Entry #551247, added on 11-24-07 @ 5:03 am EST
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| The Bay Road Legacy Chapter 5 Dusty | Entry #551247 |
The BAY ROAD LEGACY
Chapter Five
Dusty
Today is Monday, a new week has begun, and we were becoming very much at home on Bay Road. Before nine-o-clock, Father had gone off to work, we had eaten breakfast with our favorite Uncle. Mother had planned another work day for herself and my sister and my aunt. Maybe, just maybe I would get to drive a tractor. What could be better? Almost as though it had been planned; Mr. Roberts showed up in his old pickup truck, and began repairs on the tractor. We watched as the repairs were made, and soon the machine sprung to life. It was not as loud or as powerful as I had expected it to be. “This little baby, has been around longer than I have,” said Mr. Roberts. He had learned to drive it at about the same age that I was, and had kept it running for many years as though it were a part of him.
He sat high up in the old metal seat, and urged me up beside him. I jumped up and took a position straddling the back of the seat. In less than five minutes, he had shown me the throttle, the simple mechanics of shifting from a low speed to a higher one, and how to shut the machine off. “Now, if your ready, I want you to follow me, we have work to do, and you can drive.” Mothers driving lesson of a few days before flashed before me. Would I stay in the driveway, could I slow down before entering Bay Road, could I maintain a speed to follow my teacher? My heart raced, and with great deliberate moves, I slowly got the old machine to move, in the direction of choice, and with an almost natural ability. Mother waived as I crossed the road and entered a long field of hay just across from the house. My brother rode in the back of the pickup truck, and hid his eyes in his hands as he watched me drive a tractor.
Just inside the field, we stopped to attach a long low trailer to the tractor. In a distance I could see men at work on a much larger machine, cutting and then bailing hay into tightly wrapped bundles that looked like huge building blocks. Once the trailer was secured, we moved forward again, to catch up with the college aged boys working in the field. My job for the day would be to drive the tractor at a very slow speed while a team of farm hands grabbed up the hay and loaded it onto the trailer. My brother was to ride on the trailer and help to stack the bales as they were tossed up. All this I thought, and I am going to get paid for it. If only my friends back in the big city, that to me was a whole lifetime away now, could just see this. They would not believe it. My brother was doing all the hard work, and I was just enjoying the ride. I noticed my uncle’s car pass by on the road. I had to look twice, when I saw who was driving it. It was mother, beeping the horn and waiving as she drove by at a much greater speed than she had ever driven before. I would guess that at this time she had built enough confidence to try driving at twenty miles per hour. Several times in the next hour, I spotted Jimmies car, with mother driving, back and forth on Bay Rd. I am sure that she did manage to get up to thirty before the noon time break.
At noon time, I headed the tractor back to the farm house, with my load of hay in tow. Mr. Roberts pointed out a spot near the dairy barn that he wanted the trailer put into. I admit that it took me several tries to back it into the exact spot, but eventually I did it. I jumped down from the machine, and as soon as my feet touched the ground, I learned the reason for putting cushions on metal seats, especially on tractors. I ached from my toes to my head, and felt the vibrations of an antique Ford tractor still shaking every bone in my body. I walked a bit uneasy as I made my way back to the house. For the afternoon, there was to be different work in store for us city boys. Mr. Roberts left and said he would return in an hour. We made our way to the house, and could just tell by the way mother was smiling, that she was thrilled at her morning’s adventure. She had learned to drive. “Did we see her going up the road,” she asked. “Several times, we saw you several times, but,” I said “do you think that you should be going so fast on this busy road?” I suddenly realized, that now, by kidding with mother about her driving, I was also developing a relationship with her that I had never known. She was always there for us, in the evening, after she got done with work, but this was different. Not only was she not working, she was at home being a mother, and becoming our friend. In some ways, we were learning to live with two new parents at the same time. Mother was becoming a person, with her own identity, and we were beginning to share a life together. How strange this must have been to her. I don’t think any of us could ever have realized how important it was to mother. Her new attitude of ghosts be dammed it’s our house, our home, began to make a lot of sense to me, even though I may not have realized it for years to come.
The afternoon brought with it a new lesson, on the use of a large conveyor belt type of machine that was positioned just below an upper opening in the dairy barn. The afternoon would be spent, unloading and placing the hay bales on the conveyor, which would promptly send them to the upper most reaches of the barn, There, it was our task to carefully stack the bales one on top of another, making them ready for a long winters use. The work was back breaking and dusty, and our hands became blistered from the work. It was obvious to us that city boys would have to endure a bit more than anticipated to become true farm hands, or as my brother called us “farm slaves.” David did not enjoy the new life, and he continually claimed that he was not able to breathe, while working in the barns. We would learn several weeks later that he did indeed suffer from hay fever. It was more reason to allow him to return to the real city when summer ended. He was definitely not meant to be a rural farm resident. More events of the summer would support this realization.
