I’ll never forget that October morning watching the red and orange leaves falling to the ground. I stood by the window, thinking about getting older and closer to death. Am I like those leaves fluttering to the ground? Still not sure what came over me, but the urge to burst out of the rut I was in rose in me like a geyser. I wanted to do something wild, get away from my monotonous life, grab life by the balls and go someplace I’ve never been. I don’t usually like to take trips. I love my quiet little world in the Maine woods and remembered Thoreau’s statement, “I’ve traveled wide and far in Concord.” But this was different.
I need an adventure. I need to let go. I’ve got to get out of here. I looked around my cabin and took a deep weary sigh. I looked in the mirror and saw my longish, gray hair, my shaggy beard, my watery blue eyes and thought, I need to go somewhere new and just let loose.
So, I watered the plants, put some things in a backpack, got in my old gray Subaru and went off without any destination in mind. I stayed on back roads and turned left when an interesting looking road appeared, or turned right when another road caught my attention. I just kept driving faster than usual, but then decided to relax, slow down and wander leisurely through the countryside. I drove past farms and over hills lined with brilliant red, orange, and yellow leaves, then through thick, dark forests that opened again into wide expanses of cornfields and rolling hills. I glanced up at the chicken hawks gliding, wishing I could be as free. enjoyed seeing red barns, cows and sheep grazing, and remembered how I once thought about becoming a farmer, but got married to someone not interested in living off the land and my life went in a different direction.
After all these years of doing what was expected, getting married right out of college, having two daughters, now grown, teaching at the same school for thirty years, coming home every day to a dying marriage and finally divorcing. I was weary of the plainness and safety of my life. I loved writing my books, but often felt too locked up in my head, reading and writing, thinking and thinking. I wanted the passion of uncertainty, the freedom of not caring. I wanted surprise and adventure. I wanted to embrace the unknown.
Traveling west over narrow bumpy roads, passing through a few small towns, over railroad tracks, I passed an old general store in a town called Birch Run with a beat-up old sign that said, Hinkley’s. I wondered if I should stop for a snack, but decided not to and kept going. After driving for over four hours and getting hungry, I wished I had stopped there. It was about four o’clock, getting dark. Far from any restaurants and not sure if I’d find the general store I had passed a half hour earlier, I kept going, thinking I’d eventually find a place to get some food.
While driving, an old red covered bridge caught my eye. I screeched to a stop, not sure why, but knew I wanted to go over that bridge and see where that road took me. So I backed up and turned onto the road, crossed the rickety bridge and noticed it went over a creek with fast-moving water. It reminded me of the creek near where I grew up and fell in love with trout fishing.
The road twisted and turned and I liked the way the maple trees with their red leaves on both sides of the road created a colorful arch, almost like a magical tunnel with occasional bursts of dappled sunlight poking through the leaves. As I drove over a hill, the setting sun came through an opening and the bright glare blinded me. I panicked and gripped the steering wheel and almost went off the road into a ditch. Wow, that was close, I thought.
Then I went around a curve where the sun was no longer in my eyes, letting me see again, and I took a deep breath of relief. That’s when a small farmstand suddenly appeared ahead—actually a long table with a large yellow and green umbrella over it. It seemed strange because I was in the middle of nowhere and there didn’t seem to be much traffic on this isolated road.
I decided to stop and get some fruit. When I pulled over, I noticed a woman sitting on a folding chair behind the wooden table, reading a book. As I approached the stand, she looked up and smiled at me and said, “Hi there, mister.”
She got out of her chair and walked over and I was stunned by how gorgeous she was. It was hard to judge her age, but I guessed she was in her thirties, maybe early forties. She had long, wild auburn hair that went halfway down her back. She wore tight blue jean cutoffs with frayed edges and a low-cut orange shirt that barely contained her breasts. She was tan and had a thin waist over wide hips,t long legs, a pretty face with high cheekbones, and a radiant smile. Though I couldn’t help but notice her body, I also noticed her sparkling green eyes and how sweetly she smiled at me, like she was really happy to see someone stop.
I certainly didn’t expect to see someone so beautiful and sexy at a farm stand in the middle of nowhere. I tried not to look at her but found it impossible. What a beautiful, sexy woman, I thought, looking at her body, her smile, and entrancing eyes, before glancing at the variety of fruit and vegetables on the table.
“Nice apples,” I said, glancing at her breasts again, then back at the apples.
“Thanks, I just picked them this morning.”
“How much are they?” I tried not to look at the cleavage revealed by her low-cut shirt. She’s really built, I thought looking back at the apples.
“Twenty-five cents each.” She moved the basket of apples closer to me.
“I’ll take two of them,” I said and thought how inexpensive they were compared to where I shopped, then looked around and saw the red barn about fifty yards in back of her and over to the left, not far from the edge of the road, a white farmhouse with a wraparound front porch. A green pickup truck was parked next to a tree and then I noticed a small sign, “Maggie’s Farm,” and couldn’t help but think of the words from the Bob Dylan song about not working on Maggie’s farm no more than asked, “Is this your farm?”
“Kind of. Actually, it’s my ex-husband’s and mine. We’re squabbling over it right now.”
“I see.” I looked around again, admiring how beautiful and serene it was.
She picked up a paper bag and put the apples in it. I took my wallet out and handed her a dollar, then looked at the horse in the pasture behind the barn and further up the hill, a cow lying under an oak tree. “Nice place,” I said as I took the bag, still trying to keep my eyes off of her body and was surprised at how unselfconscious she appeared, and how she smiled when she handed me the apples.
