Big Chickens
A shift in the light can change everything. Yesterday the sun was shining. It was out on its own with nothing between us. It was-- it is October in the middle of Pennsylvania and that means sharp, deep blue skies. Today there are some high, high clouds that make it all seem different, nothing is as clear as it once was. The mood of a late fall day has replaced the endless potential of summer. I know now, for certain, that nothing will last. Lush reds and yellows in the trees have moved towards drier brown. The truck clatters up the drive and Big Chicken is already out of the kitchen door. Finishing the breakfast dishes, I’m just standing here at the window; looking out as Cipriano smiles and shakes Chicken’s hand. Just like he always does. His heart must be racing. He must feel Chicken’s eyes the same way I felt them this morning. What happened has changed the way I make eggs, the way I get dressed, the way I feel the cold morning air circle the room after Chicken goes outside.
Cipriano never used to be the one driving the truck. That happened after Javier went back to Tolteca. Since then Jose, Hector, Domingo, Santi, and Cip fit more comfortably into the Chevy and arrive with Ciprinao kicking open the door and handing Chicken a coffee. I offered it to the whole crew when they first starting working here, but my thin coffee wasn’t what they had in mind. Working out in the cold morning air requires something more.
Things like this just happen. No one has a strategy of how to fall in love. I hear stories of schemers and dreamers and I’m always skeptical. Who knows the heart that well? Who can guess that a pin hole exists where it does and someone somehow can find a way inside.
My pinhole was probably there from the start. Everyone loved Big Chicken; I loved him before I saw him. I loved his name, the way we all said it with one syllable. And I loved the way people talked about how sad he was after his father died and the way people talked about how hard he worked to keep this place going. But a Pennsylvania farm is a wet, cold place and it isn’t my heaven. Melissa teaches a class and she once asked her class if they won the lottery what would they buy. One girl said that she’d buy a new double wide. Chicken would do that too. He wouldn’t leave here, move to someplace warm – probably wouldn’t travel. I’d want that – to travel and live somewhere great. Little girls dream of that. My mother did; Chicken’s mother did. So that was the pin hole.
To keep costs down, Chicken had to let the regular day workers go two years ago. He was at the Home Depot in the county and saw six guys standing in baseball jackets and jeans. Javier came to the window and said that they would work a day for about $40. Chicken brought them here. They seemed nervous then; I stood watching them get out the of truck and look around -- six migrant workers on a diary farm. Ciprano caught my eye right away. His shoulders weren’t pulled tight. He didn’t where a ball cap. Later he started wearing a cowboy hat but that first month, no hat. His skin reminded me of our high school suntans. The short shaved hair had just a slight gray.
The next day at breakfast Chicken told me he was going to meet the same guys at the Home Depot and I had my weak coffee ready. It made us seem friendlier and it gave me a chance to be seen. I introduced myself . “Katey,” I said and it was hard to understand there responses. I just hadn’t heard anything like it. I stayed away from the dairy. I did some work outside and the new greenhouse was right next the barn. One day as I was weeding Ciprano was walking back to his truck and when he stopped and told me to “spray with soap”. My tomato plants, he mimed, had bugs. Holding up his fingers to indicated small and then he made a funny bug-like face. If I was drinking anything, I would have choked. It was so unexpected. He had always been so serious. His faced pinched up like a bug opened a new space. We had a hook.
Over time hooks will catch things and the more that gets stuck on them the faster they grow. It was six months later – when I went to Denny’s out on the highway – that I learned that the Toltec crew lived in a room at the travel motel. The truck was outside as I went in to get coffee with Chicken’s sister. When she left, I was leaving the restroom and ran straight into Cipriano. “I had no idea”, I said. We smiled and he made the bug face again.
If he didn’t work at that restaurant, we never would have made this thing work. First thing – his English probably never would have gotten good enough for us to say anything. I never learned Spanish.
