Chapters One, Two, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen, Fourteen; Christmas.
(Flyover Planet, SF, starts here, and that’s the teaser.)
Ben mounted his horse and rode after his Dad. It was really cold even though it was still summer. Do you know why that was? Well, because the sun hadn't really come up yet, though it would soon: the horizon was just beginning to get a little lighter. If you have ever been up at that time you know how spooky everything looks and how shivery you get waiting for the sun to come up and warm you and make everything rosy and golden; and willing it to move faster doesn't speed things up any!
But Ben had other things on his mind. This was the first time he had been allowed to join the cowboys going calf-weaning. Do you know what that is? It's when the calves who had been grazing with their dams (mom cows) had gotten big and old enough to be separated from them and to eat only grass; they did not need their mothers' milk anymore. They had been grazing all over the place in the farthest pasture, the biggest one in the Valley, and the cowboys would have to drive them across a stream and into separate pastures. The calves and the cows would still be able to see and smell and hear each other so they wouldn't be too stressed out; but the cows would get milked and the calves would get used to getting their own food and get big and strong in time for the market.
So this was a very important day for the Valley. Now they were riding toward the far pasture and Ben was getting ahead to open and then shut the gates. The sky was beginning to show a rosy and purple ribbon in the east; and the cattle were milling about, big ones and little ones, white and caramel and black and patterned ones, some eating, some eating still more.
"Now, y'all know what to do," Uncle Mac said. He was a tough leathery old man, sitting straight in his saddle; he'd been a cattle rancher all his life, like everyone in his family. "And kids, no larking about, no tricks and no showing off. Cows don't like that. You just help steer them for now. Ben, you keep with me. Off we go!"
It was not easy! The cows weren't sure they wanted to be gathered and steered, and they were making mooing noises for all the world like they were asking why they had to go somewhere, and the calves were skittish because they hadn't ever been herded before. Ben was marking Uncle Mac closely and steering; his horse (Pilot, his name was) knew what to do and so did he. They got the cows into bigger groups and then merged them and then the whole herd was together. Finally, off they went!
The horses were fanning out behind the cows and keeping them going forward and steering into some order. Then there was the stream to cross, and a few of the calves decided they weren't crazy about getting into that cold water and tried running off! Ben sent his horse Pilot after the little heifer calf that had galloped off on his side and got her mooing back to the herd by himself, earning an approving nod from Uncle Mac.
At last they were at the new pasture. There was a long fence made of metal bars welded together into a kind of horizontal grid; it was pretty sturdy and the gaps between the bars were too small for the calves to get through or to get at their dams' milk, but they could touch noses if they wanted to. That way the calves got more comfortable with each other, because they weren't scared; and finally Ben's Dad drove one cow in amongst the calves. That was a one-year-old dark brown heifer with a pretty tuft of white hair between her horns. She was there to help the calves find water and settle down to the grazing but she wasn't old enough to milk so they wouldn't be distracted from the business of eating grass and growing bigger.
"Good job, everyone!" Uncle Mac said, and Ben and Simon grinned at each other.
"Let's hope they will get settled in a couple of days' time," Ben's dad said. The calves were grunting and milling about but there was no bawling going on. Some were already munching on the new grass, and all looked peaceful. Ben shut the gate and locked it, and they turned homeward.
"I can't believe Cousin Melon missed this, and he says he likes animals," Ben said to his dad. His Dad grinned but shook his head.
"You know your mother would give you a whack if she heard you," he said, but Ben did not mind that.
His cousin's name was actually Mellin, which was unfortunate; what was more unfortunate was that it suited him. He was about a little older than Ben; Mellin's mother called him "highly sensitive" while Ben and his siblings called him "Melon" and "fussy Gussy"; and I will leave you to decide who was right. Mellin was spending a couple of weeks in the Valley while his parents were on a special retreat (Ben did not really listen to that part because it sounded grownup in a boring kind of way, with his mother saying things like "therapy" and "last chance").
