September
September 1, 2009
Much time has been spent the last few weeks with hoes in hand, or on hands and knees weeding in the vegetable garden and the pumpkin patch. Though we miss the summer rains, the poor monsoon has helped to keep eager weeds at bay and I feel guilty for appreciating the drought. Larger weeds come up easier after a good irrigation and Stewart and I have been getting very intimate with the mud in the fields. Usually, I love the country girl in me. I am not afraid to get dirty and smelly. When I head out the door in the morning I often look like a bag-lady in my favorite sweat stained hat with a torn light-weight long sleeve shirt still crusted with yesterday’s mud, mismatched gloves and chlorophyll knees on my khaki work pants. I feel practical, smart – ready for the day. I have never claimed to be real tough or strong, but I know how to work hard and efficiently. Usually, I feel proud of my grubby self – that is until it’s time to go out into the real world, or certain folks come to the farm for a visit.
My sisters-in-law are always perfectly groomed. They come down to the farm with manicured fingernails and salon fresh hair looking fabulous, and, although they would never intend to make me feel bad, I do. Suddenly, I am a country bumpkin, as I try frantically to find a pair of unstained pants and to dislodge the garden soil from my stubby fingernails so I can join the family in the main house for dinner appearing half civilized.
Three summers ago, Stewart informed me that two girls were going to be interning for the summer. Girls? I protested. When I met Tajare and Annica, I was floored. They were young, smart, funny AND attractive. “This is against the rules!” I complained to Stewart that first night, and many there after. Then I realized that I alone had made up the “no-cute-girls-can-work-on-the-farm” rule and that, although he had never disagreed to the rule – he had never agreed to it either. So, for the summer of 2007, I actually brushed my hair daily, wore my better fitting jeans, and washed my work shirts. I bought a new hat and, some days I even wore lipstick when I headed out to the garden. The girls were at least a decade younger, however, and Stewart insisted on daily “pool-time” for the whole summer when he was surrounded by 2 girls in their 20’s wearing bikinis and mixing us up mojitos with fresh mint. Who can blame him? Truth is, the girls were great to have around. They were tough and strong and were working on their PhD’s and were beautiful inside and out – a perfect influence on my own then pre-teen daughter. Worse for my insecure mind was a year or so prior when Stewart’s old buddy Pascal called from France. Pascal had met Stewart in high school when he had come to Green Valley as foreign exchange student and they had kept in touch all these years. (Can you imagine coming from Paris to Green Valley…?) Pascal had a friend whose daughter was looking for a family to stay and work with in the United States so that she could practice her English. “Are you kidding me?” I protested, “you want a twenty year old girl from France to live with us for a month?”
When we went to pick Jessica up at Tucson International Airport, our family stood in a little group with a sign spelling her name. I thought it might be hard to find her, but the airport is pretty small and there were very few young women traveling alone. I know I must sound very desperate and shallow, but when I saw this very large, unattractive young woman heading toward us, I held the sign up high for her to see. As she passed us, I turned with her, following her with the sign as she walked by. Obviously it wasn’t her, but, just in case I asked, hopefully, “Are you Jessica?” Then this very attractive, tan, petite blond appeared and with a killer smile and seductive accent said, “Halo – I am Jess-ee-ca.” Of course. I muttered to Stewart that she was going to have to get back onto the plane
My plan was to keep Jessica with me. It made perfect sense – what better way to learn English than in a 2nd grade classroom? She was bored out of her mind! Her English was almost non-existent so she could not follow my lessons. She spent the day yawning and re-organizing my desk. Fortunately for my fragile ego, she wasn’t interested in farm work either, so she spent most of her time either tanning by the pool alone or hanging out with my step-mother who wanted to brush up on her French. I don’t think she learned very much English and her biggest influence was not on my daughter, but on my then 10-year-old son who fondly recalls when she accidentally lost her bikini top after diving into the pool.
Since the last two summers have brought no more bombshells into the garden, I look like crap! I slide into the same mud-encrusted pants everyday for a week before they make it to the laundry and I only put on lip stick if we are going out or my husband’s brothers are coming down with their beautiful wives. Poor Stewart. For the most part folks who come to work on the farm are male. Somehow (sorry, guys) there have been no “bomb-shell” equivalents amongst the guys. I am certainly not looking to make Stewart jealous, but maybe if he was just a little he might appreciate my “no-cute-girls-can-work-on-the-farm” rule. One guy who worked here refused to change his clothes. I know that makes me sound like a hypocrite, but I’m talking NEVER changed his clothes, or showered or flushed the toilet. Another existed on a garlic diet that made the air around him impossible to breath. Another showed off his very hairy legs by wearing a kilt every day and puffed cigarette smoke into my face when I talked to him and, sweet Wayne, who has worked for us for years, just turned 70. Is this all a coincidence, or is Stewart filtering out the options…
The other day as my son Jesse and I were headed out the door for a quick run to the Amado Mini-Mart after a couple of hours of cultivating. He paused and looked at me – “Are you wearing that?” he asked, referring to my bag-lady uniform. I glanced over in the hallway mirror. Poor kid. I changed my shirt and put on some lipstick.
We are looking forward to the next round of beans, squash, okra and more that should start coming off this month. We are also getting ready for our annual Fall Festival coming up this October. See our website for details. www.AguaLindaFarm.net. The farm is open Sat. 9-3 and Sun. 12-3.
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