Hillbilly Girl

The fashy world of black block and a polite arrest record of protests is folly for a family trying to stay afloat in the coal hills of Wise County, VA. Neesha has deep hillbilly girl roots. She’s from the same southwestern corner of Virginia that Charlie’s kin are from. Charlie, though, is embarrassed by his hill country heritage. Neesha embraces it. Home for her is Blackwood, VA. Neesha, though, is a shouty one who spent 2016 through 2020 or so alternating between cheering for AntiFA and cocooning with Inger on Stuart Street.

Neesha was loud and proud until COVID-19 in March of 2020. Then the Wuhan Flu hysteria shouted from the ‘tubes laid her out far more than the usual flu. She was bedridden and needed Inger’s help avoiding eviction from public housing and making sure the kids were all right. The tubes told her that this was Trump’s fault. Maybe so but her kids needed their mother.

Then she met Ophie and saw the Goochland Farm. If the symptom is poverty and the cause is oppression then the cure should be a resource drop large enough to end the poverty, right? One hopes. But Ophie’s largess didn’t treat the wounded soul within Neesha. No quantity of material comfort can heal that.

Coal Fired Heart

It’s a romantic fantasy. That life is bucolic in the hill country. Things are simpler and that, somehow makes them better. Neesha’s fondest wish in her teen years was to get as far from home as possible. Blackwood was the most evil, most racist place in the world. The big city was her happy place. People would be nicer there.

Where, though? Richmond, the capital of the South. Home to Reynold’s College and VCU. The women around Neesha as she grew up dreamed of careers in health care or clerical work. University was for obtaining a MRS with a nice boy from NOVA. None of that for Neesha.

Doing what? Neesha and I rebelled against deciding on a path and following it. Our long term plans didn’t stretch beyond the weekend. I said I wanted to be a Broadway star until it became clear how much misery and pain that entailed. Every path I looked down had hard things to do on the way to success. My fondest wish has been to be discovered by a wealthy patron who would indulge my love of Tastycake and not demand much of me.

Just Not Here and Not Like That

Neesha wished for a local boy who would take care of her. One of her major malfunctions is falling for rebels who turn out to have toxic habits. Guys who scratch her malcontent itches. It’s exciting but what’s not exciting is cleaning the puke and piss the latest heartthrob soiled Inger’s carpet with. That, and getting left behind an hour before last call with a tab he said he’d cover (Charlie).

All three women of this story have a history with Charlie. Each of them has a hard luck story of falling for him then becoming disenchanted once his issues overcame his charm. Charlie is a weekend binge of Red Bull, HoHo’s, and Pork Rinds. There is nothing happy at the end of that binge. Neesha’s ginger daughter might be from a crack in her armor on a lonely, drunken weekend in Paradise Valley.

Neesha has never done a paternity test. She’d rather eat fried pig shit than agree to that. Ojiisan is aware and makes sure Neesha isn’t truly at risk of losing her stability. She got some additional training in the art of bottle service. At the casino it is theater. The server acts like she is partying like a beast while getting the patron trashed. I doubt this is news—your bottle is what you ordered. Her drinks are tea or colored water. So the server is fully in control and not as smashed as the patron thinks. It’s a good time.

It Isn’t Wise But It Will Do

Neesha changed her shifts to lunch service on Tuesday’s and Wednesday’s in the ramen bar at the casino. A couple of waitresses babysit for her when she is working. She has the same key card that Inger and Ophie have. The Stuart Street house is equipped with a transport door so her commute is easy. Charlie keeps asking for lunch shifts on Tuesday and Wednesday but the answer is always, “no.” Anyway, Charlie is in custody so that’s not a worry.

Ophie can’t keep up the work needed to run the Goochland Farm. Twelve hour days are needed to complete all the chores involved. She chose to farm wheat and soybeans. The barn was refurbished and houses a hayloft, parking for the tractor and equipment, and stables for a horse and a milk cow. All this was supposed to be low effort but it isn’t.

So Neesha needs work that she can do and take care of her kids. Ophie needs someone to run the farm. Neesha knows about coal mining because of her Dad. Farming? Why? Everything you need is at Walmart. The house in Goochland came out amazing. It appears to be a century old. The finishes are tasteful but use Neesha’s colors. But the systems that run the house are modern and passed inspection.

More Than Make Do

The farm is a demonstration of what old Richmond money can do in the hands of the right contractors. Nothing extravagant but also nothing cheap. This is a rebuild that can outlast Neesha’s kids if it is cared for. One choice was propane for cooking and heat. Also Tesla solar roof and Powerwall for the house.

The Escalade is done. Two car seats are in it. Everything is ready for Neesha to just say yes and move in. Ophie signed off on the construction and the County approved an Occupancy Certificate. It’s perfect so nothing will go wrong, right?

