Republic of Dirt (4 page)

L
ately I’ve begun contributing to
The Cure
, this online recovery magazine. My column is called Half Measures. I asked my editor if I could name it Fucking Half Measures, but she said Half Measures was inflammatory enough.

If you don’t get the joke, then you are not a twelve-stepper. In the interests of killing the thing entirely by over-explaining it, there’s this line in AA’s Big Book that says, “Half measures availed us nothing.”

Personally, half measures have availed me over three months of continuous sobriety, my own column, and a new life across the street from my mother and her boyfriend, Bobby. If I gave a full measure, I’d probably be running the country right now.

One thing about my new writing gig: I think I might be in love with my editor, Tamara. She gives good email. The fact is, since I sobered up I’m half in love with every woman I meet.

I shouldn’t say too much about Tamara right now. My sponsor, Eustace, who is Prudence’s devoted-like-a-dog boyfriend and studly vet about town, said it’s normal for me to get the hots for numerous
women while I’m in my early recovery, because my health is returning, but he thinks it’s somewhat abnormal for me to get the hots for
every single
woman with whom I come in contact. That sounded dismissive to me and so I added him to the resentment list that I already wrote about in an article for my column.

We live in an age of repurposing content and I fully embrace that shit.

Unfortunately for the purposes of what Earl refers to as my ambition to “tomcat around,” I’m trapped here on the farm due to not really receiving much in the way of a salary. At the moment, the farm generates approximately negative twenty thousand dollars a year. As a result of these sad circumstances, I don’t meet many women. Sure, there are women at AA meetings, but Eustace said that I have to maintain a hands-off policy on them until I’ve been clean and sober for a year. That’s probably good advice. For someone else. Yes, I realize that some of the newcomer girls have issues. That’s very attractive to me. There’s one girl who cries every time she shares. She says, “My name is Brittiana, and I’m an alcoholic.” This declaration is followed by precisely five minutes of crying. She gets on some people’s nerves, but I think it’s considerate of her to never go into overtime with her crying.

Thoughtful as she clearly is, she’s off limits. Eustace is uptight about rules in the program. The guy looks like a Greek god, and I seriously doubt he stayed out of the relationships in his first year, but he said he’d fire me if I got into a relationship, especially with a girl in the program. I figure he doesn’t need to know about my relationships with girls who are
not
in the program, if I should meet one. I’m not being sneaky and dishonest. I’m being discreet.

It might sound like I’m paranoid and grandiose, thinking people are talking or thinking about me. Well, they are. The entire twelve-step
community is always ass-deep, if you’ll forgive the expression, in each other’s business and I can’t face the thought of getting a new sponsor right now. If necessary, Eustace can fire me next summer. By then I’ll probably be ready for a more high-profile sponsor such as Eminem or Robert Downey Jr.

In addition to desiring all women over twenty, I’m also concerned about Sara. Since she moved in with us she hasn’t brought home any little friends. I think she might be unpopular. That would just about fucking break my heart.

Then there’s the parent-teacher notice on the fridge. I have no idea what the protocol is when you’re looking after a minor whose parents are total nonstarters. I presume
they’re
supposed to go to the interview. But will they know to ask the teacher if she has any friends? I saw the way they were eyeballing us at that farmers’ market. It’s like they don’t trust our judgment, which would be the biggest example of the pot calling the kettle scorched in kettle history. But they’re the parents and they can pull the plug on this child care arrangement at any time.

In other last page news, the mule is kind of cool to look at, but I fail to see his purpose. I mean, if you want a creature to wreak destruction on your sporting and playground equipment, Lucky’s your man. If you want a beast of burden to pull your plow, then you might want to look elsewhere. At this point, Lucky is a thousand-pound tapeworm who hangs around looking like he could give a shit what anybody thinks.

Oh no. Here comes Prudence. I just know she wants to talk about farm matters. Raised beds, mules, barns, what to do with all the remaining bottles of killer hot sauce.