“Do you live here alone?” I asked, still curious why a farmstand would be on this isolated road.
“Yes, but I get some help with the farm from Dad and some neighbors. He’s got a farm down the road, but mostly I keep up with everything and make do between the farmstand and my waitress job in town.”
“ You must work hard.”
Just then, she turned around and bent down to pick up a paper bag she had dropped and I couldn't help but notice how her round ass strained her tight cutoffs. When she put the paper bag back on the table her breasts were practically spilling out of her tight, low-cut orange shirt. When she stood up, she caught me looking.
She smiled, but didn’t say anything. I was getting aroused and felt my erection growing. It had been a while since I had been with a woman.
After an awkward silence, as we both looked at each other. “Would you like anything else?” She smiled slightly and gazed into my eyes, an intense, inviting gaze.
I wasn’t certain, but the way she looked at me and smiled made me think she was flirting with me—something that never happens. She kept her eyes gazing into mine and smiled.
It was impossible to not notice the nipples pushing against her snug top, but I quickly looked down at the table, embarrassed to be caught gawking.
“What would you recommend?” I asked, concentrating on the various small baskets of tomatoes, peppers, green and yellow zucchini, pears and peaches. I tried not to look at this sexy woman but felt the bulging in my jeans and wanted to hide it.
“Well,” she paused, “let me see.” She leaned over the table and picked up a large peach. While reaching, she looked up at me, then at the bulge in my jeans which I tried to hide behind my bag of apples. She held out the peach. “I bet you would like to eat something wet and juicy,” she said, smiling, looking me in the eyes, then glancing again at my bag-covered crotch.
I could not believe what was happening to me. Is she teasing me? I wondered, baffled by her words and the way she looked at me.
“I’ll take the peach,” I said, trying to keep the conversation on the topic of fruit. She leaned forward with the peach in her hand. “Here, open the bag and I’ll treat you to a peach.”
“Thanks.”
I held out the bag while she dropped the peach in, smiling, looking into my eyes, but I knew she saw the tent in my jeans. There was no way to hide what was happening to me.
“I’ll pay you for the peach,” I said, trying not to look at the nipples poking out of her tight, low cut shirt. While reaching for my wallet, I looked at her smiling face and said, “By the way, you have a nice smile.”
“Well, thank you, mister. You have a nice smile, too.”
“Really? Oh, thank you.” I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a conversation like this with a woman, let alone a sexy, beautiful woman. I wanted this interaction to continue, but no words came to my mind. Eat something wet and juicy went through my mind. Was she being suggestive, or was I reading something into it that wasn’t there?
We just stood there looking at each other.
“It must be hard keeping a farm like this going all by yourself,” I finally said.
“It is, but the work isn’t the hard part. It’s after work that’s hard. It’s going into the house and not having a man around.”
I didn’t say anything, but noticed how she was looking at me, surprised that she’d said that and wondered where this conversation was heading.
Then she asked, “So, what brings you this way?”
“ Good question. I don’t even know where I am. I just felt a need to take a trip and get away from my everyday life.”
“I know what you mean.” She nodded, indicating she understood, and then a slight smile crossed her lips. “You needed a little escape.”
“ I guess so.” I nodded and took a deep breath.
“ You look like a nice man, like someone who deserves a good time.”
“Thanks, maybe that’s what I’m looking for…a good time. I think I need an adventure.” I felt emboldened by her suggestive compliment.
“Good for you. Going after what you need and want is important.” She smiled at me and bit her lower lip. “I believe it’s important to go after what you need, but out here, it’s not always easy to get what you need…If you know what I mean.”
We looked at each other and I suspected something hot brewing between us.
I looked over at the sign. “You must be Maggie,” I said, wishing I could think of something clever to say, but no other words came.
“Yes, that’s me,” she nodded. “What’s your name?” she asked, not taking her eyes from mine.
“Thom. Thom with an ‘h.’”
“Oh, Thom with an ‘h’,” she repeated and extended her hand for a handshake. “Glad to meet you.” She smiled and her sparkling green eyes looked deep into mine.
We shook hands. “Nice to meet you, too, Maggie,” I said, enjoying the way she held onto my hand for a moment before slowly letting go. I noticed a silver ring on her index finger and thought that was unusual.
“ So you’re on an adventure,” Maggie said. “Where are you heading?”
“Good question. I’m not heading anywhere.”
“Cool, that’s really cool.” She smiled and nodded her approval.
When she said cool, I wondered if she was a hippie.
“How long have you had this farm?”
“Been here ten years or so. My husband and I were ‘back-to-the-landers.’ A bunch of us got this farm, but I’m the only one left. The others couldn’t handle the work and isolation. My husband and I tried to keep it going, but we couldn’t agree on anything. We squabbled all the time. He drank a lot and we decided to go our separate ways.”
“That's too bad. So what's was the squabble about, if you don't mind my asking?”
“He wants to sell it so he can get on with his life, but I don’t want to sell and can’t buy him out. Luckily we don’t have kids.”
“Too bad, but it must be good having your dad nearby.”
“It is and that’s another reason I want to stay here. I love this place and being near my family. I grew up around here.”
“I didn’t mean to get personal with you.”
“ That’s okay. It’s nice talking to you.” She smiled again. “You have a nice face. I like your eyes and it’s cool you took off like that with no destination. I like that about a man—someone who takes chances.”
“Well, thanks. It’s a little weird, but who knows what might happen.”
“Right, who knows what might happen,” she repeated, smiling and gazing into my eyes. “What would you like to happen, got any ideas?”
