(OOC: Oh, yeah ... oops!)

Allison was still working in the kitchen when she heard the creaking of the old wooden porch. She went to the window and found Frank laying on it. He looked beat. She went to the fridge with a tall glass and filled it with juice made fresh from her own apple trees.

"I haven't worked this hard in a long time," Frank told her when he opened his eyes and found her standing over him.

"It's a life that takes a lot of getting used to," Allison said, offering him the juice. She looked out over the place. "It's funny. Most people who come here, even some of my relatives ... when they look out and take it in, they see beauty ... peace and tranquility. Me, I see chores that need to be done day after day ... tasks and repairs that all should have been yesterday and probably still won't be done until tomorrow."  

She looked to Frank again and smiled. With a sincere tone, she told him, "But I wouldn't give it up for anything. I spent my entire life here. My parents spent most of their adult years [i]after[/i] college and medical school overseas with Doctors Without Borders or domestically with the Red Cross. They never owned a house somewhere else ... never had an apartment unless it was in a foreign country. It made sense for them and, obviously, me to just stay here. It's home."

Looking out again, catching sight of the dogs as they ambled her way unhurriedly. Her gaze shifted toward the cemetery, barely visible around the back from where she and Frank were. She finished, "My life had been here, and if all goes as it should be, I'll end up out there with my family ... and with your Jennifer."

She went inside to get some meaty bones left over from some butchering she'd been doing and tossed them to the Stooges. The dogs ran plopped down in the yellowed lawn to grind as Allison suggested to Frank, "Why don't you call it a day. Get a shower, change into something clean. We're barbequing tonight. Hope you like goat."

She headed inside to gather the ingredients, then back out to the brick-and-mortar BBQ pit her uncles had built years ago as a Father's Day gift to their grandfather, Allison's great-grandfather. She burned seasoned oak in the pit to roast the Shish Kebabs of cubes of goat meat alongside potato, carrots, onions, and more, all of them fresh from the garden.

"Try this," she said as she offered Frank a glass of dark liquid. "I make it from a recipe handed down through my family for more than 80 years. My great-great-grandfather picked up the recipe in Germany after the war ... the [i]first[/i] one. My ancestors have been making it since."

Allison lifted her own glass of ale, holding a mouthful for a moment to enjoy the taste before swallowing it down. She waited for Frank to enjoy a taste, then nodded her head in the direction of the properties largest structure, telling him, "Out beyond the barn we have a half-acre of hops. Harvest was at the end of August. Now, you talk about a lot of work. I almost let the crop go this year. Might not even put it in next."

She sipped at her beer again, asking Frank what he thought of it. She tossed a roasted cube of goat to one of the dogs; the other two were passed out in the shade of a tree, as was Robert in the playpen which they'd brought out into the shade of the porch. She considered her life here for a moment as she took in the buildings and crops and animals wandering its pastures and pens.

"This place is far too much for one person," she mused. She chuckled again, saying, "It was too much for me and Gramma and Grampa when they were both still alive. The relatives helped sometimes, and we hired hands for some of the planting and harvest work. We limited the garden this year to about a quarter of the size and culled the herds and flocks. That helped. Still, I can't keep up with it on my own."

She looked to her new [i]farmhand[/i] with a serious expression, and after a moment she offered, "If you wanted to stay here long term, Frank..." She hesitated, then finished, "I know we only just met, and I know that this world is ... [i]fucked[/i] ... and no one knows whether they'll be alive tomorrow, let alone be planning to harvest or plant or whatever. But ... if you thought you'd be interested ... you and Little Bit could make a home here."