“Since your mother died, you’ve not been yourself. Sure, you graduated from high school, went to college, and got ajob. You went to the city for that, and I understand…but you stayed away." He paused for a moment and I knew how much it bothered him that I had never visited, but he never visited me more than the one time either. This all didn't fall on me. "You stayed away from this place…you stayed away from me. I came to the city, which you know isn’t me, just to see you. You finally come down here, and you put this whole place down like it’s nothing. There are real people here. There’s hard work here. I want you to learn what hard work is, since it seems you’ve forgotten.” He didn't just want that, and I knew it.
“So, what I do isn’t hard?”
“Daisy, I know you’ve always liked to write and take photographs…but remember what you wanted to do before everything happened…remember what you used to dream about writing about and taking pictures of…this place and the people here...that is what you always wanted to write and take pictures of. I don't want you to give up on your dream.” He paused, walking a few steps on the porch. Yes, that had been my dream once, but couldn't dreams change? "We'd better go inside and eat.”
The whole time at dinner, Walt and my dad were catching up. Colt spoke a few times, but I was in no mood to talk to anyone. I was frustrated with my dad. He sent me here to learn what hard work is, and then comes tonight to give me a lecture that I didn’t need. I knew what hard work was. I have always known. He was also right that I always wanted to write. I wanted to write about life in the country and living on a ranch. I wanted to write about the real people who lived here. I talked to my mom about that many times. It was my dream…but dreams change. Staying here would have caused me more harm than good. I just wish he could understand that.
"Well, Daisy. I'm headed to the house." He rose from the table and I did the same, giving him a hug. I was still frustrated and mad at him, but I let it go because he was still my dad and Iloved him. "I'll see you later, honey."
"Bye, dad."
* * *
I got up and started shoveling out the stalls. That was the first thing Walt instructed me to do each day. I had to get up at 6:30 AM to shovel horse manure. Man, what a way to start the day. Colt occasionally stopped by to help when he wasn’t busy with his own work around the ranch. We hardly spoke to each other. I wasn't sure we would get back to being like when we were kids, but I was grateful for his help. I was even more grateful when he helped me with the bales of hay. Those things aren’t easy to lift.
“So… I take it you and your dad had words last night?”
“Hm?”
“Well, you were outside for a bit before you came in to eat.”
“Mhm.”
“Do you not want to talk about it?” I paused, remembering my dad’s words.
“He doesn’t think I have followed my dreams.”
“Oh.”
“I graduated high school, went to college, and got a job…but that’s not good enough apparently.” I paused, continuing to lift the bales of hay with Colt's help.
“What is it you do? I’ve not asked, and you've not really been forthcoming with information.”
“I’m a journalist for a magazine.” I took in his expression.
“And you enjoy that?”
“Yes, I do. I have always loved writing and taking pictures. You remember, don't you?" He nodded, and I knew his memory served him well. "I studied art at a community college in the city.”
“I never did go to college. It just wasn’t for me, and I knew that. It’s good you knew what you wanted to do, though, and that you enjoy it. Everyone deserves to be happy.”
“Well, my dad doesn’t see it that way.”
“What do you mean?”
“He doesn’t think that’s my dream.”
“Is he right?” Curse this man and all his questions.
“When I first thought about what I wanted to do, I will admit that I thought about going to a community college to study art but then come back here and take pictures and write about the people and life here.” I didn't make eye contact, hoping he would stop with the questioning, but he didn't.
“So why didn’t you do that?” I paused, remembering when I had left this place and why. Those memories are still hard to process. I think about my mother every day, and I will admit that it is still a little painful. I’ve heard that time heals all wounds, but I don’t think that’s true.
“You don’t have to tell me…I miss my mother, too.” I looked up at him, a little surprised that he decided to share that with me. I mean, we have been talking occasionally and sometimes riding together when we finished work a little earlier in the afternoon, but I didn’t know we were to the point of sharing our feelings. For a second, I caught a glimpse of what used to be. “I was twenty.” I already knew, but it felt like he wanted to say it out loud.
“Sixteen.” I knew he knew how old I was when my mother passed. He was at the funeral.
“It’s hard to think about, isn’t it? I mean…my dad never talks about her. I know he hasn’t forgotten about her, but it would be nice to talk about memories from time to time.”
