Harvard Comes To Montana

"Harvard Comes To Montana" - Chapter Twenty

By Griz

Umgriz@protonmail.com

Hi, Farm Friends;

I hope your weekend ended well. I have no complaints about my own, except that Chris Pine forgot AGAIN to call me. This makes the 1,040th Sunday Chris Pine has failed to call me. I'm about to start taking it personally.

Welcome to Chapter Twenty of "Harvard Comes To Montana". This is a long chapter, and not because I'm afraid to edit, but because it'll make obvious sense at the very end. Everyone had a lot happening Sunday, and they were together for it. I'm laughing that I thought I could tell you Jeff's story in ten chapters, and now I know for a fact it's not happenin' in twenty chapters, either. I've enjoyed the letters from each and every one of you; thank you. There is nothing on this planet like knowing I can get you to laugh, and sometimes cry.

Chapter Twenty has its moments of both for me. Sometimes I'll pour memories and thoughts out onto the screen of this old iPad, and there've been a couple of times my own reaction was due to something I or someone close to me experienced. Life really is a divine comedy, though sometimes, there's nothing to laugh at; just to endure as best as we can, and move forward.

Hard At Work On Chapter Twenty-One Now;

Griz

*** The following story is a work of erotic fiction. If you are under the age of 18 or if this type of fiction is prohibited in the location where you are reading this, do not read any further.

All characters and names are creations of the author. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

Please show your support for Nifty, a great organization that gives opportunities to all types of authors to express themselves. To find out how you can contribute, go to donate.nifty.org/donate.html ***

On the drive back to the farm, my head was filled with bittersweet concerns. Patsy's comments had me feeling bitter, but Marc's cum was still sweet in my mouth. I tried as hard as I could to focus on the little swimming Taylor Tadpoles as they maneuvered between my teeth, but they couldn't vanquish the word vomit in my ears. I didn't blame Patsy; she just did what many people here do. Repeat, repeat, repeat. She's one of the reliable Repeaters who get it right most of the time.

It bothered me to think Junior was going to project his `victimhood' onto Eva and Marc, but I would not be surprised if that's exactly what he would pursue at his earliest opportunity. Suddenly the possibility of him going to jail for any meaningful period of time was diminishing in my mind. I was trying to think of whatever technicalities would get him out of actually serving time: a trial that had a hole in it for him to extort? A jury of the only eight people in the county who didn't fear and hate him?

There are no guarantees with Justice when she leaves it to humans to make up for her blindness with our own eyes, instead. For the record: I believe in justice, and I wouldn't have perverted it by slithering onto the jury with my prejudices against Junior in tow. I would, however, allow myself to answer oh-so-honestly questions in the Voir Dire/jury selection process:

"Mr Wojtowicz, do you know Lyle Connor, Junior?"

"Yes. And not in the biblical sense, I'm relieved to say."

"Do you have preconceived opinions about Mr Connor Junior that would prevent you from being an unbiased member of the jury for this trial?"

"Do you mean, do I think Junior is a fuckin' useless weasel who should never have been even preconceived? Yes, I do; but I'd be as fair to him as he was to Eva at the fair, and everyone else who has had the grave misfortune of being within one hundred miles of him since the twat-waffle was born. The greater crime in all of this was that his parents even met. SO: which jury box chair is mine?"

The truth is, although our system of justice isn't perfect, we have to work with it, and hope for the best. As heinous as his abuse of Eva has been, it's not enough on its own to lock Junior up for life. Who knows what could happen, or for how long? And the big question: If we all think Junior can serve his sentence and be rehabilitated, and made a beneficial member of Fergus County's human population after he does his time, are we obligated to shake his hand if he extends it after he's out? That's a tough one.

I had the pizzas bundled up in some clean towels I found in the back seat of my truck. That'd keep them warm until I reached the farm. I saw a long line at Eva's, and things must've been going well, because I saw both Anders and Eva hanging out the window, smiling and talking with customers. Coming in the opposite direction, there were at least ten big rigs parked along the side of the road, and truckers milling around on foot outside Common Grounds'. I could tell my family were up to their ears in dollars, but I wanted to check on em. I called my big brother's phone.

"What do you want, Punk?"

"A Harvard education, but without having to go there to get it."

"Are you being nasty right now? Because we're really busy here, as I see you can see."

"Why do you always seem to think I have something nasty on the brain?"

"Because you're a hormonal teenager, and nothing has changed in that regard since we as a species climbed down from the trees and started talking. Now to what do I owe this.....interruption?"

"Dick. I'm just checking on you and Eva. She's gonna sell out. Do you need anything? I'm taking the pizzas to the farm, but once there, I can get them staged and then run back to town, if you need anything."

"Awww.....you're not so bad after all, I guess. Truth, though, no; all is well. Eva's coffee supplier is here right now, and she's actually helping with some stuff. Zayn brought a hundred pounds of ice on his delivery truck, so we're fine there, too. No munchies; those all sold out by the end of the first hour open today."

"How's Eva?"

"On Cloud Nine, whatever that really means. She's very happy. People have been about 95% kind and genuine today."

"I suspect that's just the icing on her chocolate croissants. She probably slept better last night than she has since she was my age, Aleksy."

"If that's what has her smiling, feeling safe and able to continue selling coffee, then I will make sure she never stops. You and I should talk."

"What do you think we're doing, ya pallid Pollack?"

"`Poor Marc'. That's all I have to say."

"Then stop sayin' stuff to me and get back to sellin' stuff to all those Looky-Lous. And call me if you need anything. Lunch will last maybe thirty minutes. We're about two hours ahead of schedule today, and tomorrow we'll have all the wheat and barley in. Only need to go after Rye, and we'll be done. Then it's you and me and Alfalfa."

"I liked Stymie best. And you remind me of Darla, of course."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, or who those people are."

"And yet, you got your diploma early. Will you please just keep driving and let me get back to trying to know the difference between half-caf, half-oat, full stevia, flat white' and organic cold brew with full fat unpasteurized cream and distilled-water ice'?"

"Please don't tell me we really have `Those People' in this county......"

"Only on a one-way trip outta here. I did have one guy ask if our coffee was `fair trade'. He seemed really confused when I told him the fair left town this morning, but that I'd trade him for an extra-hot Americano with a Kraft Single floating on top."

"EW. You're gross. Is Kim working today?"

"She's here now. Kim is actually talking a high school friend of hers into moving to Lewistown and working with her. I hope that'll work; Eva needs a serious rest."

"Agreed. I'll see you both later."

"Wait----is Marc coming home tonight?"

"I don't know.....we haven't talked about it. I'd kinda like him to, but he has his new house, and I know he's stressing about his job interview."

"Yeah, I get that. I'd like some alone time with him, actually; we are about the same age and took similar career paths. I'm sure we have more in common than some punk-assed farm boy."

"I'm at the farm now. You and Marc can talk about my farm boy ass some time later."

"I don't want to hear anything he has to say about your ass!"

"That's a nice coincidence, because he has nothing to say about it. We are the very definition of restraint."

"Oh-----he's using restraints on you, is he? Well, well, well. How un-shocked am I at this ribald revelation."

"GROAN!"

"What was that? I couldn't quite make it out. The ball gag can sure get in the way of a witty retort, can't it?"

I laughed and hung up on my boneheaded brother. God, I loved him being back on the farm. I know difficult days lay ahead for us, the way they do for any agro family. But at least with Anders, I'd have one of my own to face it all with.

When I pulled up to the house, Mom and The Team Complete were all there. I got out, dropped the tailgate just in time for Mom to spread a tablecloth on it. I jumped up to pull the big blue grazer filled with cold drinks toward the end. Mom got the pies out of the back of the truck, and between the two of us, we managed to get all the boxes opened up and laid out for some hungry harvesters.

They were all wonderful guys, and many were walking back from the barn where they'd cleaned up a little. They gathered in a circle and offered thanks, hats in hand and heads bowed. One by one, they grabbed plates, napkins, ice-cold drinks and at least a couple of slices of pizza each.

We made off for the shaded lawn on the northern side of the house. Nothing but laughter and smiles from everyone. Miguel praised his guys for the fast, accurate work they'd managed to do. Helen echoed his praise, saying she liked working with them more than any other harvesting team in all her years. Miguel just blushed and said `thank you'.

I found a narrow slice of pie in a neglected corner of a box. Not that I didn't want more, but those were some hungry guys. I knew we could've ordered another five pies, and every last slice of pepperoni would've found a home behind a belt buckle. I sat and smiled, though. Mom and I both made our appreciation known for The Team's work to get our first harvest without Dad a big success so far. Still had two or so days, but at this point, we were beyond pleased.

The food brokers were on the phone with Mom each day, confirming prices and yields. When Mom smiles about a phone conversation now, I know she's not just being polite. No more having to get through expressions of condolences, regardless how sincere they were----and they were sincere. Now the time on the phone was daily confirmation that she, Anders and I were on track to being okay with and for each other.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I knew it was my boyfriend before I even saw the screen. I stood up and excused myself, and walked around side of the house and into the kitchen to talk with Marc.

"Hey, Boyfriend."

"Hi, Babe. How's it going out there?"

"All is well, thanks. I just finished up lunch with The Team. They're ahead of schedule. I think I'll see the taillights of grain trucks earlier today than yesterday. What great guys they all are."

"You won't have to convince me. I feel lucky to have been part of this week with them here."

"How's your day going?"

"It's all right, thanks; I'm spending more time in each room of this house to see how she and I can coexist nicely. I think some things will have to go, but all the vintage stuff stays. I'm going to hold onto the kitchen appliances for as long as they continue to work. They're original to the house, you know. My big challenge is The Grandies' bedroom. I don't want to treat it like a shrine or anything, but I also think our room is big enough for us, and I like that if faces North. It'll be cooler in Summer months."

Did Marc really just say, `our room'? SWOON

"I like your house. It's unique, and somehow looks just right among all those hundred-year-old houses around it in that neighborhood. I wonder what made your grandparents favor the mid-century design."

"The architect was one of my Grammy's students, in the late-1950s. Her name was Famke Ossenhavig. She had drawn a house when she was only like ten years old, and Grammy complimented the little girl on it. She opened the dictionary and encyclopedia to `architect' for the little Frances Lloyd Wright, and, well, that wasn't the only house Famke drew for my grandmother. The blueprints and engineering specs are in a huge, flat drawer in the dining room's built-in cabinetry. The Grandies' house was her senior architecture school project. She won top honors for it."

"Wow! That's an amazing legacy."

"Famke Ossenhavig went on to design other houses, particularly for members of the Nordstrom family. The ones who have the luxe department stores. She also designed three US Pavilions for different Worlds' Fair Expositions. I live in the very first house she designed."

"I will never tire of you making History live, Boyfriend."

"Heh.....you're adorable, Jeff. You make me feel the same way about agriculture and animals."

