Date: Mon, 01 Jan 2024 02:30:33 +0000 From: Griz Subject: Harvard Comes To Montana - Chapter Nine Harvard Comes To Montana, Chapter Nine By Griz umgriz@protonmail.com Hi, Guys; I mentioned early on that this story is mostly fiction, but some significant parts were true to life. In this rambling preamble, what I'm writing below were memories I have of the challenges with farming profitably----and what can happen if there are losses for a farmer. So in effect, and while not part of the story proper, this is not fiction. Harvest is here, the culmination of months (years, actually) of planning, worrying and adjusting. This is when the boards of directors at banks all over the state are looking forward to getting loans closed out so new ones can be written, and communities continuing to thrive. The past few years have gone well for farmers and ranchers in Fergus and surrounding counties. This year looks to be no less successful. Only the increased presence of acquisition representatives from Conagra and Archer Daniels Midland, to name two, make people here nervous. Who will they try to buy out now? Who is so in debt, selling to a conglomerate is the only way to prevent bankruptcy and personal catastrophe? In the past, many neighbors will `go in' together and buy out a neighbor in trouble, often times absorbing the family into the continued operation of the land. Cooperatives are formed out of necessity to avoid Big Agro from taking over more, but in the end, a farmer is still losing his name on land that has likely been in his family for generations. It's often times, in either situation, that the new generation chooses a different career path. It's not the same; working the same land, sleeping in the same house, now owned by someone else. Pride is as vital a resource in producing a successful crop as sun, rain, seed and soil. You've been with Jeff and his family, his farm, his community since Sunday. Ned's death has affected many. His family have rallied for each other. Reshuffling The Family Deck. For these three days, neither Life nor Death has waited for anyone. You've waited, though, patiently for new chapters, and for that, I'm grateful. It has been my pleasure to share Jeff's story with you. He still has lots to tell, and as you know by now, he's shy about none of it. Thanks for joining him, Marc and the others in this slight moment in Time. 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 *** *********************************************************** Yawnnn.....strrrretccchhhh.....oh, yeah. First thing in the morning, I return to my 6'1" size from the shrinkage at night that feels like it has reduced me to five feet tall. Lola Cola seemed to draw inspiration, following with her own stretches and tongue-curling yawn. She wagged her tail and sneezed, and we both got out of bed. "You shared the bed, Lola Cola; you could at least help me make it." She barked and bounced her way toward the door. I knew what was of greater importance to her at the moment. I had the same need. We took off down the stairs, the Sun barely above the horizon. Writers have always talked about being `lulled to their sleep' by crickets, frogs, hooting owls and the occasional coyote, but no one mentions anything about what wakes a farm kid up. I'll tell you myself: It's definitely not the Sun, which is nowhere near ready to do its own `rise-and-shine' thing. The crickets stop chirping about Nighttime Nookie, almost immediately. Frogs do the same. Western Meadowlarks make up for the silence with their own pre-dawn mating calls, and they are horny ALL THE TIME. Inevitably, a rooster crows somewhere. Our guy, old Cock-A-Doodle, sleeps in later and later these days. Often, I'm up and at `em before he is. That's okay; that little one-track-minded stud has earned his rest in the coop. Lola Cola and I walked as quietly through the ground floor of the house as we could, not wanting to wake up Mom. We got to the kitchen and ready to head out the door when Anders walked toward us from the barn. Lola Cola bounded down to the yard to relieve what was probably increased bladder pressure, thanks to several Mini-Hers crowding around inside. A Swiss Bernese Mountain bitch's gestation period is 63-65 days. Anders said she was bred two months ago. Any day now, Lola Cola. We need to build you a whelping box. "Morning, Jeff. Hey, Girl." "Anders. What has you up so early?" "Eh, I couldn't sleep after I heard the owl land on the roof by my window. My mind started racing about bushel and on-the-hoof prices. How was Lola Cola?" "Fine. We were both out of it. She's doing what I need to. I think I'll clean up in the barn again. Did you notice, are there razors and stuff in there?" "There's everything in there. I took some more towels out with me this morning. Oh, my god.....are you so far gone already that you slept in the Boyfriend Shirt?" "I didn't SLEEP in it. I luxuriated in the masculine scent that is Marc Taylor, from snooze to snore to woke again." "There is no hope for you, Little Brother....." "Sure there is. I hope to get his underwear, too." "LA-LA-LA-LA-LA!!! I can't hear you!" Anders covered his ears and stepped toward the house. I laughed at him and crossed the barnyard to take my shower. Lola Cola came with me. We keep the water fresh and plentiful for the horses, and one of the troughs is low enough that she can access it, too. When we got near there, I saw the old barn cat was getting a drink. Lola Cola walked right up beside him and lapped up some fresh spring water. I have wondered if all animals can sense a new life about to be born. Horses and cattle seem to, and today, I noticed Old Cat actually walked closer to Lola Cola, sniffing the air around her. I'll be danged, too, if that old curmudgeon didn't rub against the pregnant dog's hind flanks and wrap his prehensile tail around her leg. Humans still have a lot to learn about caring for others, regardless of differences. Heck, if entire species can get beyond that obvious difference, why are humans so freaked out by one race or another? Answer: there's no answer to THAT `why', despite eons of daily opportunity to grow the fuck up, sing `It's A Small World After All' and make this big, blue marble a better home for everyone. Okay, anyway, it's not just soil, crops, livestock and Marc that I think about. Just before turning on the water, I remembered Anders and I were going out to get compost materiel. I turned and shouted out the door for Anders. He turned and rolled his eyes. He remembered just as I did. We raced to the equipment shed and roared a four-wheeler to life. I dragged out the little wagon and hitched it. We left Lola Cola barking in the yard. Jumping behind Anders, we took off for the ten minute ride to the alfalfa. Damn, it smelled so good. The sharp scythe made quick work of cutting the alfalfa. The wagon was half-full, and plenty of room remaining to go through the little pasture for poop. With almost no effort, we loaded the rest of the wagon and headed back home. Lola Cola barked, letting us know she was not pleased to be left out of the fun. On the way, we dropped the wagon at the cemetery. Anders and I spread half of the alfalfa on the bottom of the grave, and then about half of the poop, too. I'm glad we both remembered before we got involved in anything else this morning. Back in the barn and truly smelling like a farmer, I turned the water on and stripped. I held up Marc's shirt right at my face and inhaled again. Combing that scent with alfalfa and soil and everything else only made it all the more fantastic. How I wished I could wear that to Dad's funeral. The only scent missing would be the incense that was sure to burn later that afternoon. 