Maple, and Other Trees

Hindsight, Chapter 4, Part 2.

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Hindsight by Neil Shooter (photo by author)

April 2020.

Ice pellets covered the ground. That was why Will was outside at the maple trees with the sap buckets. It had been a good harvest in March—about three litres—but then the warm spell had shut things down. Now, with the forecast for the next week showing ideal temperatures for the sap, Will was trying to squeeze a bit more syrup out of the trees.

His breath made clouds in the clear, crisp air.

The chickens didn’t mind the temperature. They were happy with the longer days, and laying more.

Still, it wasn’t warm enough that he wanted to loiter outside.

When he got back into the house, Juss was at the kitchen table, with a mug not quite in front of her.

She looked over at him. Her eyes were full of emotion.

“You okay?”

“No.”

“Talk to me. What’s up?”

She sighed. She laughed. She sighed again. “I want milk. I want to go shopping. Let’s go get milk.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“You don’t like me pre-mixing the powder?”

“No. Thanks for trying though.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.”

“What, now?”

“Yes. Now.”

“Okay. Get your jacket.”

*

The gas tank was pretty full, and Will was happy to give the car a run. There was always a danger something would seize up if it was left sitting for too long.

They had enjoyed shopping in Napanee. Before. The grocery store was just south of the highway, at the very edge of town. Belleville was about the same distance away, but all the grocery stores were deeper into the city, and they were always busy. Napanee was much quieter.

They knew the rules. Juss had looked them up to be sure, as she was the one who’d be going in.

That sounded so ominous, like shooting your way into a well-defended compound, or being dared to go into the haunted house at the end of the street.

He hadn’t said much on the way. Just small talk. Comments on the weather. Some snow on the ruins near Marlbank. Noticing the other garden centre near Selby as they drove past, with some delicate things protected from the frost.

The north end of Napanee wasn’t quite deserted, but it wasn’t busy by any stretch.

They pulled into the grocery store parking lot, and saw the well-distanced line of people snaking along the sidewalk in front of the building. Will stopped so Juss could get out, and then parked well away from all other cars.

Juss was wearing a surgical mask, and disposable latex gloves. Her bank card was in her left hand, so she could carry things in her right. And so that she didn’t need to rummage for it when she got to the checkout, and a quarter in her right hand for the shopping cart.

Will saw her look over from two metres behind a fat man, and take note where he’d parked.

The minutes passed, and she gradually made it closer to the front of the line.

Will drifted off into a reverie about some item of NEWS he’d just read about, and when he looked over at the line again, Juss had gone. Inside, presumably.

If they could have ordered milk from anywhere, they would have. There was a dairy in Sydenham, but they didn’t deliver to Tweed. There were curbside pickups here and there, but no clear indication that they wouldn’t have to go inside to get it. Like here, it looked like you had to go in to collect your groceries, which completely defeated the purpose of the thing. He wanted a curbside to avoid going in the damn store. He knew that people were going in stores all the time, and there were “senior hours” and such at some of them, but really, no one knew how long this coronavirus stayed on surfaces, or hung about in the air. He didn’t want to take that chance, and neither did Juss.

Except that today she did.

Anything that got delivered sat in the garage for fourteen days, with the “end of quarantine” date scrawled on the box in black Sharpie. Two weeks seemed long enough for a reasonable quarantine, they’d decided. It was probably overkill. But when nothing was known, was it crazy to go shopping like nothing had changed, or was it crazy to quarantine your mail for two weeks?

The Costco two-day delivery deadline kept growing and growing. Some things went out of stock before he had a chance to order them. There were so many orders on their way. A constant stream. But he didn’t know if the supply chain was going to suddenly stop working one day, or how many of the difficulties he was having ordering were because of random surges of local demand, or more widespread systemic problems.

Whenever they’d come here in the past they’d gone up and down all the aisles, wandering, sauntering, meandering. They never made it out of there in less than an hour. And sometimes there had been discount bins to rummage through, and real deals to be had. Their longest visit had been about three hours—

Juss was at the driver side window.

He stared at her. “Are you okay?”

She just motioned for him to open the trunk by waving her left hand, her bank card still in it. She seemed a little strung out.

He obeyed, watching through the gap between the lifted trunk and the rear window. Only one thing went into the trunk. But she was taking a long time.

She came back to his window. “Give me a Lysol wipe.” There was an edge of strain to her voice.

He complied again, rolling down the window enough for her to grab it.

She scrubbed her bare hands with it, and wandered back to the trunk. She chucked the wipe inside and pulled the trunk closed. Her card must be in there too.

