by Kelly Jones
From the window, I saw Gregory driving up the road, so we ran down to see him. I told him that his pickled jicama was great, and he asked Lupe when her school starts, and reminded me that we don’t have any 4-H meetings this month, because of vacations and school starting. Then he had to go deliver the mail, so we let him get back to work.
When we went to see my chickens, Buffy came right up to say hello, and she even let Lupe pet her! Lupe says we should make her a Chicken Award for being so brave, like the student awards at school. Speckles had just laid an egg, so she and Freckles and Chatterbox all had to bawk about it for a while, and even Henrietta joined in. Chameleon, Roadrunner, Aquí, and Allí were all rolling around in the dust, taking dust baths. They made Lupe laugh so hard!! I’m glad Aquí and Allí are making friends here. I think it would be okay if we came back later to hang out with them for a while. After all, Henrietta’s never floated a person. At least, not that I know of.
Then Lupe drove us into town. She couldn’t look at everything I pointed out, because she had to pay attention to the road. She’s not used to cow-crossing signs and tractors and narrow roads without lanes yet. But we got there.
Lupe loved the feedstore, even though they don’t have any chicks right now. Jane showed us a new kind of chicken treat she’d just gotten in, some kind of dried bug. She gave me a sample so I could try it with my chickens and let her know what they thought. “If they like it, maybe we could make a sign so other people know what real chickens think,” she told me. That kind of thing can be really helpful.
Lupe stared at the dried-up bugs in the little bag. They were shiny black, and some of their legs had gotten broken off. “These are really gross and really cool,” she said.
“You know, if you were making a birthday cake for a chicken, you could use those legs as sprinkles,” I told Lupe and Jane.
Lupe shivered. “I’m glad I’m not a chicken!”
Then we went to the library to get Lupe a library card.
As soon as we walked in, Ms. O’Malley took one look at us and said, “Thank heavens!”
It turned out the teen book club had just finished their books and pizza, but a lot of them were on vacation, and Ms. O’Malley was stuck with a whole extra pizza that wouldn’t fit in the library refrigerator. “Do you think you could each eat two pieces?” she asked us. “It’s mushroom and olive.”
We agreed to help her out, since that’s what a good neighbor does. It was still kind of warm, even! While we ate, Ms. O’Malley gave Lupe the library-card form and got her set up. “What will you be studying?” she asked when she found out Lupe was going to college here.
“I’m not sure yet, but I think I might study education, so I could be a teacher,” Lupe told her.
I never knew Lupe might want to be a teacher. I didn’t even know to ask what she was going to college for. I thought you went to college first and then became whatever you want to be later.
“Good choice!” Ms. O’Malley said, handing Lupe her card. “Sophie, our replacement copy of Love, Ruby Lavender came in. You might like it—it has chickens.”
So I said I’d give it a try and checked it out. She also found me a book with a little bit about the science of hatching eggs. Ms. O’Malley always tries to be helpful.
“How’s the ice cream?” Lupe nodded at the ice cream store as we left the library.
I shrugged. “I didn’t bring any money,” I told her. I didn’t want to tell her I’d never been to the ice cream place because we didn’t really have money for that.
“My treat!” she said, grinning.
So we went into the ice cream store. It was small, with ice cream colors everywhere—mint chip tables and Neapolitan chairs and vanilla lights that looked like sundaes, and a white lady in a rainbow sherbet apron.
Lupe got coffee crackle chocolate dream. I decided on chocolate peanut butter.
Lupe paid, and I picked a table.
“How do you like living here now?” Lupe asked me as she licked her ice cream into a smooth dome.
I thought about it as I pushed the ice cream down onto the cone with my tongue so it would stick better. “I still miss LA,” I told her. “And all of you—well, until you got here. But it’s better here now that I have some friends, and I couldn’t have chickens in LA.”
Lupe nodded. We licked our ice creams in silence for a little while.
Then Lupe crunched her cone really loudly, and I laughed.
“What’s next?” she asked.
I hesitated. Redwood Farm Supply was hard to explain. But I really wanted her to see it. “Did you hear I inherited a chicken company?”
(I have to go teach Lupe how to make migas now. But don’t worry, I’ll come back after dinner and tell you all about the rest of our day.)
* * *
—
Later:
We made the best migas ever tonight!! You would have loved them. Now, back to our day.
Lupe and I almost got lost getting to Redwood Farm, but we figured it out. Lupe was very quiet when she got out of the car. I tried to look at Agnes’s farm through her eyes.
Great-Uncle Jim’s farm has a lot of junk, and there are still some weeds and blackberries where Dad and Mark didn’t take the goats yet, but there aren’t any tarps on the roof to cover up holes or anything. But it also doesn’t have a red barn that looks like someone could walk right up and paint a picture of it, or a little white house that the paint is falling off of, with a porch that’s covered in some kind of vine.
“It needs some work,” I said at last.
Lupe looked at me. “It’s beautiful,” she said, and I could tell she really meant it.