At the end of the day, we had managed to store with reasonable success, about 500 bales of hay into the old barn. As days and weeks passed we would place 4500 bales of hay in the dairy barn and even more than that in the long horse barn.
Now as we walked toward the house, we spotted Father arriving home from his first day at work. He turned into the driveway, and drove up to the house, waiving for us to come over to the car. Father had a way of surprising us, and this day was no different. Seated on the front seat of his car, on the passenger side, with his head hanging out of the window, was surprise number one. Father had brought home a dog. This was of course, not just a cute little puppy, but a beautiful adult full blooded pedigreed collie dog. He could easily have been a twin to Lassie and was to be our newest family member. The dog, had a title, registered with the American Kennel Club. This was “Destiny the Third of Sandhill Kennels,” who was already responsive to the name of Dusty.
Like all of Fathers’ acquisitions Dusty had a story of his own. Dusty had been the pet of an employee at Fathers’ new office. Dusty, was very defensive of territory by his nature, and one morning a mail carrier, made the mistake of trying to deliver mail without first saying hello to Dusty. Dusty, not expecting any mail, growled at the mailman, and as we understand it, the mailman became defensive and slapped at Dusty with the leather strap of his pouch. As might be expected, Dusty reacted by snapping up the pouch, and about 3 inches of the mailman’s left leg. It took about 16 stitches to put the poor fellow back together, and the city, being made aware of the vicious beast, ordered the owner to get rid of the dog by getting him outside the city limits, or having him destroyed.
Dusty was very much like all of us, in need of a good home. When Father opened the car door and let him out, we could see that this was not a ferocious beast at all. Dusty was a playful two year old, that took to the freedom of the farm like a duck to water. In his first moments, he raced around the yard, greeted mother with long wet sloppy kisses, made friends with every member of his new family and at once, knew he was home. He was well trained as his pedigree would imply and would respond to every command. He would come when called, sit when told to, fetch sticks and promptly return them, and would even shake hands on request.
Dusty was exactly the kind of dog any boy could ever want, and Father had scored big points. Mother was adequately impressed when she called the dog to come to her and remarked that he responded better than her own kids did. Mother was delighted with the newest member of our family. Dusty, after circling the property and leaving his mark to identify his territory, was as excited at what would be a new life for him, as any dog could be. As we all entered the kitchen for supper, it was Dusty who led the way. Father had brought with him several large dishes, and a few bags of dog food, also provided by the past owner of the dog. Mother prepared a large bowl and set it in the corner of the kitchen, which would become Dusty’s space. He ate as we ate, and after supper as me moved about in the house, he trailed along with us. We thought it would be a good idea to show him the rest of the house, and let him know where he would become Top Dog. He examined every room on the lower level, and as expected he marched proudly up stairs to our bedroom, and to the guest bedroom opposite ours.
We walked down the hall to my sister’s room, and he sniffed out every inch of it. We turned to the now closed small room, and opened the door to it so that he could see it as well. In an instant, almost as though he were having flashbacks to the days of biting mailmen, he snarled and barked, and crouched low to the floor. We assured him it was okay, that there was no one in the room, and tried to coax him to enter. He refused. Taking him by the collar, we tried to drag him in, thinking that once over the threshold he would be calm. Again, he snarled and crouched to the floor. After getting him, by brute force into the room, he at once relieved himself on the floor. Dusty, whimpered, whined, and did everything but say let me out. He wanted no part of this old room, no part, no way, and that was that. We left the room and at once, Dusty pranced and bounced up and down the hallway, and was, as he had been, a free dog again. His behavior had been very strange, and probably reflected to some degree, the way we each felt about the small room. Dusty was by all standards a perfect match to our new life. As we sat on the porch that evening, he almost seemed to be listening to the stories being told by Uncle Jimmy. He would lift his head and almost ask for more when a pause occurred in the conversation. He, being very smart, chose to sit next to mother for the whole evening. She would almost like clockwork, reach down and pat him and speak to him with kind words and was bonding to her new friend, and he to her.
Bedtime crept upon us and with the usual goodnights, we were off to bed. Without hesitation, and without an invite, Dusty followed us up the stairs, and decided that the best place for him to sleep would be just outside the bedroom doors at the front end of the hallway. After we had gotten into bed, he came in to the room, and walked to my brothers bed, and sniffed around a bit, and then to mine, and did the same. It appeared that he was making sure that we were properly tucked in for the night, and then we heard him as he repeated the same procedure into the guest room. He walked the hallway, checking in on my sister and nephew, and was contented that all was well. He resumed his post at the end of the hall, and after circling around two or three times could be heard settling down. I actually believe he let out a sigh of relief before going to sleep.