"We're a good team, then. Marc, are you coming back out here this evening?"

"Oh. I have to wait until evening?"

"You don't have to wait for anything. Or anyone. You heard Ma; this is your home, too."

Just as I said that, Mom came into the kitchen with the tablecloth.

"Is that Marc? Is he coming home this evening?"

"He hasn't said yet."

"Well, why not? I'd bet he has nothing in that refrigerator."

"Marc, that's Maternal Logic you'd better not argue with."

"It's not completely empty. There's a box of baking soda toward the back. Grammy threw everything away before they flew out. She said it would force me to go to the store and meet people."

"Well? Did it?"

"Nope. The way I see it, if my fridge is empty, then I can't argue with Maternal Logic, and come where the food will be muuuuuch better than if I shop and cook for myself."

"You know the way out here."

"I do. Need anything from town?"

"Oh, my god. Mom, he's one of us, truly. Marc just asked if we need anything from town."

"Just his handsome face and hungry stomach."

"You heard Mom."

"And you. I'll see you soon, Babe."

"I'm going nowhere. Afternoon chores, then I'm going out with the drone to fly over the rest of the crops and see where we are. Maybe you come, too."

"Yeah, I want to do that with you. I'll wrap up some stuff here. I'll bring my laptop, too, so I can get some more homework done. Then, later.....let's you and I discuss some things, okay? Nothing heavy; just my immediate plans, or plans for plans."

"Heavy or light, we'll discuss whatever, Marc."

"Bye, Babe."

"Bye, Boyfriend."

"Jeff, you and Marc seem to be doing all right."

"I think so, Mom. We are making no assumptions about anything. I'm hopeful we can keep going as we are, but no pressure. I still have school to think about, as well as harvesting the alfalfa, calving season, Winter wheat, and the Spangler possibilities."

"That's a lot for anyone, let alone just one young man who has faced none of those on his own yet. How do you fit Marc in with all that?"

"I don't. Well, not by trying. Here's my take on Marc: he's like a handful of Rye grains. If I just hold them in the palm of my hand and let `em rest, supported and appreciated, and get a little warmth and love, they're content to stay there. But if I make a fist to try to hold on and control them, they run out between my fingers. I'm left with very little, if anything at all.

Nothing good comes of that. So, Marc and I talk, we see each other, we remind each other why we're glad we met, and we kinda hold each other in the palms of our hands. He pursues a new career here, and I chase a whole lotta new stuff, too. I bet once things settle down, we'll see better if we can, too. I hope we can."

"So do I, Jozef. Your brother and I both like Marc, and we like you boys together. How did you get so wise?!"

"Thanks, Mom. Looks like there's nothing to clean up from lunch! I'll park the rest of the sodas in the barn fridge. That was weird, but lucky; I don't remember putting towels in the back seat of my truck."

"Probably because you didn't."

"Oh, you did? When did you do that?"

"While you and Marc were kind of.....how shall I say.....'occupied' in the front seat yesterday. I initially brought them because I thought there'd be a mess to clean up, but since there wasn't, I just left them there to insulate the hot pizzas."

"MOM!!!"

"WHAT??!?!"

"YOU DID NOT DO THAT!"

"You're right, but damn, it sure is fun to have a gay kid who thinks he can get away with shit! I put the towels in earlier in the morning."

"Ohhhh.....HAHAHAHAHA!!! My god, WHAT NEXT??!"

"Don't ask!!! Who knows!!?!?!"

I laughed and walked out to get in my truck and drive it across the barnyard so the maybe seven or so cans of soda could find a new home in the barn fridge. A whoppin' three minutes later, I was being serenaded by Lola Cola's dulcet baritone voice. She'd been here only a week, and already I couldn't remember----or imagine---this farm without her on it.

As I got closer to her at the far end of the barn, her thumping tail was setting off Richter Scales in Seattle and, I would not've been surprised, Odessa. She woofed her genuinely happy greeting, and I crawled right in with her and the pups. Yet again, they were all looking well, and looking fatter.

I gave Lola Cola some love, and dug a little duck heart out of the cooler for her. Of course, Old Cat was not about to miss out on THAT, so I found one for him, too. They were both content for the moment, so I took advantage of that to check on the pups.

I lifted each of them, now five days old and easily twice their original birth size and weight. Anders, Mom and I had continued with hand-nursing, and after seeing they were all alive, breathing and moving around, I returned to the little kitchen area at the other end and prepared two bottles of puppy formula.

I loved this part; getting to hold each of them, love on them, feed them and give them a tiny uncle check-up', too. I wished Tom were here with me; I think he'd just go into immediate Vet Mode' and put into practice everything he'd been reading about the breed since seeing them for the first time earlier in the week.

OC was right up on me when I picked up my little guy, whom I'd saved for the very last. CatDaddy again was nosing all over this baby puppy. He was concerned about something; this wasn't the first or the second time OC gave particular attention to him. Note To Self: talk with Tom and LeVar about it.

Lola Cola took that opportunity to race out of the barn and around the side. She was gone just a little longer each time. I guess I noticed it this time, so I went out to make sure she was all right. Oh, yeah. Quite all right. Laying in the Sun, and not on her side: she was on her back, rolling around and making silly dog noises.

Exactly what Stan had done when he was out in the little pasture. Of course, the Power Of Suggestion made me want a backrub, too. I wondered if giving a desiccated duck heart to Marc would get some attention on my old, overworked teenaged shoulders.....I suffer so much for my craft, after all.....

Once they were all back and nestled up against Lola Cola, I secured the net back to the top of the stall. I left the front net unbound, since it was daytime and Barn Owl wasn't going to come down with Old Cat right there. We were initially concerned that he might not always be present as another level of protection, but I don't think he ever really moved from his spot on the bale of straw. OC, you have earned permanent placement in my heart.

I walked out to the corral. There was Sebby. Poor, lonely Sebby. I grabbed the brush hanging by the suede leather strip on the corral gate, and got in with my big guy. He saw the brush and walked toward me, bellowing out his own `hi-and-what-the-fuck-took-you-so-long,-Human?' greeting.

A rub between his eyes and ears, and we were friends again. I was happy to spend time with him. He wasn't only a friendly steer, he was someone I'd cared for for over five years. We knew each other. I loved him for his kind protection of the pregnant cows, even though he probably didn't realize he was providing it.

Once he was brushed down and I'd given my big guy another quick exam, I fixed a lead to his halter and walked him out to the little pasture to graze. Oh, he was a happy boy; Sebby took off running and bouncing around, and undid all my brushwork by dropping to his elbows and knees, and rolling around on his back.

I swear, this must be a Mammal Thing'; everyone did it. I remembered Dad even liking to roll around in the lawn after working the fields in Summer. The grass was always cool, and scratched every itch just right', he'd say.

I saw Bolt and Stan out in the distance. They both looked to see me, but I guess since I didn't have the pan of oats in my hands, I wasn't to be regarded seriously. Yeah, well, be that way, ya goofy geldings. I'm having a just really fine day without you two, too.

There wasn't a lot going on today, now that The Team were wrapping up their last fifty or so acres. I had a moment to myself, and decided to get another moment with Dad. I don't think I was at all tired, and I'd been having such a good day, I wasn't feeling lazy, either. I just wanted some introspection, and who better to get it with than my own father. Not even a five minutes' walk, and I already had all sorts of things to cover. I took a deep breath and held it, descending to my knees at the side of Dad's grave.

`Dad.....Hi, Daddy. Lots to tell you. I hope you're comfortable....!

Sebastian was invited to show at the state fair. I am honored. I would like to go. I think you'd have liked me to go, too. I can hear you: "No one has taken a steer to the state fair; not from this county. Your mother and I can handle this for a few days. Take the one-ton. You might get a ribbon for the truck, too!"

I don't think I can go, though; not right now. A purple ribbon right here is the highest honor, ever. If we won another in Great Falls, then what? Regionals? A big ring for whatever the Super Bowl is for 4H projects? Anders can handle the last couple of days of Harvest; no problem. I'll sleep on it. Again.

We're ahead of schedule for Harvest, Dad. Everyone misses you. All those rocks on your forehead? From Miguel and The Team. I cried hard when they loved and respected you without ever saying so.

Oh; Anders and Eva! Dad, she's home. This is her home now. She's finally one of us, Dad. `Common Grounds' is big and getting huge! Anders and I are going to do some light remodeling inside so she can get some counter foot traffic, too. All she does is smile, Daddy. Well, today, anyway. Lyle Connor Junior kinda fucked things up for her at the fair Saturday night. Daddy, I was so scared. Not scared of Junior; just scared for Eva's long-term emotional health after he attacked her. I was ready to kill him. I know Anders would have.

Marc saved both Eva's and Junior's lives. I don't think anyone realizes that yet. Marc kept Junior alive until Dan Gremaux could get there. Someday, Junior will thank Marc for being there, and not Aleksy. Oh, you should've been with us when we drove home from the fair. Women on Main Street saw Marc and me. They honked or shouted `THANK YOU!' to Marc. He was turning all shades of red. I should've told him he looked like a traveling traffic stop light.

You'd like Marc, Dad. Mom already told him he's one of us, too. Just today, she asked me if Marc was coming home tonight. This home, Dad. Our home. Anders and I are going to make this a home for the sixth, seventh and all future generations, Dad. The house is big enough for wayward, over-educated tourists and over-talented bakers, and the Wojtowicz Boys who are enamored of them. And for all the seventh generation they'll create together.

Mom is doing okay. She has thrown herself into this work. She's not trying to make Anders or me feel like we can't do it. She's always asking us questions, and not the kind wanting us to answer to her. The kind of questions that make us think and then ask ourselves questions to get our own answers. She's like her own father, Grandpa Gimbal.

Stan is doing well. I can see him looking and listening for you. I believe his confusion will lead to grief when he realizes you're not here. I take care of Stanley Cup, though, like you did. He and Bolt are inseparable. Oh----Dad, Stan likes Marc, or at least he tolerates him. They've spent time on a lead together, but haven't been out on saddle yet. Soon.

Marc rides! Dressage and Western. As if Marc can't get any better, he thoroughly throttles thugs AND he rides, too. Not the thugs-----just the horses. And, well, no surprise to you, Daddy.....Marc rides my heart, too. Expertly. And he stays on. Way longer than eight seconds. As of now, 691,200 seconds and counting.

Fergus County is Fergus County. It'll never change, at least I hope it won't, in the ways that make this a perfect place to live. Lewistown sees new faces all the time. Most are just coming and going. Mr Boldonovic is retiring and moving away, I think. Just like Mr and Mrs Taylor. Mr B is trying to help Marc get through and interview with the Lewistown School Board----as the superintendent.

