Page 26 of If You Give a Grump a Christmas Tree Farm
“Hey man. We’re almost to town,” a gruff voice answers.
“Great, Hammer. Are any of you guys forklift certified?”
“I don’t fuckin’ know. I’m not. I’d have to ask the others, but they’re all riding, except for Griz. He and I are driving the flatbed. Let me put you on speaker.”
“Hey, JJ. How’s being a farmer going for you?” another voice rumbles.
JJ rolls his eyes. “Griz, do you know if any of the other boys are forklift certified?”
“I don’t know about them, but I am.”
“Oh, thank God. I need you to drive to me so you can sign for this forklift I’m trying to rent.”
“Why the hell are you forklift certified?” the man named Hammer asks on the other end of the phone.
“I got bored one day and honestly, I can’t believe you guys aren’t. You never know when you might need one.”
“Yeah, like when a truckload of pumpkins gets randomly delivered,” JJ drawls.
“Exactly,” Griz chirps.
“Send me your location, and we’ll be there in a few,” Hammer says.
Not long passes before two leather-clad men come trooping into the store. Customers seem to scurry out of their way as they move toward us, and honestly, I can’t blame them. One looks like a bear towering high with thick, blond hair, and the other is built like a brick house.
“Rebecca, this is Hammer and Griz. Guys, this is Rebecca.”
Their names couldn’t be more fitting.
“Nice to meet you, ma’am.” Griz shakes my hand.
“Hi, nice to meet you both.”
“Hi, darlin’.” Hammer lifts his hand in a wave.
These men are not what I expected. They have the same dangerous vibe as JJ, but the manners take me aback. I didn’t think bikers could be so polite and chivalrous. I may need to adjust my opinion.
After finally getting the forklift rented and loaded on a trailer—that we also had to rent—we return to the cabin, where I’m introduced to two more leather clad men, Ghost and Boot.
JJ sits in the forklift and maneuvers the first pallet of pumpkins onto the lift and backs up slowly to cross over to the grassy area we chose to unload them. He’s halfway across the gravel road when he hits a large pothole, and the whole machine tips sideways, the load crashing to the ground. Some pumpkins burst immediately on impact, while the rest roll and smash in all directions.
Griz and Boot double over in laughter.
“You all right?” Ghost calls as he and Hammer and I run to JJ.
“Yeah.” He climbs out through the side. “Shit. The pumpkins are ruined.”
“There’s one still whole. It’s rollin’ down the hill.” Griz chases after it, but then stops at the crest of the knoll. “Wait, never mind, that bounce really did it in.” He returns to us. “Better leave this to the one of us who’s forklift certified.”
Griz and Ghost continue unloading the rest of the pumpkins, while JJ calls me over to the flatbed truck. There’s a vehicle on the flatbed, covered with a giant blue tarp.
“What’s this?” I ask, moving closer to the men.
“It’s the idea I had for the Instagram spot.”
I eye it.
Hammer climbs up, and he and JJ pull off the tarp, revealing an old red pickup truck—the kind in Christmas decorations.
