Date: Wed, 3 Jul 2019 12:26:26 -0700
From: Paul Landerman <paul.landerman@gmail.com>
Subject: Wilfred chapter 8

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Chapter Eight:
Snakes

	Christmas was far past, New Year's was a wonderful family event,
and David and I got to sneak off to San Francisco for the weekend for a
couple of days, as was our habit whenever we were in northern
California. Emily's baby had been born healthy, fat, and a delight to the
whole world, a beautiful little red-haired girl, looking exactly like a
Campbell was expected to look. Emily's husband, Ted Gibson, an executive in
the administrative support structure of the state legislature, was as
pleased as anyone and could not stop bragging about the baby, Charlotte.

	David and I spent a quick weekend in Sacramento for the baby
blessing at church as promised, and the topic of our church attendance came
up again between us on the flight home. I was not opposed to attending
church, I just felt as if it was going to raise more questions and problems
than it was going to solve.

However, to keep David happy, I agreed to go with him as often as possible,
which on average began to look like about once a month. The rest of the
time I was in the law office for about a half a day every Sunday, usually
when David was on trips out of town for the Federal Reserve Bank.

	It was on one of his frequent jaunts overseas that I realized we
had been together for nearly fifteen years since the night of the
blizzard. I guess in a way I had answered my own question of some years
before, when I asked David how couples stand the test of time.

I was suddenly very lonely and wanted him home, in my arms, as soon as
possible. It was impossible to call him, he was somewhere over the Pacific
Ocean on a flight to Bangkok, and it would be at least three more days
before he got time to be able to call me, if at all.

	I should not have felt that way; my own career was on fire, and I
was extremely busy as the newest section head, working under the senior
partner, David Summerhays. He had not been looking well over the past year,
and had taken time off frequently. He was an in-law of the founding family
of the firm, and of the founding family of the second-most famous regional
bank in the state, for which Summerhays had recently negotiated a sale to
Wells Fargo. He had no need to recuse himself from those negotiations,
because his shares in the bank were held in a blind trust.

	He was looking kind of feeble to me, which made me sad, he had been
such a great mentor, and always had a great one-liner whenever he saw me in
the offices. I had no idea what may happen if he left the firm, which of
course he was bound to do sooner or later. I also had no idea what it might
mean to become a junior partner, a large step up from section head.

	David was expected back from Bangkok on Saturday, so as I was
working in the office on Sunday around noon, a call on my cell startled
me. It was Mom. "How are things in Sacramento?"

"Not well. How soon can you get her?"

"Mom, What's wrong? What's happening? Are you OK?"

"I am fine. Your Father is in the hospital, I don't want to say any more,
just get here as quickly as you can. Please call Scott and Cindy. Give my
love to David. Let me know what your arrangements will be."

	My heart was pounding; I had no idea what had just happened, and
could only think of making immediate arrangements. Obviously she was not up
to calling Scott, so I punched my cell phone and got his voice mail; must
be in church! I tried to leave a message that sounded calm, but my little
brother returned my call in about fifteen minutes, sounding out of breath.

"What is going on? I just excused myself from Bishopric meeting. Are you
OK? Is David OK? What's up?"

"Scott, I have no idea what is happening, but Mom called and asked if we
could get down there as soon as possible. Dad is in the hospital, she did
not tell me anything more, so let me make the arrangements, if you can get
up here this afternoon, I will grab us some tickets and we can shoot out
there tonight. Will that be OK?"

"Sure, you are a champ, always doing the right thing. Call me as soon as
you know anything. I will go home and pack. Pauly?"

"Yeah?"

"Love you."

"You too. I will call you as soon as I have the tickets."

	I was off the phone and seated at my desk, punching the computer
like it was a boxing bag, and within twenty minutes, had arranged for the
tickets for the two Campbell brothers to fly to Sacramento, California,
direct from Salt Lake City on an 8 PM flight. The only seats I could find
were first class, expensive as Hell, but I did not care. American Express
and I would battle it out later. I was driving home to the Avenues when my
phone rang; it was Emily.

