“Yeah.” Dillon stood, rubbing her sore back.
“Nice of you to help her.” He looked over the rows. “Looks like you’re doing a good job too. I laid the sprinkler system in Marie’s garden. It was similar to this. I can connect the lines to the water and set up the timer.”
“Great.” She pointed to the row she was working on. “This is the last of the emitters. Then it should be ready to go.”
He nodded. “We’ll run a test.” While she finished the last row, he went to work hooking it up to water, and they both finished about the same time.
“I’ll turn ’er on,” Grandpa said. “Then, unless we spring a leak, we’ll go get ourselves some supper and check it later. Won’t hurt to give the soil a good soak since the lavender’s coming tomorrow.”
Dillon watched him set the timer, then looked over the field with trepidation, hoping that it wasn’t going to explode or turn into a water park. But other than a few misdirected emitters, nothing spectacular happened. She and Grandpa adjusted the emitters and agreed it was a success.
As they walked to the house, Dillon asked what they should do about the plants coming tomorrow. “I don’t think Margot should be out in the sun too much. But now I don’t see how she’s going to get that lavender planted.”
“Yep. I think you’re right.”
“I’ll help as much as I can, but that’s a lot of plants.” She did the mental math. “I guess if I planted one every five minutes, that’d be twelve in an hour—I’d be done in ten hours or so.”
Grandpa laughed. “And then we’d be treating you for exhaustion or heatstroke.”
“Not if I paced myself.”
“Well, rest assured, Dilly. When I saw your mom was beat, I called in some help. Got a team of teenage boys coming first thing tomorrow morning. They’re from the church youth group and need to earn money for summer camp. I’m guessing they’ll finish up by noon. All you need to do is cook ’em up a good lunch. I promised the youth pastor we’d feed ’em.”
“I’ll gladly do that.” Relief washed over her as they went inside. Grandpa was no fool. He’d probably known all along that this project was too much for his somewhat unmotivated daughter. But, seriously, did he really plan to spend the latter part of his farming life growing pumpkins and lavender?
CHAPTER
7
To Dillon’s surprise, Grandpa already had breakfast going the next morning. “Thought we could use hotcakes today.” He expertly flipped a golden disk.
“Sounds great.” She went to the coffeepot, hoping it would wake her up after another uncomfortable night’s sleep.
“Believe it or not, your mother is already up.” Grandpa handed her a plate of hotcakes.
“Seriously?” She sat down. “She did this on her own?”
He chuckled. “With a little help. Anyway, she’s out there with her nasty-smelling green drink, waiting for her work crew.”
“Well, I’m impressed.” She reached for the maple syrup.
“Hopefully the boys will get here before the lavender plants. That way they can help unload the truck.”
“And hopefully Margot will avoid the sun today.”
As they ate breakfast, Grandpa talked about his pumpkin patch plans, and it was plain to see his enthusiasm was growing. “I’ve been thinking about this fall. Might be fun to set out hay bales and some fun and games for the kids when they come out.”
“Wouldn’t Grandma love that?” Dillon knew most of his motivation was out of respect for his wife.
“Speaking of your grandma, I took a peek at Marie’s garden yesterday afternoon. Nice work, Dillon.”
“Thanks, but after reading her garden diary, I can see it’s a little late for a lot of the vegetables Grandma used to plant.”
“Well, being that she’s not here to can and freeze ’em this fall, might be just as well. That garden can really produce.”
“Yeah, I remember. But I did transplant the tomatoes—the ones that survived—and I planted some lettuce and radish seeds . . . and a few others. So at least we can have salad—in a while. For the time being, there’s not much else to do out there.”
As Dillon got up to refill her coffee mug, she questioned herself . . . What was she doing here? She appreciated her time with Grandpa, but it didn’t really take both her and Margot to help him out of his slump. He seemed to be doing just fine now. And although she’d enjoyed the garden work and helping around the house, it wasn’t as if she were really needed here. Thankfully, the hardest part of the lavender project would be done by the end of the day. She rubbed her aching back, grateful that the teen boys were coming to help.
