A Visit at the Farm

Except for the cat, the kitchen was empty when Norma arrived downstairs, following the whiff of coffee that drifted up to her room. It was such a luxury to have her mother do things for her, she thought, as she lifted the pot and poured herself a generous cup.

And Katya! She reached for the cat on its fridge-top perch and tugged her off, sticking her nose into her deep winter-pile coat. “Mmmm, mmm!” she was still cuddling her when her mother appeared through the mud room door, her coat undone and her boots unzipped.

“You know, she only tolerates you because you’ve been away so long,” Iris said, a catch of a laugh in her throat.”Stop for a while, Mum, have coffee with me. And I’ll help you do your chores later. Promise.”

“Sure,” Iris took her coat off and placed it over a chair, leaving her boots on— a clear statement that she would soon return outside. But she pulled the chair closer to Norma’s, and they sat, going over everything that had happened since Norma left, months ago.

They were still there, knees almost touching, coffee cooling in their hands, as they heard the scrunch of snow outside. When her father arrived through the mud-room door, with his lantern in one hand, they both looked up, and Iris held her coffee up as a greeting.

“Sure I’ll have some more.” John said, as he regarded his daughter and his wife, their dark heads together, their smiles identical, as if out of the same gift box. He wished he could say what was in his heart—he loved Norma, but the words lay there, fractured and inaccessible, and he looked away quickly, as if the reflected light from his lantern on their faces was too much for him.

“You guys look like you are having fun,” he said instead, reaching for the cup Iris handed him.”Yes.” Norma said, her circle complete. She felt a wave of love toward her parents. But she’d been here before, and she knew the mood wouldn’t last. Still, she mused, she and her father had a wonderful ride home last night—he seemed genuinely happy to see her. Maybe things between them would be better, now that he accepted that she was growing up.

They finished their coffee in silence, each preoccupied with their waiting chores. Her father would go out again to finish feeding the cattle, and cleaning the stalls, she knew. Her mother would would go back to the barn— she had one more cow to milk.

And Norma would fall back into her old role of doing dishes, making beds, putting laundry into the old washing machine in the mud room, hanging it out on the clothesline when the load was finished. Then she would fix them all some lunch. It was as if she had never left.

Norma knew the routine. The rest of the day, after lunch was done and dinner was already on the stove or in the oven, Norma would take a quick walk around the farm, shoulders hunched against the cold, and mittened hands jammed into her pockets. She would duck into the stalls for a quick look at the cows and the new calf, which she knew was born in the spring. She would walk out to the pig pens and the chicken coop. These weren’t her favorite places, because of the pungent smells, but she would go anyway, just to make sure her inventory was complete. Then she would enter the part of the barn where the horses were, and stop to nuzzle old Fanny and Drake. She must remember to take carrots, she thought.

“You going to have a look around, after?” her father asked as he stood to go back outside.
“Sure.” Norma said, “You know I always want to visit everybody.”

Just then, between putting his cup down and walking to the door, Norma saw a look flash between her father and mother—one of those quick secret glances that characterized their relationship. It always rankled her and James that reams of meaning passed between them without a word being spoken. So it didn’t surprise her that Iris hung back looking preoccupied after her father left.
“What now,” Norma thought ruefully, a little flutter rising in her chest.

“Before you go out to the buildings, I have to tell you something,” Iris seemed to stumble on these words, and Norma grew warily alert.

“You’re going to tell me something bad,” Norma challenged, “What’s going on?”

“We had to sell some of the animals off.” her mother said, “Whitey and the two young calves born in the spring are gone.” There was a deep pause as Iris took in Norma’s horrified look.
“We needed the money.”

Norma knew this wasn’t the sum of things. There was something else. She waited.
“Um, Drake is gone too.” Iris finally said, waiting for Norma’s wail of anguish.

“Why?”

“He was too expensive to feed.” Iris went on, “We never harnessed them anymore. James thought it was extravagant to keep him.”

“But you kept Fanny.” Norma said, her voice a flat monotone.

“I couldn’t let Fanny go. She would have been killed for dog food somewhere. I just couldn’t do that, Norma.”

“Is that all, Mum? How about Mikey?” Norma had yet to see the dog, which was kept in the barn overnight, close to the livestock.
“He’s still here.”
Norma pushed past her mother, reaching for her coat and boots. Plowing through the snow towards the barn, she brushed away her tears with her big mitts.

Entering the barn, Norma could see her father, bending forward as he scraped manure into a pile.

“Hi Dad,” she said. “Big changes.”
“Yeah,” he answered, avoiding her eyes.
Mikey, came to her at once, and Norma ruffled his fur, bringing her face closer to him. Down a few stalls, Norma could hear Fanny stomping, anticipating the carrot she always brought.

But Norma stood her ground, Fanny could wait.”I want to know why,” she said, her tears bubbling into her throat. Don’t cry, don’t cry, she admonished herself. And surprisingly, she kept her composure.

“Because your mother can’t look after all the livestock after I’m gone. And, hasn’t your mother told you— I’m going to Edmonton to do a job—carpentry or something, don’t know what they’ll give me yet.”
“So we sold off some—cattle, pigs will go this week. Sorry about Drake. Your mom can’t handle two horses.”
He took a breath, gazing down the barn aisle as if the answers were there, buried in the straw.
“Yeah,” he was saying, half to himself, “Bad harvest. Drought, grasshoppers, crops were damned awful.”

This was worse than Norma had thought. All the time she was in Paris, working on her own concerns, she didn’t know this was happening. Guilt and shame spread over her.
“I didn’t know.” she said simply. “No one told me.”
Her father shifted his feet, his gaze finally finding her eyes.
“Yeah.” he said, “We didn’t want to tell you. What’s the point of worrying everybody. Nobody can do anything.”

“But James knew,” her voice was flat.

“Yeah, he knows. Gives me advice. Sends me money for feed and parts. Tells me I need to buy a bigger tractor. I tell him the best he can do is finish his degree. Then at least he will have a future.”

Norma glanced up, catching the bleak look on her father’s face, the skin around his eyes darkened with new wrinkles she had never noticed before, his mouth turned down in a bitter smile. All of the questions she wanted to ask, all of them, just froze in the frigid air.