Pear Farm

As he got older, Pedro realized that every day on Gopez Farm was pretty much the same. It had been like that when he was younger, but he didn't mind it; he actually preferred it that way. There was a lot to love growing up after all; playing with the animals, exploring the woods, and the occasional hunting trips with grandpa. When you were happy, every day being the same wasn't such a bad thing.

As Pedro got older, however, he had more responsibilities around the farm and more dreams of life beyond their little home in Oregon. He was no longer satisfied with his life, and the mundanity was driving him insane. He had just turned eighteen last week, and all he could think about when blowing out the candles was whether the next fifty years of his life would all be the same. He could disappear for a decade and return to the farm knowing exactly what was going on at any hour of the day. If it was morning, they were collecting eggs, feeding the chickens, and planting seeds. Later in the afternoon, they would gather fruits and vegetables around the farm. If he never saw another pear in his life it would be too soon.

These thoughts circled his head as he waited for the mailman to arrive. When he did, he selfishly grabbed the letter that was addressed to him and left the rest of the mail at the end of their long driveway. As he hustled up the hill towards the barn, he opened it hastily, causing paper to tumble down the hill towards the road. He hated to litter, but he was too nervous right now to go after it.

He skimmed the first few lines and his heart leapt when he finally found the word he had been looking for: accepted.

He stared at it over and over again in disbelief. Surely, they had been mistaken. Him going to Stanford? No one in his family had ever did more than a few community college classes. He stuffed the letter in his pocket and continued out into the fields.

He finished the rest of his chores for the day and placed the acceptance letter beneath his pillow that night, hoping none of his siblings would find it before he had a chance to talk to Papa.

As the oldest of six children, his dad relied on him the most, and he feared what he would say. Deep down, he knew Papa wanted him to be happy, but he was also a man of principle and order. Papa Gomez couldn't fathom anyone wanting to leave their farm in Medford to go out in the real world. For Papa Gomez, their farm meant hard-work, family, and tradition, which were the most important things in the world. "Plant a pear seed, leave a legacy."

Pedro hated that saying. It sounded nice but he had heard it too often growing up. Why did he care if the farm kept going? It was boring, exhausting, and muzzling his freedom. He had dreams for himself. He imagined being an architect or an inventor. Would his father be able to relate?

Unable to sleep, he woke up before dawn and met his father out by the chicken coop. His back was turned and Pedro accidentally startled him when he approached.

"Worried you were a coyote for a second," said Papa, "You're up early. Finally kicked some work ethic into you, did I?"

"Work ethic? Most of my friends just sit around and play video games during summer vacation."

"Video games!" said Papa, smiling and putting his hand on Pedro's shoulder, "When I was your age, I was up at four every morning, and I was lucky if I finished by job by 8pm. You're lucky, you know, I've spoiled you."

"I guess we see things differently," said Pedro, shaking his head.

Papa knelt down and started working on one of the beams that had come loose the previous evening. If it came undone, the chickens could escape, which would have been about the most exciting thing that happened on the farm since his great grandfather was shot by his lover, who stormed off with savings.

"Dad."

Papa turned his neck and hopped up to his feet. Pedro only called him dad when it was important.

"Yes, son."

Pedro kept trying to figure out what to say to him, but he decided it would be easier to do it without talking. He reached into his pocket and handed his dad the letter. He stayed silent while he read through it. Eventually, he looked u and placed both his coarse hands around Pedro's neck.

"Do you have any idea how proud this makes me? When your great grandfather came to this country, he didn't have a dollar to his name. He had a single seed in his pocket and a vision for a better life for his family. Even in his wildest dreams, I don't think he could have foreseen one of his kin getting into a university like Stanford. You should be so proud of yourself."

The words were nice and heartfelt, but it wasn't what he wanted to hear.

"But?"

Papa swallowed and looked away for a moment, "If we had the money. If we even had some of the money, hijo, I would be jumping up in down with joy. But the pears don't pay enough to afford that. The only money this family ever had was stolen from us."

"But don't you see, Papa? This is my chance to earn some of it back. If I go to Stanford, I can get a real job and ---"

"A real job?"