"Sis, so glad you called, fill me in: what is going on?"

"Well, the short version is, Dad has had a heart attack. The longer version
you can hear together with Scott after you guys get here. When can we
expect you?"

"We have an 8 PM flight tonight, we will be at home by 10 PM your
time. Should we go there or the hospital?"

"Let's meet at the house, it will be too late for visiting hours by then,
you can see him in the morning, and then we can all meet tonight at home
and talk. Pauly, thanks, I know this is terrible for you, but it means so
much to everyone to have you coming. You have no idea how much you hold us
together."

"Me? You're crazy."

"No, it's true. Talk soon, good flight, see you in a few hours."

	Cindy dropped Scott off at the curb in front of the airport for
check-in, where I was waiting to grab him and run inside and get settled
in; I kissed her and waved goodbye, barely having time to speak before she
zoomed away again. Scott asked me about David.

"Bangkok; I can't even get a message to him until tomorrow. He will be
devastated."

	When we arrived at the farm house, Grandpa and Grandma Campbell
were there with Mom and Emily. Her husband Ted was at home with Charlotte;
we met in the living room and Grandpa offered a prayer to give Dad the
blessings we all felt he needed to make it through the first hours of his
ordeal. Then, Mom asked Grandpa to explain what had happened.

"Apparently he was bitten by a rattlesnake, while he was watering alfalfa
up past the end of the fence line, and tried to make it back to the house
on the four-wheeler, and by the time he got here he looked pretty beat
up. We called an ambulance, and on the way in to the hospital he had a
heart attack. He has been unconscious ever since."

"When can we see him?" Scott asked first.

"First thing in the morning, like around 9 AM. He is in intensive care of
course, so they limit his visits" Mom explained. "Not sure any of us are
going to get much sleep tonight."

	Our visit to the hospital in the morning was a crowd, of
course. Mom, Emily, Scott, Grandpa and Grandma Campbell, Grandma Woodruff,
Ted, myself, and Bishop Turley. Only one at a time was allowed in to see
him, and only for five minutes each. His left arm was heavily bandaged from
the rattlesnake wound, and he had about a million tubes running into and
out of him.

I could not even imagine what kind of pain he must be experiencing. After I
saw him, and just took a moment to tap him on the shoulder very lightly and
whisper in his ear, "Dad, its Paul, I love you", I returned to the corridor
and met with his doctor.

	Dr. Singh explained that the snakebite had done some tissue damage
as well as some expected damage to his arteries, but the main trouble was
stabilizing his heart at the moment, which did not want to cooperate. He
had been sedated through the night, and would probably stay that way for at
least two more days, until they felt his heart was going to be able to
maintain a stable rhythm. The look on the doctor's face did not make me
hopeful.

	I had never experienced a thought about mortality, especially that
of my parents; they were supposed to live forever, and we were all supposed
to go on being a big happy family. This was ridiculous, I could not believe
any of it, and was angry. I did not feel like phoning David in that
condition.

	While I was wandering away from the family with my black mood,
Grandpa Campbell took Ted and Scott and the Bishop into Dad's room and gave
him a priesthood blessing. I found out about it much later, in the
afternoon, when Scott told me they missed me during that ceremony. I was
even angrier when I heard about it, but decided not to make a scene about
it.

	Lunch back at home was somber; not many of us felt like eating or
speaking. Grandma Woodruff had arranged for the church ladies to bring in a
meal, and it was the usual Mormon mountain of food. The required "Funeral
Potatoes", a casserole of sliced potatoes, mushroom soup, broccoli, cheddar
cheese, and corn flake crumbs sprinkled on top, was in the middle of the
table of course. I had to laugh at that one. I took my plate out to the
front porch and sat watching the late afternoon, just lost in thought,
wondering what was going to become of all of this, and of this family.

	Mom came and sat beside me. I was not ready to talk, but somehow
you just cannot tell your mother to shut up, especially at a time like
this.

