It had rained with a torrential rage for seven solid days in Anderson Valley. It was a real log lifter (heavy rain). The milky (fog) rain clouds had set on the drearies (mountains) so long it seemed that the sun would never shine again. 

    The snoring sounds of Thomas’ bunkmate Sylvester, mixed with the dripping water from the ceiling, had created its own concerto. Other than dumping the bucket that filled slowly from a leak near his bunk, there wasn’t much more work for Thomas to do. It was almost a game with him now to try and guess how high the water was in the bucket. He could tell when it needed to be dumped by simply listening to the pitch of the water. The higher the sound, the closer it was to top of the bucket. When it reached a certain pitch Thomas would get out of bed and dump it, then he would replace the bucket under the drip and lay back down in his bunk. He would settle back in to the plunking sound of the water hitting the tin and the short snorts and long passages of wind emanating from Sylvester in the next bunk. 

    Thomas was tired of the rainy days and he lay impatiently on his bunk. The murky days always made Thomas restless. It seemed like a thousand years since he was at the dance and saw Alice with Mason. 

    Winter was never a good time for him. It was in the dead of winter when his mother passed away. He knew it wasn’t good to remember about her suffering in her final days but the dreary weather set the mood for his memories and he had a hard time fighting them. It seemed whenever her tried to find a good memory of his family, it was interrupted by a bad one. He desperately hoped for the warm summer days again, where he could work off his thoughts and demons in the fields.  

    Spring would come and raise him and everything else from the dead. He needed that resurgence and he needed delivered from the vicious circle of this season.

As he lay on his bed looking up at the rafter, he realized that the room had gotten quiet. The dripping had stopped. Thomas looked at the bucket. It was now still and silent. He quickly rose out of his bed to go outside. Sylvester stirred from his sleep.

    “Where you going, kimmie?”

    “Nowhere.”

    “Then why you gettin’ up?”

    Thomas just waves at him to go back to sleep. “You just stay asleep, Sylvester. Your beauty rest hasn’t caught up with your face.”

    Sylvester rolls over muttering to himself. “We cain’ all be pretty boys.”

    Thomas smiles and looks out the door. The setting sun is pushing its way through the angry clouds. Thomas gazes at the freshly drenched fields. It is a thousand different greens. Every plant seems to be bowing under the weight of the water on them.
Thomas sees a small patch of color at the edge of the field. Yellow daisies are pushing themselves through the grass, reaching for one ray of sun and demanding to be seen. As the sun gains its glory back from the clouds, the sunflowers could be seen shaking off the water. They were standing taller by the moment as the water fell from their seed speckled faces. 

    For amber waves of grain could have been written about the Smith’s farm. When the crops were in full growth it was a magnificent sight to witness. The hops, like soldiers, stood tall, awaiting their time to be harvested. 

    Thousands of crimson apples decorated the trees with their striking variations of red.  The young vineyards looked like perfect hair braids across the landscape. It was a cornucopia of crops that adorned the hills.

    “Looks like all our hard work is going to pay off this spring.”

    “Whatcha’ harpin' about?”

    “Oh farmin’ that’s all. You know, Sylvester, every farmer is an artist in his own right for Mother Earth.”

    “Would you mind waxin’ elegant to yourself, Longfellow?” 

    “I’m going to have a farm like this someday.”
   
     Sylvester grunts. “And I’m going to learn how to fart daisy.”
    
    Thomas chuckles. Sylvester is an old coot. As far as anyone knows he’s been single all his life. Farming is all he cared about or maybe a good shot of whiskey. 

    It was true, Thomas did hope someday to have a farm of his own like the Smith’s. He didn’t know how to accomplish it but dreams were free and he had plenty of them. The Smith’s ranch was one of the top producers in the area.  During the busy season the ranch was filled with young, old, brawny, scruffy and leathery ranch hands.  At the end of each season it was hard to tell who smelled worse, the cattle or the ranch hands. 

    Suddenly a large bolt of lightning strikes close to the bunk house. Then it is followed by an earth shattering clap of thunder. The torrents of rain immediately start up again.
“Satisfied, kimmie? Now all your chatter has woked up the Good Lord. Sure sounds like we’re in for another log lifter."

     Thomas continues looking out the door toward the main farm house.  “I’m sure it was your snoring.” 

    Thomas sees Alice and her mother cooking in the kitchen. The smell is intoxicating. Sylvester notices that Thomas is watching Alice from the distance.