She got into the passenger seat, and just sat there, looking ahead. “Apparently you can freeze milk.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Should make it last longer. If we’re careful.”

“Are you okay?” He didn’t think she looked okay.

“Just wondering when they’re going to start making me wear a red dress.”

Will thought about that. It was a Gilead reference, of course. Juss was way too old to become a Handmaid, though, and he had the good sense to keep that thought securely in his head.

Instead, he pulled out of the parking spot. “You bought milk?”

“Yes.”

Will turned left and headed toward the main road. He stopped at the line, waiting for a gap so he could turn north and head home. “Just milk?”

“Yes.”

Will turned left, and came to a stop at the red light. “What happened?”

“Madness.”

Will glanced over at her, but back at the lights, knowing they were about to change any second. “Okay .…”

They did, and traffic started moving again. The road went under the highway, past a motel, and a restaurant, and traffic thinned out as they headed away from town.

He glanced over again. Her eyes were glazed over, like she was having some kind of episode. What should he do?

“It’s utter madness,” she said, short-circuiting his spiralling panic. “Crazy. The man tells you when you can go in. He sprays the handle of the shopping cart so that it is wet and slips in your latex gloves. There are arrows on the floor, and woe betide you if you stray from your path. It’s—I—I mean—I just marched over to the milk and then over to the checkout. Wait behind the line. Stand here. Wait there. Back away please, ma’am. Spray spray spray. The only thing missing was the men carrying fucking assault rifles dressed all in black.”

Will was taken aback. Juss almost never swore. She said it was unbecoming of a lady.

“Extenuating circumstances,” she said, as though she’d heard his thought.

He kind of wished she had bought potato chips, but didn’t say that out loud, and then worried that she would hear that thought too.

*

It had been good to get a head start in the garden, with getting things tidy, being out there planning what to do and where to plant. There were seedlings inside as well, of course. The frosts would give the early brassicas a run for their money though, even under “greenhouse” plastic.

The ice pellets that had covered the ground this morning had now melted. It was to be a clear night though, and cold again. As they pulled into the driveway, Will noticed the sap buckets were still empty, despite it being 7C according to the car.

Will drove into the garage, and stopped the car. He pressed the remote button, and the garage door trundled closed behind them. “Ready?”

She nodded.

He popped the trunk and hurried over to the door into the house, getting it unlocked and opened so Juss could get inside without touching anything.

She passed him, into the house, taking the milk bag with her. She kicked off her boots, and headed downstairs.

Will dashed back to the trunk to close it, noting that the bank card was sitting there with the discarded gloves, mask, and used wipe. A crumpled paper receipt sat beside the other things.

He hurried back into the house, kicked off his own shoes, and followed her downstairs.

Juss was at the sink, lathering her hands in anti-bac.

“What can I do?” he asked.

“Are your hands clean?”

“No.” He cursed inwardly.

“Don’t worry, then. I’ll take care of it.”

“I’ll wash my hands and be right back.”

“Forget about it,” she said, as he hurried upstairs.

He washed his hands thoroughly, which seemed to take forever, hung his coat, and then hurried back to the basement.

Juss had found a towel from somewhere, and laid it on the counter. The three milk bags were in the left-hand sink, each well-lathered with soap, and the outer bag was in the right-hand sink, discarded.

“What do you need?”

“I’m good,” she said. She rinsed each bag of milk, and placed it on the towel, and then washed her hands again. “You can open the fridge, if your hands are clean now.”

He obeyed.

“The empty drawer,” she said.

He obeyed. This was going to have been the bar fridge, beside the bar sink, in the bar kitchen, but now it looked like being the coronavirus workstation, after all. They didn’t have a bar, in any case. Or a drinking problem. It had just been a fun fantasy that they had harboured throughout the process of buying a house.

She put the bags in the drawer, and washed her hands again. “Close it,” she murmured.

He obeyed.

She dried her hands, and turned, and looked up at him.

He opened his arms and took a step toward her.

“No!” she said, stepping back. “I have to take off my coat.” She stepped around him, making sure her potentially-contaminated coat didn’t get anywhere near him, and dashed upstairs.

He followed.

She flung her coat into the washing machine, and got it going as he stood there at the laundry room door, speechless. She washed her hands again, dried them, and then, finally, looked into his eyes. “Oh, Will,” she said, and fell, sobbing, into his embrace.

They stood there like that for a long time, despite the rumbling of the washing machine.

*

Which was why he noticed the truck stopping at the end of the driveway.

As it reversed in, its rear lights flashed, and a familiar beep-beep made Juss stir.

“Trees are here,” he said.

