BUYING A FARM ON INSTALLMENTS

           

FARM IN HOTCHKISS COLORADO

           The Grand Mesa set on the north, its colossal bluff, dark against the clear blue of the morning sky.  The narrow highway turned eastward, rolling with the hills.  As the miles passed, the countryside began to flatten, and to show its wares of agriculture.

          “Let’s turn off the main highway and maybe we’ll find something for sale among these farms,” Mom suggested.

          Deryl drove the car north on the paved side road.  We wound our way up and down the roads, passing bare orchards and golden brown fields, intermingled between sparsely placed farmhouses.

          “Deryl, stop the car!”

          The automobile came to a halt and we followed Mom’s stare.  Sitting back from the road was a large two-story farmhouse.  Its windows were bare and dingy in the sunlight.

          “It doesn’t look lived in,” Deryl commented, “But there’s no “For Sale” sign.”

          “We could enquire at the neighbors and see if they know anything about the house,” Mom suggested, as she nodded toward a modern bungalow up the road.

          Deryl drove the Ford into the driveway of the small house and went up to the entrance.  A short, gray-haired woman opened the door.  Behind her stood a tall older gentleman.  We watched as Deryl gestured toward the two-story.  The door opened wide and Deryl stepped inside.

          “It has definite possibilities,” Mom said as she eyed the vacant house, “Yes, it’s just what we’ve been looking for.”

          I studied Moms profile.  What enabled Mom to lead us to a vacant farm?  I knew her direction had come from an inward intuition.

          A few moments later, Mom rolled down the window, as Deryl returned to the passenger side of the Ford.

          “The farmhouse is their old homestead where they raised their children,” Deryl said as he leaned against the car door, “It was too much for them to care for so they’ve built this newer home.  The old house has been rented before, but now it is vacant.”

          “Are they willing to rent it again?” Mom asked.

          Deryl’s face displayed a sly grin, “Well, I asked them if they would consider selling it, and they said they have been pondering the idea.  There are ten acres with the house.  They want us to come in and discuss the matter further.”

          While Deryl and Mom entered the house to discuss business, Chuck, Bronco and I decided to go exploring.

          The yard of the homestead was huge, and had at one time been painstakingly landscaped.  The embankment of the front yard was walled with white and gray stones, and flowers had once flourished within a man made tiered garden, which was covered with over growth.  Large oak trees stretched their roots under dormant grass, while their long branches shaded the yard.  The siding of the house was faded white, revealing brown undertones.  Patches of light and dark gray shingles covered the roof.

          Extending from under the second story was a large encircling veranda.  On the south side, in the center of an enclosed porch, was a back door.  A large walnut tree spread its limbs over the entranceway.  Behind the house, towards the west, was a wired fence enclosing an empty chicken coop, three wooden sheds, and land as far as our eyes could see.

          Our investigation was disrupted by the honking horn of the Ford, as it drove on the graveled driveway.  Deryl and Mom were beaming as they left the car.

          “Guess what?” Mom asked excitedly, and then proceeded to tell us without our guessing, “They are willing to sell the house and the ten acres on installments.”

          I wasn’t sure what installments were, but from Deryl and Mom’s exuberance, I figured it must be a good deal.

          “Let’s take a look at the inside,” Deryl said, holding up a silver key loaned to him by the older couple.

          The wooden floor of the back porch squeaked as we entered the house.

          “What a good sized kitchen,” Mom exclaimed as she walked around the white room.  The echoing sound of our footsteps and voices bounced off the barren walls and high ceilings of the old homestead.  The rest of the down stairs consisted of a dining room, bedroom, living room and an adjacent chamber off the living room that was painted “dark green”.

          “This could be another bedroom,” Mom decided as she surveyed the area, “But that color would have to go.”

          We climbed the open staircase that faced the front entryway.  The stair steps were in need of a coat of varnish, as was the thick walnut banister.  The upstairs hallway revealed three bedrooms.

          “This is a big room,” Deryl remarked as we entered the east bedroom.

          “It has a nice view,” Mom said as we looked out the triple windows overlooking the gray veranda roof and the front yard.  A single window on the south wall overlooked the side yard.

          Deryl and Mom were discussing buying the house as we left the upstairs.

          “It would take a lot of work, although the inside is in better shape then the outside,” Mom said, “With a little labor it would make a nice home.”

