard a triple-honk, and sure enough, Team
Spangler drove in through the fields like last time.  I loved that.  The
rural version of walking right into the house of someone you know, all
comfortable and neighborly.

They parked by everyone else.  Seven vehicles, and we still had space.  I
knew we had meatballs for more.  Everyone would be going home with to-go
boxes, I was nearly certain of that.  Tommy got out, crawling through the
tailgate.  He'd sat in the cargo area.  Tom was in the kitchen and beside
Kristi the way a security guard at the Louvre will get up on someone just a
little too close to the Mona Lisa.  Those two smiled at each other, and I
smiled at them.  I loved those kids; I meant it when I said that to K.

I was at once worried for Tommy as I was happy for Kristi, that she would
do distance learning toward her A.A. in Education.  One down, one to go.
Oh, Tom.  We'll figure something out.  Just for this one Sunday Spaghetti
dinner, we had an incredible brain trust of ten people at the table.  While
Tommy's education would not be a topic for conversation, I know everyone
would be thinking about it.  Everyone knew the Spangler's dilemma, and no
one wanted Archer Daniels Midland calling any of the shots.  I just wanted
them to call, saying they were Fergus County.


Anders played host like always.  Maybe because it was Sunday, maybe because
no one really does it all the time, no one wanted beer or wine or anything
harder.  Iced Tea, lemonade and water were all anyone wanted.  I noticed
Marc opted for water, like he always did.  I was willing to bet that my man
also effortlessly paid attention to supply and demand, and for bigger
groups, supply was shorter.  I loved that about him, if I was right.  If I
wasn't, I liked that I could imagine Marc just being the selfless guy I
knew he was in other regards.  There are little things about the giants in
our lives that shine the brightest, and make them appear even greater.

Although it took awhile and brought some heat to the kitchen, the water
finally boiled and we could launch pound after pound of spaghetti into the
pot.  In the meantime, Kelly and Mom conspired to make the perfect garlic
bread, and I did my best to pay attention, too.  Finally, opening doors and
windows quickly cooled everything off again, and by the time the food was
on the buffet and we lined up to move through, the great room was just
right.  The Sun was now at the horizon and setting.  The dusk wind picked
up and moved the leaves around in the huge trees surrounding the house.

And yes, I could smell the Rye, the scent carried in on the wind from the
fields that lay beyond.  Very soon, I would not any longer get giddy from
that heavenly aroma; not for another year.  Or until I went back to the
fairgrounds tomorrow to pick up all the entries (minus Sebastian) from our
farm.  I was going to keep the display of Dad's grains in my room, and the
little jar of Rye berries right by my bed.


`You put those in there yourself, Daddy.  The last grains from this soil,
this land, that you touched with your own hands.  Would you want some silly
shrine built by your silly gay kid?  Nope, you would not.  Would you
tolerate it, though?  Yep, you would.  Because we are the best Dad-Gay Kid
team in the entire county, the entire state, the entire World.  And this
team grew Rye this year.  Acres of it, and all of it, really, in the little
jar that would sit on my nightstand for the rest of my days and nights.'


Sunday Spaghetti Dinner was reduced to maybe three strands of spaghetti in
the big bowl on the buffet.  The trays filled with the meatballs?  Empty,
sad and lonely.  The Caesar?  Well, despite how good he said the Cannoli
looked, Toby ate the last of the salad for dessert.  I think I liked this
guy.  I think Trace REALLY liked Toby.  They sat just one millimeter too
close together at dinner and afterward to be anything but boyfriends.  We
notice these things, you know.  In Rural America, you catch The Gay from
the water, and you get infected with The Gaydar when the wind blows.  The
wind is blowing a lot in Fergus County, it seems.

So, I was wrong; there was nothing for anyone to take home, nor to store in
our fridges.  Perfect.  Aleksy did prepare two plates for Eva and Kim, and
while everyone else enjoyed the Cannoli, my brother drove the spaghetti
dinners to `Common Grounds', where they---and he---were received with
gratitude and appetites.  He also made sure Eva and Kim sat to enjoy
dinner, and my big brother with the bigger heart worked the window.  He
said he had only five customers in thirty minutes, which gave him time to
talk with the women who were nearly inhaling dinner.