"I am not going to ask how you are feeling; it's on your face."

"Thanks; I have never been very good at hiding my feelings."

"Well, we will get through this."

"Hell, Mom of course we will, it's just a question of how will we get
through this? I hate feeling like this, feeling helpless."

"Paul, your father is a very strong man."

"Yes, ma'am, I know, I just want everything to be back the way it was the
day before yesterday."

"Good luck with that attitude."

	She made me laugh. I turned and hugged her, and we just sat there
for a few more minutes, when Grandpa came out and coughed lightly to signal
that he was ready for us to come inside and talk.

"There is a lot of work coming on, and this season requires diligence, so
maybe we ought to talk about how to face this issue. Obviously we need to
allow your Dad to rest and recuperate as much as possible, so we will have
to think about the management issues of the farm as quickly as
possible. Any suggestions?"

	I was completely blank; I had no suggestions. I had no idea what to
do. I had always felt like Dad could/would run the farm forever, and then
one day just retire and walk away from it. I had never given any thought to
how it would be managed after he left it behind. Mom filled in my blanks
for me.

"Paul, is there any chance you might consider coming here to run the
business for a while?"

"Uh, wow, did not see that one coming."

"Well, then, perhaps that is a good idea" Grandpa agreed. I was stunned.

"Uhm, of course I can consider it, but a lot of other decisions will have
to be made before I can say anything. And of course I need to speak with
David as soon as possible." I had already explained to everyone where David
was and why he could not be in Sacramento at the moment. I would not even
be able to speak to him until tomorrow mid-morning.

"Well, let's all sleep on this and maybe tomorrow will provide some
answers." Grandma Campbell's standard remedy.

	I did not sleep. I tossed and turned all night, wondering what to
do. David and I were deeply invested in our careers in Salt Lake City, we
had just bought a house in the last year, we were planning remodeling and
landscaping, I was about to become a junior partner, and what the heck was
this all about?

	Deep into the night, I realized what was missing from this
formula. For the first time in a very long time, I did the missionary
thing: I got down on my knees beside my old bed in this old farm house in
which I had been raised, and I prayed.

	Actually, I did not pray as much as I spoke, had a dialogue with
Heavenly Father. I explained everything: about David, about me, about our
careers, and about our goals and our aspirations, and then it hit me, this
was not about me, it was not about David- it was about family, and it was
about doing the right thing, and it was about asking for the courage to do
the right thing, even when it was very scary. I wanted to be selfish and
just go back to Salt Lake City, but somehow, I knew I had to do something
about this issue, as Grandpa had called it.

	At breakfast I did not reveal any of my thoughts to the family, I
wanted to talk to David first. I finally got hold of him around 10 in the
morning, and we talked for more than an hour, and he gave me his blessing,
and said, as he always does, "We will work it out, babe."

"I want you all to know that this has come as a great shock to me, as it
has to all of us, I am sure" I said at dinner that night. Mom and the two
grandmas had just returned from the hospital; there was enough food in the
house from the church ladies to feed every Campbell in Scotland, let alone
Sacramento. We were making a picnic out of all of it, making sandwiches,
and enjoying the salads that had been provided over the past three days.

"I have a very heavy burden on my shoulders right now, trying to make the
right decision, and just as I am sure all of us are praying for guidance,
David and I have also prayed as well, for Dad, and for all of us, and to do
the right things for everyone. I do not want anyone to think that I am
being a martyr of any kind, but as soon as I can make the arrangements with
the law firm, I will be back here full time to manage the farm, until we
can make permanent arrangements."

	Grandpa Campbell and Scott both stood and applauded, and Mom cried,
and Emily smiled and clapped her hand over her mouth, and I sat down. "What
in Hell have I just done to myself?" I wondered in my mind.

