Chapter 19

07:10 Thursday, August 29^th, 1991

139 Meadow Ln

Novato, CA 94947

Dan was still learning where everything was. Most of the furnishings and all of the agricultural equipment had conveyed with the sale, and he was finding new things daily.

In this case, not everything he found was good. There was a hopper wagon, presumably for collecting cut grapes, and a dump wagon, presumably for fertilizer and everything else, and a small Deere tractor to pull them.

The previous owners apparently hadn't heard of oil changes, the tractor was a few hundred hours old – and a few hundred hours past-due, with the original break-in oil still in the crankcase, Dan was sure. The axles of the dump wagon squealed, and Dan figured they'd left the wagon in front of an irrigation sprinkler, forcing high-pressure water through the seals on the axle hubs.

He was coming to realize that those previous owners had been more dreamer than farmer. Dan and Kate hadn't ever met the previous owners, dealing with brokers as they had, but Dan was sure they had had competent help at the start. He wondered what the hell had happened to that competence, forcing the last owners to sell.

The boom box in the garage area was tuned to an AM station going over an agricultural report, reminding Dan of his ranch in Texas. At least here, you're doing this because you want to, not because there was no one else to do it. While Dan jacked up the axle with the screw jack from the pickup truck, the radio commentator was talking about an organized labor movement in Oregon, striking the cucumber growers for more pay, and how the labor movement wanted to use the media to tell America to boycott cucumbers.

When Dan had the bearing out, sure enough, it had water in it, forcing the grease out of it. Dan frowned. The bearing wasn't sealed, and the seal on the axle was a single-wiper type. Thinking dark thoughts at whoever left the wagon in the jet of water, Dan decided he'd need to drive to Novato at least, and maybe even Oakland, and get new sealed ABEC-5 bearings.

Of course, there wasn't any listing even remotely appropriate-seeming in the small "Community Yellow Pages" that had been in the kitchen drawer. Dan sighed, and got in the pickup, and headed back over and down the flank of the ridge toward Novato.

The strike on the cucumber farmers in Oregon seemed to have the radio crew worked up, all right. Dan was thinking about it as he pulled into a gas station, and asked to read their yellow pages. Deciding on the bearing shop in Petaluma, Dan thanked the cashier, and filled the pickup, with Regular, causing him a moment's surprise. That little rental we had took Unleaded, but they still sell Regular in California. Who knew?

Standing before the counter, Dan marveled at the airy, open nature of the shop. Wood veneer countertop, beige carpet, and framed pastels on the walls were not his idea of a machine-parts shop. Not for the first time, he realized he truly had left Texas behind.

While Dan waited for the parts man to find his bearings in the warehouse, another man came in. Dan gave him a look-over, then went back to mulling over the problem of labor and cash flow.

"Been ranching long?"

Dan was startled out of his introspection. "Haven't heard that one in a while," he said. It was something of a joke amongst ranching neighbors in Texas – all of whom knew exactly how long their neighbors had been ranching.

"Name's Rich Young. You new to these parts?" Seeing the question in Dan's eye, he explained, "Your clothes, the bearing grease, calluses, you're a rancher."

"Yep, name's Dan Collins. Moved out here from Texas, sold my ranch to my boy. Working a little with wine grapes now."

The other gave him a steady look. "You just bought the place up by Stafford Lake?"

Wary, Dan nodded. "Yes. Something I should know?"

"Nothing in particular, just the last people had big plans, but poor execution."

"What line are you in, Rich?" It was a natural question, Dan felt, between ranchers. And then the other proved him wrong.

"I'm a lawyer, Dan. Just here getting some parts for a well pump. We've got a few trellises, but beyond a hobby, we never did much with it."

Dan nodded. "It's good to know your neighbors, I guess. Where're you at?"

"Over on San Marin drive, not too far from you. We can see your place from the back nine of the golf course. I kind of like to know my neighbors."

"Yeah?" Dan asked. "Any idea where the last owners went wrong?"

Rich made an expressive noise. "Yeah, they didn't know too much about what they were doing, so they pissed off the help, and the help walked."

More or less what I thought, Dan figured. Aloud, he said, "I'm probably not going to fall into the same trap, but I'll need some help in a little while. Harvest's coming up in a bit, and I'll need some labor. Plus I have some friends pushing me into another line of work that might keep me away for some time during the weekdays."

"Heh, I know a lawyer like that, Len Donnelly. Got himself elected as Sixth Assembly District rep, had to give up a few weekdays every month. He's been nominated to the State Judiciary, so he's giving up the seat. But for your labor problems, you're better off picking your grapes with your friends and family this year, getting permits to process fruit on short notice will be hard, too."

"Not processing, just picking and transporting, which I should be OK with this year. Is the guy who walked on the old owners still around?"

"Yeah. If you give me your phone, I'll have him give you a call, I got his number back at my office."

"Okay, thanks. Who's going to replace the representative?" Dan hoped he said it as casually as the rest of the conversation.

"Only candidate is one of the commuter moms, wants to try to appropriate more tax money for schools for the commuter's kids. The tax base in the county is mostly suburbia, the various Ag and businesses aren't wild about raising taxes locally, so she's trying for State money."

"Rich, stop on over sometime, meet the wife, I'll show you around the property." Dan tore a sheet off the pad of paper used by the clerks to write down part numbers, imprinted with 'Timkin Bearings' at the top, and penned his phone number.

Dan left with ten of the sealed bearings and double-wiper axle seals, glad the shop had them, but more elated about the conversation with Rich Young.

Dan returned to find an unfamiliar car in his driveway. The 1989 Acura Legend was maroon, but nothing about it gave it any identification of its owner. Shrugging, he went in to the garage to install the bearing.

The fourth blow with the hammer on the socket he was using to drive the bearing into its seat drew an audience. "Dan, we've got company," Kate's voice floated through the interior doorway.

"Be right in, dear," he answered, and then slid the axle and flange back in, and set the setscrews. He quickly finished the job of reinstalling the wheel, and took the wagon off the jack. He got a dollop of the hand cleanser in his hands, and walked into the kitchen.

The car, he supposed, belonged to Deb, and not the tall, old guy resting against a stool next to her. Dan nodded 'hello' and went to wash off the hand cleanser. When that job was finished, he came back to do a more proper job of introducing himself.

"Hello, Deb," he said, and she offered a cheek. She wants me to kiss her. She's the biggest reason our lives have changed so much. Debate aside, Dan bemusedly gave her a peck on the cheek.

"Hello, I'm Dan," and he offered the old guy with the snow-white hair a hand.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you," the older man said. "I'm Chief Kostowe, but you should call me Jack."

Dan had some mixed emotions shaking the man's hand. He had, Dan noticed, a firm grip. "Jack, I had, still have, reservations about Lenore's boyfriend. She's spoken nothing but admiration for you, and I have to appreciate most of what you've done for her. It's really hard for me to just accept her situation, and the part you and Deb have played in engineering it." Dan took a deep breath. "Nonetheless, I am overcoming it. They're a good couple, and Lenore has never been as ... vivacious, alive, as she is now. So ... welcome to my home."