Betting the Family Farm

Editor’s Note: The editor has been out of commission for the last two months so today we’re publishing an extra-long, almost-too-late holiday story, but one with an important lesson regardless of the season. 

***

Growing up on a farm, I was acutely aware of the weather. All activities centered around the seasons and when winter comes, Mother Nature says, thankfully, take it easy. My dad had trouble just meandering around the barnyard with cows and pigs to feed.

To fill up his days, he would often drive into Spring Valley to DOUG’S POOL HALL. When I was little, I would beg him to take me along on a wintery Saturday morning so I could walk across the street to the library.

After spending a great deal of time, I gave my beloved and cherished library card to Mrs. Rafferty and would leave with a book. I could sit in a rather dark corner of the pool hall and read for hours. I learned quite a bit about playing cards. Being the ever curious child, I listened to the bidding while the men played poker, 500 and cribbage. It was all rather boring except when they were betting. Money. Real money! I would put my book down and slowly and quietly move my chair closer to the card table. I was flabbergasted at the bills that piled up in the middle of the table.

Cigarette smoke filled the air and the voices grew louder sometimes as the excitement built. My dad often won! I concluded, after much observation, he was an excellent card player. No alcohol touched his lips as he played. Card playing was serious business. He sat quietly watching each player. I was fascinated.

As I grew older, I no longer accompanied Dad but I would ask each time he returned from the pool hall how it went.

When I was in high school, my interest waned until one cold December day. Dad came home and called out for my mom. “Come here,” he said. “You won’t believe what happened!”

Mom went into the kitchen and I peeked around the corner. He slowly took a large piece of paper from his shirt pocket and laid it on the kitchen table. My mom asked, “What’s this?” He told her to look closely as she picked it up and she said, “Why in the world do you have a deed to someone’s farm?”

He shook his head and told of the fellow farmer who had bet it all, and he said quietly, “I won!”

My mom started shaking and Dad looked at her as astonished as I know my mom felt. I was young, but knew what a deed was. I knew it meant the man had lost the farm to my dad. I knew the family: husband, wife, three kids who were my fellow school mates.

Did this mean they had no home, I wondered? ” Mom, looked down at the paper in her hand, knowing it was an entire family’s life she held.

“What are you going to do,” my mom asked? Dad walked nervously across the kitchen floor, he turned and said, “Teach him a lesson, I guess.”

He paused and took a breath, “I’ll let him stew for a bit, think it over and tomorrow I’ll call him and tell him to come and get his deed. Of course I can’t keep it.”

Mom folded the paper and handed it back to Dad. The room was quiet. I dared not move. Mom poured each of them a cup of coffee and they sat at the table. Dad put his head in his hand and said, “I almost let him win. No one could believe he had bet the farm. But he has a habit of betting money I don’t think he has to lose. It’s a serious problem. He shouldn’t be at the table.”

More silence, I could hear the clock ticking. “You have to give it back,” Mom said quietly. Dad looked at her with troubled eyes. “I know,” Dad said. “I don’t want it, my stomach flipped when I won that hand. The rest of the guys at the table looked at me, then him, then got up and left. The two of us stared at each other and then I left.”

“I can’t imagine what he said when he got home,” Mom told Dad. “Maybe call tonight and set up a time to meet tomorrow.” Dad agreed. They left the table and I returned to my room. Soon the smell of supper cooking wafted up the stairs to me and I was surprised that Saturday had flown by.

Supper was a sad affair that night, no one really had an appetite except my brother. We picked at our food. Mom and Dad looked at me suspiciously and asked if I was feeling alright. I covered with the truth, an upset stomach I told them though they did not know the origin. I helped clear the table and do dishes, all the time waiting for Dad to make that call.

About 6:30, we left the kitchen and dad walked to the phone, I heard him say hello, then muffled conversation. Shortly, Dad hung up and walked quickly into the living room. “I’m heading to Richard’s farm. His wife said he’s been in the barn most of the afternoon and said she should go away. I’m worried.

I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Off he went. Mom looked troubled and I asked if she wanted to play a game and she said yes so as we half heartedly played SORRY, my brother and I lively enough, but Mom was distracted.

The minutes, then a couple hours went by. Game over, Mom paced the floor. We both jumped when we heard the truck pull in about 9 PM.

Mom told us to go to our  rooms. Dad came into the house and I heard Mom exclaim “Oh my God!” I laid down on my bedroom floor to listen through the heat grate which was above the kitchen.

Dad said he went straight to the barn when he got to Richard’s farm. It was quiet, no answer when he called out so he pushed the door in, splintering the lock. There sat Richard in the semi-dark, gun in hand.

“Go away, Lawrence,” he said. “You’ve done enough, go away.” My dad replied, “I didn’t do anything, but YOU did! Betting the farm was wrong. You chanced everything. I’ve seen you put money on the table time after time and I wondered if you could afford to lose. This is enough!”

Dad took the deed out of his pocket and handed it to Richard. “I’m not keeping this but you damn well better! I don’t ever want to see you at Doug’s pool hall again and if I hear you were playing cards anywhere else, I’m going to come here, tell your wife what you risked and kick your ass. Now take the money you would put on the table playing cards in the next few weeks and buy your family some decent Christmas gifts.”

Dad left him and drove home. I gasped. Mom and Dad knew then I had been listening. Mom said, “Deborah Lee, get down here.” I knew I was in trouble. I went down stairs and sat at the table across from them. “I know you were listening this afternoon and again just now. You are so inquisitive! But I hope you learned from this.”

Dad cleared his throat and chimed in, “Yes, never bet more than you can afford to lose. This almost cost Richard his livelihood and his life. Thank God I got there when I did or who knows if he would’ve gone through with what he was thinking.”

Mom and I had tears in our eyes. “I’m proud of you honey,” Mom said as she took his hand. “Yes, Dad, me too and what you did, well I can’t even think if you hadn’t gotten there when you did.”

Now Dad had tears as well. “I hope I gave them a Merry Christmas and taught Richard a lesson.”

“Will you tell the other guys at Doug’s,” I asked. “Yes,” he said. “We can all learn from this I guess.”

The three of us did a group hug and Mom said I had to go to bed, it was late, and hoped I had sweet dreams.

As I headed up the steps I remember thinking I would always remember this lesson. Never bet more than you can afford to lose and how my dad’s compassion and timely decision meant a family would have a safe, warm Christmas — on their own farm.

Copyright © 2025 Debi Neville