Westcott Family Farm

Copyright© 2021 – Nicholas Hall

Chapter Eleven

“If I were asked to name the chief benefit of the house, I should say: the house shelters daydreaming, the house protects the dreamer, the house allows one to dream in peace.”

(Gaston Bachelard)

 “What’s he doing?” was my somewhat panicked response.

“Standing there, his right hand on your ass.”

“Eyes open or shut?”

“They’re open, you dumb shit! How else could I see him?”

“Not you, him!” I hissed, my retort exemplifying my concern.

“Open, but he’s just staring.”

“At what?”


“I know that! What I mean is, he’s not readying himself to mount the old pony without a blanket and ride him to town is he?”

Now, I was really starting to panic!

I felt Andy begin to jiggle and shudder with suppressed laughter.

“God, Jacob,” he giggled softly, “You should see your face; sheer terror, your eyes as big as cow pies, fearful your big-cocked nephew is getting ready to fuck you!”

Andy paused and gave me a quick kiss. “Take heart, Love, he’s just sleepwalking and probably has to take a leak. Why don’t you move off me, take his hand, and lead him to the bathroom? He won’t object and is probably confused where it is. He had a pretty stressing day.”

He's not the only one, I thought, especially the last few minutes!

Andy felt me move off of him and stand next to Mattie , but it didn’t  stop his barely suppressed giggling however.

“Mattie, honey,” I said softly, “why don’t I take you to the bathroom?”

Mattie didn’t object as he took my hand and walked with me to the bedroom door.

“I’ll follow you in,” Andy said softly. “I need to rid myself of the heavy load somebody deposited in my ass earlier,” and the dirty fucker giggled again, greatly irritating me, but not sufficiently for me to respond.  I’d get him yet, right up the ass- I hoped!

I stood, Mattie in front of me, his back to my belly, sort of leaning up against the warmth of my body, his warm naked back up against my warm naked front, part of which was starting to awaken! He didn’t take his own cock in hand so he might begin to piss, not pointing it, not sliding back the foreskin, nothing! He just stood there- and sort of wiggled, unfortunately.

“Tell him he can pee now, Jacob.” Andy instructed from alongside the two. “He’s in a deep somnambulant state.”

That certainly wasn’t the state I was rapidly approaching! If he didn’t do something pretty soon, rigor mortise was going to set in in a very “outstanding” manner in one part of my body- Andy’s favorite part.

“What the fuck’s that?” I whispered, not wanting Mattie to hear him or wiggle anymore. I was somewhat angry, confused, and now hard as large cucumber ready to be plucked (notice I said plucked), undecided on what to do next. I knew what I wanted to do, but Andy was standing next to me and I had my nephew in my arms waiting for him to piss. Couldn’t very well let him just drop to the floor half asleep, and lay there while I rammed my rampant cock up Andy’s love chute for a vigorous, wonderful, gratifying, delicious standing- fuck could I?

Hell, I never had a sleepwalker in the family. Why should I? It was only Janet and me, and I didn’t think either one of us walked in our sleep- fucked yes- walked no!

“A condition, sometimes abnormal, which is the walking in a person’s sleep. In his case, it’s almost as if he’s in a hypnotic trance. He’ll probably wake up in the morning and have no recollection of what he did. He could also awake anytime.”

“What should I do?”

“Take a hold of his penis, slip back the foreskin, point it at the toilet bowl, and tell him it’s okay to pee.”

“You want me to hold his cock? Won’t he think I’m trying to molest him or something? What’ll I do if he gets stiff?”

I was blathering, trying to find a reason why I shouldn’t act upon Andy’s advice, certain Mattie would awaken and shout “what the fuck are you doing?”

Honest to god, I’d never been in this situation before, not had another boy’s, as young as Mattie, cock in my hand since I was in grade school or high school, and then it hadn’t been for the purpose of pissing; not intentionally anyway. Might have pissed afterward, but that wasn’t the original purpose! Any sane person viewing the goings-on in our bathroom would’ve been on the phone to the police, screaming “molestation” and not give one good flying fuck about the predicament I found myself in, trying to do the best I could for my nephew. Oh, no; there’d be four thousand police officers out front with guns drawn and a judge ready to ship me off to the state pen where I’d meet thirteen self-proclaimed proctologists waiting in the prison shower ready to assist me with my bath and an intensive examination of my rectum.  Nope, no way- but what the fuck do I do?

“Yes; no; and he might.”

I sighed and nodded in resignation, realizing no one was going to arrest me, stuff their instruments up my butt except Andy or my personal physician, and understood my role in the process about to unfold in front of me by the sweet boy I held in my arms. I was more than Mattie’s uncle, I was his protector, his champion, the one Mattie would always go to for comfort, for encouragement, and for his release of emotions in times of stress. I realized, at that moment, the enormity of responsibility Andy and I were undertaking being their guardian and parent. It was much more than being the “uncle.”

I leaned my head over, lightly grasped the young, but maturing, penis in my fingers, slid back the foreskin, pointed it at the toilet bowl, and speaking softly in Mattie’s ear, said, “Okay, Mattie; it’s time to pee.”

By god, he did it! Mattie did as he was told and peed and peed and peed until with a shiver and few final spurts, finished emptying his bladder. I gave Mattie’s cock a few shakes to rid it of any dribbles. That’s what I did to mine so I naturally assumed my nephews, especially Mattie, would do as well.