“I’ll bet you’re sore from yesterday.”
She simply nodded as she sat back down.
“How’ve you been sleeping? Is the sofa comfortable enough?”
“It’s okay.” That wasn’t exactly true, but she didn’t want him to feel bad.
“I was thinking we could set you up a bedroom in my den. It used to be my bedroom back when I was a boy and I’d—”
“No, Grandpa, I don’t want to take your den. All your agricultural books and farm records and everything are in there.” She tried to think of a different conversation topic. “You know, the best night of sleep I’ve had in ages was in a pretty unconventional place.”
“Where was that?” He swiped a forkful of hotcakes through the syrup.
“Strangely enough, it was this little trailer park in Wyoming. Just last weekend.” She explained about getting trapped between the two vehicles hauling vintage trailers. “Well, it turned out that this place rented trailers by the night too. And I got to stay in this darling little yellow trailer. And it had the most comfortable bed ever. With fine linens that smelled like sunshine. So peaceful and quiet. It was truly magical.”
“Fine linens in a camp trailer?” He shook his head with disbelief. “Last time I slept in a camp trailer, we were elk hunting and all I had was a smelly sleeping bag and a couple of snoring hunting buddies.”
She laughed. “That sounds terrible.”
He sighed. “Maybe to you. But it’s a good memory to me.”
“I took pictures of the trailer park. It was really something. All these charming old trailers that had been so carefully restored. Really quaint and sweet. I’d never seen anything like it before.”
“You don’t say . . .” His eyes twinkled.
After breakfast, Dillon automatically started to rinse the dishes.
“Why don’t you let that go for now?” Grandpa pulled on his John Deere ball cap and work coat. “Come on outside with me first.” He held out Grandma’s old green barn jacket. “Still cool out there. Better wear this.”
“Okay.” She peered at him with curiosity. Something about this felt mysterious.
Outside, three teenage boys were energetically unloading lavender plants from the nursery delivery truck, with Margot shouting orders like a Marine sergeant. “Over there! No, I mean there. Line them up by the rows.”
“Looks like Margot’s found her calling,” Dillon observed.
“She always did like to give the orders.” Grandpa chuckled.
“Believe me, I know.”
“Something I want to show you.” Grandpa tugged Dillon’s arm, directing her toward the barn. “Hearing you talking about those old trailers reminded me of something I’d nearly forgotten.” He took her past the barn and over to the attached loafing shed where, to her surprise, an old camp trailer sat.
“What in the world?” Her eyes grew wide as she looked at the rounded shape of the trailer—like something out of a cartoon. “Where did you get this?”
“Remember my buddy Jack Martin?”
She nodded, walking around to see the other side of the trailer, taking in the dry, flaking paint and grime-encrusted windows, running her hand over the dirty aluminum door. What a treasure!
“Well, Jack passed on and left this to me last summer. As well as his old pickup truck. I didn’t know what to do with them. Almost sold ’em last
fall, but then Marie got sick . . . and I sort of forgot about the whole works.”
“Jack left this to you?” Dillon stood on tiptoe, trying to see in a grimy side window. “He must’ve really liked you.”
Grandpa snickered. “Or else Rose just made that up as an excuse to get it off her property. She went off to California to live with her sister after Jack passed. I’m sure she didn’t want to be bothered.” He grew more serious. “But Jack and my hunting buddies did have some awfully good times in this trailer. I guess Jack thought I’d appreciate it.”
“I think it’s wonderful, Grandpa.” She peered curiously at him. “Why are you showing it to me?”
“Well, you mentioned that trailer park in Wyoming. And I knew it was something you could appreciate.”
“Can I see inside?”
“Sure. But I’ll warn you, it was infested with mice when I brought it home. Although I’m sure my barn cats have taken care of that since then. I left it open all last summer. Only closed it up after I realized that Curly and Mo had taken up permanent residence inside.”