I couldn’t tell if she was flirting with me, being seductive, or was genuinely interested in what I was saying. I had never been in a situation like this, so I decided to just go along for the ride and see where it led.
“You were right when you asked if I’d like to eat something wet and juicy.” I looked into her eyes, feeling bolder.
“I know. I usually can tell what a man wants,” she added, glancing down at the bulge in my pants before looking into my eyes with that playful smile on her lips.
“I haven’t had anything wet and juicy for a long time,” I added. “So thanks for the peach.”
I couldn’t believe we were teasing each other with our looks and playful words, but here I was on this isolated farm, entering a fantasy, saying things to a sexy woman who seemed like she wanted something to happen, but I wasn’t sure. Maybe it was my imagination working overtime. I didn’t know, but I definitely wanted to find out.
She smiled then turned and walked over to her chair, swaying her hips. Her round ass looked so good straining those tight cutoffs, the edge of her cheeks showing. She sat down and spread her legs wide apart, revealing her crotch. She smiled up at me and bit her lower lip again. “I bet you’d like to eat something other than the peach.”
She stretched out her long legs and leaned back in the chair. I stood in front of the farmstand, not believing what she’d just said. I looked at her crotch and felt myself getting even harder. I looked up and down the road, then back at Maggie sitting there with her legs spread apart, teasing me, inviting me. I don't believe this is happening.
I took a deep breath, gathering my nerve, put my bag down on the table and walked around the edge of the table to where she was sitting. Standing between her open legs, I looked down at her. She glanced at the bulge in my jeans, and then at my eyes and smiled. As she leaned back, her nipples were practically poking through her tight shirt. Her large breasts looked so luscious. I was just about to get down on my knees between her legs when she asked, “Would you like to see the barn?”
“The barn,” I repeated, looking down at her crotch, my hard erection straining my jeans. I wanted to get down on my knees and devour her. I’d never been so aroused. “The barn,” I repeated and swallowed. “Oh, sure, I’d like to see your barn.”
“Great, come on, follow me.” Her body grazed mine as she walked past me.
Damn, she’s a tease.
She was in front of me as we walked to the barn, her round ass and hips swaying from side to side. Man, do I want to fuck her. I was surprised to hear those words in my brain and felt like I was a different person. Maggie was bringing something out in me—something wild that I didn’t know existed. I don’t believe this is happening to me, I thought, as we entered the barn.
“Nice barn,” I said, looking around at the stalls, the straw, a few hens pecking in the dirt, a saddle resting on a hay bale and out in the pasture, the horse grazing and the cow lying under a big oak tree.
“Yes, I love this barn and this farm,” she said, looking around the barn and a softer expression flickered on her face, one of appreciation, and I glimpsed another side of her, someone serious and passionate, not just sexy and alluring. She looked back at me, her smile returning, her seductive eyes looking into mine. “Follow me,” she said, motioning with a slight cock of her head, that tantalizing smile luring me.
We went to the rear of the barn and climbed a ladder to the loft where several bales of hay were stacked in a corner. It was dark up there except for some sunlight peeking through cracks in the roof.
“Let’s get stoned,” she said and took a joint out of her jeans pocket.
I hadn’t smoked pot for years, but said, “Why not? I’m on an adventure.”
“Right,” Maggie said, lighting the joint. “And so am I.” She sat down on a hay bale, then patted the place next to her, inviting me to sit.
I was intrigued by her comment and wondered what she meant. She took a hit and passed it to me. I coughed as soon as I inhaled.
“Take your time,” she said and grinned.
I took another hit, passed it to her and coughed again.
“Nothing like fucking when you’re stoned,” she said, after inhaling and holding the smoke in, then releasing a little.
I was stunned by the bluntness of her language and how in control of the situation she was. I managed to get a few good hits without coughing. It didn’t take long, but I was definitely stoned. My whole body was relaxing except for the throbbing in my jeans.
Maggie found a blanket and covered a few bales of hay with it. I looked at her ass as she bent over and felt myself getting harder and bigger. Maggie sat down on one of the bales. “So what were you saying about wet and juicy?”
She smiled and took another hit, then handed me the joint and leaned back on her arms, her legs spread wide apart, her tight cutoffs pressing against her crotch. “Getting high gets me so horny.”
I’d never heard a woman say so bluntly what she wanted and wondered if this was real, or if I had entered an erotic fantasy. She reached for me, pulling me closer, and put her hand on the back of my head and we kissed, gently at first, then harder, her tongue opening my mouth, and suddenly, our kissing grew fierce with passion. She lay on her back, spreading her legs and pulled me on top of her and we began grinding against each other, kissing madly, our lust growing.
Then she pushed me up and off of her, unbuttoned her tight cutoffs and squirmed out of them. I quickly stood up and saw the thick curly reddish hair between her legs, then looked into her stoned, hungry eyes and took off my jeans. She looked at my hard cock sticking straight out as she leaned back, spreading her legs again. “Come on, Thom, if you want something wet and juicy.”
“That’s it, spread your legs for me,” I said, surprised to hear myself talk like that, but I was stoned, my mind and body swirling with lust.
Come on, Thom, eat me,” she said, drawing me to her with her hungry eyes.
Her dirty talking got me even hotter. I was losing control and didn’t care where my adventure was taking me. I wanted to let go of all inhibitions.
On my knees, my hands on her soft smooth thighs, I lifted her legs over my shoulders, the musky aroma of her wetness drawing my mouth to her. I started licking her, lapping up her juices, while she moaned and arched her back and pushed herself against my tongue. “Harder. Come on, eat me!”