“There, Mattie, you should feel better now. Let’s go back to bed. Okay?”

“Ok-k-k-kay,” Mattie sort of muttered, barely understandable.

Andy became alert hearing Mattie speak! I’d mentioned I thought I heard Mattie say “I love you Uncle Jacob” the night before but was dubious since I’d not seen any indication Mattie could or would speak. However, Mattie said nothing more as I began, with an arm around him, walking back towards his bedroom.

“You like talking to me, don’t you, Mattie?” I murmured softly, lovingly in his ear as we walked.

Mattie just nodded slowly, still semi-awake while walking in his sleep. Fortunately for me, part of me was sort of drooping now, as if semi-awake, rapidly descending to complete relaxation.

I took a chance. Just before putting Mattie down in his bed to sleep, I asked, “What did teacher do when you couldn’t say your words?”

“H-h-h-h-hit me!” Mattie complained in the same slow, barely audible voice as before. “C-c-c-called m-mm-me s-s-s-st-t-t-t-tu-ped”

I lowered him to the bed, my hearty aching for the sweet young lad now under our care, feeling the suffering he’d been through, wanting to shoulder his burden, bringing him back to speaking with others, giving him confidence in himself and restoring trust, kissed him on his forehead and both cheeks before soothing back a lock of hair hanging over his smooth, soft forehead. “Mattie, honey, that won’t happen again if Uncle Andy and I have anything to say about it. Now go to sleep and know Uncle Jake loves you so very much.”

“L-l-l-luv you t-t-t-too,” Mattie murmured softly, rolled over, and was fast asleep again.


Andy and I lay quietly in our bed, contemplating what just occurred with Mattie.

“My first thought, after visiting with Janet,” Andy admitted, “was Mattie was autistic in some form. But watching him I couldn’t say for certain. Perhaps he is, mildly, and perhaps he isn’t. I do think getting his words mixed up might be a good sign he is dyslectic, perhaps severely so. We can give some informal tests in the morning to see if it’s so.”

“It’s morning now,” I complained, my sleep and love-making interrupted.

“I mean during the daylight morning, not now!”

“Well, I’m no speech therapists, or child psychologist or physician, but I can sure as hell tell my nephew has one hell of a stuttering problem; worse than a kid behind me a couple of years in high school. Mattie sounds worse than that country/western singer, Mel Tillis.”

“Perhaps,” Andy acknowledged, “and Tillis did pretty damned well for himself!  I’ll check with some of the docs at the hospital. Maybe they can give us some leads on what to do when the school year approaches and how to handle the problem in the meantime.”

“Wish there was someone around to teach us about parenting,” I reflected with a hint of melancholy.

“I think it’s all about love, Jacob,” Andy responded. “At least that’s what I think.”

I was reconciled in my fears of not being a good parent to my nephews by Andy’s reassuring words. Of the six boys, although they all needed a great deal of love and guidance,  having their fears alieved, emotions comforted, and accomplishments, big or small, rewarded and praised, Mattie was the one who probably needed the most in any attempts to help him cope with the emotional trauma and physical problems he’d faced in life to this point. He appeared to be the most sensitive, tender-hearted, and caring.

The boys led an unconventional and nomadic life style until they came to the Farm, yet I knew Janet loved her sons deeply, refusing to give them up to strangers, forsaking her own welfare to provide for them, and fighting her disease long enough to come home so her sons would have a place to live and grow up. It’d taken great effort, pain, love, and persistence to bring them home, for that I am so grateful, only increasing the pain I felt for the lost time we shared.

“We need some more help around the house,” I whispered softly, remembering I was to interview Rose Boyer in the morning, gave Andy another kiss, rolled him over, parted his lovely, firm butt cheeks, brought us both to satisfaction, and went to sleep for what remained of the night. Just before I did, I thought I heard Andy mutter, “And I thought you were tired.”


In the morning, the boys all stopped by their mother’s room to greet her with a kiss and a hug, then trotted to the kitchen to help with breakfast. They seemed to agree on duties for each one of them since Eddie and Jamie quickly began setting the table, Robbie and Davey helped with the cooking, and Mattie and Scottie seemed to be relegated with clean-up, although under some mild questioning by Andy, Robbie confessed all would be helping the two in kitchen clean-up in one way or the other.

As they cooked, set the table, or just waited, Andy explained he’d given their mother her medication for the morning and she had two more times before bed she had to take them, informing them he’d prepared a list near her meds on the dresser for them to refer to in case he wasn’t available. Andy fully intended on including the boys in their mother’s health care, especially now since the end of her life was so near.

“Most of it is to keep her comfortable,” he said, addressing the boys, “and, if she wants to get outside for a breath of air, she should be able to manage it, for now. But, one of you guys have to be with her when she’s up and about. Her balance isn’t that great and she’s not very strong.”

The boys were quite aware of what their Uncle Andy was telling them and wouldn’t disappoint their mother or their uncles.

Janet happened to walk out to the kitchen about that time and the little boys quickly scurried over to her, helped her sit in one of the chairs, and served her a cup of tea. She looked more rested than when she and the boys first arrived, but by no means was her health improving.