30 minutes in attention to my morning oblutions and I was as clean as I'd hope to get. My watch said it was now 8:00. Mom would be up by now and working on breakfast. I was hungry, admittedly. Marc's kisses were a nice snack before bed, but not high enough in calories to sustain a teenager through the following day. I walked in the big, old house and was greeted by the unmistakable, incomparable aroma of Belgian waffles being cooked. Dad's favorite. I saw on the table a big bowl of sliced strawberries, a bottle of maple syrup, and whipped cream. And coffee with our own cream from our only Guernsey. This was perfect. I raced upstairs to get dressed. Not the funeral clothes, but clean jeans and a shirt. I'd change again later. Once back down, I joined my shrinking family at the table. Anders looked at Mom and me, and then down at his plate. He offered a kind and brief prayer of blessing and thanksgiving, both offered in the name of the man we would gather with hundreds of others that day to appreciate, memorialize and bid farewell. It was nice. Perfect. I could imagine college freshmen being bored in his class, but only by the subject; my brother speaks and people listen, regardless of what he has to say. We made no rush through that incredible breakfast. As we ate, we shared Dad/Ned Stories. Mom's was one we'd heard before, about the time Dad went to the courthouse to get a copy of his birth certificate. The Clerk and Recorder's office could not find it, neither in the books nor in the digitized copies. Was one never filed? It became a sudden, though minor, issue. He wanted to get a passport. Dad had heard so many stories of our ancestors and their land in Poland, he was determined to go there someday. That would have to wait until the matter was resolved. Before leaving the courthouse, he passed the Tax Assessor's office. The woman behind the counter asked him if he'd `come all this way' to pay his property taxes early. She was trying to be funny----no one wanted to pay taxes early. My dad may nor may not have been trying to be funny when he responded, "There's no proof of my birth; how can I be expected to pay taxes if I've never been born?" We laughed about that. Mom said the matter was resolved later. Indeed, the original had been misplaced or was never filed. St Joseph's Hospital in town kept extensive records, and all information necessary for the birth certificate was kept in a huge, old book in the Sisters of Mercy's office. Dad's doctor was even still alive at the time, so for the sake of it, the surprised man signed his name----and with the same pen he said he always used for recording a birth. Dad paid the farm's taxes, right on time; and there was Peace and Happiness in the land again. (Can I get an `amen'?) Anders remembered a time when all us boys were in the house. It was in January. His had to do with Dad being frustrated with the electricity being out for five days (thank you, unreliable Rural Electric Association), and how on the third day, he was not liking the aroma of three smelly, unwashed boys. Finally, he couldn't take it anymore. Dad had a big, new 500 gallon trough in the barn, which is also where the wood-burning kitchen stove was relocated in 1957. He built a roaring fire in the stove, gathered snow in as many pots and pans as he could find, and heated water. Once the trough was half-full of decently-warm water, he shucked his clothes off, ran outside naked screaming like a banshee and made a silly snow angel, then climbed in the trough bath. We were in the kitchen watching him, and howled with laughter. He stayed in until the water was cold. Dad climbed out, dried off and ran naked into the house while Mom, Gus, Anders and I laughed at his antics. I was only two or three years old. Once he was dressed and drying off his mop of blond hair, Mom asked him if he was going back out to repeat the process for us `smelly, unwashed boys'. Dad just sat in his chair, shook his head and said, `if they want a bath so bad, they can go do what I just did'. But if we DIDN'T do it, we had to sleep in the barn until we were finally clean. Wait----what?! WE didn't want a bath! Dad was the one who wanted us to take baths! I learned early that his sense of humor was unique to him, and full of contradictions that made the listener have to do a little brainwork to `get it'. He was some funny, that man. Only minutes later, he had us out there collecting our own `bath water' while he built a fresh fire. All three of us bathed at once, and apparently had a great time. Our Townie friends surely never had the fun we did. For all five days of the power being out, Mom cooked our meals on that old wood stove, and we ate in the barn with the horses and chickens. It was like camping with our animal friends. The BEST time, ever! Mom got her bath, but Mom being Mom, she waited until we boys were asleep so she and Dad could have Alone Time. My dad always made time for Mom. Date nights, little demonstrations of his love for her, and perpetual adoration for her very existence. I don't know how many times we'd heard him say to her, `All of this is possible only because of you'. My memory was one of nothing but all of us laughing days after Christmas. It was on the feast day known to Christians as "Epiphany"; the day the three Magi finally got to Bethlehem with their gifts. I was five years old. Dad had said this would be the day we put all the Christmas stuff away. I certainly didn't like the holiday spirit going back in the basement. Not just yet. "Can we have a birthday party for Jesus? The Three Wise Men brought him presents today. We can at least bake a cake and sing `Happy Birthday' to him!" My brothers, both older and significantly more mature, were still boys with holiday hearts inside them. They thought it was a great idea. Dad and Mom even laughed and said, "Sure; why not?" Mom said she was not going to bake a cake from scratch, though; she'd run into town and get a mix and some frosting, since she needed to get other things, too. Dad wanted to go so he could deposit some money in the farm account. We bundled and loaded up in Mom's old Wagoneer, and within a few minutes, we were at the bank and then the grocery store. Dad got a cart and rolled it toward me, then went off to chat with a neighbor for a few minutes. Mom, my brothers and I made our way down an aisle. Mom had her list, which was more extensive than was normal for after Christmas. While Mom had her back turned, I reached in my winter coat pocket and pulled Jesus from our Nativity Creche. In the other pocket, I had a Robin's nest. I parked the nest, and then Jesus inside it, on the kiddies' seat of the shopping cart. Dad was now back with us, and laughed. "What is Jesus doing in the shopping cart??!" Mom spun around with a horrified look on her face. "WHICH ONE OF YOU BOYS BROUGHT JESUS SHOPPING?!" She was trying to look angry, but at the same time was laughing. That just made her TRY to look angrier, but she wasn't. Gus and Anders took it from there as we went down the aisle, playing up over-advertised, unfettered capitalism that targeted every age in every family. "Hey, Jesus! Did you know