You Just Can't Be Good to People
Part II of A Good Worker is Hard to Find
Cory was working like a mule removing the exterior panels, shoring up interior walls, running whistle pigs off the land, replacing two by fours and – miraculously- returning the exterior side panels back to the original location where they fit together without so much as a single hiccup.
We had formed a relationship of trust. Because I knew he needed money for gas I paid half his salary mid-week and the rest on Friday. My heart was full. With Cory at the helm, real progress was being made at the farm. I focused my energy on becoming a seed grower for Sow True Seed, a women-owned company based out of Asheville.
Like most consumers, I wrongly believed seed companies own huge tracts of land whereby they cultivate crops for seed production. In reality, seed companies contract with individuals such as myself to provide seeds to you, the consumer. Out of all the things I’ve done with my life, including being an author for over twenty years, growing seeds on Granny’s farm is by far the noblest endeavor. Butterfly Cove provides the perfect location, primarily because no one else farms the land. That’s why the land was chosen to also serve as the test area for new varieties Sow True Seed was interested in offering.
Then the real hiccup occurred.
While the word “shutdown” was widely used during Covid 19, Swain County literally shut down. Swain County is home not only to the tourist town of Bryson City, but also the Cherokee Reservation. To protect the safety of tribal members, no one was allowed onto the Reservation without proper identification. Following their lead, Bryson City enacted a curfew and this is what snared Cory. He was leaving town after a hard day of work when law enforcement pulled him over.
“Miss Renea, I’m a-feared I can’t come work for you no more.”
People often use the term “my heart dropped,” but I promise you when he said those words my heart literally broke. After we got off the phone I sat in my closet and cried.
“Cory what happened? Is something wrong with your Dad?” I was willing to throw money at his feet. I was willing to go sit with his poppa. I was willing to do whatever it took to help him as he entered the critical phase of plumbing and wiring.
“Well I done got pulled over and I ain’t had no driver’s license for twenty-five years. . . hadn’t need of one, ya know? They told me they would throw my ass in jail if I come back in their town.” Cory quickly apologized for the rough language.
I told him I understood (I really didn’t) and wished him the best. Then set out searching for another worker, eventually finding someone I will call Thomas. Thomas took one look at the project and said he understood the vision, I needed a new deck; new pex water lines, and wiring. He nodded, “doable,” he said without a hint of concern. “I can turn this place into a showcase.”
As with all new relationships, the honeymoon phase was glorious. We began with the roof which despite the application of a silvery layer of goo you buy at hardware stores, still leaked. Thomas applied two more silver gooey layers, installed pex waterlines, a new toilet, new flooring and constructed a new deck. He even agreed to paint the exterior and managed to match the original exterior color. As with Cory, I fed him, paid cash, and treated him like a king
I guess you can’t be good to people. Mid-way through the exterior painting project there were signs of trouble. I’ll call it what it was: extortion. Suddenly, prices were up, more supplies were needed, more money expected. I sensed a need to supervise Thomas more. Thankfully, he finished the exterior painting before falling off the map. However, I learned this year, I paid for primer he didn’t apply and now half the paint is peeling away from the back. I’ll need to repaint the place soon.
By now, you’ve figured out the problem: drugs.
When I couldn’t get Thomas on the phone, I called my friend who referred him, asking about the whereabouts of Thomas.
“Oh he’s on drugs bad.”
Really? Some friend I have. The interior was 70 percent complete when Thomas abandoned me. But I did have a new deck, and a fresh coat of paint. I would still need to rewire the building (boy was that an adventure) and the roof no longer leaked.
Not until the rainy season.
At the time I truly felt that the devil had waged an all-out war against me. Tiny cracks had suddenly appeared in the roof and would require remediation. Looking back, I am grateful the leaking manifest itself before the insulation went in and the paneling went on the walls. But at the time, a deep depression overcame me. I was just trying to honor my people and the land. Why was this so hard? Why was everything a struggle? I had also developed a bad case of comparativism. An acquaintance of mine was flipping a place and seemed to have a bottomless pit of money. Her social media posts were filled with a team of workers gutting, rebuilding, painting, and polishing her project to perfection.
Meanwhile up in the holler I had nothing but trouble. Wait while I get some cheese to go with my “whine.”
My project pivoted from almost complete into something that could end up costing some serious cash. I needed to make the decision of whether to continue investing money, or walk away. That decision didn’t come without a great deal of prayer, whining to my friends, and consideration of whether I had made the right choice to begin this journey in the first place. Tearfully, I called my nephew who helped me wrangle a blue tarp across Granny’s trailer and then I entered a period of deep reflection and careful consideration.
I will discuss this later in the next Pollinators and prose.