Things are a little crazy here...

Chapter Five: Never Dark

It was hard to sleep that night, what with the sun refusing to set. I’d never quite gotten used to it, the way the sky just hovered in a permanent late-afternoon glow, like the whole world was stuck in a long summer evening. I’d rigged up some blackout curtains from old feed sacks and tarps, but it didn’t help much. The light still bled in around the edges, soft and stubborn.

Come morning—though it felt no different from midnight—I was up at what my watch told me was five. Lu had already started the coffee and was making up a new batch of bread dough. She looked tired but proud.

"Didn’t sleep?"

"I did. Just... not much. The light makes it hard."

"Yeah. It’s like livin' in one of them Alaskan towns where the sun forgets how to set."

The rest of the crew filtered in shortly after. The boys looked like they’d slept in shifts, with Cinco stretching like a cat and Seis blinking through a yawn.

"Alright, let’s get moving. Quattro and Seis, you’re back on orchard duty. See if any apples are droppin’ early. Cinco and Tres, the rest of the barley needs bringing in. Uno and Dos, we’re gonna fire up the still."

Everyone nodded and moved like molasses. I didn’t blame them. The lack of night plays tricks on a body.

Lu packed the boys a little snack basket—cold biscuits and apple slices—and handed it off before heading to check the eggs and milk. I followed the twins into the barn.

"First batch of mash should be ready to strain today," I said, handing Dos a ladle. "Let’s run it slow. We don’t want a burnt batch."

They nodded, already more confident than yesterday. I had to admit, these boys were quick learners. Uno adjusted the fire while Dos stirred, and I got to work measuring the first drip.

"How long’s it gotta cook?" Uno asked.

"Til it runs clean. You’ll smell it when it’s right—sharp and sweet."

We made good progress by midmorning. I left them to it and went to check on the others. Seis and Quattro were beneath the apple trees, picking up windfall and stacking them in baskets. I made a mental note to press some cider this week.

Cinco and Tres had half the remaining barley loaded already. Gus had dropped off more gloves, baskets, and some wire for the baler. I waved at them and headed back inside.

Lu was in the kitchen, wiping down the counter. "We got thirty eggs and five gallons of milk today. I already set the milk to pasteurize."

"You’re on top of it, as usual," I said, grinning. "Lunch is gonna be simple—cold ham sandwiches and maybe some of those cucumbers."

"Want me to slice 'em?"

"Sure. I’ll wrangle the crew back in."

We sat outside for lunch under the constant sun. The kids didn’t seem to mind it much. They talked about their favorite things to do, and I learned Uno liked fixing things, while Quattro wanted to learn to play guitar.

After lunch, I took Uno aside and handed him my old tool belt.

"If you’re serious about fixing, you’ll need this. Start with the chicken coop—the latch keeps slippin’."

He beamed like I’d handed him a treasure chest.

Meanwhile, I had Dos help me bottle the first run of mash liquor. We labeled them and boxed them up, putting a bottle aside for Hal.

Evening came, though the sun didn’t move. It just hung there, a little lower, like it was unsure about leaving. I looked up at it and shook my head.

"Hard to tell what time it is anymore."

Lu stepped beside me. "I like it. It’s warm and cheerful."

"It is," I admitted. "But it messes with my head."

She chuckled. "Then close your eyes and pretend."

We stood there a while. Just breathing. Just standing. In the never-dark world where roosters crow at odd hours and the sky never quits, somehow, I found a kind of peace.

Tomorrow, we’d keep on building our little slice of something good.

Chapter Six: Sunset Chores That Never Come

The next day—which looked the same as the last—started with that same hazy never-ending sun drifting behind a thin veil of clouds. I woke to the sound of banging outside and the smell of burnt toast. I pulled on my boots and stepped into the kitchen where Lu was fanning smoke out the window.

"Sorry! The toast got away from me. I thought I could sneak in a quick wash while it browned."

I waved it off and poured myself a cup of her strong, earthy coffee. "Don’t sweat it. I’ve burnt worse. Once torched a whole skillet of bacon ‘cause I stepped outside to fix a fence post."

She laughed and handed me a plate. Toast might’ve been dark, but the eggs were perfect.

Outside, the boys were already buzzing. Uno was tinkering with the latch on the barn like I’d asked, and the others were tending their chores without too much hollerin'. I figured it was time to get a closer look at the barley field again.

I hopped in the mule and found Cinco and Tres sitting beside the baler, scratching their heads.

"What’s the issue, boys?"

Cinco stood and brushed hay off his arms. "The wire feeder’s jammed. We tried to fix it, but it got worse."

I leaned down to inspect it. Sure enough, they’d fed the wire in backward and tangled it around the inner spool. "Well, you gave it a shot. Appreciate that. But lemme show ya the right way."

They watched close while I cut the wire loose and reset the feeder. I threaded the wire in proper, wound the spool tight, and locked it in place.

"Always remember—wire feeds clockwise on this unit. Counter and you get a bird’s nest like that."

"Got it, Pa," Tres said, nodding solemnly.

"No harm done. That’s how ya learn."

I started the baler, and the thing hummed back to life. They climbed aboard their tractors, confidence renewed. I gave 'em a thumbs up and rode back toward the barn.

Gus was waiting, arms crossed and grinning. "You fix the mess?"

"Yup. They’d run it backwards. Not their fault—they’ve never seen a machine like that."

"Well, good training for 'em. You spoil ‘em too much, though."

"Nah, they’ll earn their keep. They’re quick."

Back in the kitchen, Lu was packing lunches for the crew—hard-boiled eggs, apples, bread ends with jam. She handed me a separate pouch.

"I threw in a little of that honey cider you made. Just a small bottle. Might help the afternoon go by quicker."

"You know me too well already."

"I just observe."

By midday, the fields were full of movement. Seis and Quattro were in the orchard again, trying to build a scarecrow out of old shirts and broom handles. Uno had fixed the chicken coop and was now taking apart an old radio I’d forgotten we had. Dos was labeling bottles in the stillery.

Even in the unchanging daylight, time had rhythm. Chores, meals, sweat, laughter. The boys had started calling each other by their new names naturally now.

After supper—some kind of stew Lu improvised from beans and ham—the kids sat on the porch playing a game with sticks and rocks. Lu brought me a cup of cider and sat beside me.

"Still thinking about home?"

"Sometimes. But not the way I thought I would."

She nodded. "This place has a way of growing on you."

The sun dipped ever so slightly, but not enough to count. It felt like it had just paused. I leaned back, sipping slowly, and took in the smell of dust and earth and livestock.

If this was space, well, I could get used to it.