I probably already told you that; it's something I think about all the time. I hope Marc gets the job; he has already resigned his professor position at Harvard. If he doesn't get the job but he stays here, it'll be an entirely new life without working in academia. I don't know what he'll do otherwise. He'll figure it out. But of course, Dad.....well, if you're feeling like you want to maybe help the process along.....Marc's interview is Wednesday.....

I think Mom, Aleksy and I will talk about the Sanger Farm this evening, Dad. Damn, I want to help them. This is the only life they know, Daddy. Yeah, yeah.....I know. I've said that before, and I'll probably say it again. Tommy was born a vet, Daddy. My boy knows more about what goes on underneath a hide than anyone else who hasn't gone through vet school. Once he's in and out? There's no stopping my boy Tom. What would you do, Daddy? Not about Tom, but kinda; I mean, about helping them.

I'm kinda rethinking my own thoughts about becoming a vet, Dad. Tom wants to stay here and DVM the heck out of Fergus County. Sally already wants to bring him onboard, and she's not much older than Aleksy, Dad. That'd be a total of five vets in Fergus County. I think my better move is to stay partnered with my brother, Dad.

We're not going to ever run big herds. We are farmers, first and foremost; ranchers second. Heck, we almost have as many Bernese dogs as we have Black Angus, and they'll all be about the same size as each other by Spring. Heh.....I think I'll pitch an idea to Aleksy that we should brand the pups when they're big enough.

Or maybe I won't.....that'd be the fastest way to get me down there next to you before I turn eighteen. Not that I'd mind being closer to you, Daddy. Wouldn't mind it at all, but maybe just not yet. Let me make you proud of me a bunch more times first. I'll start with avoiding suggestions to my big brother that we should brand the puppies.

So, I have to decide about school. Daddy, both Montana and Montana State have undergrad degrees, completely online. I can stay here, work with my big brother, and still go to school'. Agro Business', Anders says I should consider. I'm thinking about it, but Anders is here to stay, and he already has two agro degrees. I'm leaning toward staying with Montana, and maybe even pursuing an MBA instead of DVM.

I know we're talkin', Dad. I know you hear me. And I'm listening to you. Listening for you. But what I'd give, Daddy; just one more ride, you and me, out on Stan and Bolt. To talk like we used to. I really miss how you listened to me sometimes; like you were staring right into my head and heart, trying to understand your silly, gay, Polish kid.

I remember the first time you realized that you had more than just a silly Polish kid on your hands. I told you I was gay when I was twelve years old. And you cried. I thought I had broken your heart, or at least you were mad at me. Disappointed. Hurt. I didn't think it was a big deal to tell you. I actually felt proud that I could talk with you about it. It never crossed my mind you'd react by crying, and I felt awful the moment I saw the first tear fall from your eye. I knew then I was wrong to say anything to you.

That thought didn't last long; I remember you got down from your horse, walked around to mine and pulled me down from Bolt. We both just sat right down, and you held onto me tightly, and just cried. I cried, too; I was sure I'd said the wrong thing. Yeah, maybe the honest thing, but still, the wrong thing. I remember we sat there for what seemed like the longest time.

Our horses had wandered away to graze. I remember looking over your back and saw two Chinese Pheasants, not twenty feet from us. They were both so brightly colored, with feathers that were tall and beautiful. Two males. I remember wondering if they were gay, or maybe one was a boy, and he was telling his dad that he was gay, just like I had. They weren't crying, but we were.

And now I am again, Daddy.

You made sure before we tracked down our horses and rode home that I knew you weren't mad at me. That you were proud of me for being brave, and for being honest. You even said I'd be proud of you, and that we'd be the best father-and-gay-son farmer team in the entire Fergus County. The entire state of Montana. I felt, Daddy, and still feel, at this very moment, you and I are the best father-and-silly-gay-Polish-son team in the world. If I never thank you for anything else in my life, which I hope will still be a long life, I will thank you for that. And love you for it, too.

What I'd give for one more ride, Daddy.'

I stood. My knees were covered in rich, black soil, turned so recently it was not yet dry dirt. I reached down and felt the coolness of the soil. I saw the two indentations I'd made. It was then that I realized someone had come to smooth out the soil after The Team had paid honor and tribute to my father, their friend. Without doubt, Miguel did it himself. He and his men had left the little rocks as reminders of their visit, but smoothed away the traces of them having stepped anywhere near Dad's grave. They had tended the little plot of Earth with the same care they exercised on thousands of larger acres within our fences.

I turned to walk back, wiping a few dirt-stained tears from my face. I saw the garden rake, rested against the barn's weathered face. Yeah, someone had been there, using a tool much smaller than an eighteen-ton New Holland CR9070. I looked back, seeing Dad's grave and smiling at how orderly it appeared. Perspective is everything; I saw, too, that all of the graves had been weeded. I can tell you something about dirt on a silly, gay, Polish farm boy's face: it disappears fast when some tears of joy and gratitude wash it away.

My phone rang with the general ring tone, which was the first eight measures of the Green Acres' theme song. I thought I was so clever. More like predictable', you might be thinking. The caller I.D. was a local 538 number, but not one I recognized. I sure recognized the ultra-sexy, hyper-deep voice at the other end of the line, though.

"Hi, this is Jeff."

"Hi, Jeff. This is Ross Sweeney, at the Yogo Inn."

"Mr Sweeney; hi. How's it going over there?"

"Just fine, Jeff. We were full for the fair, and next weekend is the state Shriners' Convention and Ball. It's good to be busy."

"Oh, my gosh.....thousands of burgundy-red fez beanies, invading Lewistown! Shriners probably saved the life of Beth Adams after she almost got burned alive in that house fire when I was a little kid. They're heroes; I'm glad Lewistown will see them here for the big convention this year. Too bad Sebastian won't be corn-finished in time for it. Geez, I can't believe I just said that!"

"Jeff, that's why I'm calling. I need to talk with you about him, but I'd rather this be an in-person meeting. Things are kind of hectic for me right now, so I can't really get away; but when you're next in town, would you please let me know, and if we can make it work, come by the Yogo for a few minutes?"

"Oh, sure; that's fine, Mr Sweeney. I have to be in town tomorrow morning, probably around Eight. Would between Eight and Nine work for you?"

"Eight, and breakfast is on me, all right?"

"Eight is great, Mr Sweeney; and I'm already drooling for those Swedish pancakes and the lingonberries that swim around on the plate with `em!"

"I like those, too. See you then, Jeff. And please; call me Ross, okay?"

"I'm happy to, Ross. See you at Eight!"

We concluded the call. What could be so important that I was being called in for a meeting about Sebastian? Well, I guess I'd find out soon enough. Just as I was putting my phone back in my pocket, it rang again. No `Green Acres' theme this time.

"Hi, Boyfriend."

"Babe. In the middle of something?"

"No; just getting some small stuff done around the barn. Everything okay?"

"Yeah, it's fine. I met the neighbors on either side of me. Nice people. Nosey, but nice. I could tell Mrs Schmelling wasn't entirely convinced The Grandies had moved out of state. She was doing her best Mrs Kravitz imitation, trying to look behind me into the house to see if there were two dismembered corpses on the kitchen floor."

"Don't do anything that will leave a stain on that perfect oak flooring in that house. That'd be a sin and a shame."

"I think that was Mrs Schmelling's bigger concern, too. Jeff, I want to drive out now, if that's still convenient. Don't want to interrupt any essential farm activity."

"All farm activity is essential. Just ask anyone who has ever seen empty grocery store shelves. But for you? Every plant, every chicken, every prize-winning steer gets a rest from my exertions, just for you."

"You left out Bernese dogs."

"Well, see, that's where I draw the line, Marc. You're hot, but the puppies are cute. Cute' outweighs hot', as sorry as I am to admit that. I think Old Cat is still on watch, so fine; just for you, just for the moment, fuckin' hot man' gets my attention more than cute puppies'."

"You say and think `fuck' a lot; did you notice that?"

"I'm a teenaged farm boy; fuck' is all I say and think, not just a lot'. And just a Word To The Wise: it's also what I want to do."

"Really? That comes as a huge surprise!"

"Surprise! I cum huge, too!"

"And THAT is NO surprise. May it always be thus."

"I can make a right turrible mess, Mister Professor."

"Don't I know. You almost laminated me right to the wall of your shower."

"Well, you said you `wanted to stick around'; I was just taking you literally."

"When do I get to literally `take you'?"

"Later.....when the farm folk have all turned in. You wanna make my hayloft fantasy come true?"

"Wait.....you have a `hayloft fantasy' that has yet to come true??"

"Well, kinda. I mean my own hayloft, right here. I've already `done the work' in other haylofts."

"HOW MANY HAYLOFTS??!"

"Oh, there are dozens of barns with haylofts. Or do you mean the ones just here in Fergus County?"

"Holy fuck, Jeff! Is there much of a difference?!"

"There's a big difference! Probably twelve dozen in a wide radius, versus four dozen in the county."

"TWELVE DOZEN??! That's just a......"

"Gross."

"To say the least!"

"No, I mean, twelve dozen is `a gross'. It's actually an old term specific to how grocers would order eggs from farmers, Boyfriend."

"Gross'/Gross'. Potato'/Potahto'. Okay, but you haven't really been in that many haylofts, living out farm boy fantasies.....have you....?"

"Well, since it's my fantasy and not yours, we'll just keep moving the conversation forward and leave you guessing."

"Or worrying."

"Don't worry, Boyfriend; I haven't done it in a grain silo yet."

"Whew.....well, THAT'S something still on the list, I guess."

"Oh, I meant I haven't done it with a Harvard History Professor yet, is all."

"Who have you....?"

"By subject or by grade?"

"I think I need to race out there right now....."

"Oh? Feeling like you want to pleasure me?"

"No, like I have to protect you. From yourself."

"A full-time job, if ever there were one. How WILL you find time to go into the superintendent's office?"

"I'll work remotely, if necessary. And it sounds like it'll be necessary, to say the least."

"Why don't you just say the least and drive the most? You'll be out here before I have to tell you about all the other places on my list to `Do It'."

"Where are the keys to the old `57....?"

"Hotwire it if necessary; just get the old `57 and the old 29 out here, pronto."

"Wait.....'old 29'?"

"Aren't you 29?"

"Yeah, but.....oh, you fucker."

"Rather be the fuckee, but any port in a storm, I guess....."

"Despite how I'm REALLY feeling right now......I'll say `I like you'."

"I like you."

"Bye."

"Kiss."

Heh.....I bet Mr and Mrs Taylor were getting drunk on their own laughter at that very moment, knowing just what a mad world their grandson got lost running around in, only a week earlier.

I was sending a text to Tom, to ask him about my little guy. The initial squeak a few days earlier, and ever since then, OC's incessant care given to him specifically. Maybe Tom had an idea, or if not, he might give me some specific questions to ask LeVar or Sally. I counted each day that I found them all eating and moving to be good days, but that's as superficial as opening up a carton of eggs in a store and just looking at them. There's no knowing if any are cracked underneath, or eggs going `bad' beneath the shell. I didn't want to obsess on my little guy, but I wanted him checked out.

