He was thirty-six, thin, patient, and clearly uncertain what a twenty-three-year-old wanted from him after saying:
“I think my farm is leaving.”
He stood in Field Seven.
“What do you mean leaving?”
Emily pointed.
“Water.”
Thomas looked toward the ditch.
“Erosion?”
“Yes.”
“How severe?”
“I don’t know.”
He examined the soil.
Walked.
Dug.
Then looked at Henry’s maps.
“Your grandfather drew these?”
“Yes.”
“He was observant.”
“Was he right?”
Thomas hesitated.
“About water movement? Probably.”
“About losing soil?”
Thomas looked at her.
“Definitely.”
Emily’s stomach tightened.
She had wanted confirmation.
Now she hated it.
“How bad?”
“Depends where.”
He scraped the surface.
“You have thin topsoil.”
“I know.”
“Compaction.”
“I know.”
“Low organic matter in exposed sections.”
“I know.”
Thomas smiled faintly.
“You say that a lot.”
“So does everyone.”
He stood.
“What are you thinking?”
Emily opened the notebook.
One line had bothered her for days.
Need something permanent on contour. Roots. Shade. Slow water.
“What if I put trees here?”
Thomas looked up.
“Where?”
She traced the line.
“Across the contour.”
“Windbreak?”
“More than that.”
She explained.
Rows.
Not dense forest.
Spacing wide enough for access.
Native hardwoods.
Deep roots.
Ground cover.
Organic residue.
Tree lines positioned to interrupt runoff.
Thomas listened.
“That’s essentially contour agroforestry.”
Emily frowned.
“That has a name?”
“Most ideas do.”
“Would it work?”
“Work for what?”
“Keeping soil here.”
“Yes.”
Her heart jumped.
Then Thomas continued.
“Eventually.”
There was the problem.
“How eventually?”
“Years.”
“I don’t have years.”
Thomas looked toward the house.
“I know.”
“You talked to Howard?”
“Small county.”
Emily sighed.
Thomas crouched.
“Trees won’t solve your immediate cash flow.”
“But they could solve this.”
She pointed at the field.
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“Land systems are complicated.”
Emily stared.
“That sounds like something people say when they don’t want to be wrong.”
Thomas laughed.
“It’s also true.”
He took the notebook.
“Your grandfather understood the principle.”
“Why didn't he do it?”
“Money?”
Emily nodded.
“Probably.”
“Time?”
“Yes.”
Thomas handed it back.
“You're in the same position.”
Emily looked over forty acres.
“No.”
“How?”
“I have less to lose.”
Thomas did not answer.
Within three days, Emily requested tree prices.
Within seven, she had a supplier.
Within twelve, she had made the most frightening purchase of her life.