The potato house floor spread out before Mack, with its low hanging lights and deep corners. He could smell the bounty that waited in the long darkness; fresh potatoes that were cool and sprinkled with black flecks of healthy dirt and youthful white sprouts that were just beginning to bloom. He could smell the earth and the fertilizer that mingled nicely with the old pipe smoke and stray vapors of whiskey that danced with the spirits of potato farmers of long ago; those who welcomed a nip of whiskey at the end of a damp and brutal day. Nothing had changed, and he was grateful.
Mack noticed the Redwing boots right away. They hung unevenly on a gold hook along the left wall of the potato house, unmoved and untouched. Mack smiled as he approached them, recalling his words on the day he left. “I’ll leave my boots here and whatever you do, don’t move them until you find somebody who can fill them.” Everyone had laughed at that, and Mack had looked longingly over his left shoulder as he walked away from his old life and into his new. He was away from northern Aroostook County for nearly a year before he embraced the truth; he yearned to go back. His head may have been in the clouds that loomed over the West Coast, but his heart was heading home.
From a side storage bin, Mack heard his name. He watched as his former boss came out of the dimness, his feet and arms swimming toward him through a sea of loose potatoes. They hugged each other as men do, ending the embrace with a sound smack on the shoulders and a nearly embarrassed downward look. Within a few minutes of conversation, Mack agreed to come back to work, making sure no one would have to lose their position just to make room for him.
The two men walked over to the Redwing boots and Mack lifted them off the hook. The leather was still supple and the laces had not yet given in to age. He tucked them under his arm and a handshake sealed the deal; he was back on board.
Mack got into his truck, scanning the red potato house from top to bottom with eyes that were moist and he thought about all of the tall tales he would tell his co-workers on his first day back. On the day he left, he vowed to himself that he would never return to the monotony that was Aroostook County. The harsh winters and short summers were just the beginning of his list of reasons for leaving. Today, however, his list of reasons for returning was endless.
He slid his old baseball cap back on his head and backed out of the potato house yard. He looked over at the Redwings sitting beside him on the front seat and reached out, pushing on the steel toe inserts with the palm of his righthand. “Hardly worn at all,” he whispered. He drove on then, his heart saturated with an old, familiar love.
Belinda Wilcox Ouellette lives in Connor with her husband, Dale, and their Goldendoodle, Barney Rubble. You may contact Belinda online at dbwouellette@maine.rr.com.