Over time, the dairy started to run much better. The Toltecs made everything even better than a team of 5 Chickens. We started paying them better and soon it was clear that the farm could have more heads and sell more milk. Funny how it all worked. Over the summer Chicken spent more time on the road looking at cows, selling, and negotiating. Some days when Chicken was gone and the Toltecs arrived, I noticed that Cipriano wouldn’t arrive with the others. I asked him if he was feeling better after one of his absences and he said that some days when the crew has everything they need for the farm, he would work extra shifts at Denny’s. Hard to believe they paid better, but I couldn’t really ask that.
I started going to the Denny’s by myself, and after a little while no body ever said anything about it. It was just part of what I did. I never had a plan or even really a thought about anything. I suppose I was just getting away from the farm that started to feel so small.
He came to clear a table near me one day and I asked if he ever thought of just going home. He turned and looked at me with his serious work face and shook his head. “Javie doesn’t like. Will come back maybe. So I stay here.”
I wanted to go. That became clearer every time a new cow arrived. But Chicken was happier than I had ever seen him. He must have known, I think, if he thought about it, that my happiness wasn’t growing with his. I hated seeing Cirpriano work harder and harder and the Toltecs become more and more rooted here. Nothing like this can be permanent. How, then, does it end? I used to think, will they be deported? When they have enough money will they go home? What’s enough money? I hated the way the other dairymen started looking at Chicken.
Yesterday I was having my Denny’s coffee. It was in the evening. Chicken was home with the adding machine. Until he took a quick seat in my booth, I didn’’ know that Cip would be working. He looked wilder than I had ever seen. “What?” I asked.
“We go to Mexico, Monday.”
“Monday? Next week?”
“Yes.”
“All of you?”
“Santi and me.”
“But you said Javie didn’t like it back there. You said he was coming back and that you wouldn’t leave me!” That made him look directly at me. Looked at me a way Chicken never had. He grabbed my hand. His palms were stone.
“Santi’s wife is sick.”
“So let him go back.”
“He needs the ride.”
“He can take a bus.”
“Katey, I can’t stay. This was never for always.”
“So you’re not coming back.” Cipriano just shook his head.
“Its time for me to go home. I want my own.”
“Your own? What – a farm?”
“No -- my own family” The thought came to me in an instant, but I took a long sip of my coffee to think it out first. I put the cup down. He started to stand.
“No –stay – just a second,” I urged. He looked around, but the restaurant was slow. He sat. “I want to go too. I want to leave the farm. Let me come with you.”
Cipriano never used to be the one driving the truck. That happened after Javier went back to Tolteca. Since then Jose, Hector, Domingo, Santi, and Cip fit more comfortably into the Chevy and arrive with Ciprinao kicking open the door and handing Chicken a coffee. I offered it to the whole crew when they first starting working here, but my thin coffee wasn’t what they had in mind. Working out in the cold morning air requires something more.
Things like this just happen. No one has a strategy of how to fall in love. I hear stories of schemers and dreamers and I’m always skeptical. Who knows the heart that well? Who can guess that a pin hole exists where it does and someone somehow can find a way inside.
My pinhole was probably there from the start. Everyone loved Big Chicken; I loved him before I saw him. I loved his name, the way we all said it with one syllable. And I loved the way people talked about how sad he was after his father died and the way people talked about how hard he worked to keep this place going. But a Pennsylvania farm is a wet, cold place and it isn’t my heaven. Melissa teaches a class and she once asked her class if they won the lottery what would they buy. One girl said that she’d buy a new double wide. Chicken would do that too. He wouldn’t leave here, move to someplace warm – probably wouldn’t travel. I’d want that – to travel and live somewhere great. Little girls dream of that. My mother did; Chicken’s mother did. So that was the pin hole.
To keep costs down, Chicken had to let the regular day workers go two years ago. He was at the Home Depot in the county and saw six guys standing in baseball jackets and jeans. Javier came to the window and said that they would work a day for about $40. Chicken brought them here. They seemed nervous then; I stood watching them get out the of truck and look around -- six migrant workers on a diary farm. Ciprano caught my eye right away. His shoulders weren’t pulled tight. He didn’t where a ball cap. Later he started wearing a cowboy hat but that first month, no hat. His skin reminded me of our high school suntans. The short shaved hair had just a slight gray.