He was a real nuisance, was Mellin. He complained about having to do chores and not having his phone and not being able to play games or watch videos all day long. He did not want to play any real games or ride horses or go down to the river because of "safety and security." He would have been happy to whiz about on his electric bike but there were no proper roads for him and the horses got nervous when they saw it. He did say that he liked animals but he would never help muck out the barn or feed the chickens properly. And when the family got together for meals and parties with their neighbors Mellin would moan that there were no chips and no pizza, and that the ice cream did not taste right. That was because Mellin had never had any real food at home: no ice cream made with real cream and fresh berries and honey; no pies with fresh cheese matured in the farms' dairy rooms; no beef steak and no fresh chickens that had been getting fat on their own, just pecking their way around the gardens and the meadows. Mellin had only been with the family for six days and it would be another six before he would go home.
"Breakfast is ready!" Ben's mom called as they came in. "Wash up! Mellin, get out of those pyjamas and get dressed properly, or do not come to the table."
"Another morning, another microaggression," Mellin muttered, getting off the sofa.
"I'll give you some real aggression if you don't shut up, Melon," Ben told him out of the side of his mouth as they were going upstairs. Mellin pursed his mouth but did not say anything. He was actually quite hungry, and he would have liked a full bowl of his favorite sugary cereal (you know, the kind that looks like a lab accident in a cartoon), all smothered in the kind of soy milk that comes from a test tube. But Ben's mom did not have any of that. What she had was a huge pan of homemade fresh sausages and another of home-cured bacon, and another of ranch eggs. Do you know what that is? That's a whole big pan of peppers and tomatoes and onions all caramelized and spicy and smelling like autumn in Paradise, with freshly-laid eggs mixed in till the whole thing is all creamy and glossy and flecked about with little eggy clouds of goodness. Everyone waded right in, even those who hadn't been out since dawn.
Everyone, that is, except poor Mellin (and I do feel sorry for him). He was having some freshly baked bread with country butter (wrinkling his nose at that) and some strawberry jam; he knew he could not have the whole jar to himself, because he tried getting into it with his spoon on the first day on the farm and Ben's mom told him off for it. He even kind of didn't hate the bread (because that's just one of those things you can't hate), but he did not want to show it. He did not want to like anything on the farm, and that's the truth.
"How did you do?" Ben's mother asked, and Ben's dad gave a smile. "Well, he didn't fall off his horse," he said, and Ben grinned. Mellin thought that there was no validation or encouragement in his words, and that was probably because of toxic masculinity. Mellin thought a lot of words like that; it prevented him from hearing real words or thinking in earnest; and he was only half-listening to Ben's excited story of the weaning.
Everyone was like that here though, Mellin said to himself. In fact, there wasn't even a visual feelings chart anywhere in the Valley; just like there were no safe spaces or processed chocolate paste. People kept invading each other's personal spaces by saying "hi" and "thanks" and "sorry," and asking personal questions like, "do you want some cocoa?" and "do you like your name?" It was a nightmare; and Mellin was really looking forward to sharing that with his therapist and blaming his parents for abandoning him here with his really weird relatives without his phone, tablet or computer.
"You are off chores for the rest of the day, honey," Ben's mom said to Ben. "Get some rest!"
So that was what Ben did. He took a nice long nap, and then went out for a walk to see if any of his friends who had been at the cattle drive were up and about. He was just thinking if he should swing by his grandparents' house and tell them all about the morning and get another meal (his third so far, because of course he had some soup and sandwiches after his nap) when he heard some shouting. He vaulted over the village playground fence. It looked like a fight was going on; and he was just about to pass along when he realized who it was fighting, and then he ran for it as fast as he could.
He arrived to see his brother Simon sprawling in the grass, and Mellin standing over him. Simon was just getting up; he looked furious, but he was a lot smaller than Mellin, being only seven; there was grass in his hair and a cut along his cheek; his ball was lying a few feet away behind Mellin. Mellin was about to grab the younger boy again when Ben waded right in. In a moment he was rubbing Mellin's face in the grass while straddling him. Mellin was bucking like a bronco; but though Ben was smaller and younger, he was also tougher and more determined; and he had been in many fights before. Finally Mellin stopped struggling:
"Let me go you bigoted hater! You're unstable!"
"What the hell were you doing jumping on Simon?"
(Now, truth be told, Ben and his brothers could, and did, scrap at times, like boys do; and if their mom caught them at it she would stop it and tell them off and so on; but Ben knew for sure that you don't beat up on anyone smaller than you; so he was quite angry with Mellin, and a bit puzzled too.)
"I thought he was going to attack me!" Mellin shouted, trying to point at Simon.
"You thought he was going to attack you?!" Ben yelled back. "What do you mean, you thought?"