Kim's friend had already started boxing things to move.  With Kim now
living in Lewistown, her friend didn't want to be left behind.  Apparently
her friend was great with customers and three-minute relationships, but
friendships were challenges for her.  They'd known each other all their
lives, having grown up next door to each other.  Kim was certain her friend
would adjust well to quieter and socially-less-demanding Fergus County.
Aleksy said he looked forward to meeting her, and offered to take Kim back
to Helena with the big truck to help them both move.  Of course he did.

Before coming home, Aleksy measured the counter and drew a rudimentary
picture of how it could be extended to accommodate up to six customers.
Eva cooed about it, and Kim, who had loved shop class in high school, asked
if she could help build it.  Well, that was now in the works, and with the
end of Harvest two days away (FIFTY CENTS, PLEASE!), my brother and I could
get the remodeling project done---with Kim's help---in probably another two
days.  No wiring or plumbing to run; simple and fast, and an immediate
increase of 500% of useful storage on the business side of the counter.

Kim had assertively suggested that Eva should go for the night, so without
any reason to argue, Eva smiled and nodded.  She and Aleksy drove back in
their own vehicles, and Eva walked in to a completely cleaned kitchen and
only Mom, Marc and me sitting in the living room, talking.  I replayed the
latter part of the evening in my noggin, smiling to myself.

Team Spangler went home `fat and happy', as Kelly said.  Before that, Jon
and I went for a short walk to `move all that food around inside', as Jon
said.  Tom and K sat underneath the Napping Tree, as I now called it.
Marc, Trace and Toby went out to look at the old `57.  They were both in
love with it, as was everyone else in Fergus County.  Toby had moved his
fifth wheel to the Spangler farm, and was in agreement that he'd earn his
keep by contributing a portion of his wages from being a farrier to
electricity and other resources.

Actually, Team Spangler were in agreement; Toby had accepted Trace's
invitation, but conditionally.  I appreciated that ethic.  I also
appreciated that Toby spent most of his days on the road, shoeing horses
and looking after the hoof health of others' livestock.  Turns out Toby had
a name and a reputation, and most of his customers had been with him for
years.

Jon and I walked out to the cemetery, which he'd never seen and was
intrigued by.  No one treated it like some sideshow attraction; I think
everyone I talked with about it was reverent and respectful.  Some wanted
the same on their land, but the days for the state granting such a request
had passed.  It certainly didn't stop many folks from cremating their
Deceaseds and burying the cremains on their land.  Potato-Potahto, in my
opinion.

"Jeff, thanks for having us over.  I know it was all about Tommy and the
pups, at least initially, but for Kelly and the boys and me, we appreciated
something nice happening today."

"Of course, Jon; I actually liked that this worked out, instead of the
picnic.  It's funny; both are just getting together to eat, but having a
picnic is something in a class all its own, and timing.....is everything."

"Hadn't thought about that, but I think you're right.  We liked the music
at your church, too.  I'd bet that was the first and only Mariachi band to
play in this town.  I was having a tough time sitting still; I wanted to
grab Kelly and two-step with her!"

"Well, you sure could have at the end; others were dancing.  We didn't know
any of that was going to happen.  I think Miguel must've said something to
Father Tim, or maybe Stella, the music director.  Then the word got out.
Anyway, I'm glad someone talked about it to someone else.  Now that's all
anyone is going to talk about, and it comes at a perfect time.  The county
can focus on something good instead of the something bad at the
fairgrounds."

"Right again, Jeff.  I guess we'll never know what makes some people act
the way they do.  You know, as a father, I have been scared from the day
Trace came into the world, and then Tommy, that they'd take a darker path.
They haven't, and I'm proud of both of my boys.  I want them to succeed.
Trace has a good mind for business; we're just dragging him down at the
moment.

And Tommy----well, that boy is your Saint Francis in real-boy human form,
caring for and about animals.  I bet right now, he's one of the leading
authorities on Bernese dogs.  He dove deep into reading everything he can
find about `em.  He's even chasing blood lines now, because he thinks the
cancer got bred in from too much in-breeding, so logically, it should be
able to be bred out again.  And longer lives, too.

How did two numbskulls like Kelly and me produce two such good, smart boys?
And if Tommy and Kristi get together, I mean more than they already are, we
might get some even better grandkids!  I'm ready for grandkids!  Don't know
about Trace, though.  I'm gettin' the idea he's not exactly gonna be
bringing me home some grandsons I can take out hunting and fishing.  And
that's okay.  Trace is a good boy.  He loves his Mama, and he's good to me,
too.  Got real pissed off at us for not telling him about the farm.  I just
didn't want to worry yet one more person over it.  He says to me,

`You think so little of my shoulders that I can't help carry some of the
burden on `em?  Don't keep stuff from me, Old Man!  I'm not useless!  We'll
figure out something!'

