At Home on Ladybug Farm - Donna Ball [27]
And who knew? They might be worth something.
When Bridget walked into the Blue Valley Public Library, with its speckled linoleum floors and dark-paneled walls and curved oak circulation desk, she paused for a moment to breathe in the smell of old books and printer’s ink. It smelled like home to her. Lori, on the other hand, headed straight for the Internet station.
Bridget’s childhood had been spent in libraries like this one, and in such places she had discovered the world had no limits. She always liked to take the time to examine whatever was on display behind the glass case as she came in the door; this month it was a collection of artwork entitled “My Favorite Place” by fifth graders at the local school.
She had some books to return, and the librarian greeted her by name. She was a frequent patron, and besides, everyone knew the women who had bought the old Blackwell farm. “I found something for you the other day,” the librarian said, looking pleased with herself. She was a plump, ponytailed woman in her forties who, Bridget was given to understand, had already been working in the library for twenty years. “It’s a guide to landmarks and historic places from the 1960s.” She pulled it out from under the desk. “Blackwell Farms is listed in it. I thought you might get a kick out of it.”
Bridget’s face lit up. “Really? Thanks!”
“And the new Stephen King book came in. I’ve been saving it for you.”
“Terrific,” Bridget said. Then she added, “Say, Katherine . . . I don’t suppose you’d know anything about sheep fleece, would you?”
“I don’t personally, but Ann Marie Lucas is an expert. She wrote an article for the paper one or two years ago . . .” As she spoke, she was tapping on the computer. “Here it is. Do you want me to pull it for you?”
“Thanks, that would be great. And anything else you can find.”
By the time Bridget had finished browsing the latest bestsell ers and making her selections, Katherine had a stack of periodicals waiting for her. Bridget settled down at a table to make notes, was referred to the “agriculture and husbandry” section of the shelves, and made several selections. She had just finished checking out her stack of books when Lori joined her, fairly bursting with self-satisfaction, and declared, “Our problems are solved.” She brandished a collection of printed pages. “I found out everything we need to know.”
“Did you now?” Bridget slid her books into a canvas tote bag. “And in a library, of all places!”
On the way to the car, Lori regaled her with all she had learned about sheep ranching, the most valuable fleece and the best time to harvest it, the amount of sheep an acre could support, sorted by breed, and the current market price in Australia for high-quality Cotswold wool.
“But we’re not in Australia, and we don’t have Cotswold sheep,” Bridget pointed out.
“Well, that’s just an example. But listen to this . . .” She continued to read from her notes as they stopped by the Dollar Store for paper towels and a new broom, and Family Hardware for the stain Cici had ordered for the floors—where Bridget assured Jonesie they hadn’t had a bit of trouble with the sander, not at all, and expected the job to be finished by suppertime—and was distracted only when she spotted a cute vintage hat in the thrift store where Bridget stopped to donate a bag of clothes the ladies had put together over the winter. Lori paid a quarter for the purple felt fedora with the gold ribbon rose, plopped it atop her head—where of course it made her look as though she had just stepped off the cover of a fashion forward, funky-chic magazine—and continued her narrative where she had left off.
“The point is, there is money to be made, and we already have everything we need to get started. First we sell the wool, then we invest in some good breeders, let nature take its course, and voilà! Before you know it we’re a certified member of the wool producing industry. All we need now,” she added, sliding into the passenger seat of Bridget’s SUV, “is the name of that woman Farley was talking about who buys fleece.