that not only are Trix for Kids, but they contain eleven essential vitamins and minerals? That'll make Mary happy, AND Trix turns the milk PURPLE!" Dad was howling. The fun continued with Anders taking his turn. "Jesus! Have you tried Spaghettios?! Each can has three complete servings of vegetables---and you don't even have to see them!" Mom joined Dad and me, laughing to the point of tears. I didn't know what was so funny, but for my parents to really cut loose and laugh was a rarity in our house. We got down another aisle, and Gus carried on. "Hey, Jesus! Acne hasn't come for you yet like it did for me; but Stridex Medicated Pads will keep your skin clear so when you kick the money-changers from the temple, no one will call you `Pizza Face'!" It was hilarious to see our dad leaning against the shopping cart, laughing almost helplessly. Mom got everything on her list, and included the cake mix for the birthday party: Cherry Chip with Cherry frosting, and we also picked up some cherry ice cream. This was going to be a blow-out event! While Mom got the cake going, my brothers and I gave Jesus a fun birthday. We fit him behind the wheel of my new remote-controlled Tonka truck so he could drive around the living room. With some quickly-chewed gum, both Gus and Anders kind of `glued' Jesus to the back of the donkey from the Nativity Creche. Dad was losing his shit, running everywhere for the Polaroid camera he got a few years earlier, but never found it. The birthday party was fun, just silly fun, and was one of the best parts of the holiday season. Once we were stuffed with cake and ice cream and basically begging childhood obesity and diabetes to visit our house, we took down the ornaments and returned them to the basement. We boys helped Mom clean up the kitchen too. Then we bundled up to take hay out to the cattle, and water and salt, too. Each of the following eleven years, for awhile including Anders, but at least Mom, Dad and I continued the tradition-----except for taking Jesus shopping. This year: Mom, Anders and me. This year. Everything changed from what I knew before this year. New traditions replacing old but very comforting ones. New tiny barks to eventually join a huge older one. New scents for my nose to compound and enhance everything I'd smelled and loved previously. I looked at Mom and Anders. Mom was looking out the window at the barnyard with a far-away expression on her face. Anders was looking at his plate. Again, or maybe still, he looked angry----and sad. I think Dad's death was becoming evident now. Not that he was gone----we had accepted that---but that he would no longer be part of new funny stories and other memories. Of course, if he was part of new stories, those would be some stories to tell! Marc, or Marc's being here and our meeting made no sense. If we'd met at any other time or under any other circumstance, he'd already know my family. Heck, he'd have met Bolt by then. That all would've happened no later than Tuesday. But we met the way we did on the day we did. And those same circumstances have pretty much forced us to take our time, getting to know each other only incrementally and intermittently. I'll add `solidly' to that, as well. We witnessed each other reacting to Future-changing opportunities, and the consequences that could have for us individually as well as-----please, Daddy; talk to God-----together. Whether in person or talking on the phone or texting, Marc and I put together the puzzles that were Each Other. I was finding, though, that this puzzle went from 500 pieces on Sunday to 1,000 on Monday to three days later, 150,000,001 pieces. And I'm smiling writing that, because all this did happen, none of it making sense; but Dad left. Bye, Dad; say `hi' to my brother, my ancestors, Marilyn Monroe, Jimi Hendrix and Chief Joseph. Hi, Anders; welcome back! I need you! Hi, Marc. Just `hi'. It was as I slid the chairs back under the table that I noticed one of our constantly-present members was anything but that. "Hey, um, did someone leave Lola Cola outside? I'm pretty sure she'd have loved licking three syrupy plates clean." Mom and Anders both looked around for confirmation I wasn't once again saying something really wrong for that exact moment. Nope, no one had seen Lola Cola. Anders went to the stairs and shouted up for her, while I went down to the basement. No Swiss Bernese Mountain Dogs in the house, anywhere. I think just to get out of the funk of the last ten minutes in the kitchen, we all went outside to see if she was under a tree or watching----as she liked to do----the awkwardly shaped and sized three-week-old chicks. Nope. All right, Girl.....what's up? Mom seemed to know. `Moms' always seem to know. She ran toward the barn with Anders and me following. We got inside and Anders called to his dog. "Lola Cola! You in here? You'd better be in here!" He was answered with a woof, and then another. We followed the sounds to the horse's stalls. The empty one, between Stan and Bolt, wasn't so empty after all. There was Lola Cola on her side with four (relatively) tiny newborn whelps being cleaned by a gigantic tongue and nestled up to nipples. A moment later, and out slid another sac-encased whelp, followed by a placenta about the size of a larger mushroom you'd find in a grocery store. Lola Cola tore the sac open with her teeth and immediately began licking the newborn pup's nose and mouth to get it breathing. Five for five! Go, Lola Cola! Mom squealed just a little and ran back toward the front of the barn, into the bathroom. I heard the water begin to run in the sink. Mom was scrubbing. She rushed out again with her hands still wet, raised up above her head. "ANDERS! Go get that pail by the door! Wash it out and fill it with warm but not hot water! Bring towels with you! HURRY! Jeff, bring some fresh water in a big bowl for Lola Cola. Here's my phone. Call Sally Murphy and tell her we're having puppies. If she's not in, get whatever vet you can find. All the numbers are on the wall by the barn door." We sprang into action, both of us laughing with pleasure. Not only were we getting past the death of our father and the untimely memory of the death of our brother, the three of us----the four of us----were welcoming new life onto the farm. All pain, all sadness, was behind us. Maybe only temporarily, but for the moment, this day got increasingly busy and concerning. I looked at Mom's phone clock while I dialed the vet. It's now 10AM. Dad's funeral starts at 1PM. The emotional upheavals today would not end anytime soon. All I could think at that moment: I have never loved Mama Dogs and Baby Puppies more than right then. Everything was right with the World, and there was at least one pup I would name. I was kinda wanting to get drunk and come up with something really creative. How does `Hillary Trump' sound? Okay, maybe not. The 90 minutes rushed past us in a blur. The vet got there fast and took right over, listening to the new mom's and her pups' heartbeats. So far, so good. Lola Cola the Bernese Pupz Dispenser continued to birth them, and by the time the final Pod Puppy reunited with his brothers and sisters, we counted my twelve tiny new Berneses and Bernephews. We were warned that the next 24 hours were critical, and not to expect all of them to live. She showed us how we could extend their chances by hand-nursing them, and she brought us a box from her truck with three