Raspberries and Vinegar (A Farm Fresh Romance Book 1) (5 page)

“You deny it like it’s a bad thing.”

“I deny it like it’s not true, actually.” She stared him down until he fumbled with the display on the counter.

“
Well, then. Keep doing what you’re doing. It doesn’t matter to
me.”

Jo drew a deep breath. Keep doing what they were doing, indeed. She’d assume he meant the mice. Trouble being, it wasn’t working. The reek of mouse feces permeated the whole trailer no matter how much they scrubbed and trapped.

Claire had bought tubs to store the non-perishable food in, though plastic was totally against their mandate. How much less eco-friendly could they get? No, they needed their food secure, but poison wasn’t the answer.

Jo eyed the live trap and slapped her wallet onto the counter. “I’ll take it.”

***

Sierra pocketed the car keys in the church parking lot. “Ready?”

Claire nodded, and Jo lifted her lime green portfolio in silent acknowledgment. A sharp breeze reminded her that even though it was late April, winter hadn’t completely given up. She shivered, both from the chill and from the thought of making a public presentation tonight. She’d approached one of the elders on Sunday, and he’d agreed to give her a few minutes. Now she was stuck doing it, when Sierra would have been a far better choice.

The parking lot was over half full. Jo’s gaze skimmed the vehicles, wishing she knew what Zach drove. He wasn’t likely to be here, of course. He was only a visitor to town.

Too bad, on so many levels.

The foyer was empty, but light streamed up the stairway. The girls proceeded down and into the fireside room packed with church members of varying ages. The chairman of the board, Mr. Graysen, called the meeting to order and, after dealing with official business, called Jo forward.

She laid her portfolio on the lectern. Definitely not made for her height, but it wasn’t adjustable. Jo could barely peer over the top. Grr. They wouldn’t take her seriously.

“Oops, sorry, Josephine.” Mr. Graysen got a small footstool from the lounge area in the corner. “Does this help?”

Jo eyed it. Wobbly looking. Mindful of everyone watching, she carefully stepped up and hoped it would hold together.

“Hi.” She looked out over the group, recognizing a few of them from the three Sundays they’d been in attendance. Gabe Rubachuk sat in the back row with an empty seat beside him. Bethany probably had to work. “I’d like to introduce myself and my friends and roommates. I’m Josephine Shaw, and I have a degree in nutrition. Sierra Riehl has studied natural medicines. Claire Halford is a chef, and she’s looking for work.” As Jo called out her friends’ names, they waved to the group. “We’ve moved to Galena Landing to build ourselves a sustainable future, doing our part to take care of the earth God created, as He asked us.”

A few people shifted uncomfortably in their seats and murmured with their neighbors.

“There’s a lot of talk on the news these days about global warming, and whether or not it’s a hoax. It doesn’t matter which side of the fence you sit on. Our world is in trouble, and God’s people, who were given the mandate to care for it, are often at the front of the pack, leading it downhill.”

Claire caught Jo’s eye and gave her head a slight shake.

Right. She was getting wound up and not pinpointing the current cause. Accusing these people wouldn’t win them over. Baby steps.

“Sometimes we don’t know what to do to make a difference. Each of us is only one person out of billions. Well, today’s Earth Day. And here’s one small suggestion for change.”

Jo nodded at Mr. Graysen, and the stool wobbled. She grabbed at the lectern to steady herself. “I’d like to suggest that as
many of us as possible grow a garden over the next few months, and that we plan to share a feast of bounty at the end of summer. My friends and I are hoping to
host a completely locally grow
n-and-cooked meal as an
example of what we can all do to make the world a better place if we work together.”

The whispers and the nudges grew.

Mr.
Graysen stepped to Jo’s side. “When Ms. Shaw approached the church board with her idea, it seemed as strange to us as it does to you. But we prayed about the decision and believe that it would be a good thing for our church to align with.” He looked down at Jo — even though she was standing on a stool at least eight inches high — and smiled. “My wife and I will plant potatoes to contribute to this dinner.”

Jo flashed him a bright smile. “We need folks to sign up to grow a few turkeys, if anyone has raised poultry before and would like to take this on. Also a variety of salads, vegetables, and desserts are listed on sign-up sheets at the back. Just talk to one of us if you have questions on what you can grow and bring.”

