Walter Dean visited while they welded.
He stared.
“What is that?”
“Sunflower attachment.”
“Looks like a farm implement had children with a canoe.”
David lifted his welding helmet.
“Helpful.”
Walter walked around it.
“You actually think that catches seed?”
Ethan nodded.
“Extension bulletin says pans reduce loss.”
Walter tapped one.
“This bulletin recommend rusty hog feeder metal?”
“No.”
“Then you're innovating.”
He smiled.
“Terrifying.”
Walter stayed two hours.
By the end, he was holding metal while David welded.
Nobody mentioned that the man who called the crop bird food was helping harvest it.
Farmers had their own ways of apologizing.
September 18.
First field test.
The combine entered the eastern edge.
Ethan rode beside David.
Ruth stood near the road.
Ray Mercer.
Walter.
Three other farmers.
All pretending they happened to be passing.
The header touched the first row.
Sunflower heads entered.
Stalks shook.
Seed moved into the combine.
Ethan watched for losses.
Behind them, too many seeds lay on the ground.
“Stop.”
David stopped.
They climbed down.
Ethan counted.
Bad.
Header speed.
Reel position.
Ground speed.
They adjusted.
Again.
Better.
Not enough.
Another adjustment.
By late afternoon, loss fell to acceptable levels.
Ethan climbed onto the wagon.
Dark seeds filled the bottom.
He picked up a handful.
Months of work fit inside his palm.
Ruth climbed up beside him.
Neither spoke.
Then she said:
“They’re ugly.”
Ethan stared at her.
“Mom.”
“I’m just saying. For such pretty flowers, the finished product is disappointing.”
He laughed.
First load went to Midwest Specialty Oils’ contracted receiving point forty-two miles away.
David drove.
Ethan rode passenger.
Ruth followed in the pickup.
The receiving facility was smaller than an ordinary grain elevator.
Scale house.
Storage bins.
Sampling equipment.
Several trucks.
The operator introduced himself as Carl Jensen.
Sixty-five.
White hair.
Hands permanently darkened by decades around machinery.
“You the sunflower kid?”
Ethan hated that he apparently had become a category.
“Yes.”
Carl walked toward the truck.
“Let's see what you've got.”
Truck onto scale.
Gross weight.
Sample probe.
Moisture.
Foreign material.
Then unload.
Empty truck back onto scale.
Net seed weight.
Ethan watched every number.
Carl printed the ticket.
“Not bad.”
Ethan looked.
The yield estimate from the first harvested acres exceeded his conservative projection.
He felt lightheaded.
“Oil?”
“Sample goes to lab.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Premium?”
“Applied after results.”
Ethan nodded.
He refused to celebrate.