(Thank you, Bill, Des and Katie for editing)

Genesis: I was listening to an NPR piece describing high tech future farming using GPS, satellite images, soil analysis and micro weather prediction. But, back in the old days, how did they do it, down on the farm?

"Poppa, Old Red got on Sparky today." I shoveled another gob of mashed potatoes onto my plate, careful not to get any on the peas and carrots I'd piled up.

Sparky, my rat faced, black and white, part terrier, part who-in-the-heck knows, had followed me home one day. When she smiled her silly smile and fawned, rollin' to her back to show me her pink, round belly, I fell completely in love with the silly puppie. So much that I washed out an old chipped and rusty, broken-handled enamel cooking pan just for her scraps.

Poppa didn't raise his head, just glanced up through his thick black, gray streaked eyebrows for a second or two. He nodded and chewed his beans quietly; well, for him, quietly.

"Cull two when she weans 'em, baby girl. Gunny sack the rest."

I nodded my head, Poppa's word was law on our farm. I'd expected to have to drop all the pups into the creek, but Sparky was a real good ratter. That's maybe why Poppa wanted to keep two.

He reached for another corn bread muffin, splitting it with one hand like Momma usta break eggs over her mixing bowl. His other hand lifted his knife, which he waved at me like Mr. Patterson, our junior high principle and girls choir leader would wave his baton when he was trying to bring us up tempo.

"LaDonna," he said with a questioning tone, now looking me full in the eye. "How old you now?"

"Twelve, Poppa," I said, pouring hot brown gravy into the hole I'd made in the middle of my mounded mashed potatoes. His question surprised me, I slipped and poured gravy outside the hole. I like things neat and almost swore out loud. Jesus somehow transformed into, "Jiminy Crickets." Now Poppa's not got much religion, but he's careful 'bout things like that. He'd thump my head if I profaned loud enough for him to hear.

Poppa tilted his head back and closed his right eye. His squinty, one eyed look gave me the shivers.

"Don't, Poppa. Don't left eye me like that. You'll curdle my milk."

"You aint got no teats ta speak of," he said, opening his right eye a crack. "No milk to spoil."

I picked up my blue aluminum glass, which, not many years ago, had come from the A&P full of cottage cheese, and took a big gulp. Momma couldn't resist two-fers, back when she was alive.

"This milk, Poppa."

I waved the glass at him before putting it down.

Poppa cleaned his plate, sopping up ham hock and bean juice with the last unbuttered corn muffin.

"Come set with me in the parlor," he said, his voice so very soft I almost didn't make out his words. "When you got your chores done."

"Yes, Poppa."

I felt a shiver, a tingle of anticipation wash through me. After I cleared the table and did the dishes, Poppa was gonna talk to me. He did almost every week. Trying to explain different things, like how life wasn't very fair sometimes, but we could still be grateful for what we had. I enjoyed his talks, sitting, cozy and comfy, on his lap. His big, rough calloused hands would hug me, stroke my belly, squeeze me close. I loved my Poppa, and I could tell, even if he never told me, that he loved me too.

Poppa was winding the old clock, set high on a shelf on the wall opposite his upholstered chair. He turned and smiled, just a little smile, as I entered his room. Yeah, his room. It smelled of his evening tobacco, his sweat, his... Oh, I don't know, 'cept this was Poppa's parlor, always a special place for me.

Poppa walked slowly over to his old chair, and bent himself into it. He looked at me, kinda squinty eyed for a bit, then he patted his leg.

"C'mon over here, baby girl. Sit on my knee."

I turned and aimed my butt at his lap, bent slightly and slowly lowered myself down. Poppa would complain, and probably pinch my leg if I just jumped onto him. I squirmed into place, put my cheek against Poppa's shoulder and smiled up at him. He half smiled back with that twisted look of him doing something he didn't do very often.

"Baby girl, you is growin' up." He squeezed my skinny leg just above my knobby, scabbed knee. "The boy's will be sniffin' round you soon. Don't give 'em any truck, you hear?"

"Yes, Poppa," I said.

Then Poppa did something he'd never done before, kinda surprised me. He put his work gnarly hand right on my titty. He gave it a little squeeze, and made a funny sound in his chest, like he was diggin' down real deep for phlegm.

He finally got it out, and asked, his voice almost a whisper, "You grow'd any hair yet, baby girl?"

He poked a black nailed finger tip at my crotch, not touching me, mind you, but close enough so I knew where he meant.

"Don't think so, Poppa." I lifted my head off his shoulder and gave him a questioning look. I didn't understand why he was asking about my body.

"You got a nurse at school. Go ask her about 'The Curse'."

"Curse? What curse, Poppa?"

"Wimmens' curse. You understand? The 'monthlies'."

I guess the look I gave him showed my confusion.

