Down On the Farm

This is a scene from my Tripping Over Murder mystery, enjoy!

Janeane was unsure if this was such a good idea, stopping by Ian’s place unannounced. She found the turnoff that would take her there, a sign over the road announced Shangri-La. The sign didn’t seem to match the north woods; a tropical setting might be apropos. She paused to study the sign; it was a broad wood panel, the letters being composed of metal rosettes pounded into the wood. They appeared to be identical to the one in her possession; several of the metal ornaments were missing. She considered the implications, then shoved off down the hill.

She took her feet off the pedals allowing the bike to coast down the dirt drive to…well through the trees she could see a clearing and at the far end a manmade structure. The road opened out at the edge of a meadow, she identified orange hawkweed and the ever present lupine. Her wildflower study was progressing. And then there was the rustic cabin, nuzzled up amongst the trees. She got off, and walked toward the homestead.

“Hello!” He called out as he came on to the porch, hand waving a welcome. He extended his hand as she approached the steps.

“This is beautiful,” She looked around, in awe of the setting. “I don’t want to speak; I just want to listen to the quiet.” She kicked down the bike stand, and walked along the edge of the drive, she stooped to look at some of the small flowers hidden in the tall grass. “So small, so delicate,” her fingers reaching in to better view the varied colors and shapes.”

Ian crouched next to her, and whispered, “May I speak now?” He smiled, and she returned his.

“Yes, You may speak…but this is just so breathtaking, the openness, the colors, and the mountains off in the distance. To own this, to be a part of it is so special.”

Ian’s brow furrowed, “I don’t really own the farm, yes I have a deed with my name on it.” He stood, along with Janeane, “Some day someone else will come along, hopefully they will feel the same way about the land and the woods as I do. The farm should honor our ancestors, nurture those today who will eat our produce, and it should be fostered to sustain future generations.”

Janeane’s shoulders slumped, Ian had the habit of sucking air out of a rising balloon, or raining on parades, ever the philosopher. “Would you like to see our gardens,” He motioned with one hand. At a turn in the road, beyond an apple orchard stood acre after acre of vegetables. Janeane was able to recognize some of the basics: carrots, turnips, and spinach. Everything was so green, so tall, and so delicious to look upon. “We practice permaculture, no chemicals. The soil was thin here; we built it up with organic amendments, manures, and plant matter. Now we have soil that will produce quality produce as long it is cared for and loved.”

The word loved caught her attention, loving the land, is he a people lover, one who could have a relationship, Janeane wondered. “I hear you saying we.” She looked around, “Who else is involved with the farm.”

“I have a network of friends; you know that I write articles, for conservation and permaculture magazines? Friends will come up when I plant or harvest. We sell at farmers markets as well as bartering.” He chewed on the end of a weed. “It’s not about me; it’s about nurturing the land and having a community that lives in a sustainable way. It is all about we.”

Janeane nodded, damn he is a philosopher, one that likes to get his hands dirty in the soil, She had difficulty responding. “I know that you are from Boston, did you have farming experience before you came up?”

“No, I heard a lecture at my college that changed my life. My parents, many people I know strive to make change through politics; but nothing seems to change. This professor suggested that change needs to come from the bottom up. People should build communities that are autonomous, self sufficient. Everyone sees the big corporation coming to town as the answer, that only last a generation or two. Sustainable communities can go on forever, people nurturing one another’s needs. Buying local, building local, drawing upon local resources.”

God there he goes again, I need to keep my mouth shut. Her eyes glazed.

Ian stooped down, grabbed a handful of the dark earth, feeling it in his palm, “local resources for the local population.” Janeane noticed a tire track near his foot, that same tire, not with the rosette, but the same model. Mr. Flynn at the garage said it was a common tire for older cars, especially imports, like that VW van.

“You must have to do a lot of weeding, and spraying for bugs.”

Ian popped up like he was sprung from a jack-in-the-box, a frown on his face, “We have no sprays here, no chemicals.” Now she had done it, she had fallen down a deep dark well, and he would not help her out. If she hadn’t been thinking about that tire she wouldn’t have asked such a stupid question. Damn.

She melted back a step or two, his laser like gaze was more than she could handle. This was a wasted trip! There was the missing piece from the Shangra-La sign, and maybe that tire track. If only.

Ian realized that he had scared the hell out of the girl from the big city, she didn’t know any better. “I’m sorry.” He offered an apology. “And you made that long ride from town, you must be tired.” He looked up at the sun, “We can sit on the porch, I have juice in the frig.” He smiled.

Janeane gave him a tentative nod, and a sideways smile. “Okay.” Well I get a second chance here. Don’t blow it Janeane!


 Sitting on the steps in the shade Janeane thought about who comes and goes on the farm and what sort of vehicles might be involved.

“Here you go,” Ian handed Janeane a glass filled with a greenish liquid. She thought about asking what it was, her statistics with questions was abysmal. She smiled and drank. Then she gave an honest smile.

“Taste good.” But she was not going to ask, if he offered that would be fine, but no questions. She clicked the toes of her shoes together.

“It’s a natural fruit powder, from the health food store.”

Janeane nodded, deep in thought, “Do you use a tractor to plow your fields?”

“Oh, no, Mac Dill down the road has a team of mules. I do work for him and he lets me use his team. That kind of makes me a part-time mule.” He made a slight chuckle; the closest Janeane had ever seen him get to a laugh. Lighten up Ian.

“Have you had anyone helping you in the fields lately?” Janeane held her breath, she wasn’t sure if she was pressing too hard, asking intrusive questions. Please, please!

“Popper and his family have been here off and on.” There was another almost laugh, as he thought about Poppers work ethic. “Out beyond the gardens there are several camp sites, the Popejoy’s, Popper, his wife Natasha and the kids have been staying. I haven’t seen them for a few days. Like I said they come and go. He will help some.”

Janeane let that rumble around in her head. That’s it, no more questions; thank him for the farm tour, and the drink and you are on your way. She thought about what she had gathered from this outing: The source of the rosette, another tire track, and a name, the Popejoy family, not confirmed but possible.