Robbie announced it was time to eat, Eddie and Jamie assisted their mother to the dining table, Davey placed a platter of burritos on the table, Robbie poured glasses of orange juice and milk, and breakfast began.

“There’s a protein drink in the refrigerator,” Andy advised. “Would one of you guys get it for your mother please? I’ve asked her to drink one of these at each meal. It’ll help maintain her strength.” It didn’t take a moment before Mattie scooted to the refrigerator and returned with the chocolate drink container and an empty glass. He opened the drink, filled the glass, and handed it to his mother. She gave him a smile with a “thanks” and without objection consumed the beverage.

The table was filled with chatter, about their shopping trip, what they might be able to do today, especially wanting to explore the farm and maybe swim in the lake, and wondering what all happened on the Farm.

“Before you make too many plans,” I advised the group of eager boys, “there are some things we need to get done as well. Uncle Andy is going to town to check on some beds, desks, dressers, and mattresses for your rooms. The rooms are large enough for a set of bunk beds, along with the bed already there, a dresser for each of you, and three small study desks. He noticed an ad in the paper advertising bedroom furniture available at low cost from the university. They’ve remodeled some of the dormitories and are selling the old furniture. He’ll need a couple of you to help him.”

I paused, letting it sink in and for them to begin sorting out who was going to go to town.

“I have to go to the office, check in with my crew leaders, go over some items with Mrs. Jenkins, and visit with a lady who is interested in helping out here in the house. I’d like someone to stay with your Mom during the time Uncle Andy and I are gone.”

Immediately, Robbie asked if he could tag along. I felt Mattie’s hand slip into mine, looked down, and saw the pleading in his eyes. I nodded to Mattie and said to Robbie, “No problem, but it means you’ll have to sort how who helps Uncle Andy and who stays here. Okay?”

Without any argument or bickering of any kind, Scottie, Jamie, and Eddy chose to stay with their mother and Davey agreed to help Andy.

“We’ll take one of the farm trucks,” Andy announced and with a wave of his hand, motioned Davey to follow him.

Mattie, secured to my right hand, skipping, swinging both of our arms, while Robbie and I headed out toward the office building. Outside the office, Lee stopped me, “I need a moment please.”

“What’s the problem?”

“One of my field crew members called in sick this morning and I’m one person short for the work I had planned today. We need to move some irrigation pipe and the beef cattle to the east pasture. I could use another hand, but wanted to see which other crew you thought could spare one from.”

Robbie spotted the remaining three members of the crew Lee was referring to and noticed it wasn’t the cute boy who was sick and missing. I noticed him checking the remaining crew out and before Robbie could say anything, asked, “How about you Robbie? You may as well start learning the family business since you’re going to be living here.”

Taken by surprise, it only took a second however, before Robbie readily agreed.  “Really, Uncle Jacob?”

“Yep, really!”

“Go in the office, give Mrs. Jenkins your social security number if you remember it, pick up a couple of tee-shirts and go to work. You have your old jeans and shoes on, so you shouldn’t need to change.”

Robbie headed for the office faster than a rabbit on the run from hounds.

“Anything special you want him to do, Jake?”

“Nah; he and my other nephews are going to grow up here and going to be working most of the jobs one time or the other so he may as well start with some of the grunt work like everyone else. Just take care of my nephews, please. They haven’t worked outside the home or on a farm, so it’ll be all new.” I paused before adding, “They’ve also never been up north before, so everything will be new, bugs and all.”

“How about the shy one hanging on your arm?”

“He’s Mattie and my special nephew, aren’t you Mattie?”

Mattie, sort of peeking out around me, smiled shyly and nodded his head.

Lee, noting how shy Mattie was, merely said, “Nice to meet you Mattie. I can see you’re going to be a big help to your uncles.”

Robbie popped out of the office, sporting a new baseball cap with the Farm’s logo on it, a new tee-shirt with the same logo, and a pair of leather gloves.

“Mrs. J. had an extra pair of gloves, Uncle Jake, so she gave them to me so I wouldn’t blister my hands. See yah after work,” and dashed off to join the three waiting crew members.

“I’ll send a lunch out to you,” I shouted.

“Eager isn’t he?” Lee mused as he headed to join the crew.

I took another glance at the waiting crew and noticed Robbie was standing next to another boy about his age and size. “Not a bad looking lad either,” I thought. “We’ll see how eager he is by the end of the day,” I added.

 Lifting and moving irrigation pipe was hard and dirty work. Moving cattle, sometimes obstinate beasts, wasn’t a ride in the park either.

Mattie and I entered the office and I noticed an older, grandmotherly in appearance, well dressed, and relaxed, lady laughing and visiting with Mrs. Jenkins. The woman was definitely comfortable and relaxed around Mrs. Jenkins, as if they’d known each other for years. Mattie noticed her as well, giving my hand a gentle squeeze, and tilting his head in her direction.

“Jacob,” Mrs. Jenkins said, getting his attention, “This is Rose Boyer. She’s here to talk to you about the full-time housekeeper/cook position you’d like to fill.”

“If,” Mrs. Boyer said, turning to greet me, “the young man who was just in here to sign on with the Farm crew is an example of who I’ll be making cookies for, he’s a credit to the family.”

Mattie’s eyes lit up when Mrs. Boyer mentioned cookies, looked up at me with a smile, and licked his lips.

“Robbie, is one of six of our nephews who have come to live with us and we find them all a credit to our family.”

