“I think I’ll drop in on Trey tonight,” I told Makayla. “Bring him some supper and see exactly what’s changed up on Red Fox Mountain.”
“Good,” Makayla answered, handing me a steaming hot pumpkin spice latte. “And if you could find a way to magically send these kids back to a college campus until they’re thirty-year-old yuppies in business suits that would be super. Because they are crappy tippers.”
WITH THE LATE afternoon sun glaring in my eyes, I rode my scooter up the steep path toward the Red Fox Mountain Co-op. Scents of tree sap, pine, and fecund soil drifted past me, and I felt a tinge of remorse at disturbing the peaceful forest with my noisy little Vespa. It didn’t last long, however, for at the top, the road leveled and the engine, not having to work so hard, rumbled quieter. Ahead, the wooden sign affixed to the willow branch arch proclaimed, Welcome to The Red Fox Mountain Co-op. I passed under it, emerging into a wide, flat clearing.
A red Honda Civic was parked near the chain-link fence surrounding the goat paddock. I pulled my Vespa in behind it and removed my helmet. It had been a few months since I’d been on the property, and at first glance the co-op appeared to be relatively unchanged. The grass on the circular plateau was neatly mowed, and the cluster of cabins to the right and the large barn behind the goat paddock were still unpainted. On the other side of the chain-link fence a few white goats bleated, their brown faces and floppy ears as charming as ever.
But as I continued to look around, I saw differences, too. No longer was there an old-fashioned push mower leaning against the fence. Instead, a shiny green riding mower stood by a shed. A new building had been erected behind the cabins with cream-colored aluminum siding and shiny glass windows. The most telling improvement, however, was the electrical poles and wires running up the mountain into the new structure. The co-op had prided itself on being solar-and human-powered, so this was an indication that something had changed in their basic philosophy.
On the porch of one of the cabins, two women sat in green Adirondack chairs with baskets of woven hemp at their feet. I waved at them, struck by another change—the weavers used to sit on crude stools. One raised her hand while the other sipped from a mug as she stared at me suspiciously.
Cabin windows glowed with interior lights. In the waning sun, the air became chilly. People wearing jackets and sweaters appeared from various parts of the property and headed toward individual cabins. I noticed that no one was setting the outdoor picnic tables for supper and wondered if the new building had been erected so the co-op members could enjoy meals inside during the colder months.
I looked for Trey among the residents but didn’t see him. When I glanced at the barn, thinking it might be milking time, he appeared at its door and began to shoo goats into the paddock. He saw me and waved, called out a hello, and continued to herd the goats outside.
When I opened the rear carrier on my scooter, the aromas of tomatoes, garlic, and basil wafted out. My mouth watered in anticipation of the lasagna I had purchased from How Green Was My Valley. The store had hired a new cook who’d emigrated from Florence, and her renditions of classic Italian dishes were scrumptious.
Trey appeared at the fence, his fingers curled around the wire. “What’ve you got there?” he asked, clearly pleased to see me even though we’d shared breakfast together at my house that morning.
I held up the bag. “Interested in some lasagna for supper? I thought we could eat together again tonight.”
He grinned. “Awesome! If you cooked it, you know I’ll definitely love it.” He climbed the chain links with the agility of a monkey and jumped to the ground at my feet.
“You’re such a sweet-talker, but it’s takeout.” I closed the carrier. “Where should we eat?”
“We can sit at one of the picnic tables.” He glanced at my quilted jacket. “If you’re not too cold.”
I shook my head. “Nope, I’m good. But you should put on something warmer.” The mother in me always came out when I was with Trey, regardless of the fact that he was becoming a mature and independent young man.
He tugged at the hem of his sweatshirt. “I’m fine, Mom. Don’t worry.”
We sat down and I pulled plastic cutlery out of the bag while Trey opened the containers with the lasagna and Caesar salad.