Tom wrote back that he'd drive over this evening, like 8:00PM. That would be about the last time of day the pups would eat, and the best time to observe them afterward. I told Tommy to plan on staying for dinner, which he is always happy to accept.

I wanted to talk with Tom, Anders wanted to talk with Marc, and I know Mom and Eva would talk, too. I went and found Mom.

"Mom, Tom's coming over around Eight to check on Lola Cola and her pups; one particularly. I think it's the one I call my `little guy'. Old Cat seems very concerned about him, and he's the pup who made a strange squeak a couple of days ago."

"It's growing pains. I know the pup you're talking about. If you look at him side-by-side the others, you'll see he's just a little longer, and head a little big around. I'd bet he had a painful headache on occasion each day. You were right to call Tom, though; he'd done lots of study on the the breed. If he doesn't know, Sally and LeVar will. Your little guy will be okay. We just need to convince Old Cat about that. Speaking of OC; he needs a check-up, too. I don't remember any vaccinations he's ever had, or check-ups."

"Oh----on the issue of domesticated farm animals.....I meeting Ross Sweeney in town tomorrow, at the Yogo Inn. He wants to talk with me about Sebastian. No clues, though. He said it would be a short conversation. Has he said anything to you about this?"

"Yes, he has, Jeff. But it's your conversation to have with him. He told me first because you're not old enough yet to have contractual conversations. He has good reason to want to talk with you. What time is your meeting, and do you want me to go with you?"

"It's at Eight, at the Yogo. Thanks for the offer, but I'll go alone. If there's anything beyond my abilities, I won't make any decisions. Whatever it is, I'm not worrying about it until tomorrow morning. Maybe not even then."

"Also, Jeff: Anders and Eva are on their way home. This has been a trying day for her, despite me and then Anders there with her. I am going to give them a wide berth so they can de-stress. Need to figure out something for dinner, though; especially if Tommy and Marc will be here, too. Six of us.....is tonight a good night for spaghetti, meatballs and garlic bread?"

"EVERY night is good for that! Heck, yeah! And I know we have Spumoni in the freezer. I'll go get some ground beef and hot Italian sausage out of the freezer in the cellar."

"Will you please get several pint jars of tomato sauce and paste, and a large package of pasta? I'll harvest an onion and garlic out of the garden. We can make and simmer the bolognese while the meats thaw."

"Spaghetti Night is one of my favorites. Oh-HO! Look who arrives on his trusty, rusty steed; Prince Marc-A-Lot from Camelot."

Marc drove down the drive from the county road in the blue and cream-white old truck. The motor in it sounded so smooth and quiet. As much as I loved the thought of a Mustang, it wasn't really farm-practical. Marc parked by my truck, and I walked over to meet him. We hugged when he stepped out of his truck.

"Boyfriend."

"Babe."

Our smiles at each other were well past the `gee, you're hot and I want to fuck you all day and all night!'. Sure, it's how we felt, but we didn't smile about it. Not in public. I knew, though, the moment I could get him to our bedroom, or in the hayloft, even the grain silo.....all bets were off.

Of course, our first stop had to be at the barn. Marc used the restroom there and washed up before walking to the other end of the one hundred year old post-and-beam structure. Lola Cola sensed Marc and me approaching, and again woofed and wagged. All the animals liked Marc. A good sign. Marc carefully opened the stall gate. Even OC meowed a welcome to Marc, although I didn't tell him Old Cat was more than likely just wanting a duck heart.

Marc got right down with Lola Cola and the pups to love on each and all of `em. He didn't pick any of the pups up; just stroked their silk-fine fur and spoke lovingly to all of them. Lola Cola leaned forward to give Marc's hand a lick or two.

"Jeff, they all look so much bigger than the last time I saw them, which was what, just hours ago?"

"Pretty much, Marc. Tom is coming over for dinner, and to give all of the newborn four-legged furries some Doctor Time. My little guy is a concern for me, although Mom says he's all right. Just growing fast. I don't doubt her, really; I just want a second opinion that'll rule out anything to keep me awake at night."

"I hope Tom isn't going to come toward ME with his stethoscope; I have every intention of keeping you awake at night."

"Oh, no. He's here for little puppies and big meatballs on a mound of Mom's spaghetti. Maybe a few hands of `Cards Against Humanity' after. You ever play?"

"Heck, yeah! That and UNO, and Gin Rummy. Backgammon. Cribbage. FBA. That one is my favorite."

"What's `FBA'?"

"`Farm Boy Ass'. It's only for two players, but once you get started, it's not easy to stop. Sometimes games can go on until five in the morning."

"And I assume there's a point to the game?"

"Yeah, of course. The point is to put the point in the farm boy's ass."

"You're making this all up! There's no such game!"

"Sure there is, and no, I'm not! The best part: two can play almost anywhere. In a barn's hayloft, in the front seat of an old truck; even in a grain silo."

"And you've played this game, have you?"

"Only in theory, but the first time was about 5:00AM last Sunday, after I'd been out running. Truth be told: I knew right then I wanted to play FBA with you."

"Can I deny you anything, Boyfriend?"

"Deny me all the things that don't matter, Babe; I won't ask for them in the first place."

Who talks to a seventeen year old farm boy like that? My man does. While we walk toward our big home on a increasingly-harvested plain. During which my heart beats right out of my chest. `FMA', indeed. You'd better bring your best moves to THAT game, Boyfriend.

Mom was hanging out some sheets and other linens. The Sun and breeze would bring their own intoxicating scent to them in a matter of only minutes. I could see Mom had washed several complete sets.

"Take some of these up with you later, Jeff. Oh, would you also take some to Aleksy and Eva's room, too? Hi, Marc. I hope you brought your Sunday Dinner appetite; spaghetti and meatballs."

"One of my favorites, Marie. Let me know how I can be useful."

"You are such a bachelor! You can't shop for food; how do I know you can cook it?"

We laughed and Marc shook his head and turned red. Again.

"You have a point. Well, your sons can attest to my ersatz kitchen talents; I can set the table and help wash the dishes, anyway."

"Salient and necessary skills, Marc. I'll have the Bolognese simmering soon, and we'll deal with the meatballs after that. Otherwise, this is a quiet Sunday for us. The Team are wrapping up the last few acres, and they'll be going back to town, and the drivers to the train."

The Team's white vans came to the barnyard while the three of us continued to talk about everything except Saturday night. Both stopped by the barn and twelve men piled out to use the restroom before their trip into town. We walked out to greet them, and thank them for the day's work.

"Senora W, we are happy to report only two days more, and your harvest will be all done!"

SCORE! I called four days. I'm about to be 50¢ richer!

"Thank you, Miguel! That's just fine."

"Oh, Seniorito Jefe! Thank you for the pizzas today. You are all so good to us on this farm."

"We could not have this farm without you and your team, Miguel. Dad said that for as long as I can remember."

"Muchas Gracias! Oh----we are providing the music for the 6PM Mass at St Leo! Mariachi music! We bring with us seven guitars, some fiddles and trumpets, wherever we go. Maybe you would like to come this evening."

Mom and I both got big smiles on our faces and looked at each other. Heck YES, we'd come! We said as much, and I could tell Mom was already planning on parking the sauce in her biggest crockpot. No farm wife loved a crockpot like Mom did. She had hers, as well as her mother's and Dad's mother. Three crockpots, and it was not uncommon for them to be all busy on the same days.

The Team said their good-byes, and we waved them up to the county road. We could go to Mass and come back with plenty of time to get the salad and garlic bread made. Mom looked at me while she headed for the house phone.

"Jozef, get more ground beef and Italian sausage out of the freezer. Two more pounds each. Marc, there are four leaves for the dining room table, in the closet. Please get them in the table, and find the long table cloth in the top drawer of the buffet, too."

We nodded and got on with our assignments. Mom called and got Jon Spangler on the phone.

"Jon, how're you? It's okay here. Miguel's team ran like race horses today. That's why I'm calling. They're playing music at St Leo's for the 6:00PM Mass. We're planning on going. Lots of guitars, fiddles, trumpets. True Mariachi! Exactly. So, Tommy's coming over around Eight to look at the puppies so Jeff can stop worrying about them, and then stay for spaghetti and meatballs.

Well, that's exactly why I'm calling! We're going to have a lot. I know we called off the picnic, but let's have a nice Sunday Italian dinner, still. Bring Trace. Okay, then him, too. I don't think I know Toby, though. I have twelve chairs and a table the size of South Dakota. No, don't bring anything, but I want to know how Kelly makes her incredible garlic bread. Perfect, Jon. Now: meet us in town if you want hear The Team's music, or come out here around 7:30. That'll be fine. Okay, see you Spanglers there or here! Oh----Kristi is welcome. Have Tom call her, or I'll have Jeff do it. Great! Bye!"

"Mom, I'm counting eleven people. Down to the cellar again and back up."

"Agreed. Better bring up five more pounds each of ground beef and sausage, and more stuff for sauce. Grab a pound of butter out of the freezer, too. I'm going to get Kelly to help make the garlic bread, and this time, I'm watching her like a hawk."

Mark returned from the dining room.

"Marie, is everyone going through a buffet line for dinner? If so, I can get plates and stuff set up, and silverware on the table."

"Please, and thanks, Marc; that's just right. Yeah, this'll all work. Do either of you boys know who this Toby is?"

Marc and I looked at each other for a brief moment before I answered Mom.

"Just met him, Mom; he was in the rodeo, too. I think he's a friend of Trace's, from Baker. So, he's, um, coming over, too?"

"Maybe. I invited him, through Jon. I haven't seen Trace in a long time. I remember thinking what a handsome guy he was. All the Spangler men are handsome. They have nothing on my boys, though."

We laughed and did what we could to help Mom get the Bolognese sauce going in the crockpots. It was a nice, light-hearted conversation; made better, I think, because Marc was truly integrating into his new home, and we were all looking forward to hearing The Team's music in two hours. Anders and Eva rode down onto the farm in tandem, her rig following Anders'. Our barnside parking lot was filling up these days.

Those two walked into the house and brought with them a sound I don't think we'd heard before. They were laughing, but not just any laughter; it was calm and peaceful. Joyful, really. Not even slightly uncomfortable. Not at all reminiscent of the horrors of the night before at the fair. This was how friends laugh with each other; like they truly `got' each other, and were happy to be together.

I wanted that with Marc. Right now, we were still in the joyous process of getting to know each other, and yeah, we laughed a lot. But we didn't have Anders' and Eva's history, going back almost all of their lives from grade school to now. So much darkness in those years, with last evening at the fair eclipsing what had been the perfect `First Re-Date'.