"I wasn't," Simon said hoarsely, trying not to cry. (He was only seven, remember). "I was just kicking my ball and he showed up and tried to take it away and pushed me! I just wanted to get my ball back! Honest!"
"He is half your size!" Ben said. "If you wanted to play ball with him—"
"Why would I want to play with that little hater? Anyway, I had my emotional stop sign up! Just like your mom—"
That was Ben lost it and punched Mellin in the mouth.
Now, that wasn't the right or smart thing to do; but Mellin had already hit Simon for no reason; and Ben wasn't about to stay there listening to him shoot his mouth off about their Mom. They rolled on the grass some more, punching and (in Mellin's case) spitting and trying to bite Ben; till finally he broke away from Ben with a rending sound.
"You should be in a diversionary program, you offender!" he yelled and ran off in the direction of their house.
"You ok?" Ben asked his brother. Simon nodded, brushing grass off.
"You are gonna catch it from mom though," he said, wiping at his eyes. Ben had torn his sleeve in the fight and was sporting a pretty black eye, and his mom was not going to like that. "I'm sorry, Ben. I really did not—"
Ben ruffled his little brother's hair. "Don't worry about it, I've had worse. Anyway, I don't mind. If anyone's going to smack this little shrimp around it's going to be me, not some idiot named after a piece of fruit."
"Who're you calling a shrimp?!" but Simon was not crying anymore. Ben even kicked the ball around with Simon till a few of Simon's friends showed up; then he went off to the river. He was sure to get grounded for the torn shirt and getting Melon in trouble, so he figured he might as well make the most of the day.
When he got home his mom was no longer angry but just as Ben expected he was in hot water anyway.
"Torn shirt, again! And why did you jump on Mellin? I know he is ... difficult," Ben's mom said, "but he is a guest. What happened?"
Ben shrugged. He did not know what Mellin had told his mom but he wasn't about to tattle on his cousin even if he was a turd.
Ben's mom gave him a long hard look but let it go.
"You're grounded for the next three days, young man, and tomorrow you've got a list of chores as long as your arm," she said sternly, though spoiling it a little by reaching up to ruffle Ben's hair. "You're both grounded, and I don't want a repeat of this while your cousin is staying here."
So you see, Ben's mom was pretty fair, actually.
But things did not go according to plan. Ben got up early (his mom was not kidding about how much he would have to do); though he got a bit of satisfaction out of Mellin's being up hours before his normal time, sullenly eating bread and butter with his eyes down. There was a pretty neat bruise on his jaw coloring up too.
There was a click at their front gate, and a voice calling for Ben's Dad and Ben.
"Mac? What does he want at this hour?" Ben's dad said, surprised, getting up from the table.
Uncle Mac was outside on horseback, looking really stern.
"Ben," he said, and his voice made Ben go cold all over. "Did you lock that calf gate good and tight yesterday?"
"Yessir," said Ben, puzzled. "Honest, I locked that sucker up and shot the bolt home."
"You sure? I need the truth now."
"Yessir, I wouldn't lie about something like that. I checked, I did!"
Ben's dad nodded.
"He wouldn't, Mac. What happened?"
"That means we got two problems not one. The calves and the cows have gotten loose," Uncle Mac said grimly. "And if Ben is telling the truth, that means somebody opened the gates on purpose."
Ben gasped, but his Dad said:
"Coming, Mac. Honey!" he called on Ben's mom but Ben ran pell-mell to the stables. He didn't ask for permission; and he honestly forgot all about being grounded and the chores. He knew that this was real trouble. The calves had already been scared the day before when they had to move pastures and separate from their dams. Now they had been let out or chased out at night, and who knew where they were? What if they got trampled or fell into a crack or even got at by a coyote?
It was the most exhausting day Ben had ever had but it was not much better for the cattle drivers. They went scouring the countryside, walkie-talkies crackling; everyone that could turned out in their pickups riding slowly and carefully, checking for stray animals. One party was combing the edges of the woods; some were taking soup and coffee in flasks around. Ben's mom could not leave the little kids but she ran dispatch on sightings of stray cows and calves in far-flung homesteads.
