Ray smiled.
Then looked toward the orchard.
Temporary electric fencing divided the pecan grove into irregular sections.
Twenty-four pigs occupied the current paddock.
The ground beneath them looked nothing like a conventional pecan orchard.
Leaves overturned.
Soil disturbed.
Grass reduced.
Fallen branches shifted.
Ray shook his head.
“Your father would lose his mind.”
Clara wiped mud from one knee.
“My father tried raising pigs.”
“Not under pecans.”
“No.”
“Because he had sense.”
“He quit because Grandpa hated them.”
“Your grandfather had more sense.”
Clara retrieved Hazel by shaking a bucket of feed.
The pig followed immediately.
Ray watched.
“You're bribing livestock now.”
“Highly advanced management technique.”
She guided Hazel through the gate.
Fixed the weak point.
Ray leaned against a tree.
“How long are you keeping them here?”
“Four days.”
“Then?”
“Move them.”
“Where?”
“Next section.”
Ray frowned.
“Why?”
Clara picked up her notebook.
“Because I don't want them destroying roots.”
“They're already destroying everything else.”
“That’s the point.”
Ray looked down.
The pigs had disturbed the leaf layer and shallow surface soil.
“Your point is making the orchard look terrible?”
“My point is reducing fallen-nut buildup, disturbing compaction, eating weeds, and putting organic matter back.”
Ray grimaced.
“You mean manure.”
“Yes.”
“Farmers used to have enough dignity not to market manure.”
Clara smiled.
“That’s because marketers hadn't discovered it yet.”
Ray pushed away from the tree.
“You really think pigs are fixing those pecans?”
Clara looked toward the trees.
Some healthy.
Some not.
The weakest section stood farther east.
Sparse branches.
Thin canopy.
Pale leaves.
Even from a distance the difference was obvious.
“I think doing the same thing for ten more years isn't fixing them.”
Ray’s face changed.
Only slightly.
He had known Clara’s father.
Everyone had.
Daniel Hayes had farmed the same orchard from age nineteen until cancer killed him at fifty-six.
Ray helped carry the coffin.
That gave him privileges.
Not unlimited.
Clara opened the notebook.
“Ground temperature.”
Ray groaned.
“What?”
“Compaction.”
“Clara.”
“Organic cover.”
“You have become a government brochure.”
She ignored him.
“Water infiltration.”
“Twenty-three-year-old woman with twelve months of farm ownership explains pecans to man who has farmed since Carter was president.”
Clara looked up.
“Age doesn’t increase infiltration.”
Ray stared.
Then laughed.
“Your father would've enjoyed arguing with you.”
“He did.”
That answer changed both of them.
Ray looked away.
Clara closed the notebook.
For a few seconds, only pigs made noise.
Then Ray said:
“Chemical treatment went down last year?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Thirty-one percent.”
“That's risky.”
“So is paying invoices I can't afford.”
“You talked to Wade?”
Clara’s jaw tightened.
“Yes.”
“What’d he say?”
“That Dad’s program needed to continue.”
Ray nodded.
“Wade knows pecans.”
“So everybody says.”
“He’s been doing it thirty years.”
“So everybody says.”