Farmed Out Page 3

  “I’d love to.” I didn’t bring my vintage polka-dot bikini for nothing.

  Chapter Six

  The river water was clear and cool, and it tugged us along with gentle insistence.

  “Wow,” I said, dragging my toes along the silky sand of the riverbed. “I’ve never swum in anything but a chlorine-filled pool.”

  Anna stuck out her tongue. “Ew, those are full of little-kid pee.” She ducked her head under the water and did a front somersault.

  As Anna and I splashed around, I looked out at the farm. The goats were eating their breakfast of cornhusks. The chickens were pecking at their grain. Frida the cow was hanging out beside the barn, basking in the morning sun.

  And there was my mother in a bright pink unitard.

  “Oh no,” I groaned. Not again.

  “Maddie?” Anna said.

  Not taking my eyes off my mom, who was standing beside the pigpen, I said, “Look over there.”

  My mom started waving her arms around in big circles, leaning over the pigpen fence. I could hear her chanting “Om.” I wondered what the mother pig and her newborn piglets were thinking.

  My mom leaned over farther, her arms making wild circles in front of her.

  “What is she doing?” Anna asked.

  All of a sudden my mom’s flip-flop-clad feet flew up in the air. And then everything was still.

  I can’t remember what I said, but it made Anna gasp. We swam to shore and raced toward the pigpen.

  Through the wooden boards, I saw my mother laying in several inches of mud. Six hungry piglets were shoving their snouts into her side. They pulled at her unitard, their tiny mouths full of bright pink spandex.

  “Ow! Ow!” my mom yelped. Squirming around in the mud, she tried to sit up, but the piglets had her pinned. “Girls! Help me!”

  A piglet ran over her forehead, leaving mud streaks down the side of her face.

  I was about to jump in and help my mom when I noticed the mama pig on the other side of the pigpen. She was behind a small wooden gate, squealing like crazy and stamping her hooves. She sounded like a dentist’s drill on turbo speed. The mama pig was butting her head against the flimsy gate, trying to get to her piglets.

  I seriously started fearing for my mom’s life. “Look, look!” I squealed to Anna, almost as loud as the pig.

  “Oh no, that pig’s about to blow!” Anna said.

  It took two seconds for Anna to hop over the fence and yank my mom up by the wrists. They stumbled out of the pigpen with the sow chasing madly after them. Still squealing, the mama pig slammed into the fence.

  Anna landed hard on the grass, and my mom fell on top of her with a loud “oof.”

  “Are you okay?” I said, rushing over to kneel beside them. Anna nodded and jumped up. We stood over my mom, who was moaning something about swine karma.

  Klaus and Ruth must have heard the commotion, because they rushed outside.

  On the Friesens’ faces I saw the true meaning of the word stunned. They looked from Anna and me to my mud-covered, unitard-wearing mom laying on the ground, and back again.

  Trembling, my mom stood up. I put a hand on her shoulder to steady her. Chunks of hay were stuck to her face and hair. Her mud-caked unitard was full of little holes.

  “I-I…,” my mom started to say. She paused to spit dirt out of her mouth. “I was just trying to give the piglets some healing vibes. I didn’t think they’d try to suckle me like that.”

  “Healing vibes?” Klaus asked. With his German accent, it sounded like “wibes.”

  My mom straightened up and took a deep breath. She was trying to hold on to a tiny scrap of dignity. “Yes. I just took Level Two Reiki.”

  “Reiki?” Ruth asked, looking at my mom like she was speaking alien.

  Anna couldn’t hold it in. She started with a spitty sort of chuckle, but soon she was laughing so hard that she fell back on the grass, her mouth open in a silent howl.

  Klaus and Ruth were much more polite. Solemnly, Ruth took my mom by both hands.

  “Come, dear,” she said, as though my mom were a child. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

  “Okay,” my mom said weakly.

  “Why don’t you work in the garlic shed from now on,” Ruth added.

  I turned away and bit my lip to keep from laughing. It was only day two, and my mom was already out of control.

  Chapter Seven

  I knocked on Anna’s bedroom door at 5:00 AM the next day, fuzzy-eyed and still wearing my pajamas. I wanted to catch her before she went out to the barn.