The next day at breakfast Chicken told me he was going to meet the same guys at the Home Depot and I had my weak coffee ready. It made us seem friendlier and it gave me a chance to be seen. I introduced myself . “Katey,” I said and it was hard to understand there responses. I just hadn’t heard anything like it. I stayed away from the dairy. I did some work outside and the new greenhouse was right next the barn. One day as I was weeding Ciprano was walking back to his truck and when he stopped and told me to “spray with soap”. My tomato plants, he mimed, had bugs. Holding up his fingers to indicated small and then he made a funny bug-like face. If I was drinking anything, I would have choked. It was so unexpected. He had always been so serious. His faced pinched up like a bug opened a new space. We had a hook.
Over time hooks will catch things and the more that gets stuck on them the faster they grow. It was six months later – when I went to Denny’s out on the highway – that I learned that the Toltec crew lived in a room at the travel motel. The truck was outside as I went in to get coffee with Chicken’s sister. When she left, I was leaving the restroom and ran straight into Cipriano. “I had no idea”, I said. We smiled and he made the bug face again.
If he didn’t work at that restaurant, we never would have made this thing work. First thing – his English probably never would have gotten good enough for us to say anything. I never learned Spanish.
Over time, the dairy started to run much better. The Toltecs made everything even better than a team of 5 Chickens. We started paying them better and soon it was clear that the farm could have more heads and sell more milk. Funny how it all worked. Over the summer Chicken spent more time on the road looking at cows, selling, and negotiating. Some days when Chicken was gone and the Toltecs arrived, I noticed that Cipriano wouldn’t arrive with the others. I asked him if he was feeling better after one of his absences and he said that some days when the crew has everything they need for the farm, he would work extra shifts at Denny’s. Hard to believe they paid better, but I couldn’t really ask that.
I started going to the Denny’s by myself, and after a little while no body ever said anything about it. It was just part of what I did. I never had a plan or even really a thought about anything. I suppose I was just getting away from the farm that started to feel so small.
He came to clear a table near me one day and I asked if he ever thought of just going home. He turned and looked at me with his serious work face and shook his head. “Javie doesn’t like. Will come back maybe. So I stay here.”
I wanted to go. That became clearer every time a new cow arrived. But Chicken was happier than I had ever seen him. He must have known, I think, if he thought about it, that my happiness wasn’t growing with his. I hated seeing Cirpriano work harder and harder and the Toltecs become more and more rooted here. Nothing like this can be permanent. How, then, does it end? I used to think, will they be deported? When they have enough money will they go home? What’s enough money? I hated the way the other dairymen started looking at Chicken.
Yesterday I was having my Denny’s coffee. It was in the evening. Chicken was home with the adding machine. Until he took a quick seat in my booth, I didn’’ know that Cip would be working. He looked wilder than I had ever seen. “What?” I asked.
“We go to Mexico, Monday.”
“Monday? Next week?”
“Yes.”
“All of you?”
“Santi and me.”
“But you said Javie didn’t like it back there. You said he was coming back and that you wouldn’t leave me!” That made him look directly at me. Looked at me a way Chicken never had. He grabbed my hand. His palms were stone.
“Santi’s wife is sick.”
“So let him go back.”
“He needs the ride.”
“He can take a bus.”
“Katey, I can’t stay. This was never for always.”
“So you’re not coming back.” Cipriano just shook his head.
“Its time for me to go home. I want my own.”
“Your own? What – a farm?”
“No -- my own family” The thought came to me in an instant, but I took a long sip of my coffee to think it out first. I put the cup down. He started to stand.
“No –stay – just a second,” I urged. He looked around, but the restaurant was slow. He sat. “I want to go too. I want to leave the farm. Let me come with you.”