“You still have the three stooges?” she asked. “I haven’t seen them around all week.”
“Well, Larry was the friendly one. Unfortunately, he disappeared a couple years ago. Probably by coyote. Curly and Mo are still around. The females were never too sociable, but good mousers. If you hang around the barn long enough, they’ll probably show up. Especially if you rattle their food bag.” Grandpa extracted a brass key from beneath a well-worn welcome mat and handed it to her. “Here you go, have a look.”
She unlocked and opened the metal door and then an old-fashioned screen door before going inside. “It does smell a little mousy.” She looked around with fascination. “But it seems solid.”
“It’s solid, alright. Jack always kept it under cover.”
“Oh, look at those adorable little appliances.” She traced her finger through the dust on top of the bright orange stove. “I wonder if this works.”
“Don’t know why it shouldn’t. This Aloha trailer was top of the line back in 1964, when Jack and Rose got it brand new. Last time we took it hunting—not so very long ago—it all worked.”
She opened the fridge and, although it smelled musty, it was spotless inside. Even a tiny set of ice cube trays was in the freezer section. “Looks like someone kept this clean.” She closed the door and hooked the latch pin into place.
“Rose probably.”
She opened a cabinet door. “It all seems very well built.”
“They built everything better back in those days.”
She checked out what appeared to be a couch in the back.
“That pulls out into a full-size bed.” Grandpa demonstrated how it worked, pulling down the pads. “Jack always slept here.” He pointed to the bunk overhead. “That was mine. But last time we took it out, I had a hard time getting my old bones up there.”
“This is so cool, Grandpa. What do you plan to do with it?”
“I don’t plan to do anything with it, Dilly. But it’s yours if you want it.”
“Are you serious?” Dillon could hardly believe it.
“Yep. It’s not much. But I’d like you to have it. Consider it my thank-you for all the work you’ve done around here this week. Rescuing Marie’s garden . . . and the housework too. You’ve been a trooper.”
“Thanks.” She felt slightly teary to think he’d really noticed these things. “So that means I can fix it up—however I like? I mean, with paint and fabrics and everything?”
His blue eyes twinkled. “It’s all yours, Dilly. See what you can make of it.”
“Is there anything I should know about it?” She tried to turn on the light, disappointed to see it didn’t work.
“It’s not hooked up. But I’ll show you how that works.” He led her outside, showing her a door where a long electrical cord was stored. After unwinding it he plugged it into the exterior outlet. Next, he showed her a place where she could fill a holding tank with water. “As I recall the water from this tank was mostly for washing and the bathroom. We always carried our own drinking water.”
“So water and electricity,” she said cheerfully. “Modern living.”
“At its finest.” He glanced upward. “Now I better get busy before the sun gets any higher.”
She thanked him again, feeling like she’d just won the lottery. Dillon filled the water tank, then continued to explore every nook and cranny of the compact trailer. Although it was small, it wasn’t as tiny as the yellow trailer she’d slept so well in just a week ago. It even had a tiny bathroom in the back corner across from the rear sleeping area. And up in the front, just over a sweet little dining table, was what appeared to be a second bunk with a railing that doubled as a ladder. Clever! Not that she planned to climb up there, but it would make a good storage area.
Dillon went back outside to look at the trailer again—with the full realization that it was truly hers. It was almost unbelievable. Glad that no one could see her, she actually did a Snoopy happy dance all around it. This was a dream come true!
She wasn’t blind. She could see the spiders’ webs and mouse droppings, and although Rose had probably taken good care of it back in the day, the whole thing needed a deep and thorough cleaning. Probably thanks to the hunters. She went back inside and opened all the windows to air it out. Then she began to take down the curtains, which looked original but were deteriorated beyond rescuing. That alone made it look better.
Thrilled over the potential of this unexpected but delightful project, Dillon hurried to the house. She retrieved a broom, mop, and a bucket of cleaning supplies, and was just stepping outside when Margot stopped her on the back porch.