    “I ain’t ‘stitious, kimmie, but I’m sure it ain’t good luck to be gawking at the owner’s daughter all the time.”

    “I’m just wondering what they’re cookin’ up.”

    Sylvester just grunts in disbelief and rolls over. “Sure you are.”

    Thomas takes one last look and as he does Alice glances out the window. She smiles and waves. Thomas smiles and waves back awkwardly.  He closes the door slowly and lays back down on his bunk. He was glad that there was contact again after what he’d seen at the dance. 

    “Sometimes, Sylvester, you just have to enjoy the beauty of everything around you.”

    “Well, I guess that’s why the Good Lord gave you me.”

    “Maybe so, Sylvester, maybe so.”

    The clinking of the tin begins again and soon Thomas lays there in thought. He is still in the glow of Alice’s smile. 

    Alice turns from the window to her mother. “Do you think that we could make apple fritters for the help?”

    “Is that somebody’s favorite?”

    “Well, I hear them talkin’ about food all the time. They’re hard working and it’s nice to fix them something nice, especially since the weather has been so harsh.”

    “I think we can do that. We have plenty of apples from the harvest. You go to the cellar and get a sack full and we’ll make some fritters. I sure wish your daddy build me an apple dryer. We could store two times more apples.” 

    Alice is excited. “Thank you, mama.” She runs off to the cellar.

    “Don’t get any green ones, they’re too tart.”

    The morning arrives without a cloud in the sky. The drearies are clear of any milky and even a bird can be heard singing. Singing until Mary begins the morning ritual of ringing the dinner bell as loud as possible. Mary can get a sound out of the bell that no one else can. 

    A shard of light cuts into the bunkhouse, it's aimed right at Thomas. Thomas is suddenly wide awake. Sylvester grumbles, 

    “The way she rings that thing you can never be sure if it’s a meal or if the whole dang ranch is on fire.”   

     Soon the men are up and ready for a fine meal and an honest day’s work. The sleepy farm hands find their way to the eating area and begin to do battle for the first cup of coffee and a fresh baked apple fritter.

    Alice sets a second round of hot fritters and coffee on the table. “Thank you, these are delicious, Alice.” Thomas smiles.

    “Why thank you, Thomas. My mama and I thought all you men deserved a treat. We weren’t sure that we could wake you hibernating bears up after that dreadful rain with oatmeal.”  Thomas takes another bite and smiles.

    Bayless bangs on the side of his coffee cup with a knife to get everyone’s attention.  
    “I trust all you got plenty of rest these past few days. We have a break in the weather and the ground has softened so it’s a good time to lay down a few more crops and repair some posts.” 

    Then he started to say what he always says, “We gotta make hay while the sun shines. But as you know, we aren’t cutting hay today; it’s got to dry first.”  He was right, you could guarantee that when it rained on cut hay it was no longer good for selling. 

    Several of the young men from town had hired on during this time of year to get the crops picked. This day was turning out to be a scorcher. Old Sol was directly overhead beating down on everyone in the field. Not one cool breath of air stirred. Had the workers been made of wax they would have melted by now. It seems that the Anderson Valley was suddenly in the middle of an out of season heat wave. The men working in the field had their bandanas and hats on to ward off sun stroke and to catch the sweat of their brow. 

    The sun was sizzling the skin on Thomas’ already tan back. He is slight of build but muscular. It was easy to see why the girls were smitten with him. His physique combined with his hard work and his gentle nature, made Thomas a young man that anyone would be proud to know or call their beau.  Thomas glistened with sweat as he rolled bales of hay and stacked them. 

    “Making hay while the sun shines, Thomas?” yells Jeb.  Jeb was a hard worker but was always in and out of trouble. 

    “Yep.”

    Jeb continued to jib Thomas, “I know someone else that was making hay while the moon shined.”

    Thomas could feel the blood rush into his face.

    “You hear me, Thomas?”

    “Yep.”

    “Ain’t you curious?”

    “Nope.”

    “It was Mason and Alice.”

    Thomas is stoic. He gives no response.

    “I know that gits ya, ‘cause you like that girl.”

    “She’s a nice girl and I don’t believe what you’re saying about her.”

    “You haven’t got the chance of a fart in a whirlwind with her. Mason says that he’s the one that’s gonna marry her.”

    Thomas puts down his tools and looks at Jeb. The veins in his face and neck are about to burst but he holds his composure. The other young men stop their work and watch what they think is going to be a fight. Thomas holds the hay hook clenched in his hand. 