The calves were scared and confused. Some had tried milling around the cows and bawling, and these were the easiest to catch; but some went into panic runs; and some tried to get to where they thought the other pasture was; you had to chase them down (they ran almost like dogs do) and the cowboys would throw a rope to try and get the beast around the leg; then the calf would keep trying to run while another cowboy would run up to it and wrestle it to the ground quickly. Then the calf would lie still, and you could get a rope around its neck and foreleg (to make sure it didn't choke itself when it tried to run again), and then get it back on its feet, while holding on to the rope really tight. Only the men would do that because the calves were pretty strong for their size and even Ben would not be able to hold one. Then the calf would get on its feet and it would keep running here and there while a rider would try and herd it and let it wear itself out; and finally it would come, dragging its feet, to the trailer where it would be loaded up and the rope would come off, and the trailer would take it back to the pasture. There was a lot of lowing and bawling; somebody had to come and milk the cows who were getting more restless because of all the distracted calves.
The sun was hanging quite low in the sky when the last calf was inside the pasture. Three men, Gus and Andy and Dutch, were settling in with hot flasks and sandwiches and their walkie-talkies. They would watch the enclosure till relieved by three others at midnight; and then at four a.m. This was going to take place till the culprit had been found. Ben was not sure if he was believed by everyone when he swore that he had checked the locked gate (and he had); but nobody blamed him or said a cross word to them.
"Is that all of them?" Ben's dad asked wearily; he had just finished checking the calves for sprains and fractures. There were a few: the calves had panicked, some of them had taken a tumble or been butted about by bigger animals. They heal fast too, faster than big cows, but their bones are more fragile.
Uncle Mac, watching the pasture, said:
"What about the one out of one-horned Rusty? White with rusty spots all over. Anyone see that little bugger?"
But no one had.
"We've still got some daylight left," one of the men said tiredly. "We could split up again and look."
Uncle Mac looked around the men and then at the pasture.
"Tomorrow," he said reluctantly. "Sometimes calves just turn up; and you boys look beat." A calf was a loss of labor; and there was no telling how the remaining calves would recover their health and weight. But in the gathering darkness there would be little chance of finding one lost calf, though plenty of opportunities for tired men and horses to make mistakes and get injured.
"Let's all go home," Uncle Mac said.
Ben and his Dad turned homewards and rode slowly, still looking around in the hopes of finding little Rusty. It was a very different homecoming from the day before, though Ben's dad did his best to raise his son's spirits, and so did his mom when they got to the dinner table.
"We'll find it yet," she said, though Ben could tell she was worried too. He did his best not to look at Mellin who probably was happy something bad had happened to the ranchers. Mellin wasn't saying anything, just eating. Anyway, Ben was just tired and sad; he had never been this tired in his life; and his Dad was telling Mom about splinting the fractures and calming the scared animals down, and totting up the damage, money the farmers could ill afford to lose; and though Ben's mom was trying to raise everyone's spirits she was really worried too.
Ben did not want to talk at all; he just wanted to go to bed.
"I'm sorry about the chores and stuff, Mom. I will do them tomorrow," he said as he got up from the table and gave a huge yawn.
"Manners," his mom said automatically but she came around the table to give him a quick hug. "It's ok. I think we can count today's work as chores, honey. Get some sleep."
The next few days were all about checking on the calves and looking for the last missing one that still did not turn up the next day, and the next. It was only towards the evening of the second day that Ben's mom realized she had not seen Mellin for hours.
"It only needed that," she said resignedly to Ben. "He hasn't been in to lunch, and if he has gone missing..."
"That's ok, Mom; I will go look for him," Ben said. He privately thought that Mellin was off sulking somewhere; he was more worried about the lost calf that would have been at least useful. Still, Ben ran up to his room to grab his vest before venturing out to look; and stopped at the door.
Mellin's new electric bike was in the middle of Ben's bedroom. There was a note folded and stuck to the handlebars. Ben unfolded it.
I'm sorry about the calves. I didn't know they would run away and get hurt. I didn't know they are expensive too. I thought they were just I just wanted If you hadn't been showing off aggressing I will be staying with a friend back home, the address is below if anyone cares. I am leaving my bike so you can sell it to cover the damage. I hope that's enough but if not I will sell my minipad.
Ben stared at the note for a long moment.
"Well, he did not say sorry, but..." and he ran downstairs to tell his parents that there might be some good in Mellin after all.
P.S. Oh, I nearly forgot: they found the calf! It wandered into Clara's backyard at the end of the third day, and they are feeding it up and getting it strong again now. So don't worry about it anymore!