Drawn in Dew

Before disembarking on the morning hunt, the Doughertys each draw me a trail map, one traced on the jeep’s dew-covered window, another sketched in pencil. In the fields, Mr. Dougherty tells me stories of his great grandfather. How his cry of “by Jove, boy!” struck fear in young Mr. Dougherty’s heart. How he lived his ninety-eight years in full health, drinking schnapps and smoking cigars. And how, shirtless upon his deathbed, his scarred shoulders evidenced his labor as a blacksmith assistant. The story charmed me, but I feared it might soon dissolve away, as quickly as the morning’s dew-drawn map.

Pipe-Smoking Man

As chairman of the National Beagle Club, Mr. Wiley is obliged to attend the annual board meeting in Aldie. But as he is in his nineties, Mother offered to drive him down in his station wagon. As a pipe-smoking man, Mr. Wiley indulged himself frequently during the trip, suffocating us in the backseat. As we breathed out the cracked open windows, Mr. Wiley asked us each how we knew we were getting close. I pointed to the stone wall which parallels the dirt road to Aldie. Now, every time I pass it, I think of Mr. Wiley and his pipe.

Fig Newton Eater

The useful children that we were, Libby, Sarah, and I decided to put our skills to use. As strongest, Sarah was obliged to assist in all jar-opening activities. Libby was employed only on the drive home from the ice cream store, at which time she was called upon to hold our cones as we buckled our seatbelts. Too young to be useful, I chose to gobble up dropped Fig Newtons, thus sparing others the trouble. Not surprisingly, the position of ‘Fig Newton Eater’ was not nearly as honorable as ‘Opener,’ and even less frequently used than the ‘Ice Cream Holder.’

We're Regulars

We’ve come to Raritan to eat at Mugs. Before entering the restaurant, we visit a little fenced-in patch of weeds, ‘Libby’s Throw-up Garden,” named for a past illness experienced there. Inside, we fight over the cherished seat on the L-shaped booth, though it belongs to Libby alone. Daddy orders red wine, potato skins, and chicken parmesan.  He feeds us each a forkful of his red wine. We watch John, the restaurant manager, pace the aisles, chat with the regulars, us included. Libby tries to read the clock on the opposite wall. We discover she needs glasses. Our big night out.

Hayloft

In the corner stall, I slap flakes of hay, testing for mold. The dust billows; I hold my breathe against the spores. I mentally prepare myself to do what I must: venture into the hayloft to retrieve fresh bales. The ladder rungs hold their place, allowing me to ascend into the darkness and shadows, into the still and dusty air. I distract myself from imaginary dangers by singing the the few words I know of ‘Hey Jude’. I look to my only other solace: the sliver of light coming through the second-story doors. I throw them open. Sunlight bursts in.

Bernards Protégé

Each year, Bernards High School students gather along the glass hallway to peek into the courtyard. Our duck is back! For several weeks she broods in the bushes, until she reappears with her offspring. If the ducklings still luxuriate in their safe haven by the time the school closes for summer, the janitors herd them down the hallways to the outside world, for without the Green Team filling up their inflatable swimming pool and collecting money for their duck food, they could not survive. Next year, the survivors will occupy the courtyards to raise their own ducklings, the Bernards protégé.

Rescue

At a trot, my pony and I bounce along the Morris’s fields, getting fit for hunting. Another horse passes us, fully tacked, but riderless. In a minute, we come across his crime scene where his rider still lies helpless, awaiting rescue. But I need not interfere or pretend like a hero, 911 has already responded and sent out help. And here they come: three work trucks, each bearing the name of a different family-owned plumbing businesses. The Finns, Fagans, and Russos put aside their rivalries and adopt the brotherliness of the Peapack fire squad. The woman is in good hands.