A
fter interviewing contractors for two days, I was beginning to doubt I’d find the right person. Sure, they all had that calm, competent air that people who build things cultivate. They were all broad-shouldered and square-jawed, even the lone woman I spoke with. I would have chosen her, too, because I think there should be more women in the trades, but her quote was too high. All the quotes were too high.

“You want steak on a bologna budget,” said Seth. “I understand because I want bologna on no budget.”

“Just let me handle it,” I said, as I prepared a delicious dinner of baked butternut squash, assorted dark greens and quinoa. I am normally energized by the dish, but I felt full and exhausted by the time I’d finished half my bowl. I’ve been gaining weight recently, so that was just as well.

“I liked that woman you talked to,” he said. “She had a really nice truck.”

“Her quote suggested that she has big payments on it.”

“Why don’t you ask Eustace? He could do it himself. On a Saturday afternoon. With one arm in a sling and a blindfold on.”

I paid no attention to Seth, who is uninterested in the power of independence. “Have you ever tried squash hummus?” I asked.

“No, thank Christ.”

I hoped that I’d distracted him enough that he wouldn’t remember to tell Eustace that the quotes came in higher than we could afford. Until I learned basic construction skills myself, I should at least be able to hire someone to help out. Self-reliance is a core value of mine. Well, that and teamwork.

At risk of revealing myself to be psychologically predictable, I’m the product of parents who
(a)
sent me away to boarding school when I was eight so they could focus on their golf games, and
(b)
died when I was twelve. From them I learned that people in general and women in particular need to take responsibility for themselves. Becoming an orphan at an early age taught me that organization and productive activity bring pleasure, as do list-making and crossing items off lists.

I have never allowed my boyfriends to do things for me that I can do for myself. Just because I’m running a small but labor-intensive farm doesn’t mean I’m going to change. I dated a junior hedge fund manager before I left New York. Leo wanted to get access to my (extremely modest) trust fund in order to make it grow. Not three months after I declined, the market imploded and Leo was one of the few Wall Street guys to lose his job. See? Self-reliance is the byword.

That said, I was beginning to despair of finding a good builder in our price range when Stephan McFadden drove up. I knew right away that we’d be able to make an arrangement. He had the large, expensive truck that is apparently a requirement to enter the field, but he had an open, almost angelic face and an effervescence of spirit
about him. When I told him what I wanted, he grinned and quoted a price well within our price range, and I knew I’d been smart to hold out for the right person.

Stephan is probably no more than twenty-five, so presumably he is just getting started in his own business. That’s why he’s still affordable. I appreciated that he took the time to look around and admire everything we’ve done to the place.

“That’s a heckuva nice mule. It’s a mule, right?” he said, when he spotted Lucky. And he also noticed how well the plants in the raised beds were doing for this late in the year.

“It’s like a little slice of Eden here, eh?” he said.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had that exact thought while looking around Woefield Farm. Stephan was going to be a delight to have around the place.

When Eustace came by the next day, I didn’t tell him I’d found the perfect contractor. I’d let him discover my competence as a subcontractor (if that’s what it’s called when you hire trades) for himself when he stopped by and found the construction underway. I gave Stephan an advance to buy all the materials, so it shouldn’t be long before things start happening. The sound of saws whirring and boards being hammered together is going to be like music for all of our ears. This place gets more wonderful every day!

With that accomplished, the next order of business was to get serious about training Lucky. After the first day, his personality seemed to get baleful. Eustace speculated that Werner had drugged him the day I picked him up, but Eustace has a tendency to cynicism. I’d been letting the mule’s behavioral issues (specifically, his attempts to bite and kick) slide due to my mild case of autumn overwhelm. This afternoon, I offered Lucky a carrot to celebrate the fact that his
house would soon be a reality and he nipped me. Thank goodness he only got the fabric of my shirt. Those great yellow teeth could have done serious damage to my bicep. We may have to bring in a mule trainer to get us going. I wonder if we can find someone to work for free or in exchange for gourds?

