Takin' time off, and other fun stuff...

Chapter Thirty: One Morning Off

The orchard never sounded so peaceful as it did that morning—no hammerin’, no bickering, no splashing from boys fallin’ in the wash barrels. Just the breeze rustlin’ the branches and the occasional soft laugh floatin’ up through the pecan trees.

Lu had taken me serious when I gave in. She’d packed a quilt, a pie, and a full jug of the light honey cider the boys called "sunshine juice." We picked a shady spot near the edge of the orchard, and by the time I got there, the boys were already piled in a lazy circle, stretchin’ out like cats in a sunbeam.

“Did you bribe them?” I asked, settling down beside her.

“Maybe,” she said, handing me a slice of pie. “It’s not every day the great Ron Hosen takes a morning off.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

But truth be told, I needed this more than I wanted to admit. For all the chaos and chores, I hadn’t stopped to see what we’d built in a good while.

Quattro was explaining the pie crust to Dies like he’d baked it himself. Uno and Dos were busy whittling small figures from orchard twigs, each more ridiculous than the last—one had exaggerated ears, and another a massive gut. I suspected I was the model for that one. Seis had his back against a tree, trying to teach Tres how to braid dried grass into rope. And Nueve, of all people, was lying flat on the ground, arms behind his head, just lookin’ up at the sky like it might blink.

Lu handed me a mug of cider, and I took a sip. Sweet, with just a little kick of vinegar underneath—our first batch of the new barrel.

“You know,” she said softly, “they’re happy.”

I glanced around. “Yeah. I reckon they are.”

She folded her hands on her lap. “So are you.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but she gave me that look. The one that saw through you like glass.

“I guess I am,” I admitted.

We sat a while longer, and then the boys got restless. They started a game—something between tag and wrestling—and I just leaned back, watching. Every now and again, I’d hear one of their names yelled in alarm or joy, and it struck me that I knew all eight of them like the back of my hand now.

I’d gone from grumpy recluse to ringleader of the wildest space-farm family this side of the system.

Later, Gus dropped by with his mule-cart and some fresh grain samples from his own farm. He pulled up, saw us loungin’ under the trees, and laughed like he’d caught us sneakin’ cookies.

“Well I’ll be! You finally took a break?”

“Temporary,” I grunted, waving from the quilt. “We’ll be back at it this afternoon.”

“I brought samples,” he said, unloading a few burlap sacks. “Tryin’ out some new red wheat and this protein-enriched rye they’ve been growin’ on Io colonies. Yields are insane.”

“You gettin’ into the high-fiber health foods now?” I teased.

“Nope. The pigs love it.”

We sat him down and poured him a cup. He took a swig and raised a brow.

“This cider’s better than last year’s,” he said.

“Thank the boys,” I said. “They’ve been takin’ over the recipes.”

“Well, keep ‘em at it. I’ll want four barrels next month. The saloon’s about ready to slap your name on the wall.”

After he rode off, Lu leaned over and whispered, “Did you hear that?”

“Yep.”

“We’re gonna need more barrels.”

I looked at the boys—now chasing Seis after he stole the last slice of pie—and sighed happily.

“We’re gonna need a bigger orchard too.”

Chapter Thirty-One: One Sweet Orchard

The co-op sat low and wide against the rocky outcrop, a modern dome tucked into the curve of the hillside like a beetle in the dirt. It buzzed quiet-like, powered by geothermal and solar, and it smelled of soil and wood shavings and strong tea. I hadn’t been in a while, and even then, it was just to fetch a few bags of seed. Nothin’ like we had planned today. This time, Lu came with me.

"They've got new stock," she said as we rolled up in the mule cart. "Grafted varieties, fruit in less than a season. Perfect for the orchard expansion."

Inside, it was a mix of old-school charm and high-tech polish. Digital screens displayed plant data alongside seed racks and trays of fertilizer. A man with a seedpod tattoo on his cheek gave us a nod and waved us to the orchard display.

"You're Ron," he said, tapping his slate. "We been hearin' good things. That cider you're sellin'—Folks're startin' to ask where the apples came from."

"Old orchard," I said. "Planted who-knows-when. Still kickin'. But I need more. Got a mind to fill a full hectare."

He grinned and turned the display. "These here are nano-grafted saplings from the Vega groves. Grow fast, fruit fast. Not engineered, just boosted through smart soils and light-spectrum control. You get good output the first year and great yield the second."

"And price?"

Lu leaned in as the figure popped up. "Cheaper than I thought," she murmured.

I gave a slow nod. "Alright. Gimme enough to fill the hectare. And while we're at it, I want three more pecan trees too. Those pies don't bake themselves."

The man laughed. "You got it. Delivery's two days out. Soil's already prepped, right?"

"Yep," I said. "We’ll dig the holes ourselves."

We wrapped up with a few extra bags of soil conditioner and a box of root-boost capsules. On the way out, Lu tugged my sleeve.

"You know what this means, right?"

"What?"

"You just committed to stayin'. At least through another harvest."

I looked at her, the mule cart, the sky, the dusty road, the idea of a whole new row of trees growing under my hand. And I smiled.

"Guess I did."

Back at the farm, we told the boys the news. Quattro and Seis immediately started planning how they'd mark out the rows with string and stones. Uno asked if he could dig the first hole. Even Nueve looked up from his lunch and gave a nod of approval.

A full orchard. Pecans and apples. A season ahead.

Felt good. Felt like roots—real ones—going down into this sunlit soil.