Her words urged me on. My tongue darted deep into her dripping pussy. Her fingers gripped my hair, pulling me into her. She wrapped her strong legs around my back and lifted her ass off the hay bale, trying to get my tongue even deeper. Her writhing and loud moaning forced me to thrust my tongue harder and deeper. My mouth found her clit and started sucking and licking, causing her to jolt and shudder with each swipe of my tongue.
“Oh, fuck, I’m cumming, I’m cumming, Oh, yesss!” she screamed, lifting her ass off the hay bale. Her body tensed and trembled before exploding into huge convulsions which caused her to scream even louder. Her writhing and thrusting and ecstatic yelling urged me to keep going. Finally, she collapsed, while I gave her a few more licks, devouring her juicy wetness and loved her panting and gasping.
I got on my knees, hovering over her, and moved the head of my cock up and down her wet pussy lips, playing with her, teasing her and loving the intense sensation of her wet pussy on my hard cock. She placed her feet flat on the hay bale and lifted herself, pushing her pussy against my cock. “Stop teasing me. I want it now.”
I liked playing with her, driving her crazy, teasing her, being in control, looking into her eyes, loving the pleasure on her face. “You really want me to fuck you, don’t you?” I said, boldly, moving my cock up and down her pussy lips. “You really want it bad, don’t you?”
“Yes,” she gasped.
“Beg for it!” I said, surprised at the person I had become.
She wrapped her legs around me, her ankles at my ass and tried pulling me into her. “Just fuck me!”
“Say it again. Beg for it. Tell me what you want,” I said, my cock hovering just above her pussy, surprised that I was talking this way to her. It was so unlike me, but I liked it, liked having her begging, liked having this hungry sex-starved woman under me, screaming at me to fuck her.
“Give it to me! I can’t stand this. Don’t tease me! Please, fuck me!”
Maggie lifted her hips up from the hay bale, her hands grabbed and squeezed my ass, her legs wrapped around my back. It was all I could do not to pounce and thrust my cock into her. I was out of my mind with lust and suddenly, I couldn’t hold back and rammed my cock into her, driving her back to the hay bale with one hard thrust. Her screaming made me thrust again and again, harder, faster and deeper.
“Fuck me harder! Give it to me, harder. Harder! Fuck me harder, damn it. Do me harder!”
Her words, her screaming, her telling me what she wanted urged me on. My cock was like a red hot piston. We were fucking like wild animals.
“I want to be on top. I want to ride you!”
Managing to stay on the hay bale, I rolled onto my back and pulled her on top. She was on her knees, lifting herself just above my cock then came down hard, impaling herself and screaming, “Oh, my God!” Sitting straight up, she rode me faster and faster, harder and harder, her tits bouncing, her wild hair flailing, riding me like I was a bucking bronco, forcing my cock deeper and screaming at the top of her lungs. She rode me hard, like she was galloping, her head thrown back, looking up and screaming at the sun coming through the barn roof. I sensed she was on the verge of a huge orgasm.
I grabbed her waist, lifted her and brought her down even harder, filling her. Suddenly, I felt my legs tremble, my orgasm building, rising slowly. She rode me harder, faster, then tensing, trembling, and screaming, her whole body shuddered as a huge orgasm swept over her. “Oh my God…Oh, fuckkk!” She lifted herself up again and came down with my cock deep in her, then collapsed on top of me. Knowing I wasn’t far behind, I flipped her over onto her back, got between her legs and rammed my cock into her, pounding her harder, ram, ram, ram. “Take my cock! Take it! Take it!”
Both of us looked deep into each other's crazed eyes, and with that final hard thrust, my swollen cock erupted in an overwhelming orgasm, my hot sperm shooting into her overflowing pussy just as she exploded again in another intense orgasm with both of us writhing in ecstasy before I collapsed on her, my cock deep in her clutching pussy milking the last of my hot cum. She kissed my ears, my cheeks, my nose, my neck, my shoulder, then held me to her. We didn't budge and lay there, panting and gasping for air.
“What just happened?” I finally said, smiling down at her.
“We fucked! We had an adventure.” She laughed. “See what can happen when you just let go?”
“Life is full of surprises, isn’t it?” I said, still trying to catch my breath.
“Only if you let it be.” She smiled and pulled me into a warm embrace. We lay there quietly, catching our breath, her breasts crushed against my chest, and I loved the warmth of her body under me. It had been such a long time since I had experienced anything like that.
“So where are you off to now?” she asked after a few quiet minutes had passed.
“I don’t know. I’ll have to tell you on my way back.”
“I’ll be here.” She nodded, looking up at me, and then a subtle smile crossed her lips as if she was thinking, but she didn’t say anything. What is she thinking? I wondered.
We got up and put our clothes back on and hugged again before we walked down to the farm stand. I looked back at the barn and over at the farmhouse, then at the sign, Maggie’s Farm. We didn’t speak. I picked up my bag of fruit and we looked at each other. I stood there feeling awkward and not knowing what to say, when suddenly, she reached for my hand. “Stay for dinner,” she said, softly. “Come on. You haven’t anything better to do, do you?”
“Well, not really and that sounds like a good idea, since it’s late and I sure worked up an appetite and could use something more than an apple and a juicy peach.”
“Cool, I’ve got a chicken ready to put in the oven and I got the fixings for a salad. I have some nice delicious wine and it’s going to be getting dark in another hour, so I think you’d be smart to stay for dinner.”
“Want me to help you with the farm stand—help put things away?”
“Nah, I’ll just leave it ‘till tomorrow. No one will be coming by. No one’s going to steal anything.”