Tuesday morning arrived with the same splendor and warmth as had been felt the day before. Life was starting to become somewhat more relaxed and casual. Father would go off to work; Jimmy would start work on some project or other. Mother and my aunt would enjoy a second cup of coffee, and take on some great wifely chores. Sister and son would find a way to set up a play yard near the kitchen door for my nephew. My brother and I would continue our days of “slavery” to farm life. Dusty would run free, and never went out of sight of the old farm house. He found great sport at chasing small birds from the raspberry patch and garden areas. He would also sit and rest next to my nephew, for long periods of time.
By mid afternoon, having worked for six hours, my uncle suggested that if we could break away from our labor, it might be time for another lesson in marksmanship. We jumped at the chance, and quickly we were on our way, guns in hand to the shooting area set up days earlier. Dusty, with his usual curiosity was close behind as we set up the targets on the saw horse. Jimmy called him back and got him to sit beside him well outside of any possible danger. Carefully now we aimed and fired. Bang. Bang. That was it! That was all it took! Dusty ran, ran as he had never run before, all the way back to the house. He jumped at the screen door, and barked until mother let him in. Gun shy. Dusty, our fierce protector, was gun shy. He wanted no part of anything that made loud noise. He would from that moment on always run to mother at even the sight of the guns.
Now I don’t want you to think that Dusty was not a good watch dog. Much to the contrary. For more than a week, Mother had the ongoing task of introducing Dusty to every single person who came into our driveway, Dusty steadfastly held his ground, as Mr. Roberts arrived for the first time, not even letting him out of his truck. All it took to get past Dusty was a kind hello and the mention of his name and he knew you as friend not foe. His ferocity at new faces and visitors, held a dozen or more farm hands at bay for minutes at a time until mother could teach them the way in.
Our shooting skills were improving and we returned again to the house for dinner. Father returned home and our evening was again pleasant. Yes Life on Bay Road was not going to be all that bad. It had not been the best of starts, but now we were getting accustomed to it all.
Wednesday and our home was looking more beautiful than it had in many years. Mother and aunt had driven into town, or perhaps I should point out that mother had driven into town, with my aunt in my uncles car. Mother was becoming a good driver. A little slow, but a good driver none the less. They had visited a nursery and purchased a dozen containers of flowers to be used in a newly prepared flower bed just outside the kitchen window. Beautiful pansies, marigolds, sweet peas, and more, all being added to the beauty of the old place. The ladies toiled for hours to get everything in the ground in just the right way. It did look beautiful and fresh, and they were pleased with the work they had done.
By noon time, the last wagon load of hay had been cut, gathered and put away in the barns, and my work for the week would end. We had turned our attention to preparing a list of things to get to sell on Friday at our farm stand, and to cleaning it up a bit more. After lunch, my uncle, having completed many of his elected chores, suggested a long walk to see what else this property held. We would all go. Mother, aunt, sister, nephew, my brother and I and Jimmy and of course Dusty.
I regret now not having saved a picture of this outing. We probably looked much like a march of pilgrims in search of the Promised Land. We walked and walked and walked, never realizing how much land 5000 acres really was. We found old walls, and broken fences, an old orchard, many places that were put on to a list of spots to revisit at a later date. We found a quiet brook at the furthest edge of the property, which would provide me with a spot for peaceful reflection in the days ahead. We saw a mother fox, as beautiful and radiant, leading her two kits, as one could expect a fox to look. Dusty did not chase her, simply lifted his head and sniffed her presence as if to say she too was part of us. We came across an old set of antlers, and the remains of a long deceased deer. We saw in one spot some rare and untouchable plants called lady slippers that no one even knew grew in New York. There were some blueberry bushes, that were quickly picked, the berries being placed into an old bag that mother had carried with her in case we needed it. The berries would become a home made pie, to go with supper that evening. From the furthest distances of the property we could look back at the farm house, which now began to glow in our eyes as we acknowledged that this was home.
We made the long walk home a little shorter, by cutting through a field that up until that morning had been filled with several hundred grazing Black Angus steers. The herd had apparently been moved to another location. There was much laughter as we forged our way across this field, as it was plainly obvious that the herd had moved but their deposits for the last week or so, were quite obvious. Somewhat like crossing a mine field, but as was noted it was the shortest way home.