I got out my key and led her up the path, past the overgrown flowers, to the barn.
After I’d showed her all the boxes of chicken stuff, and then the chicken pens that were still full of blackberry brambles, Lupe wanted to see the house.
I hesitated. “I haven’t really gone in there yet.”
“Then we don’t have to. It’s up to you, chicken-company owner,” Lupe said, smiling.
But I could tell she wanted to see it. And what was I waiting for, anyway? It wasn’t going to be more mine next week. I just…Since I hadn’t been inside, maybe I could imagine Agnes still living there. Maybe I could meet her someday.
But that wasn’t true, and I knew it. “We can go in,” I told Lupe.
We were careful of the porch, in case it might fall down. My key worked on the front door, just like Gregory said it would.
Agnes’s house had lots of windows, and that feeling there’s no one around, not like apartments, where you can always hear some neighbor. It wasn’t stacked high with stuff, like Great-Uncle Jim’s, and the furniture was kind of old, but still pretty.
“This is amazing,” Lupe said, looking at a blue bowl on the wooden table in the kitchen. “All this is yours?” She opened a cupboard door, and it was full of jars of jam and peanut butter and cans of food.
“I guess,” I said. “I’m still getting used to the idea.”
All the rooms were set up like someone was living there, but no one was. Agnes’s lawyers said the electricity and water and stuff was already paid for a year, so at least we didn’t have to worry about that yet. The beds had sheets on them and faded scratchy blankets with silky edges, and there was soap hanging from a magnet-hook in the bathroom over the sink. There was even still shampoo. I started walking faster, the more rooms we went into, and Lupe didn’t say anything when I went past a door without opening it and back into the living room.
“We need to get home before Violet leaves, so you can meet her,” I told Lupe.
She nodded. “Okay.”
I started to feel a little better once we were back in the car. It was really nice that Agnes left me her company and farm and everything. I don’t know why it makes me feel weird s
ometimes.
“So, tell me about Violet,” Lupe said.
So I told her how Violet is Jane’s girlfriend who grew up on a farm, but she works for a bank now, at least during the day. She’s black, like Gregory, and when she farms, she wears her old jeans, with her braids all wrapped up in a beautiful orange scarf that would look just as good with her fancy gray bank suit. “She and Jane have a fruit and vegetable farm, but they both have other work to do too,” I told Lupe.
Lupe nodded. “Do a lot of farmers have other jobs?”
“Yeah, I guess so,” I told her. “Ms. O’Malley works for the library, and she has chickens, and Gregory delivers the mail—he has Call ducks, not chickens. But Chris’s mom just has a farm, with a vegetable stand and a U-pick apple orchard.”
“Maybe it’s hard to make a living farming these days,” Lupe said.
I shrugged. “Maybe.” I hoped not, though, because it was all Dad had right now. Mom’s been writing all kinds of articles, but I knew things were still pretty tough since Dad lost his job.
Violet was helping Dad when we got back to the farm, so Lupe got to meet her. Lupe loved Violet’s gorgeous bronze nail polish, and it turned out Violet went to Lupe’s college, so Violet gave her some tips. “You’re going to do great there,” Violet said, squeezing Lupe’s arm, and Lupe suddenly looked a lot happier. Maybe even Lupe is a little nervous about starting school.
Then Violet told me her friend Cindy is teaching science at my new school, and that I should tell her Violet says to say hi. I told her I would do that.
Violet and Dad had to get back to the grapes then, and Lupe needed to figure out how to register for her classes, and I had to do all my egg and chicken chores and observations, and write to you.
I can tell Lupe really likes it here.
Te extraño,
Soficita
PS What would you have done with all the zucchini that Joy keeps giving Mom? Did you ever put zucchini in migas? I tried giving a huge zucchini to my chickens, but they don’t seem to know it’s food.
MY CHICKENS’ FAVORITE TREATS!
I gave some of these dried bugs to my chickens. They like them even better than sunflower seeds!
Warning: your chickens might love them so much they get rowdy with each other, all trying to get the most treats. (Mine did.)
Sophie Brown, poultry farmer
Redwood Farm
Saturday, August 9
Sunday, August 10
Jim Brown
Farmhalla
Dear Great-Uncle Jim,
Do you need to be patient to be a good farmer? I guess you probably are, or you’d be the kind of ghost that goes around throwing things, since you can’t do anything else about what’s happening on your farm now. Thank you for being patient.
I’m still excited about hatching my eggs, but it sure takes a long time to do it. And a whole lot of reading thermometers and hygrometers and very carefully turning eggs. No wonder kids at my old school start with bean plants instead.
I wonder what kind of chickens they’ll grow up to be? Maybe they’ll lay golden eggs, so Dad can stop doing all those interviews and Mom can finally write her novel, and maybe we could get a family computer instead of me having to wait until Mom is done working to send an email. But if we start taking gold eggs to the bank, someone’s going to want to steal my chickens again.
Maybe they could be like metal detectors instead, and just find everyone’s lost change and jewelry. Enough to help out, but not so much that someone would steal them instead of just buying a metal detector.