I followed Maggie up to the house, glancing around at the farm, noticing the apple orchard on one side and a little further up a hill, a few peach trees, then out behind the house, a large field with corn and sunflowers. In the distance, I could see rolling hills covered with the orange and red leaves of autumn. It seemed that I had entered paradise. It was so beautiful and I suddenly realized as I walked behind her, noticing how she looked in those tight cut-offs with her hips swaying slightly, that she was a lot more than a sexy woman, and I wondered if I had stumbled into something I did not expect when I’d suddenly taken off earlier in the day.
When we entered the house, she led me into the kitchen and turned to me. “I’m going to put the chicken in the oven, then take a quick shower and I’m not inviting you to join me.” She laughed. “I don’t want you to get the wrong impression of me.”
“That’s fine. I’ll just poke around and make myself comfortable and don’t worry about right or wrong impressions. I’m not a judgmental person.”
She came over to me and kissed me gently on the lips. “You’re a sweet man. I’ll be down in a few minutes and we can get to know each other in a little different way than in the barn.”
After she dashed away, I looked around the kitchen, noticing a bowl of apples, pears, and peaches on the round oak table and next to it, a vase with cosmos, zinnias and a few flowers I didn’t recognize. A loaf of crusty bread that I assumed she had baked sat out on the counter and hanging from the ceiling in the pantry I noticed various strands of herbs drying. I also saw a big blue kettle and canning jars next to it and, on the shelves, several rows of tomatoes and pickles in jars.
I walked into the living room and saw a big stone fireplace with a wood stove in front of it. A long green couch with worn cushions, several other soft chairs, and an old rocking chair were facing the fireplace. I noticed a floor-to-ceiling bookcase and went over to browse. It was quite an impressive library with many classics. I looked at a few of the books and could see that they had been read. Certain pages were dog-eared and a few had notes written in the margins.
Then I noticed a smaller room, glanced in and saw a small desk with an old typewriter and was surprised she didn’t have a laptop. I noticed what looked like a manuscript of easily three hundred pages. There was an old coffee can filled with pens, pencils and a pair of scissors and I wondered if Maggie was a writer.
A few minutes later, I heard her coming down the stairs and met her in the kitchen. She was wearing a clean pair of tight faded jeans, sandals, and a white low-cut blouse covered by a large green flannel shirt, unbuttoned and falling well below her hips. Her auburn hair was still wet and not as soft and fluffy as before, but I liked how unselfconscious she seemed.
“It’ll be getting chilly soon and this is my favorite shirt—even if it is a little large.” Then she picked up the bottle of wine. “This is apple wine my dad made. You’re going to love it. She poured it into two juice glasses. “Sorry, I broke the last wine glass about a month ago.”
“To life, love, and lust,” she said, clicking my glass.
“I’ll drink to that.” Then I added, “To adventure!”
She chuckled and we sipped our wine, standing in the middle of her kitchen, until she said, “Okay, Thom. It’s time to make a salad.” She opened the refrigerator and brought out a head of lettuce, a cucumber, and a green pepper, grabbed a red onion from a basket near the pantry and a large tomato from a basket on the counter. She handed me a knife. “How about you slicing the onion?” And she picked up the tomato and started slicing it.
“You like to take charge, don’t you?”
“Not really. I just like getting things done and know what I want and also what I don’t want.” She laughed. “I like working together with someone and being on the same page. That’s why our little communal experiment didn’t work and why my marriage went south. We weren’t on the same page and I would get upset when people wouldn’t do what needed to get done. It was frustrating as hell.”
“You seem like a determined person,” I said, while slicing the onion.
“Kind of, I guess, but you have to be determined when you have a farm and it’s up to you to grow food and get by. There aren’t any shortcuts and that old farm adage, ‘You reap what you sow’ is true.” She looked up at me and shook her head. “I learned that the hard way.”
“You did? What do you mean, the hard way?”
She took a deep breath and let out a sigh. “Well, a little over ten years ago, a bunch of friends, my husband Richard and I decided to get out of the system and grow our own food and live together communally. You know, share everything. We were idealistic and thought we could make it work, but after getting off to a gang-busters start, it didn’t take long to see the romantic notion of living off the land turn into hard work. My dad sold us this farm, mainly because he was glad I was back in the area and not hitchhiking around the world with Richard…whom he never liked, by the way.”
I listened, nodding, slicing the onions, my eyes tearing, fascinated by what she was saying and how she was the only one left on the farm.
“See, I grew up on a farm and knew it was hard work, but they all grew up in the city and most of them came from well-to-do families and got whatever they needed with little effort. I’ve never had it that way, and I think that’s why I’m still here and they aren’t.”
“Yes, but you said you and your husband are squabbling. He wants to sell the farm and you don’t.”
“Right, and there’s no way I’ll sell this farm and leave it. I’m determined to do what I have to do to stay here. I’ll never leave. Never!”
During our delicious dinner, we continued talking, learning about each other, sharing stories, listening, nodding, asking questions. She told me again how she grew up on the farm but couldn’t wait to leave and go to college, travel, live in the city, experience other cultures. She related how she and Richard had traveled to Europe, staying in hostels, camping, working on farms in the south of France, where she learned the raised bed method of farming she uses, how they went to Woodstock and rejected the whole bourgeois scene.
I thought she must be older than she looked because Woodstock was over forty years ago. I was in my late twenties when that event happened, and she seemed too young to have gone to it, but when I asked her how she could have gone to Woodstock, she seemed bewildered and disconcerted by my question. “Maybe I’m older than you think, but let’s not go there.” I was baffled by her statement, but let it pass when she suddenly grabbed my hand and said, “Let’s go outside and look at the stars.”