What my big brother and Eva had endured, alone and together, earned them their calm and peaceful laughter. Marc and I would come into our own, someday. For now, though-----hearing theirs was inspirational and aspirational. And how it made Mom stand upright, turn to look at them and smile like I think I'd never seen Mom smile before.

As seems to be her `new usual', Eva carried in a beer flat with something good in it. She set it on the counter, and Mom, Marc and I peeked over the top and just stood back up straight, laughing.

Eva and Anders looked at each other with huge question marks on their faces. They looked at us, waiting for someone to explain. I live for moments like this one:

"You didn't forget the Cannoli!"

We laughed again, and Marc explained that Mom and I were working on a Sunday Night Spaghetti Feast. What could go better with that than Cannoli? Once they were in on the coincidence of participating in the spaghetti dinner and an old movie line (slightly adulterated) to go with it, Anders and Eva laughed along. Yeah, and hugged each other. Calm, peaceful, joyful everything between those two.

We all cleaned up, a little or a lot, and piled into Dad's big truck. Honestly, it was the cleanest, and technically, we WERE going to church. It only made sense. Driving past Common Ground', I honked and we all waved at Kim. With none of us surprised, she was entertaining the Wix twins, Kris and Kras (short for Kraswell', their mother's maiden name) in their old Nash Metropolitan convertible. Those boys were drop-dead gorgeous Townies, beginning their Junior year in only two weeks.

Kim was kind to everyone, but she enjoyed being The Slightly Older Auntie' to kids in town. If they were coming through Common Grounds' for boba teas or caramel apple ciders, they weren't likely to be ducking in and out of each other's houses, drinking their parents' liquor.

Kim had a fascinating ability to remember names and facts-----which could work against the kids as much as it worked for them. Parents hadn't begun phoning Common Grounds' yet to check out alibis, but if they did, they'd hear only the truth from Kim and Eva. Ah, that Blind Justice' thing again.....expose the kids to it early, and maybe they won't have to get a reminder when they're in the same position and condition as Junior.

Sunday after the fair would otherwise be a sedate, quiet day. That might've been true for all of Lewistown, except one address: 124 West Broadway. That Sunday was about to get really jumpin' and jivin', and rigs were circling in a four-block radius, looking for parking. We found a space right in front of the post office, only a block away. Lucky us! The walk to St Leo's was fast; not only because of the short distance, but because we wanted to get a seat-----apparently just like everyone else.

We walked in, and oh, my gosh.....shades of Dad's funeral Mass. So many people there, smiling and laughing, looking forward to hearing Miguel and his guys bring some much-welcomed new music liturgy to town. I saw people I knew were not members of the church, but were welcome, regardless. Seating was going to be very tight. Father Tim would probably be the bishop's Golden Boy twice that week.

Anders and I were the tallest in our group, so we stood just inside the narthex doors and looked around to find any seats for five of us together. It wasn't necessary we all sit in one section, but it'd be nice. While we looked around, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned to see Ignacio smiling down at me. He was standing on the third step up on the stairs to the choir and organ loft.

"Senorito Jefe! Familia! Follow me!"

He spoke quietly, but he was smiling and clearly had a plan. Who were we to interrupt a man on his plan? Up the narrow, winding stairs we climbed, and found ourselves in the choir loft, where probably one hundred more chairs had been set up. It's also where The Team were, in their Mariachi suits, looking soooo handsome. Those suits were musical in their own rights; just looking at them made me hear notes and want to dance.

All their instruments were laid out carefully. So they were going to perform all the music from up here! Perfect! The acoustics in St Leo's were already as close to perfect as one would find, and from up here, well, `close' was no longer a word in the sentence. As people continued to gather below, I sent a text to my boy.

"Hey, if you're coming to hear Miguel's guys play, take an immediate left inside and come up to the choir loft. That's where we're sitting."

I was busy looking at all the instruments while I waited for a response from Tom. My favorite of them all was the huge, radius-back guitarrón Mexicano, the bass guitar. I had my phone in my left hand, reading Tom's response, while I continued to look at the beautiful, polished instruments.

"Why would I want to sit by you? I know how you are in concerts; you're whistling when you're not holding up a BIC lighter."

"You're coming, then?"

"Nope."

"Aw, damn. This'll be something! Why not?"

"Because I'm sitting right next to you now, you Polish Pecker!"

I whipped my head around and saw Tom and his whole family sitting with my family and me. I laughed and slugged my boy's shoulder.

"OW! `Dislocation', remember??! You dick!"

"I thought that was your other shoulder! Oh, shit....sorry, Tommy!"

"It was my other shoulder, but you probably need to be sorry for something anyway, so this was just as well!"

We laughed, and Anders introduced Marc to Jon and Kelly. Both Trace and Toby smiled and did the fist-bump thing with Marc. Perfect. Everyone was getting along just fine. I didn't see Kristi, but just because I was liking seeing her and Tommy together didn't mean it had to happen each and every time. Besides......we were still fewer than twenty four hours from the previous public spectacle, and maybe Kristi wasn't ready for another one. Even if there was zero chance the same thing would happen tonight that happened Saturday night.

"Tom, um, is Kristi coming?"

"No, she's staying in; at least for this. She'll let me know if we should swing by and pick her up on our way out to your place for dinner."

"I hope she'll come for dinner. Mom's spaghetti and meatballs are the best. And Mom is going to finagle your mom into showing us how to make the best garlic bread, too."

"Well, we brought our appetites, and Trace brought his friend Toby, so that's another stomach to fill."

Tom lowered his voice and leaned in closer to me.

"`Tween you and me, I think Trace found himself his own version of you. I think Toby is his gay best friend. Just a hunch."

I tried not to smile, but Tom was far closer than `just a hunch'. Toby found himself his own gay best friend, too.

"Huh.....well, whaddya know about that. I've said forever there must be something in the water....."

We laughed and before we could talk about something else, Diego broke away from The Team and sat at the organ console. Miguel smiled and nodded at him. Diego was one of the young guys, very possibly my own age or so, and new to The Team this year. He began playing a quieter piece as people continued to gather. Many heads turned up and behind them to see a new face playing.

Playing all four ranks and from memory, Diego moved from one hymn to the next. These were recognizable to a great number of the Catholic Christians there, and even some of the folks from other churches. Soon we heard some humming, and even harmonies of it. A nice way to start Mass.

I saw Miguel speaking to Anders and Eva. She smiled and nodded, and looked at Anders. He, too, smiled and nodded. Eva stood and moved behind the musicians, sitting at the grand piano also in the organ loft. Miguel handed her a loose-leaf notebook, filled with piano music. He had already tabbed the pages of the pieces they'd play. While Diego continued to play the music for gathering, Eva flipped through the tabbed pages and made herself comfortable. Well, Eva. You don't stay down for long, do you? Welcome back up, Eva.

Father Tim entered through the door behind the altar, and spoke from the steps where the communion rail used to be, prior to the window opening for some fresh air in 1965.

"Welcome, Friends, to Sunday Mass in Week Sixteen of Ordinary Time. That is all that will be `ordinary' about Mass this evening. We are blessed----truly and happily blessed---to be joined by Miguel, Ignacio, Diego, Pablo I, Estoban, Francisco, Pablo II, Pedros I, II and III, Enrique and Florenz. They've been our community's farm business partners for years, helping bring in the harvest in a timely and efficient manner. This evening, they are here to bring our hearts and voices in to celebrate our god, our saints, our community and our friends----all of you and more.

For those here who are visiting St Leo's Parish for the first time, please know you are welcome to return. Let us know how we can help you feel you are a part of us, as we hope to be a part of you, too. You'll notice no hymn numbers on the board behind me. If you know what Miguel and his band are playing, by all means; sing along, and make a joyful noise!

Otherwise, just sit back and enjoy, and feel the spirit of the musicians and their instruments fill this space. I will do my best to keep my own contributions to this mass as brief as possible, so as not to interrupt what I believe will be one of the best musical experiences in Fergus County this year. And so, we begin with our custom of greeting each other....."

And so, we began; and for the next 75 minutes, our faces hurt from smiling, laughing, singing (if we knew what we were singing), clapping, and stamping our feet. As Father Tim made the bulletin announcements, The Team made their way quietly and hastily down the stairs, all the way to the church basement. They raced forward beneath the overpacked congregation above them, and up the other set of the stairs which led to the presbytery, on the other side of the door where Father Tim had entered earlier.

Father Tim held his arms up to indicate we should rise for his blessing as we parted and prepared for the new week, and Miguel and The Team came through the door behind the altar playing the recessional music, which was raucous, joyful, sweet and perfect, too. Father Tim stepped down from his lectern, and The Team lined up by two behind him.

As Father Tim walked forward, The Team followed a step behind, playing a fast and upbeat recessional, and smiling at everyone. It wasn't a concert, but it was the best concert I'd ever been to. My boy Tommy and I had our arms around each other's shoulders, holding each other tight and just grateful and happy to be in each other's lives.

People in the pews filled in behind Miguel and The Team, and they continued playing at the bottom of the steps from the street into the church. People of all ages were dancing and laughing, hugging and greeting even more, and celebrating each other's lives. Father Tim offered one more blessing, and Miguel and The Team played the final few measures, then bowed and thanked everyone. You would not have believed the applause. You would not have believed the past week, but I was there for all of it, and I've only just begun to share it all with you.

My gosh.....getting out of downtown Lewistown was no easy feat. So much for a lazy, quiet Sunday. For me, my reflections over the past 75 minutes were on the week; all that had happened, all the work we were also doing for all the weeks that would follow, and how the losses and gains in my own family were transformational in a way I would not have fully understood or appreciated if I were any younger.

We were finally at the edge of town, but the vista before us was of countless red tail lights disappearing at the horizon. In the big truck's big mirrors, I could see a long line of headlights coming up Main Street Hill behind us, too. And these were just the vehicles traveling West! When we got to Common Grounds', Eva and Mom gasped. Anders and I let lose with a holy shit!' each, and Marc offered a `what the.....?!'

We counted 21 vehicles in line, and others parked and people standing to get inside on foot. Eva and Mom both spoke at the same time:

"STOP."

I knew what that meant. Besides the obvious. I pulled over as far off the road as possible, though with all the other rigs standing there idling, there was little room for one more at the inn. Mom and Eva began climbing out the back of the truck. Mom stopped at my window and made the motion for me to crank it down. A total anachronism these days, but everyone still knew what it meant.

"Jozef. The sauce will be fine. You've seen me make the meatballs a million times. Get started on them now. Marc, check on Lola Cola, and round up Bolt and Stan. You know where the oats are, and where the pan is to shake `em around in. We'll call when we're ready to come home. Probably 30 or so minutes. This is just a rush. Come on, Anders. You, too."

