2019-12-08 - Good Things

This is a warmer autumn day than they've been having--so, only about 50 degrees, rather than the mid-40s--and the drizzle has finally paused long enough for August to do a little work on the allotment gardens. He's abiding by his own rules, staying out of trees until after James' funeral, because the last thing he needs is to be distracted at 70 feet in the air.

A couple of the gardens have some planting done, but mostly they're still being set up. Once they're done it'll make for a nice view on the path from the shop to the private greenhouse in the back; right now, it's more like walking through a work-in-progress. But August doesn't mind that, as it's more things to occupy his mind with which are soothing and ease away other worries. He's in a long-sleeved, heather gray Henley, denim jeans, and workboots, with his gardening gloves on and a bucket of tools close by. At the moment he's assembling some wooden raised beds in one of the smaller allotments.

As is often the case, preceding Juniper's arrival is the sound of her beat-up old truck. The engine sputters and dies as she pulls into the parking lot, then she hops out, grabs her toolbag and heads over into the allotments. "Hey August," she greets, free hand lifted to wave at him as she approaches. "How's it going?"

'Not great', is the answer, and though August stands and dredges up a smile for Juniper, she doesn't need her Spirit sense to know that took some effort. He's tired and worn down in ways a little physical rest isn't going to solve. "Hey," he says, raising a hand in greeting. Since he's up, he fetches his water bottle--and old, beat up aluminum thing covered with faded USFS and National Parks stickers--and has a drink. "Not, ah...that good, honestly. But I'm hanging on. You?"

Slowing in her approach, coming to a halt just a few feet from August, Juniper tilts her head slightly, studying her friend's body-language and expression for just a moment. "Not just not good, honey. Is this getting drunk not good, beat shit up not good, need to be distracted not good...?" she asks outright, understanding that there's something wrong but not knowing how to help. Different people need different things after all.

August manages a small, bitter laugh. "Nah, no drinking. Eleanor'd kick me in the ass for that." He sounds appreciative of this, at least. "It's a...a lot of things." He sighs, runs a hand through his hair. "That car accident, the other night. That was a friend of mine." He doesn't look at her as he says this, just stares out over the allotments. "Kind of, out of nowhere, and he'd just gotten married..." His voice fades, he licks his lips. "And Portland was kind of a thing. Had some ugly visits from Them." Now he does look at her, his expression easing a fraction. "But we did find out, this bit where our reach is shorter? Can't act so far out? That's limited to here. Soon as you head out of the harbor, you can act at range again."

"So, need to be distracted then," Juniper concludes, nodding slowly at the things August has mentioned. "I'm sorry for your loss, honey." The mention about range has her raising her brows, and she nods slowly. "A local thing, then. Something somebody did, maybe? Or just Them fuckin' around as usual." One shoulder rolls in a slight shrug. "You want to get stuck into some hard work, or talk about all the awesome things that are gonna be going on here at the allotments?"

August murmurs a thanks for the condolences. In response to her musings he makes a face. "Honestly, it's not clear. Margaret Addington," he says the name the way a Christian would say 'Satan, Lord of the Flies', "knows something about it, and William Gohl was involved, so I'd assume it has to be something about Them. Maybe about the Asylum, too, she was real keen to get her brother locked up there when he still had a hold on Gohl." He mulls that over, shrugs. "I guess it's a little comforting to know that whatever it was, it's not everywhere--not world wide."

He grunts, considers the allotments. "Can do a little of both," he says, and caps his water bottle, drops it. "So my thinking was, if these work out, I could see about buying a lot somewhere--maybe on Spruce--and make a few more available. For now, just this. We'll put up a shed back here for people to store their tools in if they don't want to bring them. We take care of watering and basic pest management, they do the rest." He turns to consider the greenbelt. "If we get deer coming out here to chew on things, we'll fence it, but I'm hoping they won't want to get too close to the shop."

"Could also host things like produce swaps, classes on how to grow different things, maybe competitions for biggest carrot or whatever," Juniper offers, finding somewhere to stow her toolbag and then taking from it her own bottle of water to sip from. "Want me to turn the beds, or..? What needs doing? I'll work alongside." Because sure she's planning on claiming one for herself, but that doesn't mean she's not gonna help out.

"That was the thinking," August says on a nod. "Thoma does some indoor gardening classes in the winter, and then once the weather starts to clear in Spring we can focus on these a bit more." He arches an eyebrow. "Interested in giving a few of those? We can work out a fee for you to give 'em."

