“You can use that bit as a teaser for your next post,” I say.

She wags a finger at me. “Always thinking ahead, aren’t you?”

A huge sigh heaves out of me, and Ethel tips her head to the side. “Something’s upset you. Is it Samuel?”

“No, no. Sam’s been… fine.” Not going to get into any more details about him, not with his grandma. Sinking back onto the stool, I shake my head. “It’s my family.”

Ethel settles down next to me and pats my knee. “Colleen says you grew up in New York City. What got you interested in farming?”

“The orchard my grandparents ran. The one I told Cillian about.”

“Ran, as in, they don’t anymore?”

“They passed away about five years ago, and it was sold.”

“Your father didn’t take it over?”

I almost tell her that it was my mother who would’ve inherited, but I catch myself just in time. Ethel believes my last name is McCarthy. “No ma’am, he didn’t.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that. I bet you miss them.”

I nod, my chin trembling. “I’m the youngest grandchild, and they were a lot older than you are, but I wish I’d had more time with them.”

“I’m sure they’d be proud of the work you’re doing.”

I’ve been so focused on undoing the damage of my father’s side of the family that I never thought about how my maternal grandparents would feel about my nonprofit. “I hope they would,” I finally say, my voice thick.

“When I’m missing my Eugene, or my son Jimmy, I imagine them watching out for me from the photos I’ve got hanging in the house, cheering me on.”

I look over to find her eyes shiny as she gazes at the house in the twilight. After a moment, she waves a hand in front of her face. “That’s pretty silly, isn’t it?”

I take her hand and give it a squeeze. “I think that's pretty cool, actually.”

She turns to face me. “Do you have any pictures of your grandparents? Maybe that would help.”

“I don’t have any prints on hand.” Even as I say it, a tightness I hadn’t realized was gripping my chest releases, giving me the freedom to take a full breath. “But I think I know where I can get some.”

The next day, after our usual early morning wakeup call from Gomer, where hitting the snooze button means giving him a puzzle toy he can enjoy until he alerts us that others in the house are stirring, Samuel uses the time well before scooting down the back stairs.

It takes me a moment to come back to earth, but when I do, I hop out of bed, excited to head south to the Ulster county seat in Kingston. Less than an hour later, I’ve found even more than I expected—not only the date of my grandparents’ wedding, but from the property records, I learn that the orchard is up for sale.

Torn, I pause outside the stately brick building, but after a few moments, I decide I need to find a photo of my grandparents before I visit a realtor. It’s unlikely that I have enough liquid assets for a downpayment on the farm, and even if I did, I’m not sure I deserve it.

The faces of my beloved Nana and Pops, however, I do deserve to see again, so I get back in the car and drive up the highway to the largest town near the old farm. There, the West Saugerties librarian gets very excited when I tell her what I’m looking for.

“I’m a bit of a genealogy nut myself,” she confesses, rubbing her hands together like an evil villain with a sweet smile. Pulling one of what looks like many pencils from her bun, she gestures for me to join her at the computer monitor in the local history section. Tongue in the side of her mouth as she concentrates, she taps away on the computer, jotting down information on the back of an old card catalog card.

“You’re in luck!” After clapping her hands together, she hands me the card. “We’ve got their wedding pics on the microfiche copies of the old newspaper, but we also have an adorable photo from just ten years ago in the digital version of our seasonal magazine, which means they might even have the original files.”

Less than an hour later, my new best friend has printed two photographs for me, and I can’t decide which I love more. The wedding picture is beautiful, if grainy—my grandmother’s dress trailing gracefully behind her, my grandfather’s smile lighting up his whole face. But the color photo from a hilarious magazine contest is a delight. Along with posed couples, including a man and his dog, a same-sex couple, and two babies, my grandparents appear in a re-creation of the classic American Gothic painting.

“I’m surprised they won the Most Authentic category,” the librarian says. “I mean, their outfits are perfect, but the original painting was supposed to be a farmer and his daughter. Most people just assume they were man and wife.”

Even though their expressions are pretty grumpy, I’m so excited to have the print that I give her an impulsive hug. “This means so much to me. Thank you for helping me find it.”

As Ethel had predicted, just looking at my grandparents' faces gives me comfort. My mother may have hated growing up “in the middle of nowhere,” as she called it, without the advantages of city life or the funds to afford them, but I’m grateful I got to spend as much time with them as I did. And I do think they’d be proud of the work I’m doing, maybe even as excited about it as Ethel seems to be.

My trip to the real estate office isn’t quite as inspiring, but I make an appointment to tour the house and orchard later in the week. Even if I can’t afford—or shouldn’t indulge in—buying it, I can at least visit and take pictures to add to the photo gallery I plan to bring along with me wherever I go next.

Later that afternoon, Sam texts to tell me he’s planning to go to trivia and that he’ll meet me there after work. Colleen promises to go too, and even brings along Alex and Molly. When I met Molly the first time I visited the Bedd’s farm, I thought she had the widest smile I’d ever seen, adorably highlighted by the freckles across her nose. But since she’s returned and made up with Alex, she seems to be floating on air.

I try to talk them into joining the Geezers, but I’m informed that we’re already at the limit. Instead, Alex and Molly team up with Sam, that woman Ginny, and a couple I recognize as the owners of the local feed store, Chen and Diego.

This week, I’m not as upset by the way Ginny paws at Sam, but I’m even more determined to beat her. Unfortunately, this week’s Quick Picks—as Ginny’s team is called—are formidable opponents.

The Geezers win the movie round, thanks to Small Paul’s knowledge of silent-era film, but the QPs kill us on US geography.

“No fair!” Colleen yells. “Molly just spent the last year driving all over the country.”

Our host just rolls his eyes and pulls up the slide for the first question in the Farmer’s Almanac round. “What traditional holiday celebrating the harvest takes place on August 1?”

Big John, who has the answer sheet in front of him this round, prints neatly without hesitation, “Lammas Day.”

“I didn’t know that,” I murmur.

“Shhh,” hisses Tall Paul, the Geezer who’s always worried people will copy our answers.

“Question two,” MT intones, “August 8 is National Sneak Some blank Onto Your Neighbor’s Porch Day.”

“That’s so easy,” Colleen says. “It’s⁠—”

“Shhh!” Little John slaps his hand on the table. “Don’t say it out loud. We’ve got it.”

Colleen rolls her eyes and mouths “zucchini” to me, like I didn’t know.

Our team is sure about the next two answers, but we argue a bit over the final question, “What is the name of the first full moon of November?” We finally write in Hunter Moon, even though Small Paul argues that it’s in October.

And when MT reads the answers, it turns out he was right. Unfortunately, the Quick Picks got the correct answer: the Beaver Moon.

“Which means,” MT announces, his mic crackling, “We now have a lightning, head-to-head, tiebreaker round. Our two top teams need to choose their representative.”

After a lot of whispered arguments, Colleen convinces the Geezers to send me up to the stage since I came up with half of the answers this evening. There, I’m faced with none other than my very own secret Bedd Fellows Farm bedfellow.

Sticking out a hand, I say, “May the best woman win.”