“And the handsome young man next to you?”

“This is Mattie, actually Jacob Matthew, but we call him Mattie. He’s very special to his uncles, his mother, and his brothers. They’re all special, but Mattie is the one most attached to me it seems and me to him,” giving Mattie a bit of a hug with one arm. “Mattie is nine going on ten; he’s number four in the birth order. Robbie, who you’ve met, is fourteen going on fifteen; Davey is age twelve, Scottie is age ten going on eleven, Eddie age eight, and Jamie, age seven, all at home right now.”

“Hi, Mattie,” Rose said with a slight wave of her hand.

Mattie just smiled shyly and slipped back a little more behind me.

“Mattie is sort of shy and doesn’t say much,” I mentioned softly.

She nodded her understandingly, gave a warm smile at Mattie, saying, “Sometimes there are boys who prefer to say nothing until they have something important to say and that’s just perfectly fine with me and should be with others as well.”

Mattie sort of relaxed, resting his head against my side, taking comfort from her words to him.

“Why don’t we go into my office where we can be more comfortable and visit in a little more comfort. If you don’t object, I’d like Mattie to sit in with us.”

Rose Boyer had no objection, in fact, welcomed the opportunity to observe the “shy” boy’s demeanor and reaction to her interview. She sat on a comfortable chair I pulled closer to my desk, Mattie sat on an office chair just to the left of me, while I settled in the chair behind my desk.

Leaning forward just a little, I asked, “Why don’t you tell us something about yourself and why you think you’d be the person the boys would want to help them in a busy household of six boys, two gay men, and a very ill sister of mine who is mother to our nephews.”

Rose (Simpson) Boyer was used to hard work and large families. One of five, she grew up in Bemidji, went to school here, graduating with excellent grades and recommendations. While in high school she was the accompanist for most choral groups, participated in the musical presentations, and accompanied students in Band and Vocal competitions.

Mattie’s eyes perked up, he leaned a little forward in order to concentrate on what she was saying, when she mentioned “piano.” It was a topic which seemed to hold his attention and interest. I noticed his sudden attentiveness, remembering hearing Mattie hum some classical music, and the story concerning his library purchases at book sales held in them.

She left the area to attend a small college downstate, majoring in piano performance, but after three years and pregnant, left school to raise her family. She married Ron Boyer, an over the road trucker and they had five children, three boys and two girls. She worked, giving private piano lessons, to help meet the increasing costs of raising the family. When her children were all finally in school, she went to work in the school’s food service program. Her husband was killed in a fiery accident shortly after her youngest son graduated from high school. His widows’ pension, insurance settlement, and a law suit settlement, although not as large as she’d hoped, sustained her, but she continued to work to provide for health insurance.

Her youngest son, John, moved in with her when his wife divorced him. John’s youngest son was two at the time. Two years later, he overdosed and died leaving her with his three sons to raise.

“Unfortunately, I wasn’t aware of the depth of his drug problem, although his oldest son, Paul, was. I moved back here two years ago since I have family here, knowing I’d have some emotional support and family available to help out if needed. I sold the home Ray and I owned for many years to help pay some bills, pick up the slack, and rented a place here. I picked up a part-time job at the university food service, but was laid off last winter.”

Rose decided she needed to continue to work since she now had three young boys, not only to raise, but to provide opportunity for them to continue their education after high school. It’d take a great deal of her savings to do so, as well as provide health insurance for the boys.

“Three of my grandsons live with me,” she said, “Paul, just fifteen and working here for the summer, Mark, age ten, and Douglas, age eight. I think I understand boys, what they like and dislike, and have a great deal of patience with them. My grandsons carry a bit of baggage with them, so I’m used to dealing with problems as well.”

She smiled, and with a sigh, added, “Plus, I’m a pretty good cook, if I don’t say so myself.”

I was pleased with what I’d heard so far, explained my sister’s illness, intimated my nephews came with a bit of baggage was well, and would be raised in a household of two married, gay men, and wondered aloud if there’d be any problems with that.

She merely shook her head. “No, not one bit, but I do ask the boys to give a shout when they traipse around naked like my grandsons do so I’m not shocked or at least able to avert my eyes so I’m not confronted with bare flesh and dangling boy parts.”

Mattie actually laughed out loud when she said it!

I, thinking it was the right thing to do, at least I’d want to know the particulars of the employment, decided to ask her if she had any questions or comments, assuming she’d ask about wages and benefits, conditions of employment, and other things. Indeed, she did have some questions and comments.

“I was acquainted with your mother, Jacob, not friends, but acquainted since she was ahead of me in high school. My contact with her was through choral groups she belonged to I was accompanist for. She had a lovely voice and was a natural musician, I thought.”

Rose spoke of knowing the Westcott family farm market in those years and was pleased to see it grown, but of Janet and me she knew little of since she moved away before Mom married. She did know, from family in the area, there were two of us, twins, and I ran the farm, married Andy Jamison, a physician’s assistant, and beyond that little else. Until now, she hadn’t realized Janet was back home or terminally ill or had six sons.

She paused, looked at me, twisted her head slightly to take a closer look at Mattie, smiled warmly at him again, and back to me.

“Jacob, if you were to offer me this position and if I were to accept it, what would I find when I walked in the door and what could I expect from you and your husband?”