As for the allotments, he looks around. "Well, your choices are, get the soil prepped," a few of the beds are still sitting empty, dug out (too much clay and gravel to make use of what was there) and waiting for proper soil to be dropped in; a huge pile sits to one side, ready for shoveling, "or build some raised beds on this set here," the ones which abutt the path to the private greenhouse, he means, "or," a small smile, this one a bit more earnest, "pick out your allotment and get started." He raises his eyebrows. There's a shovel and a wheel barrow next to the pile of soil, piles of plastic and wood planks for the raised beds.

"I'll dig," Juniper chooses, stowing her bottle in the pocket of her jeans and heading over to pick up the shovel, clearly not shy about manual labour. Then again it's kind of what she does a lot of for a living, so. "Tell me something good, August. Or I can tell you something good. We go back and forth like that until we're feeling better, 'kay?"

August nods, crouches back down to work on the raised beds. "Yeah. Sounds good." He's quiet a minute, thinking that over. "Got to see my family in Portland, introduce Eleanor to them." He smiles to remember that. "She was nervous but it went fine. And...it was good, seeing them again." He slots a pair of planks together, hammers in a nail, glances up at Juniper in an indication of 'your turn'.

"Eleanor is your partner?" Juniper guesses, walking around the first of the beds which need to be dug out, assessing where to begin and then starting, using her body weight and the shovel's edge to begin breaking this end of the bed up into rough squares. "My divorce papers came through, so I'm officially no longer married to an asshole," is her 'something good', and she does sound genuinely pleased and relieved.

"Yeah," August confirms. "She runs the coffee shop, Espresso Yourself? That's her place." He pauses, adds, "She's...informed, about the Shine, so if you ever need to find out something, she's a good person to ask." He lifts his eyebrows as if to suggest that's more often than one might expect.

He lets out a breath; it's almost a laugh. "Damn, that's good news. We should take you out to celebrate--get a drink, or some dinner." He hesitates, glances up from the planks. "...assuming you want to." Well August is certainly the sort to celebrate a friend's divorce, at least.

"That'd be real good," Juniper confirms to the offer of going out to celebrate. "Maybe I could meet your Eleanor too, that way?" she adds with a grin, before looking down to begin shovelling one square of claybound earth up into the wheelbarrow, then the next, working methodically. "And yeah, I'll hit her up if I need that kind of help. Thanks."

"That was precisely my thinking," August admits on a sly smile. "Or I can cook for us, whatever we want. Thai Table's good, though, if you like Southeast Asian." Finished with this plot, he gets another set of planks and moves on to the next. "Itzhak's playing his violin again. Even got to hear him play with my niece." He pauses to remember it. "That was real good." So Portland wasn't a wash, not really.

"Homecooked food? Hot damn, I'm there," the landscaper replies cheerfully, not about to pass up the opportunity to be cooked for. "I can bring shop-bought dessert or alcohol, if you tell me what you guys like," she adds, continuing to shovel soil into barrow, a certain mechanical efficiency to it suggesting this is something she does a LOT of. "That's the New Yorker guy I saw at the park, right?" she adds, referring to when they were setting up some of the stuff for the Venetian Gardens. She does her best not to refer to him as the guy with the nose. That'd be mean. "My good thing is that a friend just offered to cook for me," she adds, her grin teasing.

"I'll cook or anyone willing to sit still long enough to try some game meat." August pauses, adds, "I guess that's worth mentioning--I almost never get my meat from a store. There's a butcher in Hoaquaim I get chicken and lamb from, but that's about it. So this would," he looks thought, "grouse, elk, deer, dove, rabbit, or trout." He takes a second to mentally confirm the contents of his freezer, nods. "But I'm happy to go down there and get something a little more mundane from him, if none of that appeals."

He makes a low sound and laughs about what she picks as her good thing. "My good thing is a friend is helping me get this crazy idea a little further along," he says, smug.

"Trout sounds good," Juniper affirms with a nod. "I don't eat much meat, but I'm a sucker for fish," she explains, continuing to shovel stuff until the original set of squares are all clear, then going back to break up a new set. His counter-choice gets a laugh from her in turn, and she inclines her head, acknowledging the point. "My good thing is that it isn't snowing yet, but one of my neighbours at the trailer park has promised to clear the roads internal to the park when it does."

"Trout we can do. Salad, pilaf, sourdough, maybe some roasted brussel sprouts..." August gestures, indicating the possibilities are endless. He makes a low sound, looks overhead. "Yeah, kind of surprised we haven't even gotten any flurries yet. Hard freeze was back in October so I thought it was going to be one of those years, but...nothing yet." He shrugs, gets to building the next raised bed. He stops a moment, expression distant. "It's been bad, but, I've got all of you here," he says, finally. "Which is good, because getting through the ugly stuff alone is pretty tough."