Marc and I laughed. This is just what you do here. e pluribus unum', and all that jazz. I told you last Sunday that Mom keeps her antennae up, just in case someone, somewhere, needs help. It was the look on Anders' face, though; that's what made us really laugh. He had an expression of, is this the New Normal?' I wasn't sure Kim's friend from Helena would be enough; maybe another two, as well.

"Boyfriend, it's you and me until they're ready to come home. You and I might be hosting this Sunday Spaghetti thing on our own."

"Well, we can keep everyone entertained until someone calls for a ride. There are a dozen puppies, after all. I think I saw lots of cold drink options in the barn fridge, and I know there are iced tea and real lemonade in the house."

"Wow----you DO pay attention. Allrightythen! This is gonna go easily, and I already know how we're gonna twist this dinner just a little, and keep the house cool at the same time."

"Wait.....you're not really going to barbecue the meatballs!"

"Sure am! It'll be like baking them, and I can do all of them at once on that huge charcoal grill. Um, do you know what charcoal is.....?"

"Oh, yes. It's the stuff found in college freshmen's heads, whether those are heads at Harvard or Montana. HA! Didn't expect THAT, now did you?"

"No, but the real surprise was how fast you shot back. I'd kind of thought you had to plan your witty rejoinders on a calendar."

"I'd choose your next words very carefully, unless you want your big, heavy balls of meat to have the unmistakable aroma and flavor of lighter fluid."

"You know, I don't really choose my words; they choose me. It's like they just shoot out of my mouth sometimes."

"You realize you just admitted to not knowing what you're talking about most of the time, right?"

"I think I'm safe."

"`Safe'?"

"You're not going to remember this moment when you see the puppies again. You go all `ga-ga' over them, and I get away with whatever I want."

"Well, if I have to have my own Kryptonite, I'll choose the Wheezey Berneezies for it. Get away with what you want; I'll always have tiny----for now---huge dogs. Oh, and Stan. Remember: I'll wave to you when I come out to visit the menagerie."

"What about a game of FBA?"

"Oh, do you know how to play `Farm Boy Abstinence'? If you don't, you're about to become an involuntary board leader. And as always, your natural talent will help you win: all you have to do is just lie there."

"DAAAAAAAADDY! MARC'S BEIN' MEAN! MAKE HIM STOP!!!!!"

I guess I whined just a little too convincingly, because Marc was coughing from laughing at me. If nothing else, we would not bore each other! Nothing about my man bored me. I love bantering with him. Dad and I used to, and Tommy and I sometimes get down and busy with the loving insults.

With Marc, though.....maybe because we were new to and for each other, I had to actually think about what he was saying. I'll admit: I wasn't exactly a remedial learner, but I was a little intimidated by Marc's intelligence and intellectual capacity. I was playing verbal Chess with a grand master, and he had every single cell in my brain firing at a million volts and just as many amps. An MRI would've revealed my brain had an erection.

My boyfriend went off to take care of the dogs and horses, and yeah, he knew the routines and where everything and everyone was. He even had an apple waiting for Sebby, who came in with Bolt and Stan. Hearts, apples and carrots.....I think that's where our profits will be going from this year.

I got inside and stirred the sauce. It was missing something, but I'd stay out of that one. Mom always knows what she's doing, anywhere she is at any moment on that land. The ground meats were thawed, so I opened all of them into the huge mixing bowl. Mom's recipes were all inside the cupboard doors, where they'd been taped by many Moms over the generations. Mom's meatballs, though, were her own creation. I found the index card and found the spices and seasonings.

Measured and ready to go, I turned my attention to the onions and garlic. For whatever reason, the Propanethiol S-oxide gas that releases when an onion is cut had little if any effect on me. Mom often enlisted my aid when it came to chopping or dicing or even just slicing onions.

As for the name of the gas: it was still fresh in my memory, since it was on the Biology final exam, just before graduation. I demonstrated at every available opportunity why I was able to skip a year, even if some of the opportunities, like this one, were pretty silly. But, now you know the name of the dreaded onion stuff, just like I did. Did you notice the word `propane' in there? Everything has something to do with everything else. See you at your own graduation ceremony! Don't be late!

In only fifteen minutes, I had the meatball recipe completed, except for forming and baking them. Marc walked in the kitchen at just the right time. He saw the huge bowl and walked to the sink to wash his hands. Marc joined me at the big center island, and before digging into the bowl like I was, he leaned to give me a kiss on the cheek. Awww. That was nice.

"I have another cheek, you know."

"Did you pay attention in Sunday School?"

"Always."

I turned my head, and sure enough, Marc planted another on me. Awfully sweet, that man. Soon, we were up to our forearms in meatball makin's. I showed him the size I was looking for, and how to slam each meatball into the palm of a hand to condense the ingredients. We were done in no time, and we got the meatballs reloaded into the same bowl.

"Babe, the grill is already going. The charcoal is on one end, so you'll have the indirect heat thing going on. I'll help you get these on so they can cook evenly."

I smiled and reached for two long-handled tongs in the drawer specific to outdoor cooking utensils. Out we went. While we were walking, my phone buzzed. That was Anders' buzz pattern. I parked the bowl next to the grill and answered.

"`My Balls Are Big And Juicy' food truck; how many can you fit in your mouth?"

"Ewww! Fucker! All of a sudden, I'm a vegetarian! Hey, that run seems to be less busy now, but it's still busy. Eva is going to stay with Kim, but Mom and I are ready to be picked up."

"Okay. I'll dispatch Marc; I'm starting to cook the meatballs now."

Marc was already feeling around for his keys. They were probably in the kitchen, and we were by the barn. I pulled my own truck's keys out for him. He nodded and smiled, and took off running to go get Mom and Aleksy.

"He's on his way, Big Brother. I'm sorry Eva is going to miss out."

"Oh, I think if she'd have come back with Mom and me, it would've been a horrible dinner. Eva would be sitting there all fidgety, and not really enjoy herself or the dinner or anyone else. Right now she needs to feel safe and in charge, and `Common Grounds' is where she can do that. I'll bring both her and Kim some big plates so they're not missing out entirely."

"Of course you will. I don't know how we can make it work, but somehow we need to get Kim and her friend out here, too."

"That'll happen only if Eva and I go in. She has decided, and I support this, that if emergency responders, truckers and travelers don't get a day off, then `Common Grounds' will be open for them. Holidays included. You want to hear something else that has my head spinning?"

"Wow.....um, sure."

"She is already peeking around for another mobile home to buy and put at the other end of town, on the highway toward Grass Range. You know where the old, old original building for KXLO-AM radio station was?"

"Yeah......that's an old house, actually."

"WAS an old house. The roof collapsed because it had been abandoned for almost ten years. The parking lot in front is where all the kids turn around when they're out cruising Main on Friday nights."

"Heck, yeah; I know that. I've been in that parking lot lots of times. So she wants to buy the property? Smart move; the utilities are already there, and she can actually have lanes and windows on both sides."

"Has Eva already told you about this, Little Brother? That's exactly what she wants to do."

"Aleksy, are you ever going to see Eva?"

"Of course. Even if I have to work part-time for her and part-time for you."

"I need a full-time partner. So does Eva, but a different kind of partner, Brother."

"Well anyway, she's just talking about it. She hasn't bought anything yet. It makes sense, though. Good sense. She's talking about buying land, we're talking about buying land; in both cases, business moves that make sense, and will pay for themselves."

"Well, I still wish Eva were going to be with us tonight. I know where Junior is and all, but....."

"I know what you mean, and don't disagree. Since I'm spilling all the tea in this phone call: I brought her a .357. I'll be showing both her and Kim how to use it. Junior might be behind bars-----for now. But that doesn't mean all the bad guys are."

"Good plan. I wholeheartedly concur with the wisdom behind it. Heck, though: a .357?? That'll knock her backwards a hundred feet if she fires it!"

"All the more reason to train her on its safe operation."

"I need to keep my eye on these meatballs. We're really ready for most of the rest; the sauce is fine, bubbling away. I'll get the stockpot out for the spaghetti, and start heating the water."

"Right you are. I think I see your truck approaching. Yep. Okay. Bye."

He hung up before I could respond, but hi' and bye' between brothers are familiarities that aren't too imperative for us to worry about all the time. I smiled, though; my brother's and my conversations are certainly not shallow. I felt honored that he'd include me in some of the things he and Eva talked about.

For the record, I liked Eva's expansion plans, as long as that included expansion of staff. If she was spreading herself so thin making coffee at two locations, she was cutting out time for her and Aleksy to make babies in one location. Seventh Generation. Ad nauseam, I know; if only it's y'all having to hear me talk about it.

The meatballs were doing well, and Marc's placement of the charcoal was actually something I had not really considered; but now it just made good, solid sense. And of course, then I was thinking of his good, solid chest. And arms. And legs. And his good, solid ass. Marc is good and solidly beautiful, and I'm the luckiest farm boy in all of The Big Sky State. There: proof positive for you that I wasn't always thinking about my brother making me an uncle. Happy now??

I wanted to keep my eyes on the grill, though. They flare up, and I did not want any smoke flavor in these. I was pushing boundaries already by not following the recipe to the exact letter by baking them in the oven. They'd be back soon enough, and someone else could get the water heating up.

I saw Kristi's 1967 Buick Wildcat turning off the county road. Well, that was a happy surprise! I wasn't holding out too much hope she'd join us. I could see she was alone in the car. Kristi and I hadn't had any alone time since graduation. She was Tom's girl, but Tom's my boy, so Kristi's my girl, too. If you grew up in a rural area, you were very likely exposed to, if not part of, that very same kind of relationship. We were each the strands in a braid, Tom, Kristi and I. All there for each other, and sometimes, just two strands at any given moment, still tight with each other and making something strong together.

I waved at her as she got closer. I pointed to the parking space beside Mom's rig. I wanted Marc to park right back where he'd found my truck when he headed in to pick up Mom and my brother. Kristi parked and shut off that incredible, throaty 455 motor under the hood of her car. I was definitely not a Flat-Earther, but I was all too willing to believe that a Buick 455 was what turned this big, blue marble.

"Kristi! Damn, I'm so happy to see you, Darlin'! C'mere!"

She came up and hugged me, and not just a little hug. It was one of relief, apprehension, anxiety, safety and hunger. I knew the last one specifically because I could feel and hear her tummy rumble.

"Oh, sorry about that! I haven't eaten since that hot dog last night! HAHAHA!"

"Well, you'll feast tonight, K. Marc just went to pick up Mom and Anders at Eva's place."

"I saw your truck; figured something like that was going on. `Common Grounds' is the popular spot in town! I wonder how much money and customers Eva is taking away from the Montana Tavern and The Gold Bar!"

"She's a good businesswoman. She knows her customers, and she knows the market here. Her coffee and other stuff are all good, too. Worth the money, I think."

"I agree. I'm thinking of seeing if she might hire me, part-time or full-time. Tom and I were talking after you told him about distance learning. I can work toward my Education degree right here. Might even be able to get the whole thing online, but I'd be happy with an A.A."