When we went out onto the porch, she took another joint out of her shirt pocket and we got high again. We had our shoes off and walked barefooted out onto the cool grass, and even though there was a full moon, the sky was brilliant with millions of stars. Neither of us spoke as we gazed into the universe, and I remembered a line from a poem of mine and recited, “Something in me glistens at the hugeness of our insignificance.”
She smiled and nodded. “Yes, we are, aren’t we—huge in our insignificance.” She looked at me then back up at the stars and sighed deeply. We were quiet and I watched her looking up at the stars, and though it was dark, she seemed radiant in the pale light of the moon with a faint silver glow on her hair. She smiled when she turned and gazed into my eyes before she said, “I’m glad you’re here.”
“I am, too,” I responded, loving the quiet and stillness and feeling amazed at how my sudden taking off earlier in the day had brought me to this place. She took my hand and pulled me into her arms and we kissed. I loved how she felt in my arms as we embraced. After several minutes she looked up at me. “I don’t know what will happen with us, but we have this night and that’s what matters.”
“Yes, one day at a time,” I said, pausing, thinking about her words, and then remembered an old song and, corny as it sounds, I sang in my not very good voice, the part of the song that described how we just have tonight and we may never meet again and how tomorrow may never come, for all we know.”
“I know that song, ' For All We Know.' I love that song.” She smiled. “It was in a World War Two movie from the forties.”
We stood quietly, holding hands, and I loved the way it felt being there with her and wondered what was happening with us. Was I falling in love? Where would this end? Was this a dream? And again I thought, things like this don’t happen in real life and especially not to me.
When we went back to the house, she opened a drawer in the cupboard and pulled out a deck of cards. “These are tarot cards. I want to do a reading for you,” she said and sat down at the kitchen table.
“So you know how to read tarot cards?”
“Of course, I’m a witch.”
“You’re a witch. Is that so?”.
“Don’t worry. I’m a good witch, not an evil one,” she said, patting the cards.
I looked at her and thought about the Salem Witch Trials and the toil and boil witches in Macbeth, but was bewildered by her announcement.
“I’m a white witch,” she said, shuffling the cards before dividing them into three piles. “A white witch is one who knows things and is a healer, a teacher. It’s important that you want me to read your cards. You have to be willing to hear what the cards tell you. Do you want me to read for you? I must have your permission”
“Okay, you have my permission,” I said, nodding, becoming more bewildered and fascinated by Maggie.
“Now look at the three piles and with your left hand, the hand of the subconscious, select a card and that will be your card.”
At first, I reached for the card in the middle pile, and then suddenly changed my mind and picked one from the pile next to it. I saw a picture that looked like a beggar carrying a pole over his shoulder with a bag tied to the end.
Ah yes, the Fool. I’m not surprised that you picked that card.” She smiled and nodded.
“You think I’m a fool?” I asked, stunned.
“Not at all, the Fool is a wonderful card. The Fool has all of his possessions in one pack and travels but does not know where he is. He is filled with visions, questions, wonder, and excitement and often doesn’t see the cliff where he might fall off. The bag on the staff means that he has all that he needs to do anything he wants. He is on his way to a new beginning. He only has to stop and unpack.”
“But why is he called the Fool?
“Because if he is not careful, he could fall and look like he’s a fool.” She took the card from me and closed her eyes, then held it to her heart. “There’s more than I could say, but I think I have said enough for now.”
“Wait a minute, tell me more,” I asked, fascinated. “Do you think I’m a fool?”
“Do you really want to know your future?” she asked, placing the card back on the pile, her eyes looking into mine.
“Maybe,” I responded and remembered my backpack in the car.
“Did you think about your future when you took off in your car today?” she asked, putting the three piles together and resting her hand on top.
“No, I just wanted to get away and see where I ended up. I didn’t know where I was going”
“Then that’s what you should do. The important thing is to go where your heart takes you. Don’t worry. Don’t be afraid of the future, Thom. It’s worrying that gets in the way of the good things that can come to you—the magic that can happen.” She took my hand and brought it to her lips and kissed it.
I closed my eyes, feeling her soft lips on my hand, her words resonating, letting me relax and melt into the present, and then I remembered the words of another old song that said, whatever will be will be and how the future’s not ours to see. At the moment I forgot about the possibility of the cliffs that might be ahead.
She picked up the bottle of apple wine and poured the last of it into our juice glasses. We sipped, but neither of us spoke as we gazed into each other's eyes.
“Let’s dance,” she said a few minutes later and took my hand and we went into the living room. I hadn’t noticed it before, but she went over to a turntable sitting on an amplifier. Next to it was a big speaker and on the opposite wall, another speaker. I remembered having a stereo system like that years ago when I was first married in the Sixties. She went over to a pile of record albums on the floor and picked one up. “This is Vivaldi, one of my favorites. I love the Four Seasons and play it every day, especially when I am baking or canning.”
“That’s one of my favorites, too.” I was surprised to see an old record album and realized that most people, including me, had CDs and thought it interesting that she had old vinyl records.
She picked up another album and showed me the cover. It was a picture of Frank Sinatra wearing a fedora-like hat on the back of his head and a trench coat over his shoulder and I remembered that album.
“It’s great that you still have these old vinyl records,” I said and watched her put the record on the turntable, but before playing it, she went into her small office off of the living room and again, I noticed the old typewriter and the large manuscript next to it. When she came back with a box of matches, she turned off the lamp and started lighting the candles.
“So, are you a writer?” I asked, still surprised to see the typewriter and not a computer or laptop.