"Ever' month wimmin bleed from their, ah..." He squirmed, as if trying to get comfortable in his lumpy chair. " 'Gina's." He made a little grunting sound right after he said that. Sorta like he was still trying to clear his throat. "You'll be startin' in soon. We'll keep some clean flour sack rags handy."

Now I understood what he was getting to. Cousin Darly Jean had a bad pain deep in her belly when she had her 'curse', as Poppa called it. Guess for DJ it was, she got snippier than a momma dog with a litter of sharp tooth pups when it was on her.

"Now, one last thing," Poppa made that funny sound again, deep in his chest. "If a boy tries to show you his pecker, you got my permission to kick 'em in the balls."

"Pecker, Poppa?"

"That thing they got between their legs, they're gonna want to stick it in your 'gina. Like Big Red did to your Sparky today."

Now I'm not ignorant, believe you me, I understood about sex. I seen it often enough on the farm. I just never thought about people doin' it. Never crossed my mind about me and sex. It was something the bull did to a cow, a rooster with the hens, but me? No way on god's green earth was I gonna do it. The devil would be chuckin' snowballs at the sinners before I'd bend over and drop my drawers so some boy could mount my back and stick his 'pecker' in me! Not this girl.

That was my feelings on it until harvest time and Ramon Garcia, the brother of my school friend, Connie, drove one of his daddy's big flatbed trucks into our yard to haul our string bean crop to the cannery. I was in the kitchen fixing dinner for Poppa and the help when Ramon jumped out of his truck, peeled off his tee shirt and began washing up in the sink right outside my window. I think I stood there, my mouth hanging open for two whole minutes, just waitin' for a fly to buzz on in. I felt this strange tingly warmth down in my belly, real low in my belly. I felt like I was dreaming in my bed. I took off my apron, and dropped it on the table. I smoothed my cotton dress tight over my titties. I almost let out a yell, my own hands put a zinger down my spine, 'bout like the time I put my hand on the tractor spark plug wire. I filled a nice unchipped glass, pretty flowers painted on it, with iced tea from the cooler jug, dumped in a handful of sugar, some chipped ice and traipsed out the door to meet my fate.

Ramon didn't see me coming. He was bent over the sink, rinsing his face. I could count his backbones, count his ribs under his tight brown skin. Up close to him, I felt dizzy for a moment, then he straightened up real slow and turned his head.

We locked eyes and just stood there until I held out the glass of tea. Why my hand wasn't shaking, I have no idea, my knees sure felt wobbly. When his fingers touched mine, that zinger did me again.

"Gracias, Bonita," he said softly, smiling wide, showing perfect white teeth in sharp contrast to his brown face.

His smile so beautiful I staggered, my knobby knees almost buckled. He had called me 'pretty girl'.

I watched him wipe his face with his tee shirt then drain the glass. He held it high and swallowed slowly, my eyes blinking in time with his bobbing adam's apple. I knew he was watching me, but I couldn't resist letting my eyes slide down his chest and belly. He had the cutest little inny belly button, and, oh my god, he had a pecker. I could see it outlined by his tight jeans, it's shape and size reminding me of the carrots I pulled from my kitchen garden almost every day. My cheeks burned, I knew he could see where I was looking, but I couldn't help myself. When I could finally look up at his face, he grinned, his eyes twinkled and danced.

"What's your name?" he asked me, the sound of his voice made that zinger thing happen again. He was looking at me kinda funny, like maybe he knew my name, but wasn't remembering on purpose.

"LaDonna," I said, surprised the sound didn't come out in a squeak.

"Ramon," he said, holding out his hand. I stared at it for a moment, before placing my limp fingers on his pale palm. I wasn't real sure about why he'd shake hands with me. That's not the way men folk treat women folk in my mind. When he brought my fingers up to his lips, and pressed a soft kiss on them, that darn old zinger almost knocked me down. I yanked my hand back, and stuck it behind my back. I wouldn't wash those fingers for days and days, I promised myself. Then it struck me, we'd known about each other since we were both snot faced. He was introducing himself, formal like.

"You hungry?" I asked him, backing towards the kitchen stoop. "Dinner's almost ready. Please, you be welcome to eat with me."

"Reckon I could," he said, his grin widening into that smile again. I stumbled when my heel hit the first step, and might have fallen if Ramon hadn't grabbed both my arms. We were almost eyeball to eyeball, just standing there, grinning at each other. When he tilted his head and leaned closer, I raised my chin and stretched my neck, eager for the touch of his lips on mine. I knew about kissing, hadn't really cared when cousin Darly Jean explained it all, but now, was darn tootin' interested.

Ramon pulled me close, I felt that zinger again when my titties pressed against his chest. When his soft lips touched mine, I knew heaven. My arms came up around his neck like I knew what I was doin'. When I felt the tip of his tongue tickle my lower lip, I tried to catch it with mine, jus' like cousin DJ tol' me to. We musta traded spit for a full minute before he pulled back and looked me right in the eye.