          “If we buy it, we’ll have to sell the house in Albuquerque,” Deryl said.

          This last comment brought me up short.  My heart sank at the thought.  If we sold the house on Childers Drive it would be burning all the bridges behind us.  Dave’s prediction was becoming more and more impossible.

          (The house on Childers Drive, in Albuquerque, was paid off from Daddy Slim's insurance. Now it would be sold.)

PERMANENT COMPANY

                                                          RED MOUNTAIN PASS

          Sage and dry gullies covered the earth tone terrain.  The reddish brown, rock formations, with hues of purple, reached up to touch the blue of the heavens, while low hanging clouds drifted overhead.  The highway, resembling a black ribbon, curved and wrapped through the desolate land.  It was the only proof that a civilized world existed.  The miles of northern New Mexico sped by as our new Ford traveled the pavement toward the state border.

          Bronco knelt on the floorboard between Chuck and me.  His menagerie was spread on the seat.

          “This one is a Marine,” he said to Chuck as he held up the small figure.

          “Do you have any Air force men? Chuck asked.

          “Sure, I have lots of them,” Bronco replied with a satisfied expression.  Here at last, was someone who could appreciate his shoebox full of plastic, green soldiers.

          If Chuck felt awkward, it wasn’t noticeable.  Unless, perhaps he was too cordial.  Our family was also on our best behavior.  We behaved the way we did when we entertained company.

           Although I was unhappy about leaving Albuquerque, I couldn’t sulk in front of Chuck and have him think I was a brat.  Deryl and Mom used their  knack of putting others at ease.  Deryl displayed his sense of humor and Mom utilized small talk.

           As I listened to them converse with Chuck, I realized, with thankfulness, the long season of abstinence we had enjoyed.  Ever since we left Socorro there had been no drinking.  I often wondered if our move from Socorro had been caused from a crises related to alcohol.  Even if my suspicions were true, I would never have them confirmed by Mom or Deryl.  Alcohol and its consequences were secrets never to be exposed.  I pushed all wondering to a back burner of my mind, along with the nagging fear that the drinking might start again.

          “Have you been to Colorado before, Chuck?” Deryl asked.

          “No, I never have,”

          “Really?” I asked in surprise, suddenly appreciating the advantage of traveling.

          “I have been to California,” Chuck interjected, as if he wanted to give the impression he was a man of the world.

          I quenched the desire to ask him why he had run away and where his father was.  Perhaps someday he would feel free to share his past.

          “We’ll be going over Red Mountain Pass,” Mom was saying, “It is beautiful.  As far as I am concerned, Colorado is God’s country.”

          The car snuggled close to the side of the mountain as the highway began to elevate.  Miners had used the path to reach the rich ore and silver hidden deep in the Colorado Mountains.  The narrow way had been chiseled into the rock formation and broadened for modern travelers. 

          The land opened toward the east to reveal the old mining town of Silverton.  The blue-gray buildings, on the plateau, silhouetted against the distant mountain range.  The road began to spiral upward as a curved staircase.  The car strained and puffed in the heightening elevation.  A summit was reached and then, in low gear, with brakes warming, came the descent from the heights.  Then the engine exhilarated to climb again.

          The blue-green of the all season spruces covered the mountains.  I imagined a herd of deer, tiptoeing through the snow in the thicket, watching timidly as we entered their solitude.  From the rocks on the mountainside were trickles of water that had frozen in the cold.  A month earlier, we wouldn’t have been able to travel over the pass.  It had been closed because of the snow.

          Red Mountain loomed above us.  Its livid color, shone like copper, in the bright sun.  A long abandoned mineshaft jetted from the bluff below.  The view was spectacular (If one dared to look down.)  Far below, in the snow-covered valley the partially frozen river wound its way.

          “Scenic View” was the road sign by the side of the highway.

          Deryl steered onto the pullover and we scrambled from the car.  Everyone stretched from the ride and breathed deeply.

          The air was exhilarating with clean, pure freshness and the strong scent of pine.  The cool mountain breeze carried a light mist in our direction, as we lined up beside the chain-linked barrier, and watched the roaring waterfall gush from the rugged mountainside.  The winter had endeavored to freeze the water flow but the force of the water had broken free from its icy prison.

          Mom turned to Chuck with a big grin, “See, I told you this is God’s country!”