 I was highly encouraged by her use of the word “husband” acknowledging the legitimacy and acceptance of our marriage, acknowledging our right to marry and love each other as spouses should, but man, I didn’t see that question coming! Totally different from what I expected. How in the hell do I answer it? There were so many thoughts racing through my head. Do I say it’s going to a shit-pot full of hard work with six adolescent and preadolescent boys, two adult gay males with zip experience in raising children, and a beloved sister being slowly gobbled up and wasted away by a cancer so debilitating and terminal, she had only a short time to be with us, living a life her final days in pain, attended by hospice nurses, knowing nothing could be done to prevent her exciting this life and leaving her sons?

Shaking my head, I replied, “I really don’t know what you expect to see. I do know you’ll see two men struggling to learn how to be parents to six, lovely, adorable, emotionally strong boys from ages seven or eight to fourteen or fifteen, depending on which boy you ask; men who feel totally ill-prepared, lacking the parental skills needed. You’ll find the nine of us, counting my sister who is in her final days and will require care by nurses, Andy, hospice nurses, and her sons, generate a great deal of work inside and outside the home since we operate a business, but all of us very willingly to help, at all times!”

“You’ll find two gay, married men,” I continued, “who are so totally and completely in love with each other, who could barely live one without the other, finding ourselves, a few short days ago, the guardians and eventual adoptive parents of our nephews, now finding we love them just as completely. We feel we could not now exist without the boys sharing our lives.”

I paused momentarily, trying to organize my thoughts and say what I wished. “You’ll also find a brother struggling with the grief of the impending death of his sister, feeling helpless he can do nothing to stop it, and almost overcome with sadness watching her sons, in the face of this, maintaining an upbeat public face while inwardly mourning the coming loss of the mother they loved and who loves them dearly, knowing their time with her is very short indeed.”

Mattie rose from his chair, tears streaming in rivulets down his face, settled on my lap, and allowed my arms to pull him close and rest his head on my shoulder, allowing my presence, my warmth, and my love for him and his brothers comfort him.

“I guess, Mrs. Boyer, you’ll find a house full of love, respect for each other, where differences are celebrated, where hope is inspired, where our nephews know our love, have our support in all they do, think, or feel, and advocate for them.  Most of all, a place where we believe dreams are achievable and not impossible!”

“When can I start?”

I’m certain she’d want to know what type of wage, days off, vacation, and other benefits would go with the position and reassurance it really would be hard work. Additionally, she had her three grandsons to care for as well. All of this, I thought would take some time to arrange.

“How much do you wish in wages?”

“Not the foggiest; I just want a fair day’s wage for a fair day’s work.”

“Mrs. Boyer, I was thinking about a salaried position, perhaps with a couple weeks’ vacation, a couple of days off each week, but that could change during the summer when we hit a real busy stretch, definitely health insurance for you and, if possible, perhaps for your grandsons if the insurance company will let me.”

So far she hadn’t objected or raised any questions, just sat listening. I didn’t have a clue what was going through her mind.

“Would a salary of thirty-seven thousand a year be adequate? That’s about seventeen almost eighteen dollars an hour.”



Chapter 12

“Twenty percent of any given group of salesmen will always produce 80 percent of the sales.”

(Robert Townsend)


Rose nodded her approval at my offer.

“Can you start next Monday?”

“I think so; I’ll arrange for the two younger boys to stay with my cousin. Paul will be working here so I’ll be bringing him to work.”

As far as I was concerned, Rose Boyer could’ve started that very day. Everything about her gave every indication she’d be a great addition to our lives, providing not only great meals, but a warm, welcoming, and accepting presence for our boys. I was very rapidly viewing our nephews as “our boys” rather than “our nephews living with us.”


I did have other logistics problems to resolve; the most predominate concerned balancing family and work. Before the boys arrived, I was accustomed to making two or three trips per week, during the fruit and vegetable season in the summer, to the various produce auctions to keep our stands and the rest of our markets, including the farmer’s markets we sent people to, well supplied with fresh fruit and vegetables which didn’t either grow on our farm or were available until our crops matured or produced in sufficient quantity to meet customer needs.

I made no pretenses concerning the produce purchased at auction or their origin. For example, the blueberries I wanted to purchase on Thursday were from Michigan and the tomatoes were from somewhere farther south, in this case, I think, southern Indiana. About the only crops I didn’t supplement with outside purchases were asparagus, sweet corn, strawberries, pumpkins, and potatoes; all produced in abundance on our farm and were our real “bread and butter.”  Those crops, along with sale of excess field corn, hay, beef cattle, and hogs, made up the bulk of our very substantial gross income. Not that the outside purchases didn’t contribute highly as well since they did, but we relied on the basic crops and sales to “carry” us from year to year.

My dilemma was simply while Andy was working, during the summer especially, when the boys were alone and I had to leave for an auction before they woke up, who’d be here at home for them? The fall trips, fewer in occurrence, wouldn’t be so bad since I’d travel shorter distances, leave after they left for school and be home generally by the time they got home. Robbie would be old enough to keep an eye on his brothers until I arrived home, something he was quite capable of doing since he’d been doing it for as long as he did already.

I contemplated all of this as Mattie, gripping my left hand, skipped and hopped along side of me as we made our way to the house.

