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COUNTRY LIFE IN BC • JULY 2019 Plans hatch while Kenneth plays golf When we left off last time,


Newt Pullman had left Susan on the front porch wistfully trying to remember the last time she’d had a two-hour conversation with a man. At the resort, Kenneth had made fast friends with Bernie Wissel, quickly elevating Deborah to the position of golf widow at the mercy of Bernie’s wife, Birdie, as he and Bernie headed off to the greens. Rural Redemption, part 112, continues ...


Woodshed


Chronicles by BOB COLLINS


Deborah and Birdie Wissel watched as Kenneth and Bernie left the restaurant. Bernie turned and smiled at Birdie and they gave each other a little finger wave as he went through the door. Kenneth hesitated, then scowled impatiently. He didn’t cast so much as a glance Deborah’s way. Birdie noticed. “How long have the two of


you been married?” asked Birdie.


“Eighteen years. I was 20 and Kenneth was 23. You and Bernie?” “It’ll be 33 years for us in a


few more days. I married Bernie when I was 17. He was only 19. Gosh it doesn’t seem that long ago.” “Do you have kids?” “Five of them,” said Birdie,


“And four grandchildren with another on the way. You?” “Two. A daughter and a


son, both in high school. So, is this holiday an anniversary celebration for you?” Birdie smiled and nodded. “And what about you two? Second honeymoon?” “Nothing like that, I’m


afraid,” said Deborah. “This was all my mother-in-law’s doing.” Birdie sensed a weary


resignation in Deborah’s voice and suggested they go for the works at the resort’s spa. Deborah declined briefly but Birdie insisted. “It’ll give us a chance to relax and get to know each other.”


They spent the


rest of the morning at the spa. Birdie did most of the talking. She said what a wonderful husband and father Bernie was, and how his father had died less than two months after Bernie graduated from high school and left his mother with four girls at home and a bankrupt furniture store, and how Bernie gave up his college dreams to take over the store and support the family, and how incredibly hard he had worked, and how he’d turned one bankrupt store into a thriving business with 12 stores.


She said she’d put her foot


down three years ago after Bernie had a heart attack, and insisted it was time for him to let go of the reins, and how their oldest son and daughter started running the company. Bernie took up golf and


doting on her. “It’s been 33 wonderful


years with Bernie,” said Birdie smiling. “He still calls me his Princess, and not in the spoiled and entitled kind-of- way. He still says he must be the luckiest man in the world because Bernadette Nordstrom said yes when he asked her to marry him, and still hasn’t come to her senses.” “How did he turn you from Bernadette to Birdie?” “That wasn’t Bernie’s doing. I was Bernie until my little brother started to talk. He started calling me Birdie and the name stuck. Just as well, I suppose, or we’d be both be Bernies.”


“I think it’s very sweet that


you’re still his princess and he still dotes on you after 33 years.” Birdie nodded. “It is, but best part is when he tells me he’s proud to be my husband.” “You’re lucky, Birdie. All Kenneth has ever called me is Deborah, and I know for a fact he’s not proud of his marriage.” “Don’t take this the wrong


way, Honey, but if that man isn’t proud of being married to you, I’d say he’s as blind as a bat and as thick as a brick. We’re all going out for supper tonight and you need to give that man a wake-up call!” “To be honest, Birdie, I’m


more inclined to let sleeping dogs lie.” “As long as we’re being


honest, I’d say you deserve better than a sleeping dog. I’ve got a plan, trust me.”


ttt Ashley and Christopher


were both on their way right after breakfast the next day. The sky was clear and it was unseasonably warm. Susan went out to sit on


the front steps with her coffee. She found herself hoping that Newt might come by again. After a second cup, she tugged on a pair of cotton gloves and began digging weeds from the flower beds that ran along the front porch on either side of the stairs. By mid-morning, she was in her shirt sleeves and perspiring freely and humming the first movement of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons to herself.


Newt had been called by an old friend looking for a radiator for the International pick-up he was restoring. Newt said he was pretty sure there was one there and promised to let him know. He wandered into the truck


garden with Rocky to check it out.


He spied Susan on her


knees in the flower bed and heard faint bars of Vivaldi in the morning breeze. He watched and listened for 10 minutes, then slipped a bale string through the ring on Rocky’s collar and stepped silently through the fenceline gate. He walked silently up the long hill until he was 30 feet behind her, still unseen. Susan tugged off her


gloves and put her hands on her hip and stretched her complaining back muscles. She closed her eyes to the sun’s full glare and the breeze lifted the hair from her forehead. Her reverie was broken by the sense of something close by. She


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opened her eyes to find Rocky staring intently back at her. A voice spoke behind her. “Shall I compare thee to a summer day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate.” Susan smiled. “Shakespeare,


Mr. Pullman?” “Indeed, Mrs. Henderson.” Susan looked back smiling.


There was a streak of dirt across her forehead and a faint blush in her cheeks. “Well, Mr. Pullman, you are the first boy who has ever recited poetry to me, though I can’t imagine that I look very lovely at all just now.” “Ah, but beauty is in the


eye of the beholder, I’m told, and I can’t imagine that I look at all like a boy anymore.” Susan was in full blush.


Rocky licked her cheek. “Have you come for another cup of coffee? There’s some made.” “I believe I am currently


several cups in your debt, Madam. It is my intention to square our account by taking you on a picnic this noon, provided such terms are agreeable to you, and you are not otherwise engaged.” “No, sir, I am quite unengaged, and your terms are entirely to my satisfaction. Might I offer to provide the comestibles for this outing?” “Indeed not, for you would place me even further in your debt.” “Very well, then. Might I ask the nature of this outing?” “It shall be an excursion by automobile to a destination of profound natural beauty. May I call for you at 12:30?” “You may indeed, Sir. I look


forward to it.” “Until then,” said Newt.


“Come along, Rocky.” To be continued...


TOURISM options nfrom page 39


dinners amongst the fruit trees, including the 2012 Okanagan Feast of Fields fundraiser for the Vancouver non-profit FarmFolk/CityFolk. Molly says the growth of


interest in organic food has been good for their farm, making it easier to source organic seed and rootstock. It used to have to come from other provinces or the US. Seed suppliers include West Coast Seeds in Delta and Sunshine Farms in Kelowna. But that doesn’t mean the


venture has been all smooth sailing. This spring, cold weather in February claimed the majority of their apricot buds, and none will be available to order. Another round of cold


weather in early April cut prospects for their pears. They’re also busy tackling a fire blight outbreak, removing trees to prevent its spread. The biggest challenge to


any growing farm, however, is access to land, especially tracts that can be held long enough to transition to organic production and start repaying the investment. “When you’re establishing


an orchard, it can easily be $80,000 to $100,000 for trees and posts, irrigation and labour per acre, so we wonder about whether we want to do that without a long-term lease,” says Molly.


While farm labour has been a huge issue for some growers, the Thurstons have friends and family willing to help, along with some seasonal pickers. Paying it forward in their


own way, they’ve also worked with a Lake Country hockey coach to provide short-term employment for local junior hockey players, who help cut grass in the orchard and yard of their century-old farmhouse.


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