The Farmer's Son

Bonus Story 1: What's In A Name

Trucks, tractors, vans, and cars of all sizes crowded into the open air parking lot, as farmers from across seven counties arrived for the auction. There was a certain festiveness to the air as families gathered, with undertones of competition and friendly rivalry, but to some, it was more serious than that. For two particular families, this auction would change their lives forever.

"Oh, this brings back memories," Ray said, pulling the big red truck into a parking space. "We used to go to livestock auctions every season on the ranch. It was like going to a fair."

"All I remember is getting sick from too many apple turnovers when I was a kid," said Mack from the backseat.

"I remember that, too," said Noah from the passenger seat. "I was there with your Pa. Had to throw out my boots after."

"Sorry," Mack mumbled.

As Ray laughed and Noah gave a low chuckle, they exited the truck and joined the crowd making their way towards a makeshift stage erected at the far end of the field. The spring air shifted from the scent of car exhaust, hay, and a hint of manure to pastries and buttered popcorn. After the auction, when night fell, the scent of cooked meats and whiskey would take over.

Besides farmers, there were also throngs of representatives of various corporations and subsidiaries, looking to add to their assets, and very intent on the business at hand.

"I didn't know they auctioned off land," Ray said, pausing to frown at a wooden board posted with a list of items.

"Farm auctions been around since the pioneer days," Noah said, stopping beside him to look down at the board. "When farmers lost their livelihood as often as their lives to other farmers—and to banks."

Noah grunted, and when Ray looked up, led his gaze to about ten feet away, where a young man, no more than twenty years old, stood slightly hunched into his jacket, constantly rubbing his palms together like they were freezing.

"That's the Patterson boy, Jake," Noah said in a low voice. "After his great-grandfather died, the family farm went to the eldest son, who had no interest in that kind of life and let it get parceled up. All that's left intact is about seventy acres. And it's up for auction today."

Noah nodded to the board. Ray's gaze scanned down to the very bottom, and there it was, clear as day: Patterson Farm.

"How's it been out of the family for two generations and it still has their name?" Ray asked, frowning.

"Names only change when the business changes," Noah said. "So, for two generations other people been farming under his family name." He paused. "If you hadn't of taken over the Dalton's, it would have met the same fate."

Ray glanced back at Jake, who was nodding as one of the older men, perhaps his father, patted him encouragingly on the back. Ray could imagine some of what Jake must have been feeling. With his own land, he now knew what it felt like to want to hold on to it for dear life.

Leaving Ray with that, Noah moved on to greet other farmers, men and women he'd known for decades, while Mack had drifted away towards the food stalls long ago, greeting friends of his own. Ray had no longtime friends to greet, but there was someone he was hoping to see today.

After about ten minutes moving through the crowd, blue eyes riveted on a target and sparkled with recognition. He made his way towards a stack of hay that bordered the site, where a young man, dressed in khakis and a button-down blue shirt with a badge on a lanyard around his neck, bent his head to a tablet in his hand. Stopping a foot away, Ray gave a whistle.

The cornsilk head looked up, and at the sight of Ray sugar-colored eyes lit up and the freckled face split with a grin. "Ray!" Alan called. He immediately opened his arms, and they came together in a tight hug.