“What on earth are you doing with that?” Margot frowned at the bucket and its contents.
“Cleaning.” Dillon paused on the back porch, impatient to get back to her trailer but curious as to why Margot even cared.
“But you’ve already cleaned everything in the house. What’s next? The barn?” She laughed.
“No, no . . . just an old trailer.”
“Why are you cleaning a trailer?”
“Because I am.” Dillon grimaced.
“But this is a farm, Dilly. Won’t the trailer just get dirty again?”
Dillon could tell Margot assumed she was cleaning Grandpa’s flatbed hay bale trailer, and that was just fine. For some reason she wanted to keep her camp trailer project private for the time being. Probably because she figured Margot would make fun of the dusty, dirty “rattrap.” “I’m sure it’ll get dirty again,” Dillon said tersely. “But that’s what I’m working on today.”
“But I need help with the lavender planting.”
“You have help.”
“I know. And the boys are full of energy, but they need lots and lots of direction and I don’t think I should be out in the sun today.”
Dillon set down her bucket, carefully considering her answer. If she agreed to “help” she would very likely get stuck until every last lavender was planted. “Sorry,” she firmly told Margot. “But I’ve already got a lot to do today.” She pointed to the patio table that Grandma had used for outdoor meals. “Why don’t you dig out the sun umbrella and set that table up over near the planting area. You could even bring out some cold drinks for your workers.”
Margot blinked. “That’s not a bad idea. How about you give me a hand with it?”
Dillon set her tools on the porch. Knowing this would be the quickest way to resolve the situation, she helped Margot carry and set up the table and umbrella. “Are you able to handle the cold drinks yourself?” Dillon asked in a patronizing tone.
“I’m not helpless,” Margot declared.
“No, I wasn’t suggesting that. But you probably won’t want to fix your workers lunch.” Dillon knew she was attempting reverse psychology, and she didn’t expect it to work. “Grandpa promised them food. I suppose I’ll have to do that too.”
“I’m perfectly capable of fixing
them food.”
“But they won’t want green smoothies. I thawed out hamburger and thought I’d fire up the grill. Plus, I planned to make macaroni salad. You know, like Grandma used to—”
“I’ll make their lunch,” Margot declared. “After all, this is my project.”
“Well, okay then.” Dillon nodded, trying not to look overly pleased as she gathered up her cleaning supplies and hurried back to her wonderful little trailer. Was it possible that Margot really did want to step up? Or was it simply the reverse psychology?
Dillon felt a rush of happiness as she came around the corner of the barn—just seeing her little trailer there waiting for her. She was glad that it was parked in the shade—and out of view of the house. About to open the door, she paused to read the manufacturer’s metal plate fastened next to the door.
“Oasis,” she said with amusement. “Well, you might not exactly look like an oasis yet, but you will.” She patted the side of the trailer, then took out her phone and began to photograph the full exterior and interior. “These are your before pics,” she said as she put her phone in her pocket. “With a little elbow grease and TLC, we’ll have you looking like a million bucks in no time.” Was it weird to talk to an old trailer like this? If so, she didn’t really care.
Dillon set to work removing all the old upholstery, which was falling apart anyway, and tossing it into the trash can she’d set outside for her debris. Then she swept up mouse droppings from every nook and cranny, marveling at how much storage potential this small space contained. She scrubbed and cleaned and wiped and, after a couple of hours, the sturdy little trailer looked and smelled much better.
Dillon sat down at the dinette, gazing around the compact space, imagining what it might look like and wondering how she should bring out the trailer’s personality. She remembered all the colorful trailers she’d seen in Wyoming. Each one looked unique. Perhaps they were a reflection of their owners. She wanted hers to be special too.
The only thing she knew she wouldn’t change was the appliance color—that bright orange tone was cheerful and fun. But what color would look good with it?
The Happy Camper Page 6