Heh.  `Old Man', he says.  I'm not even 45 yet!  `Old', my ass!  Yeah, both
my boys are good.  Gonna make us proud.  More than we already are."

"Jon, my boy Tommy is devoted to you and his mom.  He sent me a text this
past week.  Middle of the night on Tuesday.  I still have it.  Don't think
he'd mind a bunch if I showed you.  Wanna see it?"

"Well, sure; if you think I'm not betraying a confidence."

"You're not.  I'm not."

I found the text Tommy had sent me and showed Jon.

"Jeffrey, I'm lying here in the dark, in the barn next to my horse.  I got
real upset in the house, and didn't want to wake Mom and Dad.  What
happened to Ned----your dad---just really scared me, Jeff.  Like, how would
I be if my daddy died?  I'm not strong like you; not just for yourself, but
you're strong for your mom and brother.  I don't think I could do what
you're doing.  I'm not saying Ned's death is easy for you-----I know it's
not.  I just don't know how you are handling this.  God, why don't we come
with owner's manuals, like trucks and tractors?  I guess I need to clean
myself up, stop crying and go back in to sleep.  Now I think I'm scaring my
horse!  You don't have to text me back.  I just needed to get that off my
chest, and you're my boy and all.  You get it.  I know you do.  I'm so
sorry about your dad, Jeff.  Love you."

Jon handed my phone back to me, and we didn't say another word as we walked
back toward the house.  Our return trip was faster than our outbound walk.
When we got back to the house, Kelly actually saved face for Jon.

"Thanks for having us over; that was the best spaghetti I've ever had!  We
need to go, though; got too much to do tomorrow morning, and after the
music and dinner, it's gonna take Jon and me some time to wind back down!"

We laughed and all of a sudden, the evening was over.  I could feel a wave
of relief wash away from Jon.  That man has a lot on his mind.  More than I
could have even imagined.  We walked outside, and Tommy and K were sitting
beneath the tree, him leaning against the trunk and her leaning against
him.  The crickets and toads were serenading them, but when Tom saw his
parents, he stood and helped Kristi up.  Jon smiled at them.

"We're driving home, your Ma and me.  You boys can walk, or you can ride
with us. I'd ride, if I were you; the coyotes are looking a little too thin
for my comfort!"

Trace and Toby laughed and shook all our hands, thanking us for inviting
them.  You know?  They made a handsome couple, I thought.  Kristi hugged
Jon and Kelly.

"Can I bring Tommy home, myself?  We'd like to talk a little longer, I
think."

"You know the way to our place, young lady?"

"I do; I'm sure Tommy does!"

We laughed again.  Mom and Kelly hugged, and Jon shook Marc's hand.  Me?  I
didn't get a handshake. I got a hug, and a good one.  They loaded into
their rig and took off.  Tom and K hugged me.

"You two want to hang out here awhile longer?"

"No, but thank you, Jeffrey.  I need some time with your boy and my boy.
Mrs W, that was the best spaghetti I've ever had!"

"Thanks, Kristi; but all this will have been worth it if you'd call me
Marie, okay?"

"Thanks, Marie.  Thanks, Jeffrey.  I love you.  You are such a good friend.
The best."

"I try.  You and Tommy here make it really easy for me, though.  Drive
carefully, and will each of you send me a text when you get to your homes,
please?"

"Yes."

"Yeah, Warden.  I guess."

"You want another dislocated shoulder, you punk-ass?"

"Nope, guess not!  You'll get a text!"

Everyone was off.  The Spanglers drove through the fields, just like how
they came earlier.  Kristi drove up to the county road, but she turned
left; like she was going back into town with Tommy.  I knew right where
they were going; to drive to the Dash-Inn, get a Rum Hot-N-Tot to share,
and talk.  I could see easily in my mind, them doing the same thing in 65
years, just like Mr and Mrs Taylor did earlier that week.