“Are you going out?”

“Only on the porch.”

She nodded.

The laundry was well on its way to being ready.

Will put on his coat and went out to the front porch. He leaned against the wall and watched the truck come to a stop. It had been taking its sweet ass time.

A young guy got out of the passenger side, waved a greeting, and met with an older guy who’d been driving.

The older guy unhitched the back door of the truck, and started over to Will.

“Afternoon! Fruit trees and berry plants for Bardington?”

Will said, “That’s right. Just against the wall, please.”

“Sure thing.”

The guys unloaded, and although Will felt bad watching them drag tree after tree to the edge of the truck, and then lift them down to the driveway, he stayed back. How much did she order?

The berry plants had clearly been the first on the truck, because they were the last off. The guys had considerably less trouble with them.

The younger guy stopped to catch his breath. “Did you get a good maple harvest?”

Will was startled. “Yes. About three litres.”

The younger guy nodded, apparently satisfied.

The older guy stopped, letting the younger guy finish up the last few smaller pots. “Can probably take the buckets down now, eh? That warm spell willa dried you up real good.”

“I think you’re right,” Will said. There was no need to mention that he’d just put them back up this morning.

The old guy said, “You want the receipt under a pot?” He nodded to the assembly of trees and plants.

“Sure,” Will replied. “And sorry for not helping you unload. You know .…”

“Oh, don’t worry about that, sir. We get it. But I don’t think there’s much corona around here. And they say the summer’ll stop it dead in its tracks, eh?”

Will considered what to say. “Hope so!” He didn’t buy that for a second though. Singapore, Brazil, India: these weren’t cool or temperate places. It was spreading despite the heat, so summer would not stop it. However, he fully expected winter to make it worse.

The old man slipped the receipt under the nearest berry bush and waved. “Well, you have a nice day!”

“Thanks. You too.”

The younger guy put the last tub with the others, and locked the back gate of the empty truck. “Bye!”

Will waved. “Thanks!”

They pulled out of the driveway in a fraction of the time it had taken them to reverse into it.

Will looked at the massive collection of things. He’d already dug some holes over the last few days, knowing the cool down was coming, and the soil might get difficult to work again. He was glad he had. There definitely weren’t enough holes. Did we get some freebies? Or did Juss not mention all of them.

He went to the receipt, and pulled it out with one hand, careful to keep the other hand clean. Looking at it, he saw that there were a few things with no charge beside them. There’d been a couple of substitutions too.

He was very careful when he went in, touching the front door only with his clean hand. And he went straight through to the garage, and left the receipt among the pile of quarantine boxes.

*

After the chickens were away, and he had showered, Will made a cup of tea. A proper cup of tea, with a good amount of fresh milk.

Juss smiled her thanks, but her eyes were sad.

“What’s wrong?”

“We have to make it last. But thank you.”

“You know, we could do a curbside pickup. Not from there, because of having to go inside, but Millyworld is doing it properly. We could try?”

“No,” she said. “Not yet, anyway. Let’s give it some time. See what happens. See if things are more under control in a month or two. I’m a grown woman. I should be able to manage better than this. We’ll just keep a jug of the powdered stuff mixed, and make do with that. We have a few bags of the powder, don’t we?”

“Four, I think. I stocked up.”

“And you can order more, right?”

“Yes, I’ve had no trouble with it.”

“So let’s freeze the other two bags of milk we just bought. That should encourage us to make them last. And the powder is good in coffee anyway.”

“I guess so. By freezing it, and only using it in tea, we could make it last a month, maybe. Longer if we can make the powder work.”

She nodded. “I realized something else today. Marcie and Pete would have been on their cruise by now. It all seems so stupid, doesn’t it? If we had only known. It was only luck, really, that made us not follow through on booking one ourselves.”

“And getting chickens.”

“Sure, that too. But we weren’t really smarter than anyone else. We were just luckier. Marcie and Pete might not get their money back, the way things look right now. Not if the whole cruise industry goes under. Think about all those people stuck on cruise ships all that time, suddenly locked down, suddenly quarantined in some faraway place. First world problems, too.”

“We have lucky chickens, then.”

“And today I was stupid. I had an emotional and irrational need. I put us in danger.”

“It was a small risk. The numbers locally are really low. Even in Napanee.”

“They are non-zero, Will. I was stupid today—no, let me say it. I was stupid today, and it was a mistake. I know, lots of people need to physically go into the stores to get food. They have to face the risk. Regularly. I don’t. We don’t. And I won’t do it again.”

