Back to the Farm

 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?”

 

 “Range Rover.  Made by Land Rover though.  First made in 1970.  New line of autos for them.”

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.