“Yes, I’ve always written but I've never published. Lots of poetry, but I just finished a memoir,” she said, while lighting the candles, and then went over and carefully put the needle on the Frank Sinatra record and we started dancing. We put our arms around each other and moved slowly, swaying, holding each other.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d held a woman and danced. I loved feeling her breasts against my chest, the fragrant smell of her hair, our cheeks touching, the sound of the violins filling the room, the words and the dark room with candles glowing. It was so warm and romantic; the opposite of how we were in the barn. I glanced up and saw our shadows on the wall reflected from the candlelight. She moved her hands from my shoulders to my ass and I did the same as we swayed, slowly grinding into each other, barely moving, and then we stopped and kissed, at first gently, then more passionately.
Without saying anything, she went over to the turntable and put the Vivaldi album on, took my hand and we went upstairs to her bedroom. She lit several candles and for a few minutes we stood at her bedroom window and looked out at the farm bathed in moonlight before she turned and we embraced, kissing each other tenderly, then more intensely, our tongues swirling. She lifted my sweater over my head and I took her green flannel shirt from her shoulders and we slowly undressed each other in the pale light of the moon coming through the window.
We fell onto the bed, holding each other, kissing, our passion rising, my body on hers, then her body on mine, moving slowly together as if we were still dancing. For a moment we stopped and gazed into each other's eyes. I was on top, cradled between her legs.
“I don’t want this to end.” She looked up at me.
I smiled and nodded.
“Thom, make love to me, make love to me.”
I entered her slowly, moving deeper, her legs and arms embracing me, holding me in her warm wetness, both of us moving as one, the exquisite sensation growing as the music of Vivaldi came up the stairs, building to a crescendo, urging us to move faster and harder until I felt her body tensing, trembling and suddenly exploding as a huge orgasm swept over her, and the sound of her screaming “Yes,” filled the room, followed by the ecstatic intensity of my voice, “I’m cumming! I’m cumming!” Writhing as I filled her with gushes of my hot cum, her legs held me in place with my cock deep in her. I couldn’t budge, but could only lay there panting with her warmth under me. When I rolled onto my back, I gathered her in my arms with her head on my shoulder, her leg draped over mine. We didn’t speak. The room was quiet, the music had stopped and there we were, feeling the warmth of our bodies in the silence and dim light of the candles.
The next morning when I woke up, she was gone. I leaped out of bed and went to the window and saw her coming back from the barn, carrying a bucket in one hand and a basket of eggs in the other. I put on my jeans, went into the bathroom, peed, and looked at myself in the mirror, then splashed water on my face, gulping a drink in the cup of my hand, and then went down to the kitchen just as the screen door slammed.
“Hi there, sleepyhead,” she said, placing the bucket of milk on the floor next to the sink and the basket of eggs on the counter. She opened the oven and with a thick potholder pulled out a batch of muffins. “How about an apple cinnamon muffin with homemade butter, some strong coffee and a batch of Maggie’s special scrambled eggs?”
She went to the refrigerator, pulled out a plate of yellow butter and placed it on the table. I was dazzled by her energy and efficiency.
“Maggie, you’re amazing.” I was unable to take my eyes off of her.
“You’re right. I'm amazing.” She chuckled and started pouring the milk from the bucket through a filter into a big gallon jar, then efficiently made the scrambled eggs and within ten minutes we clicked our coffee mugs and had a delicious breakfast.
While putting things in the sink, she turned to me while I sat at the table. She looked so beautiful standing there, her long auburn hair halfway down her back, dressed in her faded jeans and baggy flannel shirt, those green eyes now looking at me with a serious expression before speaking.
“I want you to stay here, Thom.”
“Wow, this is so sudden. We just met.”
“We belong together. I know that.” She looked into my eyes. “And I’m never wrong.”
Her words took my breath away. I was stunned and suddenly felt my heart swell. I got up and went over to her and we hugged, holding each other. I couldn’t believe what was happening to me.
“I think I’d like to stay. I’ve never met anyone like you and I’ve always wanted to be a farmer. I would love nothing more than to be here with you.”
“That would make me so happy,” she said, and kissed me.
“I’d have to go back to my cabin, close things up, get my things and I could come back tonight or tomorrow. That is, if I can find my way back. I have no idea where I am.”
“Well, I have an old map and you can find out and figure out a route. I know you just took off and didn’t know where you were going.”
“Well, it looks like I ended up in a pretty magical place,” I said, looking around the kitchen, then into her eyes, feeling a huge smile on my face.
She opened up the big road map book of Maine, turned a few pages and pointed to the spot on the map. “Here we are just outside of Birch Run.”
I looked down at the map and turned the page to see if I could find another section that showed where I lived and when I did, I traced the roads, looking at the route numbers and saw that I was not as far away as I had originally thought and became certain I could find my way back.
“I’ve got a lot to do back at my cabin, but I don’t need that much and I can be back tomorrow morning, I bet.”
“See, the tarot cards were right. You are definitely the Fool and that’s good.”
“I guess,” I said, still thinking about her definition of the Fool, but then wondered if I was being foolish to suddenly pick up my life and move to this farm in the middle of nowhere to be with someone I had just met. “I can’t believe I’m going to do this.”
“You’re pretty amazing, too,” she said and put her arms around me. We kissed, our lips opening, our tongues moving faster. We kissed and just as we started getting aroused, I stopped.
“I think I better get on the road. If we keep kissing, I’m not sure when I’d leave.”
“Well, okay, you might be right.” She laughed, but stole a quick kiss.