"You don't want to go to Missoula? I thought you were looking forward to that."

"I was-----because I felt safe with you going, too. And after last night.....well, Tom's here, you're going to be here, and I can't very well break up the band, now can I? Only thing I'm kinda worried about is Tommy.....he didn't say much, except he might not be able to afford school."

"He needs to get any thought about not going to school right out of that skinny-assed head of his. Tom Spangler was born to care for animals. Between the three or more of us, we'll figure something out. But he has to go to school."

"I think you love Tommy more than I do, Jeff."

"I love you both. And I love that you two love each other. It just makes complete sense that my two best friends are together."

Kristi hugged me again, and I could tell she had a little weepy action going on. Just then, my truck came down the drive with Marc, Mom and Aleksy laughing about something. I'd ask them why, but I'm not entirely certain they wouldn't each give me the same answer:

"YOUR FACE!"

While they were parking, Kristi dried her eyes.

"K, approach Eva about a job."

"You think?"

"Rarely, but sometimes when it happens, it feels good. Then I pass out, but I come to again after an hour or so."

"You're such a goof! Does Marc know that yet?"

"It's about all he knows. He just bought that Harvard diploma online, you know. Ask him about it, and then ask him about paying for it by being a Speedo-wearing waiter at retirement centers in Florida."

"HAHAHAHA!!! Thanks, Jeffrey! I needed that laugh!"

"I have a hundred others to give you this evening, K. We're here for spaghetti and for spazzing out from too much laughter."

Marc, Mom and my brother walked up, and they all hugged Kristi, making her feel welcome. Mom whisked Kristi inside, and the guys hung with me while I tended the meatballs. Anders nodded in approval, and poked one with his finger.

"That's actually smart; I would not have thought of baking them on a grill, but for this quantity, you're getting them all at once."

"Thanks; just came to me. Does it feel done yet?"

"Hmm.....I don't know. You try."

I did, and the indentation from my own finger poke stayed just a little too long. Didn't spring back right away. Not done. Marc stood beside me and smiled out of the side of his eyes. MELT. Anders noticed Marc's truck and pointed at it.

"What's in the back, Marc? Your first `dump run'?"

"No, but that's coming. I forgot all about the dog run..... Remember we were talking about solution for getting Lola Cola and the pups out of the barn and into the Sun and fresh air? Well, I went to Tractor and Farm Supply, and they had this ingenious dog run, fully enclosed on three sides, and expandable from six feet to twenty-four feet. Heavy-gauge steel, and anchors that no fox or coyote can pull out. And no barn owls can get in, either!

I was thinking, putting this on the South side of the house, and extending it as the pups grow bigger, well, it's a win-win. They can all relieve themselves without waiting for a human to help them out; particularly for Lola Cola, she can get away for a moment by herself, and the pups can nap in the Sun. I also picked up a cover for part of it, so there's shade. I was thinking, between the three of us, we could build an actual dog house for Lola Cola and Kids to retreat into at night, too."

Anders and I just looked at Marc, and his slightly-proud, slightly-hopeful smile faded.

"Ohhhh.....I should've run this past you guys first.....sorry."

Anders placed his big, meaty hand on Marc's bigger, meatier shoulder.

"Are you kidding, Marc?? If there was any `should've' going on, it should've been us thinking about a solution the same day the pups joined us. What was that, Wednesday? Heck. Just because the pups were born in a barn doesn't mean they need to live there! It's a perfect solution; thank you."

I agreed, but rather than extol Marc's virtues like Aleksy just had, I leaned beside myself and kissed his cheek. He turned it and pointed at his face.

"I went to Sunday School too, you know."

I smiled and doubled my efforts at a little display of gratitude. My big brother just laughed.

"I'd tell you two to `get a room', but I don't want to take over the Meatball Duty. Carry on; I'm going to go unload the dog run. Brilliant idea, Marc; truly, thank you. On behalf of overpriced and----for now---undersized dogs, this is going to make everyone happy. Well, not everyone."

I cocked my head at Aleksy.

"Who won't be happy?"

"OC. He's used to being right in on the action, and within a paw's reach if it's needed. I'll go to my grave believing he saved Lola Cola's life by running for help, and I want him to always know I'm grateful. How do we get him in there with the pups?"

"We'll figure it out, Big Brother; but I bet OC does before we can! He's not done being `Mr French' to Buffy, Jody and Cissy, times four."

(Thank you, Nickelodeon re-runs from my youth.)

I continued to test the meatballs, and just as they were getting to the springy state I wanted, I handed Marc a pair of tongs, and pulled out two of the big sheet pans we keep underneath the grill, for the finished products. The meatballs would continue to cook on the inside, and in about five minutes, would be completely done.

We took them in the house, and I covered the pans with foil and placed them in the oven, set to its lowest setting to keep them warm. Mom had the stockpot filled with water, and I knew it was easily sixty pounds or heavier. Marc saw right away that it had to get from the sink to the oversized gas ring on the stove, which we used for the pressure cooker and water bath pot when canning this time of year.

Lifting sixty pounds for Marc is like anyone else lifting a quart of ice cream. Once again, I loved how Marc moved effortlessly around the rest of us. I also loved how effortlessly Paco appreciated how Marc---and his bulging muscles---moved around the rest of us. I was glad my t-shirt was not tucked in right then. My handy concealing curtain that also advertised for the University of Montana Grizzlies. GO GRIZ! GO AWAY, PACO!

Mom and Kristi were up to their elbows in Romaine for a Caesar Salad. Mom's Caesar dressing was out of this world. I'd considering consuming it as a cold soup. DEE-Lish! We heard a triple-honk, and sure enough, Team Spangler drove in through the fields like last time. I loved that. The rural version of walking right into the house of someone you know, all comfortable and neighborly.

They parked by everyone else. Seven vehicles, and we still had space. I knew we had meatballs for more. Everyone would be going home with to-go boxes, I was nearly certain of that. Tommy got out, crawling through the tailgate. He'd sat in the cargo area. Tom was in the kitchen and beside Kristi the way a security guard at the Louvre will get up on someone just a little too close to the Mona Lisa. Those two smiled at each other, and I smiled at them. I loved those kids; I meant it when I said that to K.

I was at once worried for Tommy as I was happy for Kristi, that she would do distance learning toward her A.A. in Education. One down, one to go. Oh, Tom. We'll figure something out. Just for this one Sunday Spaghetti dinner, we had an incredible brain trust of ten people at the table. While Tommy's education would not be a topic for conversation, I know everyone would be thinking about it. Everyone knew the Spangler's dilemma, and no one wanted Archer Daniels Midland calling any of the shots. I just wanted them to call, saying they were Fergus County.

Anders played host like always. Maybe because it was Sunday, maybe because no one really does it all the time, no one wanted beer or wine or anything harder. Iced Tea, lemonade and water were all anyone wanted. I noticed Marc opted for water, like he always did. I was willing to bet that my man also effortlessly paid attention to supply and demand, and for bigger groups, supply was shorter. I loved that about him, if I was right. If I wasn't, I liked that I could imagine Marc just being the selfless guy I knew he was in other regards. There are little things about the giants in our lives that shine the brightest, and make them appear even greater.

Although it took awhile and brought some heat to the kitchen, the water finally boiled and we could launch pound after pound of spaghetti into the pot. In the meantime, Kelly and Mom conspired to make the perfect garlic bread, and I did my best to pay attention, too. Finally, opening doors and windows quickly cooled everything off again, and by the time the food was on the buffet and we lined up to move through, the great room was just right. The Sun was now at the horizon and setting. The dusk wind picked up and moved the leaves around in the huge trees surrounding the house.

And yes, I could smell the Rye, the scent carried in on the wind from the fields that lay beyond. Very soon, I would not any longer get giddy from that heavenly aroma; not for another year. Or until I went back to the fairgrounds tomorrow to pick up all the entries (minus Sebastian) from our farm. I was going to keep the display of Dad's grains in my room, and the little jar of Rye berries right by my bed.

`You put those in there yourself, Daddy. The last grains from this soil, this land, that you touched with your own hands. Would you want some silly shrine built by your silly gay kid? Nope, you would not. Would you tolerate it, though? Yep, you would. Because we are the best Dad-Gay Kid team in the entire county, the entire state, the entire World. And this team grew Rye this year. Acres of it, and all of it, really, in the little jar that would sit on my nightstand for the rest of my days and nights.'

Sunday Spaghetti Dinner was reduced to maybe three strands of spaghetti in the big bowl on the buffet. The trays filled with the meatballs? Empty, sad and lonely. The Caesar? Well, despite how good he said the Cannoli looked, Toby ate the last of the salad for dessert. I think I liked this guy. I think Trace REALLY liked Toby. They sat just one millimeter too close together at dinner and afterward to be anything but boyfriends. We notice these things, you know. In Rural America, you catch The Gay from the water, and you get infected with The Gaydar when the wind blows. The wind is blowing a lot in Fergus County, it seems.

So, I was wrong; there was nothing for anyone to take home, nor to store in our fridges. Perfect. Aleksy did prepare two plates for Eva and Kim, and while everyone else enjoyed the Cannoli, my brother drove the spaghetti dinners to `Common Grounds', where they---and he---were received with gratitude and appetites. He also made sure Eva and Kim sat to enjoy dinner, and my big brother with the bigger heart worked the window. He said he had only five customers in thirty minutes, which gave him time to talk with the women who were nearly inhaling dinner.

Kim's friend had already started boxing things to move. With Kim now living in Lewistown, her friend didn't want to be left behind. Apparently her friend was great with customers and three-minute relationships, but friendships were challenges for her. They'd known each other all their lives, having grown up next door to each other. Kim was certain her friend would adjust well to quieter and socially-less-demanding Fergus County. Aleksy said he looked forward to meeting her, and offered to take Kim back to Helena with the big truck to help them both move. Of course he did.

Before coming home, Aleksy measured the counter and drew a rudimentary picture of how it could be extended to accommodate up to six customers. Eva cooed about it, and Kim, who had loved shop class in high school, asked if she could help build it. Well, that was now in the works, and with the end of Harvest two days away (FIFTY CENTS, PLEASE!), my brother and I could get the remodeling project done---with Kim's help---in probably another two days. No wiring or plumbing to run; simple and fast, and an immediate increase of 500% of useful storage on the business side of the counter.

Kim had assertively suggested that Eva should go for the night, so without any reason to argue, Eva smiled and nodded. She and Aleksy drove back in their own vehicles, and Eva walked in to a completely cleaned kitchen and only Mom, Marc and me sitting in the living room, talking. I replayed the latter part of the evening in my noggin, smiling to myself.