He shouldn't have said it like that.

"A real job, Hijo? So is what I'm doing imaginary?" said Papa, his tone elevating as he gestured across the farm, "Is all this imaginary?"

"Dad I didn't mean it like--"

"Why don't you take that shovel over there and go back behind the pear trees to Bisabuelo Carlos’ grave to let him know everything he built here is imaginary. The life he gave to my papa, and me, and you, and all your siblings. You spit on it now with your words."

"Dad, that's now what I meant. You know that's not how I feel."

"All I know is what you say," said Papa, bending back down for the coop, "The sun is coming up. Go get on with your chores."

"Dad."

"We'll talk later."

He had never seen such a look in his father's eyes. Was it hatred... shame? Maybe it was jealousy. Perhaps, he didn't want any of his children to leave the farm because he had been stuck there his whole life.

Pedro stormed off, wondering if he would complete his chores for the day. As he rounded the corner towards the front of the house, he saw his mother sitting on the front porch. Her eyes dart towards the paper in his hands. He quickly shoved it in his back pocket, hoping she wouldn’t ask about it.

"What was that?" she asked curiously.

He wasn't sure whether he wanted to tell her. He knew she'd try to convince Papa and it would leave to a fight between them. He didn't want that for her. He sat down next to her on the porch, staring at the sunrise in the distance. She did this every morning before going out back to collect eggs for their breakfast.

"Do you ever question it all?" asked Pedro.

Before answering, she turned towards him and her brown eyes surveyed him beneath her black curls. "Question what?"

"You and Papa wake up every morning and do the exact same thing every single day. Aren't you sick of it by now?"

She let out a soft laugh and stared back towards the sun.

"Before I answer, Pedy, let me ask you a question ... do you think I’m crazy?"

"No of course not, Mama."

"Good. I don't think I am crazy either."

She stopped talking and he was left on the edge of his seat. He waited another moment just to be sure.

"And?"

"And only a crazy person would do the same thing over and over again if they hated it. I know it's hard to believe, but I actually love my life. I love watching you and the kids out on the farm. I love seeing Papa relax with me in the house after a long day of work. It may be simple, Pedy, but I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.”

“Oh,” said Pedy, putting his head down, “And what if I didn’t love it?”

She lifted his chin up with her hand, “Then I would tell you to find something you do love.”

Pedro smiled and sat with her for a little while longer before walking off towards the fields to start his chores. He decided he would do them after all.

When he finished later in the day, his father came to him again, calmer than before. He told him that one of the pear trees had died and asked him to come plant seeds with him.

Pedro rejected him and felt slightly guilty after receiving a disappointed look. Usually, that would have been enough for him to give in, but Pedro had found resiliency. He didn’t think he would ever grow to love their life on the farm, and he didn’t think he’d ever forgive his father for depriving him of his dream.

Over the next few months, him and his father’s relationship was tense, and the tenser it got, the more Pedro helped out around the farm. He refused to let him have the last word, and he didn’t want his Papa to have anything to hang over him when they had their fights.

As the deadline to accept his letter from Stanford approached, he stopped speaking to him altogether. His mother tried to play the peacemaker, but he respectfully declined all her attempts at reconciliation. He would be locked into his current routine for the next few decades … he didn’t mind if the first few didn’t involve his father.

It started to eat at him, however, and his emotions started to come to a climax the day before the deadline. He woke up in the morning feeling rather angry, and walked past his father, who was waiting for him outside his bedroom door. He tried to keep his younger siblings out of it, but even they could sense that something was wrong.

His papa followed him out to the peer trees at the edge of their farm, so he began to run. His dad was still in good shape, but he wasn’t fast enough to keep up. When he got to the pear tree that was the closest to the woods, he looked up and saw his dad was still following him. He waited in silence until he arrived.

“How did you know?”

“Know what?”

It was the first words he had said to him in over a week.

“This is where I wanted you to come with me."

“Why?’

He pointed up at the pear tree they had stopped at, and Pedro inspected it carefully. He didn’t notice anything wrong with it, but there was an axe and two shovels sitting on the ground beneath its trunk; it was a goner.