	Scott and I left on Wednesday, and as soon as we got back to Salt
Lake City, I went directly to the law offices, and asked for David
Summerhays. He was very gracious, and allowed me into his office for a few
minutes for a private conversation. I poured out my soul to him, and he
listened quietly and patiently. In a very fatherly tone of voice, as he
came around the side of his desk and sat next to me in the client chairs,
he said "These things are never easy. I wanted to be a farmer, not a
lawyer, and my mother would not hear of it." He laughed.

"In those days you had no choice, you did what you were told." He handed me
a monogrammed handkerchief. I wiped my eyes and my nose.

"Paul, go to Sacramento. It will be the right thing. Your family needs
you. I will hold your position open here for one year. God bless you, my
boy. You have done great work here, and you will be missed." He stood up
and returned to his own chair behind his magnificent mahogany desk, and
that was that.

	I spoke briefly with my secretary, and my two legal assistants, and
then called a brief meeting with the section, and informed them as to what
was going to happen. I would be in the office through the end of the week,
and on Sunday afternoon, a final meeting with the team was to be held to
finalize arrangements and case loads. It was very emotional for me,
unexpectedly. I was applauded by all of the staff, and many said `God bless
you and your family.'

	By the time David arrived on Saturday night, nearly midnight, I was
exhausted. I was so glad I had never had to face these situations alone,
and had a stalwart husband beside me. David and I hugged for a long, long
time in the airport terminal, before retrieving his luggage. We were very
quiet as we drove home, and I was just overjoyed to have him home. After we
got inside the house, the little craftsman bungalow which we had been
carefully planning to remodel, I wanted to cry, but David held me close and
said "Paul, it is never easy to do the right thing. Now baby, I have a
surprise for you. Please sit down."

	We sat together on the leather loveseat, and David took my head in
his hands and said "I told you things always work out. I have made a few
calls, and the FRB branch in San Francisco has a potential opening. They
are exploring some re-arrangements of assignments and positions, and I may
be able to transfer there sometime in the next month or two. It will be a
long shot, but let's pray for it."

"Wow."

"You are so dependable."

"David I love you so much. This means the world to me."

"Let's go to bed, I am exhausted, and if you don't mind me saying it, you
look a little beat up as well. Let's get some rest and take the morning
off, and get a new perspective on things."

	Sunday morning came and went, and we did not notice; we slept
almost until noon. We made toast and tea, and just relaxed on the sofa,
looking at each other and laughing and chatting, and getting re-acquainted
as lovers. I had missed David, even though he had only been gone a week. It
was a fresh perspective, now that we had a whole new turn of affairs to
energize us.

	David explained that he would need to finalize everything with his
branch manager at the bank in Salt Lake City, and then of course make final
arrangements with the bank in San Francisco and may have to spend a month
or two here. In addition, there was the house to consider; we had not given
it any thought at all.

	We called Scott and Cindy and invited them to meet us for dinner at
my favorite French restaurant, and when we all crowded into the booth; it
was a relief to be together again. Scott had spent the week bringing Cindy
up to speed, and we all held hands and said a quick prayer for Dad and the
family. I explained that I felt it necessary to get to California as soon
as possible, and was planning on driving down on Wednesday.

	While we were eating dinner, Scott asked what our plans were for
the house, after David had explained what he was attempting to do with his
career path at the Federal Reserve. I said we had not really had time to
discuss it but assumed we might just sell it. Scott and Cindy offered to
rent it from us for a year, to give us time to think about our options, and
David and I jumped on that opportunity; we did not need time to confer, but
accepted their offer immediately.

	My last night in town was a pretty morbid affair; I did not want to
leave, and David did not want me to go but would not say so. His father
came by in the late afternoon to say hello and goodbye, and best wishes to
me and all the Campbell clan. By the time we crawled into bed that night,
we could not think of doing anything except to hold each other one final
night.

"Paul, I do not even know what to say. `Goodbye' seems too dreadful."

	I could not speak; I just wanted David to hold me, and we lay like
that for some time, until I heard him very softly snoring. I had never told
him about it, but he snores like a little tiny puppy. I was going to miss
it horribly. We had no idea how long it might take for his transfer to be
approved, but could only pray.

