Republic of Dirt (13 page)

I
honest to Christ don’t know where Prudence gets these ideas. It must be something to do with the seaweed and sawdust and panda bear toenails pills she’s been taking. Them pills and potions is a goddamned racket. If they was worth a damn, she’d never have been sick enough to let Old Man Guurten give us his old shack because he don’t like to pay dumpage fees. I heard on TV that gland problems like Prudence’s can cause permanent damage and I think that may be what we have going on here.

As for the shack, it would take a Harvard architect to turn that thing into a farm stand. When Prudence sent me and Seth down to look at it, Seth said it looked like a cuckoo clock and a wedding cake after a head-on with a Pepto-Bismol tanker. He had a point. Guurten might have been able to fit two little Dutch girls in that shack, but I bet it was a trick to get ‘em out again. The shack is about ten feet tall and five feet wide and painted bright pink, except where mold has turned it green. Prudence told us one of Guurten’s useless boys made it. Must have been learning to use a chop saw, because the whole thing
was covered in scalloped edge trim. There were pointy little turrets on the top. Anyone who happened to fall on it from above would get killed faster than a fish in a field.

Prudence thought that eyesore was the greatest thing since carrots, and she’d been feeling so poorly, ‘specially since we lost Sara, that I didn’t want to tell her she was wrong.

Me and Seth were inspecting it and she came down the driveway in her slippers and a big housecoat. She walked around it, saying, Oh, Earl! Isn’t it perfect? Just imagine it with flower baskets hanging from pretty iron baskets and with our own beautiful produce displayed inside!

And I was thinking: How the hell we gonna get produce in there? And who the hell will be able to see vegetables through them little windows? The smart money who caught sight of that damned thing at the side of the road would hit the gas. I know I would. We might never get Sara back if the authorities and her folks catch sight of that goddamned eyesore.

That was yesterday. Since then, Prudence has come downstairs twice to ask when me and Seth is going to get going on the “renovation.” She also asked three times when young Stephan McFadden’s going to get cracking on the barn. Lotta pressure on me is what it is. I sure as shit wish she’d get to feeling better. I got a lot on my plate with trying to find that contractor she hired and making sure Sara’s chickens is okay. They aren’t laying and a few of them is losing feathers. Alec Baldwin’s doing especially poorly and I know what a soft spot Sara has for that rooster. I’m going to get Eugene to take a look as soon as I see him.

The only good news I got to report is that I think I seen Sara yesterday afternoon.

Might not of been her, but I saw two kids sneaking across the field on hands and knees, heading in the direction of the chicken coop. I can’t imagine any other youngster would want to see chickens so bad they’d go crawling like commandos across rocky scrub. If it was Sara, at least her birds might settle down and get back on their feed.

I didn’t let on that I saw her. She ain’t supposed to visit until things get sorted out, but what I don’t tell no one don’t count. Tomorrow morning, I’m going to wheel the coop and run closer to the road so she don’t have as far to go to get to her birds. Don’t want her to ruin the knees in her pants. The kid don’t have many clothes spare. I was real glad me and Seth scrubbed out the coop the day before. It was looking nice in there and hardly stunk at all.

It gives me a little chuckle to wonder what the little Sprout, which is what I like to call her sometimes, will make of that goddamned pink playhouse. She was the only practical one around here. Well, her and Eugene.

C
an you cook anything attractive?” I asked. “Something without green sludge as the base?”

“Why?” Prudence asked. She was out of bed for the first time in two days and cutting and bagging baby greens. How that girl still has a usable back is beyond me. Seriously. I do whatever I can to avoid having to bend over. Earl and I share that particular value.

“If we made a normal-looking meal, it might make a good impression on the social worker when he comes back. Or we could invite Sara and her parents for dinner. We could invite all of them.”

“I don’t think they’d accept,” Prudence said. “Her parents certainly wouldn’t come together. All we need to do is show we’re responsible and competent.”

“Prudence, people deny some pretty obvious things,” I said. “Climate change, evolution, the primacy of heavy metal as an art form. They might deny that we’re capable of looking after a kid.”

She’d tuned out.

“Can you please put these in the fridge? Earl is going to drop
them off in town later.” She handed me an armload of bagged baby salad greens.

Without so much as looking at me, she muttered, “We need one of those big coolers with the sliding glass doors. Like they have at Sleepy Slope. We’ll put it in the farm stand.”