A few folks nodded, while others seemed baffled.

“We’ll be happy to answer any questions after the meeting.” Jo held the lectern and stepped off the stool, which swayed dangerously.

Mr. Graysen caught her elbow and assisted her descent. Face aflame, Jo made her way back to the girls.

“That concludes our meeting for tonight.”

“Don’t we have to vote on that food thing?” a man’s voice from the room’s fringes called out.

Jo couldn’t catch who said it.

“No.” Mr. Graysen shook his head. “It’s not an official function, rather a sanctioned one. You may participate or not as you choose.”

“I’m always good for a church dinner, but I don’t know why I can’t bring a deli platter from Costco. I don’t have time to mess with this garden stuff. My business requires all my attention.”

This time Jo could see the speaker, who leaned forward earnestly. She slipped into her chair and nudged Sierra. “Who is he?”

Sierra shrugged and shook her head.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Mr. Leask. I’m sure those of us in attendance will enjoy a very tasty meal.”

Whoa. Good one, Mr. Graysen.

“I, for one, think it’s a wonderful idea.”

Jo swung her head but couldn’t see the female speaker. Being short was annoying. The voice sounded familiar, though.

Claire nudged Jo and whispered, “Rosemary Nemesek.”

Oh! Zachary’s mother. Jo hadn’t even noticed her in the room. Of course, they’d only met the once.

“It will help us keep our focus on God’s mercies, and that’s never a bad thing. We have much to be thankful for every day.”

There was a rustling as Rosemary rose to her feet, and Jo could just make her out through the crowd.

“You all know Steve was diagnosed with Guillain-Barré Syndrome. We’re not sure yet what caused it.” She looked in the direction of the disgruntled man then went on. “We’re so thankful that the doctors diagnosed him in time to get him on the right medication quickly. It’s going to be a long haul until he’s back on his feet, but I think he’ll get there.” She turned toward the back where Jo and her friends sat in a row. “I’d considered not putting in a garden this year. Too much stress and effort. But thank you, girls, for reminding me of what’s important.”

There was a sort of snort from Mr. Leask’s side of the room.

Rosemary caught Jo’s eye. “Hope and thankfulness are good reasons to grow a few things this season.”

***

“Can I get you to hook the rotovator to the tractor and till the garden patch over the weekend, Zachary?” His mother hung her spring jacket on the hook behind the kitchen door.

“Um, sure.” Zach came throu
gh the archway from the living room
with Domino padding at his side
.
“I thought you’d decided not to plant a garden this year.”
And
furthermore, how had this thought come to her
from the church quarterly meeting? Didn’t they usually decide who was on the Sunday school
committee
and o
ther similarly riveting topics?

Mom filled the kettle from the faucet, turned it on, and sat down at the kitchen table. “Well, the girls next door got me thinking.”

Zach had been thinking about them, too, though trying not to. Sierra was cute, but he didn’t trust himself after Yvette. Pretty girls were trouble, plain and simple.

With a start he realized his mother was still talking. “Sorry, Mom. What was that?”

“Josephine — you know, the tiny one — challenged the church to plan ahead for an all locally grown dinner later this summer. I think it’s a great idea.”

Zach pulled his eyebrows together and sank onto a red vinyl-covered chair. “All local dinner? What do you mean?”

The kettle whistled and Mom got up. “Want some tea?”

“Sure.”
 

She started the tea steeping then leaned against the counter. “Just that all the food would be grown or raised by the people having dinner together.”

Domino parked himself in front of her, head cocked expectantly.

Mom grinned and pulled a treat out of the cupboard. After Domino spun three times, she gave it to him. Domino padded over to Zach.

“Sounds strange. Even the meat?” Zach reached down and played with Domino’s ears. The pup pressed against Zach’s ankle and chewed his biscuit.

Mom nodded. “The Donaldsons used to raise chickens. Jean said they’d fix their old henhouse and fence if someone else wanted to go with them on the cost of raising the birds. I think she got a few volunteers.”

Zach settled back in his chair. “I didn’t think vegetarians ate poultry.”