“Juss—”

“And I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you because of my stupidity.” She looked him square in the eye. “I put my short-term gain over our long-term best interests. I’m sorry. Being aware of it helps, I guess.”

“Forget about it, hon. Don’t beat yourself up about it. We’ll just double down on this isolation thing, and wait for it all to blow over. We have our lucky chickens. And as long as we have feed, we’ll have eggs. We’ll be fine.”

She laughed. “Thank heavens for chickens.”

“Now that I think of it, we need feed. I’ll make an order in the morning.”

“We could let them free range.”

“In the summer, yes. I’m not sure if kitchen scraps would keep them alive in the winter if we couldn’t get a hold of some proper feed.” And even in the summer, they’d need to fence off the vegetable patch. He thought about getting some chicken wire and T-posts.

“I think if there’s a time we can’t get chicken feed, we’ll have much bigger problems getting human feed.”

“We’re well stocked, hon. And you can see how many seeds are sprouting.”

She looked over at the riot of green near the patio. “I think planning for an overabundance of everything is a good idea, this year.”

“Glad you approve, hon.”

Beside the greenery, the two-week-old chicks peered out of the clear plastic tote, suddenly alert, and aware of parental eyes looking their way. “In a minute,” Juss promised, the smile on her face deepening.

“They want their mommy.”

“And their daddy.”

“Daddy will be doing the dishes first, mommy. Wait, no. This stops here and now.” Will shuddered.

Juss just laughed.

Will reached out for her cup, and went to wash up.

*

When he came back, Juss had one of the golden chicks in her hand.

He was astonished how quickly they were growing, and much they changed day to day. He decided to test himself. The golden chicks were Mabel, Diego, Nova, and Ginger. The one in Juss’ hands had a dark beak, and no comb to speak of, so that ruled out Diego, who had the biggest comb of the batch, which was the most obvious sign that he was a rooster. He saw white feathers on the wing tips, which ruled out Ginger, who had deep red-brown wingtips. So it was between Nova and Mabel.

“You want Nova?” Juss looked at him.

“Well, shit.” He’d been so close.

“What?”

“I was trying to figure out who you had.”

“Mostly white wing tips. No feathers on the feet. Black eyes. Nova.” She smiled.

“I’ll get it eventually. But yes, I’ll take her. Let me get a towel.”

He sat and snuggled with Nova, who seemed generally quite agreeable to human attentions, while Juss cycled through the others.

“Who’s this?” she asked with a smirk.

“That’s easy. Rocky. Spot on his pale head. Bit of a crown.”

“Well done. What else?”

“What else?”

“Come on, Will. I’ve said it a dozen times.” She arched an eyebrow like some kind of mean schoolteacher.

“He’s standing up. Doesn’t like to sit down. So he’s a boy.”

“Exactly. In direct comparison to Nova who is snuggled very comfortably with you.”

“It will be easier when their feathers come in, right?”

“Should be. I think they’re all going to look different.”

“Good.” He was really impressed at her sexing skills. There were professional methods that she hadn’t used, that she said were dangerous to use without the right training or experience, involving looking inside their vent. Rocky’s head spot was a huge clue because of the sex-link genes on the brown hens, one of whom was his mother. Juss had said that the exciting thing about hatching from such hybrids is that they were genetic wildcards. They were such a mix of specific breeds, bred together in specific repeated patterns, that a certain percentage of the children would follow each of the mother’s lineages if they had a pure breed father. And with a Silkie rooster as a father, she had no idea what was going to happen. Each chick was different, so far, but Nova, Juss said, was going to look like her mother’s white-feathered father, while Ginger was going to look like her mother’s red-feathered mother. Maybe the others would be a mix, or would show a sign of some other genetic admixture. And if Skip the Silkie rooster wasn’t pure Silkie then who knew what the results would be.

“He’s fighting me. I’m going to get a hen.” Juss reached into the tote, and lifted out a brown chick with black wing tips, a black beak, and black feet.

“Miranda,” Will said. She was the only one he was confident about. Bruno was the other brown chick, and his beak was paler, and his comb visible. “I’m learning, I guess.”

Juss grinned. “That was an easy one though.”

He watched her petting Miranda, obviously taking so much joy from her. Seven chicks from nine eggs. Not a bad ratio. And Juss was already confident that there were three roosters and four hens. And with the six EE eggs and five Silkie eggs in the incubator now, all of which seemed viable when they’d candled a couple of nights ago, so they might end up with another five or six roosters. There was one logical conclusion to the problem of having too many roosters, and he didn’t really want to think about that too much right now.

Still, if the whole world did go to shit, the chickens might make the difference between life and death.

Thanks for reading!

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