By summer, our trout farm was operating under its revised business plan.
The fish were healthy.
The water monitoring systems were working reliably.
The replacement pipe section had passed its required checks.
And the emergency relay was being maintained under the updated agreement.
We still faced challenges.
Some restaurant orders were unpredictable.
Feed costs remained high.
Severe weather occasionally disrupted deliveries.
And every new repair required careful budgeting.
But the farm had a future.
Not a guaranteed future.
No business had that.
A future we could work toward.
On the anniversary of the power outage, Aunt June and I stood beside the main pond.
The sky was bright.
Sunlight moved across the water.
Rainbow trout flashed beneath the surface.
The old iron pipe poured steadily into the holding pond.
Its repaired section gleamed slightly where the newer material met the older installation.
Aunt June leaned against the fence.
“Hard to believe it's been a year.”
I nodded.
“Yeah.”
She looked toward the pipe.
“Your grandfather would be pleased.”
I smiled.
“He'd probably complain about the new monitoring panel.”
She laughed.
“Probably.”
Then I considered that.
“No. He'd ask how it worked.”
Aunt June grinned.
“And then he'd complain about the price.”
We both laughed.
The sound carried across the pond.
For a moment, it felt almost like Grandpa was there with us.
Then Aunt June looked toward me.
“You know, I've been thinking.”
I turned.
“About what?”
“Your grandfather's notebook.”
I looked surprised.
“What about it?”
She smiled.
“I think it's time we put together a proper copy of the farm's history.”
I stared.
“Why?”
“Because too much knowledge was stored in one person's head.”
She looked toward the equipment shed.
“And because I don't want the next generation to depend on finding an old notebook after someone is gone.”
I considered that.
Then nodded.
“Could we include the radio history?”
“Absolutely.”
“The spring diagrams?”
“Yes.”
“The repair records?”
“All of them.”
I smiled.
“And pictures of Grandpa?”
Aunt June's expression softened.
“Especially those.”
For several seconds, we looked toward the ponds.
Then I asked something I'd been wondering for months.
“Aunt June?”
“Yes?”
“Do you think I can become an engineer?”
She turned toward me.
Her eyes widened slightly.
Then she smiled.
“I think you can become whatever you're willing to work toward.”
I looked down.
“Even if I'm not as smart as Grandpa?”
She laughed softly.
“Owen, your grandfather spent his whole life learning.”
I looked up.
She continued.
“He wasn't born knowing how to build a water system.”