little bottles with even littler nipples on them. Two large canisters of powdered canine baby formula, too. Sally the Vet coddled Lola Cola a little more, with plenty of belly rubs of a different kind and pressure, which she said would help move the poor dog's uterus back in place. "Well, Mama Dog! Look at you, bringing lots of little nice surprises on a Wednesday morning!" Sally lifted the towels that were keeping the babies warm. All were nursing, and Lola Cola was nestling more to her nipples. Sally checked each nipple. All were leaking just right. `No blockages', she said. There was, though, a concern; making sure the babies got rotated through Lola Cola's feedings as equally as possible, and then keeping the four who would not have nipples for awhile still fed with the formula. Sally asked if we three would be rotating the pups around. "We have limited time today, actually.....we have the funeral at 1PM, and have to leave here no later than Noon. How much benefit would we be with bottles for the next two hours?" "LOTS, actually. In the first two hours of life, they'll drink a lot----and need a lot. It's typically that last two or three of a litter this large that would essentially be sacrificed. Hand-nursing for two hours would be great for all concerned. Longer is better, though. I'll tell you what: I don't get as much an opportunity to work with smaller animals and larger litters. If you'd like, I'll come back in two hours with one of my student trainees from vet school. He's a bright kid. I'd trust him with both mom and pups. If you would go for that, I'll cut you a good hourly rate. He'll get experience, the pups will get a good head start, and Mama Dog here can relax a little." "DONE!", Anders almost shouted. Mom and I laughed, and Sally smiled while getting her student trainee on the phone. They spoke for awhile and Sally returned. "He's actually going to drive over now. I gave him directions. I'm going to get him started after he has met all of you. He nearly jumped through the phone at the chance to do this. He's also bringing some very nutritious soft, liver-based food for Lola Cola. It won't take much effort to eat, and it'll help her with milk production. All that protein and fat." We thanked her, and I went to fetch Lola Cola some more fresh water. Lola Cola watched all of us, and she looked generally content to have the attention and help with her babies. Eventually the assistant arrived, and he and Sally went through the processes she described to us. Mom elected to stay and get the first instruction on hand-nursing, and my brother and I stood back to make more room. Eventually the three of us went back inside to rest and got cleaned up to go into town, while Sally returned to her truck and took off. The last thing I saw was Old Cat sitting in a corner of the stall. Had he been there all along? I said something to Mom about it, wondering if a feral cat posed any threat to the puppies. "What feral cat? You mean Old Cat? He's a big, old softie. The rest of you haven't got to know him. I knew he was there. He's no threat. He's standing guard. Did you notice Bolt and Stan were looking over the walls of their stalls, too? Not saying a word? Everyone is in on this, Boys. Lola Cola knew what to do, and she found the right place to do it. She would not have gone in there if she didn't think it was safe with an old cat and two horses only inches from her and her babies." Anders and I laughed. My brother looked so happy, as if he were the father himself. I know he was thinking what I was: a dozen more little Lola Colas, just as adorable as their mother when we went to get her as a pup. The challenge would be for him and the sire's human to determine who got whom among the whelps. I'm glad that was nothing requiring my challenging decision-making skills. Remember: I'm the guy who decided to rescue a tourist on a dark highway, take him to town and give him breakfast----and have been steadily giving him more and more of my heart ever since. Time would tell if that was a good decision. It's possible I should have stayed in bed and Marc Taylor, Associate Professor of History at Harvard University, would still be on his way to Wyoming. Aw, fuck it. Of course it was a good decision. I wouldn't be telling you any of this, otherwise. For a month or a lifetime, I'll always have something to tell a very select few about Marc and me. The ancient clock in the kitchen chimed 11:00 AM. Two hours. With the whelping successful and an actual vet-ish person attending to post-natal care in the barn, we three two-legged farm mammals went to our separate rooms to have a moment alone and then pull the clothes together we'd wear. I had asked Mom previously what she was going to wear. She's fairly traditional, so I expected her to go with something black. Nope. Not Mom, and not today. She said I'd see. I followed Anders up the stairs. He walked down the hall to his room, and I went into the bathroom. Without thinking, I turned the shower on and then remembered I'd already done this two hours or so earlier. I didn't need to do it again; I was just used to a process which, like many others, would find itself revised and tweaked just a little. Looking in the mirror, I saw my dad looking back at me when he was my age. Other than the length of our hair (his was longer than mine), we didn't really look at all different from each other. It would take another 39 years before anyone would be able to see what he would've looked like from age 56 onward. I suspected the physical comparisons would stop then. All I could hope for was worthy comparisons with my father in terms of character, integrity and business sense. And laughter. Dad had a wonderful, deep, sonorous laugh. I definitely wanted to be known for having my dad's laugh, and his sense of humor in general. I laid down for a moment, hoping to snooze. Nope. Wasn't happening, despite my attempts over a few minutes. `Why force something that refuses to happen on its own', said my great-grandfather. I stood up from my bed and walked downstairs and out the kitchen door. If I wasn't going to sleep, I was going to look in on Lola Cola and her own double Brady Bunch. Maybe assist with some hand-nursing. Just for awhile. I got to the barn to find Mom and Anders already there, each holding a newborn carefully in one hand and a little bottle in the other, the newborn attached tenaciously to that fake nipple and sucking for all it could. We stood by each other, not speaking, just nursing puppies and looking at the other nine attached to Lola Cola. The vet trainee was listening to heartbeats, and seemed happy with what he was hearing. Despite each of us wanting a moment alone before getting ready for Dad's funeral Mass, we opted for doing what we could to keep all the newborns alive. The little one I held was so light and so delicate. I looked at her little claws, her little nose, her little self. In almost no time at all, she'd be the size of her mother, and all of them looking nearly 100% identical. Lola Cola lifted her head in our direction, aiming her nose at us. She was fine with us----temporarily----being nursehumans, but she would want these three back down there with her soon. We would then take three more, until we had to actually get ready. LeVar told us that soon they'd all stop nursing and want to just sleep. He committed to staying with us until we were able to take over. I supposed