Dusty, running ahead for most of the way, located and chased several groundhogs that had taken up residence in the field. He was a happy dog, designed we thought for life on a farm. We returned to the house just a few minutes before Fathers’ arrival. We knew that Uncle Jimmy would be leaving in a few days. Father had taken it upon himself to call an old friend and invited him and his wife up for a visit to our new home. Mother was again surprised, that he would do this without telling her first, but she was getting use to surprises from Father. It wasn’t until after supper, that Father told us who was coming to visit in the next week. “Dot“, he said, “do you remember Louie Bond and his wife Alice?” These were names that mother had not heard since before Fathers last disappearance some many years earlier in our lives. Yes she did remember them. They had all been friends, and hadn’t Louie worked with father some fifteen years earlier? Yes he had, and surprisingly, Father had stayed in touch with them, through all the time of his absence in our lives. It was Fathers turn to speak up at our evening gathering on the front porch.
Back at the start of their marriage, Father had worked for a large music supply house in Boston. It was the late nineteen thirties and the early forties, and anyone who could play a musical instrument could find work with a band, playing at dance halls, supper clubs and taverns that had grown out of the days of speak easies. Musicians who could not afford to buy good instruments outright could buy them on credit, from the music supply house. The musicians were obligated to pay a fixed amount of money each week for the instruments. Unfortunately, often times they would fall behind in payments, and that is where Father and Louie came in. It was their job to go to the places where the bands were playing, and reposes the instruments, or get payment in full for the debt. Father told us several stories of interrupting the music at a number of well known night spots, and relieving as many as half of the band members, of there instruments in a single night. It was by its’ very nature a dangerous endeavor, and that is how he got teamed up with Louie Bond. Louie had been a band member with several big well known bands, and knew many of the players by name. He knew all the night spots and clubs, and the owners of many. Louie had one other notable asset in life, that would certainly come in handy now. Both Louie and his wife had grown up on farms. Big farms in Maine and New Hampshire. “Why they were just so thrilled at the chance of coming up to visit our new farm in New York. They would have walked just to get there” was Fathers claim.
Now in all honesty, mother did remember Alice and Louie, and she liked Alice a lot. She even felt that of all of “Fathers’ friends,” this couple might be fun to have around. She knew that she and Alice had a lot in common. The deed was done, the next guests would be arriving on Sunday afternoon. As the evening went on, we learned that Father had been many things in his past life. Things that we didn’t know, we were now learning. One thing that I noticed in Fathers stories was that he had never been anything for too long. It also appeared to me that what Father was talking about were the things that he had done, after meeting and marrying my mother. He made no mention of the things he had done while away from his family. Those things would take years for us to learn. In addition to being a Re-Po man, Father had been a cabinet maker, a furniture salesman, operated a printing business, and had been a teacher at a business school. There were other professions that came to mind, and again it just didn’t seem to have worked out in any of them. Before bed that night, we were starting to get a much better picture of Father than any of us had ever had. Before he re-entered our lives in the way in which he just had, mother would never discuss Father with us. At times, his very existence seemed to be a joke. At one point in my life, as a child I recall asking my mother why we didn’t have a father like other kids. Her answer to me was very accurate when considered now. She said in answer to the question, “We are too poor to afford to have your father around. You will just have to make do with the family that you have.”
Bed time was again upon us and after a good nights sleep, we were awakened on Thursday morning by screams coming up from the kitchen. A mad dash from the upstairs, descending the long stairway in leaps and bounds, found us staring at mother, who was in the middle of the kitchen, pointing out the window. “Look, just look out at my flower garden,” she screamed hysterically. “Look!” We did and there, looking back in through the kitchen window was an old friend that my brother and I had met a week before. Mercury, the prize bull, and about 200 of his close friends had been herded into the yard for a day of veterinary care. The entire herd of “beef on the go” had been rounded up and animal pens and a gate system to control them had been installed in the wee hours of the morning. Mother opened the kitchen door, and without a bit of fear, picked up her broom and was about to shoo the animals out of her pansies.
“Hold it, I wouldn’t do that,” shouted Uncle Jimmy. Just stand back a minute and watch this.” Jimmy held open the kitchen door, and at once Dusty, the wonder dog sprung into action. The whole herd did not scare him. They were intruders in his space and they did not have the secret password. There was barking, growling and a lot of confused snorting as Dusty went about his chore. With an amazing instinct, he drove the animals back, first five feet and then ten, and standing his ground, he dared one of them to even think about crossing the line. Mr. Roberts turned the corner of the house at that moment, and greeted Dusty, calming him down as he approached. All mother could do was repeat over and over again, “My garden, my flowers” pointing at them all the while. Mr. Roberts apologized saying that the pens should have been arranged a little different, and he promised to have the garden replanted that very day. Thursday morning had started with a bang. Dusty had become a hero, a force to be reckoned with.
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© Copyright 2007 Peter Yule (UN: peteryule at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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