“It’s dead.”

“It looks fine to me.”

“Well, it’s not producing pears anymore, so it’s dead to me,” said his father, smiling. “I need you to help me cut it down and---

“Plant another seed.”

“Precisely.”

He sighed underneath his breath and grabbed one of the axes. He hoisted into the air and took all his emotion out on the trunk. He did this over and over again for the next few minutes, noticing his father looking on in his peripherals. When he had finally had enough, he placed it on the ground at Papa’s feet and sat down beneath the shade of a nearby tree.

His father took a few turns, using a calm and rhythmical approach. They took a few turns each before Pedro had reached the other side of the trunk. He took one more shot at it before stepping back and admiring his work as it toppled to the ground.

They picked up the shovels and started digging around the roots of the tree. It was laborious work, but they eventually had removed all evidence of the tree’s existence. They started to shovel dirt out to plant more seeds, but Pedro stopped after a while and looked at his father.

“I am never going to love this,” said Pedro, “I know abuelo was all about us planting our seeds and hard days work in the fields, but that’s not me dad. I can’t do this forever. I won’t.”

His dad stared at him with a serious face, but he turned away and picked up his pace. He shoveled deeper and deeper, easily surpassing the usual depth for the seeds. Eventually, he hit a rock and the shovel vibrated back against his arms, causing him to lose his balance and fall into the pit.

Papa laughed, but Pedro didn’t find anything funny about the situation. Papa reached his hand out, but Pedro denied it.

“I hope you don’t mind, Pedro,” said Papa, “But I sent an acceptance letter in your name.”

“You what?”

“I accepted your offer to Stanford.”

“But you said we couldn’t afford it.”

“I know.”

“But what about that whole planting a seed thing?”

“When abuelo said plant a seed, he was talking about doing something bigger. He was talking about having a dream. For me, it was you kids and this farm, but I know that’s not enough for you, hijo.”

“But how can you afford it?”

“We’ll take out a loan. Or we’ll sell part of the farm if we have to. We’ll figure it out, but you’re paying us back when you get a fancy job in the city, you understand that?”

Tears started to roll down Pedro’s face, and he nodded his head up and down as he stood up from the ditch.

As his dad pulled him up, his foot slipped against something beneath him, and a piece of shattered wood bounced out of the hole. His father looked at him curiously, and they noticed he hadn’t hit a rock. At first, Pedro thought it was part of the pear tree, but then he noticed there was a letter engraved on it.

They both bent down and started scooping the dirt away from the wood. The letters started to come into focus better, and he saw that it said C.G. on it. They scooped more soil until they revealed the outline of an old wooden box.

It was bigger than they anticipated and they had to dig even further around the sides to lug it out of the ground. It was the size and shape of a briefcase, and most of the wood was rotting or had already chipped off.

“What do you think it is?” asked Pedro, but Papa didn’t say anything.

Instead, he wiped some dirt away from one of its sides, revealing two golden clasps. He pulled them apart from each other and the box popped open.

“Abuelo Carlos,” whispered Papa, as the magical sight came into view.

Inside the box were hundreds of small gold pieces, along with a note written on a faded brown parchment. They looked at each other in disbelief. Pedro reached for one of the pieces, wanting to make sure it was all real, as Papa grabbed the letter.

He read the first line aloud.

“For mi familia, plant a seed that’ll last a lifetime."

“We always thought it was a crazy tale by su abuelo,” said Papa with a haunted look in his eyes, “Your abuelo always told tales of his father getting killed and his fortune being stolen.”

“I guess only half of it was true,” said Pedro.

“No wonder he wanted us to plant these stupid pear trees,” said Papa.

“Stupid pear trees? You love this farm,” said Pedro, shocked by his father’s change of tone.”

“I do … I did. That was all before we were rich,” said his paper, picking him up in a giant bear hug, “Pack your bags, son, you’re going to Stanford!”

“It doesn’t start for five months.”

“Then pack your bags, son …. we’re going on a much-needed vacation.