with the funeral, reception and the burial, this would all conclude by 5PM. I asked him if he was all right with that. He was. While the babies slept, he would spend time with the horses, since he had not met them before. Another 20 minutes, and the three of us thanked LeVar and returned to the house. We were all smiling. "Boys, what a way to begin the day of your dad's funeral, huh?" "Anders, I'm glad you brought Lola Cola back when you did. I don't think either of you would've liked her giving birth at your friends' house without you there." "You're right there. I'm so happy inside that she and the whelps are all doing well, so far. Before we head out, I'll ask LeVar when he thinks we can get her through the spay process. With everything else so new for the three of us now, I don't think taking on active dog breeding is a good idea." Mom nodded her head, and we all went in the house. Now it was time to change and get to town. Anders and I returned to our rooms and pulled on clean denim and fresh, pressed button-down shirts. We would forgo ties. Dad rarely wore them. We both grabbed our suits and shoes, though; just in case we read the room and it looked like that's how we should go. Back downstairs, I took both optional suits and shoes out to Mom's Expedition. She was still in her room when I came out. Anders and I stood together by the fireplace, looking at family photos there. I had in my mind that I wanted one of him, Mom and myself; and soon. Before any of us got any older. Mom's door opened and out she came in the dress she wore for her senior prom, which was Mom and Dad's first date. She took off some of the frilly details around the collar, cuffs and hem. It looked a lot `cleaner' as a result. The color was navy blue with ivory satin accents. She looked beautiful, and somehow, a lot closer to 18 than 55. She carried a triple strand of pearls and handed them to me. Her back turned, I helped clasp them together. She turned back to face us. "Does this look all right? Your dad said this was his favorite dress of everything I had to wear. This is the third and last time I'll have it on." "Yes." "Dad would be smiling. His sons are smiling, Mom. Anders and I heartily approve." "Mom, Jeff and I were thinking clean denim, our best dress boots and these shirts. This is what Dad saw us wear to 99% of off-farm functions. Do YOU approve?" "Boys, you'll be the handsomest men there, and yes, I approve." "Jeff, no one is gonna be looking at you or me, anyway; Mom's getting all the focus!" We laughed and agreed to go. Anders grabbed three bottles of water out of the fridge, and we headed out the door. Mom and I got in the Expedition. I had the keys and would drive. Anders raced to the barn for one last check-in with LeVar, and to ask about the spay process. He joined us three minutes later. The ride to town was without hitch or issue. I decided to park at Jerry's funeral home, since that's where we'd be getting Dad, anyway. It was only a block from St Leo's. Once parked and out, we began the non-hurried walk toward the huge church, built when the town fathers expected Lewistown to grow to five-digit citizenship. In one minute, we turned a corner and stepped onto the church property. There must've been 200 people on the wide, steep stairs leading to the three big double doors into the church. We greeted and shook hands with people as we walked up. I saw Mrs Correy. "Mrs Correy; aren't they letting people inside yet?" "The better question is, how many more are still to arrive and join us out here? The inside has been packed full since 11AM, and that includes the hundred or so standing in the walkways next to the pews." Mom, Anders and I looked at each other quizzically. What.....? We continued up the steps to find the inside exactly as Mrs Correy told us. It honestly seemed like everyone was already there and waiting for us----and we ourselves were an hour early. As we walked down the wide center aisle, we nodded to and smiled at friends and relatives and people we didn't know all that well, all there to send Dad off. In a church that had seating for 875 people, there were easily well over a thousand inside, come to pay their respects. By the time this started, 1,500 people would be in attendance, inside and out. Our three spots were in the front pew. We sat, looking around at people in the other seating sections perpendicular to our own. Still more people smiling and nodding toward us. What I didn't see was one hankie held to a teary eye. I was glad for that. My great-grandfather had another saying: `If no one cries at your funeral, that means you left no debts'. Dad, no one was crying. Well done. In time, Father Tim, another priest I didn't know, and four altar boys walked from the back of the nave to in front of the altar. Father Tim turned on his microphone, as did the man next to him---also wearing vestments. "We welcome you to the funeral Mass of Ned Wojtowicz, a celebration of his life in this community and this state, where his presence and influence was felt for 55 years. Joining me will be Bishop McClendon from the Diocese of Great Falls. The Sacraments of bread and wine are plenty. If you're not certain if you are able to participate, please read on the last page of the bulletin our guidelines." Father Tim then talked about why there was no casket present today. Without going into any morbid detail, he let everyone know that the burial would be private on our land. Older generations were already aware of the practice when my grandparents died, all the way back to the homesteaders themselves. Now people in my generation knew, too. They'd be all prepared when it was my turn to go through the same process. I hoped it would not be anytime soon. From the welcome came a song I recognized as far as the music was concerned, but I did not know the voice. I turned to my right to see standing next to the organ console none other than Lu Barney. What an amazing voice! She sounded trained in the Alto range, and sang "But Who May Abide" from Handel's "Messiah" as if she'd rehearsed it all her life. It was perfect. The organist was Eva! Oh, my gosh.....I was getting tears in my eyes. I looked at Anders and directed him with my eyes to see Eva. He was as surprised as I was! Look, I'm not going to take an entire hour to recount the entire funeral and Mass. It was beautiful. My best friend Tom did the first reading. My other best friend Kristi did the second reading. This day was.....perfect. I was joyous inside. Throughout, Anders and I held our mother's hands. At one point, though, she let go of us and stood, stepping away from the pew and up to the lectern. Neither Anders nor I knew she would deliver Dad's eulogy, but neither of us knew anyone who truly understood Ned Wojtowicz like Mom did. For a brief ten minutes, she spoke his life history to the point of him and Mom marrying and starting a family. She took more time talking about Dad as a farmer, businessman, husband and father. Mom wasn't weepy at all. She has a commanding and clear speaking voice, and she looks at everyone. Many have commented that talking with Mom is easier than with anyone else; like she actually cares what people have to say to her. I agreed. Only a few minutes later, she stepped back and sat down. Father Tim continued on. Yes, in some funerals, others are invited to speak. It would not be practical or efficient here today, unfortunately. Everyone would have