The Pickled Piper by Mary Ellen Hughes

lot bigger to her eight-year-old self.
    â€œHow long does it take to grow a Christmas tree?” she asked.
    â€œAbout ten years until it’s ready to cut.”
    â€œWow. So I guess that’s why you’d want a farm that’s already established?”
    Will nodded with a smile. “It helps.”
    The top of the road widened into a small, graveled parking lot. “We’ll switch here,” Will said, “to something that’ll handle the bumps in the field better. It’s sturdy but doesn’t look that great, so I generally drive the van into town.” Piper walked with Will over to a mud-splattered, scraped, and dented four-wheeler, then held on for dear life as they bounced their way in it to the various fields, Will pointing out plantings of firs, spruce, and white pines. The scents coming from the dark green trees were wonderful, and Piper commented on it.
    â€œMy farm is all organic,” Will told her. “That’s important to me, when you think of people bringing one of these trees into their homes. I wouldn’t want those branches loaded with pesticides.”
    â€œSome people say they have artificial trees because they hate the thought of cutting down a live tree for a few weeks’ decoration.”
    Will laughed. “I’ve heard that before. Christmas trees are planted specifically for cutting. Nobody’s clearing wild forests. And when a live tree is taken down after Christmas, it gets ground up into biodegradable mulch. How long do they think those artificial trees sit in a landfill once they toss them out?”
    â€œGood point,” Piper said, and thought a tad guiltily about the plastic tree she’d owned but had at least passed on to the girl taking over her apartment in Albany instead of dumping it. Would that new tenant also pass it on when her time came to move? She hoped so.
    Will drove her through fields he said were designated for “cut your own” customers, and much larger fields of trees that would be cut in late fall by crews and shipped off to other vendors. He talked about the new netting and tie-down equipment he’d invested in, and Piper found, to her surprise, that a subject she’d never dreamed could be interesting actually was. Will’s enthusiasm probably had a lot to do with it, and she liked the idea of someone investing their time and savings into doing something they really loved—much like herself. Will Burchett also had obviously discovered “who he was,” as opposed to Scott, who was currently on the other side of the world trying to figure that out.
    The tour ended at a small building Will said he’d put up just that year. “The Burchett Christmas Gift Shop,” he announced with a wave. “We’ll offer hot and cold refreshments during our busy season, when I’ll also have someone here to handle it. Right now, all I can offer is Coke, 7 Up, and a variety of chips.”
    â€œSounds great,” Piper said, pleased at the prospect of extending her time with Will. The more she learned about him, the better she liked him.
    Will pointed her to a small round table with two wire-backed chairs as he went to gather their snacks. The gift shop had a counter where Piper imagined Will’s future employee would dispense food and drink orders to families hungry after tramping through the fields in search of the perfect tree. The shelves throughout the shop currently held only a few sealed cardboard boxes, but she could picture them loaded with Christmas knickknacks and toys, the entire shop decorated with fresh greens and lights, as well as smelling of pine, and maybe cinnamon and cloves. The image made her smile.
    Will brought the sodas and chips and sat down.
    â€œYou have a wonderful place, Will,” Piper said truthfully.
    Will beamed. “It’s a lot of hard work, but I love it. But now it’s your turn. Tell me all about how you ended up in Cloverdale