Page 36 of Raised On It

“I wish I could say it was, but it really wasn’t. I spent my entire life being told to sit up straight, smile, only speak when spoken to, and without exception, to never have my own opinion. When you find out you’ve done everything they’ve told you to do your entire life only for them to be on the side of the person who betrays you and breaks your heart, it makes it easier to walk away.”

We’ve reached the truck, and he walks to the passenger side door but pauses before opening it for me, shoving his hands in his front pockets.

“Mason?”

“Miles?”

“I’m really sorry your life has been full of assholes who didn’t see you for all that you are.”

My heart isn’t sure what to do with all of his kindness. I think I feel more sure of myself when he’s being a smart-ass.

“Thank you. I appreciate it, but you don’t have to feel sorry for me.”

“I only speak the truth, Mason. Now, how do you feel about hazelnuts?”

And just like that, he lightens the mood and lights up my heart.

He drives us a few minutes away to the hazelnut crops, and we spend the next hour walking and talking about everything and nothing. I swear the green on the leaves is deeper and more beautiful when you’re walking through them with him as your guide. His love for everything surrounding us knows no bounds, and I’m seeing colors I don’t remember ever seeing before.

By the time we’re back in the truck, I know all about TheCrew, the locals around town, and his childhood growing up running through the fields here at Montgomery Farms.

Yes, he is without a doubt charming, but he’s also incredibly down to earth.

After a trip through the hazelnuts, he takes me to what they call The House.This is the house he grew up in, only now it serves as home base to the farm. He shows me his office and introduces me to his team. There are sleeping quarters the team can use while the hours are long during harvest season, and they even have a fully stocked kitchen.

It’s more than clear the Montgomerys care about their employees.

Activity has picked up in the hours since we arrived. You can see hop harvesters and top cutters out in the distance. Crazy that I know what hop harvesters and top cutters are, but I do, thanks to the infectious enthusiasm my tour guide has for the topic.

What is also infectious is how everyone feels about Miles as we walk through The House.

They may call him “boss,” but there is a genuine family feel between all of the men working at Montgomery Farms. Miles asks about their families and knows all of their children’s names. It is a small town, and I’m sure everyone knows everyone, but this feels more like a family than a business. The crap they fling at each other is pretty fun to witness, too, especially with their boss as the ringleader.

Something else I’m shocked I didn’t notice until well into our visit is that a lot of the guys are wearing Eastlyn Brewing Company hats or T-shirts. There is EBC signage all over The House as well. In fact, there is just as much paraphernalia for EBC as there is for Montgomery Farms.

Quite some time later after doing some quick paperwork, then going over some equipment issues with Peter and some of the other guys, Miles says he needs to grab something out of the kitchen, and as I follow him down the hall, I ask the obvious.

“Miles, I cannot believe I’m just now catching on to this, but does Montgomery Farms grow the hops used in EBC?”

Looking over his shoulder with the corners of his mouth lifted ever so slightly, he gives me a wink. “I was wondering when you might notice that.”

“Shut up! Are you telling me I was walking through rows and rows of hops that are going to end up in my favorite adult beverage?”

He chuckles at my excitement. “Indeed.”

“Miles, I touched them.”

His laughter reverberates off the seventies era burnt sienna walls adorned with a rooster wallpaper border. Not to mention the cracked Formica countertops that lend to the old-school feel.

It’s perfect.

“You really like beer, don’t you?” he says, opening the refrigerator. One of the only upgrades in the room.

There’s no stopping the smile stretching across my face. “I do. But I’m not an alcoholic or anything. I usually have one or two and call it good. My parents and Grant frowned upon a woman of my stature drinking beer. So of course I would drink it every chance I got. And then one day, I was in LA visiting a friend, and I asked the bartender to bring me his favorite beer on tap, and he brought me an EBC, and my life was changed forever.”

He closes the refrigerator door and gets close. So close, there are only a couple of very small, very electric inches between us.

“What you’re really saying is, in a roundabout way, I changed your life forever,” he whispers.

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