Barney wanted to go for a walk with me today, so we took a nice little stroll. Hoarfrost layered the trees all day because the sun hasn’t come out to vanquish the grey sky.

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One evening Geneva, Roy, Farmbeau and I walked from here to our deep-freeze in the garage, which is in the other yard. They were picking up half a pig to take to their home in BC.

She asked about the other house, who lives there.

I explained, and said “I call it South Forks.”

“South Forks!” she laughed. “That’s good!”

I’ve found a friend, I thought.

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Geneva is the woman who came with Royboy when he came to see Farmbeau around Easter. She’s short and blonde and shapely/solid, suntanned. She is full of energy and enthusiasm and personal ambition. She drinks beer and speaks baby talk to her dogs, really loud.

She makes magical houses out of pieces of trees and bark and moss, fit for the elven folk to live in. Each one is sold before she begins constructing it.

She loves her flowers; her grandmother was a native Indian herbalist. She gave us a bag of feverfew seed to plant next spring, and said to pick off a flower and put it under my tongue to cure a migraine. Just one flower, though, or I’d overdose a bit.

We went to a bar for a few drinks with them one night in Kelowna, and she spoke to our waitress, a lot, as if they’d known each other for years. I don’t think they’d ever met.

She talks fast. She is intense and friendly, hugs me long and tightly whenever we part company, and says I am a sweetheart.

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Farmbeau and Pa are driving some machinery to a farm north of here, where they are hauling oats to tomorrow. I think. Whatever. The point is, I have to go pick them up in a while. So I get a nighttime drive. Ooh, my fave — particularly with all the deer that come charging up out of the ditches in the dark. I try to make myself drive slow, no more than 50 mph, but it’s hard. I have a heavy foot.

I said “Oh honey, can’t you take the evening off?”, knowing full well he can’t. He’s been working since about 8 this morning, came home to bolt back a beer and a meal, and is off out again. I teased him, “All this working you do, I’m sure going to enjoy spending all that money!”

He won’t pay lip service to that idea, even in jest. It must appall him!

Just like when I call his old Chev my truck. He can never let that one go by. He’d sell it as is for two grand, but I want to put about two grand into repairs instead and keep it. We’d be equally invested in it, and I’m not concerned about ownership. But he won’t even kid about it.

Kinda funny.