  Getting up had almost killed me. I had set the alarm for 4:30 AM and had smacked the snooze button over and over again. My mom slept through the whole thing. How the heck did Anna get up so early every day?

  “Who is it?” Anna said through the closed door.

  “It’s Maddie,” I croaked.

  Anna opened the door. She wore jean shorts and a red T-shirt, and her hair was braided again. I wondered how long she’d been awake.

  “Whoa, you’re up early,” Anna said.

  “Can I borrow some clothes again?”

  “Did you only bring city clothes?” Anna said.

  I felt my face turn pink. “Uh, well—”

  “I’m kidding,” Anna said, grinning.

  “Come in.”

  She opened a drawer and rummaged through it. Beside the dresser was a shelf with trophies and medals on it, along with photos of Anna wearing medals and standing next to her cow.

  Anna tossed me a T-shirt and jeans.

  I unfolded the navy blue shirt. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. “This is a Columbia University T-shirt!”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “Columbia is in New York City!” I squeaked.

  “My older brother Thomas is there on a math scholarship.” She pointed to a computer in the corner of her room. The desktop photo was of her and a tall, dark-haired guy at a beach.

  “I know, ancient, right?” Anna said, turning to look at her computer. “And we only have dial-up. But it does the trick—”

  “Have you been there?” I interrupted. I could feel my eyes bulging with excitement. I must have looked crazy.

  “No,” Anna shook her head. “But my parents have.”

  I tried to imagine Ruth and Klaus in the Big Apple, among all the taxis, crowds and skyscrapers.

  “I really want to go though. I’ve been saving up,” Anna said.

  This was so surreal. I was talking about New York City with a farmer’s daughter at five o’clock in the morning.

  “Hang on,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”

  I crept into the room where my mom was snoring away and grabbed my sketchbook. I ran back into Anna’s room and opened it to the ad for the Canvas art contest.

  “I figure this is my ticket to New York,” I said. “I’ve wanted to go there forever, to see all the art galleries.”

  Anna read the ad. “Cool,” she said. “So, a portrait? What are you entering?”

  “I haven’t actually started anything yet.”

  Anna raised her eyebrows. “Isn’t the deadline in a few days?”

  “Yeah, I know,” I said sheepishly. “I’m a procrastinator. I do my best work at the last minute.”

  “Are you going to draw someone here? On our farm?” Anna seemed unsure that the farm offered someone worthy of winning the contest.

  “Wait, I just got an idea,” I said, trying to keep from laughing. I closed my eyes, put my arms out in front of me and started making circles with my hands.

  “Imagine me in a pink unitard. Ommmmm…” I chanted.

  Anna giggled, covering her mouth with her hand. I laughed way too loud.

  “Sssshhhh,” Anna said. “The Reiki master has to rest her healing wibes.” She imitated Klaus’s accent.

  It was too much. We collapsed on Anna’s bed, trying to laugh quietly, which only made us laugh more.

  “It’s my turn to deal with the chickens,” Anna said after a few minutes
of wheezy giggling. “Want to come?”

  “What do we have to do?”

  “Get the eggs. It’s cool. No poop involved.”

  Anna had read my mind. I’d had enough of animal droppings for the time being. Forever, actually.

  After a gigantic breakfast of French toast, hash browns and sausages, Anna and I headed over to the chicken coop. My mom was still sleeping. Ruth said that she would set her to work trimming and scrubbing garlic when she woke up. I think Ruth wanted to keep my mother far away from the animals.

  “Good morning, my little hens,” Anna whispered, clicking open the wooden half-door to the coop.

  The chicken coop was warm and dim. As my eyes adjusted to the dark, I could see a ledge lined with cubbyholes. Each cubby had a sleeping chicken inside. With their reddish feathers rising and falling on their puffed-out chests, they looked cozy.

  “The key is to get the eggs while they’re sleeping,” Anna said. “Watch.”

  Very slowly, Anna reached her hand under a chicken. After a few seconds she pulled it out with a brown egg in her palm. The hen didn’t even stir. Anna placed the egg in the basket she’d brought.

