Changing Seasons. Spring V, part 1

Spring V, part 1 “Dad did love his fishing,” Chas said reminiscently. They’d moved into Woodside Barns, made the place as comfortable as they could. The (bossy) aunts had helpfully organised shipping over all the things they wanted to keep – clothes, pictures and books mostly – and sold or passed on the remaining stuff.
“Mmm,” Sal agreed. “You fancy taking it up?”
“No, I think I’ll stick to running with Frank. Now there’s one transformed guy!”
“You could fish with Blake,” Sal said mischievously.
“Perhaps not,” Chas said. “He’s still going round looking like his non-existent house fell down on him.”
“That woman!” Sal said. Clara was her friend, and it had been a close-run thing. “Minnie was amazing after Clara ran out of the shop – picked up the letter and after she’d read it, dropped it into the bucket of water and said, ‘Oh dear, this seems to be getting very wet,’ and then was so kind to me.” “You’re okay here, aren’t you? I don’t feel like it’s all down to me to look after you. I mean, I will look after you, but all the girl stuff…”
“I feel loved,” Sal said simply. “Clara and I, we have fun together. And then Minnie and Bess Preston – and Mollie Preston too…I feel loved and looked after. The girl stuff is all sorted.” “Chris is totally convinced there’s something in the water now.” Cinnamon had dropped two foals – a filly and a colt, Demerara and Nutmeg.
“Hey, stop pushing. There’s plenty for you both,” Chas said, as Demarara tried to get in on the feeding act. “This is for Nutmeg. What are you doing today, Sal?” “Schooling Cinnamon. Next week, I’m riding Old Pete for Artie, but this week is free, so Cinnamon and I are going to do some serious work together. What about you?”
“Keeping an eye on these two, starting to clear the next pasture and mend the fence round it. Make a fence round it, really! There’s three trees to go from there, so I could do with getting at least one of them down…”
“This pasture’s coming on though.”
“Yes, and once we have two, we can give this one a rest, let it recover a bit.” Old Tench cycled past and called out a cheery hello as Sal was taking Cinnamon over the cavaletti. Cinnamon was fast: what Sal needed her to be was neat with her footwork as well. Or should that be hoofwork? Old Tench had recovered well from his discovery of Maddie’s duplicity. Much better than Blake had, Sal thought. The two foals were leaping around like springtime lambs. Chas was looking at the slope behind the two paddocks and wondering about planting it – to hold the soil, the rainfall, help create a cooler microclime for the paddock. He needed to get the old trees down and some new ones planted as well. Shade would help. It might be worth using some of their savings to put in bigger trees rather than just planting saplings. Once he’d got the irrigation sorted out for this paddock as well. Oh well. They’d get there. Paddocks first – time to start on a tree! Nutmeg, he noted, looked like he was going to be a natural at jumping. He must tell Sal that. Too soon to tell about Demerara yet. “I think Artie’s home-made soup is way better than this tinned stuff,” was Chas’s comment as he tasted it.
“You’ll just have to learn to cook as well as Artie can,” Sal said, deadpan. “I’m sure he’d lend you his starter recipes.”
“But Sal, cooking is such a womanly attribute…”
“I’ll tell Artie you think he’s womanly, shall I? I’m riding for him tomorrow.”
“You dare…”
“Oh, I dare. But I won’t, for a bar of chocolate…” “You’ve nearly got a second book finished? That’s amazing!”
“Well, turned out it was pretty much written anyway. That Amber – she was a real help; showed me how to use my letters to Bess as the kind of skeleton and then flesh it out with other memories. Says I’ve got a natural writing style, which is real kind of her. And then, of course, she’s got contacts, so she got someone to read the manuscript. And they liked it too. And want more.”
“And you’ve picked up on the technology so fast.”
“Now that I am real proud of. Tom Tench, he was saying it’d take me forever to get my head round it all. Mind, you’ve been a real help, showing me what does what. What you doing this morning before you ride for me? Something messy judging from your clothes!” What Sal was doing was heading next door to Rusty Wrangler’s Horse Supplies. There was work to do there… Scraper: tick. Paint and paintbrush: tick. Scrubbing brush, dustpan and brush…what else was it she needed? Oh yes, sandpaper, which was round here somewhere. And when these posts were painted up, they were going to their stables.
