The Daughter's Farm

The 6-acre farm with charming rustic farmhouse, spacious outbuilding, working well and lush vineyard gave Jeannie a stomach ache. It should have made her happy, excited and full of hope. But it only made her sick. What on earth was she thinking? To move 300 miles away from everything and everyone she knew for what turned out to be a ramshackle farmhouse, one decrepit outbuilding, a dried up well, and one measly diseased grapevine. To be fair, she shouldn’t have been surprised. It had once belonged to a famous actress who, in her golden years, had become a mad recluse and had retired to what had probably once been a quaint farmette. But now, the house and building huddled close together to create a barren courtyard and beyond the property, aged trees and patches of overgrown vegetation gave the property a forlorn and abandoned feel.

To be honest Jeannie wasn’t truly too upset to be away from everyone she knew; everyone she knew primarily being her own family…or what was left of it. Over the last few years she, her four brothers and her mother had drifted apart. A year ago, her father had died unexpectedly. Over the many years before that, there had been dozens of family gatherings…birthdays, holidays, and christenings, tediously orchestrated and arranged by her mother, while her quietly steadfast father looked on stoically. Because of this, she had always thought it was her mother who was the center of the family. But after her father’s death, Jeannie and her family had less to say to one another, saw one another less, and, if she were honest, cared less. Jeannie had believed her mother was the glue who held the family together. But it turns out she wasn’t. It was her father. And what happens when the glue is gone? Everything falls apart.

This great revelation led Jeannie to her great reckoning; the day she told her family she was leaving town and starting over. Needless to say, they were appalled. At first, she had no idea where she would go. When quizzed for answers on what everyone clearly thought was irrational behavior, her only answer was, “I don’t know where I’m going, but I can’t stay here.”

In no way was Jeannie prepared to make this sort of life-changing decision. She was not entirely broke, but certainly lived paycheck to paycheck. She had very little savings but also had very little responsibility. She had no children, no pets and, alas, no husband. He had selfishly died young, after only five years of marriage, leaving her nothing. One thing Jeannie did have was that her father had left each of his children a small inheritance. For Jeannie, it was just enough to put a down payment on a 6-acre farm, with charming rustic farmhouse, spacious outbuilding, working well and lush vineyard. In the middle of absolutely nowhere.

It turned out, the farmette wasn’t really what she’d pictured. It was rundown, needing heaps in repairs. Fortunately, she had spent many hours learning to fix things from her father. But the one thing she couldn’t fix was the dried up well. She’d had a ‘guy’ take a look only to be told that the previous water source had dried up and it needed to be redug and rerouted using very big, expensive equipment; definitely something Jeannie could not do herself. The other thing Jeannie could not do was eat paper and…well, she could not just make money appear from thin air.

She knew what she had to do. As much as it galled her, she put in the long-distance call to mother to ask for the money. God, the berating she would have to bear. But she couldn’t give up on her dream already. She put the call in early in the morning, and luckily got her mother’s voice mail. She left a brief, vague message for her mother to call her back. It was a conversation she was happy to put off.

In the meantime, she put her mind and her hands to the other chore her father and she had lovingly shared. So she found herself on her knees digging row after row in a roughed-out vegetable garden. Rows for potatoes, rows for carrots, rows for beets. Her phone rang. She stopped, brushed her dirty wrist across her forehead, and thought, “not just yet.” A few more rows.

The sun was now high overhead and glinted off of one of the few charming remnants left from the farm’s heyday. A large bronze weathervane featuring four noble farm animals topped the brick chimney. She returned to preparing the earth and the hours drifted by unnoticed. Until the phone rang again. “I’ll just let one more go by, then I’ll call back,” she thought. Just then, her spade stopped short. Jeannie reached in, clearing the dirt away to lift out a small packet made of oil cloth. She rocked back on her heels and unwrapping it found a little black book. She’d barely registered what she held when her phone sounded again. She grimaced, silenced the phone and stood. Brushing off the loose dirt to get a better look, Jeannie saw the cover was blank. She hurried to the kitchen, poured a glass of wine, which was currently substituting for water and opened the little black book on the counter. Only the first page contained any writing. It read:

Don’t cry for me Brazil,

I never really LEFT you.

All through my wild days.

What a glorious feeling.

Singin’ in the rain.

