Read Online Threading the Needle by Marie Bostwick - Free Book Online
Authors: Marie Bostwick
Ads: Link
that just take the cake? Lee and I were even more compatible than Iâd suspected.
Iâd never considered farming as a dream vocation, but I loved gardening, especially herb gardening. A few years previously, Iâd begun experimenting with blending the herbs into sweetly scented concoctions and oils to infuse all kinds of soaps, lotions, and creams, but I considered it a hobby. Just like gardening.
Nothing was settled that night. Even at our most impetuous, Lee and I needed time to take the leap. But after months of late-night discussions and dream spinning, we reached a decision.
Lee loved farming. I loved working with herbs. If we combined those two loves into a reasonable business plan, we ought to be able to figure out a way to make a living doing themânot a handsome living, but enough. Joshâs college tuition was safely tucked away, and once he was launched, we wouldnât need as much income, especially if we moved to the country, where the cost of living would be lower. After doing the math and working out a plan, we finally decided to make the break.
We began spending weekends driving around New England, looking for a small farm on a few acres of good soil, with room enough for me to grow my herbs and Lee to grow his crops, plus keep goats and chickens. The farm had to be near a town, someplace I could open a shop. It didnât have to be a big town but it needed to have a real downtown area with good walk-by traffic and well-located storefronts available at an affordable rent. Sounds easy enough, but it wasnât. Lee and I must have visited twenty little towns without finding what we were looking for.
We were just about ready to give up when I received an invitation to a class reunion at my old high school back in New Bern. After my graduation my folks, lured by warm weather and low taxes, had moved to Florida. Consequently, I hadnât been back to New Bern in years or kept in touch with any of my old classmates.
Thank heaven for Sandy Janetta, chair of the New Bern High reunion committee, and her determination to track down every member of our graduating class. If not for her, we might never have gone to New Bern and never have met Sandyâs husband, Bob, a Realtor who knew of a perfect farm on the outskirts of town with sixteen acres of good land, a three-bedroom, two-bath antique farmhouse with a wood-shingled roof and a beehive oven, plus a barn and a big sunroom that would serve as my workshop. Bob also knew that the owners of an antique shop on Maple Street were planning on retiring and the storefront would soon be available to rent. We couldnât believe our good fortune.
As Lee and I drove back to Massachusetts, we laughed and sang along with the radio. Lee reached out to squeeze my hand and said, âI think all those years spent nose to the grindstone are about to pay off. I think weâre about to find our happy ending.â
I thought so too. And in my heart, I still believe it. Things are bound to get better. Charlie Donnelly said they would, that we were just in a down business cycle. We had a plan, a good one. The bank had increased my line of credit based on that plan, all printed out in colored ink with pie charts and spreadsheets and month-by-month sales projections. Not that weâd met any of those projections since our third month in business, but we would. Eventually. We just had to stick to our plan. Iâd never failed at anything and I wasnât planning on starting now.
As I rounded the corner, I shoved my hands in my pockets and looked down, deliberately stepping on every crack in the sidewalk, only lifting my head when I heard someone call my name.
5
Tessa
W ouldnât you know it? The first time I come to work late is also the first time I have customers waiting for me to open.
âThere you are, Tessa!â Reverend Tucker waved and his face split into a wide smile, his teeth as white as the clerical collar around his neck.
Iâd never considered farming as a dream vocation, but I loved gardening, especially herb gardening. A few years previously, Iâd begun experimenting with blending the herbs into sweetly scented concoctions and oils to infuse all kinds of soaps, lotions, and creams, but I considered it a hobby. Just like gardening.
Nothing was settled that night. Even at our most impetuous, Lee and I needed time to take the leap. But after months of late-night discussions and dream spinning, we reached a decision.
Lee loved farming. I loved working with herbs. If we combined those two loves into a reasonable business plan, we ought to be able to figure out a way to make a living doing themânot a handsome living, but enough. Joshâs college tuition was safely tucked away, and once he was launched, we wouldnât need as much income, especially if we moved to the country, where the cost of living would be lower. After doing the math and working out a plan, we finally decided to make the break.
We began spending weekends driving around New England, looking for a small farm on a few acres of good soil, with room enough for me to grow my herbs and Lee to grow his crops, plus keep goats and chickens. The farm had to be near a town, someplace I could open a shop. It didnât have to be a big town but it needed to have a real downtown area with good walk-by traffic and well-located storefronts available at an affordable rent. Sounds easy enough, but it wasnât. Lee and I must have visited twenty little towns without finding what we were looking for.
We were just about ready to give up when I received an invitation to a class reunion at my old high school back in New Bern. After my graduation my folks, lured by warm weather and low taxes, had moved to Florida. Consequently, I hadnât been back to New Bern in years or kept in touch with any of my old classmates.
Thank heaven for Sandy Janetta, chair of the New Bern High reunion committee, and her determination to track down every member of our graduating class. If not for her, we might never have gone to New Bern and never have met Sandyâs husband, Bob, a Realtor who knew of a perfect farm on the outskirts of town with sixteen acres of good land, a three-bedroom, two-bath antique farmhouse with a wood-shingled roof and a beehive oven, plus a barn and a big sunroom that would serve as my workshop. Bob also knew that the owners of an antique shop on Maple Street were planning on retiring and the storefront would soon be available to rent. We couldnât believe our good fortune.
As Lee and I drove back to Massachusetts, we laughed and sang along with the radio. Lee reached out to squeeze my hand and said, âI think all those years spent nose to the grindstone are about to pay off. I think weâre about to find our happy ending.â
I thought so too. And in my heart, I still believe it. Things are bound to get better. Charlie Donnelly said they would, that we were just in a down business cycle. We had a plan, a good one. The bank had increased my line of credit based on that plan, all printed out in colored ink with pie charts and spreadsheets and month-by-month sales projections. Not that weâd met any of those projections since our third month in business, but we would. Eventually. We just had to stick to our plan. Iâd never failed at anything and I wasnât planning on starting now.
As I rounded the corner, I shoved my hands in my pockets and looked down, deliberately stepping on every crack in the sidewalk, only lifting my head when I heard someone call my name.
5
Tessa
W ouldnât you know it? The first time I come to work late is also the first time I have customers waiting for me to open.
âThere you are, Tessa!â Reverend Tucker waved and his face split into a wide smile, his teeth as white as the clerical collar around his neck.
Similar Books