Well . . . many lottery winners are broke within five years. Getting a working farm dumped on you when your idea of farming is Farmville isn’t actually a good thing. Ophie hired farm hands so the work is getting done. But Neesha has always worked for someone. She’s never been the boss. Dreaming of responsibility and having it aren’t the same thing.

Today Old

Two years in the making. Three years before that planning to foreclose on Charlie’s Goochland Farm. Five years from idea to completion. Ophie packed a book bag with a change of clothes, a bit of Richmond Blend Tea, and some snacks. She wanted to be there when Neesha showed up.

Time to make the call, “Hello? Neesha?”
“Yeah. What’s up?”
“Can you come to the farm? I need you.”
“I can’t right now. My son broke out in poison ivy. His whole left arm is covered in a rash. He’s miserable. We are at Patient First waiting to see a doctor.”
“Really? That’s awful.”
“Well . . . can you come later on? I’ll get lotion for your son’s rash.”
“I guess.”
“Great! What time?”
“I took an Uber to the doctor. I have to take the bus from here to home. It might not be until later.”

The logistics aren’t terrible. Neesha and her kids are at Patient First in Carytown. The farm is a half hour away in Goochland, “What if I picked you up?”
“I dunno Ophie. Things have been a lot lately. I’m so tired.”
“It’s only 10am. I cleared your schedule with your boss. Come to the farm. I have a few things for you.”
“I guess.”
“Cool. One of the farm hands will come get you.”

Hill Billy My Ride

Ray finished the rehab on the tractor last spring. It’s been in the barn since. One casualty was the mower and attachments to grow corn, soybeans and hay. Charlie neglected these beyond repair. So Ophie bought new. Shout out to Amos Equipment Repair.

Not naming the farm hand. His legal status isn’t solid. California gave him a driver’s license when he came across (ty Newsome). So he joins the many in legal limbo until the next administration sets new policies. That’s a story for another day. This week as I finish writing this he is in the Escalade headed for Carytown to pick up Neesha and her kids.

Neesha is on the curb in the parking lot of Patient First, “Neesha?”
“Yes?”
“Ophie sent me for you,” the farm hand pops the tailgate and opens a rear door.
“Is this the same Escalade I saw a year ago?”
“Sí. Ophie lo hizo poner en funcionamiento nuevamente.” The surprises start now. Neesha has the kids settled in car seats and starts to sit shotgun, “Mamá, tú estás conduciendo.”
“Sorry? I don’t speak Spanish.”
“You are driving. I don’t have a license.”
“oh my god.”

Surrender to Blessings

The drive to the farm was uneventful. Ophie was in the parlor waiting for Neesha, “Hey, how are you?”
“Good”
Ophie has a manilla envelope in her hand, “this is for you. “It’s an offer letter. I’ve set up an LLC for the farm. The Escalade belongs to the company. If you accept the offer it comes with the job.” Ophie did all this once she won the foreclosure auction.
“Wait. This is too much.” We dream, we pray, we hope beyond hope that our dreams come true. Then one day our dreams become actual. It happened to Charlie with his aunt leaving him a large windfall. He didn’t behave well with it. Neesha will learn that it’s not too much for her.

Solution?

Neesha’ eyes well up. The offer letter falls to the floor in front of the sofa, , “Ophie, what did you do?” Neesha’s grade school son, “Mom, can we live here?” This is so much more than her life back in Richmond. Take care of a farm? That’s alot.

Maybe an awkward assumption to say that men need battlefields and hunting grounds while women need gardens and farms, “Oh my god, Ophie. I don’t know if I can accept it.”
“Inger told me she was getting ready to ask you to move. I spoke with your social worker. You are doing too well to keep living at Gilpin Court. I know it’s alot. But your other choices are fading away.”
“Mom! I want to sleep here forever!” The poison ivy rash didn’t itch so much.

Roots to Grow Wings

Neesha stood frozen as she processed what is on offer, “So I sign the offer letter? Is that it?” No, there is more but the signature is a crucial first step.

Neesha signs and hands the letter to Ophie, “Great! The beds are made upstairs. It’s a three bedroom with a master suite. Kids, go pick your rooms.” Neesha is frozen with the earthquake just unleashed on her life. Her son and daughter race upstairs. There is squeels of joy as they find each room decorated for them. The daughter’s room is decorated to be Jasmine’s of Aladdin fame. The son’s room is decorated with Quin Huff memorabilia. The bed resembles Huff’s 00 Camaro. The choices were self-evident. Neesha’s master suite is patterned after her family’s home in Blackwood, VA.

“Ophie. Uhm, thanks. It’s been a day. I’m still tired. Can we continue this tomorrow?”
“Sure,” Neesha and the kids were in bed by 8:30.

Upcoming is a post on angst. This is post number 360. 360 was the number of days in a Roman year. By that premise I’ve completed a year’s worth of posts. Our current calendar is 365 days. So I’m not quite done.