Inside I gave him a gentle swat on the butt, prompting a giggle and a wiggle of his pert little ass, told him to relieve his brothers and send Scottie to the kitchen to give me a hand. I realized not only did I have to prepare a lunch for Robbie and send out to him, but also figure out something for lunch and dinner for the rest of us. I rummaged around in the freezer, located some packages of minute steaks, took one package out, pried a couple loose from the package, popped them in the microwave to thaw, and returned the package to the freezer. I also spotted a couple of pork roasts, took them out and to the kitchen. Pork roasts, potatoes, and mixed veggies with fruit for dessert would take care of dinner and perhaps sandwich material for Robbie for another day. Meantime, he was going to get a couple of minute steak sandwiches, chips, mandarin oranges from the small can I retrieved from the pantry, and a cold soda (from the office) and a bottle of water.

Scottie arrived to help so I put him to work broiling the steaks while I found a small picnic cooler I often took with me traveling to carry snacks and water. A quick peek into the fridge revealed we’d need more milk, so Andy would have to pick some up before coming home, along with bread, butter, another cooler, and something for Sunday dinner, preferably chicken.

The steaks done, made into sandwiches dressed with sliced tomatoes, thin onion slice, and lettuce, slipped into sandwich bags, placed into the cooler along with a bag of ice, the oranges, a bottle of water, and chips. I called to Eddie and Jamie to come help his brother deliver Robbie’s lunch (“don’t forget a spoon, Uncle Jacob,” Scottie reminded me). I gave Scottie money to purchase a soda from the office machine since he had to go there and seek Robbie’s whereabouts from Mrs. Jensen (Mrs. “J.” as all six seemed determined to call her).

I sent the three of them out of the house and headed them toward the office, with the admonition, “You three stick together. You’re not familiar with the farm yet and I don’t want to send out search party to find you.”

That’s all I’d need!

Janet, hearing all of the hustle and bustle coming from the kitchen, walked, albeit slowly, to the kitchen with Mattie assisting her, then settled down in a chair. She laughed at me in my scurrying about in the kitchen, my harried look at the boys as I warned them on their way out the door, and my sigh of resignation and concern.

“Keeps you busy doesn’t it, Brother?” she laughed.

I merely nodded, wondering how she’d been able to cope and adjust through the years as yet another son was added to her life.

“Don’t worry,” she said with amusement, “it just gets more hectic. Wait until they quit fucking each other and decide to ‘spread the wealth,’ so to speak, among the boys and girls they become acquainted with.”

I merely groaned at the thought. Mattie just grinned, rolled his eyes, twinkling at the sound of his mother’s words and the thoughts they engendered.

Janet certainly didn’t couch her words any more now than she did when we were growing up; even in the presence of her sons.

“I’ll worry about that in the future. Now, I have to decide what to fix for lunch.”

“Got any more of those minute steaks? If so, fix the same for the rest of us, Jacob.”

I brought out the steaks from the freezer, put them on the counter to thaw, and called Andy asking him to pick up milk, sandwich materials, another couple of picnic coolers since we’d be packing lunches for more than one in the future I thought, and something for Sunday dinner. I was about to hang up when Andy informed me he had the beds but no mattresses, sheets, or blankets for them.

“Put them on our personal charge cards,” I advised.

It was a fortunate thing Andy had a good paying job and the profits from the farm were good to excellent. Raising six boys, with all of the additional help it’d take, would take some financial as well as personal resources. Andy and I, luckily, had the financial resources to provide well for our “new sons.” We weren’t wealthy, but we weren’t average in economic resources either; in fact, well above average. Our savings accounts and investments were well endowed and doing well. Andy’s salary provided a regular income, while the income from the farm was sporadic, but substantial.

“How did you manage, Sis?” I asked

“I planned my menus, checked for sales, and worked hard.”

During her younger and healthier years, she could earn up to four or five hundred dollars or more in a night’s work. By watching her expenses she’d be able to set aside enough for them to survive when business was slow.

“It takes a bunch,” she recalled, “but the boys are real good about not over spending or asking for more than we could afford.”

I could well imagine what their lives were like before coming to our home; love in abundance, but learning to sacrifice as well. They appeared to be relatively well adjusted and quite understanding not to ask for more than one could afford or if money was short to make certain the younger ones were taken care of first. Suppressing a sob, hearing Janet tell how she supported her family and now realizing how little time I had left with my twin sister, I merely nodded my understanding and acceptance of her way of life. Everyone has to do whatever it takes to survive and provide for themselves and the ones they love. Janet did it on her back or in any position her tits, twat, and tongue would earn her a buck or two! I regretted she waited so long to come home so I could help her and tried to assuage my guilty feelings for not trying harder to find her.

Janet was quick to pick up on my suppressed feelings. “Jacob, don’t fret about the past; I could‘ve come home anytime and you know it. My own pride kept me away until my strength started to fade and I knew I needed help. I’ve no one to blame but myself.”

Glancing at my watch, I wondered where my three delivery boys were, hoping they didn’t become lost or head toward the lake without anyone chaperoning them.

I needed not to have worried- much!

Scottie, Eddie, and Jamie delighted Mrs. Jensen when they appeared at the office seeking the whereabouts of their older brother. She just happened to have some bite-sized candy bars in her desk which she insisted the boys’ sample. Not wanting to disappoint her or hurt her feelings, they obliged, thanking her profusely.