I stared at her. She’s dragged us all to Sleepy Slope Farms in Chemainus multiple times for what she calls “inspirational tours.” Prudence has a major hard-on for the place due to it being organic and sustainable and run by lost backpackers and other forms of exploited free labor. Sleepy Slope has a huge pumpkin patch, you-pick blueberries, and an open-front building with an assortment of glass-fronted coolers, where they keep all their greens. They charge cocaine prices for everything. If Prudence ever got herself a tattoo, it would probably be the Sleepy Slope Farms logo. The contrast between Woefield and Sleepy Slope is, to put it mildly, stark. Although we are improving.

I looked down at the bags of greens. They were filled with young kales in colors from dark green to purple, baby rainbow chard, mustard greens, romaine and cress. Prudence has done a good job with our greens. Considering that I dislike leaves of all kinds, our stuff is pretty tasty. We supply exactly two restaurants in town. They each have about two tables and are open about one and a half days a week for dinner only, so we can keep up with demand. The entire Woefield enterprise is not what you’d call a huge money-maker. I’m basically just waiting for the day when Prudence comes in and announces that we’re being evicted.

I may not be very business savvy, but I know that if we’re getting a barn and coolers and renovating playhouses, we are going to be bankrupt in no time. Bankrupter? Is that a word?

Someone needs to start being practical so we can get Sara back. The authorities aren’t going to let her visit us if we are all living in Earl’s broken-down truck. I tried again to talk some sense into Prudence.

“The playhouse is the size of Justin Bieber,” I said. “I don’t think we can fit a cooler in it.”

“The renovation will take care of that,” she said, standing up and wiping off her bib overalls, which I have to say were adorable as hell. Christ. I used to be a tube top man. Not a bib overalls appreciator. The second I moved over here, I started to lose all aesthetic sense, especially when it comes to women. First I developed a crush on a sheep shearer I saw on an educational video. Now I find myself with a taste for a nice bib overall. I’ve begun to admire girls with big biceps and strong backs. If I’m not careful, I’ll be getting the hots for Earl’s high-waisted work pants and suspenders.

Prudence smiled, all radiant farmer babe who just got off bed rest, and I couldn’t argue with her. Thank god she has that effect on people, because otherwise she wouldn’t get away with her rat-assed schemes.

“When do you think you and Earl will get started on it?”

“He’s still looking for your barn builder,” I said. “Maybe once he tracks the guy down, we should get him to give us a quote on building a new farm stand. From scratch. Renovating that pink monstrosity will cost more than building a new one.”

She didn’t respond, so I kept going. “You know who could make a new farm stand? Eustace. How are things going with you two, anyway?”

She waved a hand. “I’m just getting my head above water here. Eustace already does too much for us. We’re not dependent on him.”
I could tell that she was locked in some pride mode that did not allow her to admit defeat.

Well, admitting defeat is one of my strengths, along with taking it easy. Eustace is my sponsor, and I am massively dependent on him. He helps me not to get shitfaced and he listens to me complain and talk about my problems for at least an hour a day. But I didn’t say that to Prudence. She could keep telling herself whatever she needed to. Far be it from me to get between a delusional and her delusions.

I stood there in the soft afternoon light and realized that the place had started to smell good to me. Which is strange, because to a normal nose it would smell like mule shit, sheep shit, chicken shit, dirt and compost.

“You and Earl are going to do an amazing job on the farm stand,” she said. “I want to reuse and repurpose as much as possible. No sense wasting perfectly good building materials.” She put a hand on my arm. “Soon things will be back to normal. We’ll have Sara back, at least part of the time.”

Something caught her attention and she looked behind me.

“We have a visitor. I wonder if she’s here for greens?”

I turned around and saw the drama teacher getting out of a minivan. It was all I could do not to drop my armload of kale and chard leaves.

T
oday was very busy. I had an appointment with Pete the social worker after school. He asked how it was going at my dad’s. I said it was fine. Then Pete asked if I was looking forward to staying with my mom and I said yes, even though I’m not.

We met in the guidance counselor’s office. I’m not sure why we have a guidance office since we don’t have a guidance counselor at school, at least not that I’ve ever seen. The office had pictures from the Big Brothers and Big Sisters club and the Kids Help Phone. I made a note of the number for the help line. Maybe I’d give them a call sometime. It would be more interesting than watching TV.

“Sara?” said Pete. “You in there?”

“Yes,” I said, because I was sitting right in front of him.

“Can you tell me about staying at your dad’s?”

I thought about telling him that being alone all the time with nothing to do wasn’t very fun, especially since I was used to an active life with a lot of outdoor activities and interesting projects. But I didn’t.

“Good,” I said. “I’m getting a lot of homework done.”

