With apologies to the Beatles, the Federation of Egalitarian Communities, and the state of Vermont.

Wednesday, January 20, 2016

Chapter Sixty-Nine: A Visitor with a Story

Ken sighed as he opened the door to an older man.

“Do you want to live here?” he asked as he showed the man in.

“Nope,” the man said.  “Done that.”

“Done what?” Ken looked confused.

“Lived here.  This was my place eight years ago and since it was a pretty boring day today, I thought I’d see who lives here now.”

“This was your place?” Ken asked.  “You owned it?”

“Yep.  That’s what I said.  I sold this place to a guy who wanted to develop it.”

“Oh, goodness.  So what happened to the guy you sold the place to?”

“The fool ran out of money,” the man sat down on one of the living room chairs.  “I heard some young woman bought the place for half of what I sold it for.  Stories I heard said she wanted to start a commune here.  Or maybe just a farm.”

“She did both,” Ken said.  “This place is a commune and a farm.”

Marge came in to see what Ken was up to.  

“Well, hello,” she said to the visitor. “What can we do for you?”

“Hello, yourself, young lady,” the man said.  Marge grinned.  It had been a while since anyone had called her a young lady.  “I was just explaining to this earnest lad here that I used to own this land.  I just came by to see who was living here now.”

“Oh, there’s a bunch of us here now,” Marge said.  “Do you want to meet the crew?  You could stay for dinner.”

“Dinner sounds lovely, but it will need to be another time.  I need to be headed home before dark and it gets dark pretty early these days.”  He paused and then leaned over toward Marge.  “What I’d really like to do is meet with the young woman who purchased the place.  Just so I know who owns the land nowadays.”

“I think that can be arranged,” Marge said.  “Let’s go over to the side house.”


Luna and Dan sat with the older gentleman in the parlor of the side house.

“What did you say your name was?” Luna asked.

“I didn’t,” said the man.  “No one has asked me my name yet.  It’s Bill Schmitt.  I live up in Browningsburg now, but I used to own this place.”

“What do you think of what we’ve done with the farm?” asked Dan.

“Don’t know, didn’t get to see much of it with the snow,” Bill Schmitt said.  

“Would you like to see it?” asked Luna.

“Sometime but today I’ve got to run soon.  I mostly wanted to see you.”  He paused.  “Would it be alright if I came back sometime and checked things out?  Maybe come back when the weather’s nicer?”

“Sure,” said Luna.  She held out her hand.  “My name is Luna Lagoon, by the way.  This is Dan.  He helped me start the place.”

“Lagoon, huh?” Bill Schmitt thought a moment.  “You wouldn’t know a Wilma Lagoon, would you?”

“That’s my father’s mother, my grandmother,” Luna said.  “Do you know her?  I think she lives close to Browningsburg, now that I think of it.”

“Small world, isn’t it?  She and I both go to the Ebenezer Non-denominational Zionist Church on Sunday and I often take her out for muffins afterwards.  She claimed that some of the pastries at the bakery came from her granddaughter’s farm.”

“Yeah, they might have,” Luna said.  “Some of our stuff has been bought by folks who resell them in their shops.  I hope you liked them.”

“They were darn good.”

“Hey, we can give you some cupcakes and fruit bread to take home with you,” Dan said.

“I’d be much obliged,” said Bill Schmitt.  “It’s great to see this farm flourishing.”

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