Scottie was intrigued with her computer and the data she was entering and downloading from external devices.

“Your Uncle Jacob,” she explained as he questioned what she was doing, “insists on keeping meticulous records so he can determine what crops to plant, where, and when; the size of each crop planted and harvested, the costs of production, and gross and net profits.”

Additional records were kept and stored on those crops started by seed, transplanted, when harvested, weather conditions on a daily basis recorded from a small weather station outside sending the data to our main server, amount of rain or irrigation of each crop, and diseases or insects encountered. Those fruits and vegetables purchased for re-sale were recorded by the quantities, place of origin, auction or wholesaler names, amount paid, quantity purchased, gross sales in dollars, and margin of profit on the net sales. The sale and production of other non-produce items such as beef cattle, hogs, field corn, and hay were kept in the same meticulous manner. In addition, the Farm’s personnel records including hourly wage, names of those hired, and other data was included. The Farm’s accounting firm handled the payroll, after submission of information from Mrs. Jensen, and taxes. Mrs. Jensen was an extremely capable bookkeeper so the Farm’s financial books were always up to date and accurate. I believed good books made good, profitable business sense and put money in our pockets.

Crops I found unprofitable two years running, I discontinued or offered in only small amounts, unless I used them as a “loss leader.” All in all, the records we kept helped me make those decisions necessary to keep the business viable and competitive.

“You better get Robbie’s lunch to him,” she advised the intrepid trio, “it’s close to lunch time for those working the fields. They quit earlier than some of the others, especially on hot days such as today, so they’ll be taking an early lunch break. They should be about ready to move the cattle to new pasture by now, so check out behind the barn; following the lane until you come to a small grove of trees. The boys will be sitting somewhere in the shade.”

“Gotcha’ Mrs. J.,” Scottie acknowledged starting for the door.

“Don’t forget a soda for him,” she reminded.


Robbie and the others just finished moving the irrigation pipes and were taking their lunch break before moving the beef cattle to another pasture area. He was settled beneath a maple tree with another lad, about his age Scottie thought, although not knowing for certain or the boy’s name, when they delivered his lunch to him. The other boy introduced himself as Paul Boyer, but offered no more.

Walking away from Robbie and Paul, Scottie snickered softly to Eddie and Jamie, “He’ll be fucking Paul within a week!”

“More like in a couple of days,” Eddie contemplated aloud engendering agreement from the other two.

The three of them also agreed Robbie picked a “looker” to become his “special” friend; a friend who, if not initiated before, would soon find out what a cock the size of Robbie’s felt like stuffed up his butt-hole. All three agreed if Mattie were older, he probably would widen Paul Boyer enough for three other shafts to take up residence in his butt with room for more. The very thought brought howls of laughter from all three as they decided to find one of the strawberry fields people picked in.

Jamie’s suggestion to find the field didn’t include any directions where to go, but by more luck than sense, they were headed in the right direction. In a small copes’ of tall grass and small trees, they spotted a high school boy, shorts down around his ankles and his cock buried deep in the high school girl beneath him, engaged in a very pleasurable copulation, if the whimpering, moaning sound escaping with each thrust and rise of hips.

“Why, I do believe they’re fucking,” Scottie whispered softly so as not to disturb the copulating couple.

“As Mr. Sickles, the old man who used to live down the street would say,” Jamie responded, emphasizing and exaggerating his soft southern drawl to imitate Mr. Sickles, “Well, boys, I do believe the young gentleman in question is not ‘fuckin’ as you would crudely say it, but is mashin’ his taters.”

“That might be so, sonny,” Eddie mocked using the same imitation of Mr. Sickles, “but the way his arse cheeks are a clenchin’, he’s done mashing and is a pourin’ on the gravy.”

Soft laughter giggled forth as they walked away heading toward what they hoped would be the strawberry fields. Again, with more luck than sense, they happened to wander into the field the employees just closed for public picking and were in the process of cleaning up and readying the portable sales booth for moving to the field next to the one they were in, where picking would be open to the public the next day.

“Kind of explains the two fucking in the grass,” Jamie allowed, “Nothing like taking time to relax after a hard day’s work,” and laughed. “Get it guys; a hard day’s work? You know, got it hard and now working to soften it?”

He thought it was absolutely hilarious, although his brothers were not nearly amused.

“Lame!” snorted Eddie.

One of the workers, evidently the one in charge, stopped the boys, told them the field was closed to picking, and then, thinking a moment, asked who they were.

Scottie introduced himself and his brothers. The entire assemblage of workers immediately recognized the names of the nephews of their boss, Jake Westcott, and now residents of the Farm. Before any of them could respond to their names, Scottie asked the directions to the roadside stand his Uncle Jacob mentioned.

“Just down the county road,” offered the crew chief, at least that’s what the boys figured she was since she had the cash box in her hands. “Walkout out through the gate, hook a left, and it’s about a block or two away.  Be right next to the lane leading to the office and house. Watch for traffic.”

“Duh!” muttered Eddie, “we drove right by it on the way to Uncle Jacob’s,” remembering the trip down the lane a few days before heading toward the house. “With Robbie driving, it took all of us, awake anyway, to watch the road for him.”

“This Robbie, your brother, and perhaps not the best driver?” the crew chief asked.

