The Old Barn

(Part one of a short story series, based on writing prompts... written while trying to learn to fight brain fog and perfectionism)

It was cooler than usual inside the old barn as Arlo sat and reassembled the harvester he’d been cleaning all day. He looked up as the door creaked open, Dhana’s weary frame all he could make out in the bright light streaming in.

“They’ve marked the barn.” she said, as though he’d know who “they” were. He did. He looked back down and continued working, as though it mattered. “Thought I heard a drone earlier.” he said, his voice sounding so casual he might have bought it himself were his heart not pounding so loud that his vision shook.

Dhana waited, obviously wanting more of a response from her husband. He wiped his oily hands on his worn out overalls as he stood, then walked over to join her in the doorway. “Look,” he started, placing a hand reassuringly on her shoulder “we knew it was only a matter of time. They had to remember we were still here sooner or later.”

They both stared soberly around the old barn. It was almost entirely empty. The government had seized all of the smaller tools and equipment early on in the raids, no doubt melting them down so they could no longer tell their story. All that remained was the harvester, a wooden stool, and the tool kit that a friend had risked giving him.

He could sense her fear, and wondered if she could sense his own. “How about you head inside and get dinner started?” he said, knowing she needed to keep busy to cope, knowing he needed her out of the way so he could do what needed to be done. He could sense her hesitation. “Are you coming in soon?” she asked. He suspected she wanted to ask something else, they’d been tiptoeing around the truth for weeks now. He turned and headed back over to where she’d found him moments earlier, hoping the distance would obscure his half truth. “I need a bit. There’s a lot of memories to try and soak up.”

He risked a glance at her and gestured to her flour dusted apron, a playful smile creeping onto his face. “It looks like maybe you’d already started working on dessert...” he could no longer see her face, obscured again by the brightness around her, but her voice relaxed a little “I figured we could use a treat... and that was before the drone came and left it’s mark. I might need to bake a few more cakes!” He forgot she could see his brow furrow in consideration until he heard her astonished response “I know you like my baking, but I was joking!” she was practically laughing by this point. He smiled and shook his head as he placed the wrench back into the toolbox. “I thought cake might soften the blow when I break the news to Carson” he said “I’m not the only one with a soft spot for your handywork!” She rested her hands on her hips as she responded in faux annoyance, her usual confidence showing again “Well then you’ll have to give him a piece from the one in the oven because I’ve got potatoes to peel!” And with that, she turned and left.

Arlo chuckled to himself. Yep, Dhana would be busy long enough for him to get the job done! Despite having had them almost every night for the past 3 years, Dhana was incredibly slow at peeling potatoes. When they’d first started showing up in the rations, he’d offered each night to peel them himself, but she was the most stubborn person he knew. She’d always done the cooking because she liked to do the cooking, and she wasn’t about to let some global food crisis change that!

Arlo stood up, walked across the barn again and closed the doors, securing the latch to lock himself in. He looked around the barn and felt that all too familiar pang of grief. This farm used to be a flurry of activity at this time of evening. They’d employed dozens of men to help with harvesting pumpkins, peppers, cucumbers, squash... they never ate potatoes because they had always had so much of their own produce. All produce that relied on bees.

When bee populations had started to plummet, he and Dhana had called a meeting with their staff. They had two courses of action available to them. The safe road was to find safer crops to grow, potatoes being a popular choice among other producers in their situation. But the vote had been unanimous; they would stick it out, pollinate by hand if they had to. None of them wanted to see a world where hundreds of foods were suddenly off the menu for good and they’d risk everything trying to avoid that fate.

The government had had other plans. At first it was passive - grants were given to farms that were suddenly setting up to grow wheat or potatoes or corn, while farms like theirs were left to go it alone. But once bees had become extinct, things took a turn they just hadn’t seen coming. It had been seen as a fool’s errand to pollinate crops manually, but overnight it became illegal. The government didn’t give a reason - it didn’t need to - but Arlo had always suspected money was the driving factor.

They’d tried to fight it. Each person who worked on that farm had found their own way to resist. He’d watched good people thrown in prison for protesting or organizing petitions. Dhana and himself had been relatively lucky. Their form of protest had been to keep pollinating crops by hand - not enough to sell, just enough to try and keep a few vegetable species alive. That’s when the raids had come through.

With their equipment seized and their fields burnt, the government had moved on to more immediate “threats”, and forgotten about them. Until today. They’d known it was coming. They’d seen friends go through it.

From what others had told them, they had two days at best till the trucks arrived to ensure no trace was left of their once thriving farm. Preservation wasn’t on the governments agenda, and people would only keep fighting while there was something left to fight for.

Darkness had fallen while he’d been thinking. He still had some fight left in him, and it was time. He pulled a crowbar from his toolbox and used it to remove a floorboard in the back left corner of the barn. He reached into the abyss and felt around until his hand made contact with glass. He began pulling out jars.

When the raids had happened, they were efficient, and heavy handed. They’d cleared out all the buildings - including removing all produce from the house - and they’d burnt everything that was growing. But they’d made a mistake. He couldn’t blame them; he’d missed it himself. He thought they’d taken everything.

That night after the raids, Dhana had stayed home while he met with other farmers. It was unlike her to take a back seat, but after such an awful day he couldn’t blame her. He had come home in the early hours of the morning to find trays of seeds covering every flat surface in the house. “Compost” she said. One little overlooked detail that had changed everything. She’d even risked raiding the neighbors pile.

Over the coming weeks they’d lived with these trays around them while the seeds dried out. Each night they inspected them, burning any that had signs of mold. Finally they had been dry enough to pack away. A few empty jars that had once been destined for pickling had survived the raid unbroken. They packed the seeds - along with packets of silica jell to take care of any remaining moisture - into the jars, and waited for dark. Arlo had pulled up the floorboard and lowered them into the cavity, hoping he wasn’t signing their death sentence.

The fear wasn’t any less intense as he hammered the floor board back into place with the jars out in the open once again. This was treason. He’d promised Dhana that he would get the seeds somewhere safer, but this had been the safest place he knew of, until now. A faint knock on the barn door brought him out of his thoughts. He walked over to the door, unhooked the latch, and took a deep breath before facing Dhana. “Dinner is ready” she said as he emerged, locking the barn behind him. I just hope we’re ready for what’s next, he thought as she took his hand and led him to the house for what might be the last time.