Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 47222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
Shit. Money. I try not to think too often about my lack of it, but as harvest season approaches, I honestly don’t know what I’m going to do. Pa’s funeral, even though it was small, cost me a pretty penny. And it turns out he had quite a few debts to be settled. I paid off what I could and since then, have been ignoring the growing number of bills and bank calls.
He was good with plants, but he wasn’t so good with our finances.
Across the yard, in a round paddock next to the old red barn, my old sway-backed mare, Gypsy, comes into view while munching on her morning hay. That bend is looking worse and worse. I shudder at the idea of the old gal aging and then eventually passing because I don’t want to say goodbye to another beloved member of my little family.
Plus, the barn itself looks as decrepit as the horse. Its once majestic doors and cozy loft look like they could crumble any minute. The barn houses the farming tools, Miss Bethy the cow, and so many of my childhood dreams. As a girl, I used to climb into the hayloft and read when I wasn’t helping my father around the farm. Books about faraway places with exotic scenery and adventures and romance. The barn was my safe haven from the hard life of manual labor.
Now looking at the dilapidated building, I shake my head.
I can’t believe how naïve I used to be. I’m only twenty – in fact my birthday was just last month – but I feel older and so far away from the carefree little girl I used to be, even compared to just a few months ago.
Before Pa died.
A single tear slides down my face. I wipe it away quickly and with force.
Get it together, Darcy, I scold myself. These tears are of no use.
Yet the day my father had passed away, I let myself cry for exactly twenty-four hours. While some folks might accuse me of being cold-hearted, the truth was that I couldn’t let myself wallow. My father was out of pain, and I had no option but to move forward. The best thing I could do, I had decided, and the way I could honor my family was to keep this farm running.
After all, the Fields Farm has been in our family since my great-grandpa was a young man, and I intend to keep it that way. I was named for the man – Darcy Fields – so I feel a particular kinship to him.
Which is bound to make me a better farmer, I assert to comfort myself. At least, I hope.
From the barn, I hear Miss Bethy Moo Cow low once more, eager for me to go milk her. Her little bell rings again.
I take another sip of coffee, wanting to ignore the bovine and all my chores for just one more blessed moment, but it’s impossible. A cow in pain is more trouble than it’s worth, and sighing, I cross to the small shed by the house and retrieve the milk pail and watering bucket. As I fill the gardening bucket with cool water from the spigot, I reflect on the monotony of my life. Every day, over and over, I get up, drink coffee, milk the cow, work the fields, tend the vegetable garden, repair some piece of fence, barn, house, and then repeat, over and over again. It’s repetitive and difficult. Plus, I’m exhausted from doing it all by myself.
The fact of the matter is, I don’t mind hard work. I’m a country girl and this is my lot in life, but I’m lonely these days. Ever since Pa died, I rarely venture off our property. It’s partially because I don’t have the time, but it’s also because I don’t have the desire. The last time I traveled was a couple years ago when I found myself in Europe. Pa insisted that I “go abroad,” as many young girls my age were doing, and I found myself in a strange land called Lysenia. There, I was transported to a labor camp against my will, but thankfully, we were rescued by the Lysenian Army after a few short weeks. After that, I had no desire to travel again. I love the United States; I love my farm; and I’ll never take freedom for granted again.
Yet, I’ve never been so alone before. My parents are gone, and my grandparents are long dead. I think I have some distant relatives somewhere in the Panhandle area, but it’s been a long time since I spoke with them. We used to have some real nice neighbors when I was younger – farmers like us who owned their own modest plots, but then Big Ag swooped in, offering absurd lumps of money in exchange for land and home. Some families jumped at the offer, but others, like us Fields, held true.