2019-07-03 - Hardly/Working On The Lavender Farm

It's not that far from the centre of Gray Harbor to the outskirts of town where the Rivers Lavender Farm is, nestled between a pond, lowland mountain foothills, and an expanse of forest that creeps along the edges of the property, regardless of the efforts to maintain it as agricultural land.

There is, unsurprisingly, an abundance of lavender.

Rivers of the stuff, one could say -- rolling out in serpintine lines behind the very-very small once-white farmhouse, greenhouse and potting sheds that act as the 'front' of the farm. A few cars are already in the gravel parking lot; some folk seem to be tourists, day-trippers who've arrived to take instagram shots in the farm's more informal gardens... The people who look like they work here?

They look busy. Near the front of the farmhouse a very perky woman with a high blonde ponytail is directing any inquiries and greeting newcomers. Near by, a sullen looking kid with dyed black hair and a lip piercing is being instructed by ... a rather burly looking woman with reddish hair and an arm in a sling. She laughs when he nearly drops a wheelbarrow full of what smells quite like horse manure, then goes back to barking instructions to her silent co-worker.

Busy bees buzz about, the waft of lavender simply -everywhere-.

After a short walk to clear her head, Isolde decided that today would be a good day to go to the Lavender Farm and inquire about that little note she found in the paper the other day about them looking for help. Seeing as she didn't have the means to drive, and walking would take too long, she utilized what was probably the only taxi service in Gray Harbor. Her wild blue eyes were bright with curiosity as the taxi pulled in to the parking lot. So. Many. FLOWERS! Lavenders. She would have to figure out the camera on her phone to take a picture so she could show Alexander later. Her hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail and she wore a pair of dark blue jeans with a white t-shirt. Her ragged and worn flannel was tied around her waist at this point now that the heat was starting to rise.

Giving the taxi man some money gave him a chipper goodbye and made her way over to...the blonde lady. She seemed nice and was talking to other people. "Hello!" When she got close enough. "Who do I talk to about working?" Right to the point this one.

Flowers. So many flowers; thin and tall, fat and fluffy, in almost every shade of 'lavender' comprehensible: light, dark, rich, pale, leaning blue- or red-purple, warm and cool and everything in between. With the sunshine coming through dappled by the clouds, any photos are gonna look pretty swanky -- place could be a real tourist draw, if it was just a little better advertised...

The perky woman who very confidently introduces herself with a "Hey there and welcome - I'm Bethany! How can I help you today?" seems very keen once Isolde inquires, only too happy to help - albeit with a little laugh after glimpsing towards the burly one-armed woman over yonder. Did that red-head just growl? Of course not! Bethany chatters on: "Oooh, you'll want to see Yves -- he's in the lower fields; just go around the house, take the left-most path, and head towards the old Garry oaks... You take care, now!"

Isolde listens to the blonde woman attentively. "Around the house , to the left, Garry oaks." What was a Gary oak? Who named oak trees Gary? This is a question that Isolde would likely ponder for a good majority of the day. "Thank you, Bethany." Isolde offered to the lady with a smile and then did her best to follow the instructions given. A sidelong look towards the burly red-head and the gothic-looking kid. Yes, the blonde lady had been the right choice. She carefully navigates her way around the house and quietly counts out the paths until she gets to the left-most one. Letting her gaze wander for a longer moment and then fiddling with her phone briefly to take a few pictures. Yes! These will look pretty. Then she heads down said path - looking for Yves...and also realizing she has no idea what this Yves person looks like. So hopefully he's the only one there or looks like he's in charge.

The very chipper Bethany gives Isolde a big smile and double-thumbs up, watching her as she walls off -- then turning to holler something about lemonade to two tourists with a selfie stick and lavender crown; letting Isolde get on her way...

The old Garry oaks are, well, exactly that: a pair of very tall oak trees that interrupt the rows of lavender, situated in a big island of tall wildflower and grasses which seem to be in the process of being... Mowed? Cut. It's about, at best, one-sixth of the way complete.

Only there is no mower, ride-on or otherwise.

Instead there is a scythe leaning up against one of the tree trunks, a tall haphazardly-gathered pile of grasses and wildflower, and a pair of boots thrown haphazardly on freshly cut ground. Bumblebees bumble around lazily... There is no person around, not even a tourist or another farm worker; surly, gothic, perky or otherwise.

At first. Then, without warning, the pile of grass cuttings moves, and a pare of feet poke out the end -- accompanied with what sounds like a very hearty yawn. Should anyone investigate further, they will find a blond haired man in Levi's and a vintage western-style shirt semi-dozing and quite possibly shirking off work in the flowers.