Mom, Aleksy, Eva, Marc and I enjoyed the peace and calm for a moment before
they went back inside.  I pulled Marc with me to check on the Bernesers one
last time, and to maybe slip a duck heart to appreciative mouths here and
there.  Everyone looked all right, and Lola Cola got her last run outside
for the night.  And there was OC, actually curled up next to my little guy.
Tom had confirmed what Mom had said; he was just growing a little faster,
and was probably feeling it.  OC was closer now to maybe provide comfort to
him.  I really liked how welcoming Lola Cola had made Old Cat.

As for a vet's check-up for OC: Tom said don't fix what isn't broken.  He
could tell by touching OC that he didn't have fleas, his ears and eyes were
in good shape, and he didn't move with any noticeable arthritis.  Tom
thought it would be a good idea to give OC access to dry kibble, though; to
balance his hunted diet with something that'd keep his teeth in good shape.
Tom estimated OC was probably eight to ten years old, and could live much
longer.

With the animals all where they needed to be and fresh water throughout, we
walked to the far end of the barn and washed our hands in the bathroom.  I
left the light on in the bathroom so there'd be even minor illumination if
anyone had to run out there in the middle of the night.  As we walked out
of the barn, Marc reached for my hand and held it.

"Babe, I know this will seem like gross exaggeration, but today was one of
the best days of my life."

"I was kind of thinking the same thing.  I wondered earlier if maybe I was
`grading on the curve', and taking into account how abysmal the night
before had been; but I don't think that was the case at all.  Harvest, The
Team's music at church, seeing the entire community represented there to
enjoy it and each other; dinner, seeing how well Eva continues to do,
compounding her success daily; you being here with me.  It was any of those
and all of that, Marc.  But do you want to know my favorite part of the
day?"

"Of course."

"You searched for and found a solution to Lola Cola and her family getting
some fresh air and sunshine.  A simple, selfless thought that brought
instant relief to my brother and me.  And you were so confident in your
find that you ran with it.  You felt THAT COMFORTABLE with us that you just
made it work.  You are wonderful, and I like you."

"I like you.  What do you think about maybe going back in the barn and
getting in the shower together?  It'd be a shame to bring the smell of
barbecue to those fresh sheets Marie laundered for us earlier."

"Oh.....I like that idea.  You, me, a bar of soap.....and endless hot
water."

Marc led me back, hand in hand, to the barn bathroom with the little light
waiting just for us.  Before Marc could close the door and turn on the
brighter overhead light, I pulled him close so we were standing chest to
chest.  I smiled into my boyfriend's eyes and moved a lock of his floppy
brown hair from his forehead.  I leaned in for a kiss, and he met me
half-way.  That was all we needed, really; a kiss we could share that
wasn't on our cheeks (although those were nice, too).

What we wanted, though.....was made ever-more apparent as we removed each
other's clothes.  When we were down to only our socks, we balanced each
other and took those off, too.  Marc in all his perfect furriness and me in
all my Polish furlessness were exactly right for each other, and 500
gallons of water and a bar of soap and two loads of our respective DNA
shared and ingested, we dried off, wrapped towels around our waists and ran
across the barnyard to the house.  I locked the kitchen door behind us when
we got inside, and we crept stealthily upstairs.  I saw no light coming
from beneath the door to Mom's and Dad's room, and none from the far end of
the hallway upstairs.


We turned on a little light that wasn't too bright, and quickly made the
bed up with the new sheets.  It was one of the great pleasures in my life
to slide between sheets that had been hung outside to dry in the Sun and
breeze, made better by my own routine in the shower just before hand, made
better by my man right next to me, my skin right against his.

I turned out the little light beside the bed, and we adjusted to the change
from that to the yard light reflecting off the ceiling above my bed.  I
could still, though dimly, see Marc's face.  He was smiling at me.  He
reached and ran his fingers through my now-shaggier blond mane.  I smiled
at Marc, and with the backs of my curled fingers, navigated through the
rich, thick pelt on his chest.

"Babe, I want to tell you something I have never told anyone on this
planet, except my Grandies."

"Oh, wow; okay, Boyfriend.  I'm ready."

"I know you are.  I am, too.  Jozef, I love you."


The day was perfect.  I wrote as much of it as I could keep up with, trying
to not miss even the smallest detail that was essential to noting how it
went, from the sentinel stars in the sky at 4:30 that morning to the other
guardian stars at 10:00 that night.  In between, the Sun had risen and
kissed each one of us in Fergus County that Sunday.  You'll forgive me my
conceit in believing I got Its best kiss of all.