	As it turned out, it was a long and sweaty month, but in just under
five weeks, the grinding wheels of the Federal Reserve Bank produced a
transfer, and my lover was again in my arms in the big old farm house in
the Sacramento Valley. Out of respect for Mom and Dad, we kept to ourselves
in my old bedroom; I did not want to make any sudden adjustments that would
be discouraging to Dad.

	I wish I could say the farm was one of those businesses that ran
itself; that was not the case at all. It is hard physical labor, and it is
long hours of management attention and exacting financial records, and so I
had to learn a new career in relatively minutes, compared to what I had
been doing in the law firm.

By the time David came to California, I was nearly in tears every night,
and so glad to have his support. We agreed that I would manage the business
angles of the farm and its physical needs, and David would manage the
financial records.

	In the first two weeks we were making these alterations, we felt it
best to confer with Grandpa Campbell, since he was still very involved in
the farm. I asked "What are the debts the farm has?"

"You must have forgotten your Scottish heritage, lad," he said, "There are
no debts. Every cent we have earned has gone into paying this place off
free and clear."

"Wow."

	David laughed at me. Grandpa did not get it. No need to explain
just yet.

"So, the cash flow is then dependent on the annual yields from the crops?"

"Yes sir, and the cattle sales."

"How profitable is the cattle operation?" David asked him.

"Don't know, really, that was Robert's baby. Sorry, maybe I should say `is'
instead of `was'."

	David asked, "What about acreage? I understand about a third of the
farm is wet, under rice production, and a third is dry, raising alfalfa,
and the rest if divided between fruit orchards and the cattle operations?"

"Just about right, I don't know the exact acreage for each, but the rice is
just a little under 4,000 acres, and is our biggest cash flow, as well as
our most expensive operation. The fruit and nut crops provide a pretty
steady cash flow from year to year, depending on markets, but they have not
fluctuated a lot in the past five years or so. The cattle market is pretty
hard to pin down; it changes daily, so we have not gone hard into it as
yet."

"What about expansion plans?" I was content to let David follow his own
line of questioning, from an economist's point of view.

"Had not talked about it much, except for the cattle operation."

"Well, sir, with all due respect" -- that phrase always alerted me, in the
law firm, that bad news was coming- "maybe we can run some numbers and have
you advise us about what may be a good path to follow, whether we suggest
expanding or contracting or staying the same, if you will help us?" I could
breathe again.

"Of course. This is just a little old family farm" Grandpa grinned, "and we
are all here to help each other. Whatever you boys need."

"Thanks, Grandpa, this means a lot."

	Later when we were alone, David asked me to find the legal
documents that described the farm ownership, in case there would be a need
soon to think about dividing the estate. "I already have them, love, and
the farm was bought by my Dad from his brothers and Grandpa about ten years
ago, and is deeded in his name and my mother's name, and in their will it
goes to the three of us kids in equal shares. Do you think there is a
problem?"

"No babe, as family farms go, that is pretty standard, but the size of this
farm is no longer a `family' farm and maybe it is time to think about
incorporating and running it as a corporate style business operation? You
are the lawyer after all, so I bow to your expertise."

"You are right. Let's have a talk with Mom and Dad and Grandpa, and then
Scott and Emily, and see what we all decide. I can see there are going to
be a few changes here and there. I hope we can all still get along as a
family."

	Dad was released from the hospital after about four weeks, and
although he had very good color to his skin tone and seemed very cheerful,
he was fairly lethargic, and when that condition continued on for about
another four weeks, I had a private talk with David and Mom. "Do you know
what the doctors have said about his long-term condition? When is he going
to be able to go back to work?"

"They have said it is very dependent on two things, his heart and how fast
it heals, and his head. How he feels about himself and how he puts himself
into a condition to return to work, is pretty much all up to him. Not much
I can do except watch him and make sure I am encouraging him to get out of
bed every day."

	She wiped a tear from her eye; I think she said more with that
tear, than with her report of his condition.