Pete had on one of those flat caps. It made him look sort of English, like those people on English TV shows, which is the only kind of TV Prudence watches, even though she’s from the United States. I think a lot of farmers like English TV because the actors aren’t all good-looking like they are on American and Canadian TV. Farmers appreciate that.

Pete has a lot of tattoos. I bet teenagers who have to meet with him think his tattoos are cool. Because I’m younger, I think he might be sorry about those when he gets old and wrinkly. The holes in his earlobes are big enough to put quarters through. When he takes out those rings, the earlobes will be loose flaps. During our meeting, I kept thinking of all the things his floppy earlobes might catch on. Car doors, fingers, cat paws. His giant earlobe holes were extremely distracting. If his bosses give me an evaluation form, I might point that out. Having smaller earrings might make him a better social worker.

“Sara?” he said again.

“Yes?” I tried to pay attention to what he was saying. I really did. Pete the social worker seemed very nice and concerned and I didn’t want to be rude. Plus, I wanted him to write a nice report about the farm so my parents would let me go back.

“Does your dad help with your homework?”

I tried to think of what Pete would want to hear. I tried to think of an answer that would get him to let me go back to the farm.

“Sometimes,” I said.

He smiled, like he didn’t understand. That always happens when I lie. Nobody understands me.

“My dad is good at math,” I said, which was true, because he used to be an accountant. “We might paint my bedroom.” That part wasn’t
true but I wished it was. My bedroom has water stains on the ceiling and all down one wall.

“That’s a big job.”

I looked at him but tried to ignore his ears. “I designed and helped to build a chicken coop and mobile run at the farm,” I said. “I’ve been showing chickens since I was seven.” I said it so he’d know that painting a bedroom isn’t a big deal.

His right eyebrow went up, which was extra noticeable because he had two rings in it. Those rings also looked unsafe.

“I like doing things,” I said. “That’s why I liked being at Woefield. They were very nice. Prudence and Earl and Seth, I mean.”

He stopped smiling and the eyebrow rings sank.

“Sara, it’s crucial that children are supervised. I can see why your parents were concerned. I’m not trying to be a fascist here. Every kid deserves to have a responsible adult around. In almost all instances, those adults are the parents. I’ve spoken to your mom and dad. They love you very much and are glad to have you home. They feel terrible about what happened when you were at the farm alone.”

“It’s not anyone’s fault,” I said.

“That’s nice of you to be so protective. You’re very responsible for your age. I can see that about you. I’m going to look into the situation on the farm just as soon as I can, and talk to your parents about what I find. But my caseload is big and it might take me a little while. We just need to make sure that nothing untoward is happening there.”

For a person with a lot of tattoos and pierced parts, he used quite a lot of big words that I was going to have to look up, such as
fascist
and
untoward
. I might try to use them in my next essay. Miss Singer has already complimented my vocabulary twice this year. She says it’s “extensive,” which I looked up. It means my vocabulary covers a wide
area, which is good. It’s also interesting that the word
extensive
is also used to describe a type of agriculture, which means farms. It means farming big areas without much work. So in that way, it doesn’t suit me that well, since I’m used to living on a small farm that is a lot of work.

“I liked living at Woefield. It was fun and I was very busy there.”

“Really? Tell me what kinds of things you did.”

So I told him about how I looked after the animals and helped tend the raised beds and fix up the house and picked rocks in the field almost every day and he nodded and sometimes made a little note.

“That’s a lot of work,” he said.

“I know,” I said. “Hardly anyone my age works that hard.” I could tell he was impressed.

“And who asked you to do all that?” he said.

“Everyone had things they wanted me to do,” I said. “I did lots of stuff for Prudence. I got to help Seth and Earl with their work, too.”

“Really?” he said, and made another note.

Then my appointment was over and I went out to the parking lot to wait for Target. He was seeing Pete after me and I knew he wouldn’t take long because he doesn’t talk.

When Target came out of his appointment half an hour later, he just stood in the parking lot and hardly even looked around. He had on new jeans and a new striped shirt and his hair was cut. He had been looking much better than he did at the beginning of the school year and I thought I might invite him to come to Jr. Poultry Club with me sometime. He was looking more like Poultry Club material.

I whistled at him and we walked over to the trail that leads through a little stand of trees and then behind the high school. You have to be careful on that trail because the high school kids hang
out in there before school and after lunch and some of them take drugs. It’s usually safe after school because they are all in a hurry to get as far away from school as possible. At least that’s what Seth said when he used to walk me along that path. He would come to get me after school if he got all his writing and chores done. Earl said Seth just wanted to avoid work, but when Seth couldn’t come, Earl would, especially if it was raining or it looked like it might.