I
’ve been reading my mule books and I have a lot of information to share. At Jr. Poultry Club we learned that when you give a demonstration, it’s important not to confuse your audience with too much information. First, you have to get their attention. Then you should tell them what you’re going to tell them, so they’re prepared.

When Prudence and Seth and Earl met me in the driveway in front of the house for their mule lesson, I started by sharing an interesting fact.

“Hundreds of thousands of mules and horses died in World War Two.”

“Sara?” said Seth, putting up his hand.

“Yes?”

“You know I’m impressed with your research abilities, right?”

I nodded. He says all the time that he’d like to hire me as an assistant but that his research topics are not child-friendly and his blogging and online magazine writing budget doesn’t allow for supplementary staff.

“While I’m saddened by the plight of equines in past military conflicts, I also have a lot on my plate right now. Personally and professionally. I’m not so sure I want to get into another situation in which I and a helpless farm animal could be harmed. Because it sounds to me like that’s where this lesson is headed.”

He was probably remembering the time we tried to trim and put medicine on Bertie’s hooves. Bertie’s our sheep. He might also have been talking about the time we tried to shear Bertie and he got kicked in the head and dragged around the yard. I guess he could also have been thinking about the time he got caught cheating at the poultry show by coloring some of my rooster Alec Baldwin’s white feathers. My dad misunderstood what Seth was doing and punched him. Seth says he’ll never be able to set foot in a show chicken barn again. I don’t believe him about that. Chicken shows are really exciting.

“It’s okay,” I said. “I’m just getting everyone’s attention before the main part of the demonstration.”

Seth said okay then, that was fine. Prudence yawned, which I’ve never seen her do before.

I let them know that I would be teaching them about the history and origin of mules and telling them how to handle mules. I told them that mules come from breeding male donkeys to female horses. I explained that male donkeys are called jacks and female donkeys are called jennets. If a male horse mates with a female donkey, the baby is called a hinny, not a mule.

Earl said he knew a hinny once, back in Tennessee, and Seth said he wasn’t surprised and did Earl still have her number.

I continued before they could have a swearing argument.

I informed them that male mules are called johns and female mules are called mollies and I told them how mules are sure-footed,
which means that they don’t fall down, and they have excellent self-protection instincts. I’m pretty sure I had their attention then, because they were all staring at me.

The writer of a book called
Mule Crazy
told a story about riding his mule on a very dangerous trail and how it was best to let it find its own way. One time, he tried to make it go over a bridge and it wouldn’t. He finally gave up and found out later that the next horse that went over the bridge fell through. I thought about telling Prudence and Earl and Seth that story, but they were fidgeting too much.

I told them we had to practice leading Lucky. This was especially important because of his previous bad experience on the road.

Prudence stared at me. For once, she didn’t have a smile on her face. She’s been looking serious lately. And maybe a bit puffy. Normally, she practically runs from place to place on the farm, getting a lot of things done. Seth says she’s hyperactive and disturbingly optimistic. I just think she’s really nice and so I didn’t like to see her looking pale and tired. My mom started to look like that not long after my dad got fired from the bank and everything in our lives went bad.

“Unpleasant experiences can make mules have problems, especially if they have inexperienced handlers,” I told them.

Prudence probably felt bad about being inexperienced and giving Lucky a traumatic event, so I tried to make her feel better.

“My books say that it’s easier to train a young mule. How old is Lucky?”

“I didn’t ask,” said Prudence.

“Has anyone tried to catch him since we got him?”

They all shook their heads. I think if I ever become a teacher I won’t find it very hard, because I’ll have a lot of experience working with people who have a lot to learn.

“I’ve been reading about it and the books say that we should practice on ourselves first.”

Seth looked at his watch, which was bad manners.

I ignored him and got the rope.

“Who wants to go first?” I asked.

When Earl said he would, Seth finally smiled.

I didn’t tell them that I’d only read up to the practicing-on-people part of the mule-leading chapter because I’ve had a lot of schoolwork.