"You kiss nice," he said, the little purr in his voice put goose bumps on the back of my arms and down the back of my legs.

"So do you."

We looked at each other for a bit, both of us grinning like fools.

"Come inside," I said, stepping up on the stoop, pulling on his arm.

We got into the kitchen, and the screen door hadn't even banged shut yet, and we were kissing each other like crazy. I had an arm lock around his neck, my hand feeling the warm, smooth skin of his shoulder. My other hand was all over him, down his back, pulling him closer. He mashed up against me and I could feel that carrot stick bumping my belly. My hips moved without me tellin' 'em to, I tried to mash up against his pecker, hunching, trying to get it closer to my...

I pulled my face away from Ramon's, blinking like crazy, panting as hard as if I'd run to the barn and back a hundred times.

"We gotta stop. Poppa's comin' in shortly. Poppa and the crew for dinner. Let me set an extra plate." I stepped back and dropped my eyes to the lump in Ramon's jeans. Carrot, my Aunt Hattie's fanny, that was a corn cob he had in there.

"LaDonna, I can't stay for dinner. I gotta drop the empty trailer and take a load to the cannery. I'll come back tonight, right after supper."

The look he was giving me, so sad, so pained, almost brought tears to my eyes, but I knew he was right. Those beans had to get to the cannery fresh, or we wouldn't get top dollar.

"Kiss me again, then you can leave." I tried not to pout, but he saw the disappointment in my face.

Ramon leaned forward and brushed his lips on my cheek. I shivered and wanted to taste him again, so I bent and licked his shoulder, right there at the end of his collar bone, that round muscly part tasted good, salty but sweet too.

"Tonight, mi preciosa" he said softly, reaching up to stroke my cheek with soft fingers, then turned and walked out the screen door.

I floated over to the sink, like in a dream, to watch him through the window. He moved so nice, smooth like a dancer I'd seen on the TV at cousin DJ's place. I liked the way his skin shone in the sun. My palms tingled when I remembered how smooth his flesh felt.

Poppa gave me a funny look at dinner. I felt kinda hot and sweaty, I know my cheeks were pinked. His crew ate with little talk, except to say thank you when I brought more corn bread or greens. I tried not to fidget, tried not to think about Ramon. About Ramon's hands on my body, his lips on mine. Poppa gave me a long look, his nostrils flaring slightly, but he didn't say boo.

After cleaning up, I went to my bedroom and sat staring out the window. I couldn't help wigglin' around, and every time I squeezed my legs together I felt kinda warm and tingly down there. When I stuck a finger under my drawers, the gooey mess made me think I'd pee'd myself, but when I sniffed my finger it didn't smell like pee.

That night, Poppa asked me into the parlor. I snuggled in, his big rough hands felt good, sorta comforting.

"Baby girl," he said softly, patting my knee. "You lookin' a bit off your feed today. You comin' down with somethin'?"

He squeezed my leg, just above my knee. I could feel his rough, calloused fingers, kinda scratchy, on my skin. So different from Ramon's soft hands.

"No, Poppa. I'm doin' jus' fine."

"Garcia's pup was drivin' the rig today. You see him?"

"Yes, Poppa. I gave him a glass of tea. We talked for a spell."

We sat quiet for a bit, I could feel my heart thumpin' harder. Finally, I could look up into Poppa's eyes.

"He's a nice boy, Poppa. I like him."

I felt his chest expand as he took a slow deep breath. He held it for a moment then let it out with a rush.

"We gotta talk about you and him."

I wasn't sure what there was to talk about.

"He comin' back tonight?"

"I hope so." I said it real soft, kinda squinching up my eyes, crossing my fingers Poppa wouldn't be gettin' mad, feeling surprised at his guessin' the truth.

"I know'd Ruben Garcia durn near my whole life. He's a good man; works hard, works smart. Folks say his youngest boy takes after him."

I sat up and wiggled around so I could look straight into Poppa's face. He had the saddest eyes on him I'd ever seen.

"Folks will talk if'n you take up with him."

"Talk don' hurt nobody." I felt that in my heart.

"Baby girl, I wantcha to know, you got my blessin'. Jus' don't run off, I need you here."

I put a hug on my Poppa, the mother of all hugs, around his neck. He was telling me he loved me, I knew. He'd never say the words, that was his way, but I could feel it in my bones.

"Now, you git, baby girl. Go git gussied up for your boy."

Now I'm not so sure what getting gussied up was all about. I knew cousin Darly Jean would put her hair up, rub some red lipstick on her mouth, squirt some perfume on her neck. But I didn't know beans about putting up my hair, and, sure as shootin', didn't have any red lipstick or good smellin' stuff. So I settled for a bath with the nice smelling sea shell shaped soap cousin DJ had given me for my twelfth birthday. I even washed my hair with it.