Team Spangler went home fat and happy', as Kelly said. Before that, Jon and I went for a short walk to move all that food around inside', as Jon said. Tom and K sat underneath the Napping Tree, as I now called it. Marc, Trace and Toby went out to look at the old `57. They were both in love with it, as was everyone else in Fergus County. Toby had moved his fifth wheel to the Spangler farm, and was in agreement that he'd earn his keep by contributing a portion of his wages from being a farrier to electricity and other resources.

Actually, Team Spangler were in agreement; Toby had accepted Trace's invitation, but conditionally. I appreciated that ethic. I also appreciated that Toby spent most of his days on the road, shoeing horses and looking after the hoof health of others' livestock. Turns out Toby had a name and a reputation, and most of his customers had been with him for years.

Jon and I walked out to the cemetery, which he'd never seen and was intrigued by. No one treated it like some sideshow attraction; I think everyone I talked with about it was reverent and respectful. Some wanted the same on their land, but the days for the state granting such a request had passed. It certainly didn't stop many folks from cremating their Deceaseds and burying the cremains on their land. Potato-Potahto, in my opinion.

"Jeff, thanks for having us over. I know it was all about Tommy and the pups, at least initially, but for Kelly and the boys and me, we appreciated something nice happening today."

"Of course, Jon; I actually liked that this worked out, instead of the picnic. It's funny; both are just getting together to eat, but having a picnic is something in a class all its own, and timing.....is everything."

"Hadn't thought about that, but I think you're right. We liked the music at your church, too. I'd bet that was the first and only Mariachi band to play in this town. I was having a tough time sitting still; I wanted to grab Kelly and two-step with her!"

"Well, you sure could have at the end; others were dancing. We didn't know any of that was going to happen. I think Miguel must've said something to Father Tim, or maybe Stella, the music director. Then the word got out. Anyway, I'm glad someone talked about it to someone else. Now that's all anyone is going to talk about, and it comes at a perfect time. The county can focus on something good instead of the something bad at the fairgrounds."

"Right again, Jeff. I guess we'll never know what makes some people act the way they do. You know, as a father, I have been scared from the day Trace came into the world, and then Tommy, that they'd take a darker path. They haven't, and I'm proud of both of my boys. I want them to succeed. Trace has a good mind for business; we're just dragging him down at the moment.

And Tommy----well, that boy is your Saint Francis in real-boy human form, caring for and about animals. I bet right now, he's one of the leading authorities on Bernese dogs. He dove deep into reading everything he can find about `em. He's even chasing blood lines now, because he thinks the cancer got bred in from too much in-breeding, so logically, it should be able to be bred out again. And longer lives, too.

How did two numbskulls like Kelly and me produce two such good, smart boys? And if Tommy and Kristi get together, I mean more than they already are, we might get some even better grandkids! I'm ready for grandkids! Don't know about Trace, though. I'm gettin' the idea he's not exactly gonna be bringing me home some grandsons I can take out hunting and fishing. And that's okay. Trace is a good boy. He loves his Mama, and he's good to me, too. Got real pissed off at us for not telling him about the farm. I just didn't want to worry yet one more person over it. He says to me,

You think so little of my shoulders that I can't help carry some of the burden on em? Don't keep stuff from me, Old Man! I'm not useless! We'll figure out something!'

Heh. Old Man', he says. I'm not even 45 yet! Old', my ass! Yeah, both my boys are good. Gonna make us proud. More than we already are."

"Jon, my boy Tommy is devoted to you and his mom. He sent me a text this past week. Middle of the night on Tuesday. I still have it. Don't think he'd mind a bunch if I showed you. Wanna see it?"

"Well, sure; if you think I'm not betraying a confidence."

"You're not. I'm not."

I found the text Tommy had sent me and showed Jon.

"Jeffrey, I'm lying here in the dark, in the barn next to my horse. I got real upset in the house, and didn't want to wake Mom and Dad. What happened to Ned----your dad---just really scared me, Jeff. Like, how would I be if my daddy died? I'm not strong like you; not just for yourself, but you're strong for your mom and brother. I don't think I could do what you're doing. I'm not saying Ned's death is easy for you-----I know it's not. I just don't know how you are handling this. God, why don't we come with owner's manuals, like trucks and tractors? I guess I need to clean myself up, stop crying and go back in to sleep. Now I think I'm scaring my horse! You don't have to text me back. I just needed to get that off my chest, and you're my boy and all. You get it. I know you do. I'm so sorry about your dad, Jeff. Love you."

Jon handed my phone back to me, and we didn't say another word as we walked back toward the house. Our return trip was faster than our outbound walk. When we got back to the house, Kelly actually saved face for Jon.

"Thanks for having us over; that was the best spaghetti I've ever had! We need to go, though; got too much to do tomorrow morning, and after the music and dinner, it's gonna take Jon and me some time to wind back down!"

We laughed and all of a sudden, the evening was over. I could feel a wave of relief wash away from Jon. That man has a lot on his mind. More than I could have even imagined. We walked outside, and Tommy and K were sitting beneath the tree, him leaning against the trunk and her leaning against him. The crickets and toads were serenading them, but when Tom saw his parents, he stood and helped Kristi up. Jon smiled at them.

"We're driving home, your Ma and me. You boys can walk, or you can ride with us. I'd ride, if I were you; the coyotes are looking a little too thin for my comfort!"

Trace and Toby laughed and shook all our hands, thanking us for inviting them. You know? They made a handsome couple, I thought. Kristi hugged Jon and Kelly.

"Can I bring Tommy home, myself? We'd like to talk a little longer, I think."

"You know the way to our place, young lady?"

"I do; I'm sure Tommy does!"

We laughed again. Mom and Kelly hugged, and Jon shook Marc's hand. Me? I didn't get a handshake. I got a hug, and a good one. They loaded into their rig and took off. Tom and K hugged me.

"You two want to hang out here awhile longer?"

"No, but thank you, Jeffrey. I need some time with your boy and my boy. Mrs W, that was the best spaghetti I've ever had!"

"Thanks, Kristi; but all this will have been worth it if you'd call me Marie, okay?"

"Thanks, Marie. Thanks, Jeffrey. I love you. You are such a good friend. The best."

"I try. You and Tommy here make it really easy for me, though. Drive carefully, and will each of you send me a text when you get to your homes, please?"

"Yes."

"Yeah, Warden. I guess."

"You want another dislocated shoulder, you punk-ass?"

"Nope, guess not! You'll get a text!"

Everyone was off. The Spanglers drove through the fields, just like how they came earlier. Kristi drove up to the county road, but she turned left; like she was going back into town with Tommy. I knew right where they were going; to drive to the Dash-Inn, get a Rum Hot-N-Tot to share, and talk. I could see easily in my mind, them doing the same thing in 65 years, just like Mr and Mrs Taylor did earlier that week.

Mom, Aleksy, Eva, Marc and I enjoyed the peace and calm for a moment before they went back inside. I pulled Marc with me to check on the Bernesers one last time, and to maybe slip a duck heart to appreciative mouths here and there. Everyone looked all right, and Lola Cola got her last run outside for the night. And there was OC, actually curled up next to my little guy. Tom had confirmed what Mom had said; he was just growing a little faster, and was probably feeling it. OC was closer now to maybe provide comfort to him. I really liked how welcoming Lola Cola had made Old Cat.

As for a vet's check-up for OC: Tom said don't fix what isn't broken. He could tell by touching OC that he didn't have fleas, his ears and eyes were in good shape, and he didn't move with any noticeable arthritis. Tom thought it would be a good idea to give OC access to dry kibble, though; to balance his hunted diet with something that'd keep his teeth in good shape. Tom estimated OC was probably eight to ten years old, and could live much longer.

With the animals all where they needed to be and fresh water throughout, we walked to the far end of the barn and washed our hands in the bathroom. I left the light on in the bathroom so there'd be even minor illumination if anyone had to run out there in the middle of the night. As we walked out of the barn, Marc reached for my hand and held it.

"Babe, I know this will seem like gross exaggeration, but today was one of the best days of my life."

"I was kind of thinking the same thing. I wondered earlier if maybe I was `grading on the curve', and taking into account how abysmal the night before had been; but I don't think that was the case at all. Harvest, The Team's music at church, seeing the entire community represented there to enjoy it and each other; dinner, seeing how well Eva continues to do, compounding her success daily; you being here with me. It was any of those and all of that, Marc. But do you want to know my favorite part of the day?"

"Of course."

"You searched for and found a solution to Lola Cola and her family getting some fresh air and sunshine. A simple, selfless thought that brought instant relief to my brother and me. And you were so confident in your find that you ran with it. You felt THAT COMFORTABLE with us that you just made it work. You are wonderful, and I like you."

"I like you. What do you think about maybe going back in the barn and getting in the shower together? It'd be a shame to bring the smell of barbecue to those fresh sheets Marie laundered for us earlier."

"Oh.....I like that idea. You, me, a bar of soap.....and endless hot water."

Marc led me back, hand in hand, to the barn bathroom with the little light waiting just for us. Before Marc could close the door and turn on the brighter overhead light, I pulled him close so we were standing chest to chest. I smiled into my boyfriend's eyes and moved a lock of his floppy brown hair from his forehead. I leaned in for a kiss, and he met me half-way. That was all we needed, really; a kiss we could share that wasn't on our cheeks (although those were nice, too).

What we wanted, though.....was made ever-more apparent as we removed each other's clothes. When we were down to only our socks, we balanced each other and took those off, too. Marc in all his perfect furriness and me in all my Polish furlessness were exactly right for each other, and 500 gallons of water and a bar of soap and two loads of our respective DNA shared and ingested, we dried off, wrapped towels around our waists and ran across the barnyard to the house. I locked the kitchen door behind us when we got inside, and we crept stealthily upstairs. I saw no light coming from beneath the door to Mom's and Dad's room, and none from the far end of the hallway upstairs.

We turned on a little light that wasn't too bright, and quickly made the bed up with the new sheets. It was one of the great pleasures in my life to slide between sheets that had been hung outside to dry in the Sun and breeze, made better by my own routine in the shower just before hand, made better by my man right next to me, my skin right against his.

I turned out the little light beside the bed, and we adjusted to the change from that to the yard light reflecting off the ceiling above my bed. I could still, though dimly, see Marc's face. He was smiling at me. He reached and ran his fingers through my now-shaggier blond mane. I smiled at Marc, and with the backs of my curled fingers, navigated through the rich, thick pelt on his chest.

"Babe, I want to tell you something I have never told anyone on this planet, except my Grandies."

"Oh, wow; okay, Boyfriend. I'm ready."

"I know you are. I am, too. Jozef, I love you."

The day was perfect. I wrote as much of it as I could keep up with, trying to not miss even the smallest detail that was essential to noting how it went, from the sentinel stars in the sky at 4:30 that morning to the other guardian stars at 10:00 that night. In between, the Sun had risen and kissed each one of us in Fergus County that Sunday. You'll forgive me my conceit in believing I got Its best kiss of all.