Mice
are dancing in a round,
On
a bench a cat is sleeping.
Hush,
you mice, don't make such noise
Or
you'll wake up Vaska Cat.
Vaska
Cat will jump and leap
And
will spoil and break your round.
Sleep
arrived for Orchid and Chester blanketed in the back of the Subaru,
its tail end pointed toward the screen of the Starlite Drive-In, not
long after Anastasia recited the rhyme. Rick, who she first
met at the Bottoms Up Bar and Grill in Lebanon, had slipped
out without much word to her, much earlier, long before the final
credits rolled. That is, except his blather about Magnum as a popular
bitter hop with a subtle citrus overtone. And his prattling on
about the soil, permeated by the carbonate rocks
underlying Sugar Creek, being ideal to grow hops, and his one
time friends who started Heartland Hops. “Sure wish I had thought
of that,” said Rick. Anastasia hungered for a long deep
embrace and panted thrusts, but would have settled for cozy spooning.
It was always that way with Rick. Anastasia stayed through the
feature film, hoping it would reveal a happy ending. Dependably, it
did. In all the ways her life might not. She threaded her
Forester past cars darkened in desire, switched on the lights, and
headed along State Road 39 back to the Thorntown farmhouse. She
carried Orchid and Chester, like laundry baskets, to their room.
Early Saturday, before the kids were up, Anastasia headed to Fast Lane Foods past New Beginnings Fellowship; the recent joining of different denominations which had thrown aside doctrinal disparities in the wake of dwindling congregations and financial woe. She recoiled. Last Thursday, Brother Paul and Rev. Lyn had trapped her in a booth at Stookeys. He, the country boy, and she, a city girl, joyously pronouncing growth plans for the New Beginnings Farm as safe, loving place for anyone seeking shelter with God in exchange for working on their farm. Working together, as a community, to see that everyone was fed from babies to the elderly. Delivering meals and compassion to the local shut-ins. Not just preaching to youth, but working with them, and letting them work their farm, to help them see their worth through God's eyes. And this was only the beginning. Answering God's call to build a spiritual community where everyone belongs.
At least Fast Lane had good beets, turnips, potatoes, and cabbage. Cheap, nutritious, and a reminder of her own roots - carefully pureed when Orchid and Chesterwere infants and now, as they were older - roasted, sauteed, or drizzled with garlic oil and herbs. Back home, Orchid and Chester were not yet up when her landlord, Hector, knocked and quietly set about working on the air conditioner. When he finished, she offered this mountain range of a man a cup of coffee. They sat quietly on her front porch and gazed together across the muted beauty of land sloping gradually to Sugar Creek. He often told her stories: of his long journey up from Guatemala; of landing different jobs; of sending money back to his family; and of scrapping money together to buy an abandoned farm house from the community bank's portfolio during the economic downturn. And once he had a dozen rentals, hiring an immigration lawyer who found a way to bring his wife and kids and parents to Thorntown. Around Hector, Anastasia felt awe, veneration, and maybe even a touch of fear.
Not long after Hector left, Anastasia heard small stirrings from the kid's room. She shouted, “Get up and get hopping you Thorntown rats, daylight's burning!”