Intrigued, Jeannie figured it could only be the mad old actress’ writing. “Wow,” she thought, “this old lady really was confused.” She closed the book and sipped her wine. Clearly the old actress was losing her grip…the lines were the lyrics of songs in musicals for sure; Jeannie knew that much. Not the same musical; and they were a little wrong and mixed up. Another thought came to her; how did the book come to be buried? Well, that was a mystery for another day. She thought of her father. Solving puzzles was also a shared joy. Her phone rang again. She knew she’d have to pick up soon so she could swallow her pride and ask her mother for the money. Her eyes drifted from the phone back to the little black book. A mystery for another day. Or was it?

Thinking of her dad, she thought, “What if this isn’t just the ramblings of a mad woman, but a clue? But a clue for what? For treasure of course!” She laughed and poured more wine. She opened the book and reread the opening line. Don’t Cry For me Brazil. That should be Argentina. No help there. She read the next line. That one was correct but why was LEFT capitalized? She read on but could piece nothing together. She had to get those vegetables in. Returning to the garden, she went about dropping in her seeds while still turning the little jumbled poem over in her mind. The day was wearing on and she as much as she wanted to finish her planting, she couldn’t get the words out of her head. She stood and turned in each direction, looking for something that would give the words any meaning. She saw nothing but the dilapidated albatross she had just bought. Tears stung her eyes. When she’d made this decision to buy the farmette, she vowed to have no regrets. Steeling her resolve, she dropped her spade and marched three times from house to building to well to grapevine and back. With each time around she grew more and more despondent. Finally realizing she was chasing a wild goose, she went back to the kitchen and poured herself another glass.

Jeannie was so frustrated she could have wept. Resting her elbows on the counter she gazed out the kitchen window at the one of the eerie trees. She stared at it, getting lost in its willowy tendrils, so long they touched the ground. I could just cry, she thought. Her eyes widened. “In fact, I could WEEP!” In a flash, she was out of the house and standing under a weeping willow. This must be it she thought. She examined the tree; its branches, its trunk, up and down…and nothing. She couldn’t see anything unusual about the tree at all. Frustrated she spun in circles in dismay. She stopped. What she COULD see however was a nut tree. In fact, it was a Brazil nut tree! She made a beeline. Her phone buzzed in her pocket. In her fervor, she didn’t even feel it. Reaching the nut tree, she got on her knees checking for crevices, feeling for anything unusual. Nothing. She read the words again. I never really LEFT you. “Go left,” she said aloud. “But left from where?” she screamed. She spun and spun until she glimpsed a small patch of wild thyme just behind the outbuilding. All through my wild days. She raced to it, dropping to her knees and running her hands through the soft brush, only to discover nothing. She had to be on the right track. She read the next line. What a glorious feeling. She stepped away from the outbuilding, walking backward, to see the property from a new angle. There climbing the chimney of the house were the most beautiful purple morning glories.

Knowing her next move, she reread the last line. Singin’ in the rain. She followed the trail of morning glories up the length of the chimney and there on top was the lovely bronzed weathervane. She caught her breath. Jack pot she thought. But how was she going to get to the top of the house? She raced to the outbuilding and found the very rusty and dangerous looking ladder. She only paused for a moment. She had come this far. She dragged the beast to the chimney and extended it just enough to reach the roof, all the while wondering when she had finally gone around the bend and gone mad herself. One ginger step at a time she ascended the ladder. She didn’t care for heights but the bottle of wine had taken the edge off of her fear and apparently, she thought, her mental stability. Nevertheless, she climbed. Reaching the roof, she paused to rest and gain her balance. The weathervane was just in arm’s reach but she could see nothing unusual. Her heart sank in disappointment. Just then, a gust of wind turned the vane and what came in to view started her heart racing again. Another small packet of oil cloth was fastened to the back of the pot belly pig. She knew it! It might be nothing but she had found her treasure. She stretched her arm out but could not reach the packet. Determined, she partially climbed on to the tin roof. Leaving one foot on the ladder, she could just reach. She slid the packed over the pig’s snout and very slowly backed onto the relative safety of the ladder. She steadied herself against the roof. Carefully pulling the ties of the package, she unfolded it to reveal to her amazement a stack of bills. She didn’t want to risk the bills blowing away but she noticed ironically the wind was now completely calm. She slid aside the first few. All one-hundred-dollar bills! There were easily dozens of them. Looking back to the weathervane she could scarcely take in what she had found. In shock, she clasped the money to her chest while her phone buzzed again in her pocket. Being oh so careful to hold on to her new-found treasure, she pulled the phone from her pocket and answered. The voice came loud and clipped, “Jeannie! For the love of God, I’ve been trying to get you all morning! What do you want?” Jeannie took at last one long easy breath. She replied, “Oh, hi mom. Nothing. I don’t want a thing.”