The rental excavator reached the farm on a cloudy Wednesday morning.
Its yellow paint was faded.
The tracks were caked with old mud.
And the machine rattled slightly as the operator drove it from the transport trailer.
The father had hired a local contractor to investigate the drainage problem.
The contractor agreed to a limited excavation rather than a complete replacement.
They would examine the suspected drain alignment.
Determine whether the blockage could be repaired.
And avoid unnecessary digging if possible.
Three neighboring farmers came over after hearing the equipment arrive.
The man in the blue cap owned a large parcel west of the family farm.
He was fifty-seven, broad-shouldered, heavyset, and known for speaking louder than necessary.
He wasn't a terrible person.
He sometimes helped neighbors repair machinery.
But he enjoyed making jokes at other people's expense.
The tallest farmer operated a small hay business.
The third owned a nearby equipment yard.
They'd known the boy's father for decades.
All three were curious about the drainage problem.
And all three were convinced the farmer had waited too long to fix it.
The man in the blue cap stood beside his pickup truck, eating chips from an open bag.
“You should've replaced that drain five years ago.”
The father nodded tiredly.
“Probably.”
The man laughed.
“That's what happens when you patch things instead of fixing them.”
The father looked away.
He didn't need another lecture.
The boy stood nearby wearing his blue plaid shirt, brown canvas overalls, and dusty boots.
He carried his grandfather's notebook.
The blue-cap farmer noticed.
“What have you got there?”
The boy held it closer.
“An old map.”
The man grinned.
“Treasure map?”
The other farmers laughed.
The boy didn't smile.
“Maybe a map of the old creek.”
The man waved a hand.
“Kid, I've farmed beside this field for thirty years.”
The boy nodded.
“I know.”
“And I can tell you there's no pirate ship under it.”
The others laughed again.
The boy looked toward his father.
The farmer rubbed his forehead.
“Let the contractor work.”
The boy nodded reluctantly.
But when the excavator operator asked where the suspected drainage line crossed the field, the child stepped forward.
“Can I show you something?”
His father hesitated.
The contractor looked curious.
“What?”
The boy opened the notebook.
He pointed toward the dotted line.
The operator studied it.
Then looked toward the flooded section of the field.