lovewilder

[lovewilder]

My Other Mom

I started working at 14, at a small farm market. I was obsessed with boys, distracted by life, but knew I wanted to make money. I was generally normal for a teen. I grew up a little more poor than most, but it didn't change much. I enjoyed school, art, and honestly, my job at the farm market. There was this woman, her name Jo, she was the wife of the owner, with all do respect she was also the owner. She took a liking to me, I have so many stories of the times we spent working together. She really liked me, always did. Other's could tell I was a favorite, I enjoyed it. I had never had that type of attention before. I worked for her for years, through college, I became close with her family. I loved them like my own. In the winter she would keep me on full-time, it's how I paid for college. I will always be grateful. She taught me how to make the most beautiful bows, peach cake, how to decorate Christmas trees, how to bake pies, fluff icing. She made me who I am today. She told me secrets, she talked to me about her kids, their lives, we told each other so much. She took me on my first plane, she grew my confidence, she was a real leader, a strong women. Years went on, and I'm talking 20+ years, we always stayed in touch. I would sometimes still work at the farm (not the market), I would pick flowers with her, she'd always ask about my mom, my brother, my family. Then one day, she was gone. The world took her away without any goodbye. To the women who taught me all the things I love. I love and miss you Jo.

[lovewilder]

To my dad

You missed my past 5 birthdays

You didn't get to see my engagement photos

You never got to meet my first pet I adopted on my own

You never got to meet my new friends

You never got to see my first house

You weren't there on my worst days

You were there on my best days

You weren't not there by choice

Your heart failed before you could see me become who I am today

I miss you every day

xoxo

[lovewilder]

The Park

At 23, I moved into a cozy row home in a quiet neighborhood just outside the city. It was close enough to take a boat to work or meet friends downtown for drinks. The streets had a real sense of community – everyone treated each other like family, and even when we disagreed, it brought us closer.

After a year, I felt deeply embedded in the neighborhood. It became a bit routine with the same familiar faces, smiles, and banter every day. Though I loved it, I started craving something more. I began spending more time in the city – hanging out with friends, going for drinks, dinners, and shopping. Work kept me busier too.

But as the weather got colder and my friends embraced parenthood, I found myself drawn back to my small neighborhood. It had this magnetic charm that made it feel like home, and I couldn't resist its pull.

I became an integral part of the community, contributing to church meetings with homemade dishes and looking after my neighbors' kids so they could enjoy some downtime. I’m also a regular at the local bar. It was during one of those evenings that I crossed paths with a man who would become a significant part of my life. His music filled the bar, and Annie, my neighbor, played cupid and introduced us.

Annie, not only treated us to a round of drinks but also secured us a spot to chat. The man was a vision – his deep blue eyes and perfectly tousled hair made him undeniably captivating. We spent hours together, he even walked me home. In the haze of the thought of new romance, we bid farewell with a hug, blissfully unaware that we'd forgotten to exchange any form of contact information. The whiskey had clouded my senses, and it wasn't until it wore off that I realized the mystery surrounding our encounter.

As I replayed the events in my mind, I couldn't help but wonder: How had I never crossed paths with this man until that night? He knew Annie, and the bar was merely a block away from my home. It left me puzzled, yearning to unravel the enigma of where he came from.

[lovewilder]

Orchards (part 1)

The Family 

It was 4:12 PM, and the crew was packing up tables and tents as the wind added a chill to the already crisp air. Just as the idea of heading to my warm car and grabbing dinner crossed my mind, a white SUV barrelled down the unpaved road. Despite the main gate supposedly being locked, there stood a family of four—mom looking unhappy, dad mirroring her mood, and the children wide-eyed, they explaining they were sent from our market about 10 miles away. Oddly, no call had alerted us of their arrival.

Curious, I asked, "How did you get through our front gates?" The woman, her voice filled with rage, replied, "The small woman with blonde hair let me in, and she also tried to turn me around." It clicked that our farm manager, Linda, must have stepped in. The market had contacted her, and she told them not to let the woman in after 3:30 PM. The family, unaware of this, turned a 5-minute drive into a 45-minute ordeal, arriving after their reservation.

Facing the frustrated family, I explained our closing time was 4 PM, as clearly stated on their ticket. The woman, with her family and looking down, shared they had come from two hours south of town, blaming traffic for the delay. Understanding but firm, I maintained a serious tone with a touch of kindness, giving them only 10 minutes to pick apples before they had to leave. With a bag in hand, she led her family into the orchards.