“And I want to get this place smartened up,” Chas had said. “I want to open it again. I want to find a supplier who’s willing to stock it…I want to bring horses back here. Bring racing back if I can. Make this a good place for up-and-coming riders and horses.” Right. All she needed to find was the lid of the paint tin, and she was done. Lunch with Artie and then she and Old Pete would be off. At the thought of riding, her heart rose. This was so what she wanted to do. This felt like a new beginning, an onward, as though she and Chas were building a bridge from the grief of their dad’s death into a new, though unknown, next. “So basically, if we can just lie behind Flying Star until the last furlong and then try to pull away?”
“Yep. Hates not to be in front, Flying Star, and he’ll bust a gut to get there and stay there. Lying just behind him, you can get him to wear himself out. The going will suit Old Pete better as well.”
“We’ll see what we can bring home this time then!” “That sure looks good.”
“Someone asked me yesterday about Old Pete going for stud. Wanted to use him for free: he was busy saying what a good advert for us it would be. Chesterton – know him?”
“Yep, and he can afford to pay,” Artie said firmly.
“There was another owner with a promising mare who can’t afford to pay much though, but Chas said the bloodlines look good. The mare’s got Blue Streak in her bloodline, like Old Pete has, and that was one well-named horse. I said I couldn’t promise anything, but you’d be in touch – was that okay?”
“Sure. I’ll trust your judgement, young Sal.” It had been a long winter and I’d spent a lot of it sitting in a chilly church, explaining myself to a ghost. I know: it sounds crazy. But this church has the ghost of an old schoolteacher in it – don’t ask me why. I’d expect to find the ghost of a schoolteacher at the school. I suppose, seeing as this is where her grave is, it makes sense. And a long winter of her giving me her unvarnished opinion of me. Trouble was, I couldn’t actually argue with anything she said. It was like she saw straight through me. Don’t get me wrong – she was sort of sympathetic at times. I think she actually got how lonely my childhood was. But then she’d say things like, “That’s no excuse for totally losing touch with reality.” The weather got slightly warmer, and Miss Kirk went on asking awkward questions. Like:
“Why aren’t you turning that perfectly good barn into a home? You’re not planning to use it as a barn are you?” And then, rather too acutely, “Is it just because Clara said it would be a good idea?” And now it was spring. And I didn’t feel quite so bad about being fooled by Maddie. Old Tench had helped there – and even Miss Kirk had admitted that Maddie had always been devious and scheming.
“But you totally failed to weigh the evidence. Just because you didn’t like Clara, you didn’t look at the effect she was having on everyone else, the difference she was making in people’s lives. Which was all good. And you didn’t look at the effect Maddie Portland was having on Frank and Honey.”
And she was right.
But I still felt like I was failing on the farming front. I told her about the conversation I’d had with Caleb that morning.
“I did what you suggested, and asked his advice…” “I don’t know,” Caleb said. “Those pumpkins are big: your transport costs are going to be pretty high per unit. Have you factored that into your business plan?”
I just felt so – well, stupid. Like I really am the loser my brother has always said I am. “The wine’s pretty labour-intensive – well, you know that as well as I do!” Caleb had pointed out. “But the return’s high and goes up as the wine gets better. What else could you do here? I can tell that you want to farm – and you are good at the agricultural stuff. I just think that if you’re going to be small-scale you need to pick a better crop than pumpkins and potatoes.” “So why don’t you take his advice then? That young man obviously knows what he’s talking about.” It wasn’t until I was walking home (in the rain, but never mind, the crops needed it) that I remembered something Old Tench and Artie had once said.

Blake and his house were made by Jessabeans. Link here for Blake
https://www.thesims3.com/assetDetail.html?assetId=9352926
and here for the house
https://www.thesims3.com/assetDetail.html?assetId=9352888
which I tweaked slightly to fit in with the landscape and the story.

Caleb and Chris were made by Suzses, for BreeMiles for the Homebound Holiday Gift Exchange 2020 Link here: https://www.thesims3.com/assetDetail.html?assetId=9432116

An Old Jockey’s Nightmare is here: https://www.thesims3.com/assetDetail.html?assetId=9394756 and that was by LMC6254, for the SummerFest gift exchange.
So were Artie and Old Pete
https://www.thesims3.com/assetDetail.html?assetId=9394755
I’ve altered the buildings very slightly, to fit in with the town – the telegraph poles are by Cyclone Sue at TSR.

Woodside Barns is by Cyclone Sue at TSR

Rusty Wrangler’s was made for me by LMC6255 for the SummerFest gift exchange as part of her Art of Dilapidation series!
And it’s here:
https://www.thesims3.com/assetDetail.html?assetId=9395123

The printer was by Sandy at ATS3