Chapter Text
Morning comes. Technically.
There's only grey-black outside the window so it definitely doesn't feel like morning. But the alarm goes off and seems insistent, so Charles rises and wriggles his feet into his slippers. No matter the season, if he's inside, his feet are cold. Sun warmed grass and dark stained deck boards that soak up the heat are the only things that seem to warm his toes up.
He peeks out into the yard and knows there won't be any taking his shoes off today. It's rainy and the trees are rustling in the wind; nothing sun warmed about the landscape.
Coffee comes first and he braids his hair tightly while he awaits for it to brew. He yawns and yawns until there's only a few mouthfuls of coffee left in his cup and his eyes finally open all the way. He can start his day.
The beat up radio on the counter lets him know the rain may finally let up in the late afternoon and while that's nice, it doesn't change the fact that there are morning chores.
Charles tosses his blue raincoat over his arm and picks up his battered old boots, calling for Sandy. He hears her stand from her bed in the den and shake herself awake, metal tags on her collar rattling together.
"Come on, girl," he urges when she balks at the open door. She's getting fussy in her elder years. She peers up at him with her biggest, widest eyes as if to tell him he's crazy, but she follows when he steps onto the porch.
She looks on, uninterested, while Charles breathes through his morning yoga routine on the deck, accompanied by the sound of raindrops on the tin roof.
When he's satisfied, he dons his coat and boots and heads onto chores.
The path to the barn is sucking mud from hours of rain, but the boots do their job. Sandy picks her way along the grass instead, still shooting him the occasional look to be sure he really wants to be out here in this.
Charles turns the goats out into the east pasture and the six of them take off running, far less precious about the rain.
Taima, his horse, snorts in her stall when he approaches, tossing her head happily.
"Hi baby girl," he says, stroking her face. He puts her in the pasture too and mucks her stall. He's refilling the water bucket when Sandy wanders into the barn and shakes herself dry right next to him.
"Thanks," he says with a scowl, but Sandy doesn't care. She leaves again, back outside to patrol, no doubt.
The chickens are all accounted for, his patch job on the fencing holding up well despite his initial reservations about it. Charles collects a few eggs into the basket by the door and gives Eva, the fattest chicken, a wide berth where she sits squawking on her nest.
He hears Sandy barking outside, raising an alarm. She's been doing it more often lately, her caution tied to her fussiness, no doubt.
Charles marches to the front of the farm property, out by the street, to see what she's barking about.
It's a big, boxy moving van parked between his place and the place across the road. Suddenly, Charles has a grin like the sun coming up.
"Hey now," he says, patting her head. She looks up at him with her worried eyes. "It's good news, trust me."
Standing for a minute more with a smile on his face, he spots his neighbour walking to the back of the truck with a pair of boxes. If he didn't have a hundred other things to do, he might consider offering his help.
Ha. No.
His… well, feud is a strong word, but… yeah, feud, with his neighbours is kind of a topic of conversation around town and it has been since the family there moved in nine years ago. They were just a little farmstead, but the idiot used so many chemicals, it practically killed off everything in a hundred mile radius. It didn't help that the guy was an absolute asshole.
"Smith," the guy says, and Charles is sure he's not just being paranoid when he hears the derision. Sandy plants herself in front of Charles, sitting on his feet, eyes locked on the man with the moving box.
"Bell. Moving out?" His own tone is much more restrained. No sense in picking a fight when the guy is leaving.
"Finally leaving this shithole. Good luck with your… farm. Heard a bit about the guy who bought this place. You're just going to love him." This time, his voice is dripping with sarcasm. A little knot builds in Charles's stomach, but he tells himself Bell's just trying to get a rise.
"I'm sure we'll get along just fine. Come on, Sandy. Bye now," he adds mildly, letting the I hope a snapping turtle bites two thirds of your tiny dick off go unspoken.
Charles gets his gloves and his hat from the shed and gets to the best of his chores: checking on the hives.
Straight Arrow Farms has twenty large honeybee hives (not that Charles ever counts them) on the property spread out around the two acres of wildflowers and buckwheat. It's not much, in the grand scheme of honey, but it's his passion. Spending time with the bees, hearing their sound, having them whizz by his face on their way to the trees and plants, brings him a peace nothing else ever has. He gets near to it on the back of a horse, but it's not quite the same.
"Hey, hey girls," he says lightly, easing the lid off the closest hive. The buzzing gets louder and he smiles without thinking about it. Everything's in order and looks good, so he carefully replaces the lid and checks a few more.
Weak sunlight starts filtering through the rain clouds; the radio was wrong. He rolls his shoulders and looks up, watches for a moment while the sunshine fights the drizzle, throwing colours around in the sky.
The sun's coming out after all, the bees are healthy, and his shitty neighbour is moving far away. Charles couldn't be happier.