Isolde cranes her neck to look up at the trees, seeing how they go up and up. She wonders if maybe she took the wrong path. Because there's no body here! She wanders closer, taking out her phone again so she could take a couple more pictures. This really was a pretty place. She is putting her phone away when she notices the grass moving! And is immediately suspicious and on alert. Then she sees the feet. Grass doesn't have feet. So...Isolde moves closer to the feet, hearing the yawn and staring down curiously at the man that the yawn and the feet belonged too. "Is the grass comfortable?" A sincere question as she studied him. "Are you Yves?" Though not sure if he actually heard her because, you know, dozing and she doesn't want to disturb him. Yet.

It's a lazy kind of doze, perhaps even a kip or eye-rest -- not a full on cat-nap, oh certainly not! As Yves' eyes don't open, but he taps a foot lazily and brushes aside an inquisitive bumblebee -- certainly not in a dream world, right? Right.

"Mmmphth;" A greeting, complete with his hand raising to brush a tendril of sweetgrass from his face, and shield his eyes from the sun. They're still closed. "I am, I was-" What, comfortable or Yves? Possibly both. He continues; "--what fair Titania? Thought we were supposed to ill-meet by moonlight, but if---"

Yves eyes open, and he's squinting right up at Isolde -- surprised? Amused. Something like that. "...You're another she -- are you lost? Tired? In dire need?..."

Isolde shifted a bit, squatting down so she was eye level with Yves, and maybe blocking a bit of sun from him. "I have been lost many times. But I am not lost today." She says simply. "My name is Izzy. I don't know how Titania is, but an ill-meet does not sound like a good thing." Then she smiled a bit. "You need help. I need work. Bethany said to talk to you." Then she was standing again and offering a hand to help him up if he wanted to. "Maybe I will try sleeping in the grass some time. By choice. In a pretty place like this." An idle musing. "You have lots of flowers."

There is a sleepy puffy-eyed quality to Yves, as he continues to squint up at Isolde as she squats down nearby --- his head tilting at an odd angle, so her shadow can help shield him from the glare... Ah. As she introduces herself, Yves smiles lopsidedly - when he goes 'pfffth', it'd not dismissive -- he's just sputtering a bit of dandelion from his mouth. Yves simply watches her for a long moment as Isolde stands, then:

"Izzy - or Izzy not?" His hand reaches up, takes hers to help as leverage as he springs up. Spring! A flurry of cut grasses and flower puff about on the air, scattering and clinging to his clothes, his hair - making Yves look like he's part-flower himself. "Bethany says a lot of things -- and I bet she'd have even more to say if you laid down in the flowers -- so you think it's pretty? Here? Where's the prettiest place you've ever cut flowers?"

A once-over of Isolde, as Yves starts pacing around -- no attempt made to dust the grass-or-flower from himself. "Work, eh? Now why on earth would you wanna go and find yourself something like that?"

"Izzy." She confirmed, giggling when he jumped up and sent the cloud of cuttings scattering in the wind. At least, the ones that didn't cling to him. A few found a home on her, settling in her hair and clinging to the flannel about her waist. But she didn't seem to mind. "I haven't before. Cut them. Picked some while walking maybe but...no where like here." Looking around again before her gaze settled back on to Yves. "I did see the rose garden once. In Portland. It's very pretty too but you can't take any flowers from it." A little shrug of her shoulders and then took a slight step back, watching him pace.

Isolde was nothing special to look at. A wiry frame, freckles covering her face, and a vaguely haunted and tired look to her eyes despite her mostly cheery disposition at the moment. Her hands clasped together, tilting her head slightly. "Because I need to make money. So I don't have to keep asking Alexander. He's helped me lots already."

"Izzy what?" Oh now Yves must be teasing -- another lopsided smile, then something more serious as he watches the bits of flower and grass settle, watches her look out at the lavender farm and speak. Yes, there is a lot of flower here, and only a small portion of the ripe-looking buds look like they've been harvested. Isn't the season ticking on?

"Oh, no; you /can/ take roses from the gardens in Portland, =you= just chose not to." Said while Yves moves towards his boots - leaning down to pick up not his shoes, but a short curved sickle in a leather sheath. It's hung on his belt as he continues strolling along, gesturing for Isolde to follow. "...Alexander. Yeah, I hear once you conquer the ends of the world and the Great Outer Sea, it's really challenging to keep helping people out-- but money, money; are you /sure/? =Really= sure you need money?"

Yves chatters as he strolls barefoot, away from the oaks and abandoned work and down the lavender rows themselves. Everything smells sweet and pungent, with the buzz of bees and soft brush of warm breeze through the flowers. How idyllic -- even with the tall, dark expanse of woodland in the distance, looming down on the farm.

"You're silly..." Isolde murmured, pushing a hand through her hair. "Morrison." Though, is offered just in case he is looking for a last name. It was like an ocean of purple. The flowers. The thought there would be more people working. Picking the flowers and doing whatever it was exactly that was done with them once they were harvested. She turns on her heels to follow him. "But the signs say not to..." Isolde tugged at a stray strand of hair lightly and peered at Yves again. "I've done lots of things without money. But it usually gets me in trouble. Money helps you stay out of trouble." A beat of pause. "Sometimes." She takes out her phone and it looks like she's going to start sending a text to someone, but then shakes her head like 'that's ridiculous' and puts her phone away.

