Who am I? Name is Peter, grew up on a dairy farm in west central Wisconsin, was forced to enlist at 18, carving out a life as an electrician after the service and I parted company. The departure was less than amicable. I'm 6'1", weigh between 230 and 240 all the time. My body is well toned, I stay very active on my job so have never felt the need to join a fitness place or gym. The most notable thing about my appearance is that I have long hair generally kept in a ponytail, and a beard longer than most. Because I sometimes work around moving equipment and belts, OSHA requires that I keep it no longer than 4", or have it covered, to prevent a safety hazard. Since I don't like it covered, I simply keep it at 4".
I've lived in this little Missouri town over three years and never saw this farmers market before. I enquired if it was new, was told it had been around over ten years. The selection was good, most of the produce looked fresh, and there were a limited group of trinket vendors. The bangles and beads and homemade nick knacks. Growing up with fresh produce, I looked forward to the local open markets each summer.
I arrived toward the end of the day the Saturday I discovered it, so many of the vendors were already packed and headed home. I ask one of the remaining guys if anyone had been selling pickling cucumbers. He mentioned a gal named Mary, who had just left, she was always on the end of his row. She had the best cukes and sweetcorn but was only there every other week.
Two Saturdays later I was at the market by 8, things were already well picked over in some booths. I sauntered to where the fella had said this Mary gal was supposed to be. She had a lot of product displayed, she and a young girl were still unloading from the van behind her. As I looked over the produce I couldn't stop staring at the girl, she looked so much like my younger sister at that age.
The lady stepped forward saying, "the produce is on the table, is there something you're interested in?"
"I'm sorry, it's just that she's a spitting image of my sister at that age."
The woman's eyes peered, her brows scrunched as she studied my face, slowly coming around the end of the table. Upon reaching me she smoothed my beard tight against my chin whispering, "Peter?"
I moved the hair out of her eyes and said, "Kitten?"
She instantly reached up to the back of my head and kissed me, a long soft kiss.
"I knew you weren't dead, I knew they had lied to me, I knew we'd find each other some day."
Then I asked the $64,000 question, "Is this girl ...?"
"Yes Peter, that's our daughter."
We were sorely interrupted by some shithead, "hey, get a fuckin room, I'm tryin to get some sweetcorn." As I looked at him he said, "move it asshole, or I'll move you."
Years of pent up anger boiled to the top, with Mary still holding my left arm my right shot straight out grabbing the fat little piece of crap by the throat. As I squeezed I felt Mary's hand on my face, "no, Peter, let him go, he isn't worth it."
As I released him I grabbed his collar jerking him to us, "now dirt bag, apologize to this lovely lady and her daughter for your filthy mouth and unacceptable behavior."
He mumbled something, I reached for his neck, he quickly spoke up before scurrying away.
"Come behind the table, let me look at you." While Carol (daughter) tended to customers, Mary and I caught up a little. Finding it hard to believe we'd finally found each other after all these years.
"I was told you sold the best cucumbers for sweet pickles, where would those be?"
"Still in the van." We moved to the back door of the van, Mary put her arms around my neck and kissed me again. She held on and hugged me tight as she sobbed, burying her head against my chest. We maintained that embrace until Carol needed mom's help.
"Let me have your cell Peter, I'll put my number in, call me about 4, by then it will have slowed down. I'll give you my home address, I want you to come to the house tonight, about 6."
"Okay, but I still need those cukes, and 6 ears of corn."
When I got home I cooked up a few ears of corn for lunch, man were they good. I dug out my old number 20 crock and started mixing the brine for my sweet pickles. What a day it had been. I found the sister I was forced to leave almost 8 years ago. I had never seen our daughter before, in fact, I didn't know if Mary kept our child or not.
Mary and I came into existence very late in our parents lives. Mother was 42 when she had me and had Mary 14 months later. Our dad was a hard headed, hard fisted son of a bitch, who never hesitated to dole out punishment, even if it wasn't called for. We milked cows and there were always lots of chores to do. As far as he was concerned that was all my sister and I were good for, doing chores.
Mom was a school teacher, how she ever got connected with our miserable father was always a mystery to Mary and I. Mother's twin sister had married the farmer a mile down the road from us, she cared for us during the day when we little. When we started school, it was where we were dropped off at until mom got home. Mary and I were inseparable. Mother used to say, "if you're looking for Mary, find Peter, and if you're looking for Peter, find Mary. If you can't find either one, look for Shep's wagging tail, because he's always with the kids."
We lived in a typical old two story farm house with little to no heat in the upstairs. Mary and I slept in the same room, each had our own bed, but we seldom slept apart, usually it was Mary who crawled into bed with me. We would cuddle tight together under that thick layer of warm quilts, we never felt more safe than when we were snuggled together. We kept that sleeping arrangement until Mary started puberty, mother insisted Mary have some privacy.