a Ned Story, and all of them meaningful to the people who would tell them. More music, with Lu Barney singing another beautiful selection, and then later, Tom and Kristi both stood up, him with his guitar, and they sang a duet of "Angels Among Us", by Alabama. Now, my tears flowed. Our friends were here, and not just passively observing. They were comforting my family and me. Oh, god. The funeral finally concluded. It was beautiful. Dad would've been so pleased. As we walked out the church and down the steps, Dad's six friends who would carry him from the funeral home cooler to the back of the Expedition found and followed us. We walked back to the funeral home, and then drove the six blocks to the Civic Center where the reception would be. Already the Grange Women had a figurative ton of food spread out on buffet tables. As the funeral Mass attendees arrived, it got busy quickly in there. I stood by the front doors to greet people. Mom and Anders did the same at the other doors. These people----our friends and neighbors----were not remorseful. Respectful, but not maudlin. They were moved by the funeral and Mom's eulogy. Many commented on the pressure now on me, and for anything from small to large, if I needed help, to just start calling. None of them were going to let my first harvest fail. I was thanking Paul Demming, the Southern Baptist Church minister, for coming today. He and Dad were also in high school together, and both were good athletes. It was good to see him. When I turned around to greet the next person, it was none other than Marc and Mrs Taylor. Both were smiling, but the cautious smile that indicates grief and respect. I didn't hesitate to hug them both. When I got to Marc's hug, I whispered `thank you' in his ear. He gave me a little, gentle squeeze. Mrs Taylor said that Mr Taylor would join them here, but due to an unexpected phone call, he wasn't able to attend the funeral Mass. I said I'd be happy to see him, wherever and whenever. I was so happy they were participating in the day. Tom and Kristi were behind the Taylors, and I pulled them into a big three-way hug. My tears flowed again; out of joy, out of gratitude, out of relief that if I've done anything right in my life, it was making friends with Tom and Kristi. We held on a long time as people moved past us. "I want you to know: you made this entire thing mean so much, just to me, personally. You sang about my dad, but you sang to me. Thank you." "Kristi and I have been rehearsing this song since Sunday, Jeff. We called your mom and asked if we could do it. I'm glad you liked it. I didn't really do much; Kristi carried it!" "The heck I did, Tom! That was both of us! I think we sounded pretty good. And you're right, Tom; that was about Ned, but it was to Jeff. And Marie. And Anders. Now I want something to eat! I've kept an empty stomach since yesterday, just out of fear if I ate anything, it'd come back up today if I got stage fright!" We laughed and I pointed them toward Mrs Correy. As they walked away, I saw they held hands. Oh, HECK, yeah! My two best friends, together! Sly foxes.....no one tells me anything! I joined in eating and talked more with everyone I could. Mom, Anders and I didn't see each other again for another hour. Jerry walked up to us when we were together. "Okay, Ned has dry ice around him, and it's holding him pretty well, but I recommend you discreetly get out there soon. Tim and I will follow you." Mom nodded her head, and Anders and I followed suit. Now came the hard part, really. We stepped away inconspicuously as possible, but each of us thanked Mrs Correy and the other Grange Women. They all smiled and nodded us away. I was a little worried there might be hard feelings that we weren't sticking around, particularly to help clean up; but that wasn't the case. I still had the keys to the vehicle. Anders sat up front with me, and Mom was in the second row with the other seat back collapsed forward. Dad's carefully enshrouded body, almost swaddled, really, was beside her. Mom rested her right hand on Dad's chest for the entire ride out of town. As we passed "Common Grounds", Anders and I waved at Eva's niece, who seemed to be having a good time with new customers. At the farm, we drove through the gate by the barn into the area where the cemetery had stood for about 100 years. The newest resident would join the others presently. A couple of minutes later, Jerry and Father Tim arrived. Father Tim was now out of his vestments. He had on a black shirt and collar, but he was in Levis and cowboy boots, just like Anders and Me. Jerry opened the rear door of Dad's final chariot, and instructed Mom, Anders, Jerry and I what we'd be doing to get Dad out of the car and into the grave. It all made sense in theory. Let's see how it goes in practice. With two on one side and two on the other, we lifted Dad fairly effortlessly out of the car. The straps for lowering him had not been deployed yet. Once Dad was on the ground, the four of us unrolled the straps. Two of us on one side of the grave, two of us on the other side. Father Tim began the ritual for a Christian burial, blessing the grave with holy water first, then Dad, then the four of us who would place him down inside. That part was all over in five minutes. Mom, Anders and I took turns lifting and throwing soil onto Dad's shroud. Somehow in my mind, he looked good there. Like he was ready to be with his other family members. I felt good, too, knowing right where Dad was, if only where his body was. I felt comforted knowing we're not far from each other. We never had been. Anders and I moved more poop and alfalfa over Dad, and then I went to get the back hoe. I motored over and parked with the best advantage of moving the excavated soil back over Dad. I moved slowly, trying to prevent any empty spaces. Anders grabbed the shovel I also brought and jumped down into the grave with Dad. As I lowered more soil down, Anders did an efficient job of distributing it evenly until nothing remained but a slight mound above the grave. Anders had worked himself actually back up to ground level, but I was prepared to lift him out with the back hoe, if he wanted. Father Tim did a final water blessing of the grave and of us. It was all over. From Sunday morning to Wednesday afternoon, this moment was just a matter of time. We had nothing more to prepare for, to say goodbye to Ned Wojtowicz. Still, I said it while the three of us stood at the foot of his grave. "I know you will be with me, Daddy. I carry your blood and the soil of this land in my veins. I will carry on as you would expect me to. And at any point you feel something needs correction, don't hesitate to kick my ass and put some sense in my head, Daddy. I love you." Mom and Anders didn't say anything aloud, but I was sure they had some significant thoughts of their own. We thanked Jerry and Father Tim, and invited them to see the puppies, if they'd like. Father Tim was a definite yes, and since he and Jerry were riding together, he more or less had to come along. We got to the barn and Lola Cola, now much more rested, was standing up and stretching her legs. She woofed good-naturedly (and I'm sure proudly) and wagged her tail. LeVar stood and smiled, holding a perpetually hungry whelp and feeding him with a bottle. "All twelve are going strong, and Lola Cola responded well to post--natal therapy. Today has taken a lot out of her, but