Page 22 of Keeping it Local

“Beth!” Professor Mackey called out. “Hold up!”

I stopped in my tracks and headed over to his portion of the square table.

“I’ve been very impressed with your participation in class this summer. How are you liking the workshop?”

“I’m loving it so far. Totally different from what I was expecting, but I’m getting a lot of information.”

He chuckled while dusting off his pants. “These are my favorite types of courses to teach. They let my students get what they need to take back to their businesses. It’s why I suggested you come.” He arched his brow at me. “I know you’ve talked a bit about your possible proposal. If you want some guidance on it, I’d be happy to talk through some ideas with you.” His light-gray beard lit up in the sunshine peeking in with his mustache curled upward around his lip.

“I appreciate that,” I said. “Once I get some additional ideas about what I want to do, I’ll definitely schedule some time. I think I bit off a little more than I can chew with working at the shop this summer.”

“Maybe, but I think working with Mary is just what you need. I’ve known her, and knew Gordy, for years. She has a good business there, and she’s heavily involved in the community too. I think it’s a good comparison with what you want to do with the farm because of the expansion and working with the public every day. I’m sure it’s a lot, but it’ll be a good use of your time.” He gave me a look that I wasn’t sure what to make of. “With everything that you and your family have going on, I really believe that you can put together something that works for you and them.”

I wasn’t sure what he meant exactly, but I left that alone. “Like I said, I still have to get my thoughts together, but once I do, I’d love your opinion.” I pulled on the straps of my bag tightly, not knowing how implementing any ideas with my dad would go, even if they would further the business. He seemed supportive on the outside, but he was also resistant to change in a lot of ways.

“I know what it’s like with some of these multi-generational businesses, but just remember, you have solid ideas in that head of yours. I know you’ll figure it out.” He patted me on the back and sauntered out the door. “I’ll see you next week.”

He was right. It made me nervous having any sort of lengthy conversation about the direction of the business with my parents, but I also needed to be upfront with what I wanted, and what I wanted was more autonomy expanding the business in how I thought it was going. I was surprised by his comments about Mary, but it was a small town. It would be shocking if he didn’t know her.

I headed out of the room and made my way out of the old school building.

I had done a lot of research already, and in talking with some of the second generations at these farms, I knew the biggest hurdle was getting the parents on board, and that was my concern as well. There was so much more we could do, and it was frustrating to see us stuck in how we’d always done things. As much as we’d grown the business, I wanted more. I wanted to put my stamp on it, especially since we were the only Weber Farm in the area. My dad had grown up in Ohio, and he had family down there, but we were the only ones in Michigan.

After jumping into the car, I flipped on my headlights and started my way home when my parents called.

“Hey, Mom. Hey, Dad. What did you say?” I spoke loudly over the Bluetooth radio. I could barely hear my parents because of all the background noise between my car and them having me on speaker on their side.

“Did you have a chance to look over those invoices?” Dad asked. He was almost shouting through the phone.

“Yeah, I emailed you back, didn’t you get it?” He had emailed me a few invoices to look over to make sure they looked accurate before paying them. At the time, I was surprised he sent them over. My parents had insisted they were completely fine with me taking a leave over the summer, but now, I was questioning things.

“I haven’t looked at my email in a couple days. I figured we could just talk about it,” he said.

“Dad, you need to check your email every day. Some of the vendors still like reaching out to you directly for whatever reason, and you need to be responsive.” I tried to mellow my voice with understanding, but it frustrated me that he was so behind sometimes.

“It’s fine. If someone needs something, they can always call me. They know that,” he said, matter-of-factly.

“I know a lot of them will, but some of the newer vendors we work with will reach out electronically. Just please make it a point to look.” I didn’t want to keep having this conversation. “But yes, the invoices look fine. Everything checks out.”

“Okay, Evelyn, you good to pay those then?” he asked my mom. I couldn’t hear the entire conversation, but instead just little tidbits of a side conversation they were having on their end.

“How’s life in the big city this summer?” Mom asked, clearly wanting to change the subject from work. “Classes going well?”

I laughed at the big city comment. Port St. Clair had only a handful of stoplights in town, even though it was much larger than Randall. “It’s going really well. I’m getting a lot from meeting people in person. I appreciate you allowing me to take the time.” I paused. “Lots of good things to bring back to the business.”

As much as I loved my parents, it was a much-needed separation between us that we’d never had. It put things into perspective, and I secretly hoped it would give me a jolt of excitement in getting things rolling at home.

“Hopefully not too many ideas,” Dad said. I knew he was half-joking, half-completely serious, and only time would tell how things would go when I got home. There was so much unspoken communication in our house. As much as everyone loved each other, there was an edge too. Maybe it was because we were a family who worked together, or maybe it was because we were too close in all the day to day. It was hard to tell.

“You both were the ones who encouraged me to come here for the summer,” I said sarcastically. “Mom practically pushed me out the door.”

“That was your mother,” he said, jokingly.

“Dale, we talked about this.” I heard whispered bickering in the background again.

I turned the volume down as they sorted out their issues a hundred miles away while I focused on the road. I was getting close to Megan’s cottage, and we’d have to wrap this up soon.

“Anyway,” Mom said, “I was talking with Michael earlier today, and he was telling me how he was interested in maybe coming down to Port St. Clair later this summer.”