It was Wednesday. A day when the orchard was closed to the public. Mark had set up the meeting with my parents and siblings. And in the two days since my lunch with Bonnie, I’d had plenty of time to prepare my semi-casual presentation.
We were all gathered at the farmhouse on the screened porch beneath a swirling ceiling fan while my dad passed out lemonade for everyone. There had been countless family dinners out here during my childhood and adolescence. A wave of nostalgia had practically bowled me over when I’d taken my seat. My mom used to drink her tea out here every morning. I wondered if she still did. Maybe I’d ask if I could join her.
Mark caught my eye and gave me an encouraging nod. I managed to get a handle on my nervousness and unclench my jaw enough to smile in return.
“As I was saying, I have a few ideas I’d love to go over.”
I’d found a black-and-white printer in the Apple House office and sweet-talked it into spitting out a tidy list of the topics I wanted to discuss today. And by “sweet-talked” I meant I cussed a blue streak while I waited for the ancient printer to warm up and accept my print job. Lance Bass had looked on disapprovingly.
After passing a copy of my bullet-pointed agenda to each person at the table, I took a deep breath and began. “Having reviewed tourist data from the Agricultural and Festival Planning Committees, I think this is a great time for Judd’s to expand what it offers. Some relatively low-risk ways to do that include utilizing some of the acreage behind the Apple House for other u-pick operations. Raspberries or blackberries would be good options. Opening in July for a u-pick berry season would require relatively little maintenance and put Judd’s Orchard on the map for summertime tourists. U-pick lavender fields offer another possibility for harvesting in the spring months. This would be great for brides and wedding planners, not to mention local craftspeople who extract essential oils for things like soapmaking. It could be another draw for the farm outside of apple season.”
I swallowed and glanced around the table. My parents were smiling encouragingly my way. Brady was slouched in his seat and may or may not have been playingCandy Crushon his phone. Joan was frowning down at her handout, her face shadowed by her ball cap. But it was Mark’s steady gaze that helped groundme. His attention gave me confidence and helped clear the nervous wobble threatening in my voice.
“There are a few big-ticket items we could outsource in the fourth quarter to really bring in the tourists. I think setting up a pumpkin patch for Halloween would be amazing. And instead of closing up for the season on November 1, we could sell pre-cut Christmas trees for the holidays. These options would require more upfront costs, since we don’t have space on the farm to grow pumpkins or trees ourselves without a good deal of clearing and leveling. But I think it’s totally doable. And I have some fun ideas to collaborate with other local businesses, like doing a pumpkin carving and hard cider event or an evening with Santa or even an apple-and-wine pairing with Lonely Mountain down the road. We could coordinate with local food trucks and bring them in every Friday to encourage their client base and get our customers to bring the family out, stay for the evening, and have dinner here.”
There. I’d gotten through the big things. The ones that would require time and energy as well as monetary investment.
Joan shifted in her seat, and I could feel her disapproval rising like a kettle set to boil.
So I hurried to add, “There are some other avenues we haven’t explored yet as far as advertising and social media. There are travel influencers I can reach out to in order to bring attention to Kirby Falls and our family operation. And I know social media is incredibly time-consuming, but I think we just need to be more intentional. Stick to a schedule and let the algorithm work for us. For the most part, the orchard has really amazing content. The photographs I saw on Facebook and Instagram were seriously beautiful.”
“That’s all Mercer,” my brother said absently, eyes still glued to the phone in his hand.
My attention shifted to Mark, who looked decidedly uncomfortable. Then I asked, “What do you mean? Mark handles Facebook and Instagram?”
“No,” Brady explained, “I do the posting. On Twitter too. But Mark takes all the photographs we use for content.”
I looked to the man in question. His cheeks were a little pink beneath his scruffybeard. It probably didn’t help that the white tee shirt he wore made his blush more pronounced. I found myself equal parts curious and amused.
Mark cleared his throat. “I, uh, dabble.”
I forced myself not to show the surprise I felt. The photos I’d seen were fantastic. Beautiful compositions that perfectly highlighted the orchard’s offerings. Mark could have sold his photography. That was how amazing it was.
A tiny voice in the back of my mind warned that I was a little too curious about my quiet, thoughtful, artistic co-worker. I was still trying to rectify the idea of the man who’d potentially abandoned his child with the Mark I was getting to know now.
He was obviously uncomfortable with this line of questioning regarding his photographs, so I decided not to push it. But I got the sense he more than dabbled.
“Well, I’m happy to help with our online responsibilities or make up a schedule for you, Brady, to ensure we’re getting good visibility.”
Brady shrugged. “I don’t mind if you help out. I just want to keep the Twitter account.”
I frowned. I hadn’t done more than a cursory glance on that platform to see what our presence was like there. “Why?”
“No reason,” he replied, but he gave me a sweet smile that made me suspicious and itching to reach for my phone so I could pull up the app.
Before I could give in to the urge, Joan pinned me with her narrowed blue gaze. “So all of your big plans basically boil down to opening early and staying open later? Extending our season and doing more with the same amount of staff and resources?”
My sister’s direct stare and sudden questions were intimidating. I licked my lips and managed a few words. “Well, not exactly. I?—”
“I thought,” she interrupted, “this was supposed to be you providing all your expensive marketing know-how to help us sell apples.”
The mention of my background and the value attached to my college education had me looking away.
Joan scoffed, removing her hat and dropping it on the table. “Your answer to breaking even is to work harder and longer. Am I getting this right?”
“Joan, honey,” Mom admonished while my father said at the same time, “I don’t think that’s what Candy means, Joanie.”
I wanted to defend myself, but my big sister always had this way of making me feel inadequate. Clarifying my statements seemed like a distant goal at the moment. First I needed to lift my head and make eye contact. It seemed simple, but I wasn’t sure I could manage it.Expensive marketing know-howjust kept repeating itself on a loop in my sister’s rough, disbelieving tone.