Clasping her hands together again as they walk and she takes in the scenery. "Don't you use money for things? It helps you get things you need. Doesn't it?"

"Oh! Any relation to Jim? Love-child's love-child perhaps? Do you play guitar? I bet you sing beautifully, Izzy -- a real warbler..." As he chatters onwards, Yves hand outstretches -- brushing over the tops of some frilly lavender, their flowered heads bobbing in his wake - bumblebees scuttling about, their lunchtime interrupted. "If they sign said you aren't allowed to breathe the air or admire a sunset, would you hold your breath and close your eyes too? Some things gotta be free, man -- if your spirit tells you to take a flower, well, what's one petal gonna hurt..."

A sprig of lavender is plucked, and tossed back as Yves takes a hard-turn down an intersecting lavender row, and hurries along over sandy soil --- bringing Isolde towards a patch of smaller, less mature plants that are shaded from the taller, more robust varieties a row over.It's the shadiest part of the lavender farm so far! Looks like they haven't had a real chance to establish themselves, poor little runts of plant.

Yves stares down at them, hand lifted to push his hair back and scratch at the back of his head as he does so.

"...Money. Trouble. Money troubles. Troubled money. Does it help us out? Yeah, I reckon so -- we all gotta eat, live. Here -- help me out?" Yves motions to Isolde, then to the flowers down below. "What's wrong, and how you reckon it should be tended to?"

"I don't...think so? " Jim Morrison wasn't part of her family tree as far as Isolde knew. "No guitar, and no singing. Well...off key singing. You don't want me singing." She assured him, reaching out to touch a couple of the flowers carefully. Pondering on his proposed situation. "No...because breathing is important and sunsets are pretty." A thoughtful noise at the minor revelation before looking back to Yves. "So sometimes ignoring the signs is okay?" Asks the woman who actually does have a fairly extensive criminal record involving petty theft and a couple counts of identity theft. But disobeying that 'no picking the roses' sign. That's just out of the questions.

Isolde's attention is refocused on the flowers when Yves leads her down to the shady area. "Money isn't everything. But it's important in this world." She studied area, thinking over possible solutions. "Well. Sun helps them grow right? They need more sun I think." She looked around again to mentally gather the causes of the shade, lighting touching the petals of one of the lavender flowers nearby. There were no 'no touching' signs here. "...Getting the tall plants out of the way would help, yes? Or moving this plants somewhere sunnier?"

"Oh c'mon now Izzy -- how can you say that? You don't know what kind of songs I'd like to hear; perhaps your own unique is /exactly/ the kind of thing the world needs... Music is as essential to life as air, water, earth itself..." Yves' lopsided smile fades out again; expression shadowed like those stunted lavender plants - serious, contemplative, glimpsing at Isolde side-on. "It depends on the signs."

Now he silences -- no more scratchin' at hair that needs a wash; instead Yves folds his arms over his chest, and leans back on his heels; standing tall in sandy dirt as he watches Isolde make her assessment of the plants... If she were to look back at him, Izzy may catch a certain glimmer in Yves' expression -- amusement, satisfaction? Day-dream distraction? It's gone in a flash.

"You'll get instructions from Dakota -- big brickhouse, can't miss her and you can't mess with her either. We pay living wage, and there's a collective bonus if..." Yves fades out, and goes huh -- a hand resting on his hip. "...something. Something to do with yield. Ask Bethany, she runs front of house and got all the answers."

So... What is Yves job, then? If he doesn't know? A dirt-flecked hand plucks a stalk of grass from his hair, and he examines it briefly before its stalk is popped into his mouth and idly chewed on. "There's a bunkhouse, but you don't need to sleep there with the other Woofer's." Huh? Yves watches Isolde with idle curiosity. "What'd you last dream about, Izzy?"

"Maybe one day I will sing. But don't say I didn't warn you." A smile given to him, she's joking. Kind of. "I saw Dakota. She looked scary." Isolde admitted, turning to look back at him with a mix of curiosity and amusement. "I will ask Bethany - the giver of answers." She assured him, rubbing the back of her neck. Brow raising at the mention of the bunkhouse.

"Kind offer...maybe if it gets late some days. But I don't want to leave Luigi and Alexander yet." At least not until that bird decided she was finally safe enough to sit on! One day. Eventually. Isolde rocked on her heels and shrugged. It was an odd question maybe, but Isolde didn't seem like the sort of person who minded odd questions. "Dancing." There's a wistful sort of sigh. "I dreamed about jazz music and dancing and it was a good thing." She pulls another smile. "I don't have many good dreams."

Isolde shook her head and looked back in the direction of the farm house. "I should go soon." Back to Yves. "I will talk to Bethany and Dakota too. And I'll be here. I think I will like this place."