Thinking about Seth and Earl made me feel bad, so I tried not to.

“Do you like your new house?” I asked Target as we walked along the path.

“It’s okay,” he said.

Target is not a good conversationalist. I’ve spent a lot of time with adults and so I’m quite good at talking. I also have an extensive vocabulary, which I try to use in conversation.

“Are the people nice?”

“They’re okay.”

I thought about telling him he should say more than a few words when someone asked him a question, but then I remembered his brother and decided not to say anything. It was hard though. Talking to Target was sort of like writing essays for school. Lots of pauses and not knowing what to say.

“I’m staying with my dad,” I said. “He lives next to the used tire store.”

Target didn’t say anything, so I looked over at him. He was staring down at his shoes.

“You should really look up when you walk in the woods,” I said. “Sometimes there are branches. You could run into one and get hurt.”

Target lifted up his head.

“I like your new clothes. And your hair.”

This was the third time we’d gone to visit my chickens. The first couple of times me and Target visited my birds we didn’t say much to each other, but today I felt like talking. I was tired of being quiet with my dad. Prudence and Earl and Seth and several people from Poultry Club always liked to talk to me. Each of them talked about different things and that was fun because I was never bored by what they said. Poultry Club is taking a break right now because Mr. Lymer has gone to Minnesota for a big poultry exhibition and conference, so that means I can’t look forward to even one fun evening out until we have our Jr. Poultry Fancier’s Halloween party. And I’m not allowed to see Prudence, Seth or Earl.

So I talked to Target all the way to Woefield. I told him more about my birds. There’s a lot to know about show birds. Most people don’t understand how much. When we saw the pink building someone had left at the end of the farm’s driveway, I told him how out in the country people sometimes dump their garbage in fields or even in people’s driveways and that it’s illegal. I said that if he ever sees someone doing that, he should report it to the police or an adult. I talked while we checked out my birds. I showed him what molting looks like and told him that my birds were probably missing me, because more of them than usual were losing feathers. I hoped Earl wasn’t worried about it. Alec Baldwin was losing some of his crest feathers, but he seemed okay otherwise. Polish non-bearded chickens can catch colds quite easily and are less strong than some other kinds of chickens. You really need someone you can trust to take care of them if you have to be away.

I showed Target why my frizzles, who are white and fluffy and extremely cute, win prizes and explained why Alec Baldwin, my Polish non-bearded rooster, who is shiny and black and has a big
white crest on his head, doesn’t win prizes because he has some white feathers where he shouldn’t. Seth says that shouldn’t matter because Alec Baldwin has tremendous charisma. When Target asked what
charisma
is, I told him how it means that Alec Baldwin breeds a lot of hens. In fact, he bred two hens while we were visiting and I think that upset Target, because he turned red and pretended not to notice.

I was glad to see that Earl was taking such good care of my birds. The coop was very clean and I could tell he’d been giving them treats, such as tomatoes.

A couple of times I wondered if Target was paying attention to what I was saying, but when I looked at his face I saw that he was very interested. He probably felt embarrassed about Alec Baldwin being how he is.

When we closed up the run and left, I started to cry, which surprised me. At the end of Woefield Road, Target spoke.

“I think they’re making a mistake,” he said.

I was so surprised to hear him talking that I stopped crying, which was good because it was giving me a headache.

“Who?”

“Those people who don’t give Alec Baldwin the prizes. He’s cool, even if he has some white feathers where he shouldn’t. He’s definitely charisma.”

I think Target was just saying that to make me feel better, but I didn’t care, because it worked. So I told him all about the Standards of Perfection, which are the rules about how chickens should look, and I felt much better when he went off to his new foster home and I headed to my dad’s. I was nearly there when I saw Eustace driving down the road and he pulled over and asked how I was doing. He looked very handsome and seeing him made the whole day seem better.
He said he was glad to see me and he said that Prudence and Seth and Earl sent their love. He asked if the social worker had talked to me and I said yes, but he still needed to talk to Prudence and everyone at the farm.

Between visiting my chickens with Target and seeing Eustace, the day was quite good. It’s kind of nice to have a friend my own age, even if we are both disadvantaged and from broken homes. My last friend, Bethany, went off to the Christian school this year even though it’s far away from her house. She has special needs mentally and is an extremely nice person. She’s also an excellent listener. Since she moved schools, she has new friends who are also mentally challenged, and I don’t fit in with them. Prudence always says that when one door closes, another opens. Seth says that when one door shuts, you should take a hint and go home to bed. I guess that applies to friends too.