If You Kids Don't Behave I'll Turn This ATV Around!

Danny, the farm owner/manager, is hardworking, responsible and very hard not to like. He’s a young guy, 23 or 24, but I have no problem considering him my boss (I’m a ripe 32). I don’t know how he learned it, but he definitely knows his stuff—not only farming, but Anasazi history, identifying animal tracks, sustainable electrical engineering… you name it. No matter where we go, he routinely wears work boots, jeans, a t-shirt and a cowboy hat and has a great attitude about everything. He treats every person he meets with respect and does his best make everyone happy. At the same time, he knows when to put his foot down, crack the whip (i.e., cut the power to the Xbox) and tell people to get to work. I can’t imagine him losing his cool, and I’ve seen him put up with a lot of bullshit in the short time I’ve been here.

The French volunteers left this past weekend, so now it’s just me and the Brits. Josh and Aaron, both 20 years old, are loads of fun. They share my desire to try new things, so we have a lot of adventures together. These range from climbing the canyon walls and exploring caves to seeing how steep a hill we can drive up in the Mule without it tipping over and killing us all. They definitely add some excitement to the farm life here, but they’re also a handful. They’d blend in nicely with a class of third graders.

On our most recent trip to explore Anasazi ruins, they raced to see who could find the first arrowhead. When we had a few late-night drinks and decided to climb on top of the house, they argued over which of them could climb the highest. Yesterday, they had a hammer-throwing contest.

Our brief lunch breaks are usually stretched out over an hour because they get so wrapped up in Facebook, and they would probably go on for two hours if Danny didn’t threaten to turn off the internet for a few days unless they got back to the field. I often have to nag them to get back to work because they get so distracted trying to catch lizards. Whenever Danny drives us to town for supplies, they yell and fight over who gets to ride shotgun. That one got so ugly that Danny had to lay down some rules (you have to see the vehicle before shouting “shotgun,” no saving shotgun, as soon as you step out of the passenger’s seat it’s up for grabs, etc.).

Car trips seem to bring out the worst in them, or the most entertaining, depending on how you look at it. This is when they pester Danny the most, usually for things they see out the window. Here are a few requests I heard this weekend as we drove to Cortez. I’m not making up any of this:

“Danny, can we go to Taco Bell?”
“Danny, can we go to the rodeo?
“Danny, can we go to Vegas?”
“Danny, can we get a boat and go to the lake?”
“Danny, can we fire your guns when we get home?”
“Danny, can we go to Denver?”
“Danny, you said we could go to Taco Bell!”
“Danny, can I shoot a rabbit?”
“Danny, can you buy us some Mountain Dew?”
“Danny, can I sell an Anasazi skeleton if I find one?”
“Danny, can we get Modern Warfare 2?”
“Danny, can we go to the Grand Canyon?”
“Danny, can we go to the sheriff’s office and see if I can ride in a police car?”
“I don’t want Taco Bell anymore, I want KFC!”

For the record, my dad used to pull the car over and make me walk the last few blocks home whenever I tried to pull that stuff. I was eight then.

Don’t get me wrong—I enjoy the Brits’ company and we do have a lot of good times and good conversations. I don’t mean to bash them because they’re both smart guys and good friends. It just never ceases to amaze me how much they end up looking like Danny’s spoiled children, and it usually makes me laugh. Danny totally takes on the dad role, keeping them in line and usually answering their questions with “possibly” or “we’ll see.” And he does a great job granting as many of their requests as he can, within reason.

No, he won’t let them shoot rabbits or dig for Anasazi skeletons.

Yes, he’s going to talk to the sheriff about letting Josh ride in a police car.

Freedom WWOOFers

Danny told me not to worry about getting up early, which is the last thing I expected to hear as a farm worker. I woke naturally at 8:30am and was the first one up. Danny woke up around 11, made a big breakfast of sausage, bacon and eggs, then woke everyone else. We didn't get out to work until noon. I'm sure that isn't normal for most farms.

I was assigned to do some digging for new irrigation pipes. It was over 90 degrees, but I'm used to much more humid climates and it actually felt nice. I also picked the right work clothes... jeans, light long-sleeved collar shirt and a big hat. I finished digging in an hour, then ran into the Brits. They were cutting PVC pipes to irrigate grapes in another field and I ended up helping them the rest of the day.

Josh just finished a year working as a police officer in Manchester and is here on a 6-month trip to see the US before returning to school. Aaron, his old friend, lives on a farm just outside Manchester and is a student on holiday leave for a few weeks. We all hit it of right away, especially when I mentioned I grew up outside Atlanta. It turns out these guys are really fascinated with the deep south and want to do a trip across all the Southern states. I asked if that was a normal interest for the British and Josh said no, he's just personally really into American redneck culture.

I always thought it was a stereotype that the British hate the French, but Josh and Aaron assured me it was true. They call the French volunteers "the French fags" behind their backs and make a lot of jokes about them surrendering all the time, as in "Why are the French fags going in so soon? Are they surrendering to the tractor?" They're very friendly to their faces, though, and the French guys, Nicholas and Gabriel, seem to be oblivious. I'm staying out of it. That feud is centuries old, and I get along fine with both the Brits and the Frenchies. Nicholas and Gabriel are super friendly, although their English isn't great and they tend to keep to themselves and speak French.

We measured and cut pipes the rest of the day. The Brits decided to go swimming after work and invited me to come. We drove to a nearby lake and hung out there the rest of the evening. They later told me they come there to fish if I was every interested. When we got back to the house, it was too late to set up the trailer, so I hit the couch again.