“Nah, he’s pretty good actually,” Scottie answered.

“But he has to sit on a cushion to see out the windshield,” Jamie chimed, “so, sometimes in traffic, while he’s swiveling his head one way to look, someone else has to swivel the other way to help. Coming through Atlanta, Georgia was a real treat!”

“Hairy was it?”

“About as hairy as a fat ape’s ass!” Jamie said emphatically, rolling his eyes.

The crew didn’t know whether to laugh or just ignore his remarks, but since they were a combined crew of high school and college students, decided, collectively to laugh.

Mistake; it only fueled Jamie’s imagination and spiel.

“But we made it through slicker than a bald man’s head, a hen’s egg, or a baby’s butt after a wiping and clean diaper. Otherwise, it could’ve been rather messy, sort of a sticky situation, with some clinging and cringing on the part of my brothers and mom.”

“Enough!” Scottie admonished. “We’re heading for the stand,” and gave his brothers a wave of his hand.

“Follow me,” the crew leader advised, “I’m heading for the office and will go right by.”

The parking lot in front of the stand held several cars and the display tables full of strawberries, some vegetables, and various varieties of fruit, in front of the stand and inside, being inspected by customers. Since the main crop was strawberries, there were many available for sale either in quart containers, by the pound, or by full “flats.”

The three Westcott boys, too cute to imagine, clad in baseball caps, tee-shirts, shorts, and tennis shoes, looking (mistakenly) as innocent as a babes in the manger, wandered into the stand and watched the people trying to decide what to buy or how much. With a tip of his head, Jamie motioned his brothers to follow him and headed toward three older, grandmotherly type ladies, contemplating a table full of quarts of strawberries, marked down to half price since the day was heading rapidly toward the noon hour and heat.

The boys overheard one lady comment, “Coming this time of day or later always presents the best bargains since the Westcott’s don’t want their produce to be overripe or on the way to spoilage.”

Jamie, as precocious and outgoing as he is, stepped up closely to the lady who was speaking, tapped her gently on the arm such like a grandchild might do preparing to ask something and as she turned, he smiled his most beguiling smile. Her reaction, looking down at the cute, impish, smiling young man trying to attract her attention was not one of dismissal but of pure joy and acceptance!

“Yes?” she questioned.

“Mam,” he began, drawling, exaggerating his southern drawl in  a voice dripping with magnolia and mint julip, imitating Mr. Sickles, “I say there, Mam, would you be contemplating the purchase of some of these red, ripe, juicy, purely heavenly, luscious strawberries, begging for a wedding with cold, thick cream or an encounter with a large dish of vanilla ice cream?”

Finding it almost impossible to ignore or not respond to the huggable young lad standing next to her, she smiled, “Why, yes, I am young man.”

“Well, Mam,” crooned Jamie, his voice laced with pure southern hospitality and manners, “I certainly want to give caution to you should you purchase such a delightful addition to your meals,” gently waving a cautionary, but respectful, finger in her direction.

“Just a taken’ them berries home, putting them in the ice box, in anticipation of a dessert of berries as sweet as a momma’s love, ripe as a young lad ready for lovin’, and as delicious as manna from heaven or ambrosia from the gods, will put roses in your cheeks, add to your already stunning beauty, and well, I must remind you, put a quickness to your step should you overindulge.”

“Why, for ever more would it put a quickness in my step as you say it? At my age, my young friend, it might not be so easy to do?”

Jamie looked about furtively, as if concerned someone might overhear his remarks to the lady, although by now the collected group of customers, as well as the two sales clerks, a young college man and woman, were gathered around listening carefully to the hilarious exchange. He motioned her to lean over a bit so he could speak softly in her ear, which he did, somewhat, but still loud enough for others to hear.

“Well,” he explained dropping his exaggerated southern drawl, “Momma says if I eat too many of these ripe, red berries, I’ll poop my pants and I wouldn’t want that to happen to such a nice lady like you.”

“Oh, dear, neither would I,” she giggled.

Rolling his eyes upward, giving her a pleading look, “You could surely save me from embarrassment if you and your lady friends would buy some of these berries and remove them from my temptation.”

“My word,” she exclaimed with a laugh, “You are quite the little con, aren’t you?”

“No, Mam, I’m a Westcott not a Con; James Westcott. In fact, I’m the youngest of the six fabulously handsome and extremely bright and talented Westcott boys now living here at Westcott Farms and at your service.”

He hesitated, gave her a wink and a grin. “I’m also last at the berry bowl and first in the necessary; I do love strawberries. The fastest runner of the bunch.”

“I suppose you’d like me to buy a box of these berries and remove them from your sight, wouldn’t you?”

“Actually, Mam, I was hoping you’d buy at least two or three. Just pay the folks at the cash register,” he said and turning to the others gathered, “My brothers are holding up boxes of berries; all shouting, not my brothers understand, but the berries, ‘take me home, take me home.”

Who could resist such a sales pitch? Rather than chase the trio away, since sales jumped, the two employees in the stand, hustled to the counter and began ringing up the sales.

It may’ve stopped there, with this one visit, had not someone been taking pictures and videos with their cell-phones.

To be continued:



Thank you for reading Chapters Eleven and Twelve - Westcott Family Farm

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This is a work of fiction.  Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.  Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or locales is entirely coincidental or used in a fictional context.

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