I've given her lots of liver, which she inhaled. I recommend you feed her raw eggs with it, once some are laid. She needs protein and fat to keep the milk flowing and the right composition for the pups. I also recommend you either move her into the bathroom here in the barn on several towels for warmth and comfort, or relocate everyone to a room in your house. All that because the temperature on the plains tonight will hit the mid-40s. That's too much of a swing for newborns." Mom nodded. "The floor in bathroom is radiant floor heat. They'll stay warm in there. We have lots of old towels we can put down so everyone is on something soft. My concern, though, is Lola Cola going to know to keep rotating her pups so everyone gets a nipple?" "She has ten. It's very typical that a new mom will make sure everyone gets enough to eat-----unless she notices one or two are the weaker of the litter. She will then distance them from the resource. We've been hand-nursing all of these today, and all are stronger. They still need to eat. I can't guarantee Lola Cola will make sure everyone gets fed continually." Anders looked at me and smiled. "I want every puppy to survive if I can help it. Heck, human parents get up several times in the night to feed human babies; I don't think I'm above doing the same for puppies." "Hey, I want in on this! Don't leave me out of some Uncle Fun! We have those new patio loungers by the hot tub. Nice and cushiony. Each with a pillow and a blanket? HECK, yeah! An all-nighter!" Mom laughed at us and shook her head. "Okay, I see how it is. If you're going to do that, I'll get you set up with food and drink. Look in the barn fridge and see what you want. I'll take it in and make sandwiches or whatever out of it. I'll get some more iced tea and lemonade in there. You'll figure out where to put the loungers to suit you." LeVar was smiling, too. "I like humans that care for animals as family, too. Sometimes animal husbandry requires noble efforts, and sometimes like this, just a few little precautions can deliver big and successful results. You have enough formula to last two more days. You'll need more. How about I bring some tomorrow, and give everyone a check-up then? I'll also bring more liver, as well as lamb lung and duck hearts. Those last two are more treats than actual meal food." All three of us gave an enthusiastic `yes!' to that offer. LeVar began loading up his mobile clinic and shook everyone's hand. He lastly rubbed Lola Cola's stomach, which got a pleasing whine out of her. I think he's going to make a good vet; his `bedside manner' is just right for animals AND humans. Mom handed him a sandwich, a covered tumbler of lemonade and some tater chips. He smiled at us all and waved. Once he was driving toward the county road, the three of us resumed hand-nursing the little ones. I was holding a little guy and while nursing him, I held him close to my nose. Ahhh.....'puppy smell'. Heavenly. So: Rye, alfalfa, corn on the cob, soil, Marcscent, pipe tobacco, and now newborn puppy. My list of favorite aromas seems to be growing. A thought entered my head: What would my own newborn child smell like? And how long do I have to wait until I find out? I'm not worried about logistics.....minor details. I have an obligation for the seventh generation to be born, raised, trained and educated before I join Dad and the others. This week, I've begun seeing the farm through entirely new eyes, or at least newly matured eyes. My plans for 30 years hence are just as important as plans for next year. I asked Mom if she thought we could throw a picnic this Sunday, the day after the fair closes. I was thinking of inviting Tom and Kristi, Jerry, Father Tim, Lu Barney and Eva. We have a ton of food that the Hutterites brought, and it all came from their own operation. I was sure it would be incredible ham and turkey they smoked themselves. Mom and Anders both liked the idea. Mom went in the house and got a yellow legal pad and returned, still holding and nursing a newborn puppy. Mom was definitely a classic mom, multitasking and smiling while doing it. The list grew to 20 names, since not inviting Kristi's and Tom's families wouldn't be polite. No one had little kids (well, except us, as of this morning), so we wouldn't have to worry about hamburgers and hot dogs. Getting through the first part of this week was all about Dad. The second part is all about the Fair, Horse Show and Rodeo. But before you think I'll be relaxing as of Monday: Oh-HO! NOPE! Harvest. The entire month of August. Then we plant again. You see, it's an endless cycle out here. Everything is predictable, even our reactions when something unpredictable happens. A big unpredictable one happened this past Sunday. Well, two big ones. And they have nearly worn me out. I am 130 years old. I've told you that. But really, with the stress of this week, I don't feel a day older than 200. Just call me Methuselah, but please don't call me "Meth" for short. Anders and I took a break from hand-nursing the pups and brought the loungers into the barn. We decided sleeping against the interior wall of the barn would be good; it's the wall with the bathroom on the other side. We'd be fast up and fast down as we took turns feeding throughout the night. They eat, they sleep, they poop, and repeat it. Hmmmm.....puppies and teenagers.....not a big difference. Anders and I opened the barn fridge and found the smoked ham and turkey, and freshly-baked bread, too. With garden-grown lettuce and tomatoes, we were clearly thinking sandwiches. We took everything inside to Mom who smiled and thanked us for making a dent in the contents. Not much of a dent, but it'll grow. I went upstairs and collected Anders' pillow and blanket, as well as my own. Anders found a dozen beach towels in the basement and got Mom's approval to use them for the new family. It was silly to get excited about pulling an all-nighter to feed puppies, but we were committed to giving them as much of a good chance at Life as we could. Possibly still fail, which is better than probably fail. I took the blankets and pillows to the barn. My phone vibrated, and Marc's ringtone alerted me to a text message. "Jeff. I'm Marc. I think you and I met on Highway 87 this past Sunday. Not sure if you remember me, but I remember you. I was wondering if you're planning on going early to the county fair, say, 5:30 AM? I was thinkin' we could meet up and go from there." "I'm sorry----WHO is this? A `Marc', you say? Hmmmm.....we met on a highway.....oh, wait! You were that trucker, weren't you? The heavily uncircumcised one, with the big, floppy foreskin! HEY!" "I clearly misdialed. MY boyfriend doesn't see truckers' foreskins." "`Boyfriend'? Does your boyfriend know you have a boyfriend?" "I was going to tell him at breakfast tomorrow, after dropping off his big steer. `Boyfriend' is just a word, I know; but I get kind of decisive in my possessiveness, and claim what I want as my own. I guess I should probably tell him that, too.....what do you think?" "I think.....you should not wait even one second after 5:30 tomorrow morning to tell him that. I think if you think he's your boyfriend, he'll think that you're HIS boyfriend, and well, I guess everyone will have a boyfriend. Sounds right friendly, I think." "So, then; I'll meet my boyfriend at 5:30 AM at the intersection of 6th Avenue North and Ohio Street West, Lewistown, Fergus County, Montana. "I'll be happy to pass on the message to him, if I see him. He's very busy with twelve new puppies that Lola Cola gave birth to this morning." "Oh! Puppies! Man, there's nothing better than a puppy!" "Sure there is. A purple ribbon-winning Black Angus steer, five years old. Puppies won't make that kind of money." "Fine. Whatever. Tomorrow. 