The farm account declined.
Clara reopened the notebook.
Corn husk bedding test.
Three pages.
That was all.
No business plan.
No miracle.
Just observations.
Dry husks absorb better after shredding.
Too coarse under calves.
Mix with chopped stalk fiber maybe.
Dust lower than old sawdust batch.
Need compression for storage.
The final line:
Could be something if consistent source.
Clara stared at it for a long time.
Then drove to Driftless County Feed & Grain.
The mill sat nine miles from the Bennett farm.
Weathered gray boards.
Rusting metal roof.
Tall bins behind.
Founded 1947, according to the faded sign above the loading door.
Clara had gone there since childhood.
Daniel bought minerals there.
Seed.
Feed supplements.
Hardware.
Coffee sometimes, because farmers could apparently transform any agricultural business into a social club if given a coffee pot.
Earl Haskins owned it now.
His father owned it before him.
Earl was fifty-six, heavyset, loud, and generally decent unless someone questioned his opinion.
Clara found him beside the loading dock.
Three workers stood nearby.
Ray Miller.
Tom Grady.
Paul Jensen.
All men who had known her father.
All immediately curious why Daniel Bennett’s daughter had arrived alone with an empty pickup.
Earl smiled.
“Need feed?”
“No.”
“Mineral?”
“No.”
“Then you finally came to pay for that auger belt your dad argued about in 2019.”
“He paid you.”
“Eventually.”
“He said you charged twice.”
“He was wrong.”
“He said you'd say that.”
The workers laughed.
Earl smiled.
“Miss him.”
Clara did too.
She did not say it.
Instead she pointed behind the mill.
“What do you do with the corn husks?”
Earl looked.
A mountain of yellow-brown husks and processing residue sat against a concrete wall.
“Those?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“What do you do with them?”
“Some guy takes a little for compost. Some we haul. Burn dry material when regulations allow.”
“Cost you?”
“Sometimes.”
“How much?”
Earl narrowed his eyes.
“Why?”
“I want them.”
Behind him, Ray laughed.
Clara looked at him.
He raised both hands.
“Sorry.”
Earl stared.
“All of them?”
“As many as I can haul.”
“For what?”
“Bedding.”
Tom laughed now.
“Cow bedding?”
“Yes.”
Paul leaned against the doorway.
“Your cows read newspapers too?”
Clara ignored him.
Earl walked toward the pile.
He grabbed one handful.
Let it fall.
“This is junk.”
“Then you won’t miss it.”
He looked at her.
“You serious?”
“Yes.”
“How much are you offering?”
Clara smiled.
“Nothing.”
The workers laughed loudly.
Earl pointed.
“There she is. Daniel’s daughter.”
“He would've started lower.”
“Lower than zero?”
“He was talented.”
More laughter.
Clara remained still.
Earl shook his head.
“You can take it.”
“All I want?”
“Please.”
“For how long?”
He shrugged.
“Until I change my mind.”
“No.”
Earl raised an eyebrow.