	David and I looked at each other. He took her hand and very gently
said, "And forgive me for asking this, what long-term plans do you have in
mind?"

	She held his hand tightly, and stared out the window. For a long
moment, in the silence, I could actually hear the dust settling. "I kind of
always thought we were going to retire and go on a mission for the church,
together." She wiped away another tear.

"We are here, and we are going to be here forever, so please be assured
that there is nothing that will ever happen to you or to this family or
this farm, without our support. Paul is the very best choice you could have
made, and I love him deeply, and I will be right here by his side, working
for you and for all of us."

	I was so glad David said what I was thinking, it was impossible for
me to speak at that moment. We were interrupted by a phone call; Emily was
at the farm, helping Mom clean. She brought the phone in to the room, and
when Mom took the phone we watched her face.

"When?" was her first remark, and then she started smiling, and
chuckling. "That is wonderful, congratulations to both of you, give my love
to Cindy."

	She set the phone down and smiled broadly, "Cindy is pregnant."

"Woohoo" both David and I shouted. "When?"

"Well they are not sure, but it looks like she is about two months
along. Isn't that wonderful? Now Charlotte will have a cousin."

	I do not know why but at just that moment, a sudden little knife
point stuck into my heart.

	In the Book of Mormon, the prophet Nephi says `our lives went on as
if in a dream', and so it felt at the farm. Every day, early, David and I
rose and went outdoors, and held hands and prayed over our families, our
responsibilities, and each other, and this great new adventure. In the
middle of the week, David went into San Francisco, and worked there for
several days, usually returning home on Friday nights.

	Dad did not make progress. His attitude was great, he was always
smiling, seemed to be happy, but never returned to a state of health that
allowed him to leave the front porch. One Friday afternoon, as I was
finishing some chores and waiting for David to return from the Bay, I sat
next to Dad and watched the sunset. "You can see forever from here" he said
to me.

"Is that why you came here?" I asked him.

"Oh son, I did not choose this farm, it called to me and pulled me here. I
had no choice."

"What do you mean Dad?"

"The Earth is not ours. We are stewards. We use the earth, we make a living
from it, but we treat it very carefully. The ancient Biblical term
`husband' means one who is a caregiver, it means to manage prudently, it
means to provide protection, and so just like a man and a woman enter into
a marriage, and give a promise to each other, the farmer is a husband to
his farm. And, Paul, I did not mean anything by that `man and woman'
thing. You get it?"

"Sure Dad."

"So you may have noticed we do not use a large amount of chemicals on the
farm, like pesticides, and so forth. We are not certified organic, it has
been a hassle with those folks, but we are pretty close. But our alfalfa is
as close to organic as anyone in the Valley."

"So, the `farm pulled you here' story?"

"Gosh, I was just a green-straight-back-from-the-mission-field returned
missionary, had spent about two years at the University in Davis, trying to
convince myself I was going to be an agricultural scientist, and met this
woman, who had to be the most beautiful thing I ever saw in my whole
life. She invited me home to meet her folks, and that was all it took. You
know the little house that Grandma Woodruff lives in down the road? That
was the house."

"But this place?"

"Well, I had to have that woman, and I had to convince her Dad I was
worthy, so I began buying acres, a little at a time, and got as close up to
their place as I could, and one thing led to another, and here we are
today."

"But Dad today there are more than ten thousand acres here, altogether."

"Never think about it that way, Pauly Boy. It's not a job, it is a
stewardship. You owe that to the Earth itself, as well as to your family
and to God."

"Yes sir."

	That was the last full conversation I had with him. This man,
Robert Monson Campbell, who had not simply birthed me, but had trained me
in the most important things in life, and had accepted me as I am, a little
gay Mormon boy, and also accepted my husband David, this man who had almost
never complained about a thing in his life, and who had treated his wife as
the most queenly woman on the planet, passed quietly a few days later, on a
Saturday night.

	A day later, Scott called. Robert Charles Campbell had just been
born.