5:30AM. Not one second after." "We'll see what we can do." "You'd better." "Or.....?" "You can go chase that uncut trucker, smelling of tobacco-and-beer breath, and the foreskin filled with week-old smegma, taking on an evil life of its own." "EWWWW!!! Okay! 5:29 it is!" %^) ;^) Anders and I spread the towels on the bathroom floor, and made sure the hot water was circulating beneath the boards. It was. The bathroom would be draft-free, and we could open the window just a little so they'd have fresh air. We both walked to Lola Cola's stall, where she greeted us with a quiet `woof' and a tail wag. We knelt and gave her love, and I kissed the top of her head. Anders spoke to her as if she understood Human Talk. "Lola Cola Mommy, get up and let's go potty, okay?" She looked at him and then at her babies, and then at Anders again. I think she was expressing her concern, so I assured her they'd be okay. "I'll stay with them, Lola Cola Mommy; it'll be okay." A moment later, she stood unsteadily. It had been awhile since she stretched her legs. Anders took her out the barn's side door, by the stalls. While they were out there, I scooped up four babies and ran them to the bathroom, closed the door, and went back for more. That was repeated once more, and all twelve baby Bernesers were on warm towels, just waiting for mom to sleep against, or mom to feed on. Anders brought Lola Cola through the barn's end door, right where the bathroom was located. I opened the door and Lola went right in, wagging her tail and sniffing her whelps. All was well. She laid down again, licking each of them, and moving them around with her nose. The two that were left out for this rotation were given attention by Anders and me. We decided to sit on the loungers while giving them five or so minutes each of formula nursing. "Jeff, how're you doing?" "I'm fine. Really fine. Today went perfectly, and I think these little ones' arrival did a lot for all three of us. The funeral was theater. I've always thought that. The better part of this whole thing was burying Dad. I liked how you jumped down there with him to keep the soil and compost material evened out." "You know, once I was down there, a kind of peace came over me. I was no longer mad at Dad. No longer on the verge of hating him. He was at peace, I was at peace. From today forward, you and I have the mission of continuing Dad's mission. I want to do it right. Even better than he did. He didn't have a business partner. You and I have one in each other. We can really work this land and be even more successful than previous generations." "That's what I want, too." "I need to tell you something....." "Oh? Am I glad I'm sitting down? Should I put the puppy in the bathroom, just to be safe?" "Smart-ass. I think you'll be glad, just as you are....." "Well, don't keep a boy in suspense!" "Eva and I have talked about going to the fair together." "As in, a date, or carpooling?" "I guess it's a date, Jeff." "Well, isn't this some how-do-ya-do!" "Yeah, I think it is. So....." "There's more?" "Yeah, and this is the tricky part....." "Well, don't make me beg!" "Eva seems to be in on your down-lowness. I don't know how. But she's onboard entirely with it. She loves you. So, what I'm thinkin' is, Eva and I do carpool to the fair. With you and this Mike Tanner fella." "MARC TAYLOR! For fuck's sake!" "Not in front of the children!" "Sorry. So you're planning a double date?" "I am proposing one. Nothing to plan if the proposition falls flat." "Hmmmm.....I'm not hating the idea. We were already thinking of going Friday evening, maybe ride some rides and eat cotton candy, and lose money at rigged carnival games. What night were you thinking?" "We kinda had Saturday in mind. I want to go to the rodeo Saturday afternoon, and then wander the Midway afterward." "A better plan than mine." "So?" "So the Wojtowicz Boys will be out in force at the Central Montana Horse Show, Fair and Rodeo. To be fair to him, I need to run this past Marc first. I can't really see him saying `no'." "Good. Well, I'm going to put this one back with Lola Cola, and get in the house for my phone and charger. You need anything?" "Yeah; would you get my charger, too? And my iPad? I think tonight would be a good time to begin looking into the remote program at MSU we discussed last night." So, that was our evening and night. We checked on Lola Cola and her pups repeatedly, and fed them only when she was feeding. On one of the first trips into the bathroom, I was followed by Old Cat. He walked right in and jumped up on the sink. He looked down at them, and I think Mom was right; he was a sentinel. Good. Anders and I both set our watches to wake up every other half hour to check on the bathroom aliens. It looked like they were going to really sleep through the night, so after the 12AM watch, we shut off our watch alarms and laid to sleep. My alarm on my phone was set for 4:30 AM. That would give me time to load up Sebastian in the stock trailer and drive him to town. Meet Marc and 5:29 and then head to the fairgrounds. I would be tired today, and earlier than later. Plenty of time to nap later. My sleep was deep and instant. I dreamed of Dad. Nothing too unusual; but we were in the city park, and he was pushing me on the swings. I was laughing and asking him to push me higher and higher. Dad laughed, too. "Push me all the way up to Heaven, Daddy!!!" He stopped pushing me, and when I finally stopped, I asked him what was wrong. "You're not ready to go to Heaven, Jeff." And we drove home. I also dreamed of Sebastian, and for some reason, Cock-A-Doodle was riding with us, and I was pulling the trailer with my great-grandfather's 1964 Lincoln Continental Convertible. I don't remember more dreams, if there were any. I know when my phone alarm rang at 4:30, I felt like I'd slept twice that long. It was good. I didn't wake Anders, but I did open the door to the bathroom. Lola looked up at me and wagged her tail. I asked her if she needed to go potty, and she wagged faster and stood up. Oh, yeah; Mama has to pee. I took her out the front door of the barn, and she made haste to take care of business. After sniffing the air once or twice, she walked back into the barn, and then the bathroom. Old Cat must've thought she'd be away longer; he had jumped down from the sink and was cuddling the babies as well as he could. Mom was right; I didn't really know this guy at all. He stood up when Lola Cola moved to lie back down, but this time, Old Cat stayed on the floor and near the mom and pups. I looked at all twelve of them, and they were in the same sleep position. No one was moved off to the side. That seemed to bode well for their unanimous survival. As well as everything had gone today, I wanted to avoid anymore death. Or I wanted Death to avoid any more of us. I wanted this to all go right, even if we had to fix things along the way. And I wanted to double-date with my brother Saturday at the fair. I want this farm family to grow, regardless of the members doing the growing. If it can, if it should, and if it will.