“Vegetarians? Whom are you talking about?” Mom peeked into the teapot.

“Well, the neighbors, aren’t they? I thought you said they were back-to-the-land environmentalists.”

She put the tea ball in the sink and reached for the sugar bowl. “That’s not the same thing as vegetarian.”

Since when?

Mom lifted the lid off the chipped sugar bowl. “We don’t grow sugar around here.”
 

Zach gave his head a shake. Talk about switching topics. “Um. Sugar. That’s from cane or beets, right?”

“Good thing I didn’t sign up for a dessert.” Mom spooned some into her mug and passed Zach his plain. “I’m not sure how they’re handling that.”

Zach took a sip. “Honey, I suppose. Anyone around here have hives?”

Mom sat back on her chair. “Now that I don’t really know. Somebody may. There are so many things I’ve stopped thinking about.”

He waited, certain that her statement was the prelude to deeper insights. But the only sound was the ticking of the clock over the sink. Domino rolled over, looking for a belly scratch.

Mom’s spoon rattled in her mug. “My parents always had a big garden and raised a few chickens. We had eggs and milk off the farm and our own beef. Mom baked bread every week.”

“It was a lot of work for them.” By the looks of his grandmother, it had worn her right out.

His mom looked surprised. “But they enjoyed it. We didn’t buy
much at the grocery store. Flour and yeast, sugar. Some treats here and there.”

Meaning they’d eaten the same thing week after week. Life in general had certainly improved with the advent of Tex-Mex seasoning packets and boxed mac and cheese. Zach nearly lived off the stuff in college. How could he have survived if he’d had to grow his own food or even cook it from scratch?

Mom sighed. “Simpler times, when families worked together and stayed together. There wasn’t this rat race our society has gotten into the past few decades.”

“What would Grandma say now? I’m sure she’s plenty thankful for all the amenities in her old age.” At least if the nutritionist didn’t hassle her too much about little indulgences.

“I guess when you’re her age, those comforts are a help.”

“I bet she doesn’t miss her old wringer washing machine, or hauling buckets of water from the pump. Don’t forget it wasn’t all sunshine and roses.”

“No, you’re right. Some of it was hard.”

He pressed his advantage. “Things have changed. Now city life is the simple way. All a person needs is a good education, a good job. Basically enough money to buy what they want. How much simpler can it be than eating out every night? Not only do I not have to grow my own food, I don’t have to cook it or clean up behind myself.” Zach grinned. “As far as I’m concerned, that’s progress.”

Mom bit her lip. “Easier in some ways.”

“More people live in cities than on farms. You get a bunch of people in one place and the conveniences build up. Cindy’s kids have swimming lessons year round at an indoor pool. We never had that here when I was a kid. Or the museums and concerts and malls.” He eyed his mother. “It’s called culture. What’s wrong with it?”

She traced the design on her mug. “Nothing, when you put it that way. But it doesn’t mean the old way is wrong, either. It’s just different. More connected to nature and the seasons.”

Zach laughed. “And I, for one, don’t miss scraping out sheep pens during winter blizzards.”

“All animals get sick at the worst of times. Cats and dogs, too, not just farm stock.”

“But people keep their pets in nice warm houses. I’m not likely to have to brave the elements to care for an ailing cat, though the city streets can get quite nasty in the winter, too.”

Mom jerked to her feet. “Fine, you win. The city is better than the country. Working with pets is better than farm animals. Junk food is better than fresh vegetables. All I’m asking is that, while you’re here, you prepare the garden patch for me. I’ll take care of it from there.” She dumped the remains of her tea down the drain and rinsed the cup, her shoulders shaking.

Whoa. “Look, Mom. I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to be contentious. I just wanted to explain.”

She turned to look at him, tears quivering at the corners of her eyes. “You used to love it here as much as I do. I hoped you’d feel the pull again when you were back for a bit. Well, apparently I was wrong.” She swept from the room.

Zach stared after her then dropped his gaze to the puppy at his feet. Domino grinned up at him, tongue hanging out. Zach patted the pup’s head. “She’s just worried about Dad, about their future, isn’t she, Domino? That’s stress speaking.”

Wasn’t it?