I’ll let you know in about thirteen days.
Love,
Sophie
PS I hope I don’t have a bunch of little Henriettas running around trying to figure out their powers. Don’t get me wrong, I love Henrietta! But I’m not nearly as patient as Yoda, and I don’t want any of them going to the Dark Side because I didn’t notice they were having issues.
PPS I think Aquí and Allí are Blue Copper Marans. They’re in the old Redwood Farm catalog Mom found, but it doesn’t say what their powers are. I already figured that out, though.
Monday, August 11
Mariposa García González
Someplace where people respect each other
Querida Abuelita,
Lupe and I visited our new schools today, so we could figure out where things were before we had to hurry up and try to get to class on time.
The whole way to my school, Lupe told me how much I was going to love middle school, how I could finally be in the flag troop, like she was, or on the soccer team, like her brother Javier was, or even both.
When we lived in LA, I could picture myself at Cesar Chavez Junior High, because I visited it when Javier and Lupe went there. I never worried about sticking out in a big school full of brown kids. But my new middle school is so small I don’t know if they’ll even have a flag team, and I haven’t met anyone here that looks like me. I bet everyone will know right away that I’m new.
We didn’t sing along with the radio while we drove to Lupe’s school, and Lupe looked pretty nervous when we drove into the enormous parking lot.
But then we found a big lawn and practiced our cartwheels. Lupe even taught me one of her flag routines! We peeked through the windows of some classrooms and tiptoed into the library. It’s huge and really, really quiet.
We were wondering whether we’d get in trouble if we stuck our feet in the fancy fountain to cool off when a white guy stopped his car in the street and yelled, “Why don’t you go back where you came from?” at us.
My stomach twisted and hurt. I grabbed Lupe’s hand, and she held on tight. I looked up at her to see what we should do, but she didn’t say anything, just stood there, looking like he’d hit her.
It’s not like it was the first time I’d heard mean stuff like that. But I still felt scared, and mad, and like throwing up. I used to try to explain that I was born in LA. But it never helped.
At my old school, I didn’t like dealing with bullies, but I knew what to do. But who are you supposed to tell when some adult you don’t even know is mean to you at college? Should we run away? Tell that guy to stop it? I didn’t want Lupe to go to a school where she’d have to listen to stuff like that every day.
Then a white lady with purple spiky hair stopped walking and yelled at the guy that discrimination and harassment are not tolerated on campus and that she was going to report him. She got out her phone and took a picture of his license plate, and he drove off.
The lady hurried over to ask us if we were okay.
“We’ve heard worse,” I told her, even though I was really mad at him for scaring me and ruining Lupe’s school visit like that.
“I’m really sorry it happened,” the lady told me. “Are you starting this semester?” she asked Lupe.
Lupe nodded. She didn’t look excited.
The purple-haired lady wrote something in her notebook, tore it off, and handed it to Lupe. “I’m Kate. Here’s my phone number. Call me if you need help finding anything, or you just want to grab some coffee or whatever, okay?”
“Thanks,” Lupe said. She still didn’t smile, though.
“Are you the class president or something?” I asked Kate.
“No, I’m just a student,” she said, smiling. “Hey, I’m on my way to water the garden—want to come?”
I didn’t want Lupe to leave her new school still thinking about that guy. “Sure,” I told Kate.
The student garden was so cool! Students take care of all the fruits and vegetables, and they pick them to give to people who don’t have money for all their own food right now. They even had chickens visiting from a farm, in a special chicken coop! I told Lupe what kinds of chickens I thought they might be, and what they were probably telling each other with all that bawking, and she fina
lly smiled.
By the time we left, she and Kate had a plan to meet up for coffee before class on their first day. Maybe Lupe will like college after all. I hope so.
Te extraño,
Soficita
PS I hope we never see that guy again.
Date: Monday, August 11
To: Sophie Brown
From: Betty Johnson
Subject: Unavoidable delay
Dear Ms. Brown,
I am writing to inform you that it will be at least a month before I can send you fertile eggs from the chickens Agnes left in my care, as these hens are busy helping our local zoo hatch eggs of a very rare species of ibis. I will write to you with an updated timeline as soon as the zoo’s eggs have hatched and the chickens are laying again. I do hope you understand.
Sincerely,
Betty
Date: Tuesday, August 12
To: Betty Johnson
From: Sophie Brown
Subject: RE: Unavoidable delay
Dear Betty,
That’s fine. My incubator is full of eggs right now, and I’m starting school soon, so even if it takes two months, I won’t mind. I’m glad that your chickens could help the zoo out. Let me know when the eggs are ready, and I’ll tell Gregory the mailman. He is my 4-H leader, so he’s very careful with eggs.
Sincerely,
Sophie
PS It’s fine if you just call me Sophie.
PPS I hope these really are chickens, not ibises, and not ibis-chickens. I don’t know how to take care of ibises yet.
Tuesday, August 12
Mariposa García González
Someplace where everyone helps each other