Standing in front of the mirror, brushing my hair until it shone, I looked at my tall drink of water body. I knew I was taller than most girls my age. Compared to the women on TV or in magazines, I looked like a bunch of sticks leaning in the corner. My little titties were just bumps on my flat chest. Very sensitive bumps, I might say. They was always tingling at the strangest times. I'd ask cousin DJ about that, one of these days.

I put on clean panties, my favorite pair, they had three little roses on the front. I didn't want to wear a school dress, too plain, but didn't want to wear a Sunday dress either, too frilly. Finally I picked out my white dress with little roses on it. It had buttons down the front from the square cut bodice to the hem. It felt a little tight across my chest, I had to pull the cloth together to get the top buttons into their holes. I twirled in front of the mirror, the full skirt billowing out like bunting in the breeze at the fairgrounds. I felt good, I felt pretty, I felt hungry for Ramon to see me.

I knocked on the parlor door to get Poppa's attention. He leaned over and turned down the sound coming from his old radio, and turned to look long and hard at me. I worried I had dirt on my dress or on my face, then his eyes got that sad, soft look again.

"Baby girl," he started to say around his pipe stem, then he stopped and just stared at me, nodding his head.

"That's a purty dress, LaDonna," he said, now letting his lop sided smile show.

"Thank you, Poppa," I told him, my smile so big my cheeks hurt. He'd seen it before, many times, so I knew he wasn't talkin' about the dress, but about me. He was tellin' me, in his own way, that I was pretty. My heart swelled up, fit to bust.

"I'm gonna wait on the porch," I said turning towards the door.

"Sit yonder," Poppa said, pointing to the parlor divan with his pipe stem.

I sat prim and proper, my feet and knees together like momma always usta tell me to, my hands in my lap, my back straight.

Poppa turned his radio back up. It was, as usual, the farm weather report out of Chicago. He listened to the weather news as serious as some people listened to a radio preacher man. He even wrote down something sometimes on a pad of yellow paper he kept handy.

I tried not to fidget, tried not to look at the clock every other tick. I listened to the radio voice and tried to make out the words, but my brain was too full of Ramon. I picked at a scab on my knee, trying to lift it off with a fingernail, but it hurt too much. I worried it a bit, then I heard the sound of an engine, thought I did any way. I ran out of the parlor and bent to look out the window, pulling the lace curtains wide. Yes, a pickup truck was coming slowly up the rutted lane from the road.

"Set," Poppa called, "in the parlor. I'll call you out when it's time."

Soon there was a rap on the screen door. Poppa got up out of his chair. looked at me for a long moment. I fidgeted and grinned, feeling all tingly and happy.

Again a rapping on the screen.

"I'm comin', I'm comin," Poppa growled, sending shivers down my back.

"Good evening, sir. How are you tonight?" Ramon called from the porch.

"Howdy, boy," Poppa said, holding the screen open. "Fair to middlin'."

I sat, quiet as a church mouse caught in Sunday school, holding my breath. I could see Ramon shake hands with Poppa. He looked good: nice clean khaki slacks, shiny pointy toe boots, a blue western cut shirt tight across his chest.

He and Poppa stood there talking. I couldn't make out the words, their voices so low. Ramon nodded his head a few times, then shook it, looking very serious, his smile fading. Poppa held out his hand and they shook on something they'd agreed on. Ramon's smile came back, bright on his face, his dark eyes dancing and sparkling. Thought I was all zingered out, but the one I just felt proved me wrong.

"LaDonna," Poppa called.

I got up, smoothed my skirt, and walked slowly, up on tippy toe, towards Ramon.

The look he gave me, eyes wide, smile so big, made me proud to be a girl.

He held out his hand, and I took it, trying to stay calm, relaxed. If Poppa saw me zinger, he'd maybe lock me in my room.

Ramon walked me to his red pickup truck like I was a delicate flower. He opened the door and helped me up into the seat. I wanted to kiss him so bad my brain hurt. He stood there smiling at me, an easy little smile.

"You are so pretty, LaDonna," he said, his soft brown eyes flashing.

I lurched toward him, then pulled back, not wanting for Poppa to see me kiss this lovely boy.

He stepped back and closed the door, careful to check my skirt was clear. He walked quickly around the front of the truck and climbed in.

"I'm going to kiss you," he warned, "in about two minutes, or I'll bust a gut."

I understood how he felt, I felt the same. I scooted over and leaned against his shoulder. He put his arm up and over my head, wrapping it around my shoulders.

"What did you and Poppa talk about?" I asked, admiring his profile, wanting to run my finger down his tall forehead, down his nose to his full lips.

He gave me a quick look, his dark eyes flashing in the dim light.