Leaving the dishes soaking, she walked me out to my car parked in front of the farm stand. I glanced over at her old green truck, then at the sign Maggie’s Farm and looked up at the white house glowing in the morning sunlight where I would soon be living and again we hugged.
“See you tomorrow, my love,” I said, then drove back down the narrow road, over the old covered wooden bridge and remembered how it had suddenly caught my eye, then backed up and took that road over the bridge. I remembered the dazzling sunlight blinding me and how I almost lost control of the car before I saw the farmstand and then Maggie looking sexy and seductive.
After about twenty minutes, I stopped at Hinkley’s General Store and asked the old gray-haired guy at the counter if he knew the best way to find Route 195. I knew that was a more direct way to my cabin than the winding, haphazard way I ended up at Maggie’s.
He told me how I should go. I thanked him and bought a pack of mints. I wasn’t hungry after that big breakfast and thought I’d be home in two hours or so. I took off the way he told me and my mind was swirling with all that had happened. I turned on the radio to listen to some classical music on public radio, but barely listened, as I thought about everything that had transpired—how sexy Maggie looked when I drove up, our wild sex in the hayloft, then how I stayed for dinner, got stoned and looked up at the stars with her.
I remembered dancing in the dark candlelit room before making the most exquisite love of my life. I thought about suddenly leaving my cabin, not knowing where I was going, and then, out of the blue, meeting the most amazing woman I had ever known. I couldn’t wait to get home and return to her the next day and begin my new life. Again, I thought about Bob Dylan’s song about not working on Maggie’s Farm no more, but that’s just what I was going to do. The thought made me laugh.
At home, I got busy. I put a lot of straw mulch on my garden, even though I was abandoning it. I put things away, even swept the floor before putting all of my manuscripts in a box and packing up my laptop and printer. I called an old friend and asked if she wanted my plants, and told her that I was leaving and to take the food in the refrigerator. She could just come over and get them when she had time. I never locked my cabin. No one did where I lived, and I thought, if someone did break in, they could have whatever they wanted. Where I was going, I would have everything I needed. I figured I would come back from time to time and check on things.
That night, I had difficulty sleeping. My mind was so full of thoughts—my good luck, how quickly one’s life can change, and how I now had the love of my life. I got up early and made my way back to Maggie’s farm.
On the way, I listened to the radio and was amazed that public radio was playing Vivaldi’s Four Seasons. I turned it up loud and felt the music going through me. A few times, I took one hand from the steering wheel and gestured as if I was conducting the orchestra.
I drove past Hinkley’s General Store, excited that I was getting closer and found the covered bridge, drove up and over the hill, my heart leaping, knowing that around the next bend I would see Maggie’s farmstand. When I looked ahead I didn’t see the green and yellow umbrella or the table. I kept driving, thinking I must have missed it, but couldn’t imagine how. I turned around and drove back, slowing down, then stopped when I noticed a beat up old For Sale sign where I was sure her farm was. I saw high brown grass, the barn looked like it was falling apart with the roof sinking in, and then I looked at the dilapidated farmhouse, seeing the paint peeling, a shutter on the second floor hanging loosely, vines growing up over the roof of the porch, leaves, and debris covering the entrance to the house. The old green pickup truck had two flat tires and was mostly rust.
I panicked, not knowing what to think, completely confused, in fact, crazed at what I was seeing. I got out and looked at the faded phone number on the For Sale sign, thinking it was the number of the real estate agent. I stood there for several minutes, bewildered, not knowing what to do. I got back in my car and just sat there looking at the overgrown grass and the paint peeling from the old farmhouse. After about ten minutes, I drove back over the wooden bridge, and then to Hinkley’s General Store. I had the name and number of the real estate office and thought I would call to find out what happened to the farm.
When I went up to the old guy at the counter, he looked up from the magazine he was reading, and when I asked if I could use his phone to call the real estate office and showed him the name. He looked at it, then back at me. “They ain’t around here anymore. Why do you want to call them?”
I told him I wanted to know what happened to the old farm on Bridge Road.
He said, “I don’t know nothin’ about that farm, it’s been empty for years.”
Just then, an old woman with a cane came into the store and said, “Hello, Leland,” then walked past us to the rear of the store. I glanced at her rounded back, her long black dress. Her white hair was tied loosely in a bun and I thought maybe she'd know something. She came back to the counter with a container of ice cream and put it down.
“Put this in a bag and add this to my account. I’ll get to you at the end of the month.”
“Excuse me,” I said, “Do you know anything about the old abandoned farm on Bridge Road?”
She looked up at me with a puzzled expression, squinting, nodding as if she was remembering. “You must mean the old Maggie O’Donnell farm,” she said. “Sad about that,” she sighed. “Nice woman, worked hard. I remember they tried having some kind of commune there a long time ago, but then it all fell apart. They found her dead about twenty some years ago. Said she was murdered by her husband—seems they were fighting over the farm. He went off to prison and because of what had happened, no one wanted the place and there it is falling into the ground.”
I was stunned by the story, thanked her and went out to my car and must have sat there for twenty minutes thinking about what I’d just heard and what had happened to me the day before.
I drove home, not listening to the radio, staring straight ahead, my mind trying to comprehend what I had experienced, but also feeling how much I loved Maggie, someone who existed in my life yesterday and was now gone and had been for over twenty years.
When I got home, I made myself a cup of tea and stood at the window and looked out at the orange, yellow and red leaves falling to the ground, covering the flowerbeds, the rocks and the path leading up to my front door. I knew I was being foolish feeling I had lost the love of my life, as I stood at the window, tears in my eyes, knowing I would never be the same.