  “Okay, now you try,” she said.

  “Will they wake up and peck my eyes out?” Obviously I’d watched way too many horror movies.

  “No. Now go.” Anna raised my hand to the level of the next cubby.

  Just like Anna had, I reached my fingers under the chicken. I could feel the warm soft weight of its feathery body, and the egg underneath it. I folded my fingers around the egg and carefully pulled it out.

  I stared at the egg. Wow, I’d done it!

  “Can I get another one?” I said.

  “Sure,” Anna said.

  I reached under the next chicken. I felt the egg. I almost had it. Then the chicken’s bony little leg twitched. That felt weird.

  I screamed and pulled my hand out, waking up all of the chickens. They started squawking and flapping around.

  I was worse than my mother.

  “You dork!” Anna said, batting feathers away from her face. “Now we have to wait until they fall asleep again.”

  “I’m sorry! They scared me.” Oh crap. I didn’t want Anna to think I was a wuss.

  Anna gave me a “you’re hopeless” sort of look, and then she punched me in the shoulder. “City slicker.”

  I was pretty sure she was joking.

  “Country bumpkin,” I shot back, smiling.

  “Let’s go to the barn and see how Frida’s doing,” Anna said. “We’ll get the eggs later.”

  Anna pushed the door open and sunlight poured onto the floor of the barn.

  In her corner stall was huge, pregnant Frida Cowlo, chewing hay.

  “Hello my beloved,” Anna said. She leaned over the wall and hugged Frida. The cow nuzzled Anna’s shoulder with her wet, chocolate-milk-colored nose.

  A framed self-portrait by the Mexican painter Frida Kahlo hung on the barn wall next to a row of hooks. In the self-portrait, Frida Kahlo had red roses adorning her hair, gold hoop earrings in her ears, and a blue and green shawl around her shoulders. And, of course, there were her signature big black eyebrows.

  “So what’s with the Frida Cowlo thing?” I asked.

  Anna pointed to her cow’s forehead. “Check out this unibrow. It’s just like Frida Kahlo’s.”

  “Wow,” I said. I hadn’t noticed it before, but Frida the cow had a dark brown line above her eyes, just like Frida Kahlo’s bushy, unplucked eyebrows.

  “I’ve had her ever since she was a calf.”

  I didn’t really understand it. We’d had beef burgers the night before for dinner, but then here was Anna, totally into her prized cow.

  “What do you do with her? I mean, she can’t really play fetch like a dog. Or lie on your lap like a cat.”

  Anna frowned at me. “Lots of things. She’s way more interesting than a boring old cat.”

  I shrugged. Frida seemed okay as far as cows go, not that I had ever met a cow before. But it still seemed odd to have a cow as a pet.

  Anna picked up a brush and started smoothing Frida’s coat with it. “Isn’t she silky? She won Best Jersey Cow in Show at the Interior Provincial Exhibition last year.”

  “Will you keep her calf when it’s born?”

  Anna’s eyes darkened. “No. We bred Frida so that we can have her milk. We’re selling her calf. We can’t afford to keep two cows.”

  I couldn’t think of anything to say to that. Anna grabbed a bucket that was beside the stall.

  “I’m just going to fill this with water. Back in a second,” Anna said.

  I looked at Frida’s face again. I had never been so close to a real cow.

  She had huge, coffee-bean brown eyes with long feathery eyelashes. Her ears flicked back and forth as she looked around her stall. Slowly, I placed my hand on her warm, strong neck and stroked it. Frida looked up at me, chewing hay, her mouth moving in small circles. This was so cool. I was making eye contact with a cow. It was like she was trying to tell me something.

  At that moment I was filled with inspiration. It felt like sparkles running through my veins.

  I knew exactly what to draw for the Canvas portrait contest.

  Chapter Eight

  Frida Cowlo was my ticket to New York City. I just knew it.

  “Anna!” I said as she came back into the barn, lugging the now-full bucket of water. “I know who I’m going to draw for the contest!”

  “Who?” she said.

  I pointed to Frida with a twirly flourish of my hands.

  “You think so?” Anna’s jaw was set.