The Orchards

The orchards sprawl expansively, a vast tapestry of brightly colored nature. Ascending the tallest hill on the right side of the fields, with your back turned to the main road, the panorama unfolds like a live painting—a dream realized. The trees, with hypnotic choreography, sway in the breeze, extending for miles. This year, their foliage, a shade greener than seasons past. Against the deep blue canvas of the sky, adorned with clouds that cast sprawling shadows, the view is a priceless spectacle, transcending the value that mere currency could ascribe.

The clouds here possess a profound depth, a unique character unfound elsewhere, and the air carries whispers from the trees. Amidst this serene expanse, a constant hum of bees adds a gentle soundtrack to the distant scenery. The fragrance of marigolds, carried by the wind, completes the sensory symphony.

Here, tranquility reigns supreme. The orchard's rows create a natural barrier, muting sound and allowing only a select few to venture beyond the weekends. From 9 AM to 4 PM on Saturdays and Sundays, those with a pre-purchased ticket have the privilege to wander the orchards, hand-picking apples grown for generations. The sacredness of this place is preserved; it's a haven for nature lovers, a moment to acknowledge and appreciate the earth that nurtures our sustenance.

The orchards are meticulously tended, surrounded by a fence more akin to a protective wall. While most wildlife is left undisturbed, a fortress-like barrier shields the trees from potential threats posed by deer and trespassers alike. In this carefully preserved enclave, the orchards stand as a testament to the delicate balance between cultivation and preservation, inviting those who are granted access to partake in a communion with nature.

Linda

Linda is a truly unique individual. She's honest and candid about her past struggles with addiction, which cost her everything. However, she got help and managed to turn her life around. Her relationship with her husband has shifted from being life partners to a more platonic connection, and only one of her sons still maintains contact with her, as much of her family has ostracized her.

Linda's early life was marked by wealth, she always had beautiful blonde hair, living a very affluent life with her parents and siblings. However, she lacked direction and purpose. She lost control, becoming entangled in the nightlife, eventually becoming pregnant and finding herself unable to care for her child. It was at this point that she decided to enter a recovery program to overcome her addiction and get clean. Which she did get clean, mostly besides weed. 

She went on to have a second son and managed to salvage a connection with her husband, if not their marriage itself. Linda faced her consequences head-on and made the conscious choice to rebuild her life. As she shared this story with me, she handed me a joint, and we sat on the highest hill to the right of the field, facing away from the main road. It was 4:30 PM, and the lady and her family were still nowhere to be seen, just their white SUV parked in the field. 

We exchanged glances and took one more puff. Gazing out into the orchards, Linda said, "Well, you start walking the top rows, and I'll begin from the bottom. We'll walk each row until we find them." I couldn't help but think that this situation was my responsibility; I had told the family they had 15 minutes, and I should have turned her away. Linda, though irritated by my compliance, had no desire to return home. She had grown to love this orchard, which reminded her of her family's farm from her childhood.

The Walk

I waved as I walked to the left while she headed to the right. There’s a lot of rows to cover and as darkness falls, visibility dwindles. "This is what happens when you make exceptions,I should have been home by now" I mutter to myself as I head towards Row 1, avoiding groundhog holes. There is no cell service out here. I only have a walkie-talkie with a signal to only Linda and the toll house.

Still a bit high, I begin my journey. The rows of apple trees are hypnotizing, their trunks intertwined in perfect statue-like harmony, and the scent of fermentation fills the air from fallen, rotting apples. Every step feels like I'm making no progress at all, but after years of doing this job, I've learned that's how people get lost. Depending on where you are, there's a big white house on a hill, serving as a perfect marker. However, sometimes it's not visible, and every row appears identical to the untrained eye.

When you start working at this farm, walking the orchards once a day becomes your primary job. You begin at one end and spend hours moving down each row one by one. They tell you to sing while you work to maintain your sanity. But after years, I've come to believe it's because the trees enjoy it. Linda has taught me a few songs for our walks, but sometimes I relish feeling lost, caught in a singular moment. Nevertheless, that moment always passes, and I select a song to pass the time, watching the trees sway on either side of me.

As I continue, I realize it's been quite some time. The sun is about to set, so I radio Linda to check which row she's on. She radios back to me that she's almost done, and we each have just two rows left. This family has to be close by now. The sun is setting faster than I anticipated, and I break into a run to cover the remaining rows before sundown. The family is still nowhere to be found.