    “What did Alice say about this?”

    Jeb looks at the hay hook and then at Thomas. 

    “She didn’t say yes and she didn’t say no.”

    “Listen Jeb, don’t mess with me. Did Mason ask her to marry him?”

    Jeb thinks for a moment. “No, but Mason says that he’s thinking about it.”

    “You need to know the difference between asking and thinking, and about thinking and doing and about someone else havin’ a say in it, Jeb.”

    Thomas takes the hay hook and drives it into a bale of hay with force and walks off.  Jeb yells after him,

    “You don’t have a chance, Mason gets what he wants.”

    Thomas storms into the barn. He sits down on a bale of hay and just thinks and broods. He dips some water from a bucket and pours it over his head to cool himself down.
Mason has been a thorn in his side since the day he met him. He’s spent this entire young life protecting Alice from Mason. It is just too much for him to believe that Alice would even entertain an offer of marriage from Mason. 

    Then his insecurities reminded him that he didn’t have much to offer a young woman that came from a family that was comfortable financially. He didn’t even have a family to offer her. What did he have to offer but his love and a promise to work hard? Being with him might mean a hard life for her, too. He knew that love can’t buy a roof over your head or food on the table. Thomas leaned his head against the stall. He could feel himself slipping into a deep despair. 

    He rallies himself because he knows that he has a job to finish and this kind of thinking wasn’t going to help matters. He gets up and returns to the field. He was smart enough to know that hard work would settle his nerves.  When he returned he just worked as if nothing had happened.  

    None of the men said anything to each other the rest of the day. He buried his fears and thoughts back into the bales of hay. As he worked late into the afternoon, he was reminded of a saying his mother used to say when she was upset, “All my ills my garden spade can heal.” Thomas hoped that it worked for him. He knew who he was and what he wanted but would that be enough to offer Alice. He had to ask himself, “Do I love her enough to not ask her to marry me?”

    If he was to win her heart he would have to remind himself daily of what every farmer knew. They knew that you have to be willing to start with the small things.  Every plant starts with one small seed. But the nagging chatter in his head was “Would that be enough for Alice?”

    The end of the day was a welcome time for the workers. They could hear Mary ringing all the sound out of the dinner bell. Thomas was looking forward to a great meal and a good night’s sleep.  But deep in his heart he was looking forward to seeing Alice, even if it was for a second. 

    One by one the workers rode in and took their place at the long tables. Thomas was seated and looking around but he didn’t see Alice anywhere. Sylvester, ripe with the stink of a hard day’s work on him sits down next to Thomas.

    “Whatcha deekin for?”

    “Nothing.” 

    “The question was rhetorical.”

    “Well, that’s a fancy word comin’ from a crusty ‘ol farm hand.”

    “Maybe I wasn’t always a farm hand.”

    Thomas takes a warm bun from under the warming towel.

    “What did you used to be?”

    “Taint important what I used to be.”

    The two men sit in silence as they start their meal. After a few moments Sylvester breaks his silence.

    “She ain’t here. I heard tell that she visitin’ her friend Beth.”

    “I wasn’t lookin…”  Sylvester interrupts him.

    “Save your breath, I know you’re stook on her (stuck on). I heard what happened today.”

    “Wasn’t nothing but Jeb harpin’ and tryin’ to get my hair up.”

    “You listen to me good, boy. You’ve taking a fancy to somethin’ that’s not in yours to want. So every chance that bunch has, they’re comin’ after ya.”

    “I ain’t afraid of them.”

    “Then you’re just stupid. Virgil, Jeb and Mason, they got no soul. They all about themselves, you understand. There’s no one that stands up to them… no one.”

    “What are you saying?”

    “I jest don’t want you to…” 

    “To what…?” 

    Sylvester looks hard into Thomas’ eyes. It was as if Thomas could see into Sylvester’s very soul. This was a broken man with many regrets and bad decisions. In his simple way he was warning and encouraging Thomas at the same time. 

    “Don’t turn into me…You only get two regrets in life, son. The decisions you make and the ones you don’t. Jest know this, it ain’t wrong to want.”

    Thomas sits silent processing what Sylvester has just said. He takes a few thoughtful bites from his meal then looks over at Sylvester. This hardened old man has a small tear that has gotten stuck in his matted beard. Giving this much information about himself had been hard and it conjured up some long forgotten and dark regrets of his own.

“Thank you for that, Sylvester.”