Let's go back to that Midwest farm kid who went to Europe, dashed around the continent, quit his school teaching job, and stayed there to finance more travel. So far, he has gotten turned down by the oil rigs in Aberdeen Scotland, landed a job on a gas pipeline, quit for a job that didn’t exist, and got screwed out of $100 US. He went back to his roots and started work on a dairy farm.
I should have known the farm I hired onto was upscale when I
stepped off the bus with my backpack. Standing
by a polished new vehicle and waving was a blonde woman in shiny shoes, a wool
blazer, and skirt. Looked like she was
going to an office job. I walked towards
her.
Westerton was a bus stop but there was no town there. I was one of two passengers who got off.
“Are you Mr. McClure?
Dave?”
I hadn’t heard my given name in a while. Maybe I was done being “Yankee.”
“Yes.”
“I’m Maitland’s wife.
You spoke to him on the phone. Here,
let’s put your rucksack in the back.”
I sunk into a soft leather seat. The dash was real wood. Burled maple I guessed.
“Is this a Land Rover?”
The Land Rovers I’d seen, in Morrocco, were rugged vehicles,
four-wheel drive, suitable for rough roads, desert treks, and safaris. Bare bones comfort with powerful engines,
good suspensions, big tires. This was
plush and smooth, made for a country with good roads, and money.
“My husband tells me you grew up on a dairy farm. We don’t get a lot of experienced milkmen in
the dairy barn. Sandy usually has to
train them. Sandy runs our dairy. He’s looking forward to meeting you.”
“I’ve never worked in a modern milking parlor. Ours was a little farm. 24 cows in a stanchion barn, raised our own
calves, made a lot of hay. This is a
bigger operation.”
“Bigger, but cows are cows.
I hope you enjoy being part of our farm.”
She slowed the car and turned into the driveway of a modern
building that looked like a recently built fraternity house.
“Bridget and Colin will get you settled. They take care of the single men’s
quarters. Just knock on the door.”
I thanked her for the ride, and she smiled broadly. She had very white teeth. When she offered me her hand, I shook it and
realized she hadn’t told me her name.
Bridget, probably in her late fifties, met me at the door
wiping her hands on her apron. She was
cooking lunch. She had a nice smile too.
“I’ll show you to your room.
We’re putting you in with Charles.
He’s new to the farm, an old friend of the Mannie who’s fallen on hard
times.”
“The Mannie?”
“Mr. Mackie. We call
him the Mannie. That word comes from “Lord
of the Manor.” He’s not really a Lord,
as in the House of Lords. But he’ll
probably be knighted one day. He’s a
fine man, Mr. Mackie. And a good Mannie
too. They’re not all gentlemen ya
ken?
I later learned that “ya ken” meant “do you get it?” They spoke differently here. I would learn a lot.
Bridget took me upstairs to a small room a little bigger
than a dorm room. Two of everything; beds,
desks, chests of drawers. I kept my
stuff in my backpack and slid it under the bed.
I hadn’t unpacked since I left the States. Bridget said lunch was at noon and would be a
good time for me to meet the rest of the farm hands. Until then I laid down and read my book, The
Drifters by James Michener. Much
better beds than the YMCA hostel.
I was dozing off when Charles came through the door.
“Bridget told me I have a new Yankee roommate.”
He was loud. About
Bridget’s age I’d guess.
“Yep, I am a Yankee.
From a dairy farm in Illinois. But
have a name. Dave. I’m betting you're Charles.”
“That I am. Welcome
to Maitland Mackie’s farm. It’s a good
place to work, but you wouldn‘t want to live here. I’ve been here about two months. So, we’re
both just settling in. How about a wee
dram Dave?
Charles reached under his bed and pulled out a bottle of
Dewar’s Highland Cream.
“I don’t often turn it down.
What’s the occasion? Just day
drinking or something special?”
“New roommates lad.
That and I usually have a jolt at lunchtime. Makes the rest of the day tolerable.”
“How’d you land here Charles?”
“My wife kicked me out and we’re headed for divorce. Maitland gave me a job with the beef herd. I was most grateful.”
“Beef herd? I thought
it was a dairy.”
“It’s everything.
Confinement hogs, ten thousand laying hens, beef herd, land just enough
sheep to keep Maitland’s sheepdogs in shape.
But the dairy’s the big thing. All
the rest is new since they’ve expanded the farm. Big investment. But they’ve been milking cows here for God
knows how long. They deliver to the
area. Package their own products. Working on an ice cream line. The Mackies have their fingers in all the
pies.”
“Wow. I had no idea.”
“It’s quite an operation.”
He had two coffee cups in his hand and poured them each half
full of whisky. Handed one to me and
raised his.
“Here’s to ya, Dave.
May you make a lot of money and never get old.”
He knocked his whisky down in two swallows. I took a little longer.
“Let’s get down to lunch.
The boys will be anxious to meet you.
It’s quite a crew.”
I followed Charles down the stairs to a new adventure.