  “Why would you want to draw her for that fancy schmancy contest?”

  “Well, I—,” I stammered. I had no idea Anna might not go for it. “Frida is a cool-looking cow, that’s why.”

  Anna had those narrowed eyes again. “Well,” she said. “Frida and I would be honored.” She scratched Frida under the chin. The cow lifted her head with her eyes closed, totally blissful.

  I bet no one else was going to enter a portrait of a cow for the contest.

  “Can I start now?” I could barely contain my excitement. Now that I knew what I wanted to draw, I couldn’t wait to start. Anna nodded.

  I rushed into the house to get my art stuff. My mom sat at the kitchen table, her back to me. She had her tarot cards spread out.

  “So, you’ve got the Ten of Cups,” my mom was saying. “This can indicate luck with money…”

  Ruth looked up as I walked in. She had her apron on and flour all over her hands. She must have been in the middle of baking bread when my mom decided to give her a tarot card reading. My mom can be so inappropriate sometimes.

  “Well, thank you, Lynn,” Ruth said loudly. “How very…informative.”

  My mom looked up. “Oh, hi, Maddie. Where have you been? I’ve been waiting for you.”

  “I was just about to show your mother her job for the day,” Ruth said, smiling and looking relieved.

  My mom stood up and put her arm around me. “You mean our job for the day.”

  “But I was just about to—,” I started to say.

  “You’re coming, aren’t you?” Ruth said, looking wild-eyed.

  My mother was pulling me toward the door. If it had just been me and mom, I would have put up a stink. But with Ruth there, I decided to tone it down.

  I thought longingly of my paper and pencils. Once again, my mother was ruining everything. At this rate I would never get my portrait done in time.

  Ruth led us to the garlic shed. I stomped along beside my mother, my arms crossed.

  “What’s that?” my mom asked, pointing to a small, crooked building next to the garlic shed. Some of the dirty windows were cracked. Everything else on the farm was clean, tidy and well taken care of.

  “Oh, that’s Anna’s old playhouse,” Ruth said. “Now it’s full of broken tools, plant pots, that sort of thing. We haven’t gotten around to doing anything with it.”

  My mom p
ut her finger to her lips like she was thinking. Ruth hurried us along to the garlic shed.

  “Our pride and joy,” Ruth said. “Certified organic Hungarian garlic.”

  Bunches of garlic hung from the ceiling beams, drying on hooks. They were strung together from their stalks. I had no idea garlic grew with long stalks like that. I barely knew anything about garlic, come to think of it. My mom bought it pre-minced in a jar.

  In the middle of the shed were two chairs and stacks of yellow milk crates. Each one was filled to the top with garlic bulbs. Ruth motioned for my mom and me to sit.

  “You are going to help us with a big order. We need to size these bulbs,” Ruth said. She held up a thin piece of wood. It had cutouts in the shape of garlic bulbs marked small, medium and large.

  “You measure them like so,” Ruth said.

  She took a bulb out of the milk crate nearest to my mom’s chair. She held it up to the cutout to measure it. She then placed it in a box marked medium.

  “That’s what you do,” Ruth said. “With all these crates of garlic.”

  “After this do we get to milk goats?” my mom asked. Jeez, she never gave up.

  “Mom, shut up about the goats already,” I muttered.

  My mom pinched me on the back of my arm. She does that when I say something rude.

  Ruth looked slightly panicked. “The goats don’t need milking until, um, next week.”

  I stifled a laugh.

  Ruth said she had to go back to her bread making. My mom picked up a garlic bulb and held it up to the cutout board, studying it for a few minutes. At this rate it would take her a week just to size one crate.

  “Mom, I think we need to be a little faster than that,” I said.

  “Maddie, you need to cultivate patience. Repetitive work is good for the soul.”

  This was agony. It had to be the most boring job on the whole farm. I should have been drawing my prize-winning portrait of Frida the cow.

  After my mom had measured a couple more garlic bulbs, I spotted Anna walking toward us.

  “Hey, Maddie,” she said. “What are you doing here? You promised to help me with my 4-H meeting now.”

  “The what?” I said. Anna stepped very hard on my big toe.